I’m sick for the umpteenth time this year. I have to change my travel plans, again. There’s a lot of work to be worked through, and yet once more here I sit, upright in bed, doing what I can but mostly resting and passing the time.

At least it’s a sunny day today. I can see the birds hopping around our garden. And you know what they do? The same thing they always do: pecking at the leaves. Just like I keep pecking at this keyboard—and like you should keep pecking at what’s important to you in this life.

A bird pecks because it wants to eat, but a bird also pecks because it’s a bird. We, too, need to do the former as well as the latter. It matters not whether you peck quickly and often or slowly and sporadically. Sometimes, you’ll be surprised at your own speed. Sometimes, you’ll only peck once for the day.

Regardless of your pace, just keep pecking—and whether it’s the weather, a difficult project, or your body, sooner or later, life will set itself right yet again.

We have a big cuddle blanket on our couch. It’s massive. Two by two meters or so. In the winter, we use it every night, and every morning, I fold it back into shape.

To wrestle this unwieldy piece of cloth into a square, I take two of the corners, overlay them, and fold it in half. But then I’ve still got a long, if slightly narrower, sheet in front of me. So, to get the corners at the other end to overlay as well, I flick the blanket, and a big wave travels through the comforter. Hopefully, by the time it reaches the end, the two halves of the sheet will line up more closely. Often, they don’t—so I just flick it again.

Sometimes, it takes me three, four tries to get the edges to align, but sooner or later, I always get a layout I can work with. Then, it’s only a matter of lining up the side I’m holding with the other one, folding it over two more times, and voilà! A neatly folded, square cuddle blanket sits on the sofa, ready to open up again at night.

Life forces us through many a coin toss, but most of the time, there’s zero cost to giving the slot machine another spin. Randomness is everywhere, and while it’ll often obstruct your way forward, as soon as you give it another go, it might just as well clear a smooth path for you.

If anything could happen, there’s always reason to expect something good the next time. The only difference between a stony journey and a red carpet might be another coin toss—so whenever your blanket won’t fall into place, make sure you flick it again.

Let’s say you’re starting a job after ten years of self-employment. That’s a big shift. As you look back on a decade of work, you realize what felt like a trip through the jungle was actually baking a layer cake, with many artifacts now remaining. But what will you do with them? All those websites and email signup forms and social profiles.

You could just leave them behind and allow them to catch dust. You could try maintaining it all, but that’s unrealistic. Chances are, you’ll want to curate some for future use, prep others for maintenance mode, and others still you may just delete altogether. But which shall be which, and when will you do all that work now that you’ve got a job?

A change in life seasons can feel like a massive wave coming at you. Before you’re done saying goodbye, you’re already knee-deep in new waters. That’s okay! Life is not a relay race, and even in those the handover can be messy. Switching waves rarely works as neatly as closing one book and opening another.

Whether it’s the old tide going out or the new one coming in, big waves take time. In fact, isn’t the opportunity to surf on them for longer the very best thing about them? But to do so, you must allow them to break slowly. Don’t rush transitions. There’ll be a time and a place for everything, and as long as you’re on the beach, you’re in the right place.

I used to visit a friend’s house after school in the 90s. We played Need for Speed 2 on his computer. Thanks to a bunch of cheat codes, you could turn the game from a challenging car race into a completely ridiculous experience. I distinctly remember driving a T-rex around a Hollywood studios–inspired track at 200+ kilometers per hour. It was insane—but also insanely fun.

After finding the level and car on Youtube, one of the comments on the video stood out to me: “I miss the times when cheats made no sense and actually added a lot of fun to games.” My memory is a good example: I can barely recall any of the cars in the game, let alone the different tracks—but I can remember that T-rex-in-Hollywood experience any day of the week.

Sometimes, the things that make no sense are actually the few things that do. Don’t dismiss the quirky, fun, or seemingly irrelevant. One day, either of those qualities might be the only one that remains.

The Silo is a dangerous place. 10,000 people cooped up in a 144-floor concrete pillar at all times, with no access to the outside? That’s a recipe for disaster even on the best of days. But once people start dying under mysterious circumstances, all bets are off.

Like Juliet’s boyfriend, George, who “fell down the stairs.” So when she miraculously gets the opportunity to become the new sheriff in town, of course Juliet agrees. Who wouldn’t want to investigate the murder of a loved one with appropriate resources? But naturally, Juliet soon has more enemies than she’s ever had friends. It’s hard, and for every question she answers, two new ones land on her desk.

