Be lazy, and save the world.

Save the world by having fun.

Photo by Artem Podrez

"As the water reflects your face, so the heart of man reflects man."

The Book of Proverbs, chapter 27, verse 19

I sat alone in the materials science lab, the machines humming softly around me. The work was interesting, and the pay was good. My PhD in physics hung on the wall, a reminder of all the years tucked into small dimensions of semiconductor transport properties.

Inside my gut, there was a void—a nagging sense that something was missing.

I had an idea, one that kept me awake at night. I wanted to build an AI application, something that could make a difference.  I wanted to build an AI with a private network of friends, real friends without all the noise and fake news of social media. 

Doubts crowded my mind. Was I chasing a foolish dream? Would I throw away a secure life and well-paying job  for an uncertain path?

I was needy, craving approval from friends and colleagues and fearing judgment. The thought of failure scared me. But the idea wouldn't let go. It pulled at me, urging me to step into the unknown.

One evening, walking home through the city streets, I saw my reflection in a darkened window. I looked tired, worn by the weight of indecision. I realized then that I was being hard on myself, trapped by my own expectations.

I needed compassion—for myself. I began to understand that it was okay to feel uncertain, that vulnerability wasn't a weakness. I started to treat myself with kindness, giving myself permission to explore this new path.

As I softened toward myself, something shifted. I noticed the people around me—their faces, their stories etched in their eyes. 

I began to look at people differently.  

I look at a person and without words, think how much I want this person to be happy.

I feel a connection, a shared humanity. My compassion expands outward, embracing others.

In that compassion, I found the purpose of my idea. The AI application wasn't just a project; it was a way to help people, to address real needs. By being gentle with myself, I could understand them.

I began to work on the application, each line of code a step toward something meaningful. The fears were still there, but they no longer controlled me. I was guided by a sense of joy, a quiet confidence that grew with each passing day.

When I finally resigned from my job, my manager was not surprised.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked.

"Yes," I said. "I need to do this."

Leaving the lab, I felt a weight lift off my shoulders. The future was uncertain, but I was at peace.

As I developed the application, I kept the focus on compassion—both for myself and for the users. I wanted it to be more than just software; I wanted it to make a difference in people's lives.

I wanted the AI to help people connect with friends and family and colleagues without the impossible noise and distractions of social media. 

 To enable you to do deep work whenever you want, without hacks, with the people you love, without worrying followers, and the neediness of gaming the platform algorithms.

When I launched it, the response was slow at first. But soon, messages began to arrive. People thanked me, sharing how the application had helped them in their work, their writing, their music, their data analysis, their research, with their patients.

Reading their words, I felt a deep sense of joy. Not the temporary dopamine hit of social media success, but a lasting contentment that came from connecting with others.

Back at the café where my ideas first took tangible form, I sat by the window, a paper notebook open before me. I jotted down thoughts for future projects, my mind alive with possibilities. The world is vast and inviting, a canvas upon which I can paint with the colors of compassion and innovation.

A stranger approached my table, hesitating slightly. "Excuse me," he began, "but are you Dr. Kramer? I wanted to thank you for your application. It's made a real difference for me."

“Thank you," I replied. "That means more to me than you know."

We spoke for a while, sharing stories and reflections. As he departed, I felt a deep sense of connection—a confirmation that my journey, winding and uncertain as it had been, was leading me toward something profoundly meaningful.

I realized that by moving from uncertainty and neediness to self-compassion, I had opened the door to compassion for others. And in that, I found joy.

Walking home that evening, I felt the warm, humid summer air on my face.  I smiled.

The journey was hard, but it was worth it. By understanding myself, I found a way to understand others. Compassion had led me here, to this moment of quiet joy.

I looked up at the stars and breathed in the night.

"Thank you," I whispered.

And I walked on, ready for whatever came next.

Afterword

I first discovered this verse several years ago.

And I rediscovered it yesterday.

It is a difficult time in Israel now.  Right and Left.  Hezbollah and Hamas and Hutim. 

The verse teaches a powerful lesson - if you want to ask the Lord for forgiveness - you need to forgive yourself first.

When you have compassion for yourself, you can have compassion for others.

You will have joy from being kind toward others.   Joy is yours without conditions.

If you lose your joy accidentally,  if terrible things happen and overwhelm you, there is immense joy in knowing that you can get it back.

You have an infinite resource at your disposal, no matter where and who you are.

That infinite resource is joy. 

THE LAZY BODHISATTVA

With deep inner peace, And great compassion,

Aspire daily to save the world.

But do not strive to achieve it.

Just do whatever comes naturally.

Because when aspiration is strong

And compassion blossoms,

Whatever comes most naturally,

Is also the right thing to do.

Thus you,

The wise compassionate being,

Save the world while having fun.

My friend, may you be lazy, and may you save the world.

Search Inside Yourself, Meng