When I started my first company, I thought freedom would follow. No boss, no office hours, no one telling me what to do. Just me, my laptop, and the wide-open promise of autonomy. Instead, I found myself working more than ever. The irony of our age is that we’ve made breathtaking progress—technological, medical, and otherwise—under the banner of freedom and ease. Yet many of us feel more trapped, more anxious, and more overwhelmed than ever before. The things designed to liberate us—the smartphone, the cloud, the work-from-anywhere ethos—have also shackled us to a perpetual mental treadmill. We can work from anywhere, which now means… we work everywhere. The Great Prediction That Got It Wrong Nearly a century ago, John Maynard Keynes predicted we’d all be working 15 hours a week by now. Automation, he said, would eliminate the need for toil. Machines would handle the dirty work, leaving us to explore leisure, art, and family. What happened? Well, we did make the machines. But instead of slowing down, we sped up. We started multitasking and “optimizing.” And instead of choosing peace, we chose productivity—over and over again. Because beneath the convenience and speed of modern progress lies something far older and deeper: craving. The Craving That Never Quits Buddhism and Taoism understood something that our data-driven culture still hasn’t fully grasped: craving is insatiable. The moment we hit one milestone—title, income, square footage—we see another gleaming just out of reach. So we push forward. And the more we achieve, the more convinced we become that just one more thing will bring peace. Spoiler alert: it won’t. This is the hedonic treadmill. You climb one peak of accomplishment only to see a higher one waiting. So you climb again. And again. Until you realize you’re not chasing success—you’re being chased by it. As the Tao Te Ching reminds us: “He who knows he has enough is rich.” And yet, how few of us ever pause to truly ask, “Do I already have enough?” Imagining Loss to Remember What We Have There’s a Stoic practice called premeditatio malorum —imagining the loss of the things you hold dear. It sounds morbid at first, I know. But bear with me. Imagine losing your eyesight. Or your partner. Or your health. Not as an exercise in anxiety, but in appreciation. When you truly see how fragile everything is, you also begin to see how precious it is. How enough it already is. We rarely do this in our progress-obsessed culture. We focus on what's next. But peace doesn’t live in what’s next. It lives in the gratitude for what is. Yes, Progress Is Amazing—But It’s Not the Point Don’t get me wrong. I love progress. I’m fascinated by what AI can do, by what science is curing, by what we’re building together as a species. Progress is a gift. But it’s a terrible master. If you tie your happiness to outcomes, you’ll always be at their mercy. Win the deal? Joy. Lose it? Misery. Get the promotion? Elation. Miss it? Defeat. This rollercoaster is exhausting. It’s also unnecessary. In Get Out of My Head , I talk about this exact trap. We give away our peace—not to bad things, but to good things. Success, ambition, growth. These aren’t enemies. They just make lousy landlords when we let them rent out our minds. Work for the Process, Not the Prize The ancient Stoics, Buddhists, and Taoists weren’t against progress. They were just clear-eyed about where happiness comes from. Not in the external world, but in how we relate to it. As I learned firsthand building my company, the moment I stopped obsessing over the outcome—and focused on how I was showing up each day—everything shifted. I found more clarity. More presence. Ironically, more success too. The key wasn’t more hustle. It was more equanimity. Progress should be pursued for the love of the process, not the thrill of the prize. And when the prize does come? Great. Celebrate it. Then let it go. Don’t let it define you. Because nothing outside of you can. What to Do With This So how do we escape the trap? Here are a few things that help me: Set boundaries. Just because you can work from bed doesn’t mean you should. Your mind needs places and times to rest. Practice negative visualization. Picture losing what you have—not to scare yourself, but to spark gratitude. Check your craving. Ask: “Am I chasing this because it brings me joy, or because I think it will finally make me enough?” Return to now. The only place you ever really own is this moment. The future is a dream. The past, a ghost. Owning Your Journey Progress will continue. It should. But let’s not confuse having more with being more. Let’s not mistake motion for meaning. You are not your job title. You are not your calendar. You are not your inbox. You are the thinker behind the thoughts. The being behind the doing. And when you can root yourself in that identity—not in your outcomes—you become unshakeable. So climb that next mountain. Build that next company. Write that next chapter. But do it because it brings you alive—not because you think it will finally make you whole.  You already are.

