Essays

On two opposite ends of a spectrum lie freedom and structure: freedom being the ability and means to pursue the life you want to live, and structure being the constraints opposing unrestrained growth imposed by both environment and self. Not too long ago, in 1800, 81% of people worldwide lived in poverty (by a $1.90-per-day standard). By 1990, only 44% were in poverty, and today, that figure lies at under 10%.

This newfound upward mobility, allowed by globalization and technological progress, has opened the doors to optionality, with people having the ability to choose what kinds of food they want to eat, what kinds of clothes they want to wear, what kinds of jobs they want to pursue, etc. And herein lies the crux of modern freedom--choice in a world of relative abundance.

What ties people down in "modern freedom" can be broken down into three broad categories: financial, health, and social obligations. Financially, we are limited by our income and long-term asset holdings. Still, I find it very common to come across people like the following example on Reddit:

"How do HENRYs afford to start a family in NYC?

Happy 2026! We are a 37M/28F DINK couple in NYC interested in starting a family, but feel like we don't have any good options for how to proceed. I'm interested in what other HENRYs think about starting a family in VHCOL while staying on FIRE track (or maybe giving up on or delaying FIRE to have kids). Any advice would be appreciated.

Here are our 2025 stats for background.

2025 Income:

P1 Day Job: Senior DS in Big Tech, Target TC $425k

P2 Day Job: Senior Associate at D-tier IB, Target TC $340k

Total income: ~$920k (P1 RSUs are up, P2 vested a one-time stock grant, we also have a growing side business that netted almost $13k this year. Honestly I'd say our reliable income is only ~$700k/year if I don't get laid off).

...

So yeah, no good options. How do people actually start a family here? None of this makes any financial or logical sense and pretty much every choice is terrible for quality of life. At this rate we might just do an IVF freeze-all and try again in 4-5 years. At that point we should be almost FI with a bigger nest egg and could find some low stress remote jobs to start a family anywhere without worrying about commuting into NYC. However, I don't really want to wait for my 40s to become a dad and I see plenty of HE couples in the FIRE subs with 2 school aged kids and $5-10m net worth by their late 40s. Do you just have to give up on sending your kids to a top school to FIRE with kids?"

This essentially translates to a couple making close to $1m in annual income being unable to find the means to afford kids in New York City--which, yes, is a very high cost-of-living area, but as one commenter notes,

"...Maybe you’re not ready for a kid if you can’t prioritize it financially. It can be that simple.

or another:

"You are so out of touch with reality. It’s not even worth addressing."

I hear people in their late careers (mid-50s) entertain the idea of calculating how much money they'll need for retirement: "Oh, maybe $20m will do?"

All of this serves to illustrate that for some people, enough is never enough--because their conception of freedom is defined by avoiding loss or constraint--while others with far less at least financially, are able to find meaning, value, and fulfillment in their day-to-day lives by treating money not as a game score to maximize or a cap to clear, but rather as an enabling structure that provides the base upon which a life can be deliberately built. This distinction matters, because money derives its value from the life it enables, not from its accumulation in isolation. I think it's important to note that your assets don't transfer to the afterlife.

Equally as important as financial constraints are health ones. Six out of ten Americans have one chronic disease, and four out of ten have two or more chronic diseases that account for 90% of the $4.5 trillion annual health care costs in the nation.

A lot of us are blessed as children to grow up without any life-threatening health issues, but the older we get, the more we see people who unfortunately fall victim to (chronic) illnesses, whether that be in our family, friend group, professional network, on social media, or the like.

By definition, the inability to permanently resolve these constraints on our lives hampers our long-term agency. But by being cognizant and health-literate, there are ways to be prepared and dramatically increase our capacity to live fulfilling lives health-wise. For example,

"1 out of 2 post-menopausal women will break a bone due to osteoporosis or loss of bone mineral density, and about 20% of women will not survive that year after they break a bone. While this may sound bad, one important way that women can improve their bone density and muscle mass is to resistance train regularly, whether that's at the gym or even at home."

