In search of a life worth living.

I recently moved away from a life I spent 4.5 years building–job, apartment, possessions, country. The only things I’ve kept are a few personal belongings and the dear friendships I made along the way.

Where I’m headed to next is yet unknown. I have a few ideas floating in my head, but really nothing concrete. One might wonder why I should give up comfort and familiarity for an ambiguous future, and honestly, I sometimes find myself asking the same.

But I think the answer is actually quite simple. My goal has always been one and the same: to live a life worth living. And when the life of yesterday no longer fulfils the me of today, it’s time to start looking again for something different.

Life is too short to do otherwise.

Questions that matter.

This is a collection of questions that I personally care about. They are grouped roughly under three main categories, but are for the most part different sides to the same coin.

I expect these questions to evolve over time, as my own interests and level of expertise deepen.

Improving individual reasoning or cognition.

Developing alternatives to established career pathways.

Creating and sustaining global public goods.

Future potential topics.

Lost vitality.

There have been times in my life when I seemingly held unlimited drive and energy to pursue things. I can still remember all the hours, days, and weeks I spent as a kid absorbed in one activity or another–drawing, reading, playing sports, studying science, learning the guitar.

As I reflect now, I realize that what used to be my default mode of operation has long ago ceased to be anything more than short-lived moments of exaltation. Like solitary spots of brilliant paint on an otherwise sterile white surface, these sparks of passion stand out both for their rarity as well as their unusual force in my life.

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The last time I felt such a sensation of unstoppable momentum was about one year ago. It crept up on me out of the blue, and swept me in a rush to fulfil a new-found desire for serious academic study. Or rather, “re-found” might be the more accurate term here.

See, what I’d forgotten for the better part of a decade was that I possessed a deep joy for rigorous study. All throughout my teenage years, studying was the thing that had given my life purpose and that which had helped me weather the turmoils of adolescence.

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I have a growing suspicion that what adults call motivation, is nothing more than the spirited vigor which we all possessed once in our childhood. Nothing could be further from the free and boundless nature of youth than the ever-mounting shackles of adulthood.

Adult motivations fail because they are tainted by the constant pressure to be useful to society. Nothing good can come out of pushing people to do things they do not like, for reasons they do not care for. Yet here we are, each of us as alone as we are united in our resignation to a life only partially lived.

Who says this should be everything there is?

Not me, that’s for sure.

Nothing better to do.

Some people say that you should do what you love. Find your passion, follow your dreams. But where does it leave those of us who don’t know what our passions are?

I think the truth is that few people really know what their passion is in life. Sure, we all have things that interest us–hobbies that we are happy to pursue in our free time. Some people enjoy dancing, some prefer cooking, others still like going outdoors. But how many of us would be willing to sacrifice everything in our lives for the lone pursuit of these activities, without which our being would lose purpose? Not a whole lot I can tell you. The few who truly know their passion prove the exception, rather than the norm.

There is also no law saying that every one of us must find the singular thing which gives our lives meaning. It’s okay to have varied interests, and be content with engaging in them only insofar as they bring us enjoyment. And yet, I sometimes find myself longing for the kind of intensity and vitality apparent in those rare individuals who’ve found their life’s calling. The kind of persons who, simply by virtue of living their lives, inspire us with the sheer vigour and dedication of their being.

To this end, I’ve come up with a simple method for emulating the energy and enthusiasm of such people. I choose an interest (or two) that I like enough, and find some way to engage and disengage in it as easily as I might pick up and put down a book. Then, whenever I find myself having a spare moment in my day, I simply take up the interest until some other obligation calls me away.

The key point here is that it should be completely frictionless to enter and exit whatever activity I’ve chosen. If I were to take painting as an example, it'd mean having all paints, paper, and setup already in place to await immediate use. Ready to pick up at any moment of desire.

Over time, these casual yet consistent engagements can slowly pave the way for deeper interest and life-long dedication. It might not quite be the same as possessing a burning and singular passion, but it offers a real alternative to those of us who never found our holy grail.

As long as there is little friction in starting and stopping, I only have to enjoy something enough to pursue it whenever I have nothing better to do.

Two goals for 2021.

The turn of a new year is as good a time as any to reflect on personal alignment and trajectory. Separate from my usual list of goals to achieve, this year I’d like to focus on two particularly difficult things.

