Most people chase big wins, the one killer decision that changes everything. But the quiet truth I’ve come to believe is that real progress, the kind that lasts decades, comes from stacking small edges over and over. Optimality compounds in ways that feel almost unfair once you see it in action.

It’s not about being perfect every day. Nobody can do that. It’s about being just a little better than average, consistently, in the areas that actually move the needle.

Take health. Going from sedentary to walking 30 minutes most days isn’t sexy. But do that for a year and your baseline energy shifts. Do it for five years and your risk profile for a dozen diseases drops noticeably. Add in sleeping a consistent 8 hours instead of 6, eating mostly whole foods instead of processed junk, and lifting weights twice a week instead of never. None of these choices feel optimal in isolation. Together, over time, they create a version of you that the younger you would barely recognize.

Money works the same. Saving 10 percent of your income feels tight at first. But if you bump it to 20 percent early, invest simply in broad indexes, and never sell in panic, the math takes over. That small gap between spending everything and living slightly below your means turns into freedom in your 40s or 50s. The people who retire rich rarely hit home runs. They just avoided striking out and kept putting money to work a little better than most.

Even relationships. Showing up as a slightly better listener than average, remembering small details, responding instead of reacting. Tiny increments of thoughtfulness that don’t cost much but add up to trust that survives hard times.

The magic is in the compounding. One percent better sleep compounds into sharper thinking. Sharper thinking compounds into better decisions. Better decisions compound into more opportunities. It’s a flywheel that starts slow and then becomes almost impossible to stop.

The trap is that optimality feels boring in the moment. It’s choosing the salad when everyone else gets pizza, skipping the late-night scroll for an earlier bedtime, and saying no to the shiny new thing so you can keep investing in the boring old thing that works. Each individual choice barely registers. But miss enough of them and the reverse compounds: fatigue, debt, resentment, regret.

The people who end up with lives that look enviable from the outside usually didn’t make dramatically better single choices. They just made slightly better choices slightly more often and let time do the heavy lifting.

It’s unglamorous, but it’s real. Optimality doesn’t shout. It just keeps adding up until one day you look around and realize the gap between where you are and where you could have been is massive. All from small, repeated edges that anyone could have chosen, but few stick with long enough to see the payoff.