What if we need to anti-optimise?

On making life messy again

Hello! It’s been a whole month since I last posted on Substack. My 2024 self, who started Messy Work, would be a bit cross—the idea was to commit to a writing practice. My 2025 self, on the other hand, is almost proud of this pause—having committed, she can trust the process.

But perhaps there has been something else going on…

I’ll be honest, whenever I have a post that does “well” (in Substack measures), it triggers a spot of dithering over what I should write next. I feel this pressure to follow the “success” and make sure all you new likers, commenters and subscribers (thank you for being here!!) aren’t disappointed. It’s the writer’s version of second album syndrome, I guess…with distinctly lower stakes.

Fittingly, I had a post sitting in drafts that has served as a timely reminder to stop chasing perfection, and just get on with it.

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Lately, I’ve been overdoing it. Burning the candle at both ends. Pushing myself too hard. Caning it.

And I’m not talking about work, booze, drugs, or clubs. I’m talking about self-development.

“What if you need to heal from healing?”

This was the question that stared back at me from the Zoom screen, suspending my pasta-laden fork mid-shovel.

I was watching a lecture by Dr. Rola Hallam, an award-winning doctor, Syrian war survivor, humanitarian activist, TED speaker, and trauma-informed life coach, whose healing journey would probably make mine look like a trip to the nail salon.

Source: Los Angeles Magazine

Nevertheless, it hit me: the realisation that perhaps I had taken self-development too far. That in my endless pursuit of The Bottom Of Things™️—how to build the dream career, how to live with grief, why other people are such nobs, why I’m such a nob, etc.—and living a better life, I had forgotten how to, well, live life.

I’m Lucia, and I’m a personal-growth-aholic.

I love “healing”. Metamorphosis. Spiritual awakening. A renaissance. A breakthrough. Get me started on drama triangles, internal family systems, polyvagal theory, or why I think tarot isn’t woo-woo, and we could be here all day.

As a coach, it comes with the territory. Thankfully, coaching also requires me to shut up and listen. And the thing is, I’ll be the first to tell my clients that we’re not aiming for perfection. It’s all about the process. The becoming. The messy work.

But behind closed doors, I’m guilty of a different story. I want to be the best version of myself that I can be.

It doesn’t come from a bad place, this desire to thrive. I like myself for being a seeker, I accept that I will always be, as my formidable grandmother used to say, a do-er.

I know all too well that life is short; I want to wring it out like a sponge.

But there are shadows to being a seeker. Our comfort zone is in the striving, less so in the being. We can spend a lot of time in our own heads, missing out on the world around us, our very own bodies. We live with the feeling that we’re always on the cusp of something, but never quite arriving.

All of this is why I write Messy Work. I started this Substack as a reminder to myself, if no one else, that life isn’t easy and we don’t have to have it all figured out. A challenge to my perfectionism and imposter feelings.

Because these days, it’s so easy—whether in a profession like coaching, or writing a Substack—to feel the pressure to be an “expert”. Social media likes absolutes and shiny, finished products, not the murky, uncertain undergrowth. The more we grow, the more we need to know.

So my next “challenge” to myself (sorry, I told you I can’t stop), is to practice what I preach: slowness, messiness, becoming-ness. To press pause on all the courses. To read books because I want to, not because I think I should. To rein in all the brainstorming, strategising, and refining. To go for a long walk with nothing in my ears but birdsong and school bells and (gawd) silence.

My latest “quest” is to anti-optimise.

What is anti-optimising?

If you read this Substack on a regular basis, you’ll know that I often write about my always-productivising bent, how society exacerbates it, and my litany of anti-[insert annoying cultural trope] approaches to clawing back some peace of mind.

Lots of other people feel the same. Tim Ferris quit productivity. The body positivity movement prevails, even in the face of Ozempic. Charli XCX’s Brat repurposed the colour green for hedonism, defiance, and not giving a fuck—a far cry from the kale smoothies, matcha lattes, and sustainable clothing brands that have previously dominated “girl” culture.

Clearly, there are lots of things in the world—human rights, essential healthcare, social equality, mental health, community, biodiversity, etc.—that we should be looking to optimise (and arguably, anti-optimising can also be used for more nefarious purposes, like rolling back DE&I policies).

