In this piece, we will start with a panoramic, macroscopic view of the world and economy at large, gradually narrowing focus to the individual’s role within it, and finally to the inner life of the individual themselves and attempt to weave that back into the larger fabric of the world with a reconsidered perspective.

A Big Picture View

Business and life once truly seemed a zero-sum game. Of course, one artisan’s profit may rise, yet it would be at the expense of another’s loss. Venice might flourish but only by weakening Genoa. Rome prospered by looting Carthage. The pie could be sliced many ways, yet it rarely grew. For the pie to grow, something had to come forward from the future, into today. That something would eventually be called credit: the idea that tomorrow’s wealth could be borrowed and spent today. Yet for centuries, lending against the future was regarded with deep suspicion. Usury was strongly discouraged, often condemned as sinful, and outright forbidden to members of the clergy. Even as banking spread across Italy by the thirteenth century, the Church—the dominant cultural force at that time—did not relax its stance, instead, it doubled down, warning that to profit from interest was to profit from time itself, which belonged only to God.

Then came the Scientific Revolution and the ideal of a different kind of progress. Over the past 500 years, the acceptance of ignorance, our ability to learn from it, and the creation of a deterministic future inspired by science, meant a growing trust in the prosperity of tomorrow and the broad enabling of credit. And credit meant borrowing from the future, to fuel more growth today. If you do want to make an argument that capitalism started anywhere, northern Italy in the Late Middle Ages is as good a time and place as any. By the fifteenth century, it was no longer the most populated and urbanised place in western and central Europe. That honor was stolen by the Netherlands. However, it was still the region with the biggest commercial and industrial economy. The fact that international finance and trade permeated the economy caused it to also be the site for several innovations. Northern Italy became the first place in Europe that offered things like the bank deposit, the bill of exchange, the check, and the letter of credit.

Then in 1776, in what would come to be seen as a revolutionary text, Adam Smith argued in The Wealth of Nations that artisans should reinvest excess profits beyond their familial needs to hire more hands and expand production. Our modern religion of capitalism emerged out of the seed that had etched into its DNA the possibility of economic progress. Profit, Smith said, would then fuel more profit, leading to more people being hired and more production, ultimately lifting collective wealth. Today, this seems obvious in our capitalist world, but Smith’s claim—that private greed drives public benefit—was radically new. In the past, medieval princes wearing colourful silk robes flaunted wealth through spectacles, gifting, wars, and grand cathedrals. By contrast, the modern elite—CEOs, financiers, tech geeks—don muted Loro Piana sweaters and Zegna navy suits and spend the bulk of their time and resources on expanding their workforce, enabling new technologies, maintaining positive EBITDA and that sacred word, growth.

What Is an Economy?

What is the economy, anyway? What is its fundamental purpose? The economy is fundamentally a system of exchange — of labor, value, and trust. A person usually integrates into it for a simple reason: survival. Food, shelter, healthcare, experiences — these require participation in the market. In ancient tribal societies, survival came from direct participation in community: hunting, gathering, child-rearing, tool-making. You didn’t exchange money — you exchanged effort. In a complex society of millions, this personal web has tended to break down. You don’t personally know the farmer who grew your food or the engineer who maintains the power grid. Instead, you enter the economy, exchanging specialised labor (or time) for generalised currency, such as US dollars. To “enter” the modern economy is to step into the grand network of human productivity, where each person tries to convert their energy into livelihood through the common medium of currency. A child is born into a specific environment with limited immediate economic access. Their first “economy” is their family — who feeds them, who pays the bills. The second is their community — school, local jobs, visible careers. Historically, this was destiny. If your father was an electrician, you became one. If you grew up near farms, you farmed. Economic roles passed down through proximity. But the modern global economy has disrupted that axis. First with the Industrial Revolution which led to a massive mobilisation of citizens into cities, and then the subsequent introduction of mass education and access to information. Then, today, with the advent of the internet the prospects for learning and growth are even more immediate, allowing a person born in a remote village to learn programming or currency trading or medical research, while connecting them to global value chains rather than just local ones. Theoretically, barriers have fallen. In practice, many remain.

The Electrician, The Surgical Doctor and The Investor

Consider three pathways in the modern economy: the electrician, the surgical doctor, and the investor. Throughout history, the higher the status, wealth, and leverage of a role, the more tightly its gates to entry have been controlled. What has changed over time is how those gates operate. Before the Industrial Revolution, barriers were rigid and inherited. However, barriers have always been made of a combination of skill, capital, networks, and institutional permission. And today, while they appear more open, they are still very real, just disguised as neutral systems like education, social relationships, and capital requirements.

The electrician enters the economy through skilled labor and local relationships. The gates are mostly open. Many enter at a young age or after immigrating to a new country without appropriate credentials. The ceiling for income is quite firmly low. Social status tends to be limited. Yet, this role also offers the potential for health that white-collar desk bound roles don’t. The electrician is on the move with his body throughout the day. He is constantly interacting with people in a typically lighthearted environment and offering a beneficial service that is tangibly felt daily. The level of pressure to perform, while always present, does not necessarily contain a high level of leverage much of the time, meaning the nervous system is activated yet rarely overwhelmed.

The surgical doctor on the other hand enters through a narrow and long funnel of education and institutional certification. Entering medicine requires substantial upfront investment and this cost can filter out capable individuals who can’t afford the debt burden or delay in earnings. And while medicine is formalised, it is still relational. Recommendation letters, research placements, shadowing opportunities — these often come through building personal connections. After at least a decade of education and apprenticeship, they may have paid off their education debts and started earning a meaningful salary. The surgical doctor tends to be well regarded in the social status hierarchy which can open new and wider doors for their children and relatives. They offer a meaningful, at times potentially life-saving, service to its people. However, growth is linear: one patient, one diagnosis, one hour at a time. And when a doctor needs extended rest, income stops. Moreover, the leverage associated with this role, the potential for something “going wrong”, their potential for reputational damage, can be high. This, along with possible long hours and long nights (especially early on in the career), can commonly lead to deteriorating health and an out of balance nervous system.

Finally, the investor enters the economy through social and capital networks and performance history. Apart from the actual skills necessary to be successful, to invest and trade at scale, you either need your own substantial capital or the trust of people who will give you theirs. Even getting in the door often requires elite university credentials or internships that are themselves gate kept by socioeconomic status. On rare occasions, individual sponsorship by an already established investor may raise someone up through the ranks. Ultimately, progress is an “eat what you kill” mentality, where the size of your capital and your performance track record is what matters. Growth has the potential to be exponential, in that consistent performance leads to compounding capital, and one eventually may reach a point where their level of capital can translate into a level of influence in broader society. With all this mind, the flexibility afforded to the investor in terms of time and options, as well as the potential leverage at stake, requires a level of discipline and focus that is difficult for most to sustain. It can be easy to become lost in the push for more growth or amidst the plethora of options on hand, while the hidden effects of burnout and self-sabotage because of an overused nervous system are common.

Clearly, the modern economy is not a flat landscape—it’s a set of corridors, each with its own rules, velocities, and ceilings.

People often sense they’re “in the economy,” but don’t always understand how differently it behaves depending on where they stand. And throughout history, the higher the status, wealth, and leverage of a role, the more tightly its gates have been controlled. In all cases, skilled work is skilled work. Yet, as we move up the ladder, the less it becomes about personal capability — it is shaped by three invisible currencies: economic capital (money), social capital (connections), and institutional capital (background and embedded knowledge).

As we rise up the rungs, we also enter into higher and higher fields of energy, and the incumbent level of tension, both internal and external, that we experience associated with this energy.

What We Do Shapes Who We Are

What we do in the economy does not just shape our income and social strata. It shapes our bodies, our minds, our relationships, and ultimately our sense of self. The deeper and longer we commit our energy and time to a single lane of the economy, the more rewarding it tends to become, and the more that lane sculpts who we become.

Take the investor. Their job is to manage risk, constantly weigh uncertainty, handle unexpected volatility, and make clear decisions often with large consequences. Their body learns stillness — long hours seated, eyes fixed on screens. Their mind learns to anticipate and process vast swathes of information, and trains to filter noise from what’s fundamentally important. Their breathing becomes controlled and rhythmic, an anchor of calm with a portfolio constantly moving up and down. Their jaw tends to tighten. Their sleep can change without conscious intervention. There is always something going on in the world, and the more leverage they have, the more any tiny shift can affect their performance, their salvation. Their nervous system is trained for alertness. Over the years, this produces a certain posture, a certain gaze, a certain point of focus in the face between the eyebrows. The character follows: seeing both sides of a coin; unconventionally open-minded yet brutally firm on limits; decisively committed when necessary, ambivalent when not; constantly seeking out new experiences, growth and wider limits. If they start to see financial success, the outside pull on their money starts to follow - they begin to develop personality complexes, often becoming exceedingly private, even paranoid, in no small part because of the dualistic nature of their work. These changes are not dramatic in a single year. They accumulate slowly, invisibly, the way water reshapes stone.

The Building of a Personal Identity Through the Economy

Beyond the subtle formation of who we are from our life’s work, there is also the mask we bring to our social and professional obligations on a daily basis. The identity or persona is this social mask—the role we wear so we can be recognised and accepted by the world and in the economy. This persona has always been shaped a great deal by work and by social class. For most of history, a person’s identity, outside of the aristocracy, was almost inseparable from their trade. You were not just Thomas — you were Thomas the Blacksmith, Mary the Weaver, Samuel the Carpenter. Your name and your function were fused. To know what you did was to believe you knew who you were. In small, pre-industrial communities, this made sense because life was local and roles were stable. The world was not yet so remarkably specialised, and people organically had to be masters of many trades beyond their day to day work, in order to survive. They viscerally knew they were more than their identity, because they were actually doing those other things. Modern society has changed that. The industrial and professional economies have been built on specialisation. We now train for one narrow function and often perform it repeatedly for decades. One person installs new lighting at home. Another performs operations at the hospital. Another allocates capital. We outsource so much of our lives. This makes the system efficient—but it makes the individual, and the sense of identity, the persona, narrower, tighter.

As work has become more specialised and absorbing, the persona increasingly hardens around a single function, and over time this function comes to stand in for the whole person. We begin to experience ourselves, and to see others, primarily through what they do, what they produce, and how they perform within the economic system. The inner sense of being more than one’s role weakens, not because it disappears, but because it is rarely exercised or recognised. When most waking hours, social validation, and material security are tied to a narrow band of activity, the identity formed around that activity becomes both dominant and fragile. In this way, extreme specialisation does not only organise labor more efficiently—it quietly compresses the self, reducing the breadth through which people understand themselves and relate to one another.

This is where the persona also starts to become externally engineered. Society does not just observe your role — it projects a character onto you. The investor is expected to be one way, the doctor or electrician another. These expectations press inward from the outside. If a person resists, friction forms. But if a person complies, gradually, subtly, the role reshapes their self-image. They begin to perform not only the work, but the personality attached to the work. Over time, the difference between performance and identity can blur. A person becomes what they are treated as. This over-identification with the persona is a psychological danger. The persona is necessary — it allows us to function in society — but it is not the whole psyche. When the mask takes over completely, other parts of the self are pushed into shadow.

The Building Blocks of the Self

The human self is not a single, unified thing, but a layered structure formed through interaction with both inner life and outer demands. One layer is this social face—the persona—shaped to meet the expectations of family, culture, and, increasingly, the economy. This is the part of the self that learns how to be employable, competent, and legible to others; it adopts the language, habits, and values required to function within a given role. Beneath this surface, however, lie aspects of the person that are less easily accommodated— enduring patterns that orient a person toward care, connection, exploration, responsibility, creativity, and belonging long before any economic identity takes shape. These inner patterns seek expression through relationship, contribution, and participation in the living, natural world, and they continue to operate whether or not they are consciously acknowledged.

The task of our lives requires more than just being participants in the economy. It asks of us to confront these aspects that have been relegated to the shadow of our selves, of noticing and withdrawing unhealthy projections, and integrating subconscious contents without being possessed by them. Meaning emerges when opposites are held rather than resolved too quickly, allowing symbols, dreams, and imagination to mediate growth. And meaning strengthens when we don’t rush to eliminate inner tensions, but allow time and imagination to help us integrate them. Growth happens when conflicting needs—effort, rest, ambition, contentment, discipline, play, independence, belonging— are allowed to coexist long enough for a deeper balance to emerge.

In modern economic life, many of these deeper impulses are increasingly channeled into abstract substitutes, most notably money, success, and accumulation. When economic roles narrowly reward accumulation and performance, the persona becomes aligned with endless expansion, while other aspects of the self receive little space or acknowledgment. Over time, this can produce a sense of inner imbalance: progress without satisfaction, motion without grounding.

This dynamic is ultimately lived in the body and the mind, which carry the costs of prolonged imbalance. When the signals of fatigue, stress, or disengagement are repeatedly overridden in service of external demands, the body often becomes the first place where tension is expressed—through disease, illness, or chronic strain—while the mind may narrow toward vigilance, comparison, and control. These responses are not failures of resilience, but indications that the organism is being asked to operate beyond its natural rhythms of exertion and recovery. The economic model of things would have the person take medication or undergo surgery or any host of modern medicines, yet it bares the question— would much of it be necessary if the human self was allowing it’s own natural self-regulation to take place?

The task of becoming and being our whole self, then, is not merely personal but contextual: it involves holding together the many parts of the self while operating inside an economic system that tends to trigger only a narrow slice of who a person actually is.

The Economy and The Self

Fundamentally speaking, an economy rearranges and redirects energy and matter using human knowledge. For example, agriculture turns soil, water, seeds, and labor into food. It is able to make this transformation because human innovation has discovered (and automated) ways to make it happen. And it does so at different levels, to which humans ascribe subjective value. Both a double cheeseburger from a fast-food chain and a beetroot, kale, and pumpkin seed salad from a farm-to-table restaurant are considered food, yet they reflect different production processes, resource inputs, and intended outcomes. The latter typically commands a higher monetary value and offers greater biological value, supporting health and long-term human functioning. The economy functions not only by enabling exchange, but by sustaining the conditions under which people feel able to commit effort and trust the future. This an important point, because life absorbed in the economy instills in people a mindset centred around rational commitments and the future. Many aspects of life outside of the economy which hold tremendous meaning for humans, on the other hand, exist beyond the rational mind and predominantly in the present moment.

Now, individuals living at the pace of the modern economy can produce only a small fraction of what they need. I can’t possibly drop off and pick up my child from school daily, clean the house, produce my own fruit & vegetables, cook them, weave my own clothing, laze around with my lover each morning, while attending to my 8am-8pm five day a week (longer if you include emails) contribution to the economy. As a result production is divided across many specialised roles and coordinated through exchange. Prices, wages, and contracts align these separate activities by signalling what is needed, what is scarce, and what others are willing to give in return. The individual’s role in this greater entity that is the economy is closely tied to their perceived ability to add value. The more the economic system desires a particular skill, output, or form of problem-solving, the more that individual’s time and effort are rewarded through income, security, and opportunity. The ability and willingness to sell and market oneself or one’s work in the economy plays a crucial role. In this way, the economy acts as a vast filtering and signalling mechanism, continuously communicating which forms of contribution are currently useful, scarce, or replaceable. Individuals, in turn, orient their education, careers, and identities around these signals, adapting themselves to remain relevant within the prevailing structure. On a sullen note, smartphones and social media have enabled every human on this earth to market their own product and sell their own selves to the world. Over time, this process does more than allocate labor efficiently; it shapes how people understand their worth, their potential, and their place within the wider social order. What begins as a practical exchange of effort for income gradually becomes a framework through which individuals measure progress, success, and even meaning, binding personal development ever more tightly to the evolving needs and priorities of the economy itself.

