Month: September 2025

When I woke up this morning, I was excited to write about a friend’s book I’ve recently finished. Instead, I spent all of my pre-work writing time reading the news and watching a crypto interview with a famous trader.

Curiosity can be a driver of focus, but if you love learning, excessive consumption of information can also sap your drive to create your own stuff. This year, my ratio of “information in” vs. “information out” is skewed too heavily towards processing data I ultimately don’t end up using. I can read news, stock analyses, and watch Pokémon price predictions all day—it won’t change my asset position or where the markets are headed. I’d be better off making stuff and then reading or watching quality work whenever I do need inspiration.

It’s fantastic to be eager to learn—but don’t let curiosity kill the energy. Make first, learn second.

Friendships don’t expire, you know?

While writing an email to a former teacher, I remembered “T,” which is short for “Tej,” which is short for “Tejendra.” T sat next to me in the class with said teacher. We were two of the few students who actually cared. About the material. About our professor. And about everything we could learn, be it about statistics or any other topic.

Thanks to our shared curiosity, T and I really connected. We stayed in touch for a while after I returned to Germany from my exchange. Then, life happened, and we hadn’t heard from each other in years. But it didn’t do any harm.

I checked T’s last email to me. Eight years ago. “Okay, no problem. This’ll be fun,” I thought. I shot him a message. He was excited. We exchanged phone numbers and, a week later or so, I picked up the phone and talked to someone I hadn’t spoken with in almost a decade.

Guess what? It wasn’t a big deal. We chatted for 30 minutes. We caught up on some large life changes but also reconnected over small shared interests. “I’m trying to ride my bike from Canada all the way to Florida in multiple segments,” T said. We laughed about how we both look almost the same. Meditation, politics, AI, it all came up. Then, T had to get another call, and that was that.

Will our next chat take another decade to happen? I hope it won’t—but even if it does, 10-year-breaks can’t break anything that matters. Like friendships, which are rarely too late to be picked up right where you left off.

At my job, I work with people to create online courses. One realization has been how hard-won of a skill it is to appear both natural and comfortable on video. I’ve cultivated this skill to a decent degree over many years of video chats with strangers, podcast and live interviews, and creating my own videos and courses. Most people in most companies, meanwhile, never have to produce video material at all, and so when you ask them to, it shows.

It doesn’t matter if I make slides and speaker notes and ask people to record themselves as if they’re giving a presentation, or if I write a word-by-word script for them to read out loud with a teleprompter. The starting point is almost always the same: As soon as we hit “Record,” people go stiff and robotically rattle off whatever text is on the screen or in their minds. It’s as if the thought “This will be on video” is the equivalent of the “Petrificus Totalus” spell from Harry Potter. Then, the real work begins: melting the ice so we can get a result that’ll land well with other humans.

People love belittling influencers. “Pffff, anyone can put on a dress, make a duck face, and take selfies 24/7.” Actually, most people can’t, and that’s why we have not just influencers in general but many influencers who fail and only a few who are successful. It’s easy to try being an influencer but tough to crank out multiple posts a day that show creativity, novelty, and smarts.

Seeing others struggle in front of the camera has given me more appreciation for how far I’ve come. I’m no Brad Pitt, but I can record myself standing center frame while presenting slides on screen, reading my script yet still making it sound conversational in real-time. That, like most events you only bear witness to as an observer, is harder than it looks, and it’s worth considering—no matter whether it’s a trapeze show, an online course, or kindness under pressure that’s playing out in front of our eyes.

Yesterday was an intense day at work. I started at 9 and had to finish a slide deck draft by 1:30 PM. But from 11 to 1, I was in meetings. So I caught up on email, worked on the deck, went to the calls, then back to the deck, and by the time I first thought about food for the day, it was 2:15 PM.

Pheeeeeew. That’s the sound I made in my head. Perhaps also literally. It was time to inhale. I sat down, ate some bread, and watched Digimon for a good bit. It got me thinking: The longer a consuming stretch of effort, the longer you’ll need to unwind. That feels like common sense.

I’m not sure the standard, eight-hour-workday has enough room for this decompression. Hardly anyone ever actually works eight hours in one focused stretch, and perhaps this is part of the reason: If you did so for a few days, your head might explode. So besides the obvious lunch break, we add and then fill various gaps, sometimes consciously but often without realizing, with distractions of all kinds: jumping on notifications, gladly indulging in interruptions, or getting pulled into the infinite content utopia waiting behind any screen.

