If we haven’t met, welcome. If you’ve been here a while, hi. I missed you.

I’ve been thinking a lot about timing lately. Specifically, why most people misread the timeline of wealth. They only see the part that’s above the surface.

A company announces a breakthrough and the narrative is overnight success. But the years that preceded it, the research, the relationships, the operational work that didn’t look like progress while it was happening, stay invisible. People confuse the visible moment with the whole timeline.

This is one of the most misunderstood dynamics in building anything real. Wealth, in every sense I care about (financial, temporal, relational, psychological), gets constructed long before it becomes visible. Execution is when people notice. It’s not when the work starts.

But compounding has a ceiling if you stay underground. The work builds in the dark, and without visibility, it has nowhere to go. If the foundation is there, what keeps people from surfacing?

Pauline Clance and Suzanne Imes documented part of the answer in 1978, calling it the impostor phenomenon: the internal experience of believing your success is unearned, and the persistent fear that others will eventually discover this. They found it most acutely in high-achieving women. What’s more interesting is what they identified as the solution. Not more credentials. Exposure. Showing up before the feeling of readiness arrived.

I call the failure mode the readiness trap. It’s the belief that there’s some future version of your work that will finally feel legitimate enough to be seen. The threshold keeps moving because it was never actually a threshold. It was a story about when you’d be allowed to begin. And the longer you stay inside it, the more evidence accumulates that the waiting was reasonable.

I lived in this trap for a long time. I called it “earning the right to want this.” Visibility came after proof. You showed up once you’d already arrived. I thought that was discipline. It was avoidance with better packaging.

2026 is the Year of the Fire Horse. It comes around once every sixty years, and the last cycle was 1966, a year of structural upheaval and irreversible change. The Fire Horse doesn’t reward preparation for its own sake. It rewards people who move before the conditions are perfect and has very little use for waiting. I’m not mystical, but the orientation is useful. And somewhere early this year, I started paying attention to it. I’ve been training myself to stop treating my own visibility as something I’d earn later and start treating it as part of the work itself.

I’ve spent 9+ years building technology in healthcare. Not too long ago, I started my own company, and we spent a long time in R&D. Maybe too long for my liking, but definitely necessary. I didn’t talk about it publicly because it didn’t feel far enough along to share. Now that the business is moving from R&D to execution, and we have real traction with serious customers, I’m more terrified than I was back then to share anything about it at all. But it’s with that feeling, the feeling of waiting to be ready paired with the push to just put something imperfect out there, that the Fire Horse becomes useful. Getting comfortable with being uncomfortable is not a mindset exercise. It’s how you stop being potential and start being the thing itself.

There’s a paradox in building something. You have to move fast and execute, but you also have to appreciate the process of getting there, the slow, unglamorous part that makes the speed possible. That’s the tension at the core of wealth, in every sense of the word. The compounding happens underground, but at some point you have to surface. Holding both of those at the same time is hard, especially when you’re still figuring out who you are in the middle of it. I don’t think that tension ever resolves. But I’d rather be in it than still be waiting on the side of it.

Weekly Tip: Micro-Habits of the Most Successful People I Know

Micro-habit: Replace “if” with “how.”

The next time you catch yourself thinking “if this works,” swap it for “how do I make this work?” It sounds small. It changes everything. The mental energy that goes into questioning whether something will work is energy that isn’t going into making it work. The decision to operate from the assumption, that this is happening, that the question is execution not permission, changes what you actually do with your time. Your brain executes on the assignment you give it. “If” gives it an exit. “How” gives it a job.

This is the readiness trap at the daily level. Every time you sit in “if,” you’re waiting for certainty before you move. The people I know who build things faster than everyone else aren’t more confident. They just decided to skip that step.

Current Obsessions

Hot Smart Rich with Kirsty Godso. She spent 13.5 years at Nike, became the trainer to Olivia Rodrigo, Hailey Bieber, Kaia Gerber, and then left. Not because it wasn’t working. Because she recognized her own value and decided to bet on herself instead. That shift, from “I have a good thing” to “I want my thing.” That’s what I keep coming back to. The fitness content is great too. But that’s the part that stuck.

Vuori. I’ve been watching what they’re doing with their brand evolution and I think it’s one of the more interesting marketing case studies right now. They started as a yoga-adjacent brand, listened to who was actually wearing their clothes, and rebuilt their positioning around real life instead of a workout category. That willingness to follow reality instead of the original plan feels very fire horse to me. Also: the clothes are genuinely good and somehow keep getting better.

OpenClaw. My boyfriend built a tool for me using OpenClaw, and it’s changed how I think about what AI is actually for. Not the chatbot version, where you prompt something and wait for an answer, but an agent that lives in your workflow and operates more like a thinking partner than a search engine. The direction this technology is going is wildly interesting to me because we’re moving from AI as a productivity feature to AI as infrastructure for how you run your life. I think the people who understand that early will have a real advantage.

Horseback riding. Ironically (and completely unrelated to the year of the fire horse), I started going recently and it has completely reset my nervous system. There’s something about being around a 1,200-pound animal that requires your full attention and absolutely does not care about your Q1 pipeline that is therapeutic. 10/10, unironically recommend.

Am I the only one that’s noticed everyone teasing a rebrand for 2026? Maybe I’m just chronically online. But I keep seeing it. New positioning. New language around what people do and why. It would be easy to dismiss this as marketing theater. People inventing work for themselves. But something else is happening.

There’s a gap between how people see themselves and how others perceive them. And that gap is getting wider. It’s a form of identity anxiety. When you can’t assume people understand you, you become responsible for making yourself understood. So everyone’s clarifying. Rushing to close the gap before the narrative gets written without them.

I live in that gap. It’s why I make a vision board at the start of every year. It’s a way to recenter. To balance what the world expects of me with how I actually see myself. But this year was different. I realized I’d been building a life that looked good instead of one that felt true.

The problem was I didn't know what I was actually building toward or what I wanted. So a rebrand wouldn't close that gap for me. It would just widen it. So before I opened Pinterest, I stopped and asked myself the hard questions. The kind that force clarity instead of creating more distance.

Here’s what I actually worked through:

1. What am I tired of tolerating?
   What drains me but I’ve normalized? What do I complain about but haven’t changed? What would I feel relieved to no longer deal with? And here’s the hard part: what does tolerating this protect me from doing or admitting?

2. What would make my life feel lighter in 90 days?

   Not ambition. Relief. If one burden disappeared, what would it be? What decision, if already made, would free up mental space? What am I over-carrying that doesn’t need to be mine?

3. What am I already doing that I wish more people saw?

   What do people compliment me on privately? What effort feels invisible but meaningful? Where do I downplay what I’m actually good at? If this were visible, what would change about how people understood me?

4. Where do I feel friction that shouldn’t exist anymore?

   What used to feel tolerable but now feels heavy? Where am I working harder than necessary? What systems or relationships feel outdated? And is this friction coming from fear, or from misfit?

