Camus said suicide is the only serious philosophical question. But he overthought it.

Most people don't live because they've figured it out. There's something in the body that pushes you to live. The reasons come later.

Philosophers ask "why live?" The body says "shut up."

I watched someone die once.

I was nineteen that year, summer break, doing odd jobs at a construction site. There was a young guy, early twenties, who climbed up to the sixth floor to connect some wiring. No safety rope.

Someone yelled at him, tie a rope on.

He said, it's fine.

Then he fell.

There were about a dozen people on site, all men. Everyone stood there, looking at the person on the ground, no one said a word.

Later someone called 120. Someone called the foreman. Someone got a cloth to cover him.

I stood there, legs shaking.

That evening after work, everyone sat together drinking.

No one mentioned what happened during the day. Everyone talked about other things. Wages, women, where the work was easier.

I couldn't hold it in, asked: why didn't he tie a rope?

An old worker looked at me.

He said, what rope. In this line of work, who ties a rope?

I said, but he's dead.

The old worker took a sip of his drink and said, that was his bad luck.

I only slowly understood what that old worker meant later.

It's not that he didn't know the danger. He knew. Everyone knew.

But if you tie a rope, you're slower. If you're slower, you get less work. Less work, less money.

And—

If you tie a rope and others don't, you look like a coward.

In that place, being a coward felt worse than dying.

That was the first time I saw that thing.

A thing that makes men die.

It's not courage. Courage is when you know the danger but you have a more important reason to act.

This thing is different. It makes you do something even when you know there's no need. Because if you don't, you're a coward. If you don't, you're not a man.

It was on that construction site. In every man who didn't tie a rope.

And in me too.

I was thinking: if I had to go up there, would I tie a rope?

I don't know.

Probably not.

Later I started noticing this thing.

It's everywhere.

When drinking. Someone says, bottoms up. If you don't, you're a coward. So you do. Drink until you vomit. Drink until your stomach bleeds. Drink until you die. Every year people drink themselves to death. But no one says no.

When driving. Someone cuts you off, you don't yield, he doesn't yield, two people floor it and charge forward. Whoever brakes first is the loser. Then they crash. So many people die in car accidents every year. But no one brakes first.

When fighting. Someone pushes you, you could walk away, but you can't walk away. Walk away and you're a coward. So you fight. Fight until blood covers your face. Fight until someone dies.

This thing makes men die. And makes men willing to die.

I learned some evolutionary theory later.

Then I understood what it was.

It's genes using you.

Genes don't care if you die. Genes care if they get passed on.

In any group, some people need to take risks. To explore, to fight, to do dangerous work. These people might die. But if they don't die, the group benefits.

So genes created this thing. To make men want to take risks. To make men feel that being a coward is worse than dying. To make men willing to die for face.

Good for the group. Bad for you.

But you don't care. Because that thing is in your blood. It won't let you care.

I told my dad about this theory.

He didn't believe it. He said, what genes. A man should take responsibility.

I said, the guy who didn't tie the rope—was that taking responsibility or being stupid?

He said, that was his choice.

I said, was it? Did he have a choice? He didn't tie the rope because others didn't. Others didn't because it would make them look weak. He didn't choose to die, he was pushed to die by that thing.

My dad went quiet.

After a while he said, you think too much.

Do I think too much?

Maybe.

But I watched that person fall on the construction site. I watched him lying on the ground, blood flowing from under his head. I watched someone cover him with a cloth.

I don't want to be the next one covered up.

I don't want that thing to push me to my death.

But the problem is—

That thing doesn't only make you die.

It also makes you do other things.

Explore. Create. Take risks. Do things others don't dare to do.

My grandfather joined the revolution at seventeen. That thing was pushing him.

My dad quit his job to start a business at twenty-five. That thing was pushing him.

I left the system at thirty. That thing was pushing me too.

It's a death hormone, but it's also a living hormone.

The question is, how do you use it.

That young guy at the construction site, it pushed him to climb six floors without a rope.

He died.

My grandfather, it pushed him to join the revolution.

He survived. Made something of himself.

What's the difference?

The difference is—whether you have a brain.

That thing will push you. But you can choose where it pushes you.

You can let it push you to drink yourself to death. Or let it push you to do something truly important.

You can let it push you into a road rage collision. Or let it push you down a path no one has walked before.

It gives you energy. How you use it is your business.

I'm thirty-three now.

That thing is still there. I can feel it.

Sometimes it makes me want to do stupid things. When someone questions me, I want to fight them. When someone says I can't do it, I want to prove them wrong, even at great cost.

But I won't be like that young guy at the construction site.

I'll use it. But I won't be used by it.

It's fuel. I'm the driver. I decide where to go.

Some people say when men get old, that thing disappears.

I don't believe it.

I've seen sixty-year-olds still burning. I've seen thirty-year-olds already extinguished.

The difference isn't age. It's whether you keep adding fuel.

What's fuel?

Doing things that make you burn. Going places you've never been. Meeting people who have fire. Don't spend too much time with people who've gone out.

Those people who say they want stability at forty—it's not because they've burned out. It's because they stopped adding fuel. They thought that thing was innate, that once it's used up it's gone.

It's not.

It needs to be fed. Feed it, and it burns. Don't feed it, and it dies.

I plan to feed it for the rest of my life.