The Fallacy of Efficiency

What if we’re not evolving—we’re just accelerating into a wall, more efficiently?

Better tools.
More time.
Less work.

That was the story. The fantasy. A few automations here, a smarter inbox there, and suddenly I’d be free. Creative. Available for the things that actually matter.

But here I am. Drowning in productivity hacks. Working more than ever. Feeling less connected to the things I do—even as I do them faster.

There’s this paradox no one talks about outside essays and footnotes:
The better we get at doing things, the more we’re expected to do.
And somehow, the point of all this efficiency has shifted.
From "Do better so you can live better"
To "Do more so you can keep up."

Rest used to be a reset.

Now it feels like falling behind. Every pause comes with a whisper: you could be using this time better. Someone else is. You’re wasting your edge.

Leisure is taxed now. Not financially—but spiritually. Like time off needs to be justified with output.

And the irony?

The better our tools become, the worse we feel about our own work. Because no matter what I make, it’s never enough. Not in a world where the machine can always do it faster, cleaner, more impressive.

What used to be art is now content.
What used to be presence is now performance.

And I keep wondering—when did progress start feeling like self-erasure? I don’t want to be 10x more efficient if I’m also 10x more hollow.

Maybe the problem isn’t that we haven’t reached the end of the productivity race. Maybe the problem is that we’re still running.

What if freedom doesn’t come from doing more in less time—but from finally deciding that not everything needs to be done?

Maybe real wealth isn’t time saved. It’s time lived—without shame, without speed, without the spreadsheet whispering in your ear.

Maybe the point isn’t optimization.

Maybe the point is being human—and letting that be enough.