The other day I asked my wife, "I'm not lazy right?" She assured me I wasn't. The thing is, I carry around a lot of productivity guilt. My parents raised me with high standards, a good thing, but I'm still figuring out the right balance for myself. I put pressure on myself to be productive, and this pressure builds stress and saps happiness. Maybe I'm just Type A. I'm very conscientious of time (some would call it obsessive), and always want to feel like I'm controlling my life, that I'm producing the results I want. Then I realized, perhaps my focus on "contribution" was doing more harm than good.

Dragon’s Backbone Terraces north of Guilin, China - May 2013

So I recently decided to change the purpose proclamation in my Morning Saying, from "contribute to the universe" to "live." Because I have put too much pressure on myself. In general I work really hard, but not all the time, and that's okay. I don't have to work hard every single moment of every single day. That shouldn't be the bar for my satisfaction or fulfillment. It shouldn't determine my self-worth. On my death bed, will I look back and lament not working harder? I don't think so. I think I'll reflect on how much I've truly lived. It's like that Braveheart quote: "every man dies, but not every man really lives." I want to live a wild, fulfilling and free life. This will include, but not be wholly encompassed by, my contribution to the universe. Some of the meaning in my life will derive from how much joy I experience, how much I've loved, and the time spent with who I love. Meaning can come from feeling, and simply living, too. It doesn't have to solely derive from results.

Besides, we're not meant to work hard all the time. Cal Newport talks about this on multiple scales: some parts of your day you work harder than others, some weeks you work harder than others, some seasons of the year you work harder than others, some parts of a decade might comparatively be comprised of harder work. This is “natural,” it’s biological. Just as our bodies are set to the sun, our circadian rhythm dictating our biological processes, we’re also meant to have periods of activity and periods of rest. We are not wired to go full throttle all the time. I’m learning that in my professional life—in staving off burnout, and in my personal life. After overcoming an injury (from overtraining) and running a race, I'm now giving my body some time to rest. It's okay to rest sometimes. As Jules Renard says, it only becomes laziness when it's "resting before you get tired."

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I've written a lot about the notion of contribution. That we should think about contribution because it grounds our lives within the larger context of the universe—we are here for only a short time, in this very place (our beautiful Earth) in this very moment (today, and however long we live). We don't live forever; we all die. So while we are here, to experience meaning, we can consider our contribution as our unique variable within the universal equation. There's so much to the equation we can't control... physical laws we can't break, perspectives and opinions of other people... but we can control ourselves. It is our last and greatest power: we fully own our contribution to the universe. We control our variable in this grand equation, and that variable, however small, has an impact on this particle soup of atoms. Knowing our unique variable contributes to the math of the universe is an encouraging and empowering thought.

Admiring the streets of Reno, February 2023

And yet, I've realized recently that if we obsess over contribution, about what we're producing in this world, we may be missing something. I think I've been missing something, not seeing the whole beautiful picture because I'm compulsively, constantly evaluating my contribution. Maybe "life" in the universe should just dance. Consider: atoms in the universe have somehow organized into living organic matter, into cells, into complex biological organisms like monkeys and belugas and hummingbirds and giraffes. And humans. We humans are special. We can manipulate our environment, to significant consequences. Humans, with our large heavily myelinated brains and opposable thumbs and advanced circulatory systems are capable of changing the world, changing the future. Every one of us can contribute to this change. But maybe that's all icing on the cake. Maybe the cake is simply being alive. Give the universe enough time and homo sapiens arrive. Perhaps our purpose is simply being here, despite the odds, and perhaps the best way to celebrate this miracle is by simply living freely. Maybe we are the dance. Maybe that's our purpose, to just dance. Maybe this is step one: to understand this miracle, to celebrate it. Maybe just dancing unlocks our goodness.

And from there we can contribute. By recognizing the miracle that we are, by dancing with the light of consciousness and screaming wildly into the void, we can fully appreciate our fortune. We can simply live. And then we can more easily contribute, without any pressure or stress, without prejudgment of how we should contribute. Maybe we let the winds of physics and chemistry, our very biology, determine how we contribute.

About all this I wonder. So now I say:

At dawn I rise to start anew

I set my path from now

My purpose: to live

Words hold sway but are mere tools to convey this experience

I utter these consciously and with conviction

I am the Universe

I am the stuff of stars

I am atoms and cells

I am Life

I am ethereal

I am kind

I am powerful

I am humble

I am open

I am life

I am alive.

I’ll continue to workshop it. But I’ve started giving myself permission to let go of my expectations, to not be so hard on myself. To enjoy periods of rest and inactivity and not feel guilty about it. To truly live with presence and joy and wild abandon when it feels right to do so, without that back-of-the mind voice whispering doubts. We should work hard, have a sense of respect and responsibility and resolve, and contribute in some way. But step one is to recognize this is a miracle, that we get to live. So go live.

Occasionally I’ve tried a much shorter and simpler version of my Morning Saying, one that’s only 11 syllables, and I’ll close with that:

I am alive

But I will die

So go live