In Defence of Mediocrity

“Work-life Balance Will Keep You Mediocre”, read the title of an article my friend Chippy sent me last week. I was partly engaged in something else. In the smartphone age, we are more often than not partly engaged in something else, so without reading the article, I typed back,

“I like being mediocre at many things”.

“Not going to be a billionaire by age XX”, he concluded.

Emil Barr, who wrote the piece* Chippy sent me, is intensely focused on becoming a billionaire by age 30. He’s only 22 now, and has “built two companies that together are valued at more than 20 million dollars. I’ve signed up my alma mater as a client, connected with billionaire mentors, and secured deferred admission to Stanford’s MBA program.”

While in college, he slept three and a half hours a night and worked over twelve hours a day. “The physical and mental toll was brutal: I gained 80 pounds, lived on Red Bull and struggled with anxiety. But this level of intensity was the only way to build a multimillion-dollar company.”

Headlines are often clickbait, and reflect the editor’s need to maximise readership, rather than the main thrust of the writer’s argument. Not true in this case. Mr. Barr is categorical: “for ambitious young people who want to build wealth, traditional balance is a trap that will keep you comfortably mediocre”.

To make 200 crores by age 22 is an extraordinary achievement, and requires intense focus and immense sacrifice. As one example, “every commitment had to justify its place on my calendar, with social events, casual hangouts and even family gatherings weighed against business priorities”.

If that’s what floats Mr. Barr’s boat, more power to him. To him, mediocrity is a slur, and I guess that is the tonality which the word carries in most usage. But he is only concerned with mediocrity in one sphere of life, the business sphere. Mediocrity, or utter sloppiness, in his health, fitness, or human relationships is something he is willing to endure till he makes that first billion.

I will never make a billion dollars. I never had that ambition. Even if I did, the chances that I would make it by diverting all my energies to the pursuit of wealth are extremely slim. This is clearly a very talented young man writing: I know people who have been workaholics for decades and barely hit the million dollar mark. In the jargon of economics, Barr’s focus may be necessary, but it is not sufficient. And there’s no telling in advance whether you will be the one in a million who makes a billion.

But in the here and now, in the reality of the days that tick by, there are birthdays missed, glorious days of sunshine that call you out for a run in the park. And so what if you are a ‘mediocre’ runner? Nobody’s looking at your timing if you’re not posting it on Instagram. The joy is in the act of running, in finding an easy rhythm with which to move your limbs, at a pace which allows you to smile at the world, not grimace at your smartwatch.

Last Saturday, a musician friend dropped by after lunch, to exchange notes about the business of the performing arts. I had the amp and speakers on, and while we talked, I asked him to name some bands he liked. One song led to another, and a third, which reminded me of a song I knew well. Which I played. And so it went for two hours. When Baan left, I nudged Spotify to lead me down the rabbit holes of music to which he had introduced me, then out into alleyways I had first explored in my teens. From Nguyen Le to Essbjorn Svenson, through Jefferson Airplane, to Kumar Gandharva. Through dusk, and well past dinnertime. Immersed in the joy of music. In the mediocrity of sacrificing achievement for a different kind of transport.

Maybe these are just different kinds of greed. The greed, or ambition, of making a billion dollars, or becoming a movie superstar. Versus the greed of gorging at the vast buffet the world has to offer: intense conversations that endure deep into the night, walks into dense Himalayan forests and up into meadows watered by springs; making friends with dogs in the park, or telling stories to children till they fall asleep in your lap; nursing a friend to lose her fear of swimming in the ocean, or pacing your young son as he makes his first ride to the Gurgaon border and back.

These, the deepest joys of my life, resist being ranked - as mediocre, or outstanding. And maybe there is an escapism in that. In not putting yourself out there, and giving your all to excellence in one domain. With all my heart, I salute those who are capable of that singular focus, like Shahrukh Khan, whom I knew as a young actor on the Delhi stage. For every Shahrukh, though, there are ten actors who became established character actors, a hundred who had a few bit roles over decades, and tens of thousands who appear at casting calls for extras. In recognising the Shahrukhs, or the Emil Barrs, we fall into survivorship bias, not seeing those who struggled hard, and didn’t even make it to Base Camp.

People like me, who chose comfortable mediocrity early in life, mediocrity in many pursuits. Found joy in the transport, rather than in the arrival. Arrival is an illusion. You never arrive anywhere.

*https://www.wsj.com/opinion/work-life-balance-will-keep-you-mediocre-25bdf073?mod=Searchresults_pos1&page=1