5. If I stopped trying to impress anyone, what would I choose?

   What choice feels quieter but more honest? What would I do if no one could comment on it? What do I want that I immediately justify or over-explain? The answer is usually simple. Almost boring. And that’s the point.

After working through those questions, I finally made my vision board.

And it felt different. For the first time in a while, it didn’t feel distant. Every image has a reason now. I can point to each one and explain it. Some are literal. Work out more. Make this amount of money. Some are metaphor. A photograph representing something bigger. A feeling I’m moving toward.

The difference is I know what I’m building. I’m not collecting images that look good together. I’m building a map. Everything connects to something I can name.

Those five questions forced something in me. They made me stop romanticizing change. Nothing on this board asks me to become someone else. It asks me to be more precise about what I’m already choosing.

Intention doesn’t always make things prettier. It makes them honest.

This year’s vision board doesn’t feel like reinvention.

It feels like alignment.

And that’s the only place worth building from.

Weekly Tip: Micro-Habits of the Most Successful People I Know

Micro-habit: The 1-1-1 Method

Now that it’s the new year, let’s get off on the right foot. I’ve been listening to Aspire with Emma Grede, who recently spoke with Sahil Bloom, author of The 5 Types of Wealth. He talked about a simple practice that the most intentional people he knows have in common. It’s called the 1-1-1 Method, and it takes about five minutes.

Each evening, we write down three things:

1 Win. Acknowledge something good we accomplished or experienced during the day. It doesn’t have to be big. It can be small.

1 Point of Tension, Anxiety, or Stress. Write down a problem or worry. Get it off our minds and onto paper. There’s something therapeutic about naming what’s heavy.

1 Point of Gratitude. Reflect on something important we’re thankful for. Something that matters.

The benefits are simple. It builds clarity about our days. It helps us see progress instead of just moving through. It releases stress by naming it. And ending our days this way, with calm reflection instead of scrolling, actually changes our sleep.

Current Obsessions

Everything in this article came from asking myself harder questions and building toward clarity. These are the pieces that helped me think through what that actually means.

Books:

• 5 Different Types of Wealth by Sahil Bloom: Redefines wealth beyond money to include time, knowledge, relationships, and health.

• The Courage to be Disliked by Ichiro Kishimi and Fumitake Koga: A dialogue on how to live authentically, free from the need to be liked.

Podcasts:

• Aspire with Emma Grede: Real conversations about building wealth, business, and a life aligned with your values.

I’m betting on the 2%, not the 1% (or the 0.00001%), and here’s why.

The idea of the 1% often represents a mindset centered on constant optimization, visible achievement, and big, noticeable wins. It is a framework that resonates with many people who enjoy fast growth, intense goals, and high ambition, and there is nothing wrong with that approach. It simply reflects a particular way of moving through the world. At the same time, it creates a narrow definition of progress that can make it easy to overlook slower, steadier forms of growth. It raises questions about how people define momentum, what kind of pace supports good decision making, and how success can look when it is not tied to dramatic spikes in output. The billionaire category sits somewhere near the 0.0001% and is so far removed from everyday life that it does not offer a useful model for most people.

The 2% mindset offers an alternative lens. It describes people who value consistency, clarity, and long term focus. Their progress tends to build through small, reliable actions rather than intense bursts of effort. They are interested in sustainable ambition and in creating momentum that does not require constant urgency. This is not a critique of those who thrive in the 1% style of drive. It is simply a recognition that there is also a quieter, steadier way of growing that aligns more closely with the way many people want their work and their lives to feel.

This way of thinking feels especially relevant right now as more people reconsider what they want their lives to feel like. There is a collective fatigue around the pressure to be impressive at every moment. Many people want ambition that energizes rather than drains them. They want space for stability, curiosity, and growth without feeling like they have to move at a constant sprint. In that context, the idea of the 2% reads less like a statistic and more like a mindset. It describes people who think in terms of the long arc of what they are building and choose a pace that fits who they are. It is less about being part of a tiny group and more about adopting a way of moving through the world that feels sustainable, intentional, and self-defined.

I first came across the idea in The Art of Being Brilliant: Transform Your Life by Doing What Works for You. The authors talk about “2%ers,” but what stood out to me had nothing to do with the percentage. It was the reminder that brilliance is not something a few people are born with. It is a set of habits that anyone can strengthen with practice. Most people are simply responding to the demands of daily life, not lacking potential. The point is not to divide people into groups, but to show that small, intentional shifts in how you think and act can meaningfully change the way you feel and the way you move through your day.

A quick heads-up about the book itself: the tone can get so enthusiastic about positivity that it almost makes you feel like you’re supposed to operate at that level all the time. That is why I take this mindset as inspiration rather than fact. It is incredibly hard to stay positive every day, and that has never been the goal for me. What feels more realistic is noticing where I am and making small adjustments when things drift. I am not chasing permanent optimism. I am looking for a pace that feels sustainable. The value of the 2% idea, at least the way I interpret it, is about having a simple way to check in with myself, rebalance when needed, and keep moving without burning out.

In the post-wellness era, people seem tired of routines that promise total transformation and end up feeling like another thing to manage. What feels more helpful are small actions that bring you back to center. That is where the 2% idea becomes useful. It is not something anyone lives in all the time, and that is completely okay. Drifting in and out of it does not diminish growth. Even a small shift can change the tone of a day, and those shifts tend to accumulate quietly over time, which is what makes this mindset feel worth paying attention to.

At work, this shows up in a different way for me. I used to chase the 1% mindset, the version of achievement that demands nonstop intensity and constant acceleration. Whenever I pushed myself like that, I burned out faster. My body would eventually shut down, and I would lose the very momentum I was trying to create. The 2% mindset feels different. It still asks me to be uncomfortable, try new things, and stretch myself, but in a way that I can sustain. It treats progress as a series of consistent actions rather than dramatic all-or-nothing efforts.

In my personal life, that shift has mattered even more. Choosing the 2% approach means I am no longer measuring myself against impossible standards. I am not a failure if I am not operating at the intensity of the 1%. Instead, I am learning to be okay with discomfort without letting it overwhelm me. I can take small steps forward, even when they feel awkward or unfamiliar, and trust that they will stack over time. That is the real heart of the 2% mindset for me. It lets me grow without breaking myself in the process.

This is why the bet is on the 2%. It reflects a kind of ambition that is steady rather than extreme. It values discomfort as part of the process, but not at the expense of stability or health. It shows how consistency outperforms intensity over time. The 2% mindset is not about operating at a peak every day, but about building momentum in a way that lasts.

Weekly Tip: Micro-Habits of the Most Successful People I Know

Micro-habit: Write one paragraph every day

If you’ve been holding onto the idea of a book, a business, or even a simple blog you’ve been meaning to start, give yourself one gentle rule this week: write a single paragraph a day. A few sentences are enough to keep the idea alive and moving. You don’t need discipline for an hour, just enough to begin. The momentum builds on its own and before you realize it, you’re writing more than you planned. One paragraph is enough to shift you from thinking to creating.

