Dear Fellow Mortal,
Somewhere along the way the morning became a moral category.
There seems to be a trend toward thinking that the person who gets up at five, hydrates before caffeine, moves their body, journals, meditates, and reaches their desk before the rest of the world has opened its eyes is, implicitly, a better person than someone who doesn’t.
For instance, Andrew Huberman’s morning protocol—sunlight exposure, delayed caffeine, cold plunge, exercise, focused work before messages. It is the current gold standard of this genre. It is grounded in genuine neuroscience.
It is also, by my rough calculation, about three hours long. …
📮 Letters from a Mortal
Letters from a Mortal is a series of personal reflections on time, attention, virtue, and the art of living (and dying) well. The word ‘Mortal’ in the title is inspired by the Stoic practice of memento mori. … This series is exclusive to members.
Which raises an obvious question that almost nobody in the optimization space wants to ask: “What if it doesn’t actually matter that much?”
To be clear: I’m not here to argue with the science. The sunlight exposure is real. The delayed caffeine is real. A well-structured morning probably does make you sharper, calmer, and more focused. These are not nothing.
But the protocol carries a philosophy the neuroscience doesn’t support.
The quiet suggestion that the right conditions produce the right person. That your character is, at bottom, an optimization problem. That’s a category error. A flattering one, because it implies the problem is solvable with better architecture. But a category error nonetheless.
This is where Kant comes in—and I realize that sentence is not something most people expect to read in a newsletter about morning routines.
Immanuel Kant (1724–1804) spent his career asking a question the optimization industry has largely forgotten to ask: What actually makes something virtuous?
Not useful. Not effective. Not neurologically optimal.
Virtuous, in the philosophically serious sense.
His answer was simple to state and genuinely difficult to absorb: the only thing unconditionally good is a good will.
Not the action itself. Not the habit.
Not the carefully constructed conditions that make the habit possible.
The inner disposition from which action flows, the will, is the only thing that carries genuine moral worth.
Everything else is conditional.





