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By sonascope in "Not Maxxing" on MeFi

sonascope — Sat, 27 Jun 2026 14:54:38 GMT

I drifted into a disorganized philosophy of enough over decades out of a sense that everything we're supposed to be maximizing just makes our lives into a business endeavor to be managed and guided by the diseased principles of maximal efficiency and maximal profit, after like I was floundering and exploring creepy system cults like Getting Things Done™ and Pomodoro and all the magical systems we're supposed to use to write in our notebooks properly, or organize our existences properly so that we can Be All We Can Be™ and Reach Those Heights™ and prove that There's Nothing We Can't Do™. To be fair, I was never one of those I Was Stuck In The Rat Race™ types who go one to write fawning guidebooks to Being Minimalist The Right Way™—I've always been sort of chaotic neutral on the doing-stuff front, which makes it odd that, when I think back on my life as I'm pushing sixty, I find I've done a whole fuckload of interesting stuff somehow without trying to maximize my being.

I had a dream last night where I dreamed I was back in my old role as an opera supernumerary (the fancy term in opera culture for an extra), and it brought back a flood of recollection of how odd and interesting it was that I managed to somehow have a twenty-year "career" (side hustle would be more accurate, but it wasn't a particularly profitable one, as I spent more on gas and parking over the years than I got paid to carry props around and be human scenery) in opera, despite being a middle-of-the-road schmuck who couldn't sing. I have a lot of moments lately where I feel like I could recite my own version of Roy Batty's tears in rain soliloquy in Blade Runner, just on that stretch alone:

I've seen things you people wouldn't believe. I've had Placido Domingo sit on my lap in a comically huge chair and tasted his sweaty forearm. I've been vomited on by Denyce Graves, helped Ella Fitzgerald microwave a terrible vending machine sandwich, had Secret Service guns drawn on me in an elevator, and watched a stupid news anchor fall off a dieselpunk Valhala set in Götterdamerung. All these moments will be lost in time, like tears in ra—oh, wait a second, I can write all this shit down. Yay!

After years spent in developing an unintended career as a factotum with finely honed skills, I no longer have much main character energy remaining, even when I'm doing my stage storytelling shenanigans. I have narrator energy, and narrator energy is all about circumspection and making something of what's happened without having to be the superstar at the center of things. When I was a kid, my mother, overwhelmed by the frustration of rearing a complex, difficult child, told me, tearfully, that she was sure God had a plan for me, and for a bright, shiny moment, I was a little unsure if maybe I was the next Jesus, but fortunately that feeling passed quickly and I found the plan the Tao had for me instead (wu wei for the win, y'all).

The thing about having narrator energy instead of main character energy is that the great big bloviating oafs can act out their florid scenes and their grandiose intentions and wave their dumb sweaty arms around while announcing their desperate, clawing need to be the brightest stars in the night sky, but those of us who aren't so visible can take notes from the sidelines, the wings, where we're waiting for our cue, and the crowd scenes, and find the joy in the not-obvious.

What's not in the realm of the not-obvious?

Traffic. Parking problems. Heaving crowds one dropped water bottle away from a surge that kills dozens. Looking in a mirror and seeing nothing but wrong, all because of a scar here, a fold there, or a wrinkled forehead. Surge pricing. Fucking Ticketmaster. Credit card debt up to the armpits. Disappointing vacations where you find that the Mona Lisa isn't really all that impressive, or that you'll never get that unimpeded-by-mobs view of the Taj Mahal that the postcards promised.

You can beat the world, but I can rewrite you, and you'll never know who I am or where I came from.

I am nobody, going nowhere, and that is fucking delicious.

