the dashboard. the slash commands. the AI remembering things for me so i could finally sprint without destroying myself.

yeah so i kinda... rewrote the whole philosophy already.

it's been five days.

i am very normal about things.

okay look, the system was FINE. it was workinggggg! i had my little dashboard, my little principles, my little robot friend keeping me on track, the whole shebang.

but then i had one of those days, you know?

the kind where you're journaling and suddenly your brain goes "hey what if everything you believe is slightly wrong" and you're like "haha no" and your brain is like "haha yes though" and then four hours later you've restructured your entire worldview.

just me?

cool.

so... the system was built for survival.

which made sense! i WAS in survival mode when i built it (kinda still am). bills due, deadline looming, trying not to fall apart.

and the principles reflected that:

• "swarm your greatest opportunity"

• "know what's next, before you stop"

• "fuck your mood, follow the plan"

real warrior shit. very productivity-brained. very "we're going to OPTIMIZE our way to MEANING."

and it was working! i wasn't falling apart!

but i also wasn't... like... happy?

editor's note: the author realizes "happy" is a complicated word and probably should have used something more precise but honestly who has the time

here's the thing about systems built for survival:

they assume you're in danger.

which, again, FINE when you ARE in danger. very useful. 10/10 would recommend.

but somewhere between "don't let the basics fall apart" and "fuck your mood, follow the plan," i'd built a system that was... kind of mean to me? not like... abusive or anything. just very "stop having feelings and execute the protocol, soldier."

and i realized...

...oh.

...is this just... fear wearing a productivity hat?

mmmmm, yep.

so here's what broke me open:

i was journaling about relationships (as one does when they're fresh off a breakup), and i realized i've spent most of my life trying to fit into containers. trying to be impressive to someone. shrinking myself to match someone else's outline for me.

and i was like "huh, that's not great."

and then i was like "wait. is my...? productivity system...? also...? a container...?"

and then i was like...

and THENNNN i was like "oh but wait actually this is great! because what if i just... didn't do that?"

what if instead of optimizing and constraining and controlling, i just... expanded? just let my life and energy keep extending outward instead of stopping once i fill a box? even a box i built myself?

editor's note: wait... you can just do that?

turns out, yeah. you can just do that.

and once that clicked, i couldn't unclick it.

didn't want to.

the old principles were about control:

• control your time.

• control your energy.

• control your decisions.

• control your feelings.

the new ones are about... something else. (bear with me, this is gonna read like a yoga teacher's instagram bio.)

• expansion, in all things. my energy extends into whatever is before me.

• structure carries me, not constrains me. the system is a vehicle, not a cage.

• touch deeply, and love will radiate. depth creates breadth. go deep where you are.

• presence is the practice. am i here? am i grateful?

• where attention goes, energy flows. what i attend to, i feed.

• attend to what serves, release what doesn't. clarity, not force.

• there is always more life to become. the question isn't "did i achieve?" — it's "am i fully immersed?"

and, tbh...

...the system didn't change that much.

there's still a dashboard. still daily notes. still an AI reading my files and helping me remember shit.

but the fraaaaame is different.

the daily note used to be a tracking form (hated that, btw). now it's an invitation into the day (awww!)

the wrap used to be about setting next actions (which... fine. still a decent pattern.). now it's about asking "did i extend outward today, or withdraw?" (wow! presence as infrastructure!)

the whole thing used to ask: "did you hit your targets?" (yuck!)

now it asks: "are you fully immersed in life?" (yum!)

same scaffolding. COMPLEEETELY different building.

i think the first version was honest about where i was.

survival mode. bills due. knee surgery coming. deadline looming. it made sense to build something that would help me just... get through it.

but somewhere in there, i forgot that "getting through it" isn't the goal. the goal is to fucking LIVE, motherfucker!

lol.

the new version is built by someone who wants to actually enjoy the process. who's trying to see the tasks on the list not as obstacles, but as... invitations? things to commune with?

(god that sounds pretentious. but it's TRUE. i swear it's true.)

i don't know if this version will work better.

i don't know if "expansion" is more sustainable than "survival." this could for sure fail because it's not directed enough and ends up being wishy-washy and woo-woo.

it feels like something i actually want to live inside.

which is... good.

since i do actually have to live inside it, haha.

anyway, if you read the first piece and thought "this guy has it figured out":

hahahahaha.

no.

i have figured out exactly nothing. i am five days into this vault and i've already done a full philosophical pivot. very on-brand for me.

but hey! at least the system makes it easy to iterate!

which is... kinda sick, tbh.

i can blow up my entire worldview and have it reflected in my daily notes by... *checks watch* 10pm??? it's already 10pm?! jfc, i really do need a robot mom.

anyway, the future is rad.

there is always more life to become.

and maybe that's the point.

not to arrive somewhere.

just to keep becoming.

(and to not be too precious about the system you built five days ago. because apparently it can change at any moment. lol.)

Mineshaft

Listen to Mineshaft on Spotify. Song · Dessa · 2005

https://spotify.com

i found god this year.

like, actually.

not in a church-y way, or a "i read a self-help book and now i say namaste" way. i mean i genuinely touched something that felt like the divine, and it swallowed me whole, day after day, for months.

it took my hand and led me to meaning and wholeness and connection to something greater.

and then it asked me to wait.

and then it gently escorted me back out into the world and told me it was my turn.

let me back up.

the dream.

the list of things i used to be is longer than the list of things i am

for most of my life, i didn't really want to be alive.

not in a dramatic, cry-for-help way. more like... i just didn't see the point? i was going through motions. not even trying to prove anything — i didn't have the shelving to put that kind of self-esteem on. it wasn't misguided effort, there just wasn't any effort. life felt kinda meaningless, and i didn't care enough to pretend otherwise.

and then, earlier this year, something shifted.

i realized i wanted kids.

which sounds so simple when i write it like that. but it wasn't simple at all. it was the first time in thirty years that i actually wanted something. not because it would look good, or because someone expected it, or because it seemed like the logical next step.

i wanted to pour myself into something. to protect and provide for people who depended on me. to build something bigger than myself.

and that wanting? it lit me up like a fucking lightning rod.

every decision became clear. every morning had purpose. i was ON FIRE, in the best possible way.

the trade.

you can share a fine laugh and you can send me back to the bottom of the mineshaft

and then i met someone.

and she was remarkable. genuinely. smart, curious, health-conscious, spiritually inclined. the kind of person that makes you want to be better just by existing near them.

there was just one thing.

she didn't want kids.

and i chose her anyway.

i told myself the energy was still there — that i could redirect it into other channels. into business. into being an uncle. into showing up for the people already in my life.

and maybe that was true.

but what i didn't realize was that i wasn't just trading one dream for another.

i was trading my foundation.

the contortion.

some folks know how slow that trap closes

here's the thing about giving up your north star for someone:

you don't notice it happening.

it's not one big moment. it's a thousand tiny ones.

it's adjusting your values so they fit better with theirs. it's dimming your own light so you don't outshine their comfort zone. it's telling yourself "this is compromise" when really it's... contortion.

i became malleable. undirected. i started running on what i can only describe as "meaningless discipline" — doing the right things, but without any felt sense of why.

and i didn't even see it.

until my body decided to intervene.

the injury.

i've been here before, i know where it goes

i tore my meniscus.

again.

almost exactly a year to the month. same knee. same tear. surgery last October, and now here i am, scheduling another MRI for another surgery.

