In the sun-drenched village of Lesser Dungabad—just beyond the cactus orchard and two goat-lengths south of Fugazia—a young Nomadistani named Barouk discovered a bootleg USB stick labeled “CRUSH LIFE: 10X Your Output, 10X Your SELF.” It was duct-taped to the bottom of a teapot traded in from the Empire of Exception.
Barouk, a mostly average boy known for his moderate enthusiasm and above-average loafing, plugged it into the village’s community laptop (which was powered by optimism and a solar panel stolen from the Ministry of Shadows).
On the screen appeared a man with bleached teeth and haunted eyes, shouting from inside a minimalist bunker:
“GRIND. HUSTLE. DOMINATE. PRODUCTIVITY IS LOVE!”.
Some villagers, watching from the side, blinked slowly and returned to their card game. Barouk, however, trembled. “He’s right,” he whispered, “I am nothing without results!”.
Overnight, Barouk transformed. He built a to-do list shrine outside his family’s yurt. He wore a headset made from coconuts to simulate business calls. He set alarms every seven minutes to remind himself to optimize something. He began selling imaginary NFTs of his potential. He even scheduled his yawns.
He was, as the elders put it, “spiritually constipated.”
Soon, Barouk’s friends stopped inviting him to shadow-chess tournaments. He skipped siesta. He replaced tea time with “synergy calibration.” When asked how he was, he replied, “Busy. So busy. Crushing it.”
But the crushing was mutual. His soul, once delightfully squishy and weird, was now stiff and quarterly-report-shaped. His smile shrank into a tight-lipped brand logo. One day, he collapsed at the village market, trying to pitch a course on how to breathe more efficiently. His fall was broken by a grandmother’s melon, which made a satisfying sploot.
While recovering in the shade, bandaged with mint leaves and ego balm, Barouk stared at the clouds drifting in complete, unapologetic stillness. A small girl offered him a grape. “You don’t have to do anything,” she said, picking her nose thoughtfully. “You already are.”
It hit him like a rebrand to failure: He had outsourced his self-worth to imaginary numbers and caffeine.
Barouk deleted his bootleg guru. He lit his calendar on fire (ceremonially, then regrettably on a windy day). And he returned to being usefully useless—telling stories, laughing too long, and building a business that sold absolutely nothing of monetary value.
From then on, the villagers called him Barouk the Reformed, Patron Saint of Sitting Around. And though he still scheduled the occasional nap, it was only to make sure he didn’t forget not to do anything at all.
And so, Dear Readers: Productivity is a spice, not a meal. And if you find yourself sprinting just to feel worthy of rest… maybe you're running from the wrong thing.