1. Becoming more humble.

Genuine humbleness is a trait that seems to be as rare as it is meritorious. I feel it’s a term not very well understood by many, including myself. Perhaps because of this, it’s a quality I find noticeably lacking within current society.

I want to understand more about what it means to be humble. I want to understand whether humility can be achieved while holding on to other, potentially conflicting traits such as self-confidence and ambition. I want to pry apart each and every nuance that surrounds the term, and eventually arrive at a practical, working definition that I can apply to my everyday thoughts and behaviour. I’m sure it’d help me grow into a better person.

2. Rediscovering childhood.

My childhood was a period in which I pursued things out of simple joy and interest. It was carefree, fun, and brimming with life every day. Yet fast-forward to the present, and life isn’t what it once used to be. Not to say that’s necessarily bad–there are many ways in which my life has acquired greater depth–but I’ve long forgotten the natural vitality of my childhood.

What would I be doing if I could do whatever I wanted in life without worry? A trite question to ask, but an important one nevertheless.

It’s not that I’m looking for some magic answer that’ll bring me eternal happiness; I just want to rediscover the feeling of waking up each morning excited for the new day.

Things I love.

Clarity of crisp air through closed eyes.
Still sounds under morning sunlight.
Laughter and smiles unknowing.
Sights of summer gold and blue.
Feeling of friendship and love.
Scent of newly cut grass.
Moments that remain.
A vibrant mind.

It doesn’t always have to be the one.

People talk a lot about the importance of finding the one true calling in life. But I think this idea of “following one’s dream” is misguided at best, and often harmful in practice.

The problem is that most advice (including the aforementioned) is much too general to be of any practical use for individual situations. To take it as an example, what is a true calling meant to be? How do I find mine if I don’t know what it is? What if I society doesn’t value my life’s calling? None of these questions have definite answers, nor are they equally applicable to all individuals.

A far better approach is to focus on a set of smaller, but more specific, questions. In my case, my idea of a fulfilling life revolves around three core aspects–social impact, passion, and wealth. The questions I ask myself are:

  1. What is one problem I care enough to try to solve?
  2. What is one discipline I enjoy enough to want to master?
  3. What is one skill I’m competent enough in to earn a living?

And my answers to each of these questions:

  1. The sustainable creation and governance of global public goods.
  2. Software engineering.
  3. Technical project management.

As is evident from above, the answers don’t need to be the same (though it helps to have overlap). Nor are they expected to remain constant over time. I think it’s so easy to get caught up in trying to find the single, perfect solution, when in reality no such answer might exist. Addressing each component independently provides me with a lot more flexibility to find a combination that is both realistic and attainable.

Naturally, the downside of pursuing several things in parallel is that it takes up more time. The time I'm able to spend on each will be far less than that if I only had one thing to focus on.

In an ideal world, we’d all be able to get paid doing something we love while also having a positive impact in society. But that’s not the reality most of us get to live. In my version of reality, having a partial solution that is achievable seems far better than a perfect one that isn’t.

What makes a great software engineer?

Everyone has their own definition of what constitutes mastery in their respective field. The below is a collection of qualities I believe makes a great software engineer:

And here is a short list of general points that apply beyond software engineering:

Whittling down.

Things disappear not suddenly with a great big bang, but slowly in a fading whimper. Barely audible even to the most attentive ear, yet unrelenting and unforgiving in its inevitable consummation of all that once was.

Irreversible. Irrepressible. Irreplaceable.

–

There you stand, in front of me.
Who are you?
We talk, we laugh, we wile the night away.
Are we growing closer?

My thoughts keep me up at night.
What about you?
I'm running in circles, I'm stumbling in the dark.
Will I ever reach you?

Here I stand, waiting by myself.
Where are you?
Maybe you're coming, maybe you were never there.
I wish I knew.

An ode to virtuous sons.

A life in chains, being treated to token rewards in exchange for the consignment of one's soul to another. People praise those who excel in this system, they admire those who rise to the heights and dream of one day rising themselves.

But excellence within the system is itself an oxymoron. Exceptional individuals are not as they are because of their status in an arbitrary system. They are exceptional simply because that is the only way they know to exist, and whatever path they choose they subject it to be one of excellence.

Driven by an ever present discontentment, matched by an unerring discipline of action. Fueled by hunger for glory, the desire for freedom. Their sole purpose is to cast off the chains that bind them and soar. What they seek to achieve, they merely will it so until the world obliges.

