Philosophy

I’ve always been wrapped up in the idea of my own identity. Lately, though, I’m trying to let that go. Identity is a curious thing. It’s tricky to define, yet most of us carry some concept of who we are, some internal story we tell ourselves. This reminds me of a conversation I had with a friend who’d spent time at an ashram in India. He went there to meditate, to simply be, perhaps to do nothing at all.

You’ve heard the phrase “less is more,” but have you ever considered its mischievous cousin: “more is worse”? It’s the same idea, just with a sharper edge. My favourite example? Restaurant menus. The worst restaurants always seem to have the most options. When I go out to eat, I want the chef to present their best dish—no decisions, no stress. The chef already knows what’s good. Just put it in front of me (ideally, a steak). The ultimate luxury is when someone knows exactly what you want and simply delivers it.

Yesterday, I took a walk to the Brooklyn Bridge, a notorious tourist trap but also a beautiful and marvelous feat of engineering. I wanted to photograph it (a cliché, I know) so I can make a print for someone as a gift. Hours passed in what felt like minutes. This experience, this immersion in creation for its own sake, is what makes me call myself an artist. So when a friend of mine–who reads this blog–made an off-hand comment critical of the fact that I call myself an artist, I wasn’t offended, but it did get me thinking about: who is an artist? What makes someone an artist? Is it enough to just make art? Do you have to show it? Sell it? Call yourself an artist on your LinkedIn profile?

“High hopes, low expectations” has become something of a personal mantra for me. I could probably build an entire comedy routine around this concept. Many people navigate through life perpetually disappointed for one simple reason: their expectations tower far above reality. Whether in relationships, careers, or personal endeavors, they set themselves up for endless disappointment by expecting perfection in an imperfect world.

Being present means consciously inhabiting the current moment—experiencing life as it unfolds without the constant intrusion of past regrets or future anxieties. This state of attentional presence forms a cornerstone of numerous spiritual and philosophical traditions, from Buddhism and mindfulness practice to Stoicism. It’s also foundational to evidence-based therapeutic approaches like cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT), which teaches patients to anchor awareness in the present rather than spiraling into maladaptive thought patterns.

While many modern psychological approaches have come and gone, Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT) stands out as a practical, evidence-based method for changing harmful thought patterns and behaviors. What’s fascinating is that its core principles were developed thousands of years ago by the Stoics. CBT is among the most well-researched and effective forms of therapy available today, with countless studies demonstrating its efficacy for treating depression, anxiety, and other conditions1. Yet long before modern psychology existed, Stoic philosophers like Epictetus, Seneca, and Marcus Aurelius were advocating remarkably similar techniques.

We humans are complex animals, and our brains developed over hundreds of thousands of years to survive on a rugged unforgiving planet. We invented technologies that became luxuries, and for many (in the West, at least) we live relatively easy lives, by historical standards. It wasn’t until the late 1800s in the US that indoor plumbing was commonplace, which is surprisingly recent1.

Speaking broadly, there are two ways to think about life: passively or actively. Passive philosophy amounts to letting things happen, whereas active is about making things happen. I generally try to stay active. If I want something to happen, I need to make it happen. Sitting around waiting for something to happen or for someone to come along and tell you what to do is passive.

Young people are often fed some variation of the belief that hard work will be rewarded; therefore, it’s good and virtuous to work hard. While I do agree with this sentiment, I think the same is also true of laziness. Unlike hard work, laziness is generally regarded as a negative attribute, but this is just a misunderstanding about what laziness truly is.

What if the most revolutionary act in today’s world is simply being a good neighbor? In a time when roughly 75% of Americans with a high school education or less report that they seldom or never attend local community events or meetings1, the simple act of positive contribution might be our most powerful untapped resource.