Day 6: Hustle
My dad thinks I’m such a hard worker. But I don’t agree. I don’t know what it means to work hard.
Is it the results you get?
Is it the hours you put in?
Is it the emotional labor you expend?
Because if it’s the last one, then I take it back. I’ll admit it. I work hard.
In terms of sheer stress, anger, fear, guilt and shame expended on the job, I’m probably one of the hardest workers you ever met.
If having an existential crisis equals working hard, then you’ll never find someone with more hustle.
I remember months of waking up at 3:30 AM, hopping on my bike and riding 40 minutes to work. In the dark. On the side of a four-lane highway. In winter.
I remember being the first in the office. With the lights low, I’d journal for hours before anyone else showed up, trying to motivate myself for the day ahead, fighting a daily battle with the voice inside saying “This isn’t for you.”
I remember doing mental math as I walked through the aisles at the grocery store, making sure I didn’t go over my daily food budget, shaming myself for wanting cookies and pints of ice cream. One day the cashier finally asked me, “Are you ok? You always look so angry.”
They say showing up is half the battle. But what if showing up takes 100% of you? What if showing up leaves you with nothing left to give?
I used to think I was just having a quarter-life crisis. Now I’m not so sure. Is it a quarter-life crisis if it lasts five years?
My roommate and I used to stand on our balcony at sunset, talking about life and work. “The only reason I want to make a lot of money doing this,” I’d say, “is so that I can stop doing this as soon as possible.”
I’ve had a few different jobs since then. I’ve made and saved a lot more. But things haven’t changed. I probably say that at least once a year.
My dad asked me the other day: “What would you do if you actually made all this money you talk about wanting?”
I wasn’t sure what to say.
When my mom used to ask what I want for my birthday, my answer was always the same: “Money can’t buy the things I want.”
And it’s true. I don’t want fancy things, a high-status job or loads of money and fame.
I just want to be myself.
Because I’m tired of working so hard to be someone else.