Eric Tian

In 1923, Walt Disney’s first studio went bankrupt. Its cartoons were ridiculously expensive and lost a fortune. While Steamboat Willie made Disney a credible animator, business success was an entirely different story.

Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs changed everything.

The $8 million it earned in its first six months of 1938 was the most a film ever made in that time. Walt Disney Studios was transformed. All debts were paid off. Employees got retention bonuses. The company purchased a state-of-the-art studio in Burbank, where it remains today.

An Oscar turned Walt from an established animator to an overnight celebrity. By 1938, he had produced several hundreds of hours of film. But business wise, the 83 minutes of Snow White were all that mattered.

Everyone understands 80/20 rule: that roughly 80% of outcomes come from 20% of the causes. The law of the vital few. In Walt Disney’s case, Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs was more like 99/1. This one outlier transformed his life.

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One of my favourite pastimes is experimenting with habits. Once, I meditated every day for two months straight. Another time, I woke up at 6:30am for a whole semester. Right now, I’m trying to read 30 minutes before I go to bed.

Yet, the vast majority of these habits don’t last. Some of them I can’t control, like injury preventing me from running. Others, like meditating or waking early, I just fell out of since it wasn’t worth it anymore.

Only two habits have stuck with me: reading and writing. And these two outliers have easily shaped over 90% of the person I am today.

Furthermore, I can count on two hands the books that have shaped me the most. In my journaling, a select few entries contain the most powerful lessons. On this site, a handful of posts drive the majority of views: Agnosthesia: The Curse of Uncertainty, Monologue of an Introvert and Minimum Viable Happiness amongst others. Ironically, the posts I expected to do the best got no attention at all. But that’s a story for another time.

One lesson from all this is to wildly experiment. Walt Disney would have never created Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs if he didn’t move out from cartoon shorts to a full-length cartoon. Similarly, I would’ve never gotten into reading if I maintained my pessimism towards literature from high school.

If you’re looking for practices that will change your life, throw as much as you can against a wall and see what sticks. Only God knows what outliers lie in store.

Credits to The Psychology of Money: Timeless Lessons on Wealth, Greed and Happiness for the above story – an amazing book, deserving of its title (and thank you Lynn for the recommendation).

Upon being asked the question, When you think of the word “successful,” who’s the first person who comes to mind and why?, Derek Sivers replied:

The first answer to any question isn’t much fun, because it’s just automatic. “What’s the first painting that comes to mind: Mona Lisa. Genius: Einstein. Composer: Mozart.”

This is the subject of the book “Thinking Fast and Slow” by Daniel Kahneman.

There’s the instant, unconscious, automatic thinking. Then there’s the slower, conscious, rational, deliberate thinking.

I’m really into the slower thinking. Breaking my automatic responses to the things in my life, and slowly thinking through a more deliberate response instead.

Then, for the things in life where an automatic response is useful, creating a new one consciously.

So what if you asked, “When you think of the word successful, who’s the third person who comes to mind, and why are they actually more successful than the first person that came to mind?”

In that case: first would be Richard Branson, because that’s like the stereotype – the Mona Lisa. And honestly, you might be my 2nd answer, but we can talk about that later.

My third and real answer is we can’t know, without knowing their aims.

What if Richard Branson set out to live a quiet life, but like a compulsive gambler, just can’t stop creating companies? Then that changes everything, and we can’t call him successful anymore.

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Intuitions often don’t come from a place of wisdom, but a place of habit. They’re the narratives that have been engrained into us, day after day, until they take root in our psyche. With time, some narratives become outdated.

Recently, my housemate asked me if I would join the NBA for a year if given a contract. My intuitive response was no, because I suck at basketball and I would just embarrass myself if I played. That would also mean taking time off of medical school, which I might regret.

But then I thought about it. Being in the NBA would be awesome, because I:

1. Don’t have to play any games;
2. Can just take a leave of absence from school;
3. Will meet top athletes and coaches;
4. Can travel the world; and
5. Should make a lot of money (the average NBA salary is $7.7 million USD).

Thus, I changed my answer to a yes. My immediate response was outdated and formed by a worldview from my adolescent period: that I shouldn’t do something I suck at and that school is important.

But how do we know if our intuitions are outdated? Here’s my two cents:

Reflect. On everything. Take notice of how you react to ideas and circumstances, and see if these thoughts align with the person you are today. Once you’ve done this, filter. Anything that isn’t you or came from a previous version of you needs to quietly go. Anything you resonate with, keep.

