the art of living unoptimized

Kids know this. We forgot this.

It was a slow Sunday afternoon when I visited one of the most stunning waterfalls my feet had ever been blessed enough to dip into. The crystal-clear water reflected the sun at the perfect angle, creating tiny rainbows. Below the waterfall stretched a series of natural swimming pools, making me genuinely wonder how a place like this could even exist. Was I Alice in fucking Wonderland? (I wasn’t).

The island I’m exploring, once a serene piece of heaven, has now been invaded by people from all over the world who think their privilege of earning higher salaries than the locals is reason enough to ditch their morals in favor of a capitalistic version of "self-realization." Welcome to the new Bali. A place that promises optimization. Thriving businesses at the cost of workforce exploitation. Instagram-worthy cafés built upon the ashes of local food stalls. Beige padel clubs erected on the very fields where kids once played football. 15 bedroom villas built by couples, because why have an apartment in your own country when you can have a mansion in Bali.

And so it happened that while I was minding my business, playing with my daughter and some local kids she had just befriended, I witnessed humanity using this godsend spot as a green screen for their thirst traps. Nothing wrong with that—I love taking thirst traps (I mean, pictures) in beautiful places too, because duh?! However, what was playing out here wasn’t just a a few tourists capturing memories, but a real life episode of Black Mirror.

During the two hours we were there, I saw a bunch of people coming and going, equipped with tripods, certified IG husbands, and dresses that no one would ever actually wear inside the jungle. But what caught my eye were two girls—I guess they were friends, though one can never be 100% sure of their relationship, as they didn’t actually interact with each other once.

First of all, I’m a girls’ girl, okay? I love women. What I’m critiquing here isn’t the women for taking pictures, but a soul-sucking system that sells the idea of insane beauty standards and constant optimization.

They both looked like absolute goddesses with the backdrop of a slowly setting sun overlooking the jungle. I bet the pictures turned out fire. But after watching their behavior for a while, I couldn’t help but notice that the very environment that was supposed to make them feel embodied and nurtured was actually making them feel stressed and insecure. This natural oasis had suddenly turned into just as much of a stressful and competitive environment as fucking Wall Street, because with every passing minute, they became more obsessed with getting the perfect shot. Sucking in their bellies so tight, it became impossible to breathe in the delicious air surrounding them, bending over so much that one of them actually had to be held by her boyfriend to keep from falling into the waterfall.

are we one with nature or one with our devices?

It is the most unfortunate tragedy of our generation that we will never be able to live in a world where we can simply exist without the urge to constantly optimize ourselves. A world that has made us literally okay with dying just to get the perfect angle. Here are just a few recent headlines I came across during my research: "Tourist, 53, Dies After Trying to Take Selfie While Leaning Out of Train," "Tourist Killed in Front of Wife While Taking Picture at Notoriously Dangerous Angel's Billabong."

This is madness. But that’s just a tiny part of a much bigger problem, because even if we’re lucky enough not to die from trying to optimize our photos—or our lives, for that matter—it most certainly destroys our minds. And so, with every picture that didn’t turn out absofuckinglutely perfect, I could witness how these two beautiful women became more and more robot-like. I watched as their shoulders tensed, their movements became mechanical, their gazes locked onto the tiny glowing screens instead of the breathtaking view in front of them. They weren’t there anymore. Not really. The jungle, the waterfall, the golden light of the setting sun—it had all become a mere backdrop for content, a stage for self-optimization and self-criticism.

They went on optimizing their poses, reviewing the pictures, adjusting their bellies, perfecting their smiles, refining their posture—without ever realizing that all of it was making them sick. Without ever realizing that they were just as imperfectly perfect as the muddy, sun-drenched, crisp, and lush nature surrounding them. That they were one with it, not separate from each other.

It’s really smart, isn’t it. They created all these shiny apps on our shiny phones we hold onto for dear life with our shiny manicures, promising connectivity across boarders and timezones, when in reality, they are the very thing that makes us feel so fucking disconnected from everything around us. Our fingertips as numb from typing as our minds from obsessive comparing. Can we love the unoptimized version of ourselves?

Here’s the thing. I’ve never seen anything more beautiful than something imperfect. The mugs on my friend’s shelf that have little cracks. The wrinkles on a woman’s face from too much laughing. The messy, handwritten notes tucked into old books. The way the ocean leaves behind uneven patterns in the sand after a wave pulls back. I love how imperfection tells a story. How it shows that something has been lived in, loved, and touched by time. Perfection is smooth, untouched, and distant. Perfection never made me gaze at it in awe. Perfection never made me break out in happy tears.

We spend so much time trying to smooth things out—waking up at 5 AM so we can fit in 20 different activities in our morning routine, gua sha-ing our faces, hiding our emotions behind a big ass smile with our pretty Invisalign teeth—when, really, what makes life worth living is the chaos that makes us feel alive in the first place. No one would ever go into a jungle and try to organize all the flowers by color, cut down all the trees to the same length, and make sure no stones are hindering the perfectly paved path. No. One. Would. Ever. Do. That.

So why are we doing it to ourselves?

The jungle is perfect as it is—yellow flowers next to blue ones, rocks mixed with tree branches lying on the ground. Just as we are perfect—wearing shorts that don’t match the current aesthetic but make us happy. Not being able to find a matching sock. Not being able to find a decent significant other. Not having figured out what we want to do with our lives. Starting dance classes simply because we enjoy dancing—not to become the newest, best, fucking dancer who has ever danced on the entire planet.

I love that my airport security trays always look like a fucking mess and not like a curated Pinterest shot. I love that my jewelry doesn’t match, but that every single piece tells a story. I love cafés where old books are scattered across the room and random shit decorates the walls. I have never walked into a minimalist café and been blown away by its beauty. I have never looked at a modern building amidst Victorian-era houses and thought, They should build more of these.

Maybe the reason why it became a whole trend to say "I need to feel something" is because we increasingly live in a world where things aren’t made for us to experience them, but rather to display them.

I beg you to protect and embrace the beauty of a de-optimized world. Make art that is loud and colorful. Decorate your home so that it tells a story, not to showcase the most flawless furniture to ever exist. Look at yourself in the mirror without thinking about which part of your body to optimize next. Look at your friends without thinking how much happier you’d be if you just had their noses, hands, boobs, lips, lashes (I could go on but you get the idea). Embrace the broken mugs. Highlight the shit out of your books. I'd much rather live in a world full of people who are too much than a world filled with people who are shrunken, optimized, and cloned.

Capitalism has been doing an excellent job of trying to convince us that we’re always just one self-help book or one diet away from happiness, but an optimized, glowed-up version of ourselves was never the goal. We weren’t put here to be endlessly improved like some kind of self-development project. We are not machines. We are not brands. We are not fucking algorithms designed to perform better, look smoother, and eliminate every flaw. The goal has always been to be human. To bask in aliveness. I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but our time on Earth is limited—so living your life in a way that makes YOU happy is fucking urgent!!! Yes, you heard that right.

Stop treating LIVING like an afterthought or something you only deserve to do in the distant future, once you have it all figured out.

We don’t have to be more optimized to be more alive. I want you to read that again. We don’t have to be more fucking optimized to be more fucking alive!

The only group of humanity I can say with certainty we should strive to be more like is children. My daughter, playing with the kids in the waterfall, didn’t give a shit about getting dirty or swimming in the same water as frogs and other insects. Not for a single second did it cross their minds to take a picture. They were present. Alive. Yeah, it’s actually that fucking simple.

Playfulness, presence, and connectedness to our environment are our inherent nature. Kids know this. We forgot this.