Back in the 1960s, people were side-eyeing things like meditation, yoga, and “finding your inner self” as if someone had just suggested chatting with their toaster. Fast forward to now, and suddenly everyone has a morning mindfulness routine, a favorite breathwork app, and a strong opinion about Himalayan salt lamps. What was once “far out” is now basically a Tuesday. Even talking about energy, vibes, and intuition–once reserved for barefoot philosophers in fields–has made its way into boardrooms, brunch tables, and your neighbor’s Facebook captions.

And let’s not forget the fashion and lifestyle choices that once made parents clutch their pearls: long hair on men, organic food, communal living, and questioning authority. In the ’60s, that got you labeled a rebel; today it gets you a wellness brand and a Netflix deal. Eating kale, growing your own herbs, and saying things like “I’m just protecting my peace” would’ve sounded suspiciously like you’d joined a commune. Now? It just means you’ve got good lighting in your kitchen and very strong feelings about oat milk.

What’s up with all of this?

Well, there’s a lot of good evidence that giving up some of our old ways and giving in to the new can make us healthier and happier. Turns out the people hugging trees, stretching in slow motion, and insisting on “fresh air and sunshine” weren’t unhinged–they were just early. What used to sound like a dramatic lifestyle overhaul is now suspiciously close to what your doctor, your fitness tracker, and your friend all recommend in unison. Drink more water, move your body, calm your mind, go outside… it’s less revolution, more “oh–right, that makes sense.”

our eyes at–talking about emotions, setting boundaries, prioritizing rest–has quietly become the new gold standard of functioning like a decent human being. In the past, powering through everything on fumes and coffee was considered admirable; now it just gets you a podcast episode about burnout. Slowing down, saying no, and taking care of yourself used to feel indulgent or even a little ridiculous. Now it feels like the smartest move in the room. Turns out, a little less grind and a little more “protect your peace” might not be so far out after all.

I recently gave up sugar–it was time. I took up baking as a hobby and I was wearing it around my waist. “Nice cream puffs,” you might have said if you saw me on the street–and not in the flattering, Parisian way. I do miss it–come on, Swedish Fish? Sponge candy? Those neon little joy nuggets didn’t stand a chance against me. But I’m learning to walk on by, like a reformed woman who now makes meaningful eye contact with the produce section. No Coke. No cake. Just me and my moral superiority… and a handful of almonds I don’t even like.

Is life even worth living? Jury’s still out. I won’t lie–there are moments, usually around 3:30 in the afternoon, when I’d consider trading a minor possession for a frosting-covered anything. But something strange is happening. I’ve dropped a few pounds, yes–but more than that, I feel a little clearer, a little steadier, like I’m not being emotionally manipulated by a bag of candy anymore. I’m still me, just… slightly less glazed.

I’m also trying to stop acting like I’m running from a mountain lion every minute of the day. If I was having company, for example, I’d begin preparations weeks before as if I were orchestrating the arrival of Queen Elizabeth II. Even just thinking about dinner every morning creates anxiety. For some reason, I act as if every moment of my life is a major project. But I’ve begun to practice “being” instead of “doing.”

“Doing” is that constant hum in the background that says, what’s next, what’s next, what’s next, like your life is a checklist that will somehow unlock peace once it’s completed–spoiler: it never is. It’s the energy of planning the meal while you’re still eating breakfast, mentally setting the table for a dinner party that isn’t happening for two weeks, and somehow turning a quiet Tuesday into a full-scale production. “Being,” on the other hand, is almost suspiciously simple. It’s making the coffee and actually tasting it. Sitting in your own house like a person who lives there instead of a stage manager preparing for Act III. It’s allowing a moment to just… be enough, without upgrading it into an event.

The strange thing is, nothing falls apart when you stop over-producing your life. Dinner still gets made. People still show up and eat it. The world does not require you to pre-suffer for every future moment in order for it to go well. “Being” is less about doing nothing and more about not turning everything into something. It’s letting a Tuesday be a Tuesday, not a dress rehearsal for perfection. And it turns out, when you’re not sprinting from imaginary mountain lions, you actually have the energy to enjoy the life you were working so hard to manage in the first place.