Month: April 2025

Whenever a new season of an existing show launches on Netflix, the creators add a recap at the beginning to help everyone remember what happened last time. The summary usually lasts two to three minutes, but, often, it leaves you more confused than enlightened.

“Uhhh, what was that?” “Do you feel caught up to speed?” “Nu-uh, you?” “Nope.” Inevitably, the stranded turn to Youtube, where a plethora of recaps awaits. My fiancée and I watched one for the first season of The Recruit yesterday, and it taught us all we needed to know in seven minutes.

“Look at that,” I said. “How can Netflix fail to tell us much of anything in three minutes when it takes a stranger on the internet just twice as long to tell us everything?” Eventually, I figured out why: “Narration!” I exclaimed, adding one extra jump scare to my partner’s TV night.

When Netflix compiles their recaps, all they do is string together scenes of the past season. Whatever dialogue might be in there, it can never be enough to fill all the gaps. Recappers on Youtube, meanwhile, narrate their videos. They give you the key visuals, but they also summarize the entire story in a well-drafted script—and that’s why it works.

“Show, don’t tell” is a common principle in writing, advertising, and the creative arts. Of course it’s better to involve the audience than to merely rattle off a list of supposedly important events. But, like everything, sometimes, showing just doesn’t work. That’s why channels like the Man of Recaps exist: There’s a difference between talking and talking about.

If you’re in the story, it’s okay for it to unfold one day at a time. Meandering is part of the journey. But when you learn about someone else’s journey up to now, you need the pillars holding the house together, and you need them fast.

It’s normal to forget that only you know everything you know. It’s okay to be worried about repeating yourself. When you’re talking about something, however, shelve that worry. Dig deep, recall what it was like to be a beginner, and then start from the beginning indeed.

A good recap is just as generous as a story worth recapping. Know which one you’re sharing so we may all press play at the same time.

Exactly 13 years after I received it as a gift, I gave away my old coffee machine. It’s a bit slow but works just fine. The recipient was happy. I love my new one, too, but, somehow, I doubt I’ll be able to say the same again in 2038.

“Durable if maintained.” This used to apply to most things. A kettle. A cell phone. A car. But the more electronics mark the bulk of hardware components, the more fragile said hardware becomes. Short circuits, overheating, sure, there are more risks than with a few steel rods and joints—but in the end, it’s usually the software that gives way.

“Your firmware will no longer update.” A manufacturer-induced death is now one of the most common ways devices fail. It could be cheaper ingredients or increased complexity, but, often, it’s simply the producer saying, “You know what? It’s time for you to buy a new one.”

Aggressive consumerism is sad, but it’s even sadder that the same fragility has spilled over into our relationships. With digital connections, there are more options, and that optionality has increased the pressure to maximize the boundary of one’s social circle. If someone doesn’t text me every week, why not text with someone else? Because texting is not what the relationship is about—but that part quickly gets lost.

As we age, it gets even harder to put the same amount of social lubricant into our closest ties. But that was true for past generations just the same. They got married. They built houses. They had kids. And yet…durable if maintained. After all, strong materials don’t need constant checkups, do they? Once a year is more than enough.

There may be limits to how long you can preserve your modern-day gadgets, but just because maintenance might not work is no reason to not maintain at all. The same goes for your relationships. Don’t be so fussed about someone only piping up again after a year or two. Chances are, at some point, you might do the same. Be happy you heard from them, and trust in a simple belief: Even the things that aren’t things at all will stay durable as long as they are maintained.

When he arrived on Japan’s shores in the late 16th century, John Blackthorne, protagonist of Shogun, was a prisoner of war. Now, having gained the favor of the local lord, he’s got his own house, replete with food, swords, and even a small staff.

Despite speaking very little Japanese, Blackthorne takes to Uejiro, his gardener. One day, Uejiro erects a large slab of black slate in the zen part of Blackthorne’s yard. Placed right amid the grey dry rocks, the slab doesn’t really serve a purpose, but Uejiro says: “Without a good rock, a garden is just a place of growing.”

Whether he fully understands Uejiro’s sentiment or not, Blackthorne agrees and happily goes about his day. When he returns home, everyone in town seems upset. People are crying in the street, and the staff at his house is eerily quiet. “What happened?” Blackthorne asks.