and here's the thing: last time, i didn't commit to the recovery. i did the surgery, sure. but the physical therapy? the slow, boring work of actually rebuilding? i half-assed it. i was impatient. or worse: i was lazy. i wanted to do what I wanted to do.

and that's part of why it tore again.

the parallel isn't lost on me.

i wasn't committed enough to myself — to my recovery, to my values, to the person i was becoming — and i got wrecked. twice. in the exact same way.

and, at the time, i told myself the second injury was an opportunity. that in a year, i'd understand why it needed to happen. that it would be exactly what i needed.

but there was a another thought i kept shoving away:

is this punishment?

for giving up on myself? for choosing someone else over the purpose i'd finally found? did the universe just... literally knee-cap me for chasing something shiny but misaligned?

i don't know if i believe in that kind of cosmic retribution.

but i do know this: the injury made the contortion unsustainable.

i couldn't be an adventure buddy anymore. i couldn't keep up. and without that, the cracks in the foundation became impossible to ignore.

and now? now it's a do-over.

not just for the knee. for everything.

this time, i understand what commitment actually looks like. the slow, boring, unglamorous work of showing up every day. not half-assing the recovery because i'm impatient. not abandoning myself because something shinier came along.

the lesson is the same in both dimensions: if you don't commit to the rebuild, you'll just tear it all down again.

the collapse.

the relationship ended.

twice, actually. which is a whole thing i won't get into.

but here's what surprised me:

i didn't feel devastated.

i felt... relief.

not because she was bad, or because the relationship was toxic. it wasn't. she taught me things i desperately needed to learn — about taking care of my body, about rest, about presence, about what it feels like to be desired.

the relief was because i could feel myself coming back.

the version of me that had been boxed up and pushed aside. the one with fire and direction and purpose.

he was still in there.

and he'd been waiting.

the lesson i almost missed.

if we've come a long way then i suspect it's sideways further from our origin, no closer to our destination

here's where it gets tricky.

because my brain wanted to make this a simple story. "she was wrong for you. bullet dodged. moving on."

but that's not quite it.

the truth is messier:

i needed that relationship to learn things i couldn't have learned any other way. the struggle was the curriculum. i wouldn't have found yoga if things hadn't been falling apart. i wouldn't have learned to get out of my head and into my body. i wouldn't have understood how much work i still had to do.

and also... i think i needed to lose myself in it — really, fully lose myself — to understand what happens when you abandon your own foundation for someone else.

both things are true:

the relationship was necessary and unsustainable.

the lessons were valuable and painful.

i grew and i got lost.

the reconstruction.

so now i'm rebuilding. again

not just recovering. reconstructing.

physically: there's an MRI scheduled. surgery coming. months of rehab ahead.

emotionally: learning to convert grief into something useful instead of letting it crystallize into fear or anger.

spiritually: finding my way back to that door. the one that leads to meaning and connection and something bigger than myself.

and here's the thing i've landed on — the mantra that's actually sticking:

for agin' Caden.

why eat well? for the version of me that exists in five years.

why rest? for future me.

why show up, even when it's hard? for the person i'm becoming.

it's not as dramatic as "because my kids." it doesn't light me up the same way.

but... it's mine. it doesn't depend on anyone else. it works whether i end up with a family or not, whether i'm in a relationship or not, whether my business succeeds or not.

it's a foundation that can't be traded away.

because it's just... me.

what i'm learning.

a few things, if you're still here:

your body will probably decide before your brain is ready to.

i spent a lot of time ignoring signals that something was off. my body knew. it tried to tell me in a hundred small ways. i just wasn't listening.

learn to listen.

the brain-body connection is a two-way street, but i'm only fluent in one direction.

my body speaks to my brain in feelings, and my brain translates it into words. i'm good at that part.

but going the other direction — converting my brain's understanding into something my body can feel? that's a skill i'm still developing. warm showers. chest rubbing. yoga. it's a limited vocabulary, but i'm learning.

rootedness is service.

i used to think standing firm in my truth was selfish. that bending for others was generosity.

but people don't actually want you to bend. they want someone grounded enough to tell them the truth. someone rooted enough to lean on.

being malleable isn't kindness. it's abandonment — of yourself, and ultimately of them.

there's a dance between conviction and openness.

life asks us to be certain of what we want in order to manifest it. to be steadfast. to commit.

but it also asks us to be open. to receive with grace. to allow things to unfold differently than we planned.

both are true. the tests shape us. the shaping tests us.

where i am now.

i'm back on the path.

it's not the same path i was on before. i'm not chasing the kids dream with the same intensity. i'm not sure i'm ready to pick that back up yet.

but i'm communing with myself again. honoring my needs. discovering what makes my body happy instead of just what keeps it alive.

i'm finding joy in wandering a grocery store looking for grapes i like.

i'm letting myself cry in the shower when my body needs to release something.

i'm going to yoga and treating it like a prayer in front of a door i'm slowly learning to open again.

and i'm writing this.

prose is closest i've ever been to feeling like i found it

because maybe someone else is in the middle of their own contortion. trading their foundation for something shiny. ignoring the signals their body is sending.

and maybe it helps to know:

you can come back.

you can rebuild.

the version of you that got boxed up? they're still in there.

they've been waiting.

today, i'm starting again from where i am.

finding meaning in what i have now, not the life i'll have in a year.

working on it little by little.

having faith that this work will lead to greater things.

and for once?

that feels like enough.

not like... a Notion second brain, where you dump a bunch of links and never look at them again. and not like a Roam thing, either, where you're obsessing over backlinks like they're gonna save your marriage or something.

this is different.

this one actually... works maybe...?

idk, let's not jinx it.

here's the thing about my actual brain:

it's kind of trash.

like, don't get me wrong, it's fantastic at going all-in on something. i can hyperfocus so hard that the sun sets and rises and i haven't noticed because i'm still staring at the same problem like it owes me money.

but ask it to remember to eat? or pay a bill? or do literally ANYTHING that isn't the current obsession?

lol.

lmao, even.

editor's note: the author has, in fact, forgotten to eat today. it is 4pm.

so here's what happens. every. single. time:

• find a thing to work on

• become OBSESSED with the thing

• stop eating. stop sleeping. stop existing as a human being.

• achieve something incredible OR burn out spectacularly

• realize i haven't paid rent

• spiral

rinse. repeat. forever.

the pattern was so predictable i could set a watch to it.

except i'd forget to wear the watch.

the problem isn't discipline.

i know what you're thinking.

"Caden, just use Apple Notes."

"Caden, maybe try time blocking."