As this notion of “value” becomes increasingly abstracted, it also becomes progressively detached from direct human experience and well-being. Value is no longer assessed primarily by whether work contributes to health, resilience, or the quality of everyday life, but by how efficiently it fits into existing systems of exchange, measurement, and scalability. The economy is standardising human activity so cooperation among strangers becomes possible at scale, and with that comes a human price. Activities that are difficult or inappropriate to quantify, market, automate, or monetise—such as caregiving, community building, ecological stewardship, or inner development—tend to be undervalued, despite their foundational importance to human flourishing. Conversely, work that optimises speed and volume, glitter and bright lights, or financial return may be highly rewarded even when it places sustained strain on bodies, minds, or social cohesion. In this way, the economy’s internal logic can drift away from the biological and psychological realities of the people who sustain it, creating a not-so-subtle misalignment in which individuals are incentivised to prioritise economic relevance over personal and collective well-being.

Economic development has reduced many external uncertainties, particularly those tied to nature and visceral human reaction, while relocating the uncertainty toward socially mediated and psychologically experienced forms related to income, social status, and personal responsibility.

Humans have always needed to produce, exchange, store, and share resources in order to survive. Early economies were relatively simple because the range of needs was limited, production was local, and the feedback between effort and outcome was immediate. In psychological terms, this mirrored a life in which energy, attention, and time were constrained by the body and the environment. People could not sustain effort beyond their physical limits, and when resources or strength were depleted, activity slowed or stopped. The economy therefore remained closely tied to human rhythms of work, rest, and recovery.

Modern economies retain these same underlying functions, but with one crucial difference that has grown over the past three to four centuries: they allow extensive access to credit, enabling societies to draw on future production in the present. Financial credit makes it possible to commit resources, labor, and attention now in expectation of later return, vastly expanding scale and complexity. The human organism, however, does not possess an equivalent mechanism. We cannot borrow energy, attention, or health from the future without consequence. Attempts to do so—through stimulants, chronic overwork, or sustained stress—may temporarily increase output, but they create deficits that must eventually be repaid through exhaustion, illness, or loss of psychological balance. In this way, a growing misalignment emerges between an economy that can continuously accelerate by leveraging future capacity and individuals whose bodies and minds remain bound by biological limits, creating tension between economic tempo and human sustainability.

And just as there is no tangible proof that humans are able to live in a state of harmony and betterment within themselves over the course of history, there is no proof that the growth of the economy is working for the betterment of mankind. You might say that the billionaire today is better off than the decadent prince 500 years ago, who is better off than the member of the Roman senate 2000 years ago. By what metric? How are these individuals feeling about themselves over the course of their days, weeks, months, and years? Humans may be living longer on balance. They be evolved versions of theirselves, psychologically, physically. However, is the quality of life altered? How much better is the life of the upper middle-class hedge fund associate who sits on a chair, in front of several black screens, inside an enclosed opulent office for 12 hours a day, to the mid-tribesman who is out much of the day in the forest foraging for food?

A Personal Approach To The Economy

Ultimately, to understand the economy is to understand growth—and to understand growth is to recognize the human cost of pursuing it. Each person must find a role that aligns not just with their potential for economic expansion, but with their personal capacity to sustain that growth without losing themselves, their loved ones, and even their capacity to be present, to care and to love.

Just as it is imperative to cultivate the skills necessary to perform a job well, it is equally as imperative to cultivate the awareness necessary to remain grounded within ourselves through the process of evolution in our careers, and lives.

The speed of world and its economy has expanded exponentially in the past few hundred years. And while the initial construction of the economy was as a mirror of the human psyche, with the advent of credit that has changed. We don’t have access to credit on our inner energy and state of mind. We can’t “borrow” energy from the future. We have tried, with an abundance of stimulants like caffeine. But in excess it always comes back to haunt us.

Today, humans are able to allocate a great deal of energy into the economy because life is comfortable in large part thanks to the prosperity of the economy. We live in very protected worlds, compared to a life exposed to the whims of nature of people even a few centuries ago. And because the modern religion is capitalism, many people choose to channel this available excess energy back into their role in the economy.

The closeness and relationship with family is an area that has deteriorated meaningfully in recent decades as people have had the option to disperse all over the globe, chasing dreams and a better life. A connection to nature has almost evaporated for most people living an urban life, and not only a connection to the natural world itself, but that innate part of us that is a reflection of where we came from. We’ve come to rely upon science and medicine for our health, and in the process gradually lost touch of the medicine that is the awareness of our own selves, and how we’re doing, and how this or that is making us feel. Food is bought en masse in artificially lit department stores. How often do you see people actually making the time to truly taste the food they are eating, to engage their sense of smell and taste. More commonly, they eat in front of a phone engaging their thoughts and dopamine levels, over and over again. We all walk past each other down the street, heads down, unable or unwilling to hold eye contact with other passers-by, losing our connection to the greater world of people and life outside of our own small variable social circles. Sight is focused on tiny little black screens for 12 hours a day. Touch amongst people is rare. There is so much repression of what we actually need, and so many distractions and drugs covering it up— “Success”, parties, anti-depressants, adderall, Xanax, travel, TV, social media, you name it. Yet it can’t possibly do so, because all of who we are lives inside of us. In the health of our body, in the equilibrium of our minds, in the vibrance of our spirit, and in the aliveness of our heart.

Epilogue— the AI evolution to the economy.

We are seemingly transitioning to a new phase of the human economy right in front of our eyes. Where much of the economical world we inhabit today was founded upon the evolution of science and industry, the world not too long from now may be run by algorithms and machines. And just as the previous shift had meaningful impact on humans, so it is likely this one will do as well. How do we adapt?

Everywhere there is the pretence of connection — restaurants hum, screens shine brightly, endless messages arrive, a thousand invitations to speak, to scroll, to buy, to improve. And yet beneath this constant stimulus lies an emptiness, a quiet ache, as if the pulse of connection has forgotten the rhythm of the heart.

It is not that we are without company. Rather, we live among too many options and too little presence. Few among us are truly here with one another, and even when we meet this rare breed in our lives, we are often too afraid, too out of practice to reciprocate. And with that comes a distinct felt loneliness within.

Today, the global marketing agenda tells us that we need only ourselves. “Love me first.” The logic of the age is the logic of self-interest — the faith that if each pursues their own good, the good of all will somehow arise. Capitalism has become not just an economic system but a kind of secular religion. It offers rituals of consumption, saints of productivity, and promises of salvation through growth. Yet this creed, like any that isolates the self from the whole, has begun to fracture under its own weight.

Across the world, the signs are clear. Studies abound showing rates of loneliness and depression rising even as our perceived access to each other, multiplies. Individualism — the belief in personal freedom above communal commitment — has increased globally to a boiling point. Many live alone. Many feel unseen. Sensing, somewhere inside, that these same promises of endless choice have become the sources of our quiet despair. Yet, they keep barreling forward upon the ferris wheel of growth with that silent creed — “so we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.” — as F. Scott Fitzgerald glimpsed when writing The Great Gatsby.

In such a world, indifference almost becomes a necessary mechanism. It is easier to turn away than to be touched, easier to keep moving forward than to stay with another’s pain or reciprocate their giving. We become saturated, and in that saturation, the heart hardens.

This is all not to say that self-interest and indifference are not useful. We live in a world today where utility and production trump other values such as natural life, balance, meaningful connection, and peace of mind. The evidence speaks for itself. The abundance and evolution of material things and financial wealth as a result of contemporary society’s prioritisation of such values, alongside the leverage that the scientific method began to empower in the 16th century, has been astounding. By the 18th and 19th centuries, steam engines and industrial cities sprouted alongside the self-interest and indifference which had fused into the moral logic of capitalism. The age of utility — shaped by thinkers like Jeremy Bentham and John Stuart Mill — measured the good by outcomes rather than intentions. In many ways, self-interest and indifference were not moral errors of history — they were tools we created that enabled the construction of modern civilization. They disciplined human passion into productive order and freed individuals from oppressive collectivism.

Yet for all their apparent outer utility, self-interest and indifference breed a profound sort of inner suffering. Tools are there to be harnessed, not to take over our whole sense of self. Our spirit simply does not tolerate being forced into the isolation and coldness written into the cultural script of modern society and our ego’s inherent inclination to play along with it. An attitude of self-interest assumes that the self — “I,” “me,” “mine” — is the center of experience. Events are filtered through the question: How does this affect me? What can I gain or lose? This perspective narrows the field of awareness. It reduces a vast, interdependent reality to a single anxious point of reference. The world becomes a mirror for one’s own desires and fears — and because those desires and fears are always shifting, peace never lasts. At its core, self-interest reduces life to a transaction. Things, people, and experiences are valued less for who and what they are, and far more for what they can do for us.

If self-interest contracts our attention around “me,” indifference does something equally damaging — it closes the channels of feeling altogether. To be indifferent is to build a wall between oneself and the world. It is a refusal to be moved by another’s giving, joy, or pain. At first, this might feel like strength. But the cost of that protection is high. The same wall that keeps out suffering also keeps out love, simple beauty, and belonging. Even more, the simple rejection of another whose presence the universe has brought into our own, is a rejection of a part of our own selves. Once the veil of consciousness has been touched by experience, the ego may tell itself stories about how useful it is to move on, but spirit has no turning back. Indifference numbs the heart. And beneath that numbness lies loneliness — because when we stop caring, we also stop participating in life as it truly is.

J.K. Rowling spoke about this with enlightening candor in her commencement speech to the Harvard class of 2008: “One might use such an ability (imagination) to manipulate, or control, just as much as to understand or sympathise.

And many prefer not to exercise their imaginations at all. They choose to remain comfortably within the bounds of their own experience, never troubling to wonder how it would feel to have been born other than they are. They can refuse to hear screams or to peer inside cages; they can close their minds and hearts to any suffering that does not touch them personally; they can refuse to know.

I might be tempted to envy people who can live that way, except that I do not think they have any fewer nightmares than I do. Choosing to live in narrow spaces leads to a form of mental agoraphobia, and that brings its own terrors. I think the wilfully unimaginative see more monsters. They are often more afraid.

What is more, those who choose not to empathise enable real monsters. For without ever committing an act of outright evil ourselves, we collude with it, through our own apathy.”

It is here, in this cellular isolation, that the ancient teaching of detachment and compassion returns with subtle urgency.

In the early texts, detachment is not treated as coldness. It is not a withdrawal from life or a refusal of care. It is a freedom from clinging — the loosening of the possessive hand that grasps at people, pleasures, and identities as though they could secure the self. Perhaps a more apt word for detachment, then, would be non-attachment or lightly held attachment. When the mind no longer grasps, it begins to see clearer. When the heart no longer demands, it can love free from fear of loss. In this way, detachment is not cold indifference, rather an interior stillness that makes unconditional love and presence possible.

These qualities are not opposites but companions. The detached heart is not empty — it is open. It does not close itself off to others, but sees their actions and words with less confusion or personal prejudice. From such seeing, compassionate action arises — gentle, steady, and unafraid. Detachment clears the fog of self-preoccupation, allowing compassion to see clearer and act with more wisdom. Compassion softens detachment, preventing it from turning into indifference or pride. The detached mind perceives; the compassionate heart responds. Together, they create a way of being that is both serene and engaged — untouched by the fires of craving, yet deeply involved in the experience of all who touch our lives simply by existing.

On this path, compassion is not sentimental. It is an energy of response. It does not cling to results, but acts because the experience of one is inseparable from the experience of all. It is an energy that moves toward, not away; that responds, not reacts. It is the natural flowering of a mind no longer chained by self-interest. What is more, compassion is often paired with suffering. While it need not be separate from it, compassion can be seen in the far broader sense of giving outward to the world, and to oneself, with an openness of heart and mind.

Spiritual and religious texts can also idealise detachment and compassion. Yet, the real world and our participation in it does not need to function within such stringent design.

If another blindly takes from our giving, and continues taking, we recognise this is an unbalanced situation being made so not by circumstances, but by the conscious intention of another. We can gently let them know this is the case, and if they refuse or simply do not want to reciprocate in a meaningful manner, let go of the connection without a sense of betrayal or disappointment. In the interconnected web of life, we understand in our core that events have a way of coming into order.

Now, choosing the interwoven path of detachment and compassion toward the world around us is not without its challenges. Not the least of which is the constant chatter that goes on in our minds. When we expose our selves, and our hearts, to others, the mind begins to generate thought and feeling around them. Attachment can quickly follow. With attachment, so arises the inherent risk of losing that which we have come to adore and enjoy. Moreover, while the innate neural programming of most people is to reciprocate giving, it can feel painfully harsh when we give to another with compassion and vulnerability, only to be unappreciated or blindly taken from in return. It would seem far simpler (and seemingly more effective) to concern myself with my own self-interest, transacting with others in the social sphere, while maintaining a carefully guarded wall of indifference. Detachment and compassion are challenged by a world that prizes control over presence, and achievement over love. Yet every moment of awareness — every time we pause before reacting, listen without agenda, or act with kindness free of reward — is a quiet victory over those forces. To live with detachment and compassion in everyday life is to practice a subtle art: the art of being in the world, but not of it; of loving deeply, yet letting go lightly.

This is the paradox our modern age has forgotten: that detachment and compassion complete one another, while self-interest and indifference divide us apart. Without detachment, compassion can become possessive, selective, exhausting. Without compassion, detachment can become sterile, distant, and proud. Together, they form the rhythm of wisdom — seeing clearly, and responding kindly.

Our global lives make this rhythm difficult. The networked mind is restless and relentless. It is always elsewhere, tempted by the next message, the next desire, the next identity. Optionality — the sense that we could always choose differently — breeds anxiety and instability. In the digital marketplace of selves, commitment feels like a loss, stillness like failure.

If capitalism is the great organizing faith of our age, then its central liturgy is the worship of growth. It demands perpetual expansion — of profit, of productivity, of self. But growth without grounding becomes madness. The pursuit of self-interest without inner alignment has hollowed out the human spirit. We can no longer pretend that endless accumulation brings contentment.

The way forward is not rejection, but realignment. Detachment offers freedom from the compulsions of the market and the tyranny of comparison. Compassion offers renewal — the rediscovery of meaning through service, attention, and care. Together, they invite us to reimagine what progress means.

A detached and compassionate person may still work, create, and succeed, but their actions are driven by a purpose unique to greed or fear. They act with a sense of stewardship, not conquest. They understand that all things are transient — wealth, status, pleasure, even identity — and that freedom lies not in possessing more, but in living through the essence of who they are in alignment with the greater circle of life. Such a life is not an escape from the world, but a return to it — gentler, clearer, truer.

When detachment and compassion meet, a subtle shift occurs:

We stop seeking control, and begin to offer care.

We stop striving to be seen, and begin to truly see.

We stop guarding the boundaries of the self, and begin to understand that there are none.

In a culture exhausted by self-interest and numbed by indifference, this union of clarity and tenderness is radical. As the wise old Rafiki said in the Lion King, “The past can hurt. But the way I see it, you can either run from it, or learn from it.” It’s time we learn from our past and commence a quiet revolution of the heart.

To be detached is to be free;

to be compassionate is to be alive;

to hold both is to be whole.

In nature, negative ions arise where water moves freely. This occurs in environments of renewal and purification, such as storms, waterfalls, and ocean spray. Their presence refreshes not only the lungs but the spirit, perhaps because they mirror what our own cells crave: +ve/-ve charge balance, dynamic flow, and coherence.

On the other hand, positive ions, in excess, accumulate where air is stagnant or polluted, symbolic of imbalance, friction, and overactivity. Just as they can disturb our moods and concentration, they represent the energetic clutter that forms when systems fall out of natural rhythm.