Fuji, his maid, responds shakily after a big gulp: “Uejiro is dead.” John’s jaw drops to the floor, and that’s where it stays as Fuji explains his gardener ultimately died over only a handful of John’s words, spoken casually yet terribly lost in translation. In the end, for Uejiro, it was between breaking his house lord’s rules or continuing to endure a situation that upset the whole village—namely a rotting animal corpse on John’s premises.

While John won’t regain his composure any time soon, his staff keeps trying to assuage him. “Don’t worry,” they say. “Uejiro was sick anyway. He volunteered. He died for a great cause.” Will John ever understand? Unlikely. But to Uejiro, his choice made perfect sense.

If the animal had kept on rotting, besides the stench, a dangerous illness could have spread. And if the villager’s unrest had kept festering, they might soon have turned on his master. For Uejiro, the day he decided to commit a deed punishable by death was simply the day he became a rock in John’s garden—for without one, it would have remained only a place of growing.

Growth is a means, not an end. Unchecked, plants, money, habits, they all sprawl into undesirable directions. Be they mere design elements or centerpieces, rocks—still, immovable foundations—anchor our being, our activities, even life itself.

Foster your gardens as best as you are able. But remember: Without a good rock, they’ll do nothing but grow—and the places you tend to are meant to be much more than just vegetation.

There were times in my life when caffeine was like the letter “E” in the alphabet: It was everywhere. I drank multiple a day from various sources. At home. From the bakery. Decaf. Not decaf. Caramel lattes. Black tea. I enjoyed it all.

What I did not enjoy were some of the side effects. Occasional stomachaches and headaches. Feeling fidgety. Crashing when the caffeine wears off. Yesterday, I had my first cup after 35 days. Ahh, the return of the smell! The creamy taste. The warm blanket around my soul. But some of the side effects returned too. It made me think.

Some things don’t need to be their own letter in your life. They’re not meant to take up 1/26th of all the space you’ll ever have. Me and my buddy caffeine? Maybe it’s better if she’s only the accent on top of the “E,” not the “E” itself. To be savored in increments, not affluence.

It’s not just your story, you know? It’s also your language to design. Pick your letters—and place your accents carefully.

Without me knowing, my friend Herbert submitted my blog to a curated directory. It got accepted. So now, everyone who browses Minifeed has a chance to discover my work. How awesome is that?

Herbert didn’t try to barter a deal with me. “If I do this for you, will you do that for me?” He simply saw an opportunity, thought of me, and happened to be in a kind place. So he was generous, and it made my entire day.

There’s a lot of talk about “friends in high places,” but, often, those aren’t friends at all. They’re parties you must negotiate with. Each deal comes with a lot of stress, and it only takes one backfiring for the whole relationship to sour.

I’d rather have friends in kind places. People who think of me every now and then, be it by design or by association, and who then have the headspace to throw me a bone. That’s how I try to live as well. Whenever I meet someone creative, I bring them a copy of Herbert’s book. Sometimes, I forget about it for a few weeks. But then I meet someone new, I remember Herbert, and I bring the book to the occasion.

It is better to know a few people who care about you than to care about a lot of people who don’t really know you. Stick with friends in kind places.

My fiancée and I have been watching Beast Games, MrBeast’s first official TV game show, somewhat religiously. Jimmy is known for his crazy challenges and record-breaking videos on Youtube, but to see it all put together in an even more proper format and 10-episode style makes it interesting from new angles.

The show airs every Thursday. We watched the first few episodes in one go, but then, as we had to wait week to week and the cliffhangers got crazier each time, we found ourselves looking forward to finding out what happens next. “Oh! Beast Games is out! Woo, let’s watch it tonight!”

The penultimate episode has what Jimmy dubbed “the biggest cliffhanger in TV history.” Without revealing too much, it’s essentially a coin flip worth millions of dollars. “Holy smokes,” we went when the credits were rolling. “Of course they make us wait a week for that one.”

But then, something funny happened: Thursday came and went. So did Friday. We went on a short trip for my birthday, and almost a whole week later, we had basically entirely forgotten the last episode was out.

Can you imagine? The biggest cliffhanger ever, and yet…

In the end, life is about the basics. Superlatives fade. It’s okay to forget—and never too late to finish your favorite show.

In the second season of The Night Agent, upstart Peter Sutherland deals with a shadowy information broker. When they finally meet face to face, the stakes are sky high. Not only are terrorists synthesizing dangerous chemicals as they speak, they even have Peter’s girlfriend Rose doing it for them.

