Who are you?

What happens when people are given complete freedom with no consequences?

In 1974, Marina Abramović performed a piece called “Rhythm 0” where she stood still for 6 hours. The instructions for the audience were simple: to do whatever they wished to Marina using 72 objects she had carefully selected and neatly placed on a table. The objects ranged from a rose, honey and wine to a whip, a gun, and a bullet.

Photography: Jason Wyche, New York. Courtesy of Sean Kelly, New York

The performance started in a playful, curious, and even caring manner with people just admiring Marina by giving her a rose and kissing her. But halfway through the performance, the audience became more and more aggressive, and started cutting Marina’s clothes. Someone used the same blades to slash her throat and drank her blood. Others carried her around half-naked, violating her body and her trust. At one point, someone loaded the gun, put it against Marina’s head and began wrapping her own finger around the trigger.

After the 6 hours were up, Marina returned to herself, stood up, and began walking towards the audience. Many of the audience members fled the space — unable to confront Marina’s humanity.

From “Marina Abramović: The Artist is Present” catalogue for the Museum of Modern Art.

I don’t know about you, but I tend to have a more optimistic outlook on human nature. I believe humans are fundamentally good. This belief likely stems from a place of idealism or survival rather than true wisdom and understanding. I’m not sure if I could enjoy my life to the degree I do if I believed humans are, by nature, evil. That’d be a hard life to bear. It’s as if I blind myself to our insanity to keep mine. I willfully ignore our natural tendencies towards chaos and destruction to give my life some order and meaning. But performances (and experiments) like “Rhythm 0” are humbling reality checks and powerful reminders of the natural laws of the universe, and, by extension, humanity.

The second law of thermodynamics states that the state of entropy of the entire universe, as an isolated system, will always increase over time. In other words, if left unchecked, natural systems will always have a tendency to move from order to chaos. “Rhythm 0” began in a state of relative order — objects neatly arranged on a table, Marina standing motionless, and social norms still largely intact. As time went on and social constraints broke down, the performance began to fall into chaos, unpredictability, and despair.

The performance ultimately demonstrates that human systems, like physical ones, if left unchecked by boundaries, laws, and norms, naturally tend toward disorder, which begs the question: are laws and other social constraints the only things keeping us from destroying each other?

It’s complicated, but the short answer is no.

While some participants did become increasingly aggressive when constraints were removed, many others tried to protect her. Two groups naturally emerged as the performance went on — aggressors and protectors. Apparently, a fight broke out between the two groups once the loaded gun was introduced.

“Rhythm 0” doesn’t provide simple answers about whether humans are fundamentally good or evil, but it provides powerful insights into the complex interplay of social context, individual psychology, and group dynamics that shape our actions. It suggests that while most people aren’t naturally inclined toward extreme violence, the right conditions can weaken inhibitions against harmful behavior.

So, who are you?

The answer is quite simple.

You are what you do when nobody’s watching.

Don’t Try

If you’re trying to become more disciplined, just stop.

There’s a force more powerful than discipline. A quality that, if embraced, can turn you into the person you know you are. A trait so threatening to the status quo that your parents, teachers, and spiritual leaders began beating it out of you the moment you were born.

I’m talking about obsession.

The obsessed will always beat the disciplined because discipline is forcing yourself to do while obsession is forcing yourself stop.

In 1994, the world-renowned writer and poet Charles Bukowski was buried in his beloved Los Angeles, underneath a tombstone that reads “Don’t Try.”

Don’t try. Two words that encapsulate Bukowski’s philosophy of art and life — a daily reminder for the creative looking to bring change and beauty to a world that is constantly telling you to try and try harder.

When asked, “What do you do? How do you write, create?” Bukowski replied:

“You don’t try. That’s very important: ‘not’ to try, either for Cadillacs, creation or immortality. You wait, and if nothing happens, you wait some more. It’s like a bug high on the wall. You wait for it to come to you. When it gets close enough you reach out, slap out and kill it. Or if you like its looks you make a pet out of it.”

The power of obsession is found in patience. The obsessed is impatient with action and patient with results.

But patience is more than waiting for the right moment.

In 1990, Bukowski sent a friendly reminder to a friend. It read:

“We work too hard. We try too hard. Don’t try. Don’t work. It’s there. It’s been looking right at us, aching to kick out of the closed womb. There’s been too much direction. It’s all free, we needn’t be told. Classes? Classes are for asses. Writing a poem is as easy as beating your meat or drinking a bottle of beer.”

“Don’t try” isn’t an excuse to be lazy. Quite the opposite — it’s a reminder that trying and doing are not the same thing and that the more you try the less you do.