One night, she discovers that even George wasn’t 100% straight with her. Talking to one of the few people in her corner, Juliet admits she is ready to call it quits: “I’m gonna turn in the badge and resign.” Her friend being a real one, she asks her if she took the job only for George or “because it was the right thing to do.”

And then, after a short lecture, the kind we all need at times, she leaves Juliet with a truly great piece of advice: “See, I don’t know what happened, but when you left here, love had you trying to do the right thing. And now anger is making you give up? That is a waste of time.”

When the next step feels like your shoes are, like the Silo, made of concrete, think back: Why did you pick this trail? Revenge, grief, anger—there are plenty of bad reasons to begin. But if you ventured out from a place filled with kindness and good intentions, why quit in frustration? Clearly, that’s not the same spirit, and though your mind might be the same, it likely isn’t as clear.

Don’t give up in anger what you started in love. The road only ends where your emotions run out, and most of the time, your last stop should mirror the one where your journey began.

In 2014, I was an intern at BMW M in Munich. I lived in a tiny apartment offered by the company that somehow still cost almost my entire below-minimum-wage salary. I was young, relatively broke, and single.

For the first three months, I had no internet. It was a deliberate choice so I’d go out, get to know the city, and meet people. But that also meant I couldn’t watch the very last episodes of How I Met Your Mother as they were released—and my single-self really needed that inspiration. So every once in a while, I went to a coffee shop, bummed their wifi, and downloaded the latest episode. Then, the introvert and romantic in me could watch it in the quiet comforts of his home whenever all the intern buzz became too much.

In one of those episodes, Ted and the love of his life, Tracy, finally go on their first date. Naturally, it’s awkward. The restaurant they’re supposed to eat at is noisy and has terrible food choices. They bump into Tracy’s ex and hide behind a car. By the time Ted is about to drop Tracy off at home, they both admit they’re probably not ready for a new relationship. But then, right as the thought, “I’ll never see her again,” forms in his head, for some reason, Tracy gives him a kiss. “Unless…do you want to walk around some more? It’s still early.”

Ted agrees and, as Tracy is standing three feet in front of him, holding out her hand, some cosmic intuition hits him. He doesn’t really realize it, but deep down, it clicks: “This is it. So for a moment that feels like an eternity, he just stands there, staring. Until Tracy asks: “What are you doing?” And to that, Ted can only offer the truth: “Remembering this”—because in his soul, he knows this is a once-in-a-lifetime event he will carry with him forever. And just as quickly, Tracy says, “Come on.” They join hands, start walking, and the moment is passed—lost but not gone.

I, too, will forever remember this scene. Not just the 10/10 storytelling from a great TV show, but myself, sitting in that tiny room without internet, watching it play out on screen—still single, still waiting for that special person, and, thanks to How I Met Your Mother, never losing faith that she is out there.

Love is not all we want out of life, but it sure is an image, isn’t it? Someone who holds out their hand to us and says, “Come on! We’ll walk together.” Just so we can stand there and say, “Okay. Yes. Thank you. I’ve waited a long time for this. But first, let me take a second to remember this moment.”

Whether it is love, work, friendship, art, beauty, pain, or inspiration that writes the next climactic scene in the movie of your life, be sure to take it in fully as it happens. Breathe deeply, listen to what your heart is telling you, and whenever the answer is, “This is it,” ask for some extra time to process. And if someone asks you what you’re doing, just tell them the truth: “Remembering this.”

“Where does that door lead again?” Confusion arose in yesterday’s gaming session. My girlfriend held the controller for The Legend of Zelda: Echoes of Wisdom. As part of her turn, she had stormed headlong into a new dungeon. I kept asking her to backtrack, but that was not her style. “No, no, no, just keep going!”

Once it was my turn, I did all the backtracking I had longed for—not because my girlfriend’s approach was wrong but for my own peace of mind. It was part gaming experience, part personality: I want to discover all of one area before moving on to the next. This helps me build context for what’s to come, and it also prevents landing in a room whose puzzle you can’t solve for lack of a tool you failed to pick up before.

In life as in games, there’s no one way to play them. If you want to charge, charge! Keep walking straight until you bump into an obstacle, then assemble your pole for vaulting over it on the spot. But when you feel unsure, cautious, and want to steel your nerves, map the terrain. Explore every nook and cranny before moving on, and mark each find as done and dusted.

