More, faster, better

The antidote to never feeling done.

Photo by Krista Mangulsone on Unsplash

Something I worry about when writing this newsletter is that I make it sound like I have far more figured out than I actually do. That I rest plenty and often. That I don’t let work or stupid nonsense stress me out. That I don’t get unnecessarily mad at my partner when I’m tired and sad. 

Of course, none of that is true. I regularly get all of those things wrong. The version of myself I put forward in this newsletter is the absolute best I have to offer. In person, I’m far less virtuous.  

I was thinking about this recently, during a period where I allowed myself to get very stressed out about the freelance writing, editing, and consulting work I do with clients. I could feel this loftier version of myself chastising me — “You’re doing it again, over-promising things, over-performing, working more than is good for your health. You know how this story ends.” — and yet I kept doing it.

All the signs were there: Working until my left eye twitched. Forgoing exercise and eating properly because I just had so much to get done okay, muttered defensively, to no one at all. Saying yes to every piece of work that came my way despite having a set number of childcare hours to fit my work within. In short, I was doing all the things I have previously and repeatedly disavowed in this very newsletter.

But the truth is, after a year of earning drastically less money because I had the audacity to have a baby — and a current reality where literally everything is more expensive than it was 12 to 18 months ago — I didn’t really have a choice. I also have to admit that it felt quite nice to be in the thrum of capitalism again, to be earning enough money to sustain my pretty reasonable lifestyle, to say to clients how much money I wanted to charge and (mostly) get that in return. 

So whether it was by choice, necessity, or some combination of the two, I was inching back to a place where I delude myself into believing that I can deliver more, faster, better on a steady incline. That I can earn more money, be on top of my health, my kid, my house, and my creative life if I just get up earlier, work harder, work later, work faster. 

More faster better, or MFB. This is a mental short-hand I use for a value system that’s everywhere around us. In fact, I’d argue it’s not a value system, but the value system we all are born into. The water we swim in.

It starts right at the top, with the idea that it’s possible to keep enjoying life on planet earth indefinitely while progressively extracting it of all its resources. Then it’s MFB all the way down from there. It’s present when someone emails you expecting a response on the weekend even though they don’t pay you to work on the weekend. When a company gets rid of some of its employees, and then expects the same level of output from the fraction of the workforce that’s left behind. When we all internalize the idea that the best way to build an audience is with more content, sent more frequently, with an inexhaustible supply of newer and better ideas.

When I’m taking care of myself and things are going pretty well, it’s easier for me to see MFB for what it is: a fallacy. To say to it: “No thank you, I’ve tried that way of doing things and I know where it leads, so I’m not taking part in that.” To recognize the fizzy, pulse-quickening sensation it triggers in my body — like I’m gearing up to run a race — and take a big deep breath to counteract it. But when things are stressful, time and money are scarce, expensive things in my flat keep requiring repairs, and when I’m nervous about the future, I sign right up again.

Of course, the very notion of being able to opt out of any part of capitalism, even temporarily, denotes some form of privilege. Even if you do it for an afternoon, that means you must have enough financial cushion to lose earnings for that day, or better yet, have a job that will pay you for a sick day. The idea of stepping back to take a sabbatical from your impressive career, or working in line with your natural energy fluctuations or menstrual cycle, may sound brave or revolutionary to some people, and like pure fantasy to many others. 

But there’s a weird quirk to MFB, and it’s a revealing one. You’d think that the humans with the most wealth or privilege would be immune from MFB. They are the people that could, after all, take several weeks off on a whim because they’re at a low energetic ebb. But from what I can tell, it doesn’t work that way. Those among us who have the most cushion to opt out of the MFB mindset often seem to be among the least capable of doing it.

They sell a company for loads of money and even more stress, and then immediately start looking for the next hit of MFB. They buy more real estate, more things, acquire more assets — all requiring more output and admin and mental capacity from them. Their appetite for more is rapacious, even as all the air travel and lawyers and devices and complexity and assistants weigh them down, robbing them from the ability to actually be present and enjoy the privileged life they lead.

This is why it’s so important to interrogate the logic of MFB, to stop it in its tracks to the extent that we can. Because even in our wildest financial dreams, we’ll never earn our way out of it. Indeed I think the reason it is so powerful, the reason it seems to permeate every institution, organization, and industry isn’t really related to capitalism it all.

It’s because MFB has uncanny knack of binding onto our worst, most outdated, or unkind beliefs about ourselves, and exploiting them for its own furtherance. These are the kinds of widely-held beliefs that most of us probably picked up earlier in our lives: that it’s important to be pretty/good/young/rich/skinny in order to be loved; that we’re not enough unless we prove it to others day after day with our achievements; that asking for help is a sign of weakness; that pleasing or serving others is more important than taking care of ourselves.

