Hi friend,

I'm back on the farm, counting down the days before my annual summer holiday. Yes, I just returned from Turkey, but let's be real: that was less vacation and more of a much-needed mental health intervention. Sometimes, a change of scenery is all you need for clarity, grounding, and closure.

Now I'm in the home stretch, wrapping up two mammoth client projects and gearing up for a final speaking gig in Palo Alto. Then it's curtains for Q2. (I know, I know—who closes their quarter in July? We'll get to that.)

I've waxed poetic before about treating life transitions like highway ramps instead of light switches. Vacations are no exception. In fact, science backs me up here: anticipation is half the fun. So let me share my favorite method for maximizing vacation bliss. It's a three-step process that's part planning, part daydreaming, and entirely indulgent.

Step 1: The Perpetual Vacation Bucket List

This is my year-round obsession. I keep a running list on my phone of every whim, fancy, and "wouldn't it be nice if..." that crosses my mind. But here's the key: get specific. Don't just write "read a book in the garden." Which book? Which tea will you sip while reading? Which corner of the garden calls to you? The goal is to create a menu of experiences so vivid you can almost taste them.

Step 2: The Off-Ramp Prep

About a month before D-day, I start turning those daydreams into reality. I order the books, sign up for that online watercolor class, make sure my gardening tools aren't rusted beyond recognition. I stock up on sunscreen, prep and freeze meals (future me will be so grateful), and make sure I have enough jars for the inevitable fig jam-making frenzy. It's all about eliminating friction between you and your bliss. It also gets me so excited!

Step 3: The On-Ramp Plan

Here's where most people falter. They return to work with vacation brain, only to be hit by a tsunami of emails and deadlines. Not us. We're smarter than that. I look at my post-vacation week—in this case, a September packed with travel and client work—and build in a buffers. I might even prep some slides or outline a report before I leave. It's about giving yourself a gentler re-entry, so you don't undo all that hard-earned relaxation in one fell swoop.

This whole process? It's an investment in your future self. It's about curating experiences that will actually recharge you, not just tick a box on your calendar. It's about extending that vacation high for as long as possible.

So tell me: what's on your vacation bucket list? What little luxuries are you dreaming of? Hit reply and let me know—I'm always looking for new ideas to add to my own list.

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In This Dispatch:

1. Rethinking Your Calendar
2. Revisiting Trad Wives
3. Tech Weak Signals to Note

Rethinking Your Calendar

** This is a sneak peek at some of the frameworks I'll cover in Humane Productivity, which is almost done!🎉**

Let's talk about my peculiar relationship with time, specifically what I call my "floating quarter." It's a bit like redesigning the calendar to match the ebb and flow of real life, instead of forcing life to fit into neat, identical boxes.

Here's how my year breaks down:

Q1: February, March, April (Spring Momentum)

Q2: May, June, July (Summer Hustle)

Qf: January, August, December (The Floating Equilibrium)

Q4: September, October, November (Autumn Intensity)

I know it looks unconventional. But trust me, this seemingly chaotic structure has been transformative for both my productivity and well-being.

Here's the thing: I noticed that January, August, and December are always slow for me- and I liked it that way. Instead of trying to cram them into a traditional structure, I decided to lean into their unique qualities. Plus, I love working in 90-day sprints, so I changed how I organized my time to fit my preferences better.

January becomes my "big picture" month. Rather than diving into the new year with a flurry of resolutions and half-baked projects, I use this time for deep thinking and strategic planning. It's less "new year, new me" and more "new year, same me but with better plans."

August is my mid-year breather. It's a time to rest, reflect, and remember that there's a world beyond my laptop screen. This intentional pause isn't just about recharging—it's about gaining perspective and letting new ideas percolate.

December is my wind-down month. Let's be honest, trying to maintain peak productivity during the holiday season is like trying to meditate at a rock concert. So instead of fighting it, I use this time to tie up loose ends, reflect on the year, and set the stage for January's planning session.

Think of January and December as the on and off ramps of my work year. They allow for a gentler transition between high-intensity work and restorative breaks. August is the rest stop in the middle of the highway—a chance to check the map and make sure we're still headed in the right direction.