"Caden, have you considered it's a skill issue?"

and to that i say: fuck you. but also, thank you. but also, you're missing the point.

the problem isn't that i don't KNOW what to do. i have a LIST of things to do. i have SEVENTEEN lists. i have lists OF lists. i have a fucking hierarchical taxonomy of list categories with color-coded priority matrices, my dude.

that has NEVER been the problem.

the problem is that my brain physically cannot HOLD all of that while it's chewing on something important. it's like trying to carry groceries while solving a rubik's cube. you can do one. you cannot do both.

and the groceries always hit the floor.

editor's note: the author has also forgotten to go grocery shopping. there is nothing in the fridge.

so i built a system.

but not like a "system" in the productivity guru sense, where you watch twelve youtube videos and buy a course and then never actually do anything different.

i mean a literal architecture. for my life. that doesn't require me to remember anything.

the thesis is simple:

if i can't hold it in my head, it has to live somewhere else.

and that "somewhere else" has to be so obvious, so unavoidable, so in my face at all times, that i cannot possibly ignore it even when my dumb goblin brain is screaming "NO! ONLY THINK ABOUT THE THING! THE THING IS EVERYTHING!"

let me show you what i mean.

there's a dashboard. it lives on a monitor. it's always there.

when i look up from my keyboard, i see:

• what i should be doing RIGHT NOW

• how much money is in my bank account

• whether i've eaten today

• what bills are due

• the one big thing i'm supposed to be focused on

no decisions. no thinking. just... information.

because here's what i've learned about myself:

i am incapable of making good decisions when i'm in the middle of work. my brain is like "NO! KEEP WORKING! FOOD IS FOR THE WEAK! SLEEP IS A MYTH INVENTED BY BIG MATTRESS!"

but if the decision is already made? if i look up and see "you haven't moved your body in three days, dumbass" staring back at me?

well... sometimes i still ignore it.

but at least now i'm AWARE that i'm ignoring it.

which is... progress? lol

here's the part where it gets fun.

so i've got this vault, right? it's an Obsidian vault. markdown files. very normal.

buuuut... it's not just me in there anymore.

i've got Claude in there.

yes, THE Claude. the AI. living in my file system. reading my notes. structuring my goals.

and before you call the future police, let me explain:

i cannot maintain my own context. i've tried. for YEARS. i start a project, i take meticulous notes, and then six weeks later i open those notes and i have NO IDEA what past-me was talking about. it's like reading someone else's diary.

but Claude? Claude can hold it all. Claude reads the files, understands the patterns, knows what i was working on, knows what i should be working on, knows that i haven't done my meal prep in three weeks.

it's not AI doing my thinking for me.

it's AI doing my remembering for me.

and... that distinction matters.

the philosophy, if you care.

(you probably don't. i wouldn't. but here we are.)

there are two gears:

Sprint Gear. this is the obsession mode. the deep work. the "don't talk to me i'm solving the universe" energy. this is where the magic happens.

Infrastructure Gear. this is everything that keeps me alive while i'm sprinting. meals. bills. moving my body. not alienating everyone i love.

the old way was: SPRINT until infrastructure collapses, then PANIC, then REBUILD, then SPRINT again.

the new way is: infrastructure is already handled so i can sprint without the floor falling out.

it's not balance.

balance implies i'm carefully dividing my attention between things.

this is more like... i've automated the foundation so i can be UNBALANCED on purpose. so i can go all-in without destroying myself.

editor's note: this is still a work in progress, lol. if it's out there, i will for sure find a way to destroy myself.

but... here's the real shit:

this isn't about productivity.

i know it sounds like it is. it's got all the trappings. dashboards. systems. task management. that whole thing.

but really?

this is about becoming someone.

i've spent my whole life chasing achievements and then feeling empty when i got them. i was always trying to... GET something. and it took a long time to realize it, but... the achievements were never the point. they were just... convenient metrics, i guess. i figured that it if i had something to show for my effort, then it would be harder to deny that i had value.

and, while i've always intellectually known that achievement != value and that basing my self-worth on my outputs is fucking stupid... i've still only recently figured out that's exactly what i've been doing. for decades.

so i've set new goals for myself. new standards. i'm turning away from "GTD as my ROI" and towards defining myslef by how i treat people. who i protect. what i provide for others. how i empower them to do good in their own lives.

and i can't be that person if i'm constantly putting out fires. if i'm always in crisis mode. if my baseline is survival instead of stability.

so, the system isn't the goal.

the system is what makes the goal possible.

anyway.

this essay is probably too long.

you've probably already scrolled to the end.

(hi, if you're checking to see how much is left. i see you. i am also you.)

the point is:

i've been fighting my brain for thirty years. trying to force it to be something it isn't. punishing myself for not being able to hold everything at once.

but my brain was never designed to hold everything at once.

and maybe yours wasn't either.

and maybe—just maybe—the answer isn't to fix what's broken.

maybe it's to build something that works WITH the broken parts.

because we're all just trying to write ourselves into a story we can be proud of.

and... sometimes you need a little help remembering the plot.

but the longer i wait, the longer it takes me to step through the next door.

so here we go.

i've run a lot of experiments on social media throughout my life. i was early to facebook and myspace and bebo. i self-hosted forum software for my middle school friends. i used google+ until the day it died. i tried being email-only for a little while.

even this year i've tried a few different things on farcaster:

• a public build log.

• the /wnba and /mech-kb communities.

• an extended break.

• a stint of being direct cast-only.

and they've all been really interesting, with lessons to learn from all of them (we'll get to the last one in just a minute).

but they've all lacked something.

i'm not very good at maintaining friendships.

it's not that i don't care about people. quite the opposite. it's that i feel a very deep appreciation and love for people — and that scares me.

as a young, shy child, i didn't have the opportunities to learn to express or manage or really understand my emotions. i grew up in a household that was too busy, to parents that were ill-equipped for the task.

i don't fault them for it, i think they did a great job with what they had.

but the fact remains that i learned to cope by repressing, well... ALL of my feelings, both good and bad.

and so it became impossible to get close to anyone. i simply couldn't do it. i just didn't have the hardware for many, many years.

but people bring me so. much. joy.

i can't tell you how many times i cry in a week just scrolling my feed and seeing all you lovely people tell your stories of fear and bravery and beauty and pain and hope and love and despair and determination.

i cannot describe the feeling i get when i spend an afternoon with someone that has just returned from a trip, or accomplished a goal, or broken up with their partner.

and you have all, in your own way, contributed to that joy for me.

but there is something bigger waiting for me.

social media (and the modern age of digital convenience, generally) have made connection abundant. it is easier than ever to find people that are like you. that make you feel seen. that make you feel safe.

but for someone like myself — someone that is afraid of my own joy — it's a dangerous trap.

as i scroll, day after day, i become invested in your stories — but always from a safe distance. i get to see without ever risking being seen. i get to love without ever risking rejection.

and no matter what i've tried, when i allow myself to connect with the people in my feed, the connections i have with the real people in my life always suffer.

because relationships are hard. they take work.

and the scrolling is an easy simulation.

i thought i'd cracked the code recently, with the DC-only experiment.

it was a straightforward idea: if i wanted to engage with someone on farcaster, i had to do it personally. i couldn't just "like" their cast, i had to say so. if someone posted a fire meme, i had reach out and let them know it directly. if they made me think, or if i had questions, then i was following up in their inbox, not in their replies.

and this was... pure magic, to be honest.

after just a single day, i found my brain rewiring to take more risks, to challenge my assumptions about the people behind the profiles, and to be more engaged with the content i was consuming.

it was really wonderful.

it felt like i was making friends.

but, in retrospect... it was still a one way street.

i could reach out to other people, because they were allowing themselves to be seen... but no one could reach out to me. i wasn't sharing MY life.

and it helped something else click, too: this is why my IRL relationships have suffered.

because of the way i've run these strange, esoteric experiments on social media, i haven't given my friends any surface area to actually connect with me. i haven't been vulnerable. i haven't been open.

and then i've wondered why i feel isolated, stuck on the outside of my friend groups.

there's something more for me out there, friends.

and it's hard. much harder than this is.

