Zen Against The Machine

Category: Zen and the Art of Systems

  • From the Big Rocks Up

    My available hours for these projects have been cut — again. Last week I estimated they were down to ten instead of forty.

    They are down to five. The clock still doesn’t care.

    The Impact

    This isn’t a reduction in hours — it’s a structural collapse. The systems I built for a 40-hour week never fit into ten, and they certainly don’t fit into five.

    Big Rocks

    All of this reminded me of a video I saw a while back — a short clip about Big Rocks.

    The idea is straightforward: a professor fills a glass jar with sand, gravel, and a few large rocks. If he starts with the sand, nothing meaningful fits. When he starts with the big rocks, everything else settles around them.

    Motivation helps, but some constraints are mechanical. Capacity is fixed; order determines outcome. 

    Put the big rocks in first.

    The Biggest Rock

    My biggest rock is my morning routine. I’ve kept it going for almost ten years. The idea was simple: get the most important things in life done as early as possible. I wake up at 05:30, usually as the sun rises. By 05:45 I’m out the door. This is my first non-negotiable — the morning run.

    I hate running, so I get it out of the way immediately. And at this hour, there are no excuses. You don’t need a gym. Nobody is calling you. You’re not late for anything unless you’re catching a flight. A sturdy pair of shoes is enough. I’ve run in rain, snow, desert heat, on vacation, on business trips — it doesn’t matter. I removed anything that could interfere.

    After the run and a shower comes my coffee and a bit of reading. It’s still early and still interruption-free. Even on rushed mornings, by 07:00 I’ve already run, showered, had coffee, and read a few paragraphs. A few years ago I added journaling, and that completes the routine. I rarely have a valid excuse to miss it.

    This routine works because it was built to work. It survives schedule shocks because it’s protected by design: early, frictionless, interruption-proof, and simple enough to run anywhere. It doesn’t rely on motivation. It relies on structure.

    Everything else in my system broke when my available hours dropped from forty to five. Those routines weren’t robust yet; I was still learning and adapting them to these new projects.

    The morning routine didn’t move at all. That’s the point.

    The biggest rock shouldn’t depend on willpower — it needs a fixed slot, zero dependencies, and discipline.

    Rebuilding

    I can’t force forty hours of work into five. The new job changed the entire shape of my week, and the old systems need to be rebuilt. That means choosing what survives and resizing everything else.

    The Photography Channel will likely move to one upload every two weeks. Posts here may need to shrink or become more direct. The Podcast stays on hold.

    These are not failures — they’re mechanical limits.

    The next step is rebuilding the rest of my creative system using the same rules, starting with the biggest rocks.

  • Cut to the Core — Working with Less Time

    Starting today, my available hours for these projects have been cut — Ten instead of forty. From here on, I’ll be working with less time.

    The clock doesn’t care. It’s indifferent to goals, ambitions, and feelings.

    Operational Reality

    Until now, I had 30–40 hours a week to commit to this experiment. That’s now capped at ten across all channels. The operating reality is different — and everything must adjust.

    The documentation continues as planned — weekly posts, monthly reports. Expect more brevity.

    The podcast, already on pause, is no longer viable. It’s gone. I’m heartbroken — but the clock doesn’t care.

    The photography channel is a non-negotiable. Without it, the experiment ends. Everything else adjusts around it.

    Stress Testing The System

    The real challenge begins now. Will the systems I built hold under pressure? What will need to change?

    The next few weeks will be a test of resilience — the only data that matters, the only KPI: upload consistency.

    The immediate goal is to keep weekly uploads on schedule — and adjust the production workflow so each video fits within ten hours, start to finish. If not, the channel will need a full realignment.

    I’ll keep you posted.

  • From Trash to Progress: Recycling Sunk Costs

    The video that nearly broke my channel took 42.5 hours to make. The one before it took 60.9. The latest just 26.2 — but I stopped cold at ~80%. These numbers were a warning.

    The first video hit 4,000 views for my channel and created a false benchmark: “great content at any cost.”

    I tried to run that play twice more. The second attempt didn’t move the needle and burned time I couldn’t afford. On the third attempt, I finally recognized what was happening: I wasn’t editing toward a result; I was editing to justify hours already spent.

    So I walked away with footage still on the timeline.

    Weeks later, after a few failed shoots, I opened the draft again—no emotion, just arithmetic. What would it take to finish the draft, publish, move forward. Not perfect. Efficient.

    This post is about that decision. Not how to make “better” videos, but how to treat sunk costs — and how to recycle some of it into progress when the math, not the mood, says it’s the right move.

    Repeating the Pattern

    The first video hit ~4,000 views. I went from almost nothing to 175 subscribers. I considered it a great success. It took 60.9 hours to make. With zero experience in filming, voiceover, or editing in Davinci Resolve, I treated that time as valuable tuition in a learning curve. More importantly, I drew the wrong conclusion: create great content at any cost.

    I tried to run that play again. The second attempt took 42.5 hours and flatilined. Same intensity, worse result. I hadn’t cracked anything. I’d just overbuilt a process around an outlier.

    The cost wasn’t only hours. Long productions meant fewer releases, a slipping schedule, and rising pressure to “make the next one great,” which made each new project heavier.

    The error was simple: I promoted a one-off outlier to a template. I let a single success set the standard for effort. Effort that wasn’t sustainable for a small channel. By the time I started my third attempt, the pattern was visible — if I was only willing to see it.

    The Stop Test

    About 20 hours into the third video — I hit a wall. I already spent more than twice the time an average video used to take me to complete. The work felt heavy in a way the footage couldn’t explain. I was missing deadlines and was emotionally drained and risking burnout.

