This line is fire: “you confuse what actually makes a difference toward your goals versus a whole bunch of elaborate nonsense—and the amount of energy required for the latter leaves you too tired for the former.”
I see this happen on an institutional level at schools all the time— it’s what my last essay was about:
Thank you for sharing your piece! I love it. Iris Murdoch wrote often about how attention is the highest form of love. I suspect you'll dig The Way of Excellence. Please do come back and let me know what you think once you've had a chance to read it!
Spot on as always, Brad! My wife was playing tennis with some women the other day. After the match, one of the women asked if they would all like to go for some coffee and a pastry at a local Starbucks. Two of the women actually had to check their Apple Watch to see how many calories they burned before answering. It's almost like an eating disorder.
This resonates so well. "It’s easy to over-control everything and burn yourself out. It’s much harder to focus on what actually matters and have the confidence to let go, even if only just a bit, on the rest."
A short tale to illustrate the point: In a "prior life," I was a discus thrower competing at world class levels. In the discus throw, literal (physical) strength and (physical) flexibility--along with a well-honed technique--are almost everything. At age 23-25 I was arguably in the best (physical) shape of my life. Six foot six inches tall, 310 pounds pretty lean. I had worked on my technique for over a decade, I was bench pressing over 500 pounds, squatting 800+ pounds. In practice I threw far enough to make it into the final round of the Olympic Games (if I were to throw such a distance during the competition). Almost every facet of my life was measured, scheduled, and optimized.
This was in the late 1990s, before wearables, trackers, glucose meters, all the performance enhancing BS diet regimes, but I was living that life, nevertheless. It was a lot more work to track and report all the measures manually; on paper in the weight room, out in the field, in the dining hall, later transcribing it into Lotus 123 or Excel to do some basic analysis. But I did it religiously because it was working ...
Or was it? By the numbers (strength, nutrition, practice performance, etc.), I should have thrown so much farther in competition than I actually did. During all the important Track Meets I was failing dismally. Consistently throwing 20-30 feet shorter than in practice. Our diagnosis back then: "Head Cramp."
To throw the discus well, raw strength and all those other important "measures" only get you so far ... They're necessary for world-class performance, but not sufficient. In order to "knock one out of the park" during a meet, at least 20-30 technical things need to go exactly right within a time span of about one second (throwing arm at the right angle, separation between upper body and lower body just right, planting the right food in the middle of the spin at just the right angle, etc.).
To get all of those things right at once at the right time, you cannot rely on brute force or sheer focus. Controlling 20-30 different technical aspects of a discus throw by sheer will and focus in the moment is impossible. No human being has the cognitive abilities to do so. Instead, you have to have "the confidence to let go" and trust that all your hard work and practice will manifest.
During the last years I competed I was utterly failing at the "letting go" part und my dismal performances were showing it.
On only two occasions during my last years of competing did I come anywhere near my potential: in one qualifying meet in New Orleans and at the NCAA Championships in Buffalo (where I finished second).
What had a I done differently on those two occasions? I went out all night the night before, partying, flirting, having a good time, not caring about coach's advice "be in bed by 9" ... I was hung over and "in bad shape" when the competition started ... on both occasions, I threw a personal record. On both occasions, I "didn't give shit" about the meet. I was able to let go and be equanimous about my performance. That is, I was not over-controlling but I gave my "system" a chance to perform at the level for which I had prepared it so long .... without my "head cramps" getting in the way.
Also, if eating a granola bar or drinking apple cider throws your entire being out of whack, that says more about your lack of robustness than anything else.
Another way to look at these risks of optimization is Taleb's antifragility. Optimization "attracts attention because it sells the illusion of control." Attempts to avoid the inevitable chaos of life rob us of the small stressors (sleepless 2-year-old, unreliable foreign food) that actually build our strength. And give us the chance to recognize our own ability to deal with those challenges, building self-efficacy.
This line is fire: “you confuse what actually makes a difference toward your goals versus a whole bunch of elaborate nonsense—and the amount of energy required for the latter leaves you too tired for the former.”
I see this happen on an institutional level at schools all the time— it’s what my last essay was about:
https://regenerativeschools.substack.com/p/real-leadership-requires-deep-attention?r=6kxkx2&utm_medium=ios
I just got your book, I’m so excited to dig in!
