"I Don't Want to Optimize My Life" Is a Trap

This was supposed to be a quick and easy post.

I set out to write a rebuttal to a rebuttal I’m fed up hearing:

“I don’t want to optimize right now.”

Choosing not to optimize for X means you’re optimizing for something else. And you probably don’t know what that something else is. Not optimal, in my books.

Ironically, writing this has not gone optimally.

Which isn’t a bad thing. Actually, maybe it’s kind of the point.

What Are You Actually Optimizing For?

Speaking of optimizing: What’s the point of me writing this?

Why not give Claude, Gemini, and ChatGPT the points I want to make and have them whip something up? Or why bother at all? Why not skip the writing and… I dunno, what? Relax? Play more with my kids? Give Kim a massage? Ask her for a massage? Write cold outreach emails to see if I can actually make money from my ARC program so I can splurge on massages?

The question I keep coming back to:

What would my 95-year-old GOAT want me to do?

GOAT means “greatest of all timelines.” If my exact self lived a million parallel lives and we each saw all our other selves’ lives, which one would the largest number of us Chrises say, “Whoa, he killed it”?

Would my 95-year-old GOAT want me to spend a huge chunk of precious solo time drafting, then discarding, then drafting again?

I don’t know.

But I am confident in the fundamental principles of what 95-year-old me wants: The 3 Cs. He wants me to progress with intention toward a life that is congruent (fits my spiky wiring like superhero spandex), coherent (every part working together along the same story, not scattered or even “balanced” whatever the heck that means), and contributing (having impact on things I care about beyond myself).

Figuring out how to accomplish each of those requires one main input:

Information.

What is my wiring? What is the world around me? How do I fit the former within the latter?

Information—or clarity—is what I think I’m optimizing for. This is subject to change. In 2021, I thought growth was my Y-axis in life. By 2024 it was energy. Now it’s clarity. I suppose you could say I’m optimizing what I’m optimizing for.

Asking the question is what matters most.

Because not asking, i.e. saying “I don’t want to optimize,” hands the steering wheel to your co-pilot: your evolutionary wiring.

The Shortsighted Co-Pilot

I call my evolutionary wiring Landon. Full name: Landon C. Pymeceus—an anagram for “delusion complacency.”

Landon doesn’t care whether my 95-year-old self feels like he both gave and got the best from life. Landon wants to make it through today with as little friction as possible. Don’t expend unnecessary calories. Reduce stress immediately. Stay with the tribe. Avoid uncertainty. Repeat what didn’t fail miserably yesterday.

So when people irk me by saying “I don’t want to optimize,” Landon jumps into action, thinking: How do we relieve Chris’ stress, ASAP?

One easy option—and Landon loooves easy—is to vent on my newsletter. Teach those autopilot folks a lesson (even though this approach teaches nobody anything). Show them how smart I am (even though this has the opposite effect). Celebrate with beer and ice cream. Then move on to whatever Landon recommends next.

My 95-year-old self appreciates Landon for maintaining my healthier habits and saving me from gambling my life savings on a single stock. But he disagrees with Landon’s instincts.

Validating myself and pushing my ideas onto others cements ignorance. Testing myself and expressing my doubts collects information.

Is this harder than Landon’s approach? Yes. But, unlike Landon, I’m not optimizing for easy.

If It’s Not Energizing, You’re Doing It Wrong

Not easy doesn’t have to mean unpleasant. That’s another thing that annoys me when people say “I don’t want to optimize.” The underlying assumption is a false dichotomy:

Optimizing for the future = Dissatisfaction with the present.

Nonsense.

Defaulting to delayed gratification is lazy thinking, just as defaulting to immediate gratification is lazy behavior.

Sure, sometimes you need scary, unpleasant challenges that test what you’re capable of. Misogi-style all-day adventures. Experiments like multi-day fasts. Those make good stories. But my 95-year-old self doesn’t want me to exhaust myself chasing the perfect newsletter, morning routine, or eating interval. He wants radically moderate progress—steady, compounding growth through ‘trifecta’ activities I:

enjoy in the moment,
look forward to beforehand,
and look back on proudly.

Writing meets the trifecta criteria. Not lazy dump-my-thoughts-and-be-done writing, though. Challenging thought assembly. How would a devil’s advocate pick this apart? How can I get my ideas past the defenses of my readers’ Landons?

I struggle to write this way. But I enjoy the challenge. And the better I get at it, the better I get at thinking clearly, which feeds everything else.

My Suboptimal Conclusion

Sometimes I overoptimize. This post is almost certainly an example. I’ve rewritten it many times before giving up and going with this meta approach that may or may not resonate with you.

But acknowledging my mistake is information. If I apply it to make better decisions next time, that’s progress.

So what emerged from all this?

Something more nuanced than my original argument that “optimizing is not optional.” The real insight:

It’s not about optimizing well. It’s about optimizing consciously.

“Conscious suboptimal optimization” means staying at the wheel—collecting information, adjusting course—even when you’re not sure you’re driving well. Landon doesn’t get to steer just because the road is unclear.

After debating the case for “good enough” in my last piece, I find it ironic that I’ve landed here:

Consciously suboptimal optimization is optimal.

Let’s Optimize Suboptimally Together

I look forward to fine-tuning this suboptimal hypothesis over time. It’ll be a fun challenge. And I’m pretty sure my 95-year-old self will be glad I tried.

What about you?

What is your life optimizing for right now?

Let me know.

Keep doing exciting things,

Chris