For years, I believed in the grind. Push harder. Train more. Rest is for the weak—or at least, for people with less discipline. And to be fair, that mindset served me well for a while. I was a competitive swimmer, often training five or more hours a day, rarely taking a full day off. My body handled it. My mind thrived on the structure. But here's the thing: just because something worked once doesn’t mean it still works. And just because you can doesn’t always mean you should. There’s been an ongoing debate in fitness circles about “overtraining.” Some argue it’s largely a myth, that the average person isn’t putting in nearly enough volume or intensity to reach a true state of overtraining. They’ll point to athletes like LeBron James or Cristiano Ronaldo who train daily, intensely, and seemingly without burnout. But here’s what often gets left out of that comparison: those athletes recover like it’s their full-time job. Because it is. They’re not squeezing in workouts before a full workday or sneaking in a gym session between dinner and bedtime stories. They’re napping mid-afternoon, getting massages and cryotherapy, dialing in every calorie they consume, and sleeping like royalty. They push hard, yes—but they recover even harder. Their volume is high, but so is their recovery ratio. That’s the part that most of us miss. It’s not always that you’re overtraining—it’s that you’re under-recovered. Your body can probably handle more than you think. The human body is remarkably adaptable. But recovery isn’t just something that happens in the background. It takes time, attention, intention. And for many of us, those are in short supply. Take me. After retiring from competitive swimming, I didn’t stop training. In fact, for about nine years, I didn’t take a single day off. Not one. I was still chasing that familiar feeling of discipline, of motion, of “doing the work.” But I wasn’t 20 anymore. I wasn’t living in a dorm with someone else handling my food. I had a company to build, a daughter to raise, boards to serve, people counting on me in ways I couldn’t have imagined when swimming was the center of my life. And yet, I kept training like it was. Until it finally hit me: I wasn’t overdoing the workouts—I was under-doing the recovery. The way I had allocated time made sense back then. It didn’t anymore. So I made a shift. Not by stopping my training, but by rebalancing the equation. I realized that for this season of life, some of the time and energy I’d been pouring into fitness needed to be rerouted toward recovery. That meant listening to my body when it asked for a break. That meant recognizing that mental and emotional fatigue mattered, too. That meant getting real about how much of myself I was spending outside the gym—so I could be smarter about what I asked of myself inside it. This isn’t just about me. It’s a lesson I think more people need to hear. We’re told to push. To grind. To get one more rep, one more mile, one more class. But we’re rarely told to check in with what season of life we’re in. Or to adjust our expectations accordingly. Maybe you’re a new parent who’s barely sleeping. Maybe you’re managing a business, or caring for aging parents, or just juggling life at full tilt. In those moments, it’s not about giving up on fitness—it’s about redefining what health looks like. Because let’s be honest: if you’re running yourself into the ground with workouts and then crashing through the rest of your day, that’s not fitness. That’s just another form of burnout. Instead, start thinking about your recovery ratio. How much effort are you putting into repairing what you’re tearing down? Are you sleeping enough? Eating to support your energy? Taking rest days seriously, or just using them to catch up on all the other things? Are you ever still? If the answer is no, then it doesn’t really matter how “reasonable” your workout volume seems on paper. Your body doesn’t operate on spreadsheets. It operates on rhythm—on stress followed by rest. If you’re constantly adding stress without ever refilling the tank, even the lightest load eventually becomes too much. So what do we do? Start by reframing recovery as part of your training—not the absence of it. Build your week with intentionality. That might mean a full rest day. Or it might mean active recovery: walking, stretching, easy movement that restores instead of depletes. Treat sleep like a training session. Protect it. Prioritize it. And give yourself permission to adjust your intensity based on what the rest of your life looks like. Track your recovery the same way you track your lifts or your runs. Note your mood, your energy, your motivation. These things are data, too. And sometimes the best metric of progress isn’t how much more you can do—but how much better you feel doing it. For me, finding that healthier rhythm didn’t mean training less—it meant training smarter. It meant remembering that fitness is supposed to support my life, not compete with it. It’s a lesson I learned the hard way, but one I hope others can adopt with a little more grace. At the end of the day, more isn’t always better. Better is better. So yes, your body can probably handle more. But can your life? That’s the real question. And if the answer is no, maybe it’s time to do the radical thing. Maybe it’s time to rest.

