The Hidden Cost of Self-Optimization
How the Pursuit of a “Better You” is Making Us Worse
A few months ago, I caught myself doing something ridiculous.
I ran on the last day of the month and I hesitated before stopping. My total mileage for the month was 98 miles, and I had to get to 100 miles.
A normal person would go home.
But I wasn’t a normal person.
I ran 2 more miles so I could get my mileage target.
100 miles. Achievement unlocked. My body felt no different, but my brain rewarded me with a quiet, satisfying sense of completion.
It wasn’t until later that I stopped to ask myself: Who, exactly, was I doing this for?
No one had set this rule. No one was tracking my success. And yet, I had optimized my running — down to the last mile — as if some invisible judge was keeping score.
I went to the gym every day.
I ran every day too.
I followed a strict intermittent fasting routine.
I took longevity vitamins that promised to extend my health span.
At first, these habits felt like self-care. But slowly, they became something else.
What started as a need — taking care of my body, staying strong, aging well — turned into an enhancement project.
And the more I optimized, the more fragile my well-being became.
If I missed a workout, I felt behind.
If I broke my fasting window, I felt like I had failed.
If I forgot my supplements, I wondered if I was losing ground.
Somewhere along the way, well-being had stopped being about feeling good. It had become a measurement.
When Well-Being Becomes a Productivity Metric
We live in an era where self-optimization has replaced self-acceptance.
There’s a podcast for every weakness, a biohack for every inefficiency, an endless cycle of morning routines designed to squeeze the most out of every minute.
Fitness apps don’t just encourage movement — they tell you you haven’t done enough.
Meditation apps don’t just promote mindfulness — they remind you of the days you missed.
LinkedIn doesn’t just celebrate achievements — it fuels the fear that others are moving ahead while you’re standing still.
We track our sleep. We analyze our calories. We optimize our schedules to be as efficient as possible.
But efficiency is not the same thing as happiness.
Paul Millerd, in The Pathless Path, describes how modern self-improvement mirrors the industrial-era definition of success: constant progress, measurable growth, and efficiency at all costs.
In this world, even rest becomes work.
And yet, we are more burned out than ever.
The Burnout of Self-Optimization
Gabor Maté, in The Myth of Normal, argues that our culture doesn’t just promote success — it actively punishes stillness.
We are trained to feel guilty when we are not improving as if existence itself must be justified through achievement.
At its core, the self-improvement movement runs on a dangerous premise:
You are not enough as you are.
And so we chase optimization as a solution to our discomfort, not realizing that the chase itself is the problem.
- We feel exhausted, so we buy energy supplements.
- We feel disconnected, so we download another mindfulness app.
- We feel overwhelmed, so we optimize our schedule — until there’s no room left for life itself.
Devon Price, in Laziness Does Not Exist, challenges the very idea that humans are designed for non-stop improvement. The obsession with being “better” at all times is not a sign of ambition — it’s a symptom of cultural exhaustion.
Self-Optimization vs. Real Well-Being: My Own Experiment
Since moving back to Madrid after 33 years in the U.S., I’ve seen a completely different model of well-being.
In the U.S., self-care is an individual project. You meditate alone. You journal alone. You optimize alone.
In Spain, well-being is a collective experience. You don’t “make time” for relationships — you live inside them.
Here, people don’t schedule dinner with friends weeks in advance — they walk into the streets and find company. Here, slowing down isn’t something you go on vacation to do — it’s embedded in the rhythm of life.
Robert Waldinger, in The Good Life, found that the strongest predictor of happiness wasn’t personal discipline — it was the quality of our relationships.
Yet, in the era of self-optimization, relationships are often treated as a distraction from productivity rather than a source of meaning.
And so, I ran a small experiment on myself.
I stopped tracking my workouts.
I stopped obsessing over fasting windows.
I stopped thinking of health as an optimization game — and started seeing it as an experience.
And you know what?
I felt better. I felt lighter. I felt more present.
Reclaiming Well-Being: From Achievement to Presence
If the wellness industrial complex thrives on the belief that you are never enough, true well-being begins with the realization that you already are.
Happiness cannot be measured by KPIs. Presence cannot be tracked by an app.
So here’s a radical idea for well-being in 2025:
Stop tracking.
Stop optimizing.
Go outside, and be social.
Talk to people, without checking the time.
Let well-being be something you experience, not something you achieve.
Because the best moments of our lives aren’t measured in progress bars. They are simply lived.
This is the second of three articles about well-being.
The first one is “Why We Need a New Definition for Well-Being in 2025”
