Month: February 2025

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.

During his second year at Hogwarts, Dumbledore tells Harry Potter that “help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it.” And for the next five years, Harry operates under that mantra.

In their very final encounter, however, when Voldemort is just about to destroy everything, Dumbledore has a rather late realization. “I’ve always prided myself on my ability to turn a phrase,” he tells Harry. “But I would in this case amend my original statement to this: Help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who deserve it.”

While this doesn’t change much in hindsight and is mainly meant to encourage Harry for his final task, it’s not hard to imagine our young protagonist severely scratching his head over Dumbledore’s gaffe—or outright losing it, for that matter. “Ummm, professor, there’s a big difference between asking and earning. Couldn’t you have thought of that, like, at any sooner point in time whatsoever?!“

Alas, life is not how we’d like it to be. Life is how it is. Even geniuses forget things. So the best we can do is say what we truly mean to say as soon as it is revealed in our hearts—and then all of us, together, will have to deal with the consequences. Usually, we’re still better for it in the end.

It’s never too late to amend your words. Don’t be afraid to do it.

When you join the crypto industry, people will warn you: “This space is 24/7/365. Be careful. Don’t get sucked in too far, or you’ll burn out quickly.” It’s true. Thankfully, I already did all of that in 2017.

After first falling down the crypto rabbit hole, I’d spend hours every day on Twitter, Youtube, and Telegram, soaking up information, learning everything that I could, trying to find the next big coin. But after a few months, the bull market ended, I didn’t get filthy rich, and I realized: “Okay, you don’t have to do that. Life will go on either way.” But bull markets come and go—and they’re all intoxicating for different reasons. So “I’ve done this before” isn’t the real reason I’m not worried about my new job becoming all-consuming.

In 2017, I was a college student. Working full-time for myself to earn an okay-ish income, but still also a college student. I had time. I was single. My vision for my writing wasn’t very clear. I often lived day-to-day, and when you do, it’s easy for any particular wave of life to come in and sweep you away.

Today, I’m an engaged man. I live with my fiancée, and my rent is twice as high. I know exactly which books I want to write, and I know how long it’ll take me. In other words: I don’t have time for shenanigans. Distraction is a luxury, and with a full-time job, I can only afford it in small doses. This might sound like it creates pressure, and sometimes, it does. But mostly, it feels liberating. It makes me proud of every minute I spend writing my next book—and it makes it easy to close my work laptop when the day is over.

I’ve long believed that when we’re young, we value complete freedom too highly. That’s why I worked a lot in my 20s, and it gave me a career foundation that can last a lifetime. Some of my high school friends also settled down quite early in their lives. They got married, built houses, had kids. Floating through life like a butterfly in the wind has its moments but, to me, it seems it’s never a bad time to be anchored. Life consists entirely of tradeoffs. Sooner or later, we’re all forced to make the hard ones. There is no shame in facing that game when you’re young, in playing it early and getting better at it rather than trying to escape it.

It’s ironic but almost typical, the kind of joke life likes to play on us: If you want to see how high you can fly, you actually need an anchor—and you’ll spread your wings as soon as you pick the right one.

When my new co-worker told me she loved the Berlin nightlife, I tried to remember the last time I went to a club. It took me a solid ten minutes. I realized I had even been to one last year during a bachelor party—but before then? No clue.

There was a time when I went out every weekend, sometimes twice. It used to be important to me. Now, it isn’t. That’s how life goes. Priorities shift.

There are still parts of the nightlife I enjoy to this day. I like dancing. I like EDM music. But I don’t need to go to a club to enjoy them. I can do that at home all day long. So the unique aspects of the experience which make me “me” as “a clubber,” well, those I haven’t lost. Perhaps they were always there, and the clubbing just emphasized them.

Usually, our priorities change before we can notice. When we do, we might feel sad or at least nostalgic. We “lost” something, after all. But did we, really? Think about it. Chances are, you’ll find an aspect of your former self that’s still alive and kicking—and that won’t go out of fashion like your past habits.

You are always you, and in everything you do, you’ll reveal a few pieces of yourself. Those pieces don’t change nearly as much as your day-to-day activities, and that’s a wonderful comfort when it’s yet again time to say goodbye—to clubbing, for example. Not counting bachelor parties, that is.

The intro of Trigun, an anime from 1998, shows a badass guy with spiky blond hair on a distant, deserted planet, walking around in a cool red coat and slinging a massive gun. As soon as the show begins, however, all of the macho-action vibes fade away.

We see Vash helplessly running away from bandits trying to cash in on the 60 billion double-dollar bounty on his head. We see him chasing after girls and stuffing his face with donuts. And the more we get to know the dorky, child-loving, friendly, couldn’t-hurt-a-fly Vash, the more we wonder: Is anything ever going to happen in this show? Of course, it eventually does—because with such a fat price tag on him, bounty hunters of all shapes and sizes can never resist targeting Vash for too long.

Soon, we learn that Vash is actually rather powerful. In fact, he can deal with almost any adversary in seconds. For some reason, however, he usually chooses not to. Vash only steps in when someone’s about to get hurt, and, most of the time, the day ends with everyone home safe and sound. Here is a guy who could wipe out entire towns yet constantly talks about “love and peace!”

Naturally, the people Vash befriends throughout the show are puzzled by his behavior. The two ladies from the insurance company tasked with tracking him down, for example, mistake him for someone else throughout several encounters until realizing they actually have found Vash. “The humanoid typhoon? A donut-loving guy like this? No way!”

