Companies I'm watching closely over the next 6 years:
Companies I'm watching closely over the next 6 years:
A few things I'm learning and unlearning as a first-time-founder:
Today is Nigeria's 64th Independence Day. So, this is a republished one from my archives, originally written in February 2024. Enjoy!
It is extremely difficult to be (consistently) patriotic as a Nigerian. On some days, it’s much easier and we’re able to celebrate huge wins collectively. Other days, our optimism is overcast by reminders of the increasing difficulties the country faces and those which inevitably lie ahead. The inspiration from this piece came at the end of 2023, reflecting on the whirlwind of emotions many Nigerians including myself experienced — a renewed hope during the presidential elections followed by revelations of gross vote tampering; celebrating Hilda Baci’s impressive world record alongside a rapidly plummeting Naira. These experiences are bittersweet, but often easier to navigate with a level of dissonance enabled by the privilege to live in a different country. Sadly, this does not last forever, and returning home means facing the music. Per the Igbo saying, agaracha must [indeed] come back.
Returning home in December is routine for Nigerians such as myself who live abroad. We anticipate seeing our friends residing in other countries at a range of parties and concerts, and seeing our family members during the final week of the year (between Christmas and New Year’s Eve). My most recent visit was quite different, and met with immense dread given the socioeconomic climate and growing anxiety. Although I am fortunate enough to experience a more than comfortable livelihood, it is impossible to turn a blind eye to the declining living standards for the average Nigerian.
For those unfamiliar with Nigeria’s economic and sociopolitical history, it is awfully complex to say the least, and impossible to fully cover in this single piece.
The political landscape is rife with outlandish individuals in/with access to power able to regularly exploit their positions for personal gain. Unscrupulous as these may be, the logic is airtight. Greed may be evil, but it is not illogical.
As a matter of fact, the burden is on us to hold those necessary accountable. Unfortunately, we are often sidetracked by certain distractions, namely ethnic prejudices or religious aphorisms. I bear no grouse with any of the ethnic groups nor the nation’s primary religions, but I remain unfazed by the juxtaposition of growing crises alongside an unnerving optimism fuelled by faith-based aphorisms bordering on naïveté. Although the biblical account of Israel and the promised land is often referenced, God only helps those who help themselves, after all. I believe a good degree of the country’s systemic issues relating to governance would be greatly addressed through established secularism, but perhaps that is a piece for another day.
We have historically found it quite easy to compartmentalise: we bask in the delight of the end-of-year festivities and overlook the colossal obstacles at our forefront. However, for how much longer? Although often used colloquially during payment processing, I believe the question “savings or current?” is especially pertinent given our immediate standing. Are we comfortable relying on our psychological reserves of optimism and wishful thinking? Rather, should we be? Perhaps we do the uncomfortable but necessary task of addressing things currently without sugarcoating. It appears time is running out for the country, its economy, its leaders, and we the citizens.
The Big Mac index was invented by The Economist magazine in 1986 as a lighthearted instrument to gauge the performance of country’s currencies. Similar to the Big Mac Index is the Starbucks Index using the price of a cup of coffee. Both are loosely based on the concept of ‘purchasing power parity’ by Gustav Cassel which equalises the prices of an identical ‘basket of goods’ in different countries. In this case, both indices work as McDonalds and Starbucks operate in roughly 120 countries. Sadly, Nigeria is not one of them. Nonetheless, I believe the principle underscoring this concept can been useful regarding the Nigerian Naira (NGN). In a country with massive economic inequality, it is difficult to find items similar to the Starbucks coffee or McDonalds Big Mac which are consumed across the board. However, I believe shawarma is relatively applicable — as is enjoyed whether sold in Ikoyi or Abule Egba.
Over a year ago, the average price of a modest shawarma (chicken and one sausage, not two) would range between N1,000-N1,500. Imagine my surprise as I returned to a price list beginning at N3,000. Nigeria’s inflation has been higher than the average for African and Sub-Saharan countries for years now with the most recent data suggesting over 26%. In simpler terms, the cost of 2 shawarmas over a year ago is the cost of 1 now. One does not require a formal knowledge of macroeconomics to be afraid panicked.
