Hey there, it’s Jack Mitchell—SEO content writer by day, dad of two chaos agents, husband to an incredibly patient woman, and Austin trail regular. If you’ve somehow landed on this post because Google finally figured out what “felixing” means, congratulations: you’re early to something that’s about to go mainstream.
I didn’t coin the term (credit goes to a tiny corner of Reddit and TikTok in late 2023), but I’ve been unintentionally felixing for at least five years. Once I heard the word, everything clicked. Suddenly I had a name for the way I’ve been protecting my energy, my creativity, and my sanity in a world that wants all three on tap 24/7.
So let’s break it down.
Felixing (n., v.):
The deliberate practice of structuring your life like a cat—maximizing deep comfort, joy, and presence in small sunbeam moments while effortlessly ignoring anything that doesn’t serve your immediate well-being. It is equal parts boundary-setting, pleasure-seeking, and strategic laziness.
Think about how a cat operates:
- Finds the one perfect patch of sunlight and stays there for four hours.
- Ignores the vacuum cleaner like it’s beneath contempt.
- Demands affection exactly when it wants it, then walks away the second it’s done.
- Sleeps 16 hours a day without a shred of guilt.
That, my friends, is the blueprint.
How Felixing Accidentally Saved My Career (and My Marriage)
Seven years ago I was the classic over-achieving freelancer. 80-hour weeks, three cups of cold brew just to feel human, answering Slack messages at 11 p.m. because “urgency.” My wife would ask me to watch the kids for 30 minutes so she could take a shower and I’d groan like she’d asked me to defuse a bomb.
Then 2020 happened. Remote work. Kids at home. No childcare. The wheels came off.
One random Tuesday I hit a wall. I shut my laptop at 2 p.m., told my biggest client I was taking the rest of the day off (no explanation), and went to sit on the back porch with my toddler while he smashed chalk into the patio. I fully expected the sky to fall.
It didn’t.
The client didn’t fire me. The world kept spinning. My son still talks about “the chalk day” like it was Disney World.
That was my first accidental felix.
Over the next few years I started doing it on purpose:
- Turning off notifications from 5 p.m. Friday until 9 a.m. Monday (and yes, telling clients that’s the policy).
- Scheduling “sunbeam blocks” in my calendar—90-minute chunks with zero meetings where I write the fun stuff instead of the soul-crushing stuff.
- Saying “no” to projects that pay well but feel like dental surgery.
- Taking a 20-minute nap on the couch when the house is quiet instead of doom-scrolling.
- Leaving the dishes until morning if we’d rather watch a movie as a family.
People started noticing. My output didn’t drop—in fact, it got sharper. My mood improved. My wife stopped looking at me like I was one unpaid invoice away from a heart attack.
I was producing the same (often better) results in fewer hours, with way more joy. I had, without knowing it, started felixing.
The Core Principles of Felixing (The Non-Negotiables)
- Comfort Is a Metric
If it’s not at least a 7/10 on the comfort scale, question why you’re doing it. Clothes, chairs, relationships, jobs—everything. - Energy Allocation > Time Management
A cat doesn’t care that it’s 11 a.m. if it’s not feeling it. Guard your high-energy windows like Fort Knox and spend them on what actually matters. - Strategic Ignoring Is a Superpower
Most emails can wait. Most “urgent” requests aren’t. Most meetings are someone else’s poor planning. - Micro-Pleasures Compound
The perfect iced oat-milk latte, the 12-minute playlist that makes your commute bearable, the exact right blanket—these aren’t frivolous. They’re fuel. - Presence > Performance
When you’re with people you love, be there. Phones down. Eye contact. The work will survive five undistracted hours with your kids. It won’t survive you burning out and becoming a husk. - Rest Without Guilt
Capitalism sold us the myth that rest is earned only after exhaustion. Felixing flips the script: rest is preventive maintenance.
Felixing at Work (Yes, Even in Corporate America)
I hear you—some of you have bosses, OKRs, stand-ups, whatever fresh hell your company invented this quarter.