- @trishapasrichamd (Instagram)

Another example:

"Untreated hearing loss in older adults has been linked to faster cognitive decline and increased dementia risk. Why? Because when the brain has to work overtime to hear, it takes a toll on memory, focus, and mental clarity. Add in social isolation, and the impact is even greater.

But here's the good news: Treating hearing loss may actually slow down cognitive decline. Hearing aids. Screenings. Awareness. These are small steps that protect big things--like brain function, independence, and quality of life."

- @ladyspincedoc (TikTok)

Health and medical challenges impose real and often irreversible constraints on freedom; however, awareness and deliberate management of these constraints can significantly preserve your health, maybe even making you healthier than you would have been otherwise.

And finally, social obligations represent perhaps the clearest expression of the tension between freedom and structure, and can be broadly categorized into three groups: familial, friendships, and romantic relationships.

I used to believe there was an inherent social contract embedded in having children--one that entailed being willing to do anything and everything they might need throughout their lives, given that you bring them into the world without their consent, in some sense. In contrast, I felt that the obligation to a partner was weaker, as the moral asymmetry seemed less pronounced in my eyes.

At one point, I was told my life seemed to be in a good place and was asked what problems I had, so I wrote them all down--four in the short-term and four in the long-term. What struck me wasn't the content of the list, but how short it was. With the last problem being having kids or starting a family, it felt as though my life would, in a way, end there, as my focus would shift almost entirely toward theirs.

All of this made me wonder whether there was more to it--whether my ultimate priority should always be others in the long run, or whether it should be myself, or at least something other than children alone, such as a partner or even work. In other words, I began to question whether meaning or freedom necessarily requires the surrender of self-direction, or whether there is room for commitment without complete self-erasure.

A while back, I asked my mother if she ever thinks about how life might have been different had she attended her dream school in Korea. To my surprise, she said yes--about how she might have been an architect and had her own life and dream career path, instead of being primarily a wife and mother first.

For me, it isn't really about choosing kids versus a partner versus something else. Rather, it's about the fear of losing oneself entirely within any given role, and whether devotion must come at the cost of self-erasure. There is something undeniably beautiful about loving others and placing them above yourself--but when taken to its extreme, that same impulse can quietly hollow out the one doing the giving.

I think this is where many people misinterpret ideas like self-interest, often appealing to tradition, faith, or ideology as justification. A shallow reading of economic thinking treats self-interest as a law of nature and, therefore, as an unquestioned good. But that framing misses the point. We see this play out financially, where accumulation becomes an end in itself, and physically, where neglect or complacency erodes long-term agency in the name of short-term comfort. The goal is not unrestrained self-interest, just as it is not total self-sacrifice or freedom. Meaning emerges somewhere in between--where freedom and structure coexist, and where individuals are able to choose commitments that support, rather than consume, the life they are meant to serve.

There’s a funny book I think of every now and then called The End of History, published by Francis Fukuyama in 1992, and it essentially states that history ends happily ever after in liberal democracy. Okay, maybe not quite exactly, but I think that’s a funny interpretation of it as it reflects how optimistic people were at the end of the 20th century.

I think about institutions a lot—what role they serve in our day-to-day and broader lives, and how everyone says that they are evil. This may be true, yet I think they serve a purpose in the world we live in. Yes, they are flawed and sometimes predatory, but they are also the only tool humans have ever invented for the long-term transmission of meaning. And I think that we should leverage this for good rather than solely be affected by the negative aspects.

One part of the conservative faith I admire is the adherence to traditions. Not the broader theme of tradition itself, but celebrating even small things like birthdays, anniversaries, holidays, etc. I mean, it doesn’t actually matter that it’s been x years since you were born (the Earth isn’t in any meaningful position relative to the sun spatially), but the meaning is in what we attribute to it.

Growing up with the Internet, I got to see how my peers grew up on it as well and how we differed from our parents and even those just a few years older than us. Now, it’s incredible to see how we (strangers) no longer see each other as human anymore.

The Internet gave us infinite connection without community. I’ve seen this highlighted by people talking to chatbots and getting psychosis; people dating AI girlfriends; and hate comments everywhere—would you actually say that in real life? Probably not, I assume.

