Our Obsession With Self-Optimization Is Hindering Our Quality of Life
There’s a world beyond striving for your “best self”
A few days ago, I was on the hamster dopamine wheel (AKA Twitter) when I stumbled on entrepreneur Jon Clemon’s essay, “Be Interesting.”
Clemon argues there are two types of people: The interesting and the boring. According to him, the majority of people you’ll meet fall into the boring category—they’re “losers” who aren’t “worth the energy to meet” because their knowledge is “shallow and untested” (ouch).
The essay made a splash on Twitter, receiving glowing comments such as “This is the way,” and “No words.” And listen, there’s nothing wrong with wanting to meet cool people. But something seems sinister about Clemon’s suggestion that because people who aren’t “interesting” can’t forward your career or intellectuality, they intrinsically have no value.
Though questionable (to me at least), Clemon’s ideas aren’t new. They’re part of our culture’s obsession with self-optimization, where, as Alexandra Schwartz writes in The New Yorker, “we are being sold on the need to upgrade all parts of ourselves…including parts that we did not previously know needed upgrading.”
Sigh. While being “optimized” can feel good in the moment, it’s rife with pitfalls, such as creative stagnation, resentment, and burnout. I would know, because I’ve experienced these downsides firsthand.
How I fell into a self-optimization spiral
In 2020, I began building my business as a freelance writer. I opened a Twitter account to promote my services, and soon started following key players in the solopreneur space such as Jack Butcher, David Perell, Tiago Forte, etc.
Many of these accounts peddled extreme productivity advice, and I was more than eager to implement it. I developed a “content diet” where I only consumed digital content that “bettered me” (goodbye, Too Hot to Handle). I only read self-help books. I classified my friends who weren’t building a business as “behind.” Soon, I spiraled into believing that everything in my life could be optimized.
Why go on a stroll when a run would burn more calories?
Why learn how to paint when learning to copywrite could earn more money?
Why connect with a freelancer when a cold pitch to a client could lead to a retainer?
But with a million opportunities for improvement, there were a million ways to disappoint myself if I didn’t follow through. “If I don’t end my day absolutely, completely exhausted, then I feel like I didn’t do enough,” I wrote in my journal later that January.
The pursuit of self-optimization began to strain my long-standing friendships. I’d feel compelled to chat with them about my freelancing business, and when they were (understandably) uninterested, I spiraled into believing I should just move away from NYC to California to find more “smart, motivated individuals” (cringe).
My actual journal entry from January 13, 2021.
Self-optimization always seems like a great idea at first
German sociologist George Simmel theorized that the overwhelming stimuli found in city life lead people to become more objective as a way to buffer themselves. Matthew Wilsey’s essay The Metropolis and Mental Life, further dissects Simmel’s theory:
“The metropolitan lifestyle, with its ever-increasing emphasis and concern with accomplishments, rationality, and the accruement of knowledge, has contributed to a decline in culture. In striving for monetary gain, people become ever more one-sided or one-dimensional and ignore extracurricular activities that could potentially enrich their lives.”
No wonder self-optimization is so appetizing. Not only is there a financial incentive, but it promises a feeling of control in an otherwise chaotic world. Self-optimization tells you that if you just [insert upgrade here], you’ll unlock an ideal life where you’re thriving. And once you access it, you’ll enter a club (what Clemons calls the “interesting people”) where you’re, well, better than everyone else.
Writer Jack Raines also proposes an interesting theory for the popularity of self-optimization in his essay “You Can Be Successful Without Being Insufferable.” Self-optimization, he argues, is “propagated by folks who couldn’t achieve success unless they neglected other areas of their lives.”
Raines continues, “It’s easier to tell yourself that you are better than others because you made sacrifices they didn’t, rather than admitting that it’s actually quite possible for plenty of people to have it both ways.”
In other words, to justify one’s sacrifice, self-optimizers convince themselves (and others) it had to be done this way.
They couldn’t be well-connected if they didn’t exclusively filter for “interesting people.” They couldn’t be financially successful if they didn’t stop buying avocado toast. They couldn’t have climbed the corporate ladder if they’d spent some time in their 20s backpacking through Asia (you get the idea).