It doesn’t end there. We are aware that a weaker currency may lead to higher inflation by increasing the cost of imported goods, whereas a stronger currency can help keep import prices lower, potentially limiting inflationary pressures. Ours is unfortunately a case of the former, to the extent whereby the high import prices has led to the mass importation of counterfeit items. Towards the end of the 2023, an exposé revealed the counterfeit versions of numerous products which were being imported, spanning from alcohol and canned foods to over-the-counter medicines and contraceptives. Notably, the collective response to the unraveling of this information was humour-filled commentary. The feeds, timelines and group texts in the days which followed consisted of witty memes and clever wordplay regarding the influx of unsanctioned, potentially harmful items. Once again, yet another opportunity to distract and compartmentalise instead of considering the grave consequences of a situation as it unfolds.
If history is any indication of the future, the path ahead of us seems bleak. As the frequently referenced Einstein saying goes, insanity is doing the same thing repeatedly and expecting a different outcome. Likewise, complicity is doing nothing and expecting a different outcome. How much longer can religious leaders continue the banal messaging of “a God of justice” and “pray for our leaders” in creating false hope for the hundreds of millions of Nigerians anxious about the country’s future? How much longer should citizens remain comfortable teetering back-and-forth between rage-filled dissatisfaction and myopic dissonance at a series of government administrations with a consistent disregard for their wellbeing?
I recognise that no country is perfect. I realise our history riddled with a colonial past has affected our ability to make progress. Yet, a progressive decline on multiple fronts over a decade is a cause for concern, especially as neighbouring countries such as Kenya, Ethiopia and Rwanda are set to surpass our political, economic and social standing. I worry we collectively find ourselves carried away by being the ‘coolest’ nation, and rightfully so, we’re not known as the giants of Africa for nothing. Our global feats across technology, entertainment, science and academia speak for themselves. However, what’s the point in any of these if the country itself worsens?
I do not believe we earned a ‘Detty December’ last year, nor do I believe we deserve one this year and the years to come until we get things back on track. Our unrelenting jollity is admirable, but I believe a brief period of solemnness derived of Shallipopistic crooning may serve us well — both leaders and citizens. The country don cast.
I may be considered pessimistic for my views regarding the nation’s future, but I rather pessimism than a baseless optimism, or even worse: a naïveté fuelled by dissonance.
P.S. This post has been a draft since my last day in Lagos after being hoodwinked by some mischievous LASTMA wardens. I admittedly hesitated as I wondered whether or not such a piece was necessary. I must confess, perhaps this was an attempt on my part to avoid the blend of emotions I feel towards the country and its potentially dismal future.
P.P.S. This changed as I had dinner with a few friends from boarding school two nights ago, as the four of us – two optimists, and two fatalists – engaged in a fervid discussion which has informed this entire piece. We concluded with a $1,000 bet: the country will experience unparalleled growth over the next 8 years. For the first time ever, I bet against my own country; I surely hope to be proven wrong.
Thanks to Iyin Asekun, Debo Adewole, and Deinde Abimbola for reading drafts of this.
Amongst many other things, Nigerians are known for our aphoristic wisdom and profound colloquialisms. There are some I prefer, and others which I abhor.
In particular, there’s a certain Nigerian saying which grinds my gears: “I can’t kill myself”. The saying is not new, but has become more popular since the compounding economic issues facing the country, and the subsequent release of the Timaya track with the same titular phrase. Correlation? Perhaps.
The saying has two meanings, both of which are equally contentious.
If taken metaphorically, it has some stoic undertones which stress the importance of knowing one’s limits (a la locus of control) and maintaining a phlegmatic outlook. We may have taken this part too far.
The more literal interpretation of the phrase suggests that suicide is wrong, not an option, and ultimately not worth it.
Where I’m from, suicide is taboo. In fact, taboo may be putting it lightly. This is unsurprising, especially within a culture ridden with guilt, shame, and judgement – as the three intersect in typical fashion. Previously, I was of the view that the stigma was peculiar to Nigerian society or religious circles. In the years since, I’ve realised that the stigma is far more ubiquitous and extends beyond a certain culture or geography. What’s worse? The stigmas exist universally and under the guise of understanding, awareness and faux-compassion.
I am not nearly as fussed about the array of pitfalls plaguing Nigeria’s socioeconomic landscape, nor about the lyrical nuances behind Timaya’s popular tune. But, my grouse is with the frivolous and thoughtless language surrounding suicide time and time again. September is Suicide Prevention Awareness Month. This year's theme is 'changing the narrative on suicide', hence writing this felt extremely necessary.