I am Walter Mitty, or can be. My daydreams contradict themselves all the time, but I contain multitudes, even though I wear more or less the same outfit every day, down to the dumpy cargo shorts and New Balance sneakers my kid chides me about, which fit my dad bod perfectly well and need no addenda. Sure, I'm a go-go dancing nun when called upon to be, and my handiwork is literally part of the Baltimore skyline, and I can stand on a stage and talk into a microphone at length without a script, but these are all products of flow more than artifice. I seldom set out to be special, but when you don't wrap your being around the rigid scaffolding of aspiration, accidents of human connection and general doofiness turn easily into the tools of inhabiting your own story fully and without the undermining sensation of not being enough or not being good enough, or even Not Living Up To Your Potential™, which was bandied about my middle school counselors' office so often it just turned into surreal word salad.

What the hell is my potential? I don't even know who I am yet!

And sure, sometimes it's nice to be seen, just in a glimpse. After years of working in the arts in Baltimore, an exhausting, complicated, stressful, and unprofitable line of work that I did until I couldn't do it anymore, there was a day at the annual Artscape arts festival where I was pedalling a tiny bicycle in roasting Maryland summer heat up the sidewalk behind all the booths with a backpack stuffed with ticket money collected from the various venues that I was conveying to the admin trailer tucked in a side street by Mt. Royal Station, and a woman on the sidewalk ahead of me looked surprised, then delighted.

"It's you!" she said, as I slowed to a stop.

Oh god, am I being robbed?

"Um, yes, that's who I am, yes," I said, breathless and saturated with sweat. She grinned the broadest, warmest grin.

"I just moved here a couple years ago, and I started noticing that, every time I see something amazing in Baltimore, there you are, just in the background, working on things! You're everywhere!"

I fell into the moment, just shocked, really. My jobs were all in stage-black, designed to be as invisible to the public as possible, like when I was working as an art handler and would be sent on a mission with a backpack containing a locator transmitter, a stunningly comprehensive secure container wrapped in a ragged Jansport, and a Picasso sketch, on a cheap-fare Megabus from DC to MoMA in my blandest street clothes. It's a thankless task, sort of, but I grew to love it more and more, and here, my cover was blown...but in a good way.

"I get around," I said, still a little stunned by being recognized.

"We're so lucky to have you," she said, and we shared that moment before I pedaled off with thousands of dollars in another nondescript backpack, keeping the machinery moving, still reveling a bit in that someone thought that.

Enough is such a perfect bar for where to stop, in the same sense of Le Guin's mistranslation of Chuang Tzu — To let understanding stop at what cannot be understood is a high attainment. Those who cannot do it will be destroyed on the lathe of heaven. I do what I can, then know when to stop, rather than chasing after the mythical max.

I will never be the richest man alive, nor the most handsome, most accomplished, or most beloved. I will probably not be the best parent, the best friend, the best artist, the best writer, or the best craftsman, and all of that is okay. I know when to do my work, when I have reached the best balance of work and result, and then I put down my tools. If a poem is never finished, only abandoned, per Paul Valéry, I am content to leave behind a lifetime of unfinished work that I am nevertheless proud of. Yeah, I wish that odd or missing word or conjunction wasn't there, but I'd rather press Post Comment than be caught in the edit window forever.

I am sitting in a cheap IKEA chair with my bottom of the line Macbook writing a long, long, probably too long reply to this post because it validated some of how I think, and no matter how much I've proofread before it gets locked up in the Metafilter no-edit realm, I will post typos and weirdly phrased things that I could find and fix...but learning when I've done enough, even when I'm nowhere near perfection, has been a thing that's unlocked what I'm truly good at, because it's the insidious self-doubt of trying to be correct to the letter instead of in the whole of a thing that stops us from doing our best things. I'm sitting beside a bookshelf that's not quite as square as it's meant to be, in a room where I can see little mistakes I made when I painted it, where some things are in weird places not because of a powerful aesthetic, but rather because they are where the damn cat won't get to them. It is imperfect, and that is fine, and so am I.

