What Can’t Be Hacked

A few weeks ago, I was in Chicago. I like waterfront runs, so I followed the river east toward the lake. It was early, warm, and quiet. The streets were empty except for a few other runners and delivery trucks starting their routes. The water was calm, the air still. The city felt half-awake, balanced between night and day.

Then I saw him.

A man was running toward me, phone strapped to his arm, earbuds in, his mouth moving between sharp breaths. At first I thought he was listening to something, but as I got closer, I realized he was talking.

He was on a call.

I recognized the tone right away. He was a sales leader running a funnel review at six in the morning. I could hear the words as I passed: pipeline, conversion, renewal, close rate.

The people on the other end of that call were probably sitting at home with their coffee, listening to their boss gasp between sentences. I could almost feel their eye rolls through the air.

What an asshole, I thought.

Then, almost immediately, Maybe I used to sound like that.

He’d probably read a productivity hack somewhere, one of those articles that promises you can have it all. The morning run. The leadership call. The perfect balance of health, ambition, and efficiency. But what he was really doing was being bad at three things at once.

He wasn’t present enough to enjoy a peaceful morning by the water. He wasn’t breathing well enough to train properly. And he wasn’t leading particularly well either.

I decided to let it go. Maybe he was just having a busy week. Maybe it was a one-off.

Until the next morning.

Same time. Same place. Same man. Still running, still talking, still chasing the illusion that presence can be divided and performance multiplied.

In Taoist practice, the third eye isn’t about mysticism or visions. It’s awareness, the ability to stand inside the moment instead of outside of it. It’s focus, the capacity to give yourself fully to one thing. And it’s self-knowledge, the willingness to see yourself as others might, without defense or pride.

That morning, this man’s “hack” blinded all three. He was doing everything at once but present for none of it. Running fast, talking louder, mistaking motion for mastery. If I was annoyed, I could only imagine his team. They were probably all scanning LinkedIn for a new job.

Our culture celebrates motion more than meaning. We want shortcuts for everything: growth, mastery, peace. But the Tao moves at the pace of nature, slow, patient, indifferent to our schedules.

Real transformation doesn’t come from optimization. It comes from rhythm, repetition, and the quiet endurance of honest effort.

He thought he was saving time. What he was really losing was the only thing time ever gives us: awareness.

Maybe that’s why I noticed him. Because I’ve been that man. Running fast, talking loud, mistaking noise for progress.

The river kept flowing beside me, quiet and unhurried, carrying everything forward without trying.