And who should care what anyone else thinks? In the souls of individuals, they alone are king and sovereign. Life is a canvas and they the master painter. Whims, visions, explorations, rebellions–none are above the others and yet each reign supreme in their own way. So chooses the individual their own path to the peak.

The path I take.

People are remarkably quick to dissuade me from any path that sufficiently diverges from the conventional. They may understand, and possibly even encourage in theory, the notion of high-risk, high-reward decisions, yet when confronted with the reality of the potential consequences take no time in backpedalling on their stated principles.

Success is predicated on sticking to my own principles where others falter and abandon theirs. Thus what matters is that I know where I want to go, and why. Do I know what I stand for, and what I seek to gain? Am I willing to make the necessary sacrifices in order to achieve my goals?

The clearer I can answer these questions for myself, the stronger will be my conviction.

Principles.

  1. Don't let the rules and opinions of others dictate your life.
  2. Virtue is personal principles made manifest through action.
  3. Discipline leads to competence; competence leads to autonomy.
  4. Performative excellence is the only meaningful measure of ability.
  5. Know where you're going and why. Focus on what is essential.
  6. Stay honest. The easiest person to fool is yourself.
  7. There is always room for improvement, so don't stop looking.
  8. In the grand scheme of things, we are all equally clueless.

Why modern education is failing society.

The problem with modern education is that it has lost its focus on genuine learning in favour of zero-sum credentialism. In one sense, credentials aren't necessarily bad and can serve a useful purpose – they offer an easily verifiable record of specific performance and achievement. But in another sense, they're also a means of signaling prestige and differentiation from others, which is bad in the context of education.

The reason why credentials-as-prestige is bad is that prestige, by definition, requires scarcity in order to exist. Something being prestigious means it is highly coveted and/or respected by many, but only attained by a few. Receiving a Nobel Prize, for example, comes with immense prestige precisely because only a handful of individuals from the entire world are awarded one in their lifetime; if the Nobel committee were to suddenly decide tomorrow that an award should be given out every week, this would instantly destroy a significant proportion of its signaling value.

What this leads to then is that the value an educational institution offers becomes directly linked to how scarce and difficult its credentials are to attain. This is why the world's elite universities universally maintain small cohorts through intentionally selective (and opaque) admissions processes – their incentives are fundamentally not aligned with providing the best possible education to as broad an audience as possible.

On the other side, credentials-as-proof-of-achievement seems to show somewhat more success in delivering on its promise – namely, offering individuals a shortcut way to signal their level of knowledge and achievement within a specific domain. Degrees, certifications, and awards are all common mechanisms for showcasing your abilities to others without having to prove yourself anew in each new encounter.

But here as well credentialism doesn't always seem to provide the intended result. The famous adage of "When a measure becomes a target, it ceases to be a good measure" (Goodhart's law) highlights our tendency as humans to "game the system" in order to obtain what we desire. The moment a credential system can be gamed or targeted exclusively to achieve the desired result, it loses its value as a proxy to ability and achievement. Not to mention the question of how well do the various credential systems actually represent and validate the skills and knowledge they attempt to measure.

I believe for education to succeed, we have to first do away entirely with credentials as a signal of prestige. As long as credentials carry such social status, not only are credential-issuing institutions incentivised to artificially limit their services, it forces individuals into a zero-sum competition for the most prestigious credentials while losing sight of their primary goal: education.

But the second and more substantial challenge I see is: how can we as a society come up with better mechanisms for measuring ability and knowledge, which don't rely on proxy credential systems prone to heavy abuse and exploitation? My view is that, insofar as subjects and fields are involved where output is tangible and clearly measurable, we should focus on what people have accomplished or created in the real world. For an artist this might mean the paintings or works they have produced; for a software engineer the programs they have written; an athlete the records they have set or games they have played; for a dancer a recorded video of their personal routine, etc. In other words, real-world performance is the best measure of true ability.

An issue we need to contend with in such a setting, however, is that not all domains or skills produce tangible output that can be clearly (or even quickly) measured. Take for instance a research scientist; the current means of assessment is through their published papers in high-quality, peer-reviewed journals, as well as their academic pedigree. But all it takes is for the volume of submitted papers to exceed the review capacity of journal publishers, and the system collapses under its own weight. It isn't immediately obvious how you can aptly measure the quality of a research paper in a way that is broadly scalable and not overly time-consuming, while still preserving the integrity of the entire system.

