on mastery

We get obsessed.

Not with everything. Not all the time. But when something hooks us — it really hooks us.

The hobby. The skill. The craft. The pursuit.

You think you’re just dabbling. But then you’re staying up until 2 a.m., watching YouTube videos on how to get the right finish on a walnut slab. Or you’re re-reading that same paragraph from the Stoics for the fifteenth time because you’re sure there’s some hidden code you’re not seeing yet. Or you’re trying to hit that perfect rep in the gym, not because anyone’s watching, but because you are.

It doesn’t matter if anyone cares.

You care.

And it starts small.

A spark.

A moment of curiosity.

And then? The spiral.

You can’t just do it.

You have to understand it.

You can’t just understand it.

You have to master it.

And mastery — God help us — doesn’t exist.

But we still chase it.

I call it The Mastery Spiral.

I don’t think women fall into it the same way. Not that they can’t be obsessive — they can. But with guys, it feels different. Like it’s tied to proving something. Like it’s tied to worth.

We’re not just learning woodworking.

We’re proving we can make something solid.

We’re not just learning deadlifts.

We’re proving we’re strong enough to protect, to endure.

We’re not just trying to perfect our handwriting (guilty).

We’re proving we can take messy chaos and make it elegant and clear.

It’s not just skill.

It’s identity.

And here’s where it gets tricky.

Because it is a superpower.

The guys who stick with something — who put in the reps, who watch the boring tutorials, who stay up late tinkering — those are the guys who get good. Scary good.

We respect that.

We admire that.

We follow people like that.

The guy who spent 10 years building custom motorcycles in his garage — we watch his videos and think: That’s a man who figured it out.

The guy who goes from stick-figure sketches to museum-worthy art by drawing every single day for seven years? That’s a man who knows discipline.

The problem is, we rarely talk about the dark side of mastery.

The trap.

Here’s what happens:

You think once you get good enough, you’ll finally feel good enough.

You think once you hit that PR, once you finish that perfect project, once you understand that one concept deeply enough — you’ll feel calm. Settled. Respected.

You won’t.

Because by the time you get there, the goalposts have moved.

You hit the PR — now you want more weight.

You finish the project — now you see every flaw.

You “understand” the concept — now you realize how little you know.

Mastery expands faster than you can chase it.

And if you’re not careful, you become a man chasing infinity.

I’ve done this with writing.

I’ve done it with fitness.

I’ve done it with my career.

Hell, I’ve done it with journaling.

And here’s the worst part:

The people around you don’t care nearly as much as you do.

They think you’re good enough now.

They thought you were impressive six months ago.

They don’t need you to master it — they just need you to show up.

But that’s not how it feels inside.

Inside, it feels like if you slow down, if you stop pushing, if you relax — it’ll all fall apart.

And so, you keep going.

Obsessing.

Tweaking.

Pushing.

You’re not competing with others anymore.

You’re competing with a phantom version of yourself: The Perfect You.

And that guy?

He’s always just out of reach.

So what’s the move?

I’m not going to tell you to stop caring. That’s impossible. You’re wired this way. It’s a gift.

But you have to make peace with good enough.

Not in a lazy way. Not in a “settle for mediocrity” way. But in a “I’ve done the work, I’m proud of this, I can let it go” way.

You have to learn to ship the project.

Release the product.

Write the post.

Lift the weight.

Walk away from the bench, the desk, the worktable.

Because here’s the truth no one tells you:

The mastery you’re chasing?

It’s already visible.

Everyone can already see it.

You’re the only one who thinks it’s not there yet.

And the more you chase that last 1%, the more you risk burning out, resenting the process, and killing the love that got you started in the first place.

So here’s my advice to every guy reading this:

• Pick your pursuit.

• Obsess for a season.

• But don’t make it your identity.

Your identity isn’t “the guy who never finishes.”

Your identity isn’t “the guy who never feels good enough.”

Your identity is: the guy who shows up, does good work, and releases it to the world.

That’s mastery.

Not perfection.

Not endless tinkering.

Not chasing ghosts.

Just doing good work.

And then going home.

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5 Journaling Questions to Help You Reflect on Your Obsession with Mastery

1. What’s one skill or pursuit that I’ve been chasing perfection in, and how has that pursuit made me feel recently?

2. If I stopped trying to be “the best” and focused on being “really damn good,” what would change?

3. Who in my life already respects or admires me for the work I’ve done — even though I don’t feel it’s finished?

4. How do I know when I’ve done “enough,” and what would it feel like to trust that?

5. What’s one project or task I can ship this week — not because it’s perfect, but because it’s complete?

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If this essay resonated with you, sit with it for a minute.

And then?

Go finish something.

It’s time.