On honesty and hustle culture
Flattening yourself into something that’s merely marketable doesn’t work, for me and so many others
My friend and former colleague Davinia recently wrote a beautiful post about not conforming to hustle culture. It really hit home with me (and many others too) to such an extent that a little voice inside me felt so heard that it let out a small inward scream of joy, and then let out a sigh of relief. Davinia wrote how she doesn’t “believe in glorifying burnout, or monetising every moment of rest, or turning your personality into a productivity funnel”. She went on to say how she doesn’t believe that what you do for money defines you. “I don't believe your value is tied to how much money you earn,” she asserted.
Yes, of course, she noted, she still needs to earn a living. Don’t we all? And like her, whether we are freelancers, start-ups, small businesses or even large conglomerates, we all need to keep our voice out there: be it via social media, blogs or articles.
But finally, Davinia had put into words what I have been struggling with for so long. Do I really need to come up with an artificial marketable identity? Do I need to fake a loud, sellable voice for people to buy into?
The answer is a resounding ‘No’. For, you see, it’s a “contradiction” to quote my succinct friend, this pull between sincerity and strategy, between care and capitalism. So, it’s not just me, it’s the system. And the only thing she knows how to do inside it is “to keep working slowly, honestly, imperfectly — and refuse to flatten [her]self into something that's merely ‘marketable’ “.
Dav, you’ve helped me find a voice that I’ve been looking for, for years. And here’s a bit more of that voice. I hope it will continue to grow as I give it the honest outlet it’s been searching for for too long. So here goes, here’s a little bit about the creative voice behind Ittra, a small company grown out of a love of writing; a love of people and their wonderful idiosyncrasies; a love of silliness and laughter; and a love of sharing this love with others:
I got fired once: In my early 20s I had been working at a recruitment agency in the food and drinks industry for just a month when I got called aside one day by my boss who politely told me something to the tune of: “You are clearly a creative person and this is not a creative job. Go out and find something that suits your creative personality.” I think this was one of the most insightful pieces of information I’ve ever been told about myself. Someone who had only known me for barely a month saw a truth I was perhaps not entirely sure of myself. 20 years later this rings home louder than ever and I know that for me joy is being creative.
I absolutely love people (and writing about them): One of my favourite parts about being a writer is meeting people and telling their stories. I’ve been working as a freelance writer for over 20 years now and I still remember very clearly so many of the people I have interviewed. To name a very few, these include the writer of the “mad” 85-volume, 8,500-page dictionary and how he told me he would walk everywhere, even if it took him two hours; the energetic and thoughtful cyclist who’d pick up rookie cyclists as they braved cycling on the road for the first time in Malta and the sets of couples I spoke to about their better half’s driving, including the golden nugget about the driver who often circles roundabouts to give him time to think about which direction to take. Of course it also helps that most people love to tell their stories, and most times, all I need to do, is listen.
My children have taught me to look even closer: I’m impatient. I’ve always been and I think I always will be (I still delight in my childhood game I play with myself in trying to complete tasks in as few steps as possible). But having two small children has forced me, often literally by their little hands or very loud voices, to stop, walk slower and look at things. It’s spring, now, my favourite season and for the first time ever I noticed (cue: was made to notice) just how quickly buds sprout from bare twigs, first from tiny green bullets, to small green shoots, and then, finally glorious leaves and flowers. It happens over the space of just a few weeks. I had never been aware of this timeframe and I look at leaves now with newfound marvel, remembering how they grew from bare, snow-tipped twigs, just barely a few weeks ago.
That’s it. That’s me for now. I’m off to make some tea.
Veronica Stivala, Ittra Founder
