Theories in Practice

I was first introduced to the works of the late Clay Christensen in my final year of undergrad. The text was an HBR article (later turned into a book) titled “How Will You Measure Your Life?” It sounded like the pretentiously cringe corporate platitudes you find on LinkedIn. Back then, I didn’t have much else to do and didn’t care if I knowingly stuffed my brain with junk. So, I gave it a read.

Christensen opens by recounting his experience consulting for Andy Grove, legendary CEO of Intel. Grove wanted to know what Christensen’s research meant for Intel. Instead of a direct answer, Christensen told a story: how smaller steel mills first attacked the market for rebars—at the lowest end of steel manufacturing—and slowly worked their way up to higher-quality tiers. Eventually, the large, incumbent mills were overrun and kicked out of the market by these scrappier entrants. Grove understood the implication for Intel and went on to develop the strategy to protect the low-end market.

Christensen explained his method clearly: “When people ask what I think they should do, I rarely answer their question directly. Instead, I run the question aloud through one of my models.”

Rather than offering a fleeting opinion, he provided a rigorous way to think. Teaching a man to fish is always better than giving him the fish. This was how Christensen operated, reasoning by analogy and finding the right theory to anticipate a course of action.

But he did something more. At the end of every semester, Christensen challenged his MBA students to turn these analytical tools onto their own lives by asking three questions:

• How can I be sure that I’ll be happy in my career?

• How can I be sure my relationships become an enduring source of happiness?

• How can I be sure I’ll stay out of jail?

We rarely take the time to think about our lives with this rigor. The bait is to delay it for another day. This is a failure mode. The demands on our time keeps growing, yet the supply remains fixed at twenty-four hours a day. If we cannot commit to self-reflection while the stakes are low, it is unlikely to happen at all.

Christensen saw that management, if practiced right, can be the noblest of professions. No other job offers the same responsibility for helping others to learn and grow. In his words, “building people up is far more rewarding and enriching than closing lucrative deals.”

Perhaps like Andy Grove, I had an epiphany.

If management is an ennobling occupation, then the most important responsibility is the management of one’s self.

There’s three themes I‘ve found across Clay Christensen’s work that resonate the most:

1. The Allure of Immediate Gratification.

2. Actions > Words.

3. Holding on to our principles 100% of the time.

1. The Allure of Immediate Gratification

Human nature is biased toward short-term gains. Christensen noted that when people have extra time or resources, they instinctively allocate them to the most visible things. An investment banker or a consultant might choose to spend an extra hour at the office rather than with their family.

Why?

Because work offers KPIs, ROIs, and revenue. These are measurable, trackable, and offer immediate feedback.

Modern society’s optimised for the visible. Organisations steer investments toward tangible returns: commissions are paid for hitting sales targets, and professionals are billed by the hour. These provide a visible measure of results that tells us we are moving forward.

But this short-term view is often the root of long-term disaster. Christensen explained that companies often fail to invest in the future because the immediate likelihood of success is not high. They delay the decision, telling themselves that tomorrow is a problem for tomorrow. Come tomorrow, it will be tomorrow’s problem still. When the need arises, often desperately, they realise they should have invested when the going was good.

In the same way, time spent on our relationships requires a longer horizon. The cause and effect are murky, any meaningful change may take decades to emerge. Tragically, we don’t see the consequences of our neglect immediately. We take our relationships with family and friends for granted. Like an endowment fund, we assume that “capital” is always there. What happens is that we find that account gets shuttered for a lack of activity.

2. Actions > Words

Companies publish catchy soundbites as mission statements. Governments hold press conferences to launch green initiatives. We all make plans and promises in service of an idealised outcome.

But outcomes are not what we say we intend to do, it is what we actually do. Outcomes are the sum of every micro-decision and action made.

I can say I want to get healthy, and make a change in my career. But I’m still eating junk and slogging away at the same sedentary job five years later. Corporations claim to value employee welfare, and decide to hold a monthly "pizza night". Yet they end up wondering why they are repeating cycles of turnovers.

This follows from the short-term bias, plus the tendency to say things that are in-vogue, trendy and sexy. Like going green or improving the integrity and the ethical standards of the value chain. In reality, the problem is often much harder, and much more difficult in execution.

3. Holding on to our principles 100% of the time

If outcomes are the sum of our choices, we need a rule—a principle—to keep us from drifting when things get hard.

Often, people set out with the most earnest of intent. Making solemn vows and legally binding promises, but end up implementing strategies they did not intend to pursue. People end up divorced with kids that hate them. Businesses get shuttered. Companies go bust. Institutions collapse.

Life is an unending series of extenuating circumstances. In those moments, letting things slide "just this once" feels like flexibility. We rationalise it as a fair compromise to solve a dire problem. But rationalising that first time makes it easier to rationalise the next time. And the time after next. What started as a stop-gap measure becomes a habit, a default choice, and we find ourselves sliding down a slippery slope.

Christensen’s solution was to hold to your principles 100% of the time, rather than 98% of the time. Christensen’s own non-negotiables, such as his refusal to work on Sundays, were rooted in his faith. To a secular world, this looks like rigidity. To Christensen, it was a strategy. A choice.

It is easier to hold to the principles 100% of the time than it is 98% of the time.

He didn't have to negotiate with his conscience every weekend; the decision was already made.

Principles are what separates the serious people from the pretenders. They prioritise ruthlessly. They uphold standards, and abide by principles. They keep things that matter to them upfront and center, in full focus, at all times. Even if it costs them social approval, their career, and material gain.

Who is more serious?

• A professor who tells you that if you work hard you get an A. But you end up finding out you’re graded on a curve.

• A professor who tells you that he’ll write and plead his case to the committee why a non-trivial % of students get high grades.

In work:

• The manager who says that if you show up, deliver results, and don’t screw up, you’ll get your just rewards. But end up saying the decision to promote you is left to the bosses upstairs.

• The manager who will sit down with you, and double check your work. Who spends an extra hour to write in a letter of recommendation, and make your case to the board.

By holding steadfast to our principles, we are clear on what the non-negotiables are. It does not mean that we are rigid. It actually leaves room to be flexible and in a deliberate manner. We don’t end up wasting time discussing every vague detail. With our principles as guardrails and signposts, there is a clear focus on the path to take.

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How will I measure my life?

It is a tough question, just downstream of “what is the meaning of life?”

It can’t be just about how much money I can make, or how fast I can get to the top of the corporate pyramid. It has to be things people regret. The things people come to realise too late. Things that only come to mind on their deathbed. Things that help people sleep easier.

“How many birthdays and anniversaries did I miss?”
“Was I there for my family?”
“Did I do right by my friends?”

I’ll work backwards from there, and try answering them in the present.

Being a grown-up means knowing your needs from your wants. We’re told to prioritize the former and distrust the latter. Our needs are important. Our wants are seen as indulgent and impulsive.

It makes sense. Needs must be met.

We need to eat to survive. We need to keep the lights on. We need other people.

These needs are life’s maintenance.

But that can’t be it.

2. Found Wanting

In Greenlights, Matthew McConaughey recounts a time early in his Hollywood career. Struggling to find jobs, he went to his contact Don:

“Hey, Don, you think you can get me a meeting with an agent, man? I only got a few grand to my name and I need to get some work.”

Don snapped back “You shut that @#$%ing talk up right now! This town smells needy; you are done for before you even get started, you hear me!!! You need to get the @#$% out of here! And don’t come back until you’re ready to not need it!”

Hear yourself say:

• I need this job.

• I need to eat.

• I need you.

How do those words sound? Try saying them out loud with different pitch and cadence.

It feels… needy. Like it carries a scent of desperation.

Now say:

• I want this job.

• I want to eat.

• I want you.

Hear the difference? There’s hunger and desire.

You stand differently when you want. Everyone else notices it too. Employers want workers with hunger. Partners love to be desired. It’s an affirmation.

3. The Heart Wants What it is in Want of

Needs make us similar. Wants make us specific.

We need to eat. What do you want to eat?

We all need a place to stay. Where do you want to live?

We need a job. What do you want to do with your life?

Wants are a focusing lens. They surface that deeper, oft-neglected side of you.

It’s why people don’t ask themselves what they truly want in life. They don’t express their true desires. It doesn’t even have to be of the Freudian kind. It’s just safer to mimic someone else’s desires.

The other thing is, wanting is uncomfortable. To name a want is to admit a lack. Something unfulfilled. There’s no guarantee you’ll have it.

But once it’s named, you have to feed it and risk growing its appetite. Or, let it starve and die.

4. Wanton Destruction

There are reasons why society reins in wants.

Wanting can be indulgent. A hunger that can never be satiated. It is avarice, gluttony and lust.

Unchecked wants devour everything in sight.

On the far end, wants should not be suppressed or repressed either.

Stifling down your own desires, your own aspirations, lest you offend other people. You keep playing it small. Not exposing yourself to the judgement of everyone else. Not incurring shame and failure. You end up carrying this burden of a life unfulfilled.

Suppression also feeds what Carl Jung calls the Shadow—your deep, neglected core. It will manifest and wreak havoc.

5. Necessary and Sufficient

Needs are necessary, but not always sufficient.

But wants are wholly unnecessary, and nothing can ever suffice.

What’s the resolution?

Wants set the aim. They give you an objective to direct your focus. Needs set the constraints. The conditions you have to satisfy to get your objective.

You want that thing so badly. You have to figure out what you need to do to earn it.

Wants and Needs work in tandem, not in conflict.

I guess being a grown-up is knowing how to hold these two in tension to serve you.

Epilogue

It’s currently Ramadan. The daylight fast brings about some weariness but also clarity. I’m hungry throughout the day, but I’m focused.

I used to think that monks and ascetics have this psychology absent of hunger and desires. Or some inexhaustible willpower honed through sheer discipline. How else can one sit still for hours on end.

But I understand differently now.

I don’t think they suppress hunger. I think they learned to channel that feeling into focus. They let the intrusive thoughts flow out unimpeded.

On January 4th, I looked at the counter: 1.1%.

Four days in and already 1% of the year is gone. Wait, that can’t be right.

I double-checked the formulas, and typed =4/365 into a cell. Sure enough, 1.1%.

1% of the year is gone and I’ve not even started on my goals. Oh, FYI, we’re at the end of January. 8% of the year’s gone.

I spent the month cleaning up mess and clearing last year’s residue. It’s still not done. Time flies. Life is short. What else?

Maybe I’m obsessing a bit much over this small number. It’s like I’m tracking my weight before and after every meal, every day. A percentage point feels trivial. Yet time is anything but trivial!

Why did I subject myself to this water-drop torture by numbering my days?

The time anxiety was partly prompted by my turning thirty. 30 laps around the sun. My frontal lobe is finally, fully developed (I hope). That milestone comes with a heavy realization: everything I do is consequential.

I guess, I had to induce this sense of urgency for myself. Not to chase the clock—I’m old enough to know progress in anything is non-linear—but to make the days count for something.

To enjoy the good days, and even gratefully accept the down days. It is about putting the things I actually want to build into clear focus, while learning when to be idle and blessed.

There’s still < 92% left to the year. I better get going.

Encountering Chances

Life’s defining moments often feel like a stroke of divine serendipity. Like the career that consumes our days, or the partner we share our nights with. Like we just lucked into that job or relationship.

But that serendipity is an illusion. Fate is merely downstream of the hidden architecture of markets.

Markets are not just these grand abstract bazaars, where people buy and sell things. They are structures built on institutions, social norms and the silent authority of the law. They are the invisible forces that make seemingly random collisions into meaningful exchanges.

Economists are not just passive observers of the markets. They are its architects too. Because without structures, markets can drift and unravel into chaos.

Design Intervention

In the 1900s, hospitals competed ferociously for doctors. The supply of medical graduates was small, and there were a lot of hospitals with vacancies.

These hospitals began headhunting for top talent, recruiting these would-be doctors months before they graduate. The competition intensified. Some hospitals began sending earlier offers to students. Years ahead of graduation, before these students ever held a scapel. This was a problem, because if hospitals wanted to cut through all that mess, they’d lock in recruits right from kindergarten!

The schools tried to put a stop to this by only publishing transcripts and letters of recommendation closer to graduation dates. This only changed the nature of the competition.

Hospitals sent exploding offers, take-it-or-leave-it type of deals, to medical graduates. Those offers, initially, would expire after a couple of weeks. The ensuing competition squeezed it to a matter of hours. Forcing some 20-somethings to commit the next five years of their lives over a lunch break.

This was unsustainable. The market for future doctors was unraveling into something more like a Black Friday sales frenzy.

To stop this frantic brawl, an intervention was designed. Enter the Boston pool, aka the ‘Match’.

The Match was an algorithm that would match hospitals offering programs to students applying for those programs. This algorithm served as a clearinghouse to ensure the market was stable.

After some negotiations, the first ‘Match’ was run in 1952. It was a return to civilization. A better alternative to the frenzy. Everyone was (mostly) happy. It lives on today as the National Resident Matching Program (NRMP).

Stable Takes

This market disaster of hospitals and graduates is known as the stable matching problem.

Imagine a crowded ballroom where everyone is looking for a dance partner. People pair up, but if someone sees a partner they like better, and that partner likes them back, they’ll ditch their current partners.

Alice is with Bob, but she spots Jasper. Jasper too would also rather be with Alice than his current partner. They will ditch their dates and elope instead. This reshuffling is what happened to the hospitals and graduates.

This is instability.

What we want is a market where no such chaos can occur.

In game theory, a match is stable if there isn’t a single pair of people out there who would both ditch their current partners to be with each other.

To achieve this, the markets must first be thick—where there are enough participants on each side to transact. They don’t have to take the first deal they get. The medical market failed because it was thin. Hospitals were desperate because there was just not enough talent to recruit from.

But thickness alone can lead to congestion. Like the name implies, congestion is a traffic jam of information and exchanges. A well-designed market must have the space to let people digest information. Give them time to process and explore their options.

