
I’m two terms into a Masters in English and am wondering how I made such a bad decision.

There are a few things that are obvious: I was excited to start something new after a long few months of hardships and health scares, I liked the feeling that I was “working towards something bigger” aside from projects at work, and I idiotically believed the degree would help me edit books and have more credibility as a “writer.”

(That last point is a reasonable assumption, and to some part probably true; I may get a call back from certain organizations if I have a graduate degree in English than if I didn’t.)

But what I came to realize was that going back to school was easier than researching and writing a book, which is what I want to do. Writing a book is difficult; going back to school is less so. It’s still hard, sure, but for different reasons. If you’re trying to write a book, there is an infinite amount of uncertainty involved. You have to pick a topic, you have to organize an outline, research, write, and re-write, all without any (or very little) outside accountability.

When you go back to school, the uncertainty is near zero. Your program’s classes are pre-planned, all homework assignments have detailed prompts and grading rubrics that, if followed, will always guarantee a good grade. If you fail to do the assignments, you get punished, which creates an unmatched level of accountability and incentive to get the work done. This is why people who spend their 20s and 30s getting a PhD struggle in the real-world. The real-world sucks. It’s confusing and uncertain and there is almost never clear instructions. (Just think of tax season.)

My new heuristic, and what I’m telling anyone who asks, is **you should go back to school if it opens up opportunities for you to do things that would be *impossible* for you to do without the degree.** I put special emphasis on the word “impossible” there. I mean *truly impossible*. It has to be the case that you would not be able to do whatever it is you wanted to do no matter the amount of money or time you have without a degree or more schooling.

For example, my sister wanted to be a psychologist. She *hates* school, but it’s impossible to be a psychologist without a Masters degree, so she went back to school. That’s a *great* decision because it allows her to do something that was impossible for her to do before she got the degree.

In my circumstance, I can edit a book without having a masters degree. I can write a book without having a masters degree. I can get a book deal without having a masters degree. Would having a masters help in some of those situations? Absolutely. But doing any of that is not impossible without said degree.

A few other things come to mind: You can’t fly a plane without getting a pilots license and taking classes. So if you want to be a pilot, go back to school. The same can be said for becoming a doctor or a lawyer.

Sometimes, going back to school offers opportunities within your current role but higher up the totem pole. This is another reason to go back to school, *but only if you want to move up that totem pole*. My mother was a Spanish teacher for a lot of my childhood, but she wanted to become a principle. Becoming a principle is almost unheard of without some sort of higher education, so she got her masters.

By no means am I saying this is a simple process. It’s still a difficult decision. It might be even harder now because the question changes from *should I go back to school*? to *what do I want to do with my life, and will going back to school make it possible to do that thing*?


Only go back to school if it will allow you to pursue an opportunity that is impossible to pursue without another degree.

Should I go back to school?

Last week, while waiting to make a U-turn across a busy street into Barnes and Noble, a car, poised for a right-hand turn, commenced its trajectory, coinciding with my own turn (even though I had the right-of-way).

I stopped, and let him continue. 'Twas a simple error, I deemed, since he was looking the other way to ensure no cars were coming.

But to my astonishment, he stopped, promptly rolled down his window, flipped me off, yelled some words I don’t think he would repeat in front of his mother, and then sped away.

I was amazed. For some reason, he felt the need to make his anger known to me, as if it was somehow going to change the circumstances.

This happened again last night. In a parking garage while I was talking with a friend, a motorcycle came down from the upper level, making its way to the exit. At the same time, a car was backing out, quite slowly.

The motorcycle saw the car backing out, deemed it would soon be in its own path, sped up to pass it, honked its horn, and then flipped off the car.

Again, an honest mistake. The car didn’t see the motorcycle, and I’m sure if they did, they wouldn’t have tried to hit them on purpose. Did the motorcycle think said driver was engaging in a malevolent act? I doubt it. Was just angry? Yes.

Reflecting on these tales, I think to myself, *Why do these people care so much?*

Then, I was reminded of the wisdom imparted by Seneca:

>  Now all the things which cause us to groan or recoil, are part of the tax of life – things, my dear Lucillius, which you should never hope and never seek to escape.

Reading thoughtless threads and being forced to watch mind-numbing videos on Twitter are part of the tax of seeking interesting ideas from strangers on the internet.

Cold DMs from people who want to “grow your newsletter revenue” are part of the tax of meeting interesting people in your inbox.

Dealing with close calls are part of the tax of driving.