and i love all of you and what you've brought to my life, but i need to stop making it so easy to feel that love. i need to earn it so that it is durable, and i'm less willing to let it go.

and i need to start allowing myself to be seen in the ways that scare me most by the people that i care about more than anything.

which means i have to let you go.

so that i can let something else in.

this essay sucks.

i didn't do any research, it's completely off the cuff, and i'm going to deliberately lie to you at various points because it doesn't matter: no one's going to read this, and no one's going to fact check me, because most of y'all can't even finish a book — much less an essay — and those that can simply have better things to do, innit?

and i'm not going to do anything to temper my disdain or un-strawman my arguments either.

i'm rude, everything's dumb and gay, and the only thing that works in this situation is to fuck all the way off.

seriously, go call your mom or some shit. it'll be better for you than reading this. it's not good.

and now, since you haven't — and were never going to pretend to anyway — buckle up, chucklefuck. it's about to get even worse.

first, let's start with disclaimers — because no self-respecting asshole worth their fart smell is gonna step up to the "let's talk about dopamine" plate without first telling you that, hey, guess what, we don't actually have a solid understanding of how dopamine works or why!

the best theories are:

• it signals the anticipation of a reward (not the reward itself; common misconception).

• it signals that an outcome was better than expected (and oh my god now you see why i told you this article would suck: i'm already exploiting you because, tbh, it's that fucking easy.)

cool, right?

wrong.

now let's talk about Farcaster and how awful it is.

because, as far as your brain health goes, it's worse than all the others.

social media is already fucked up: a lot of really powerful people spend a shit-fuck-ton of money to get some of the smartest people on the planet to use basic psychology to ruin your whole fucking life.

and it's quite profitable for them!

"but Farcaster is different! the team behind it is super duper ethical!"

oh for sure! you're SOOOOO right! they want what's best for you!

they want you to eat a healthy diet, and spend a reasonable amount of time looking at your screen, and nurture your relationships with your friends and family to the best of your ability!

they would NEVER EVER EVER do anything that would cause you to lose track of time, or forget to eat, or check your phone multiple times a day when you get a notification about a sex-based mini app that you would never talk to your coworkers about, or play hot-or-not with people's art, or literally fucking gamble in the middle of a work day.

neverrrr.

because they LOOOOOVE you!

Farcaster is SOOOOooooOOOOOoooo DIFFERENT!

lol.

lmao, even.

but let's put aside how much hate and anger and disgust i am actively expressing here. just for one teensy minute.

instead, let's talk about what makes this place great — and why, chemically, that's exactly what makes it so fucking pernicious (which, for the dumb, means "chronically bad, but in a low-key way").

and that thing is: the people.

the talent density here is ASTOUNDING.

everyone's somehow a rocket scientist, or a 10x engineer, or a five-time Emmy award winner, or July.

your access to smart, interesting people that share your views (also a red flag) who are willing to reciprocate your attention is second to none.

so when you log onto Farcaster, you can reasonably anticipate (ding!) that you will come across something interesting; and when you do, it is often MORE interesting than you expected (ding ding!); which leads you to engage deeper via a reply or a quote because you can reasonably anticipate (ding again!) further engagement; which often elicits a high quality response from the person you admire (on the fucking internet of all places! holy shit! MUCH better than expected! another ding ding!).

are you starting to see how it works?

but Caden... these all sound like good things. why are you framing them as bad things?

because the point, you fucking moron, is not that Farcaster is a better place to spend your time.

the point is that Farcaster is ruining your brain faster than any other place on the internet because of how good it is (probably. idk. i didn't do any research and i'm not gonna).

not that you give a fuck.

because the alternative is being alone with your thoughts for five fucking minutes, and we already know you're not about to do that because you're a trash human being that didn't call their mom when i told you to and instead chose to chase another goddamn dopamine high from a person that clearly doesn't respect you! jesus! get it together!

(except for you, Steve. i know you'll read this and i respect you.)

(... so enjoy that dopamine hit.)

GAWD you folks are easy to manipulate.

but let's talk about something else.

'cause this ride isn't over.

not yet, anyway.

let's talk about how posting regularly to social media causes us to constantly editorialize our lives, crafting a narrative and reinforcing a persona that we believe to be true and authentic — but is actually a product of the recursive function of the engagement we get from presenting it.

and to do that i'm gonna tell you about my favorite new concept that i've learned in the last two weeks: the "Keynesian beauty contest" — which has fuck-all to do with beauty and everything to do with how people are fucking retarded.

aaaaaah, the good ol' KBC (shortened to match your attention span — you're welcome) is, briefly, the idea that in certain social situations,

• we don't choose the option that we like most,

• we choose the option that we think OTHER people like most.

and, even though 900% of Farcaster is male (not a typo), i'm sure i'm still gonna lose most of you here because this next story concerns two things that y'all certainly are not:

1. physically impressive.

2. outside of your homes.

but it's time to talk about Mr. Olympia anyway.

Mr. Olympia is a bodybuilding competition (oh my god it's like i can FEEL you scrolling to the next section, jfc), and it's kind of the "gold standard" in that world. if you win Mr. Olympia it basically means the rest of the bodybuilding world wants to look like you.

in 1975, Arnold Schwarzenegger took home his sixth straight title as Mr. Olympia and then retired to pursue acting.

then in 1980 he un-retired himself, just 8 weeks before the competition, and won it again for his seventh and final time, before officially retiring again.

now, because i know y'all don't lift weights (or care what you look like naked), i'm gonna express this in extremely clear and simple terms:

8 weeks is NOT enough time to build the best body in the world and then get on a stage to wink at the ladies in the audience. (it's mostly men anyway. gay.)

in fact, here's a photo.

i know, i know, to the untrained eye, all you can see is a bunch of speedos.

but trust me (some hostile asshole on the internet with dumb, gay opinions about other men's bodies): Arnold didn't deserve the win. his abs aren't even developed.

Mike Mentzer (third from the right, the guy in the speedo), clearly has the prime physique in this lineup. AND a mustache. like, it couldn't BE any more obvious.

but Arnold wins anyway.

"but why?" you don't ask.

because the judges thought that everyone ELSE would think that Arnold had the best body.

but he didn't.

trust me.

i tell you all that to tell you this:

what you post online is what you think people will like, based on what they've liked in the past. you post, anticipating likes (ding!), you get a few extra likes (ding ding! a better-than-expected outcome!) and then you subconsciously — chemically, even — begin to bias towards that.

and, over time, you stop living your life, because your brain can't stop reframing it through the lens of how to present it for likes. you're on a date thinking, "oh THIS'll be a good story for /farcasthim. i should take a pic for /food. i wonder if crazy candle lady would approve."

and then it's over for you.

the algorithm is in your fucking head now. you're curating a persona for an audience, then internalizing that persona, then performing it again in an endless feedback loop of bullshit.

but it's a fucking GUESS!

you don't know why you got the likes, you just got them!

so now, just like those stupid fucking Olympia judges, you're guessing based on previous guesses that worked, and it's suddenly become a fucking hall of mirrors, and it's training you to do what makes the people clap like you're some kind of goddamn circus seal!

and it's not even a decision!

it is LI-TER-ALLY a chemical addiction!

jesus christ, why am i even writing this, no one is still reading.

look, if you made it this far and you want to see what i mean, stop posting anything online for two weeks and feel how fucking paaaainfuullll it is for the first five days as you have little option but to helplessly observe your brain spin story after story about how this-or-that joke would KILL on Farcaster.