The case against self-optimization
As the pandemic crawled to a stop in June 2022, two things happened to me. First, I started landing writing gigs through referrals and didn’t need to constantly promote my business online anymore. Second, I could spend more time hanging out with friends IRL and less time scrolling through Twitter.
Slowly, I stopped constantly self-optimizing and just relaxed. I started to become a more curious person, free to explore everything I’d once ruled out because it didn’t “optimize” me.
When meeting new people, I stopped filtering each interaction with, “Who are you, and how can you benefit me?” Instead, I approached it by thinking, “What’s your story, and what questions can I ask to discover it?”
And that’s how I met Sunny, a 62-year-old Tibetan monk, on top of a volcano in Guatemala. He told me about his pet rooster (turns out they’re very affectionate), how the sand dunes in Brazil are blown in from the deserts of Morocco, and his thoughts on mortality as he approached the age of his dad when he died.
Was Sunny building a company, running a blog, or writing a book? No. Did this mean he wasn’t worth getting to know? Of course not.
I also started picking up hobbies with zero intention of monetizing them. So far, I’ve read 22 fiction books, started crocheting a frog (yes, really), and am working on a painting-by-numbers of Vincent Van Gogh’s Café Terrace at Night. All of these pursuits have made me feel more interesting—whether you want to do business with me or not.
Our Obsession With Self-Optimization Is Hindering Our Quality of Life
There’s a world beyond striving for your “best self”
A few days ago, I was on the hamster dopamine wheel (AKA Twitter) when I stumbled on entrepreneur Jon Clemon’s essay, “Be Interesting.”
Clemon argues there are two types of people: The interesting and the boring. According to him, the majority of people you’ll meet fall into the boring category—they’re “losers” who aren’t “worth the energy to meet” because their knowledge is “shallow and untested” (ouch).
The essay made a splash on Twitter, receiving glowing comments such as “This is the way,” and “No words.” And listen, there’s nothing wrong with wanting to meet cool people. But something seems sinister about Clemon’s suggestion that because people who aren’t “interesting” can’t forward your career or intellectuality, they intrinsically have no value.
Though questionable (to me at least), Clemon’s ideas aren’t new. They’re part of our culture’s obsession with self-optimization, where, as Alexandra Schwartz writes in The New Yorker, “we are being sold on the need to upgrade all parts of ourselves…including parts that we did not previously know needed upgrading.”
Sigh. While being “optimized” can feel good in the moment, it’s rife with pitfalls, such as creative stagnation, resentment, and burnout. I would know, because I’ve experienced these downsides firsthand.
How I fell into a self-optimization spiral
In 2020, I began building my business as a freelance writer. I opened a Twitter account to promote my services, and soon started following key players in the solopreneur space such as Jack Butcher, David Perell, Tiago Forte, etc.
Many of these accounts peddled extreme productivity advice, and I was more than eager to implement it. I developed a “content diet” where I only consumed digital content that “bettered me” (goodbye, Too Hot to Handle). I only read self-help books. I classified my friends who weren’t building a business as “behind.” Soon, I spiraled into believing that everything in my life could be optimized.
Why go on a stroll when a run would burn more calories?
Why learn how to paint when learning to copywrite could earn more money?
Why connect with a freelancer when a cold pitch to a client could lead to a retainer?
But with a million opportunities for improvement, there were a million ways to disappoint myself if I didn’t follow through. “If I don’t end my day absolutely, completely exhausted, then I feel like I didn’t do enough,” I wrote in my journal later that January.
The pursuit of self-optimization began to strain my long-standing friendships. I’d feel compelled to chat with them about my freelancing business, and when they were (understandably) uninterested, I spiraled into believing I should just move away from NYC to California to find more “smart, motivated individuals” (cringe).
My actual journal entry from January 13, 2021.
Self-optimization always seems like a great idea at first
German sociologist George Simmel theorized that the overwhelming stimuli found in city life lead people to become more objective as a way to buffer themselves. Matthew Wilsey’s essay The Metropolis and Mental Life, further dissects Simmel’s theory:
“The metropolitan lifestyle, with its ever-increasing emphasis and concern with accomplishments, rationality, and the accruement of knowledge, has contributed to a decline in culture. In striving for monetary gain, people become ever more one-sided or one-dimensional and ignore extracurricular activities that could potentially enrich their lives.”
