Eric Tian

We’ve all heard of hedonism, or the pursuit of pleasure. People with hedonistic tendencies prioritise two things: themselves and what feels good.

The often neglected brother of hedonism is eudaimonism, or the pursuit of good. People with eudaimonistic tendencies prioritise two things: humans and doing good.

Self-help books love to criticise hedonists. These authors often label hedonistic acts as stupid as these fail to consider long-term consequences. “Do what your future self would thank you for”, as the saying goes. In other words, choose eudaimonism. To prove their point, authors use extreme examples to illustrate the importance of being eudaimonistic.

Hedonistic	Eudaimonistic
Choosing a job for the money	Choosing a job for its impact on the world
Eating fast food	Eating healthier, less tasty food
Procrastinating on a task	Doing what you’re meant to be doing

But let’s hold on a second. There is one glaring problem here.

Often, the line between hedonism and eudaimonism is blurred because of the simple but critical question: what does it mean to do good? Perhaps it means to better the world. Right, but in what way? The Christian might tell you that doing good means spreading the gospel to the ends of the Earth. The animal rights activist might tell you that doing good means eliminating animal suffering by humans. The artist might tell you that doing good means making good art.

The point is that good is different for everybody and without knowing other people’s values, criticising hedonism is dishonest. If your definition of good involves being happy, hedonism is inseparable from your goals.

So perhaps we should stop telling people to “reject short-term pleasure for long-term good”, as this is vague and difficult to apply. Instead, a better rule of thumb might simply be: follow your values.

If you were to say chocolate ice-cream sucks, nobody would take that as a universal truth. We all understand what you really mean is you think chocolate ice-cream sucks.

Yet, why do we enjoy hearing blanket statements about the world like life is meaningless or people are mean? Do human laws make life easier to manage, like mathematics? Is there comfort in believing your experience isn’t unique; that you are not alone?

But let’s take a step back.

If you say life is meaningless, you probably think your life is meaningless. It doesn’t mean that everyone else’s is. If you say people are mean, you probably think people in your life are mean. It doesn’t mean everybody is. Like chocolate ice-cream, your subjective experience is purely that – subjective.

When we make a big claim, it’s helpful to consider does that really apply to everyone? Some – like mathematics – might. Some might not. The ultimate irony is, it’s up to you to decide.

When I was in high school, I thought everyone over the age of 20 was old. In my mind, there existed only little people (<12); normal people (12-19); and old people (20+).

But then of course, I turned 20. That was a sad day.

It’s strange how fast time flies. One moment, you’re lost in one chapter of your life and in the blink of an eye, you wake up in the middle of another chapter. What happened in between? Were you in a coma? This phenomenon of time flying past can be terrifying.

One antidote I’ve found to time flying past is to look for novelty. In Moonwalking with Einstein, Joshua Foer suggests a simple habit to stretch out time:

Monotony collapses time; novelty unfolds it. You can exercise daily and eat healthy and live a long life, while experiencing a short one. If you spend your life sitting in a cubicle and passing papers, one day is bound to blend unmemorably into the next – and disappear. That’s why it’s important to change routines regularly, and take vacations to exotic locales, and have as many new experiences as possible that can serve to anchor our memories. Creating new memories stretches out psychological time, and lengthens our perception of our lives.

Upon reflection, the times I’ve felt large chunks of time fly past are when I’ve been stuck in a routine. Some examples include grinding 8-hour study days in undergrad and working full-time over a summer break. All the days look the same. There is nothing new to break up the monotony.

But whenever a worthy challenge or adventure emerges, time slows down. The moments I’ve felt the most in-tune with the world are when I’m at the top of a spectacular mountain, learning a new skill or trying a new hobby. Time shrinks to the present moment.

As a child, it’s easy to treat every moment with slow, wide-eyed wonder because everything is new. Perhaps the reason time feels faster as we age is because we have fewer novel experiences.

Routines are great for productivity, but novelty might be essential for the soul.

