I used to file leisure time under “rot,” tucking 15-minute green oblongs between meetings and busywork in a crowded Google Calendar. When friends asked, I jokingly told them that I spent rot breaks staring at the wall.
Unfortunately, the name was fitting: I texted and doomscrolled with no activity between my skull and half-open jaw. I mean, how could I stop? The algorithm only gets better right?
I couldn’t remember the last time I took a shit without a phone in my hand.
…
My mind felt especially heavy this morning: sudden heartbreak, career turbulence, and analysis paralysis reminiscent of Plath’s fig tree. It didn’t help that I was weeks from my 20th and months from graduation.
Normally, I’d reach for a cigarette or something harder. Maybe lose myself for a week in a game or a show. But I had renounced all vices two nights before. And this time, I actually meant it.
…
It’s too easy to tap out.
You tell yourself that it’s the “lesser” of evils. Next thing you know, 6 years have slipped by.
“A man needs a vice,” I’d say with a wistful smile, “just something to take the edge off.”
But numbing the symptoms is not a solution. If your mother was in cardiac arrest, and the doctor threw her a couple percs to “chill out,” would you hesitate before suing him back to the Stone Age?
Hold yourself to the same standard.
If you can’t treat the cause, at least look it in the eyes.
So what now? A 3-month voyage to an ashram? I would have loved to take the classic lost-souls-in-the-mountains retreat if it wasn’t for the bright red MUST ATTEND calendared for 9:00 AM tomorrow.
When in New York, expedite everything—even enlightenment.
Armed with an analog watch on my left wrist, a protein shake in each sweater pocket, and Santa pants from 2015 around my waist, I was ready.
At 10:58AM, I walked out the door.
…
I had been an upstanding citizen for too long.
My watch slammed into my wrist as I hopped the turnstiles guarding my beloved F train—I had lost my touch.
Unfortunately, the struggles had just begun. The seductive cyans of personal injury ads kept luring my eyes from the modest wall. I only managed to block out their sirens’ song by focusing on the crinkles in the “No Leaning” sticker.
A brunette in a brown blazer sat down, covering the sticker. I shifted my focus to her. She skimmed the ads above me before staring back. As we looked at each other, I wondered if eye contact without AirPods was considered impolite.
…
The Park was beautiful, as always.
My first rot spot was a bench pinched between the main road and a big rock overlooking a small bridge. I spent my 15 minutes here eavesdropping on passersby and scrutinizing fat robins while they pecked at the mud.
Next, I climbed the big rock, folded my legs into half-lotus, and stared into the pond below; the slight bump I sat on worked wonders for my spine. But just when I settled into some semblance of serenity, six kids decided to huddle in front of me and split a family-pack of Fritos.
For some reason, I wasn’t angry. That surprised me.
…
I split the next 45 minutes between two flat rocks near Wollman Rink. Then another 2 hours in the benches surrounding Sailboat Pond, staring at an orange buoy floating in the middle.
My mind was gasping for stimulation. I tried to lead it towards something positive: gratitude, forgiveness, maybe even self love. And it worked.
. . . But only 10% of the time. The other 90% was spent replaying all sorts of fuckshit:
Your meeting tomorrow, don’t fuck it up. You tend to fuck things up. Remember [insert cringe-inducing blah blah]?
I gave her my all. Is my best not good enough? If she meant “I love you,” when did she begin to waver?
I have to work hard and provide. Wait, provide for who? Should I want something? How can I take the first step when I don’t know which direction is right?
I kept clawing at my wounds, but found nothing.
…
And then, I saw it.
Rot Tip #1: Look for a path under construction; a bench next to a dead end is much quieter. Sit and tell no one.
I spent the rest of the day on a confidential bench. For those seven hours or so, the only people with the desire and/or chutzpah to sit next to me were a German mother-son duo.
Rot Tip #2: If you sit the park alone, wear Santa pants, and pace/mumble/gesture for no intelligible reason, very few people will come near you. I learned this one by accident.