Everyone talks about balance like it’s the ultimate life goal. Work-life balance. Balanced diets. A balanced mindset. It’s everywhere. But lately, I’ve started to question whether “balance” is actually the answer—or just a comforting illusion we tell ourselves when we’re overwhelmed by how messy life can be. Because here’s the thing: trying to keep everything in perfect balance all the time can feel like walking a tightrope in a windstorm. It's exhausting. What if, instead of aiming for moderation in all things, we actually embraced the power of extremes? What if that was more sustainable, not less? Let me explain. We live in a world of chronic, low-grade stress. Emails that never stop. Notifications that buzz at all hours. A constant drizzle of minor demands. It doesn’t seem like much in the moment, but it adds up. We’re always “on,” and rarely truly off. That kind of background noise is draining in a way that a short, intense sprint of effort never is. Think about it. An hour of focused, hard work followed by real rest feels a lot better than six hours of half-working, half-scrolling, half-existing. We’re not built for constant “meh.” We’re built for peaks and valleys. This is why the concept of oscillation—cycling between extremes of intensity and recovery—makes so much sense. It’s not about chaos. It’s about rhythm. And our bodies and brains love rhythm. Take HIIT workouts, for example. You go hard for 30 seconds, rest, repeat. That contrast is what makes the exercise effective. The same goes for fasting. Constant grazing keeps insulin high and the body sluggish. But extended breaks between meals can give your metabolism time to reset and repair. Then there’s heat and cold exposure. It’s not just wellness hype—subjecting your body to temperature extremes can be surprisingly good for you. Most of us live at a constant 72 degrees, in climate-controlled comfort. But that comfort can come at a cost. Our nervous systems get soft. Our stress response systems grow dull. And our bodies lose some of the adaptability that kept our ancestors resilient and ready. Extreme cold and extreme heat challenge the body in powerful ways. Cold exposure, like ice baths or cold showers, activates brown fat (which helps regulate temperature and burn energy), improves circulation, and floods the brain with norepinephrine—a neurochemical that boosts focus, mood, and mental clarity. It’s also been shown to reduce inflammation and improve tolerance to psychological stress. You come out of the cold not just awake, but alert, calm, and grounded. On the flip side, heat—like time in a sauna or even hot yoga—induces its own cascade of benefits. Prolonged heat exposure mimics cardiovascular exercise, increasing heart rate and improving blood flow. It stimulates the production of heat shock proteins, which help repair damaged cells and support cellular longevity. Regular sauna use has been linked to reduced risk of cardiovascular disease, lower inflammation markers, and even improved cognitive function over time. Mentally, heat exposure can create a kind of meditative discomfort—it forces you to stay present and breathe through the intensity, much like cold. Together, hot and cold exposure create a dynamic stress cycle. The extremes force adaptation. You’re teaching your body and brain that it’s safe to feel uncomfortable, and that discomfort can be followed by recovery. That’s powerful. It builds both physical resilience and mental grit—something that’s hard to cultivate when we’re always nestled in the comfort zone, literally and figuratively. Moderation might be safe, but extremes are where growth lives. And this goes beyond the physical. Look at relationships. We're encouraged to maintain a “healthy social circle,” which often translates into spreading ourselves thin across dozens of surface-level connections. But what we really crave—what actually sustains us—is depth. The kind of conversations that last for hours. The kind of trust that’s built through shared hardship and joy. You don’t get that from balance. You get it from choosing intensity with a few, not moderation with many. Even emotionally, the most meaningful moments aren’t balanced. They’re deeply felt. Falling in love isn’t balanced. Grieving someone you lost isn’t balanced. Creating something you care about isn’t balanced. It’s all-consuming. And while it can be messy and overwhelming, it’s also what makes life feel real. There’s a Stoic undercurrent to this idea too. In Get Out of My Head, I talk about the dangers of living in a chronic state of mental tenancy—constantly reacting to others, living in moderation to avoid conflict or discomfort, and never really claiming ownership over our own minds. The Stoics weren’t about staying comfortable. They practiced hardship intentionally. Cold baths. Physical labor. Voluntary discomfort. They knew that growth required intensity, followed by calm reflection. The same applies to modern life. When you’re constantly trying to keep everything in balance, you end up dulling your experience. You don’t give yourself permission to go all-in on anything, so you never really recover either. You just hover in this lukewarm zone of “pretty good,” which over time starts to feel more like “kind of numb.” The irony is, when we embrace extremes—when we work hard and then truly rest, when we open ourselves to deep joy and deep grief—we often feel more stable overall. Because we’re not denying the reality of how we function. We’re working with it. Sustainability doesn’t mean flatlining your emotions, your energy, or your experiences. It means fueling your life in waves. Going hard, then recovering hard. Showing up fully, then stepping back to recharge. That’s not reckless. That’s intentional. Our ancestors lived this way out of necessity. They didn’t eat six small meals a day. They feasted when food was abundant and fasted when it wasn’t. They weren’t glued to a screen under fluorescent lights. They worked intensely when needed and rested deeply when they could. Their lives weren’t balanced, but they were aligned with the natural rhythms of survival. And maybe that’s the real takeaway here. Balance sounds nice in theory. But in practice, what we need is rhythm. Tension and release. Intensity and rest. Depth and stillness. So next time you feel off, instead of trying to even things out, maybe try leaning in. Sprint, then stop. Dive deep, then float. Push your limits, then give yourself space to recover. And trust that the extreme is not the enemy. It's the catalyst.  Not everything needs to be balanced. Some things are better lived in full. And when we stop chasing the middle and start owning our edges, life has a way of becoming more vivid—and maybe, just maybe, more sustainable.

