I wrote a few pieces about running in college and looking back at them they were all very descriptive. They have little observations about how a shadow might look, what my breathing was like, how I reacted to a car that almost hit me. To me, those are signals that I was very much present and aware. It’s unfortunate running has become an entirely different activity.

Since then it’s slowly lost all semblance from that period. Every night same run, same speed, and one song going over and over. So they’ve all blurred together – there is not one night that stands out, it’s like they never even happened. I once listened to Springsteen’s ‘I’m on Fire’ thirty or forty times in a row. When I used to run on the treadmill on my building, it was the only way I could handle spending that much time in a tv-less basement. I stopped when it dawned on me that I’d often run for 40 minutes breathing heavily as I ran towards my own reflection and not even notice that I’d done it. There is something wrong with that. Very wrong.

This is exemplary of having no middleground. Another way to put it might be a “state of unthinking” – rather than reflecting on what has happened or working on what will happen. And simply being busy to the point where you’re not thinking anything isn’t a solution either. There should be a period where you’re simply present, reacting and receiving to what is going on around you.

So how do you become present and aware of the moment? (I’ve since learned that Buddhists called this “mindfulness”) Montaigne wrote that we should have rooms in our house that have nothing in them. You should spend time in them, he said, and be alone and without distraction. I went through my apartment last week and thought “if I was moving right now, what would I not take with me?” and got rid of all that stuff. I figure if you have less, there’s less to consider and less, ultimately, to fear losing. Or, what about turning off the soundtrack and ending its delusion right now. Finally, if descriptiveness can be indicator of someone’s presentness, why not act like you’re going to write about the exact moment you’re in?

I’ve heard that 15 seconds is about what the mind can comprehend as the ‘present.’ Watch yourself as you butt up against that barrier while you’re running. Each second you can go on past that is one you’re not subjected to regret, hope, anger, sadness, expectation, anxiety, stress or uncertainty. You’re just there. And by being there, you’re in control of yourself and your emotions. The resistance I felt at 15 seconds can be worked out just like a muscle.

As I ran last night I caught myself smiling for the first time I can remember doing it since I ran in college. I thought, ‘what a nice night’ and when I got home I didn’t feel the need to rush in and write something down before I forgot it. I was just finished.

I forgot that I said this but a long time ago I wrote that The Long Tail was a theory you HAD to be familiar with. Someone else asked what other theories should be required knowledge for young people. I can only answer what works for me, but I’ll give it a shot.

You should know Alinsky’s strategies for community organizing, John Robb’s theory of networked, guerrilla warfare, what Matt Mason calls “the Pirate’s dilemma”, the concept of a “blue oceans” Wikinomics (specifically, ideagoras or information bazaars) and I like Rob Walker’s “murketing.” You could also make the case that a healthy understanding of how hustlers create advantage, as compared to normal entrepreneurs, is increasingly important.

A couple others I might add, would be Snark (not the book, read this article) and narcissism/narrative fallacy, for the reason that they both derail and delude a lot of people online.

You could read all the books and I’ve linked to them before but thought it might be interesting if I tried to define all of them over the next few weeks. We could put it together into some kind of introduction for beginners. Your thoughts and input are welcome below.

I used to carry a lot of fear. What if I lose this? Or, ‘I have to monitor that in case something bad happens.’ Worse, I would be unsure of how to act in certain situations, whether to advance or maintain or do whatever else somebody asked me to do right away. I was petrified of anything that could be considered a step backwards. I think I once wrote that I promised myself I’d never work on a wage-basis ever again.

Now I’m starting to understand that this was foolish. It’s an attitude prevalent in what Robert calls “tactical hell.” After I formulated, at least ephemerally, what I was after, the feelings melted away. In fact, in laying out and looking at the chessboard I saw instances where there was not only nothing shameful in taking a job like that but doing so would be the best possible move.

This is what is known as Grand Strategy. It means knowing in a very deep way what it is you’re trying to accomplish. It’s important because once you understand where you intend to finish in that distant, far off sense, you can take in, in perspective, how insignificant many individual decisions are. Left or right, what does it matter? Take this, leave that – knowing how you can turn either to a productive, contributive step means you’re less dependent on circumstance and less anxiety for you to carry.

Let’s say you wanted to become something like Tyler Cowen. Tactical hell would be thinking of ways to acquire what he possesses – getting a huge audience, bothering an editor at the New York Times Book Review, setting up a blog and trying to get linked by other important writers. It would be hell because you’d probably fail at each of these things. Grand strategy would be to think of what and why you want to be like Tyler. Perhaps, it’s that he’s paid to be curious or that you think you’d find fulfillment in the intellectually productive life he appears to lead. The separation of the person and the position leads to an understanding that latter flows from the former. The grand strategy is clear.

Whether you choose this class or that one, work or travel, books or people, these are small, tactical decisions. You know that the standing order is to turn each into an interesting, engaging process; everything is a challenge to examine and a chance for insight.

Think about Fight Club. The whole, it’s only after you’ve lost everything that you’re free to do anything. Well what does he really mean? I think what he’s saying has little to do with possessions. He means that after you’ve cleared out dependency and distractions, you acquire, in a way, a kind of grand strategy: a sense of self. When that becomes your only guiding principle, what is happening on the outside is irrelevant. You’re free because grand strategy gives way to formlessness. And formlessness to peace and calm and self-assurance.