Our obsession with grit, willpower, and human tenacity blinds us from systematically understanding how individuals actually become who they are, and thus why they do what they do.
To Try
Posted on Tuesday, August 11, 2026
Last updated on Wednesday, August 12, 2026 at 1:41 PM
Among the most common objections I’ve received when I shared with others that I don’t believe in free will is that it somehow means one shouldn’t try—that we shouldn't apply ourselves or put in effort in self-actualization. The logic goes that if we have no actual choice in determining who we are and thus why we do anything, we should just give up. However, saying that our choices are unimportant merely because they are predetermined is a grave misunderstanding of the way our world works. While there is no way of ever knowing the predetermined course of our actions, it does not change the fact that all of our action and inaction alike still matter; they are, after all, the very inextricable elements that constitute that immutable course of the universe. Thinking that the choices do not matter is itself a choice that matters. Not thinking about the consequences of choices is also itself a choice that matters. Not believing in an unfettered form of free will does not justify nihilism and a dereliction of duty.
But at the heart of this misconception is an overly simplistic bifurcation of our attitude towards free will into the often-dismissed (and rightfully so) nihilistic camp, where our agency and the importance of our choices is dissolved by succumbing to fatalism, and the culturally dominant human tenacity camp, where each and every one of us has full control over our choices to determine what we want in the world, and logically, because choices without action are merely wishes, our choices are important only because they exist as the medium to channel the effort, the willpower and the resilience to materialize the reality that we want.
However, I will argue here that the thinking on both sides is fundamentally flawed. Our choices almost certainly matter, but it isn't because they represent our agency as free actors. It isn't because they are a hallowed manifestation of our freedom or a sacred vessel of our ambition. Our choices matter immensely because they are often the nodes of cause and effect in which many causes culminate and many effects stem from. And my point here precisely is this: the more that we can understand how and which causes are culminating—what influences our decision-making process at a psychosocial level—as well as how our choices ultimately shape the world around us, the more that we can effect the change we seek to make in this world. The more that we understand the underlying dynamics of the world we live in, the more that we can make thoughtful, rational, and effective solutions to our problems. And that matters infinitely more than merely trying.
Character judgments about willpower, strength, and human tenacity only go so far. History tells us that everyone tries—for a variety of causes, for a variety of reasons, and tries really hard, at that—and history also prominently tells us that not everyone who tries, wins; in fact, very few of them do. The human tenacity rhetoric is undergirded by a profound survivorship bias; people that made it to the other side incorrectly attribute their success to their character traits, and heavily discount the factor of luck, whether from the character traits that they developed because of the privileges or favorable conditions growing up, or the specific alignment of circumstances at the time of making a seemingly good decision. And what's even more appalling is that the survivors almost never speak for the fallen; often what happens is that the survivor, with the convenient character explanation, crassly overwrites their story with the tacit judgment of “you didn’t try hard enough.” Caved into the ills of social media? You lack willpower and discipline. Couldn't graduate high school or get a GED? You didn't study hard enough. Experienced poverty and financial insecurity? Why didn't you work harder at your job to get a promotion? This is patently useless advice that blatantly ignores the structural conditions that drive people toward failure, and yet, it is the predominant cultural narrative that pervades our thinking and the direction of our conversations. I understand that shame can be a driver of motivation, but I want to be honest—is that really the way it plays out in the long run? Or do we prefer not to talk about how this type of thinking—urging others to think that there is some inherent deficit to correct in their soul or being—is deeply complicit in the mental health crisis, leading nations of people to unprecedented rates of burnout, anxiety, depression, and suicide. Whether you want to analyze the people that we've encountered in our own lives, or look to the data, the narrative is very clear about this—every year, millions upon millions suffer from these oppressive mental states and tens of thousands of lives are lost to people taking their own lives. If we do not believe in free will, we can reopen our compassion to those who fell and treat them with empathy—to understand their story, why they are who they are, and why what happened to them happened the way it did.
And even if we wanted to talk about effort as the problem, it’s not actually the root of the problem; a lack of effort is always reducible. We have to take a look at why someone lacks willpower instead of merely wishing. Because if we see this as a character flaw that we have to iron out or power through, we often neglect our due diligence here—to actually analyze why someone lacks willpower and find concrete solutions based on the reality of their past circumstances. Were their parents negligent? Did the culture they grew up in reflect the values that we desire here and now? Did they never have good role models growing up? In our analysis of the situation, we crassly and naively believe we can substitute ourselves to be in their shoes: “well, if I was in their situation, I would do so much better.” The fact of the matter is that we’re not in their situation. And that’s the entire point—to wholeheartedly understand the people around us through their past circumstances, how it’s shaped who they are, and what solutions they would actually be responsive to. In the education system, we flunk the student and shame them. In business, we churn countless individuals in the same position until we find the hustlers that are willing to put up with low wages or poor working conditions. In the justice system, we have built and filled countless prisons instead of honestly engaging with rehabilitation and the root causes of crime.
