Our primary concern at ON Care is the pursuit of a good life, and personally, I don't have definitive answers. That's precisely why I continuously seek out and listen to anyone who might have insights worth considering, processing them thoughtfully, and sharing them. My background in philosophy and psychology reflects this quest. Within this context, striving for a healthy lifestyle naturally aligns with living a good life, though I acknowledge it's easier said than done.
A few weeks ago, I started meticulously tracking my diet: exact grams of protein, carbohydrates, and fats. Every ingredient weighed, every calorie counted, every macronutrient carefully balanced. At first, I felt a particular satisfaction from this precision—a comforting sense of total control. Gradually, however, I noticed how this meticulous monitoring began to consume my days. Preparing a simple meal became a process that took three times longer than usual. My life, instead of simplifying, became overwhelming.
This personal experience led me to reflect on the broader cultural phenomenon of biohacking—a subculture fascinated by the radical optimization of the body through exhaustive biological metrics tracking and the use of technology to enhance and modify its functions. From red light therapies aimed at enhancing mitochondrial function to sophisticated biological age tests and nootropic supplements designed to sharpen the mind, biohacking suggests that every aspect of our bodies can—and should—be constantly measured, controlled, and improved. For simple middle-class mortals like me, this obsession is not merely overwhelming, it borders on unattainable. If merely counting calories felt exhausting, I can hardly imagine the mental toll of living by every biomarker, protocol, and data point.
There is also another dimension of this culture—one that extends far beyond its niche—that captures my attention. Recently, I watched a video of a man using a wearable device to measure his stress levels in real-time. The screen changed color according to his stress: blue when he was calm, green when he reached an "optimal" state. Curiously, I observed how validation of his wellbeing came exclusively from the device, rather than his own internal perception. It reminded me of an old behaviorist joke: after having sex, one behaviorist says to the other, "I think you really enjoyed that, but what about me?", needing the other to confirm his own experience. The joke underscores the profound mistrust that certain scientific perspectives hold towards introspection and subjective experience.
Biohacking, in its eagerness for measurement and absolute control, seems to have fallen into a sort of digitalized behaviorism, where personal experience is less reliable than external data provided by devices. But what does this dependency imply? To what extent does it distance us from truly living a fulfilling life?
From a philosophical standpoint, Friedrich Nietzsche might help us better understand this paradox. Nietzsche distinguishes two human archetypes in his work "Thus Spoke Zarathustra": the Superman and the Last Man. The Superman is an individual who fully affirms life, embracing risk, uncertainty, and creativity. The Last Man, on the other hand, seeks only comfort, security, absence of risk—a long yet trivial life. Biohacking’s obsession with prolonging life, avoiding diseases, and eliminating any vulnerability seems closer to Nietzsche's Last Man, someone pursuing optimization without genuinely questioning the deeper purpose or meaning behind living longer or performing better cognitively.
Similarly, philosopher Byung-Chul Han provides another relevant critique. In his analysis of the "burnout society," Han argues we've transitioned from a disciplinary society based on prohibition ("You must not") to one founded upon voluntary and compulsive self-exploitation ("You can"). The contemporary subject has become an entrepreneur of themselves, caught in an endless race of self-improvement, productivity, and optimization. Paradoxically, the freedom to continually optimize oneself leads to burnout and superficiality, eliminating necessary spaces for introspection, contemplation, and genuine creativity.
Against this hyper-optimization culture, ON Care proposes an alternative vision. For us, health isn't merely the accumulation of optimal metrics but the natural consequence of living a good, integrated life. Diego expressed this clearly in his recent post: "If our target is health, medicine by itself is only a partial tool."
Science, while powerful, has significant epistemological limits. It can explain broadly how the body functions but not how to live each unique, singular, and deeply subjective life. ON Care’s clinical philosophy recognizes that each individual is irreproducible, with a personal history that conditions their wellbeing and choices. Merely "optimizing" numbers is insufficient; we must understand the personal meaning of what we do, feel, and experience.
From this perspective, eating healthily, exercising regularly, and taking care of our sleep are important practices. But what’s crucial isn't obsessively measuring these habits, but understanding how they integrate into a life filled with meaningful relationships, a sense of community, and spaces for wonder and wisdom. Ultimately, the good life is much more than avoiding disease or prolonging existence: it is consciously inhabiting each moment, deeply connecting with others, and living with purpose and joy.
Perhaps it's time to let go of our obsession with metrics and regain trust in our internal experience. Maybe we need fewer devices telling us how we feel and more moments of genuine introspection and human connection.
The next time you check your wearable to see if you’re stressed, try closing your eyes and simply asking yourself: How do I really feel? The answer might surprise you, and perhaps that’s the first step towards a truly healthy and fulfilling life.