I don’t know what to write. In the last hour, I’ve started over 50 sentences but have deleted them all. Hello there writer’s block – we meet again.

In desperate need for inspiration, I open my Kindle highlights and scan for any writing prompts. But everything is either uninteresting to me right now or would take too long to write on.

As I’m on the verge of giving up, one highlight from a book I read years ago shines out to me. It’s from Writing Down the Bones: Freeing the Writer Within – an appropriate title for my situation, I guess. The quote goes like this:

When you write, don’t say, “I’m going to write a poem.” That attitude will freeze you right away. Sit down with the least expectation of yourself; say, “I am free to write the worst junk in the world.” You have to give yourself the space to write a lot without a destination.

Reading this was oddly comforting. When you start doing something a lot, there’s this expectation that the quality of your work must increase with time – that each iteration must be better than the one before. But life is rarely so linear. There are ups and downs, highs and lows; times you feel inspired and times where you just want to nap. Right now, I just want to nap.

So here I am, back to writing unedited junk. And it’s great fun. Let’s hope the next post will be better.

Imagine you’re walking along a street one night and you see a house on fire. The house is lit up in bright-red flames and black smog creep up the sky like a huge cloud. You grab your phone and dial 000, to which the receiver asks you, “police, fire or ambulance?” What do you say first?

You’d probably say fire. While there are likely people with burns that require medical treatment, the main problem is the fire. It doesn’t matter if you bring 50 ambulances – if you don’t put out the flames, they will continue raging on until the whole town evacuates or gets burned down as well.

The root cause of the problem is the fire. The people with burns is the symptom.

The scenario above seems obvious enough. Yet in many cases, it’s tempting to address the symptoms instead of the causes of a problem. Consider these cases:

• Caffeine addresses fatigue (symptom), which is usually due to poor sleep hygiene (cause).
• Medicine addresses disease (symptom), which is usually due to unhealthy lifestyle choices (cause).

These “solutions” are band-aids. We are ignoring the main fire burning away. Only addressing the true causes can lead to the proper resolution of a problem.

The next time a conflict arises, let’s think of ways to solve the root of the problem, not just the symptoms.

I’ve always been skeptical of people who tell me not to regret the past. The argument usually goes something like this:

1. You can’t change the past;
2. You didn’t know any better then;
3. The experience has shaped you into who you are now;
And so, you should be kind to yourself and treat it as a tool for learning.

In most cases, I agree. For example, I’m glad I burnt my hand against a hot stove when I was little, because now I know not to touch boiling stuff. I would never think of belittling younger Eric for this mistake.

But the difference between this and stuff I regret is the magnitude of loss for the mistake. Burning my hand was a valuable lesson but cost very little. My burn recovered the next day. On the other hand, some mistakes can cause unbelievable pain and loss; these should be avoided so as to never happen again.

Some of my biggest regrets include:

• Not spending more time with my dad before he passed, because now he’s gone and I have so many things I wanted to say.
• Gaming instead of reading in my teens, because gaming did nothing good for me and wasted time.
• Neglecting strength training as an athlete, because now I’m injured and can’t run.

Because these mistakes cost so much, they are regrets. I can’t honestly say I’m grateful for any of these experiences because I wish they never happened. But they did, and so now the game is to prevent them from ever happening again.

Sometimes, it’s not enough to smile at the past and thank it for the lessons learnt. In extreme cases, you have to really internalise the pain and fully regret a decision so you don’t mess it up again. The more emotionally charged an experience, the more I learn from it.

It’s easy to get into this state of mind that we have to do things.

We have to get out of bed at a certain time. We have to dress a certain way. We have to be nice to other people.

But let’s hold on for a second. Nobody has to do anything.

You could get up at 11:00am instead of 8:00am tomorrow. When you finally get up, you could then walk outside completely butt-naked. And then, in broad daylight, you could slap the first person you see. The world wouldn’t explode if you did these things. You’d probably live to see another day.

