I am Interminable

Can't stop, won't stop

Jul 06, 2023

We stumble back into the apartment at 1:30am—both of us sober—but simply sapped of all our energy. Most of the night was blur, but what he does next is a freeze frame, etched into my memory.

At this time of the night (or morning?), we are husks. The soles of our feet have now petrified into planks of wood from standing on them for so many hours, our throats are the scratching posts of black bears after so much shouting over rock and roll, our ears whine incessantly like malfunctioning factory bells from trying to hear over the same music, our minds are tires spinning in snow as they reel from the fascinating conversations we had with our friends at the concert.

Finally, we are home. Together for so long, we now diverge on completely different paths. My only priority is to take a hot shower so I can crawl into bed with at least some decency, and get a good night’s rest.

But Will does the opposite. Instead of winding down, he boots up. He sits down in front of his computer and presses the red button that says "record." For the next 20 minutes I hear him ranting incoherently in what sounds like a foreign language. That’s because it is.

Will is recording a video of himself speaking Chinese.

Will does this because it’s the same thing he does every day. Just because it’s late and he’s utterly exhausted is no excuse. Each day, Will records a video of himself speaking Chinese. He has been doing this for over 500 days in a row.

By the time I'm done with my shower and am finally settling into my bed, I can hear Will close the laptop. That means he’s done with the video and has uploaded it to his YouTube channel.1 There it will sit, mostly untouched, alongside the thousands of other videos he has made over the past few years. Today’s video will get approximately five views over the course of its life on the website, if it’s lucky.

Seems like a complete waste of time—right?

But not to Will.

Will has a vision, a destiny which he approaches with unwavering dedication, a path which he walks with unshakeable commitment, step by step by step by step.

Will is mastering Chinese. He spends 3-4 hours a day on average studying the language, whether listening to podcasts, speaking with tutors, memorizing new characters, or creating his videos.

Will is interminable. He is unstoppable. He says, “Unless I die, in 10 years there is no way that I won’t achieve my dream of full fluency.”

Will is on a path that doesn’t have an end— it does not terminate. He is on a bullet train on an eternal rail. He is playing an infinite game, and he plays it every day. He has made a commitment that he will never miss.

But what's the point of this? What's his plan? Does he want to become a bilingual translator? From the perspective of anyone else but Will, this is a pointless pursuit. While you or I may not need to learn Chinese because we might just as easily use Google translate, or a professional translator, or some new as-of-yet-uninvented AI tool, none of that matters to Will. It's not about being able to function in an extremely efficient (though also extremely limited) capacity. No, he has something bigger in mind. For him, it’s about full fluency. He wants to be indistinguishable from a native speaker. Perhaps easy enough if he wanted to learn Spanish, but Chinese is an entirely different mountain.

Within the Venn

But realistically, what could this skillset possibly enable him to do? Is it simply philately—the antiquated practice of collecting stamps—something he does just for the kick of it? Yes and no. While on the surface it may seem difficult to discern an obvious application for this aptitude, there are actually limitless possibilities once you start combining it with other skills.

Scott Adams, the creator of the highly successful Dilbert cartoons, is the perfect example of this principle. Scott was neither the best cartoon artist nor the best at navigating the business world, but he was the only one who could do both. Most cartoonists have never stepped inside a conference room, and most corporate salarymen couldn't draw a recognizable self-portrait if their career depended on it. Scott’s unique overlap between those two disparate disciplines is what makes him so successful. It’s the space within the Venn that’s worth so much.

So in Will's case, it could be any number of things. Will is the co-founder and course director for Write of Passage, the world's top writing school.2 He has built that company from its early days of having dozens of students to now numbering in the thousands. Moreover, Will is an avid reader and has a special gift— he has an ear for the music of language. Will's living room is filled with stacks of books that rise nearly from floor to ceiling; its walls are plastered with dozens of quotes, all of which he could recite to you on a whim (along with hundreds of other quotes that he can paraphrase, quite close to their originals). Finally, Will is also the world's biggest extrovert and can strike up a conversation with anyone, from a panhandler to a startup founder to a philosophy major to a diehard sportsfan, and he can find something to talk about with any of them for at least 20 minutes, rain or shine.

The point— it doesn't really matter which skill (or skills) he combines with his incendiary passion for Chinese, because the sheer heat of the flame will be able to ignite any sort of fuel he decides to use. But without that original spark, it's almost impossible to start a fire.

