I had an experience the other night that felt psychedelic…except it wasn’t. But it was…even though it wasn’t. Let me explain.
I was out to dinner with some lovely folks. Smart, gorgeous, successful, the typical kind of 212s you may expect me to be out to dinner with. 212 being the shorthand for people who live in Manhattan, the 212-area code. They’re about my age, C-suite, enviable academic and career pedigrees, blah blah blah. You get the drift.
And then there came this one moment when I asked the wife about what she liked to do on the weekends. This is where it got psychedelic for me. I can’t tell you precisely what she was saying because it became a true out-of-body experience. She kind of laughed and said she worked and proceeded to paint the picture of her singular focus. She wasn’t describing it as a drag. It wasn’t served inside an I-need-to-find-more-balance context. It was pure unadulterated Generation X hustle. My energetic experience of this conversation was almost like watching a cannibal who is in rapture ripping their prey apart limb from limb with blood dripping off their lips. Did you see the recent Luca Guadagnino movie, Bones and All? Yeah. That’s what I mean by it feeling psychedelic. I looked around the table wondering if they were experiencing what I was experiencing. But the others were politely smiling and nodding their heads.
This was my trip and my trip alone.
Perhaps it speaks to how I have intentionally avoided hustle culture. After all, I gave a TEDx talk
about how I had to leave it all to find my own brand of peace. But coming face to face with it after so many years of rehabilitating out of it…I have to say…felt like a true horror movie to me.
And yet, I am saying this without judgment…but rather curiosity.
In fact, as a result of my intense feelings at the dinner, I’ve really sat with my choice to step away from the hustle even more closely.
Did I make the right choice?
Who is to say my relaxed low-key life is better?
There were so many aspects of my power life that I enjoyed.
The other day I was reading about that tech guy who spends 2 million dollars a year and 24 hours a day biohacking so that his organs revert to where they were when he was a teenager. I was literally eating a Korean corn dog treat (Mozzarella) while I read about his 1900-ish calorie a day plant-based diet and the sleep machine he’s hooked up to each night thinking, “Man…it must suck to be him.” But does it? Or does it suck to be me? Watching the world and its daily progress and innovations from my namaste lily pad? Does happiness come from peace or from impacting the world?
As a person with pretty high-level skills and talents, am I doing myself a service just by learning how to live a peaceful life? While Tech Bro works 24/7 to biohack his organs, I work 24/7 to hack my mind. To be able to sit with what’s hard and find bliss in it all. My ex-husband feels this is a complete waste of my time, talent and earning potential. I can understand that point of view. The truth is, I got a lot of satisfaction out of doing my part to help young women. But the way I operated was problematic for me.
My power source was fear and aggression.
How can I step into my power without being power hungry. Without taking power away from another? Without exercising said power blindly. The general outside perspective of my career is of the smiling, waving big sister to teenagers all over America. And yes, I was that girl. But behind the scenes I was very tough. As I made my way up the ranks at Cosmopolitan where I started as an assistant, the more cutthroat the environment became, the more cutthroat I became.
Like, at one point there was a new Editor-in-Chief and Fashion Director, both whom I admired and respected. I got promoted to Fashion Editor and they brought a more experienced Senior Fashion Editor to the team from another magazine. I didn’t like this girl. She was kind of notoriously mean and didn’t spare me that treatment. It was all very Devil Wears Prada and tbh, I’d never been treated like that at work. I very naturally and unconsciously strategized to get rid of her with behind the scenes scheming and maneuvering. In fact, I hand-picked (from another magazine) the person I wanted to take her place and within less than a year despite being junior to this position in the department, I had executed this shift. Meanie was out. Nice-y was in. Except…ultimately, I didn’t love working with Nice-y either. She had a lot of opinions that were different than mine. She was super professional and kind but well…I wanted to do things differently. Time for more maneuvering. Within the year, Nice-y was out and I was the new Senior Fashion Editor. In both cases, I remember the girls each looking at me like tou-fucking-ché when all was said and done. My point is, I was a blood thirsty hustle culture vampire myself. Not proud. Just honest.