From this view, wellbeing includes an element of electrical attunement, a resonance between our internal ion gradients and the living charge of the Earth. In natural settings rich in negative ions, we are doing more than breathing cleaner air. We are entering environmental conditions that may help restore a sense of calm and balance, much as a walk barefoot on the earth, time by the sea, or even the relief we feel after a storm can leave the body feeling clearer, steadier, and more at ease.

Forests, Storms, Waterfalls and Anti-Depressants

Beyond the outside surface of our skin, the atmosphere is alive with ions. Sunlight, cosmic rays, wind, and water in motion split air molecules into charged fragments, positive and negative air ions. In nature, where waterfalls thunder, waves crash, or rain falls, negative ions abound. By contrast, dry, polluted, or stagnant environments accumulate positive ions.

This balance matters. Research has linked negative air ions with improved mood, sharper cognition, better oxygen absorption, and lower stress. They appear to regulate serotonin and mitigate oxidative stress, suggesting a subtle reinforcement of the same electrochemical stability our neurons rely upon. Conversely, air saturated with positive ions has been correlated with fatigue, headaches, and irritability.

Several well-reviewed studies and meta-analyses have found that high-density negative air ions (NAIs) can have measurable antidepressant and mood-enhancing effects, particularly in people with mild to moderate depression. Controlled trials published in JAMA Psychiatry (1998)1 and American Journal of Psychiatry (2006)2 demonstrated that exposure to high-density NAIs significantly reduced depressive symptoms, producing effects comparable to bright light therapy, while low-density exposure showed little or no benefit. The proposed mechanisms include increased serotonin availability, improved sleep regulation, and reduced physiological stress responses. A meta-analysis in BMC Psychiatry (2013)3 and a comprehensive review in Environmental Science and Pollution Research (2023)4 confirm this relationship, highlighting that ion concentration and exposure duration are key determinants of outcome. Practically speaking, people may experience similar benefits by spending time in natural environments rich in NAIs, for instance, near waterfalls, forests after rainfall, or coastal surf zones, where negative ion concentrations naturally reach therapeutic levels, providing an accessible and evidence-aligned way to enhance mood and mental well-being through nature exposure.5

The Modern City

Enter the modern city, a human-built jungle of steel, glass, concrete, and electromagnetic waves. The very materials that define urban life tend to trap positive ions and block natural ionization. Air conditioning, sealed windows, and synthetic surfaces strip negative ions from the air, leaving spaces charged but lifeless. Add to this the electromagnetic haze from Wi-Fi routers, smartphones, LED lighting, and power grids, and we inhabit an atmosphere more electric than ever, but not in the way life evolved to thrive.

This new environment alters the relationship between our biology and our surroundings. Some researchers have noted that electromagnetic exposure may influence calcium ion channels in cells, modulate circadian rhythms, and elevate oxidative stress, all pathways that disturb the ionic equilibrium essential to neural and metabolic health.

Our cities, in effect, have become ionic deserts, electrically saturated yet biologically impoverished. The same nervous system that evolved beside rivers and under storm-charged skies now fires its impulses in sealed rooms filled with static charge and digital signals. And architecture is not neutral in this story. The materials and forms of buildings shape the movement of air, light, and charge. Natural materials such as stone, wood, and clay, exchange electrons freely, allowing the body to remain grounded. By contrast, synthetic materials often isolate us from the Earth’s subtle electric field. The geometry of modern cities, dominated by right angles and sealed surfaces, restricts airflow and ion renewal.

Yet the tide can turn. A new vision of biophilic architecture - design that reintroduces natural elements into the built environment - can restore ionic balance. Buildings that breathe, that integrate water features, vegetation, and conductive pathways to the Earth, become more than structures, they become electro-biological habitats. In such spaces, air carries the negative ions of living systems; the nervous system finds coherence again.

The Digital Paradox

The digital world extends the reach of human consciousness even as it detaches it from the body’s natural grounding. We connect globally through electromagnetic networks while sitting in ion-depleted rooms. The mind hums in data-rich frequencies, but the body’s ionic rhythms falter. Our screens glow like miniature suns, yet emit no nourishing electrons. The result is dissonance, mental acceleration paired with physiological depletion. We live immersed in digital charge while starving ourselves of natural charge.

Neural activity accelerates through digital stimuli, while the nervous system’s natural charge-rest cycles are never grounded. The brain’s ionic pumps keep firing, but the replenishing rhythms of nature, the negative ions of forests, the Schumann resonance of the Earth, rarely reach us. On a subtler level, our technologies are extensions of our own neural patterns. The internet mimics synaptic connectivity, data transfer mirrors neurotransmission, and cloud networks parallel collective memory. But unlike neurons, which balance firing with periods of rest and repolarization, the digital sphere never stops discharging. It is an always-on nervous system without recovery, an ungrounded consciousness.

Integrating Thoughts

At a deeper level, the story of ions is the story of polarity itself, the universal dance of opposites that drives creation. Within the neuron and within the sky, charge seeks balance through flow. When that balance is lost, systems stagnate or fracture. When it is maintained, energy becomes consciousness, movement, and life.

Our nervous systems mirror the planet’s electric field; our architecture mirrors our collective state of coherence. Just as the storm replenishes the air with negative ions, human renewal requires immersion in natural charge, water, earth, air in motion. When we reconnect to these sources, we align our inner currents with the planet’s pulse.

The future of human thriving will depend on our ability to bridge biology and technology, nature and city, electricity and life. We must remember that every signal - neuronal or digital - arises from the same universal principle: polarity in motion. To live well in the modern world is to become conscious custodians of that principle.

In the end, the human body, the natural world, and the digital city are not separate domains but expressions of one continuous field of energy. To restore balance among them is not only a matter of health or design, but of harmony, between the charge within us and the charge that animates the Earth itself.

One way to approach a negotiation involves being closed to the position we want and willing to transact within that space. The other involves being open to the interests we have and willing to intersect in that direction with another’s interests wherever that may be. The former is a transactional process that looks to divide up the pie, generally making it easier to manage our risk, and tends to be a zero-sum game. The latter is an organic process that looks to grow the pie and is, potentially, highly expansionary. Both have unique strengths and risks.

What do we mean by position and interests? Here are two general examples.

Position: I am looking to raise $500,000 for my business.

Interests: I am looking to take my business to the next step in New York, and hire a developer for around $70,000 to build our product, a business manager for $60,000 to establish our footprint in the industry, and invest in outsourced marketing and sales at a monthly rate of $8,000. We need at least 2 years of runway to get the business moving.

Position: I want to go to Ibiza in first two weeks of June

Interests: I like the relatively untouched quality of the Mediterranean before the summer rush begins, have been going to north part of Ibiza for a long time. It feels intimate and the energy of the island makes me both excited and grounded and we can mix up our activity there. I’ve already organised my scheduling with work.

Position is fixed and states in exact terms what we want from the top-down and the parties generally tend to continue a back-and-forth of compromise and argument, until possibly arriving at some point of agreement.

Interests break down the process into its deeper layers of what we truly want from the bottom-up and the parties begin to creatively search for ways to maximise their mutual gains by combining shared interests and which others they will compromise on or leave out

Focusing on interests opens us up

There is a period of preparation before the actual discussion of agreement takes place. We have to look into the layers beneath what we want and also have the courage to express it. And precisely because of this, it allows the other party to see more clearly what you want. The process is more fluid, with moving parts, which can be both overwhelming, yet equally therapeutic. By focusing on inventing mutual options from shared interests, the overwhelming aspect starts to be managed. Our brain naturally likes organic, flexible opportunities (without too much “overwhelming” choice!) It is often, if not always, far easier to find a place of common ground this way, after doing the “hard” preparatory work of understanding and sharing the peeled back layers. Moreover, we generally tend to expand the pie this way, a 1+1=3 scenario. Our energy is being used for inventing creative solutions, and in fact, in the process of doing so, we tend to find ourselves more willing to compromise toward harmony as we feel the whole pie is expanding. Open + direction negotiation works remarkably when both parties have the freedom *and* discipline to explore, however can readily break down when one party assumes a give-take mentality and seeks to take advantage (knowingly or not) of the other parties vulnerability. IT is useful to explore OBJECTIVE criteria for how both needs are being met to mitigate the risks of being exploited. This also tends to offer opportunities for highly differentiated levels of power to find a common ground and work together.

Focusing on positions allows us to remain closed

We believe we are clear on what we want and can then decide whether to take a stubborn hard approach to the negotiation, or a soft compromising one. It is more straightforward for us to manage risks, the situation is more concrete, and we believe we know exactly what we can give up as well as the reward we want to receive, and focus entirely on this. The primary energy we expend here is in focusing on remaining firm and closed to our position, in keeping up the walls around our position, in comparison to dealing with vulnerability and array of options with the open + direction approach. Closed + position negotiation works very well to definite our reward-risk, and can be a faster approach to reaching agreement. Dangers arise in situations where one or both parties are not able to distance their ego from the process, and begin to identify with their position, doubling down simply to “save face”, when it is not the best interests of either party. It can also lead to very imbalanced results when there is a significant skew of power (inappropriately used) between parties.

Upon my return from Nepal I wrote a book about my experience on Everest: Into Thin Air. Below is an excerpt I’ve adapted from Chapter 13, which describes our team’s ascent to the summit on May 10, 1996. It may provide some insight as to why fatalities on Everest are to be expected.

Above 26,000 feet, up in the so-called Death Zone, survival is to no small degree a race against the clock. Upon setting out from our Camp Four on the South Col of Everest a little before midnight, each client on Rob Hall’s commerical expedition carried two 6.6-pound oxygen bottles and would pick up a third bottle on the South Summit from a cache to be stocked by Sherpas. At a conservative flow rate of two liters per minute, each bottle would last between five and six hours. By 4:00 or 5:00 P.M., everyone’s gas would be gone. Depending on each person’s acclimatization and physiological makeup, we would still be able to function above the South Col — but not well, and not for long. We would instantly become more vulnerable to high-altitude pulmonary edema (HAPE), high-altitude cerebral edema (HACE), hypothermia, and frostbite. The risk of dying would skyrocket.

Rob Hall, a mountaineering guide from New Zealand who had ascended Everest four times previously, understood as well as anybody the need to get up and down quickly. Recognizing that the basic climbing skills of some of his clients were highly suspect, Hall intended to rely on fixed lines to safeguard and expedite our group over the most difficult ground. The fact that no expedition this year had been to the top yet concerned him, therefore, because it meant that ropes had not been installed over much of this terrain. On the morning of our summit bid, the only ropes that had been strung along the precipitous serrations of the upper Southeast Ridge were a few ancient, tattered remnants from past expeditions that emerged sporadically from the ice.

Anticipating this possibility before leaving Base Camp, Hall and Scott Fischer, the leader of another commercial expedition, convened a meeting attended by guides from both teams, during which they agreed that each expedition would dispatch two Sherpas — including their climbing sirdars,Ang Dorje and Lopsang Jangbu — from Camp Four ninety minutes ahead of the main groups. This would give the Sherpas time to install fixed lines on the most exposed sections of the upper mountain before the clients arrived. “Rob made it very clear how important it was to do this,” recalls Neal Beidleman, a guide from Fischer’s expedition who participated in the meeting. “He wanted to avoid a time-consuming bottleneck at all costs.”

For some unknown reason, however, no Sherpas had departed ahead of us when we left camp and started climbing toward the summit. Perhaps the violent gale that had struck the mountain on May 9, and hadn’t stopped blowing until 7:30 P.M., prevented the Sherpas from mobilizing as early as they’d hoped. After the expedition, Lopsang insisted that at the last minute Hall and Fischer had simply scrapped the plan to fix ropes in advance of their clients, because they’d received erroneous information that the Montenegrins had already completed the job as high as the South Summit.

But if Lopsang’s assertion is correct, neither Beidleman nor Anatoli Boukreev (Fischer’s senior guide) nor Mike Groom (Hall’s senior guide) were ever told of the altered scheme. And if the plan to fix lines had been intentionally abandoned, there would have been no reason for Lopsang and Ang Dorje to depart with the 300 feet of rope that each Sherpa carried when they set out from Camp Four at the front of their respective teams.

In any case, no ropes had been fixed ahead of time on the upper reaches of the mountain. At 5:30 A.M., when Ang Dorje and I first arrived on a promontory known as the Balcony at 27,600 feet, we were more than an hour in front of the rest of Hall’s group. At that point we could easily have gone ahead to install the ropes. But Rob had explicitly forbidden me to go ahead, and Lopsang was still far below, short-roping a client named Sandy Pittman, so there was nobody to accompany Ang Dorje.

Quiet and moody by nature, Ang Dorje’s disposition seemed especially somber as we sat together watching the sun come up in the sub-zero cold. My attempts to engage him in conversation went nowhere. His ill humor, I figured, was perhaps due to the abscessed tooth that had been causing him pain for the previous two weeks. Or maybe he was brooding over the disturbing vision he’d had four days earlier: On their last evening at Base Camp, Ang Dorje and some other Sherpas had celebrated the coming summit attempt by drinking a large quantity of chhaang — a thick, sweet beer brewed from rice and millet. The next morning, severely hungover, he was extremely agitated; before ascending the Ice Fall he confided to a friend that he’d seen ghosts in the night. An intensely spiritual young man, Ang Dorje was not one to take such portents lightly.

It was possible, though, that he was simply angry at Lopsang, whom he regarded as a showboat and a goldbrick. In 1995, Hall had employed both Lopsang and Ang Dorje on his Everest expedition, and the two Sherpas had not worked well together.

On summit day that year, Hall’s team had reached the South Summit late, around 1:30 P.M., to find deep, unstable snow blanketing the final stretch of the summit ridge. Hall sent a Kiwi guide named Guy Cotter ahead with Lopsang, rather than Ang Dorje, to determine the feasibility of climbing higher. Ang Dorje, who was Hall’s sirdar on that climb, took it as an insult. A little later, when Lopsang had climbed to the base of the Hillary Step, Hall decided to abort the summit attempt, and signaled Cotter and Lopsang to turn around. But Lopsang had ignored the command, untied from Cotter, and continued ascending to the summit alone. Hall was angry about Lopsang’s insubordination, and Ang Dorje had shared his employer’s displeasure.

This year, even though they were on different teams, Ang Dorje had again been asked to work with Lopsang on summit day — and again Lopsang appeared to be acting squirrely. Ang Dorje had been working extremely hard, well beyond the call of duty, for six long weeks. Now, apparently, he was tired of doing more than his share. Looking sullen, Ang Dorje sat beside me in the snow, awaiting the arrival of Lopsang, and the ropes were left unfixed.

As a consequence, ninety minutes after moving beyond the Balcony I ran smack into the first bottleneck at 28,000 feet, where the intermingled teams encountered a series of massive rock steps that required ropes for safe passage. Clients huddled restlessly at the base of the rock for nearly an hour while Beidleman — taking over the duties of an absent Lopsang — laboriously ran the rope out.

Here, the impatience and technical inexperience of Hall’s client Yasuko Namba nearly caused a disaster. An accomplished businesswoman employed by Federal Express in Tokyo, Yasuko didn’t fit the meek, deferential stereotype of a middle-aged Japanese woman. At home, she’d told me with a laugh, her husband did all the cooking and cleaning. Her quest for Everest had turned into a minor cause célèbre in Japan. Previously on the expedition she’d been a slow, uncertain climber, but today, with the summit in her crosshairs, she was energized as never before. “From the time we arrived at the South Col,” says Australian client John Taske, who shared a tent with her at Camp Four, “Yasuko was totally focused on the top — it was almost like she was in a trance.” Ever since leaving the Col she’d been pushing extremely hard, jostling her way toward the front of the line.

Now, as Neal Beidleman clung precariously to the rock 100 feet above the clients, the overly eager Yasuko clamped her jumar to the dangling rope before the guide had anchored his end of it. As she was about to put her full body weight on the rope — which would have pulled Beidleman off — Mike Groom intervened in the nick of time and gently scolded Yasuko for being so impatient.