Crucially, stable markets must induce honesty. When the rules make truthfulness a profitable strategy, participants no longer need to game the market. They can reveal their true preferences, and simply become who they are.

Game, Set and Match

One mechanism that can engineer stable matchings is the Gale-Shapley Algorithm.

In the original setting, Gale-Shapley takes two separate groups—usually men and women—and pairs them through a process of elimination.

The algorithm’s promise is that it will find a stable match. It does this by imposing order through deferred acceptance: The men propose, but the women don’t say “Yes”—they say “Maybe.”

To see how this works, we’ll have to enter A Midsummer Night’s Dream:

The Setup: Lysander and Demetrius both rank Hermia as their #1. Theseus and Oberon have their eye on their queens, Hippolyta and Titania.

The Algorithm takes their ranked order lists, and begins sorting pairs.

Round 1

The men all propose to their first choice. Hermia receives two offers.

In another market, she’d have to pick one instantly. Under Gale-Shapley, she says “Maybe.” She holds Lysander (her preferred choice) but rejects Demetrius. Titania and Hippolyta hold their proposals with a maybe too.

Round 2

Demetrius, the “odd man out,” moves to his #2, Hippolyta.

But Hippolyta already holds an offer. She likes Theseus best. So she too rejects Demetrius. Tough.

Round 3

Demetrius moves down his list and now proposes to Helena.

Helena has no other offers, so she holds him tentatively.

The Magic: Because acceptance is deferred, the market doesn’t unravel. The “Maybe” is the buffer. It allows the men to make their pitch, and the women to consider without locking in the decision.

The rounds continue until every man has a proposal that isn’t rejected. Then and only then, ‘Maybe’ becomes ‘Yes’!

The original NRMP approximates this deferred acceptance algorithm, with a twist.

Requests for Proposals

a. First mover’s advantage

Let’s suppose the game gets flipped. The women do the proposing now.

Within the first round, all the women made their first offers. And no one gets rejected. The algorithm stops right there.

The algorithm is Proposer-Optimal, but Proposee-Pessimal. The side that the algorithm leads with—the proposer—ends up with the best possible match. The side that waits for offers—the proposee—ends up at the mercy of whoever moves first.

For decades, the NRMP was mathematically tilted in favor of the hospitals. It wasn’t until the 1990s, that the algorithm was flipped to make students the proposers.

It was a win, but a hollow one. Because by then, the market has changed. The supply of students vastly outnumber the vacancies at hospitals. It was a policy change in conditions that made it less meaningful.

b. Honesty, the best policy

There’s another key feature to the algorithm. For the proposers, it is strategy-proof. It cannot be gamed.

It’s already working in the proposer’s favour. Why lie about their choices? Demetrius cannot rank Hippolyta as number one and expect to get matched to Hermia over Lysander.

For the proposees, there is some room for exploiting the algorithm. But this requires near-perfect knowledge of all the players and their preferences too. In effect, honesty is still the best policy.

Don’t hate the game. Don’t hate the other players. If you end up with someone you don’t like, you’ve only played yourself.

Optimal, but not Perfect

Optimal is a technical term. It means we have achieved the best possible assignment given everyone’s choices and constraints.

Even if a match is stable, it might not be either person’s absolute dream match. No algorithm can account for the ever-changing human desires, or the mind-numbing bureaucracy of hospital administrations. The machine only handles the arrangements.

Making the relationship work, or calling it off, is entirely up to you.

Addendum

Variations of matching algorithms have been applied to different fields where coordination across thousands, even millions, of participants has to be designed.

• Dating Apps

• Kidney Donors

• School placements

• Google’s early Search + Ads algorithm was akin to stable matching.

Refs, Recs and Inspos

• Dating Data by Kyla Scanlon

• Emily Riehl on Numberphile: Part 1, Part 2

• Sheriff of Sodium’s series on The Match

• That one scene from A Beautiful Mind

1. Qualitative Analysis

You found your dream job. The benefits are great. Work is engaging. Everyone’s so collaborative.

Six months in, your boss pings you at 2.30 am. Work piles up. Colleagues leave you on ‘read’.

Now picture this:

You met someone. They’re fine in photos (even better in person). But they’re kinda boring. Dry texts. Jokes hit and miss. But you gave it a shot.

Not a month into the relationship, you cannot imagine being with anyone else.

Finding a match was only the prologue. The real plot is whether the fit holds, whether the relationships thrive or dissolve. Economists call it match quality.

2. Goods come in Threes

Economists classify certain goods by how difficult it is to assess their quality:

Search Goods (or inspection goods):

• Things that you can assess upfront. You can try out the shirt and inspect the seams. What you see is what you get.

Experience Goods:

• You only learn about their quality after consuming them. Like trying out a new restaurant, or booking your next travel destination. You can’t knock it (or love it) until you try it.

Credence Goods:

• These things are the trickiest to evaluate. Even after using them a couple of times, you’re still unsure what to make of it. Like hiring management consultants. How can you tell if that expensive procedure actually works?

Relationships sit uneasily between experience and credence goods: You only really know by living them. Even then, the attribution is messy.

There’s no good way of assessing the right fit upfront. First impressions are just that, impressions. You think you’re signing up for one thing. Three quarters into a year, you’re dealing with something else altogether. That algorithmically-optimized well-curated dating profile? Tells you nothing about how well that person would actually treat you.

3. What are we?

Even with experience, match quality is still hard to pin down and quantify. Moving from one relationship to another does not yield better insight on match quality. There’s seeming patterns, but each match is idiosyncratic.

A way to measure match quality is to take the direct approach. Companies evaluate if the worker is a good fit through operational KPIs. If there’s no complaints, and targets are being met on schedule, it means he’s doing well. You can’t quite do that with personal relationships though.

Another way is simply to ask people how they feel. Employers can survey their employees, get feedback on their engagement. Couples can check-in with each other. Think tanks also send out surveys to the population, asking how satisfied they are with their job, their partners, and even their life.

But surveys are flawed. There’s biases baked in. There’s ambiguity. Does an average score of 3 out of 5 mean they are indifferent about their relationships? Or borderline (dis)content?

Then there’s the indirect approach, by observing signals that proxy for match quality like tenure (duration of the relationship) and separation rates. The longer the tenure, or the lower the risk of separation, the better. Right??

4. Learning the Hard Way

One model treats match quality as hidden at the start and revealed by experience. This is the learning model, developed by Boyan Jovanovic.

Workers start their jobs being uncertain about the fit, or how productive this working relationship can be. They may have a belief about this inherent quality. They learn about and discover the match quality on-the-job. Successful outcomes like smooth product launches, or steadily growing margins indicate that you’ve made a good match. Missed targets and poor communication are negative signals. It’s a tug between these positive and negative signals. Workers quit their jobs when they believe the match’s quality drops below a certain threshold.

This risk of separation—the hazard rate—is higher early in the relationship, but declines over time. People don’t immediately quit because they still have to learn about the relationship, but overall, flight risks are higher in that early phase. Bad matches are assumed to be weeded out quickly. This turnover and churn isn't a dysfunction of the system. It’s just how the market filters out bad fits. Turnover is learning made visible.

But there’s a catch: you can’t learn about the match quality without committing to it. But that commitment is the very risk that makes a bad fit costly.

It’s why organizations put fresh hires under probation. It’s a way to de-risk the process, before hiring them on a permanent basis. To learn about how well the worker fits into the organization’s culture. It’s almost a win-win strategy. The employer gets to utilize workers’ skills and productive time, while the employee gets paid and some material security. It’s like a corporate situationship—benefits without total commitment.

The learning model also explains why people go on dates—to learn more about the person. To figure each other out before making a full commitment. Some couples may live together (cohabit) for a period of time before marrying.

5. The Times, They are a-Changin’

An alternative view comes from Ioana Marinescu’s changes model, which treats match quality as dynamic. It changes with time and shocks. External shocks—natural disasters, technological change, sudden layoffs—can push an otherwise good match toward the exit threshold, or pull a middling match back into the safe zone.

Both models generate declining hazard rates, but they differ on responses to shocks. In learning, a negative shock can scar, but fades with tenure (i.e. longer term relationships only feel a sting). In changes, shocks are temporary, but hurt longer-term mediocre matches.

A firm may get disrupted and be forced to course correct. Sudden deaths in the family might foster closeness in their shared grief or drive a wedge between couples.

Where the learning model implies adopting a strategy to manage risks on selection. The changes model suggest that long-run stability depends on ongoing adaptation as much as on initial selection.

6. Quality Investments

If match quality can change, then a good selection is only the starting point, the real work is on the continuing investment in the relationship.

Companies want to retain their best employee, so they fund training, redesign roles, and coach managers. Whereas workers who want to get better at their jobs can upskill, seek feedback proactively, and renegotiate scope. All of it improves the match quality and widens the ‘buffer’ that helps this working relationship absorb shocks.

For couples, they too can become more intimate with time and effort. They can improve individually because of their partner, and as a pair. They learn to communicate better and compromise, they are more accepting of each other’s quirks, perhaps they build projects together (like a nest egg or raise children).

Investment isn’t optional. It’s the price of quality relationships.

7. QA/QC

If match quality can improve (or deteriorate), then that initial spark is overrated. What matters more is the active, ongoing investment in the relationship.

Dismiss a poor match too early, we risk missing out if it was given a chance to flourish. Stay too long, you burn time in a relationship already in decline. Both errors are costly, and irreversible.

People change. Circumstances change. A beautiful partnership can drift apart, or simply run its natural course.

Unlike manufacturing, there’s no ISO that governs match quality. No manual on the perfect match. Great matches don’t just happen, they’re built. They last only with attention, intentional care, and an openness to change.

Refs, Recs & Inspos

• Belot Research Investigates Employment Match Quality

• Boyan Jovanovic:

  • Job Matching and the Theory of Turnover

  • Matching, Turnover and Unemployment

• Ioana Marinescu:

  • Divorce: What does Learning have to do with it?

1. It Takes Two

Our lives are built on a series of searches. We gather information, and set our standards. We hunt for jobs, apartments, and partners. We weigh our options. Finally, we make our choice and hope for the best.

That’s only half the story.

You get to choose. But they have to choose you too.

You can polish that resume until it gleams. Nail every interview question. A week later they’ll say: "We've decided to move forward with another candidate.”

You like them, but they like someone else. Tough.

In the economy of relationships—be it professional or romantic—both sides have to choose each other.

This two-sided nature of matching is what makes human connections so complicated. Unlike buying a cup of coffee, forming relationships requires mutual selection. Both sides must say yes.

This is where matching functions come in.

2. Matching Function: A Black Box of Chocolates

Think of a matching function as an invisible machine. Just like how a production function in economics combines labor and capital to create goods. A matching function describes how meetings between people create relationships.

Feed it prospective employees and would-be employers, you get jobs. For single men and single women, the matching function pairs them and makes new couples.

Economists study matching functions because they help explain big patterns in society: unemployment rates, marriage trends, business formation, even friendships.

The function explains this match-making process with a simple mathematical relationship. But the conversion rate isn't 100%. Most job interviews don't lead to offers. Most first dates don't become marriages. Most networking events don't yield business partnerships. You can’t quite know what you’re going to get.

The function itself is like a black box—to say that matching works in mysterious ways. We don’t see the complex human drama inside—but we can observe its inputs (meetings) and outputs (relationships) and figure out how it works.

3. Joint Ventures: A Theory of Marriage and Economic Behaviour

To understand what makes matches, economists look at why people choose each other.

Gary Becker, a Nobel laureate, viewed marriages as two-person startups. where households function like small factories. Partners pool their inputs—time, money, skills, and effort—to produce valuable outputs that enhance their lives.

The inputs flowing into this household factory include: their skills, their labor time, and economic resources.

The outputs this household factory produces include: home-cooked meals, social status, wealth accumulation, children and child-rearing.

In Becker’s model, a couple will only form if their joint output exceeds what they could produce separately, plus all the other opportunities they're giving up. Think of it as relationship ROI: if the partnership doesn't create value, why commit?

These "gains from marriage" (economists' romantic term) come from familiar business synergies:

• Division of labor: One does the taxes, the other sends the kids to piano.

• Risk sharing: If one person loses their job, the household doesn't collapse.

• Cost Efficiencies: Buying in bulk, splitting rent, sharing Netflix password. Costs get distributed across two people.

Romance can be irrational, but commitment is serious business.

This framework applies outside marriages too.

Business partnerships form when each party brings added value to the table. Job matches happen when a worker's skills complement a company's needs. Even friendships often involve some exchange of value.

4. A Sort of Selection

The matching function doesn’t just randomly pair people up. It's sorting them based on certain traits.

Look at the couples you know. Lawyers court lawyers. Doctors, generally speaking, don’t end up with circus performers. PhD students often date other PhD students. This isn't coincidence—it's positive assortative matching (PAM). Birds of a feather flock together. Like attracts like.

In biology, many species mate assortatively by size, color, or genetic markers. Humans do the same, but with social and economic traits. We see strong PAM across multiple dimensions: ethnicity, religion, education, geography (or physical proximity), tax brackets and age.

This sorting happens because similar traits often amplify each other's value. For example, two high earners can afford a greater standard of living than just a single-income household. The couple can compound their advantages: they can afford to live in a better neighborhood. They have expanded professional networks. They make informed career decisions together. They can invest more for their children, if they have any.

But similarity isn't just about maximizing output—it's opportunity. How else do people meet potential partners? If not through work, school, and social circles.

These environments naturally cluster people with similar backgrounds, education levels, and interests. They are like proxies for proximity. The matching function reflects not just preferences, but the structure of social interaction itself.

Sometimes, opposites attract. This is known as negative assortative matching (NAM).