This approach isn't just about scheduling; it's about creating a more harmonious relationship with time. It recognizes that productivity isn't a constant upward trajectory, but a series of purposeful sprints and strategic rests. (A Hustle & Float, if you will, lol).

Now, your ideal calendar might look completely different. Maybe you need to block off March for your kids' spring break, or November because your family apparently decided to have all their birthdays in one month. The key isn't to copy my schedule. It's about crafting a schedule that aligns with your realities, energy levels, and goals.

So, I'm curious: if you could redesign your work year, what would it look like? Would you have a floating quarter? A power month? A "sorry, I'm hibernating" season? How might rethinking your relationship with time change your approach to work and life? I'd love to hear your thoughts—after all, time is the one resource we can't make more of, so we might as well use it wisely.

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Trad Wives Pt 2: Ballerina Farm

In a previous dispatch, I explored the rise of the #Tradwife phenomenon, highlighting how this movement obscures the substantial wealth required to sustain such a lifestyle. I expressed concern about the potential costs—both financial and personal—for women who embrace this path without adequate preparation.

​A recent Times profile of Hannah Neeleman (known online as Ballerina Farm, with a staggering nine million followers across platforms) crystallizes my unease with this community and its underlying dynamics.​

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Hannah's story is a study in contrasts and compromises. Her initial aspirations—to be a ballerina in the vibrant energy of New York—were gradually supplanted by a different narrative. Enter her husband, heir to a commercial airline fortune, who harbored dreams of rural life. Their union seems less a meeting of minds and more a series of his insistences: on marriage, relocation, and rapid family expansion.

Journalist Megan Agnew astutely notes the asymmetry in their "sacrifices." Hannah relinquished her passion for dance, a core part of her identity. In contrast, her husband's sacrifices align suspiciously well with his pre-existing desires: living in the western wilds, farming, weekly date nights, and a nanny-free household. Even the space Hannah envisioned for herself—a small barn she hoped to convert into a ballet studio—was repurposed for the children's education. This pattern of compromise raises questions about agency and equality within the relationship. Obviously, there's a huge religious narrative as well. (Both are Mormons.)

This reminded me of a passage from Trevor Noah's book, Born a Crime, where he recalls an observation his mother made:

The irony is palpable. In a community teeming with Mormon women who likely shared his rural aspirations, he chose a New York ballerina with ambitious dreams. The juxtaposition is stark - her graceful pirouettes set against the backdrop of open fields. Those images of her dancing amidst the crops strike a melancholic chord, symbolizing a dream deferred, a passion displaced.

And yet, her narrative holds firm. Despite evidence to the contrary, she insists that this rural life is what she wants, broadcasting her story to millions of followers online. I can't help but wonder: is this a genuine embrace of a new life, or simply the only spotlight now available to her, a way to dance for an audience she can no longer physically see? Is this her only way to be seen?

Agnew pinpoints the central paradox of the Tradwife movement: in marketing the stay-at-home mother lifestyle, these women have inadvertently created high-earning, public-facing careers for themselves. They are, in essence, being compensated to perform a carefully curated fantasy of domesticity. The real practitioners of this lifestyle don't have the support of millions of people- they are often isolated and alone, expected to do the invisible labor, while being invisible themselves.

This dichotomy exposes the fallacies on both sides of the work-life debate. On one hand, we have the hyper-individualistic "girlboss" narrative, which merely adds professional pressures to women already shouldering the majority of domestic labor. This creates an unattainable standard of "having it all" that sets women up for burnout and disillusionment.

On the other hand, the #Tradwife myth is equally deceptive. It presents a lifestyle that's only sustainable with significant financial backing, often at the cost of personal autonomy.

The article reveals a particularly troubling moment that encapsulates the underlying issues of agency and autonomy in this lifestyle. Hannah recounts her experience with an epidural during childbirth—a procedure often viewed as anathema in circles that exalt "natural" home births as the pinnacle of motherhood. She describes the experience as "great," but notably, she whispers this admission, ensuring her husband is out of earshot. The reason? She only received the epidural because he happened to be absent during that crucial moment of labor.