But the best thing about all of these situations? You can just ignore them.

You don’t have to reply to anyone’s DM, or put them on blast by posting about it.

You don’t have to engage with anyone who has “Politics is my identity” or “The Democrats are evil” in their bio.

Upon the successful evasion of catastrophe, you may continue upon your merry drive.

Yes, there are taxes to be paid, but once paid, you can just ignore them.





You can just ignore things


The primary theme of Ralph Waldo Emerson’s “Self-Reliance” is, you guessed it, self-reliance. The individual must disregard the institutions and opinions of others as they seek to find that which we all desire: truth.

I’m not a Transcendentalist scholar, so I don’t plan to analyze Emerson’s philosophy on religion and the self. Nor will I try to philosophize the effects of the ideas taken to the extreme like, what happens if we all say, “Screw everything; I’m the only one that matters.”

Rather, I want to explore the encouragements Emerson alludes to about true knowledge and doing the work. 

Seeking knowledge, reading, and gaining wisdom are virtuous acts. In a world of ephemeral content and binge-watching TV, they are probably some of the most virtuous acts, but there *is* danger in seeking knowledge from other people, and *only* seeking knowledge from other people.
### The independence of solitude
“It is easy in the world to live after the world’s opinion,” Emerson writes. “It is easy in solitude to live after our own; but the great man is he who in the midst of the crowd keeps with perfect sweetness the independence of solitude.” One interpretation of that passage is that the monk who escapes life and lives off the grid is no better than one caught up in the fleeting opinions of the world. Rather, the true test of originality and fortitude of the mind is he who can live in the midst of chaos of the world and still *think* as if they’re living in solitude.

But there’s another interpretation.

The “world’s opinions” could be that of *People* magazine, *The New York Times*, or your Facebook group with moms who think the neighborhood watch is the most evil entity in the world. But the “world’s opinions” Emerson references could also be the content you consume: the books you read, the podcasts you listen to, and the thinkers you follow on Twitter. If *their* thoughts are also *your* thoughts, you’re living in the midst of the world’s opinions. You’re no genius because you can find a niche article online and regurgitate the thoughts of the author as your own. *It is easy in the world to live after the opinions of the authors you consume*.

What “the great man” or women do is read the great articles and books, yet maintain their intellectual individuality. They read books, listen to podcasts, and watch lectures, but their beliefs, attitudes, and opinions are their own. They’re *self-reliant.* It is those people who are *in the midst of the crowd but keeping perfect sweetness of the independence of solitude.*

In the famous scene from *Good Will Hunting*, the Harvard student is living in the world of the world’s opinions. He sounds smart, but his words are from the mind of someone else, and Will calls him out on it.

>  **Clark:** I was just hoping you could give me some insight into the evolution of the market economy in the southern colonies. My contention is that prior to the Revolutionary War, the economic modalities—especially in the southern colonies—could most aptly be characterized as agrarian pre-capital–
> 
>  **Will:** [interrupting] Of course that's your contention. You're a first year grad student. You just got finished reading some Marxian historian, Pete Garrison probably, you’re gonna be convinced of that until next month when you get to James Lemon, then you’re gonna be talking about how the economies of Virginia and Pennsylvania were entrepreneurial and capitalist way back in 1740. That's gonna last until next year, you’re gonna be in here regurgitating Gordon Wood, talkin’ about, you know, the Pre-revolutionary utopia and the capital-forming effects of military mobilization.
> 
>  **Clark:** [taken aback] Well as a matter of fact I won't, because Wood drastically underestimates the impact of —
> 
>  **Will:** "Wood drastically underestimates the impact of social distinctions predicated upon wealth, especially inherited wealth..." You got that from Vickers, Work in Essex County, Page 98, right? Yeah I read that too. Were you gonna plagiarize the whole thing for us—**you have any thoughts of—of your own on this matter? Or do—is that your thing, you come into a bar, you read some obscure passage and then you pretend, you pawn it off as your own**—your own idea just to impress some girls, embarrass my friend?

Don’t be Clark.

Allowing your own thoughts to form before letting those of somebody else’s liter your mind is crucial because often you’re smart enough to have the same thoughts someone writing for *The New York Times* has, yet you lack the time, discipline, or capability to 1) embrace them and 2) record them. When this becomes a pattern, you’re forced to interpret your thoughts in the words of someone else, and that is never a pleasant feeling.