No wonder self-optimization is so appetizing. Not only is there a financial incentive, but it promises a feeling of control in an otherwise chaotic world. Self-optimization tells you that if you just [insert upgrade here], you’ll unlock an ideal life where you’re thriving. And once you access it, you’ll enter a club (what Clemons calls the “interesting people”) where you’re, well, better than everyone else.
Writer Jack Raines also proposes an interesting theory for the popularity of self-optimization in his essay “You Can Be Successful Without Being Insufferable.” Self-optimization, he argues, is “propagated by folks who couldn’t achieve success unless they neglected other areas of their lives.”
Raines continues, “It’s easier to tell yourself that you are better than others because you made sacrifices they didn’t, rather than admitting that it’s actually quite possible for plenty of people to have it both ways.”
In other words, to justify one’s sacrifice, self-optimizers convince themselves (and others) it had to be done this way.
They couldn’t be well-connected if they didn’t exclusively filter for “interesting people.” They couldn’t be financially successful if they didn’t stop buying avocado toast. They couldn’t have climbed the corporate ladder if they’d spent some time in their 20s backpacking through Asia (you get the idea).
The case against self-optimization
As the pandemic crawled to a stop in June 2022, two things happened to me. First, I started landing writing gigs through referrals and didn’t need to constantly promote my business online anymore. Second, I could spend more time hanging out with friends IRL and less time scrolling through Twitter.
Slowly, I stopped constantly self-optimizing and just relaxed. I started to become a more curious person, free to explore everything I’d once ruled out because it didn’t “optimize” me.
When meeting new people, I stopped filtering each interaction with, “Who are you, and how can you benefit me?” Instead, I approached it by thinking, “What’s your story, and what questions can I ask to discover it?”
And that’s how I met Sunny, a 62-year-old Tibetan monk, on top of a volcano in Guatemala. He told me about his pet rooster (turns out they’re very affectionate), how the sand dunes in Brazil are blown in from the deserts of Morocco, and his thoughts on mortality as he approached the age of his dad when he died.
Was Sunny building a company, running a blog, or writing a book? No. Did this mean he wasn’t worth getting to know? Of course not.
I also started picking up hobbies with zero intention of monetizing them. So far, I’ve read 22 fiction books, started crocheting a frog (yes, really), and am working on a painting-by-numbers of Vincent Van Gogh’s Café Terrace at Night. All of these pursuits have made me feel more interesting—whether you want to do business with me or not.
Our Obsession With Self-Optimization Is Hindering Our Quality of Life
There’s a world beyond striving for your “best self”
A few days ago, I was on the hamster dopamine wheel (AKA Twitter) when I stumbled on entrepreneur Jon Clemon’s essay, “Be Interesting.”
Clemon argues there are two types of people: The interesting and the boring. According to him, the majority of people you’ll meet fall into the boring category—they’re “losers” who aren’t “worth the energy to meet” because their knowledge is “shallow and untested” (ouch).
The essay made a splash on Twitter, receiving glowing comments such as “This is the way,” and “No words.” And listen, there’s nothing wrong with wanting to meet cool people. But something seems sinister about Clemon’s suggestion that because people who aren’t “interesting” can’t forward your career or intellectuality, they intrinsically have no value.
Though questionable (to me at least), Clemon’s ideas aren’t new. They’re part of our culture’s obsession with self-optimization, where, as Alexandra Schwartz writes in The New Yorker, “we are being sold on the need to upgrade all parts of ourselves…including parts that we did not previously know needed upgrading.”
Sigh. While being “optimized” can feel good in the moment, it’s rife with pitfalls, such as creative stagnation, resentment, and burnout. I would know, because I’ve experienced these downsides firsthand.
How I fell into a self-optimization spiral
In 2020, I began building my business as a freelance writer. I opened a Twitter account to promote my services, and soon started following key players in the solopreneur space such as Jack Butcher, David Perell, Tiago Forte, etc.
