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Everything measurable is relative

If everything is relative to your position—intelligence, consent, perception—then what about things we consider objective? Wealth, for example? Or beauty?

Let's test the principle of relativity:

Who is richer – a homeless person with no debt and pennies in his pocket or a middle-class person with $50,000 in debt?

Objectively, a homeless person's net worth is higher. One cent is more than minus fifty thousand. On paper, he's "richer."

But we don't think that way, do we? Because we don't measure wealth objectively. We measure it relative to social status, access to resources, quality of life, and security. A middle-class person has debt, sure, but they also have a home, food, access to healthcare, and job prospects. A homeless person has a penny and nowhere to sleep tonight.

So when we say someone is "rich" or "poor," we're not really talking about numbers. We're talking about how their situation compares to our basic understanding of what's normal.

If you grew up poor, an income of $50,000 a year feels like wealth. If you grew up in luxury, that same $50,000 is a failure. It's the same number, but the feelings are polar opposites, and it all depends on where YOU started.

Wealth is relative. It always has been and always will be.

Beauty and attractiveness

The same principle applies to beauty. You know what you like—but where does this standard come from? It's partly biological (we're programmed to find certain things attractive: smooth skin, symmetry, signs of health), partly cultural (what's valued in your society), and partly personal (what feels familiar, what reminds you of a pleasant experience).

But here's what most people don't realize: your standard of beauty is based on YOU, on your face, on your body.

You are your own benchmark for attractiveness. Your own traits become the foundation of what you find "right" and attractive.

That's why people often choose partners who look similar to them. Not identical, but similar. Similar facial features, appearance type, proportions.

It's no coincidence. You're subconsciously drawn to people who resemble you because they match your internal beauty standard, which has been shaped by your own appearance. You see yourself in the mirror every day. These features become familiar, comfortable, "true." And when you see them reflected in someone else? Your brain reads them as attractive.

There's a phenomenon where partners in a couple often look like they're related; it's called assortative mating. Similar body types. Similar facial features. Similar skin tones. And it's not because they've lived together for so long that they've mimicked each other. It's because they initially chose each other based on their physical resemblance.

You are drawn to your own reflection more than you realize.

When you see someone whose facial features echo yours—the same eye shape, a similar nose, or jawline—that person feels "right." They match the standard you've spent your whole life building by looking at your own face.

This isn't narcissism. It's just how reference points work. You are your own "zero point" for beauty, just as you are the reference point for intelligence, speed, and everything else.

The same principle applies to pets. People choose dogs that look like them. Or act like them. Or both.

It's not always obvious—you don't intentionally look for a dog with your face. But subconsciously, you're drawn to a dog whose appearance or temperament seems familiar. Seems… like you.

You see a dog with your energy level, your facial structure (proportion), or your coloring—and something clicks. This dog seems "the one." It meets your internal standards.

And again, relativity. You are the standard, and you are drawn to what corresponds to it.

When your own standard doesn't suit you

But what happens when you don't like your starting point? When you look in the mirror and wish you looked different?

This is where body modification comes in. Plastic surgery, hair transplants, implants, lifts, injections—all ways people try to change their "basic package."

And that's completely normal. Your body is your business.

But there's one critical question to answer before you change anything: are you doing this for yourself or for someone else?

Because if you're doing it for someone else, you're not really changing your body. You're changing yourself to fit someone else's standards. And that never ends well.

Modification traps

You see a celebrity with a certain type. This person is successful, attractive, and everywhere. And you think, "If only I looked like that, my life would be better."

But wait.

This celebrity NEEDS THIS look. Their career literally depends on maintaining it. They're paid to look that way. Entire teams of people help them stay in shape: stylists, trainers, nutritionists, surgeons. Their job is to look exactly like that.

Your work is not.

You're not getting paid to look like them. You don't have their team. You don't have their income to maintain that image. And more importantly, you don't have their specific career that requires that specific appearance.

So if you remake your body to suit them, you take on all the costs and burdens of maintaining a professional image… without receiving any professional dividends.

In your everyday life, you cosplay other people's career demands.

Now about living up to someone else's standard.

You might be thinking: “If I just change one detail about my appearance, I’ll finally attract the person I dream about.”

You will stop.

If someone didn't find you attractive before the modification, but does after… what exactly is it that attracts them?

Modification. Not you.

They're attracted to what you've become for them. They're attracted to the very fact that you've bent to their standards.

And now you are trapped in a relationship, the foundation of which is this: you have remade yourself to become acceptable to them.