In biology, an example of NAM would be genetic diversity, as it produces healthier offsprings. In economics, differences create value through specialization rather than amplification. The classic breadwinner-homemaker pairing is one example, where one person specializes in market work while the other handles domestic production. In business partnerships, you might see a visionary paired with an operations expert, or a risk-taker with a risk-manager.

Real matching shows both patterns simultaneously. Partners might match positively on education and race (similar social backgrounds) while matching negatively on personality traits (complementary skills). The matching function efficiently sorts people along multiple dimensions, to form partnerships that maximize value.

5. The Invisible Hand

When economists study matching functions across entire markets—all the marriages in a city, all the job placements in an industry—they find surprisingly consistent relationships. Double the number of single people and job seekers in a market, and you get roughly double the number of matches, adjusted for efficiency.

Of course, the process isn't perfect. Some people remain single after countless dates. Many people cannot find a job when times are bad or good. Market frictions—imperfect information, search costs, timing issues—mean the matching function doesn't work smoothly.

Here’s the thing: nobody is orchestrating these matches. There’s no central planner arranging marriages. There's no algorithm optimizing for all allocations (despite what apps might claim). But the system works.

The system is built on billions of individual choices aggregating into social patterns. An emergent order from this beautiful chaos. Every successful match proves that two people found something in each other is worth more than what they had alone. Every relationship formed adds value somewhere in the system. The matching function is the infrastructure of modern society.

Understanding matching functions doesn't reduce human connection to cold calculation.

The math can track the patterns. But what lights a spark between two hearts remains a mystery.

Refs, Recs & Inspos

• Freakonomics

  • Why Marry? pt.1 , pt.2

  • Is Marriage worth it?

• St Louis Federal Reserve: An Economist’s Perspective on the Marriage Market

• A Theory of Marriage (Gary S. Becker)

• Economics of Marriages

Knights in pursuit of the Holy Grail. A fallen hero seeks redemption. A recluse, jaded by life’s trials, unexpectedly finds romance.

All great stories center on a search. A quest for this elusive ‘thing’ that can change everything.

So it is with our lives.

Fresh grads hunt for jobs. Newlyweds shop for overpriced real estate. You’re trying to find answers, while I go look for trouble.

But the search, like all quests, comes with risks. The thing we want might not exist. And if it does, it's nothing like we imagined. Or, we realize too late it was never right to begin with.

Despite all the unknowns, there's a logic to this quest. An economic structure that underpins our search.

2. Stranger than Frictions

A core doctrine of Economic theory is that markets coordinate everything. Buyers find their sellers. Supply equals demand. People agree on the price. The deal is done.

In reality, it is not that smooth. Sellers and buyers have to find each other. Startups scramble to find funding. Investors scout diligently for promising businesses. Firms struggle to fill vacancies despite a flood of applicants. Your friend that’s still single doomswipe for that perfect match. There are obstacles to search—frictions. The delays, disagreements and dead-ends. That makes search a trying process.

Search Theory was developed by economists to better understand these frictions. To model how people, like you and me, make our choice when we don’t have all the facts (information asymmetries and uncertainties) and face a variety of costs.

We live in an age of relative abundance. There’s a hoard of information on the internet. Engines like Google or even ChatGPT may provide some help, so do job listings. But that abundance can be overwhelming.

Well-meaning friends would then say, there’s plenty of fish in the sea. You’ll catch something.

But the ocean is polluted. There’s too much junk out there. Misinformation is rife. People misrepresent themselves, they lie on their CV. They say they’re 6’5” but barely 5’9”.

Then there’s overfishing. Competition is fierce, the pool of great candidates shrinks fast. All the good ones always seem to be already spoken for. Some firms behave aggressively, snapping up talent and hoarding them away from the competition.

Let’s not deny climate change. The Ecosystem evolves with time. Economic conditions are always on the move. Industries are disrupted. Cultures adapt. Preferences change. A desirable option yesterday might not be useful tomorrow. What once was your soulmate, might become a living nightmare.

There’s a cost to search. Real costs.

The price you pay to access better info on job sites or dating apps. The time spent searching. Time spent weighing options and decisions.

The opportunity costs of searching itself. Foregoing the choice you have in front of you, with all the benefits of an income and security, for the next one’s potential option value.

Worse, the cost of being on the wrong path. Because you cannot turn back once you commit. Time is irreversible. You can not redo.

There’s also the emotional tax. The mounting frustrations. Be it from a string of bad dates. One horrible interview after the other. Running into dead ends. The cold indifference from being ghosted by recruiters. The crushing rejection from someone you wanted to spend your life with.

The sheer exhaustion of having to put yourself out there.

Again.

And again.

And again.

3. Do you have a reservation?

We don't have to search blindly. Getting needlessly lost in the search. There are strategies that can help us on our journey. Think of them as SEOs (Search Effort Optimization).

For example, someone looking for work would not consider anything less than what they currently earn. That would be unacceptable. Economists call it the reservation wage. Unemployment persists because, sometimes, the jobs available do not meet that reservation.

In everyday life, we don’t just look for prices or a salary. With jobs, people today ask for remote work. Medical benefits. Paid leaves and childcare. Locations and accessibility. Company fit and professional development.

The flipside: we don’t always know what we want before we start searching. “You’ll know it when you see it.” Fantastic advice. Tells you absolutely nothing on how to start.

We set standards–a checklist that filters out anything we won’t accept. Be more deliberate in our search. Call it the reservation criteria.

Another reason for setting this reservation is so you don’t get captured by one feature above all the others. You might be interested in taking the high-powered job that pays 30% more, but it demands 80-hour weeks from you. A charming 10/10 can blind you to red flags.

This reservation is our starting point, but your expectations shouldn’t be set in stone. You adapt as you go out into the market. You gather information. Explore your options. In the process, you learn what you really like, what you definitely don’t like. Perhaps knowing what your true worth might be. You learn what you can offer the world and what the world can offer you in return.

If the market surprises you with better opportunities, you might just raise the bar. At the risk of prolonging the search.

Bad experiences, however, may cause you to get a little desperate—you lower your bar and just settle for less. Or you recalibrate expectations. Not all compromises are failures. It’s just being real.

4. What’s your (stop) sign?

So, how long should we spend looking? How do we know we made the best choice? What are the chances of meeting the best of all possible candidates?

The answers, or a way of solving them, lie at the root of search theory.

Search theory was derived from this broader class of math problems known as optimal stopping. i.e. selecting the best time to stop searching and make up your mind.

Stop too early, you might just miss the best one a few steps away.

Stop too late, you still rack up mileage on search, possibly have passed on the best option, and never even know it.

If you don’t make a choice and commit, you can not advance.

One of the well-studied topics on optimal stopping is the secretary problem (for the more romantically inclined, the marriage problem).

The set up:

• Your company wants to hire a secretary, and you're tasked with finding the best candidate, and offering them the job.

• You have N applicants

• You interview them sequentially, in random order.

• You either accept them or reject them. No Recall.

  • Accept and the search stops.

  • Reject you move on to the next candidate.

The optimal strategy is known as the 37% rule.

Step one: Look.

From 100 potential candidates. You interview the first 37. You don’t commit to hiring. You’re there to just learn about the quality of the available options. You build up your reservation criteria.

Step two: Leap.

For the remaining candidates, you reject everyone else that doesn’t meet those criteria. Offer the job immediately to the candidate that is better than the first 37.

The odds of picking the right candidate is also 37 percent! In 100 possible permutations, you’ll pick the best candidate 37 times.

It’s not great. it’s less than 50-50. But it’s a strategy, better than gambling aimlessly.

You can apply this to other problems involving a search. Like project management, research, scrolling Netflix. It doesn’t have to be N candidates, or options. It can be T for time. Spend the first 37% of the budgeted time ( be it 12 weeks, one month whatever) just gathering information. Then the rest of the time, use the info to execute on the project, write the paper or pick a damn movie to watch.

5. Optimal Romance

In 1612, Johannes Kepler, legendary astronomer, lost his first wife to an illness.

Five stages of grief later, he considered remarrying. He asked his friends and peers to introduce him to women looking to marry. They presented him with 11 women to court.

With the rigour of a scientist he interviewed them one by one. We know this story because historians found Kepler’s notes. He was that meticulous!

He passed on the first four, though he liked the fourth. 37% of 11 is ~4. Right on schedule. Because after meeting the fifth, a lady named Susanna Reutinger, he was truly enamoured. Kepler found his optimal choice. He wanted to ask for her hand in marriage there and then.

However, his peers got hold of him before he could pop the question. They pressured him to consider the fourth instead. Citing her family background and status. He relented, and popped the question. Lady 4 turned him down, because he took too long to get back to her.

Kepler then went back to his optimal choice, Susanna. He asked for her hand, and the planets aligned. She said yes. :’)

The lesson here?

Trust the math. Don’t cave to peer pressure.

6. Feeling Lucky?

Life is far more flexible than we give it credit for. You can reverse some decisions. This actually improves your odds, at a cost.

Life is also more ruthless too. You can be rejected. Depending on how likely they are to say no to you, your odds shrink far below 30%.

In professional settings, there’s usually a good signal to count on. Like chartered and secretaries. University transcripts. Priors and referrals. Making the information far more reliable. Affording you a much smaller number of interviews but with greater chance of picking the best candidate.

I’ve left out a few things.

One being that luck plays an outsized part. Not the luck that’s quantifiable like odds. But the kind of luck that just changes everything and sets you up on an altogether different path. The things that just fall in front of you, that you did not even look for. Like an instant spark when eyes make contact, or the next global crisis.

I’ve also presented search as a one-sided process. Leaving out an important dimension to the quest: You can choose but you must be chosen in return!

Then, and only then, does a match make. But that’s a blog post for another time.

…

Whatever it is. Whether it is finding a place to stay. Maybe in a search for a partner or even a purpose in life. We’re all searchers. You are not alone.

May you find what you are searching for, and I hope it finds you too.

Refs, Recs & Inspos

• Algorithms to Live By (Brian Christian, Tom Griffiths)

  • Optimal Stopping (Brian Christian)

• Who Solved the Secretary Problem? (Thomas S. Ferguson)

• Search-Theoretic Models of the Labor Market: A Survey (Rogerson, Shimer & Wright)

We pooled our ingenuity, poured it into machines. Built global networks, brought down borders (virtually). Cured diseases, and extended lifespans by decades.

Civilization advanced. The economy grew.

But did we?

We were promised a share of the spoils. All we got was a slice of rotten pie.

We signed the Faustian contract with a click. “Agree.”

We bought into the lie. Sold ourselves out.

That’s the Con in Economy.

I. Consume

You work 50-hour weeks jumping through bureaucratic hoops.

You burnt yourself out. You ground yourself to the bone for a faceless machine. You earned every cent. It is your right to spend it.

But what do we spend it on? Minimalist furniture at maximum markups. That fidget toy on sale via TEMU. Things we don’t really need, nor do we truly want. To cauterize that gnawing void with another pointless purchase. Just for that short-lived surge of serotonin, delivered right on your doorstep.

They say, “buy experiences, not things”. So fork out $3,000, to immerse in a pre-curated culture. To feel alive on a path already trampled flat by 40,000 other lost souls.

Self-care? Heal thyself with manufactured products: smudge sticks, bath bombs and a weekend retreat to help soothe that pain you can’t name. Fill that hole in your heart for just $79.99.

We’ve commoditized salvation. Like Indulgences that sedate our sorrows. A product product with same-day delivery. (Spend $150 and shipping’s free.)

II. Discontent

The internet was supposed to free us—Enlightenment 2.0.

A knowledge economy built on the Information Superhighway. Humanity’s collective brainpower unearthing truths buried since the foundation of the world.

Instead, we got bullshit at scale.

We got thoughtless leaders. They don’t lead. They LARP.

We got platforms delivering 280-character sermons, monetizing our distraction.

Content creators? No. Dis-content creators. They don’t make. They manipulate. Performative stunts packaged for clicks. Your misery fuels their metrics.

The Influencers? What influence do they peddle? Nothing more than human billboards. Peddling authenticity™ with affiliate links.

We were warned about subliminal messaging. Banned them too. Now we pay $15/month to mainline slop.

The algorithm doesn’t care what you love. Only what keeps you hooked. Drip-feeding you dopamine through doomscrolling.

And you wonder why you feel sick.

III. Hollow thy Soul

We’re overfed, overstimulated, overmedicated—and deeply malnourished.

We confuse validation with value. We swap purchases for purpose. We traded away reverence for relevance.

All this—for comfort, for convenience, and a shot at virality.

Was the bargain worth it??

But you feel it, don’t you?

That dread.

That existential static in your scrolling thumb. The hollow at the center of all this. A space once hallowed and reserved for awe.

Sold for clicks and change.

IV. A Crack of Light

And yet—the world holds space for the real.

A warm hug.

A shared laugh.

The involuntary smile when eyes meet across a room.

Real things. Things worth staying alive for.

Still moments that slip through the cracks in everything.

That’s how the light—faint and flickering—gets in.

Refs and Inspos

• “Choose Life” scene from Trainspotting and T2: Trainspotting

• Howl by Allan Ginsberg

• Meditations on Moloch by ACX (fka SSC)

What is forgiveness? Why do we forgive? Why is it a virtue?

I don’t understand it. I probably never will. But I know it matters. I’ve seen how it lifts people. How it lets us keep going.

This piece is me thinking out loud, trying to grok what forgiveness is.

1. Play Nice

In the 1980s, political scientist Robert Axelrod ran a game theory tournament. He solicited strategies, in the form of algorithms, and pitted them against each other over 200 iterations of the Prisoners’ dilemma.

The winning strategy, submitted by Anatol Rapaport, was Tit-for-Tat. It’s simple—choose like for like. If the opposing algorithm plays ‘cooperate’, you cooperate. If they defect, you defect. If they choose to cooperate again, you cooperate too.

It is a spin on the Golden Rule: do unto others what they have done unto you.