Current Obsessions

Okay, can we just talk about Dua Lipa’s Book Club?

It’s through Service95, where she curates thoughtful, international reads from voices you might not discover on your own. Each pick comes with a bit of extra context or commentary, so it feels more like a guided reading list than a typical book club.

These are a few that I’m especially excited about:

First up is The White Album by Joan Didion. She’s basically the blueprint for modern cultural essays and this book gives an understated, but cool vibe. It’s her take on America in the 60s and 70s, full of glamour, chaos, and that signature Didion calm-in-the-storm energy. It’s one of those books that makes you feel a little more observant just by reading it.

Next: Sea Prayer by Khaled Hosseini, which is tiny but hits unbelievably hard. It’s an illustrated letter from a father to his son as they flee Syria, written after the world saw the image of Alan Kurdi in 2015. It’s heartbreakingly human, and Hosseini somehow fits an entire world of love and grief into so few pages.

If you’re getting back into reading or want something that won’t overwhelm you, Dua actually has a whole list (and you know how I feel about checklists) of short reads here. It’s such a good place to start.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about how easy it is to mix up ambition with overextension. One feels like momentum, the other feels overwhelming.

We live in a time where being “multi-hyphenated” is the norm. Everyone’s building, creating, and experimenting, but somewhere between the brand decks, side projects, and “I’ll sleep when I’m dead” energy, you start to wonder: am I expanding, or just scattering myself?

That question follows me everywhere. Because being multi-hyphenated isn’t the issue. The issue is doing it without a center of gravity.

Before we get into it, let’s chat about what a multi-hyphenate actually is. According to the Cambridge Dictionary, a multi-hyphenate is “a person who has more than one skill or occupation.”

The content creator with a morning matcha, three open tabs, and five income streams. The technical product manager who’s also a professional dancer. The aerospace engineer who writes novels. Anyone with a 5pm–9pm after their 9am–5pm.

It’s the era of constant reinvention, where careers evolve as fast as we do and the possibilities feel wide open. But it’s not just about stacking titles or juggling roles. It’s about building a life that reflects every part of who you are.

Being multi-hyphenated means refusing to shrink yourself into one label. The frustration doesn’t come from doing many things. It comes from trying to fit into a box you were never meant to fit in.

When you build from that understanding, a multi-hyphenate career stops feeling chaotic. It starts to feel grounded, coherent, and uniquely yours.

Here’s how I’ve learned to keep mine sustainable.

1. Anchor everything to one narrative.

Even if you do five different things, you, more than anyone else, should understand why you do them. The story doesn’t have to be perfect, but it has to connect. I always think of it like a constellation: each role is a star, but what matters is the shape they form together. When you have a clear through-line, whether it’s curiosity, systems thinking, or helping people work smarter, everything you do starts to feel coherent.

2. Build a rhythm, not a routine.

Routines are rigid, but rhythms adapt. Over the last year, I’ve stopped trying to fit my creative work and startup work into clean boxes. Instead, I look for the natural cycles and overlap in my energy. Some weeks are for deep building, others for writing or reconnecting with people. It’s more about balance and knowing which version of yourself to lead with that day.

3. Let each skill pay rent.

If you’re going to juggle multiple lanes, make sure each one supports the others in some way. Maybe your writing sharpens your storytelling as a founder. Maybe your consulting work funds the early stages of a product. Everything should have a purpose, even if that purpose is simply giving you energy. When your skills work together, your career feels integrated instead of fragmented.

4. Protect your capacity like it’s capital.

People talk a lot about managing time, but what you’re really managing is capacity. Multi-hyphenates burn out when they treat every idea like an obligation. I’ve learned to ask: does this expand me or drain me? Does it compound what I’ve already built, or is it just shiny and new? If it’s the latter, I let it go. The discipline to not say yes is what keeps everything else alive.

5. Stay a student, even when you’re an expert.

The reason multi-hyphenates thrive is because they keep learning. Every new skill adds dimension. Every collaboration opens a door you didn’t see before. But the trick is to approach it with curiosity, not pressure. You don’t need to master everything, just stay in motion. The more you learn, the more your work connects in unexpected ways.

Being multi-hyphenated isn’t about doing more or doing it all.

It’s about creating a life where all your parts get to exist at once. It takes patience, boundaries, and the confidence to evolve in public. But when you get it right, it doesn’t feel like juggling. It feels like coherence.

Weekly Tip: Micro-Habits of the Most Successful People I Know

Micro-habit: Write who you believe you are, and add one new truth every month

My therapist gave me this exercise that I didn’t take seriously at first. She told me to write a list of who I believe I am. Not who I want to be, not what people say I am, just who I know myself to be when the noise quiets down.

It started simple:

• I am creative.

• I am smart.

• I am kind.

• I am someone who figures things out.

Then, every month, I add one new truth. Something I’ve grown into or finally learned to see clearly. Maybe I am learning patience. Maybe I am not afraid to take up space anymore.

Over time, the list becomes a timeline of who you’re becoming. It’s not about perfection or proof. It’s about remembering yourself, piece by piece, until your confidence starts to feel like home again.

Somewhere between “protect your peace” and “cut them off,” we forgot how to stay, and it’s costing us real relational wealth.

I keep thinking about a conversation I just had with two of my best friends. We were talking about how self-care culture has quietly reshaped the rules of relationships, even with people we’ve known for years. Somewhere along the way, we forgot that friendship is supposed to be inconvenient. It takes showing up, following through, and going out of your way for the people you love. When did “protect your peace” start to mean “don’t bother trying”?

the cultural shift

Somewhere between therapy language and TikTok “self-care routines,” we started labeling discomfort as danger. Ordinary tension became “toxic,” communication issues became “energetic misalignment,” and leaving became proof of self-respect.

What’s strange is that we don’t do that in romantic relationships, at least not as fast. We expect friction there. We’ve all sat through hard dinners, quiet drives home, and the phases where you have to talk things out more than once. But in friendships? One weird text and suddenly it’s “I don’t have the capacity.”

It’s not just about avoidance; it’s about how our definition of care has changed. We’ve come to equate safety with comfort, forgetting that growth usually feels uncomfortable.

That’s where the idea of relational wealth comes in.

Economists define it as the non-material form of wealth that grows out of human connection and community. It gives us security, strength, and belonging. Unlike material wealth, which determines our standard of living, relational wealth shapes our quality of life. And as material wealth grows, it can start to erode the relational kind, unless we actively protect both.

Relational wealth is what I’m afraid we’re losing in the name of self-care.