I mean even dating has been commodified. Of all things, this seems to be the most hilariously tragic, that we are swiping for love when we should definitely be meeting in person.

In tandem with the rise of the Internet, there has been widespread hyperpolarization since globalization peaked in the 2000s: Brexit, Trump’s 2016 victory, South Korea, pretty much everywhere and this all culminated in the COVID pandemic around 2020.

There has also been a massive transfer of wealth that happened during COVID that is not talked about enough, I think; yes, at the corporate level, but also at the individual, which has led to the K-shaped economy we see today.

And perhaps the most interesting to me is this massive shift to the right politically, at least in the United States, for the group of Gen Z young adults who experienced the pandemic in high school as opposed to the rest of the cohort who experienced it in college. Not too long ago, this generation was hailed as a liberal bastion that would continue in future generations. The end of history did not come about, decidedly so, and the world is hard to predict.

Yet, when I talk to people in real life, no matter what background they’re from, I don’t tangibly feel any of the animosity I see displayed so fervently online. Especially in 1:1 settings, people are more likely than not to be civil. Nobody’s going to antagonize someone else right off the bat of meeting them for no reason.

So, where do we most interact with people? In institutions: our schools, families, churches, etc. And when our institutions begin to fail us, that’s when the fabric of our society begins to collapse. We see this with systemic school failures, corruption in the church, dispersion of the nuclear family with divorce rates going up, etc.

To me, it seems obvious that humans aren’t broken—our coordination mechanisms are. Institutions are those mechanisms, and when they fail, everything else starts failing downstream.

Similar to institutions exist systems, and the purpose of a system is what it does: capitalism doesn’t reward connection, it rewards consumption; politics don’t reward nuance, they reward outrage; and online platforms don’t reward empathy, they reward engagement.

Let’s consider the problem of phone usage / screen time for a moment. Yes, in theory everyone should have unlimited freedom and be able to make decisions for themselves. However, some people have certain (addictive) tendencies: to drugs, drinking, their phones, gambling, etc.

Side note: I think it’s hilarious how the US is just allowed to advertise prescription medications on TV, and the national lottery is known to have by far some of the worst odds yet the government freely (and heavily) advertises that as well. As a basketball fan, all I’ll say is I have been just inundated with sports betting ads over the past few years, and now prediction markets are everywhere too.

Systems don’t care for us by default—they only care for outputs. And just as a parent has a responsibility to take care of and educate their children on certain things, I believe the government has a fiduciary responsibility as well. Freedom is not enough without protection, and individual choice is not enough without collective guardrails.

I go back and forth thinking about how resilient the systems and institutions we create are. Sometimes remarkably so, sometimes I have outright worry at their potential collapse.

But are “people” necessarily evil? Are we not all to some extent trapped in the context of our developmental, historical, and cultural context? Or is it that non-actors in systems and institutions sometimes (maybe often) yield bad outcomes. Of course, it’s easiest for us to direct our anger and frustration at our peers, though.

So what’s the answer? I don’t know. But I think about the following… if institutions transmit meaning across time, how do we design ones worth inheriting?

Meaning and agency are not just personal virtues—they are social obligations. I think doctors have their oath to do no harm because all life is sacred. And maybe as hard as it can be, we should strive to treat each other with kindness and meet each other where we are. And slowly hope that we can expect this of our peers as well.

Meaning, identity, consciousness—these are useless without praxis, as life is shaped less by what we believe than by what we actually do. Praxis is philosophy translated into action and serves as the bridge between intention and action.

Decision-Making as a Discipline

One of the strongest predictors of founders’ success in the startup world is their speed of decision-making. One heuristic that dominates my life is the idea of one-way vs. two-way doors: if a decision is hard to reverse (one-way door), you should deliberate on it for a decent amount of time as opposed to a two-way door/decision where you can just go through with it with low risk as it’s easily reversible.

What I’ll add to that is that most, if not all, decisions in life are actually two-way doors. We treat reversible decisions like irreversible ones when instead we should make decisions faster and iterate. We can always revert if needed—agility > perfection.