Free will, as most of us have internalized the concept—that we're all equally capable actors and that the differentiator between success and failure is effort—is an idea that has its premise resting on these sacred democratic pillars of fairness and freedom. But the ironic part is that the belief in the concept itself, especially at a larger scale, completely belies it. Is it fair when countless individuals are punished to grow up with one parent or no parents to teach them good values? Is it truly freedom when all of our choices are but a miniscule subset under an operating system determined by our upbringing, by the people around us, by these abstract and often antiquated cultural belief systems? The crux of my issue lies with the fact that much of the conventional narrative we’ve been given my entire life treats effort and hard work as the end-all-be-all tool for success, and the way that this unilateral mentality manifests itself ultimately buries the need to actually systematically understand the communities, organizations, societies, and cultures we've designed for ourselves, while also minimizing the need to empathically understand other human beings and ask harder questions about why people don't have willpower, about why they underperform in certain contexts. We neglect this because caving into our hatred, anger, or frustration and impulsively using an ideological bludgeon—crassly labeling others as unproductive, as unmotivated, as unambitious, as lazy, as weak—is far easier than confronting significantly more complex and difficult questions: How can we be more sensitive to each other? How can we understand the mechanisms of how ideas disseminate in our culture? How do we get others to generate a sense of self-actualization—to have this drive to make things better, not just for themselves but for the world and for the people around them? How can we teach people to be generous, to be morally upright, to have strength and willpower in difficult times, to have resilience, to have faith, and to have solidarity? Could it be that the incentives and design of our schools and institutions, our jobs, and the conventional path of life cause apathy, complacency, and disillusionment, which we're misinterpreting as laziness?
My argument here is not that Tony Robbins, David Goggins, or any other source of inspiration or motivation for human tenacity have no place in our lives; in fact, I deeply admire these individuals and have found them to be an immense source of inspiration in difficult times in my life. I am exhorting us to remember that there's so much more nuance and complexity to understand about the world, about the human condition, about other people, and about ourselves. And what's even worse is when we try to apply the same set of values to practical domains like business, the education system, or government, which ultimately leads to inefficient, backwards systems that are foundationally misaligned with the cause-and-effect nature of our world and systematically produce injustice and perpetuate societal problems. Because when we emphasize character, the only thing left to do is to blame. Because in this simplistic worldview, that's the best available answer.
Idolizing these beliefs and acting as though it tells us the full narrative ultimately breeds discontment, bitterness, insensitivity, hatred: If it works for me, why can't it work for others? And worse yet, the inverse breeds self-hatred: If it works for others, why isn't it working for me? Indeed, why is the right terminology, but most of us usually stop there, because our myopic conception of the pathways to success and our internalized, emotionally charged beliefs about grit, resilience, and tenacity belie the spirit of curiosity and reason that's required to take that step further to understand why—with clarity, compassion, and discernment.
Posted on Tuesday, August 11, 2026
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Posted on Tuesday, August 11, 2026
Moving On
Posted on Monday, January 16, 2023
Last updated on Saturday, August 15, 2026 at 4:27 PM
All too often, within discussions of our past histories, I constantly hear this phrase: “I’m over it,” “I’m past that now,” or “I’ve moved on.” But what do we really mean when we say this?
The legacy of a crumbled relationship that can no longer be pieced together, an argument or disagreement with a friend or coworker that created an irreconcilable emotional rift, an egregious failure that led to acute shame and embarrassment. These things change us, whether we like it or not.
This mode of thinking goes hand in hand with the hackneyed mantra of “everything will be okay” that reflects the same mindset of just wanting the pain and suffering to end, and nothing more. We’ve preemptively decided that “okay” or “fine” is the easiest and most convenient escape from the emotional trauma. For most people, being “over it,” means forgetting about it. If we’ve already escaped that pain, why go back to it?