The traffic jam at the ropes grew with each arriving climber, so those at the rear of the scrum fell farther and farther behind. By late morning, three of Hall’s clients — Stuart Hutchison, John Taske, and Lou Kasischke, climbing at the back near Hall — were becoming quite worried about the lagging pace. Immediately in front of them was a Taiwanese team, moving especially sluggishly. “They were climbing in a peculiar style, really close together,” says Hutchison, “almost like slices in a loaf of bread, one behind the other, which meant it was nearly impossible to pass them. We spent a lot of time waiting for them to move up the ropes.”

At Base Camp before our summit bid, as a safety measure, Hall had contemplated two possible turn-around times — either 1:00 P.M. or 2:00 P.M — after which all his clients would be required to descend, regardless how close they were to the top. He never declared which of these times we were actually to abide by, however — which was curious, considering how much he’d talked about the importance of setting a hard deadline and sticking to it no matter what. The understanding, only vaguely articulated, was that he would withhold making a final decision until summit day, after assessing the weather and other factors, and would then personally take responsibility for turning everyone around at the proper hour.

By mid-morning on May 10, Hall had still made no announcement about what our turn-around time was going to be; Hutchison, conservative by nature, was operating on the assumption that it would be 1:00 P.M. Around 11:00, Hall told Hutchison and Taske that the top was still three hours away, and then he sprinted ahead to try and get past the Taiwanese. “It seemed increasingly unlikely that we would have any chance of summitting before the one P.M. turn-around time,” says Hutchison. A brief discussion ensued. Kasischke was reluctant to concede defeat, initially, but Taske and Hutchison were persuasive. At 11:30, the three men turned their backs on the summit and headed down, and Hall sent Sherpas Kami and Lhakpa Chhiri down with them.

Electing to descend must have been supremely difficult for these three clients, as well as for Frank Fischbeck, who’d turned around hours earlier. Mountaineering is a sport that attracts men and women who are not easily deflected from their goals. For more than a month now most of us on the mountain had been presented with myriad compelling reasons to quit and go home. The misery had frequently been monumental, the danger impossible to deny. It would have been inconceivable for any of us to reach this point on the mountain without having an uncommonly obstinate personality.

Unfortunately, the sort of psyche that enables one to keep pushing upward in the face of great pain and suffering is apt to incline one to ignore signs of clear and present danger, as well. A perilously thin line demarcates laudable perseverance from reckless determination. Which is one of the main reason the slopes of Everest are littered with corpses.

John Taske, Stuart Hutchison, Lou Kasischke, and Frank Fischbeck had each spent as much as $70,000 and endured great hardship to have this shot at the summit. All were driven men, unaccustomed to losing and even less to quitting. And yet, faced with a hard decision, they were among the few who made the right choice that day.

Above the rock step where John, Stuart, and Lou turned around, the fixed ropes ended. From this point the route angled steeply upward along a graceful arête of wind-compacted snow that culminated in the South Summit — where I arrived at eleven o’clock to find a second, even worse bottleneck. A little higher, seemingly no more than a stone’s throw away, was the vertical gash of the Hillary Step, and slightly beyond that the summit itself. Rendered dumb with awe and exhaustion, I took some photos, then sat down with Neal Beidleman, Anatoli Boukreev, and Andy Harris (one of Rob Hall’s guides) to wait for the Sherpas to fix ropes along the spectacularly corniced summit ridge.

I noticed that Boukreev, like Lopsang, wasn’t using supplemental oxygen. Although Boukreev had summitted Everest twice before without gas, and Lopsang thrice, I was surprised that Scott Fischer had given them permission to guide the peak without it, which didn’t seem to be in their clients’ best interest. I was also surprised to see that Boukreev didn’t have a backpack — customarily a guide would carry a pack containing rope, first aid supplies, crevasse-rescue gear, extra clothing, and other items deemed necessary to assist clients in the event of an emergency. Boukreev was the first guide I’d ever seen, on any mountain, ignore this convention.

It turned out that he had departed Camp Four carrying both a backpack and an oxygen bottle; although Boukreev didn’t intend to use gas, he wanted to have a bottle handy in the event that he needed it higher on the peak. Upon reaching the Balcony, however, he jettisoned the pack and asked Beidleman to carry his oxygen canister. Because he wasn’t using gas, Boukreev wanted to strip his load down to the bare minimum to gain every possible advantage in the appallingly thin air.

A 20-knot breeze raked the ridge-crest, blowing a plume of spindrift far over the Kangshung Face, but overhead the sky was an achingly brilliant blue. Lounging in the sun at 28,700 feet inside my thick down suit, gazing across the roof of the world in a hypoxic stupor, I lost track of time. None of us paid much attention to the fact that Ang Dorje and Ngawang Norbu, another Sherpa on Rob Hall’s team, were sitting beside us sharing a thermos of tea, and seemed to be in no hurry to go higher. Around 11:40, Beidleman eventually asked, “Hey, Ang Dorje, are you going to fix the ropes, or what?”

Ang Dorje’s reply was a quick, unequivocal “No” — perhaps because none of Scott Fischer’s Sherpas were there to share the work.

Growing alarmed at the crowd stacking up at the South Summit as more and more climbers arrived, Beidleman roused Harris and Boukreev and suggested that the three guides install the ropes themselves; hearing this, I volunteered to help. Beidleman pulled a 50-meter coil of rope from his pack, I grabbed another coil from Ang Dorje, and with Boukreev and Harris we got underway at noon to fix lines up the summit ridge. But by then another hour had already trickled away.

Bottled oxygen does not make the top of Everest feel like sea level. Climbing above the South Summit with my regulator delivering just under two liters of oxygen per minute, I had to stop and draw three or four lungfuls of air after each ponderous step. Then I’d take one more step, and have to pause for another four heaving breaths — and this was the fastest pace I could manage. Because the oxygen systems we were using delivered a lean mix of compressed gas and ambient air, 29,000 feet with gas felt like approximately 26,000 feet without gas. But the bottled oxygen conferred other benefits that weren’t so easily quantified.

Climbing along the blade of the summit ridge, sucking gas into my ragged lungs, I enjoyed a strange, unwarranted sense of calm. The world beyond the rubber mask was stupendously vivid but seemed not quite real, as if a movie were being projected in slow motion across the front of my goggles. I felt drugged, disengaged, thoroughly insulated from external stimuli. I had to remind myself over and over that there was 7,000 feet of sky on either side, that everything was at stake here, that I would pay for a single bungled step with my life.

Half an hour above the South Summit I arrived at the foot of the Hillary Step. One of the most famous pitches in all of mountaineering, its thirty feet of near-vertical rock and ice looked daunting, but — as any serious climber would — I’d wanted very badly to take the “sharp end” of the rope and lead the Step. It was clear, however, that Boukreev, Beidleman, and Harris all felt the same way, and it was hypoxic delusion on my part to think that any of them was going to let a client hog such a coveted lead.

In the end, Boukreev — as the senior guide and the only one of us who had climbed Everest previously — claimed the honor; with Beidleman paying out the rope, he did a masterful job of leading the pitch. But it was a slow process, and as he painstakingly ascended toward the crest of the Step, I nervously studied my watch and wondered whether I might run out of oxygen. My first canister had expired at 7:00 A.M. on the Balcony, after lasting about seven hours. Using this as a benchmark, at the South Summit I’d calculated that my second canister would expire around 2:00 P.M., which I’d stupidly assumed would allow plenty of time to reach the summit and return to the South Summit to retrieve my third oxygen bottle. But now it was already after 1:00, and I was beginning to have serious doubts.

At the top of the Step I shared my concern with Beidleman, and asked whether he minded if I hurried ahead to the summit instead of pausing to help him string the last coil of rope along the ridge. “Go for it,” he graciously offered. “I’ll take care of the rope.”

Plodding slowly up the last few steps to the summit, I had the sensation of being underwater, of life moving at quarter-speed. And then I found myself atop a slender wedge of ice, adorned with a discarded oxygen cylinder and a battered aluminum survey pole, with nowhere higher to climb. A string of Buddhist prayer flags snapped furiously in the wind. Far below, down a side of the mountain I had never laid eyes on, the dry Tibetan plateau stretched to the horizon as a boundless expanse of dun-colored earth.

Reaching the top of Everest is supposed to trigger a surge of intense elation; against long odds, after all, I had just attained a goal I’d coveted since childhood. But the summit was really only the halfway point. Any impulse I might have felt toward self-congratulation was extinguished by overwhelming apprehension about the long, dangerous descent that lay ahead.

This post has been adapted from Chapter 13 of Into Thin Air: A Personal Account of the Mt. Everest Disaster, published by Anchor Books.

Shared with permission. For more information about Jon Krakauer, check out his web site.

Now, I am an early 20s American guy who grew up far away from the big city life in New York or Los Angeles. In the Midwest, niceties and general politeness tend to be the priority. You just learn not to disturb the status quo with impassioned flurries.

In Rome, they can start a yelling match with each other at the slightest annoyance or offence — a pedestrian or driver that hesitates one second at the red light, a phone call that is not answered, an object not put in its proper place, well, you get the idea. Of course, more often than not they confront each other for more serious things. However, what has been the amazing thing for me to observe is that when they begin an emotional tirade, they are never amiss for the right words. Usually when a Midwesterner back home in the US is upset, a few phrases are clumsily strung together like the output of a sputtering engine. Not so for the Italians. Insult after insult, vulgarity after vulgarity is launched in a continuous, almost hypnotic melody, which, as long as it’s not directed at you, one is comfortable listening to it all day. The language is pretty charming to say the least.

It kind of becomes more curious from there. While Italians may be confrontational one moment, the very next they are relaxed and interact as if nothing happened. In other words, the insults and argument that just took place were not a reflection of bad blood, but rather, an understanding that we can be honest with each other, i.e., you can tell me when you think I’m being a dumb ass and vice versa, and then we can move on. Or least that is my take on it.

Italian imperatives and questions are often expressed with more bluntness than in English. Instead of always prefacing a question or a command with “maybe” “would you mind” “could you possibly” “sorry” “please” or “thank you”, the Italians just say it how it is. Over Christmas, few friends and I were having dinner with an American family living in Rome. As we entered their perfectly clean apartment with our shoes on, the hostess said, “would you mind maybe taking of your shoes before entering? Sorry, I just don’t want the floor to get dirty.” Why is that even a question, I thought to myself. I could hear in my mind how an Italian might say it: “take off your shoes before you enter.” Full stop. This might offend the ears of a born-and-raised Midwesterner, but c’mon, you don’t need to soften the insanely reasonable request for guests to remove their shoes in order to save you the work of mopping the hardwood floor at 1:00 in the morning after having cooked, hosted and served them an exquisite Christmas meal.

Not having realized it before I came to Italy, I much prefer this mode of communicating. It is more direct, more real, and yet at the same time, more human. There is an understanding that something deeper unites us as friends, or even just as people.

Living in Rome for more than six months now, a bit of this communication style has rubbed off on me, and I find I am more free to be honest and direct when talking with my colleagues, family and friends. When making a request, for example, instead of saying, “do you think you could maybe cover my shift if possible tomorrow?” I try to say, “can you cover my shift tomorrow?” Or, when in the past I would have avoided any discomfort with a friend, I try to say instead “It seems to me that you’re being a bit dramatic about this in order to not disappoint me. Is that true?” Let’s face it, Midwesterners are often too easily offended and dislike confrontation — hence the label “Minnesota nice.”

In the end, as I’m going through experience, my whole hope is that this style of communication does not lead to more hostile relationships, but rather, relationships that are stronger and more human, built on honesty and authenticity in place of superficial appearances and niceties.

Submission by David Stokman

For work reasons, I said yes to leave one of the warmest (and breeziest) European countries in Portugal, and move to… Well, Norway. And although I’ve only been here for about 15 months, there are definitely a few of things I picked up on about living in the land of trolls, endless nights and leverpostei.

Personal Space

This is definitely the most important thing I’ve had to learn about Norwegian culture. Norwegians are big fans of personal space - not only their own but in their respect for others. Find yourself slightly close to someone, and you will see them getting nervous and probably just leave. Which in a way makes sense because although Norway is a big country, the actual number of people living here is the opposite. There’s space for everyone and with that comes safe personal space. Even if you visit Oslo, the capital city, I can guarantee you will never find yourself feeling overwhelmed in the middle of a big crowd.

The most Norwegian situation you could be in is at a bus stop. It’s common sense over here that if there are other people at the stop, you need to be at least 1 meter away — and yes, even if it’s raining. And don’t even think about sitting next to someone on the bus.

Practical Conversations (and the Norwegian hand)

Now, this is something that not only been new to me coming from a more a Mediterranean social climate, but also come to respect about Scandinavia’s culture. If you consider yourself as someone that doesn’t like small talk, trust me when I say that Norwegians take it to a whole new level. In a work environment, you will never hear conversations about weekend plans or even a trivial topic. Most of the time, the only conversation that may occur starts and ends with the weather. Small talk simply isn’t a thing. However, from my perspective, this is not about being unfriendly or cold, it’s all about being practical.

Norwegians will talk to you, but only about of necessity — within reason. In fact, they go so far out of their way not to engage in small talk or interact with someone, that there’s a thing called “the Norwegian hand”. A Norwegian would rather go above and beyond to try to get that milk package on the shelf, using their Norwegian hand, than to ask you to simply move. Granted, here the practical aspect argument falls a bit short, but for them, awkward hand movements are better than actual social interaction.

The freaking mmm-mmm

Although Norwegians aren’t exactly talkative people, making weird noises during a conversation seems to be their thing. Usually, when someone is talking we tend to nod and maybe throw a “yes, yes” in the mix to keep the conversation going and show that we are interested in what the other person is saying. Now, instead of doing any of these, Norwegians just throw sounds — weird sounds in fact — to show that they are hearing what you are saying and have nothing to add. They will throw a noise that sounds like they are gasping for air, which can freak someone out if they are hearing it for the first time. Well, it still freaks me out a bit if I’m being honest.

Now combine this with the love for personal space and hate for small talk, and you have the perfect recipe for some anti-social people. In Norway, you can’t exactly start a conversation with a stranger… Unless of course, you have some…

Alcohol

After 15 months in Norway, I’ve come to accept that any type of activity is required to be accompanied by alcohol. This was one of the first things I was told about when I arrived… along with how expensive alcoholic drinks are in this country. Most of the time, if you want to have a tipsy night, you need to get alcohol and indulge in some pre-drinking before heading out into the Norwegian nightlife - it is expensive. And the alcohol purchasing part isn’t that simple. If you want to buy something other than beer, you need to go to the government-controlled stores (Vinmonopolet) where rules… rule.

Norway has a lot of rules when it comes to alcohol, from age (sometimes 25yrs and up) and buying day restrictions (forget Sundays), to alcohol percentage in drinks available at a certain bar. Also, the majority of bars tend to close relatively early. Buying and drinking alcohol is challenging to say the least. And with all these restrictions, most Norwegians just skip the pint and go straight to the vodka bottle.

After all the pre-drinking and heavy drinking, let’s just say that Norwegians tend to get aggressively social and friendly when going out — it’s like night and day to my experience in the “normal” parts of the life. One minute you see everyone leaving their offices elegantly dressed and properly mannered, then a couple hours later, they are tumbling around the dance floor barely coherent.

Work and Life Balance

This is one of the only things I knew before moving to Norway. Scandinavian people are great at a great work-life balance. And it checks out. Their personal lives always come first above anything else (yet they also manage their work with dedication). Even if it’s a stressful day at work, full of tasks and crazy deadlines, when the clock strikes, everyone is packing their stuff and heading home. Norwegians follow this religiously, and in my experience they will place few obstacles between your work and a need to take care of a loved one, take sick leave or just even enjoy some vacation time.

