My daily life is often meticulously optimised. No coffee before 10am, because cortisol levels should still be naturally low. No screen time before 9am, so as not to mess with my body clock. And none just before bedtime either, to avoid suppressing melatonin production. No blue light, but plenty of sunlight – ideally straight after waking, barefoot on the grass for grounding, to bring the electrolyte balance into check. 10,000 steps a day, or at least 90 kilometres on the bike – but without social media. No more than 20 minutes, says the daily screen-time tracker.
Nutrition? Another minefield: Vegan, vegetarian or carnivore – depending on the latest research or personal phase. Porridge vs. eggs for breakfast; intermittent fasting is a given. No gluten, no sugar – but a handful of nuts as a healthy snack and freshly squeezed lemon juice for its antioxidant properties (but be careful: brush your teeth straight after, because of the acid). The list of supplements is long: magnesium in the evening for muscle relaxation, ashwagandha in the morning to reduce stress, plus zinc, vitamin D and B12, omega-3, creatine, glycine and NAC.
Building muscle is essential for the immune system: kettlebell swings vs. calisthenics, explosive or controlled strength. Cold plunge – but only before training, otherwise muscle growth suffers. Afterwards: protein for recovery, electrolytes for fluid balance, and more than two litres of water a day. Eight hours of sleep is non-negotiable – cool, dark, tracked with an Oura ring, and mouth tape for optimal nasal breathing.
Mental focus and emotional balance are optimised, too: 30 minutes of meditation, yoga or at least breathwork, every day. A touch of microdosing – naturally, just for focus and creativity. Waiting or driving is not downtime – it’s podcast time. Huberman, Rich Roll, Lex Fridman – delivering the latest in neuroscience and biology. Later, a few pages of reading, memory training, deep work in 90-minute cycles.
And the environment gets its fair share of attention too – because social connection is vital for longevity, I read that somewhere recently. Fifteen WhatsApp messages need replying to, two of them as three-minute voice notes. Answer emails. Weekly therapy and daily journaling, to work through childhood. Drop the kids at nursery. Take the dog out – ideally at sunrise, to make the most of the daylight. And of course: work.
A modern-day checklist – everything, every day, and effortlessly when possible. Because the ideal is out there somewhere, waiting to be reached, if only we use our time right. But the more I strive to reach that ideal, the further I drift from myself. Efficient, informed – and yet exhausted. The more I optimise, the more I lose my sense of direction. Because what’s missing from the to-do list is…?
Stillness and simply being.
Stillness and simply being. That’s not something I find on to-do lists – only beyond them, and far too rarely. My days are already overloaded before they properly start. I no longer live linearly, but simultaneously. While I try to stick to my “healthy” routine, I scroll through other lives, bodies, opinions, holidays, rides, workouts and recipes – with a podcast in my ears and the constant thought that I’m wasting precious time.
Alongside that: a quiet feeling that somewhere else is better. Better food, better lives, better optimisation. With so many options, I feel paralysed – unable to truly choose. A friend asks: “Fancy hanging out tomorrow evening?” My answer: “Maybe.” Not because I don’t want to – but because I’m afraid of missing something else. Another invite, a workout, a certain moment, something better. I hardly make plans anymore – I keep my schedule open. I don’t live decisions – I juggle scenarios. And even when I say yes, I keep a white lie in my back pocket, just in case.
The constant comparison of options and people becomes the metronome of my life. I check, adjust, safeguard – against missing out, messing up, simply being human. We now live in a culture of possibility-overload – everything is allowed, nothing is required, but somehow everything should happen. Sometimes I wonder: will I one day sit alone on a terrace thinking, I had every opportunity – and yet didn’t fully live a single one? Not out of lack, but out of fear of choosing the wrong one.
The performance race
While I’m writing this, I’m thinking: maybe AI could write it better. Clearer. Faster. More objectively. And so I delegate decisions – not just logistical ones, but existential ones too. Instinct becomes an algorithm. Instead of asking friends, I ask ChatGPT for tips and hacks on happiness. I hand myself over to be sorted and structured – often more effectively than I could do alone. And yet I lose something in the process. Not just responsibility. But also my right to detour. My freedom to be wrong. My human fuzziness.
Don’t get me wrong – it’s not that I don’t trust the tech. It’s more that I don’t trust myself. Because the machine doesn’t waver. It doesn’t get tired, doesn’t drift into vague desires or slow, melancholic moods. It just delivers. Better than I ever could. Maybe that’s the new ideal: not to be present, but to be deliverable. Fit, alert, informed and connected. 24/7. Emotionally robust. Aesthetically minimal. Living a life that can be calculated, tracked and optimised.
We turn exhaustion into function and de-emotionalise our feelings.
Humans become computers. We “connect”, run on autopilot, need to recharge our batteries, crash on weekends and shut down on holidays.
Between moment and possibility
I remember a scene: a friend of mine, nicknamed “Dede”, was sitting on my terrace, waiting. No phone, no headphones, no visible purpose. Just waiting. Her elbows rested on cushions, her head tilted back, fingers playing with a strand of hair. It was quiet. Peaceful. And it reminded me of something I’ve lost since childhood: the ability to not use a moment, but simply experience it. Without judging it, optimising it or sharing it. That same day, I invented a verb for this act of doing nothing: to “dede”. It was my attempt at finding a counterbalance to the constant pressure to optimise – a moment where just being is enough.
The real challenge
Perhaps the true task of our time is not to do more, but to want less. Not in the urge to constantly improve or compare ourselves, but to simply feel what’s already there. Especially in the moments when nothing is happening – when we’re waiting, when we’re bored. Without apps, without trackers. That’s when life truly takes place: beyond perfectly staged routines and the endless hunt for the next best thing. It’s the challenge of accepting boredom and emptiness instead of instantly filling them with new input and later feeling overwhelmed. What helps me most is remembering my childhood – my days were already won if I played football and climbed trees.
I’m writing this without really knowing what I want to tell you. I only know that I’m tired – and I’m not alone. Because what I’m describing is the current state of my generation: searching, fragmented, yet somehow clear and doubting at the same time. Maybe I could have written this better. More structured. But maybe it’s exactly right the way it is. Because that too is part of simultaneity: doubt and clarity. Tiredness and still carrying on. And maybe that’s the answer: accepting this ambivalence. It’s the first step toward a less scheduled, but more fulfilled life. Because everything’s already here. Nothing is missing.
Words & Photos: Julian Lemme
