Since the school year began, I have been working diligently to complete assignments, study for tests, keep up with my classes, go to work, attend clubs, practice my instruments, plan for college, and more—all that to say: I am burnt out. And yet, this is the first year that I have felt truly productive: I get everything done, I have all A’s (knock on wood), I am content with the quality of my work, and I am confident that I am on track for the path I want to pursue in life.

But why do I still feel so bad? Am I not doing everything right? Why does that black hole pit in my stomach always reach its greedy hands out for more?

These questions are always at the forefront of my mind. I contemplate them, I fidget with them, I roll them between my fingers, I try on their solutions, then cast them off. 

I have come to the conclusion that the issue, this overwhelming feeling of unfulfillment, lies in the way that we view productivity. For too long have we revered a false idea of productivity—for too long have we worshipped professional success above all else. 

To be productive is to generate positive results efficiently and effectively. By definition, one can be productive in any aspect of life: school, hobbies, relationships, etc. But most often, we use the term “productivity” in relation to work. A good worker is a productive worker. A good worker is happy. Since productivity has steadily increased year after year, according to the Economic Policy Institute, workers today must be the happiest they have ever been, right?

A Gallup poll highlighted that Americans have been reporting lower and lower satisfaction with their personal lives since 2020, marking the year 2025 as the lowest on record in terms of personal satisfaction. Ask around and you will find this poll holds true: the nagging emptiness of dissatisfaction, the lack of self-actualization, eats away at the spirits of the American people.

Productivity in and of itself is not a bad thing at all, and productivity in one’s personal life does often lead to fulfillment. When you knit a scarf, practice your favorite sport, cook a nice meal, or read a new book, you enjoy the fruits of your labor through the feeling of personal accomplishment—the satisfaction of reaching a goal you have set for yourself. 

Personally, however, I do not find this same satisfaction when I clock out of work or complete some assignment for school, yet I am undoubtedly being productive: I make money, I get good grades. But I still find myself asking, Why? What am I working toward? What am I working for?

I go to school so I get good grades, I get good grades so I can go to a good college, I go to a good college so I can get a good job, and I hope and pray that a good job will give me a good life—but that dream is becoming less attainable year after year. Average wages stagnate, and large companies seek to implement artificial intelligence and other autonomous technology rather than hiring human workers. So what am I doing?

Productivity leads to fulfillment most often when it directly betters you as a person. If you are productive for the benefit of someone else (for example, the nameless, faceless executives at the corporation that employs you), then that satisfaction does not easily translate into your life—the profit produced by your labor becomes so far removed from yourself that you forget it exists at all, therefore obscuring your effort. The reason that people across America feel dissatisfied in general while still being productive at work or school is because our whole lives are centered around fragile hopes that become weaker by the day, rather than substantial, material realities.

While I have my gripes, I still agree that productivity is a good thing, and people should still aspire to be productive as productivity absolutely has its benefits—what should change is the idea that certain kinds of productivity, the amount of money you make for your boss, should not be the only marker of a successful, fulfilling life. Working does not have to be your life; it is not supposed to be your life.