it literally hurts.

but i swear to god, by the end of two weeks, you'll feel alive again. eternity will stretch out before you like a cat on a rug, and you'll see the beautiful, vast richness of the life that has been passing you by.

i've got no insult to deliver there.

it's simply, truly wonderful to be free of the incessant desire to craft a narrative around your experience. your brain will open up. your mental capacity will increase. you'll call your mom. you'll go for a walk and just... walk.

it's fucking incredible.

final thing: too much of this stuff ruins your ability to learn.

cool, wrong?

right.

we learn (chemically speaking) when experiences are novel. our brains place greater emphasis on information that stands out.

but if we constantly barrage our brains with interesting shit, we literally lose our ability to remember ANY of it. nothing stands out, because EVERYTHING's trying to.

remember that thread from last week about the politics or the health outcomes or the social implications of whatever?

no?

but you were so interested in that thing!

oh. right.

your brain said "cool!" and then you scrolled and your brain said "cool!" again, and now it's done for.

but you THINK you're getting smarter, because you're saying "cool!" so often! hooray, new ideas that you never would've been exposed to if you hadn't been on Farcaster today and yesterday and tomorrow and forever! this place is sick!

*scrolls*

"cool!"

... fucking dipshit.

it's the same reason i'm not worried about calling everyone except Steve a gigantic pussy.

you'll just forget it tomorrow.

the shit that actually sticks comes from sustained attention, and that's a muscle.

it's hard.

and you've got fuckin' t-rex arms.

i'm wrapping this up (since your dad didn't), but there's a lot i didn't get to cover here.

• easy access to social interactions (or the simulation thereof) atrophies our ability to form meaningful relationships of any sort.

• the chemical highs of easy dopamine don't offset the chemical lows they bring.

• the lows of difficult work are VASTLY eclipsed by the highs of their rewards.

• how fucking bad crypto trading is for you (but read between the lines, re: how dopamine works).

• just how incredibly dumb and disgusting and irresponsible it is to put gambling apps into a social media feed.

• and so much more!

but this essay isn't meant to be comprehensive (you won't remember anyway), or give you the tools to change (you won't remember anyway), or even be entertaining (you won't remem—ah fuck it, what are we even doing here).

it's meant to tickle that same doomscrolling itch you've been scratching for the last three hours before you came across Steve's endorsement of my brand of humor.

which you won't remember anyway.

so do me a favor and go like my original cast so that i can get some Warpcast rewards this week.

do it now.

before you... y'know...

...aaaah fuck it, whatever.

Caden out.

😘

SERIOUSLY. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

YOU SHOULD SEE IT.

IT WAS SO GOOD.

i'll keep away from spoilers (this isn't a movie review, but if it was, five stars), but for context:

• Andrew Garfield and Florence Pugh fall in love.

• and... that's it.

that's really all you need to know.

well.... AND that i started crying in the third scene, and not a MOMENT earlier.

we have a real knack for it.

we see where something's going and we put the pieces together REALLY well — it's maybe the only thing that i actually think every person on the planet might be able to do pretty decently.

for instance, you can probably intuitively sense that this is accurate:

• we call it "comedy" when a story doesn't play out how we thought it would.

• we call it "tragedy" when the story plays out how we feared it might.

• and we call it "a secret third thing" when you haven't thought of one yet but you need some asymmetry.

if someone is telling you a story and you can't immediately sort it into the "comedy" or "tragedy" buckets, then the person telling the story is either a) uniquely awful at it, or b) reeeeaally nervous about breaking some bad news.

and, sure, i'm not saying that everyone instinctively knows everything, but i really do believe we can aaaaalways tell where a story's headed.

i think about this video a lot:

John Green is this modern day master author poet of SO many sad books that have been made into SO many sad movies and he's COMPLETELY on-brand here in being GRATUITOUSLY verbose about an EXTREMELY casual question, but... he's got a good point actually.

throughout history, i think the word "hope" has had a rough go of it.

sure, hope is still this, like, angelic figure in the common imagination, but there are a good handful of philosophers that have been like "hope is an illusion, and not a harmless one, and also you should be GLAD for the bad things that happen to you, bitch."

which, like... okay.

point taken.

but we still seem to hope anyway, and we always have, and when you have NO hope... you die.

editor's note: i should probably unpack that a little more 'cause that's kind of a big thing to say and maybe there's both literal and metaphorical extrapolations of that statement which could both be valid or maybe not but this piece is actually on a deadline, sooooo... no. sorry.

and John Green has written about all TYPES of "no hope" kinds of people.

and because of that, i'm sure he's also talked to a lot of "no hope" kinds of people.

and yet his one thing is:

the ineradicability of hope despite the futility of effort.

which is so uncomfortably specific that i think he might actually be serious.

and... i'm inclined to agree.

Andrew Garfield and Florence Pugh fall in love.

i said that's aaaall you need to know.

and it is!

because, there's nothing all that extraordinary about what happens in We Live in Time — sure, she's an incredible [REDACTED] and he's a soddy ol' [REDACTED], and they play off that schtick for a while — but this movie only needed three scenes to tell me exactly what was going to happen.

which was... two people were going to fall in love.

despite eeeeeeeverything being futile.

which was... too real for me.

so i cried.

the ENTIRE time.

and i rooted for them!

and i was INSPIRED by them!

and when the end came — the one i had seen coming from the beginning — i actually welcomed it, and then i hobbled out on my crutches with a renewed sense of hope of my own!

hope is the story we are trying to write ourselves.

and even when we've already given the end away in the opening scenes, we keep writing it, 'cause story is in our blood! it's almost IMPOSSIBLE to let go of!

we KNOOOW it's gonna play out differently.

we KNOOOW it's gonna suck.

but we hope anyway!

and we pull more hope from stories about having NO hope and we somehow find that to be BEAUTIFUL instead of absolutely OBLITERATING!

i think that's CRAZY!

oh right, the deadline.

once again, i find myself wishing i'd spent the entire week writing this piece instead of squeezing it all in at the end.

i would've used SO many more video clips.

the point is something about how humans are hardwired for narrative!

or maybe about the indomitable human spirit!

or about how good We Live in Time was!

i'm not sure now!

i just wanted to use the "rocks" clip!

immobile.

practically paralyzed.

at this moment in time, i am the embodiment of useless.

i can barely stand up or sit down without assistance from a motorized chair, and i am NOT looking forward to my first poop since the surgery.

but allow me to back up for a moment and talk about what it took to get here.

five weeks ago, i tore my meniscus.

pretty bad, too.

wasn't doing anything fancy. nothing fun. nope. i was just warming up at the climbing gym.

and apparently that's all it took! one nasty bend of the knee, and it ripped right through the thickest cartilage in my body.

for those that don't know: the meniscus is the bit of padding that cushions, uh... basically everything your knee does. without it, your femur and tibia grind on each other (not in the fun way), and eventually you need a full knee replacement (also not super fun).

so i spent four weeks barely being able to walk and being shuttled through the medical system.

which actually worked out really well for me. i'm blessed to have pretty good health insurance, and i live in a city with some of the best sports medicine doctors in the world. i went from initial diagnosis to specialist to MRI to surgery in four weeks, and honestly i did not know that kind of thing was possible.

to be REALLY honest, things could not have worked out much better for me than they have, and i'm trying REALLY hard to keep that in mind because as i said before,

which is a really interesting position to be in.

and so far, i'm not really enjoying it.

at all.

i'll go ahead and clarify that i'm really only physically useless. i can still type, and talk, and complain, and occasionally make jokes that nobody else finds funny.

so i can still DO things, but...