Roadmapping and Preparation

Rather than rushing into things, we should think deeply about the task at hand and what we want to accomplish. It’s better to take your time and put a disproportionate amount of time and effort into preparation; planning is half the battle, execution is just going through the motions of what you practiced.

Volume > Study

The player who shoots one free kick is better at it than the one who watched a video of 1,000 free kicks. There is a famous experiment where a professor assigns a photography task in two batches: one group is told to go for volume, while the other is just told to take one best picture. The volume group was dramatically better in overall quality and this goes to show that volume always wins—shoot your shot many times and get familiar with the task at hand.

Wants and Needs

To some degree, we are all trapped in the context of our upbringing, developmentally and socially/culturally. However, we should still strive to understand why we want what we want and differentiate this from what we actually need.

“Anxiety is the dizziness of freedom,” and there are two traps I want to note here. 1) You can be lost in the infinite, essentially ‘analysis paralysis,’ where one is overwhelmed by the number of possible outcomes and choices they can make. And 2) you can be lost in the finite, where we simply assimilate into our surroundings without question. “Imitation is social suicide.”

One of the most important qualities in life is individuality, and being unique is a virtue of sorts. Changing for other people is getting ‘lost in the finite,’ adhering to the crowd without questioning why. So don’t conform without questioning why.

Leap of Faith

As someone who grew up agnostic, I think a lot of atheists/agnostic folk misinterpret religion. Commitment is rationality, and taking a leap of faith is the ultimate act of reason. For example, imagine that you are told to write out your ideal life’s daily routine/schedule: drink enough water, work out, read, etc. We have this checklist of abc…xyz items and in theory, you would do them all every day.

However, despite knowing what we should be doing, we just don’t commit to them. Religion is just that same commitment to a set of ideals that pushes us to be faithful.

Desire

There is a paradox of sorts where we always seem to want more of what we can’t have, and maybe this is because our brain equates things that are harder to get with higher value, so something unavailable feels more rewarding than what’s already ours.

Drawing on Eastern philosophy, one grounding principle is that not wanting something is as good as having it. In this same way, I think there is a dialectic of love where you should be willing to die for the things you love, but also be able to live without them. A binary of sorts, where we don’t compromise on what we deeply, truly want.

Semi-Determinism

I used to be a hard determinist growing up, but now I have a heuristic of a semi-deterministic world that I rely on. Some longer-term things are more likely than not set in stone (e.g. the sun will rise tomorrow). However, on the shorter- and smaller-term scale, outcomes are more malleable, like whether I will have breakfast tomorrow or not. We can see that our agency exists in this near field and praxis turns possibility into reality.

A lot of the thoughts in this essay are shaped by the 19th- and 20th-century existentialists who sought to pair theory with practical advice on how to lead a fulfilling life. I think the freedom that we are born with in this life requires courage, clarity, and repetition. Praxis actualizes identity. We become what we choose, repeatedly. But that choice is also what makes life worth living.

Our view of the world is not a neutral observation, but a constructed lens shaped by socialization, language, and consciousness.

What follows is not an argument for relativism, nor a claim that truth does not exist. Rather, it is an attempt to understand how our experience of reality is shaped—first by the environments that we are born into, then by the language we inherit, and finally by the level of consciousness through which we interpret it. If perception is constructed rather than neutral, then perspective is not merely something we have, but something we are responsible for.

The primary agents of socialization in order of influence are as follows:

1. The dinner table: family culture is where we get our earliest worldviews, and identity and values are transmitted informally.

2. School: this is where we first encounter norms, hierarchy, and shared learning, and how we learn socially acceptable behavior and thought.

3. Church: (religious) institutions shape our morality, truth, and tradition, with belief systems being inherited before they are chosen.

Although there are other factors in play as well (e.g. media, workplace, technology), most early socialization is shaped by these three mechanisms. These early environments do more than transmit values; they quietly determine the categories through which we come to interpret the world in the first place.

If socialization gives us our first worldview, language is what stabilizes and formalizes it. We think because we have language, not just speak because we think. Language is primarily an expression of thought rather than a means of efficient communication. If you think about it, you may “think” in your native language, but that doesn’t quite nail down the nature of thought itself.