With that said, boundaries aren’t the problem. We need boundaries. Many of us grew up being so “easy-going” and “chill” that we lost our sense of self. But somewhere along the line, the pendulum swung too far and we started using boundaries as excuses instead of tools. Labeling became easier than saying, “Hey, that hurt my feelings. Can we talk about it?” or, “I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”

Repair is where the real wealth lives. It’s not glamorous, but it’s what keeps relationships intact. In a marriage, you can’t just disappear. You share a space, a life, responsibilities. It forces communication, even when it’s uncomfortable. In friendships, the exits are everywhere. There’s always a side door marked “protect your peace.” But repair costs something. It requires humility. You have to hear how you landed when you meant well. Admit when you were short or distracted. Tell the truth about being jealous or hurt. Say, “When you canceled last minute, it made me feel small.” It’s uncomfortable, but it’s adult.

Someone once said to me, “Why are our friendship standards stricter than our dating standards?” I think about that a lot. How many times have I fought for a romantic relationship but quietly let a friendship fade? In love, we expect repair. In friendship, we expect perfection. At eight years old, we shut down, sulked, and changed lunch tables. At thirty, we’re supposed to be able to name the problem, stay present, and choose each other again.

self-care has started to look like self-isolation

Wellness culture has taught many of us to see solitude as the only form of healing, and everything else as a threat to our peace.

When I’m alone, I feel in control, whether it’s journaling, doing skincare, or lighting a candle. But that version of self-care doesn’t require me to deal with anyone else. It’s safe but limited. The version of me that actually grows is the one who can light the damn candle and still send the text that says, “Hey, can we talk about that? I want to understand.”

Peace isn’t avoiding conflict. It’s finding clarity on the other side of it. It’s the relief that comes when you finally talk about the thing and stop carrying it around.

We say “it takes a village,” but rarely talk about what that involves. Building community is slow and often uncomfortable. It asks for consistency, patience, and a willingness to engage even when it’s inconvenient. Modern culture celebrates independence, but we’re built for interdependence. Community doesn’t just appear; it grows through steady effort over time.

There are friendships I still grieve because I didn’t stay long enough to ask for what I needed. I told myself, “If they cared, they’d know.” Or I turned them into the villain because that was easier than saying I felt ignored. And then, to numb the loneliness I created, I scrolled through boundary content that felt empowering but mostly just dulled the sting. I was healing from the loss instead of preventing it. That’s its own kind of poverty.

Sometimes “talking it through” turns into explaining your humanity to someone who isn’t ready to see it. In those moments, leaving quietly is the right call. There’s a difference between people who respond and people who receive. A response isn’t always thoughtful - it can be quick or defensive. Receptivity takes time because you have to pause, let it land, and come back with a thought-out perspective. Learning to tell the difference is part of emotional maturity. Not every relationship can hold receptivity and repair, and that’s okay. The goal isn’t to keep every connection alive but to know which ones can grow with you.

So what does building wealth in relationships actually look like?

It starts with awareness. Catching yourself mid-story and asking, “Am I calling this person toxic because it’s true, or because it’s easier than being honest?” It’s saying, “I felt dismissed when you joked about my job,” instead of hiding behind “vibes.” It’s replying with context instead of pretending you’re fine. It’s noticing when you want to disappear and staying anyway.

It’s also giving your friends the same grace you’d give a partner - the chance to repair.

There’s a quiet satisfaction when you do. The first time you bring something up and the friend doesn’t explode or vanish, they just say, “Thank you for telling me.” It’s small, but it’s powerful. That’s what trust looks like in motion.

Real relational wealth builds through honesty, patience, and small, consistent effort. The bigger your circle of trust, the less one wobble can throw you off. You feel steadier, more understood, more at home.

Maybe self-care now means staying connected while being honest about who you are. Letting people see your rough edges and asking to see theirs. And when it works, it’s simple: a quiet room, friends who know your coffee order, and nothing left to prove. That’s the fortune.

A few weeks ago, I went to a conference that ended up being one of the most successful networking experiences of my career. Normally by day two, I’m half checked out, scrolling through emails and counting the hours until I can order room service. But this time was different. I was focused, calm, and actually enjoyed being there. I met people I genuinely liked, had conversations that felt easy, and left feeling energized instead of exhausted.

It happened at the right time too, since fall is peak conference season. Whether it’s Tech Week, an academic conference, or a happy hour, everyone is going somewhere to network. The reality is, most of us are never taught how to do it effectively.

Here are 5 things that completely changed how I show up at conferences.

1. THE FRONT ROW
   Psychologists call it the mere exposure effect, the idea that the more often people see you, the more likely they are to remember and feel comfortable with you. I realized I could use that to my advantage. Sitting in the front at conferences isn’t just about getting a better view; it’s about positioning yourself where you can pick up the tone, nuance, and unspoken context that usually get lost from the back. You notice expressions, side comments, and the rhythm of the room. It is quiet visibility that feels natural. The same way the front row at a fashion show is coveted not just for the view but for being seen, the front row at a conference can do the same, a subtle form of presence that leaves an impression long after the session ends.

2. THE Q&A STRATEGY
   When the Q&A came around, I raised my hand, introduced myself, and asked something thoughtful. “Hi, I’m Athena, founder of ExactRx. We’re a platform that prevents denials and delays to care by embedding autonomous checklists directly into existing workflows. No new logins, no new interface.” Then I went into my question, connecting what the panel was discussing to something practical and specific. It ended up doing more than I expected. First, it gave me a chance to get unfiltered feedback and user research on real pain points, which is always gold for product. Second, it gave the platform a face and made it feel human. And third, it created visibility because people suddenly knew who I was and what ExactRx stood for. By the next day, people were saying things like, “Another great question,” or waving when I stood up. They remembered me. Then, I sent one short follow-up afterward. That is it. “Hi [Name], I loved your point about [topic]. Here’s something that made me think of it.” No pitch, no pressure, no awkward energy. Just small, meaningful exchanges that actually lead somewhere.

3. THE “LEATHER BLAZER” THEORY
   The leather blazer didn’t hurt either. It wasn’t a branding decision at first; I just liked it. But by day two, it started doing its own kind of marketing. Everyone else was in conference neutrals like navy, gray, and black, so the blazer stood out without trying too hard. People began to recognize me before I even said my name. “You’re the founder in the leather blazer,” they’d say. A week later, my teammate attended another conference and wore one too. Suddenly it was no longer just my thing; it had become a quiet signal of our company. That’s when I realized the blazer itself didn’t matter. What mattered was that it felt authentic. Everyone has their version of it. It could be a notebook, a tone, or a question you always ask, something that makes people remember you for the right reasons.

   

4. HOW TO LEAVE CONVERSATIONS GRACEFULLY
   And here’s something I wish I’d learned years ago: how to leave conversations gracefully, instead of pretending to grab a drink or go to the bathroom and never come back. I realized that leaving isn’t rude - it’s respectful. The goal at a conference isn’t to collect contacts or dominate conversations. It’s to have interesting ones, and then give the other person the chance to go have theirs too. So now when I’m ready to wrap things up, I just say,

   “Well, I won’t take up more of your time, but it was great chatting. Hope you have a great rest of your conference, and keep an eye out for my email.”

   It’s kind, confident, and doesn’t leave anyone hanging. People usually smile, thank me, and move on to their next chat, which is exactly what I want for both of us.