...walking is definitely not one of them.

"sitting up on my own" is barely on the list.

but,

Caden on Warpcast

THE HORRORS PERSIST AND SO DO I

Farcaster

so we stay on that "i can do this" mindset, and try not to let our expectations poison our reality.

this is my new full-time job. every moment of every day for the next four months is going to be about recovery.

every decision has one criteria: will this support the invisible miracles happening beneath my skin?

because i absolutely refuse to let this stop me.

i asked God to make me tough and he said "tuff" and now the ball is in my court.

so, for now, i am completely fucking useless.

but four months from now, i will be completely fucking unstoppable.

i got into "The W" earlier this year, about a month before the Olympics started.

i watched exactly one game on Amazon Prime, and then i bought WNBA League Pass, and i'm pretty sure i've watched every single game of the season since...?

or like, 90% or something?

practically aaaall of them.

i picked a team (New York, thanks for asking), a favorite player (Mabrey, again, THANK YOU for your interest! so polite!), and bought a jersey (which, to answer your final question: Ionescu, 'cause it's the name i liked most).

so that should give you some sense of where i'm coming from here.

and with THAT context, i want to tell you that this season has been INSANE and if you don't like basketball then at least stay for the DRAMA babes 'cause this year is JUICY.

but first...

...this story has to start where everyone knows it has to start:

the killer. the legend.

if you only know women's basketball exists because Lebron started saying Caitlin Clark's name in podcast interviews, i want to start out with: yes. she IS actually that good.

she broke, uh, DOZENS of records in college, and ended her tenure at Iowa with more points scored than any other player in NCAA history—man OR woman.

editor's note: Lebron didn't go to college. so do what you will with THAT.

it is INSANE watching her play.

really.

but i have to cut this section off short or i'll spend a thousand words talking about Clark and she's not even my favorite player in the W.

just know she's the real deal.

she is also not the protagonist of this story. not by a long shot.

now! let's talk about...

the killer. the LEGEND.

wait, shit, i already used that tagline...

fuck.

...but Diana really IS a killer though...

hm...

i'll have to come back to that.

'cause, like, what you need to know about Diana Taurasi is that she's the actual GOAT.

like, 20 straight seasons, the most points scored of all time, the most 3's of all time, a few championship titles, a handful of MVP awards—oh, and she's never lost a game of Olympic basketball in her life.

editor's note: the U.S. women's basketball team hasn't lost a single game on the Olympic stage since 1992.

there's... really no competition. the US dominates so hard that i'm not even gonna talk about the Olympics at all in this one, it's not even worth it.

i'll put it this way: fewer players have won back-to-back WNBA titles than there are undefeated US Olympians.

and on that note, allow me to introduce:

the killer. the LEGEN--waaait no, i can't use this one again.

but omggggggg you HAVE to hear about A'ja Wilson.

first of all, she led her team (the Vegas Aces, i knew you'd ask) to a back-to-back title last year.

but also! importantly! this year, A'ja had the most incredible season any player has ever. had. EVER.

let me just...

like.

GAH, i'm gonna have to break out the bullet points for this one.

the highlights:

• highest average points per game in a season ever: 26.9

• most points scored in a single season ever: 1,021

• most rebounds in a single season ever: 451

• most blocks in a single season ever: 98

and she rounded it out with a unanimous win for league MVP (which is her third MVP award).

another editor's note: Wilson is only the third player in either the WNBA or the MNBA to have won the award by unanimous vote.

the first was Cynthia Cooper in 1997.
the next didn't come for almost twenty years: Steph Curry in 2016.

yeah. she's built different.

so now...

... finally...

... let's introduce the REAL protagonist of this story...

... the killer...

... THE LEGE--waitwaitwaitno i said no more of thi--

gonna get my editor's note in right away on this one: the author is a HUGE fan of Breanna Stewart and refused to let their enthusiasm be tempered in any way for the sake of journalistic integrity.

Breanna.

Stewart.

(or as her friends call her, "Stewie.")

plays for the best team in the league — who have the best jerseys and the coolest fans and rep the best city in the world — and that team is the NEW. YORK. LIBERTYYYYYYY.

additional editor's note: the author is also a huge fan of the New York Liberty, and similarly ignored the editor's remarks about tone or impartiality.

seriously they are the BESTTTT.

like ACTUALLY the best in the league this year.

PLUS!!! plus plus plus, Ted Lasso?? he's at like every. game.

no big deal.

and you know Flavor Flav? he sits courtside to harass the refs.

it's whatever.

and Stewie? omg Stewie is a CHAMPION for REALLL for real!

in fact, why don't we bust out some more bullet points, shall we?

I'M TALKIN' 'BOUT:

• TWO championship titles! (same as A'ja, but not back-to-back)

• TWO league MVP awards! (...mmm, one less than A'ja now)

• 2016 Rookie of the Yearrrr! (...which A'ja took home in 2018)

• tied for the most 40 point games in history (shared with none other than Diana Taurasiiiiii!!!!)

• fastest player to score 3,000 points and 1,000 rebounds (just insane!!)

• oh, and she's never lost a game of Olympic basketball in her life (which is more than i can say about SOME of the players in this essay.)

  • (it's Clark. i'm throwing shade at Caitlin Clark.)

oohhh, but wait, wait, now i can finally talk about the DRAMAMAMAMAMA.

--and i'm actually gonna snub Clark again here because that's not even the biggest drama in the league this season--

because last year...

... LAST year, dear readers...

A'ja...

... beat...

... Stewie.

let's set the stage on last year's Finals.

the WNBA play a best-of-5 series.

and it's game 4.

in New York.

the weather is crisp.

autumn is happening quickly in the city.

i assume.

editor's note: the author has never been to New York.

the Las Vegas Aces are up two. games. to. one. trying to win a back-to-back title (and do something that those egotistical Olympians could only DREAM of).

editor's note: at any point in time, approximately half of the players on the court during this particular game either were at the time or still are undefeated Olympians. it's reaaaaally not a big deal.

and, uh... they do.

yeah.

they win.

they beat New York at home, by one point. which was INFURIATING.

i assume.

editor's note: the author did not give a shit about basketball last season.

so let's zip STRAIGHT out of the past all the way up to...

or, uh... i mean there's probably like a negative % chance you're reading this when yesterday was sunday, october 6th.

but that's what day it was.

sunday, october 6th.

in Las Vegas.

a best-of-5 series.

and the New York Liberty are up two. games. to. one.

do you see where i'm going with this?

do you hear any remorse in my voice? even a hint of sadness?

editor's note: no you do not and it's because we won.

we fucking did it.

the New York Liberty came back from a Finals defeat at home, dominated the entire season as the #1 team in the league, and then put the Aces down at home.

and GODDAMN DID THAT FEEL GOOD.

editor's note: yes it did.

which is great and fine and well and good and AWESOME actually but that wasn't the, uh...

...well, yesterday was just the semifinals.

which brings me to...

the LYNX.

(that's Minnesota. they've got killer/legend Napheesa Collier on their team.)

the SUN.

(from Connecticut. my fave girlie Mabrey plays for them. 😊 )

in MINNEAPPOLIS.

