Ye Olde Life Hacks

Let me be clear: I do NOT want to return to the eighteenth century. It was a sexist, racist, dangerous, smelly place. Cutting-edge medicine consisted of procedures such as the tobacco-smoke enema. This was where your doctor would blow smoke up your ass. Literally. It was supposed to cure stomachaches and sundry other ailments.*  

So, on the whole, the good old days were not so good. 

That said, we shouldn’t throw the baby out with the cold, dirty eighteenth-century bathwater. There’s still wisdom to be gained from how previous generations thought and lived. Ye olde life hacks, as I call them.  

I recently wrote a book in which I tried to figure out the original meaning of the Constitution. It’s called The Year of Living Constitutionally (fun fact: It’s one of Amazon’s “best books of 2024 so far”). And as the book’s title implies, I went all in. I interviewed dozens of historians and law professors, but I also attempted to walk a mile in the buckled shoes of the Founding Fathers. I tried to live for an entire year as they did — or as much as possible in twenty-first-century New York City. 

I swore off social media and wrote pamphlets with a goose quill pen. I carried an eighteenth-century musket around the Upper West Side. I rocked a tricorne hat. I quartered a soldier for several days in our apartment, much to the consternation of my wife, Julie (though she does acknowledge that he was a polite and tidy soldier).

The experiment was absurd at times, as all my experiments have been. But I believe my year of living constitutionally led me to some profound insights, which is my ultimate goal in doing these projects.

Here are three revelations: 

1. CHANGE YOUR MIND ABOUT CHANGING YOUR MIND 

My favorite Founding Father is Ben Franklin. He had his flaws, as did all the Founders (he was a lousy husband, for one thing). But Ben Franklin also had so many admirable qualities: He was insatiably curious, he was a committed abolitionist at the end of his life, and he preferred searching for solutions and reforms over complaining about the sad state of the world. Plus, he wasn’t above a fart joke. In fact, he wrote an entire essay called Fart Proudly.**

One thing I especially love about Ben Franklin: He knew he didn’t have all the answers. He was open to changing his mind. He was a flexible thinker. At the constitutional convention, he made a plea for epistemic humility. He said that the older he gets, the less certain he is of his own opinions. 

At the convention, Ben Franklin told a little parable - a jest - about a French lady. Here’s the boiled-down version: 

There was a French lady who said to her sister, “It’s so strange. Why am I the only person I’ve ever met who is correct on every single issue?” 

Franklin’s point was: We are all that French lady. We all think we have a monopoly on truth. I fall into this trap often. It’s so easy, especially now. We’re committed to our tribes, no matter what the issue. Changing your mind is seen as a weakness. What are you, a spineless flip-flopper? But in my humble opinion, evolving your thoughts is a badge of honor. We should all look at the data, weigh the pros and cons, try to adopt the 30,000-foot view, and be open to new solutions and perspectives.

The Founders were much better than today’s politicians and citizens at evolving their thinking. James Madison changed his mind on all sorts of crucial issues. In fact, the very last thing Madison did on planet Earth was change his mind. (The story goes: On his deathbed, Madison made an odd facial expression. His niece asked him what was the matter. He replied: “Nothing more than a change of mind, my dear.” And then he died. What did he change his mind about? The viability of a bi-cameral legislature? The bedroom wallpaper? We’ll never know. The important thing is that his mind was flexible right to his last moment). 

Just like the French lady, I often think I’ve got all the answers. I have to remind myself I’m frequently wrong. I try to ask myself, “What evidence would change my mind?” And then look for evidence that both supports and contradicts my beliefs. I’ve changed my mind about all sorts of things recently: How the Supreme Court should be structured, whether it’s acceptable for men to dye their graying hair, pickleball, what constraints we need on the presidency. I think we need to have flexible minds to keep our democracy. Though, of course, I could be wrong. 

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2. WRITE OFFLINE  

I wrote much of my book — and the first draft of this post — with a goose quill and ink. There are downsides to writing with a quill. I’m a literal ink-stained wretch (my fingertips are the color of coal). My wife, Julie, hates the nails-on-the-chalkboard squeak of the pen as it makes its way across the page. (Sorry, Julie) 

But there are huge upsides, too. Writing longhand changes the way my brain works. It’s so peaceful - no dings or chimes or pop-ups to distract me. It allows me to go deeper, to delve into the nuances. It’s the opposite of tapping out some acronyms and angry-face emojis and pressing send. 

