The Productivity Trap (And Why We Secretly Want to Fake the Flu)

The other day, as I mindlessly scrolled through Facebook (which I swear was just for five minutes, but then somehow an hour disappeared—Facebook time is not real time), I saw an ad that stopped me cold.

It asked:

"Have you ever wished for a minor accident or illness—not serious, just enough to stay in bed for a few days and rest?"

My immediate, gut reaction? Absolutely, yes.

And apparently, I wasn’t alone. The comments were a chorus of, “Oh my gosh, YES!” and “All the time.” and “Where do I sign up for a light, non-life-threatening illness that involves tea, naps, and binge-watching detective shows?”

Wait. Hold on. When did we, as a society, reach the point where the dream of self-care involves a medically justified break from life? When did we go from "Omg, I hope I never get sick" to "Look, I don’t want anything permanent, but if the universe wanted to drop a mild, fever-free flu on me, I wouldn’t fight it”?

Welcome to the Productivity Cult

Somewhere along the way, we traded in our humanity for hustle. We stopped measuring our worth by how we feel and started measuring it by how much we can get done in a single day. And let’s be honest—if you finish everything on your to-do list, your reward isn’t rest. No, no. Your reward is a bigger to-do list because now you’re “so capable” that you can “handle more.” Congratulations, you played yourself.

Productivity has become the new moral compass. You’re not tired because you’ve been juggling 500 things—no, no, you just need better time management. You don’t need rest, you need a morning routine optimized for peak efficiency. You don’t need a break, you need a standing desk, blue light glasses, and three different types of planners.

And God forbid you sit down to do absolutely nothing. What are you doing? Why are you sitting? Are you okay? Do you need a hobby? Have you considered monetizing that hobby?

How Did We Get Here?

I suspect it started with the Industrial Revolution, but I don’t have time to go that far back because I have deadlines. So let’s fast forward.

The internet promised us convenience. It was supposed to make life easier, free up time. But instead, it turned into a 24/7 hamster wheel of infinite possibility where if you’re not learning a new skill, working on a side hustle, or optimizing your grocery shopping routine, you are simply not living to your full potential.

And here’s the thing—we don’t even like it! That’s why we daydream about a “light sprain” that gets us three guilt-free days of lounging.

So What’s the Solution?

It’s time we, as a society, stage an intervention. For ourselves. With snacks.

We need to normalize rest without guilt. We need to reclaim our right to be unproductive sometimes. Not because we’re sick. Not because we’ve “earned” it. But because it’s okay to just exist.

Imagine a world where you could say, “I’m taking a day off” without following it up with an elaborate explanation that involves a fake dentist appointment, a dog emergency, and a suspiciously vague “personal issue.”

Imagine waking up, looking at your to-do list, and saying, “Nope. Not today.” Without feeling like you’re personally responsible for the collapse of society.

Maybe we start small. A nap here. An afternoon spent staring at clouds without wondering if that cloud could be turned into a productivity metaphor. A full day off where we don’t apologize for it.

Because if we don’t? Well. Then I’ll see you all in the comments section of the next “minor illness vacation” ad.

The Encyclopedia Was Our Google — And Dad Was Our Search Engine

You know you’re not a digital native when the word “research” makes you smell paper and hear the satisfying thud of a heavy book landing on a table. Welcome to my childhood, where curiosity was rewarded not with Wi-Fi, but with a stack of alphabetically-organized mystery bricks called encyclopedias . Let me take you back. The year? Somewhere in the analog era. The place? Our living room, where we had the entire Bertelsmann encyclopedia collection proudly displayed like it was the crown jewel of human knowledge. We didn’t just own knowledge—we subscribed to it. One glorious volume arrived each month, like an academic advent calendar for nerdy children. Volume “A” to “Z,” with deep sighs of longing in between. I swear, I still remember the day Volume “P” arrived. I rushed to the mailbox like I was expecting a letter from a secret admirer. Nope. Just got the lowdown on Photosynthesis and Peru. But did that stop me from doing a dramatic reading of it over dinner? No, it did not. M...

The Glamorous Life of a Writer (Or, Mostly Just Staring at a Screen)

There’s a persistent rumor floating around that writers live thrilling, adventure-filled lives. Perhaps it’s all the dramatic author portraits on book jackets—moody, windswept, staring off into the distance as if contemplating the fate of the world. Perhaps it’s the movies, where writers are always dashing off to Paris to write the next great novel in a charming café (suspiciously never interrupted by spotty Wi-Fi or overpriced croissants). I hate to break it to you, but real writing? Not quite so cinematic. In reality, my writing days mostly involve staring intensely at my screen, willing the words to appear through sheer force of will. Occasionally, I engage in deep philosophical debates with myself—such as whether my protagonist should turn left or right down a hallway (the fate of the fictional world depends on it). And let’s not forget the highly intellectual process of naming characters, which can take hours because somehow every single name I think of is either the name of ...

The Absolute Madness of Naming Characters

Let’s talk about one of the most ridiculous struggles of writing a book. No, I’m not talking about the part where you stare at the blinking cursor like it personally insulted your ancestors. I’m talking about naming characters. It should be easy, right? Just slap a name on them and move on? Oh, my sweet summer child. If only. See, naming a character is like naming your kid—except worse, because nobody is going to complain if your kid and their cousin both end up being named Liam. But if your main villain is named Liam and you accidentally give the quirky coffee shop owner in book three the same name? Cue the existential crisis. Let’s walk through the madness. The Overthinking Spiral of Doom You start writing, and there’s that moment: your brand-new character walks onto the page, full of potential. All they need is a name. A simple name. Something strong, something fitting, something— Oh no. Nothing sounds right. This one is too complicated. That one is too simple. ...

Thinkingdog Publishing

Search This Blog