Who Told You That?
If you spend enough time around a young child, you quickly encounter the most relentless word in the human language: why? My daughter asks it about everything, from why the sand is wet to why birds fly and why we have to sleep. It is a stark reminder that children naturally question everything, while adults spend most of their lives defending everything.
Somewhere along the way, we stop asking why and start accepting the default. I cannot remember who first taught me that success looked like a mortgage, a promotion, and a quiet retirement. That is the strange thing about our core beliefs—most of them arrive without an invitation. We simply inherit them.
Borrowed Stories
We inherit stories about almost every aspect of our existence. We are taught that success is measured by titles and income, that every celebration requires alcohol, that learning ends the moment we leave school, and that being perpetually exhausted is a sign of importance. We fiercely defend our politics and argue endlessly over the daily news, yet we rarely question the architecture of our own lives.
The Danger of Unquestioned Stories
When I look back at the wildly different chapters of my own life, I realize that every major shift came from finally questioning a story I had accidentally borrowed.
When I lived in a Buddhist monastery, I was forced to question the assumption that we constantly need more to be content. Who told us that simplicity wasn't enough? While building SwiftReporter, I bumped into the relentless narrative that a startup has to completely consume your life. Who told us ambition requires martyrdom? Even while paddling 470 kilometers down the Hunter River, the sheer force of the water made me question our modern obsession with speed. Who told us progress can always be rushed?
Every chapter became evidence of the exact same truth:
The most dangerous stories are the ones we never question.
Auditing Your Assumptions
This is not about rebelling against society or burning down the life you have built. Mortgages, businesses, and careers are not inherently bad things. But there is a profound difference between choosing a path because it aligns with your values, and walking a path simply because someone else drew the map. Individual success means little if it is achieved by following a script that ultimately makes you miserable.
If we truly want to build a life worth living—a life rooted in curiosity, contribution, connection, and flourishing—we have to start auditing our assumptions. Perhaps curiosity isn't something children grow out of; perhaps it is just something adults slowly forget. Maybe the central question isn't whether we're living the wrong life, but rather whether we're living our own.
Which parts of your life were consciously chosen—and which have been inherited?
Building A Good Life. This essay is part of an ongoing exploration into what makes a good life. If you'd like one thoughtful story each week, join The Aliveness Dispatch.