In which Our Hero wonders whether ease is wisdom—or just comfort.
My life is much nicer when I’m chiller.
Easier. More relaxed. Less intense.
I’m also fifteen pounds heavier than I like to be.
Running not daily. Not even weekly. (#brokenfoot.)
Accomplishing little in the category of “obviously beneficial to myself, my family, or society.”
Is this… good?
When I was young and zealous, I worked hard to be the best.
I picked a category where being the best seemed possible. I sprinted at it.
At some point in the last nine years, I stopped obviously caring.
Preferences shifted. Priorities shuffled.
What mattered then matters less obviously now.
Sure: do your best on your chosen path.
But also: life is nicer when you chill out.
Is that a lesson of the clown?
There’s a clown I love – an incredibly successful one – who, to my eye, misses mass-market success because of over-intensity. Over-try-harding.
I brought two friends to his show. They left overwhelmed.
“That was a lot,” they said.
I adored it. I went back the next night.
I am a comedy lover.
They are mass-market comedy dilettantes.
My partner says: try hard at what you want.
Sprint at it with intensity.
Relax on the rest.
I like this.
I do this.
I also wonder:
How much of my life is currently nice
because I’m just so chill?
How much would change
if that chill went away?
Am I just
fat
and
happy?
🇺🇸
Will I soon be
fat,
happy,
and bored?
👀
Julian Wise 