    • So I ran a simple Stop Test:
      Is finishing faster than starting fresh? I truly didn’t know. The timeline was tangled and unclear. Treat that as a no.
    • Will continuing work jeopardize my next release window? At the current pace, yes.

    Result: stop. I closed the project with footage still on the timeline.

    Stopping wasn’t failure; it was protection; I was in control again. It preserved time and attention for the next piece of work that actually had a path to completion.

    Recycling Sunk Costs

    A few attempts at new episodes went nowhere. Nothing clicked. The channels momentum was long gong and so was the release schedule. The frustration, however, was growing.

    I reopened that third project again — no emotion, just arithmetic.

    • I ran the Stop Test again with fresh inputs:
      Is finishing faster than starting fresh? Yes. With minimal viable effort: 4 hours (it ended up ~5.4) hours to finish vs ~10.0 hours for a completely new episode.
    • Will finishing now jeopardize the next release window? No. Finishing now will get me back on track.

    Decision: finish! Efficient, not perfect.

    I cut what wasn’t essential, kept what worked, and wrapped up the work in 5.4 hours.

    This wasn’t about rescuing a bad idea; it wasn’t about recovering sunk costs; it was simply recycling prior effort in an efficient way. That single choice turned stalled work into forward motion.

    Outcome + Takeaway

    I published the video a few hours before writing this. Early stats are inconclusive but they also don’t matter. The point was to get an episode out and get moving again. On that, it worked.

    This wasn’t an endorsement of the project. It was a practical choice: finishing it was faster than starting fresh and didn’t put the next release at risk. That’s all.

    What changed is simple: I went from stalled to moving, with a clear next window to make the following episode properly.

    If you’re stuck, take a few minutes and audit your drafts. Look for anything that could be completed faster than starting something new. Don’t fix it — finish it.

    You can’t recover those lost hours, but perhaps you can recycle them into future momentum.

  • Sacrifice Perfection for Long-Term Progress

    Sacrifice Perfection for Long-Term Progress

    This is the 6th post I’ve published here on Zen Against The Machine — and the 15th I’ve written and uploaded. 

    There were 9 posts I uploaded and later deleted. They were throwaway content — and that was deliberately done. It was part of a process.

    Why Perfectionism Holds You Back

    Perfectionism is your enemy. You’ve heard it before — ‘Done is better than perfect.’ It’s cliché because it’s true.

    For most of us, me included, the instinct is to wait for the perfect idea, the ideal moment, the great piece of content, and to execute it to a level worthy of your own perfectionist criticism. 

    In a previous post, I described such a project that I started and then killed because of my pursuit of perfectionism. 

    If you wait for perfection, you never finish. If you never finish, you never fail, you never learn, and you never get better.

    I faced the same challenge when starting this blog. I had a very vague idea of what I wanted this channel to be. I had no idea how to start it, but I knew I didn’t want this project to die due to chasing perfection.

    Prioritize Output, Not Outcome

    So, I sat myself down and gave myself one simple task: Publish. 

    Here’s what I told myself: “You’ve got an hour.” An hour to produce something. Not something great. Just something finished. 

    I knew an hour wasn’t enough for anything substantial. But it was good enough to put up a piece of throwaway content — something to be deleted later. 

    The goal was to have something up there no matter the quality. The following Monday, I repeated the process. Two pieces of throwaway content were now online. By the third week, there were three pieces.   

    I wasn’t worrying about quality, not overthinking. I was just getting something out there. I posted content I knew wasn’t good — content that was intentionally imperfect. 

    Why Throwaway Content Works

    How do you get good at doing pull-ups? You start doing pull-ups. 

    The same applies to creating content — you start, even if it’s imperfect. The first few will be messy, maybe even painful, but you’ll get better by doing, not by waiting.

    Just like with pull-ups, over time you will get better — but only if you keep to the routine.

    When I started, I set my goal to publish. These posts weren’t meant to be good; they were just about forming a schedule. I knew they wouldn’t be perfect — and I didn’t care. They were throwaway content, meant for one purpose: to build the habit of publishing.

    And here’s the thing: By my fifth throwaway post, I was refining my process. I no longer had to force myself to sit down and publish — the resistance had been squashed. 

    By my sixth post I found myself focusing on the content and refining my workflow. My first five pieces of throwaway content were my best teachers.

    Creating throwaway content is just the beginning — building a routine is what drives momentum.

    Build Momentum Through Routines

    Throwaway content doesn’t necessarily mean bad content. I still worked to produce something worth sharing, but the focus was on finishing something within 1 hour. 

    The ultimate goal remained getting started, forming a routine, and building momentum. By putting something out there, no matter how imperfect, I achieved those goals.

    As I create more, I get faster, more confident, and more focused. It is through consistent action — not perfection — that I am improving.

    Sacrifice Perfection for Progress

    Imperfection is a tool, not a setback. By letting go of perfection early on, you learn faster, adapt quicker, and get better with each post.

    Sacrifice perfection. Focus on forming habits and routines in the early stages. Learn through doing. Start where you are, with what you’ve got, stumble, fail, and build from there. Sacrifice perfection in the short-term for long-term growth.

    Take Action: Post Your Fast Five

    Here’s your challenge: If you’re stuck, stop overthinking and start creating. Post five pieces of content — no matter how imperfect. Get them out there. Learn from them. Don’t be afraid of getting it wrong. The only way to get better is to start.

    Start. Finish something. Doesn’t matter what, doesn’t matter how good, doesn’t matter how bad, it just needs to be done.

    Post your first five pieces, throw them away, and move forward. Fail fast, learn faster, and get on the path to long-term growth.