“Jack, How the Hell Do You Write So Much?”

It's not a very sexy story...but...quite often in life...true stories aren't

“Jack, How the Hell Do You Write So Much?”

It’s not a very sexy story...but...quite often in life...true stories aren’t

The Jack Hopkins Now Newsletter #697: December 20th, 2025.

I get some version of that question almost every day.

Sometimes it’s sincere.
Sometimes it’s baffled.
Sometimes it’s wrapped in praise that makes me a little uncomfortable.

But it usually boils down to the same thing:

“How do you put out this much work without burning out, losing your mind, or disappearing into a cave somewhere?”

So let me give you the least sexy answer possible.

I don’t live a balanced life.

And that’s not an accident.
It’s a decision.

The Great Lie of “Balance”

Somewhere along the way…we were sold this idea that the highest form of human living is perfect balance.

Work a little.
Relax a little.
Care a little.
Push a little.
Never lean too hard in any direction.

It sounds healthy.
It sounds wise.
It also happens to be completely incompatible with excelling at something that actually matters…especially when the clock is running.

Balance is a wonderful goal if your ambition is to remain comfortably average. (and, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that)

But…if your goal is to break above average…to respond to a moment…to use a narrow window of relevance while it’s open…

…balance becomes a luxury you simply don’t have.

That doesn’t mean chaos.
It doesn’t mean neglect.
It doesn’t mean ego.

It means prioritization.

The Uncomfortable Math of Time

Here’s a fact that gets clearer…not fuzzier…with age:

At almost 60 years old…I’ve lived more years than I have left.

That’s not morbid.
That’s arithmetic.

And when you combine that reality with something else…something I never expected…the picture sharpens fast.

Between social platforms and The Jack Hopkins Now Newsletter, I reach north of 600,000 people with roughly 60,000 subscribers who actively chose to hear what I have to say.

Let me be very clear about something:

That number would have sounded like science fiction to me for the first 52 years of my life.

I didn’t plan it.
I didn’t manifest it.
I didn’t sit around visualizing it.

It happened…simply because I kept showing up…kept thinking out loud…kept writing like someone who wasn’t auditioning for permission.

And once you wake up one morning and realize, “Oh… people are actually listening”…you don’t get to pretend that comes without responsibility.

When the Moment Gets Bigger Than You

I’m also painfully aware of something else.

The challenge this country is facing right now is bigger than me.

Bigger than my family.
Bigger than my town.
Bigger than my county or my state.

It’s the biggest crisis of my lifetime…and I don’t say that lightly.

I’ve felt compelled to engage with it for over eight years now. Not casually. Not as a hobby. But as something closer to a calling…though that word makes me itch a little.

And here’s the key distinction:

I don’t feel compelled to participate.

I feel compelled to participate in a way that meets the moment.

For me…that doesn’t mean running for office.
It doesn’t mean pretending I’m a general.
It doesn’t mean imagining myself as some historical figure.

It means doing the thing I actually know how to do.

Which is writing.

Why I Write So Much (The Boring Truth)

Here it is. No mystery. No hustle porn.

I write a lot because:

Most of my time is spent writing. Or preparing to write.

That’s it.

I’m not juggling twelve unrelated priorities.
I’m not trying to “optimize” every hour.
I’m not chasing novelty.

I read.
I think.
I connect dots.
I write.

I do it again the next day.

When people ask how I stay productive, what they’re really asking is:

“How do you protect that much focus?”

And the answer is: by letting other things slide.

Not everything.
Not recklessly.
But…intentionally.

The Trade Everyone Pretends Isn’t There

Here’s the part people don’t like to hear:

Every meaningful life is lopsided.

Not chaotic…lopsided.

If you look closely at anyone who moved the needle in a real way…you’ll find the same pattern:

• Obsession where others saw imbalance

• Focus where others demanded moderation

• Sacrifice where others insisted on comfort

Thomas Edison napped in his lab.
Woke up.
Went back to work.
Ate a sandwich his wife brought him.

Was that “balanced”?

No.

Was it necessary?

Apparently.

I’m not comparing myself to Edison. Please don’t misunderstand me.

I’m making a much smaller…humbler point:

Progress has always required people willing to lean hard into one direction while the rest of the world…politely advised them to relax.

No Grand Illusions Here

Let me say something plainly, because it matters.

I do not believe I’m doing something “great” in the historical sense.

I don’t think I’ll be a household name.
I don’t imagine myself in future textbooks.
I’m not carving marble statues in my head.

What I do believe is this:

If you have a voice…a skill…and a window of relevance…and you choose comfort over contribution…you don’t get to pretend that was neutral. (and when I say, “you,” I don’t mean YOU. I mean ME…because that is the inner conversation I have with myself. I have no business telling anyone else what how they should live their life.)

It was a choice.

I’ve simply chosen differently.

The Weight Is Real-and Accepted

I’m not naïve about the costs.

Living this way means:

• Saying no more than yes

• Carrying a mental load most days

• Letting some friendships thin

• Accepting that “normal pace” is gone

I understand that trade.

I made it with my eyes open.

And I’m also fortunate beyond belief in one crucial way.

The Quiet Miracle at Home

I have a family who loves me anyway.

Not because I’m productive.
Not because I publish a lot.
Not because I’m “doing important work.”

They love me despite the lopsidedness.

They understand that this season…this strange…exhausting…urgent season…is not about me chasing validation.

It’s about me answering a question I can’t un-hear:

“If not now, when?”

That kind of support isn’t earned by output.
It’s earned by honesty.

And I don’t take it lightly.

The Real Answer, Finally

So when someone asks:

“Jack, how the hell do you write so much?”

Here’s the real answer:

I write so much because this is where I’ve decided to put my time.

Not because I’m special.
Not because I’m disciplined in some superhuman way.
Not because I’ve cracked a secret code.

Because for this moment…in this country…with this much at stake…I don’t know of anything more honest I can do with my waking hours.

Someday…the pace will slow.
The urgency will fade.
The lopsidedness may soften.

But…not yet.

And…I’m okay with that.
So…if you ever wondered, (and…I know you may very well have never given it a thought) “Does Jack do nothing but write?!”…you were pretty damn close.

#HoldFast

Back soon,

-Jack
Jack Hopkins

P.S.
For me, balance is a wonderful goal…after the fire is out.
Until then…this is the only way I can feel confident…that I’m truly meeting the moment in a way my conscience demands. It’s really as simple as that.