With this perfect work-life balance, people in Norway end up with a lot of free time for hobbies. But for some masochistic reason, they all collectively decided they like to do physical outdoor activities in their free time. It’s a thing. Biking, hiking, skiing, cross-country skiing (it’s different somehow) or just go to the gym, everyone in Norway is doing something outdoors. They somehow even manage to keep this active and healthy lifestyle during the dreadful winters. I personally never did much hiking before I moved to Norway. I was dying every single time I went for a hike, but have come to enjoy the experience and natural beauty of the country.

Darkness, my new friend

My first winter here was definitely an experience. It was the first time I felt what consistent -14°C /6.8°F weather was like, and let me tell you something: well, it was something. I was quickly informed that there’s no such thing as bad weather, only bad clothes - which basically translates to “invest in some good jacket and gloves and stop complaining about being cold”. Fortunately, all homes and indoor spaces around Norways are very well equipped and comfortable enough to deal with wintery cold weather.

Norway is also one of those countries that, once winter starts to approach, the nights became longer. And I do mean longer. At some point, I swear that I only had 2 hours of light in a day — not even sun, just light. I live in the south part of the country, I can’t even imagine what happens when you go north.

Unfortunately, the cold and lack of light impacted me more that I would like to admit. I felt depressed and unmotivated, which adding to the fact that I was away from my family and friends in this new country certainly didn’t help. Maybe I just needed a little of that fish oil. After a while, though, my attitude has changed and I’ve learned to adjust and learn from all of this, whether it’s the excessive exercising, the long nights or just the awkward Norwegian hand. Norway has a lot to offer, and it has a very distinct culture that I’m still learning from.

Submission by Filipa Amado

My interest in solar energy began as a curiosity about renewable resources. The more I learned about the environmental impacts of traditional energy sources, the more I was drawn to the idea of harnessing the sun’s power.

Solar energy, unlike fossil fuels, offers a clean, inexhaustible, and increasingly affordable source of power. This realization led me to delve deeper into how I could incorporate solar technology into my lifestyle.

The first step was understanding the basics of solar energy systems. Solar panels convert sunlight into electricity, which can be used to power a home. The excess energy can be stored in batteries or fed back into the grid, depending on the system’s design.

This concept fascinated me, and I began researching the best ways to integrate solar power into my existing home setup.

I decided to start small, with a few solar panels to power my garden lights and irrigation system. The initial investment was modest, and it gave me a hands-on opportunity to understand the workings of solar technology.

To my delight, the panels performed exceptionally well, providing ample power for my garden needs and reducing my reliance on the grid.

Encouraged by this success, I embarked on a more ambitious project: installing a full-scale solar energy system for my home. This required a significant investment and a lot of planning.

I consulted with solar energy experts, assessed my home’s energy needs, and researched the best equipment for my situation. The process was challenging but deeply rewarding.

The day my home switched to solar power was a milestone in my sustainable living journey, marking a significant step towards energy independence.

Living with solar energy has been a learning experience. I’ve had to become more conscious of my energy usage, adapting to the natural rhythms of the sun.

On sunny days, energy is plentiful, but on cloudy days, I’ve learned to be more conservative. This natural ebb and flow have fostered a deeper connection with the environment and a greater appreciation for the sun’s power.

Beyond the practical aspects, solar energy has brought unexpected benefits too. My electricity bills have decreased significantly, and I feel a sense of pride in contributing to a cleaner, greener planet.

I’ve also become part of a community of solar energy enthusiasts, sharing insights and learning from others’ experiences.

One of the most gratifying aspects of using solar energy is its impact on my gardening and food production efforts. The energy that powers my irrigation system and greenhouse comes directly from the sun, creating a closed-loop system that epitomizes sustainability.

My garden thrives under this setup, and the vegetables and fruits I grow are not only organic but also produced in an environmentally friendly manner.

Another exciting development is the potential for solar-powered transportation. I recently acquired an electric vehicle, which I charge using my home’s solar energy system.

This integration of sustainable practices across different areas of my life is incredibly fulfilling. It represents a tangible step towards reducing my carbon footprint and living in a way that aligns with my values.

My foray into solar energy has consequently been a transformative experience. It’s a journey that began with a simple curiosity and has evolved into a lifestyle that revolves around sustainability and respect for the environment.

For those considering a similar path, my advice is to start small, learn as you go, and embrace the changes that come with living a solar-powered life. The journey towards sustainability is continuous, and each step, no matter how small, makes a difference.

By harnessing the sun’s energy, we can light our homes, grow our food, and power our vehicles, all while reducing our environmental impact.

In the spring of 2022 I went on my first date with another man. That September, less than six months later, I asked my husband for a divorce.

Our story was both predictable and unpredictable.

Monogamous folks like to point out the failure rates of open marriages, but the success rates for monogamy aren’t that great either, especially when you take into account how many people stay unhappily married, i.e., for the children.

There’s another factor that hides in these statistics — a number of open marriages are a last-ditch attempt to avoid divorce. That last-ditch attempt often fails, making the failed marriage an open marriage failure on paper as opposed to a monogamous one.

For some, opening a marriage is the final nail in the coffin. For others, the process of opening their marriage reveals different things such as the profundity of their bond with their spouse, the extent of their unmet desires, and the ways in which they want to live life differently — ways that may have nothing at all to do with romance.

Here are the lessons I learned, first and foremost from opening my own marriage, but also from observing other openly married folks I’ve been involved with.

Opening your marriage will change you, your life, and your relationship in ways you can’t predict

Opening your marriage is a bit like getting married or having kids in that it will change you and your life in ways that you cannot intellectually predict.

It doesn’t matter how much you read or how many folks you talk to, there are things you won’t be able to understand until you are actively living them.

When my husband and I opened our marriage, we assured each other that no matter what happened, we would stay together. We deeply believed we would. I still cry a little when I think back to how certain we were.

And I was the one who broke that promise.

Why? Because what I learned through our open marriage transformed how I saw our marriage.

I met my husband in my early 20s, and we connected immediately and deeply. We loved the same video games, books, movies, food. We wanted to travel to the same countries, listen to the same music, watch the same comedians. We could talk for hours with rapt delight, never getting tired of each other’s company. We saw eye-to-eye on more things than either of us had ever experienced with anyone else.

And when we started dating, we felt a little smug. We thought because of our deep underlying friendship, we had more going for our relationship than the other couples around us.

We had one central issue, though — and it was one he hid from me for five years. I learned the month after we got married, five years into our relationship, that he did not find me sexually attractive.

I don’t mean that in a minor way. I mean that in a “We might never have had sex had I not been pushy about it” way.

Exhibit A: Some years down the road after we opened our marriage, I checked in with my husband after I gave my first blowjob to an extramarital lover. I expressed my concern that he might feel hurt or jealous, assuring him that those feelings were natural and I’d feel them in his shoes. He replied: “Why would I feel jealous? I don’t want that from you.”

Was he gay? No, actually. But it almost felt like he was from my experience of our sex life.

The situation was that he had a very, very specific type, and I was not it.

You may be wondering, “How did it take me five years to discover this?”

It’s simple: I’d never been intimate with another man before, and also it didn’t cross my mind that my husband would be so genuinely disinterested.

I’d grown up with “pretty privilege,” and was used to both wanted and unwanted attention from a majority of straight men. On occasions when I mentioned to my husband that it felt like something might be missing between us, he lied to reassure me. In the end, I only found out because I happened to stumble across the evidence on his computer one day.

You may also be wondering, “Why then did this man want to marry me?”

Because his upbringing had made him ashamed of his sexual preferences to the point where he’d wished he didn’t have them. He was lying to himself as much as he was to me, and he disregarded his preferences entirely when choosing a life partner.

Additionally, because we had so much else going for our relationship, he just wanted to be with me. And when it came to his sexual satisfaction, he could be content with fantasy.

I, however, could not be contented with fantasy. I didn’t want to die without knowing what it felt like to be intimate with a man who genuinely desired me.

I thought maybe it wouldn’t feel much different. Maybe I wasn’t really missing out. But something deep inside me ached to know.

We didn’t open our marriage right away. For six years after our wedding, I tried, in countless creative ways, to stir my husband’s desire. And he tried with all his will to muster it. At times I saw it — but I was always acutely aware that it was never for me.

I felt alone and hungry for connection in a deep place.

So, six years after our wedding, eleven years into our partnership, we finally opened our marriage.

Within a month I found out what mutual desire felt like. And then my paramour and I fell for each other, and I found out what it felt like when mutual desire was combined with love. It was mind-blowing.

After discovering that what I had always longed for with my husband did exist — just not with him — I couldn’t go back.

While things didn’t work out with my paramour, I learned from that experience that I wanted to be with a partner who both loved me and wanted to kiss me, and that this was possible.

Moreover, during this time I also saw my husband fall desirously in love with another woman. It was the first time in his life he’d experienced this, and I saw how alive it made him.

The passion I’d longed for was real, not just some made-up movie thing. And while yes, it would fade with time, it could be part of the foundation of a romantic partnership.

With this knowledge, I could no longer be content with the sweet, special friendship my husband and I had shared. I chose to end our marriage.

While my experience may be an extreme one, it’s representative of a common pattern shared by other folks who have opened their marriages. They inevitably learn things about themselves, about what they want, and about what is possible that reorients how they approach life.

Sometimes, as in my case, this leads to the end of the marriage. Sometimes this leads to a deepening of the spouses’ connection.

If you open your marriage, your experience will be unique to you, to your spouse, and to the partners you both encounter — much in the same way that a marriage is unique to the two people in it, or the experience of having kids depends on the natures of the parents and the kids.

So much of it is not possible to predict in advance, no matter how much research you do, no matter how many other folks you talk to who have traveled that road before you.

But whatever happens, you can be sure of one thing: the experience will transform you, your relationship with your spouse, and your life — for better and worse.

You can’t go back

This may seem to go without saying, but I want to say it because it’s so deeply important.

Once you or your spouse has been intimate with another person, that can’t be undone. Even if you both decide to never do it again, it has been woven like a new colored thread into the tapestry of your shared lives.

Whatever you do, when you open your marriage you are forever changing the landscape of your connection. But — this isn’t necessarily a bad thing!

There are marriages that aren’t even open where one partner cheats, and afterwards, both partners work together to make the relationship more meaningful and secure than it was before.

Think of how much more gracefully and kindly that work could be done when it’s done without betrayal in the mix.

But before you take steps to open your marriage, first look at what you share together and hold it in love and gratitude. Acknowledge what you have built. Acknowledge the profound preciousness you have nurtured in your connection, and acknowledge that there is real risk here. What you share may be forever changed.

In my case, there are days in which I still ache for the sweetness and fun of the constant companionship I once shared with my husband. We remain friends, but our relationship is of course very different now that we are ex-husband and ex-wife.

Do I regret my choice to divorce him? Not right now. If I am unlucky in love — which is entirely possible, as some of us are — I may eventually come to regret giving up what was the most precious friendship of my life for naught.

When you open your marriage you don’t know what you will get. But it’s important that you understand the full extent of what it is possible for you to lose.

The relationships that grow on the sidelines of your open marriage will change if your marriage changes

This is crucial to acknowledge, because in the course of opening your marriage, it’s very possible you will meet and connect to people who feel like they are a better fit for you right now than your spouse is.

It may even seem like maybe, just maybe, you should leave your spouse for the other person. Here’s the thing though — love that grows under certain conditions will inevitably change when those conditions change.

A French man I once dated had a phrase for this: “Never leave your wife for the butterfly.” (The French are, it would seem, fairly familiar with this issue given their particular approach to marriage and non-monogamy).

The point is that the quality of the relationship you can share with your side partner is, in many cases, only possible because they are your side partner. If they were your main partner, that connection might look totally different.

I know this first hand. The connection I shared with my paramour changed unrecognizably after I was no longer married to my husband. It ultimately became an unhealthy and unsustainable relationship, and I am grateful that it ended.

From the other side of things, as a single woman I have now dated multiple married men whom I would have ceased to be involved with had they ever left their wives. They were the kinds of men I could love and share with as lovers, but never could have maintained a day-to-day working partnership with.

There are exceptions of course. I do know of two couples whose current marriages started as side-partnerships. That outcome is, however, less common, and can never be counted on.

We often go into marriage out of a desire to make something good and beautiful permanent. We want to live forever in the lush, powerful love we experienced in those early years with our spouse. And to some extent, we can. And we may even be able to deepen and grow new beautiful qualities of love over the years if we work wisely and lovingly together.

But change is inevitable. A garden goes through seasons. Choosing to open a marriage is a way of meeting the inevitability of change with more change. It’s a creative and colorful option, and there are many folks who have not only made it “work,” but have found that it has brought new richness to their relationship with their spouse.

Submission by Alice K. Black. Follow on X

Now, before I get into the specifics of why this is happening, I want to address a common sentiment that some people have on the Internet. They want to go back to the “good old days”, i.e. the early 20th century or earlier when dating and relationships were supposedly “easy”, especially for men.

But back then, women didn’t have nearly the amount of social and economic power as today, so they had to find a guy early on, get married, and have children. Many women had to stay in abusive, often violent marriages just to get by, as they wouldn’t be able to support themselves otherwise, or would be seen as social outcasts. Today, women can actually support themselves, which gives them a choice of whether to be in a relationship and who to date. I believe it is a good thing.

A lot of others, especially younger men, are entertaining the idea of (or already) moving to certain third-world countries where women’s rights and place in society still resemble that of the early 20th century, places where women still mostly rely on men for survival. However, I believe these people are just running away from their problems. They are exploiting a power dynamic to make up for things they lack. You think dating will be easier there, but without resolving some of your internal issues, you’ll still be miserable, no matter where you are.

We have come a long way since then in terms of women’s rights and their place in society. I do not wish to go back in time. I am very glad for the human rights and freedoms that we’re being given nowadays.

I believe what we are seeing now in the dating scene is simply a byproduct of this social progress. It is not merely dating apps, feminism, or incel culture as people like to claim. Instead of rigid social roles for men and women, we now have much more freedoms, and that in turn has turned the dating market more into a free market. People actually have a choice of whether or not to date and who to date, as opposed to the past, where relationships were a necessity and a social construct.

We are still in a transitional period where human rights and gender roles are still rapidly being redefined. Transitions are always rough. There are still many things that need to be sorted out before things stabilize in the dating world.

As a young person entering the dating scene, it can seem pretty bleak. But I believe if you work on the right things and stop listening to the stuff that you are being told by the world, you can still succeed.

Now there are many reasons why dating is terrible for most people today, but here are what I think is the most important. A lot of people in online forums over-analyze their dating and relationship issues, but it really comes down to a few things.

Individualism

It is a big part of modern Western culture. While it is good to allow some degree of individual expression, giving people too much freedom to be themselves, be self-centered, and do whatever they want without severe consequences often brings the worst out of people. When people no longer value morals, they become narcissistic and hedonistic, and pursue instant gratification, as history has shown countless times.

As I will elaborate below, humans are greedy, selfish, and lazy by nature. Coming from a traditional Asian culture, these are the very things we were taught to avoid in order to build harmonious families, communities, and societies. I believe self-centeredness and the erosion of traditional, moral values are causing many of our societal problems now in the West. I believe it is also the root cause of most of our dating and family problems today.

While I don’t wish for the other extreme (i.e. ultra-conservative, religious society with well-defined gender roles like how it was in the past), I believe there needs to be a good balance between traditional, moralistic values (e.g. hard work, family, harmony, gender roles) vs. modern, individualistic values for a healthy, functioning society.

Greed

People always want the best for themselves. With the proliferation of social media and online dating, it is giving people easy access to practically everyone around the world. It gives the illusion that one can have endless choices, and humans tend to struggle when presented with too many choices. As a result, everyone wants the best of the best regardless of what they bring to the table. People are more disconnected from reality. People are also becoming more and more entitled.

