I record and optimize everything. If I have a thought or an emotion, or if my vital signs change, it goes in my journal.
I work in quick, 3-hour bursts, then spend a relaxing 20 minutes doing goblet squats.
I don’t believe in vacations, rest breaks, or letting people lecture me about this fake human construct of “sleep deprivation.”
Instead of reading a book I own, I buy ten new ones.
Instead of enjoying a sunset, I build a solar array to harness the sun.
Instead of complaining, I summon a vast, silent phalanx of regrets and fears to keep me fascinated all day long.
I’m not into ice cubes, I’m into ice sculptures. I’m not into paper, I’m into Origami. I prefer ordinary things to be made more beautiful, complicated, and time-consuming.
When someone invites me to something I’ll hate, I pause, then say, “That sounds great!” or “Sign me up!”
I marry early, and frequently, and with extreme zest.
I don’t pause for breath between paragraphs, sentences, or words.
I don’t feel the need to break-up with people or burn bridges or de-friend or give anyone the impression that they are anything less than my bestie.
I’m an early bird, and an afternoon bird, and the evenings between 8 PM and 4 AM are when I really bust out.
I use the Jefferson technique: if things get overwhelming, I have another kid.
For any material possession, I never ask, “Do I need this?” — I always ask, “Would this fit in the rooms of my incredible, imaginary mansion?"
I always say “yes” — even when no one is asking a question, or speaking, or physically near me.
I improve. I upgrade. I scale up. I blow up. I flex my paychecks until I 10X my TED-X about Space-X.
During sex, I always play the newest business audiobook.
I own a lavish collection of cargo pants, a big TV, and one thousand forks.
I exist in a quantum superposition of all productive states: I’m not just writing a novel, I’m also checking WhatsApp, recording a podcast, mixing a Waldorf salad, researching breast cancer, and shredding “Manic Depression” on my electric guitar.
Because I do it all, my FOMO is a no-show. I even have a profitable side-hustle making slow-mo, po-mo, snow-globes.
I keep an extra pair of pants in each of my cargo pants pockets. Each of those pants have extra pants too, because you never know.
I am always prepared to pay by cash, check, credit card, gold, bitcoin, litecoin, Travelodge points, or by bartering with one of my many forks.
When someone suggests anything, I shout, "Think bigger! — "Let’s eat Greek food tonight.” — “Think bigger!” — “Mexican?” — “Think bigger!” — “Russian food?” — “Bigger!” — “Let’s feed asteroids to 1 billion poor people?” — “YES.”
I replaced all the chairs in my house with stationary bikes that power virtual reality goggles depicting a very comfortable hammock that someone who is lazier than me rests in.
I haven’t slept in fifteen years, but I drink a lot of siphon-brewed coffee.
See also:
Alex Baia’s “My Minimalist Lifehacks”