We’re living in a golden age of human optimization. Every day, there’s a new tool, protocol, or supplement promising to help us live longer, feel younger, and push the limits of aging. And don’t get me wrong—I’m here for all of it. I’m fascinated by the science, I love the discipline, and I’ve built Alively.com and the Home of Healthspan podcast on the idea that we can extend not just our years, but our vitality. But here’s the uncomfortable question that keeps nudging at me: What’s the point of living longer… if we don’t know why we’re here? It’s a question I return to often. Because while healthspan is about adding more high-quality years to our lives, we still have to ask: What do we want those years to mean? Adding time to the calendar is only part of the equation. The other part—the more important one, honestly—is how we fill that time. The Empty Extension We’ve become really good at prolonging life. But not so good at filling it with purpose. Think about it: we can now talk seriously about people living into their 90s and 100s with more energy and better cognition than ever before. And yet, I’ve seen—and I’m sure you have too—people who technically “live long” but spend those years disengaged, disconnected, and unsure what they’re actually doing here. That’s not what I want for myself. And I’m guessing it’s not what you want either. Healthspan Needs a North Star Here’s something I’ve learned over time: the body is the vehicle. But it still needs a destination. And that’s what purpose is. At one point, I was doing all the right things for my health—working out, eating clean, checking all the boxes. But something still felt… off. I was chasing energy, but not asking where that energy was supposed to go. It wasn’t until I started asking deeper questions—about fulfillment, alignment, and values—that things started to shift. Extending life only really matters if we know what we’re extending it for. What Is Purpose, Really? Let’s break it down. Purpose doesn’t have to be some big dramatic mission. It’s not always a career, or a legacy project, or a singular “calling.” Sometimes, it’s just a sense of direction—a reason to get up in the morning. A feeling that what we’re doing has meaning. As Viktor Frankl put it, “He who has a why to live can bear almost any how.” Purpose can show up in a million ways: in the people we love, the work we do, the causes we support, the curiosity we follow. The common thread? It gives our life shape. Texture. Anchoring. Start with Values So how do you find your purpose? You start by uncovering your values. Your values are the principles that drive your decisions, shape your relationships, and define what success looks like to you—not what someone else told you it should be. And until you’re clear on them, it’s hard to feel truly fulfilled, no matter how many years you add to your life. There are a few tools I’ve found really helpful in this space: Tony Robbins’ values exercise in Awaken the Giant Within is a great place to start. It helps you rank your current values, identify which ones you’re actually living by, and spot any misalignment. Bart Foster’s book BusinessOutside also includes a strong, accessible framework for identifying your values and using them to guide not just your career, but your life. These aren’t just feel-good activities. They’re the groundwork for a life of clarity and direction. Because once you know what matters most to you, everything else gets a little simpler. Values and Relationships: The Alignment That Matters Here’s another layer that’s easy to overlook: your values don’t just shape your purpose. They also influence the way you connect with others—and who you choose to walk through life with. If your number one value is growth , and your partner’s is stability , that’s going to create tension. You’ll want to evolve, try new things, take risks. They’ll want to ground, secure, and preserve. Both are valid. But if you’re not aware of the difference, it’s easy to feel like you’re speaking entirely different languages. You’ll feel like you’re constantly changing and learning, and they may see that as you “drifting” or becoming someone they don’t recognize. This doesn’t just show up in romantic relationships—it applies to business partners, friendships, even your team. When values align, things flow. When they don’t, even small decisions can feel like battles. That’s why doing the work to understand your own values—and being curious about the values of those closest to you—is one of the most underrated long-term wellness tools we have. Purpose Fuels Longevity (Literally) This isn’t just about philosophy—it’s biology. Study after study has shown that people with a strong sense of purpose live longer, recover faster from illness, and maintain better brain function into old age. Purpose reduces stress. It boosts immune function. It even shows up in your cardiovascular health. So yes, I care deeply about physical protocols. I love a good blood marker. But if you’re not working on why you want to live longer, then what exactly are you optimizing for? Purpose Evolves—and That’s Okay One thing I want to say, especially to those of us in midlife or later: your purpose is allowed to change. Maybe what gave you fulfillment at 30 doesn’t light you up at 50. That’s normal. That’s growth. The beautiful thing about increasing healthspan is that it gives us space to redefine what matters, again and again. Your purpose isn’t fixed—it’s alive. Let it evolve with you. Fulfillment, Not Just Time At the end of the day, longevity without purpose is just survival. Healthspan without meaning is just maintenance. But when you know what matters to you—when you’re living in alignment with your values, surrounded by people who honor those values too—everything gets richer. The years feel fuller. The energy has somewhere to go. And that’s what makes it all worth it. One Question to Sit With If you had 30 more years of great health—what would you want those years to mean? You don’t have to answer it today. Just start asking. The clarity lives in the question. Call to Action Try a values exercise this week—either the one in Awaken the Giant Within or Bart Foster’s BusinessOutside. Ask someone close to you what their top three values are, and share yours. You might be surprised what comes up. Longevity is the gift. Purpose is what we do with it.  Let’s make it count.

I used to be the kind of person who took a certain pride in sticking to the plan—no matter what. If my calendar said squats on Tuesday, then squats were happening, even if my body was whispering (or screaming) otherwise. One time, that voice wasn’t whispering at all—it was practically yelling. I had just done a brutal workout with my trainer: 210 reps of deadlifts. Yes, two hundred and ten. By the end, my legs were toast. I could barely walk up stairs. But the next day, I woke up, looked at my self-imposed training schedule, and saw “squats.” So that’s what I did. The result? I injured my back. The kind of injury that doesn’t just sting for a day or two—it lingered for weeks. What started as dedication turned into something closer to stubbornness. Looking back, it wasn’t about progress. It was about proving something to myself—following the script, even when the story had clearly changed. That moment ended up being a wake-up call. Not just physically, but mentally too. The Illusion of the “Perfect” Routine There’s something comforting about a perfectly laid-out routine. It gives us structure, predictability, even a sense of control. But what I’ve learned—through trial, error, and a whole lot of humble pie—is that sometimes, control isn’t the same as wisdom. Rigid routines can feel productive, but they can also become