A common response to this fragmentation is the belief that a single, unifying language would resolve misunderstanding across cultures. I sometimes hear people say that we should all have one unifying language, like the concept of a lingua franca, that facilitates communication across cultures. But there was such a language, Proto-Indo-European, and the nature of language is to branch off into several different sub-structures because the people, by nature of living in different parts of the world and developing different cultures, encode a different worldview into the words they use to communicate with each other. This divergence from a shared origin leads to new realities being created, with each language encoding a different worldview.

Language defines what we can name, and therefore what we can know. And our reality is filtered by these linguistic categories. Once language sets the boundaries of what can be named and known, perspective becomes the inevitable result of where one stands within those boundaries.

Perspective is not a flaw in human reasoning, but the unavoidable condition under which all reasoning occurs.

People harp on this point a lot, but there is no accessible objective reality, and no view from nowhere—only viewpoints conditioned by experience. By virtue of each of us having our own unique perspectives, we each hold multiple truths rather than a single inaccessible, shared truth.

Social identity theory, particularly the in/out-group theory, highlights how groups define the self and the “other,” and this belonging is tied to a shared worldview. We have a protective instinct of group identity, and bias, prejudice, community, and culture are organized around it. But perspective alone does not explain how we are able to step outside these inherited frames, reflect on them, and imagine alternatives.

Consciousness is what allows perspective to become visible to itself.

If you’ve heard of the thought experiment of a 2-dimensional creature trying to visualize a 3- dimensional world (impossible), think of an ant’s frame of reference relative to a human in terms of “level” of consciousness. There is a gradient of awareness and complexity, with each step allowing for a broader perception of reality.

This allows us to imagine futures and reflect on the past; consciousness expands our meaning-making capacity. Taking the analogy a step further, it’s not hard to imagine going from a human’s level of consciousness to a superintelligent AI’s and, going back to the topic of language, imagining that they would develop a “higher” form of communication, in line with their level of consciousness.

It’s also been heavily emphasized how institutions shape our thoughts, with schools, media, religion, and the government serving as mental architects. Together, they shape how we interpret the world before we question it. Once we recognize that consciousness mediates how the world appears to us, the question shifts from ‘what exists’ to ‘how things exist for us.’

To make sense of how perception shapes reality, it helps to distinguish between different ways that things can be said to “exist.”

Let’s define the following terms as follows:

“Existence”: physically exist (think an apple)

“Absist”: conceptually exist (think mathematical concepts like numbers, the Pythagorean theorem, a perfect circle: these are conceptually possible, but impossible to actually find in the real world of physical existence)

“Subsist”: perceived existence (think Harry Potter: even though he’s not “real,” there is a near infinite number of conceptions of Harry Potter; for example, the sum of J.K. Rowling’s written words about him; the movie depictions of him; my conception of him; your conception of him; and every other reader’s as well, etc.)

There are versions of ourselves that only live in others’ minds. We never know the inner life of another directly, and instead, we relate through mental models and assumptions. This ties back to the idea that there is no objective reality (no objective “us” / static personal identity), and we instead relate through mental models and assumptions.

Together, consciousness + socialization + language produce our worldviews, and meaning is ultimately a constructed lens. Through this shared reality we live in, society only works because we agree to believe together, and reality is built collectively, not discovered individually.

Hegel would say that our choices and perspective are limited and determined by our historic-cultural context. Yet Kierkegaard would say that our choices are ours and we should take responsibility for them.

Once we understand that perception is constructed, we gain the ability to reshape that frame.

Growing up in Miami felt like playing life on hard mode—being different wasn’t a choice; it was necessary to navigate racism, cultural distance, and not fully belonging. Over time, though, that difference became a strength, and embracing uniqueness taught me how to thrive wherever I found myself in life.