My turn

In some ways, I'm jealous of Will. Upon initial reflection, I don't have that same unwavering dedication to my writing. And that’s sad. It is currently 6pm, and I am just now writing the first draft of this week's essay, which is due today. I usually like to publish by 3pm, ideally as early as 11am, but will do it as late as 11:59pm, if necessary. So getting started now is concerning, to say the least.3

At least I'm consistent with publishing—today is week 17 in a row. 17! That’s nearly 1/3 of the year! But though I have not missed a week of publishing, I'm not as consistent with the writing—I don't do at least 20 minutes every day, like Will does with Chinese. Sometimes the essay comes right down to the wire (like today). I'm not proud of that, but I've realized that I'm just currently in a phase of life right now that doesn't allow me to dedicate more time to it.

But though I don’t write every day, upon further reflection, I've realized I have my own no-miss commitment—something similar to Will's unbroken streak of 500+ days of recording Chinese vlogs.

My enterprise? It's exercise.

Every day, the one thing I do—no matter what—is some sort of exercise. Most days it's around two hours of dedicated time in the gym, plus occasional periods of stretching throughout the day whenever I can fit it in. Other days, if I’m incredibly sore, or injured, or sick, at the very least will walk for 15 minutes. I’ll find something, anything to do to get my heart pumping.

On the one hand, this feels like a waste of my talent. Anyone can be fit—any amateur athlete or gym rat or footsoldier—from the hoplites of ancient Greece to the grenadiers of modern Ukraine. But I like to think I have a special opportunity to use my intelligence—to write about philosophy and psychology, the hidden secrets of human nature, like I do here on The Apocalypse.

But on the other hand, my no-miss commitment to fitness totally makes sense—at least right now. I'm currently building a career in Emergency Medical Services (EMS). For a long time, I tried to figure out how to pursue writing as my primary endeavor. 4 I've learned a lot over the past seven years since I first began, primarily about discipline and focus and habits, and secondarily about technique and craft and marketing and all the other aspects of the process. But ultimately, the truth is that no matter how good I am at all these things, making it as a writer (or any artist) takes time. At least two years, if you are doing it full time (which I'm not). Perhaps up to five years. And that's for those that make it— we’re not counting the other 90% who never make it.

“No matter how great the talent or efforts, some things just take time. You can't produce a baby in one month by getting nine women pregnant.” —Warren Buffet

It’s kinda hard to survive for five years without making any money—so, I did what most artists have to do (like the many actors and directors and other hollywood hopefuls I mentioned last week5)— I took another job.

I've chosen EMS, which is honestly a really great fit for me. During the week, I use my hands. I help people in a direct, individual, and tangible way. I keep them alive and healthy (as much as I can), in a physical way. But during the weekend, I use my head. I help people in a more indirect, but collective way. I don’t reach each person as closely, but I can also reach more people (around 100 per week right now). I try to promote health in a metaphysical way— by helping others (and myself, through the process of writing) to not just survive, but thrive. To live better lives. It's more subtle, more long-term, more difficult to discern, but perhaps ultimately more impactful.

But if I'm going to keep this balancing act going, I have to prioritize my job first, and the writing second. The other way around doesn’t make sense, as I could lose my job. And so that means ensuring that I am physically fit so that I can use my body to keep others alive. Thus, my commitment to exercise.

If I miss a day of writing, my 60+ subscribers might (might) notice a dip in the quality of my essay that week. They might be a little dissatisfied with the coherence of my argumentation, or the prevalence of typographical errors, or the apparent irrelevance of the images to the text.

If I miss of day of exercise, however, someone's life might be at stake. Someone's mother or wife or sister or daughter or best friend might be irreversibly injured. Accidents do happen, and a lot of times even when I and my team do our very best, we simply cannot avoid injury, or worse. But I would feel awful if the injury was due to my lack of fitness. If I couldn't carry them quickly (or safely) into the ambulance. If I couldn't perform compressions long enough to restart their heart. If I couldn't run fast enough in or out of scene. And so on.

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And moreover, the demands on my physical fitness are only increasing. I'm currently training to become a firefighter, the next step in this career path, which will enable me to continue taking emergency medical calls, but with the added responsibility of responding to incidents that involve fire, hazardous materials, or other outdoor events (floods, swiftwater, high angle rescue, etc.). Firefighting is an extremely desirable profession, but it's also very competitive because there are very high physical demands. This Friday, I have to take a test called the CPAT, which is an obstacle course which requires me to complete 8 events in 10 minutes, all while wearing a 50lb vest. And I'm relatively small compared to most men, weighing only 150lbs. So proportionally, I’m carrying more weight, which just means I have to work harder. But that’s just a test, not even the real job.

