Tomorrow: “I’m not sure, but, I think the market will be down.”

This answer is reflective of the current market condition. If the general sentiment — typically what’s portrayed by the mainstream financial media — is pessimistic, the average person will mirror and predict down.

One year from now: “The market will be recovering and probably up by a little bit.”

This answer is often more optimistic because the time period — one year from now — is out of reach. We assume, for one reason or another, that things will “get better by then.” Someone will do something to make it better. This prediction is based on nothing.

Five years from now: “The market will definitely be surging and the economy will be back on track.”

The most illogical and predictable answer of the set results from pushing time parameters out of reality’s grasp. This answer won’t change whether the parameters are five years, ten years or twenty years into the future. The idea is that we can’t fathom what market conditions, let alone our personal conditions, will have in store that far away. We assume that things “will get better,” just because they will.

I don’t think think there is anything wrong, on a personal level, with inherent, unjustified optimism, or what John Cassidy might call rational irrationality. It’s certainly more pleasant than being an unjustified pessimist. But, I do think unjustified, rationality-free optimism can pollute productivity and decision making.

If you assume things (the market, a relationship, hobby, career, etc.) are just going to “get better” without reason, you place yourself in a safety zone, and one of inaction. Unjustified optimism is equipped with mental stagnancy: it assumes natural improvement. It’s as meritless as assuming the stock market will go up if we “keep doing what we are already doing,” just because it will.

I am in favor of, however, justified optimism: things will get better because of this, this and this. Or, because I’m going to do this better or differently. But, unjustified optimism — portrayed by the people that “answer” the stock market questions above — is for fools.

Unjustified optimism allows us to become mentally dormant, permitting cruise control. The solution to any dilemma becomes a quest to amass more of what we are already doing. Ridding ourselves of unjustified optimism creates a natural, inventive realism. It forces us to improve reality, rather than adapting to unreality.

Picasso said, “Even if you are wealthy, act poor.” The same applies to outlook: if you are feeling unnecessarily optimistic, it’s probably a time to become grounded. Focus on reality — things you can touch, feel, change and improve — rather than assuming an externality will accomplish something for you, just because it will.

My inability to simplify, or habit of unnecessarily complifying, is an anxiety inducer. Expressing a well-thought idea simply is a complex process. Assuming an idea has bounced around the neurons, that single idea fought numerous other ideas before traveling to the tip of the tongue. Those ideas that express themselves have overcome intellectual hurdles, or what can feel like anxiety, to reach tangible expression.

My ideas live inside my head, often best expressed through writing as opposed to speaking, because I can move at a tempered pace. My habit for complexity has splintered certain of my capabilities, causing not only anxiety, but uncertainty surrounding my own ideas. It’s forced me to take blame for others’ mistakes because I’ve failed to express instructions in a way that made sense to anyone else besides me.

I sympathized with John Mayer’s reluctance to embrace simplicity that he described in the recently published Playboy interview, even though it causes friction with himself and his relationships. His overthinking, anxiety and inability to express ideas simply, he claims, have given him everything.

As soon as I lose that control, once I have to deal with someone else’s desires, I cut and run. I’m pretty culpable about being hard to live with. I have had a good run of imagining things into reality. I’ve got a huge streak of successes based on my own inventions. If you tell me I’m wrong or that I’m overthinking something, well, overthinking has given me everything in my career. I have a hard time not looking at anxiety disorder as being like an ATM.

The key to leveraging a trait that would otherwise be considered a character flaw is to recognize it and understand its limits. People often try to alleviate anxiety or remove it all together. But, my strategy is to control it and leverage it where it’s advantageous. I’ve learned to live with episodes of anxiety because it’s proven to be a more preferable state than simplicity. Without it, I’d feel dull, even with the extra mental distress.

Being that we are actively selfish, treating actions as investments comes naturally. However, I’d argue that it’s not actively leveraged or thought about by the average person. Ignorance has its pros and cons: The pros allow you to avoid getting drowned in your own ideologies. The cons revolve around wasted inputs of money, time or emotion.

Everyday investments can be sorted based on the situation or occurrence. For simplicity, I’ll outline each with personal context:

The most frequent investment of time I make is allocated to meetings. I’m at a point in my career where meetings–business development, hiring, management–absorb the majority of my day. Is the projected outcome of a meeting, based on outcomes of similar previous¹ meetings, worth the investment of my time? I treat books, blogs, film, art and music the same way.

Disbursement of disposable income is an investment. I’m less hesitant spending money on useful experiences and items than I am with my time, simply because I’m confident I can make more² money, but not more time. What I attempt to calculate is if the net payoff of the experience or item purchased will be greater than the net effort involved in creating the original wealth.

Emotional investments are allocated to relationships. There isn’t much to say about this investment, except that I’ve found it beneficial to take note of how you feel after you’ve spent time with someone. As you might assume, it’s the hardest payoff to calculate: emotions often feel one way but mean something else.

The basis for any investment–time, money and emotion–like a hedge fund, is based on objective and risk. I live by the general rule that the younger one is the more risk they should take. While I’m aware of my investments, I tend to not let the neuroticism involved with quantification become counter-productive to my efforts for profitability.

1. I realize projections based solely on historical context go against Nassim Taleb’s investment philosophy, but I abide to it anyway. People aren’t stocks.
2. Time runs out. Money, technically, doesn’t have to.