I grew fidgety, snapping small sticks, twisting bark, twiddling thumbs, and looking for patterns in the leaves above.
After depriving my brain of all passerby stimuli and skimming the negative scum from its thought soup, the clear broth of introspection could now surface. It was only a matter of time.
And by hour five or six, things began to bubble up:
…
Faith isn’t real until things start breaking.
Warren Buffett said it best, “you don’t find out who’s been swimming naked until the tide goes out.” He was talking about insurance and bull bubbles, but the same is true for faith, friendship, and a lender’s goodwill—all is good and golly until shit hits the fan.
We win together but fail alone. Womp womp. Such is life.
…
“Wisp, what even is faith?”
My definition: an absolute belief in an good outcome when a) no indicators exist or b) all of them scream otherwise. Belief based on evidence is just reason, and that’s nothing special.
“Are you calling faith irrational?”
Yes.
“Then . . . we should avoid it right?”
No, you should seek it. Irrational things can be healthy. In fact, when indicators are flashing red, faith is game theory dominant:
“Wisp, you’re oversimplifying.”
Yes smartass, you’re completely right. I am assuming that P(success) is independent from faith. In reality, faith makes success much easier.
Every guru yaps on and on about the power of thought. But if you’ve played a sport, instrument, or done anything at all, you’d know that they’re right about this one. It’s causation, not correlation.
…
“Ok Wisp, I get it. Faith is good. It makes me comfortable, successful, and charismatic. Hell, it’ll cure my hemorrhoids and raise my credit score. But I just can’t do it, I can’t accept P and ¬P.”
Oh, dear reader, I understand that problem far too well. It’s a difficult one. That being said, the solution is simple:
Mindfuck yourself.
…
Self-worth is intrinsic and unalienable.
“Us vs. the world” feels good. Having the support of a partner and friends is undoubtably healthy. But what if they up and leave? Or pass away?
Are you going to collapse into a boneless blob?
Maybe you decide to hedge with a backup plan. Ten offers are safer than one right? Absolutely true, but they might be equally worthless on September 29, 2008.
Is it blob time?
No, our worth has to be extinction-event-proof.
…
I’m reminded of Job, my favorite Book of the Tanakh. Whether you’re a Buddhist, Atheist, or Scientologist, I think you should read it. But out of consideration for you, reader, I’ll include a brief summary with my analysis:
Job, a wealthy and devout man, loses all his possessions, health, and family in a series of devastating events. His 7,000 sheep, 3,000 camels, 500 oxen, and 500 donkeys are killed. His ten children—seven sons and three daughters—die when their house collapses during a storm. Job is afflicted with painful sores from head to toe.
Job is left with nothing. I’ve read this passage hundreds of times, but—perhaps because his pain is so extreme—I never truly empathized. Step into his shoes and looked around. Feel it.
Throughout his suffering, Job's friends—Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zophar—visit him and insist that his suffering must be a result of some hidden sin, urging him to repent.
This does not have to be external. You can be both Job and his friends, rationalizing the causes and beating yourself up afterwards.
Self-flagellation is a futile attempt to regain agency. This is a strange concept, but let’s frame it in a relationship context. Relinquishing control takes the mystery out of suffering: pain becomes a logical consequence.
Despite their accusations, Job maintains his innocence and faith in G-d. In his anguish, Job questions G-d, seeking to understand the reasons for his suffering. However, when G-d responds, He emphasizes His own omnipotence and the limitations of human understanding. Humbled by this encounter, Job repents.
Pinpointing causes is absurd. We, as cute little space monkeys, cannot understand the wonders of the universe. So give up—you’ll be happier.
In the end, God restores Job's fortunes, giving him twice as much as he had before. Job receives 14,000 sheep, 6,000 camels, 1,000 oxen, and 1,000 donkeys. He also has ten more children—seven sons and three daughters—who are noted for their beauty. Job lives 140 more years, seeing his family to the fourth generation.
