“Ascetic what? Huh? What the heck is ascetic consciousness?” she blurts out, tilting her head like I just asked her to live in a cave and meditate for 10 years.
I laugh, but I see the resistance in her eyes - the kind that comes when an idea threatens everything you think you know.
“It’s not about deprivation,” I say. “It’s about freedom.”
She scoffs. “Freedom? Sounds like a fancy word for less.”
There it is. The illusion we’ve all been sold. That more equals happiness. That success is about accumulation. That the next thing - the next trip, the next promotion, the next high - will finally fill the void.
But that’s the trap.
“Let me ask you something,” I lean in, watching her closely. “When was the last time you bought something, booked something, ‘treated yourself’—and actually felt full? Not just the momentary thrill, but real, lasting satisfaction?”
She opens her mouth, then stops.
I nod. “Exactly.”
Because the truth is, she already knows.
She knows the dopamine hit fades fast. She knows the glow of achievement burns out quicker than she thought it would. She knows the restless, empty feeling that lingers no matter how much she gets.
And I refuse to let her pretend otherwise.
“You think you’re choosing freedom,” I continue. “But if you were truly free, why does it never feel like enough? Why do you keep needing the next thing, the next distraction, the next fix to feel okay? You’re not living, you’re sedating yourself. Dressing up stagnation as self-care. Decorating the cage you refuse to leave.”
Her fingers tighten around the edge of the table. “That’s a bit dramatic.”
“Is it?” My voice is sharper now. “Then tell me why the richest people in the world still feel miserable. Why the people with the ‘perfect life’ drown themselves in vices, affairs, or distractions. Why you, sitting right here, having everything you once wished for, still feel restless. Empty. Like something’s missing.”
She flinches.
“Because more isn’t the answer,” I say. “Alignment is.”
The silence between us is heavy now. Uncomfortable.
I lean in. “And you know I’m right. You feel it. You’ve felt it for years. The gnawing sense that this isn’t it. That you’re meant for more. But you ignore it. You silence it with distractions, convince yourself you’re fine, that you should be happy. That you just need one more win, one more dose of comfort and then you’ll feel the way you’ve been chasing all along.”
Her breath is shallow now. Her hands tighten into fists. “So what do I do?”
I hold her gaze, unwavering.
“You stop betraying yourself. You stop numbing. You stop mistaking comfort for fulfillment. And you start making different choices. Not easier ones. Not safer ones. Smarter ones.”
A beat of silence.
Then, finally, she exhales, slow and shaky.
“Shit.”
I nod.
“Yeah. That’s usually the first reaction.”
If money wasn’t a factor, what bold move would you make right now? Let’s talk about it!
Serendipity