Every addiction, from substance abuse to overeating, is a gamble. The addict is constantly betting against disastrous consequences, whether it's health problems, relationship ruin, or death. This reframes addiction not just as a dependency but as a high-stakes game against oneself.
Perpetual activity—whether through work, art, or even literal running—can serve as a powerful mechanism to escape looking inward. For individuals struggling with self-loathing, staying in constant motion prevents the stillness required to confront painful feelings about themselves.
Instead of focusing on the immediate gratification of an addictive behavior, use logic to forecast its ultimate conclusion. By "playing the tape out," you force yourself to confront the inevitable negative outcome—be it personal ruin, health failure, or relationship destruction—making the initial impulse less appealing.
While other addictions are stigmatized, workaholism is often praised as ambition and dedication. This societal approval allows individuals to mask underlying issues like trauma or low self-worth, receiving positive reinforcement for behavior that is just as destructive as any other process addiction.
Winning provides a powerful but temporary high. However, for some gambling addicts, the intense emotional state of losing—and the accompanying shame and destruction—becomes the true addiction. This self-sabotage recreates familiar patterns of childhood trauma, making the pain of the bottom a sought-after feeling.
Beyond skill, craft, or technique, the defining quality of impactful art, products, or services is an invisible element: Did the person who made it truly care? This emotional investment creates a frequency that resonates with the audience on a soul level, separating masterful work from merely competent work.
People who live in their minds, applying logic to everything, often struggle with emotional and spiritual problems that logic can't solve. Creative pursuits like painting or music are not about rational thought; they are a direct path to accessing emotion and bridging the gap between the analytical mind and the feeling heart.
For individuals who have lived a life of chaos and extremes, the next level of growth and creativity isn't found by pushing further. Instead, it's discovered in the mundane and moderate—the "Palo Alto in my heart." Daring to be boring and mediocre allows for a different, more sustainable kind of brilliance to emerge.
Society constantly sends thousands of messages that you are "not enough." David Choe combats this by consciously brainwashing himself with positivity. He writes affirmations like "I am worthy" on his mirror with deodorant, using physical, daily reminders to internalize a new belief system and reclaim his self-worth.
When Facebook was a startup, Sean Parker hired David Choe not just to decorate, but to create art that would "scare investors." This strategy used raw, aggressive murals to establish an anti-corporate, punk-rock ethos, filtering for stakeholders who embraced a disruptive and unconventional culture from the start.
David Choe describes his brothers reading his private journal as a moment of ultimate betrayal and shame. He believes surviving this profound emotional exposure trained him for the constant rejection inherent in an artist's life, making him braver and less vulnerable to criticism of his creative work.
When David Choe started collecting Pokémon cards, he got a rare, high-value card in his first pack. He identifies this immediate, significant reward as the worst thing that could have happened, as it instantly validated the gamble and provided the dopamine hit needed to fuel a new, intense addiction.
Artist David Choe's mother brainwashed him into believing he was the world's greatest artist, despite his own low self-opinion. This unwavering, almost blind faith, acted as a powerful psychological foundation that he later consciously adopted, fueling his ambition and resilience against constant rejection.
David Choe posits that becoming an expert in disappointing your parents is a prerequisite for living an authentic life. Had he followed their prescribed path, he would have been a lawyer, not a world-renowned artist. This act of rebellion, while painful, is a necessary step to break from inherited values and define one's own.
Unable to trust himself, David Choe developed a system where he hired close friends to manage his process addictions. He gave them permission to physically intervene—punching him or dragging him away—if he exceeded pre-agreed limits on gambling or other compulsive behaviors, creating a hard-stop external control.