Many chances in life are singular. Nothing has made this clearer to me than getting back into collecting Pokémon cards two years ago. Some cards that cost 50 cents back then now go for $30. Others have shot up from $10 or $50 to $200. At the same time, some cards I had to buy for dozens of dollars cost only a buck or two a few years before I rejoined the hobby. Now, new cards are cheap and affordable. They, too, will likely cost a lot more in a year or two.

That’s the good news for collectors: There’ll always be more deals. But the same deal? Nuh-uh. This is more pronounced in physical assets, especially limited ones, like paintings or collectibles. If the company only prints a limited amount, eventually, the entire supply that’s out in the wild will start to dwindle. Pokémon cards get lost. Kids destroy them. Parents accidentally wash them in the laundry or throw them away. If the available quantity can only go down, and people still want the item, the price can only go up. Often, new market rates retrace a little bit after a card has run up, but they rarely go back to the same price from a few months before.

In many other asset classes, the same opportunity repeats. Stock charts from so-called gaps, which the price often revisits. The first time a stock breaks, say, the $50 mark, is rarely the last time you’ll get a chance to buy it at that price. Cryptocurrencies swing even more drastically. Silver is only now getting close to its all-time high from 14 years ago. These opportunities will arrive on your doorstep time and again—but the chance to buy a particular card, collectible, or painting? A job offer, severance package, or ask to be featured in a magazine or score a book deal? These will come, then go. Their successors might rhyme, but they likely won’t repeat.

Know which lucky breaks are once-in-a-lifetime, and jump on everything you’ll regret to have let pass. Meet opportunities when they arrive, and be careful which ones you tell to come back later.

Do I want this thing because I genuinely feel like it, or do I want it because I believe it’ll put my anxious mind at ease? Sometimes, it’s hard to tell the difference.

Last Friday, I had my first coffee after a month or so. It was a treat. A pumpkin spice latte on Halloween? Full of sugar, cinnamon, and whipped cream? Oh yeah. I didn’t feel low-energy. I wasn’t looking for a boost. Just for a small reward for ending the week strong. As a result, the coffee was easy to enjoy, and I didn’t crave another one the next morning. It didn’t pull me back into the caffeine cycle.

Today’s hot chocolate? That one I’m not sure about. I frequently get one with my pretzel for a light lunch on workdays. But I also was feeling anxious. I hadn’t slept well, work had a potential, last-minute speaking gig looming—any writer’s worst nightmare—and the rest of the day was busy and meh as well. So was that hot chocolate part of my routine, or was it an anxiety blanket? I don’t know—but I try my best to stay aware when whatever I’m about to do feels like a crutch I’d like to lean on. And then, if I can, make do without it.

Music, caffeine, food, sex, alcohol—it’s astonishing how many crutches we have access to on a daily basis. And how many of us run on some combination of them permanently without realizing it. I, too, am relying on these things more than I need to, and sometimes more than I’m even comfortable admitting.

For brief moments, I’ve been crutch-free altogether. It’s amazing how you feel and what you can accomplish when your only inputs are enough good food and sleep, and then it’s just you and your mind against life every day. This isn’t to say treats aren’t nice or appropriate at times. But when treats are no longer optional, well, they’ve become crutches. And those are two very different things.

Think about it. Is this a treat or a crutch? And remember you can fly even without wings.

On a productive day, I’ll be up at 6 AM, workout and meditation done by 6:40, writing finished at 7, and I’ll still have two hours to write or work on my blog before going to work. Today, it’s 9:17, and I’m still typing.

You can’t be the first out the gate every day, but a slow morning doesn’t have to mean you’re off track. In fact, it might be the very pattern break that keeps you on it.

I did a live presentation yesterday. It was a big deal for me. I stressed about it. I practiced the whole thing twice in full beforehand. The event went well enough, but afterwards, I could feel my brain needed to decompress. So did my body.

I gave myself this morning to catch up. I slept a little longer. Stretched a bit more. Worked out a tad more slowly. I watched a Pokémon card podcast. Through all this, I could feel my mind and body resetting. The adrenaline and emotions from the event have slowly passed through. Now, a little excitement to return to work is flaring up.

Whenever you can, allow nature to run its course. Let the pattern play out, then continue. Give yourself the gift of slow mornings.

The art you’re making. The business breakthrough. The lifelong relationship you hope to build. They all can wait. They’ve got nowhere to be. No strained relationship with time. They’ll gladly exist at just the right moment if you’ll let them, but they won’t mind if they don’t. Only you will—but can you wait?

I used to rush my essays out the door as soon as the digital ink was dry. Write, polish a bit, hit publish. Now, I write, and then I wait. I edit, and then I wait some more. I ask one friend what they think, wait again, ask another. Writing is like wine: It can age a long time and only get better. It takes more years than most writers have patience before it begins to spoil.