This challenge of measuring specific performance seems to me the most important problem to work on if we are to revitalise our educational institutions in a way that emphasizes genuine learning and development over credentialism. We should recognize as a society that performance (i.e. application of knowledge or skill) is the only true measure of ability, and that this is always highly contextual to the specific needs of whichever group or individual is demanding the talent. I believe our aims in the past several decades to come up with standardized, universally applicable credential systems lie at the core of our failing educational institutions, which has led to an overemphasis on meaningless personal "CV padding" and unproductive zero-sum competitions between individuals for the most "prestigious" opportunities and accolades.

Arguably, if your only true purpose as an individual is to become educated in one subject or another, no measures of performance would even be necessary. The scholar's path is a labour of love, after all. But as long as we wish to prove our acquired knowledge or skills to others in society, or wish generally to verify ability for employment or service, I see the only solution coming from a reflection and adaptation of how we might better assess skills and competence in a way that rewards independent thought, purpose, and fundamental ability above empty prestige signaling and credential hoarding.

The end of an era.

As I reflect on my life in the last decade, I realise how different things have turned out compared to the expectations of my then younger self.

10 years ago, I was a fledgling 18-year-old determined to make something of my life. Armed in my mind with some fuzzy notion of greater purpose and achievement, I struck out into the wider world as my friends and peers readied themselves for university life.

A lot has happened in the time that’s passed. I’ve lived in four different countries and learned new languages. I’ve spent some time in a Buddhist temple. I’ve worked at multiple companies, made a couple career transitions, and had a brief stint in law school. I dated–though not nearly as much as I should have–and pursued all kinds of hobbies in drawing, music, sports, and cooking. I have a small number of unsuccessful side projects and a failed attempt at starting a company.

As I’m nearing the end of my 20s, I feel I’ve reached a point in my life where the choices I make now will define my path for the next several decades to come. I’m no longer the sprightly child of yesteryear, but neither have I lived long enough to acquire the wisdom and experience of age. Caught somewhere in that murky chasm that separates youth from adulthood, I’m searching for stable footing in a new reality that continues to impose its will on me.

Whatever I end up doing, one thing I know is that I don’t want to forget how it feels to be a child. All these years I’ve been constantly pushing myself in pursuit of a sightless peak, when really what I should’ve been doing is embracing the childlike joy and excitement I’ve always possessed for the world around me. But at least my dreams remain remembered, and for that I'm glad.

From here on out, my path to adulthood will be one that I decide for myself. It will be free, it will be fun, and I will fight for it with all that I have. Critics and tyrants be damned.

Lessons for my future self.

1. Excellence is achieved through compounding effort

Without really meaning to, I’ve ended up spending almost 10 years incessantly seeking out new places, jobs, and life experiences. I’m naturally curious, and greedy to a fault for all kinds of knowledge. This has given me broad exposure to many different things, but no mastery of any one thing.

If I could do it again, I’d pay more attention to how each step I take builds (or doesn’t build) on my past steps. Because it turns out I care a lot about doing great work, and my conclusion from years of diverse experimentation is that in the long term, the pursuit of breadth hampers high achievement. The better you want to become at something, the less room you have to do much else.

It’s a painful truth for an inquisitive soul like me, but one I’m learning to accept. Excellence demands full-time focus and dedication. I still value being a generalist, but I’m not sure I believe anymore in being a generalist without a specialty.

This is probably why people often recommend specialising to succeed–a.k.a “finding your niche”. Though I never liked this phrasing much; it seems to imply that we should all just become narrow experts in some esoteric field. But the deeper point is that the path of a specialist requires you to be consistent, and that is what you need to do great work.

The real lesson is to always be compounding. It can be toward any goal, in any domain, but it’s the cumulation of small, regular refinements that lead to much more than the sum of the parts. If I’m not applying steady effort in some constant direction, I’m forgoing the benefits of compound gains in life. And this would be a big mistake–the opportunity cost of not compounding only grows with time.

2. In the face of uncertainty, bias towards action

A major reason I didn’t specialise for so long is because I didn’t really know what I wanted. I deliberated a lot on the various paths available to me, but in the end I only ever gained clarity when I finally acted on my deliberations.

