TL;DR
Reflecting on the year 2024, the writer explores themes of serendipity, personal freedom, tradeoffs, purpose, and living through chaos. Drawing inspiration from various sources, the reflection encourages the embrace of slightly inefficient systems, limited personal freedom, and living through chaos. The writer shares lessons learned and offers practical advice for personal growth and fulfillment.
Because an unexamined life is not worth living, I look back at the just-ended year (like I did at the end of 2022 and 2023), and draw lessons for the next. I also share the best music, movies, and books that I came across in 2024.
Lessons
1. Plan for Serendipity (yes, that is not a contradiction)
In the mid-eighteenth century, the English writer Horace Walpole in writing to his friend Horace Mann referred to The Three Princes of Serendip, by telling Mann that: “The princes were always making discoveries, by accidents and sagacity, of things which they were not in quest of.” Since then, the word “serendipity” has described an unplanned and fortunate discovery.
Isn’t it, therefore, somewhat foolish, for me to imply that we can “plan” serendipity? Would that still be serendipity?
While we cannot plan serendipity, we can plan FOR serendipity. In other words, if we adopt certain attitudes, we can significantly increase the chances of serendipitous discovery. The inverse is also somewhat true: if we adopt certain attitudes, we can significantly decrease the chances of serendipitous discovery.
The management of our calendars can reveal some truths about planning for serendipity. If one were to plan every single minute of their day (and stick to it), they almost entirely eliminate the possibility of a serendipitous event.
What we do at parties too is revealing. Say one is invited to a party, and proceeds to establish an exclusive list of persons they intend to speak to. Should they proceed as planned, they likewise almost entirely eliminate the chance that an interaction with a random lady they had never heard of prior to the party becomes their spouse three years down the line.
We can plan for serendipity by building slack into our systems; by acting on the realization that an over optimized system is likely to be an inefficient system by virtue of the questionable accuracy of the baked in assumptions, and the fact that highly optimized systems tend to have large reaction times.
There is a broader question that is unanswered: why is it necessary to plan for serendipity?
Planning for serendipity is necessary because we often overstate our ability to grasp (and control) all the levers that influence our ability to achieve the things we set our minds to.
A concerned reader may immediately raise the objection that they are unaware of such a proclivity in their own lives. To which the appropriate response would be to state that philosophy is as much an act as it is a thought; to the extent that our actions are guided by some degree of thought, they are an expression of a philosophy even when we cannot bring ourselves to eloquently express that philosophy.
Whenever we schedule every minute of our days, we are expressing in action the idea that we know to completion how to make the best of our days even in the face of uncertainty: we are philosophizing in action, and that too counts.
In contrast, to plan for serendipity is to state by way of action that things may not go as planned; that there may be signals that are valid inputs to our processes whose existence and/or validity we are currently oblivious of; and that for all our plans and calculations, some happy accident may be the answer to our worries. This is not a case for unbridled spontaneity; it is a case for an approach to planning that balances our inability to know and foresee with absolute certainty, with the confidence that if we were, at any moment, to identify a hitherto meritorious path to achieving our objectives, we would seize the day.
2. Find an arc, and chase it.
Believe it or not, there was a time when cultural and societal norms gave us an arc, and our life’s purpose was to chase it. That was Michel Foucault’s world of discipline, and we are well past that world. The world we live in today is an open world. Open in the sense that we are suffocated by a plethora of choices – we can be whatever we desire to be, we can have whatever we desire to have, and we can go wherever we wish, we whomever we desire. Where we cannot do these things for want of certain qualifiers, we can shamelessly build our lives around the pursuit to overcome them. In our world, we can more than we should, and our decisions increasingly reflect the expansive nature of our choices and desires.
While the world has changed, human nature has not changed much. As has been the case throughout history, our ability to find purpose and meaning in our lives is contingent on our ability to situate our lives in the context of a stable narrative. We still hope that as the story of our lives unfolds, there is a flowing narrative that “makes sense”. The implication in a post-discipline world being that the quality of our lives depends on our ability to create our own arcs.
