Let me be clear—I have nothing against ambition. Dream. Build. Thrive. But what y’all are doing out here? This “I-sleep-3-hours-and-drink-anxiety-for-breakfast” lifestyle? That’s not ambition. That’s pathology. That’s collective burnout masquerading as motivation, and someone needs to say it out loud……

We’ve turned suffering into currency. Working yourself to death is now a badge of honor. If you’re not constantly exhausted, constantly booked, constantly stressed out of your damn mind, people look at you like you’re lazy. As if rest is some moral failure. As if burnout is the new enlightenment. Think of those LinkedIn monks preaching “hustle harder” from their MacBooks in Bali. Sir, please. You’re not hustling. You’re outsourcing empathy and calling it personal development.

It’s wild how capitalism convinces you to monetize every inch of your life, then blames you when your soul starts filing for bankruptcy. “Why don’t you try meditating?” No, Karen. Maybe I’m just tired of living in a society that treats human beings like machines with unlimited data plans.

And look—I get it. We come from places where dreams were rationed out like food aid. Our parents clawed their way through impossible circumstances. Survival wasn’t optional. So we inherited that hustle—unfiltered, unprocessed. We were told: “Work hard and you’ll make it.” But no one told us what “making it” costs. No one mentioned the spiritual overdraft fees. No one warned us that even when we “make it,” we’ll still feel like imposters trapped in a productivity contest we never agreed to enter.

We need a new definition of success. One that includes rest. One that includes softness. One where you don’t need to be on your grind 24/7 to prove your worth. Where you’re allowed to just be—without guilt, without apologies.

So no, I won’t glorify the hustle anymore. I won’t romanticize exhaustion. And if that makes me “lazy” in your eyes, then good. Because I’d rather be at peace and broke than rich and spiritually emaciated.