A reader recently sent me a viral video. It features a heavily muscled and perpetually shirtless fitness influencer named Ashton Hall demonstrating what he calls “the morning routine that changed my life.”
It starts at 3:52 a.m. with Hall flexing in the mirror as he pulls off a piece of tape covering his mouth (presumably placed the night before to promote nose breathing during sleep).
At 3:54 a.m., he brushes his teeth and gargles water from a fancy bottle.
At 4:00 a.m., he walks onto his balcony to do push-ups. Then he performs some standing meditation.
At 4:40 a.m., Hall journals. At 4:55, he listens to sermons on his phone while continuing to drink from the same water bottle, and at 5:46, he pours the remaining water into a bowl of ice and plunges his face into it.
And so on…
The video continues until 9:26 a.m., when Hall finally eats breakfast. It’s been five and a half hours since he woke up, and now he’s finally ready to start his day.
This Ashton Hall video is obviously extreme. But it’s a good example of a popular type of online content that presents overly-complex routines that promise to deliver you a desirable reward, be it a superhero’s body or a supervillain’s bank account.
Many commentators like to make fun of these influencers, and I get it, as these earnest efforts are out of step with an online culture that tends toward sardonic detachment. (One of the top comments on the Hall video dryly quips: “The last time I stepped on the balcony to do my morning pushups, I noticed I don’t have a balcony. Broke three ribs.”)
But I’ve become worried that a deeper issue lurks. I’m less concerned about what makes these influencers cringe than I am about what makes them popular. This genre seems to work, in part, because the instructions it provides are hard enough that you can believe them capable of delivering real rewards, and yet are also sufficiently tractable that you can imagine yourself following them – a sweet spot that’s compulsively consumable.
This formula essentially hijacks our natural ambition, shifting our attention from the hard, ambiguous, but ultimately satisfying efforts required for true accomplishment toward overwrought prescriptions that waste our time. I’m particularly worried about young people (a popular audience of this content) who might be diverted into these clickbait rabbit holes at a time when they should be seeking genuine mentorship instead.
To help make sense of these issues, I recently sat down to talk with bestselling writer Brad Stulberg, whose fantastic new book, The Way of Excellence: A Guide to True Greatness and Deep Satisfaction in a Chaotic World, comes out tomorrow.
Stulberg is an expert in the field of (actual, measurable) performance. His new book (which 9-time NBA Champion Steve Kerr described as capturing “a lot of what I believe as a coach”) makes the case that embracing a commitment to “genuine excellence” can deliver more meaning than the types of performative efforts popular online.
Here are three useful things I learned from Stulberg, each set up by a quote from his book:
→ “There is no greater illusion than thinking the accomplishment of some goal will change your life.” Genuine excellence is more about craft than rewards. You need to find meaning in the act of trying to improve at something. This satisfaction is more lasting than any isolated achievement.
→ “Caring is cool.” You have to care deeply about what you’re pursuing, meaning it should align with your values and help make you a better person. This is quite different from, say, trying to develop biceps purely to impress girls or buying a fancy car to make your friends jealous.
→ “True discipline is not a chest-thumping, hype-speech giving, performative act of toughness.” Excellence works better when you disconnect. Don’t brag about your accomplishments online. Don’t look for brief hits of hype from emotionally manipulative videos. Instead, take care of your business with a quiet, inward satisfaction.
If you’re worried about the internet hijacking your ambition (or the ambition of someone you care about), then keep these ideas in mind. It’s not enough to dismiss influencers like Ashton Hall; you need to replace what they’re offering with a more compelling alternative. Stulberg’s writing, in my opinion, points the way to one such alternative.
“The real reward is that you become a better version of yourself,” he summarizes toward the end of his book. This might not be as exciting as sticking your face in ice water before sunrise. But it sounds about right to me.
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It may go without saying that I highly recommend The Way of Excellence. It’s a must-read book that offers a path toward the discipline of mastery, competence, and mattering. Consider buying a copy today. And if you do, fill out this form to obtain some bonus material from Stulberg, including a video master class on the topic and a list of related reading.