It took me many rounds of burnout and more than a decade of achievements in journalism to realize that there was no achievement, byline, readership, viral story, or magical book deal that would ever provide the feeling of being done, of feeling that I had arrived, that I had done enough. When I realized that the shaky business model of modern journalism — which is about as MFB as it gets — was partially propped up by the validation-seeking behavior of earnest, high-achieving people like me, the whole career path I’d shaped my identity around became far less compelling overnight. (That was one hell of a therapy session, let me tell you.)

So maybe it’s a sign of personal progress that wiser voice has been nagging me recently. Sure, I still have to work — and pretty hard at that — but I no longer seek the kind of validation or absolution in my work that I used to. And I now know there are things I can do to stop MFB from taking over my life.

I find that naming MFB where you see it, even if you can’t opt out, wields some power and quells some anxiety. It helps you see that the problem is not you and your own inadequacies, but rather the flawed expectations of the institution or power structure you’re working in. It helps you use any small amount of power or leverage you may have in the situation — perhaps in the team you manage, or your ability to set your own hours, or walking away from people who don’t respect your time — to point to a better way.

And beyond the self, it motivates you to create a situation where you can expressly not expect MFB from others. Whether it’s a company you create or just for the people who help take care of your kids or clean your house while you work. 

It’s also imperative to carve out spaces in your personal life that are blissfully un-beholden to the MFB mindset. No one will hand those to you, and you have to fiercely protect them. It’s essential we all do that in our hobbies, our routines, our parenting, our relationships, our friendships, and most importantly in our dialogue with ourselves.

Because the only way to slow MFB down is to interrogate the beliefs you hold deep down that make it so powerful. To search for your sense of enough-ness somewhere else. To take a deep breath and allow yourself to momentarily inhabit the belief that right here, right now, you are enough already. To let your entire body soften into that truth, even if just for a moment.

For the past month or so, my toddler has started waking up at a more humane hour, between 6:00 and 7:00 am. It’s the first time since he was born that I’ve even contemplated being able to get up before he does. Perhaps I could get in a workout or a work task done and be fully caffeinated by the time he wakes up. Perhaps I could establish some enviable and slightly unhinged morning routine, like that of the moms Instagram constantly shows me.

But it’s January, and still very dark at that time. I am still extremely tired from the act of bringing him into the world. Before 7am, I feel like a hibernating animal who is desperate for more warmth and rest — because that’s exactly what I am. So I stay in bed until the last possible second. It’s a small daily act of defiance, and I try to enjoy it as much as I can.

Things I enjoyed reading

• The year millennials aged out of being relevant online. [NY Times]

• Related to the link above, I just discovered

  Freya India
  ’s writing and it offers such a smart, incisive look into Gen Z, written by an actual member of that generation. [GIRLS]

• How

  Katherine May
  starts a new book — a truly generous font of writing wisdom. [The Clearing]

• James Bennet was ousted as head of NYT Opinion in the summer of 2020 for publishing the now-infamous Tom Cotton Op-ed. This (very long) account tells his side of the story, and I think elucidates some of what’s changed about the power dynamics of journalism in the last five or so years. You don’t have to agree with all of it to make it worth reading. [The Economist]

• “The able and the disabled aren’t two different kinds of people but the same people at different times.” On the sudden onset of a debilitating mystery illness. [NY Mag]

• I often quietly (and bitterly) say to myself that all self help / mindfulness advice is useless to me if it doesn't come from a parent with small children. This advice from

  Kathryn Barbash, PsyD
  does, and it is entirely useful and realistic. [Mindful in the Mud]

Things I enjoyed listening to

• I really enjoyed watching this longform reaction to my essay The Friendship Problem, from TikToker and YouTuber Mina Lee. She thoughtfully explores a lot of things that I didn’t address in the essay, like the role of “third places” in sustaining low-key friendship. It’s been so fun watching this essay travel around the internet. [Mina Le]

• A fascinating conversation about what “good taste” actually is — and why it’s more important that ever in a world of AI and aggregated “For You” feeds. [The Ezra Klein Show]

• A conversation about Dry January that’s actually a conversation about something much bigger: What to do about that “deep sense of unease” that you may constantly be in search of a solution for. [Search Engine]

This months’ interview

This month I interviewed Michaeleen Doucleff about her book Hunt, Gather, Parent and the strange way we approach caretaking in so-called “WEIRD” (Western, Educated, Industrialized, Rich, and Democratic) societies. I was especially thrilled to hear from readers who don’t have kids and still found the conversation resonant. That was entirely my intent! Thanks for being such open-minded and curious readers.

Word Soup

“In between the cracks of the real world–nearly invisible; tucked away under all the busy-ness and deadlines and all our idiot, human, quotidian productivity and drama–there is a hidden world that you visit when you slow down; you pay attention; you attend to what is delicate and hurts; and you make space to listen for the spectacular truth of your life. The world of awe. Just listen.” [Diet Poke]

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