5. DO LESS
   The other trick that changed everything was giving myself permission to do less. I stopped thinking I had to be everywhere all the time. I skipped the loud receptions and went for one-on-one coffee chats instead. I even started putting “alone time” on my calendar, like a meeting with myself. Sometimes I would step out between sessions just to reset. It is amazing how much more social you can be when you are not forcing it.

By the end of the week, I’d done something I didn’t think was possible: I actually enjoyed networking. I met people I liked, had conversations that felt genuine, and left with connections that didn’t feel like a LinkedIn chore. The trick wasn’t mastering small talk or pretending to be extroverted. It was realizing that networking only works when you do it in a way that fits you.

So here’s the real “secret” - stop copying what everyone else does. You don’t need to hit every event or hand out every business card in the building. You just need to find the version of networking that feels natural to you. Ask better questions. Follow up with intention. Take breaks when you need to. That’s it.

Networking isn’t about being everywhere; it’s about showing up as yourself in the right places. Do that consistently, and it actually starts to work.

Weekly Tip: Micro-Habits of the Most Successful People I Know

Micro-habit: Network with intent

Reach out to people you’re genuinely curious about, not just the ones you think you’re supposed to know. Think of it less as networking and more as getting to know people whose work or energy you actually like. Start a conversation, ask about what they’re building, or share something you found interesting. The goal isn’t to get anything out of it; it’s to build real relationships with people you’d want in your orbit anyway. It’s also a good reminder that you bring just as much to the table as they do.

Current Obsession: Ayurvedic Wealth

Lately I have been thinking about what it really means to build physical wealth. It is conference season, which usually means long days, bad coffee, and skipping workouts in the name of being productive. But lately, I have been exploring Ayurvedic principles as a reminder that health is capital.

I grew up in Mumbai but was born and raised in the States, so Ayurveda has always felt familiar to me as a bridge between two ways of living. I’m heading back to India soon for the first time in 10 years, and my partner and I are spending part of the trip at an Ayurvedic retreat. Lately, I’ve been thinking about how that mindset (eg. slowing down, paying attention, and finding rhythm) is showing up in other parts of my life too. It’s helping me feel more grounded at work, less reactive, and more focused on what actually matters.

So now I’m curious: what are the small ways you build physical wealth when life gets chaotic?

I spend a ridiculous amount of time thinking about checklists. Not just because my job revolves around making them smarter (basically building tech that lets checklists check themselves), but because my own checklist keeps growing instead of shrinking. Which honestly feels like a betrayal. Checklists are supposed to get smaller as you progress through them, right? Somehow, every time I check something off, three new things appear.

Let me actually list out my lists:

1. things to do today

2. things to do tomorrow

3. grocery list

4. cleaning list

5. Bella’s (my dog’s) checkup list

6. reading list

7. packing list (I have a conference next week)

8. people I need to call or text back

9. unread emails

…and that’s just what I could think of in 30 seconds. I’m probably forgetting a few.

As you can see, my list of lists is getting out of control.

For a while, I thought the solution to feeling overwhelmed by one long list was to create multiple, smaller ones. Separate them by category, organize them by role. I thought it would make everything feel more manageable. For a moment, it did. Each role had its own little ecosystem of tasks. But soon I realized I wasn’t simplifying anything. I was just managing lists for every role I held - founder, friend, daughter, dog mom - while still being the only one responsible for completing all of them. It didn’t make life less overwhelming. It just made the overwhelm more organized.

The satisfaction of checking things off still felt nice, but it faded fast. I’d look up and realize I hadn’t actually freed up any space, just rearranged it.

So here’s my working theory on checklists.

Atul Gawande called the checklist medicine’s answer to human fallibility. A safeguard against the limits of memory and attention. In high-stakes fields, checklists save lives. Eventually, the checklist went beyond its original purpose. It moved from critical systems into everyday life.

That’s where things got messy. The modern checklist isn’t just a list of tasks anymore, it’s kind of a reflection of identity. Each list we make points to a different version of ourselves. The founder. The friend. The dog mom. The person trying to stay hydrated and have their life together.

I don’t think the overwhelm comes from the tasks themselves. It comes from constantly switching between all those roles. When everything feels urgent and every version of you expects progress, even something small can feel like too much.

A few years ago, I was venting to my sister about how much I had to do. She stopped me mid-sentence and asked, “Okay, but what do you actually need to do?” So I showed her my lists. Each one had tasks with subtasks that had even more subtasks. But when we broke it down, there were really only a few big things. My grocery list looked long, but all I really had to do was go to the grocery store. My work list had five or six smaller tasks, but they all tied to one main project due that week. My personal list was “file taxes,” which had mini-tasks like downloading statements, tracking expenses, and organizing receipts, but ultimately it was just about sitting down and getting it done.

She looked at me and said, “Dude, you only have three things to do: go to the grocery store, finish the project, and file your taxes.”

When she said it like that, it suddenly felt lighter. Reframing it helped. The list itself wasn’t the problem. It was how I was holding it in my head, trying to be functional for all the roles I thought I had to fulfill at once. Once it turned into three clear actions instead of thirty scattered ones, it finally felt doable.

When I stopped trying to conquer my lists and started actually paying attention to them, I noticed something. Some tasks kept coming back, not because I forgot them, but because I never built the right system around them. Others showed up because I said yes to things I didn’t really need to.

That’s when it clicked. The checklist is supposed to work for you, not the other way around. Instead of asking, “How do I get through this faster?” I started asking, “Why does this even need to be here?” Could I make it automatic? Could I combine it with something else? Could I stop doing it entirely?

Once I looked at it that way, the checklist stopped feeling like this thing that owned me. It became something I could design. It wasn’t about managing every task anymore, it was about building a system that supports the kind of life I actually want, one where my time, energy, and attention go to things that matter.

Which brings me back to wealth. I’ve always thought of wealth as more than money. It’s about having agency and clarity. The wealthiest people I know don’t have endless to-do lists or fancy productivity tools. They have clear systems. They know what’s worth their energy and what isn’t. And they don’t punish themselves for not doing everything.

So maybe that’s the real shift. The goal isn’t to get to the bottom of your list. It’s to make sure the list is working for you, not against you.

Weekly Tip: Micro-Habits of the Most Successful People I Know

Micro-habit: If it takes <2 minutes, do it immediately.

A friend recently shared the two-minute rule with me. if something takes less than two minutes, do it right away. Don’t add it to a list, don’t save it for later - just do it. At first, it felt almost too small to matter. But then I started noticing how many things in a day take less than two minutes: rinsing a cup instead of leaving it in the sink, replying “got it” to a text, folding the shirt that’s been on the chair since yesterday, adding the calendar invite the moment it’s mentioned.

It’s strange how much mental space those tiny undone things take up.

Now, when I feel overwhelmed, I start with one of those two-minute things and it’s like knocking over a domino. The rest starts to fall into place on its own.

