I Love Hustle Culture. It Just Doesn’t Love Me Back.

I’m up at 2:33am cleaning up someone else’s barf (which, if you think about it, technically makes me more productive than the 5am crew) and making sure it doesn’t fall onto another kid's face.

I’m a sucker for productivity advice.

Show me a YouTube guy in a fitted tee talking about cold plunges and 5am sprints, and I’m in. I’ll even take notes.

But there’s a problem.

Those guys? They don’t live the same life I do.

They’re single. No kids. Living in a high-rise with no furniture. Their biggest morning obstacle is whether to drink mushroom coffee or butter coffee.

Meanwhile, I’m up at 2:33am cleaning up someone else’s barf (which, if you think about it, technically makes me more productive than the 5am crew) and making sure it doesn’t fall onto another kid's face in the bottom bunk.

I’m in the ultra-elite, toddler-induced pre-dawn grind set.

Honestly, I should probably sell a course about it or start a podcast called 'Barf & Brilliance’ or ‘Diaper Deadlifts’.

Whatever, you get the point.

By 7:30am, I’m not journaling, I’m negotiating a ceasefire over frozen waffles or making sure the insurgents don’t burn the house to the ground with toast cooked at the toaster’s 9 setting. Then I get to fight over why you can’t wear your doggy shirt for the 4th day in a row.

Bonus points if I manage to make my own breakfast without stepping on a Lego or accidentally backing into a kid. Oh, and also you or your significant other woke up sick, again, for the 3rd time this month. Thanks Kindergarten.

By 9am, the Hustle Bro has crushed his deep work session, posted twice on LinkedIn, answered emails, and is halfway through a kettlebell workout. I’ve survived breakfast combat, refereed an argument about keeping oatmeal in your bowls, and maybe put on pants.

They say to “grind in the evenings” too. Which is hilarious.

Evenings in my house are less “grind” and more “boss level.” You ever try to get three overtired kids to brush their teeth at the same time?

I’d rather launch a startup.

At least in a startup, no one cries because their toothpaste is the wrong color or doesn’t have a picture of a Pokémon on it.

Working out? I want to work out. I really do.

Some mornings I sneak in a workout with my three tiny training partners climbing on me like I’m a jungle gym. I do squats, they do pull-ups on my thighs. I do pushups, they climb dad hurdles.

This is the part hustle culture doesn’t account for.

The variable of real life.

The part where optimizing your calendar doesn’t help when someone throws up on it.

Where the 5am club is involuntary, and includes a toddler demanding “tucky in.”

Look, I admire the hustle. I genuinely do. I love the idea of pushing yourself.

This isn’t some passive-aggressive excuse for not trying hard, it’s just a different kind of hard. It’s not a lack of ambition, it’s a redistribution of energy. And sometimes that energy goes to wiping a nose or managing a meltdown instead of launching a SaaS product.

But let’s be honest: the hustle bro's life is an edge case. Optimized to the point of unreality. It’s like trying to benchmark your daily routine against a robot that doesn’t eat, sleep, or ever forget where they put their keys.

It’s what happens when you remove friction: no kids, no community obligations, no commute, no birthday parties at trampoline parks.

And that's fine. But it’s not replicable for the majority of us. Not if you’re trying to raise actual humans. Or show up for your neighborhood. Or just be the kind of person who remembers to take the trash out before the truck comes.

I’ve seen the posts. “Work 12 hours a day for 10 years so you never have to work again.”

Cool.

But also: who’s making dinner?

Who’s coaching little league?

Who’s helping their neighbor move a couch?

Because here’s the part you don’t hear on those podcasts:

Sometimes the highest-leverage thing you can do is sit on the floor and play Legos with a four-year-old.

Not because it scales.

But because it doesn’t.

Harvard Business Review never ran that case study.

And I get it, those things don’t make great LinkedIn content.

“Skipped deep work today to clean crayon off the walls. Again.”

But that’s the work, too. It’s just quieter. Stickier. Occasionally smells like feet.

So yeah, I’m envious of the hustle bros sometimes.

Their lives look clean.

Efficient.

Bathed in morning light.

But I also wonder:

What’s all that optimization for?

What’s the endgame?

Are you building something people can be part of—or just something people can look at?

Maybe the real flex isn’t getting up at 5am.

Maybe it’s showing up, again and again, for the stuff that doesn’t scale.

And let’s be clear, that doesn’t mean it’s easier.

It means it’s messier. Less efficient. More emotionally exhausting.

It’s not opting out of hard work, it’s choosing the version with more crying, more cleaning, and way fewer Instagrammable moments.

And if you’re doing that, if you’re juggling a job, a family, a community, and still finding moments to chase your ambition, congrats.

You’re not behind.

You’re playing a different game entirely.

One where the prize isn’t productivity.

It’s people and a life that’s lived in, not looked at.

And yeah, it’s exhausting.

It’s demanding in ways that don’t show up on charts or dashboards.

But that doesn’t make it any less of a grind, just a different one.