A recurring theme of my 30s has been realizing how clueless I am about most things. In my 20s, I seemed to have more answers. The answers, of course, came almost exclusively from other people. It was naive to latch on to them, but at least it was easy. It helped me live with conviction, if only ever for a short period of time.

What’s frustrating about living by other people’s answers is that, sooner or later, those answers will always let you down. I did get burned out from that. Eventually, I always found a fatal flaw in this mentor or that guru. So one day, I concluded heroes were also just people and stopped following any template in particular.

The flip side is that I’m now as clueless as everybody else in navigating this life, and that, too, is challenging. It is also…just life. There are no answers. Nobody knows where the stock market will go, whether this election or that one will be good for the future of a country, or how they can do a great job at work without messing up. There’s no one right way to raise your kids, no perfect diet, and no meaning of life except the one you choose for yourself. That’s why being an adult is scary.

What I do know is that it’s okay to be scared, that the future is less frightening when you realize you’re not the only one facing the unknown, and that, in the end, asking good questions is more important than obsessing over answers which can never last to begin with.

Start with here. Start with now. Take one breath, one step, and learn something for tomorrow. It’s an answerless world we live in, but that’s one of the many parts that makes it a beautiful one–if only we learn to coexist with the unknown.

That’s the latest mechanism on Substack, a platform dedicated to email newsletters and those who like to read and write them. But what is it for?

The post I just read, I read in its entirety. Having successfully scrolled all the way to the bottom, I saw the heart-shaped button. “Did I like this post? Yes, I did.” Tap, done. So why should I press “L” instead? The only sensible answer can come from Substack’s point of view: Because it’s faster.

“Why wait to hit ‘Like’ if you can press a button halfway through the piece? And after you’ve liked it, there’s no need to finish it, is there? Just move on and read the next one—but don’t forget to like!”

For any piece of reading, the end is the right place to ask: “What’s your reaction? How do you feel?” For any social platform, however, the right place to ask is wherever it’ll get the most clicks. It’s unfortunate these two incentives are at odds with each other, but downright sad so many platforms choose the easy way out.

The only shortcuts that work are the ones working against you. Skip the cheap tricks, and let time do its thing.

After I came back from my business trip, I was exhausted. It had only been 40 hours, but with much time on the move, little sleep, and lots of information to process—all on top of actual work—I felt I had hit my cap for the week.

Thankfully, the day after my return was Friday. I asked my manager to cancel our weekly check-in and said I’d take it easy in the morning, then start the day a bit later. She agreed, but I realized: Communication is often tricky because you don’t know how to dose it.

With your loved ones, it’s easy: You tell them everything. They get as close as anyone can get to having the full picture of your life, and so, hopefully, most of the time, they’ll understand how you feel and why you do what you do. But what do you do with acquaintances, coworkers, your boss, and other weak ties?

I could have told my boss about my sleeping issues in the last few weeks, about all of my little health issues from a probably weakened immune system, and on and on. But is that the right measure of information? Or is it sufficient for her to know: Nik needs rest? Given her busy schedule and that she had seen me in person just yesterday, I opted for the latter, and I think it was fine in this case.

But what about next time? I might have to add more color. Or less. Multiply this estimation task several times over, and you have the average demand for you to dose your communication on a weekly basis. It’s hard, and sometimes we get it wrong. When that happens, the best we can do is follow up and course-correct. “Sorry, look, this is what I meant.” Okay, now we’re talking. Literally!

Think about how much you’ll say to whom at which time. Dosed communication is a challenge, but that’s exactly what makes it a service to others.

That should be your goal. In each meeting, each conversation. Get one idea to stick in your mind, and you’re golden.

The thing about noticing the details, however, is that you have to be present in order to do it. You only get one chance to meet each new coworker for the first time. What do you pick up on in that first 15 minutes? What sticks afterwards? If the answer is “nothing,” it doesn’t mean they’re boring. Chances are, you just didn’t listen all that closely.

If you were present, however, you can revisit a good deal of the conversation. Maybe you’ll even find additional points you’ll want to write down. With people, remembering one thing will help you start the next chat. “Is the new baby cam still working?” “How was the museum?” “Did you meet that guy in the end?” In meetings, it can be enough to open a loop in your mind. Chances are, it’ll stay open until whatever needs to be done is done.

Life’s demands can feel daunting—but since everyone feels that way, usually, the bar is not that high. Wherever you go, remember one thing, and people will be glad to see your face again.

I’m about to go on my first business trip as an employee. Doing my usual “what do I have on me?” check before I leave, I realized: I now carry even more stuff in my pockets than usual. There are my phone, my keys, and my wallet. But now there’s also my work phone and my Airpods. It makes me feel a bit…bulky. So I guess some things will have to go into my backpack.

It’s funny. Even the small items we carry around our waist, or perhaps in our handbag, require balance. You’ll rarely venture out empty-handed, but you also don’t want to leave so loaded up, you’ve got no space to pick up any quarter you might serendipitously discover.

Gravity applies to all of us, but there’s a reason weight is something we can feel: When we shoulder too much of it, we’re meant to take some of it off. Don’t leave the house with full pockets.

Those are the ones we seek, aren’t they? But what does “good” mean? Three examples, one lesson.

Yesterday, I accompanied my dad to a local political event. We never do this, but he knew the organizer, and a member of parliament from the conservative party showed up. A woman from the other end of Germany, she spoke with passion and empathy. She came prepared with numbers and arguments. I can’t even vote in this particular district, but man, she made a great case. It was such a breath of fresh air to see a real person act like a real politician for once. “Thank god. They still have good people,” I thought.