But on a personal, day-to-day level, I’ve been thinking about how deeply the culture/cult of optimisation has become ingrained, and how this is really serving us. About just how far (and how insidiously) this drive to better seeps into different areas our lives. About how exhausting and relentless it can sometimes feel.

Because increasingly, we live in a solutions-driven world. Whether you are trying to grow your business, find your life partner, live until you’re 100, or buy ingredients for dinner, there is no end to all the ways in which we can fine-tune. Whether it’s for convenience or enlightenment, there’s an app/supplement/exercise class/sexy new startup for that.

Yet how many of these “solutions” end up creating more problems? Optimisation culture is designed to give us the things we long for: good health, more money, romantic love, greater confidence, a sense of belonging, time. The irony is that often, these end up being the very things it takes away.

Dating apps make us feel disappointed and disposable. All these lotions, potions and pills drain our bank accounts. Working out at the “recommended” frequency and intensity can feel like a full-time job, leaving little space for anything else.

In this kind of environment, it’s very easy for high-achieving types to over-use our strengths (self-discipline, analysing, goal-setting, risk-taking, etc.). At first this feels great. But in my own life, I’ve noticed that it usually gives way to some kind of burnout or malaise. Because when we over-use our strengths, our shadows come out: that relentless need to push and perfect, constantly comparing ourselves to others, not giving into rest, becoming disconnected from our own values and intuition.

These days, I find myself asking: Where’s the line between wanting to be a “better” version of ourselves, and never feeling good enough?

It’s a big, existential question to grapple with. When my coaching clients come to me with these types of questions (for which I certainly don’t have the answers), I usually suggest that we start by breaking it down, before working our way up. How does this show up on an everyday basis, no matter how microscopic? What’s the smallest step we could take to try something different?

So recently, I’ve been reflecting on the small or more subtle ways our culture of optimisation influences me, and how I could begin to resist this.

In other words, how can I make things a bit shitter again?

Here are some examples that come to mind for me—I’d love to hear yours in the comments.

How I am anti-optimising my life

1. Replacing WhatsApps with phone calls.

I don’t know about you, but I start most WhatsApps with “Gosh sorry, don’t know how I missed this!!!” or “I’m so sorry for being so shit”.

The pressure of instant messaging on my otherwise punctual, polite-to-a-fault self has become too much to bear. I will call you (and if I don’t, call me).

2. Doing yoga in town halls.

I have recently realised that not all “yoga” must be a gruelling workout 3cm away from a Lululemon-clad contortionist who keeps putting her foot on my mat when we’re in wild thing (leaving London probably helped with this).

I can, in fact, do yoga-not-as-a-subscription-service and simply rock up at my local town hall with a tenner and an abundance of mat space on the deliciously nostalgic waxy, parquet floor.

3. Letting ideas breathe.

I am in my starting-and-not-finishing-things era. My Substack drafts are full of nascent hypotheses and watery musings. Maybe they’ll be something. Maybe they won’t. But I’m enjoying letting them develop organically, rather than forcing them into something publishable to comply with a self-/algorithm-imposed schedule.

4. Handwriting things (specifically, with a Berol handwriting pen and school exercise book).

Why did we ever stop using these?

On the subject of which, I am trying to replace screen-time with Berol-time as much as possible.

Alongside coaching, I’m a freelance copywriter, which can mean spending up to eight hours a day squinting at Google docs and Figma files. The thing I should have realised way sooner is that it’s hard to think “outside the box” (as we “thumb-stopping” creatives are contractually obliged to do) when you are in the box.

My best ideas come when I close my laptop and get out my notepad—or even go and do the washing up. Yes, it’s a bit arduous to then have to decipher my (tiny!) writing and type it up.

But, you know…what if everything didn’t need to save time?

5. Not spending 15 minutes a day engaging on Linkedin.

I often speak to fellow freelancers who feel guilty that they aren’t posting “enough” on Linkedin. We lament how time-consuming it is—because not only do you have to write the content, but you also have to immediately spend 15 minutes (or according to some reports, up to 30) engaging with other people’s posts to boost your reach and likes.

This is one of the facets of modern life that I find exhausting.

Now, I don’t want the mob to come for me like they did Emma Gannon. If one posts, it follows that one must also engage with other people’s posts…otherwise you’re kinda holding a metaphorical megaphone. And I love genuinely connecting. I want to engage.