cages. We stop listening to our bodies and start obeying the calendar. And when we do that, we’re no longer partnering with our health—we’re managing it like a to-do list. This realization didn’t come to me overnight. It started to unfold through conversations on Home of Healthspan—the podcast that’s honestly become one of my greatest teachers. “Work It Until It’s Sore, Rest It Until It’s Not” One thing I kept hearing from guests—many of whom are at the top of their game when it comes to longevity, strength, and overall wellness—was this idea of listening to the body. Not in a vague, airy way, but in a real, grounded, practical way. One guest in particular shared something that stuck with me. She said she’d “work something until it was sore, and then rest it until it wasn’t anymore.” Simple, right? But for someone like me—someone who used to follow programs to the letter—it felt radical. She wasn't chasing soreness for its own sake. And she certainly wasn't stacking hard days on top of hard days just to feel like she was making progress. Instead, she was paying attention. Letting the body lead, and letting the ego take a step back. That idea—of responding, rather than pushing through—challenged so much of what I used to believe about consistency. Flexibility Is a Strength, Not a Compromise There’s a myth in the health and wellness world that discipline looks like doing the same thing, the same way, every single day. But the more I talk to people with truly extended healthspans—people who are not just fit, but thriving—the more I realize that adaptability is the real superpower. They have frameworks, sure. But they don’t treat them like contracts carved in stone. They adjust based on sleep, stress, inflammation, intuition. They know that skipping a workout isn’t weakness if it’s done in service of longevity. That a “missed” day might actually be a win. They’re not just consistent with effort. They’re consistent with attention. That’s the shift I’ve been making, slowly but surely. What Listening Looks Like Now Nowadays, I move with more permission. I’ve started asking myself questions like: Am I sore or am I injured? Am I pushing through resistance or ignoring a warning? Is this workout serving me, or am I serving the workout? Some days, I still lift heavy or get after it. But if I wake up and feel off—like, deep fatigue or the kind of soreness that feels more destructive than productive—I’ll pivot. Maybe I’ll stretch. Walk. Meditate. Or just rest, fully. The best part? I’ve noticed fewer injuries. More consistency (ironically). More joy in movement. And a better relationship with myself—one built on trust, not punishment. Rethinking Progress It turns out, progress doesn’t always look like sweat and soreness. Sometimes, it looks like sleeping in. Sometimes, it looks like swapping squats for a walk. Sometimes, it looks like silence—learning to hear the quiet voice in your body before it starts shouting through injury. And honestly? That kind of progress feels deeper. It’s not just about getting stronger. It’s about getting wiser. Let’s Drop the Myth So here’s what I’ve come to believe: there’s no such thing as a perfect routine. There’s only the one that serves you today. And it might not look like yesterday’s. That’s not failure—that’s intelligence. Rigidity can be seductive, but it’s often short-sighted. Flexibility, on the other hand, requires trust. It asks us to check in, stay honest, and adjust without shame. And when we do that? We give ourselves the gift of longevity—not just in our health, but in our relationship to it. What’s Your Body Saying Today? If you’ve been sticking to a routine just because it’s “what you’re supposed to do,” maybe today’s the day to check in. Not with the calendar—but with your body. What’s it asking for? And more importantly—are you willing to listen?

I get this question all the time: “What exactly is healthspan ?”  And honestly, I love it—because it means people are starting to think beyond just living longer. They're starting to ask how we can live better. Usually, when I bring up healthspan, people assume I’m just talking about longevity—like I’m chasing some futuristic, age-defying hack to live to 120. But here’s the truth: I’m not interested in just adding years to my life. I want to add life to my years. John F. Kennedy said it perfectly: “It is not enough for a great nation merely to have added new years to life—our objective must also be to add new life to those years.” That quote captures the essence of what this whole healthspan conversation is about. It's not just about how long we live. It’s about how well we live—for as long as we’re here. So What Is Healthspan, Exactly? Let’s break this down for a second: Lifespan is how many years you live. Longevity is usually about increasing that number. Healthspan is the number of years you stay healthy—physically, mentally, emotionally. It’s the part of your life when you can move independently, think clearly, connect deeply, and live fully. One of my favorite reminders comes from Seneca, who said: “Life is like a play: it's not the length, but the excellence of the acting that matters.” That’s it. Healthspan is about the excellence of the acting—the quality of the performance while you’re on the stage. You could have a short life that’s rich, full, vibrant—or a long one where the curtain drags on and on, but the joy and vitality are long gone. The goal isn’t just to make the play longer. It’s to make every scene count. Chasing “Aging Less” Isn’t the Answer We live in a culture obsessed with anti-aging. There’s always some new product promising to reverse the clock, erase wrinkles, or boost longevity with a single supplement. And while some of those tools can be helpful, they often miss the point. The goal isn’t to stop aging—it’s to age well. Because what good is living to 100 if the last 25 years are spent in pain, immobility, or cognitive decline? I’d take 85 years of strength, vitality, and joy over a longer life marked by suffering and limitation any day. We need to stop equating aging with decline. Aging is inevitable. Decline is not. Healthspan Is the Goal On the Home of Healthspan podcast, I’ve had the chance to speak with brilliant minds across health, science, fitness, and longevity. And time and again, I hear the same theme: it’s not about living forever. It’s about living well, for as long as possible. That looks different for everyone, but a few key elements always show up: Strong, functional muscles and bones Cognitive sharpness and memory retention Emotional resilience and connection The ability to do the things you love—on your terms These are the markers of healthspan. They’re what allow you to participate in your own life, not just observe it passively. A Shift in Mindset I’ll be honest—I didn’t always think this way. For a long time, I thought optimizing my routine meant pushing harder, doing more, checking every box in the name of performance. I wanted to “slow aging,” and I figured the best way was to out-discipline it. But over time, and especially through these conversations on the podcast, I started to see things differently. Longevity without vitality isn’t the win I thought it was. What I really want is to feel strong, mobile, present, and clear-headed for as many years as possible. I want to be the kind of person who’s still hiking, laughing, and learning at 80—not just surviving. That’s the real measure of success. Supporting Healthspan in Real Life This shift in mindset has changed the way I live day-to-day. I don’t train just to hit numbers anymore—I train to support my future self. I don’t eat based on strict rules—I eat for energy, clarity, and resilience. I prioritize sleep and recovery as much