And I'm not truly unambitious—I just have the sense of where ambition fails and becomes more of a drain. I aspire to revive my old one-man-storytelling podcast, Last Night I Dreamed Of You, and to get more readers for my ghost.io journal of the same name. I aspire to write a new one-man-show for any small stages that'll have me, to finish the ambient record I want to make that's an homage to After The Heat, and to self-publish a couple collections of stories one of these days. I'd be happy to get in better shape so I could be a better player on my curling league, and to clean up the fish pond, but the way we structure our ambitious to work like business plans hatched in endless committee meetings, or worse, in sermons from the cult, just produces nothing but the smog of failure and more self-hatred in a culture that just lives to slosh around in that muddy mess like pigs fighting for dominance in a foul-smelling waller.

I can't aspire to satori, oblivion, the holistic death of my ego, or (impossibly) to not aspire to things (see also: the white bear in the corner of the room), because I like being a big dorky fat old animal loose in the world and often full of myself, but I can know, on a visceral level, where that fuzzy line of what defines the breakpoint between not enough and too much lies, and let it shape me without systems and cults and sermons and business plans telling me what to do.

And in the end, most of what I hope to do will be unfinished, but I've ridden the paternoster lift in Vienna City Hall, heard "Claire de Lune" played by an orchestra, eaten my baker friend's incomparable paw paw cream pie, and there's more yet to come until there's not, and that is well and truly enough.

JOMO abounds, particularly in comfortable shoes.

By trig in "I bought the most confusing jacket in America." on MeFi

trig — Sun, 28 Jun 2026 19:23:30 GMT

Chaos is tolerable; pain is tolerable.

Whose chaos, whose pain

If your own understanding of life is so sad that "winning" is the only priority for you then fine, enjoy your own chaos and your own pain. But the way these kinds of self-help mantras are all about externalizing your costs onto other people is basically psychopathy.

By Sing Or Swim in "I bought the most confusing jacket in America." on MeFi

Sing Or Swim — Sun, 28 Jun 2026 19:46:56 GMT

>Ask yourself constantly, Am I winning? If the answer is yes, nothing else matters.

I'm gonna say maybe every ONCE in a while ask yourself, 'am I a fuckin' Nazi'

By Pope Guilty in "Three Hundred Fifty-Four Fireworks per Second" on MeFi

Pope Guilty — Thu, 02 Jul 2026 14:09:47 GMT

All I know is that the Reflecting Pool is so full of toxic chemicals it's killing ducks and I gotta say, a misfire that sets the Reflecting Pool on fire like Lake Erie in the 70's would be the icing on the cake of this whole monthlong drama.

By GenjiandProust in "Big boat stuck" on MeFi

GenjiandProust — Wed, 01 Jul 2026 13:31:33 GMT

These stories are evergreen, aren't they?

By axiom in "Schism!" on MeFi

axiom — Thu, 02 Jul 2026 04:21:03 GMT

You got your popes and your antipopes, sure, but then we discovered up, down, charmed and strange popes. Top and bottom, too, but they only appear in the really liberal Catholic ~~sex~~ sects.

By sewellcm in "Not Maxxing" on MeFi

sewellcm — Sat, 27 Jun 2026 13:20:28 GMT

My grandfather in-law has been known for requiring all of his children and grandchildren to have a "one on one" every summer as the family congregates at the family cottage every summer. In-laws would not be spared from this but it did seem to be an eventual requirement. I joined the family as Phil was entering his 90s yet still extremely sharp. My wife and I were invited to go out to dinner with Grandpa Phil and I was made aware that Grandpa would probably ask some deep life questions even though this was not a traditional "one on one." We ordered and after a time, Phil turned to me and asked, "So, what is your life philosophy?" I stumbled through an answer that represented something akin to the article. An aspiration to be well rounded, having many fulfilling interests without being completely lost in any one thing to the point where I am consumed by it and the joy is lost. I thought it was a pretty decent answer. This family is full of high achievers. I myself am doing more than fine in my life and career but do not meet Phil's vision of greatness. He has always been kind to me, though. Lucky for me his wife was no longer around, I am told she would not have been so welcoming. Still, though, Phil's response was: "So your life philosophy is mediocrity?" It was said in a way that did not feel kind. I didn't know how to respond. I felt insulted for a while but when I think about it now, I feel a proud contentedness. My mediocre life is calm and pleasant and I am happy with who I am. There's a lot of joy in finding peace in having enough.