But 15 minutes a day is 90 hours a year and, quite frankly, I’d rather be doing other things. Also—there is more to marketing (and life) than Linkedin. I recently got some leaflets printed!!

6. Not having a “niche”.

I’ll caveat this by saying that in life and in business, it is incredibly useful to know what you stand for, what you have to offer, and what impact you want to have (this is a big part of the work I do in my Crossroads programme).

But, speaking from personal experience, and observing clients and friends, it’s very easy to overthink the niche your work fits into. This is often at the expense of just doing the work. Also, I think all the noise around niches denies the fact that as humans, we are always evolving.

As this post by Emma Ticehurst reminded me, part of the beauty of self-employment is that you can follow your curiosity and explore multiple interests.

What if we gave ourselves permission to be many things, rather than putting ourselves in boxes?

On the subject of which…

7. Not pathologising everything.

This is a tough one for me, as I am a total nerd for all things psychology and psychotherapy. In my own life and in my client’s, I believe that established, evidence-based frameworks and theories can be very helpful ways of normalising the things we keep hidden, seeking the right support, and working out more helpful ways to navigate life and its challenges.

Equally, less “evidence-based” theories and frameworks, like astrology or tarot, can be fruitful (and fun) jumping off points for self-reflection.

So, I may find it helpful to look at things from the vantage point of having an anxious attachment style, or being a Libra.

The problems start when we try to find an answer for everything—when we put too much store in the cognitive, and ignore other possibilities or signs. For example, our body telling us something is “off” might be enough to walk away from a situation, without trying to analyse any further. Perhaps we don’t need to cram the more challenging aspects of life into a neat little narratives—perhaps that person is just a bit selfish, rather than a narcissist we have to demonise or try to cure.

8. Living a bit less clean.

If, like me, you came of age in the heyday of “clean” living, you might have absorbed some neuroses about things like dairy, gluten, and non-biodynamic wine. I often wonder if knowing what’s good and bad for us is always that healthy—in my own life, striving for “balance” can paradoxically make me lose sight of it.

For example, I drink a lot less alcohol than I used to, since I only have to sniff a glass of wine to feel hungover the next day. But once in a blue moon (for a wedding or a big party, say), I find it healthy to get quite pissed.

It strikes me that, particularly post-pandemic, lots of us live much “safer” lives. Catch me at 9pm on a Friday, and it’s much more likely that I’ll be tucked up on the sofa watching Alan Carr & Amanda Holden’s Spanish Job with a herbal tea, than downing margaritas on the dance floor.

But, as I’ve written about before, there’s little room for moments of pure abandon in these tidy, NHS-approved lives. Now I’m at an age where I know my limits, it serves me (and this is very personal) well to give into hedonism every now and then—and of course, that “hedonism” could look different for each of us.

9. Doing nothing on holiday.

While I’m fortunate that I can visit different places, I wonder if I’m always making the most of it—precisely because I’m trying so hard to make the most of it.

I blame TikTok, but travel these days can feel so fetishised. From how to pack your Away suitcase to methodically researched Google Maps, it’s easy for it to become more of a checklist than a chance to relax. I’m certainly guilty of treating holidays like an assault course, returning home brandishing 1,054 photos of historic landmarks and “authentic” experiences, but not feeling particularly refreshed.

Last month, I spent a week in Goa on a holiday with some family friends. And although people keep asking me why I didn’t go for longer, it honestly felt like I was away for double that. Why? Because I just did nothing. I spent most of the day pretty much horizontal, save for a few dips in the sea. At night, I let myself be swept along by the group’s plans. And I certainly didn’t expect India to “change” me.

Maybe, instead of an “experience”, travel can simply be an all-inclusive package holiday where you get a bit sunburnt and eat too much fried food.

What do you think?

In the spirit of anti-optimising, these are very much work-in-progress thoughts—and I’ll likely keep writing about this topic as my experiments play out!

I’m curious to know if you’re in a similar headspace. I think we go through our own individual ebbs and flows in productivity, self-improvement, and ambition. But I’m also sensing a more collective shift from observing trends and chatting to clients and friends.

So what aspects of optimisation culture (if any!) do you find draining, laughable, or pointless? Do you relate to this drive to anti-optimise? And if so, where might you begin?

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About me + Messy Work

New here? Welcome! I’m Lucia, a coach and writer who thinks there’s more to life than meets the eye (and is also learning when to stop looking 😉).