Month: January 2026

Perhaps you shouldn’t trust him? After all, you’ve already confirmed he is the devil!

It’s easy to settle for less than ideal. At least you know what tradeoff you’re making. Frozen pizza isn’t healthy, but if you make it yourself, you’ll risk lots of time and going hungry in case it doesn’t pan out. But if we’re always choosing the devil we know, how are we ever supposed to get on the path of better?

The unknown is scary, but it’s also where potential resides. If anything could happen, it might as well be something good! Your first pizza, first silent movie, first weekend without coffee—none of it will go as planned. Some will lead to new devils. Other firsts, however, will inevitably lead us to the better angels of our nature.

The next time a crooked habit wants to join you at the dinner table, tell it the seat’s already taken—and have faith in what will show up next.

I wasn’t going to send out a Black Friday promotion in 2025. I had skipped the event in 2024 for the first time, and it actually felt…nice. Back then, the reasons were less than great: My business was falling apart, and I simply had bigger fish to fry. Like finding a job, for example.

When I explained those reasons to Blinkist, my promotion partner of choice for pretty much a decade, I heard…nothing. I sent emails to multiple of their staff, partially to inquire about a role with the company I had applied for. No one responded. That’s after I generated over $500,000 in revenue for them over the years, by the way. I did get the automatic rejection email for the job, though. So it goes.

To truly prove they were tone-deaf and not just busy, they did reach out to me about something else: Black Friday 2025. “Hey, wanna make us more money again and get a small cut?” Nope. No thanks. You can see why I was ready to skip everyone’s favorite sales event yet again.

But then I saw a small prompt on Gumroad, where I host my books and products: “Run a promotion, get featured!” It wasn’t a massive carrot dangled in front of my face. More like a tease: “Wanna join the fun?” I realized that, after a year of full-time work, removing most monetization from my websites, and focusing only on the creative work I wanted to do, I actually had nothing to sell except the stuff I had made myself. Stuff that I was proud of and would be glad to promote on any day, let alone Black Friday. So I did join the fun.

I told my subscribers the same story I just told you. And I gave people 30% off everything from a position of gratitude, happiness, and kindness rather than a scarcity mindset bent on getting the most out of a sales opportunity that only happens once a year. I set the coupon, sent the email, and went to bed. I think I made $700 or so. Just enough to cover that month’s bills for my business. It kind of made me happier than when I made $3,000 in years prior.

I’ve never been the biggest fan of Black Friday, but I always thought it was cooler to be on the seller side than the buyer side on the world’s biggest consumerist event. I believe more people could, and should, experience it. But of course I also buy gadgets and deals if I need something. So technically, I’m simply on both sides of the equation. That feels like a balanced place to be.

Gap year notwithstanding, perhaps I’ll continue to promote stuff on Black Friday. It might just be for better reasons going forward. Life has a funny way of carrying those to you, you know? If you just keep doing, that is. Follow the path, and new reasons to stay on old roads will find you—and when they do, you’ll know you were never completely off track.

This morning, I was supporting an online masterclass event. I didn’t have to present, but I worked on the deck and helped the speaker manage the chat, Q&A, and so on.

For my colleague, it was the first event of this kind. He had spent many hours on the deck and practicing his timing. But five minutes into the call, despite nearly 30 people registering, there was only one person in the room.

“I guess we’ll do a one-on-one session, then!” my colleague said with a chuckle. Then, he began. He presented calmly without disruptions. In the meantime, I pinged another coworker to try and get more people into the session. Over time, 12 folks showed up. Better than expected!

When you’re presenting, it’s hard to pay attention to anything but your slides, maybe speaker notes, and what you’re saying. I’m not sure our host noticed how many people came in. In his head, it might really have been a one-on-one session all throughout. Still, he did it exactly the way he would have done it if we had maxed out Google’s meeting cap of 1,000 people. Kudos!

Performing live is hard enough as it is. Doing it in front of an empty theater? That’s brutal. But how you do anything is how you do everything—so why would your theater ever be full if you don’t rock the stage when no one shows up? Keep being a star even when you’re the only sparkle far and wide.

Whenever I fall ill, I reduce my daily routine to whatever I can muster. It doesn’t matter if I do 50, 30, 10, or one push-up. As long as I push-ups every day, the routine remains intact. But that’s the obvious part. If you can barely get out of bed, of course you won’t complete your usual fitness regimen.

One question I used to wonder about was what I should do before I’m too sick to move. When I get the flu, I can usually tell in advance. My grandma has an eerily accurate rule of thumb: “It takes three days to arrive, three days to stick around, and three days to leave.” In those first three days, I’m not sick—but kinda.

So, should I already dial down? Get as much rest as I can in hopes of fending off the worst? Or just do business as usual, pretending I’m ignorant until I can no longer get away with it? I’ve tried a lot over the years. Eventually, I chose the latter: Whatever you can do, do it as long as you can.