Thank you for sharing your piece! I love it. Iris Murdoch wrote often about how attention is the highest form of love. I suspect you'll dig The Way of Excellence. Please do come back and let me know what you think once you've had a chance to read it!
Spot on as always, Brad! My wife was playing tennis with some women the other day. After the match, one of the women asked if they would all like to go for some coffee and a pastry at a local Starbucks. Two of the women actually had to check their Apple Watch to see how many calories they burned before answering. It's almost like an eating disorder.
Def always need a reminder esp in today’s world with AI and how spaces like health and wellness can get around optimization.
Trust the process and that means the process isn’t perfect.
Most people try to perform their way forward.
But the real shift seems to come when you stop adding and start removing.
Love this, Brad.
The way we are overwhelmed with data, podcasts, tweets, and articles these days, it's so hard for so many to focus on what really matters.
Is it
-the 14 step morning routine from that podcast?
-or is it showing up, day in day out, eating well, working out, and doing your best to improve?
Most influencers sell the former, because the latter isn't sexy or profitable, even if it is what really moves the needle.
This resonates so well. "It’s easy to over-control everything and burn yourself out. It’s much harder to focus on what actually matters and have the confidence to let go, even if only just a bit, on the rest."
A short tale to illustrate the point: In a "prior life," I was a discus thrower competing at world class levels. In the discus throw, literal (physical) strength and (physical) flexibility--along with a well-honed technique--are almost everything. At age 23-25 I was arguably in the best (physical) shape of my life. Six foot six inches tall, 310 pounds pretty lean. I had worked on my technique for over a decade, I was bench pressing over 500 pounds, squatting 800+ pounds. In practice I threw far enough to make it into the final round of the Olympic Games (if I were to throw such a distance during the competition). Almost every facet of my life was measured, scheduled, and optimized.
This was in the late 1990s, before wearables, trackers, glucose meters, all the performance enhancing BS diet regimes, but I was living that life, nevertheless. It was a lot more work to track and report all the measures manually; on paper in the weight room, out in the field, in the dining hall, later transcribing it into Lotus 123 or Excel to do some basic analysis. But I did it religiously because it was working ...
Or was it? By the numbers (strength, nutrition, practice performance, etc.), I should have thrown so much farther in competition than I actually did. During all the important Track Meets I was failing dismally. Consistently throwing 20-30 feet shorter than in practice. Our diagnosis back then: "Head Cramp."
To throw the discus well, raw strength and all those other important "measures" only get you so far ... They're necessary for world-class performance, but not sufficient. In order to "knock one out of the park" during a meet, at least 20-30 technical things need to go exactly right within a time span of about one second (throwing arm at the right angle, separation between upper body and lower body just right, planting the right food in the middle of the spin at just the right angle, etc.).
To get all of those things right at once at the right time, you cannot rely on brute force or sheer focus. Controlling 20-30 different technical aspects of a discus throw by sheer will and focus in the moment is impossible. No human being has the cognitive abilities to do so. Instead, you have to have "the confidence to let go" and trust that all your hard work and practice will manifest.
During the last years I competed I was utterly failing at the "letting go" part und my dismal performances were showing it.
On only two occasions during my last years of competing did I come anywhere near my potential: in one qualifying meet in New Orleans and at the NCAA Championships in Buffalo (where I finished second).
What had a I done differently on those two occasions? I went out all night the night before, partying, flirting, having a good time, not caring about coach's advice "be in bed by 9" ... I was hung over and "in bad shape" when the competition started ... on both occasions, I threw a personal record. On both occasions, I "didn't give shit" about the meet. I was able to let go and be equanimous about my performance. That is, I was not over-controlling but I gave my "system" a chance to perform at the level for which I had prepared it so long .... without my "head cramps" getting in the way.
Also, if eating a granola bar or drinking apple cider throws your entire being out of whack, that says more about your lack of robustness than anything else.
Another way to look at these risks of optimization is Taleb's antifragility. Optimization "attracts attention because it sells the illusion of control." Attempts to avoid the inevitable chaos of life rob us of the small stressors (sleepless 2-year-old, unreliable foreign food) that actually build our strength. And give us the chance to recognize our own ability to deal with those challenges, building self-efficacy.