Never stop learning. Specifically, never stop learning how to write code.
Make your money make you money. First things first, though, and this is important: have money. (It’s best to be born with it, but you could also invent a computer or find gold doubloons in a big hole somewhere.)
Dress for the job you want, not the job you have. Because nothing beats editing an Excel spreadsheet while dressed like a Paul Newman-esque, sixties-era Hollywood star.
It’s never too late to start . . . monetizing your weekends with supplementary gig work.
Your career isn’t a sprint; it’s a marathon. A marathon that you have to sprint through or risk being overtaken by someone who started the race at mile twenty-six with a bulky Rolodex and a champagne flute full of P.E.D.-laced Gatorade.
Neither a borrower nor a lender be. Except immediately following a financial crisis, in which case borrow enough money to buy seven houses. I don’t care if it’s 2008 and you’re only twenty-two. You’re a landlord now.
Be a team player. Ideally, on the Chicago Bulls between 1991 and 1998.
Fake it till you make it. And then continue to fake it till you die, just like everyone else who’s made it.
Network, network, network. With people who make you want to puke, puke, puke.
Lead with passion. Whatever kind of work you end up doing, find ways to incorporate it into a greater mission. Do you use exploitative offshore manufacturing practices to produce fast-fashion scarves? Recontextualize that as some kind of social good. That way, your company isn’t “operating sweatshops in a developing country”; it’s “giving back to global communities in need by empowering women of all ages.”
Be true to yourself. But only once you’re well into your forties or fifties. Until then, accumulate wealth working in a morally ambiguous industry. Don’t pick an obvious baddie like Big Tobacco. You need plausible deniability with a long shelf life. Plenty of room for self-deception is key. If you surround yourself with enough people doing the same thing, it won’t feel ethically perverted. It will feel normal—inevitable, even. Distributed blame, banality of evil—how could all of these people be wrong? Look at Geoff. Geoff’s a good guy. He brought in Krispy Kreme for the team. You could work for a tech company as chief exploiting-children’s-immature-prefrontal-cortices officer, and just tell yourself that your role is all about “inspiring community.” Then, once you’ve hit middle age, when your stock options have vested and you own a house with a basketball court, you can manufacture a big ol’ epiphany. You can say, “Oh, wow, this is horrible,” and then spend the back half of your life railing against the industry that made you wealthy. Everyone loves a redemption story. They’ll celebrate you as a whistle-blower—a moral beacon. Remember, there’s no financial upside to being a good person from an early age. Cognitive dissonance is a tool. Use it to shut off parts of your psyche and activate others. When you watch “Succession” or “The Wolf of Wall Street,” you should be thinking, These are cool people. I want to live like this. This is how I would like to treat myself and others. Fundamentally misunderstanding movies and television is just part of being successful. We’re only a few hundred years out from our barbarous roots. This isn’t a rat race, it’s a death match. Hand washing Ziploc bags won’t solve climate change. No one else cares—why should you?
Become a fitness influencer. Honestly, the only way to stay fit into your thirties is to make it your literal job. ♦