Opting-out: Hard Work Does Not Pay Off

Breaking the Chains of the American Dream

So often, we measure our worth by how much we’ve sacrificed for a system that demands more and more from us while giving back less and less. We justify our exhaustion with thoughts like, “I’ve worked 12 hours today—I deserve that DoorDash order.” We tell ourselves we’re worthy when we’re juggling two jobs, taking classes, and burning the candle at both ends. But when we’re finally exhausted and sick, we feel like we’ve earned that $25 dress from Cider because, after all, “you’re just a girl and you deserve to feel pretty!”

Yet, despite all that work, you don’t feel worthy of taking a sick day. You question whether you deserve your ten-minute break, a vacation, or a holiday off to see your family. And here’s the kicker: you know rich people never ask themselves those questions.

Rich people take vacations for fun—not just for holidays. They decide they want time off, and they take it. Meanwhile, working-class people never feel worthy of rest or leisure because we’ve been conditioned to believe that rest and relaxation are luxuries reserved for the wealthy. We hold this belief because, as children, we were set adrift on the yellow brick road of the American Dream. We were told it’s simple: in this country, where anything can happen, all you have to do is keep your nose to the grindstone, and you too can have your basic human needs met.

This narrative is reinforced through history and popular culture. We hear about the actor who lived in his car until he made it big, and now his mom owns a yacht. Or the podcast bro who claims he built a Fortune 500 company out of a cardboard box when he was homeless. These modern-day fairytales make us believe that winning, that climbing the ladder of success, is possible for everyone.

But baby, the ladder is already on the roof, and they’ve pulled it up to keep you from climbing. Even worse, capitalism uses housing instability and food insecurity to make you believe that the ladder is the only way to avoid the flood.

You could work your whole life and never make it up there. No matter how hard you work and save, in this system, rent will continue to rise, your car will break down, groceries will get more expensive, and you’ll exhaust yourself into a medical crisis that leaves you indebted to Big Pharma. You will spend your life in misery if you continue to chase that illusion.

Your life isn’t happening in some fictional universe where you’re rich and famous and rescuing your family from hardship. Your life is happening right now, and it is beautiful. And I guarantee that if your rights were upheld, you wouldn’t buy into the story that you need to sacrifice everything for a chance at happiness.

Now, that’s heavy, and I’m sure you’re feeling incredibly powerless. But don’t. The exercise I’m about to introduce will help you realize that the American Dream—the fictional universe that’s been pacifying you—is far more attainable than you think.

Grab a pen and paper. Indulge in your fictional universe where everything works out, and you’re stupidly, crazily rich. Don’t be afraid to be materialistic. If you want the BMW, then get the BMW—in your mind.

Once you’ve created this fantasy, we’re going to blow it up. The point is to narrow down exactly what need and feeling this materialistic dream is fulfilling.

In my fictional universe, I own land. Everyone I love has a house—my mom, my sister, my best friend. I have a farm where I pick vegetables from the garden and pet animals every morning. I’m a famous writer, and I get paid to do what I love. Every evening, my home and dinner table are filled with artists, and we drink, eat, and laugh all night.

Then, I blow it up. I write: I own land and buy my loved ones houses. What does this bring me? A sense of safety, knowing that they are close and taken care of. I feel secure having them near in case I need someone to turn to. I want to buy them houses to ensure they are also safe and close enough to help me.

But what do I really want? I want a sense of community. I want reliable people near me to help carry the burden of life. More than that, I want to know that the people I love have housing.

In that moment, I transform this savior complex fantasy into something actionable that I can seek in my immediate reality. Instead of chasing wealth to buy a big house, I can advocate for fair and stable housing. Instead of seeking wealth to build a community, I can prioritize friends over work—or better yet, join a mutual aid co-op.

Your dreams are accessible to you now. Your life is beautiful. You are beautiful. You deserve to be present in this human experience.