I started drafting my latest essay around a month ago during a long flight. Two weeks later, on the way back, I finished that first draft. I did one round of edits. It still didn’t feel finished. “Can you take a look?” I asked my friend Nick Wignall. He had some great feedback, so two days ago, I edited it again. Now, I need to shorten it. The piece is nearing completion. When will it be done? Six weeks in total? Two months? What does it matter if the end result is the best I could have possibly made it with my current skills?

Rushing the big stuff is like teleportation without flying: alluring but dangerous. Let it take as long as it takes.

As a lifelong nerd, I was always going to go back to Akihabara once in Tokyo. I first went in 2013, and, back then, it was mostly a blur of flashy neon signs, anime characters everywhere, and the deafening noise of coins clinking through slot machines in sauna-temperature pachinko parlors. I loved it, but I didn’t have a strong connection to it. This time, it was different.

A few years ago, I watched Steins;Gate, and it quickly became one of my favorite anime of all time. The show is about time travel but set in the normal world—more specifically, Akihabara. You’ll see Okabe Rintaro and his friends visit Radio Kaikan, a big commercial building and landmark in the district. There’s a playground they frequent, the building in which they have their “Future Gadget Lab,” and a long pedestrian bridge in front of Akihabara station. They’re all ordinary places, but they’re also the places in which the show’s unique cast of characters said hello, made plans, despaired, found hope, and said goodbye. And…they exist. They’re even just a few minutes walk apart.

One of my favorite Youtubers is also passionate about Steins;Gate. He visited the show’s locations not too long ago. Luckily, I found an 11-year-old map from a fellow time traveler on Reddit, and with the unique icons overlaying on the map on my phone, I could easily navigate from one place to the next. I had the time of my life. My partner looked on incredulously as I took pictures of and in front of my favorite spots. I made faces mimicking some scenes for the camera. I even recorded a short video here and there, citing catch phrases from the show.

It seems silly, this idea of an anime pilgrimage, yet every year, millions of people venture to “the place where it happened.” The places are all different, and so is the “it.” What does it matter which particular event impressed you? There’s something special about seeing it in person.

I can still feel the vibe of those places. I’ll always cherish the pictures. And who knows? Maybe one day, I’ll be back once more. But no matter what happens, now I can say: I was there—and whether I’ll stay a lifelong nerd or not, no one can take that away from my story.

Hunter x Hunter is a wonderful anime covering four friends’ journey to becoming hunters—elite adventurers who can track, locate, and capture pretty much any item, animal, or person.

The star of the show is Gon Freecss, an unusually strong but otherwise normal boy. Gon is 12 years old, and perhaps that’s why he’s as obstinate as only a 12-year-old can be. Even when he isn’t physically up to a challenge, he’ll usually persist until his opponent either agrees on a different mode of competition or gives Gon what he wants. And though he is willful, often outright unreasonable, Gon is never unkind. He strikes a fine balance between asking for what he wants and deserving it, and that’s why he leaves a lasting impression on everyone he meets.

In one episode, Gon wants to see his friend Killua, the son of a famous assassin family. As you can imagine, assassin’s don’t frequently receive guests, and, therefore, the way to Killua’s house is long and arduous. Canary, a young butler girl, is only one of many enemies standing in Gon and his friends’ way. She blocks their path, draws a line in the sand with her cane, and threatens violence upon anyone who dares cross her gate.

Gon clearly states his goal: “I want to see Killua!” Then, he starts walking towards Canary. His foot crosses the line, and wham! Canary’s cane hits his face so hard, Gon flies back several feet. Without further comment, he gets up and starts walking again. He reaches Canary—pow!—back he slides. And again. And again.

Hours later, the sun is already setting. A bloodied, battered Gon still stands. For the hundredth time, he starts walking—and despite zero physical exertion, Canary’s mind is wearing thin. “Why don’t you finally give up?” she yells. “You know it’s useless!” And then, looking at Gon’s friends Leorio and Kurapika, who’ve done nothing but stand a few feet behind him all day long, she pleads: “Why don’t you stop him? He’s your friend, after a…”

Canary’s last words escape her voice. In their faces, she can see it. Like facades cast of steel, they’re not moving. Neither Leorio nor Kurapika even blink. They just stare, arms crossed, waiting. But they stare with that same determination she’s been seeing in Gon’s eyes for the last several hours, and in that moment, she knows: These guys are passing through here, and there’s nothing I can do about it.

A determined hero is inspiring. If they don’t stick to their guns, why should we? But you know what’s just as inspiring? A pair of friends who sets said hero up for success, if only by not interfering. By accepting his or her will as their own, just as hell-bent on helping their friend reach an important goal as our hero is in finding their destiny.

