“What we cut down in haste, our children inherit as loss.”
I’ve been feeling like the Lorax.
Not the playful rhyme of Seuss,
but the weary witness—
the one who speaks for what cannot speak,
the one who aches while the forest thins.
And today, the forest is not only trees.
It is our attention.
Our care.
Our honesty.
Our time.
The Theater of Hustle
What makes the ache sharper now is not just the cutting,
but the commentary around the cutting.
Everywhere I look, hustlers are calling out other hustlers.
One decries the scam while selling a “better” script.
Another condemns the fraud while pitching his own grind.
It is a strange theater—
a self-policing hustle,
where even the critique is another product.
And yet, these hustlers become role models.
Their noise becomes the soundtrack of our culture.
Their grind becomes the lesson children overhear at dinner tables.
Their survival strategies masquerade as wisdom for society.
Psychology has a word for this: modeling.
Albert Bandura’s work on social learning (1977) showed that children absorb not only behaviors,
but values, from the adults around them.
When hustle is the model, we teach that worth lives in output,
that identity is inseparable from productivity.
The Costs of Hustle
This is what hustle culture does: it mutates.
It rebrands survival as innovation,
noise as wisdom,
urgency as value.
And the costs are real.
Research shows that overwork and productivity obsession fuel burnout, anxiety, and chronic stress—
depleting not just our bodies, but our capacity to care (Hobfoll, 2018).
In this way, hustle doesn’t only thin our forests of time—
it hollows the roots of our health.
The Opposite of Hustle
But here is the truth I keep circling back to:
The opposite of hustle is not a “cleaner hustle.”
It is not smarter branding or sharper pitch.
The opposite of hustle is presence.
The opposite of hustle is care.
Presence cannot be faked.
It cannot be cold-called.
It cannot be sold.
And research affirms this.
Mindfulness—simply being here, aware, attentive—
has been shown to improve emotional regulation, strengthen relationships,
and foster resilience in both children and adults (Brown, 2007).
Presence even reframes our experience of time:
from scarcity to sufficiency, from fragments to flow (Csikszentmihalyi, 1990).
A Different Inheritance
If hustle remains our role model,
we will keep passing down exhaustion as ambition—
confusing noise with wisdom,
and mistaking speed for worth.
Unless we choose presence instead,
we hand down a different inheritance—
roots of resilience,
branches of belonging,
and the quiet strength of care.
A forest strong enough to last.
Staying the Lorax at Home
The Lorax stood alone,
but I do not.
I raise two kids.
I hold responsibilities that stretch across family and community.
I can’t just stand and warn of falling trees—
I also have to keep the lights on,
pack lunches,
and make sure those I love are cared for.
So how do I stay the Lorax while also being Dad, son, and caretaker?
Maybe it means shifting the role.
Not only voice of protest,
but presence of care.
Not only weary witness,
but quiet gardener.
Not only speaking for what cannot speak,
but listening to what rarely gets heard—
my children’s fears, my dependents’ unspoken needs,
even my own spirit.
Staying the Lorax here means planting roots where I stand.
Modeling presence in a world of hustle.
Raising not just children,
but tree-planters—
souls who might grow up knowing
that care is enough,
that presence is power,
and that even in a thinning forest,
the roots still matter.
What we choose to root in presence, our children inherit as life.
Continue reflecting:
👉 Read “Grace Where It Hurts Most”