The only consideration is that actions have consequences. If you wake up late, you might miss an important meeting. If you walk around naked, you might be arrested for public indecency. If you slap a stranger, you might get beaten up yourself.

When faced with a dilemma, the key question to ask ourselves is whether a pursuit is worth the consequences. If you care more about sleep than a meeting, you might take the extra three hours sleep. But you might not slap a stranger whilst naked because the risk of being arrested and beaten up outweighs the potential thrill of it.

The important thing to remember is you can still do these things. The world won’t stop you if you do.

So if we ever catch ourselves feeling down because we have to do something we don’t like, let’s remember we have multiple options available, such as:

And the consequences:

We have only one story to tell in this life. Let’s make it a good one.

When does this rule apply?

It doesn’t apply to friends. We all have companions that upset us.

It doesn’t apply to learning a skill. We all understand professionals started somewhere.

It doesn’t apply to anything we’ve ever purchased. We all accept that things will break.

Yet, it’s a rule that fuels our excuses for not starting anything. There are very few cases where perfection is the prerequisite for action. On the other hand, action is often the biggest prerequisite for perfection.

If you are looking for inaction, look for perfect.

Credits to Seth’s blog for this idea.

A few days ago, my friends and I watched the original Step Up movie. It was originally meant to be watched for inspiration, but we quickly found ourselves laughing at the dubious plot lines and dialogues the movie offered. It is hardly a film masterpiece, but it was comedy gold. That night was one of the best nights I’ve had this year.

I’ve typically taken things very seriously. Some examples include:

• Reading: You must read the classics. The bestsellers. The stuff famous people are reading.
• Running: You must follow a training plan. You need a sports watch. The newest running shoes.
• Study: You must maximise your productivity. No distractions. All lectures double speed.

But we can take a lot away from simply enjoying the process of our endeavours. Many of the best books I’ve read I had never heard of before. Many of my most memorable runs were ones where I was just enjoying the scenery instead of fussing about my time. Many of my favourite study sessions were when I was chatting with a friend.

Being serious has its time and place. But most of the time, it’s really fun to relax a little.

Sometimes, I forget why I do things. Why do I work? Study? Exercise? The demands of life can make the goal fuzzy.

The parable below is a great clarifier and is a story I revisit often. Sometimes, everything you want is right in front of you.

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The Parable of the Mexican Fisherman

An American investment banker was at the pier of a small coastal Mexican village when a small boat with just one fisherman docked. Inside the small boat were several large yellowfin tuna. The American complimented the Mexican on the quality of his fish and asked how long it took to catch them.

The Mexican replied, “only a little while.”

The American then asked why didn’t he stay out longer and catch more fish?

The Mexican said he had enough to support his family’s immediate needs.

The American then asked, “but what do you do with the rest of your time?”

The Mexican fisherman said, “I sleep late, fish a little, play with my children, take siestas with my wife, Maria, and stroll into the village each evening where I sip wine and play guitar with my amigos. I have a full and busy life.”

The American scoffed. “I have an MBA from Harvard, and can help you,” he said. “You should spend more time fishing, and with the proceeds, buy a bigger boat. With the proceeds from the bigger boat, you could buy several boats, and eventually you would have a fleet of fishing boats. Instead of selling your catch to a middle-man, you could sell directly to the processor, eventually opening up your own cannery. You could control the product, processing, and distribution,” he said. “Of course, you would need to leave this small coastal fishing village and move to Mexico City, then Los Angeles, and eventually to New York City, where you will run your expanding enterprise.”

The Mexican fisherman asked, “But, how long will this all take?”

To which the American replied, “Oh, 15 to 20 years or so.”

“But what then?” asked the Mexican.

The American laughed and said, “That’s the best part. When the time was right, you would announce an IPO, and sell your company stock to the public and become very rich. You would make millions!”

“Millions – then what?”

The American said, “Then you could retire. Move to a small coastal fishing village where you could sleep late, fish a little, play with your kids, take siestas with your wife and stroll to the village in the evenings where you could sip wine and play guitar with your amigos.”