The Pull of Perfectionism
To be fair, I have a tendency to go all in. When something grabs my attention, I don’t dabble — I dive. Fully. Obsessively. I have grit, I have discipline, and when I commit, I push far. Maybe not to world-class mastery, but certainly beyond the 90th percentile — maybe the 92nd, even 95th.
But I also have a rare blessing: the ability to recognize the danger. I begin to think not just about managing my life — but about direction, as Stephen Covey would say. That shift is painful. When I decide to stop, it’s a war inside. Letting go of something I know I could still improve is brutally hard.
The Culture of Endless Progress
It’s dangerously easy to get caught in this. Everywhere you look: improvement, optimization, more. In some cases, I understand the appeal — if you’re starting from a place of difficulty, poverty, or pain, maybe going to extremes is a survival strategy.
People like Goggins are gladiators — his toughness is real. But I’ve never quite admired him the way others do. Why? Because for me, his mindset would be a curse, not an ideal. I’ve run on a sprained ankle. Trained after vomiting all night. Seen stars while doing pull-ups. That “push through pain” energy? I don’t lack it. It’s too available.
Others I do respect — Khabib, for example. He gave everything for his goal, stayed humble, stayed grounded. Ronaldo. Kobe. The highest level of work ethic and belief. But even they, icons that they are, might have paid costs we’ll never know. Their excellence is visible. The side effects? Not so much.
And I’ll never know either. That stage of life — the 0.001% chase — is behind me.
So whether it’s VO₂max, pull-ups, certifications, or training a dog to be world-class — there’s always the same question: At what cost? In time, energy, life?
The Weight of Letting Go
I won’t say mastery is easy. That would be arrogant and untrue. I’ve never been a master. But I do know that for people like me, who can grind forever, the seduction of mastery is magnetic.
And I’ve come to believe that stopping — knowing when to let go — is just as hard as mastering something.
And there’s one thing I still haven’t fully made peace with: the decline that comes after letting go. When I stop pushing, I lose ground. Not all of it, but enough to feel it. It’s like being 400 meters from a summit, then choosing — consciously — to descend, only to find myself 600 meters away. That stings. The ego resists.
But maybe, with less time and energy, I can stay parked around the 500-meter mark. Not the peak — but a stable, sustainable point with a better view of life. Maybe that’s a smarter tradeoff than endlessly chasing the top, only to burn out once more.
That’s why I’m shifting toward a new model:
- Define ceilings. 22 pull-ups? Enough. Sub-22 on a 5K? Amazing — no need to kill myself for 20:00.
- Set maintenance thresholds. VO₂max at 51+? Great. Mobility 3×/week? A must.
- Diversify with intent. Instead of squeezing more running progress, I’ll explore swimming. Instead of maxing chess ratings, I’ll teach my daughter. Instead of chasing harder handstand pushups, maybe I’ll just own the ones I already can do.
A Symbiosis, Not a Specialization
I used to think mastery was the only way. Now I see another path — generalism done with depth. If I can keep several key areas in balance, in true symbiosis, the system itself becomes something rare.
Not one record. Not one number. But a life where:
- VO₂max is high enough for longevity.
- Strength and mobility keep me functional.
- My brain is active through books, reflection, maybe even math or physics.
- My daughter sees me as someone stable, aware, and available.
I still explore chess. I might go deeper into mathematics — something practical, beautiful. Or physics, if I want more abstraction and clarity. These things sharpen the mind in ways that ratings and scores never will.
The New Game
Today, I care less about being in the top 1%. I care more about giving back. Teaching. Playing. Supporting. Sharing what I’ve learned, and giving my best energy not to my ego — but to someone else’s start.
Maybe my time for records has passed. Or maybe it hasn’t. But I know one thing: my path now isn’t about me. It’s about being part of something larger.
My twenties were lost — to distractions, gaming, alcohol. But the present is clear. I don’t need another mountain. I need presence. Strength. Grace.
I still train. Still run. Still learn. But not for metrics.
I do it to live well, stay sharp, and give more than I take.
That, now, is enough.