103 · The Ten Second Question

And right before you die, the ten seconds flood in: what if — what if this was not the life I could have lived? And what if that was my fault? Keep that question where you can see it. It is the sharpest instrument you own.

Why did I choose this hard path? How did I end up in this situation? Why can't I just graduate from a mediocre university and live a mediocre life? Because everybody in the middle eventually gets crushed — and unless life turns painful enough, nothing galvanises the escape. It's far better for your life to be on fire than comfortable and mediocre, because comfort is a drug that slowly kills dreams, ambitions and goals. Having everything at stake is a blessing. It gets things done.

I'm going to reject it. I don't care if they attach a scholarship. I know what I want: go to U of M, take the school scholarships, crush the Putnam, take the hardest maths and entomology courses, crush the A-levels. And — I don't fully understand this myself — I want to earn every stripe. Even if I could take the allowance, even if I could borrow my uncle's car, something in me wants to pay for it all. It might be stupid. But that's my dream, and the wanting is the compass.

Not all of it is grim. You can pull this off now: full course load of the hardest graduate mathematics, twenty hours a week at Starbucks, the online business, the quant project with £20k seed capital, and the Trinity application — without a car, without a safety net you didn't build. It's the intensity of the work that changes the operation. This is more than possible.

The Hero's Arc — you're in it. Constant rejection, then the vision, then the full attack. God does not operate linearly: it goes backward, then zooms you to the finish line. So let it. Through the eighteen months of work you'll be doing so much that is beyond the comfort zone — and that is the point of the arc, not its cost.

What would the last hours of today look like if you knew these were the last hours of your life — and you would be remembered as the person who died doing what he set out to do? Maximise the amplitude between life and death. That's not morbid; it's calibration.

If there is no risk involved, there is no story. I get bored without immediate stakes — I'm that person who needs the chaos, which is unique. Use all the money, all the resources you're dealt, to fund the work. Pull off the impossible, Jamie. You'll mess up day to day — you'll fuck up, fuck around, and figure it out. That's the game. Hyper-neurotic, hyper-conscientious, hyper-focused, hyper-open. The force and the momentum launch the startup. Pressure, Jamie — the sense of urgency. You thrive under it. I need the war, the drama, the stakes. And even if it all collapses, the worst case is a barista job in Switzerland at £60k a year and a life greater than ever. To live life fully is to fall in love with life itself — every part, fully.

Your ceiling becomes the new floor. People in Manitoba and everywhere toil to reach traditional banking and consulting as their summit — that's your fallback. Bet on yourself to handle the pressure, give all credit to God, let go and let God.

One hundred years from now, the version of you that never tried is the only tragedy in the room. Everything else — the rejections, the gap years, the basement — is just plot.