Imagine that life was a journey between states. Starting from a state of being born, we make our way through various milestones (states) by way of our choices, with the end states being the quality of life attained when we die. Between the state of being born and the many possible end states, there are countless milestones that can be achieved.
For so many years, cultural norms and societal expectations could be described as an attempt by the collective wisdom to establish boundaries within which the choices we made and the intermediate states attained as a result of those choices increased the likelihood that our end state was fulfilling. However, now we have shattered those boundaries and are free. We can make many more choices and attain more intermediate states; but we can also very easily end up with an undesirable life in so many ways than was previously possible.
The responsibility of finding our arc now is ours and with it comes the even bigger responsibility of owning whatever outcome we arrive at. It used to be the case that if one had lived up to societal expectations, and somehow still ended up with a life that could not possibly be considered good, they could pride themselves in knowing that at least they had lived dutifully. In our new world of freedom, there is no inherent value in dutiful living, and quality is increasingly defined by outcomes only.
The greater exercise does not come along with a greater guarantee of a quality life. Under strict scrutiny, it would seem that it rather comes with less such guarantees; by rejecting norms and traditions that are the expression of centuries of collective wisdom, we are acting on the idea that every individual can (and in fact should) be more discerning than the abilities that were handed down by the many people who have come before us.
Finding our arc is deciding the extent, and manner in which we will exercise our freedom to order our lives; it is about creating for ourselves the boundaries that could potentially increase the likelihood that the life we end up with is fulfilling. It is arguably the most important responsibility that falls to each of us because 1) to the extent that the quality of our lives is grounded in narratives, the chase is meaningless without an arc, and 2) because life is finite, we cannot explore all the possible combinations of intermediary states. We must choose before we run.
3. Decide what you will give up.
It follows from the preceding lesson that owing to the vast nature of intermediate states that are possible in our lifetime, and constraints of our mortality, we must, in spite of our apparent freedom, make choices; we simply cannot have it all, and must decide upfront what we are willing to give up.
In Michel Foucault’s world of discipline with limited freedom, an outlook of life that sought to maximize desire was inherently beneficial; the pre-established boundaries meant that even the slightest exercise of personal freedom could add value to our lives. There were systemic checks that limited our ability to abuse freedom, and whatever was left of freedom was lived within reasonable boundaries.
In contrast, in today’s world with a reigning terror of personal freedom, the reverse is true. An outlook of life that seeks to maximize self-restraint is inherently beneficial; the overabundance of freedom means that even the slightest exercise of meaningful discipline could add value to our lives. As we are more prone to see the world through the endless possibilities that our freedom accords us, to ask ourselves what we can not, or would not have, is to inch closer to defining a stable arc.
As there are options untold for the modern person, there also exist ways untold of deciding what to give up. The two that immediately come to mind are; first, submitting oneself to some sort of tradition, or pursuit of values in a somewhat arbitrary manner; second, considering the costs of the available options (what an economist would call the maximization of utility). Both approaches are inherently flawed.
Say one decides to submit themselves to a tradition or set of values. What tradition, what values? Should the choice be arbitrary? Why, for example, should a person commit to the pursuit of virtue over the pursuit of pleasure? While these are questions that have been around for centuries, individuals tended to benefit from the expression of collective wisdom in these pursuits. Consider, for example, that because a Spartan boy was born into a world that expected certain values from him, the pursuit of other values was immediately eliminated. While we would not consider being born into such conditions liberating today, the fact that young Spartan boys did not have to pick values was in fact liberating. In today’s world, submitting oneself to a tradition or set of values may not therefore be as liberating, as it is inherently a choice.
