When I was about ten years old, my dad bought an antique motorboat. It was not a big boat, maybe eighteen feet long, wooden, with a decrepit old Johnson outboard motor. I do not think there was anything fundamentally wrong with the motor, but those old engines are finicky.
One of the first days we took it out, the weather was perfect. Sunny, warm, almost no wind. We were out exploring islands in Georgian Bay. On the way back, the engine suddenly stalled for no apparent reason. We still had plenty of fuel, well over half a tank. My dad could not get it started.
We stopped for a moment to think about what to do. We had paddles and could paddle back, but it would have taken hours. As we were thinking, we noticed a massive storm brewing in the distance. It looked far away, like it was still hours off. Unfortunately, it was not.
Within half an hour, the rain started. Around that time, we saw a newer motorboat heading toward us, coming from the direction of the storm. If you kept going the way they were headed, you would reach the docks where we were going. If I remember correctly, it was someone we knew. They slowed down beside us and said we had two seconds to decide. Either jump in with them and abandon our boat, or stay behind. A terrible storm was coming.
My dad thought about it and said no. He believed he could get the motor restarted. The other boat took off at full speed toward shore, and we went back to trying to start the engine. Pull after pull, it would not start. It was not flooded. It had fuel. Everything looked right. We had no idea why it refused to run.
Then a massive waterspout formed behind us, right at the edge of the storm. It was maybe five or six hundred feet away, about two football fields. It made a horrible sound as it sucked water up from the lake. It looked like something out of a movie.
Then the rain came hard. It was not just water. Small fish were coming down in the rain, sucked up from the lake and falling back down on us.
Finally, my dad got the engine started. The boat was not fast to begin with, but he pushed it as hard as it would go, partly because higher throttle made it less likely to stall again. We headed straight for shore. As we ran for the docks, the storm and the waterspout followed behind us, getting closer and closer.
We came into the docks at full speed, which you are not supposed to do. We jumped out, tied the boat, and ran. By the time we reached the docks, the waterspout was maybe a hundred feet behind us.
I had a lot of adventures as a kid. Many of the most dangerous ones were on the water. Freshwater lakes, especially Canadian lakes, are incredibly treacherous. They are cold. You can have a beautiful sunny day and an hour later face a storm of the century. When the waves come, they do not roll like ocean waves. They come close together and relentlessly pound whatever they hit.
At the same time, it is some of the most beautiful country God ever made. Clear water. That day, the water was so clear we saw a massive bass, the biggest I have ever seen, about thirty feet down. You could see every scale on its body at that depth. The water was as clear as glass.
I suppose the point of the story is this. I take risks in order to enjoy life. And when you take enough real risks as a child, you become more resistant to unnecessary fear responses as an adult.
(The boat in the image is very close to what we had.)
What you are describing is a normal season of life. It is not a personal failure.
Our lives move through phases where the priority is consolidation, saving, and holding position, and other phases where risk, creation, and expansion make sense. You are in a phase where doing the responsible thing now is what enables the creative and capital-heavy phase later.
Creativity does not disappear but it can go dormant when projects stay blocked for too long. The way to keep it alive is to work on very small, short-term projects that you can start and finish in one sitting or one evening. Completion restores momentum and keeps the creative circuit warm without requiring capital or long runways.
Do you ever feel like a rubber band that’s been stretched too far? Do you ever feel overworked and lazy at the same time? Do you find yourself exhausted, yet still judging yourself for not doing enough?
If so, there’s a good chance you’re a high‑conscientiousness person.
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Yes, its loss in the marriage can signal the end if not fixed quickly.
One of the clearest indicators of a dysfunctional marriage is not the presence of conflict, but the absence of a workable method for resolving it.
Conflict is inevitable in any marriage. What determines stability is whether disagreements can be processed productively rather than allowed to accumulate.
Couples with even very serious problems, money, sex, extended family, parenting, can remain highly stable if they have a reliable way to resolve conflict. Over time, issues get addressed, renegotiated, or adapted to, and alignment is restored.
By contrast, couples who begin highly aligned but lack conflict-resolution capacity tend to deteriorate. Each unresolved disagreement adds friction; resentment accumulates; communication degrades; and eventually the couple deviates so far from one another that the marriage breaks down.
This is why, in practice, no substantive marital issue can be solved before conflict resolution is solved.
Chores, finances, and life logistics are unsolvable if a couple cannot even have a structured disagreement without escalation or withdrawal. Until conflict becomes productive, every problem threatens the relationship itself rather than contributing to its improvement.
A lot of what we are calling 'mental health issues' are immaturity issues that society has pathologized for profit.
Far too many men end up as servants in their own household.
Life is far too short to spend it being your wife's houseboy.
My wife and I went out to dinner.
