Simply existing is enough

Modern-day life feels like a full-time job… on top of your actual full-time job… plus a side hustle you never asked for. If you’ve spent more than five minutes on the internet, you’ve probably learned that the correct way to be alive in 2025 is: wake up at 5am, meditate for 40 minutes, take a cold plunge, do a gratitude journal, run 10k before breakfast, learn Mandarin during your commute, meal prep quinoa bowls for the week, master three productivity apps, and — for bonus points — post a flawless “I just woke up” selfie in natural light. Miss any of these steps and congratulations — you’ve already fallen behind in the great race of self-optimization.

We live in the era of add more. More skills, more hustle, more hacks, more morning routines that look suspiciously like part-time jobs. It’s all about building yourself like an IKEA bookshelf — except instead of Allen keys and a vague instruction sheet, you’ve got thousands of conflicting tips from strangers on TikTok. Stack layer upon layer, and eventually you’ll reach “your best self,” or, more realistically, collapse like the piece of flat-pack furniture you’ve accidentally over-tightened.

The thing is, the more you add, the further you drift from your core. When I think back to who I was as a child — or even as a teenager — I already knew what I loved. I already knew the things that lit me up. For me, that’s always been writing. Putting thoughts into words, making sense of life through sentences, feeling that satisfying click when something I’ve written rings true. Somewhere along the way, though, I buried it under “shoulds” and “musts” — must improve, must work harder, must do more.

It’s almost comical how far we’ll go in the name of “becoming ourselves.” The irony is, you don’t need to become yourself. You already are. As kids, we don’t overthink joy. We don’t stand in front of a mirror asking, is this activity aligned with my five-year plan? before drawing, running, reading, or building a fort out of couch cushions. We just do it. But adulthood arrives, bringing bills, responsibilities, and the creeping suspicion that we need to justify our existence through productivity.

Here’s a radical thought: maybe the real work isn’t adding more. Maybe it’s peeling away. Stripping off the layers of other people’s voices, Instagram slogans, and half-baked “life hacks.” Getting back to the truth — your truth — the part of you that existed before you learned about ROI, calorie deficits, or the “perfect” morning routine.

Buddhism says that simply existing is enough. You are enough. You don’t have to earn your right to be here by building a personal brand or achieving inbox zero. You were enough the moment you took your first breath, and you will still be enough on your last. No algorithm, no manager, no “10x your life” guru can give or take that away.

It’s almost suspicious how little modern Western culture wants us to believe this. Ancient Eastern philosophers will tell you to slow down, breathe, detach. Modern influencers will tell you to “crush it” while subtly crushing you with the weight of impossible standards — but don’t worry, they’ll sell you a webinar that promises to fix the problem they just invented.

I’m not saying growth is bad. I’m saying it’s not the only game in town. Constant optimization, constant tweaking, constant “leveling up” doesn’t make you more you — it just makes you more tired. The self you’re chasing has been there since the start, sitting patiently under the pile of planners, habit trackers, and self-help books, wondering when you’ll notice.

For me, peeling back to my core means writing. Not because it will make me richer, smarter, or more marketable, but because it’s mine. It’s how I connect with myself. It’s how I feel at home in my own skin. And I don’t need to justify that with productivity metrics or likes.

Maybe for you it’s music, or hiking, or cooking, or sitting quietly with a cup of coffee without turning it into a mindfulness exercise for your personal development blog. Whatever it is, I hope you protect it from the endless noise of “do more.”

Because here’s the truth no one’s monetizing: you can stop building the tower. You can step off the hamster wheel. You can decide, right now, that the foundation is enough.

Whatever it is, let it be enough.

Love,

Faja