as workouts. I try to protect time with people I care about. I find purpose in movement, creativity, and curiosity. Healthspan is about building a life that supports who you want to be in ten, twenty, forty years—not just who you want to see in the mirror tomorrow. Some of my favorite guests have shown me what this can look like. People who aren’t trying to age less, but who are aging with incredible presence and purpose. They don’t ignore the passage of time—they meet it with intention. Vibrancy Over Vanity It’s easy to get caught up in aesthetics, especially in a world that constantly glorifies youth. But here’s what I’ve come to believe: youth isn’t the goal—vibrancy is. And vibrancy is ageless. So the next time you hear the word “healthspan,” I hope you’ll think about it like this: it’s not about denying time. It’s about showing up for it. It’s about moving through the years with strength and grace, with purpose and joy. It’s about not just adding time to your life—but adding life to your time. Let’s Rethink the Goal Are you chasing youth, or are you building resilience? Are you looking for quick fixes, or are you investing in long-term vitality? Aging well doesn’t require perfection. It requires presence. And the willingness to build habits today that your future self will thank you for—over and over again. What About You? If you had to choose one area to support your healthspan today—what would it be? More movement? Better sleep? Less stress? Deeper relationships? Whatever it is, I encourage you to start there. Not for the sake of longevity. But for the sake of living fully—for as long as you possibly can. Because adding life to your years? That’s a goal worth chasing.

Failure. Setbacks. Challenges. We tend to see them as obstacles, but what if they’re actually the very things that make us stronger? What if every time we hit a wall, stumble, or fall flat on our face, we aren’t being knocked back to square one—but instead, being rebuilt stronger than before? There’s a fascinating phenomenon in human biology: when a bone breaks, the area where the fracture occurred actually becomes denser and stronger during the healing process. The body doesn’t just restore it to its previous state—it reinforces it, making it more resilient to future stress. The same is true of our minds. Each time we overcome a setback, we gather proof that we can handle difficulty. And the more proof we collect, the more confidence we gain in our own resilience. It’s a cycle: struggle, adapt, strengthen, repeat. The hard times we endure don’t just return us to where we started—they prepare us for what’s next. And here’s the kicker: science backs this up. Studies show that the way we perceive struggle and stress has a direct impact on our ability to handle them. If we see setbacks as damaging, we suffer more. But if we recognize them as a catalyst for growth, we actually become stronger. So, let’s reframe failure. Let’s see it for what it really is—not an end, but a necessary and valuable part of success. Survival as Proof of Resilience If you’re reading this, you’ve already survived 100% of your worst days. Think about that. Every challenge you’ve faced, no matter how painful or overwhelming, you have made it through. You might not have emerged unscathed, and things might not have gone exactly as planned, but you’re here. And that’s proof of your resilience. The problem is, we tend to forget this. When another failure hits, we often panic, convinced that this one is different, this one is the one that’s too big to recover from. But that’s never been true before—so why would it be true now? Instead of seeing setbacks as a return to square one, we should recognize them as evidence that we are capable of navigating hardship. Like a broken bone healing stronger, every challenge we overcome reinforces our ability to handle whatever comes next. The Power of Perception: How Mindset Influences Stress There’s a well-known study in psychology by Dr. Alia Crum at Stanford University that illustrates just how powerful our mindset is when it comes to stress. In her research, participants were split into two groups: One group was told about the harmful effects of stress—how it can lead to poor health, burnout, and failure. The other group was given a different message: that stress can actually be beneficial. They were told that it sharpens focus, enhances problem-solving skills, and strengthens resilience. The results? Those who believed stress was harmful felt worse and performed worse. But the people who were told stress had benefits? They actually handled pressure better, performed at a higher level, and showed more favorable physiological responses—like healthier cortisol levels. This proves something crucial: it’s not just stress or failure that affects us—it’s how we think about it. Shakespeare put it best in Hamlet: “There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.” If we label setbacks as devastating, they will devastate us. But if we see them as opportunities, as stepping stones to growth, then that’s exactly what they become. Failure as Feedback: Learning from Setbacks Failure isn’t the opposite of success—it’s part of it. Every misstep contains valuable information that, if used wisely, can help us improve. Companies like SpaceX and Dyson have built entire cultures around failure. SpaceX’s early rocket launches exploded repeatedly, but each failure provided critical data that led to success. Dyson spent 15 years and 5,126 failed prototypes before inventing the world’s first bagless vacuum cleaner. The most successful people in history have failed, often spectacularly. Michael Jordan was cut from his high school basketball team. J.K. Rowling was rejected by 12 publishers before Harry Potter was accepted. Oprah Winfrey was once told she wasn’t fit for television. The difference between them and those who give up? They saw failure as a teacher, not a verdict. Practical Strategies to Leverage Failure Knowing that failure can make us stronger is one thing—actually using that knowledge is another. Here’s how you can turn setbacks into a strategic advantage: 1. Reframe Your Narrative  Instead of saying, “I failed,” say, “I learned something valuable.” Instead of, “I’m bad at this,” say, “I’m getting better.” The language we use matters. 2. Keep a ‘Resilience Journal’ Every time you face a setback, write down: What happened How you felt What you learned How you moved forward Over time, this journal becomes tangible proof of your ability to handle tough situations. 3. Conduct Post-Failure Analyses After every failure, ask yourself three things: What went wrong? What did I do right? What will I do differently next time? By doing this, you extract lessons instead of just enduring disappointment. 4. Seek Controlled Challenges Deliberately put yourself in situations that test you: Try a new skill that’s outside your comfort zone. Take on a responsibility that feels slightly beyond your current ability. Push yourself in a way that forces growth. Just like a muscle that strengthens with use, resilience grows through challenge. Building Strength Through Adversity Each time we endure something difficult, we gain more proof that we can handle hard things. The more evidence we collect, the stronger our belief in ourselves becomes. Failure isn’t just something to overcome—it’s something to use. It sharpens our abilities, deepens our understanding, and makes us better prepared for whatever comes next. Think back to the toughest moments of your life. Did they break you, or did they shape you? Did they ruin you, or did they force you to grow? You are not the person who failed—you are the person who got back up. And that? That makes you unstoppable.

