The Illusion of the Dangling Carrot: Choosing Rest Over the Chase

I long for those days filled with laughter—the kind that makes your ribs ache—where my body was at ease, held in the presence of friends who truly saw me. The moments we created together weren’t just passing time; they were the kind of memories that stay imprinted in the soul. If you grew up like me, perhaps some of your most cherished memories are those with your friends. Something about that liminal space—no longer a child but not yet fully responsible—gave us the confidence to say what we wanted, do what we wanted, and be who we wanted. If I wanted to party until 3 a.m., I could. If I wanted to take a two-hour nap at 3 p.m., I would. If I wanted to work early mornings and study during the day, I could. I was privileged enough to believe that if I wanted something, I could choose it.

I know not everyone grows up with this sense of possibility, but here’s a secret: it wasn’t that I thought I was better or more capable. I wasn’t dreaming particularly big dreams, but I believed in the power of choosing the small, everyday things. Because if I couldn’t decide how to shape my daily life, how would I ever shape the course of my future? And yet, even now, at 35, pretending at adulthood, I still get confused. As adults, we often mistake dreams for grand gestures, when in reality, dreams become reality through the small things—the things we claim as our own, not the things handed to us by someone else.

But somewhere along the way, that freedom to choose got tangled up in something else. The small moments I once claimed as my own became part of a larger system—one that rewards chasing, not simply being. Instead of one particular person holding decisions over our heads like carrots, it is now capitalism itself dangling the reward just out of reach. If you do this, you will get that. It’s a simple enough equation: action equals outcome. And yes, we all have moments in life where this formula holds true—put in effort, see results. When I started yoga, I became more flexible. When I stopped feeling responsible for others’ emotions, I felt more compassion. When I gave myself self-empathy, I stopped blaming others. When I focused on my breathing, I felt better. When I stopped having fun, I felt alone. When I did too much, I lost touch with what mattered.

But when that capitalist carrot is dangling in front of me as if it’s the most important thing in the world to grasp for, all the carrots already planted in the earth before me become invisible. Everything that is good in my life, everything that already exists to nourish me, is suddenly out of focus. I keep looking up at that shiny, elusive reward, when if I just looked down—at the ground beneath my feet—I would be humbled by all that is already there.

Capitalism is the master illusionist. It tells us: work harder, achieve more, and then you’ll have "enough." But the more we reach, the further the reward drifts. Meanwhile, the real nourishment—the friendships, the slowness, the joy of just being—is waiting, unseen. Having that carrot is the illusion we are sold every day. It appears in many forms, but you know it's there when it pulls your awareness away from what truly supports and sustains you, towards something that offers only a fleeting dopamine spike or a goal fed to you as if it were your own.

I think we all find ourselves in this back-and-forth with capitalist living. It’s unavoidable, yet we can find ways to choose more deliberately and less hopelessly. The wins can look like spending time with family or friends instead of scrolling on a screen. Choosing to be in the presence of someone or something that inspires us. Stepping away from productivity to do something purely for joy. If you feel the pull toward something simple, but that grey cloud appears whispering, "You can’t," that may just be capitalism creeping in to remind you not to take your eyes off that dangling carrot. It might seem necessary to chase it in order to survive, but don’t forget—there are hundreds of carrots at your feet, and they are asking nothing from you.

If you get the metaphor, then thank you for reading this far. I long for us humans to choose the earth, to choose the things already waiting for us. The friends who make us laugh and cry. The family that holds and supports us. The communities that see and respect us. The beautiful, quiet things that give meaning to our days. Because the carrot that comes from the earth will always taste better than the one dangling just beyond our reach.