This has taught me that good decision-making is often correlated with fast decision-making, because most learning happens when you do something. Following through with any kind of decision yields new insights very quickly, to the point where I’ll usually feel embarrassed at how much time I gave to contemplating the matter. Surprisingly, this applies just as well (or even better) to important decisions, and I now have the habit of setting short deadlines for most of my life decisions.

So the value of active deliberation decays rapidly with time, but that doesn’t mean waiting is always a bad strategy. In fact, sometimes it’s the best or only strategy. But if I’m going to wait to decide on something, then deliberating about solutions can also wait–I don’t think it’s useful to spend energy contemplating unless I plan on also taking action.

3. There is no substitute for real training and practice

The reason I value and strive for excellence is because there is no shortcut to attaining it. A musician gets good by playing a lot of music. A programmer gets good by writing a lot of code. An athlete gets good by training a lot. There is only ever one path forward, and it’s long and laborious.

Whoever came up with the phrase “work smart, not hard” was either disingenuous, lazy, or just not that competent. It’s not possible to work smart without having first worked hard, and the most competent people I know all work significantly harder than everybody else.

If I’m not spending consistent hours every day practicing something, I know I’m not really developing in any meaningful way. And this isn’t necessarily bad or wrong, but it’s worth being honest that it’s not going to take me places.

4. Who you know really matters

“Life is about who you know” is a statement I used to disavow from the deepest core of my being. I always felt it conveyed the underlying sentiment that nothing else mattered except being “part of the club”, and this chafed against my sensibilities.

It took me some time to realise that while many more things matter than just being part of the club, who you know really does make a big difference to your life outcomes. This is not a bad thing. Humans are fundamentally social animals, and our nature to seek and rely on social relationships is what got us to the top of the food chain. To leverage this is not only a valid strategy, but perhaps also a winning one.

The advantages of being part of a community are difficult to understate. Some that I can list off the top of my head:

In hindsight, many of my most valuable opportunities arose serendipitously through friends, colleagues, or people they knew. This is no accident, and I feel a fool to have spent the amount of time I did alone in my own personal bubble. Success never happens in a vacuum.

The value of community also extends beyond just work and professional development. Doing things with caring people is simply more fun and fulfilling–be it in business, love, leisure, volunteering, or socialising. A good life is one that’s built alongside others.

5. Uninterrupted focus time is a superpower

The most difficult change I have to confront as I get older (but never old!) is that the adult world is full of distractions. There is no end to the mounting responsibilities, expectations, and general busywork that come part-and-parcel with growing up.

Unadulterated focus has become a scarce and expensive commodity in my life, and over the years my ability to give undivided attention to any one thing has wilted under the pressures of adulthood. This kind of “death by a thousand cuts” has caused an insidious atrophy to the quality of my life, shaving my clarity of thought in near imperceptible shades each day. Only when the damage has been done, and far too much time has passed, do I realise things are awry.

I am now in the process of buying back my own attention, but it’s prone to escape me the moment I relax my efforts even just a little. The only way is to ruthlessly prioritise what matters to me, and reject everything else that doesn’t clearly belong in my life.

–

And just like that, it was as if it'd never been. My world contracted as quickly as it bloomed, as the light of a candle extinguished and never to return.

Old hands.

In the twilight of your years
You hold my hand

And I feel it
In those old hands
The story of a life
Seeping into my own

You don't want to let go
But I inch away
Until I'm out the door
Only your silent tears remain

Why is it our lot to be laden
Always with sadness?

Reflecting on 16 months of (attempted) founding.

Of all places in the world I could be, I'm writing this from Belgrade, Serbia. How did I end up here, and what have I been doing for the past almost one-and-a-half years?

Every budding founder is drawn to the golden peaks of entrepreneurship for their own reasons. These reasons go by many names–ambition, glory, purpose, meaning, wealth–but in truth they all boil down to that same, private and fragile yearning that each enterpriser guards closely in their hearts. The act of entrepreneurship is the individual staking their will against the world.

My last paycheck came in February of 2023, and by the following April I was already in my first startup accelerator surrounded by other aspiring founders just like myself. But whatever expectations I might've had going in, I wasn't prepared for the sheer volume of false starts and wrong turns I'd end up making over the course of the program. Three months with five attempted cofounder pairings and 20+ discarded business ideas later, I realised this will take much longer than I anticipated.