At 49 years old, Bukowski left his job at The Post Office with not a dime in his pocket to fully surrender to his obsession. In one letter, he shared…

“I have one of two choices — stay in the post office and go crazy … or stay out here and play at writer and starve. I have decided to starve.”

For the next 24 years, Bukowski would go on to become one of the most important (and controversial) voices of the American working class, penning nearly 45 books and thousands of poems.

Contrary to popular belief, true obsession isn’t self-destruction, it’s self-alignment.

To find your obsessions, you must follow your curiosities. Ask yourself: What do you keep coming back to even when no one is watching? What creates a sense of flow and makes time stand still? The answers reveal your obsessions. These aren’t just activities you enjoy — they’re the work that calls to you when discipline fails.

Plot twist: You’re Wrong.

In the summer of 1946, an essay titled “Why I Write” appeared in the literary magazine Gangrel, written by none other than George Orwell. In it, Orwell explores his motivations as a writer and famously states that his main creative priority is “to make political writing into an art.” But, if you read the essay closely, you’ll notice Orwell makes a terrible mistake — one that you and I and other creatives make time and time again.

Towards the end of the essay, Orwell reflects:

“Animal Farm was the first book in which I tried, with full consciousness of what I was doing, to fuse political purpose and artistic purpose into one whole. I have not written a novel for seven years, but I hope to write another fairly soon. It is bound to be a failure, every book is a failure, but I do know with some clarity what kind of book I want to write.”

Did you catch the mistake?

Orwell began writing Animal Farm between 1943-1944, during World War II, while working as a columnist for the Tribune newspaper in London. The book’s political content made it difficult to publish, but, in 1945, the famous allegorical novella made its debut.

Pay attention to the timeline.

In 1945, Orwell published Animal Farm. A year later, in “Why I Write,” Orwell confidently wrote that whatever novel he wrote next was bound to be a failure, but, three years later, in 1949 his famous 1984 shook the shelves of bookshops across the globe. Far from the failure he predicted, this dystopian masterpiece had a profound impact on society — a cautionary tale about the dangers of unchecked governmental power and how language and media can control thought and behavior. What Orwell prematurely dismissed as a creative failure became one of the most influential books of the 20th century. 1984 was more than successful. It catapulted human consciousness onto a new level of awareness. And, to this day, it still resonates with readers and continues to shape our political discourse.

It’s hard to believe that an accomplished writer like Orwell could so dramatically misjudge the quality (and significance) of his own work. Or maybe not. Either way, this short anecdote gives us an important insight into the creative process: all creatives — regardless of experience, achievement, and status — struggle with doubt, and to create remarkable work we must learn to push through uncertainty and our own insecurities. The best way to do that?

Have a strong why.

Understanding why we create is important, but equally important is having the courage to keep creating even when we think our work will flop. The impact of our creative work lies beyond our ability (or inability) to predict the future — and sometimes, our “predicted failures” might be just the thing the world needs.

So here’s my piece of advice for today: Stop tricking yourself into thinking you know what’s possible and what’s not. You don’t. Just keep creating.

A million ways to love

There’s no right way to love — she loves me in a million.

Like when she laughs at my shitty jokes, or when, every time I ask, she reminds me of our anniversary while shaking her head and letting out a laugh. She probably thinks it’s another shitty joke. It’s not. I just have a shitty memory.

That’s love.

When she tickles me even though I hate being tickled and she knows how much I hate it but does it anyway, and I laugh. I laugh until my laughter starts to turn into annoyance and I’m seconds away from losing it, and she stops. She stops at the perfect time. We’ve only been together for two and a half years but it’s like she’s known me for lifetimes.

That’s love.

When she says “thank you” for the tiniest littlest things — like when I finally take out the trash after last night’s takeout was spilling over the bin and our apartment was starting to smell like a frat house — and she doesn’t bug me about it. She understands. She even helps me double bag it.

That, my friend, is love.

And every time I open the car door for her, without fail, she kisses me. And she never asks for the aux, and she still vibes to the same songs I’ve been playing since our first date — or at least pretends to. Her backseat driving drives me insane, but when she catches herself, she apologizes and really means it, and I melt. But nothing screams love louder than when she curses at other drivers and their mothers. She’s a ride or die with enough road rage for the both of us.

I love how she loves me.

How she rubs my belly, and wraps her arm around my bicep, and scratches my head, and buries her face in my chest. And how she wakes up in the middle of the night, walks to the living room, finds me uncomfortably asleep on the couch, asks me to come to bed, and pretty much carries me back to our room. An angel.