At birth, every single person in the world is a stranger to us. The doctor who catches us, the parents who hold us, the family who coos over us—they are unfamiliar faces in an unfamiliar world. Yet, within moments, we begin to learn the art of trust. We rely on others to feed us, keep us warm, and ensure our survival. As we grow, strangers transform into loved ones, caregivers, mentors, and friends. The unknown becomes familiar. The unfamiliar becomes safe. But life does not unfold in a straight line. Relationships form, and sometimes, they break. People disappoint us. They betray our trust, leave us hurting, or simply drift away. In those moments, it is easy to withdraw, to build walls instead of bridges, to categorize others as hostis—an enemy, a threat, someone to be wary of. After all, if we don’t let others in, they can’t hurt us, right?  And yet, while shutting others out may feel like protection, it is also a kind of self-inflicted wound. Because just as strangers can hurt us, they can also heal us. They can surprise us with kindness, offer us laughter when we need it most, and stand by us in ways we never expected. The choice before us is one as old as language itself: do we treat the unknown with hostis—hostility, fear, and skepticism? Or do we embrace hospes—hospitality, generosity, and the willingness to trust again? The Science of Connection Choosing hospes is not just a sentimental ideal; it is a life-or-death decision. Research has consistently shown that meaningful relationships are critical to our physical and mental health. Loneliness is as deadly as smoking 15 cigarettes a day. A landmark study published in PLOS Medicine found that social isolation increases mortality risk as much as smoking or obesity. Being disconnected from others is not just emotionally painful—it is physically harmful. Strong relationships protect against dementia and heart disease. Studies from Harvard and the University of Michigan have found that people with deep social ties have lower rates of cognitive decline, lower blood pressure, and better overall cardiovascular health. Simply put, relationships keep our hearts—both literally and figuratively—strong. Connection strengthens resilience. People with strong social support networks are better able to cope with stress, trauma, and grief. A listening ear, a comforting presence, or a shared moment of laughter can make the difference between despair and hope. In a world increasingly divided by suspicion and guardedness, choosing hospes—choosing to trust, to welcome, to engage—becomes a radical act of self-preservation. The Risk of Connection Of course, it is not always easy. There are those who will take advantage of kindness, who will betray our trust, who will prove unworthy of the openness we extend. It is natural to recoil after experiencing hurt, to say, Never again. Never will I let someone in like that again. And yet, what we gain from connection is far greater than what we lose. For every person who disappoints us, there are countless others who will stand by us. For every betrayal, there is a moment of unexpected kindness. Yes, some people will hurt us—but if we close ourselves off entirely, we deny ourselves the chance to experience the deep, meaningful connections that make life worth living. Trust, But Be Wise Choosing hospes does not mean being naive. It does not mean ignoring red flags or giving unlimited chances to those who have proven unworthy of trust. As the great Maya Angelou said, “When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time.” Not everyone will reciprocate your hospitality. Some people operate in a spirit of hostis, and once that is clear, it is wise to step back. But that does not mean we close ourselves off to everyone. It simply means we become discerning in where we invest our energy. Pour your time into those who live in the spirit of hospes—those who show up, who care, who embrace connection rather than manipulation. And when you find those people, hold onto them. Nurture those relationships, because they will be your lifeline. Creating a More Hospitable World If we all do a little more of that—if we each choose hospes a little more often than hostis—we will find ourselves in a far more hospitable, and far less hostile, world. It starts with small acts: A warm smile instead of looking away. A conversation with a new colleague instead of staying in your bubble. An act of kindness with no expectation of return. Reaching out to someone you haven’t spoken to in a while. Each small act of hospes is a crack in the walls of isolation, a step toward the deep, fulfilling connections that keep us healthy, happy, and whole. Yes, the unknown is scary. Yes, people can and will hurt us. But if we approach the world with the belief that more people are good than bad, that connection is worth the risk, we give ourselves the best chance at a rich, meaningful, and well-lived life. Because in the end, we all start as strangers. But we don’t have to stay that way.

