Don’t Keep Score
And other rants about work & life you’ll probably disagree with
UPDATE: The response to my book-completion announcement floored me. So many of you offered to “beta read” that I had to cap the group just to protect my sanity. But if you want to be on my super-special, ultra-secret early-access list (updates, sneak peeks, maybe a free copy), you can find out more here:
(one early reader finished it in <24 hours saying “it sucked me in.” Another said, after a twist: “I can’t believe you [spoiler] like that… You got me.”)
Over the course of the Existential Explorer series, I’ve tried to explore the edges of the map while on one man’s search for meaning. I’ve argued in favor of a midlife crisis, warned against the successful-and-miserable trap, and — my most controversial take — pushed back on the idea that freedom is the highest form of wealth.
And folks… I did it. I figured it out.
I figured out the meaning of life.
Yup. Solved.
Which is why I’m launching a new course: “10 Easy Steps to Flip Your Life from Miserable to Meaningful.” It’s a bargain at $9,999. I mean, can you even put a price on meaning? If so… is it higher than that? Please let me know.
…
Okay, I’m done. I’ve shilled plenty of nonsense in my life, but you know you should be skeptical of anyone selling “simple solutions to existential dread” (excellent post on this by
). You won’t find meaning here, in a newsletter. You’ll need to find it out there, in the real world. Which brings me to my first stray rant:Doing Meaning > Talking Meaning
I like to talk about meaning. Yeah, I’m a weirdo. I like how essential, yet slippery it is. And I believe it’s one of the most important frontiers for humankind we are missing.
But earlier this year, all of this talk screeched to a halt when I started writing a fiction novel.
I never planned to write fiction. Honestly. I like fiction, but never thought I’d be the one doing it. Then one Monday, I started writing a first chapter. (It sucked.) Tuesday, I tried again. Then Wednesday. Then—
2 months later I had completed my first draft.1
For those who don’t know, this is quite quick. Most people take years. But the ideas detonated in my brain. In fact, I had a hard time NOT writing. I was obsessed! I’d wake up early just to empty my head before it overflowed.
I’ve enjoyed writing work-ish essays over these last two years. But fiction? Damn. The flow states are on another level. Intoxicating even. Honestly, I can’t wait to get back to fiction after finishing this rambling post…
And this experience hammered home something simple for me: doing meaning is better than talking meaning.
Sure, I could research meaning in more depth, trying to become some Arthur Brooks-style thought leader Boomers seem to gravitate to. I’m sure the adults would approve. But that life sounds so… how do you put it? Oh yeah: boring.
I’d rather make things (even if they don’t matter). Explore. Push the edges of my creativity rather than intellectualizing every goddamn thing. You know, like, experience life.
Which leads me to my next point:
There’s a Fine Line Between a Calling and a Curse
My fiction obsession unleashed something I thought I’d already conquered: that old cocktail of burnout, frenzy, and work-identity addiction.
Obsession can be exhilarating. It also can be consuming.
I told you I started losing sleep. So was that good excitement over new ideas? Or unhealthy compulsion?
I struggled to sit through dinner with my family without scenes from the book popping into my head. It felt uncomfortably familiar to my old corporate wiring, with those end-of-day ruminations I could never shut off.
And for 2 of those 8 weeks when I finished my first draft, our family was on vacation. 😬 Make of that what you will.
I’ve seen this elsewhere too, in different forms. The concept of a “calling” morph into a slow-acting “curse” for many: entrepreneurs, doctors, nurses, teachers — especially anyone whose identity is fused with their output.
We want to fall in love with our work. We want to commit ourselves to something. We want to be all in.
But even gifts have shadows. And we need to be careful to control even the greatest of callings.
The fear of being ordinary after success
You know that I used to be kind of a big deal. You knew that, right? Cause if you didn’t, I’d be happy to share more about my—
Stepping into something brand-new, like writing (in fiction for god sakes) really makes you realize your exact level of relevance in this life. I mean…
What if I’m no good at this?
What if I never reach the same level of success?
What if… (gasp) I’m no longer kind of a big deal?
One important fact the self-improvement culture bulldozes over: the world is filled with growth AND decline. Seasons. Death. You get it.
Life moves forward, whether we do or not.
And it’s easy to feel fulfilled when everything is clicking. When we’re growing. When the world feels like it wants us. When we feel accepted, respected and loved. But who are you when you’re not moving forward?
My last venture was a hit. But what if my work never reaches the same heights? Can I find meaning when things are moving backwards? These are all questions I’m trying to figure out.
Or maybe, I should hold out for posthumous success. Van Gogh, Nietzsche, Dickinson, etc. — geniuses who struggled in solitude only to have their work discovered after they were gone. This seems like a solid back-up plan.
Which brings me to the only answer that seems to help:
Don’t Keep Score
I’ve tried to stop measuring success relative to other people. All the metrics — money, title, or achievements — they’re not bad in isolation. But constantly compared against others? Exhausting.
Because the things that actually matter — meaning, love, connection, the Buffalo Bills finally winning a Super Bowl which isn’t looking like it’s going to happen AGAIN this year — don’t come with metrics. There’s no dashboard for this stuff.
The objective world is a terrible proxy for the subjective one. And when we excessively focus on the hard/easy-to-calculate measures, we crowd out the more important ones. You can have a brutal life and still make it meaningful. Or have every conceivable success and feel hollow.
“But— but— but Rick! You can’t manage what you don’t measure!”
Yeah, that’s the problem.
So I’ve stopped keeping score. The kind where I try to assess “how am I doing?” relative to where I should be. Trying, at least. My brain still wants to run the calculations, but I’ve committed to not to feed that machine no mo’!
For example, for my upcoming book, I’m avoiding any sales targets, awards, even whether I get a publishing deal or not. Sure I’d love all the above, and I’ll learn from what works or doesn’t, but keeping score won’t help and will suck away all the meaning and joy the process has brought me.
Instead, I’m focused on waking up, and making my meaning every day.
Meaning doesn’t need proof. Do you?
Recommendations
A few things I’ve been enjoying lately:
- ’s special edition of The Pathless Path - It’s a beauty. If you haven’t read it, here’s your chance. And if you have, get it again. This guy keeps pushing the frontier for the rest of us. I, for one, am rooting for him.
- - I always love a fresh angle on the apocalypse (see mine). Then it’s got an ending that’s… 🤌🤌🤌
Disposal by
- Wow. So messed up in all the right ways. There’s no way to explain it. Just read it.- & ’s Between Drafts Podcast - If you’re writing or publishing anything, these guys are invaluable trail markers. They’re living the journey ahead of me, and I appreciate anyone who charts their path for others.
So you don’t think I struck gold on draft 1, know it took me an additional 4-5 months to edit the thing.