(idk the name of their stadium.)

on ESPN.

(that part is true.)

in a BEST-OF-5 SERIES.

(i'm just practicing typing "best-of-5" at this point.)

which is TIED, ACTUALLY.

(two games to two.)

WHICH WILL DETERMINE WHO GETS TO TAKE ON THE NEW YORK LIBERTY IN THE

or, like, nah, it's still just women's basketball, but the FINALS IS GONNA BE INTENSE for sure.

pretty compelling, right?

can the Liberty bring a trophy back to New York for the first time in franchise history?

can the marvelous Marina Mabrey (who is, editor's note, not even remotely the team's captain and is, in fact, a bench player) and the Sun hold off the unstoppable Napheesa/Williams duo in Minnesota?

will Diana retire this year and break my fucking heart?

will Clark ever stop collecting technical fouls?

find out next time on DRAGONBA--NO, i said no STOP DOING this corny shi--

KILLER.

LEGEND.

and it wasn't an easy process.

when you're that integrated into a community, you're giving up EVERYTHING. your social status, your friends, large parts of your identity — all to venture into unknown territory for the sake of a set of moral and ethical principles that are... uncertain, to say the least.

it's pretty excruciating.

and the only thing that sustains you through such a foundational change like that is usually community.

or anger.

but i didn't have a community.

so it was the heat that carried me through that period of my life.

i called myself "radically spiritual" and "militantly atheist" for a LONG time. i started fights at family gatherings. i protested when reddit remove r/atheism from the front page. i carried The God Delusion around in public.

i was OBNOXIOUS.

but many years later, i was able to let go of the word "atheist" altogether, and my life began to open up.

i learned to "not know" and to take delight in the mundanities of life. i became curious. interested. and, at times, even happy.

still, echoes of my "radical" opposition to religion continued to show through.

• pointedly correcting references to "god" to be "goddess" or "the universe"

• refusing to acknowledge ghosts, tarot, or astrology

• quietly baiting my relatives about their ideological inconsistencies

but sometime last year i was finally able to let go of that in many ways.

and it came just in time.

i started dating a lovely girl last year — my first serious relationship in a while, and it was going REALLY well. so well that i started to worry about some of the scar tissue and baggage that i'd acquired during and since the pandemic (it was a VERY rough time). i had already been doing some work to dismantle some of the walls i'd put up, but it suddenly felt existentially important. i didn't want to mess it up with this chick.

so i asked the universe for help.

i wanted to soften, and fast.

i needed to cry.

so...

... god took my ability to work.

... and then he took my grandmother.

... and then he cancelled my vacation. flooded my apartment. made me sick. made me sick again. ripped my bumper off. made me REALLY sick. ended my happy relationship. ran over my phone. made me sick again. tore my meniscus. stole my bike. and most recently, cancelled a concert i was REEEAAALLLYYY excited about.

and he asked me to be happy through all of it, too.

i don't believe in god.

but he's given me everything i've ever asked for.

i wanted love. so he sent me pain.

i wanted to cry. so he sent me pain.

i wanted friends. so he sent me pain.

i wanted peace. humility. humor. passion. direction. discipline...

...so he sent me pain.

to be clear, i think god probably tried everything else first.

i'm just very stubborn.

and now, i'm the happiest i've been in a long time. and it feels like a very DURABLE happiness, too. it's something i'm creating — something i'm WILLING out of the raw ingredients of the universe — rather than seeking it in the world around me.

and every time i put my hands on the clay... it feels like God is there, waiting to be sculpted out of it.

it's reverent.

and joyful.

and strong.

so i've learned to accept this feeling. this thing i can't explain. this force that is both deep within me and larger than everything.

and i call it God now.

not because i believe religion got it right.

but out of respect for this thing so many have wondered at before me.

it is not "my" god, or "the" god, or "a" god.

it is simply...

... God.

and i think it's given me a lot this year.

plenty of people saying they'll use a permissioned L2.

some saying they hope they never go the L2 route at all.

lot of opinions.

whatever.

Larry Fink says the chain stops corruption in its tracks, which is nice, but also wrong. people are the source of corruption, not technology, and the arms race between corruption and solutions to corruption is as old as time. simply naïve to think trustless execution will be the end of it.

additionally, i think many are forgetting that Blackrock is a customer of the tradfi system, not an owner. they're a participant, not an administrator.

do they want assets to be tokenized? yeah, probably. that'll help them see where their shares are, prevent rehypothecation, and just increase transparency in general—which is a good thing for any org that values clean and efficient ops and risk management.

i see lots of folks saying "we want tradfi to become like crypto, not for them to just adopt our tech and not change!" which is, i hate to say it, hopelessly utopian. crypto relies on open, borderless access to capital, and sees itself transcending nation states. tradfi will always be beholden to nation states. the United States will fall before tradfi becomes crypto-native.

lots of hopium about Ethereum as the settlement layer, too. tradfi is never going to pay in ETH, subject themselves to exogenous risk, or allow gas spikes to disrupt their business. the NYSE (and other exchanges) will build their own blockchain first so that they can capture the native value of a gas token, and trading firms will run their own nodes for the competitive advantage of being "close" to the blockchain. if anything, Blackrock doesn't build an L2, they build a node client (like geth) that competes on state sync and computation.

the system itself just has zero incentive to move infrastructure outside of its control, even if they adopt infra that is identical.

don't get me wrong, it's definitely in my prediction book that stocks move to a blockchain world, but that's strictly an efficiency thing: trustless execution and programmability will reduce enforcement and administration costs.

but let's not pretend Blackrock will be trading on Uniswap anytime soon.

I let the cracked and faded fake leather slide through my hands as the vehicle rights itself and continues on down the small side road. there is a tiny squeak in the steering column that is always so expressive, and it lets out an inquisitive "hmmm?" as it finishes its rotation, as if to say, "where are we going? I don't recognize this way."

a soft smile warms my face as I regain my grip and the transmission shifts into a more appropriate gear. we're off the main thoroughfare now, and onto streets with dips, gutters, and speed bumps galore.

"business park," I whisper to myself, inaudible against the sounds of rushing air through the open window and the highway just out of sight. "I wonder if this is where they come to play."

the roads and parking lots are barren and empty on this Sunday, and I pass signs that say things like "Ferguson HVAC" and "Champion Light & Sound" or even "Superior Technical Services." the buildings are all very square and uniform, with equally faded brick and matching doors and windows, and each could seemingly be swapped for the other and no one would notice. they all seem to take themselves so seriously, and I wonder if there's a March Madness event for the best temp agency.

I reach the end of the lane and pull into a parking lot to eat my muffin and sip the dirty chai latte that I hope has sufficiently cooled by now. the steering column responds with a gentle "hmmmm," seemingly grateful for a rest, and I shift into park, noting that gas light is on as I pull my keys from the ignition.

one of my favorite weekend activities is to get in the car to run my errands and just start taking wrong turns.

I know where I'm going. I have a plan. there's a list of things to do. but the path to get there is a mystery. I just get in the car and start taking random back streets, or deliberately heading out in the wrong direction.

sometimes I end up in a different city, doing my shopping at a store I've never been to. or I find myself in a friend's neighborhood, and I'll ring them to see if they're home. oftentimes, I'll just drive until I see something beautiful—a tree in bloom, a snowy hillside, a city park full of frisbee golfers—and pull over for a photo opportunity. and then I'll sit against the hood of my car for half an hour or so, enjoying the sun and the breeze, before getting back inside having not touched my phone or camera even once.

when there's a decision in front of me—both figurative and literal forks in the road—my brain still tends to calculate the most efficient route to my destination, and there's a moment of dissonance when I take the other direction.