I always thought this was a bit funny:
“Sorry your whole family died, My bad lol. But hey, on the bright side, you’re twice as loaded and your daughters are way hotter! Rejoice!”
Some may say Job didn’t deserve double. Others that a righteous man didn’t deserve to lose everything in the first place.
But “deserve” is such an arrogant word.
…
I once met a man with a gap-toothed smile.
He told me he was born very poor, but worked hard as a restaurateur and became very rich. There were even a few news stories about him.
Then ‘08 came. His wife took the kids with her, and he was left couch-surfing. But by time I met him, he was a very rich man with a very bright smile.
I asked the gap-toothed man what kept him moving forward. He replied,
“I was always the same person.”
…
Let’s rewind back to the thought chain of analysis paralysis:
I need to take the first step.
I don’t know which direction is right.
I need to know the right direction to take the first step.
I can’t take the first step (2, 3)
∴ I’m fucked (1,4 reductio ad absurdum)
Do you, dear reader, see the issue with this proof? We could resolve the reductio using mindfuckery, but there’s an easier fix (hint: the argument is valid but unsound).
I thought of a debate I had with a wise venture capitalist. He was an AI acclerationist, and I tried to stress-test his position. I argued that, left unchecked, the dual fangs of structural unemployment and turbo-charged vice would rip apart our social fabric.
He pushed back for a bit, then paused. He quickly shut down an unsaid assumption:
You cannot change one variable and keep the rest constant. The future is multivariable.
How had I missed something so simple?
I need to take the first step
I don’t know which direction to head in
∴ I take the first step (1)
. . . And we’re back to Job.
…
The only difference between faith and delusion is the outcome.
Confidence vs. arrogance. Courage vs. foolishness. Before the outcome rolls in, it’s just how you spin it.
Those that like you choose to believe in your success. The others choose to doubt.
Imagine if Job, covered in boils and ashes, told you that G-d would restore him. Would you believe him? Or would you give a sympathetic smile and a nod of pity?
After all, we all know a Job for whom things never recovered.
…
I really, really like Theodore Roosevelt.
Roosevelt was a force of nature. An asthmatic aristocrat turned naturalist, author, boxer, scientist, rancher, soldier, peace-maker, President, explorer, husband, and father who:
Delivered, arguably, the best speech of all time
Was shot during another and shrugged it off
Wrestled a sumo in the White House
Charted the unexplored River of Doubt for shits and giggles
The list goes on and on. After all, his biography spans three thick tomes. But out of all his titles, one stuck with me:
The Man with the Morning in His Face.
He was a man of faith. Not because he led Sunday School in college. Nor his Presbyterian roots.
In the face of loss, his resolve never softened. Roosevelt lost his father at 19. And six years later, A wife and a mother on the same day.
But, as sure as the morning sun, the light returned to his face.
…
All is well.
Words hold power. I mean that in a superstitious, almost supernatural way. It often feels like the eggs stop hatching because I count my chickens.
Negativity is solidified when we complain and lament. Let’s open the Tanakh again:
The Shunammite woman was a well-to-do inhabitant of Shunem who recognized Elisha as a holy man of God and invited him to dine at her home. Eventually, she and her husband built a small room for Elisha to stay whenever he passed by.
One day, Elisha wanted to repay her kindness. His servant Gehazi noted that she had no son and her husband was old. Elisha called her and told her that, in the same season the following year, she would embrace a son. Despite her initial disbelief, she bore a son as Elisha had promised.
Years later, the child grew and one day, while out in the field with his father, he suddenly complained of a severe headache. He was carried back to his mother, who held him on her lap until noon, when he died. She laid him on Elisha's bed, shut the door, and immediately set out to find Elisha at Mount Carmel.
As she left for Elisha, her husband stopped her. He asked, “Why are you going to him today? It is neither new moon nor sabbath.”
“All is well,” she replied, saddling a horse.
