Creativity

You have no competition

We feel lousy when we think other people are doing better than us. We feel superior when we think we are doing better than other people. Basically, as Ryan Holiday put it, there are only two ways that comparing yourself to others can make you feel: crappy or egotistical.

Comparing ourselves to others is the gateway to competing with them. And if we’re not careful, we end up competing for the sake of competing. Instead of a means to an end, it becomes an end in itself. We end up playing a game we don’t actually care about—and dulling our shine to stay in it.

Lamborghini’s Refusal To Compete

Before becoming one of the world’s best carmakers, mechanic Ferruccio Lamborghini built tractors. He also drove and modified Ferraris. Souping up his red Ferrari 250 GTE Pinin Farina Coupe, he would speed past the best drivers in the world—Ferrari test drivers—and leave them in disbelief. But, as Luke Burgis writes in Wanting, Lamborghini had been having mechanical problems with his Ferrari. One of those problems was the clutch. It didn’t feel right. Upon inspection, he realized the clutch in his $87,000 luxury car was the same clutch he used in his $650 tractors. When he brought this to the attention of Ferrari founder, Enzo Ferrari, he would hear nothing of it. So, Lamborghini decided he would make his own luxury car.

He founded Automobili Lamborghini in 1963 and made his first car in 1964. Four years later, in 1968, he released the Miura P400s—an iconic car that both Frank Sinatra and Miles Davis bought. With the success of the Miura, Lamborghini’s engineers pleaded with him to make a car that could hold its own in a race against a Ferrari. But Lamborghini refused. While he knew that, to a point, competition could be good (after all, Lamborghini used Ferrari’s inadequate clutch as fuel to start his own company), he also knew the dangers of rivalries and how quickly competition could devolve into one. So he didn’t give in. (Future leaders of Automobili Lamborghini were eventually lured into the race car business, but not while Lamborghini was still alive and running things.) Rivalries, he knew, had no end. Lamborghini invested his energy into opportunities and craftsmanship. The result was that he built not only a successful business but also, on his property, a barn that he filled with his favorite models of Lamborghini automobiles. And he was able to spend the last twenty years of his life in peace, giving fun tours of his favorite cars to visitors.

How To Have a Good Shot at Building the Best

Builder of the world’s best racing shells for crew teams, George Pocock was “all but born with an oar in his hand.” Both his paternal and maternal grandfathers were competitive boatbuilders. His father built competitive racing shells for Eton College. George followed in his family’s footsteps by combining his boat knowledge with his peerless love of craftsmanship. At the height of his career, he was building and supplying racing shells to almost every top crew university in the country (including Washington University, whose crew team won a stunning victory at the 1936 Berlin Olympics). His racing shells were superior to others. Each shell was built with care and patience—possibly because of the advice his father had given him when he was younger: “No one will ask you how long it took to build; they will only ask who built it.”

Pocock, like Lamborghini, would not compromise his craftsmanship for competition. When a crew coach all but demanded Pocock reduce his $1,150 per-shell price, arguing that other racing shells weren’t nearly as expensive, Pocock wouldn’t budge. He flatly refused to lower his price to compete with other suppliers. “I cannot build all of them,” he said, “but I can still have a good shot at building the best.”

Pocock, like Lamborghini, would not compromise his craftsmanship for competition. When a crew coach all but demanded Pocock reduce his $1,150 per-shell price, arguing that other racing shells weren’t nearly as expensive, Pocock wouldn’t budge. He flatly refused to lower his price to compete with other suppliers. “I cannot build all of them,” he said, “but I can still have a good shot at building the best.”

False Desires are Limitless

Seneca said that natural desires are limited, but false ones are limitless. Vanity, pleasure-seeking, rivalries—all these are limitless. How, then, are nature’s desires satisfied? By sticking to your own reasoned principles. “When you would know whether that which you seek is based upon a natural or upon a misleading desire, consider whether it can stop at any definite point,” Seneca said. “If you find, after having traveled far, that there is a more distant goal always in view, you may be sure that this condition is contrary to nature.”

The quest for personal freedom

Last month I read Sarah Bakewell’s biography of sixteenth-century philosopher Michel de Montaigne and got so much out of it. Montaigne’s book Essays has influenced some of the greatest thinkers: from Francis Bacon and Jean-Jacques Rousseau to Friedrich Nietzsche and Shakespeare. Influential as he was, he was also, another biographer Stefan Zweig wrote, “the sworn enemy of all responsibility.” 

Montaigne’s “irresponsibility” was “essential to his battle to preserve his particular self as is.” Personal freedom is the supreme aim, he said, “to free oneself from fear and hope, belief and superstition. To be free of convictions and parties.” He thought certainty was absurd: all knowledge exists in humans, and because humans are fallible, all knowledge is to be doubted. He loved following his thoughts where they led, and delighted in viewing things from all possible angles. He went with the flow. If a book bored him or caused him to strain, he’d stop reading it, saying, “there is nothing I would break my head against in the name of scholarship.” He played with his cat, and pondered and wrote about his cat’s perspective. And he never worked harder than necessary. “The least strained and most natural ways of the soul,” he said, “are the most beautiful; the best occupations are the least forced.”

This idea of not straining yourself reminds me of how Richard Feynman won the Nobel Prize.