A fleeting thought about ending one’s life is something that everyone has probably experienced at some point. According to Samaritans, 1 in 5 individuals have had thoughts of ending their lives. The reasons why people end their lives are numerous, complex, and ultimately not my focus.
At the same time, I will not attempt to generalise or simplify, as suicide is an extremely complex concept to grasp and subsequently address. That being said, there is help available, and I have attached this list of helplines provided by the MIND Charity.
Earlier this year, I began thinking about the etymology of 'suicide' as a potential lever behind its widespread stigma. I learned that the word 'suicide' comes from the Latin suicidium: sui ("of oneself") and caedere ("to kill"). Interestingly, suicide only became used in the English language in the mid-17th century.
According to the Chronological English Dictionary, the word ‘suicide’ appeared in 1651, thereby replacing earlier expressions like 'self-murder.' Suicide had become established as noun and verb by the mid-18th century and was recognised by inclusion in Johnson's Dictionary. In An Etymological Dictionary of the English Language, Walter William Skeat (1882) suggests that the term 'suicide' has origins in the words suicist and suicism, both indicating selfishness, despite being coined (and used) at an earlier date.
I would like to believe it is clear that these earlier definitions are evidently quite problematic. Today, the term 'suicide' has false associations of despair, futility, and failure with ending one’s life.
In the months since, I have developed one conclusion: the stigma exists primarily due to its etymology, AND is subsequently perpetuated by the conventional language surrounding the ‘S word' itself.
Catherine Ruff's The complexity of Roman suicide (1974) provided some useful perspectives on suicide during the era in which Stoicism was birthed. At first glance, Stoicism appears at odds with suicide: it teaches unrelenting resilience and the importance of enduring hardships with dignity. For those unfamiliar with Stoicism, I would suggest briefly reading about the following concepts embodied by the Stoics: virtue, locus of control, apatheia and sympatheia.
Ironically, Zeno, the founder of Stoicism, strangled himself to death.
Ruff posits that condemnation of suicide was virtually impossible without a standard usage. As a result, the philosophers, particularly the Stoics and Epicureans, and even St. Augustine had no 'carte blanche' condemnation of the act.
Similarly, historical literature has depicted self-inflicted deaths without stigma, and in some instances, as acts of heroism. Some examples include Saul, Ophelia and Pyramus & Thisbe (which inspired Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet). Alongside these, the self-inflicted deaths of Cato the Younger, Socrates, Brutus, Cassius, and Mark Antony were also viewed as acts of martyrdom.
Throughout history, attitudes toward suicide as a crime have varied significantly. In Ancient Rome, it was viewed as an offence against the state. During the Medieval Europe period, it was condemned as a sin, resulting in severe penalties like property confiscation and denied burial rights. In 19th Century England, it was decriminalised in 1823, although attempting suicide remained a crime until 1961. Today, while suicide itself is generally not a crime, it continues to be treated with resounding stigma.
Andreas Bähr (2013) highlights the slow, eventual transformation of the social stigmatisation of 'suicide' and 'self-murder' as separate but closely linked concepts. For Bähr, these criticisms have not waned despite the abolition of criminal sanctions, but have instead become more moral condemnations rather than religious ones.
So far, we've established that people ended their own lives for centuries before 'the S word' became commonly used in the English language, but the stigma surrounding the act has since transformed.
Back to the present day.
The stigma in question has primarily involved whether ending one's life is purely 'wrong', or perhaps understandable in some cases. Rarely, if ever, has it been widely accepted, nor do I expect that to [ever] be the case.
Yet, as Bähr posited, the stigma has simply transformed. At first glance, it is easy to attribute this to the increased conversations surrounding mental health, mental illness and suicide, which have enabled greater compassion for a universal sensation: the want to end one's life.
Instead, the stigma remains as a replica of its origin, albeit now beneath a veil of faux-compassion. We're more understanding, and for the most part, we simply find it unfortunate and recognise it as a tragedy. On the surface, we're understanding of the fact that a) people end their lives, b) it is often due to a range of reasons, and c) it is often as a last resort.
Yet, I find the sentiments surrounding hope, optimism, and effort regarding suicide prevention extremely condescending.