Let your preparation give you confidence so you can step into the unknown with clear eyes. None of us know the future, but it often helps to remember which path we took to get there.

“Moving, be like water. Still, be like a mirror.” That’s one of Bruce Lee’s Striking Thoughts. When I read it, I realized that, actually, this is an encouragement to be like water, period.

When water is moving, it flows. But when water is still, it reflects—just like a mirror. If you want to reflect—about yourself, life, and the world—you first have to stop. You must allow the waves of your actions and emotions to calm down.

The time to think is when you’re not moving. Still your waters on occasion so you can see yourself for who you really are and reality for what’s actually in front of you.

That’s an odd phrase to type when you’re 33 years old. But I guess it is. Outside of some internships, only one of which lasted five months instead of just a few weeks, I’ve never held a full-time job—until now. “Business Course Writer.” That’s my title. My responsibility will be to create materials that’ll help enterprise employees understand blockchain and its applications. Kinda cool, huh? I’m definitely not complaining. Storytelling all the way!

After ten years of self-employment, you’d think I’d have a lot of feelings about working for someone else. Resistance, perhaps. The belief that I had failed to keep my business running. Surprisingly, I don’t. New is just different. I feel some relief that my rent and expenses will be covered, although that’ll only fully kick in once my probation period is over. I’m grateful I’ve found a place that seems to be a good fit, with good people and a good mix of tasks in a field which interests me. But a few days into the job, it’s mostly “wait and see,” yet when I look back, I have no urge to grind my teeth. Perhaps it’s a sign that I’ve made my decisions deliberately.

When I realized I’d need a new business model for the umpteenth time, I could have dug in my heels. I could have pushed and shoved and forced, and kind friends gave me plenty of ideas on how to do so. But I didn’t want to. Grinding hadn’t gotten me any closer to being an author in the last few years, so why not try a new angle? Why not write on the side, stop compromising in order to make money, and spend whatever time I can spare to make the art I actually want to make? “Let’s see if I can walk that road,” I thought. “Let’s find out where another path leads.” I didn’t choose to end up in front of this particular intersection in life, but once I arrived there, I chose to make less. To trade dollars for integrity and sacrifice time in favor of art. If anything, that felt empowering.

So here I am. Ready for new. Ready for different. Ready for a re-set. My name is Nik. I’m 33 years old. And I just started my first job.

Every year, I choose a one-word theme. For 2025, it’s “Reset.”

When a ship traverses the sea for a long time, it’ll accumulate barnacles on its hull. For the tiny crustaceans, it doesn’t matter where they sit. They’ll attach to any surface, as long as it supplies them with the water from which they get their nutrients. For the ship, however, in time, they become a heavy burden—literally. And while the weight of the barnacles will rarely be enough to sink the vessel, it might slow it down or bring it out of balance.

2024 was the year I realized: After ten years of writing and working for myself, I’ve racked up too many barnacles. For the first half of those ten years, I was mostly learning, growing, finding myself as a writer, person, and entrepreneur. But from the pandemic onwards, everything was a blur. Financially, it was a rollercoaster, and the velocity of that ride kept me latching onto whatever next thing I could get a hold of. But in late 2023, there was nothing left to reach for, and my ship slowly started sinking.

It took me all year to process everything, to shed off my old identity, to rise from the ashes of a fire that had burned for a decade. And now that I’ve finally accepted change is in order, well, it’s time to scrape off some barnacles! Time to reset.

The word “reset” means to start over, of course. To shut down, erase, reboot, and begin anew with a clean slate. But it also means to adjust. To fiddle with just slightly, so that an imbalanced, misaligned object may once again slot into its proper place. That, too, is “re-setting.” Moving a piece of the puzzle for the big picture to make sense. I’ll need to do a lot of both, hence “Reset” as my theme for 2025.

My work will be reset. I’ve picked up a full-time job, and everything else will have to fit in around the edges. Four Minute Books will be reset. No more ads, affiliate revenue, or any form of monetization that is not me selling my own creations. Perhaps it’ll have to be merged into this blog or disappear altogether. My writing will be re-set. I’ll get a chance to realign on what I really want to write, but I’ll also have to adjust to make time to then do that writing.

It’s easy to reflect at the turn of the year, and I can only recommend picking an annual theme, but I also know this to be true: Reset buttons are everywhere. You can hit as many of them as you like at any time. Whether you need to re-set some planks or build a new ship altogether, don’t wait. You deserve smooth sailing at all times—and every removed barnacle counts.