Consider what this means in the long term. If your body changes naturally—aging, weight fluctuations, just life—will you still be attractive to them? Or will they demand more modifications to keep you up to their standards? Or will they go looking for someone else with the same characteristics?

You have taught them to love someone other than who you really are.

Think about it: if someone loves you only AFTER modification, they don't love you. They love the result you became to please them.

They like the artificial outcome. The altered version. The "you" that has been broken to fit their standards.

And now you're stuck. Because if you ever stop maintaining this modification—if your body changes, if you age, if you can't pull off this image anymore—will they still love you? Or will their attraction evaporate because the one thing that really hooked them is gone?

You built a relationship on the basis of physically remaking you to suit someone else's tastes. That's not love. That's a deal.

Do it for yourself or don't do it at all

Change your body only if and only if YOU want to. For YOUR own personal reasons. Because YOU sincerely want to look or feel different in a way that benefits your life.

Not to look like a celebrity who needs that appearance for work.

Not to finally lure someone who didn't really like you.

Not to fit someone else's idea of what you "should" look like.

Because if you do it for them, you're not just changing your body—you're changing your personality in search of external approval. And that approval will never be enough, because it's not directed at you.

Your body. Your choice. Your reasons.

And not them.

Look, I'm so passionate about this because I've been through it myself. A few months ago, I had a hair transplant (or "relocation," as I jokingly call it—it's just moving your own hair from one part of your head to another). I did it to correct a receding hairline, and it went great. I feel great.

But here's the key: I did it for myself. Not because someone told me I needed it. Not to be like someone else. I did it because I wanted to.

And that's the only reason that matters.

What if everyone disappeared?

Here's a thought experiment that demonstrates the absurdity of external comparisons:

Imagine everyone else on Earth vanished overnight. Pandemic, apocalypse, rapture—it doesn't matter. You're the only one left.

Suddenly you're the smartest person on the planet. And the dumbest. You're the richest and the poorest. The most attractive and the most unattractive. The fastest and the slowest.

All ratings disappear because there is no one to compare yourself to anymore.

Would it still be important to you to be “the best”?

If you're the only person alive, does it matter that you can't run as fast as someone who's gone? Does it matter that you're not as smart as someone who's gone? Does it matter that you have less money than someone who's gone?

Of course not.

So why does this matter now?

Other people are effectively invisible to your actual daily progress. Their existence doesn't change your abilities. Their achievements don't devalue your growth.

You're participating in a race where the other runners don't even know you're there. And winning this race doesn't boost your personal odometer—it just flatters your ego.

Compare yourself to yourself. Yesterday's you is the only person who had exactly the same circumstances, resources, and challenges. Yesterday's you is the only person whose progress you can truly measure, because you have complete data.

Have you moved forward compared to where you were yesterday? Yes? That means you're growing. Have you stayed the same or fallen back? Now you have information on what needs to be adjusted.

That's it. That's the entire grading system.

Other people's progress has no bearing on yours. You don't know their starting point. You don't know their strengths or difficulties. You don't even know what "forward" means on their unique path.

But you know your "forward." You know where you were yesterday. You know where you are today. You know if you're moving in the direction you really want. And that's the only metric that matters.

Einstein discovered that space and time are relative—they change depending on your position and speed. There is no absolute frame of reference. Everything is measured relative to the observer. Two people moving at different speeds perceive time differently. And neither is "wrong." Both are correct in their frames of reference.

There is no absolute standard of success, intelligence, beauty, or progress. There is only your frame of reference and everyone else's frame of reference.

Stop trying to jump into someone else's system and measure yourself by their coordinates. It's impossible. You always measure from where YOU are.

So measure your progress relative to your own position. Your coordinates yesterday compared to today.

Your odometer is yours alone.

Remember: your odometer measures distance traveled, not speed. It records accumulated experience, not ranking.

Some people have higher odometer readings because they've been driving longer. Some have lower odometer readings because they started later. Some people drove the same distance, but on completely different roads.

None of this changes YOUR mileage.

Your odometer may show 10,000 miles or 100,000 – the only thing that matters is that today's number is greater than yesterday's.

Are you moving forward on your path? That's success.

Are you riding at a pace that's appropriate for the road you're on? That's progress.

Are you comparing your odometer readings to your own previous data, not to others? That's wisdom.

There is no test that checks whether your mileage matches someone else's schedule.

There is only your odometer, your route and your decision to keep moving forward.

Chapter 7: Their Trip, Your Memory

Look in the rearview mirror and see the road behind you. All those miles you've driven—the exits you've taken, the rest stops, the stretches of highway, the towns you've passed through.