The broker knows where they are, but of course, such sensitive information won’t come for free. He wants Peter to steal a file from a high-ranking UN diplomat in exchange for Rose’s location. Realizing that the dealer is about to sell out the very client he previously helped slip through Peter’s fingers, the latter is confused: “How is this file more valuable than the info on the chemicals?”

“Let me tell you something about value,” the man begins. “I didn’t know my grandfather very well. He died when I was a kid. I could see how much my mother loved him. The impact he had on my mother’s life. When he passed, I came into possession of one of his old bottles of aftershave. No monetary value, but to me, it was priceless. It’s hard to explain, really, but he had touched it. It was him. Or rather, what he represented: my mother’s happiness. That’s how value works.”

“What’s valuable to me is not up to you to decide,” the villain says. In the same vein, Peter could choose what he valued in this moment, he claims. “The decision is yours.”

One man’s trash is another man’s treasure. One woman loves a man another cannot stand. Some people value shiny cardboard, others eating fried eggs at sea. Value is what you decide. Decide for yourself, but never for others—and remember you can always change your mind.

She was all the talk at the breakfast buffet. This particular hotel guest sat by herself. Her table, however, looked as if she was waiting for at least two more people. At least a dozen little plates and dishes, arranged neatly, yet all left untouched.

Initially, my breakfast neighbor and I agreed what she was doing was rude. Why couldn’t she take dishes one at a time like every other guest? Would she even eat all this food? Why was she blocking a big table all by herself? Was she doing this for her Instagram? Did she actually have family coming?

Questions, questions, and no answers. None of us will ever know. But on the drive home, it occurred to me that, since I wouldn’t, perhaps I shouldn’t judge the lady so harshly. Or at all, for that matter. Maybe this was the only time of the year she got to treat herself. Maybe the perfectly organized plates made her happy. And if, in the end, she finished everything, who could say she was wrong?

Things are rarely exactly as they appear. Don’t focus on what it looks like. Focus on everything that could be, and you’ll be too busy imagining to draw false conclusions.

That’s an interesting lesson you learn when you watch anime, especially the older kind. In 20 minutes, you can explain how three unlikely friends first meet. You can throw them into a difficult situation and force them to help each other. You can let them emerge and realize: “Huh, maybe these other two rascals aren’t so bad after all.”

You can tell a love story in 20 minutes. You can send someone down nostalgia lane. You can enact a complete revenge arc, where someone avenges their long-dead brother. But you know what’s best of all? In another 20 minutes, you can do it again.

Pokémon, Steins;Gate, Code Geass, Cowboy Bebop, Samurai Champloo—watch any random episode of these, and you’ll go, “Okay, that was fun but nothing crazy. I got the message, and that’s it.” Exactly! Wouldn’t it be nice to watch a show for once where each episode is a self-contained journey? Nowadays, we have far too few of those. It’s always an hour per episode and, sometimes, a whole season just to find out what’s going on.

At the same time, if you stack 26 of these 20-minute adventures, you gain a lot more room to tell a bigger story. What used to be irrelevant details start to add up. You discover a little more about each character’s background as you go along, and that makes the ending feel meaningful and satisfying. What you end up with is 27 beautiful stories: one for each episode and the bigger picture. It’s a fascinating way to build a worthwhile tale, and if you ask me, we could use more of it.

“Ahh, he got his dog back!” “Whew, they escaped.” “Aww, and now they are friends, how cute!” It only takes a few sentences to make us feel real emotions. Not every TV episode needs to reinvent the wheel. Enjoy some classics from simpler times, and you’ll realize: For stories as for many other things in life, 20 minutes is enough.

It’s an underrated question. I have answered it every day for over a decade. The result never ceases to amaze: Even on the most rotten, defeating, moody, self-flagellating day I can have, inevitably, there’ll be one or two tiny moments of beauty.

It could be a co-worker’s encouraging words making me smile. It could be a squirrel running by on my way back from the bakery. Sometimes, it’s nothing more than the sunlight falling at a certain angle between the trees. It might be a funny line in the news or a picture in a group chat. Or, on better days, it could be someone saying they are proud of me. An investment reaching a certain level of return, or finally breaking through a tough challenge in a video game.

There are countless sources of good in our lives. Like the stars, even when we can’t see them, they’re always there. If you make the effort to look every day, you’ll realize joy forever flows through your veins—and no matter how small its concentration, you can always feel it.