The metal is so cold it feels like it’s biting into the pads of my thumb, a sharp, electric sting that travels up the arm and settles somewhere behind the collarbone. I click the ignition on the $107 plasma arc lighter again. Nothing. A faint, pathetic purple spark dances for a millisecond before the wind, which shouldn’t be able to kill an arc, snuffs it out like a bad idea. My fingers are moving with the grace of frozen sausages, thick and clumsy, fumbling with the waterproof match container. I’d spent 47 minutes hike-scrambling to this ridge, and now the temperature is dropping toward 27 degrees, and the ‘stormproof’ matches I bought because the packaging looked rugged are turning into damp mush against the striker strip. This is the moment where the marketing material dies and the reality of physics begins to take over. I am shaking, not just from the cold, but from the realization that I am one failed piece of technology away from a very long, very dangerous night.

Everything I have is ‘optimized.’ My pack is ultralight, my gear is multi-functional, and my ego is currently bruised by the fact that I am being defeated by a lack of fire. It’s funny how we worship at the altar of efficiency until the lights go out. We’ve been conditioned to think that carrying two of something is a sin against the holy ghost of ‘minimalism.’ If you have a backup, you’re clearly not trusting your primary gear, or you’re just carrying dead weight.

Redundancy is the only honest way to admit we are not in control.

The Illusion of Lean Systems

We live in a culture obsessed with ‘lean’ systems. Whether it’s Six Sigma manufacturing, just-in-time supply chains, or the way we pack our bug-out bags, the goal is always the same: eliminate waste. Any resource that isn’t being used right this second is viewed as a drain on the system. It’s the same logic that led me to explain cryptocurrency to my father-in-law last week-a move I deeply regret. I tried to explain that decentralization is a form of redundancy, but I ended up getting tangled in the technicality of 257-bit encryption and ‘gas fees.’

I realized mid-sentence that I had no idea how to actually retrieve my funds if the exchange I used suddenly vanished into the digital ether. I was relying on a singular point of failure while preaching the gospel of a ‘distributed’ future. I lost about $77 in transaction errors just trying to prove a point that I didn’t fully understand myself. It was a humbling reminder that complexity is the enemy of resilience. The more parts a system has, the more ways it has to break, and the less likely you are to have a backup that actually works when the primary fails.

Molecular Stability: The Chemical Analogy

“To a CFO, those extra chemicals are a line item that should be cut to save 1.7 cents per bottle. To Aiden S., those chemicals are the difference between a successful product and a 477-gallon toxic waste spill.”

– Aiden S., Sunscreen Formulator

Aiden S., a friend of mine who works as a sunscreen formulator, deals with this on a molecular level every day. We were grabbing a beer a few months back, and he was describing the nightmare of a 477-gallon batch of high-end SPF that wouldn’t emulsify. He told me that in the world of chemical stability, you never rely on a single preservative or a single stabilizing agent. If you do, a 7-degree shift in ambient temperature or a slightly off-spec batch of raw ingredients will ruin the entire run. He builds ‘redundant stability’ into every bottle. He uses secondary emulsifiers that don’t even do anything under normal conditions. They just sit there, ‘wasted space’ in the chemical formula, until the primary agent hits a snag. He understands that ‘efficiency’ is often just a fancy word for ‘fragility.’

This fragility is everywhere. Look at our power grids. We’ve moved toward ultra-efficient, interconnected systems that are brilliant at balancing loads-until a single tree branch falls on a line in Ohio and blacks out 47 million people. We’ve traded the ‘waste’ of local, isolated power generation for the ‘efficiency’ of a massive, singular network.

Defining Intelligent Overlap

I’m not suggesting we all walk around like pack mules, carrying three of everything. That’s not intelligent redundancy; that’s just clutter. Intelligent redundancy is about identifying the functions that are so critical that their failure results in a disaster rather than an inconvenience. If my headlamp fails while I’m reading in my tent, it’s an inconvenience. I use my phone light. If my headlamp fails while I’m navigating a cliffside trail at 2:07 AM, it’s a disaster.

Therefore, a secondary, lightweight light source-like a tiny button light clipped to my jacket-isn’t ‘waste.’ It’s a survival requirement. The same logic applies to self-defense and personal safety gear. If you are carrying a tool for protection, the ‘system’ doesn’t just include the tool itself. It includes the way you carry it, the way you access it, and the way you protect it from the elements.

A high-quality holster isn’t just a pouch; it’s the redundant safety mechanism for your mobility. It ensures that the tool is exactly where you expect it to be, every single time, regardless of whether you are running, climbing, or falling. When you use a system like Revolver hunting holsters, you are acknowledging that the ‘carry’ is just as critical as the ‘tool.’ If the holster fails-if it loses retention or breaks-the tool is useless or, worse, dangerous. That is a single point of failure you cannot afford. You need a setup that is built with the understanding that the world is messy, unpredictable, and inherently hostile to ‘lean’ systems.

The Price of Optimization

I think back to that ridge in the Cascades. I eventually got the fire going with that 77-cent Bic. I sat there, watching the orange light flicker against the bark of a fallen hemlock, and I felt a profound sense of shame for how much I had trusted my ‘high-tech’ gear. I had fallen for the marketing that promised me I could buy my way out of risk with enough ‘arc technology’ and ‘stormproof’ branding. I had forgotten that the most resilient systems in nature are filled with redundancy. Our bodies have two kidneys, two lungs, and a cardiovascular system that can reroute blood flow if a vessel gets blocked. Nature doesn’t care about Six Sigma. Nature cares about staying alive.

Reliability is the shadow cast by deliberate overlap.

Practical Realism, Not Bunker Building

I’ve started changing the way I think about my daily carry. I’m looking for the SPOFs-the single points of failure. If my car key fob dies, do I have a physical key hidden somewhere? If my phone dies and I’m in a city I don’t know, do I have a single $27 bill and a memorized phone number? It’s not about being a ‘prepper’ in the sense of building a bunker in the woods; it’s about being a realist. It’s about admitting that sometimes, the ‘stormproof’ matches won’t light, and the cryptocurrency exchange will go offline, and the high-tech lighter will turn into a paperweight.

I remember trying to explain this to a colleague who is obsessed with ‘life-hacking.’ He wanted to know why I still carried a physical notebook when I had 17 different note-taking apps on my phone. I told him that my notebook doesn’t need a battery, it doesn’t need a cloud sync, and it doesn’t care if I drop it in a puddle. He laughed and said I was being ‘inefficient.’ But three days later, his phone shattered on a sidewalk, and he lost the notes for a presentation we were supposed to give. I handed him my notebook. He didn’t think it was inefficient then.

We have to stop being afraid of the ‘extra.’ In a world that is increasingly complex and increasingly fragile, the ‘extra’ is the only thing that is actually real.

The Glow of Preparedness

The fire on the ridge eventually died down to a bed of glowing coals. I stayed there for 17 minutes after the sun went down, just watching the way the heat radiated off the rocks. I was safe, not because of the $107 lighter, but because I had been ‘wasteful’ enough to bring a backup. I packed up my gear, making sure my primary tools were secured in their proper places, and started the trek back down. I didn’t feel lean. I didn’t feel optimized. I felt prepared. And in the dark, with the temperature hitting 27 degrees and the wind picking up again, that was the only thing that mattered.