You can still felix. You just have to be sneaky about it.
- Block “Do Not Book” time on your calendar and call it “Deep Work” or “Client Strategy.” Guard it like a mama cat guards her kittens.
- Use the 90/20 rule: spend 90% of your effort on the 20% of tasks that actually move the needle. Quiet-quit the rest (nobody notices).
- Master the art of the pre-written “out of office” that says you’re “in back-to-back meetings” when really you’re walking the greenbelt.
- Turn off read receipts. Let people wonder.
I once had a client who scheduled 8 a.m. calls every single day. I started felixing by simply not joining until 8:07. Then 8:12. Then 8:20. By week three the calls started at 8:30 without discussion. Energy protected. No confrontation required.
Felixing as a Parent
This is where it gets spiritual.
Kids are natural felixers until we train it out of them. Watch any toddler: they will play with the same Duplo tower for 45 minutes straight if it sparks joy, then abandon it forever the moment the joy runs out. Zero guilt.
I’ve started parenting more like that:
- If we’re having a magical afternoon building blanket forts, we don’t stop just because the clock says it’s screen time or whatever.
- If my daughter wants to wear mismatched rain boots with a swimsuit in December because it makes her feel like a superhero, cool. Pick your battles.
- Bedtime is a suggestion on nights when we’re deep in a chapter book and nobody wants to stop.
The result? My kids are calmer. They meltdown less. They say “I love you” unprompted. And I’m not yelling as much because I’m not perpetually running on empty.
The Dark Side (Because Balance)
Look, felixing isn’t eating cereal for dinner every night and ghosting your responsibilities. That’s not felixing—that’s depression with better branding.
Real felixing still gets the taxes filed, still answers the important emails (eventually), still shows up for the people who matter. It just refuses to let the unimportant colonize your entire life.
You will have to disappoint some people. That’s the entrance fee.
You will feel guilty at first. That’s normal. Push through it like a cat pushing through a door you’re trying to close.
How to Start Felixing Today (Practical Edition)
- Do an Energy Audit
For one week, rate every activity 1–10 on how it makes you feel afterward. Ruthlessly cut or delegate anything below a 6 that isn’t strictly mandatory. - Create One Non-Negotiable Sunbeam
Mine is Saturday morning: no alarm, no plans before 11 a.m., coffee on the porch while the kids watch cartoons. Protect it with your life. - Practice Saying the Magic Phrase
“Let me check my capacity and get back to you.”
(Then check your capacity. Spoiler: it’s usually “no.”) - Curate Your Sensory Life
Best blanket. Best playlist. Best pen. Best walking trail. Invest in the small things that make your nervous system exhale. - Adopt a Felixing Mantra
Mine is “What would my cat do?” (WWCD). Works 94% of the time.
Final Thoughts
We’re not cats. We can’t sleep 16 hours and expect the mortgage to pay itself. But we can learn from them.
Felixing isn’t about doing less for the sake of doing less. It’s about doing less of what drains you and more of what fills you up—so that when you do show up, you’re fully, gloriously there.
Since I started felixing on purpose, I’ve:
- Doubled my effective hourly rate (fewer hours, higher-value work)
- Written two children’s books in my “spare” time
- Hiked every trail within 30 miles of Austin
- Stopped clenching my jaw in my sleep (my dentist is thrilled)
And most importantly, my family gets the best version of me instead of whatever scraps were left after hustle culture took its cut.
So here’s my challenge to you: find one thing today that a cat would simply refuse to tolerate, and stop tolerating it.
Take the longer lunch. Ignore the group chat. Nap on the couch with the good blanket. Buy the overpriced coffee because it makes you stupidly happy.
Start small.
Felix a little.
The sunbeam’s waiting.
— Jack Mitchell
Austin, Texas
Still happily ignoring anything that doesn’t spark joy at 3:17 p.m. on a Tuesday
