Trade-offs Are The Meaning of Life

For many years, I was the quintessential party boy.

I remember the first time I smoked a cigarette while drunk—it was at a beach house in New Hampshire. That warm tingle that wrapped around me as I felt so present was amazing.

I remember the first time I got high, at a friend’s house in high school. We ate weed brownies and freeze pops until I couldn’t even see. It was so funny that it was epic.

I remember the first time I went to a nightclub, in Barcelona. I was with three guys I’d met that morning on a study abroad trip. Hearing Spanish music blast all night while raising my glass with new friends was exhilarating.

But now, after more than a year of stepping away from those scenes—avoiding alcohol and weed completely, and rarely going to bars or nightclubs—I often wonder: Am I making a mistake? Am I missing out on enjoying life as much as I could? Is sobriety even a wise way to live?

Should I crack open a Guinness and light up a joint right now?

Despite these questions, a voice deep within me, a calm voice, always whispers, “Don’t.” It reminds me of that famous scene in The Matrix when Trinity tells Neo, “You know that road, you know exactly where it ends—and I know that’s not where you want to be.”

And she’s right.

As sweet as some of those party memories are, and as good as those drug-induced feelings were, they don’t contribute to my growth. They certainly don’t make me healthier or wealthier, and I don’t think they make me wiser. They don’t help me become who I’m striving to be. You can’t argue otherwise. Try it. You can’t.

Besides, I only miss those experiences sometimes. And avoiding them is a trade-off I’m willing to make for the vision I have of my life.

The reality is that choosing one path means giving up another. There’s wisdom in the idea that you can’t live without regrets; you must choose your regrets. “My honest opinion and my friendly advice is this,” wrote the 19th-century Danish philosopher Søren Kierkegaard, “do it or do not do it—you will regret both.”

And he’s right.

At this point, I’d rather regret ditching the bars and clubs, the weed and alcohol, and the ways of the party boy. The regret of waking up in despair, wondering who I could’ve been if I hadn’t partaken in these energy-draining behaviors, would be far worse.

It’s funny—and strange—to think about how much my past self would make fun of my current self. “That guy doesn’t know how to enjoy life,” he’d say. To him, I’d make it clear: I’m well aware that a Guinness makes the game more fun to watch with the boys, that a glass of red wine makes watching a movie with her even more pleasant, and that a couple hits of the joint makes the comedy podcast funnier.

I still miss that sometimes.

But I’d also tell my past self how easy it is to wake up early and do creative work when hangovers aren’t part of life.

I’d tell him how much strength the body can achieve when you never shoot yourself in the foot by partying too hard.

I’d tell him about the joy of meeting like-minded people in more meaningful settings, and having genuine, fulfilling conversations.

You might be wondering, “Why don’t you just not drink, smoke, or party in excess?” The answer is that I know myself. I know I get obsessed and carried away with fun things. It was never one or two beers—it was one or two beers, then a devil on my shoulder telling me to drink seven more. That devil was always persuasive. It was never one gummy from the dispensary—it was opening the pack intending to take one, but then that devil’s cousin telling me to take four.

It’s easier just to never talk to these devils at all—to block their numbers. As fun as it was screwing around with those devils, blocking their numbers is a trade-off I’m willing to make. In fact, thinking in terms of trade-offs is one of the most powerful mental models for life.

It’s hard to read books with challenging ideas, but living in extreme ignorance is harder.

It’s painful to go on a run, but disrespecting your biology by never moving is more painful.

It was sad moving away from all my loved ones to go live in Austin, but not taking a chance on a city that called to me in my early twenties would’ve been more sad.

Real ambitions require real sacrifices. I know which regrets I’d rather live with, and by embracing this mindset, I find meaning. It is a sense of meaning that is sweeter than any cheap thrill, and more enjoyable than any momentary rise in dopamine. It is a deep, enduring meaning.

Rome, Italy, August 2023