I spent my summers as a kid in South Korea, spending up to two months at a time there and even attending school some years. This number slowly dwindled down to two weeks as my sister and I got busier and found it harder to make time to travel. At home, though, I would get my dose of Korean culture by watching Korean TV shows at the dinner table and listening to K-pop (mostly BIGBANG). I met few Asian students in school and even fewer Koreans, and our family would have to drive up to an hour to eat at the closest Korean restaurant. Language was the biggest barrier for me, though, as I found it difficult to communicate as well as I wanted to with my parents and even my piano teacher, which made me feel disconnected at times.

There was definitely more of an Asian community at Yale, and I took three Korean language classes, which dramatically improved my speaking skills and helped me connect with my parents on a deeper level. I moved back to Miami post-grad, where I had definitely had my fair share of racist remarks thrown my way growing up—and still do to this day—but felt much more secure this time around. I’m grateful to have grown up in such a diverse environment and now understand that home is where you feel most comfortable. My parents moved to New Jersey, where they’ve made new friends and there’s a Koreatown nearby, and I think we’ve both learned to make our home our home.

Korea, to me, represents the epitome of late-stage capitalism, largely due to America’s investment and military presence in the country post-war, which helped turn it into the cultural and economic powerhouse it is today. From the little time I’ve spent in the country, some notes and observations I have are: 1) there’s massive wealth inequality, 2) political polarization is one of the country’s most pressing issues, and 3) people are hyper-materialistic and obsessed with status chasing—where did X go to school, what job does X work, what car does X drive. What stands out most, though, is the cultural homogeneity—if you walk into a classroom, all of the boys will be rocking whatever hairstyle is trending at the time; everyone is very well dressed, too, but they all have the same fashion sense, etc.

I say this to note that Miami isn’t so different regarding points 1–3; however, Miami is incredibly diverse and anything but homogeneous. I grew up hanging out with a lot of Jewish and Hispanic friends and was lucky to have had people accept me for who I am.

Being unique is always a strength. And for me, I don’t mean being Korean made me unique—what I mean is that growing up as a Korean in Miami made me so. I think anyone who knows me will say that I’m different in some regard, hopefully in a good way. But that was shaped by my lived experiences, largely in Miami.

I think too many people want to fit in, especially if they find themselves out of their comfort zone. But I’ve learned that home isn’t a place; rather, it’s something you create by owning who you are. Being unique makes you interesting and endearing to others. Yes, we should be true to ourselves, but we should also play to our strengths and strive to stand out. In a crowd full of boring, identical people, be yourself. And be different.

Statement: Meaning isn’t discovered; rather, it’s created.

I have found myself, like many others, struggling with the notion of meaning, fulfillment, happiness—whatever you’d like to call it. And I could never get good, centralized feedback on how to bridge this gap in my life. In the following anecdotes, I’ll share my story and some heuristics that have helped me throughout my life.

1. More effort almost always yields better outcomes

Growing up, I never thought I was the smartest kid; I did think, however, that I put a lot of effort into whatever I set my mind to. Somewhere along the way, though, I realized that the opposite was true: intelligence didn’t matter anywhere near as much as the effort I put in—which, at times, was very little.

As a side note, I also think that nonchalance in today’s society is horrible. People should care about their relationships with others and about their passions, interests, and hobbies. Effort is cool, and it always will be—at least to me. I’ll always be the one to put in more if need be.

2. Manifestation / visualization

Whether it’s NBA superstars or practicing physicians, I consistently hear successful people use manifestation and/or visualization to help them realize their goals.

For me, it looks like this: if you are able to conceptualize the beginning of whatever story you are tackling, along with the end, you’ve already completed over half the battle. Filling out the in-between portion is just a matter of putting your head down and making things happen until enough time has passed and you’re done.

3. Personal identity

The two most important questions in life, to me, are: 1) Who am I? (What systems and heuristics work best for me? What do I derive pleasure from? What do I enjoy doing?) and 2) Where am I going? (What do I want?) Similar to the previous point, I think that not enough people spend enough time thinking deeply about what they want—whether it be in the short or long term. Once this is nailed down, again, making it happen is easy.

Additionally, something that has helped me, which I derived from a hiring assessment, is understanding the difference between how you view yourself versus how you think others view you. This delta says a lot about our personality—not necessarily in a good or bad way, but in a way that can be helpful.