"No disaster is worse than not recognizing sufficiency No crime is greater than acquisitiveness Thus recognizing the sufficiency of sufficiency Is eternally sufficient." – Tao Te Ching In just a few lines, the Tao Te Ching offers a timeless truth: our deepest struggles often arise from not knowing when we have enough. It challenges the instinct to want more, to chase endlessly, and to live in a state of perpetual dissatisfaction. This message feels especially relevant in today’s world, where we’re surrounded by messages that tell us we need more to be happy—more wealth, more possessions, more success. The wisdom of sufficiency—of recognizing “enough”—runs counter to our consumerist culture. And yet, it is deeply human. For thousands of years, thinkers across cultures have recognized the power of this truth. It isn’t just an ancient ideal; it’s a practical philosophy that can profoundly improve our lives. The Culture of Never Enough We live in a world designed to make us feel insufficient. Advertisements, social media, and even casual conversations push the idea that happiness, beauty, success, and love are just one purchase or achievement away. Consider the promise behind every ad: Buy this car, and you’ll finally feel powerful. Wear this makeup, and you’ll feel beautiful and loved. Upgrade your phone, and you’ll be ahead of the curve. These messages aren’t just selling products—they’re selling an idea that who we are and what we have is not enough. Yet, we know from science that this is a lie. The phenomenon of hedonic adaptation teaches us that the joy of acquiring something new is fleeting. That car you saved up for, the new gadget you couldn’t wait to buy—within weeks, they simply become part of your baseline. Our happiness tends to return to its natural set point, no matter how much we accumulate. And so, we get caught in a cycle. We chase the next thing, believing it will bring fulfillment, only to find that the goalpost has moved once again. The Wisdom of Ancient Philosophy The truth of sufficiency has been known for millennia. Across cultures, sages and philosophers have recognized that lasting contentment doesn’t come from acquiring—it comes from appreciating what we already have. The Stoics spoke of wealth as "not in having great possessions, but in having few wants." Seneca, the Roman philosopher, cautioned against endless desire, writing, “It is not the man who has too little, but the man who craves more, who is poor.” Buddhism teaches the concept of non-attachment—the idea that craving is the root of suffering. By letting go of our desires for more, we free ourselves from the cycle of dissatisfaction. The Buddha’s Middle Way isn’t about deprivation; it’s about balance and recognizing sufficiency. And then there’s the famous story about Joseph Heller, author of Catch-22. At a lavish party thrown by a billionaire, another writer asked Heller how he felt being surrounded by people who made more money in a week than he would make in a lifetime. Heller replied: “I have something they will never have.” When pressed, he explained: “Enough.” Heller’s simple response captures the essence of what Lao Tzu taught centuries ago: The sufficiency of sufficiency is eternally sufficient. The Sufficiency of Sufficiency What does it mean to recognize the “sufficiency of sufficiency”? It’s about understanding that fulfillment doesn’t come from external sources. True sufficiency is not conditional—it doesn’t rely on a higher salary, a bigger house, or the latest gadget. It’s a mindset, an inner peace that arises from appreciating what we have, as it is. When we fail to recognize sufficiency, we fall into the trap of acquisitiveness—the relentless desire for more. As Lao Tzu wrote, this is the greatest disaster, because it disconnects us from contentment and creates endless striving. But when we embrace sufficiency, we find freedom. We’re no longer chasing or comparing ourselves to others. Instead, we can focus on what truly matters: relationships, experiences, and inner growth. Practical Ways to Embrace Sufficiency The wisdom of sufficiency is powerful, but living it can be challenging in a culture that constantly pushes us toward more. Here are some practical steps to help cultivate this mindset: Practice Gratitude Start a daily gratitude journal. Write down three things you’re thankful for each day. Reflect on what you already have, rather than what you lack. Declutter and Simplify Go through your possessions and ask: Do I truly need this? Does it add value to my life? Letting go of excess can help you focus on what’s most important. Pause Before Acquiring Before making a purchase, give yourself 24 hours to reflect. Ask: Am I buying this because I need it or because I think it will make me happy? Recognize when your desire is driven by emotion rather than necessity. Focus on Experiences Over Things Invest in experiences, like spending time with loved ones or exploring new places, rather than accumulating material possessions. Memories and relationships provide deeper, longer-lasting fulfillment. Adopt a Stoic or Buddhist Mindset Reflect on the teachings of non-attachment and contentment. Meditate on Epictetus’s words: “He who is not satisfied with a little is satisfied with nothing.” Embracing Enough in a World of More In a society that glorifies busyness, acquisition, and status, embracing sufficiency can feel like you are going against the grain. Yet it’s a deeply human truth, one that has been echoed by sages and thinkers for thousands of years: Contentment doesn’t come from getting more; it comes from appreciating enough. The Tao Te Ching reminds us that sufficiency is self-sustaining. It doesn’t rely on external circumstances or possessions. It arises from within, from a mindset of balance and gratitude. So, in a world that constantly urges us to want more, let’s pause and ask: What would it mean to have enough? And how would it feel to recognize that, perhaps, we already do? The sufficiency of sufficiency is eternally sufficient. It is the only way to truly be free.