If you're paying attention, you're probably realizing that all this sounds like a long list of excuses for not making writing my no-miss commitment. And you'd be right. That's exactly what it is. I'm sad to admit it, but it's the hard truth. I'm simply in a season of life right now that requires me to focus on my primary career—EMS (and therefore fitness)—rather than my secondary career—writing. There just aren't enough hours in the day for me to exercise as much as I need and write as much as I want. Hopefully that will change in the future as I settle into my primary career, and I reach the level of fitness I need to achieve, and can simply maintain it.

Seasons

But I think that's the one thing that helps me to digest all this—"seasons." When we view our life as a collection of seasons, it makes a lot more sense. Allow me to explain.

Contrast Will's flawless dedication to Chinese to the embarrassing inconsistency of my good friend Taylor Foreman. I've referenced Taylor in several essays so far, but suffice it here that he is one of the best writers I know. For weeks Taylor published every week on his Substack6, to much acclaim (and rightfully so). But then 12 weeks ago, he stopped. Just walked away from it all. I know, I know, it's despicable. Please go to his Substack and leave a comment that expresses your disapproval.

I joke. Taylor actually has a very good excuse. For the last 12 weeks, he has been in the Hollywood equivalent of a military boot camp—basic training where you shave your head and wake up at 5am to run shirtless in the winter cold and scrub toilets with a toothbrush and... you get the point. For the last 12 weeks, Taylor has been in the final class of Groundlings, a renowned (and exclusive) sketch comedy club.7 He's been working his way up to this class over the past five years, each round having more and more cuts until only the best of the best remain. This final class had its final performance on Monday this week. The last 12 weeks have required ceaseless dedication to prepare for this show, hours upon hours upon hours. Knowing this, I flew to LA to watch Taylor's show (and to meet him in person for the first time). This is the big reason I haven't written at all this week, and why I'm starting so late—I've been out of town and spending my time meeting with friends like Will and Taylor.

But for Taylor, after all this hard work and zealous sacrifice, I'm sorry to announce that he did not make the cut to the next round. Five years of commitment—multiple hours every week—and then this last sprint. And now, it’s all over. He's done with it, excommunicated. He doen’t get to try again. They have to make room for the next round of hopefulls. Is Taylor devastated? No. Disappointed, yes. Let down, frustrated, of course. But Taylor has other things to return to now that this sprint is over. Groundlings was one season in his life. That season has come to close. It's now on to bigger and better things.

We talked to another audience member who attended the show—she also used to do sketch comedy for five years, but then retired. She hasn't done it in the past 10 years. Has never once thought about picking it back up again. While Will was amazed, I totally understood. I've had similar experiences. In high school and college, I played lacrosse. I would spend 30 minutes every day throwing a lacrosse ball against a wall to myself. I did that for years. Hundreds of days. But since I graduated college, I haven't picked up a lacrosse stick. I probably never will. Same thing with Accounting. I studied it for four years in college, did it for four years straight as a career, and then did it off and on for four more years. I hope I'll never do it again.

Now, I'm in a season of predominately EMS and fitness. I write a fair amount, about 10 hours a week, but that's all I can afford right now. I'd love to do more, but I simply can't with the hours I need to spend exercising and studying medicine. But I don't plan on doing EMS forever. It's an exhausting career—most people only last three years. Some do five, and very few do 20 or more.

I can look forward to a season when I won't be living so physically, and can spend more time intellectually, with reading and writing. But I’m young now, and might as well do it now before I get too old. I feel the same way about martial arts. I do truly hope that my writing reaches a point eventually where I can consider doing it full time. In the meantime, I'm focusing on my career in EMS. I'll always be able to read and write (hopefully), but I won't always be able to carry an adult out of a burning building.

And the beautiful thing is that I'm also building my own unique combination of skillsets. I'm not the best writer out there, nor am I the best medic. I was not the best accountant (and am certainly not now, since I haven't practiced in years). But perhaps I'm the only person who can combine them all. I’m maybe the only person who simultaneously loves philosophy and first aid and fighting and fantasy video games and science fiction. Maybe I'm the only accountant who became a writer and a firefighter. Who knows where these skills will take me? But I do know they will combine in some way that no one has ever seen before.

So right now, my daily no-miss commitment is fitness. I still have the weekly no-miss commitment of publishing here.

In these things, I am interminable. I am unstoppable. I can’t stop, won’t stop.8 In future seasons, I can only hope that my writing will accelerate. Until then, I do the best I can.

Your turn

But here are my questions for you—

What's your no-miss commitment?
What season of life are you in right now?
And what season are you working toward?

The Apocalypse