It was so simple. There was no sophisticated higher-order 4D chess plays. Just do the same as your opponent did. Axelrod couldn't believe it. So, they ran a second tournament.

Tit-for-tat won. Again.

To be clear, tit-for-tat did not beat out ALL of the strategies it was paired against. But it came in a close second in points accumulated. Against all paired strategies, tit-for-tat accumulated the highest score.

Axelrod distilled the key principles for why it works:

1. Be Nice. Don't start trouble.

2. Be Provokable. If they defect, you defect. Don't let them get away with it.

3. Be Forgiving. If they want to cooperate, you also choose to cooperate. Don’t punish them for it.

It makes sense doesn’t it. It’s better to cooperate over the long run. If they defect once, you defect too, in retaliation. As long as they defect you keep defecting. That’s called the grim trigger—punish their deviance once and forever.

In standard game theory textbooks, a repeated game makes it more likely for cooperation to emerge. I don’t think that’s completely accurate. I think they got it backwards. I believe that it is forgiveness—and the return to cooperation—that makes repeated games possible.

Forgive, so the game can go on.

2. Social Technology

There’s a reason why Homo Sapiens outlived other Hominids. It’s not that we were stronger, we’d be crushed going 1v1 against Neanderthals.

We survived because we are social animals.

We learned to cooperate. We found strength in numbers.

We scaled. We pooled resources. We raised children across generations.

But more people means more problems. More mistakes and misunderstandings. More conflicting goals. More chances to piss each other off. Cooperation alone is no guarantee a group holds together. We need a way to mend it if it breaks.

How?

We forgive.

It lets us resume the game. We messed up, but let’s keep going.

Without forgiveness, each slight compounds fractures. Each mistake splits communities apart. Humanity would not have survived if every argument ended up in violence.

Forgiveness isn’t just something we do to be kind. It was the technology we invented to survive. It is what enabled us to build civilization.

3. Sacred Rites and Secular Institutions

Forgiveness is baked into our institutions—sacred and secular alike. Our ancestor understood, that if every wrong demanded blood, human evolution would have stopped with hunters and gatherers.

Take Christianity. It is founded on forgiveness. God forgives the original sin through Jesus’ sacrifice. The Lord’s Prayer pleads: “Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.”

In Islam, every act begins with the Basmallah: “In the name of God, the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful.” Every action begins with a plea for forgiveness.

These are no mere rituals or plain gestures of faith. These are existential constraints. We humans are flawed but we must find ways to live with each other, and, ourselves.

Secular laws work the same. We build systems for appeals, clemency and rehabilitation. We even allow parole. You serve your time, you get another chance at life. We believe in the possibility—writ however small—of redemption.

Because, what alternative do we have? An eye for an eye? You hurt me, I hurt you back. That’s not justice—that’s vengeance. Where would it end. There is no future there.

But forgiveness does. It gives us that possibility of a better future.

4. Grace Period

Forgiveness doesn’t have to performed through ritual or grand gestures.

Someone cuts you off in traffic. You swear under your breath, grip the wheel tighter, and look dead-on at the car infront of you, and then… you let it go. Say it isn’t worth it. That’s forgiveness.

A colleague drops the ball at work. You want to give him a piece of your mind. But you take a walk, breathe, cool off. That’s forgiveness.

They’re rather mundane. Trivial even. But those are our daily acts of grace.

It is a tactical move. Because if we didn’t, we’d implode under the weight of every small injustice.

Do it more purposefully, it becomes strategic. Before having to interact with a colleague, you have to mentally forgive them. From Wes Kao:

Feel all the feelings. Get them out. Come to terms with the suffering this person caused you.

…

If you are filled to the brim with resentment or anger, it will easily boil over. It won’t take much to throw you off: a passive-aggressive comment, a smirk, a raise of their eyebrows. Don’t risk letting that derail you. Get the emotion out of your system before you walk into the room.

That’s the grace period. A small miracle we grant ourselves and others. We hold space for the offense. We feel it, we acknowledge it, and then let it go. It’s not because we’re weak. It’s the strength of our self-control.

Forgive is a choice. It is choosing to move on. Because that’s what forgiveness is—a way to discharge emotion. It lets us preserve the memory, but drops our frustrations, our resentments and the indignation we suffered.

Venkatesh Rao notes:

A socially irreversible event, once it is in the historical record, is potentially there for all eternity. Special steps must be taken to prevent the memory from affecting future realities,…

There is a word we use to characterize such steps.

That word is forgiveness.

We’re not denying the event. We’re just unloading the baggage, and lets us move into the future.

5. Just Forget About It

Sometimes, we forget things before we forgive. Other times, we forgive but still plays in our minds.

Forgetting is passive. Forgiveness is a choice. Both work. Both lighten the load.

Some wrongs just fade. Their emotional charge decays with time. We look back and wonder what the fuss was about. Those memories didn’t matter at all. Inconsequential in the grand scheme of things.

But other memories, they linger. They hurt, even as forgiveness takes the sting out of the memory. The way ahead is to let that memory fade. Let time work it’s healing magic.

6. It’s not for everyone

Forgiveness is powerful. But do not use it indiscriminately.

Not everyone deserves that grace. Some people don’t change, and have no intention to. Certain acts are perhaps beyond forgiveness.

You may choose to forgive. But it is not excusing them or letting them off the hook. Forgiveness means letting go of the dead-weight and suffering, and let yourself move on.

Sometimes though, the right thing to do is to just walk away.

7. Cloud Storage

That one mistake. That one bad post. That one angry message.

It used to be that we could just forget and move on with time.

But now?

It’s all still there. For anyone to replay. Including ourselves. These receipts don’t fade. They get archived in full HD. It’s so easy to search and retrieve them now too.

Forgiveness relies on memory losing its emotional valence. But the internet doesn't forget. It extends their half-life. It fossilizes every failure.

We’re all so outraged online. Maybe its because we’re emotionally stuck. We can’t forget. We can’t forgive. So we can’t move on.

That’s purgatory.

Think about the youth today and their mental health issues. I wonder if its because they never got a chance to be dumb in private.

8. Stop, Drop & Roll

The thing about life, as I am coming to term with, it never gives us clean endings.

No neat resolutions. No end of chapter. No chance for a resolution and setting the record straight. We’ll never be able to apologize. We’ll never get peace. Our greatest regrets may go unresolved.

But we have an out—forgiveness. Otherwise, it’s impossibly hard to live with ourselves.

Forgiveness puts a hard stop to the cycle. It isn’t perfect, nor does it provide total closure. It does give us the choice to drop the weight and let those ghosts fade. Forgiveness lets us keep rolling forward.

How we choose to pay that price, though, is entirely up to us. Make that choice now or let it fester into regret.

Regret is deferred pain. The price we pay for not taking on discomfort now.

It is a debt. Regret is pain that compounds with interest. Every tough decision we avoid stacks up. The longer we avoid those difficult choices, the heavier the bill.

That bill comes due.

It’s no wonder we avoid it. Hard choices hurt. Be it taking a career risk, confronting failing relationships, or facing our own flaws. It’s like walking barefoot on broken glass.

Just the mere thought of deciding strikes right at our core. We fear that we’ll fall short. We might find out that we are woefully inadequate. It’s like an indictment on ourselves.

What do we do when we learn that we are not enough?

We take the easy way out. We put off the difficult thing. We even deceive ourselves into thinking that the pain will fade away.

Spoiler alert!

It doesn't.

Imagine, the last thought we’ll ever have are our regrets.

The things we never did.

The words we never said.

Dreams we didn’t muster the courage to pursue.

Replaying the what-ifs and what-could-have-been on our deathbed.

The only comfort? Pray that our last moment doesn’t last too long.

Even the most successful people face these decisions.

Before Amazon, Jeff Bezos faced a life-changing decision: stay at his cushy Wall Street job, or risk it all to set up an online bookstore.

He searched for a way to frame his decision and found the Regret Minimization framework. He imagined himself at 80, and looking back on his life. Which is worse? trying but failing, or never trying at all?

Realizing that failure was not the worst of it, his choice became clear. Bezos had to build Amazon.

In game theory this is called minimaxing: Minimizing the maximum possible loss.

We all play this game, and there’s no escaping the price.

The only real choice is this: pain now, or a lifetime of regret?

I was struggling with a presentation at work. The data was solid. But the structure? A mess.

It was drowning in details. Charts packed with figures that made no sense. Half a dozen lines scrawled across slides. Bullet points stacked all the way down. I couldn’t even tell what I was trying to say.

“Tell a story,” they said.

Stories persuade. Stories flow.

But in work, you don’t have time for a slow build-up to a climax. You don't have the luxury of keeping your audience in suspense. You have to get to the point first.

You have to spoil the story before you get to tell it.

This was a challenge: How do I deliver my idea upfront, and at the same time, present a structure that’s clear and compelling?

That’s when I found a simple yet effective framework: Thesis-Antithesis-Synthesis (TAS).

II. A Play in Three Acts

TAS, or the dialectical approach, is about thinking rigorously. It's about structuring ideas with clarity.

It's not a new idea. It goes all the way back to ancient Greece — the Socratic Dialogue. That’s what it is, a dialogue of ideas. It makes you question and challenge yourself before anyone else does.

It’s simple and it works.

• Thesis: The core idea

• Antithesis: A counterpoint, or a limitation

• Synthesis: A resolution that strengthens the thesis.

You don't have to wax philosophical. There’s no need to write long essays setting up the premise before even getting to the consequence. You can start with just a short paragraph.

Wes Kao has a template for this:

"Hey boss, I recommend we do ___. It's likely to work and is worth the time and budget because ___. The downside and potential risks are ___. But we can minimize the risk with a small experiment by doing ___.”

E.g.

Thesis: I recommend that we expand into a new market—it’s a huge opportunity.

Antithesis: But we lack local expertise, and failure could be a disaster.

Synthesis: We can minimize risk by partnering with local firms before committing.

You’re not just making a claim. You’re anticipating problems and showing how to solve them. TAS gives ideas a stronger leg to stand on. It makes ideas harder to dismiss.

III. Thinking in Action

As a thinking tool. TAS cuts the fluff. TAS forces clarity, creates tension, and provides resolution—all in three beats.

To elaborate:

• Clarity: You make the idea concrete.

• Tension: You strengthen it by acknowledging objections.

• Resolution: You prove it’s viable by solving the problem.

TAS makes communicating ideas more structured and direct too. You get your point across without ambling around.

Thesis: We can use economic data. It’s publicly available and easy to work with.

Antithesis: But it doesn’t capture industry-specific trends and insights.

Synthesis: So, we cross-check the data with sector reports for a more holistic picture.

It’s effective for work. For problem solving. Even for everyday decisions.

Thesis: I want to workout 5x a week.

Antithesis: But, it might rain or I’ll be stuck at work till late.

Synthesis: Therefore, on those days, I will workout at home.

That’s thinking in action.

IV. Weaving a Story

TAS isn’t just for arguments—it’s how good stories are told.

A setup (thesis), a conflict (antithesis), and a resolution (synthesis).

Ever heard a story that felt things just… happen? One thing after another. No surprises. No punchline. No stakes. Yawn.

"Johnny gets on the bus. Then he goes to school. Then he gets home."

That’s a list of facts. A series of events. Johnny does nothing. There’s no story there.

So here’s where TAS comes in. Matt Stone & Trey Parker from South Park use a similar technique to create tension and conflict: But/Therefore.

Now, take that same story:

"Johnny gets on the bus. But, he forgot his homework. Therefore, he has to come up with an excuse before class."

Now, there is conflict. There is something at stake. Johnny has a choice to make. Those are the makings of a good story.

V. Putting TAS to the Test

In the past, I’d hedge my words. I was overly defensive and too precious with my work. Making them obscure with corporatese and jargon no one can ever agree on.

I was afraid of being questioned. I was afraid of being caught out. That fear made selling the idea a more difficult challenge than it actually is.

The TAS framework helped structure my thinking. Now, I present ideas with clarity and confidence.

Because, in truth, ideas don’t speak for themselves. People do. People ask questions—it’s how people show interest. It’s an invitation to persuade. People want to believe.

So make them believe.

Inspirations

• Rigorous Thinking by Wes Kao

• Why I like twitter threads more than Epic novels by Eleanor Konik

• Persuasive Writing in Three Steps by Ryan Law

• Dialectics

• Writing Advice from Matt Stone and Trey Parker

• The But & Therefore Rule by David Perell

Loki, the Norse God of Mischief, is bound underground.

A snake coils above, its fangs bared. A drop of venom falls onto his face Loki writhes and thrashes. The earth shakes with his agony.

He spent his entire existence making others suffer. Now, he gets his comeuppance. Loki in chains, which the gods fashioned from the entrails of his slain son.

His family weren’t spared either. His children were slain or chained. His wife Sigyn is bound only by her obligation to him.

The gods of Asgard think they’ve won. They think they’ve locked chaos and buried it deep into the earth.

They believed they had circumvented their fate. They believed order was restored.

What they’ve really done is sealing their end.

The Trickster’s Gifts

Loki is a menace. He is an instigator of mayhem.

He lies, cheats, and throws the gods into disasters after disasters. But here’s the thing: he’s also the reason for their glories.

It was Loki who cut off Sif’s golden hair. When caught, Thor the Thunderer, demanded reparations. Loki, on threat of death, sought out the dwarves and tricked them into forging treasures: a new mane for Sif, Odin’s unbreakable spear Gungnir, and the golden ring Draupnir. Gifts for the gods which bolstered their power.

Not satisfied, Loki goaded the dwarves into making even more, leading to Mjolnir—the hammer that would become the Thunderer’s greatest weapon.

Without Loki, the gods would have remained untested, their strength unproven. Thor’s hammer was forged because of him. His mischief was the flames that tempered their steel.

When Loki paid for his misdeeds, it was sometimes to his embarrassment. Like that one time he had to turn into a mare and seduce a magical stallion. He got knocked up and gave birth to an eight-legged horse—Sleipnir.

