The unbearable everywhereness of hustle culture

I’m writing this to you from the sunny (for now) patio of a rental cottage as far from civilization as it’s possible to get, and still be in Ireland. My closest neighbors are sheep; my next-closest neighbors are cows; after that it’s a pair of Irish cob horses, one grey and one spotted. Then the actual neighbor, John, who is lovely and came by to check on us our first night here to make sure we had everything we needed. And to let us know his sheep might come graze the lawn but “would be no bother.”