The original draft **sucked**.[^1] Here's what I wish to tell you instead. --- I recently went on a hike with my friend/boss and his friend/my friend/also my boss. As we climbed past the remains of cable car systems, flanked by the increasingly — offensively — beautiful Sierras, my body broke down more and more until my movements resembled the cable car systems: stationary. I, naturally, scapegoated the [[a day on killy|altitude]]. We sat down next to the trail. Well — my companions did. I engaged in some kind of motion resembling when a building is demolished. And as I laid there, staring at the mountains, listening to the river, I realised there were just *so many* things I could do at that point. I could stay sprawled or (theoretically) keep walking; I could dunk my head in the river or read on my Kindle; I could eat a leaf or the fig bars in my bag. I could also climb off-trail in all directions; punch a tree with my bare fist; misdirect my friends/colleagues/supervisors and just run away, etc. Some of these decisions are wiser — and thus better — than others. But they're all possible. ~ I went to SPARC's reunion this month as a non-SPARC alum, and — probably — an atypical admit to these sorts of camps. Part of my journey to get there was walking up this extraordinarily tall hill, during which I enviously observed the cars whizzing by me. I felt my huff-and-puff-and-blow-my-heartrate-down technique indicated I had clearly deceived someone in some horrible way — in the sense that if you deserve to be somewhere it'll be easy to get there. In other words, things just *work* for successful people. And in general, how well something works for you can be improved gradually. You can have a slightly better studying method, a marginally improved way of talking to people — improvement is a spectrum rather than a binary. Perhaps that's why I felt (feel) drawn towards optimisation. Actual success is hard. Resembling success; feeling like you're moving towards success; feeling like you resemble success — easier. ~ I started regaining control — and feeling — of my body around when we got to a section of large boulders in the middle of a mountain pass. Resting at the top, with only a few kilometres to go until our final destination, we opened our bags to grab a quick snack. We had split up from the larger group, which meant our rations were miscellaneous parts of the once-coherent food collection, which meant all we had was almost-liquid peanut butter, nuts, and half of a fig bar. And so, we drank the peanut butter like it was a smoothie. I'd been thinking a lot about how to make my diet work for me. Even now, I have a large Huel order in a virtual cart. Chugging peanut butter with specks of dirt on your fingers is rarely the first thing that comes to mind when most people, no matter their goals — losing weight, limiting sugars, immune system, etc — think of as "optimal". Yet I cannot overstate how good this peanut butter was. It was enough fuel for us to finish the rest of our climb, powering increasingly laboured steps to a stunning mountain lake. No one else — even the rest of our group — was there. The huffing, the fatigue — it all dissolved. We made a quick plan, with little deliberation and even less analysis, and split three ways — one to climb a rock, one to swim to an island in the middle of the lake, and me, left behind. I grabbed the speaker (which these two older brothers of mine had hidden for the hike) and a little more peanut butter. I hit shuffle instead of scrolling desperately. I thought, again, of all I could do. ~ For a while, whenever I was in a room, I was taught to think about two things: (1) the breadth of people I could talk to and (2) the depth of impact of each conversation. You multiply these two figures, accounting for the relative importance of each person as a proxy for (2) and motivator for (1). After all, the argument to optimise is best in the context of time-bounded opportunities. You have four* years of college, three days in X travel destination, two hours in the room. Time is unlike money or clout: you get a non-regenerable amount of hours to do things. Why not do the most you can with those hours? At the reunion, I spent most of my time resources talking to four people — three of whom I already knew. I didn't get the next big startup idea or insight into the general meaning of life. I did have a *great* time. I forgot all about (1) and (2) and instead just tried to ask questions I wanted to ask. And as I sat there, on the shores of the lake, a little part of my brain tried to push me into action, into making the most of my time. I needed to climb the rock, and I needed to swim, and I needed to take more pictures. I eventually listened, and I joined my two friends/brothers/bosses in the middle of the lake, where they had been drying off from the piercingly cold swim. They jumped back in, starting to swim back, while I was still trying to warm up. My brain, again, tried to push me into action — a little wind, a little water, a little cold shouldn't prevent action. I ignored it. I waited to dry. I swam back a few minutes later. Looking back on these choices, I realise they were, in fact, better than what I was pushing myself to do. I've done a lot of sub-optimal stuff — maybe because "every optimisation is a miracle."[^2] I've been lazy when I should've worked harder; cut corners when things deserved care. Going to the reunion was, on paper, a two hour investment into a hour of interactions. The twenty-fifth [[murakami]] taught me nothing the previous 24 hadn't. Climbing to the lake wasn't necessary to see mountains, or even water. I've had ten days in [[SF]] and I've been alone for lots of it, reading & writing when I was supposed to be maximising. But I don't think it matters. Few parts of my life are optimal. Very few hold absolute advantage in comparison to others; and others' lives. I feel very lucky to have had things that worked out on their own, and I generally believe that I live an extraordinarily good life. The only person who knows this is me; and if I don't believe it, no one else justifiably will. *Thank you to Monty & AOB for reading drafts.* [^1]: I initially drafted this post as a historical narrative on my complex emotional relationship with the desire to optimise (which really meant, for me, to perfect) every part of my life. "Since then, I've been set on this unceasing journey of trying to optimise basically everything. I can navigate credit card websites like the back of my hand, conduct weekly reviews of my time as if I was a deeply unsatisfied middle manager, and explain the merits of meal replacement shakes and longevity diets to biohackers and regular people alike." - *the carcass of what was here* [^2]: The infinite wisdom that I was told at [[on agency, the dark arts, and paperclips|ASPR]]