Loki, God of Mischief, mother of Odin’s horse. Hilarious.

And that’s the thing about chaos—it’s terrifying, it’s dreadful, it brings real pain. But once you’ve faced it, it loses its grip. You stand to gain something. You might even find amusement.

The Death of Light

Even so, a run-in with chaos leaves no one undamaged.

Loki’s tricks were always a nuisance, sometimes downright cruel. In the extreme, it was absolute malice.

Baldr, god of light, was beloved by all. He was beautiful. The gods thought he was invincible. Until Loki manipulated Baldr’s blind brother into killing him with a mistletoe dart.

Light was snuffed out.

The gods panicked. Baldr’s wife was consumed by grief. They mourned.

Their prevailing order was in disarray. In Light’s absence, Darkness reigned.

And so, they reacted—not by confronting Loki, as they did before, but by shoving him underground. They had enough and wanted him locked up for good.

In truth, they feared him. They also feared what his children might become. So, they chained Fenrir. They threw Jörmungandr into the sea. They banished Hel to the underworld.

They thought they had finally triumphed over chaos. Order will prevail. What they had really done was catalyzing Ragnarok—the end of the gods.

Loki, at some point, will be free from his shackles. Heralding the End. Odin will be devoured by Fenrir. Thor will slay Jörmungandr, but will succumb to the serpent’s poison.

By refusing to deal with the turmoil, by succumbing to their fears, they ensured their own destruction.

Confronting Chaos or Succumbing to It

We do the same.

We avoid discomfort. We cling to safety. We make our lives predictable. Manageable. Secure.

We stay in jobs that no longer challenge us, We trade growth for comfort.

We remain in relationships that don’t serve us. Because they’re familiar. Because we fear what might happen if we leave.

We reject challenges because we might fail. We let our dreams die quietly, telling ourselves it was never possible anyway.

We think we can outrun misfortune. We think that if we avoid risk, we’ll avoid suffering. But we can't.

But suffering comes anyway.

And the less we’ve faced it, the weaker we are when it stands in front of us. We become unequipped to deal with that crisis.

Life doesn’t get easier. It never does.

But we can get stronger.

The problems life throws at us, helps us grow, if we rise to meet that challenge.

You see, Loki’s gift isn’t destruction—it’s transformation.

Fear is information. Chaos is a tool. Crises are Opportunities.

Bury them deep, and one day they’ll claw their way out.

Suppress them, the stronger they grow. Face them, the stronger you grow.

And maybe, once you’ve overcome those problems, you can even laugh at them. Wondering, why were you ever so afraid.

So, what are you running from?

Face it now, or face it when it’s too late.

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Inspiration

• Twilight of the Gods

A Netflix animated series co produced by Zack Snyder and Jay Oliva. Loki gets special attention here and is portrayed in a more emphatetic light. A beast of unburdening.

• Norse Mythology by Neil Gaiman

Read a few years back, of which notes I took inspired this piece. It’s a fun, light read. You know, before all the horrible things about the author that came to light

• Antifragile by Nassim Nicholas Taleb

I was reorganizing my bookcase when it hit me: I have a lot of books. And a lot of them are unread.

I read about 2 books a month, 24 a year. That is, if I’m consistent. If I live for another 50 years, I’ll read about 1,200 more books. Give or take.

But then I’ll re-read some books, so the number of books I’ve yet to read shrinks further. A life with 1,000 more books.

I love books. They are a store of wealth—our history, our knowledge, and lives. 1,000 books is just not enough. I don’t think I’ll even get there.

That sucks.

So many waiting to be read. So little time.

Paradox of Abundance

We are drowning in abundance.

Not just books. Streaming services flood us with TV shows and movies. Our feeds never run out of blogs, podcasts and songs. Online stores lure us with unlimited choices.

We want it all.

We fool ourselves into thinking we’ll get around to it someday. But that someday never comes. There’s always something else. Something more. More distractions. More noise. More things demanding our time and attention.

Psychologists call this the paradox of choice: when overwhelmed by too many options, we end up with analysis paralysis. We hesitate. Or, we choose, but regret it—buyer’s remorse—wondering if the other option was better.

So, we scroll endlessly. Sampling a little bit of everything. Savoring nothing.

We have more content than ever before. More knowledge, more entertainment, more ways to fill our time.

We call them ‘content,’ but they contain nothing.

It’s a wonder why we often feel unfulfilled.

Commodification

Attention is scarce. Time is finite. These are precious resources

Yet, the modern world treats them like commodities to be exploited.

Platforms don’t charge us money to use them. But we pay all right. We pay with our time and attention, and the platforms monetize them.

If you're not paying for the product, you are the product.

The apps bombard us with notifications. They craft headlines designed to hook us. They fine-tune algorithms to keep us scrolling. They want our eyeballs glued onto their platforms.

And it works! The endless hits of dopamine get us high, but for a moment. When it fades, we feel empty. So, we go back for another fix.

But the real cost isn’t just wasted time. It’s what we lose in the process. Every moment given to distractions is a moment taken from something else.

That opportunity cost is neglect.

Neglect of deep work. Neglect of relationships. Neglect of long-term goals. Neglect of the things that truly make life rich and meaningful.

Currency

Look at the language we use:

We spend time.

We pay attention.

Like currency, our time and attention can be wasted—or invested.

“focus your time and energy on what you want to see more of.”

— Visakan Virasamy ()

Imagine dedicating your time to mastering a new skill, nurturing a deep relationship, or pursuing a creative passion.

Imagine the satisfaction of your efforts bearing fruit: your understanding deepens, your bonds grow, and your works take shape.

The more time and focus we put in, the more we get out of it. Invest your attention to the superficial slop, and you’ll feel hollow and ever more diminished. But direct our attention and invest our time in more meaningful pursuits—skills, relationships, meaningful work—they’ll compound.

One Lifetime

The most precious resource of all, of course, is life itself.

The heart will beat a set number of times.

Then, it will stop.

If this life is all there is, every wasted moment is gone, forever.

If this life is one of many, every choice we make in this life has consequences beyond it.

Either way, the stakes are that high.

And yet, we treat our time so cheaply.

We give it away for free. We so easily, eagerly, surrender our lives to whatever shouts the loudest for our attention.

Our lives are being spent. With every passing second.

Spend it well.

Inspirations

Tim Urban from wait, but why?

• Your Life in Weeks

• How many books you’ll read for the rest of your life?

Paradox of Choice

Resource Curse

Last year, I took a career break.

It wasn’t an easy decision. I was cautioned to get the bonus check first before handing in my resignation. Others have told me to wait for a job offer before I quit. Their advice was well-intentioned. Have something solid to stand on as I look for a better job. Have something I can fall back on as I work towards a better life.

Because going on a sabbatical meant giving up job security and income (plus that bonus too!). It meant that I would be delaying my own plans at financial independence. I would be hampering my own career prospects. I would have to explain that gap on my resume to employers. I would be facing months, if not years, of uncertainty. Worse, I could be running into dead-ends. By the end, I would have nothing to show for it. I was taking a risk.

Fate had me in a bind. But I had to make a choice: I can let things happen as they come OR take a chance at something that might turn the odds in my favor.

As an economist, I think a lot about the choices we make and their consequences.

Those choices can be as trivial as what shirt to wear or what to eat for breakfast. You can decide on a coin flip.

But other choices, like picking a career or who to marry (and when), have far greater implications. These decisions require serious deliberation.

Some consequences are immediate: you play with fire, you get burned. Other consequences are not as clear or direct. It could come about if you make the same decision time and again, like skipping a workout and not meeting your workout resolutions (don’t be shocked by the number on the bathroom scale). There could also be a lag, like investing in a stock on borrowed money (leveraged 20x), being absolutely certain they would only go up, only to see them come crashing down the next month.

Our choices are influenced by our circumstances—the conditions we live in, the constraints we face, and our perceptions of potential consequences. While we can't control every outcome, our choices define our path. Ultimately, it's through the act of choosing, of actively shaping our lives, that we find true meaning.

But then, why do we find ourselves making choices against our own best interests? What is it that stops us from stepping onto our own path of fulfillment?

II. The Easy Way Out

We live in a world of instant gratification. Just pour hot water to make a cup of coffee (or noodles). A few taps on the phone and we have our favorite meal delivered within the hour. It is so easy to satisfy our desires.

It’s like that modern proverb: “buy cheap, pay twice”. We want it easy. Buying that bargain-bin laptop, only to find it crashing next year, forcing you to fork out even more money for repairs. Using chatGPT to write your homework, only to find you have learned nothing for the exam. Opting for stop-gap measures that treat the symptoms but ignore the root causes—like taking on statins to lower your cholesterol but neglect to exercise and watch your diet.

I think our brains are just hard-wired to want that short-term gratification. We choose that gratification because they are so easy and so cheap to come by. We do them because we get immediate validation. We get tangible results. Why have that marshmallow later, when it’s right there in front of you. Wait any longer, and we might not have it.

It’s not inherently wrong to go for the quick fix, as sometimes there are urgent and important things that need to be addressed ASAP, then can we only look for the more permanent solution.

This pursuit of easy gratification permeates our lives in subtle ways. At work, we choose tasks that offer quick wins and instant recognition, even if they don't contribute to our long-term career goals. In our relationships, we seek immediate validation and attention, neglecting the deeper work of commitment and genuine connection.

Our insatiable hunger for instant satisfaction blinds us to the hidden costs these decisions have that far outweigh the initial benefits. Because if we just let ourselves choose the easy way out all the time, we will pay dearly.

The late Clay Christensen, a management guru, has an insight on this phenomenon in the context of business strategy. He observes that companies often fall prey to unintended strategies, pursuing short-term gains that ultimately undermine their own long-term viability. He writes:

“...because companies’ decision-making systems are designed to steer investments to initiatives that offer the most tangible and immediate returns, companies shortchange investments in initiatives that are crucial to their long-term strategies.”

Companies chase quarterly profits. They cut costs by laying off workers. They do these things in the hopes of maximizing shareholder value. But in doing so, they neglect the investments in innovation, customer relationships, and employee development that are crucial for sustained success. Funny enough, these things (done extremely well) improve the company’s value on the market, thereby maximizing shareholder value.

Besides our own nature to want the quick and easy, we do face a monster of a system that exploits this tendency towards short-term gratification. We have KPIs to meet, and obligations to fulfill. We are incentivised to pursue the tangible and the immediate. It is difficult NOT to choose the easy way out.

Christensen also notes:

“Over the years I’ve watched the fates of my HBS classmates from 1979 unfold; I’ve seen more and more of them come to reunions unhappy, divorced, and alienated from their children. I can guarantee you that not a single one of them graduated with the deliberate strategy of getting divorced and raising children who would become estranged from them. And yet a shocking number of them implemented that strategy.”

Just as no company decides to destroy their own business, no one sets out to marry and have a divorce, no one plans to have their kids hate them. Yet people choose that short-lived gratification, even otherwise smart, educated people with great resources at their disposal.

III. Indecision

Economists like to say there are no free lunches. Every choice has its costs, a trade-off baked into the act of choosing. We’re not just giving up your hard-earned money when we buy a new phone. We’re also giving up the alternatives we can use that money for, such as investing or an overseas trip. That’s the price—the opportunity cost—of a decision.

But there’s also an opportunity cost with not making a choice. Indecision, like its active counterpart, has its own set of consequences. They are missed opportunities and unrealized potentials. It's like standing at a crossroads, paralyzed by indecision, while the path we were meant to take fades into the distance.

In his autobiography, A Man for All Markets, Ed Thorp shares an anecdote of a friend, Mr. Davis who would not sell a house for less than $ 3.5 million. That friend received offers in the ballpark of $ 3 million, but would not relent. So insistent on selling it at that price, it took him 10 years before finding a buyer for $ 3.25 million. 10 Years!

Even before adjusting for inflation, waiting 10 years for inflation is a waste. Because the opportunity cost is that he could have taken the $ 3 million, bought a smaller house for $ 1 million, and invested the rest. By Ed Thorp’s calculation, Mr. Davis could have made over $ 5 million.

We waste resources with indecision. Like a manager who just can’t make up his mind, keeping the staff anxious. as their precious time gets wasted when they could have spent it on other parts of work, or spend time with their families. It happens in committees where members keep passing the buck around and never coming to a conclusion. No decision is made, no results produced. Because no one did anything, everyone was absolved of blame.

At a personal level, indecision leads to terrible consequences. It comes with a gradual erosion of self-belief Doubting whether we’re any good at all. Haunted by thoughts of what could have been. When this gets compounded over time, our indecision manifests as regret.

IV. Fallacies and Fear

Psychologists have made up a whole list of fallacies and cognitive biases that, while helpful at times, causes us to make bad decisions. There’s the sunk cost fallacy, keeping us on a miserable path, making us double down on a losing outcome. There’s loss aversion or negativity bias, where the pain of losing hurts so much and lingers for much longer than the fleeting joy of gaining.

But really, these are all just manifestations of something more primal. something that can be felt in our bones.

Fear.

Fear manifests in many guises. There's the fear of failure. The voice that whispers doubts in our ears. It tells us to imagine the pain, and humiliation of failure. It makes us hesitate, freeze up and run away. It's the fear that keeps us from pursuing our dreams, from putting ourselves out there into the world.

There's the fear of judgment. Carl Jung’s Superego. Seeding us with anxiety about what others will think of our choices. It's the fear that conforms us to societal expectations, even if they don't align with our true desires.

And then there’s the fear of uncertainty and change. It comes with the discomfort of stepping into the unknown, the resistance to disrupting established patterns, where outcomes are unpredictable and control is an illusion. We crave the comfort of familiarity, predictability. Even if it means settling for a life that is unfulfilling.