By an octopus IRL in "Three Hundred Fifty-Four Fireworks per Second" on MeFi

an octopus IRL — Thu, 02 Jul 2026 14:11:34 GMT

The people who are going to get screwed the most by this are of course residents of DC who have absolutely zero choice in the matter including no voting representation in Congress. They have no way to do anything to stop this abomination. I really appreciate the analysis here because I hadn't realized just how bad it's going to be, and I say that as someone who typically loves fireworks, but once again the largely Black very liberal (or at least Democratic) population of DC is suffering so the worst people in the country can feel special.

By vanilla.extract in "hosting family member at home after trip together" on Ask MeFi

vanilla.extract — Sun, 28 Jun 2026 01:53:09 GMT

I think the population of this website will tend to say that your position is understandable (I agree) and that you should follow your heart and say no or a conditional yes. But to my eye, this site is a bit of an Introvert Town, and quite different in this regard from most Average People, who I think would be rather shocked and hurt to be told no (or some variation of yes but I'm people'd out so don't expect hospitality). Of course you can still say no if you want to - but I predict doing so will cause more friction than the answers here might lead you to believe.

By SaltySalticid in "Rideshare overshare" on Ask MeFi

SaltySalticid — Sat, 27 Jun 2026 13:50:03 GMT

I think you have to accept this kind of thing. Yeah it's rough to hear this stuff but it's far worse to go through it. And this poor person still has to drive people around to make rent.

I would try to extend some sympathy and leave a generous tip if I could afford it. Losing a parent is one of the worst things in a person's life and yes that's bound to make other people uncomfortable at work sometimes.

I understand that you didn't want that or like it, but I think it would be rude to try to fake working on "important emails".

This isn't exactly like having a servant, but they kind of at your servant for that ride. And in the stories when the rich person is rude to their servant because their personal life affected their work, the rich person is the bad guy, not the servant.

By Greg_Ace in "I bought the most confusing jacket in America." on MeFi

Greg_Ace — Sun, 28 Jun 2026 19:06:26 GMT

Ask yourself constantly, Am I winning?

And I respond, "Betteridge's law."

By The Bellman in "Schism!" on MeFi

The Bellman — Thu, 02 Jul 2026 13:43:31 GMT

Liam Hogan @ Bluesky:

Ad Rock: you can disagree with the current
All: POPE
MCA: but if you push his buttons then you're a
All: DOPE
Mike D: ordain yourself a bishop and you're
All: SCHISMATIC
Ad Rock: excommunication is
All: AUTOMATIC

By JSilva in "Big boat stuck" on MeFi

JSilva — Wed, 01 Jul 2026 13:43:39 GMT

posted by Fiasco da Gama

This feels eponysterical.

By chavenet in "I bought the most confusing jacket in America." on MeFi

chavenet — Sun, 28 Jun 2026 21:19:09 GMT

but flip the coat inside out and you'll find a message

A turncoat, eh?

By tclark in "Beware the Drowning Man" on MeFi

tclark — Sun, 28 Jun 2026 04:02:59 GMT

Not to discount the legitimate worry of an unpredictable Putin, but "Putin is not getting what he wants and is in a precarious position and may lash out with nukes/invasion of Baltics/invasion of Poland/missiles across Europe" articles are about 3 days younger than the main war itself.

And the subtext of every single one of these is "maybe let him have Ukraine/Donbas/Crimea" but fuck that. The only people who should decide what to do with Ukraine are the people of Ukraine. So far, they've been pretty solidly in the fight back column instead of the capitulate column.

I didn't see a single thing in this article that says "let the people of Ukraine decide what happens to Ukraine" so what, exactly, are we supposed to do about Putin? It's either let him win or make him lose -- and deal with the consequences of either choice. I know which one I choose, but I'm not Ukrainian.

