I have a pretty stressful job. Generally, the result of my performance is a significant factor in the protection of billions of dollars. Yeah: Billions.

Meanwhile, back home, I have a family whose value cannot be measured in dollars. They are the reason I can work my stressful job, as well as the reason I do so; the income from my stressful job is what covers our house, car, food, yada yada.

The problem is that time, not cash, is what’s valuable to a family. And time is what my stressful job wants from me: as much time as it takes to handle the problems we face. In short, more time than any definition of a standard work-week can possibly cover.

Sure, it’s a badge of honor of sorts; if you can survive and not go apeshit while still getting things done, that means that either you’re pretty damn good at what you do or you’re a damn fine bullshit artist. Either way, you’re damn something.

I often hear about work-life balance, as companies try to avoid attrition by putting a friendly face on “we’ll pay you less to lower our demands on you.” The reality is, though, that simple economics often wins out: time is the scarce commodity, so a premium must be paid to get time.

Of course, there’s a flipside to everything. One of the great things about having a stressful job is that it’s always, always a challenge. I don’t have slow weeks or slow days. When I work, I constantly learn how to work better, and to push my skills further, because otherwise I’d drown.

One thing I fear is that if it weren’t so hard, I’d get bored. I just wish that there were a middle ground where there was a safety valve that I could use to let it go when I hit my limit.