I believe this world needs fewer hot takes and more cold takes. Going offline to write and think deeply is a crucial part of that. We are firehosed with sixteen hours of negative news on our devices, and we don’t have time to process, digest, and figure out context and solutions. Instead, we are enraged, and then we immediately engage.

During my year, I spent a lot of time writing actual letters, the kind you put in a paper envelope. It was so helpful, so clarifying. Writing a letter is like having a waiting period for your thoughts. Sometimes, the next day, I’d reread an angry letter I was on the verge of sending, and be shocked at my thin skin.

I’m not a Luddite. I don’t believe we all have to return to writing with a quill. But I do believe we need to think and write offline. It could be as simple as using software that disconnects you from the Internet for a couple of hours each day. I’ve also turned off news alerts on my phone. Ben Franklin’s newspaper came out twice a week. That allowed early Americans to read the news and digest it. Twice a week is a bit extreme. But limiting your news intake to an hour-long stretch per day? That I like.

And, of course, I’m a fan of balancing the news with books that take the long view of history. And of having in-depth discussions with friends. And of subscribing to high-quality Substacks. 

3. BE GRATEFUL FOR ELASTIC SOCKS 

My year of living constitutionally made me grateful for so many things. It reminded me to be grateful for democracy and the glorious First Amendment. Also, elastic socks. 

I’ll get to the socks in a moment, but a quick word on gratitude. As some of you might know, I’m a huge fan of this emotion. We’ve got a lot of daunting problems in this world. But that should not blind us to the fact that humans have made progress in many areas — life expectancy, global poverty rates, and medical attitudes toward tobacco enemas, among them.

I think it’s important to acknowledge the progress so that we’re motivated to continue trying to make the world better. If I’m grateful for the good things, it inspires me to want to ensure more good things happen. Otherwise, I spiral into nihilism and fatalism and we’re-all-going-to-hell-in-a-handbasket-ism.

A few years ago, I wrote a book in which I went around the world and thanked a thousand people who had anything to do with my morning cup of coffee. I thanked the barista, the farmers in South America, the truck driver who delivered the coffee beans, the cafe’s logo designer. I went a little overboard. I tried to thank Beyonce, because the truck driver told me that her music helped him stay awake during deliveries (I’m still waiting for Beyonce to return the call). As odd as the experiment could be at times, it was wonderful in many ways. The project flipped my perspective. I try to be grateful for the hundreds of things that go right every day, instead of focusing on the handful that go wrong. 

Okay, back to the socks. For my new book on the Constitution, I committed to the bit. As I mentioned, I wore my tricorne hat (my kids wouldn’t walk within fifty feet of me), my shoes, and my eighteenth-century-style wool stockings. The stockings had no elastic, so they would slide down my calves and form a little puddle around my ankles. So I did what our forebears did. I wore sock belts. They weren’t even garters, they were just tiny belts I had to strap around the top of my socks. Which I did every morning. I will never get back the combined hours that I spent putting on sock belts during my year. 

It’s a small thing, I know. But that’s the point: We take so many small things for granted. Like elastic socks. Noticing these small things, and being grateful for them, has made my life much better. 

And one last point on gratitude: I’m grateful to the readers and community members of this new and (I hope) improved newsletter. I’m having a great time with it. John Quincy Adams once said, “Gratitude . . . when it takes possession of the bosom, fills the soul to overflowing and scarce leaves room for any other sentiment or thought.” 

My bosom is filled to overflowing with the “Experimental Living” community. Thank you!

A.J.

*This brings up the important question: Did the phrase ‘blow smoke up your ass’ have its origins with the tobacco smoke enema? I have spent way too much time Googling this very question, and it seems the answer is: Maybe. 

**The thesis of Franklin’s “Fart Proudly” essay was that humans should be able to improve the smell of flatulence with science. We can create a drug or potion to mix with our food that would make our farts smell like lavender or honeysuckle. It has yet to be done. But today, with gene-splicing, I think we can make Ben Franklin’s dream come true! I encourage young scientists to solve this societal ill.