What are we optimising for

There is a peculiar anxiety that defines modern adulthood, which is the fear that somewhere, someone your age is living life better than you. They wake up at 5 AM to journal, meditate, go for a run or walk, consume protein-heavy breakfasts with ingredients you cannot even pronounce, maintain diversified investment portfolios, post thoughtful LinkedIn reflections about leadership, practice intermittent fasting, listen to podcasts at double speed, and somehow still find time to post photos captioned ‘grateful for the journey.’ Meanwhile, you are eating leftover biryani at 11 PM, ignoring unread emails, and wondering whether watching three back-to-back episodes of a series on OTT counts as self-care or surrender. Welcome to the age of optimisation, where every aspect of human life is treated as a system waiting to be upgraded.

Every time I am on my Instagram, it is showing me posts and reels on how to work harder, sleep better, network smarter, manage my relationships more efficiently, eat cleaner, learn faster, age slower, retire earlier and build passive income streams. I keep receiving spam on how to track my calories, my mood, my steps, my productivity, and my screen time (usually through apps that require even more screen time!). Human beings have never had more tools to improve their lives, yet many seem increasingly unsure about what all this relentless optimisation is actually meant to achieve. That question matters because optimisation itself is morally neutral. One can optimise for wealth, prestige, freedom, family, creativity, impact, or simply survival. The real danger begins when people optimise by default, without consciously deciding what destination they are trying to reach.

For much of human history, life paths were shaped by geography, class, castes, family structures, religion, and social expectations. A farmer’s son often became a farmer, and family businesses were inherited. Communities dictated rhythms of marriage, work, and social responsibility. These systems could be deeply restrictive, but they also answered major life questions before individuals had to confront them. Modern life replaced those rigid structures with unprecedented freedom, but that freedom has created its own exhaustion. Today, individuals can theoretically become anything, from a founder, consultant, artist, social development specialist, creator, digital nomad, climate entrepreneur, venture capitalist, to a wellness coach, or any number of job titles that appear to have been invented inside a coworking space brainstorming session. But when every path appears open, every decision begins to feel like closing off another possibility.

This conundrum is particularly visible in India, where rapid economic transformation has dramatically expanded aspiration. In cities such as Bengaluru, Mumbai, and Gurugram, millions of first-generation professionals are participating in one of the largest upward mobility experiments in modern history. Many are children of doctors, teachers, farmers, small business owners, or government employees whose sacrifices created opportunities their children could only dream of. Their children now work in multinational firms, startups, for-purpose organisations, consulting companies, and global technology firms. The opportunities are real, but so is the pressure. Success often carries responsibilities beyond personal fulfilment, as it repays family debt, funds siblings’ education, supports parents, and becomes a symbol of collective social mobility. Ambition, therefore, becomes deeply emotional because it often carries the weight of inherited dreams.

This phenomenon is hardly unique to the geographic boundaries of India. Similar pressures shape immigrant families in the United States, first-generation professionals in Kenya, and upwardly mobile households across Southeast Asia and Latin America. However, India’s sheer population scale makes this phenomenon particularly visible. At the same time, global workplace culture has become remarkably effective at turning ambition into identity. Work is no longer simply something people do, but it is increasingly defining who they are. At networking events (and even social ones, as I am experiencing), the first question is almost always ‘What do you do?’ Rarely does anyone ask what brings someone joy, what relationships they value most, or whether they feel at peace with their lives.

Modern workplaces reward speed, availability, and measurable outcomes. There is always another promotion cycle, another certification, another startup opportunity, another productivity framework, and another way to feel perpetually behind. Entire industries now thrive by convincing people they are one habit away from becoming better versions of themselves. Even leisure has been absorbed into ambition, as travel becomes networking with other travellers you meet at the airports, next seat, at breakfast tables, sunset viewing, and in the swimming pools, reading becomes content consumption, exercise becomes data analytics on your smartphone, hobbies become monetisable side hustles, and rest becomes recovery for more work. Recently, a friend joked that he can no longer enjoy a morning run unless his smartwatch confirms he enjoyed it efficiently, which may be one of the most accurate summaries of modern life.

Technology has intensified this culture by expanding the scale of comparison. Earlier generations compared themselves to neighbours, relatives, or colleagues. Today, individuals compare themselves with startup founders in San Francisco, creators in Seoul, bankers in London, and influencers in Dubai before breakfast. Social media ensures that there is always someone younger, wealthier, fitter, more accomplished, and apparently more fulfilled. What social media rarely reveals are burnout, loneliness, failed ventures, strained marriages, anxiety medication, or the existential doubts that often accompany visible success.

One of the strangest contradictions of elite ambition is that many people spend decades optimising for lifestyles they barely have time to enjoy. Prestigious jobs leave little room for family, and dream vacations are interrupted by work calls. This is not an argument against ambition itself, as ambition can be deeply meaningful. It can lift families out of poverty, create institutions, solve major problems, produce art, and expand human progress. The problem is unconscious ambition. If someone wants to optimise for income, there is nothing inherently wrong with that. If someone prioritises freedom, impact, family, or creativity, those are equally valid choices. The important thing is understanding which game one is playing. Too many people are climbing ladders handed to them by parents, peers, employers, or algorithms without ever asking whether they wanted to climb those ladders in the first place.

The absurdities of optimisation culture become visible in everyday life. People optimise their routines while neglecting friendships, chase promotions while postponing health, expand professional networks while losing touch with siblings, or save aggressively for retirement while forgetting how to enjoy their lives in the present. Many work relentlessly for future freedom as though the future is guaranteed, but it is not, as layoffs and illness happen,  political systems become unstable, and entire industries disappear. The future remains far less controllable than optimisation culture would like people to believe.

That uncertainty can feel frightening, but it can also be liberating. If life is fundamentally unpredictable, perhaps the goal should not be maximum efficiency. Perhaps the goal should be building a life that feels coherent, a life where work matters but does not consume identity, where ambition exists without becoming an addiction, and where success includes relationships, health, curiosity, and moments of stillness. It may mean creating a calendar that reflects actual values rather than external expectations.Ultimately, every individual must confront the most important question for themselves: ‘What is all this effort for?’ Not what impresses employers, relatives, social media followers, or algorithms, but what genuinely matters on a personal level. For some, the answer may be financial security. For others, it may be family, entrepreneurship, public service, writing, travel, or a quieter life built around enough rather than endless accumulation. The greatest tragedy of modern life may not be failure, but may be becoming extraordinarily efficient at pursuing goals that were never truly your own.

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The cover image is generated using AI