Somewhere Along The Way I Became A Project
When Life Still Felt Natural
There was a time when life felt much simpler. Not easier. Just simpler.
Back then people still worked hard, worried, fought with life and carried responsibilities on their backs, but somehow there was still room left for ordinary existence. People sat outside in silence without immediately needing to optimize the experience. Nobody measured how many calories they burned while carrying wood or whether staring at clouds increased productivity.
Today even relaxation feels like unpaid work.
Sometimes I sit with coffee and realize that my mind no longer knows how to simply sit. After three minutes some invisible manager inside my head clears his throat and asks:
“Good. And what exactly are we accomplishing here?”
Nothing. That is the whole point.
But modern life has trained many of us to feel almost physically uncomfortable when we are not progressing, improving, solving, building, fixing, planning, or proving something.
Somewhere along the way we stopped being people and slowly became projects.
The Reward System Of Modern Life
I know exactly how that happened to me. When I was younger, I genuinely enjoyed working. I had ideas, energy, ambition and enough stubbornness to believe I could somehow fit everything into one lifetime. Build a house. Improve my career. Learn new things. Help people. Solve problems. Keep moving forward.
And honestly, for many years it worked surprisingly well.
That is the dangerous thing about functioning people. The system rewards them. You work hard and people praise you. You help others and people respect you. You sacrifice yourself and society calls you responsible.
Nobody says: “Careful. You are slowly turning yourself into industrial equipment.” Quite the opposite.
People admire it, and so you continue. A little more work. A little less sleep. A little less rest. A little more pressure. A little more responsibility.
At first it even feels meaningful. Then one day you notice something strange. You no longer know how to stop.
Even Rest Became Productivity
I remember periods when even resting became productivity.
I would lie on the couch after lunch for fifteen minutes and immediately begin mentally organizing future problems like an exhausted middle manager trapped inside a malfunctioning calculator.
The body rested. The brain opened a conference meeting.
Sometimes I think modern people no longer relax at all. We simply switch from physical work to psychological work. The body sits still while the nervous system continues sprinting through disaster scenarios, unfinished obligations and imaginary future catastrophes.
And because the modern world worships efficiency, this slowly begins feeling normal. People proudly announce: “I’m always busy.” As if permanent exhaustion were a personality trait.
Nobody proudly says: “I slept well, watched birds and achieved absolutely nothing today.”
Yet strangely enough, that second person is probably mentally healthier.
Living Inside Global Comparison
The truly absurd part is that we compare ourselves constantly without even noticing it anymore.
Years ago you compared yourself with neighbors, cousins or people from your village. Today the human brain wakes up and immediately competes against the entire planet before breakfast.
You open your phone and there they are younger people becoming millionaires, motivational athletes climbing mountains at sunrise, entrepreneurs buying apartments in Dubai, spiritual influencers healing trauma beside waterfalls, and productivity experts waking up at 4:17 AM to optimize breathing patterns.
Meanwhile you are standing in the kitchen wearing old sweatpants trying to remember whether you already made coffee or only thought about making coffee.
The nervous system was never designed for this amount of comparison. Biologically we are still village creatures. Technologically we became global spectators.
And because of that many people slowly start feeling: “I am behind.”
Behind what exactly? Nobody knows.
Life quietly transforms into one enormous invisible competition where the finish line keeps moving farther away.
When Worth Depends On Productivity
I think this is where many people become trapped. At first they only want stability, safety, respect, and a decent life.
But then the brain slowly connects personal value with achievement. And once that happens, resting becomes dangerous. Because if your worth depends on productivity, then stopping feels almost like disappearing.
That is why so many people feel empty when they are inactive. Not because humans are naturally machines. But because they slowly trained themselves to believe: “I only matter when I produce.”
I know that feeling very well.
There were periods in my life when I felt almost guilty for enjoying myself. Sitting outside watching nature suddenly felt irresponsible. Going for a bicycle ride felt suspiciously unproductive. Even reading peacefully created background anxiety because somewhere inside my head an invisible supervisor whispered: “Shouldn’t you be doing something useful?”
Useful. That word nearly destroyed me.
The Body Eventually Rebels
Be hardworking. Reliable. Efficient. Helpful. Available. Responsible. And yes, people appreciate such individuals. Right until the moment those individuals collapse.
Then suddenly nobody says: “What a magnificent productive machine he was.”
They usually say: “You should have taken care of yourself.” Which is slightly frustrating advice to receive after the damage is already done.
The strange thing is that the body eventually rebels against this way of living. Not dramatically at first. Quietly.
Bad sleep. Chest tension. Overthinking. Anxiety. Exhaustion. Emotional numbness. The body begins sending small warning letters.
Most ambitious people ignore them. I certainly did.
I believed discipline could solve everything. If I felt bad, I simply pushed harder. If I became exhausted, I worked more efficiently. If anxiety appeared, I analyzed it until two in the morning instead of admitting I was slowly burning myself alive.
Very intelligent strategy.
Human beings are remarkable creatures. We can use the same brain capable of writing symphonies to also repeatedly destroy our own nervous systems while calling it responsibility.
The Prison Guard Moved Inside
The hardest realization came later.
Nothing external was forcing me anymore.
Yes, society rewards productivity. Modern culture is obsessed with success. Technology constantly pressures people psychologically.
But eventually I realized that much of the pressure was already living inside me. Even alone in silence I continued driving myself forward. The prison guard had moved into my own head. That was unpleasant to discover because it meant there was no simple enemy left to blame.
Not capitalism. Not social media. Not society. Not work.
Me.
Or more precisely: a frightened version of me convinced that slowing down would somehow make me less valuable.
Learning How To Be A Human Again
Recovery from that mindset turned out to be embarrassingly simple and painfully difficult at the same time.
I started doing small things that felt unnecessary.
Walking without purpose. Sitting outside without headphones. Looking at trees. Watching birds. Riding a bicycle slowly instead of efficiently. Drinking coffee without multitasking.
At first this felt deeply uncomfortable. The brain immediately protested: “This is wasting time. You are falling behind. You should be improving something.”
But gradually another feeling appeared. Relief. Not excitement, not achievement, not pride. Just relief.
As if the nervous system had been waiting years for permission to stop performing.
Maybe This Is What Life Was Supposed To Feel Like
I still fall back into old patterns sometimes.
I still catch myself turning hobbies into projects and rest into performance. Modern thinking is difficult to escape because the entire world reinforces it constantly.
Even meditation becomes competitive eventually. Somebody somewhere is already optimizing inner peace with spreadsheets. But I notice something important now.
When I spend too many days only producing, thinking, optimizing and chasing usefulness, life slowly loses color. Everything becomes mechanical, and then anxiety quietly returns. Not because I am weak but because humans were probably never meant to live permanently as productivity systems.
We were also meant to wander, observe, rest, laugh, talk nonsense, sit in silence, and occasionally waste time magnificently.
Perhaps that is not wasting time at all. Perhaps that is the part that keeps us human.
And honestly, after all these years, becoming human again seems like a far better goal than becoming exceptional.
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