Rest is for the dead and other misconceptions about worthiness
a prelude to the tech sabbath
One of the most insidious stories that permeates our modern culture is the notion that there’s no value in rest. Despite the emergence of a sleep revolution the last few years, putting to bed the narrative that we’ll “sleep when we’re dead,” there lingers an obsession with fast culture that demands speed and output during our waking hours.
The phrase was coined at the turn of the century by Warren Zevon, an American singer and songwriter. An apt expression to enter our zeitgeist at a time when technological advancements were beginning to reshape how we lived and worked in a big way. The introduction of broadband internet and laptops ushered in a new era: one where we suddenly gained unlimited connectivity to the world. We were free to plug in anytime, anywhere.
And plug in we did. In the early 2000s, the average American spent ~90 minutes online per day. Contrast that with today where on average, we’re spending up to 3½ hours online daily (24 hours per week), not including the time we dedicate to work.
At the dawn of our relationship with technology, we gave little thought to the ramifications that infinite connectivity might have on our well-being. As technology became more and more integrated into our lives, tech companies increasingly sought new ways to exploit our natural disposition for dopamine, further accelerating our inclination for instant gratification and short-term gains.
Particularly in the US, we live in a culture that demands productivity and worships accumulation, glorifying the hustlers and the grinders. We wear “I’m good, been really busy” like a badge of honor. Being busy signals an air of importance, perpetuating the belief that our human value is derived from being recognized for our output.
And yet, how many of the most profound experiences of our lives happen when we are out capturing economic value? Instead, isn’t it when time seems to stand still that the most meaningful moments emerge? When we connect with the most unburdened version of ourselves, find flow in actualizing work most authentic to us, deepen our relationships with loved ones, and feel a sense of belonging to something greater than ourselves.
untangling our worth from “productivity”
Because the most moving experiences of our lives rarely yield economic value, it’s easy to deprioritize cultivating them, squeezing them in when we have the energy on weekends, or saving them for traditional milestones like weddings.
As a result, we can find ourselves living a life centered around dramatic highs and existential lows rather than nurturing a more integrated and sustainable existence. When we derive our primary source of meaning and dedicate the best of ourselves to powering our economy, we neglect to see ourselves wholly and honor our innate desire to truly come alive.
In this paradigm, prioritizing experiences that allow us to fully step into aliveness come at the expense of being productive and “worthy.” It’s at a tension with the notion that we must continually strive to achieve things of “value” — economic value, to be precise — in order to earn our place in society. It suggests that worthiness and love are conditional based on the value we provide. To be valuable and worthy of our existence is to be in motion.
When we’re solely motivated by our deficits and derive our sense of self from external outputs, we’re giving factors out of our control the permission to dictate our inner world. No amount of external validation will fulfill our inner void.
What if it is precisely the orientation towards aliveness that is the entry point to connecting with our core purpose? What if it’s in fueling and allowing ourselves to arrive to our work with a secure attachment to our contribution to society, internalizing that our self-worth does not hinge on our output levels?
This isn’t to say that the desire to build a better future isn’t an ambition worth chasing — the question is what is that pursuit fueled by and at what expense?
taking progress into our own hands
We talk about progress in the form of technological, economic, and scientific progress. We measure it in the form of gross domestic product (GDP), employment rates, and life expectancies.
Societal progress has afforded us more autonomy and material wealth than ever before, all the while fueling social atomization as we splinter from our innate nature and away from one another in the relentless pursuit of economic and material gain.
Our economic system must shift to focus on bettering the lot of the average person. Capitalism has to be made to serve human ends and goals, rather than have our humanity subverted to serve the Marketplace. We shape the system. We own it, not the other way around.
— Andrew Yang
While we certainly need the emergence of a new humanity-centered economic system, we don’t need to wait for change to happen at the macro level before giving ourselves the permission to experiment with progressing our humanity through new ways of being.
slowing down to speed up
It begins by summoning the courage to intentionally align our lives with opportunities that immerse us in moments of abundance and aliveness. It’s taking a good hard look at the stories we tell ourselves: that we’re not good enough, that there’s never enough time, that we must do more — and accepting that it’s precisely these narratives that keep us at war with time and not enoughness.