We came home, sent the babysitter off, and my youngest boy, Henry, walks up to me: “Daddy!” He hugs me and presses his face so hard against mine to kiss me.
He confuses the strength of his hug and kiss with how intensely he feels about you, so he presses so hard it hurts, because he is just so happy we returned. He is clapping his hands, jumping up and down, absolutely thrilled.
His brother, on the other hand, did not say much, he has a flu, half-awake and half-asleep. But Henry always makes you feel so happy to come home.
Let her know what all the wise women realise, that a man is much more open to talking after sex.
Almost every marriage that's on the rocks could be saved if the couple would just have more and better sex. As little as 2x or 3x a week would restore the relationship.
“I feel like I never get a break. The cooking, the cleaning, the laundry, the kids needing something every minute, it never ends. I am always on duty, and no one sees how constant it is.”
“I am tired of carrying everything for the family. Working long hours, paying every bill, fixing what breaks, keeping the house and yard in shape, handling the decisions and the pressure, it is relentless. I wake up knowing there is always another task waiting.”
Women often express frustration about the repetitive nature of child care and domestic work, just as some men express frustration about the constant demands of providing, protecting, and leading.
Both sets of complaints treat the cyclical nature of these roles as if repetition itself were a flaw. A healthier framing is that these responsibilities are privileges, not burdens. They are the core expressions of being a wife, a husband, a mother, or a father.
Parenting is not endless. The period in which children need us daily is brief. They grow, they become independent, and the direct responsibilities fade far sooner than most people expect.
The very tasks that feel monotonous are part of a short, irreplaceable window in which parents have maximum influence. To resent that window is to misunderstand its value. Far better to treasure it while it exists.
Similarly, the care spouses provide to one another is not unilateral sacrifice. It is reciprocal exchange based on comparative strengths. Each person gives what he or she is naturally better at giving and receives what is needed in return.
When understood properly, that exchange is not a drain but a source of stability, intimacy, and cooperation.
The problem is not the work itself but the framing. Treating repeating duties as “endless drudgery” blinds people to the meaning embedded in them.
Seeing those duties as privileges clarifies their purpose: a chance to build a family, support a spouse, shape children, and create continuity.
The work repeats, but it does not imprison; it enriches us.
Thank you for bringing up parasites, I forgot that aspect.
It's not negative. It's just a description of reality. If you find reality objectionable, it's probably best you mute me, because that's what I'm talking about all the time.
"Why can groups of masculine men cooperate and form effective teams far easier than effeminate men, women or mixed groups?" - Question from a reader.
Revoy’s Law:
“Given sufficient time, truthful feedback from reality, and personal responsibility for consequences, honest masculine men will tend to converge on the same general conclusions about reality and the institutional conditions for sustainable human cooperation, regardless of their initial beliefs.”
Revoy’s Corollary:
“Under survival pressure, disparate men converge rapidly on masculine norms of hierarchy, enforcement, and direct coordination, because these are the only strategies that minimize death and maximize group success.”
Short version:
“Under threat, reality and responsibility, honest men converge.”
As I think about it, I remember the rest of that night.
She was getting a bit winded when we danced and her friends were saying "be careful dancing with her she's sick". I thought she had a cold or something.
She seemed so healthy. And too happy and beautiful to be dying.
At the end of the night I asked her out. Told her I would go visit her in Quebec. She said "no" but immediately leaned into me and pressed her cheek against my neck, she clearly liked me. I was confused. Again the language barrier was an issue.
Her friend translated, she said she wanted to date me but couldn't. I was confused. She couldn't because she was dying but it was not clear at the time. No one wanted to talk about it.
Next day most of us from the dance went for breakfast. She was not there. She was too exhusted from the night before. I think that was when someone first clarified her health situation to me.
I was seventeen.
At a dance.
I met a girl with very short hair. Otherwise she was stunning. Black hair. Crystal blue eyes. Very light skin. French.
I asked her to dance. Half way through the song I asked why her hair was so short.
She said, I am going to die in six months or so.
It did not click at first. She looked healthy. I did not understand what that had to do with her hair.
We kept dancing. Over and over. I think two thirds of my dances that night were with her. I enjoyed her company. She was charming. Soft. Gentle. Beautiful. Kind. Sweet. French Canadian. There was a small language barrier. It did not matter. Her warmth came through.
I met a few of her friends that night. I kept in touch with them for a couple of years.
She had told the truth. She died a little over a year later. Cancer. Her hair was short because she had been through chemo. She was in that in-between period. Recovering. A little hair had grown back.
I think about her from time to time, grateful for the few moments we enjoyed together.
As hard as life can feel, we are still alive. She could have sat in sorrow complaining about her life. Instead, she chose a night with friends. A fancy dress party. Dancing. Being sweet. Being herself.