I don’t know what the golden ratio would be. Chances are, it’d vary from person to person and day to day. Do two hours of focused work balance with one hour of relaxing? 30 minutes? Is it 4:1, 3:1, or even 50:50?

When I was self-employed, I didn’t worry about this ratio as much. When I needed more rest, I rested more. And when I felt inspired, I kept working. I’m slowly bringing some of that attitude to my full-time job, and I’m pretty sure it’s making me more productive, not less. But when your contract says “eight hours,” that weighs on you. At least it does on me. I don’t want to fail my obligations to my employer. At the same time, for all the numerical clarity, it feels like no one knows what exactly those eight hours are supposed to look like. So I’m doing my best and hoping for the same.

Take your work seriously, but please do the same with your health—mental or physical. Humans in pressure cookers don’t make for faster soup. They’ll just get boiled.

I’m a big proponent of personal space. The ability to go into a room, close the door behind you, and just be yourself, with yourself, by yourself, is worth a lot. And yet, even as an introvert, I’d always choose living with people I care about over living alone.

It’s hard to pinpoint exactly where the magic comes from. Is it knowing there’s always a good conversation waiting? The potential of someone being kind to us, for example by including us in their breakfast plans, without us asking for it? Or simply the comfort of not being the only person in the building?

Whatever the original source, the symptoms are clear. You wake up in the morning, turn from side to side, and you hear it: Pots and dishes are clattering into place as someone empties the dishwasher. The sound of doors opening and closing. A coffee machine making grinding noises, then water running with a splash.

Whether they make you jump out of bed or close your eyes again in peace, the many sounds of life are how you know: There’s movement in the house, and you’re not alone in this world—and that’s worth more than all the personal space you could ever want.

If the patches of skin right above my fingernails are dry, little strands can come loose and stand apart. Just now, I tried capping one of them. But instead of coming off, it grew longer and longer, taking more and more skin with it. By the time I pulled it loose, I had created the equivalent of a little cut in my skin.

Of course, the whole thing happened in one swift motion, so it’s not like I had time to deliberate, let alone reverse course and call off the failed attempt in skincare. “Ow! That hurts!” By the time I got the feedback I needed, it was too late.

As I felt the pain unfold and saw a tiny bit of blood rising from the skin underneath, I thought: “Great, now I have to deal with this, too. It’ll probably take a good two days before I no longer notice it. Damn skin strands!” Alas, a few seconds ticked away, and life went on.

I turned my attention to writing this blog, and a phrase popped into my head: “The trick is not minding that it hurts.”

In a scene from the 1962 war epic Lawrence of Arabia, the eponymous main character, played by Peter O’Toole, extinguishes a match with his bare fingers after lighting his colleague’s cigarette. Curious, William Potter tries the feat for himself—only to shake his hand as soon as it gets close to the flame. “Ooh! It damn well hurts!” he exclaims. “Certainly it hurts,” Lawrence counters. “Well, what’s the trick then?” “The trick, William Potter, is not minding that it hurts.”

I think my little finger-situation is the same—and so are many others in life. When I feel anxious about tomorrow’s workload, the trick is not minding that I’m anxious. Let the anxiety be, and it’ll eventually go in its own time. When I feel sad that I won’t have time to do everything I planned on doing, the trick is to not mind that I’m sad. If I let time carry on, eventually, it’ll carry me into happier times. And when I stub my toe, slip on ice, or feel groggy after a night of bad sleep, well…

Pain can take infinite forms. Awareness needs only one. Recognize the pain, and accept it. That’s how to not mind that it hurts.

After one of my best friends got married and had a kid, I decided to put together some gifts for him, his wife, and their newborn daughter. I also meant to include a card to the couple and a letter to him. The latter used to be a tradition.

For every birthday, one would write the other a letter, sometimes referencing the last one, usually simply expressing their congratulations, appreciation, and, on occasion, some deeper thoughts. Alas, life eventually caught up with both of us, and now, said tradition had remained dormant for a while. I think that’s why I procrastinated on writing the letter.

For a few weeks, I told myself I was waiting for logistical reasons—my friend not being at home to receive the package—and that I’d think of something clever for my letter if I waited a bit more. That last one was definitely a distraction. I should have known better. For years, I’ve realized that the only way to write a meaningful birthday card is to sit down, be present, and write the best birthday card you can write in the moment. For some reason, it took a bit longer to click this time.

