This newsletter is a fortnightly meditation on living a more intentional, fulfilled life.
Every edition includes exclusive updates, intriguing ideas, and meaningful content recommendations.

If you have any questions, requests, or feedback, just reply to this email!

Today: The linkage of reading and strategic underachievement

Hey there!

After a reading drought this summer, I finally got back into proper reading. Currently, I'm plowing through these three books:

• The Sense of Style by Steven Pinker
• Conversations on Love by Natasha Lunn
• An Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding by David Hume

What do all of these books have in common? Sure, they're non-fiction, commercially successful, and examples of great thinking. But beyond that? They share practically nothing. One is a meta-guide about writing. The other a journalistic treasure hunt to define love. And then we have this strange philosophical pamphlet from the 18th century.

But despite all the differences, these books share common themes that intertwine like threads of silk into a fine piece of fabric. For example, all three books share the subtle theme of communication.

In The Sense of Style, Pinker stresses how communicating with concise writing could radically improve the world. There would be less mix-ups in text messages, safety instructions would prevent more accidents, and political speeches would bring more peace and clarity. In Conversations on Love, Lunn interviews several experts who see communication as a centerpiece of nourishing relationships. Good communication -- whether it be through words or actions -- improves every aspect of relationships. And lastly, in his Enquiry, Hume discovers that every big idea can be disassembled into simpler sensory impressions. (The idea of a golden mountain, for example, is only possible because we've seen gold and mountains.) This, in turn, implies how we can clarify our communication: by dismantling complex arguments into their most fundamental atoms .

Three different books, three different genres, three different authors. And yet, there's this subtle linkage. A subtext. Ultimately, that's the one thing that made me fall back in love with reading. When you treat a book (or any piece of writing) as a collective organism rather than an isolated cell, every text becomes an electrifying possibility. A new seed for cultivating a garden of wisdom.

It's also a consoling metaphor for life. The first quarter of a book often leaves you floundering like a stranded salmon. Likewise, trying new things in life or sticking to them can sometimes seem pointless -- as if the tides forgot to take you back to the ocean of meaning. But then, unexpectedly: a droplet. Then, a torrent, a wave, a tsunami. A full-fledged plot rises, breaks, and crashes into you. You soak up the story like a sponge, and connect it to other things you've read, heard, or seen. You create meaning, retrospectively. You return home.

Idea: Strategic underachievement

It started with a funny clip I discovered while doomscrolling social media. It was, basically, an ironic low-budget commercial that introduced the life-changing concept of ✨doing the bare minimum✨.

"When you do the bare minimum," the overexcited voice-over announces, "you can have loads of free time and still get paid the same amount!!"

Sure, the main purpose of this clip is entertainment. Perhaps it's even a satirical take on quiet quitting. But for some reason, there's a profound, almost philosophical lesson that stuck with me: Achieving less brings tremendous joy. We've forgotten the subtle art of taking off the pressure and reducing our efforts to the absolute minimum.

Now, if the self-improvement-focused-me from two years ago had read those lines, he'd probably have unsubscribed from this newsletter. But here's the thing that he (I?) hadn't realized back then: If you try to achieve everything, you'll succeed at nothing. (Except getting burned out, maybe.) See, it's simply not possible to be a consistently remarkable worker and friend and parent and cook and runner and reader and volunteer and activist, and, and, and.

Maybe it's possible to occasionally achieve great results in some of these areas. But being the best at everything at once? That's a little too much for our imperfect, fleeting existence.

The only escape hatch out of the hamster wheel is this: Pick your battles wisely, win some of them, and brace yourself for losses.

In his book Four Thousand Weeks, Oliver Burkeman found a great name for this: strategic underachievement. It's the idea that you define areas in advance where you'll do the bare minimum. Just the raw essentials. You're not directly planning to fail, but if you do, the sting of shame won't paralyze you. The result? You free up tremendous amounts of time, energy, and mental space. And that, in turn, helps you excel at the things you actually give a shit about.

Seems sketchy, I know. But I'm whole-heartedly convinced that strategic underachievement can defuse lots of impractical meritocratic standards. So, what does this look like in practice?

• Stop folding laundry and simply throw it in your closet (if you can still find what you need, who cares?)
• Ignore all professional emails/phone calls once you've clocked in your work hours.
• Stop buying plants that demand your constant care and attention.
• Quit reading books you don't enjoy.

These are just a few examples to stir up ideas. Again, it's all about what matters most to you. If your career is the most meaningful part of your life, then, by all means, dedicate yourself to it and quit going to parties. Conversely, if you want a richer social life, lowering the achievement bar in the office might be a great way to start.

Ultimately, there are no set rules for achievement. You make them.

And if, ironically, becoming an underachiever seems like an impossible task, try this trick I learned from Greg McKeown: Ask yourself, "What's the opposite of what an overachiever would do?"

Not: How can I work harder?
​Not: How can I "wow" everyone?
​Not: How can achieve the most?

But instead: How can I work less? How can I barely meet the demands? How can I be average?

Surprisingly, many instances don't even ask for an outstanding result. Sometimes, average is good enough. And very often, good enough is just right.

Content: The best cover letter ever written

In 1934, a New York copywriter quit his job and moved to Hollywood, hoping to become a screenwriter. So, upon arrival, he collected as many addresses of film studios and directors as he could find and sent out his application. A few years later, he won a Golden Globe.

His secret weapon? One of the best cover letters ever written:

And look at that, another link to the theme of communication! We've come full circle. This cover letter reveals that it's not just about what you say, but how you say it. In other words: show, don't tell.

Something to think about

One of my favorite passages from Conversations on Love:

A 30-second favor

If you enjoyed this edition, share it with others!

You can either forward this email or copy and paste this link: [ARCHIVE URL GOES HERE]

This won't take you longer than 30 seconds, but it'd mean the world to me. 🌍

​

Until next time,

Stephan

​