People thus develop unrealistic standards. Average and below-average-looking people want partners who look like supermodels and make boatloads of money. Promiscuous, non-traditional people who spend years partying and playing around all-of-a-sudden want to find a traditional, caring partner after they grow tired of playing.

As a result, people don’t want to “settle down”. It’s exciting to party, sleep around, experiment, get external validation, and “there is always someone better out there” so they can keep holding out. Then they wonder why they can’t find anybody (or find somebody very attractive and realize that they have many other options). Many “unattractive” people are marginalized in the dating market as a result.

Selfishness

Humans are greedy by nature, and individualism is giving people too much power to do whatever they want to maximize their short-term happiness/gratification, which is also the case in dating.

People are entering relationships for the wrong reasons — seeking someone to satisfy their own pleasures (sexual, financial, emotional, etc.), not for the sake of responsibility, personal growth, shared experiences, or raising a family, etc. Because these relationships were built on the wrong foundations, this leads to people leaving relationships as soon as they feel unhappy or run into a conflict, instead of working together to resolve the issues.

People are also ditching traditional responsibilities or gender roles because they are too “restricting”. They also care less about how others feel and only seek to maximize their own happiness and satisfaction. There is less accountability and self-awareness. With countless options on dating apps, people and relationships have become disposable, and they treat each other as such in the dating market.

It is also this selfishness that people don’t want to start families or become good members of society. Why bother with societal expectations when I can just be happy on my own? Why work, get married, and have kids when I can pursue my hobbies, travel, and sleep around? As a result, more and more people are ditching the idea of contributing to society, starting families, and having children. Family and children are seen as burdens rather than investments. We will look back on this when the human population inevitably enters rapid decline with years of critically low birth rates.

Laziness

Humans are lazy by nature, and again this causes people to not think long-term and maximize short-term happiness (aka dopamine). Everyone is seeking instant gratification, including in dating. People no longer build social networks and seek potential relationships from normal friendships, or go outside to meet people because it is time-consuming.

Everyone either wants to swipe on dating apps because it is easy to do so, or go for one-night stands because it feels highly rewarding (aka easy dopamine) compared to putting in all the work to build and maintain a long-term relationship. Some just take the easy way out, such as avoiding the dating scene altogether (e.g. MGTOW, Hikikomori), or going to another country (“passport bros”) thinking the game will be easier there.

Again, it is because of that laziness that people don’t want to get out of their comfort zone or work on improving themselves, making themselves more unattractive as a result. By many metrics, people today are less attractive than they used to be — more overweight, more unhealthy, more politically extreme, and less wealthy. Younger people also have worse social skills today from sitting inside all day playing with electronics rather than socializing.

Finally, people don’t want to work together with their partners to maintain a relationship or marriage. They rather divorce or break up rather than communicate and settle their differences because it is easier to do so. Working hard to be a good partner, compromising, and healthy conversations are no longer valued because people are selfish and lazy.

Promiscuity

Due to the aforementioned reasons, why settle down and get married when you can have all the fun sleeping around with the most attractive people? As a result, the average person is having more sexual partners than before, aka the Hookup Culture. Even within relationships, infidelity is increasing.

Countless scientific studies have shown that having more sexual partners hinders the human ability to pair bond, and increases the risk of infidelity. In other words, the more partners you’ve had, the more difficult it is to dedicate to one person. It is no wonder why divorce rates are sky-high, especially when a lot of people now see marriage as “settling down” after they had their fun sleeping around. And it is no wonder why cultures that discourage promiscuity generally see more stable marriages and families.

Many people nowadays use the excuse of “finding themselves” or looking for “sexual compatibility” in order to sleep around with many people in their youth. More and more people are getting into polyamorous relationships or “situationships” which are shown to be more damaging to mental health compared to traditional monogamy.

People in the past or in more conservative cultures often married their first partner at a young age, which often leads to a lifelong marriage (although it may not always be perfect).

Mental health

With all the peer pressure fueled by social media, along with the enablement of toxic behaviour that leads to addictions (external validation, drama, Internet/social media, substances, dopamine, etc.), mental health is rapidly declining worldwide. A lot more people are living with deep traumas that prevent them from entering healthy relationships.

As people are too lazy to go out and socialize and are too full of themselves, they are becoming increasingly self-isolated, lonely, and disconnected from the real world, gluing themselves to electronics and substances (video games, drugs, porn/camgirls, etc.). It’s no wonder why rates of anxiety, depression, ADHD, and ASD are through the roof nowadays. Unhealthy behaviours lead to unhealthy humans. Duh.

Unhealthy people are unattractive, and it only singles these people out further from potential friendships and relationships, which drives them even more lonely and mentally unhealthy. It’s a vicious feedback loop.

There are many other reasons that explain why the dating scene is horrible in the West, but all these reasons can be tied to one of the above. It used to not be this way, but years of individualism since the 1950s have eroded away traditional values and basic morality, and have enabled toxic behaviour amongst people, leading to the phenomena we see today in dating.

In other words, people are simply less attractive and less desirable relationship partners than before.

“Ignorance is bliss”. Many people like to pretend we don’t have a problem in the dating scene, but we clearly do. This is not an easy problem to solve, as many things in society must be changed. However, if a lot of people are aware of this and change the way they look at things, we still have hope.

As I said earlier, there needs to be a balance between traditional and modern values for a functioning society and dating market. However, this is difficult to find anywhere in the world as things are changing so quickly. Thus you need to change yourself to maximize your chances of finding someone desirable. If more people start recognizing this and changing their own behaviours, it will certainly make things easier for most people.

Remember, in order to find someone desirable in dating, you must become desirable yourself — human relations are transactional. Our current societal values have made many people less desirable romantic partners in general — less healthy, less wealthy, and more emotionally unstable. If you work on these things, you can easily become attractive. It is up to you to change that.

• Stop blaming others for your dating problems — Mindset is the most important thing. I see too many people blaming others (a gender, society, or parental upbringing) for their dating problems. You are not entitled to sex, relationships, and a partner just by existing. Nobody is entitled to anything. Same thing as believing that your life is screwed and you’re doomed to be single. You’re never going to fix your problems if you carry that mindset. You’re always going to be bitter and depressed. It’s an uphill battle, but giving up, especially if you’re young (<50 years old), is pure cowardice.

• Understand that biology cannot be changed — No matter how many genders they want to define, what pronouns they use, or what gender roles they want you to believe in, in biology there are only two sexes — male and female. In most animals, females give birth and perform most of the nurturing duties (e.g. breastfeeding), while males provide food and resources, and protect the female and young. No matter how people want to spin it, these basic gender roles cannot be changed. While it is possible to defy traditional gender roles (e.g. the stay-at-home dad, or the career-focused mom), something else has to give in order for the biological responsibilities to be carried out (such as having another caretaker for the children if the mother isn’t available due to work). Also, humans only have so many years of fertility, outside of which it will become difficult to have biological children. You see many people who forgo relationships to work on their careers and other things before regretting it once it’s too late to have children.

• Dopamine detox — Many people nowadays are hooked on an IV of dopamine and instant gratification — video games, social media, easy access to sex and pornography, alcohol, drugs, etc. To truly get a grip on your life, you need to cut those things out and develop self-discipline. Stop wasting your time. When your brain is hooked on easy dopamine, it becomes more challenging to do things that matter — gaining knowledge, learning skills, getting healthy, making money, and self-improvement. It also makes people less likely to put effort into dating and relationships since their dopamine-fueled brains think dating or maintaining a relationship is too much effort when they can find easy alternatives (e.g., porn and casual sex).

• Work on yourself — Everything from your physical appearance (body language, fashion, fitness, etc.) to social skills (communication, conflict resolution) to responsibility, your interests and hobbies, your education, career, and finances, to physical and mental health (including your past traumas). Invest in yourself. Become the best version of yourself. Become attractive. People often say they only want to date the top X percent of men or women — It is actually not that difficult to make it to the top X percent because of how lazy, self-absorbed, and unhealthy most people are. If you are willing to put in the work and change the things you can change, you will become much more desirable than the average person. Even if you don’t see dating success in the process, you still become a lot more valuable, and you gain self-confidence knowing that you put in all the work, which in itself is attractive.

• Develop communication skills — Dating is just social interaction, and social skills are rapidly declining amongst younger generations due to increased electronics use and self-isolation. Many people don’t know how to carry a conversation, crack a joke or take a joke, talk to strangers without panicking, read situations and emotions, be empathetic, or handle disagreements and conflicts. You don’t get good at these things by sitting at home all day and scrolling on your phone. You need to put yourself out there and practice with real people — there is no shortcut. Put yourself into social settings. Get trained in public speaking. Learn how to approach strangers and flirt respectfully without being creepy. Learn to read body language and social cues. Learn how to take a rejection or reject others gracefully. Also, don’t run away from conflicts or uncomfortable situations. Be ready to own up to your problems and compromise. Relationships take work and sacrifice.

• Be realistic — With so much focus on social media, appearance, and materialism, everyone has high standards. Now, I don’t mean ditching all your standards, but you need to be realistic about what you bring to the table. Demanding something while giving nothing in return is not a relationship — it is welfare. If you look physically unattractive, either work on becoming more physically appealing (fashion, weight & fitness, etc.), or stop expecting someone who looks like a model. If you are poor, what makes you think you can get a rich partner to shower you with money and gifts? If you are a boring, blank sheet of paper, why do you deserve an interesting, charismatic partner to “spice up your life”? Furthermore, too many people have the wrong idea of what a healthy relationship should look like. Many people are traumatized, addicted to drama and conflicts, and think that a peaceful relationship where both partners are doing their part is boring. People will intentionally start drama to “spice things up”, and it leads to relationships falling apart. Finally, give everyone a chance. Many people pre-reject others before even interacting with them due to not meeting certain arbitrary standards they have (e.g., height). How do you know if they are compatible or not? At the end of the day, I believe standards are for those who don’t know what they want.

• Work on being a good partner and friend, not just a provider/caretaker— Whether you like it or not, dating standards have objectively changed. It no longer cuts it just being a good provider or a good caretaker like how it was in the past. Don’t be stuck in the past. Nowadays you need to work on being a good and equal partner and, more importantly, a good friend (not the same as “friendzone”!). If you can’t even maintain normal friendships or make new platonic friends, why are you even trying to date? Despite what people like to say online, being a good partner is essentially a step up from being a good friend, but with the shared goal of maintaining the relationship. There is a lot of learning, hard work, compromise, and sacrifice involved, which people rarely do today. Be an asset to others. Nobody wants to befriend or date an entitled asshole, a lazy bum, or a boring robot. Learn how to be a good friend first.

• Limit the use of social media and online dating — Again, these things are largely a waste of time. You need to go outside and meet people in real life. Social media and online dating are inherently superficial and you are asking yourself to be judged based on a few photos and statistics rather than your full personality. Humans are complex and it is completely unnatural to meet people and develop attraction based on some statistics and photos. Although I think it is still beneficial to maintain a basic presence on popular social media platforms and dating apps; however, do not make those your primary means of meeting people.

• Finally, don’t give out sex too easily — We live in such a hyper-sexualized culture here in the West. Everything is about sexual appeal nowadays, and so many people today have various forms of sex addictions. When you enter a relationship, don’t make it solely about sexual attraction. Looks fade and people’s appearances change. You also risk getting used for sex, as well as other problems such as STDs and unwanted pregnancy. While I don’t encourage going towards the other extreme either (i.e. total abstinence or no sex until marriage), temporarily refraining from sex (for a few weeks to months) is a good test of faithfulness and relationship strength. Also, have some self-respect and don’t give out sex to anyone like it’s candy — your body is valuable.

At the end of the day, you need to change your mindset from being a slave to sex, happiness, and instant gratification to becoming your best self and investing in yourself long-term. A good relationship takes work and sacrifice, and not always happy and perfect, but if you’re willing to put that in, you will be ahead of most people in the dating market.

Again, I am not preaching that we should go back to the culture of the early 20th century and undo all the societal progress. Instead, I believe we should adopt a modern twist to traditional values, and maintain a balance. There is a reason why some parts of the world, especially those with strong traditional values, still see good relationships and families.

We are living in interesting times full of societal, political, and economic change. The dating market is merely a reflection of societal values and prosperity. In prosperous and stable times, people partner up early and start families. In turbulent times as we live in now, relationships and families become less of a priority.

The kind of prosperity and stability we had in the West since the end of WWII was unprecedented. As such, the kind of dating market where most people (mainly Baby Boomers and Gen X) were getting into good relationships and starting families was also unprecedented. I believe those easy times are coming to an end. When people are overworked, cannot afford necessities such as a home, and are stressed about basic survival, dating becomes less of a priority — you see that in many developed nations today, such as Japan, China, and the US.

Also, the widespread availability of electronics/cheap entertainment options and the lack of third spaces (public spaces outside of home and work/school) means fewer people are going outside and meeting in person. This is detrimental to dating since it is how most people used to meet and find prospective partners. However, with more people than ever staying indoors, and more stigma surrounding workplace dating and approaching strangers in public, people have resorted to using social media and online dating platforms, which are inherently superficial, and do not represent real-world social dynamics.

Throughout most of human history, the majority of people had to settle into suboptimal relationships just to survive. Many people had no partners and remained single and childless for life. Many others don’t even live to childbearing age or perish in conflicts, wars, or pandemics. In fact, in most of the world outside of the developed nations, it is still like that to this day. Most people either get an arranged/forced marriage or stay single for life.

We are lucky to be living in the developed world where people actually have choices when it comes to dating. Let’s appreciate what we have. It may be difficult for some, but we have it so much better now compared to how it could have been.

But no matter what times we live in, there are always people who are successful at various things, whether it be wealth or dating. You just need to have a certain mindset and do the right things, and these things will come to you.

Submission by The Wandering Engineer.

verb

gerund or present participle: investing

1. put (money) into financial schemes, shares, property, or a commercial venture with the expectation of achieving a profit.

2. devote (one's time, effort, or energy) to a particular undertaking with the expectation of a worthwhile result

In the early 1900s, a famed stock investor by the name of Jesse Livermore was the protagonist of a book, written by journalist Edwin Lefèvre, called Reminiscences of a Stock Operator. Even though it was published over 100 years ago in what were then the nascent early years of financial markets, the book is generally considered a bible of sorts for investors to this day because its lessons and virtues have stood the test of time. The quote on the second page of the book, “There is nothing new in Wall Street,” or better yet the expression by King Solomon about 5,000 years ago when, in the Book of Ecclesiastes, he wrote, “There is nothing new beneath the sun,” aptly brings this point into focus.

Once we touch upon a fabric that seems to emerge from a timeless thread, it’s patterns and principles weave themselves into the contemporary modes of how life functions. And when it comes to the investments we make in our lives, what makes one decide to commit the next decade of their life to living in a particular place? How come one marriage is abundant in togetherness, growth and health, even behind the curtain, while another is fraught with insecurity, resistance and a constant urge to separation? As we grow, we all develop internal filters which attempt to determine a meaningful harmony between our positive inner needs and desires, and what the environment outside of us is capable and willing to offer. Yet, certain people seem to have access to these timeless threads, and they leverage them into successful major commitments they make through their lives. They don’t always get it right, but the good investments they do make, they grow into something bigger than themselves.

In Reminiscences of a Stock Operator, we bear witness to Livermore as he goes through both the pains of loss and jubilation of great successes. In the process, he evolves as an investor, and so does his capacity for reflection on what works sustainably and what is more or less whimsical. He is aptly searching for those timeless threads of good investing. One passage in the book illustrates particularly well one of the central challenges, maybe the central challenge, to good investing. Quoted below:

And right here let me say one thing: After spending many years in Wall Street and after making and losing millions of dollars I want to tell you this: It never was my thinking that made the big money for me. It always was my sitting.

