The magic of having less

When you reduce quantity, quality emerges.

May 17, 2026

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🏷️ Categories: Mental models, Minimalism.

For a long time, writing on Substack meant living with a frustration.

I tended to write too much, and that was a problem. Too much context, too many ideas, too many detours. And time and time again, I ran into the same Substack warning: the text was too long to be published. Substack wouldn’t let me expand with the full freedom I wanted to write with. There was a limit beyond which I simply couldn’t keep adding.

At first, this genuinely bothered me.

Because when we write, we tend to believe that depth of ideas and length of message are synonyms. That a longer text will be a more elaborate one, that more explanation equals more value… But that’s not always true.

Over time, I began to notice the opposite.

What I had perceived as an obstacle was actually improving my writing.

Having to condense a large amount of information into just a few lines forced me to sharpen my ideas. It taught me to distinguish between what was essential and what was secondary. It pushed me to say more with less. And little by little, I understood a truth that goes far beyond writing itself.

More is not always better.

We need a good limitation.

The power of limits

If someone asked you what you need to do your best work, you’d probably say something like:

More time.
More space.
More tools.
More peace to think.

We want more because we assume greater freedom leads to better results, but often the opposite happens: too many options scatter us. Because of the Donkey Paradox, freedom makes us less precise when deciding.

That’s exactly what I discovered while writing on Substack.

When I knew I couldn’t extend myself endlessly, an inevitable question appeared: Which part of all this truly matters?

That question changed the text completely.

Every sentence had to justify its existence, every idea needed a real reason to be there; otherwise, it would be mercilessly deleted. In that way, only the best survived, and with less quantity, there was more quality. I learned a valuable lesson: what makes a text strong is not its length.

It’s its density.

A limited life

The more I thought about this, the more evident it became that this idea didn’t only apply to writing.

It applied to living.

We tend to imagine a better life as a life with more of everything: more time, more money, more freedom, more tools, more possibilities, more things. We think abundance will solve our shortcomings, as if it were just a matter of quantity.

But it isn’t always so.

I’ve seen it in different areas of my life.

As a reader, for a long time I had an endless to-read list, but over time I traded quantity for density. I started trimming the list until only a few carefully chosen books remained. That restriction changed the way I read. I no longer read to accumulate books; I read to ensure each one is worthy of my time. The paradox: by reading less, I learned more.
When organizing my time, I used to think a “good day” was a day full of tasks done and boxes checked. Soon I discovered the opposite: that only left me tired and distracted. I started setting just six small goals a day at most and, paradoxically, I get more done and have more free time.
When traveling, I noticed I tended to fill my backpack with “just in case” items. By switching to a smaller backpack, I’ve had to choose wisely, and I’m surprised by how little I actually need. It helps me travel lighter, feel less tired, and pick only the essentials.
As someone who saves money, I started limiting my monthly budget. At first it felt like losing freedom, but the opposite happened. Having less margin forced me to use my budget efficiently and, paradoxically, I began living as comfortably—or even more comfortably—than before.

That’s the power of limiting yourself: clarity appears when possibilities shrink.

We love freedom and hate restrictions, but it’s not that simple. As you’ve seen, limitations push us to be more creative and search for better solutions to play well within those boundaries.

It’s a matter of density, of finding the most within the smallest space.