For one, coasting for a few days before I actually felt properly ill has never gotten me around grandma’s rule. I still end up sick regardless. And for another, the transition in terms of what I can actually, physically manage is usually stark and clear. Therefore, if I maintain my habits until I can’t anymore, I’m making the most of life until it’s time to rest.

This is the story I’ve discovered for myself, and it works for me. Little is guaranteed in this life. Want to get in some video recordings for your job? Finish a book review and send it off for a magazine submission? Do it as long as you can. Temporary breaks turn into long ones before we know it—sometimes forever.

For you, another pattern might work better. Just consider doing everything as long as you can.

In the summer, I noticed my parents’ basement ran up to 70% humidity. Given all of my precious shiny cardboard—aka Pokémon card collection—is in there, that was…not great. The cards and their packaging bend when it’s too moist. Worst case, they’ll get moldy. So I bought a dehumidifier.

The device did exactly what it was supposed to: remove excess moisture from the air and bring the humidity level down to a much more conducive 40%. That’s not just for trading cards, by the way. The ideal range for humans also supposedly lies between 40 and 60%. Regardless, my cards stayed dry for the rest of the summer, and in the winter humidity reduced on its own.

With the cold season in full swing, however, I faced the opposite problem back in my own living room: It was too dry. A tiny measuring device told me the water levels in the air were at only 25%. Remembering itchy skin, dry lips, and crusty eyes from the previous winter, I decided to secure yet another device. This time, it pumped vaporized water into the air instead of removing it. After a few adjustments, I managed to get the humidity back to 40%, and the difference is noticeable.

I guess life is a bit like a house: Different rooms serve different purposes at different times—and in order to enact those purposes, we must shape those rooms into a great variety of conditions. Don’t be afraid to turn the modalities of an area in your life upside down. You can run a 5K outside every morning before breakfast or jog a leisurely 3K on your treadmill late at night—both could make sense in different seasons.

Do you need more humidity or less? Adjust as required, and then invest in the right tools to make your current room as supportive as it can be.

I’m on my fifth iPhone in 15 years. The most notable upgrade throughout the various generations? The camera. At least for me, a deliberately distant user of the product.

Better technology is often touted as a great equalizer, and, in some ways, it is. Professional creators can now exclusively use iPhones to shoot pretty amazing photos and videos. So those who aspire to become visual craftspeople have fewer barriers to entry.

What better tech doesn’t do, however, is turn an amateur into a pro automatically. It merely enhances their amateur experience.

When I switched from my iPhone 6S to an iPhone 11, I could now capture more in the same picture thanks to its 0.5x ultra-wide zoom feature. I remember also being able to properly photograph the moon for the first time. Previous lenses basically didn’t work at night.

After upgrading from that iPhone 11 to an iPhone 16 Pro, more new possibilities have unlocked. The 5x optical zoom lets me catch a squirrel in the tree as if it’s right in front of me. The slow-motion and time-lapse videos are now in full HD resolution.

But for all these features, I still know as much about focus, composition, lighting, aperture, and exposure as I did before—which is next to nothing. That better technology? It makes for more fun pics in my family group chat but little else. I’m not suddenly going to steal a professional photographer’s job, since I never aspired to be one in the first place.

We have more technology than ever before. We’re also as busy as we’ve ever been, and the number of possible job options has never been greater. So don’t panic. Leverage what you can to truly improve your work. For everything else, relax. Have fun. Don’t overthink new technology. Enjoy the amateur enhancements.

There aren’t too many bright spots in The Witcher‘s fourth season. Yennefer of Vengerberg’s transformation from egoistic, conniving loner witch to fierce, caring mother and leader of a sisterhood is one of them.

In the first season, Yennefer killed some of her fellow sorcery apprentices without blinking to enhance her own power. She threw away her ability to have children in order to look more beautiful. By season four, she’s had a brief, patchwork but wonderful family life with a man and her adopted daughter Ciri. She’s fought time and again to protect what’s left of the shrinking school of witchdom. And when she seeks revenge on the dark magician Vilgefortz, the source of all the mages’ problems, including her own, she mainly does it to save the people she loves.

Just before Vilgefortz is about to take the fight once again to Yennefer’s doorstep, she turns to one of the many allies she’s asked for help. “Can we win this fight?” she asks the oldest witcher, Vesemir, who’s survived more battles than Yennefer could even count. “Can I tell you a secret?” he counters. “Leaders never really know—but they keep their doubts from their people.”

There are many ways to lead. You can do it quietly, from behind, or even by being an early follower. But sometimes, life calls on us to stand in front. To point to a place we don’t know how to get to, and towards which the road looks dangerous. And yet still, we’re expected to say, “Let’s go! I believe we must reach this destination, and I think we can.”