On the other hand, deciding what to give up by seeking to maximize utility is flawed because it is overwhelming enough to be fatal; there are just too many options, insufficient time to consider them, and abundant yet useless information to inform their weighting. The maximization of utility is also flawed by virtue of the fact that the reign of freedom has coincided with the erasure of everything negative. We are increasingly likely to be just as educated in depth on the benefits of wealth, as we are uneducated on the demerits and costs associated with obtaining such wealth; we are increasingly likely to be in earnest for the joys of love, but oblivious to the labours of loving; we have heard mention of “billionaire” and “millionaire” so often that the attainment of such wealth seems closer to our eyes than they do in hindsight to those who have achieved them. Given this, how can we reasonably choose between seeking wealth and going to the monastery when our ability to choose wisely depends on being sufficiently educated on the demerits of both options?
While the complexities above make it obvious that deciding what to cut out is not as obvious as it sounds, they do not express the fact that in today’s world, cutting out almost anything is contrarian and likely to attract the heavy price of ostracization. Not only do you need the wisdom to discern what to cut out, you also need the courage to stick to your guts in the face of ridicule.
Nonetheless, making such trade-offs upfront is essential for a good life. It is a hard but inevitable task. The complexity should not guide us to abandon. Rather, by focusing on 1) the central role that it plays in the quality of our lives, and 2) the fact that if we do not exercise our freedom in this regard, a deranged culture will guide us to trade-offs that are in opposition to a good life, let us rather be willing to relentlessly think of what you are willing to give up, what will not be our business, and what will not concern us. Let us limit our freedom.
4. Any deviation from the mean is expensive
Anytime one deviates from the mean, they pay a high price for it. Consider the following three examples.
First: Think about a teenager that is handsome or pretty enough to be remarkable. While we, who are not so privileged, imagine that our teens may have been better had we been that teenager, it is not immediately obvious to us that such a person must develop the ability to handle unsolicited attention very quickly or risk being lured into some scheme that could destroy their lives even before it starts. The young pretty and charming lady must learn how to effectively vet partners before she is sure of what she wants to do with her life, or must develop the nerve to say no to the inordinate number of potential suitors she gets on a daily basis. The young handsome and able gentleman must learn to think hard before flirting with just any lady, as his flirtations, being more likely to be successful, are more likely to be dangerous.
Second: What about that very tall friend of ours? While tall people effortlessly have the collective admiration of society, one would be shocked to learn what they go through to find shoes and clothes that they love. Where the average person may make do with RyanAir’s leg space, a tall person has less options, and sometimes has to think twice about going to church because the parish priest used an estimate of their own need for leg space when deciding the separation between pews.
Third: Gaining muscle is always exciting till one realises that once the size of their bicep is bigger than the representative size of people of their height, they have to get custom clothes at a ridiculous price and with less optionality. They have to reconsider mundane aspects of life – like buying a shirt that fits without bursting at the seams, walking through narrow doorways, or even fitting into a certain car seat. And no one talks about how much unsolicited attention such people must deal with on social media.
The broader point is this: while society often glorifies being extraordinary, it rarely emphasizes the costs associated with it. The “mean” exists for a reason—it is where most people exist because it requires the least adaptation to thrive in a system designed around the average. When you deviate from this norm, the system stops working for you. You have to carve out exceptions, learn new skills, or endure challenges others might never face, speak less of comprehend.
This is not an argument against all sorts of deviation. If you lived long enough, with only a little amount of effort you would eventually deviate from the mean in one way or another. Besides, it is such deviations that establish our unique personalities; we exist in contrast to our environments.
The actionable insight of this lesson is to keep in mind that exceptions demand exceptionable insights. For every tall person who is celebrated for their height, there is some required learning to navigate the short doors and find good clothes. For every muscular person who is the wonder of their peers, there are new rules about dressing and behaving on social media to be learned. Success and satisfaction outside the average demand more than mere talent; they demand discipline, adaptability, and resilience.
Nature is a great equalising force, and while there is room for sustained inequality, it does not come freely. The well-read private theologian is bound to find church services bland; the multi-talented graduate is bound to feel boxed in a world of commodified talent; the gifted long-distance runner is bound to find running as a group limiting, and so on and so forth.