To clarify, the purpose of suicide prevention is self-explanatory, and I agree with its premise. However, my contention involves the rhetoric used to prevent this. In my opinion, 'Suicide Prevention Day' amplifies earlier attitudes enabled by the language used around the term. In particular, I believe its etymology and current rhetoric have fed into perceptions of suicide as selfish, irrational or wrong. I believe the reasons for a lot of these attitudes are due to the language being used.
The '-cide' suffix in suicide is on par with homicide, infanticide, and genocide. If we're agreeing with the linguistic determinists, it is easy to see why a stigma exists.
I believe this is essentially due to language transmission – in how the word has lasted centuries – and the sociological beliefs and attitudes embedded within its generational use. The Sapir-Whorf Hypothesis suggests that the language used by a group influences or shapes their thoughts, perceptions, and worldview. It argues that language is not just a tool for communication but also shapes how individuals understand and experience reality.
Many people perceive suicide as 'giving up' or 'ending one's future' often while connoting that those ending their lives – or even contemplating ending their lives – are unable to find enjoyment and/or purpose.
I would like to believe this is not done maliciously, but it is misinformed nonetheless.
Most of these individuals have immediate or proximal goals, meaningful self-awareness, engaging hobbies/interests, and loved ones. Yet, a lot of the language surrounding prevention involves acute cases, where those uninformed may imagine the individuals have perhaps 'forgotten' or 'lost sight of' the goals, purpose, self-awareness, and other fodder for ostensible optimism. While there are more acute cases than chronic, suicide is at its core very complex, thus efforts at its prevention cannot should not be oversimplified.
There are ways to effectively provide support and achieve prevention without condescension or infantilising. Research has consistently revealed that these approaches are disproportionately more effective than hyper-optimistic rhetorics which are actually often riddled with hidden judgement.
In the spirit of 2024's theme, I am glad more organisations are making efforts to rewrite the narrative surrounding suicide. In recent years, people have tried to improve this by changing the phrase 'committed suicide' to 'died by suicide'. Interestingly, although this draws attention to my overarching point, I believe it falls short. Why? If I am told someone 'died by suicide', this still connotes self-murder and enables the regressive and problematic linguistic determinism. The term itself is still harmful, and any efforts to rewrite the narrative and reframe the stigma should begin with a completely new term.
It’s important to note that this would not be the first time a clinical term has been amended after years of usage. Gender identity disorder is now known as gender dysphoria; what was once known as Asperger's syndrome is now recognised as high-functioning autism. Society is constantly evolving, and our language has historically evolved alongside it to either accommodate contemporary viewpoints, or to provide deserved respect to a group in society. In this same way, I feel any supposed efforts at suicide prevention and reframing the stigma will be marginally effective without changing the language used.
I had been sitting on this for months, in part to formulate a concrete argument, and in part to generate a new term. During this period, it was important to remember that the act of taking one's life predated the word 'suicide' itself.
That being said, I believe 'self-inflicted death' would be a far more appropriate term devoid of blame and judgement. In particular, 'self-inflicted death' ensures a preservation of autonomy which I believe could contrast the condescension present within current narratives. Additionally, perhaps this would also remove the peripheral stigmas linked to voluntary assisted dying and assisted suicide.
To round off, struggling with thoughts of self-inflicted death can be incredibly difficult. In proposing a new term, I have a few hopes.
Self-inflicted death is one of the leading causes of death among young people, and if a simple linguistic change could save lives, we should act immediately.
Thanks to Tare Ebimami and Ama Momah for reading drafts of this.
Afrobeats has grown exponentially in the decades since its origin. Multiple artists sell out arenas globally, the genre consistently garners billions of streams each year, and the Recording Academy recently created a new category specifically for African music.
However, Afrobeats has changed significantly, leaving most long-time listeners of the genre with mixed feelings about this. Why? Afrobeats is quite personal to our culture, and the trade-off between authenticity and commercialisation feels antinomical. The evolution of any genre is inevitable, but this becomes trickier once it becomes a trade-off between authenticity and mainstream appeal. I'm not surprised by this and I'm sure others aren't either. Nigerian culture has generally become more popular over the last two decades, with our film, cuisine, and art gaining traction in global spaces.
Therefore, it makes sense that Afrobeats follows suit within the ongoing globalisation of Nigerian culture. Although this increased exposure should be a good thing, I remain skeptical.
The globalisation of Afrobeats should be a good thing. Our artists are more able than ever to achieve market-fit due to this increased recognition, playing a critical role in cementing our positioning as the 'cool kids' of Africa. However, it is worth noting that this rapid growth was not serendipitous or purely random.