It wasn't that the people I met and got to work with at the accelerator weren't good enough–quite the opposite actually. But founding a successful company is a game of repeatedly finding needles in haystacks. You're looking for a one-in-a-{big number} match with a cofounder, with whom you can tackle a one-in-a-{big number} problem, for a one-in-a-{big number} customer segment, that can generate a one-in-a-{big number} magnitude of value. This is not a domain in which standard statistics apply.

Luckily my prospects weren't actually so grim in reality. There were things I could do to improve my odds, and going through a startup accelerator taught me several useful things. I learned better what kind of cofounder traits to look for, what problem areas I didn't care enough to solve, and how to validate the value I wanted to provide to my target audience. But now it was August, and I still didn't have a good idea of what to work on, nor who to work with. The only thing I had was the continued certainty that I wanted to found something.

So by October, I decided to sell most of my belongings, move out of my extremely-high-rent city, and join the hacker community at Recurse Center for a 12-week period of pure programming & bottom-up exploration. After months of relentless focus on business targets & customer development, all I had was my own curiosity to follow and nothing else. It was like coming out of a long winter into a light, spring day. Deep in my gut, I trusted that somewhere down this path I would find a way to reconnect with my longer-term founder intentions.

Some people might scoff at my wanting to found something without having a concrete idea in mind. It's as if I wanted to be an artist without having a specific medium to express myself. But in the earliest phases of one's development, be it as an artist or a founder, I think that is an entirely valid way to feel. It's never clear what comes first: is it the medium or the desire for self-expression? Is it the idea or the desire to build something useful?

Entrepreneurship is what happens when an individual decides they want to have agency in a world bent on depriving them of it. It may seem like a silly, futile path to take–not least because it's one ridden with endless dead ends, surprise setbacks, and worse-than-unfavourable odds–but to me it's as much a consequence of who I am as it is a conscious choice I make. I'm not sure I could feel otherwise even if I wanted to.

Which brings me to today. Why am I in Serbia, and have I finally conquered the odds to become the founder of a successful and growing business? The short answer is no. I'm still a fumbling entrepreneur 16 months into the journey. Coming to Serbia was, in a way, another attempt to beat some shape into the formless globule that is my future. I have friends building their own startup here, and they invited me to work alongside them while I try to find my needle in the haystack. If nothing else, I figured good company and cheaper cost-of-living could only help.

But I'm not without any progress. For the past two months, I've been working on a project that I feel has genuine long-term potential as a business. I'm close to launching a product that can be put in the hands of real users, and this will bring with it a whole host of new insights and progress. There's still a lot to be proven, but I at least know what I need to do to move the needle.

Make my product useful enough even for one person to use every day. Then useful enough that they'd pay a little money–it doesn't have to be much. And in this way, day by day, user by user, I can turn the odds ever-so-slightly in my favour.

Confidence.

Find the belief that you are capable and worthy of reaching the peak of this world. Reach deep inside and take hold of what is rightfully yours. No time for self-questioning, no space for hesitation. Any suggestion of the contrary is wrong. Undeserving of even a single miniscule morsel of consideration.

What you seek is yours for the taking.
That is the truth.
That is justice.
That is your fate.

Worth.

As I grow older, I become more acutely aware of the mechanisms by which the external world decides what I am worth. What are my credentials? What have I achieved? Have I done anything impressive? Have I done anything to show that I'm exceptional?

It is the nature of society that worth is often determined by those who control the rules. When you have something that is scarce, something that is coveted by many others, you possess power. And proving one's worth is often an exercise in appealing to such higher powers.

But this leaves me with a certain sense of distaste. Why should anyone but myself have the right to determine my worth in this world? What makes any power worthy of rendering judgment over me?

The answer is nothing. I am the only person who can truly define my worth, for I am the only one who will bear the consequences of judgment. If I deem myself competent and deliver, I will control the rules of my life. If I err in my judgment of self, the rules of others will control me instead. Irreverence is a luxury afforded only to the competent man.

My goal is to identify the pockets of individuals who managed to create their own rules in life and learn from them. Seek out their secrets and assimilate them with intensity. Do this well enough and I will earn my place among them as their peer.

Is this inevitably just another kind of appeal to authority? Maybe. But at the very least, I am the one to decide who my authority figures are. And it's not their rules I follow, but their guidance.