CEO Blog
Are We Optimizing Ourselves Out of Actually Living?
There was a time when people measured life in stories.
“Remember that road trip?”
“Remember the dinner where we laughed until the restaurant closed?”
“Remember when we stayed up until 2 a.m. talking about nothing and everything?”
Today, we’re just as likely to measure life in numbers.
Eight hours of sleep. 10,000 steps.1,800 calories. A resting heart rate of 58. A productivity streak of 117 days. A screen-time average of 2 hours and 46 minutes.
We’ve become experts at tracking ourselves. We can monitor nearly every heartbeat, every workout, every hour of sleep, every minute of focus. Our watches congratulate us for standing up. Our phones remind us to breathe. Apps tell us when we’re productive, when we’re distracted, and when we’re falling behind.
The strange outcome of the data dumps? many of us have never had more information about our lives while simultaneously feeling less connected to actually living them.
Optimization isn’t inherently bad.
Sleeping well matters.
Exercise matters.
Financial planning matters.
Being intentional with our time matters.
Technology has genuinely helped millions of people become healthier and more organized.
The problem begins when optimization quietly stops being a tool and becomes the goal itself. Somewhere along the way, many of us unconsciously started believing that every moment should be efficient, measurable, and productive. Even leisure became something to optimize.
The perfect vacation itinerary.
The most efficient morning routine.
The ideal reading speed.
The smartest investment strategy.
The “best” way to relax.
Ironically, we began working harder at relaxation than previous generations worked at actual work.
Life shouldn’t be a spreadsheet. The richest moments in life rarely arrive looking efficient.
No one finishes an unforgettable evening with friends and says:
“That conversation exceeded my expected productivity metrics by 17 percent.”
The best memories usually violate every optimization rule.
A spontaneous road trip where nothing goes according to plan.
A birthday dinner that runs three hours longer than expected.
Watching your child tell the same joke five times because they’re laughing so hard.
Sitting on a dock doing absolutely nothing.
Missing your bedtime because your best friend needed someone to listen.
Falling in love.
Helping a neighbour.
Taking your parents out for coffee.
These moments often look inefficient.
They’re difficult to measure.
Sometimes they’re expensive.
Sometimes they cost sleep.
Sometimes they interrupt routines.
Yet they’re often the very moments that become the stories we tell for decades.
The Tyranny of Perfect Habits
The age of the tyranny of perfect habits is upon us; social media hasn’t helped. Every day we’re presented with someone else’s perfectly optimized life.
Wake at 5:00.
Ice bath.
Meditation.
Workout.
Protein smoothie.
Deep work.
Cold shower.
Journal.
Read 50 pages.
No processed food.
No alcohol.
No wasted time.
No off days.
It’s inspiring—until it becomes exhausting. Life isn’t supposed to feel like an Olympic training camp every single day. Humans aren’t machines that need constant calibration.
We’re emotional creatures.
We celebrate.
We grieve.
We procrastinate.
We laugh too long.
We eat birthday cake.
We stay up late talking.
We skip workouts because our daughter has a recital.
We call an old friend instead of answering emails.
Sometimes those are exactly the right decisions.
Think about the moments that changed your life and you can’t track wonders.
Meeting your spouse.
Watching your child take their first steps.
Graduation.
A difficult conversation to repair a broken relationship.
Watching the sunset somewhere unexpected.
Hearing news that completely altered your future.
None of these moments came with performance metrics. There isn’t an app that measures awe. No smartwatch detects gratitude and no dashboard accurately scores kindness.
Love doesn’t arrive as a notification.
Meaning can’t be graphed.
The things that matter most are often the things least capable of being quantified.
Our humanity is meant to be lived in real time. One of the unintended consequences of constant tracking is we begin living slightly outside ourselves. Instead of experiencing the moment, we’re evaluating it.
How many calories is this meal?
Will this hurt tomorrow’s workout?
Should I photograph this?
Will this post perform well?
How many steps have I taken?
How late is it?
What’s my sleep score going to be?
We’re physically present while mentally auditing the experience.
It’s like watching a movie while constantly checking the reviews.
Eventually you stop seeing the movie.
Sometimes self-improvement comes with a cost. It has become one of the defining industries of modern life. Books, podcasts, courses, apps, coaches and challenges. None of these are bad. Growth is wonderful. But there comes a point where the pursuit of becoming a better version of yourself prevents you from enjoying the version that already exists. It becomes a zero sum chase.
If every day becomes preparation for a future life, when exactly do you get to live this one?
The healthiest person isn’t necessarily the happiest. The most productive person isn’t necessarily the most fulfilled. The wealthiest person isn’t necessarily the richest. Real wealth often looks like having enough time to sit on the porch with someone you care deeply about.
Presence has quietly become one of the rarest skills of our generation. To eat without photographing. To listen without checking notifications. To walk without headphones. To have meals without looking at a watch. To celebrate without worrying about tomorrow’s schedule.
To simply exist.
Presence feels almost rebellious now. Yet it’s probably closer to how humans were designed to experience life. Not through constant measurement but through participation.
Give yourself permission to be human. Maybe missing one workout because your daughter wants to play isn’t failure. Maybe staying out late celebrating a friend’s promotion is healthier than protecting a perfect sleep score. Maybe taking a spontaneous weekend trip is worth disrupting your productivity system. Maybe sharing dessert with your family matters more than perfectly tracking your macros. Maybe calling your parents “just because” is more valuable than finishing another task on your to-do list.
Health matters.
Discipline matters.
Goals matter.
But they exist to serve life—not replace it.
Memories also matter. At the end of our lives, it’s unlikely anyone will ask about our average resting heart rate or whether we closed every activity ring. People will remember whether we showed up.
Whether we loved well.
Whether we laughed.
Whether we forgave.
Whether we were fully present when it mattered. They’ll remember how we made them feel. The beautiful irony is that the moments worth remembering often aren’t optimized.
They’re messy.
Unexpected.
Imperfect.
Unscheduled.
Wonderfully human.
Perhaps the goal isn’t to stop improving ourselves. Perhaps it’s to remember why we wanted to improve in the first place. Not to become perfectly efficient. But to become more capable of living deeply, loving generously, and being fully present in the only place life has ever happened.
Right here. Right now.