For the longest time, the core lever for Afrobeats' commercialisation has been through features and collaborations with other artists. On the surface, it's a seemingly innocent 'quid pro quo' which promises growth for both parties. Instead, I feel it's been an exploitative dynamic akin to the resource extraction observed in former colonial states. We could discuss the symbolism of Wizkid's 'collaboration' with Drake on One Dance, where his oice can barely be heard. Or, perhaps Beyoncé's The Gift which featured primarily Afrobeats artists and yet included no African countries on the tour.
One could argue that the tables seem to have turned, as we now see many Afrobeats artists featuring foreign artists on their own projects. Case in point: global acts like Justin Bieber, Nicki Minaj, and Chris Brown have been featured on multiple Afrobeats projects over the last 5 years. However, I believe the initial quid pro quo stands, but we falsely believe we're in the driver's seat. Afrobeats is trendy, and this time it conveniently benefits the foreign (primarily American) artistes to be featured within the genre, instead of vice versa.
I am not as concerned about all aspects of Nigerian culture losing their authenticity. In many cases, some degree of cultural synthesis can be beneficial. Nollywood could benefit from raising its standard to match the production quality of its counterparts. Likewise, I've long dreamt of a Nigerian-fusion dishes which are finally becoming possible through increased exposure. However, I am primarily skeptical regarding the influence of cultural convergence with Afrobeats due to the propensity for its assetisation.
Assetisation is a key aspect of technoscientific capitalism wherein non-financial mediums are transformed into financial assets which holds value in the market. According to Kean Birch, assetisation supersedes commodification, as the former involves ownership whereas the latter allows for investments and subsequent returns. Therefore, the newly-converted asset becomes a mechanism which can be controlled, traded, and capitalised through the revenue stream.
Many art forms have been commodified for centuries, and music is no different. However, music has become easier to assetise due to its low barrier to entry for consumption and increased accessibility through digital streaming services. We've seen this happen through increased vehicles for investment within the music industry, primarily through the artists' catalogues and royalties. Over time, the artists' output becomes the means for rent extraction, both in the short- and long-run. This isn't inherently problematic, as the process is voluntary and requires artists' consent and the artists stand a chance to benefit.
The music industry has established a clear pattern when it comes to artists' rights and ownership. Artists typically sell the rights to their original recordings (the 'masters') to companies, granting them ownership over these recordings. These companies can then monetise them through streaming, licensing, or further sales to other entities. While artists receive either upfront payments or future profit shares, these deals effectively transfer the long-term earning potential to corporate entities. Hipgnosis, a Blackstone-owned music rights investment and management company, is a key player in this trend and regularly purchases notable artists' catalogues notable catalogues. By doing so, the company generates income from their royalties and licensing, driven by the value of the masters; they've acquired artists like Shakira and Justin Bieber's catalogues for $100m and $200m respectively.
My concerns regarding Afrobeats deepen with the influx of labels such as UMG, Atlantic, DefJam and Warner Music which have all signed, partnered with, or acquired Nigerian record labels or artists. Given Afrobeats' growing global popularity, and Africa's increasing recognition as an emerging market in terms of technology and culture, I wouldn't be surprised to see artists like Rema or Burna Boy sell their catalogues over the next 7-10 years.
The discourse around artists selling their masters is complex enough in most cases. However, it becomes more significant in cases where music transcends mere entertainment. For many of our artists, global success represents far more than growth, but the shattering of barriers and the creation of pathways for future stars. It signals a bold representation of our country, despite its tumultuous past and seemingly bleak future. Even though Fela partnered with labels such as EMI and MCA, he would be rolling in his grave if he saw our artists signing away ownership of their catalogs. I'm aware this hasn't happened yet, but it looms on the horizon.
Altering our sound for mass appeal is bittersweet in itself, but signing away ownership of our music raises profound questions about who truly owns our culture. While the financial incentives are evident and enticing, the artists are obliged to hold onto what we can still call ours.
The stakes are fundamentally different for our artists compared to their British or American counterparts who might sell their masters to these same companies. We must remember that this isn't a level playing field, and the rules which apply to our global counterparts carry different implications for us. Lest we forget, these were our literal masters less than a century ago, and the word means something very different to our people. The word carries a weight of history that we cannot ignore.