Got that? My sitting tight!

It is no trick at all to be right on the market. You always find lots of early bulls in bull markets and early bears in bear markets. I've known many men who were right at exactly the right time, and began buying or selling stocks when prices were at the very level which should show the greatest profit. And their experience invariably matched mine-that is, they made no real money out of it.

Men who can both be right and sit tight are uncommon. I found it one of the hardest things to learn. But it is only after a stock operator has firmly grasped this that he can make big money. It is literally true that millions come easier to a trader after he knows how to trade than hundreds did in the days of his ignorance.

The reason is that a man may see straight and clearly and yet become impatient or doubtful when the market takes its time about doing as he figured it must do. That is why so many men in Wall Street, who are not at all in the sucker class, not even in the third grade, nevertheless lose money. The market does not beat them. They beat themselves, because though they have brains they cannot sit tight.

Old Turkey was dead right in doing and saying what he did. He had not only the courage of his convictions but the intelligent patience to sit tight

What Livermore is talking about here is that many people can be right on choosing a good stock, even if only by chance, yet it is exceedingly rare to find someone with the courage to make a meaningful investment and the patience and fortitude to stick with it. Once he learned this, the millions came easier than the hundreds did in his ignorance. The value seems to come from letting a good trend accrue over time.

Is this analogous to everyday life? Below is an attempt to generalise the phrase into its primary components:

• Find a way to hold on

  • Once you make a good choice or are blessed with a good opportunity, with the courage of your conviction, get on board, stay open and adapt however you can, and keep it going.

• The main battle to success is fought within

  • It is the daily psychological warfare of doubt and impatience, fear and greed, and yearning for action, inaction or distraction, and a host of other characteristics which trigger us away from both letting and making life happen for us.

Let’s set the foundation now by easing our way into a closer look at the value of what he writes about in the stock investing world, by focusing on one of the most foundational companies of our generation, Apple.

Apple Computer

We all likely know about Apple today. Their computers, and then iPods, and then iPhones and iPads and iWatches, their perfectly designed boxes and clean white cables have found themselves in the homes and offices of most people in the developed world. It wasn’t always the case. Founded in 1976, infamously out of a garage in California, Apple was started by a child-like hippy, Steve Jobs, and a child-like geek, Steve Wozniak. Its first product was an assembled circuit board, without a keyboard or screen, and a plastic cover as optional - the Apple I.

Could anyone have envisioned what was to come next?

Investing in the First Wave

By 1980, it had started to become “a thing”. So much so that the big-wigs of Wall Street were bidding over who would list the company publicly on the stock market. And in December 1980, Apple became a public company that anyone with a brokerage account could invest in.

Now, imagine, before Apple became visible to the wider public: who would have owned their shares?

To own its shares you would have had to be in the right place, at the right time - either as an early employee or founder, or as a venture capital angel investor. That meant living somewhere nearby to Los Altos, California (Steve Jobs’ garage). It also probably meant being a geek of some sorts with an interest in computers. If you had those two filters met, your luck would have been at least somewhat provoked. Mike Markkula was one of those people who gave the two founders about $100,000 in investment funds and provided managerial support, and ended up owning 26% of the company’s shares at its incorporation (the same amount as the two Steves).

When Apple went public in December 1980, the founding shareholders became very wealthy. Its initial market value was $1.8 billion, so even a small percentage of ownership in shares would have meant a large sum of money. A good investment.

And now, anyone in the world would be able to invest in Apple, both through its highs… and lows.

The data series (chart above) represents the price of Apple shares. It starts in December 1980, when Apple was listed as a public company. The opening price, after all the stock splits and adjustments over the years, was around $0.12 (the original IPO price in 1980 was $22). Today, as of the writing of this piece, the price is $234. This is a 1863x appreciation.

Ups and Downs

Had someone invested $1,000 in AAPL shares in 1980, their value, not including dividends, today would be $1.8 million. Holding onto shares for 44 years is not for most people. The primary individuals that do retain ownership of a company for extended periods are the employees themselves.

However, if we look a little closer, we see that the majority of Apple’s growth happened from 2003 onwards. In fact, in December 1997, 17 years after their inception on the stock market, and the time when co-founder Steve Jobs returned to the company, the price was the same as it was on day one. There were two periods of exceptional growth in 1982-83 and again in 1985-87, and that was about it (chart below).

Imagine you’re looking at this company in 1997.

It’s gone nowhere for 17 years, while other competing businesses like Microsoft and Dell were flying high. It’s long lost founder, Steve Jobs, comes back into the picture. A man whose follow-on business, NeXT, hadn’t really left much of a dent in the industry over the past 12 years, and who had found renewed success by investing in a film animation studio, Pixar, far removed from the world of producing computer products.

Would you invest your hard-earned money as an investor or time and energy as an employee? Well, this story has been told, and those that did, did well.

Even the greatest of things do take time to flourish. Apple is the most valuable company in the world today, yet for the first half of its life as a public business, the stock price went nowhere. The real growth of the share price began when the company appeared to be on the verge of collapse in 1997. This impending collapse also happened to prompt some meaningful reflection and the implementation of subsequent changes (i.e., re-hiring of Steve Jobs as CEO, a symbolic deal with longtime nemesis Microsoft, the slashing of much of its core product-line, and others), which would certainly have been wildly counterintuitive at the time, both viscerally and logically.

Investing in Life

How does Livermore’s advice about “sitting tight” come to be relevant with the Apple experience we just looked at? Clearly, holding on for the first 17 years of the business from 1980-1997 would have meant a lot of volatility, for little reward. And just as clearly, investing in Apple at its arguably toughest time in 1997, and staying on board ever since, would have been one of the greatest generational investments ever made.

Life is much like this, though, is it not? There will be false starts. There will be traps of exuberance - where we believe we’ve hit the jackpot - and daunting moments of exasperation - where nothing seems to work. Eventually, an opportunity will come along where the foundation is solid, so solid at the core, that even though there may be a myriad issues at the surface, soon enough the trend starts to tend upward. And here, Livermore writes we come to the main challenge:

“The reason is that a man may see straight and clearly and yet become impatient or doubtful when the market takes its time about doing as he figured it must do.” 

After the experience of so many false starts and rollercoaster rides, our visceral response is to jump off the train far too early when we (finally) find the right one:

“The market does not beat them. They beat themselves, because though they have brains they cannot sit tight.”

Self-Sabotage on a Psychological Level

What this is really alluding to on a deeper level is an ingrained pattern for self-sabotage. Whether from our biological disposition, from personal lived experiences throughout our life, or a combination of both, our system has found a perverse kind of equilibrium in “the rollercoaster ride”, and subconsciously seeks it out.

In order for us to grow, we must be open and receptive to expand as an individual. If we find ourselves on a new train ride that is going to mean a lot of growth, our resistance to this is fundamentally a resistance to expand. We sabotage ourselves, by not sitting tight on the train and doing what has to be done to grow and adapt into this new environment. Since such an effort is necessary, not making it is a subtle choice for the rollercoaster ride back down off the train.

There is also something further that often tends to happen concurrently on a psychological level during this process of opting to not sit tight.

We tend to lower our standards for quality. Prior to all those rollercoaster ups and downs, we may have been internally seeking a high growth opportunity in the person we share our lives with, the career we envision, or the place we settle down to build our lives in. Thereafter, though, and ironically, as it so often happens, just at the most inopportune time, we decide to set our sights on something less challenging and with lower upside, yet “that still, kind of, works.” Less growth potential inherently means more of the same, more often. Our life and psychological state of mind literally become more flat. We literally become grounded in the past, at the expense of the future. Take a look at a comparison of Apple and Ford Motors stock prices in the chart below. Ford was a generational company in the United States, until the new wave came along, and Apple was part of that new wave. Less understood, yet bursting with potential.

Now, it is important not to confuse this analogy with an intentional change in values. For instance, moving from New York City to a sleepy town somewhere in Arkansas on its own is a choice for a flatter life. However, that may also be due to the individuals decision to realign much of their available energy toward something new, like raising a child. So, while the aspects of their life related to the place of living will flatten out or regress, the person may tend to still realise a sense of fulfilment and growth, provided they keep their energy focused in a healthy manner on the growth of the child.

Making Good Choices: Finding the Next Apple in Our Lives

Say we’ve accepted this timeless piece of wisdom from Jesse Livermore and have resolved to sit with and commit effort toward the major investments we will make in our life, even after many prior disappointments. We have decided to develop our self-awareness, and in the process, make the time to keep our attention on any resistance we may be putting up, and any responsibility we are avoiding taking on board which might thwart progress. We become open to wage a kind of internal warfare with ourselves, and do so proactively, so as to give this new opportunity the best chance of a good life. There may still remain the pressing question: “how will I know if this one is the real deal, or just another false start?”

Imagine you’ve just met someone new. Can you project, then and there, what your lives will look like together 5-10 years from now? Can you imagine what you will look like - your values, your passion, your health - 5-10 years on? What about the values and commitments of the other person?

Quite frankly, you really won’t know for sure. Life is non-linear and far too unpredictable on a consistent basis. A degree of common sense helps. And over time with enough reflection and willingness to learn and grow, we do expand our understanding of both ourselves and the world around us. And this helps some more. We start to notice patterns that seem to work well, at least some of the time. Perhaps we’ve picked up on some of those timeless threads, they begin weaving themselves into our minds, and we become more capable to select for a harmony between our inner world and the world out there. Nonetheless, we just can’t predict how amazing things might be when growth takes on a life of its own, and we just can’t accurately envision all the challenges that will come our way.

There are situations where we do have a feeling inside, you might grant that, though. And there may also be those rare situations where we do have a feeling inside and our understanding of the outside world points to something with a strong foundational core to build upon. When these click, will you have the courage to commit, and stay committed? To sit tight.

Amazingly Rare Comes Around Every So Often

The Apples of this world are rare. Yet, there are many, many other positive stories of investments in companies, in marriages, in friendships, in places to live, in vocations and passions beyond work, in the big decisions of our lives. It is quite true that throughout our lifetimes we will all come across, perhaps on no more than a handful or two of occasions, our own version of something or someone special where the space is open for us to commit our energy in a meaningful way.

At this point, we go on another psychological interlude to make what may be a counterintuitive observation: when we do have the courage to commit to one of these amazingly rare experiences in our lives, that experience will change and evolve over the course of time. The recency bias of the mind, its incredible capacity to adapt to new circumstances on demand, will in haste lose sight of the special reasons that forged the experience in the first place, and tend to shift its focus on what’s now in front of us. Yet, those special reasons are at the core of what sustains whatever we have, and provided it is still in place, must be nurtured and given the light of day, and often. Because even as you evolve and go through the spectrum of both exciting and dreadful new periods along that journey, they are as a by-product of that foundation forged in the early days. Take a moment to reflect on your own life experiences in this context. Perhaps you moved to a new country with dreams of the opportunity of a new life or met a new romantic partner who came into your orbit with personality traits you had been imagining for some time. How did the experience evolve? When the exuberance was overflowing, did you keep seeking more and more, or, did you make the time to appreciate how far you’ve come and solidify what you have? When the challenging moments began to weigh you down, did you reflect and fight to adapt and grow, or, did you gradually look for more and more reasons to commit less and less energy?

And here, we come back to Livermore’s piece of wisdom about investing in anything:

“He had not only the courage of his convictions but the intelligent patience to sit tight.” 

We will all come upon beautiful relationships, special opportunities and experiences at certain junctures in our lives. Can we spot when the opportunity comes along, commit wholeheartedly, and then provide it the care it deserves and do so consistently well? According to Livermore, the real wealth comes to us when we master this.

All of this may be aptly summed up by an analogy of the garments we wear. Fashion has become a questionably superficial domain these days, yet an investment in a high quality piece of lovingly well-made, lovingly well-looked after garment may last you a lifetime. It is timeless. And once we learn how to take care of it well, it makes the experience of life simultaneously more effortless and meaningful. We don’t really need to look elsewhere too much, too often, and can savour more time and energy on what’s most important.

“We shape our buildings; thereafter they shape us.”

— Winston Churchill

In the quote above, Winston Churchill was referring to the House of Commons, destroyed in a Nazi air raid in 1941, and was urging Parliament to build it back exactly as it was—to restore “its old form, convenience and dignity.”

But why was this so important? The short answer:

Some buildings fill you with awe. Others depress you.

Why? Because architecture is more than mere aesthetics. It’s the visible manifestation of a culture’s beliefs: about humanity, God, meaning, and life itself. Let me explain…

A Monument to Heaven

Staying in London, take the example of Westminster’s great Gothic church:

• Pointed arches and lofty spires, giving the sense of upward movement

• A wide base, contributing a feeling of groundedness and solidity

• Fine details like stained glass, carved arches, and images of saints

This style emerged in Europe in the 12th century, and it’s a perfect reflection of the deepest beliefs of the region during the Middle Ages.

For instance, medieval architects took for granted that man’s purpose was to journey upward to heaven. That’s why they built a sense of upward motion into their churches. They also knew that we must stay grounded in our earthly lives, so they gave their buildings a solid foundation.

Most importantly, they believed that beauty has moral power, and wanted buildings to ennoble every person who walked in. Churches were filled with painstaking detail so that every aspect offered an encounter with beauty that draws the viewer toward God. 

So, if the glory of medieval cathedrals was built on a conviction that we need to turn towards God, what about the churches of a very different time and place—like 1970’s America? 

Rise of the Spaceship Churches

The late 20th century saw seismic shifts in America’s frame of reference. The world wars had come and gone, leaving a new hope for a conflict-free future. Space exploration promised to set humanity free from its last constraints. A new era of peace, built on advancements in science and technology, seemed ready to emancipate man from his age-old struggles. 

This science-fuelled optimism showed up in the media of the 60s and beyond. While real-life rockets raced to the moon, the Starship Enterprise spread a message of peace across the galaxy.

Star Trek producer Gene Roddenberry believed in this brave new era so much that he went where no producer had before: he told his writers to avoid any interpersonal conflict between the main characters.

Why? By the 24th century, he believed, mankind would have transcended petty problems like human conflict. We were going to save ourselves. 

These humanist values show up in the architecture of the time too. Many churches from this era exhibited:

• Round designs instead of rectangular or cross-shaped

• Low roofs instead of spires

• Curved pews, so congregants could sit in a circle or semi-circle

• Blank interior walls

But why would humanist optimism lead to these changes?

Instead of spires that draw the eye up to Heaven, flat roofs kept the focus here on earth. The extravagance of ornamentation vanished—designers weren’t trying to ennoble anyone, perhaps because they believed man was already noble enough. Round buildings with amphitheater-style seating took the focus away from the altar, where God and man meet, and instead emphasized the human community.

The message behind this architecture: “We needn’t turn to God or aim higher. We can solve our own problems, let’s focus on ourselves.”

Spaceship values build spaceship churches.

But what about our own cities in the modern day?

Modern-Day Cities

Modern-day architecture still tells the story of our values. If you want to know what your culture believes, look at what it builds. 

The U.S. is notorious for building automotive cities—cities that optimize car traffic instead of human interaction. 3 out of 4 Americans drive to work, and you’ll find over 200,000 drive-throughs across the country (restaurants, coffee shops, even banks). 

Unquestionably, the motorcar is a vehicle of American freedom—literally and figuratively—and one of the greatest bringers of wealth in history. But what does it mean for the values of modern American culture? Perhaps it’s saying:

• Efficiency outranks beauty

• Convenience outranks connection

• Work and shopping are the most important activities of human life

Counterintuitively, this productivity mindset is a complete departure from the values that built the great ancient cities. 

