Hustle Culture Is Killing Us.
Hustle Culture Is Killing Us.
When are we going to care enough?
When are we going to care enough?
“What are you doing with your life?”
The title of a multi-million selling book; also, an enquiry I use to hold myself accountable.
Day in, day out. ‘The grind’. The slog. Inertia. Are you languishing (too)?
At work and in the world more broadly, we know that our ways of living and being aren’t (pardon the pun) working — don’t we?
If we don’t know, we sure do talk a lot about it — or at least, we talk around it.
We know that Mental Health, Burnout, Motivation and Purpose are Important and Meaningful Topics, and we like to showcase how in touch we are with the zeitgeist — often, as loudly as possible. It’s cool, and we’re cool, and it makes us feel connected and important.
But this isn’t new. It may have been getting worse and/or gaining prominence, but it isn’t new.
We’ve known that something is very, very wrong for longer than we’ve been talking about it. We’ve known it because we’ve felt it.
We’re tired. Overwhelmed. Anxious. Listless. Frantic. Pushing. Pulling. Wanting. Settling. Perennially dissatisfied with our lot, and yet — at some core, existential level — accepting of this.
If this is it, why bother? But still, we keep going.
When are we going to listen?
To our hearts, to our minds, and to our bodies.
To our aching, breaking bodies.
We’re breaking ourselves to prove to ourselves that the world is broken… or perhaps that we’re ‘different’, ‘special’, and can do something about it.
But when are we actually going to do something about it, and where would that even start from?
IMHO, we need to go back to basics.
We need to stop breaking ourselves.
I was originally going to title this article ‘Hustle Culture Is Killing Us. It’s Time To Wake Up’, but I had a change of heart.
We are awake. Or, at least — we’re as awake as we can be on not-nearly-enough sleep.
The issue isn’t that we can’t see, hear or feel.
It’s that we are blinded, numb, and disconnected.
We can’t see that *this* is the only thing that’s real.
I am writing because I’m angry.
Because I have things to say, and a voice to raise. Because I refuse to stay silent in the face of injustice.
And this is [an] injustice.
We should be more alive than we are.
We should be more inspired than we are.
Imagine what we could do with our individual and collective resources if we were.
Why should we wait until we’re dying?
That seems like the biggest tragedy of all.
Pardon my language, but this sh*t is crazy.
And yet, it is an injustice of our own making.
How do we, how can we, break away?
This is a message with a vengeance. A rallying call. A plea from a 23-year old who stepped out of the rat-race before she could be swallowed whole.
I realised that I wanted out. And I realised that I needed out.
For my health. For my happiness. And for my soul.
For my beautiful, creative, hopeful soul. For my dreams. For everything I am and try to be.
I was ‘crazy busy’, and running on adrenaline. When I wasn’t working, I was meditating. When I wasn’t meditating, I was writing. When I wasn’t writing, I was eating or going for a walk or doing yoga and Pilates. Occasionally, I slept.
(Thank G-d for lockdown, eh?!)
Where was the joy? The laughter? The love?
But I was ‘successful’, right?
And when I looked around, my situation seemed to be the best of a bad bunch.
We were all ‘crazy busy’.
We were also all ‘crazy tired’, and perpetually behind.
And chasing.
Always chasing.
Mostly, our own tails.
But hey, at least that made us feel like we were doing something worthwhile.
For a while, I told myself that it was okay. That I was okay. That it was ‘good enough’.
I did what you’re doing: I lied to myself.
And then I got so tired of lying that I stopped being able to.
It wasn’t. It isn’t. It never will be.
This is not life. Or rather, this is not the kind of life that I want to lead.
And I was, am, lucky.
This is a choice that I could make.
I knew all the warning signs. I knew what steps I had to take. And I did it.
I walked away.
Because I have lost myself before, and I’m not doing that again — not for any amount of money or glory. Not for any person, corporation, or pipe dream. Not for any egotistical fantasy. And certainly not to be a cog in a machine.
It’s not worth it. It’s never worth it.
And we falter. And we surrender. And we lie to ourselves. And we lie to one another. And for what?
Here are three questions that really matter:
1. What is life for?
2. What are you doing with your life?
3. What do you want?
Don’t answer them for me.
Don’t answer them for anyone else.
Answer them for yourself.
Or, better yet, don’t even try to answer them.
Just keep asking them. And maybe note down what you find.
Stay curious. Stay hungry. Stay humble.
Actions speak louder than words, but words matter too.
I wrote this because I care.
I am galvanised, energised, and raring to go. Raring to create. Feeling everything. Feeling deeply. Abundant. Grateful. Fiercely loving.
And, above all else, fiercely alive.
I’ve got my mojo back.
And I want to see you doing, being and discovering the same.
I want to celebrate you. Champion you. Laugh with you. Comfort you.
And perhaps even inspire you.
I want you to be bold. I know you can be brave.
Because life is so, so beautiful.
So beautiful that it takes my breath away.
And the present is a gift.
Let yourself receive it. Let yourself bask in it. Let yourself love it. Let yourself be loved in it.
Let yourself be here now, with all that is. Let yourself sit and really, truly listen. Let yourself open. Let yourself embrace and be open to whatever you are experiencing.
We can — and we will — move beyond fear, one step at a time.
Hey there, reader! Yes, I’m talking to you.
We are not really strangers.
I love you as I love myself.
From my heart to yours, thank you for reading.
I hope you have a beautiful day.
#inthetrencheswithyou