Counting Up

I wish I could tell you that it will all work out.

I wish I could tell you that if you do x, y, and z, that everything will come out the way you want it to.

But it doesn't.

So I can't.

When you survive something that others do not, it changes things.

I don't look through the lens of a non-survivor.

Everything is tinted with additional perspective.

All trauma is like that.

A stack of lenses.

In this increasingly obvious future of equalized intelligence, where even the lowest on our IQ totem pole will have apex tier access to global intellect, something interesting will be revealed.

If intelligence doesn't matter, or rather, is level across the board, what will make the difference?

Direction.

Curation.

Judgment.

And most of all, wisdom.

I'm wise enough to know I'm not wise at all.

The percentages do not matter.

The only experiments we truly care about are N = # of people you love. 

It can be N = 1. But hopefully, you've multiplied.

If 99% made it but you're part of the 1% that didn't, what's that worth?

And if 99% don't but you're part of the 1% that does, well that makes it better, right?

But I've come to peace with the knowledge that even if my number is called, there are worse fates.

Far worse.

Like the other numbers being called.

And while I know it in my bones, I'm not wise enough to know which choice is better.

Only that, if burdened with a choice, I will persevere.

I hope.

I pray.

But we all really don't have time to struggle with all this.

The timeline's the timeline.

And it's going to run out. For all of us.

It least on this one.

And that phone ain't gonna scroll itself.

At least, not yet.

🎶 1, 2, 3, 4...

Come on baby say you love me!

...5, 6, 7 times...

8, 9, 10, 11...

I'm just gonna keep on dancing! 🎵