It looks like Queen was right twice: Friends will be friends, and that’s because a friend’s will can be their friends’ as well.

My colleague John Greene has a gift few writers in the world of technology possess: He knows how to talk about complex software in words non-experts will understand. Better yet, he regularly helps spread the message as to why that’s important.

In a course he’s developing about the open source philosophy of making your code publicly available, John explains why open-source projects need lots of good documentation. First, it helps your users onboard without bombarding a team of busy engineers, often volunteers, with questions. Second, it makes it clear to potential contributors under which conditions they can and should engage with the project. If you want to support with marketing or lines of code, where do you start?

At one point, John sums up this principle in a nutshell, and it applies well outside the casings of our computers: “The best defense against misunderstanding is communication.” If a project wants to prevent user or contributor errors, the answer is not more customer support. It’s better documentation. If you’re not sure whether your colleague understood what you expect from them, the way to make sure is to follow up and ask again. And if you don’t like going to museums, it’s probably best to tell your partner that instead of making up excuses.

Communicating more, clearly, and ahead of time may feel like an “offense-beats-defense” strategy. But it’s not offense. It’s cooperation. You don’t have to do it aggressively. It’s enough to do it kindly, without hoopla. Just like good documentation: It’s there. It helps. That’s it.

Let’s all be purifiers and clear the air before it starts smelling.

“Here we go again,” I thought as the Domestos ad started playing. A kid running out of the bathroom, the dad peeking suspiciously into the toilet bowl. “Cue the yawns for yet another boring product.” But I was wrong.

As soon as the dad poured Domestos into the bowl, the commercial kicked into high hear. An animated dragon emerged from the bottle. It was colorful, drawn in an anime style, and moved fast. The dirt transformed into black monsters with sharp teeth and red eyes, which the dragon promptly eviscerated with its fire breath. Some seconds of spirited destruction later, the bottle reappeared, finished the job, and landed on top of the closed toilet bowl, flashing intermittently to show the image of the dragon, now resting.

Everyone wants a sparkling toilet. Everyone knows they must clean it to get there. But it doesn’t exactly make most of us jump out of bed with joy. How do you remind people of the essentials effectively? You show them they are more than just essential. Make it a story. Make it fascinating. A good play to act out.

If even boring cleaning products can become fabulous dragons, there truly is no limit to how you can get people involved in your endeavors.

The Sandman is a compelling TV show for many reasons. Its most genius feat, however, might be to turn the supernatural into the everyday. At its core, it asks: What if the forces beyond our power, beings like gods and demons and karma, are actually just like us? Creatures acting in an imperfect world with imperfect information, plagued by communication issues, rules, and resource limitations?

This setup leads to many curious twists in the plot, and it also makes for great thought experiments. In an early episode of season two, Dream of the Endless, our hero and main character, is looking to free Nada, his former love, from Hell. Having left said place on less than good terms last time, Dream is prepared for anything as he approaches the gate. To his surprise, it stands wide open.

Inside, Dream finds…no one. No one except Lucifer, who essentially shrugs and says: “I’ve quit.” Dream, who likes to remind everyone of their responsibilities, protests, suggesting the Devil can’t just let all of Hell’s inhabitants roam about freely. But, after ten billion years of penance for her fall from grace, Lucifer has a different take: “I didn’t ask them to come here. They chose Hell. That is what Hell is. A place for dead mortals to torture themselves. And, like all masochists, they give the orders. ‘Burn me, freeze me, eat me, hurt me.’ And what do I get out of it?” As it turns out, the Devil has no need for human souls.

“You can’t own someone else’s soul,” she continues. “They belong to themselves. They just hate to have to face up to it. They blame me for their little failings. ‘The devil made me do it.’ I have never made one of them do anything. Never. They live their own tiny lives. And then they die. And they come here. And they expect me to fulfill their desires of pain and retribution.” So, equipped with a new perspective and ready for vacation, Lucifer does what anyone with burnout would do: She walks away.

“Hell is closed,” she says and, after Dream ceremoniously cuts off her wings, hands the key to Dream in one final act of revenge. Now, the most rotten of workplaces is his to deal with, and of course, like any bad acquisition, it comes consequences no one wants. In Dream’s case, everyone nefarious and their brother will soon be at his door, eager to reclaim Hell for themselves.

It’s an interesting idea, isn’t it? What if the Devil quit? What if Hell exists for our convenience more so than for those who are running it? And if even Lucifer can walk away from a bad gig, what’s stopping us?

“The important thing is not to stop questioning,” Einstein once told a little boy. That’s what shows like The Sandman inspire us to do. And if even Lucifer can teach a valuable lesson, perhaps it’s no coincidence Einstein ended his advice with a heavenly reminder: “Never lose a holy curiosity.”