Our automatic responses are useful – but like an organization, they need to be audited.

Are we not ever-changing, both gradually and per situation?

The interview at the start can be found on the Tim Ferriss Show #128. Highly recommended.

In the start-up space, one of the core commandments is to create a MVP: a Minimum Viable Product. This MVP is a version of a product with just the minimum number of features for it to be usable by early customers. This is great for receiving quick feedback to improve.

Similarly, the Minimum Viable Happiness (MVH) is the minimum number of features one needs in their life to be happy. It’s the scenario where you think, “even if everything else goes wrong, I’m okay with this right now.”

Everybody has their own MVH. One person might require an en-suite to be fulfilled; another could be content sleeping amidst nature. One person might need to be surrounded by friends and activity; another could find solitude totally blissful.

Recently, I’ve been testing different MVHs for myself. One day, I continuously listened to music to see if solitude was necessary for my happiness. That was a really miserable day. Now I know having some quiet is critical for my health.

Another day, I decided to not write anything to see if writing was important. No notes, journaling or typing. That day was also excruciating. Now I know I need to be able to write to get through the day.

So far, my MVH is pretty low. To be happy, all I really need is some quiet, somewhere to write on and a few close friends, plus around $50 a week to cover food and water. Having a comfortable bed, being around nature and living in moderate temperatures are a great bonus, but unnecessary.

As well as cultivating gratitude, clarifying your MVH also helps you focus your attention. If you know what keeps you content, you can now focus on other priorities such as learning new things or bettering the world, knowing you’ll be happy with anything.

Here’s to more MVH testing.

In the Olympics, three people stand on the podium after an event: the Gold, Silver and Bronze medallist.

Imagine the silver medallist. Just one second faster and you would’ve won! Argh! You mull over the little imperfections in your performance, knowing that you stand there as the number one loser. Yikes.

But now imagine the bronze medallist. Just one second slower and you wouldn’t be here! Awesome! You smile brightly at the cameras, knowing full well that you fought a hard battle to stand where you are.

Often, where we focus determines our happiness. Do we look up, like the silver medallist, or look down, like the bronze medallist? Looking up can fill us with contempt and sadness. Looking down can fill us with gratitude and happiness.

One day, I was reading reviews on the iPhone 12 and wondered if I should replace my iPhone X. Well, I’ve had my phone for a while, I told myself. It’s pretty good, but not great. I started resenting people with iPhone 12s, knowing full well what I’m missing out on.

But then I realised: for what it does, my phone is seriously amazing. It has plenty of storage, a comfortable UI and a great camera. I literally filmed six YouTube videos on this phone! Why should I care about upgrading my phone when it does everything I need, plus much more?

This bronze medallist mindset saved me $1400 and put me in a great mood for the rest of the day.

On the other hand, if you’re being ambitious, it can be productive to adopt the silver medallist’s mindset. Being dissatisfied and always looking for more can be powerful drivers for improvement. As my dad used to say, If you want to be number one, just find the current number one and do one point better.

But if I could only choose one mindset to adopt, it’d be the bronze medallist. Being a silver medallist can be motivating, but comparing up can lead to a terrible cycle of chasing perfection. It depends what you want, I guess: ambition or gratitude. Looking up vs. looking down.

I’ve come to know a fair few people in the years I’ve been alive. Yet, it’s difficult to say how many I would call friends. Many of them are simply people that existed around me at the same place at the same time, like school or the neighbourhood. There aren’t many I would call my friend.

So what makes one a friend? Is it how long you’ve known someone? How aligned your values are? Or perhaps it’s how much mutual respect you have for one another?

Upon reflection, there’s really only one trait that determines whether I deem someone a friend.

Emotional safety.

It doesn’t matter if you worship money, God or happiness. It doesn’t matter if you’re rich, poor or average. It doesn’t matter if you like running, gymming or neither (running is the best though).

If I can openly talk to you and feel safe from judgment or ridicule, then you’re a friend.

This seems like a low bar, but it is one that is quite rare. To listen quietly while facing a broken and torn spirit is one of the highest qualities people can exhibit. While I try my best for those around me, I constantly fail.

What I’ve noticed is that my closest friends, while ranging across diverse interests and values, all make me feel safe. Those that I feel unsafe around, I unconsciously stay away from.

The ability to give emotional safety is one of those qualities that make man just a little bit more divine.