Current Obsessions:

• Smart Girl Prompts: AI Guide for Busy Women Who Get Sh*t Done: a founder friend recently shared this notion doc and I’m obsessed with it. It’s full of clever, practical prompt templates that actually work eg. from writing investor updates to planning your week like a CEO.

• The Courage to Be Disliked by Fumitake Koga and Ichiro Kishimi: this book has been sitting on my shelf for months, and I finally picked it up. It’s written as a conversation between a philosopher and a young man, and it challenges everything you think you know about validation, control, and happiness. It’s uncomfortable in the best way.

On My Radar

I’m lucky enough to be surrounded by incredible people building inspiring products, platforms, and businesses; and as such, I like sharing the tools and ideas that are reshaping how we work, live, and build wealth. The a16z speedrun SR005 demo day just wrapped up and here are some of the companies that are on my radar:

1. Taya - wearable-AI startup that embeds memory-capturing, transcription, and reflection tools into elegant jewelry so tech feels personal

2. Variant - an AI-powered tool to lets people express themselves by making games

3. Rork - Lovable for mobile apps

Last week, I went to a dinner for founders at different stages. I sat next to a friend preparing to raise her Series A, and we started talking about how every time we reach a major milestone, investors always ask the same thing: “What’s next?”

We could say, “We just landed DKSJFDHKS, a fortune-500 company with an $XM contract,” and they’d still want more. More traction, more logos, more everything.

It’s wild how quickly the goal post moves once you’ve reached it.

So a few days later, I went for a walk with an old friend from college. We hadn’t seen each other in years. She knew me from way back, before the company and before any of this.

We were catching up, talking about work and life. I told her about everything that’s been going on: funding, growth, new partnerships. But the thing that made her stop was when I mentioned that I had to let someone go recently because they just weren’t a good fit.

She looked at me and said, “Wow, that’s huge. You used to put up with people even when it was draining you.”

And she was right. I used to keep the peace even when it cost me energy, time, and sanity. Somewhere along the way, I learned to protect my own capacity and spend it wisely. Out of all the markers of success, learning self-respect and boundaries felt like building real wealth, the kind that actually compounds over time.

Every few weeks, a post circulates online that feels like a collective confession. A 25-year-old in tech, net worth $1.4 million, admits he’s “behind.” He lists his assets, six figures in cash, a strong 401k, a paid-off car, and ends with quiet panic. I didn’t land a $500K offer this year.

When you read the comments, they swing between disbelief and empathy.

That’s money dysmorphia. It’s the gap between what’s real and what’s felt. A phrase that’s showing up more and more in therapy sessions and social media captions. You can be doing well, even thriving, and still feel like it’s not enough. The numbers say you’re fine, but your body doesn’t believe it.

The root cause is proximity. The more we see what others have, the harder it is to know what enough feels like. Social media, once about connection, is now kind of like economic theater. Curated glimpses of vacations, homes, investments, milestones. The Series A or B or C post. The early retirement post. The photo of someone’s office with the caption grateful. It’s an endless scroll of people who seem just a little more ahead, a little more peaceful, a little more successful.

And that’s how the distortion happens. Quietly, almost mathematically. Each image becomes a new benchmark. Someone else’s upgrade becomes your new baseline. What used to feel like success now just feels... normal.

In work, it shows up the same way. Founders measure themselves by other founders’ raises. Employees compare equity packages like personality quizzes. Conversations about stability turn into quiet status checks. It’s not that ambition is bad, it’s just that visibility has turned it into a full-time job. The more we know, the less grounded we feel.

Financial planners talk about clients who delay buying things they can afford, vacations, clothes, a dentist appointment. Others overspend trying to prove they’re doing okay. It’s the same anxiety, just dressed differently. High achievers are especially prone to it. You hit a goal that once felt impossible, and then it stops registering. You move the goalpost. The finish line becomes imaginary.

You can meet every goal you set and still feel behind. You can be the one giving advice and still wonder if you missed something. Money dysmorphia; when logic and emotion start living in different worlds.

The fix isn’t another milestone or a better system. It’s awareness. Learning to slow down before the scroll redraws your expectations. Asking if the discomfort of “not enough” is really about scarcity or just speed.

There’s nothing wrong with wanting more, more freedom, more choice, more peace of mind. But somewhere between ambition and anxiety, we lose calibration.

Maybe the goal isn’t to keep chasing. Maybe it’s to quietly recalibrate. To remember that enough doesn’t usually announce itself. It shows up softly, in small moments when nothing feels missing. Because maybe wealth, when you really think about it, isn’t about reaching higher ground. It’s about finally feeling steady where you stand.

Weekly Tip: Micro-Habits of the Most Successful People I Know

Micro-habit: Take a mid-day reset.

My mom has always been one of my biggest inspirations, not just personally but professionally. She’s a founder now, building a company that’s replacing legacy consulting firms like Deloitte, after years as the Group CIO at Philips and advisor to companies like Sophos and Thoma Bravo, where she led global teams and large-scale digital transformations long before “remote work” was a thing.

Her secret? A mid-day nap.

It’s kind of like bringing back naptime, but it actually works. She says it separates what you did in the morning from what comes next, like pressing restart. You wake up clearer, sharper, and more effective. And there’s actual science behind it. Studies show that short mid-day naps (ideally under 30 minutes) boost alertness, focus, and memory. They help your brain consolidate information and reset attention, almost like clearing your browser tabs before the next deep work session. Napping has even been linked to better mood regulation and long-term brain health.

I’ve started doing it too, mostly because I get anxious and overwhelmed halfway through the day. Even ten quiet minutes with no phone, no noise, just lying down, helps. It’s like hitting reset on my brain, and the second half of the day feels lighter, calmer, more doable.

Current Obsessions

Before I wrap up, here are a few things I keep coming back to - the books and podcasts that help me stay grounded when I start overanalyzing numbers or speed-running my own goals. None of them are “finance” resources exactly, but they all help me think about wealth in a way that feels steadier and more human.

Books

• The Psychology of Money by Morgan Housel: Gentle, short chapters that remind you money isn’t about intelligence, it’s about behavior. I reread it every time I need perspective.

• The Art of Possibility by Rosamund and Benjamin Zander: It’s technically about creativity and leadership, but it reads like a manual for abundance. Every page feels like a deep breath.

Podcasts

• Jay Shetty, with special guest Emma Watson: Their conversation about identity, purpose, and redefining success is one of those episodes that stays with you for weeks.

• Dr. K (Healthy Gamer Podcast), “Why you still haven’t grown up”: A Jungian look at why gifted people get stuck chasing potential, avoiding commitment, fearing the ordinary, and mistaking fantasy for progress until they learn that real growth comes from small, consistent, unglamorous work.

From the time we are kids, we are asked, What do you want to be when you grow up? The expectation is not “what are the many things that make you curious,” but “choose one.” A single answer makes you easier to understand. One career path, one degree, one headline on LinkedIn.