Many of these accounts peddled extreme productivity advice, and I was more than eager to implement it. I developed a “content diet” where I only consumed digital content that “bettered me” (goodbye, Too Hot to Handle). I only read self-help books. I classified my friends who weren’t building a business as “behind.” Soon, I spiraled into believing that everything in my life could be optimized.
Why go on a stroll when a run would burn more calories?
Why learn how to paint when learning to copywrite could earn more money?
Why connect with a freelancer when a cold pitch to a client could lead to a retainer?
But with a million opportunities for improvement, there were a million ways to disappoint myself if I didn’t follow through. “If I don’t end my day absolutely, completely exhausted, then I feel like I didn’t do enough,” I wrote in my journal later that January.
The pursuit of self-optimization began to strain my long-standing friendships. I’d feel compelled to chat with them about my freelancing business, and when they were (understandably) uninterested, I spiraled into believing I should just move away from NYC to California to find more “smart, motivated individuals” (cringe).
My actual journal entry from January 13, 2021.
Self-optimization always seems like a great idea at first
German sociologist George Simmel theorized that the overwhelming stimuli found in city life lead people to become more objective as a way to buffer themselves. Matthew Wilsey’s essay The Metropolis and Mental Life, further dissects Simmel’s theory:
“The metropolitan lifestyle, with its ever-increasing emphasis and concern with accomplishments, rationality, and the accruement of knowledge, has contributed to a decline in culture. In striving for monetary gain, people become ever more one-sided or one-dimensional and ignore extracurricular activities that could potentially enrich their lives.”
No wonder self-optimization is so appetizing. Not only is there a financial incentive, but it promises a feeling of control in an otherwise chaotic world. Self-optimization tells you that if you just [insert upgrade here], you’ll unlock an ideal life where you’re thriving. And once you access it, you’ll enter a club (what Clemons calls the “interesting people”) where you’re, well, better than everyone else.
Writer Jack Raines also proposes an interesting theory for the popularity of self-optimization in his essay “You Can Be Successful Without Being Insufferable.” Self-optimization, he argues, is “propagated by folks who couldn’t achieve success unless they neglected other areas of their lives.”
Raines continues, “It’s easier to tell yourself that you are better than others because you made sacrifices they didn’t, rather than admitting that it’s actually quite possible for plenty of people to have it both ways.”
In other words, to justify one’s sacrifice, self-optimizers convince themselves (and others) it had to be done this way.
They couldn’t be well-connected if they didn’t exclusively filter for “interesting people.” They couldn’t be financially successful if they didn’t stop buying avocado toast. They couldn’t have climbed the corporate ladder if they’d spent some time in their 20s backpacking through Asia (you get the idea).
The case against self-optimization
As the pandemic crawled to a stop in June 2022, two things happened to me. First, I started landing writing gigs through referrals and didn’t need to constantly promote my business online anymore. Second, I could spend more time hanging out with friends IRL and less time scrolling through Twitter.
Slowly, I stopped constantly self-optimizing and just relaxed. I started to become a more curious person, free to explore everything I’d once ruled out because it didn’t “optimize” me.
When meeting new people, I stopped filtering each interaction with, “Who are you, and how can you benefit me?” Instead, I approached it by thinking, “What’s your story, and what questions can I ask to discover it?”
And that’s how I met Sunny, a 62-year-old Tibetan monk, on top of a volcano in Guatemala. He told me about his pet rooster (turns out they’re very affectionate), how the sand dunes in Brazil are blown in from the deserts of Morocco, and his thoughts on mortality as he approached the age of his dad when he died.
Was Sunny building a company, running a blog, or writing a book? No. Did this mean he wasn’t worth getting to know? Of course not.
I also started picking up hobbies with zero intention of monetizing them. So far, I’ve read 22 fiction books, started crocheting a frog (yes, really), and am working on a painting-by-numbers of Vincent Van Gogh’s Café Terrace at Night. All of these pursuits have made me feel more interesting—whether you want to do business with me or not.
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Subscribe to our weekly newsletter so you never miss a story.
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Subscribe to our weekly newsletter so you never miss a story.
