It’s Not Everyday 4am Hustle
Why do we always have to struggle to succeed to the detriment of other areas of our life?
Like many immigrants that venture onto the greener pastures in the country of the Queen Mother, England, my father was a man who was ready to taste all the milk and honey the land had to offer. As soon as his feet kissed the stone streets of the country, within a week he had a job at a factory, within a month he had another at a cinema, again in a couple more months, he was also working as a car park attendant.
There is an Akan saying ‘honam p3 adwuma’ — the body likes work. My father was (and still is) the embodiment of that phrase; and so like oil strengthens fire the hustle culture of London only served to embolden my father to work tirelessly. I’ve heard stories of him running across London Bridge from one office to another to meet deadlines from two different firms; carpark dates because that’s all my parents could fit into the schedule; and my father leaving Monday morning and not returning home till Saturday morning. If work was a rice paddy, my father toiled tirelessly so his family would have more to eat.
Similar to my father, I found myself (like many first generation immigrants) following the path he was trying to carve out for us. From as young as I can remember, I was involved in a litany of activities. My mother would drop me off at my first activity, piano, and I would catch a bus to my next one, karate. There was swimming on Sundays. I had Speech and Drama lessons, percussion ensemble and whatever activity she felt she could squeeze in the seconds between dinner and bed. Everyday I had something to do: a responsibility, a class, a performance. I slept late and woke early to meet the daily demands that London made as that is the culture.
You rise and you grind.
Hustle culture has been around since the 1980s but you really feel its influence in London. It’s in the air, it’s the person running to catch their train at 6am to job one, and it’s even in the school children who find odd jobs just to make a little money. With exorbitant costs of living it is difficult not to constantly look for ways to a) increase your income stream and b) improve yourself to increase your income stream. In my case, we were opting for choice b. I needed the extracurriculars to go to a good university as a good university meant a good job in the eyes of my parents.
This mentality clung to me like a second skin as I entered university, constantly finding extracurriculars to improve my chances of obtaining the next best thing. I was constantly squeezing the land for more honey, more ways to make myself look good.
However, all of this changed when I had the chance to do a student placement in Liverpool. If London is grey suits and running shoes, Liverpool is hand hammers and hammocks. My experience there was vastly different from what I had experienced up until then. For the first time, I didn’t feel like I had to pay a price to breathe. There was room to lay down instead of running. The scales of work and life were finally balanced. My afternoons were filled with walks to the beach, my weekends meetings with friends, travelling to other parts of the UK that I had only seen on the map. I embarrassingly admit that I was one of those Londoners that was not aware of life outside of London.
I eventually left Liverpool and returned to London to study and as soon as I stepped off the platform. I was back in a rat race I did not want to, nor was ready to participate in. During this race, multiple objects blocked my path, one of them being COVID-19.
COVID-19 has been a nightmare that has ravaged us but even in the darkness I found a little light. It was the first time that we were able to save extra hours that were usually spent on things such as travelling. However I found myself entering deeper into the sunken place, looking for more opportunities and more experience. I was trying to establish my value through the amount of work I could accumulate.
The wake up call was when my father travelled from Oman to the UK for a visit. It had been almost one year with the constant carousel of lockdowns and I didn’t know when I would next see him. I spent no time with him, just constantly working.
I tried bargaining.
“Dad, I just need to run this piece of code then we can play tennis.”
“Dad, just need to make these slides and we can hangout.”
“I’m almost done, Dad, then maybe we can watch a film.”
He was always understanding. Sympathetically nodding his head and bringing me tea as I furiously tapped away at my computer.
Before he left he said something that summarised our time together, “I’ve been here two weeks but have only seen you for two days.”
I didn’t know when I’d next see him.
I would like to say that this was a turning point for me, that I re-evaluated my life and had decided to jump ship before I crashed but I didn’t. I continued with my balancing act of late nights and early mornings. The siren call for success was a strong one that I just wasn’t ready to deafen myself to.
That all ended pretty soon. I was contemplating applying for a free writing programme.
“You’re already doing PhD, that’s 40 hours a week. Then you’re got your part-time job which is another 20 hours. Then you have your other job, which you should be doing in between,” my boyfriend explained, “let’s not forget church responsibilities. So when will you have time to do this programme?”
“Let me just apply and I’ll cross that bridge when I get there.” It was a cop out answer. I didn’t have the time.
As life would have it, instead of jumping ship at work, I was pushed out. Honestly, as the words ‘I have to let you go’ were uttered over Google hangouts, relief flooded my body. I was tired. I had time again. This time allowed me to recalibrate and slowly rebuild that work life balance I had once had in Liverpool. As I turned away from this toxic culture, I saw how ingrained it was not just in my household but in my circles. Hustle culture is like a cult, it’s normal when you’re in it and once you’re out you see the insanity of its ways.
Recently, I spoke to my father regarding his past. It’s safe to say…..
He’s found balance.