This seemingly small detail is a glaring red flag that demands our attention. It raises profound questions about the nature of choice and bodily autonomy within these relationships. When a woman feels compelled to conceal her medical decisions from her partner, especially regarding something as intensely personal as childbirth, we must interrogate the power dynamics at play. The fact that Hannah's access to pain relief was contingent on her husband's absence, rather than her own preferences and needs, is horrifying.

Such moments, though brief, are profoundly revealing. They offer a window into the often-hidden compromises and constraints that underpin the idyllic façade of the Tradwife lifestyle. The notion that anyone—partner or otherwise—would presume to dictate a woman's choices during the vulnerable and intensely physical experience of childbirth is not just troubling; it's a stark reminder of the persistent struggle for women's bodily autonomy, even in the most intimate of settings.

This anecdote serves as a microcosm of the larger issues at stake: the tension between personal agency and prescribed roles, the power imbalances often masked by traditional family structures, and the complex negotiations of identity and autonomy that women navigate, even in spaces ostensibly dedicated to celebrating their role as mothers.

The solution, as is often the case, lies in the nuanced middle ground: empowering women with genuine choice—be it to pursue a career, stay home, or find a balance—supported by policies that enable a more collective approach to family and work.

Sweden's recent policy allowing grandparents to earn income for childcare is a step in this direction, making it feasible for families to lean on their family networks. Other crucial elements include improved access to early childhood education, affordable daycare, and living wages. These are the building blocks of a system that truly supports women in making family decisions without sacrificing control or being depleted by unsustainable expectations.

The challenge before us is to move beyond these polarizing narratives and create a societal framework that acknowledges the complexity of modern family life. It's about recognizing that fulfillment comes in many forms and that true empowerment lies in having the resources and support to make choices that align with one's values and aspirations—whether that's in the boardroom, the ballet studio, or the family farm.

Read the article and let me know what you think.

Technology Weak Signals -

• With JD Vance becoming Trump’s Vice President pick, I encourage you to revisit this insightful 2022 Vanity Fair article. It offers a nuanced exploration of Vance’s relationship with Peter Thiel and delves into Thiel’s intriguing political ideology of Dark Enlightenment. As we navigate the evolving landscape of tech and politics, it’s crucial to understand the connections between figures like Vance, Thiel, and the right-wing ideologies gaining momentum in Silicon Valley. A recent example of this trend is Elon Musk’s significant financial commitment to Trump’s campaign - a monthly pledge of $45 million. While this article predates Vance’s selection, it serves as an excellent primer on the behind-the-scenes dynamics that could profoundly influence both political and tech policies should Trump secure the presidency. I believe it’s essential reading for anyone seeking to understand the complex interplay between technology and political power in our current era.

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• Time Magazine recently brought to light a troubling health crisis emerging in a Texas town, with an unexpected culprit: the relentless hum of Bitcoin mining machines. This noise pollution is reportedly causing a range of health issues, from headaches to heart problems, affecting both humans and animals. It’s a stark reminder of technology’s unintended consequences. The European Environmental Agency warns that noise levels over 55 decibels can be detrimental to health, yet these Bitcoin operations are generating a staggering 70-90 decibels continuously. This situation prompts important questions about our push to build data centers for AI infrastructure, which may produce similar levels of noise pollution. As we embrace new technologies, we must be mindful of these potential side effects and approach innovation with a holistic view of its impact on our communities and environment.

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• A recent Fast Company article outlines a deeply concerning approach to AI-powered surveillance planned for the Olympic games in Paris. The scope is unprecedented, encompassing geolocation data, computer data, audio, and visual information. The extent of this surveillance is so vast that France had to amend its laws to accommodate it - a fact that should give us pause. The lack of transparency regarding data collection, storage duration, and appeal processes in case of false positives is particularly troubling. Moreover, the use of this data to train private AI models without explicit consent sets a dangerous precedent. As we consider these developments, we must also contemplate the potential misuse of such powerful surveillance tools in less democratic contexts. This situation underscores the urgent need for robust public discourse and policy-making around AI and privacy in our increasingly digital world.

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Next week - my take on the new Simone Biles documentary and how it relates to the expectations we place on high performers.