Two weeks ago, I started reading Tolstoy’s War and Peace. It’s a book that I’ve always wanted to read since it has a rich history and the title is great. My Russian in-laws have also proclaimed it as one of the greatest literary works of all time, so that’s hard to ignore.

Yet, War and Peace is tough. In the first five chapters, there are over twenty characters introduced, all with particular titles and quirks. Various people share the same first name and there’s a grandfather and grandson that share exactly the same name: Prince Nikolay Bolkonsky. Some people even have multiple names – Natalya is also Natasha, while Yelena is also Helene.

As a result, War and Peace initially stumped me. After reading ten chapters, I had to restart the book, defeated. However, as I really wanted to read this book, I started again and followed the first five chapters with pen and paper, taking rigorous notes to remember the characters. It was an unusual way of reading and frankly, pretty tough.

But then something beautiful occurred: a breakthrough. Suddenly, I became immersed in the story enough that I could naturally follow the plot. I cannot describe the beauty of this moment; it’s like listening to a phone call between two strangers and realising what they were talking about. Your world is transformed.

And now, War and Peace is one of the most extraordinary stories that I’ve ever come across. Tolstoy really is an amazing storyteller. I’ll probably make another post once I’m finished with this epic, but here’s to fighting past difficult texts and finding breakthrough moments.

It seems in many areas, the hardest hill to overcome is the one at the start.

Yesterday, I was flipping through an old journal entry from age 17. The question I was pondering then was, “what is my identity?” of which I wrote:

Table tennis athlete, musician, student.

Reading this entry startled me, for now I wouldn’t recognise two of those three titles as my own. I stopped playing competitive table tennis two years ago, and last touched my viola around the same time. Only being a student has remained the same, albeit now in a different time and place.

It’s interesting to see how our identity shifts with time. Someone who played football in high school can’t call himself an athlete forever. Someone who left a business two years ago can’t keep calling himself a businessman. At some stage, we pick up new interests, spend our time in different ways and give ourselves new identities.

Discarding old titles can hurt. A lot. One of the most traumatic events of my childhood occurred when I removed the title of having a father. It’s natural to want consistency in our identity. Change can be a real disorienting pain in the ass. Yet, short-term trauma is often necessary for long-term progress so for the sake of growth, we endure.

Now, five years later, my answer to the identity question is something closer to:

Reader, writer, explorer of ideas.

Today I caught up with a close friend, spent time with loved ones, learned something new, read a book, exercised a bit and had meaningful conversations. As a whole, it was wonderful.

Time has made me realise that good days always look pretty similar. They all have some combination of the above elements, plus a few other things.

Crucially, good days also don’t have certain elements; things that threaten to make the day a little less bright. These aren’t immediately obvious but can be noticed with enough effort. Some of these forbidden elements include excessive social media, gaming or spending money on material goods.

Once I know what good days look like, perhaps it’ll be easier to recreate more good days.

Here’s to many more good days in the future.

We were born naked, blind; unable to read, speak or type and yet here we are.

Every day provided food for spiritual, physical and mental growth until we grew to the people we are today.

As a kid, you might’ve thought walking was impossible. Then when you walked, you might’ve thought running was impossible. Then when you ran, you might’ve thought jumping was impossible. But within a few years, you’re now walking, running, jumping and doing all sorts of weird and wonderful things.

We were not born ready, but we can sure learn to be ready for anything. The possibilities are exciting, yet a little frightening.

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve noticed I tend to be the opposite to my surroundings.

When people are happy with the world, I think of reasons to be sad. When people talk smack about others, I think of the great traits they might have.

When someone gives me a piece of advice, I think of reasons why they’re wrong. When everyone is following a trend, I look at the trend left behind. When I catch myself doing something ‘normie’, it gets eliminated.

In other words, I have a proclivity for chaos.

Why am I like this? Do I subconsciously desire balance? Do I want to see the other side properly represented? Or perhaps I’m just very disagreeable?

Whatever the case, it seems to do more good than harm. For instance,

• Seeing someone with an illness motivates me to be healthy.
• Seeing someone freak out motivates me to stay calm.
• Seeing someone despair at the world motivates me to count my blessings.

Interestingly, the inverse of these cases don’t bother me so much. Seeing a great body doesn’t motivate me to eat junk food, but I think of the sacrifices one had to make to create it. This makes me respect them and I love the world more.

Being an anti-chameleon is strange, but fun.

Cheers to my brilliant fellow anti-chameleon Derek Sivers for this idea.