It’s not a book that I hold in particularly high regard, but there’s a plot in The Alchemist that I think about often. We find the protagonist living this idyllic life: sleeping under the stars, roaming the countryside, and, importantly, tending to his sheep. Life doesn’t happen to him, he doesn’t happen to life, and things just are. There’s beauty in the realization that enough is better than more. That is, of course, until the opportunity for more actually appears. And then the rest of the story is a blur — he sells his flock of sheep, chases his heart’s desire, and turns urine into gold or whatever nonsense it is that Alchemists do.
After spending the Summer — nay, Summering — in Puerto Rico, that tension between “enough” and “more” is heavy on my mind. You spend time away, stretch your mind until it can never return to its old dimensions, and then return home and realize that nothing ever changes. But instead of oscillating between the contentment that lies in enough and the purpose that lies in more, I find myself caught somewhere in between, ragdolled in a tug-of-war of words and worlds.
There’s this concept in Calculus of a “Local Maxima”. As you scan the domain of a function left to right, you’ll see peaks and troughs throughout. If it’s the highest or lowest point in the entire function, it’s a global maximum/minimum. If it’s the highest or lowest point in a smaller range in the function, it’s a local maxima/minima. To illustrate:
The peaks and troughs of a life are markedly less 2D, of course. The reality of a local maxima is more like you’re meditating on the top of a serene mountain, surrounded by a fog that leaves you with no idea of how tall the other mountains are around you, and someone comes along, shakes you back into consciousness, and asks you to jump off in search of a higher peak. Why would you feel the burn for more? When do you enjoy enough?
By no means do I have conclusions here, but I expect the question of “more” is answered by mimesis. There’s a lot of truth in fortune cookie wisdom when it comes to choosing peers: the average of five, surround yourself with smarter people, etc. But, especially when you’re caught in a local maxima, a more interesting way to think about this might be to find people who surprise you. Surprising people transcend relative intelligence, or competence, or whatever other Machiavellian metrics one might use to grade their friends. They’re those who disturb the universe in ways that you wouldn’t have dreamt. And by bringing novel ideas into your life, they force you to think and act in unscripted ways. The issue with getting caught in a local maxima isn’t necessarily that you don’t feel the burn for more. You might just not know that there’s anything beyond your existing script to burn for. When you don’t know how to swim, meeting someone who spearfishes is a surefire way to realize you’re a ways away from your global maximum.
As for the question of "enough”, I do feel so deeply lucky to live the life that I live. I’m the shepherd roaming the starry night without a care in the world. But, like our Alchemist, there’s a point in time when you look around, realize that spending all your time with a flock of sheep is boring, and you decide it’s time to let some heads roll.
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