But some of us do not work that way. Some of us collect interests the way others collect souvenirs. Maybe you love physics and painting. Or maybe you spend your days teaching and your nights writing music. Maybe your resume looks more like a patchwork quilt than a straight line. If that sounds like you, you have probably worried at some point that it makes you scattered or unfocused.

I was told that if I was ever going to be good at anything, I’d have to focus. Choose one lane, one path, one identity. But every time I tried, the other parts of me refused to quiet down. I wanted to be a doctor. At the same time, I was fascinated by tech. I loved art and writing. I was always experimenting with videography. Each interest kept tugging at me, asking to be seen.

For years, I thought that made me flaky, like I’d never be taken seriously if I couldn’t just commit. But the older I get, the more I realize this is simply how I’m wired. In Ayurveda there’s even a word for it: Vata. The wind type. Vatas are curious, quick to start, quick to move on. They learn fast, lose interest fast, and return to what excites them when the time feels right. For people like this, the worst advice is “just focus on one thing.” What looks like inconsistency on the outside is actually a cycle of renewal. Each return often brings a deeper layer of skill, a fresh perspective, or a new connection that wouldn’t have existed without the break.

So what if we stopped treating variety as a flaw? What if we designed lives that expect it? For people with Vata minds, it is not about cutting distractions. It is about having more than one thing to turn to, so that curiosity stays alive.

I’ve seen this in my own life. When I stepped away from medicine and spent more time in technology, I thought I was abandoning one path for another. But when I came back, I realized how much the detour had sharpened my view of healthcare. Building tech taught me how to see workflows and systems; healthcare taught me why those systems matter. Each side gave me fresh eyes for the other, and the connection between them became my strongest advantage.

“Yes, and” is the language of that life. Yes, you can be ambitious and sensitive. Yes, you can be logical and creative. Yes, you can start something new and let it go when it no longer fits. Wholeness is not about trimming yourself down to a single definition. It is about letting all of the parts exist together.

If you have ever felt ashamed of being “too many things,” you are not the only one. Many of us are building lives that do not fit into neat boxes. We are founders and artists, teachers and travelers, parents and dreamers. The work is not to choose. The work is to say yes, and.

And because living this way can feel messy, here are a few small things that helped me:

1. Put on music. Whatever you are doing, whether drawing, coding, or writing, music makes it easier to start and easier to stay with it.

2. Try the two-minute rule. Tell yourself you only have to do the thing for two minutes. Then you can stop. Most of the time you will not stop, because starting was the hardest part. And if you do stop, that is fine too.

3. Check your fuel. For a long time I would beat myself up about wasted time, push harder, burn out, feel ashamed, repeat. What finally broke the cycle was realizing that fear, regret, and pressure are bad fuel. They do not last. The people who seem happiest are not usually thinking, “I have to go because everyone expects me to.” They are thinking, “This sounds fun, let’s try it.” That is the energy to follow. Forgive yourself for “wasted time.” See it as abundance instead of lack. You are not clawing back something you lost. You are building something new.

4. Focus on the process, not the end goal. Draw because it is fun, not only to become an artist. Code because the puzzle excites you, not just to ship an app. The more fun you find in the process, the easier it is to keep going.

All of this, to me, is what “yes, and” really means. It is not about saying yes to more obligations. It is about saying yes to all the parts of yourself, even when they seem contradictory. Our lives are rarely straight lines. They are patchworks, layered and unfinished, stitched from many colors. The work is not to choose one pattern. It is to let the pieces exist together and keep asking what else belongs.

The price of staying in America just went up: $100,000. Last week, the White House announced a new fee for H-1B applications. The fee applies only to first-time petitions, not renewals or transfers, and is described as a way to protect American jobs by making it harder for companies to lean on foreign labor.

Having been born in the U.S. but spending my formative years in India before returning here, I often think about the H-1B through the lens of someone who has seen how differently opportunity can take shape depending on the documents you hold. With a U.S. passport, I have had the freedom to take risks. I could leave medical school, start a company, and imagine building something new without worrying that one decision might cost me the right to stay. Many of my friends from high school who studied in the U.S. never had that freedom. Some are here now on H-1Bs, tied to employers and weighing every step carefully. For them, a new fee like this is not just a headline. It is a reminder of how narrow the path can feel.

The H-1B has long been the workhorse of U.S. immigration, the bridge for international graduates and early-career professionals who wanted to stay. It has brought engineers to Silicon Valley, researchers to labs, and physicians to hospitals. Nearly one in four doctors in the U.S. are foreign-trained, many staffing rural clinics and specialties that American graduates often avoid.

A six-figure fee changes the math. In 2022, Google alone filed more than 7,000 H-1B petitions; under the new rules, that could mean an additional cost of $700 million. For smaller companies, even one petition can rival the size of a pre-seed round, making the idea of hiring an international employee nearly impossible.

Sam Liang, CEO of Otter.ai, put it bluntly:

“We probably have to reduce the number of H-1B visa workers we can hire … some companies may have to outsource some of their workforce - hire maybe in India or other countries just to walk around this H-1B problem.”

Labor advocates, however, argue the fee is overdue. As Daniel Costa of the Economic Policy Institute has written, “The H-1B has too often been used to undercut U.S. wages by creating a pool of workers dependent on their employers for legal status. Raising costs could reduce abuse and ensure the program benefits workers here.”

Critics counter that the policy risks hollowing out competitiveness by pushing more work abroad. Other countries have already taken notice. Germany’s ambassador to India welcomed Indian workers last week, citing stable migration policies and opportunities in science and technology. Canada has gone further, with recruiters marketing directly to H-1B holders: if the U.S. does not want you, Canada does.

The human side is harder to measure. Because an H-1B ties legal status to an employer, risk-taking is already constrained. Years ago, I wanted to start a company with a brilliant data scientist I had worked with. She was from India, educated here, and one of the smartest people I have ever met. YC even offered to help with a special visa if we got in. But she could not take the leap. Walking away from her H-1B would have meant walking away from her future in the U.S. With a six-figure fee layered on top, choices like hers feel even more impossible.

Physicians face a similar bind. Many finish U.S. residencies eager to open practices or bring new models of care to underserved areas, but visa insecurity already limits their options. A $100,000 fee raises the stakes further, making sponsorship less feasible for hospitals and career mobility harder for doctors.

As AMA President Bobby Mukkamala put it,

“The U.S. relies heavily on foreign-born doctors because of a crippling shortage of physicians across the country … charging a six-figure visa fee to get qualified foreign-born doctors to fill that gap will only make the situation worse.”

The interpretations of this change vary. The administration says the fee will protect Americans from “cheap foreign labor.” Critics caution it could do the opposite, discouraging the very people who have historically fueled U.S. growth in medicine, science, and entrepreneurship.

The shift raises questions. Do we want to remain a country where the boldest ideas and the most ambitious people can take root, no matter where they were born? How do we balance protecting wages at home with attracting talent from abroad? And what does it mean for America’s identity if the people who once dreamed of building here begin to dream elsewhere instead? The impact is no longer hypothetical. Students, doctors, and workers are already deciding whether the futures they imagined here are still possible.