Take Prague, possibly the world’s most beautiful city. In its more than 1,000 years of history, it accumulated hundreds of church spires and historic buildings. It’s small, dense, and walkable, with pedestrian-friendly bridges and cobblestone streets. Its main attractions aren’t shopping centers or fast-food outlets, but gardens, churches, and monuments. 

Of course, the quaint urban centers of Europe are themselves far from innocent, architecturally speaking. Much of what we build today degrades what came before. Look no further than the deconstructivist Dancing House, which looks like an infection on the elegant classicism that preceded it.

It sprung out of a WW2 wreckage. But unlike the House of Commons, the dignified terrace was built back not as it was, for the benefit of the community, but to make the name of a radical architect.

However, looking back at the ethereal Old Town, what values does Prague prioritize?

• Beauty (and taking the time to absorb it)

• Staying connected to one’s community

• Connection to the past and tradition

• A slow pace of life

• Prayer

Take a look at your house, your church, your pub, your city. Try to read the values that underlie the physical building. What do you see?

Architecture is more than the roof over your head. It’s the physical embodiment of what a culture believes and how it lives. 

Submission by Culture Critic. Follow on X

I decided to make one last stop in a bookshop. It was quirky, almost like the one William owned in Notting Hill, but not quite. While browsing through some books, I felt a deep sense of sadness coming over me. It was the longest I’d been away from home since our kids were born and I was missing them deeply; their laughter, playing dinosaur and kicking ball.

In an attempt to elevate my spirit, I decided to make my way back to a small park I walked by earlier.

As a gardener, I was holding onto what Robert Harrison said in his book Gardens: An Essay on the Human Condition.

“When we are deprived of green, of plants, of trees, most of us (though evidently not all of us) succumb to a demoralization of spirit which we usually blame on some psychological or neurochemical malady, until one day we find ourselves in a garden or park or countryside and feel the oppression vanish as if by magic.”

However, sitting in the park did nothing for me. The park was lifeless and the only thing that kept me from sinking deeper into sadness was a lone dad playing with his 2 boys. I have always believed in a garden or park’s ability to restore the soul, but in that moment, I felt like that wasn’t true anymore. What Harrison said in his book was only an intellectual or philosophical statement.

I sat on the bench in silence while the dad’s partner joined with their baby. The boys continued to kick ball while more people, including a man with his dog, slowly made their way into the park. I could hear someone doing woodwork in a nearby building, while the clouds finally made way for the sun to pierce through.

I felt lighter.

The park wasn’t anything automatically and it didn’t lift my spirit by simply being there. It was through intentional design, and how it is integrated into the community that it became something more than merely a green space.

It would be unfair to completely dismiss Harrison’s statement; green spaces do have some ability to inspire life. I’ve experienced this myself. But in that moment on the park bench, I wasn’t asking for green grass and bright flowers. I was looking for something else. I wanted to feel wholesome and alive.

The park, as simple as it was, graciously offered that because the people who designed it cared enough about how it would make others feel.

Similarly, a digital product isn’t anything automatic. It doesn’t become beneficial because it’s usable. No need to argue the point. However, if a product does end up being used by millions, perhaps billions, it’s still not anything automatically. Even if it’s a beautifully designed and usable product.

Why? If you’ve been to the gardens of Versailles, you’ll know what I mean: Perfectly manicured symmetrical layouts, visited by millions each year, yet, devoid of any soul and boring as a buffalo grazing.

A short history will help put it in context. Versailles came to King Louis XIV in mid-1600 when his finance minister, Nicolas Fouquet, unveiled his magnificent gardens at an extravagant banquet. Overtaken by jealousy, the king decided to cast his finance minister in a dungeon for life, accusing him of embezzlement and mismanagement of state funds. Besides, only the king was entitled to such magnificence.

To impress his dominance, the king started to plan a garden that would be far more magnificent than his finance minister’s. Dominance often accompanies destruction, and the king’s garden project was no different.

Robert Harrison paints a scene as gloomy as the London weather I experienced:

“…the architect of Versailles (André Le Nôtre) seems to have first sent in an army of human bulldozers to clear away whatever grew here, reducing the grounds to a flat, empty plane on which to project the master design. One cannot help but feel a tremor of anxiety, if not dread, before this complete domination of nature.

That is of course exactly the kind of reaction the gardens are designed to provoke — an almost cowering sense of trepidation in the face of the power that imposed this form on them. Everything about the gardens insistently reminds one of their monarchic creator.”

He continued, and couldn’t have been more insulting of the king’s vision:

“Versailles, where even wandering is centrally controlled, is a masterpiece of representational garden art…”

Beautifully designed products without soul, are just that: representational garden art. In all of our history, we’ve never had more money to design beautiful, functional and usable products. The bar is higher than ever, yet, they’ve never been more boring and devoid of soul.

What’s missing is a deeper sense of beauty and wholeness, an intentionality to make people feel something specific. We need to ask ourselves: What is it that we want people to feel when they use our products? Whatever that is, intentional or not, the depth of that emotion is going to grow and blossom from what we, the builders, feel first.

King Louis felt a deep sense of pride, envy and a hunger for dominance and that’s what he imprinted on Versailles. Yes, when people visit Versailles, they are in awe of its scale and the engineering that powered the fountains, but rarely would anyone say they feel whole or alive.

What might Versailles have felt like if King Louis was also a gardener at heart?

A gardener is not someone who grows flowers but one who cultivates the soil. You need to, as Harrison puts it, delve into the ground’s organic underworld to appreciate the soil’s potential for fostering life.

So, to create something truly alive and nourishing, we must be willing to immerse ourselves in the rich, fertile soil of our own humanity — the depths of our emotions, experiences, and connections to the world around us.

We can only build from what’s within. The challenge though is that we have become so used to making and consuming boring and soulless products, that we simply don’t have a good reference of what wholesome products feel like.

Fortunately, we have architecture as a reference.

Most of us have experienced buildings that either uplift or depress us. The uplifting ones make you feel whole, alive and inspired. The depressing ones, on the other hand, are boring and soulless.

It’s the difference between, for example, the Sagrada Família and The Telephone Exchange building. Notice what you feel when you see these 2 buildings.

Chances are that buildings like the Telephone Exchange were inspired by Charles-Édouard Jeanneret (aka Le Corbusier).

Le Corbusier was one of the most influential architects of the 20th century, and his ideas and designs significantly contributed to the development of the International Style, which emphasised simplicity, functionality, and the use of modern materials like steel and reinforced concrete.

Unsurprisingly, he is crowned as the king of boring. While his designs may be functionally efficient, they are devoid of the warmth and character that make a house feel like a home. His philosophy is perhaps best summed up by his own words:

“A house is a machine for living.”

Le Corbusier wanted to become the builder of cities and he did, although only indirectly by inspiring millions of architects, city planners and other professionals to create oceans of boring, machine-like buildings.

Most product makers, except for a few, blissfully followed suit and what we have for it are products that are beautiful but boring and without soul. Today, products are mostly machines for living (although, I would hardly call consumption, “living”).

To build products with soul, that make people feel wholesome and alive, we need to build it with emotional depth. Without that, they will simply remain machine-like.

This image explains the idea of emotional depth quite well:

Today we’re building boring products because we struggle to go much deeper than “I’m alright”. Going deeper is the difference between experiencing the Sagrada and The Telephone Building.

One, with organic, flowing forms and intricate details, evokes a sense of awe and wonder that connects us to something greater than ourselves. The other, with a stark, utilitarian design leaves us feeling uninspired and disconnected from our deeper humanity.

It probably goes without saying, but just like skills without emotional depth result in machine-like experiences, so do deep emotions without skill result in products that feel disjointed. You need both.

Fortunately, we have no shortage of skills. What we now need are makers who dare to look beyond the surface and tap into the wellspring of emotion and meaning that resides in the depths of their being.

By tending to the soil of our own hearts and minds with care and intention, we can cultivate products that not only serve a function but also make us come alive. In doing so, we open the door to a future where technology becomes a canvas for expression, a catalyst for connection, and a testament to the enduring power of the human heart.

After my visit to the park, I met up with one of my friends at a near-by pub. It was lively, but, with a rather bleak entrance and no signage, I had no idea how people discovered it. Nevertheless, we talked about technology, crypto and our jobs. The conversation meandered to an urban garden I walked by earlier the week, but hadn’t yet visited.

The pub wasn’t quite our vibe so we finished our beers and decided to make our way to the garden. It was lively as well, but different. I could sense that people from all walks of life have wrestled with things here before.

We settled down on wooden logs while kids were playing around us, adults chattering, lights strung between trees, and chill music creating a different vibe than the bar. The tone of our conversations was also deeper, shifting from our jobs and technology to family and philosophy.

Neither the pub nor the garden was perfectly manicured but they both had soul. People have evidently poured their hearts into them in an attempt to make others feel wholesome, alive and deeply satisfied.

What could be more important in life than how you make people feel?

Submission by Steyn Viljoen

I’ve been neglecting a piece of land for about five years now. Only recently, when I was feeling some pressure and tension in my writing career, and a wise person advised me not to put all my eggs in one basket, did I tune in and hear the land call out telling me it was time to cultivate it.

My life has always been guided by divine timing. From moving from Ghana to the United States and back to Ghana to becoming an author, I trust the process and know when it’s time for a new adventure. As weird as it sounds, I’m called to be a farmer at this stage of my life.

Life has been a rocky road, and my land is a rocky field that doesn’t seem to be suitable for farming. It’s full of precious stones to pick up and lies right along the stream. When I visit the land, I feel like I can create something truly amazing.

People have told me I can’t farm on the land because of the rocks, but I realized I could farm anywhere once I started farming on my balcony. If I had some ground, some soil, and some water, I could grow anything.

And all of those things I have.

Farming For Food

Crop farming is often what people think of when they think of agriculture, but it’s so much more.

Farming in Ghana is one of the main sources of food. Crop farming involves soil and land preparation, sowing, fertilizing, irrigating, and harvesting different types of plants and vegetation.

When crop yields decline, then you can be sure that the prices of food will go up. Crop yields could further decline due to climate change, particularly in food-insecure regions. This is why all of this is so important to me now.

Agriculture helps sustain life by providing the food we need to survive.

There is no better feeling than to watch your plants grow and produce food for you and your family. It is such an accomplished feeling.

But crop farming is just one part of agriculture. Agriculture also means raising livestock, fishing, hunting, forestry, etc. By cultivating natural resources, agriculture sustains human life and provides economic benefits.

Everything they say is built twice, first in the mind and then in real life. If it is seen in the mind first, it is so much easier and fun to bring it to reality. In my mind, I have seen what’s to be on the land: A house and a farm around it.

I had an architect draw a plan for the house. I’d like the house to be surrounded by trees that bear my favorite fruits, veggies, and herbs. I go around the back and there is every fruit I love the most: Avocado, mango, orange, cocoa, guava, etc. And lots of maize because I LOVE roasted corn.

The Multiplication Aspect of Agriculture

It’s amazing to plant a seed and see it grow and bear many fruits. You start with two goats and they multiply by ten. It’s this multiplication aspect of Agriculture that appeals to me.

The livestock industry is a major part of Ghanaian agriculture, contributing to food production, draught power, soil fertility, and income generation.

Someday, I’ll have chickens, sheep, goats, pigs, rabbits, Guinea pigs, etc. Two of each — male and female — is all I need to start. Sheep and goats also provide valuable non-pecuniary benefits, like manure.

Now, manure matters to me. Healthy, nutrient-dense food comes from plants grown in healthy soils containing helpful microbes that work hard to grow tasty, nutritious food.

But getting into agriculture requires easy access to water, so I was thrilled to find out that my property had so much underground water that was leaking to the surface.

So I dug a 3ft well.

The Well

Around the world, water availability is a growing concern. According to the United Nations, “water use has been growing globally at more than twice the rate of population increase in the last century.”

In simpler terms, there are now more people and less water than ever.

I was told that water under my land would cause problems when it seeped into the house I built, but that’s not what I saw. I saw an opportunity right on my land.

The agriculture industry relies heavily on water, so if I could dig a well, I’d have an endless supply.

I may or may not rear cattle, but cattle generally require about 1 gallon of water for every 100 pounds of body mass.

The average cow weighs about 1,400 pounds. So a farmer with 10 cattle will still need about 150 gallons of water per day just to water them. This doesn’t include any other water needs cattle have, like growing feed crops, washing barns, etc., so a well will help me now and in the future.

It was really easy to get started with my well. Getting someone to hack at the ground with a pick and shovel was easy. Water never stopped flowing because the ground was so soft and the water table so shallow. Water keeps filling up the well, so it needed a way to flow into the stream.

A water-supply well will be efficient for farming, irrigation, livestock watering, or other agricultural purposes. And also water for the construction work. With a well on the property, I do not have to buy water. So I didn’t see a problem at all with the water on my land. I saw liquid gold!

My daughter and I enjoyed picking rocks right on the land to decorate the well. These rocks have made the wet areas around the well harden to prevent collapse. The inside of the well still needs to be lined with rocks so it can filter soil from water to provide clear water. This means I have to get all the water out. A cap of wood would be the last thing to cover the well. I fenced it to prevent any little ones and animals from falling in and also to keep construction workers away from a section I will begin farming on. In this section, I topped the surface of the land with rich black soil.

A New Way of Life

This way of life and feeling is something I intend to pass down to my children which is why I get my daughter involved and she is excited about this project just as much as I am.

Farming is a fun way for us to get outside for some fresh air and sunshine. Mostly outdoors now, I am absorbing vitamins from the sun maintaining healthy bones and teeth, and fighting off the blues. When I am busy digging for healthy black soil or decorating my well, I do not think about the other things that make me depressed and anxious.

Getting regular exercise as I work on my farm relieves all the stress, anxiety, and depression while boosting my energy.

The process of planting a seed, watching it grow, then harvesting and consuming it is a different feeling. Knowing you did the work to grow the food on your plate gives you a connection to food that is going inside your body.

In agriculture, I am the one planting, rearing, maintaining, and harvesting the food, therefore I know exactly where it came from and what went into it. It is comforting to know that there were no harmful chemicals or pesticides used to grow the produce you plan to consume.

By growing my own food and rearing my own livestock, I’ll soon be saving money that would have been spent traveling to the grocery store. The rewards may not come right now, sure but the biggest returns often come in the future. And as a farmer, this is my mindset with the threats of climate change looming.

The Threat of Climate Change

It is the dry season now, and the weather is supposed to be dry in Ghana, but something has changed. It is still raining every day. While this is a good thing for most farmers, I am still a bit concerned. Something has definitely changed with the weather and I do not yet know how this change will affect us in the future.

If the dry season is wet, will the wet season be dry? And how would that affect the economy?

And the planet as a whole?

With the threats of climate change and all that is happening in the world, there’s not much I can do to help but to plant as many trees as I possibly can.

Planting trees plays a crucial role in mitigating climate change.

Trees act as natural carbon sinks by absorbing and storing carbon dioxide, a greenhouse gas that contributes to global warming. Through the process of photosynthesis, trees convert carbon dioxide into oxygen, releasing it back into the atmosphere.

By planting more trees, we can effectively reduce the concentration of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere, helping to mitigate climate change. And it is the roots of the trees that hold the earth together, after all.

Trees also help to regulate temperatures, provide shade, reduce soil erosion, and support biodiversity, all of which contribute to a healthier environment and a more sustainable future.

So I’m a Farmer Now

Agriculture has suddenly become so important to me because everything is leading me in that direction. And I'm amazed by how much fun it is. The more I get into it, the more I am drawn to it.

People in my neighborhood see me doing agricultural things every day and now call me a farmer. That is a title that I love very much. I am a farmer and a very proud one.

Coincidentally or synchronically, the place where my land is located is called Agric. “How fitting,” I thought to myself 🤩

Submission by Kimberly Fosu