Because we are excessively fixated on merely escaping, we seldom take the time to reconcile how that event has shaped who we are today—how it shapes our decisions and how it has influenced the way we perceive the people and the world around us. Contrary to popular belief, truly moving on doesn’t mean you don’t think about the painful memories anymore. In fact, it’s quite the opposite; we unknowingly allow that past pain to continue to shape our future. And we have no idea whether it’s working in a positive or negative way.
Maybe a toxic relationship you’ve had in the past is causing you to be cynical or avoid intimacy. Maybe that horrendous mistake that you made caused you to avert risk in your life entirely. Maybe heavily falling out with your manager and impulsively quitting influenced your work ethic and perceptions of your future bosses.
We can't move on from the past if we don't understand how our past circumstances have shaped our present and future self. We concede defeat and allow the world to take its own course, and all we've assigned ourselves to do is react to whatever life throws at us.
We concede what minimal free will we had to begin with. No matter your stance on the degree to which we have free will, I think we can agree that at least the first two decades of our lives—give or take depending on the person—is purely defined by the whim of our circumstances. It’s very well understood in the psychology of personality formation that the complex interplay between an individual’s genetics and their environmental circumstances. Our socialization begins from the initial interactions with our parents, and then those shared with siblings, family members, friends, classmates, and teachers. We not only learned to conform to the existing social norms and cultural zeitgeist, but, more importantly, depending on the nature of that socialization and the events that happen in our lives, we start to form our conception of the world—our ever-morphing definitions of right and wrong.
Should you share that toy with your preschool classmate? Should you pay attention in class instead of doodling in your notebook? Should you study for that big math test tomorrow? Should you ask that person out to prom?
If you can even remember your answer to these questions you’ve probably asked yourself in the past, think about why you made a particular choice. Think about why it seemed right to you.
Did you honestly meticulously weigh the pros and cons of a particular decision? Did you rationally analyze whether or not your process of logical reasoning was sound, or if the evidence you were using in that reasoning was relevant? Did you consult your friends, parents, teachers, and coaches and have an extended discussion in order to acquire unbiased outside perspectives? Do you really think you did any of that as a fifteen-year-old, let alone as a toddler?
Or did you just do what merely felt right?
And then when we consider the scale—just how many of these irrational decisions we've made for ourselves in the past, thus creating an unquantifiable amount of personality change over the years—what free will is left, then? Yes—we made decisions when we were a toddler and a teenager alike, but we made those decisions under a decision-making faculty we had no conscious effort in producing. The truth is, until we have the self-awareness, the courage to confront the harrowing parts of our past, and the mental and emotional fortitude to understand it, free will is an illusion.
If we neglect to understand this complex interplay between ourselves and circumstances, we are making a choice to perpetuate this powerlessness and passivity that defined our youth.
If we think that “moving on” is fundamentally about forgetting the past, not reconciling the ways in which it has shaped us, we thus concede our free will.
Do we wish to navigate a chaotic world, where everything seems to happen with no rhyme or reason, or can we hope for something better?
With trial and tribulation, we need to constantly recalibrate. We need to stop thinking “moving on” is what we need, when precisely what we need is to stay where we are and look at ourselves in the mirror.
Posted on Monday, January 16, 2023
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More on free will · self-improvement→Posted on Monday, January 16, 2023
Freedom
Posted on Friday, February 10, 2023
Last updated on Saturday, August 15, 2026 at 4:27 PM
When ostensibly the most salient questions in our lives pertain to our purpose—the very justification and prime motivator for all of our actions and reason for existence in the first place—why are we doing such an abysmal job at informing people on how to find it? We evade giving direct answers to others regarding such questions because we feel as though the magic of possibility and the prospect of writing our own stories is a greater privilege than informing each other how to best live. We often glorify this freedom to decide for ourselves our fate; it constitutes this proverbial endeavor of individualism, carving our own path in life and assigning our own personal narrative to our struggles and joys alike. This is undoubtedly a hallmark of Western culture—one of the great privileges of living in a democratic, free society, where no one, not even your friends or family, can ultimately dictate the story and purpose of your life. But when we leave people to their own vices and merely expect them to just figure it out themselves, we inevitably end up with four distinct categories of people.
The first category of people are those that avoid the question entirely. They are unquestioning pawns within hierarchies and perpetually rotating cogs within industrial societies. For a variety of reasons, whether it’s their own personality traits (their conscientiousness, agreeableness, openness to experience, etc.), or the prevailing cultural norms, they live out their life and perform their role within society without much thought and question into the purpose of their existence beyond that apparent role.
