Let’s be honest; we’ve been growing apart for a while now. I first noticed it three months ago, right around the time I started listening to five hours of science-based, life-optimizing podcasts per day, and you kept on being a normal person.
In that time, I’ve implemented a series of science-based tools and protocols to optimize every facet of my health, wellness, and longevity. I’ve brought synergistic balance to my hormones, boosted my synthetic happiness, and doubled my VO2 max, all while you’ve just … kept being Steve.
And that’s fine, really. You’ve got your music, your volunteer work, and your kickball team. I get it—you’d rather play KISS covers, house homeless vets, and kick cleanup Tuesday nights than dedicate your free time to marginally improving your already happy and healthy life.
But that’s not the direction an elite group of doctor-podcasters I’ve never met wants my life to be headed in. They want me to leverage molecule regimens to optimize sleep performance, harness nutritional biochemistry to maximize longevity, and maybe take a peek at what’s behind the paywall.
These research-backed podcasts aren’t just helping me increase my lifespan; they’re helping me increase my health span and my happiness span, and probably a bunch of other spans they only talk about in Europe. That’s why I want you to know that this breakup isn’t about you; it’s about me.
Completely. One hundred percent. Exclusively about me.
If I’m going to live my best scientifically optimized life, I’ll need to take a few decades to focus on myself. I need to spend time with my metabolism and get to know my gut microbiome. I need space to survey the literature, see multiple physicians, and follow new neuropathways, wherever they might lead.
Because I’m not planning on just living to be one hundred, I want to be living when I’m one hundred. I’m talking about winning the gold medal in the centenarian decathlon. When I’m in my hundreds, I want to carry my groceries up ten flights of stairs, play tag with my great-grandkids, and goblet squat a Bernese mountain dog.
I see it on your face, you’re wondering what you could have done differently to save this relationship. Asking yourself, should I have sought to further promote oxytocin via increased frequency of randomized, nonromantic touch? Did I not provide adequate space for her to pursue an exteroceptive, prosocial meditation practice? Is this because of my shower farts?
No, this is not about you or your shower farts. This is about me and my obsessive desire to take deep dives into scientific studies that I don’t even remotely understand. Because—it’s just—we have only one life to live, you know? So, like, why not remove all spontaneous joy by scientifically optimizing it?
Someday, I’ll be ready to bring a research partner back into my life laboratory. When I do, I won’t settle for someone who eats breakfast, takes warm showers, or thinks kickball counts as zone five cardiovascular training. I’ll be seeking a partner willing to engage in fasted intercourse underneath a cold shower inside a hot sauna, because if we’re not boosting our dopamine while encouraging the production of brown fat, are we really making love?
Listen. I’ve reviewed our trials, examined our methodology, and listened to the peer reviews. Even if we control for all of life’s variables, I just don’t see this relationship being statistically significant. It may sound clichéd, but I’m being honest when I say this …
It’s not you, it’s me and my science-based, life-optimizing podcasts.