What’s insidious about fear is that it disguises itself as being reasonable. It gives us seemingly rational advice. It tells us to stay in our lane, to stick with what we know, to play it safe. It tells us not to rock the boat, to not make that choice. This advice lulls us into a false sense of security.

Graham Weaver, a successful entrepreneur, echoes this sentiment in a speech:

“…for most of you and through your lives, the biggest obstacle you really have is going to be fear, if you really boil it down. And fear is very manipulative. And it shows up in all these kinds of different ways. And it tries to disguise itself. It disguises itself as being practical. I’m being practical right now. It disguises itself as I’m helping you. It disguises itself as I’m saving you. And most of all, it disguises itself as not me, not now.”

Fear, while a natural instinct, often acts like a prison warden. Keeping us locked in our comfort zones, and making sure we stay there. We thwart our own ambitions and invite regret into our lives if we let fear keep us there.

To truly embrace the power of choice, we must first acknowledge our fears, confront them boldly. For it is on the other side of fear that we often find our greatest fulfillment.

V. Courage to Choose

Tom Hardy revealed in a recent interview on how he came up with the voice of Bane in the Dark Knight Rises:

“I said listen we could get really laughed at here this could be ridiculous but it's an interesting sound silhouette and it might work. …it's better than being mediocre you know and having like people going meh it wasn't a choice.”

He anticipated that they would be facing a risk with the voice, he anticipated a polarized reception. That they would be ridiculed (a phenomenon known as baneposting), or applauded for it (the movie still made over a billion dollars). Still, Tom Hardy and director Christopher Nolan, went ahead with it.

Making a choice requires some measure of courage. It comes with risks. Because we can never be sure about the outcome. There’s always that chance of disappointment, criticism and failure. That is the consequence of making a choice.

But what’s the alternative? Not making a choice and just letting things happen as it were? By avoiding risk, clinging to the safety of not having to decide, we risk something worse. A life unlived and one full of regrets.

This is the true consequence of NOT making a choice, of NOT taking risks, we expose ourselves to greater risks. We fail to develop the resilience and adaptability needed to handle life’s challenges. Like a muscle that atrophies without use, our capacity for growth diminishes when we shrink away from the unfamiliar.

We have to be brave and overcome those fears. Because we learn from our missteps, stumbles and falls. Each mistake, each setback, is an opportunity to improve ourselves and to emerge stronger.

VI. Agency

Agency, at its core, is the ability to make conscious choices to take ownership of our lives, regardless of the circumstances we face. You can just do things.

The Bible too proclaims the need for agency:

"Ask and you shall receive; seek and you shall find; knock and the door will be opened" —Matthew 7:7

It’s never going to be easy. We don’t lose that fear each time we’re presented with a choice. We have to be brave each time we have to choose. Cultivating agency is an ongoing practice.

Just as we can improve our decision making process, we can build up our capacity to make choices, to be decisive, to exercise our agency. It is a skill. It requires us to develop self-awareness, to identify our values, and to set clear goals. It's about recognizing the choices we have, even when they seem limited, and taking responsibility for the consequences of those choices.

Recently, I landed a job. A job that I am excited for. At least for now, it aligns with my longer term goals.

It took some deliberation, because I felt under-qualified for the role. It would require me months of prep and study to just get the gist of the role. It also required from me that small dose of courage to ask around for help and connections. I could have just as easily applied for the role on the job sites. But I knew the default option means having to go through too many layers. It starts with the recruiter in HR, then the HR manager, then the department’s hiring manager, before it comes to whoever has the ultimate power in making decisions.

It meant many decisions had to go my way, hoping my resume would fall into the right hands. That means waiting out for months, if that was going to happen at all.

I didn’t want that uncertainty, not anymore. I had a choice, to wait out or take a shot in the dark. So I took a deep breath, reached out to a few people I knew, and landed an interview within weeks. I got the job.

The sabbatical paid off.

VII. Resolution

For 2025, I made the resolution to embrace boldness.

To make that bold choice, and execute on it. To make a bet on myself. Not the reckless, impulsive kind of choice. But a mindful, calculated kind of boldness. That stems from thoughtful deliberation and a willingness to take calculated risks.

This resolution reflects everything I've learned about the power of choice. It's a commitment to living a life that is true to my values. One that I hope helps me determine purpose and meaning in life.

It's a commitment to pursuing my ambition with renewed vigor, and to facing my fears with courage. It’s a commitment to exercising and expressing my agency. To let myself be heard, even if people disagree. To be just that much more decisive and have a bias to action. To be optimistic, but accepting of outcomes whatever they might be.

Life, as I see it, is shaped by the countless choices we make (or don’t). By making conscious choices, we get to shape and transform our lives. The power is always in our choosing.

Inspirations

• You Have a Choice by Eric Nehrlich

• Avoid the sunk cost fallacy and make a career pivot by Coach Erika and Leo Alexandru

• How to be More Agentic by Cate Hall

• Graham Weaver’s Lectures

  • How to Live an Asymmetric Life

  • How to Live your Life at Full Power

• How Will You Measure Your Life by Clay Christensen

  • HBR article

  • TEDx talk

• The Last Samurai by Helen deWitt

Where we had thought to travel outward, we shall come to the center of our own universe. - Joseph Campbell

I. A Calling

Writing started as a casual flirtation, an on-and-off companion since graduating from school. It was a quiet pursuit that I returned to time and again. Midway through my undergrad, I took the craft more seriously. I started by journaling consistently, and with each passing year my writing grew more deliberate. It wasn’t just a hobby, it was a way for me to articulate my dreams, wrestle with my doubts, and find clarity amidst the noise.

In the final months of my previous job, writing was my respite. Between the daily grind and corporate haze, there was very little room to breathe. On commutes, during hurried lunch breaks, and late at night, I wrote. Each sentence felt like coming up for air.

This year, I committed to writing with intention. I explored new formats, practiced daily with prompts, and published more on this blog than ever before. When my (former) colleagues asked what I planned to do during my sabbatical, my answer was simple: write. No jobs lined up, no grand plans. Just the freedom to create and explore.

II. Departure

The first week off from work was an exorcism. The tension I did not know I was holding onto was released, and I could finally breathe again. I slept like I hadn’t in months. All the trappings of a corporate life—prestige, income, credentials—melted away.

Their dissolution created a void. Yet, it wasn’t a hollow feeling of someone burned out and devoid of purpose. Instead, it was a clearing. A space where something meaningful might emerge. The emptiness brought about a restlessness. It was the urge to explore, and venture beyond the familiar. Somewhere in the unknown, I hoped to find myself.

III. Initiation

New Zealand was the first crossing. A vast terrain on a tiny land mass. It was a world unto itself. The winter there was brutal yet invigorating. Like a shock to the system, it kept me present and aware on the journey.

Each day had its own troubles—the cold, the shifting landscapes, and the long drive. We stopped only for food, fuel and caffeine to keep us moving. With no other expectations except reaching the next stop before dark, I felt oddly liberated. Despite the discomfort, there was a strange joy in the journey.

At night, I would journal. I wrote about the mountains, the lakes, and the windswept coasts. New Zealand wasn’t always like this. The island was shaped, over millions of years, through tectonic collisions, volcanic eruptions and persistent erosion. In another million years the landscape would look entirely different. Perhaps sooner, thanks to pollution.

That impermanence mirrored my own life in transition. Like New Zealand's shifting terrain, my path forward would be shaped by the small choices I take.

IV. Revelation

One night, I wandered from our campsite, drawn to the stillness of the lake. The face of the water was so calm. Far away from city lights,the stars shining more brilliantly than I’ve ever seen. If I squint, I could make out the faint trail of the Milky Way.

The stars and the constellations they formed have always been guides. For centuries, they helped travelers on their journeys. The stars formed the basis of myths—stories that shaped the lives of people.

Under that vast expanse of the universe, I felt infinitesimally small. A mere speck of dust. But I didn't feel diminished, just a sense of relief. My worries, so overwhelming at times, were insignificant. My problems now seemed trivial against the vastness of space.The stars reminded me that this is a universe of possibilities. If the universe could expand infinitely, so could I.

V. Return

I flew to Melbourne—a city I once called home.

Its winter greeted me like an old friend, and nostalgia washed over me as I revisited familiar sights. The bite of cold air, and the screech of trams stopping. Memories came flooding back. Almost a decade ago, I'd arrived here as an undergraduate, no less cold but burning with curiosity for what lay ahead

.The exhibitions at the National Gallery of Victoria’s halls and the IMAX theater’s towering screen reconnected me to my younger self: one who loved to immerse in art, stories, and ideas with that burning curiosity. Long walks through the city and café stops brought back rhythms of a past life—study sessions, brunch dates, and hours spent writing my journal.

I reunited with friends over dinner, to catch up on lost time. Each navigating their own transitions. Some were contemplating a career switch, others were planning their wedding. I found solace in that. We’re all trying to figure things out.

I also met with former professors, not for academic advice but for perspective. Over coffee, they shared their thoughts on life and work. They had no answers for me, but they helped me broaden my perspective, by spotting overlooked opportunities and pathways I hadn’t considered.

VI. Integration

Now that I’m back, I still don’t know my next step. I still have no answers, and have way more questions than before. But that’s okay. Those questions, I realized, are enough to begin with.

One thing I do know for certain—writing must be the cornerstone of my life. It’s the foundation I’ll build on. I’ve got ideas to explore, notes to refine, and drafts to write. Not for success or an audience, but for the joy and love of the craft.

Writing is more than a tool for communication; it’s a tool for discovery. It sharpens my thinking, confronts my fears, and clears my head. It helps me count my blessings and uncover my voice. If I gain nothing else, that’s fine by me.

Whatever comes next, I’ll just keep writing.

Far better it is to dare mighty things, to win glorious triumphs, even though checkered by failure, than to take rank with those poor spirits who neither enjoy much nor suffer much, because they live in the gray twilight that knows not victory nor defeat.
- Theodore Roosevelt, Strenuous Life

1: I Can Not Redo

I held my breath.

After 5 hours of waiting between scans and consultations, the doctor says it’s conclusive. My shoulder is torn.

I stared at the X-ray, half listening to the doctor. Not knowing what to think of it. All I remembered was that he wrote me a note giving me 2 weeks off from work, and some prescriptions to help with the pain. 

It wasn’t until I got home, I realized the severity of the situation. This is bad.

I was crippled. I can’t do much of anything. The plans and goals I’ve set for the year are tossed out.

Overwhelmed and exhausted, I crashed to sleep.

…

How did I get here? 

I wanted to leave 2023 behind me. It was a year of stagnation. I hoped to forget it by moving ahead.

I planned to start 2024 strong, to renew my purpose and momentum. Any momentum I hoped to make now stopped cold. 

This injury set me back. It threw off my plans.  My ambitions were brought to a stop. What could have been a better me is now lost.

Physical activities are not just exercise—it’s self-expression. Because movement requires the mind and body to act in unison. When intent and action is aligned, the impact is amplified. 

Since I can’t practice, I have no other outlets. No means of expressing myself. No way of blowing off steam.

This feeling is made worse by the arm sling and back brace I had to wear. Restraining the range of my movements. It felt like a straightjacket. Trapping my body. Two weeks off from work, but I was just confined to my bed.

The painkillers added to my misery. They induced a hazy feeling, making it difficult to do anything. Like a flame being smothered. Thinking became sluggish. In daylight, the pills knocked me cold. At night, I was just too tired to even watch a movie. I killed time by counting the spinning of the fan. This went on until the days bled into each other.

I was restless. My thoughts and emotions swirled. 

…

When the painkillers ran out, I wanted to get a refill on the prescription. 

For a moment, that thought lingered. That scared me—that would have been a trap I’d never escape from. It was a quiet desperation. Numbing myself from the pain was easier than facing it. That flicker of awareness was an anchor.

I was trapped, I cannot redo the past. I took a wrong turn and there’s no turning back. No reset button. 

If I couldn’t go back, I had to find a way to move on.

Or, surrender to despair.

2: I Can Not Advance

By mid-February, I started physiotherapy. 

Weekly sessions at the rehab center to restore my shoulder and fix my posture. Putting in the work to heal my body, but it was taxing to my state of mind. Each session with the physio was a reminder of how far I still had to go. To heal means to be made whole, but I lost time. I can never get them back. 

Back at work, management approved a flexible arrangement to accommodate me—working from home most days with the occasional office visit. It should be a sign of relief, being able to contribute productively. Right?

Instead, I found myself dreading each day. The energy drained out of me as soon as I booted up the laptop. I caught myself zoning out, staring at the laptop screen. It was like looking into a black mirror—reflecting not just my work, but every failure I could not shake. Tasks I once found engaging were now a chore, and I felt the weight of time slipping away.

…

I told myself that it wasn't a burnout. Calling it a burnout was too dismissive of my genuine commitment. I cared about the work, at least when the work got going. Still, even in misery, I wanted to push on. But it was like wading through quicksand. The more I tried to push forward, the more stuck I felt. 

But I tried to break free. I applied for department rotations. I wanted to try out different types of work and expand my skills. That lead nowhere.

I then tried a different approach: spoke with management, volunteered myself and even pitched projects. I made the effort to block in time for coffee chats to find out what is coming down the pipeline. It didn’t happen either.

In parallel, I sent out a number of job applications, leading to a handful of interviews. Some went well, or so I thought, others I blundered. Yet, I have nothing came out of this.

Nothing was going wrong, not really, but nothing is going right either. Things just weren’t happening for me. I wasn’t winning and I wasn’t losing. I was caught in that gray twilight. I was in stasis.

…

This dread persisted. Each day, it felt like a part of me was being chipped away. It’s like this slow internal erosion and I was hollowing out on the inside. Steve Schlafman, an executive coach, calls it a burning down.

Burndown happens when we’re out of alignment—our outer lives no longer align with our inner lives and who we are at our core. We’ve run out of innate passion for the journey we’ve been on despite pushing forward like an ultra marathoner on mile 45—you might feel like you want to “burn it all down.”

