“Virtue is the golden mean between two vices, the one of excess and the other of deficiency.” — Aristotle
”It’s just myself talking to myself about myself.” — Thomas Shelby, Peaky Blinders
Sometimes things are tough but I still want to have emotions about things. To think about them as a human being. To do my best while allowing myself to be myself. To be strong yet vulnerable at once. Discipline is your mind’s best friend. It might be also your soul’s worst frenemy—unless you learn to embrace a bit of ambiguity in life.
At the entrance of my dojo, a sign reads: “Leave your ego at the door. It’s only You vs. You.” The message is clear: strive to be better than yesterday. Don’t blame others. Stop complaining. And stop seeking permission. You don’t need a miracle—just discipline. Right?
Discipline is indeed a virtue, a power that drives us beyond mediocrity. It’s not about doing what’s easy but doing what’s necessary, stepping outside our comfort zones and trading excuses for solutions. Discipline is celebrated for its strength: it allows us to resist immediate rewards, overcome obstacles, and pursue meaningful goals.
I’ll never forget what freed me from existential discomfort in my early 20s, and what eventually gave me greater flexibility in life. First, learning to delay gratification; second, choosing value investing over momentum investing; and finally, making my own choices rather than leaving things to fate. Discipline played a key role in each of these lessons.
Discipline reveals that every freedom comes at a cost. Yet, every strict schedule can also carry a hidden price—overcontrol.
Discipline functions as a compass on life’s journey, keeping us on course and helping us avoid the wilderness of indecision. But there’s a risk here—an over-reliance on direction that prevents detours, wandering off the path to encounter the unfamiliar. The compass, though practical, is not designed for discovery. And perhaps some of life’s greatest experiences lie off the well-marked paths, when we navigate without a clear destination in mind.
In my studies and early career, I was disciplined to a fault. I sought an orderly, structured life, thinking that by maximizing productivity, I’d create space for other pursuits—reading, learning, creating. But as I pushed for efficiency, I became consumed by performance, and gradually, planning and control overshadowed my spontaneity. My focus shifted to strength and skills, neglecting creativity and exploration. Discipline became my default, often at the expense of the spiritual aspects of life. I lost touch with my feelings and sense of creativity, ultimately faking the core of myself.
”Sometimes what we want is impossible. The life you want to live is not the life that wants to live in you. And to be become who you actually are, to honor your calling, your feelings, your joy, requires you choosing the life that wants you back.” — You can’t fake the core by Ava
When you are busy suppressing your core, you forget to question your unwavering trust in the mind and the grind. What if your lifestyle no longer aligns with the complexity of your inner world? What if it disregards your curiosity and sensitivity? You can force your attention on things, but you can’t fundamentally change what you’ve learned to care about or feel curious about.
I’ve always needed order to function, preferring certainty and avoiding the unknown through work and discipline. But what kind of life is it when you dictate your thoughts how far they can go? When there’s no room to simply let things happen? Here’s a quote I’ve pondered deeply:
“An ability to tolerate the anxiety generated by ambiguity is what allows us to respect, engage, and grow from our repeated, daily encounters with the essential mysteries of life. But the payoff goes even further. Certainty begets stagnation, but ambiguity pulls us deeper into life. Unchallenged conviction begets rigidity, which begets regression; but ambiguity opens us to discovery, complexity, and therefore growth. The health of our culture, and the magnitude of our personal journeys, require that we learn to tolerate ambiguity, in service to a larger life.” — James Hollis, from The true shape of a thing
Recently, life reminded me of something we all face: doing everything right, giving our best, and still falling short. I could blame others or everything around me. But I’ve always found the victim mindset dishonorable. I could also let anger drive obsessive growth through discipline, locking myself into a shell, as I’ve done before.
I choose a third option: accepting ambiguity and making peace with it—not naively, but intentionally. Tough moments are where growth happens. Take the lessons, learn from the pitfalls, and stay open to life’s inevitable uncertainty. Let each experience teach you, even if it stings, until it no longer does. Then, repeat.
Letting discipline solely lead your life isn’t sustainable. Life is about learning, trying new experiences, and defining what truly matters. Only then can you guide your discipline toward meaningful goals that bring deeper joy and satisfaction. There’s a saying: “If all you have is a hammer, everything starts to look like a nail.” Similarly, if you rely only on discipline, you end up optimizing everything—even unintentionally. But you have a much richer arsenal: contemplation, curiosity, taste, and yes, even ambiguity.
This year, I wanted my mind to explore more, to uncover nuance, and to see more beauty. I began investing, training in martial arts, traveling more, engaging with my projects more often, and returning to writing. I still feel busy, but in a better way, a healthier way. I’ve come to understand the importance of seeking fascination, not just passion. I want to make room for a bit more chaos—and learn to let it coexist with my inner order.
Virtue lies in embracing both discipline and ambiguity, finding strength in balancing structure with openness.