Joy Doesn't Scale

Why optimize when you can truly live?

Proof of summer joy, which has no quantifiable metric.

I would like to start by saying that I wear an Apple Watch, and I’ve been closing my rings since 2014. But in the beginning, every time my wrist vibrated, I hoped it would be a lewd doodle from a friend. Digital Touch had no real point except to connect and amuse each other. What a delight.

Now look at us, tracking everything, sharing our sleep scores, and adorably trying to evade death. Of course I appreciate that tech and science can help us better understand our bodies, suffer less (maybe), and live longer (also maybe). But are we happier?

I was recently reading an article in The Guardian titled Why Does Everything Feel So Joyless? Welcome to the Age of Decadence Without Pleasure.

The title obviously answers my question. In short, it was about how many of us have become so good at improving our lives that we’ve forgotten to inhabit them. Which begs an even bigger question: Do we even know what we want anymore?

Not what we’re supposed to want. Not what performs well online. Not what looks impressive. What we want.

We’ve stopped asking our own bodies and started asking the algorithm: What should I eat? What’s the best morning routine? Which supplements should I take? How do I optimize my brain, my productivity, my longevity?

There’s nothing wrong with any of those questions, but they all point outward.

We now have so much information about ourselves, and at the same time, we’re becoming strangely disconnected from the experience of being ourselves. It doesn’t have to be this way. We only have to listen.

The body speaks in sensations, but sensations are hard to quantify. They don’t fit neatly into dashboards or streaks or weekly reports, so we’ve learned to trust what we can measure over what we feel.

Maybe that’s why so many of us feel like we’ve lost the plot.

We know our recovery score, but not what restores us.

We know our step count, but not what moves us.

We know how many books we’ve finished, but not which ideas changed us.

The questions that matter most rarely have numerical answers:

What made me feel most alive today?

Who makes me feel most like myself?

What would I choose if no one else were watching?

Those answers don’t arrive as data. They arrive as a quiet knowing. A breath that deepens without you realizing it. The unmistakable feeling that you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

The opposite of optimization isn’t chaos. It’s intimacy with your own experience.

So yes, take care of yourself. Move your body. Get enough sleep. Learn from people who know more than you do. Just don’t let someone else’s definition of a good life become louder than your own.