As she approached Mount Carmel, Elisha sent Gehazi to meet her and ask, "How are you? How is your husband? How is your child?"
"We are well," the Shunammite replied.
Only when she reached Elisha did she express her anguish, “Didn’t I say: ‘Don’t mislead me’?”
Elisha said to Gehazi, “Take my staff in your hand, and go. If you meet anyone, do not greet him; and if anyone greets you, do not answer him. And place my staff on the face of the boy.”
But the boy’s mother said, “As God lives and as you live, I will not leave you!” So he arose and followed her.
The boy did not awaken.
Elisha arrived, went into the room alone, shut the door, and prayed to the Lord. He then lay on the boy, mouth to mouth, eyes to eyes, and hands to hands. The boy’s body grew warm, the child sneezed seven times, and opened his eyes.
My interpretation is that the Shunammite’s woman’s silence made Elisha’s miracles possible. She carried the weight alone, closing the door and repeating her truth:
All is well.
She does not stand in denial or wait for Elisha’s promise to take affect, but immediately acts upon the only potential solution.
Silence is not inherently powerful. Acting on faith is.
Moses had place his foot in the Red Sea. The leper Naaman had to bathe seven times in the Jordan. And in the Ramayana, Sabari silently prepared for Rama’s prophesied visit every day, cleaning and collecting fresh fruit for decades until his arrival.
G-d helps those who help themselves.
…
Smart people don’t do smart things. Smart things make smart people.
Geniuses, billionaires, Olympians are all regular people. Yes, even Theodore Roosevelt eats and shits just like us.
I always thought my mom had superhuman drive. She wakes up at 4:30 AM to meditate and pray before honing her laser beam eyes on whatever obstacle has the misfortune to stand in her way. When I have a problem, she drafts a game plan or recalls a person from six years ago who might be able to help.
I always thought those genes were lost in translation. But on my little bench I realized that that she wasn’t very special: all those little quirks—meditation, no music, no television, and (I assume) shitting without a phone—give her space to be creative.
It turns out all of us can connect the dots if we just sit around and do nothing.
…
Try it. Why not?
A corollary of “you don’t know shit.” What’s the worst that can happen?
Thinking can be a hell of a drug. You’re telling me there’s a place where things always go according to plan? And no effort required? For free!? No wonder I spend so much time in there.
You don’t need to start over with what you know now. You don’t need an undo button. You know what you know now, and you can do anything.
It’s fashionable to be a cynic. It’s not so fun to get in the arena.
…
Give yourself room to ferment.
So what changed? In Chinese, we have a verb called wù (pronounced oo). The best way to visualize wù is to imagine yourself staring at a colorblind dot test. Each dot represents some part of your subconscious/instinct.
You strain and strain, but can’t see a pattern no matter how hard you try. One day, you give up and just stare at it. Then you look away. Suddenly, you realize each dot was just one pixel in the most beautiful image you’ve ever seen.
…
I always loved quotes.
I read Poor Richard’s Almanack by eight and Buffett’s annual letters by age ten. Quite obviously, I didn’t understand shit. Nevertheless, all the grown-ups thought I was a little genius since I could recite cute witticisms from memory.
Unfortunately, fondling little nuggets of “knowledge” doesn’t help. Statements like “try it” and “self-worth must be intrinsic and unalienable” have zero utility—even if you decide to act, it won’t help you get there.
The true source of understanding is wù. The good news is that understanding is very accessible. The bad news is that it’s too accessible. We often govern better through non-action (wu wei er zhi), but our tiny brains struggle to find the Dao.
Wù comes when we least expect it. True understanding isn’t knowing how to connect dots or even actually doing so—you can’t force the bigger picture.
I didn’t learn anything “new” today. Roosevelt, the gap-toothed man, and the Shunammite were already buried in my subconscious. I don’t know why I thought of them, but I did.
So here’s my suggestion: intentionally have no intention.
Stare at the wall. Shit without your phone. Give yourself air to ferment and trust something will come.
Love,
Wisp
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