4. Deconstruction

Being a student made it seem to me as though the world was very systematic and driven by a very specific set of rules—which can be true to some extent, but not entirely so. Understanding that there are no “rules” or objective truths can be freeing. An example from my college philosophy class: Hume said that just because something’s always happened before—like a ball falling due to gravity—doesn’t mean it must happen again; our belief that it will is habit, not logic.

Ultimately, perception is reality, and we should adopt systems and heuristics that make it easier to live our day-to-day lives.

5. Internal locus of control

I like thinking about the world in terms of fate, luck, or destiny to some degree. However, it is much more helpful to have an internal locus of control—adhering to the notion that our actions determine outcomes in our lives rather than determinism. It is essentially to say that we should hold the notion of free will dear to our hearts, and perhaps that is because…

What we ultimately want is agency—the feeling that I meaningfully exist, that I have influence over my life.

I want to feel as though I am acting on the world rather than the world acting on me.

In this way, our seemingly insignificant little actions, words, and decisions become meaningful.

At least, they have for me in my own lived experience.

For eight glacially slow minutes, we performed our skit, featuring everything from pneumatic wings to a fully functional go-kart built from scratch. It was our fifth time at World Finals and in that stadium, all I could think about was how bizarre it was to watch your work blow up in front of you, literally.

I embarked on my venture with Odyssey of the Mind (OM) when I was in first grade. Alongside six teammates, I harbored a certain naiveté that made the whole experience seem more like glorified playtime than a creative problem-solving competition. We worked as diligently as our sub-four-foot-tall bodies would enable us and struggled to work with anything that weighed more than five pounds. Power tools were undoubtedly off limits per our parents' safety concerns, not that our juvenile hands could handle them anyway.

Over the years, we fashioned elaborate solutions to quirky challenges, producing a diverse selection of vehicles that could catalyze chemical reactions or disassemble and reassemble: a bootleg Transformers of sorts. I felt fiery nuts of steel drop into my lap and burn holes through my dearest pair of navy blue Nike basketball shorts. Neodymium magnets worked in tandem with rat traps to crush my hands: all part of the learning process. Whereas I had once been shy and trembled at the snap of dinky mousetraps, I now found myself featuring as a rapping grandma in our music videos and adrenalized to sit on exploding boxes.

My sophomore year marked the team's tenth anniversary: only three of the seven original team members remained, myself included, and whether or not to continue was a legitimate question. After collectively agreeing to another year, Home Depot became my third home again, right behind the coach's. Weekends meant OM work marathons wherein I could spend four hours testing the viability of a solution to meet problem limitations, just to spectacularly fail in a matter of seconds.

The engineering component of OM had largely been handled by my best friend and me every year, and this time was no different. Without a doubt, the single large car was the most difficult element of the problem we chose. I applied what little physics knowledge I possessed to get the job done; pressurized air tanks blew up in our faces and batteries shorted, but we eventually achieved our final product. The car worked in sync with an imaginative storyline to win us first place at the regional and state tournament, the latter of which would take us to Iowa for World Finals.

Even in the minutes leading up to the finale, our vehicle displayed undying loyalty to Murphy's law: the batteries exploded and set off the fire alarm, leaving bystanders stuck in the elevator and us with nothing but the ultimate stress test. After hurriedly repairing the flaming car, we came, we saw, but failed to conquer, placing eleventh overall. It was utter disillusionment to see that hundreds of hours of work was nothing but charcoal, crumbling into a pile of ashes rather than the diamond we had hoped to produce. I could all but hear the world laughing in my face, saying, "Your best wasn't good enough!"

Although blunt and severe, the realization that I couldn't have done better was liberating: in the face of the universe's stubborn silence, words like "deserve" and "fair" become indistinct – all we can do is constantly strive for something better. And there is real meaning and value to be created by pursuing projects in spite of, rather than because of incentives. Over the past decade, working with everything from amphibious cars to a makeshift eighty-gallon water trough shaped us into calculating risk-takers, ready to adapt to whatever challenge the future had to offer.

We returned to World Finals the following year to place second overall, and I still wear those navy blue shorts today.