Choosing doubt over certainty is half of what makes a leader worth following. For better or for worse, the other half is knowing when to express your doubts and when to swallow them.

No matter which one Yennefer will pick, the future remains unknown—but if we can all walk towards it together with less fear and more confidence, it’s likely we’ve placed our faith in the right person.

It’s a famous song covered by many singers helping us deal with heartbreak: “The First Cut Is the Deepest.” As a way of looking at the world, however, it might be a touch too cynical. After all, who wants to sit around after getting hit the first time, merely hoping future blows will hurt less? Down here on Earth, we take our lessons, and we learn from them!

Five years ago, I was staying at my girlfriend’s house for an extended period for the first time. After doing my daily workout, I’d often jump up from the floor, full of renewed energy. One time, I was sitting with my torso upright and my legs extended. My girlfriend reached out her hands, I gave her mine, and she pulled me up as I swung myself forward, trying to get up in one swift motion. The pain in my right knee was instant, and I collapsed right back onto the floor.

I hadn’t suffered it in years, but it wasn’t a new sensation. Way back when, during football freestyle practice, I used to sometimes twist my knee. Imagine one of your joints rotating 90 degrees to one side, then snapping back. Ouch! As I lay there, holding my leg and rubbing my kneecap, I imprinted one idea onto my brain: “You just can’t get up that fast. Be careful when you rise.” To this day, I get up slowly after every morning workout.

You’re not a punching bag! You can learn. Adapt. Ideally never twice. For many mistakes, the first cut is deep enough.

Yesterday, I literally cut myself. One of the knives in the knife drawer faced the other way. I put in a clean one, pulled out my hand and…zing! The gash was deep. It bled. I’m on my third round of bandaids and balm. I’ll enjoy this one for a while, I think. But I’ll also hopefully never store a knife in a hurry ever again.

Slow healing makes the lesson last—and that’s okay if you don’t have to learn it again. Let the first cut be deep enough.

That’s how many my sister and her husband packed for their latest apartment move. “That’s a lot!” was my initial reaction. But then I thought about it.

Between the two of them, they’ve racked up almost 60 years of life. So actually, they have just over one box of stuff for every year they’ve been alive. That doesn’t feel like a lot, does it? Could you fit every year of your life neatly into one box?

I’m not sure I could. Physically, perhaps. But what about all the memories, emotions, skills, and lessons? Thankfully, many of those always travel with us. No separate packaging required.

A move is an opportunity to declutter—but not just when it comes to your stuff. It’s great to throw out what you no longer need, but you’ll likely pack most of your physical possessions. But what invisible baggage would you no longer like to carry? Any heavy futures ready to be left behind?

Similarly, you might want to add bubble wrap to some extra-treasured memories. Take your time, move through the space, and really say goodbye to this season. Some events you’ll no longer remember after you leave. That, too, is part of moving.

63 boxes. Too many? Too few? For my sister and her husband, they are just enough to fit everything they need. I wonder how many boxes I’ll bring on my next move.

Two incidents from this week which highlight different shades of the same lesson:

First, a man reached out to me wanting to feature my book to his Boston-based book club. He seemed well-informed and excited. We emailed back and forth a bit about what’s possible, from doing some Q&A to a discussion, and so on. Then, after he had reeled me in, he dropped the big ask: “There’s just a small coordination fee. Let me know when you’re ready, and I’ll send the details.”

Second, a recruiter pinged me on LinkedIn. Some copywriting role in Dubai. We also exchanged a few messages, and she eventually sent a job description. It didn’t sound like a gig I’d be interested in, but I was curious about the numbers. “Can you share a salary range?” I asked. “The salary range is totally open and depends on the interview. No bar for the right candidate,” was the answer.

I would give both of these people the same advice for different reasons: Lead with the price. If there’s a cost, and you know what it is, just share it right away. You’ll save everyone time and build credit faster.

The first person immediately destroyed our relationship when asking for money after setting up a different connection. Publications feature writers because they believe their work will add value to their audience. They also charge for advertising. Pretending you’re doing one to only later reveal you’re doing the other instantly casts everything else you’ve said and done into doubt. Now, I even wonder whether the guy was actually prepared or just had AI spit out an informed blurb about my book.

The second person seems either unprepared or also disingenuous. Business owners generally know how much they’re willing to pay to get something done—and if they don’t, it doesn’t bode well for their long-term prospects. Chances are, someone with a “totally open” salary range just wants to bait you and then lowball you when the process is about to close. After you’ve invested a lot of effort, of course. To make you feel vulnerable and more prone to taking a disadvantageous deal. Either reason is a good excuse to run for the hills.

It’s not 1950 anymore. Few people have time for song and dance. And if a good schmoozing is still required, we can just as well do that with our cards on the table. Lead with the price.