The next few years will be crucial in determining whether Afrobeats can maintain its cultural integrity while achieving global success. As more foreign labels and investment vehicles turn their attention to African music, our artists face increasingly complex choices about ownership and control. We can already see the warning signs and must therefore act quickly. Without considering these developments now, we might wake up one day to find that Afrobeats, like many African resources before it, has become another asset to be extracted, packaged, and sold back to us.
Thanks to Buomie Oruene and Toni Adejuyigbe for reading multiple drafts of this.
If I were to ask you to explain the opposite of hard work, you would likely say 'idleness', 'laziness' or some similar concept. It's easy to see why:
Hard work = prolonged time spent exerting intense effort on a task which requires significant energy expenditure.
Whereas,
Idleness = prolonged time spent exerting little/no effort on nothing productive which requires little energy expenditure.
The ways in which we measure the quality of work involve the action of working, and not its output. In reality, the opposite of hardwork is 'busywork'.
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Back in school, those viewed as hard-workers were those who spent a lot of time — quite visibly, might I add — doing work, thinking about doing work, talking about doing work, etc. Luckily for them, they often got a way with it by coincidentally producing results to match up with the production value.
I'm sure this was not exclusive to us, and I'm certain every school, workplace, or team likely has a handful of people who spend a lot of time trying to look busy. For the longest time, this approach has led us to believe the key to generating impressive work involved being perceived as busy — hence the 'working hard/hardly working' paradigm. The idea here is hard work looks impressive, and we all like to look, feel, and seem impressive.
I would much rather be idle and willingly lazy than seem or appear busy. With the former, I'm self-aware of my slothish and sluggish state. With the latter, I'm merely pretending for others, and the output of my faux-work will eventually speak for itself. Yet, I think we have a tendency for the former because that's what we've seen, that's what we know and that's what has been lauded. This very concept is the lifeblood of the corporate world.
I think the opposite of hard work is busy work, and frankly both are pretty useless. I say this for two reasons. First, busy work is appearing to do hard work, and hard work is appearing to do impressive work...it's all quite meta. Second, busy work is actually pretty easy to do, ergo easy work is the obvious opposite of hard work.
Hardwork may be suboptimal productivity, but busywork is largely false productivity. If there's one way to tell the difference between the two, note how people talk about their work. Why? Because hardwork does often generate some tangible output, but busywork only generates excuses bullshit. If you pay attention enough, the difference is clear. Ororo ≠ olive oil.
I've seen busywork first-hand at work and university, and I've done busywork myself with ventures. It seems more impressive to tell everyone you're going to be at the library for 10 hours; it is more impressive to do solid work and get tangible results. It seems more impressive to post about your startup; it is more impressive to have users, and ideally revenue.
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Busywork is much easier to do, because it feels better than laziness, but is equally as unproductive in terms of output. By, and large, results are the most important thing.
These days, I think the quality of one's work would speak for itself vs the 'grind' involved. If anything, it's pretty based to get shit done without as much of a fuss. That is actually impressive, and I respect those who are able to just get it done. These days, the value is in keeping your head down and getting useful work in.
TL;DR:
Smart work > hard work > busy work
I've been powerlifting for a little over two years now. Powerlifting is, at its core, about lifting the heaviest weight on a barbell across three lifts. Beyond this, I've found it builds as much mental strength as it does physical.
Of the various concepts and principles in the sport, I've found block periodisation to be the most helpful. Block periodisation is a way of structuring training phases depending on an individual's proximal goals. Modern block periodisation divides training into three timeframes: microcycles, mesocycles, and macrocycles. The structure of each timeframe may vary depending on whether one is preparing to compete or focused on building skill & addressing weak points.
Over the last year I've made it a point to periodise my life and my commitments. This could mean prioritising one aspect of my life at a time, or lowering my intensity to prepare for a time when I need to be more intense. As someone prone to burnout, it's been extremely vital to view things this way.
Periodising my life has also helped with balancing myopia broader-term thinking. A lot of us are prone to either focusing on the short-term, or a fixation on the long-term. Rather than view things as either, there's something about paying greater attention to each day, with an awareness that these will comprise the weeks, months and years in the future.
I've been working on a series called 'Barbell Philosophy' where I describe the copious mental benefits of pivoting, tapering, peaking and deloading beyond powerlifting. I hope to release this one day – provided I can get around to finishing it.