The second category of people are those that are unsure of their purpose and resort to the conclusion that the purpose of their life is to merely be happy and achieve personal “success,” whether self-perceived success or ubiquitous success in a particular realm of society. So it’s not surprising to see that methodologies of tackling the uncertainty of modern life that resemble hustle culture and the sigma male grindset proliferate in the contemporary world. Many of them recognize just how inhospitable, unforgiving, and downright absurd the society around them is designed, and their solution to such a problem is to capitalize on the system to work against itself for their selfish gain. Because personal happiness and success are the ultimate achievement, these individuals rarely heed to the long-term consequences of their actions outside of personal gain. They are willing to sacrifice almost anything—their social lives amongst family and friends, their leisure activities, the environment, the welfare of other human beings or animals, and even their own physical or mental health—to achieve this end. While not everyone takes the hustle to such a severe extent, in the end, selfishness will still dictate the trajectory of their lives.
The third category of people constitute the undetermined; when left on their own, it is the lingering threat of complacency within an insipid life that prevents them from doing the work that matters. They are those that have the conviction that they’re meant to do something more important with their lives, but the persistent doubt and the deep-seated fear—fear of disapproval, fear of change, fear of commitment—that undermines them from taking the leap forward to do what they truly believe in. They’re more afraid to confront the uncertainty than they are afraid of living a life unfulfilled. Often, these types of individuals are far more prone to fall into depression and suicide from their ever-present existential doubt.
The fourth category of people are those that, without much external guidance, feel a natural compulsion to explore the unknown, confront the daunting darkness and uncertainty that prowls on the road ahead, and undertake a profound introspection to discover what it means to truly live. But here’s the problem: we have to stop relying on this minority to be the sole instigators for the change we so desperately need to adapt to this constantly shifting, chaotic world. We need to stop using them as a crutch when our established systems and conventions cease to work, when malevolent forces in our world seek to use the exponential growth of technological development against humanity, not for it. When very real evil abruptly arrives at our doorstep, conspiring to undermine the very peace and prosperity we take for granted in our insulated, gilded societies lined with privilege, we need to be prepared.
I think we can all agree that we don’t need more cogs, because the industrial education systems that we’ve designed have already overproduced this type of individual far beyond measure; the demand for this type of individual in the current state of the world is at an all time low. I think we can also agree that we don’t need more hustlers who take advantage of other people and maneuver their way around systems of the societies we live in, or more people that are mired in existential doubt and end up living inconsequential lives, crippled by depression, or, worse, dead by their own hands.
“Freedom is in danger of degenerating into mere arbitrariness unless it is lived in terms of responsibleness. That is why I recommend that the Statue of Liberty on the East Coast be supplemented by a Statue of Responsibility on the West Coast.“
— Viktor Frankl
When we believe freedom is not the means to an end, but the end itself, we carve up an intricate excuse for the dereliction of our duty as fellow humans to guide each other along. Freedom is not enough. It is important, but we need to stop glorifying it when hundreds of millions of people, if not billions of people, are lost, misguided, disillusioned, or complacent with such freedom. When we are blatantly neglecting to directly teach each other and our future generations what it means to live a meaningful life and what it means to do meaningful work, we shouldn’t be surprised why there aren’t more “peacemakers, healers, restorers, storytellers, and lovers.” We shouldn’t be surprised that there’s a worldwide epidemic of mental illness, that there’s a mass shootings and homicides occurring every single day, that suicide rates remain at a staggering level, that bloody wars continue to be waged around the world, and the persistence of a myriad of other problems within our societies that we’ve failed to adequately address since the dawn of the industrial age.
We need to stop expecting everyone to just “figure it out.”
We can do better to design a society and formulate a culture where we are transparent about what it means to live a life with meaning, intent, and purpose. We can build a culture where we are proud to both celebrate and emulate those who have made the world we all live in, a better place to live in.
Posted on Friday, February 10, 2023
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Posted on Friday, February 10, 2023
Discipline
Posted on Monday, February 6, 2023
Last updated on Saturday, August 15, 2026 at 4:27 PM
Discipline and consistency are undeniably important. Discipline is an exercise of free will because it is the act of detachment from the whim of our emotions. It is a choice to work out, brush our teeth, and take a shower tomorrow not because we feel like it, but because it’s tomorrow. It is the act of liberating ourselves of the decision of whether or not to do something in the heat of the moment because we’ve *already made that decision—*because we’ve already found the resolution to commit to a certain path weeks, months, or years ago. Indeed, as Seth Godin would teach us with The Practice, or Jocko Willink would admonish us with Extreme Ownership, how we act determines the way we feel far more often than how we feel determines the way we act.
