How ‘go big or go home’ got in my way | #52

Escaping the Productivity Trap: Why Joy Doesn’t Need a Justification

For the longest time, I held a belief that I had to go big or go home in everything I did. I had internalised this idea so deeply that even hobbies—things I had no intention of monetising—became subjects of intense scrutiny. If I wasn’t aiming for mastery or a tangible outcome, then what was the point?

It was my therapist who made me realise the many ways I measure success and meaning in my life tied to capitalistic notions. I am by no means an anti-capitalist, in fact, I have been a beneficiary of its many advantages. However, through benefiting from capitalism I’d fallen victim to its relentless demand for productivity and optimisation. If an activity wasn’t useful, if it didn’t contribute to some grander ambition or measurable success, it felt like there was no point. And because I had adopted this mentality without questioning it, I had spent most of my adult life evaluating every single pursuit through that lens. This led to abandoning things that brought me joy simply because I could not see them leading to something bigger.

The Handstand Experiment

One of the earliest examples of this was my fascination with handstands. Back in 2019, a friend from yoga teacher training opened a calisthenics gym near me, offering handstand classes. I got really into it, training obsessively and tracking my micro-improvements in a diary. I would practise daily even if I wasn’t in a class, ensuring I was doing a wall-assisted handstand for a minute or two a day. I was fully committed to getting good at it.

Then one day, as I walked home, a thought hit me: Why am I doing this? Was I training to become a gymnast? A circus performer? Could I ever make money from it? When I couldn’t justify it with a tangible capitalistic purpose, I concluded it was a waste of time. Back then, I struggled to factor in enjoyment for its own sake. If something wasn’t leading somewhere, I didn’t see the point. So I slowly stopped practicing.

Now, nearly half a decade later, I still find handstands fun—but I no longer succumb myself to the mentality I did before. I practice them in yoga a few times a week. No more logs of my improvements, no more regimented schedule, no expectation that I have to get anywhere with it other than to have fun at a skill.

I think it shows that if you stumble upon something that excites you or tickles your curiosity, then it is important to listen to that. It doesn’t matter how quick or slow you go with it, the sheer enjoyment is worthy in and of itself.

The Perils of Going All-in

This pattern repeated itself in other areas of my life. Because I’m a generalist—neurodiverse, eternally curious, and drawn to many things—I often struggled with the idea of specialising. While I have learnt to lean into my generalist strengths, I always used to want to be the go-to expert for ONE THING.

I tried with responsible AI, a niche I found myself in that has since exploded both in terms of career opportunities and being a trendy topic. Then rebranding myself to being the expert community builder for crypto communities then online communities. Then, for a while, I thought I had finally found my thing: oil painting.

Like many things I get drawn to, I picked it up fast. I learned to paint with nuance, to capture shapes, and express my ideals visually. My teacher called my style “honest.” It felt right. So naturally, after only a few months of painting regularly, I did what I always did—I went all in. I researched art schools. I convinced myself this was my ONE TRUE PATH.

Eight months after painting weekly, I showed my art at a show and sold my first piece. That one data point was all the encouragement I needed to double down. I interviewed with the directors of the Jerusalem Studio School. A friend even drove me two hours each way to visit the Lyme Academy in Connecticut while I was in the U.S. I was so ready to drop a big chunk of life savings on a three-year course. Because I thought to myself that’s how one should live right?

Go big or go home.

But what if I hadn’t applied that logic?

I wouldn’t have burned myself out trying to improve my drawing skills or handstands at breakneck speed. I wouldn’t have sucked the joy out of painting by turning it into a high-stakes career decision. By the end of 2023, I realised I didn’t want to go all in on painting. I found myself exhausted from grinding through my painting. Practicing no longer gave me meaning; it felt like a chore. And just like with handstands, I quit.

Now that I’ve had space from it, I see things more clearly. I do love painting. I love mixing the colour I see and depicting my world on a canvas. But I don’t need to be a professional artist to paint. I don’t need to monetise it or make it my singular identity. I can just do it at a pace that feels good.

The Hidden Harm of ‘Go Big or Go Home’

This belief didn’t just affect my hobbies—it shaped my entire life. It made me think that if I wanted to be an entrepreneur, I had to go full-time. If I wanted freedom, I had to quit my job. If I wanted to buy property, it had to be perfect. If something didn’t have an obvious long-term benefit, it wasn’t worth it.

And at its core, this is capitalism’s biggest trick: convincing us that every moment must be optimised, every effort must be productive, and every pursuit must lead somewhere. That we must always be calculating, strategising, and justifying our time.

But that’s not how I want to live.

So I’m replacing my old motto with something new:

Go with curiosity. Big or small—just go.