It was very easy for me to do and yet…it didn’t feel good. It didn’t feel good being Machiavellian. It didn’t feel good to win that way. There was a constant energy of unease. It’s surreal to have everything you’ve ever wanted and feel paranoid and scared all the time.
I’ve loved the process of changing my wiring.
I’ve attacked it like I attacked my ascent in the media industry. I went from waking up at 4am to catch up on emails and hit the gym before showing up at the office at 7 to becoming someone who sees a nap as a necessary part of self-care…without shame. That’s the key part. Self-care without shame.
I’ve loved learning how to see people. I mean really see them as opposed to play them like human chess for the win. I used to have sooooo many “friends.” But really they were all key high-level people at companies I did business with. Today, my friends serve only my inner life…and I, theirs. Ānanda, the Buddha’s cousin and closest disciple once asked the Buddha, “Is it true, Lord, that noble friends are half of the holy life?” The Buddha responded, “No, Ānanda, noble friends are the whole of the holy life.” And my friends are not just my nearest and dearest, with whom I spend hours a week in discourse. My friends are all those with whom I journey…each of you in some way impacting my path because of our sharing, and I hope, in some way, I, yours. Thank you, dear reader, for being such an important part of my holy life.
I have loved, through meditation, developing the ability to let my body and mind get as relaxed as my friend’s fluffy, fat cat, Auggie, basking in the sun.
My nervous system has been entirely hacked.
And yet…
Just sitting around being peaceful and happy is getting…I don’t know…boring. I see yet another reason I was always choosing “complicated” guys. I was fucking bored. Now that I’m here, just being peaceful is not enough at this stage in my life. There is something within me that yearns to be more active in the world. I don’t need to be a Girlboss meme or any other caricature of hustle culture…but I am seeking something.
Like for the past few years I’ve felt like there are two tall cliffs about a foot apart from one another. I have one foot on each. One side representing the hustle culture I was so good at. The other, the Buddhist-influenced meditation lifestyle that has completely rewired my nervous system and how I show up in the world. I haven’t been totally able to let go of hustle culture, although I’ve gone cold turkey in terms of my participation. My hustle culture self is dead as a doornail, and yet, like a zombie, my cold dead hands are holding on tight to this old identity of “Atoosa, famous teen magazine editor.” Because who will I be without that identity? Is that why I want to be of service to the world? To have an enviable identity? To bring value to the world to have value?
By holding so tightly onto the past, am I stopping the blood flow that will fuel my future? I’m not Atoosa from Seventeen anymore. I have so much respect for that girl. She was abused for much of her childhood and yet she stayed on the straight and narrow. She took care of herself, and her family financially. She was a philanthropist from the minute she had an extra dollar. Although she was a bully, she bullied people on behalf of saving girls like her who didn’t have another advocate.
But…I am not Atoosa from Seventeen anymore.
I have no fucking idea what my next thing will be.
I know I am helpful.
I am kind.
I’m intense.
In fact, when I’m passionate, I’m a beast.
I love to be on the front lines.
But I am introvert.
I hate group texts.
And small talk.
My river runs deep.
I have two best friends.
They know everything.
Except…what’s next for me.
Even I don’t know that.
And so, as I watch friends from today and yesterday write books, launch businesses, make declarative statements about who they are and where they are going. I bow with humility and remember I am rewiring my power source. My power source no longer comes from force or fear. I guess I’m going the way the world is going. Instead of tapping into trauma, I’m tapping into…a renewal source. I guess we can call it my own solar power. Tapping into my light. My knowing. My heart. I’m in the development phase though. I don’t quite know how to do this. But I also don’t know how to do THAT anymore either as evidenced by my nearly having a seizure as I felt my friend’s super intense hustle energy. A voice in my head says, Ugh you’re such a pussy. But then immediately another voice chimes in. Yes! I am! Pussy Power!
So tonight, I leave you with that. No answers. Only questions. And curiosity about…Pussy Power. Hey, it’s good for the climate…the emotional climate.
Atoosa from Seventeen is Dead