Thankfully, my friend ended up visiting our house. It was a short-notice but welcome trip, and so I was out of options. I wasn’t going to hide the package only to mail it to them later. They arrived with a car, so they were perfectly able to take everything home. So, with two days left to, I finally sat down. I wrote the best letter I could write. And the best card I could write. And it took all of 30 minutes.

Some projects really benefit from a later release. But the delay must be active. A period of thought, reflection, and refinement. Gestation, at the very least. Most tasks in this life, however, are simply standing by, ready for you to show up anytime. Words, ideas, thoughts, creativity, action—life rarely gets better the longer you wait.

I’m not the biggest fan of winter, but one of the benefits of the cold season creeping in is that I get to be awake for the sunrise. I usually get up at 6 or 7 which, in summer, doesn’t quite make the cut for seeing mother sun pop over the horizon. Today, dawn kicked in at around 6:30, and I was here for it.

It wasn’t a grand sunrise by any means. In fact, given our apartment’s orientation, I couldn’t see it in its full splendor. But the hues of blue, then red, then orange turning into gold, those were clearly visible all around the living room, and it was beautiful.

Then, it was over as quickly as it began. Settling in for a cold and rainy week, the skies fogged up within an hour. You win some, you lose some. But you know what? For today, I already won. Because that sunrise was enough.

When I end up thinking back to today’s weather tonight, tomorrow, or even a few days from now, I won’t focus on the fog. I’ll tell you about the sunrise, and how I got to start my day in a soothing way.

Fog clears slowly once it has descended. But if you have a little light you can remember, you should have all the nourishment you need to wait it out. The trick is to be there for the sunrise before the fog—and then hold on to the good times while waiting for the storm to pass.

One of my rules for staying kind to myself is that fixing typos counts. If I can’t be as productive as I’d like to be, I can lower the bar, crawl over it, and call it a day. This attitude is becoming more socially acceptable by the day it seems, and that’s a good thing. But is it cool if I apply the same mentality to my downtime?

The past weekend was perhaps the last chance to spend significant time outside in shorts and a t-shirt. Late September, 29 degrees Celsius? I’ll take it. Especially after yet another mixed summer.

When I went to the bakery, I saw people dressed up for the first day of Oktoberfest, strolling to a place where they’d undoubtedly spend 12 hours or more with their friends. I saw teenagers on scooters with nothing but a tote bag and a phone, ready to hang at the park all day long.

I, too, would have liked to stroll around, rack up 10,000 steps, and do little else besides having a cool drink, perhaps. But doing so would have meant not finishing an article I was close to shipping after weeks of work. It would have meant not wrapping up my Pokémon investments for the next month or two. So, I chose not to.

Instead of throwing my to-do list to the wind, I chose to sit outside instead. I took some short walks, went to a café to do some work, and spent several hours typing in my garden. I didn’t maximize short-term joy or happiness, perhaps, but I’m confident my tradeoff will lead to the most long-term meaning. That, too, is being kind to myself, I think.

Fixing typos counts. Sitting outside counts. Compromise is valuable wherever you choose to embrace it.

This morning, my alarm rang at 6 instead of 7. Instead of kindly going back to sleep, my brain did what it does best: race through what feels like a thousand thoughts a minute.

I thought about work, bills, and Pokémon cards. I thought about TV shows, my wedding, and memories from long ago. And then, just beyond the anxiety of not being able to sleep again, I somehow found myself marveling at just how many thoughts my mind can contain. Its capacity seems near-infinite.

Sure, I can’t access everything all the time, but it does seem like any single idea can come back at the right time. That’s a rather amazing dynamic—but perhaps it’s perfectly natural. As I was wondering whether my memory and subconscious truly hold infinite space, I realized: Actually, I am made from infinite space. We all are. Rearranged stardust. Woven from the infinite fabric of the universe.

We can argue about the exact path the universe took to shape us, sure. Scientifically speaking, we have a decent idea, although there’s still much more we don’t know than we do. And yet, collectively, our knowledge also keeps expanding.

“Like and like enjoys each other’s company,” we say in German. If the universe merely wanted more buddies to play with, why not hand them the same infinite powers? It’s more fun that way.

Your hard drive will never fill. Trust in the cataloging system, and don’t let the speed of processing carry you away. It’s all part of the game, and you’re one cosmonaut of a player.