"why do i feel the need to go that way? why can't i keep wandering?" i protest, sometimes aloud. and then the list if errands returns to mind.

"because Sophie is out of dog food. and I'm out of eggs. and the car's low on gas."

today, it seems everything is hungry.

you discover the most incredible things when you're not looking. a greenhouse tucked beside an onramp. a creek rubbing through a subdivision. it's so ironic that we're the most blind when we're trying to focus. sometimes we're squinting so hard at house numbers that we pass right over our friend waving from the sidewalk.

we feel like we understand our needs, or that we know how to get what we want, because it's easy to conceptualize how the roads can lead us there. there's a system, and we trust it, because without it life seems like chaos.

but life isn't about where we end up. it's about what happens along the way. a taco truck. a botanical garden. and yes, even a business park.

can you live live without destinations? I'm not sure. but I didn't wake up today to eat, I woke up today to live. and for me, that's enough.

I put the keys back in the ignition and twist.

there's an enthusiastic "mm-hmm!" as I turn out of the parking lot and back onto the road out of the business park.

my soul has been fed.

my cup is full.

now?

time to runneth over.

... i have no idea what the fuck i'm doing here.

not only that, i have no fucking clue where it's leading me, either.

and, if you've been paying attention or following my journey in any way, you probably already know this. 'cause so far in my web3 career i've taken hard turn after hard turn after pivot after abandon ship after hasty rebuild after hard turn after pivot and i'm still very clearly both abandoning ship and rebuilding.

life is a paradox (subscribe for more secrets that are totally actionable and not at all vague).

but over the course of my life, i have, actually, despite all appearances, learned a few things:

1. you don't have to know shit about fuck.

2. what you want to do is different from how you want to do it.

and, quite importantly,

3. success without fulfillment is the ultimate failure.

and today, after many months of, um, well let's say failing without fulfillment, i finally put proverbial pen to paper and sat down to have a conversation with my hopes and dreams.

we did some catching up, which was cool (suuuuper nice guy, i gotta say) and got a chance to talk about where we've been, what's working, what's not, and really just shoot the shit overall. he (and/or she!) had some notes for me, but mostly just wanted to make sure i was doing okay, and that i was happy.

unfortunately i had bad news for her (or him!) on that front, so we decided to switch things up.

see, the truth is that i've been living on autopilot for a little while, and have generally been doing whatever i can to survive, and that has not made for a very enjoyable journey around the sun. so, together, we flipped to a fresh sheet of proverbial paper and started a brainstorming session on HOW i want to live (because plotting a destination is—as should be clear from my multiplicity of themed blogs and parody twitter accounts—a futile and stupid gesture).

so, without further ado, allow me to present and then belabor what have become the latest set of...

My Values

and how i'm planning to live them. 'cause what good is a thought without an action?

1. It is important to me that I'm accepted for who I am; so I will be radically authentic.

look, i struggled with this for a loooooong time, and i've still got a lot of automatic habits that make me chameleon-ize, but i've gotta be vulnerable, goddammit! I've gotta be the "me" that i am when i wake up, or when i'm singing in the shower, or when i dance to sad Regina Spektor songs in the kitchen, and i've gotta OWN THAT SHIT because i know that half of you mfers dance to sad Regina Spektor songs too, and maybe, just one day, we can dance to the tune of our tears together, but that'll never happen if i never admit that sad Regina Spektor songs make my body wiggle.

so embarrassment be damned. i'm me and we're all gonna deal with it. especially me.

2. My relationships are the foundation for a fulfilling life; so I will nurture them by actively seeking ways to be helpful and serve others.

here's another paradox: turns out we don't feel affection for people because they've done stuff for us, but because we've done stuff for them. maybe that means we love our leeches, but more likely it means that love is an action, and all that "i love you" stuff is bullshit unless you prove it.

this goes a little deeper for me though, because i am not good at maintaining relationships. it's not that i stop liking people, it's just that i'm a notorious introvert and i like being alone, but the problem is that i'm still a human person, and at some point i figure out that i've been alone in my house for two weeks and my only human interactions have been with a dog that i put a hat and sunglasses on.

it ain't pretty.

so i'm putting my money where my mouth is, and committing to people. 'cause we all need friends, and service is basically the most effective way to get and keep 'em.

3. Judgement stops discovery of life's depth and meaning; so I will ask questions about the world in front of me and reject the simple, automatic explanations that I might otherwise instinctively accept.

spoiler alert: i'm a judgemental little asssssshoooollle most of the time, and it is absolutely hashtag not great. the biggest problem with this actually isn't that i think i have immaculate taste (i do) but that i stop investigating other people's taste (and thus stop growing). it also leads to me playing the blame game, and shutting down emotionally when there's conflict. when i make a judgement it's like i'm stopping in the middle of the trail and saying "we're here!" when the lake/mountain/waterfall is definitely further into the wild, wonderful world.

and, tbh, i like to learn more about stuff. being judgy is just me getting in my own way. so, like, stop it.

4. Comfort zones are where dreams go to die; so I will make the active decision to do the hard thing.

i've done this before and it's a fucking baller move. honestly. absolutely life-changing. it's such an easy mantra, too. just do the hard thing. got a decision? do the hard thing. feeling unmotivated? do the hard thing. and after about a month of actively doing the hard thing, the hard thing becomes the easy thing, and then all the stuff you wanted to do but didn't have the energy for are easy things too, and suddenly your life is fucking cake, bro. you build up an immunity to hard things (like chronic anxiety), and your whole life opens up in front of you. it's rad af.

5. Life will not provide me with the right answers, I'll have to discover them for myself; so I will hone my sense of awareness so that I can see the world—and myself—more clearly.

this one is my absolute favorite. mindfulness. none of this stuff works if you don't know what's happening around (or within) you. it's dead simple, too. just meditate. five, ten minutes a day, at any point during the day, every day, and before you know it you start noticing stuff like, oh i dunno, your feelings? the weather? the way the steam rises from a coffee cup and dances in the light? GUH. IT'S BEAUTIFUL, MY DUDE. the coolest thing is that it feels like nothing's happening at first. for like, a month, it just feels like you've got a dumb chore you're doing for no reason. and then one day you feel the sun on your skin while you're walking out to your car before work, and you think, like, "wow, i'm..."

"...i'm alive."

welcome to yet another avenue for my creative expression.

this shit is gonna be unhinged and unfiltered, because i'm primarily using this blog/newsletter as an excuse to just, like... write, y'know? none of that "did you research it first?" or "are you sure you feel that way?" or second-guessing myself about anything. i just need somewhere to go full-send and talk about myself and my opinions.

i also just wanted an excuse to use Paragraph, ngl.

now, if you like my style but which it came with hinges, try my Mirror—it's smooth like that.

and if you like my style but wish someone would cut me off, then check out my character-limited tweets and casts—they're not smooth, but at least they're short.

and i'm working in public over at the gm house, so drop in if you just wanna chill and see what i'm up to. it's effin' cozy over there (and a great place to make new friends).

anyway, keeping this one short because i'm supposed to be doing other stuff today.