She faced death with a stoic calm that puts many men to shame. She spoke of it as if it were nothing. No big deal. There is a lesson in that.
It is hard to enjoy life if you focus on complaints. No matter how bad it gets, choose time with loved ones. Choose small joys. Choose what matters.
Do that, and you will not only enjoy your life. However short it is, it will mean something.
>Write a clear thesis. Give it to the LLM.
>Command it to clarify and steelman your claim.
>Then command it to critique the claim.
>Repeat the cycle until the idea survives attack.
You will obtain the best results when you restrict the LLM to a defined grammar, domain, and standard of judgment.
When People Lack Skill, They Mistake Causality for Luck
Many people assume outcomes are governed by luck because their understanding, skill, and capacity are too limited to perceive the causal forces at work. When we cannot see the steps and principles governing life, we imagine it is largely up to chance.
Every domain has an underlying structure. Experts navigate that structure intentionally, applying knowledge, judgment, and timing to get the results they want. Novices, unable to detect those patterns, watch the same actions and interpret them as luck or fortune.
This is a feature of human cognition: low competence reduces our resolution of causal detail. When the details become a blur, events feel unpredictable. We label that uncertainty as "luck" because it is the easiest explanation.
The more skill we build, the more we see how outcomes emerge from choices, habits, preparation, and discipline. What once looked like chance becomes transparent, understandable. What once felt arbitrary now becomes controllable.
When skill replaces superstition. Understanding replaces luck and capability replaces guesswork.
People who cultivate mastery do not rely on luck.
At the same time, we must acknowledge that chance is real. Life contains uncertainty, and not every variable is under our command. But the more we believe that our decisions matter, and the more capable we become at making and executing on those decisions, the more we expand the sphere of our control.
Agency is the ability to turn our intentions into outcomes of our choosing.
In difficult environments, where threats are high and opportunities scarce, only those with highly developed agency can consistently move forward. When life is hard, it is not luck that separates people. It is the degree of control they cultivate over themselves and their choices.
I will teach you how to develop your agency.
This is what I call a spirtually gay marriage.
This dude wants another dude to split his bills with and not a wife to have children and start a family with.
He missed the whole point of marriage.
Married men, do not treat you wife like she is a man.
We need more good men to form fraternities again.
My wife found a post online that said there was a beautiful waterfall nearby, just a short 20-minute walk, it said. Easy trail, lovely views. So we packed up the kids, grabbed our towels, swimsuits, snacks, water bottles, and set out expecting a leisurely hike.
It was not a leisurely hike.
The “easy walk” turned out to be a steep climb up the side of a mountain, boulder to boulder in places, until we reached the top of the waterfall. This was real terrain. No easy paths. Just sharp rock, loose soil, and 100-foot drops. And we were doing it with three children: our 11-year-old and two five-year-old twins.
But here is the part that impressed me most:
Not one complaint.
Not from the eleven-year-old. Not from the twins. They climbed. They pushed. They scrambled. They dangled their legs over cliffs with the confidence of mountain goats. And they did it all in the heat, with no whining, no hesitation, and no quitting.
Of course, my wife and I were carrying the gear, extra clothes, food, water, swim stuff, plus giving a hand every time the twins needed a boost over a high ledge or a slippery rock. Sometimes I had to climb ahead, reach down, and haul them up one by one. My wife did the same. It was a real climb. Exhausting. But beautiful.
When we reached the summit, we were rewarded with a cold, clear pool at the base of the waterfall. We laid down a mat, rested, swam, laughed, and soaked in the view. Worth every drop of sweat.
Along the way, I noticed something that stuck with me:
Alex, one of the twins, is a straight-line thinker.
He wanted the most direct path, shortest route possible, regardless of what obstacle was in the way. Straight over boulders, under branches, through the middle, faster.
Henry, his brother, was the strategist.
“I’ll go here… then there… and from there, I can step across to that rock.” He mapped every move as if solving a puzzle, placing each foot with care.
Same age. Same trail. Two completely different minds at work.
And my oldest boy? I told him, “I can’t hold your hand. You have to manage your own safety. Stay focused. Watch where you step. Be careful.” And he did. He carried a big bag full of towels and gear, and never once lost his focus.
That is the real lesson of the day.
Children need real risk. Real terrain. Real adventure.
They need to face uncertainty, danger, exhaustion, not recklessly, but with trust, instruction, and just enough safety net. Because this is how they learn to manage risk, read the environment, take responsibility, and overcome their own limits.
We can protect our children from everything.
Or we can teach them how to navigate life.
This was one of those days where you do the harder thing, and everyone walks away stronger.
And I would do it again in a heartbeat. 
Thanks.
