In recent months, I’ve found myself wading into the ever-expanding sea of podcasts—a genre that promises everything from entrepreneurial mastery to spiritual enlightenment, all wrapped up in an hour of charming banter and self-assured advice. At first, I was intrigued. Who doesn’t want to learn how to live better, work smarter, love deeper? But the more I listened, the more I found myself caught not in a wave of inspiration, but in a current of discomfort.
It’s not the subjects that bother me—ambition, relationships, parenting, business. It’s the tone. The podcasters and their guests speak with a startling lack of humility. They sound less like thinkers and more like preachers. There is little room for doubt, no cautious language, no soft hedging like “this worked for me” or “in my experience.” Instead, they declare: This is how you should manage your business. This is how you must love your wife. This is how you ought to raise your children. Their language is absolute, delivered with an air of divine entitlement, as if they’ve been chosen to lead the rest of us through the fog of our inferior lives.
What’s particularly fascinating—and somewhat unsettling—is that many of these voices, regardless of where they originate, have found the Middle East to be a fertile hub for their brand of confident broadcasting. The region, with its rapidly growing tech infrastructure and appetite for modernity, has become a glamorous stage for this type of hyper-polished lifestyle evangelism. This isn’t accidental. There is significant support—financial, social, algorithmic—behind the push to promote a curated version of success: sleek, unambiguous, unyielding. It’s the kind of life you can filter on Instagram and monetize on YouTube.
But as I listen to these podcasts, I can’t help but question the entire premise. How can any one model of living, any singular formula for fulfillment, possibly account for the richness and diversity of human experience? Humans are not factory-assembled objects; we are the sum of our ancestry, our culture, our trauma, our dreams, our failures, and our stubborn contradictions. The notion that a single philosophy could be universally applied to us all is, frankly, laughable. It’s like trying to prescribe the same diet to a cactus and a whale—technically lifeforms, but that’s where the similarities end.
And yet, these podcasters go on, unwavering, echoing one another with unnerving certainty. Their catchphrases often sound like motivational threats: “The only thing standing between you and success is you.” Really? Not poverty? Not inherited trauma? Not institutional discrimination or lack of access to education and resources? Apparently, self-doubt is the only real systemic issue we need to tackle.
Of course, I’m not suggesting that all podcasts are devoid of value. Many are genuinely thought-provoking, even healing. But the ones that dominate the airwaves—those with the sleek branding, high production value, and the unmistakable whiff of sponsored superiority—rarely offer space for vulnerability, contradiction, or even the simple truth that life is messy and uncertain.
What I long for is a different kind of podcast—one that doesn’t speak at us, but with us. One that embraces nuance, uncertainty, and the complexity of being human. I imagine a title like Honestly, I Have No Idea But Let’s Think About It Together. Now that would be worth subscribing to.
Until then, I’ll continue to listen, albeit with a skeptical ear and a generous pinch of salt. And perhaps, just perhaps, I’ll hold out hope for a world where wisdom doesn’t always arrive wrapped in entitlement and an overpriced microphone.
inspired to aspire 