But all too often neglected in this pursuit of discipline and consistency is the courage to ask why. Discipline and consistency only exist in regard to a specific course of action, and deciding which course of action to take may be just as difficult or more difficult than actually undertaking it on a day to day basis. When we live in a society where complex systems are nested in even more complex systems, and when these systems are solely designed to serve other systems, we can so easily lose sight of what actually matters to us as human beings. Perhaps the most important question we have to constantly ask ourselves in this intricate modern day society is: what is it for? Only when we understand the root purpose of a given endeavor can we begin to answer what it is worth having discipline for.
What is school for? Is it meant for me to cultivate my understanding of the world and its people and to make better decisions as a member of society? Or is it merely a means for me to get a job?
Then what is work for? Is it merely to attain financial security or status? What role does your work play within a particular system? How does it serve society as a whole? How does it serve you as a member of that society?
What are those systems and innovations even for? Is it meant to grant us convenience and save us time? Then what is the time for? What are we doing with all the time that we saved?
If we choose to suppress these questions, we choose not to truly live. If we blindly choose to have discipline in doing anything, we not only end up being slaves to these systems, but we perpetuate these abhorrent, oppressive constructs that take advantage of the human propensity towards cultural conformity. There is no shortage of people with discipline. There is no shortage of consistency. The truth is, discipline doesn’t matter if we don't take the time to ask why we choose to do what we do; in fact, from a certain perspective it can even be pernicious.
We understand the circumstances people need to fall into depression, suicide, and resort to crime. We understand the dynamics that have directly led to the death of hundreds of millions because of war, disease, poverty, and the unbridled growth of technology. We understand the factors that cause the deterioration of mental health and the overwhelming sense of purposelessness that is so pervasive. What we don’t understand is the deeper why—why these systems exist, why these cultural norms exist, what purpose we want them to serve, and what we really value as human beings—and we cease to have the courage to fight the status quo, even if we know it’s wrong.
We have plenty of people that are doing a very fine job maintaining these seemingly innumerable, infinitely complex systems within our society. We have plenty of people that clearly believe in the current cultural status quo—a certain path of life and a certain way of life—and are very dedicated to ensure that our future generations persist with it. What there is a shortage of is people with discipline and the courage to ask why.
Why do we chastise those who quit for having a lack of discipline? The people that quit are often just trying to ask why. If we haven’t already sorted out the why, the discipline will never stand the test of time. It needs to be forged with self-doubt, with failure, and with the anguish of uncertainty. Quitting allows room for us to explore. It allows us to constantly recalibrate our outlook on life—what matters to us, what brings us joy or contentment, what makes life even worth living.
The path of life is inexact; there are no easy answers. Constantly quitting and an endless pursuit of a perfect opportunity can be just as detrimental to the course of your life as maintaining discipline and consistency in something that you might realize is ultimately not worth the cost. What we can do is decide to promulgate a culture where instead of chastising those who give up, we can learn to encourage others to ask the right questions. We can promote a form of discipline that is not necessarily constrained to a specific task or line of work, but is linked to our unending quest to understand ourselves and the people around us, to play our part in formulating a culture we can be proud to share, and to know what truly brings us fulfillment and happiness as human beings.
Posted on Monday, February 6, 2023
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Posted on Monday, February 6, 2023
Oppression
Posted on Monday, January 23, 2023
Last updated on Saturday, August 15, 2026 at 4:27 PM
Let’s again continue with the premise that we are the product of our circumstances, that is, the notion that before reaching a certain age at which we possess the degree of self-awareness and emotional maturity to break free of those circumstances, we have no free will in determining who we become. Think about the specific events surrounding our upbringing—our parents, our teachers, our friends, the culture that they instill within us, the values that they impart to us. Think about what seems “right” to you.
They teach us that wealth, status, and hard-earned privilege are at the center of a prosperous life. They teach us that the leaders of our government and the design of capitalism create space for our prosperity. They teach us that there is a set path towards that prosperity—go to school, go to a prestigious college, get a respectable job, have a family, then retire And of course, which schools and colleges are to be considered “prestigious” and which jobs are to be deemed “respectable” will be predetermined by the culture we live in.