That fire within, gave out more heat than light. 

…

One day, the truth hit me. My attempts to ‘break free’ were an act of desperation. I was not looking to move forward. I was looking for an escape. I wanted to jump out the first window I can find. I was escaping something deeper.

I was avoiding the fact that my life, as it was, wasn’t working. And maybe, that it hadn’t been so for a while. I was on a path that had run its course. It was a dead end.

The option I hadn’t thought about was to exit this road and start all over again. 

But I didn’t want to quit. Not at first. Quitting meant admitting to mistakes, to missteps. It meant that I failed in no small way. 

But I can not advance. Not unless I let go of this life I was clinging on to so desperately.

I had to quit.

3: Exit Strategy

The thought of quitting wasn’t easy. It was scary. Writing the resignation letter felt like stepping away from familiarity. Choosing to stay offered comfort, despite the mounting frustrations. If I stayed, I know for certain I’ll always be miserable.

I was afraid of facing uncertainty. Sure, there might be an upside, but also much greater risks of failure.

That’s the other reason I hesitated—failure. Quitting was an admission of failure. I was not ready to admit that I’ve made mistakes. I was not ready to admit that I’ve hit a limit of my abilities. I was not ready to accept that I failed in some personal, existential way. 

Looking back, I think I might have subordinated my life to material but meaningless pursuits: financial security, career progress. All that time and effort, and with very little to show for it? To quit then felt like a condemnation of myself. I was afraid that I would have to live with this black mark for life.

…

I understood where my fears were coming from. But I didn’t know how to overcome them. A recovering injury and a career in stasis, I was far from my best self. It was daunting. 

Then, I thought about reframing my fears. Annie Duke’s book “Quit” was informative. She reframed quitting as less about giving up, but more about a reallocation of resources: time, energy, attention and our self. It’s about accepting that mistakes were made and the price was paid, and we will never recoup it. But what we do with what we have now, matters far more for our future.

Yet we fail to see the upside in quitting, because of the sunk cost fallacy, we fail to consider the opportunity costs of staying even longer. We double down, pour more money on a losing gamble. We lose even more, setting ourselves back. We subjugate ourselves to prolonged and often needless misery. 

Life is far too short for that. The world is also too vast to pour all of ourselves into one narrow lane. 

In that light, quitting becomes an investment decision. A decision that can be analyzed rationally. The exit becomes a strategy: guaranteed stagnation OR the possibility of growth.

…

Understanding where my fear came from didn’t make the next step any less uncertain. I was quitting with nothing in the pipeline. No next project or work lined up. Just the world of possibilities, and chaos.

That’s where I needed a model—not a step-by-step plan, but a torch to light my way forward. Models help make sense of the unknown, not by eliminating the fear but by framing it.

As I thought about it, instead of waiting for yet another job. I thought about taking a sabbatical. There were others before me who quit the path they were on and went on a break. Stories abound.

Matthew McConaughey rejected rom-coms, risking obscurity, income, and even his career. Two years of rejections later, he emerged as a more authentic actor, with roles like True Detective and Dallas Buyers Club. His McConaissance paid off

David Maisel walked away from BCG to chase his passion for entertainment. It was a risk, though he entertained job offers, he stuck to his course. Eventually he landed a job at the Creative Arts Agency (CAA), marking the beginning of a career that culminated with the birth of the Marvel Cinematic Universe.

Paul Millerd left a successful corporate career as a strategy consultant. He quit what he called the default path. He then went off to experiment, write, and create a life on his terms. He found a way to live more authentically, documenting this in his book the Pathless path.

A friend of mine revealed to me that he too went on a sabbatical. Partly frustrated by work, partly looking for more challenging things to do. He spent a year teaching himself to code and Machine Learning. 

These weren’t just examples of people quitting; they were stories of reinvention. Exiting the comfortable path to tread their own journey.

As Joseph Campbell wrote:

We have not even to risk the adventure alone. For the heroes of all time have gone before us. …Where you had thought to stand alone, you will be with all the world.

I felt that much more assured. I am not alone.

…

Still, fear lingered in me. Survivorship bias tells that for every McConaughey or Maisel, there are countless others, who quit and floundered. Their stories are untold and remain unheard.

I reasoned that I had to have a backup. A contingency in case my decision ends up in failure.

I confided with a senior colleague about my plan. Someone who, at this point of her career and life, has perhaps seen it all. She found my decision to quit admirable ( to my surprise) and my plan was reasonable. But then she gave a counterintuitive piece of advice: “The most reasonable decision is not to have a Plan B.”

That was a revelation.

…

Life is never about guarantees. Without consequence, without an element of risk, is it really a choice? To remain in that gray twilight would be to deny life of its richness. To quit, with no alternative, was to dare mighty things. There’s no promise of great triumphs, but I’ll know that I’m living a meaningful life.

Quitting becomes a declaration of intent. By stepping away, I created space for something greater, something truer to myself.

I don’t know what lies ahead, but for the first time in a long while, I’m stepping forward with purpose. And that is enough.

Inspirations

Quit by Annie Duke

Annie Duke examines the often-stigmatized act of quitting and argues that knowing when to walk away is a crucial skill for success in life. Duke provides a compelling framework for reevaluating our goals, recognizing when to persist and when to pivot, and making more informed choices about where to invest our time and energy.

The Pathless Path by Paul Millerd

Partly a memoir about Paul Millerd’s life, and partly a call to action: to be brave in making your choices, be comfortable with sitting in uncertainty, and tread a path of self-discovery

Greenlights by Matthew McConaughey

Persist, pivot or concede. It's up to us, our choice every time.

A fun and insightful look at Matthew McConaughey’s life as written by him in his signature folksy but insightful way. I previously wrote about the key lessons I learned from the book.

I quit my job by Matt Yao

Taking a sabbatical as someone still early in their career felt like a blunder. Typically, you’d expect people in their mid-to-late stage of their lives to take a break. But it was re-assuring that I was not the only one. Matt Yao’s piece helped in that regard, and his blog also contained stories from others who left the default path early.

I. Nature of Genius

When we think of genius, we picture dramatic figures. Brilliant minds but troubled souls. The tortured artist, the abrasive scientist, the recalcitrant visionary. They are revolutionary and often controversial figures. They reinforce the notion that greatness comes at great cost, that great men and women come with no less great flaws. 

But these dramatic, larger than life figures obscure another kind of genius. The kind of genius that is equally profound but far less celebrated. Those whose brilliance manifests not in spectacle, but in a sustained, quiet excellence. Genius without the drama. They are, for the most part, uncontroversial, and thus tend to slip beneath notice. They shape the world through decades of refined craft, and consistent innovations, but seldom make the headlines. They are universally respected, yet somehow remain underappreciated.

II. Three stories

Three figures exemplify this quiet excellence.

From Liverpool's working class to global influence, Paul McCartney transformed popular music not once with The Beatles, but continuously over decades. Yet, Paul almost seems ordinary (a deliberate choice), perhaps because he makes it look too easy, all too natural.

Ed Thorp was the pioneering quant. While Moneyball may be credited with bringing quantitative methods to baseball, Thorp revolutionized gambling and trading in the 60s. Applying math to games and then to finance with astounding results. He beat the dealers and beat the market, all while maintaining a modest professor's life.

Charlie Munger, who recently left us, embodied this quiet genius in business and philosophy. In spite of the success he has with Berkshire Hathaway, and his extraordinary wealth, he was happy to remain outside the spotlight.

III. Patterns of Excellence

The three exhibit common traits that play out across their lives.

They are relentlessly curious, and always eager to learn. They are autodidactic, teaching themselves to master new fields or tools. McCartney taught himself every instrument he could find. Thorp taught himself chemistry and physics to win a state competition, and when his interests shifted, he taught himself mathematics. Charlie Munger read widely across different fields and studied biographies of the eminent dead, distilling wisdom for his own practice.

They honed their craft, improving themselves over the decades, and producing output consistently. This accumulates into a corpus of work so vast, it spans multiple lifetimes of any average individual.

But they don’t just learn either; they synthesize knowledge across boundaries. McCartney has composed music and played across a variety of genres. Thorp developed new mathematical methods as he needed, maintaining an edge against the house and the market. Munger built a latticework of models drawing from every discipline he studied and his own experience to better navigate reality.

As individuals, the three are remarkable and can solve any problems they set out on their own. But to their nature, they fostered a collaborative spirit. They harnessed their genius by playing to the strengths of their partners. Paul McCartney began with the Beatles, and then the Wings, later on in his solo career, he has worked with other famous artists like Stevie Wonder and Michael Jackson among others. Ed Thorp has had separate discussions with Richard Feynman and Warren Buffett; he invented the first wearable computer with Claude Shannon to calculate odds at the roulette table. Charlie Munger’s whole life is about partnerships: he started a law practice with fellow colleagues, and later formed a lifelong partnership with Buffett that led to the sustained success of Berkshire Hathaway.

IV. Choice of Quietude

Their relative obscurity, if you can call it that, often comes by choice. 

They prioritize their personal freedom and independence over fame. Charlie Munger wanted to be independent, his way of achieving that is by becoming rich and financially independent. Money as a means not the end, and always keeping that in clear view. Ed Thorp, despite growing up poor, focused on his curiosity and interests, always made choices where he kept his freedom. The money was just a way to keep score.

They put family ahead of the publicity. McCartney married Linda Eastman, and preferred his family life. Thorp made sure he had time for his family and avoided unnecessary risks to his health and life. Munger’s family got to enjoy extended bus trips instead of flying on private jets for holidays.

They chose to live out an ordinary life. This is not modesty so much as it is a clarity of purpose. They know exactly the game they want to play: a deeper and more meaningful way to live life.

I think part of the reason why they’re rather underrated is because they’ve been around for so long, they just recede into the background. It’s like they have been there all along. Unlike their contemporaries, who often burn bright but flame out fast. These figures demonstrate how to maintain creative vitality and relevance across decades. Paul McCartney is in his 80s and is still going on tour. Ed Thorp is in his 90s but looks spry for his age, and is still active. Charlie Munger, was still involved with Berkshire Hathaway up until his death, a month shy of his 100th birthday.

They played the long game, and they played it extraordinarily well. Their reward is that they get to play the game for a long time too.

V. a Life well-chosen

These uncontroversial geniuses offer a different model of greatness. One that challenges our conventional narrative of genius and success. Their stories suggest that true genius might lie not in dramatic breakthroughs or revolutionary moments, but in the patient cultivation of excellence over time. 

They show us that genius need not come at the cost of personal happiness or stability. Instead, it can flourish alongside rich family lives, meaningful relationships, and personal contentment.

In an age that increasingly mistakes controversy and drama for importance, these figures offer a vital counterpoint. They remind us that the most profound impacts often come quietly, through consistent work and thoughtful choices rather than grand gestures.

That's the real genius: not just in what you create, but in creating a life worth living, guided by clarity of purpose and a deep understanding of the game worth playing. These uncontroversial geniuses show us that greatness need not come with great flaws. Instead, it comes through great choices.

Quotes

The fact is, being ordinary is very important to me…It’s really quite rational, my ordinariness. It is actually my answer to the question, ‘What is the best way to be?’ I think ordinary. — Paul McCartney

What was important to us was how we spent our time and the people, family, friends and colleagues, with whom we shared it. — Edward O. Thorp

Spend each day trying to be a little wiser than you were when you woke up. Step by step you get ahead, but not necessarily in fast spurts. But you build discipline by preparing for fast spurts. — Charlie Munger

Inspirations

• Paul McCartney as management study by Tyler Cowen

• 64 reasons to celebrate Paul McCartney by Ian Leslie

• A Man for All Markets by Edward O. Thorp

• Poor Charlie’s Almanack — The Essential Wit and Wisdom of Charles T. Munger (stripe press)

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I grew up Muslim, in a Muslim majority country, raised with Islamic principles. But my closest friends were Christians: Catholics, Protestants and Mormons. 

You don’t hear much about Mormons outside American media. So it was a surprise to find a local Latter-Day Saints (LDS) chapter not far from where I grew up. What are the odds?

I was on pretty good terms with the Mormons. We sat together during recess, played football after school. I think I got invited over to the church once (but I didn’t go at the time, for reasons to be made clear). In 2012, during the US elections, we’d joke about Mitt Romney (a Mormon) versus Barack Obama1. It was all in jest, nothing more than juvenile humor.

These friendships were my first exposure to Mormonism. We have things in common—like alcohol is forbidden. While I admit that Mormon theology is (still) largely unfamiliar to me, I’ve come to appreciate them.

Over the years, I found myself fascinated by their practices and way of life. The more I learned about them, the more I respected them, especially in comparison to how they’re often portrayed in pop culture via South Park or The Book of Mormon musical.

b) Mormons on a Mission

My interactions with Mormons didn’t stop with childhood friends. I’ve met many others over the years, whether through online forums like Discord or missionaries out in the world. 

In Malaysia, the Mormons are not allowed to preach to the local Muslims. Religion is a highly sensitive topic. But when I come across Mormons at the train station or a public space, I’ll strike up a conversation. They're from some other part of the world (mostly the American Midwest), so I have to play my part in welcoming guests to the country. I’d like to hear their stories too. I am always curious to know how they view their mission and their experiences.

One winter in Australia, I answered my door to two LDS missionaries. A Mandarin-speaking American girl, and an English-speaking Chinese girl. Yes, read that again. All I could think was: did someone swap the audio files? They spoke fluently in non-native tongues. How cool is that!?! 

Mormon missionaries, like these girls, often endure long periods of isolation, ridicule, some rejection or worse: being completely ignored. Yet they persist with a sense of calm and purpose.

It’s admirable, really. 

c) Training for a Latter Day

The LDS is of course an institution. One that emphasizes community. The LDS Church has a built-in network that not only connects members worldwide but also helps them secure jobs and opportunities. I’ve known my friends have gotten gigs with American expats through their church, further solidifying this global support system.