Which of these do you REALLY remember?

Maybe a particular sunset. Maybe that time you got caught in a downpour. Or maybe that playlist that's been on repeat for three hundred miles.

Now ask the person sitting in the passenger seat what he remembers from that same trip.

Completely different details. Different moments. Different vivid impressions.

Same road. Same car. Same mileage. But completely different memories.

You want to create memories

We constantly plan events specifically for the purpose of creating memories.

The perfect vacation itinerary. A scenic detour. A stop at a special restaurant. A surprise at the destination. We meticulously plan every detail because we want our travel companions to remember this trip forever. We're constantly searching for travel tips: the perfect schedule, must-see spots, the best time to leave.

Why? Because we feel like it's a test of sorts. We think we're being graded on how good of a host we are, how well we've organized the experience, and whether we've created that "perfect" memory for them.

And we believe that if we plan well enough, visit all the right places, and time it down to the minute, we can create exactly the memory they need to keep.

The reality is this: control is sometimes an illusion. You control the route. You control the stops. You control the time.

But… you don't control what that experience will be like for the other person.

You even plan everything based on how you think you would perceive it, trying to put yourself in their shoes. But that only works for you, your experience, and your frame of reference. They have their own. What delights you might bore them. What you find significant, they might not even notice.

Your child might remember the panoramic observation deck you drove two hours off-route to reach. Or they might remember the fight over ice cream that broke out right before you got there.

Your partner might remember the surprise at the end of the journey. Or they might remember how nervous you were about the GPS the whole way.

Your friend might remember the perfect moment of arrival at sunset. Or they might remember how they'd been desperately needing to pee for the last hour, the discomfort preventing them from enjoying the view.

What do they actually remember? They remember what caught their attention, what was important to them at the time, what their brain deemed worth preserving. Often, it's something you didn't even notice: a strange billboard, a song on the radio, the way the light fell on the dashboard. Sometimes, it's something you'd rather forget: a wrong turn, a closed restaurant, an argument with your GPS.

You planned an event. They built a memory. And what they built may have nothing in common with your plan.

Brothers and sisters always remember different trips

Ask your siblings about a family trip they all went on together.

I did it myself. My sister remembers everything one way. I remember it completely differently. Same car. Same parents. Same route. Same stops. Everyone was there.

Ask them and listen to their stories.

One remembers it as the best trip of his life: laughter in the backseat, word games, snacks, the anticipation of the destination. Another remembers being bored and uncomfortable in the middle seat, constantly asking, "Are we there soon?" and being told to keep quiet. A third barely remembers the trip at all: he brought a book and read the entire way, completely disconnected from the proceedings.

Who is right?

Everyone. And no one.

Memory isn't a video camera capturing objective truth. Memory is a reconstruction. Your brain takes fragments—images, emotions, sensations—and constructs a story from them every time you recall something. And that story changes depending on what meaning you need from it right now.

The sibling who remembers the trip as a wonderful experience may have been in a great mood that day, or perhaps they desperately needed a good family memory, and their brains supplied it. The bored child may have been going through a tough week, and the trip was just another challenge. The reader found their own escape, and it was exactly what they needed.

The same experience. Three completely different memories. And they are all real. They are all true for whoever has them.

How we tend to plan for the future

Planning has a built-in limitation: we always plan based on what's in our heads right now. Our experience. Our starting point. Our current understanding.

We think we're constructing a scenario for the future—imagining what will be important, what will work, what will be meaningful years from now. But if you look at this concept more broadly, you realize: we're simply using our current mindset and understanding of what's achievable today.

In reality, we can't imagine the future. We can only imagine an improved version of the present.

Bear with me for a second – I'm going to look at this question from a completely different angle.

Let's talk about how we design cars. We're currently developing technologies to make our current cars drive themselves. Waymo's cars are "regular cars" with steering wheels, simply controlled by computers instead of human hands. Google-owned Waymo is a camera-based, self-driving car.

This is our "vision of the future," based on today's foundation. We have cars with steering wheels, so we're adding cameras that monitor the surroundings, calculate risks, and calculate routes in their intelligent systems so they can use that steering wheel and drive themselves, without any driver input.

But what will the real future be like? It might not even have a steering wheel. The car will be designed from the ground up as an autonomous vehicle. No steering wheel. No pedals. No controls for a human driver, who won't be needed.

We can't imagine such a car yet because we're still thinking in terms of "a car with a robot driver" instead of "a car as a robot."

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