Earlier in the same day, I had a coffee chat with a fellow writer. He also happened to be my new colleague. It was the twelfth coffee chat in the last two weeks, and I haven’t left a single one without a solid piece of advice, a helpful document to read, or a recommendation of who else to talk to. “Wow,” I keep thinking. “These are all good people!”

At the very end of this very long day, I opened my inbox. There was an email from a book summary company who’s considering buying my Youtube channel. We’ve gone back and forth almost 20 times already. They ask for information. I send them screenshots. And repeat. She thanked me for “the comprehensive overview and the effort you’ve put into sharing these insights” and promised to get back again this week. I trust that she will. “Thanks again for your openness and for sharing such detailed background information,” she closed her email. “Wonderful,” I thought. “No bullshit. Just all cards on the table, and ‘let’s figure this out together.’ There are some good people in this space.”

We think “good” means “charming,” “skilled,” or “accomplished.” But none of those traits matter when someone is acting only in their own best interest. Good people are good because they keep choosing to do the right thing. Be good—and then find more good people.

Most people are surprised to find out German trains aren’t particularly on time. Last year, it was only around 60% of them. Granted, most delays are only a matter of minutes, but it is usually with those minutes that the system will drive you to the brink of insanity, because many long-distance journeys include switching trains at least once.

When I move between Munich and my parents’ home, I need to swap twice. Somehow, the Deutsche Bahn manages to shrink my transfer time down to a minute or two with an oddly impressive frequency. Eleven minutes become seven, become five, become two. And off you go!

Yesterday, I was once again in this situation. My 17-minute lead had vanished. I arrived at 5:33 on platform 10. The other train? Leaving at 5:35 from platform 2. Spoiler alert: I ran like a madman. Heavy backpack. Sorta heavy suitcase. Puffy jacket. Fun! With my heart rate at 200, I plopped down into my seat. Made it! As soon as I’d sat down, I heard the announcer: “Due to trains ahead of us, our departure will be delayed by a few minutes.” Ahh, the usual. Good one, Deutsche Bahn! And of course that delay didn’t show up in the app I updated frantically every 15 seconds during arrival. Argh, this company!

In the last ten minutes before my sprint, however, still on the other train, I had a moment of clarity. I knew I’d have to decide: Do I run or do I let it go? I could go for it and potentially still miss my connection, or I could stroll leisurely into the arrival hall, grab a coffee, and wait an hour for the next one. I remembered talking to my friend Maarten about this years ago: “I don’t get it,” he said. “Why do people run for the bus? Just take the next one!” There are some lifestyle factors here, of course, but I remember agreeing with him back then. I believe I still do and always have. But then why am I running for the train?

To run or not to run. To chase life or let it come to you. It’s a choice—even when it doesn’t feel like it. I’m glad I made it deliberately in this instance, but I’m also not sure I want to keep picking the same option.

Reflection happens in the space between opportunity and action. It’s beautiful when you get to see it in real-time and marvelous when you consciously decide to change course. Use that space. Make choices, and move forward—just like a train, even when it’s yet again delayed.

Back when I used Twitter, I made a simple header image for my profile. It was a reminder to myself of the philosophy I wanted to carry from my life onto the platform. The picture showed a Venn diagram of two overlapping circles. In one circle, I put the words “work hard.” In the other, I put “be nice.” In the intersection, there was the word “win.” Word hard, be nice, win. That was the idea.

It’s been years since I deleted that account, and while I absolutely still believe that working hard and being nice are not only the way to win but the right way to win, I would now amend my words to an even more durable mantra: Work hard, be nice, sleep well.

For all our efforts and kindness, winning is not guaranteed in this life. Sometimes, it takes a lifetime to win. The key to being okay regardless whether your rewards grow at warp speed or a snail’s pace is seeing the way to win as a win in and of itself.

At the end of each day, knowing you did your best, resting in the warm glow of having been kind, and getting a good night’s sleep might only be little wins—but maybe they’re all the wins we truly need.

“Some people are chosen to be shepherds. Others to manage the farm. You’re a manager. So manage.” Those were the last words cardinal Thomas Lawrence, played by Ralph Fiennes in the movie Conclave, heard from the pope before he died. So naturally, the day he opens the papal conclave to elect his successor, no one expects him to say anything much interesting. But Cardinal Lawrence surprises.

After the boring, obligatory opening remarks, Lawrence goes off script: “Let me speak from the heart for a moment.” Lawrence knows he’s kicking off an election already divided into camps committed to varying degrees of traditionalism. There are favorites. There are plots. And everyone thinks their candidate is the right one. So, instead of just endorsing someone, he says:

“There is one sin which I have come to fear above all others: Certainty. Certainty is the great enemy of unity. Certainty is the deadly enemy of tolerance. Even Christ was not certain at the end. ‘My God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken me?’ he cried out in his agony at the ninth hour on the cross. Our faith is a living thing precisely because it walks hand-in-hand with doubt. If there was only certainty and no doubt, there would be no mystery—and therefore no need for faith. Let us pray that God will grant us a Pope who doubts.”

Certainty is easy. It’s comforting. And you can pick it from whichever source you like these days. For every single thing you hope to believe, there is a salesperson somewhere on the internet, praying the exact gospel you seek.

To doubt is to live in the fog. To exist between opinions rather than be made up of them. It can feel uneasy—but also liberating. As long as you keep the door open to the possibility you might be wrong, a better idea is always just one step away.

The Church, too, needs better ideas. That’s what it hopes for from every next pope. Will it be one who doubts? If every cardinal were to do so, the answer would be a guaranteed “Yes.” Elected official or not, choose doubt over certainty—for the most beautiful blossoms are usually the offspring of humble minds coming together.