The Church also invests in training their members with practical skills by sending them on missions. The missionary work gives young Mormons an opportunity to develop skills and themselves.

They are thrust into unfamiliar environments. There they must learn the local culture and language, like the girls speaking in non-native tongues. 

They have to be ambassadors of their faith. Because the missionaries are most people’s first and only exposure to the Mormons, they have to put their best foot forward and leave a respectable impression. 

They have to learn to persuade and preach—hold people’s attention and keep people engaged. Useful skills in any business.

But the tough part is, they have to face ridicule, loneliness, and rejection. They may also have to learn how to deal with more antagonistic and hostile individuals. They have to learn to maintain composure and take the high road.

Perhaps there’s something to be said about what the mission experience does in setting Mormons up for life. Afterall, there’s plenty of famous people who happen to be Mormons. To name a few, Mitt Romney (again), business gurus like Clay Christensen and Stephen Covey, even Mr. Brightside himself—Brandon Flowers. If you count ex-Mormons (ExMos), that list is even be longer

d) Binding Ties

Mormon culture is rich with community, material support, and lifelong relationships. But like any organization—whether it’s religious, corporate, or political—the LDS Church has its own set of internal pressures. It can be repressive to some folks who diverge from the norm. 

For all the benefits of being a Latter-day Saint, it is hard to leave the church. Leaving the church often means giving up not just your faith and the material upside, but relationships built over a lifetime. It’s a high price to pay, and many ExMos face being ostracized. 

e) The High Road to the Divine

One major thing I’ve always respected about the Mormons is their grace. I’ve never had a bad interaction with one. I’ve had disagreements but they were always civil. 

I can see why it might give people the creeps. Being so nice despite facing some hostility. Not responding aggression in kind. But that’s just it, the Mormons (to an extent) are actually decent people.

When The Book of Mormon musical came out, the church took out full-page ads in playbills, inviting audiences to learn more. Instead of responding with outrage, they took the high road—by inviting others to have an open conversation.

Katherine Dee has a post on the useful wisdom of the Mormons:

There’s a great quote I once heard from BYU professor of Religious Education, Robert L. Millet, about how Latter-day Saints should handle hostility on their missions. He says, “Whenever a person asks me an antagonistic question, I never an­swer that question, but rather, I answer the question they should have asked.”

…

Read one way, we can understand it as, “Ignore challenges to your faith by diverting the conversation.” And maybe a step further, cast those people who are questioning you as antagonistic. 

But from a different angle, the interpretation is closer to, “When someone is trying to hurt or mock me, instead I give them the context they need to understand me.” 

Whether you believe in the Church’s teachings or not, it’s undeniable that missionaries get a lot of harassment. And frankly, this is awesome advice for anyone trying to respond to that with diplomacy.

Personally, I think they’ve figured out how to navigate a secular world whilst trying to keep in touch with the divine.

A final note: Spotify Wrapped placed my listening habits as similar to those in Provo, Utah. Perhaps, in another life, I might’ve been Mormon too.

Inspirations

The All-American Religion

The Mormon people teach the American religion; their principles teach the people not only of Heaven and its attendant glories, but how to live so that their social and economic relations with each other are placed on a sound basis. - Leo Tolstoy

The Book of Mormon (musical)

I loved the musical. I caught the show in Australia, with none of the OG cast though. It’s funny, satirizes the LDS, pointing out the silliness. But they painted the Mormons in an earnest and respectable light too.

I was surprised to find out the writers of the musical were Matt and Trey of South Park. Of course it is.

Even more surprised the composer of the music was Robert Lopez, who went on to write Disney’s definitive hit of the 2010s: Let It Go.

Also, there’s a Korean version of the Book of Mormon.

Latter-Day Ain’t

I’ve been a fan of default_friend / Katherine Dee’s writings and thinking. Some of her pieces on Mormonism articulates what I’ve similarly observed in ways that I never could. Do check it out:

Latter Day Ain't

#1: DF begins the record of her fascination.

One of my ex-Mormon friends once said to me, “You know more about Mormons than any non-member I’ve ever met. It’s a once in a lifetime fascination. At least in my life…

Read more

6 years ago · 12 likes · 9 comments · Katherine Dee

Orange is the color of insanity. - Vincent Van Gogh

I. Oyen cat behaviour

Orange Cat Behavior and Orange Cats Share One Brain Cell refers to the widespread notion and cliche that orange (ginger) cats are more chaotic, more affectionate and more stupid than other types of cats.

- Know your meme

It’s become a meme that orange cats are characterized for their mischief and seemingly irrational behavior. These cats are harbingers of chaos.

Orange cat is the crackhead of cat. pic.twitter.com/3MCbjmA991
— Bulu Bulu Kehidupan 🇲🇾 (@ulat_bulu_bulu) November 16, 2019

In Malaysia, these cats are affectionately known as Oyen. They can be found anywhere and everywhere. They’ll fit in any nook and cranny. They’ll take up spots where they shouldn’t. Even preferring anything other than their own dedicated spaces.

There’s cats that have taken trains.

There’s even Oyen in Zoo Negara that has taken up residence among the capybaras. How did it get there???

Oyen’s charm is in their ability to fit into any space, no matter how absurd. A suitcase? A kitchen sink? No problem. But they are oh-so adorable, it’s why we tolerate them at all.

II. The Oyen Conjecture: if if fits, it sits.

Unfortunately, it’s not just cats in Malaysia who have this talent for squeezing into inappropriate places. 

This is the Oyen Conjecture: if a car fits, it sits. Wherever space exists, cars will fill it, regardless of whether it's practical or legal.

This phenomenon is seen throughout the country, these cars are taking up space that defies common sense. 

When Oyen squeezes into a small space, it’s cute. When cars do it… not so much. The inconvenience caused by cars is a massive migraine to deal with.

III. Oyen man bad ?!?!

The Oyen Conjecture is endemic to transportation in Malaysia. It is, shamefully, a part of the culture. 

Double parking is rampant everywhere. Causing traffic congestion, and blocking public access

In retail areas and shops, these cars can be found to block pedestrian crossings, emergency lanes, and fire hydrants.

I mean, emergency services can’t even get their job done.

There’s no excuse for it. Like Oyen, without a care to their actions, some people just lack that consideration. 🤬

Even residential areas and suburbs aren’t spared. Cars clogging up roads, making two-way streets barely wide enough for even one car. It makes driving feel like you’re walking on a tightrope.

Look at this apartment complex, see how crazy this is?

They don't have to pave paradise, because the whole country is a parking lot.

IV. The Cat Distribution System

Malaysia has a car problem. I think there’s some weird economics going on. Because, there’s just way too many cars given the relative size of the population.

There’s 869 vehicles registered per 1,000 people in Malaysia. More than their neighbours Singapore (167), Indonesia (485) and Thailand (527). We’re on par with the Americans (863).

According to the Ministry of Transport, in 2023, there’s about 17.2 million cars and 16.8 million motorcycles registered. That’s 34 million private vehicles.

The population of Malaysia, as of 2024 currently stands at 34 million. Not everyone in the population can drive or ride.

Why is that? 

First, Malaysia’s climate discourages walking. You’re either drenched with sweat from the heat, or you’re soaked from the rain. Sometimes both on the same day, with nothing in between. Who likes that? No one. Which is why we much rather be in a car and crank up the AC.

Second, even if people did consider walking, there are just not enough pedestrian-friendly routes. There’s all sorts of issues: It’s poorly maintained. It’s too narrow. It might not even exist. Locals and Tourists have complained about this.

Third, the public infrastructure. Even as bad as the car situation is, the alternative isn’t much better. It’s not that easy to get around. Most people who work in Kuala Lumpur, do not live in Kuala Lumpur.

Although, efforts have been made and are still being made by the government to build more connections. But there still remains the first and last mile issue. It’s still too far for commuters to walk to the stations, or access to those stations are still difficult. Forcing many to still rely on private transportation to get to the train station. Guess what? they still need to park their car too.

If there are no better alternatives to cars, there’s no point in switching.

Development in the country is still rather car-centric. Plus the cost of owning a car in the country is rather cheap compared to the rest of the region.

There’s too many cars, and not enough space. Building additional parking lots is only papering over the problem, but it is not getting to the root causes of the issue.

Additionally, there are also problems with governance and institutions.

Enforcement is lax. It’s not that there isn’t enforcement. It just doesn’t feel like enforcement. Here’s what I mean: the road authority gives out discounts to parking and traffic fines. It’s like a holiday sale. Instead of discouraging you from reckless parking, you can rack up the fines and wait for the discounts. Unless that changes, don’t expect anything else to change either.

There will always be discounts. Just don't pay and wait for announcements. This is the Malaysian way. - comment #19 from Lowyat.net Forum

Furthermore, within the government, there’s poor policy decisions. Subsidies for fuel that still make purchasing cars a less costly option. Toll concessionaires, by agreement with the government, stop toll prices from hiking. They incentivize car use. Paradoxically ensuring that we still pay to sit in congested traffic. 😑

Yes, the People are aware of the problems, and have voiced their concerns. In response, the government has proposed to tackle the problems. Many times over. But right now, it feels like wishful thinking.

V. in the Oyen, the trouble you make is greater than the space you take

The Oyen Conjecture isn’t going anywhere anytime soon. Like stray cats breeding uncontrollably, Malaysia’s car problem isn’t getting better. 

While culture is not an easy thing to change, nor can change happen soon enough. Good institutions and policies (and some much needed leadership) is a start.

Cities in other parts of the world, like Amsterdam and Barcelona have successfully reduced car dependency. Transforming cities into car-free zones and building pedestrian-friendly infrastructure. They show that it is possible to cut down on cars.

Heck, even Uber—a company whose revenues depend on cars—is trialing ways to cut car use, with their One Less Car programs in Australia. 

It can be done. So what’s stopping us?

Inspirations

Car culture in Malaysia: A silent crisis

The Centre—Getting Around: Towards a decent daily commute

Uber Australia — One Less Car

Paved Paradise by Henry Grabar
Only found out about this as I was finishing this post and read several excerpts. Getting my copy soon. h/t to Kyla Scanlon on the Conversations with Tyler podcast.

I) Surprise!

There was this one class that stuck out during my undergrad. The statistics professor asked a student for his birthday. 

He predicted that there is at least more than one person with the same birthday. He asked for a show of hands to a lecture of  200 students. Sure enough, 4 other students raised their hands. 🤯

That has to be a coincidence, right? There’s 365 days in a year. It felt impossible.

That’s the beauty of probability—it defies intuition. It’s mathematics making sense of seemingly random chance.

II) A Crash Course on Collision

Let’s start with the assumptions (see appendix):

• 365 birthdays in a year1, 

• The birthdays are equally distributed, meaning that the same number of babies are born each day in any given year.

This is the birthday problem: As the number of people in a room increases, the likelihood of at least 2 people to have a matching birthday increases. It takes a room of 23 people to get to a 50% chance of having at least one pair of shared birthdays—what is known as a collision.

We can test this out in real life. Take the 20 Premier League teams. Each team has over 20 players. We can reasonably expect about half the teams to have a shared birthday.

I took the liberty to test it out and 12 of the teams do have shared birthdays. Some more than others.

This result should hold in any group—be it a classroom, the office, or any social gatherings.

What’s more, it doesn’t take much to make it certain. Just 57 people, and the likelihood rockets up to 99%. 

Why is this so? Because the likelihood of NOT finding a match becomes vanishingly small as groups get larger.

In a sufficiently large group, it is almost impossible to have no one sharing a birthday. Almost.

The math seems crazy, but it works. Our brains are not naturally equipped to deal with probabilities and large numbers. What seems to be an outlier turns out to be a common result.

III) Common Denominator

My point? We have more things in common with each other than not. 

Put enough people together in a room, clusters across shared traits naturally emerge—be it interests, values and  personality types. Even first names are shared. 

There’s 8 billion people on the planet today. We’d like to think we’re all unique in all our ways. 

We’re more alike than we think.

Too often, we focus on the differences that don’t matter. Which makes finding people who share our values and interests feel elusive. 

But the math suggests that differences rarely overshadow our similarities.. It’s a matter of meeting more people and expanding our social circles. By putting ourselves out there, we take that first step to make meaningful connections.

Unlike birthdays, which are set, we can adapt our interests and work on ourselves—increasing our surface area for luck. Improving our chances to find others, and others to find us. 

What’s more, there’s the internet and online platforms. They’re driven by algorithms built to connect us based on shared interests, They’re powerful tools when used wisely.

IV) Matchmaker

The math is clear. More people, More connections.

It’s called matchmaking, right? It can be made. Serendipity can be set in motion.

Whether you’re looking for a friend, a job, a business partner, or someone to build a life with.

So don’t wait for chance encounters. Put in the work.

Go out, meet people, join a group.

You’ll be surprised by the things you have in common.

Inspirations

1. Laps around the sun

My first post on substack was about birthdays. This would be my 30th.

2. The phenomena of Probability Matching by Kris Abdelmessih @ Moontower

3. Dating Data by Kyla Scanlon

4. The One and The Many by Stephen Fry

5. Birthday Problem math

• Birthday Problem (wikipedia)

  • Interesting to note, the first known publication of the birthday problem is by Richard von Mises, brother of the Austrian economist Ludwig von Mises.

• Expected Collisions via StackExchange

appendix

Uniform birthdays

It’s fair to assume a uniform distribution for each day in a year. While we can expect to see some seasonality and variation with births, the data shows that it doesnt vary that much, at least in Malaysia, from 1982 to 2022. Total number of people in that 40 year span, on a given birthdate range from 50,000 to 60,000.

With February 29, the leap day, accounting for about 13,500. Which is a quarter of any other given date. But for the sake of simplifying the math, we ignore them2.