They teach us that hard work, perseverance, and diligence is the key to success, which means that, in school, the most optimal course of action is to spend the majority of your waking hours of your youth memorizing the textbook, jotting down only the things that will be on the test, and toiling away at countless standardized exams that are designed to determine your future through a letter or a number grade. It means that, on the job, you follow directions, do your job only as instructed, and understand that if you cease to work as designed, it’s not an issue because you’re an interchangeable part, a replaceable and disposable cog within an industrial system.
And to psychologically bind us to these norms, they teach us that obedience and conformity is good. They teach us that we should feel inadequate if we don’t have the same wealth, status, and privilege that others have, and that we should strive to have those things at any cost. They teach us that challenging the status quo and deviating from the worn path of life is reckless and dangerous. They teach us that asking too many questions is a form of insubordination. They teach us that quitting is for losers and the undetermined.
We would never outright urge people to not think for themselves. We would never explicitly tell them that they can’t choose to walk their own path. We perceive that such directives are cruel, unjust, and characteristic of the oppression of the communist and fascist totalitarian regimes of the past century.
But if we understand the implications of these social norms that prod the vast majority of the population to invariably walk a predetermined path, without question of its design or purpose, what is this but oppression of a different design? What is this but psychological oppression?
What gives us the right, from the onset of personality formation, to indoctrinate our future generations with these values and ideals, when specifically those values and ideals work to hinder their individual freedom? When they blind them from achieving their greatest potential as a human being because they believe that their mere purpose in life is to serve capitalism and serve the societal status quo, to avoid the shame and ridicule that is the consequence of deviating from the norm? When these values cause them to settle for less and believe that just because no one specifically chose them to make any significant change in the world, they should sit back and live a selfish life? When the system seeks to create grave inequality and artificial scarcity for all the “good” jobs and all the “good” schools, allocating undeserved privileges for those that have unwavering dedication to this predetermined path, while the rest are punished?
Indeed, no matter what we choose to teach our children and no matter how we design our society, human beings are wired to emulate. But we have the capacity, each as leaders of our current generation, to change what they emulate.
Racial oppression—the segregation and discrimination of African-Americans, Asians, and Hispanics—was a problem in our country for centuries before the civil rights movement. More specifically, the cultural norms that defined the attitudes towards race were the problem that enabled those abhorrent institutions. Today, while racism is still an issue, on average the tolerance and appreciation of racial and ethnic diversity is far greater than it has ever been. But this wasn’t because we necessarily did a better job at parenting now versus the parenting of the past. It wasn’t because we offered a racial diversity class to every US citizen born after 1970. It wasn’t because we were able to dissolve the racism from those who were already racists to begin with.
It’s because of the courageous acts of a minority of the population that caused the entire culture to shift, and thus, over time, what future generations observed about the world ultimately changed. It’s because those future generations observed that sharing bathrooms, classrooms, and restaurants with non-white people was normal. It was normal to see them in positions of authority as individuals equally as capable of making a positive difference in our world. It was normal to see them as our friends, classmates, and coworkers with whom we could share the joys of life with.
If we can swallow our pride and muster the courage, we can—united as human beings and undivided by our tribal tendencies—collectively determine which parts of our culture are holding us back and which parts are spurring us forward. We can decide to break free of our oppressors and spurn the profligate way of life of industrialism, the narrow-mindedness and irrationality characteristic of most of our arguments, and the complacency that looms over a banalized and trivialized existence brought upon us by a negligence and refusal to ask, let alone answer, what truly matters for humanity.
This is how we change the world.
Posted on Monday, January 23, 2023
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Posted on Monday, January 23, 2023
Parallel Worlds
Posted on Tuesday, December 27, 2022
Last updated on Saturday, August 15, 2026 at 4:27 PM
I’m at a certain crossroads in life. Having just quit my job, I’ve consequently been spending a great deal of time contemplating my career options. Naturally, I’ve caught myself many times imagining how great it would be if any of my hobbies (or past hobbies) could’ve formed into a genuine professional career. Before I began my first (and only) job at Paris Baguette, I was really into Olympic weightlifting, drumming, and learning Chinese—all during different epochs of my high school and college life. By now, I thought, I would’ve likely reached a highly proficient level had I just stuck it out and had just a little more determination and commitment.
I didn’t quit because it got difficult or because it took up too much time; I quit because I had too much self-doubt, and, above all, an unshakeable compulsion to be certain that what I was doing was my passion and my talent, that all the time and energy invested would be worth it. I wanted to prove to everyone that I could achieve something in life and do at least one thing that I could say I was better at than anyone else around me. This was an obsession with an outcome—to be certain that what I was doing would inevitably guide me towards professional success, approval, fulfillment, and joy. And so I began my quest to prove myself—an inane quest to gather proof and evidence to show everyone else that I was on the right track.