One of Vash’s friends in particular, Nicholas D. Wolfwood, a former bounty hunter—and also a priest with a huge cross for a gun—cannot parse Vash’s attitudes to life. Wolfwood is used to shooting bad people in order to protect those he deems good. Seeing Vash refuse to do the same, even when life gets really, really dangerous, makes him question our hero’s ideals, and not just in his head.

In the end, however, there is one trait above all that allows Vash to move everyone, first in their hearts and then to his side: stubbornness. Vash is so pigheaded, so unrelenting in his insistence on love, peace, and happiness, that, sooner or later, all of his friends come around—if only for being so annoyed by his persistence, they throw up their arms and say, “Fine, we’ll do it your way!” That’s both inspiring and, when someone aspires to ideals like Vash’s, worth emulating.

Trigun is a fun pastime but also a complex show that asks many questions about ethics, philosophy, and morality. It holds many a good lesson one can learn, but for me, the most memorable one was this: When you know you’re on the right side of history, do what the humanoid typhoon would do, and stick to your guns. Sooner or later, the world will come around—and even if they don’t, at least you’ll have stuck your neck out for what’s right.

That’s the keyword in my family to remind everyone it’s time to take action. When my dad and I have been sitting at the dining table for too long, philosophizing, one might say, “Rhubarb!” Then, we’ll finally get up and go for our daily walk.

The German word for “rhubarb” is “Rhabarber.” More so than just describing a vegetable, it is also a common way of pointing out when someone is jabbering. It even sounds like “blah blah,” especially if you repeat it thrice for dramatic effect: “Rhabarber, Rhabarber, Rhabarber.” In fact, there’s a whole family of tongue twisters built around the word, and even a funny song describing “Barbara’s rhubarb bar.”

So when my dad is annoyed at having the umpteenth meeting of the day, he might walk out of his office, roll his eyes, and say, “Rhabarber, Rhabarber.” When a friend tells me to get to the point, they might cut me off with “Rhabarber!” It’s a decisive, not always friendly but mostly endearing way of reminding someone: “Hey. You’re yapping. Let’s get a move on.”

My friend Mike says “banana” whenever he gets angry. Then, he eats one and calms down instead of yelling at his wife. My family uses “rhubarb” as a way to make everyone laugh and call each other to action.

Which keyword can open new doors for you and the people around you? Have a think, but don’t rhubarb for too long—the quirkier, the easier it is to remember, and, chances are, even the weird ones will grow on you.

Electing a new pope is never easy, but in the movie Conclave, it appears to be impossible. The voting rounds of over 100 cardinals, locked away behind closed doors, are plagued by sexual scandals, bribery, and even Muslim acts of terror.

One by one, initially favored candidates fade away, and it all plays into the hands of the ultraconservative cardinal Goffredo Tedesco. At one point, he claims the papacy should go to someone “who fights these animals.” For the first time, a quiet cardinal who arrived only at the last minute raises his voice.

Vincent Benitez, who spent his ministry in the Congo, Baghdad, and Kabul, calls Tedesco out: “When you say we have to fight, what is it you think we’re fighting?” The real battle lies “inside each and every one of us,” Benitez explains. Having watched the conclave play out from the sidelines, his main observation is that “these last few days we have shown ourselves to be small, petty men, concerned only with ourselves, with Rome, with these elections, with power.”

“But things are not the Church,” Benitez continues. “The Church is not tradition. The Church is not the past. The Church is what we do next.”

A long silence follows. No one wants to admit it yet, but Benitez’ words left their mark. And by the next morning, when every cardinal holds yet another slip of paper in their hand, they still don’t all agree, but they have learned one lesson: Electing a new pope is not impossible, but it will take a lot of humility, working together, and, as all good things that come out of the Church, faith to get it done.

What struck me most about Benitez’ speech, however, is that you could replace the word “Church” not only with just about any other organization, but even with the word “life,” and it’d still make perfect sense. We are not our lowest common denominator. We are not our greatest fear. And we are definitely not who we were yesterday. Whatever obstacle will drop into your path today, remember: Life is not how we got here. Life is what we do next.

Five years after my last one, I bought a new iPhone. I wasn’t overly excited. There were three reasons.

First, unlike my past devices, which all disintegrated after three years, this one still worked rather well. I only got the replacement so I could use the old one as a separate phone for my new job. It’s a decent reason to get a new phone but not a great one.

Second, I try to use my phone as little as possible. So when I do, it’s mostly sending messages, calling people, and browsing the web. The improved camera quality is always nice, but given how little of their potential I tend to unlock, new phones are often wasted on someone like me.

Third, and this is the most deliberate, cultivated reason I wasn’t too excited, I knew the phone would fall again. Just like my old one eventually dropped and got its first scratches, this one, too, would one day end up dented. As the zen story goes, “the cup is already broken.” Enjoy it while it lasts, but don’t get attached to it.

There is, however, one emotion I tried to lean into when buying my new phone: gratitude. I was grateful that I could buy an expensive phone without having to worry about the money too much—even if it was for an only-okay reason, if I wouldn’t end up using it all that much, if it would one day scratch and break just like my last one did.

I still remember the first time my old phone fell. I had placed it onto my wallet at a restaurant table, and because of its smooth surface, it slid right down and off the side. There’s always a bit of melancholy when the first blemish appears, but perhaps that’s also why we call things “broken in”—now, they have fully arrived in our lives. One day, they’ll break entirely, but for now, the phase of real usefulness has begun.

Enjoy your shiny objects, but remember: The phone will fall again, and that’s perfectly okay.