Often, the last thing we want to do is pause and recalibrate. To surrender feels like a deliberate act of allowing ourselves to fall even more “behind.” It is when we’re feeling deficient, grappling with the gnawing urge to do more and prove ourselves, that it’s time to slow down and cultivate stillness rather than shift into overdrive.
I’ve grappled with this exact resistance in the days before my meditation retreats, second-guessing whether it was a good time to unplug when there’s just so much to do. Distance has the power to deliver us clarity and a fresh perspective, reminding us of what’s truly important. Each time, I’ve returned well-resourced and renewed, ready to tackle it all from a place of strength and security.
On the other side of surrendering to my fear of slowing down is an overflow of presence, knowing, and acceptance. A deep embodied feeling that everything will be alright, that life is unfolding the exact way it is meant to. It’s a profound assurance that I don’t need to intervene with my five year plans, overanalysis, and overwork.
Taking steps to deprogram and unplug myself from the status quo evokes the same flavors of fear that I confront monthly when I run into the ocean, when I committed to going news sober, and now, as I kick off a tech sabbath series.
In an upcoming essay, I’ll share a new ritual I’m designing for my community: the tech sabbath. An experiment where we put our tech down from sundown Friday to sundown Saturday and build a culture of deep presence for 24 hours every week.
I plan to share the playbook with you all as I iterate on the experience. I’d love to invite you to host your own tech sabbaths.
If this experience calls to you, I’d love to hear from you in the comments:
What beliefs keep you in motion?
What have you found most challenging in turning down the noise and unplugging?
Do you have your own version of a tech sabbath?
Or say hi on Twitter :)
If you enjoyed this essay, you may also like:
Thanks to Ryan for reviewing drafts of this essay.
I like meditation retreats as a "recharge" but all too often I just return to my usual bullshit the second I return. This weekly tech sabbath feels like a more integrated approach to limiting technology. My ritual is a daily unplugged walk, typically first thing in the morning through the park. It's usually my favorite part of each day. A full day sabbath seems challenging but possible to sustain, which is the sweet spot.
Nice Warren Zevon connection. On a related note, his final interview was with David Letterman while Warren, who had been diagnosed with terminal lung cancer that had spread through his body, reflected on his life as he approached death. Letterman asked him if there was anything Warren knew about death now that he was staring straight at it. Warren said "enjoy every sandwich". A few decades later I lay in a hospital bed for several days reflecting on my own mortality. I didn't have any major revalations, I just kept thinking about how I really wanted to be in the morning sunlight drinking a nice foamy cappucino and then I remembered that Warren Zevon quote about enjoying every sandwich. Maybe that's a revalation in itself.
Modern yuppie society has gamified so many aspects of life, tensely analyzing our sleep scores, Twitter engagement, and even mental wellbeing, but at the end of the day what really matters are moments in time. I like the idea of a tech sabbath. That said, I'd also challenge the intent behind it and make sure it isn't just another method of striving.
In a society that values productivity above all else, slow living is rebellion, and to rebel means opening yourself up to a barrage of criticism from the predominant culture, who will see you as lazy and "unproductive". John Steinbeck wrote about it in 1945: "[Local bums] Mack and the boys avoid the trap, walk around the poison, step over the noose while a generation of trapped, poisoned, and trussed-up men scream at them and call them no-goods". David Goggins would likely scoff at relaxing with a coffee for a long slow morning or taking the time to really enjoy a sandwich. David Goggins is also probably miserable, productive as he might be.
Hunter S Thompson put it even more succinctly in 1960: "Say 'No' to San Francisco and be rich".
Looking forward to hearing more as you continue your tech sabbatical.
a thought i had while reading - chinese culture has been wrestling with some version of hustle culture for 1500 years, when imperial examinations started
its obvious, in retrospect, that their wisdom traditions would have meaningful antidotes to the modern condition
(and obviously as my lifestyle indicates, i resonate deeply haha)