I wanted to prove that I was stronger than everyone else. I wanted to prove that I was doing the most technically difficult lifts compared to anyone else in the gym. I wanted to prove to my parents and friends that this was about improving my physical health. I wanted to be certain that one day, people would admire my physique, strength, and determination.
I wanted to prove that I was not like all the other supposedly aspiring who haphazardly and inconsistently practiced. I wanted to prove that I could land a gig. I wanted to prove that I was authentic, just for authenticity’s sake. I wanted to be certain that I could become a professional musician and I could make a living from this so my parents wouldn’t pester me about my career.
I wanted to prove that I wasn’t like all the other Chinese-Americans around me who never diligently studied their language and heritage. I wanted to prove to everyone that I was capable of memorizing how to pronounce and write thousands upon thousands of characters. I wanted to prove that dropping out of college was justified and not because I was lazy. I wanted to be certain that I could one day express myself perfectly in Chinese and blend in seamlessly with everyone else in Taiwan.
But proof and certainty weren’t what I needed. When I began to hit more and more roadblocks, all this mindset did was help me experience failure in advance. I gave up because I was not certain. And the moment I lost certainty was the moment I lost all motivation to continue. It wasn’t the outcome that mattered—it was the practice. The practice of engaging with the art itself.
By searching for (and then embracing) a practice that contributes to the people we care about, we can find a path forward. That path won’t always work, but we can trust ourselves enough to stick with it, to lean into it, to learn to do it better. The alternative is corrosive.
When we begin to distrust our own commitment to the practice, we’re left with nothing but fear. When we require outcomes as proof of our worth, we become brittle, unable to persist in the face of inevitable failure on our way to making a contribution.
- Seth Godin, The Practice: Shipping Creative Work
Why become stronger when you can grow stronger together with others? Why didn’t I find friends or others who would’ve been interested in training together and eventually going to lifting competitions together?
Why didn’t I document my daily practice routines and post them on YouTube, not only so that I could analyze my own work, but be generous in sharing ideas and struggles with others learning to drum as well?
Why didn’t I talk to and play with other aspiring musicians instead of grinding in the practice room alone all day, when I could be creating actual music? Why didn’t I find a study partner to learn Chinese, someone who was already fluent and was trying to learn English, thus enabling us to be generous with each other?
“Do what you love” is for amateurs.
“Love what you do” is the mantra for professionals.
- Seth Godin, The Practice: Shipping Creative Work
Having given up on all my previous hobbies by 2018, I was basically thrown into working a retail job at a local bakery chain after being prodded by my brother and my parents to be more productive with my spare time. Little would I know working as a cashier and eventually a manager at Paris Baguette was the best thing that ever happened to me. It wasn’t perfect by any means—far from it if I was honest, but I learned to love what I do regardless. The thing is, there was never a day I woke up for work and said, “I’m going to do this to be a better person, or so I could make more money, or get a promotion.” I always woke up, organized my daily to-do list, and contemplated how I could best contribute today; I was constantly brainstorming ways I could tackle a specific problem, how I could make the working experience for those around me just a little bit better, whether it was through redesigning workspaces to make them less frustrating to work in, rethinking workflows to save time and energy, or equipping each team member with the specific tools or knowledge they needed to succeed. Most of all, I always looked forward to sharing moments, however transient and insignificant they seemed at times, with both coworkers and customers alike. Day after day, this changed me. Realizing my transformation over time—gradually becoming more social, more confident, more brave, less cynical, less pessimistic—helped me understand that it is the practice that matters in and of itself—not the outcome. Focusing on my daily contribution—not obsessing over whether something was “worth it” or not—ultimately led me to become a person I can be proud to be. Could I have said the same, had I followed my heart, and “did what I love”?
Sometimes we like to think that there are alternate universes—parallel worlds—where if something was just a little different, everything would’ve turned out differently. But the only problem is, no one or anything is making it just a little different; that’s not the way the world works. There was no omniscient force that would trigger some event or spontaneous revelation in my life based on a whim. The circumstances and my state of mind at the time led me to those decisions. There is no parallel world where I magically mustered the willpower to continue weightlifting amidst the loneliness and disillusionment of high school, a world where I somehow put all my self-doubt and purposelessness behind me during college to continue drumming, or a world where, completely by blind luck and good fortune, found the confidence, maturity and determination to stay in Taiwan and continue learning Chinese. If parallel worlds exist, it certainly would not look like those.