The years before I applied to medical school, I asked doctors whether I should go into medicine. The answer was almost always the same: If you can do anything else, do it. At the time, my mind was already made up. I spent nearly every free minute studying for the MCAT, convinced that the grind itself was proof of my commitment.

I wasn’t really asking whether medicine was right for me, I was looking for validation that the sacrifice would be worth it. The doctors weren’t questioning my curiosity or my care for patients. They were warning me about the culture: a profession that glorified 90-hour weeks, framing exhaustion as dedication.

Years later, I found the same culture in startups and business. Speed is treated as the ultimate virtue. Every few months, a founder goes viral for their 100-hour work weeks. Elon Musk has said, “Nobody ever changed the world on 40 hours a week,” turning long hours into a shorthand for ambition. Being first to launch, first to raise, first to dominate the narrative often overshadows everything else.

Different industries, same idea: exhaustion as a badge of honor. The more you give up, the more it signals that you’re serious, that you deserve to advance, that you’ve earned your place.

For all the reverence around long hours, research consistently shows their limits.

• Productivity has a ceiling. John Pencavel’s Stanford research shows output rises with hours only up to a threshold, then flattens and can even fall. More hours can produce less useful work.

• Health costs are measurable. A WHO/ILO analysis links 55+ hour weeks with higher risks of stroke and heart disease.

• Balance pays off. Microsoft Japan’s four-day week pilot reported roughly a 40% productivity lift, driven by tighter meetings and less waste.

Some of the most respected founders reject the myth entirely. Dustin Moskovitz (Asana, early Facebook) encouraged nights, weekends, and vacations, and Asana went public on that philosophy. Jason Fried and David Heinemeier Hansson (37signals/Basecamp) built a profitable, enduring company while defending calm 40-hour weeks. Their message: growth doesn’t come from stacking hours but from clarity and focus.

But what if you enjoy the work? That’s the pushback. I’ve made it myself. People say they’re not sacrificing, they’re choosing. They love the late nights and early mornings, the adrenaline of shipping fast, the feeling of being indispensable. And sometimes, that’s true. But enjoyment blurs the line between passion and depletion. What starts as flow can quietly tip into exhaustion, framed as commitment until it’s too late.

The 90-hour story keeps surfacing partly because it reflects lived reality. Lucy Guo, co-founder of Scale AI, recently said: “When you’re first starting your company, it’s near impossible to do it without doing that.” For many early founders, work is all-consuming and personal time disappears.

But the myth also adapts to context. In consumer tech, it’s about speed to market. In health-tech or biotech, where regulators and hospitals set the pace, no amount of all-nighters will move a trial or payer approval faster. Founders still pour in the hours, but much of that time is spent waiting on systems they can’t bend. In finance, analysts burn out before seeing the rewards they were promised. In academia, volume is rewarded over originality.

And this isn’t unique to Silicon Valley. Japan’s karoshi (death from overwork), China’s “996” schedule, and America’s hustle culture all reflect the same story: across cultures, long hours are shorthand for dedication, even as the costs mount.

At the same time, wellness has become central to tech’s self-image. Founders track their sleep with wearables, plunge into cold tubs, experiment with supplements. But these rituals often sit alongside late nights, nonstop communication, and packed calendars. It’s less contradiction than it is dual impulses: the drive to go faster, and the desire to last longer.

That tension is part of why the 90-hour myth endures. It speaks to ambition, urgency, and the romance of building something from scratch, even as data and experience point to the risks. And for many, especially those raised with immigrant or outsider mentalities, it feels tied to belonging. To deserve a seat at the table, you have to outwork everyone else.

But the myth also privileges those who can afford it. A 90-hour week is easier if you’re young, unattached, or already supported. Caregivers, parents, or those without a safety net rarely get the same option. Devotion to work is praised; devotion to anything else is questioned. We reward obsession with a company, but rarely celebrate the same commitment to family, art, or community.

So the question isn’t just whether 90-hour weeks work. It’s why we still valorize them. What does it say about how we measure ambition, and what we choose to celebrate?

Maybe the 90-hour myth endures not because it’s true, but because it makes exhaustion feel like meaning. The harder challenge, and the real marker of ambition, might be learning how to build without depletion.

The Wall Street Journal recently profiled the rise of saunas and bathhouses as the newest social hubs. From Othership in Toronto and New York, to Bathhouse in Brooklyn, to The Altar, soon opening in Manhattan, these aren’t the dusty infrared saunas tucked in the back of a gym. They are glossy, investor-backed spaces designed by architects who draw inspiration from churches and nightclubs.

Strip down, sweat, plunge, and maybe pitch your startup while you’re at it.

The article points to something that feels both exciting and uneasy: people are hungry for connection. Phones have pulled our heads down and shortened our attention spans. Dating feels fractured. Even a drink out with friends has become expensive. In response, entrepreneurs are raising millions to build hot-and-cold sanctuaries that promise not just wellness, but also belonging, intimacy, and access.

“All people are created equal, but nowhere more so than in the sauna,” one designer told WSJ.

Take off the Rolex, put down the phone, and everyone looks the same in an ice bath.

Or do they?

For me, the sauna has never been about networking. As a founder with a 90-hour work week, I go for something quieter. It is where I reset. I sweat out the stress and return to myself. I go alone. That is why this new framing is so interesting and also uncomfortable. If the sauna is becoming the new boardroom, who feels safe enough to show up?

Historically, for women, especially women of color, the bathhouse has been less about deals and more about community, ritual, and recovery. Today’s luxury wellness clubs are being positioned as gathering places for founders, creatives, and investors, the very circles where money and influence already tilt male. These new bathhouses are not saying women should not come. In fact, their branding is often explicitly inclusive, with imagery and language designed to welcome all genders. The question is not about entry, but about whether everyone feels safe inside when the expectation is to network and build professional relationships.

Only 2% of venture funding goes to women. Less than 1% goes to women of color. Those numbers have not moved in years. Against that backdrop, it is worth asking: if the boardroom has migrated into a sauna, who really feels safe walking in, and who does not? The sauna may blur status symbols, but it does not erase power.

There is also something striking about watching practices that have existed for centuries, from Turkish hammams to Japanese onsen, Russian banyas, and Finnish saunas, get redesigned for the modern wellness economy. The promise is not just health anymore. It is access. Pay $50 for a single session or $300 for a membership, and you can sweat alongside like-minded entrepreneurs.

Maybe you meet your next business partner.

Maybe your next date.

These spaces do hold the possibility of community and connection. I have felt that myself. But they also reflect the hierarchies of the worlds they serve. That tension is what makes this moment so complicated.

The challenge may not be to build bigger saunas. The challenge is to create new kinds of third spaces. We need places that draw from the wellness culture people are seeking, but are also intentional about inclusivity. Spaces where connection, recovery, and opportunity are not filtered by cost, comfort with vulnerability, or the dynamics of who already holds power.