As such, the moment one realises that they are deviating from the mean, they must start considering the price they must pay for such a deviation.
5. Chaos is the way
In a post-discipline world with its reinforcement of everything that is good, we live with the illusion that our lives have not begun until all that is negative disappears. It comes as no surprise when one considers that the prevailing wisdom - as expressed in action - holds that the good life is one in which all negativity has been purged and the function of man is the deferment of living till a certain state of gold and bliss.
A careful study of the history of great men and women proves otherwise: life is the management of chaos, not the avoidance of it.
It is quite common these days to no longer consider living as something that happens from the moment we are born, everything that happens after birth as aids to the ultimate end of living, and to elevate some of these things to ends in their own rights.
While Scott Burken, in The Myths of Innovation did not foresee that there would be parallels between his myths and life in general, there nonetheless seem to be interesting parallels in three myths: the myth of the method, the myth that great ideas are rare, and the myth that problems are less interesting than solutions.
In drawing a parallel between the myth of the method and life, we observe that there are many factors beyond one’s control. One can do everything right and still fail. Most stories of successful people (as told by them or others) cherry pick from their pasts to support their “method”. Instead of deferring your life as though a given method would guarantee a certain state, one should learn to manage the chaos that comes with living life’s many phases as they come.
The myth that great ideas are rare also has something to teach us about life. It is not so much the case that living a fulfilling life is hard as it is the case that we lack the courage to, in the pursuit of this end, make do with the options that are readily available to us. We are so fixated on a number of ideas that seem to have worked for others that we lack the conviction to set out on our own and pursue our own combinations. There are more combinations than courage.
In discussing the myth that problems are less interesting than solutions, Burken quotes Einstein as having said: “If I had 20 days to solve a problem I would take 19 to define it.” Our very positive world has lost the discipline to see beauty in problems (chaos), and we rush to solutions instead. However, a quick survey of history will demonstrate that the people who lived very fulfilling lives spent more time managing chaos than living the epiphany for which history has remembered them.
In part, this phenomenon is bound to emerge where there is no arc. For the existence of an arc creates a narrative that gives meaning to chaos (which is inevitable, by the way), while the inexistence of an arc incentivizes the constant exploration of “options” to chaos pain whose meaning cannot be discerned.
Or perhaps, is it an overdose of hope that is to be blamed? While hope in itself is not detrimental to the human condition, a hope that postpones living in the present chaos with a radically full acceptance takes away more than it gives to a good life.
Embrace chaos: it is the way.
The Best Things of 2024
Books
- Tuesdays with Morrie, by Mitch Albom.
- What I Talk About When I Talk About Running: A Memoir, by Haruki Murakami.
- High-Intensity Training the Mike Mentzer Way, by John Little and Mike Mentzer.
Music
- Sleepers Awake! (Wachet auf, ruft uns die Stimme, Johann Sebastian Bach BWV 140), by The New Symphony Orchestra of London, Raymond Agoult.
- O Salutaris Hostia, by Jan Garbarek, Pierre de la Rue, The Hilliard Ensemble.
- Gabriel’s Oboe, by Ennio Maricone, Prague Philharmonia, Nick Ingman.
Movies
- A Bronx Tale, Directed by Robert De Niro
- Jaws, Directed by Steven Spielberg
- No Country for Old Men, Directed by Joel and Ethan Coen
Favourite Quote
“Mr. Murakami,” Mr. Kageyama said, surprised as he saw me getting ready to run, “you’re not really thinking of running the whole route, are you?”
“Of course I am. That’s why I came here.”
“Really? But when we do these kinds of projects most people don’t go all the way. We just take some photos, and most of them don’t finish the whole route. So you really are going to run the entire thing?”
Sometimes the world baffles me. I can’t believe that people would really do things like that”
What I Talk About When I Talk About Running: A Memoir - Haruki Murakami
Happy new year!