Emerson knows this to be true, and he published this in the 1840s! He writes:

>  In every work of genius we recognize our own rejected thoughts; they come back to us with a certain alienated majesty. Great works of art have no more affecting lesson for us than this. They teach us to abide by our spontaneous impression with good-humored inflexibility then most when the whole cry of voices is on the other side. Else, to-morrow a stranger will say with masterly good sense precisely what we have thought and felt all the time, and **we shall be forced to take with shame our own opinion from another.**

Think, my darling, think! You know how to do it. It’s not hard, it just takes time. Often that time needs to be spent in actual solitude, which is the difficult part. Thinking is easy. Quieting the world around you enough to put yourself into a position to think is not, which is why original thought is rare.

Don’t allow another day to pass in which you’re forced to take with shame your own opinion from someone else.

### The allures of knowledge
Study and reading great works can enrich your life, but they’re also stops on the path paved to irrelevancy, for perpetual study without application is like a hamster on a wheel: forever work but you get nowhere.

“That which each can do best, none but his Maker can teach him,” Emerson writes. “ **Where is the master who could have taught Shakespeare?** Where is the master who could have instructed Franklin, or Washington, or Bacon, or Newton? Every great man is a unique…**Shakespeare will never be made by the study of Shakespeare.**”

*Shakespeare will never be made by the study of Shakespeare.*

That is the best sentence I’ve read all year.

I understand the irony there, because my favorite thing to do is read biographies. But Emerson isn’t bashing on the act of study itself; he’s exaggerating the uselessness that comes from *only* studying and never doing.

I could make an argument about PhD students who are in their mid-30s and have nothing to show for it other than academic papers about basket-weaving in the 1600s, but that seems harsh, so I shan’t.

Imagine instead a playwright. No no, rather someone who wishes to be a playwright in the future. They spend every waking hour reading Shakespeare, dissecting his diction and syntax and rhythm and rhyme and word formation process, but has never actually *written* a play. They go to the theatre every weekend and mingle with the actors, but have never tried being an actor themselves. Do you see Emerson’s point?

Imagine a developer, or rather someone who wants to be a developer. They read TLDR and listen to *Techmeme* on the way home. They check Hacker News and Indie Hackers every night to see what’s trending. They’ve taken courses in every programming language ever. Have they built anything that works? Probably not. Why? Because they’re *studying.*

Imagine someone who wants to write a novel. They do Julia Cameron’s morning pages every morning with their cup of coffee, and learn all about the shapes of stories from Kurt Vonnegut. They take creative writing classes at the local college and read breakdowns of the best movies to learn how to develop characters, but they’ve never written a book or even a short story.
### One must do
Study, without application, is useless. *Shakespeare will never be made by the study of Shakespeare.* One will never be a playwright through the study of playwriting. One will never be a developer through the study of programming languages. One will never be a writer through the study of creative writing. One must *do*.

Originality in thought is the highest honor an intellectual and thinking person can achieve. Yet those thoughts by themselves are useless, selfish even. Who cares if you’ve found the cure to cancer, if you sit around reading more books on how to solve cancer. The highest thoughts must be paired with the simplest actions to be of worthy cause.


The highest thoughts must be paired with the simplest actions to be of worthy cause.

One must do


There doesn’t have to be an end goal.

With work, with hobbies, with the things that you do, they don’t need to act as some means to an end. They can be an end themselves.

I love history. I love reading about history and I love writing about history. I sometimes fall into the trap of figuring out how I can use what I read and learn to accelerate my career. That seems like a noble thing to do, right?

The more I think about it, it’s like I’m searching for justification for my time spent reading. “Look,” I tell myself. “I’m spending a lot of time reading, but I’m sharing what I learn online, so it’s not a total waste of time.”

But even if I shared nothing online, it most definitely would not be a waste of time. I love to read, and that’s a fine way to spend my days.

This post was inspired [by a tweet from Obsidian CEO Stephan Ango](https://twitter.com/kepano/status/1694735091057279200?s=20), who, in response to someone asking what the end goal of Obsidian is, said, “there doesn't have to be an end goal. you can just make useful things for people who want to use them, and live a happy life.”

You can just read books and live a happy life.

You can just work a 9-5 and spend time with your family boating on the weekends and live a happy life.

You can just make some YouTube videos about things you want to share and live a happy life.

You can just post some interesting thoughts on Twitter and live a happy life.

You don’t have to have a content strategy. You don’t need to have a sales funnel or a five-year plan.

You can just do the things you love to do and live a happy life.



You can just do the things you love to do.

life-rules