Shooting for the Top by Way of the Middle

I’m probably late to the game on this, but I'm starting to think the top of the mountain is arbitrary

Throw some sixty-degree sunny days into a week, and immediately, the world becomes rose-colored. Sometimes, in weeks like this, when the weather cooperates, your trains are on time, and you hear more yes than no, you feel like you could live forever on the island of Manhattan. New York has a habit of suspending the inevitable.

Within this string of good days, I had a lot of good conversations that may lead to more good conversations (and maybe even past a conversation into the tangible), consumed some art, talked about relationships and obligations and honor and respect, and had a really fantastic meal at a restaurant called Fraedi in Fort Greene. My sister and I sat at the bar, walking in on a whim, looking for a quick bite before a seven-thirty play. A tiny restaurant with an even smaller kitchen, it felt like you had just pulled up to someone’s home and taken a seat at their kitchen counter after a long day of work. Which, in my opinion, is the deal restaurant vibe.

in layman’s terms, because I am a layman: a citrus salad and stuffed pasta in an anchovy garlic butter sauce

The food was delicious and friendly, another favorite combination of mine, and the people-watching was excellent. Toward the end of the meal, we got into a conversation with our waiter and one of the chefs (as our view at the bar stared directly into the open kitchen window) about how the Meyer lemon tart we ordered for dessert takes about 3 hours to create and bake, from start to finish, but the inception of the tart (and the beautiful pool of olive oil and cream on top) took about a week of late-night scribbles and multiple trials and errors. As my sister and I were gushing over the tart, the waiter was explaining that, in his opinion, what made it so good was the simplicity of it. Each ingredient shined through clearly and beautifully without requiring a long-winded explanation about specialty preparations or rare components. It was, simply, a well-thought-out, well-executed lemon tart. Potentially a lemon tart that other chefs would knock for its simplicity. "Sometimes," he said, "you're shooting for the top by way of the middle." When you go to a sandwich shop, you’re not always looking for someone to explain the provenance of the mozzarella or the sourdough that had been fermenting and passed down through three generations. You don’t always need to be blown away by complexity. A great tart is a great tart. A really good sandwich is a really good sandwich.

she’s a beauty, ain’t she

This, of course, started turning my gears. Not because I think complexity is bad - it’s always a pleasure to eat something, see something, or learn about something with many specific, detailed layers. Complexity is also passion (and I usually am the ideal audience appreciating the origin story about sourdough starter passed down through three generations). But there’s something to be said for this idea of the middle, not as a compromise or a stop along the way, but as a destination in itself.

What if getting to the top isn’t the point? When did the middle develop such a negative connotation? As I wrote about a bit in last week’s letter, and have been thinking about it since, life is not linear. We’re conditioned to think about success in terms of a linear trajectory—point A to point B, climb the ladder, reach the summit. What if this obsession with pushing higher, further, and better is just a well-dressed form of masochism? Life, especially in 2025, is not nearly as cut and dry as we were led to believe. Thirty is the new twenty, forty is the new thirty, and a washer/dryer in-unit is the new five-bedroom house.

It’s a strange thing, realizing that the expectations you once had for yourself might not even apply anymore. That the metrics we’ve been using to define “success” might be outdated. I was at dinner the other night with a friend who recently left a job that looked fantastic on paper: big title, big paycheck, the kind of thing that makes LinkedIn light up with unsolicited congratulations. But they were miserable. And now, in a job that pays less but doesn’t make them fantasize about throwing their laptop into the East River, they’re still grappling with guilt. Because we’ve been trained to see the “top” as the highest salary, the most prestigious title, and the most visible form of achievement. Not, say, the ability to wake up and not dread the next eight hours of your life. I want to make it clear that I’m not advocating for “giving up” or for mediocrity. There is a definite difference between doing something half-assed and doing something to the best of your ability without sacrificing everything to get there. Let us all remember that how we measure our lives is completely, completely arbitrary.

New York, in particular, messes with your perception of milestones. In most places, major life markers follow a semi-predictable script: get the house, get the job, get married, have a kid, and maybe acquire a car, outdoor furniture, and a grill. Here, success is hilariously different. It’s getting to JFK in under an hour. It’s scoring a last-minute reservation at a restaurant that books out months in advance. It’s seeing your friend in the wild and actually having time to stop and chat. It’s making just enough money that you don’t flinch every time you tap your credit card at Whole Foods. Life milestones are milestones regardless of when and where you’re hitting them.

And maybe that’s why the idea of “shooting for the top by way of the middle” stayed with me. Because the older I get, the more I think the real peak isn’t one singular summit but a series of well-placed footholds (or footholds you’re building in real-time), moments where things click into place, even for just a second. The meal that tastes exactly how you hoped it would. Sun on your face in a park. Watching your village grow together. Realizing that, although life doesn’t look like what you thought it would at this age, you’ve learned and experienced more than you ever thought was possible.

It’s not about lowering the bar. It’s about realizing that the middle might be the bar. That, despite what we’ve been told, fulfillment does not have to come from the things it is “supposed” to come from. Success does not equate to conquering the mountain. Success is however you decide to define it, whatever makes you happy and satisfied (and maybe success is simply figuring out what makes you happy and satisfied.) Wherever you decide to drop your tent and set up camp is exactly where you’re supposed to be. Enjoy the view or the ride, or whatever analogy you need that day. I’m on my way there if anyone wants to join me.