I confess: I am a recovering productivity addict. My mornings used to be a frantic sprint, a series of "hacks" and "optimizations" designed to shave seconds off my routine. I’d check emails before my feet hit the floor, gulp down coffee while scanning the news, and be mentally "at work" before I'd even showered. I was running a marathon at a sprinter's pace, every single day, and calling it "efficiency." It was, in reality, a state of chronic, low-grade panic. Then, in Greece