I choose not to have regret because these experiences were all part of my life nonetheless. Who knows the person I would’ve become—much rather, the person I would’ve continued to be—had I stuck it out. It is the path I took, and this path—worn through by countless failures, despair, and uncertainty, and paved by self-forgiveness, generosity, and faith in the practice—led me to this point where I even have the wisdom and capacity to come to this revelation in the first place. Why would I take that all back?
These what-if scenarios exemplify our obsession with outcome; we never think about the process, while we obsess over the result—the person I could’ve been, the girlfriend I could’ve got, the career I could’ve had. But what about all the steps you took to get to that place? What about how that practice shapes you? No—I don’t wish I was an amazing weightlifter, a prolific drummer, or a bilingual prodigy. Because in each of those versions of myself, under an ostensibly great career hides a stagnant and still weak, close-minded, cynical, self-consumed, pessimistic, and naive self that would have remained unchallenged for years.
This mode of thought merely constitutes our self-fabricated narrative, a make-believe story to extricate ourselves from the shame and naïveté of our past, imagining the best versions of ourselves when we were actually at our worst.
Posted on Tuesday, December 27, 2022
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Posted on Tuesday, December 27, 2022
Forgiveness
Posted on Wednesday, May 31, 2023
Last updated on Saturday, August 15, 2026 at 4:27 PM
We find it all too easy to be haughty, to be disdainful, to speak with a choleric air of arrogance and superiority when we impudently operate by the premise that the people we’re speaking to are intentionally lazy, careless, inattentive, selfish, immoral, or hypocritical.
But time and time again, once we actually take the time to learn the other person’s story, we regret our contemptuous behavior. It is only after the fact—only after we’ve learned that the person we lambasted for being timorous and cowardly had an incredibly difficult and traumatic past, only after we’ve learned that the employee that we shamed for making a mistake on our order has a severe mental disability or grew up with no parents, only after we’ve learned that the ostensibly irresponsible person that never showed up to our appointment got into a tragic car accident—that we begin to commiserate, that we begin to feel remorse.
We are shamelessly quick to assign motives and fabricate narratives to swiftly quell our fear of the unknown, to provide us with at least a surface-level explanation for others’ behavior. But why? Why play this inane game vacillating between contempt and remorse when we can just be a little patient, to take a moment to ask the other person why, to wait things out and actually be presented with real evidence of a certain narrative?
If we latch onto a rigid ideal of free will—that, despite all the chaos, uncertainty, and complexity of this world that we live in, we are all allocated equally difficult circumstances, that we have an equal response to those circumstances, that we all play under the same rules, and thus that we become equally capable actors to carry out our individual desires—forgiveness ceases to make any sense. If we are confronted with any trait or characteristic in another individual that might be considered remotely detestable, why wouldn’t we detest it, if it’s their fault, after all?
But if we do indeed presume that we operate under the same rules and the same constraints, then why is it that we’re not just all the same? Within such a perspective, how do we explain human difference? What is the true origin of benevolence or malevolence that drags us to take certain paths in life? If we predicate that we did indeed choose to be different, then the question inevitably always boils down to what made us choose one thing over another? Why does someone choose to do good over bad, or bad over good? It would be incredibly naive of us to insist that each one of us is granted an unlimited set of options, all of which we deem are simultaneously viable and appropriate. And where do such definitions of viability and appropriateness even derive from, at that? If we were to explain human difference from such a perspective, the logical conclusion would be that there must be some inherent energy within each of our spirits that predisposes us towards a certain path, and, at that point, we’ve come full circle, proving that there is no real choice, and no true free will.
Tolerance and forgiveness is a means of circumventing this absurdity; within each of them is fundamentally an implicit understanding of these limitations that exist within our supposed free will. Just as we might criticize a parent internalizing contempt for their purportedly failed child—the very same child they were responsible for instilling sound character into—it is no different that we might criticize one another for the internalization of contempt at a societal level. If we can agree that this rigid understanding of free will is even remotely flawed—that both the world that we live in and the physical bodies that we inhabit are incomprehensibly complex, impossible to control, inherently unjust in its design, unpredictable, wayward, and capricious—to forgive and to tolerate are the only right things to do. The alternative is the complete and utter destruction of the fabric of humanity—all of us, wallowing in an unceasing pit of antagonism and blame, mired in a putrid miasma of pride and obstinance, and branded with indelible guilt and shame.
Posted on Wednesday, May 31, 2023