I was at my neighbor's house helping to build a firewood storage with other women — all moms of multiple kids. We were having a casual conversation about me planning to visit my family in Russia, and I mentioned that things were different since the war with Ukraine.
One of the ladies turned around and said: "What war?"
I thought to myself, oh my God, here we go again. But oh boy was I wrong.
She saw my face and said, "I guess I didn't mention, I don't watch news and don't own a phone. I just try to stay away from things happening outside of my family."
There stood a woman roughly my age, mother of three kids, looking absolutely typical for New Hampshire — jeans and plaid shirt, hiking shoes and a hiking backpack loaded with her youngest boy, holding three pieces of firewood in her arms.
And full access to her own preferences.
Don't get me wrong. I wouldn't want her life. I have family overseas, a husband who travels, hobbies I like to research at midnight.
But I couldn't stop thinking about her.
She wasn't behind. She was the first person I'd ever met who could actually tell you what she liked — because she was the only one who hadn't been marketed at since birth.
We don't even know what we like. We've never known. And that's the actual problem.
Now every time I want something, I ask myself — do I actually want this, or did I just not notice I was being told to want it?
What would you wear if no one was judging?
What would you watch if it wasn't on Netflix?
What would you do with your free time if no one was setting the standards?
Who would you marry, if it wasn't for your family or social status?
How would you raise your kids? Would you even have any?
I'm not entirely sure what I'd wear either. But I know enough to know that what I'm wearing right now isn't the answer to that question. It's the answer to a different one — what's available, what's trending, what makes me look like I'm doing okay.
Those aren't the same as what I'd choose.
— Founder, The Quiet Engine