She loves me when she tells me I’ve hurt her. When she asks for a break — a few minutes to regulate because we’ve been arguing and we both suck at it. When she cries. When I apologize and really mean it, and she forgives me, and hugs me back, and tells me how this argument was better than the last hundred and how proud she is of how far we’ve come, and how safe she feels, and how much she loves me.

And then I make a shitty joke and she laughs again.

The fucked up truth

If a violent criminal is looking for an innocent life to torture, and you know where the person is hiding, it’d be more than ok to lie to about the intended victim’s whereabouts. In fact, it’d be a compassionate and heroic act.

I can think of a few other — and rather rare — scenarios where we can wield the power of lies for good.

Lying about one’s abilities in a concentration camp or lying whether you have food hidden away during a famine may be essential for your and your family’s survival. Good lies. Lying to protect innocent lives from death and injustice will forever be a righteous act in my book.

However, rarely do we lie to protect our survival or that of others’. More often than not, we lie to protect our fragile egos, manipulate how others perceive us, and keep our bad habits alive. We misuse the power of lies, the same power that can save lives, to hide from the power of truth — a power that can transform them.

Over the last few months, I’ve been obsessing over a single question: What lies am I telling myself? 

The answers have been painful, surprising, and liberating. I’ve changed jobs, deleted apps, deleted friends, played a fuckton of chess, read a fuckton of books, mustered the courage to ask for help, got the help, regained my focus, took back my time, and even lost a few pounds. Most importantly, I rediscovered pieces of myself I thought I’d lost, and found new sources of self-confidence and new levels of self-respect.

These last few months taught me that the quality of your life hinges on your willingness to be honest with yourself, that self-confidence is a result of the promises you keep, and self-respect feeds off the quality of those promises. 

Lying to ourselves might create a sense of comfort and security, but a life of self-deception is a life of regret. And that makes me extremely uncomfortable.

What lies are YOU telling yourself?

One-minute habit. Infinite Potential

Humanity’s greatest creative minds share a crucial practice: reflection, which helps in deepening their understanding of themselves, the world around them, and their craft.

Put simply, reflection is intentional thought — an opportunity to pause, observe, and sort through ideas, feelings, and behaviors, creating the conditions necessary to grow, succeed, and thrive.

But reflection isn’t only reserved for creative geniuses. Research shows that employees who spend 15 minutes at the end of their day on their work perform 23% better after 10 days than those who don’t. In 2011, a study published in The Journal of Psychology revealed that college students who were more self-reflective were more happy, productive, and less burnt out.

The benefits of a consistent reflective practice are obvious: improved work, productivity, and mental health. But if the return on investment of reflection is so high, you might be wondering, “Why am I not reflecting more often?” I’d encourage you to reflect on that. If you do, you’ll find yourself in one (or more) of the following buckets:

• You don’t know how. Maybe you’ve tried but didn’t know where to begin. Reflection is a process. If you don’t know the process, it can lead to feeling stuck, overwhelmed, and discouraged.
• You don’t like the process. Reflection requires you to get out of your typical mode of operation, your comfort zone. In this fast-paced world obsessed with perfection, slowing down to explore ourselves and make a mess is uncomfortable. Reflection requires patience and vulnerability, neither of which is actually fun.
• You don’t like the results. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: The most dangerous lies are the ones we tell ourselves. These lies become apparent during times of reflection. When you reflect effectively, you quickly become aware of your shortcomings and weaknesses so you get defensive and run away.
• You have shit to do. You have places to be. You have no time to waste. Reflection probably feels like a waste of time. photoBut what’s the point of going fast if you’re headed in the wrong direction?

I’ve been guilty of all of the above and I’ve tried countless approaches to become more reflective. There are thousands of resources out there, from apps to journals to prompts and practices. What’s worked for me is a simple daily retro. The best part? It only takes a minute to do and can be done with pen and paper or digitally. 

Here’s how I do it.

At the end of my day, I ask myself three simple questions:

1. What’s going well? 
2. What’s kinda going well?
3. What’s not going well?

I then give each question an honest, one-sentence answer. Keyword: honest.

After a few days, patterns begin to emerge. If I find myself writing the same thing for the “going well” part, I find new ways to push myself. Patterns in the “kinda well” bucket prompt me to focus on my daily habits, values, and relationships. If something keeps “not going well,” I naturally begin developing a plan, shifting my behavior, or tweaking my mindset.

This simple approach of writing 3 sentences every night has allowed me to circumvent the common challenges of reflection, and to absorb its benefits. It isn’t rocket science. It’s about looking at yourself in the mirror, recalibrating your compass, and letting your truth (and your willingness to face it) guide you.