By potrzebie in "Branching out from Disney and Pixar for a young 20 something " on Ask MeFi

potrzebie — Sun, 28 Jun 2026 18:06:41 GMT

I'm surprised not to see you mention Studio Ghibli! If they aren't already on your godkid's radar, they should be.

By yellowcandy in "How can I be a better houseguest this weekend?" on Ask MeFi

yellowcandy — Wed, 01 Jul 2026 00:02:34 GMT

In addition to getting clear--explicit, even--about your shared expectations of one another, I want to address this:

I ask her does she need any help with anything. The answer is usually "no".

Once, probably 30 years ago at least, somebody told me the best way to ask someone what they need is to phrase your question as if you're already helping.

People are more likely to accept your help if you ask something along the lines of "What's my job?" or "Where do you need me?" or "What task needs an extra pair of hands?"

I think this has to do with conceptualizing "needing help" and reframing it so that it applies to you, then evaluating if you do. It's a lot of work. And many people just shrug it off and say, "I'm OK" when they really could actually use your help.

Take the work out of the question.

By MrBadExample in "Not Maxxing" on MeFi

MrBadExample — Sat, 27 Jun 2026 15:34:09 GMT

sonascope, I would favorite your comment a million times if I could.

My outlook on life changed when I read Fifth Business by Robertson Davies:

Who are you? Where do you fit into poetry and myth? Do you know who I think you are, Ramsay? I think you are Fifth Business. You don't know what that is? Well, in opera in a permanent company of the kind we keep up in Europe you must have a prima donna -- always a soprano, always the heroine, often a fool; and a tenor who always plays the lover to her; and then you must have a contralto, who is a rival to the soprano, or a sorceress or something; and a basso, who is the villain or the rival or whatever threatens the tenor.

So far, so good. But you cannot make a plot work without another man, and he is usually a baritone, and he is called in the profession Fifth Business, because he is the odd man out, the person who has no opposite of the other sex. And you must have Fifth Business because he is the one who knows the secret of the hero's birth, or comes to the assistance of the heroine when she thinks all is lost, or keeps the hermitess in her cell, or may even be the cause of somebody's death if that is part of the plot. The prima donna and the tenor, the contralto and the basso, get all the best music and do all the spectacular things, but you cannot manage the plot without Fifth Business! It is not spectacular, but it is a good line of work, I can tell you, and those who play it sometimes have a career that outlasts the golden voices. Are you Fifth Business? You had better find out.

By phunniemee in "75 Days to Challenge Yourself" on MeFi

phunniemee — Fri, 03 Jul 2026 16:00:28 GMT

READ 10 PAGES A DAY!

Some women at work got into 75 hard a couple years ago and started posting about it in our women in tech (i.e. all the women in the company) chat, which I found personally annoying. So I said something like hey I love hearing about things folks have done that have improved their lives, maybe we could all share a few things we're doing?

And then shared some things that I do, like make an effort to try one new thing every week even if it's silly and inconsequential, and to read or listen to at least one nf audiobook a month on a social justice topic, and to try and add one additional source of fiber to my meals. And a bunch of previously silent in chat women threw me heart reacts and started talking about their journaling projects or their pottery class or how they made a snack for the first time using chives they grew themselves, and suddenly this chat that had honestly sounded miserable and vaguely threatening became extremely positive. Women checked back in for months with things like "I read that book you recommended, Vicky!" and "who told me to use coffee grounds in my garden, I forgot but I love it!"

By trig in "Rideshare overshare" on Ask MeFi

trig — Sat, 27 Jun 2026 13:53:54 GMT

I tell myself "this person is having such a bad day they can't even keep it in, but they can't even take the day off and have to keep working" and I try to let the focus be on them. YMMV.

Sometimes I'm in a mood to think about it as a privilege that I can be there for someone, sometimes I'm in more of a "I was really hoping for a more pleasant time" mood, but either way, people have let me rant in life and I've been grateful for it.

Once or twice it's happened that I feel like what I'm hearing might be fake for whatever reason. But even then benefit of the doubt seems like the way to go.