The Irresponsible Nobel Prize Winner

After spending 4 years working on the atomic bomb in Los Alamos, Richard Feynman accepted a position teaching physics at Cornell University. During this time, he was offered different positions at top universities with higher-paying salaries. Albert Einstein wrote him requesting he work at Princeton and the Institute for Advanced Study. Despite the wonderful offers, he couldn’t accept them—4 years of intense mathematical work in Los Alamos had left him drained. He was tired, uninterested in research, and couldn’t write more than 2 sentences on a scientific problem without becoming distracted. There was no way he could accept these offers, he reasoned, because they didn’t know he was burned out. “They expect me to accomplish something, and I can’t accomplish anything! I have no ideas…”

But then he had a thought. These offers, with their high expectations, were absurd. They would be impossible to live up to. And because they were impossible to live up to, he realized, he had no responsibility to live up to them. “It was a brilliant idea: You have no responsibility to live up to what other people think you ought to accomplish. I have no responsibility to be like they expect me to be.” He realized he could apply this idea to his current work at Cornell.

Then he had another thought. Physics was becoming less interesting to him, but he used to enjoy it. And he used to enjoy it because he played with it—unconcerned with its scientific importance. From now on, he would work only on physics problems that entertained him. “Now that I am burned out,” he thought, “and I’ll never accomplish anything . . . I’m going to play with physics, whenever I want to, without worrying about any importance whatsoever.”

Within a week, he was working on a “fun” project, causing a colleague to question its importance. “‘Hah!’ I say. ‘There’s no importance whatsoever. I’m just doing it for the fun of it.’ His reaction didn’t discourage me; I had made up my mind that I was going to enjoy physics and do whatever I liked.” This project that he worked on for fun ultimately led him to win the Nobel Prize.

The Wise Make Time to Play

Just as Marcus Aurelius wrote about not being “all about business,” Seneca advised his friend Lucilius that the mind will fracture if given too much work and that “it will rise improved and sharper after a good break.” Montaigne wrote, “There is nothing more notable in Socrates than that he found time when he was an old man to learn music and dancing, and thought it time well spent.”

Perhaps it was playfulness that gave Montaigne some of his philosophical insights. Summarizing Montaigne’s thoughts on world conflict, Bakewell writes, “To believe that life could demand [homicide in the name of religion] is to forget what day-to-day existence actually is. It entails forgetting that, when you look at a . . . . cat in the mood for play, you are looking at a creature who looks back at you. No abstract principles are involved; there are only two individuals, face to face, hoping for the best from one another.”

Imitation and going deeper

My weekly newsletter is a mashup of a small number of other newsletters I read and enjoy. Billy Oppenheimer’s Six at Six showed me how to make each email thematic, and Ryan Holiday’s Daily Stoic emails (which I’ve read nearly every day since 2016) taught me how to connect Stoicism to different topics. Two other newsletters that have given me ideas are Tim Ferris’s 5-Bullet Friday (where I got the idea to include a quotes section), and Austin Kleon’s newsletter of 10 things worth sharing (where I got the idea for a monthly Top 10 list).

This week’s blog is about innovating by imitating and going deeper.

Extend the line

Bob Dylan is regarded as one of the greatest songwriters of all time. At 81 years old, with a career spanning more than 6 decades, he’s still writing, recording, and performing. He’s become an object of study: where does his creativity come from? 

“These songs don’t come out of thin air,” he said. They are the result of years spent listening to traditional music, and singing the same songs over and over. He elaborated:

“If you sang ‘John Henry’ as many times as me—‘John Henry was a steel-driving man / Died with a hammer in his hand / John Henry said a man ain’t nothin’ but a man / Before I let that steam drill drive me down / I’ll die with that hammer in my hand.’ If you had sung that song as many times as I did, you’d have written, ‘How many roads must a man walk down?’ too. All these songs are connected. I just opened up a different door in a different kind of way. . . . I thought I was just extending the line.”

(Similar to The Adjacent Possible)

Build on Top of Something

A few weeks ago, I wrote about how Hal Mumme revolutionized American football with his Air Raid offense. Of course, this offense was not conceived in a flash of inspiration: it was the product of more than a decade’s worth of imitating the best passing offenses in the country. Early in his career, instead of starting from scratch, he realized he could build on top of existing concepts. He mastered the formations and plays that other coaches used, making adjustments and experimenting as he went. He subtracted the extraneous, shrinking phonebook-sized playbooks down to just a few plays. He chose depth over variety. He meshed plays together. He added his own theories and ideas, extending the line to compose the Air Raid offense and change the way football is played. “If we’re free from the burden of trying to be completely original,” Austin Kleon said, “we can stop trying to make something out of nothing, and we can embrace influence instead of running away from it.”

Find Wisdom Everywhere

One of my favorite things about Stoicism is that it has no immutable laws. The Stoics encouraged new ideas to be built on top of existing ones. They gladly welcomed any worthy idea, regardless of the source. “I’ll never be ashamed,” Seneca said, “to quote a bad writer with a good saying.” In fact, Seneca used quotes from Epicurus, the founder of a rival school. Marcus Aurelius would quote various philosophers throughout Meditations, rephrasing and reworking lines to push the ideas deeper into his psyche.

Sing the best songs, practice the best plays, contemplate the best ideas. Over and over and over. Then make them your own.

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