Month: February 2026

Many years ago, I was reading a book, probably in bed at night. I wanted to stop and call it a day, but I didn’t have a bookmark in my nightstand. “Ah, it’s fine, I’ll remember where I left off,” I thought and went to sleep. The next time I read, I realized I had indeed no problem finding the right page to continue from, and I haven’t used a bookmark since.

It’s a strange habit people usually point out to me if they notice it. “Wait, you don’t have a bookmark? How do you know where you are?” It’s nice. It makes for a story I can tell them and maybe also a fact they’ll remember about me.

Of course, every now and then, I do struggle to find the right spot in the book again. After I’ve dropped a book for a while, for example. But even then, the quirk is a nice memory exercise. It forces me to read attentively, remember the page number—and thus, also, how far I am in the book overall—and focus every time I re-open a book.

There are many ways to improve your life and countless recipes you can follow to do so. The most rewarding ones, however, are the rituals you discover for yourself. They’re unique, original, and part of what makes you you.

Take all the help you can get, but remember to find your own way through life. Trust me, you can do it—even without bookmarks.

After being in development for six years, an incredibly long cycle at the time, the original Pokémon Game Boy games were finally ready. They were packed so full of story, characters, and features that the storage cartridges they’d be shipped on were filled to the brim.

Just before the release, however, the debug features only used by developers were removed, freeing up 300 bytes, a minuscule amount of space. Shigeki Morimoto, one of the programmers, decided to have some fun: On top of the scoped 150 pocket monsters in the game, he snuck in one more.

The name of that Pokémon was “Mew.” It received its own entry in the Pokédex, the in-game encyclopedia, number, and unique set of attacks. The only catch? You couldn’t actually catch it—pun intended. So Morimoto thought, at least.

There was no place in the game where you could trigger an encounter with Mew, but within weeks of the game’s release, players somehow did. No game is perfect, and this one, too, had bugs. Occasionally, those bugs made Mew appear, and it caused immense speculation.

The creators were thankful for the buzz: They had released the game in February because they’d missed the usual October release window the year before. It was a bad time to put out games, and Pokémon sold accordingly. After such a long time to market, this was not what they had hoped for.

With rumors around a 151st Pokémon hiding somewhere inside the code of the game, Mew, the mythical Pokémon, literally became an urban myth. Players developed all kinds of theories as to why it was there, which patterns one had to follow to catch it, and whether or not Nintendo had intended for all of this to happen.

Sensing a PR disaster in the making, Nintendo decided to let the cat—Mew is named after the sound felines make—out of the bag. They held an official “Legendary Pokémon Offer” event where, after sending in their game cartridges, 20 players would receive a proper, sanctioned copy of Mew in their games. The promotion blew away anyone’s expectations. Some 78,000 people applied.

Tsunekazu Ishihara, the founder of The Pokémon Company, recalls in an interview: “The monthly sales we’d had up to then began to be equalled by weekly sales, before increasing to become three then four times larger.” Even Satoru Iwata, the late president of Nintendo, admitted: “I remember feeling that I’d never really witnessed a game selling like that before.”

Even though it took over three years for the games to make it to Germany, after my friends and I received our copies while in third grade, the rumors around Mew were alive and kicking. Tongue-in-cheek, its Pokédex entry was updated for these international versions: “So rare that it is still said to be a mirage by many experts. Only a few people have seen it worldwide.”

To this day, the lore around Mew drives people to Pokémon. Videos are still being made about its origins, odd traits, and the many ways to obtain it through various glitches discovered over the years. Chances are, without Mew, Pokémon would not be what is today: the highest-grossing media franchise in the world. If the original game sales hadn’t eventually picked up, Pokémon might have stayed a niche game exclusive to Japan. But they did, and it was all thanks to the rumors caused by a prank from an early team member.

Morimoto’s move feels like the kind of joke no one makes anymore. It was bold, but a good number of team members was still in on it. And Mew would have been revealed to the public regardless, at the latest with the release of the second generation of Pokémon games. The gag was gutsy but not disrespectful.

Today’s culture may no longer feel as receptive, but have faith: There’s always room for a practical joke. All we need to do is create that room in our minds and hearts—and we should. After all, you never know just how practical your joke might become down the line.

This morning, I heard them. The window was slightly open while I meditated, and their chorus echoed in: Caw! Caw! Caw! A band of crows had gotten back together. Clearly, everyone had a lot to say. Whenever the cawing died down for a moment, one rusty fellow piped up, and off the whole gang went again. It was…fun, actually!

It’s been a weird winter. We barely had snow, but the few times we did, it was a mountain in one go. Then, it melted as quickly as it appeared. Temperatures bounced all over the place. Having suffered negative degrees centigrade a week ago, we’re coming on 17 this weekend.

But you know what cuts through the blur of weeks and months blending together? The moment the birds are back in town. The crows might only be a preview, for they don’t really migrate out of Germany, but as soon as I heard their song, I noticed something else: It was 7 AM, and it was bright enough for me to turn off the lights.

Every year, no matter how tumultuous, is punctuated by nature’s repeating patterns. Winged friends leave and return. Trees blossom in white for a week. The sun stops hiding. Notice time’s natural markers, and you can deliberately enjoy each new season.

In our catchup, we discovered we’d both been through the wringer in finding our latest job. Me? Six months and over 100 applications. Her? A year and a half of trying to get a remote role—which she eventually compromised on to score anything at all.

We noted we’re both grateful for our jobs, but we also don’t want to desperately cling to them, because that often leads to burnout. I told my friend I’d lost a bit of my zen formula that I initially started my role with, and that I’m slowly finding my way back to it. In response, she shared a line a former mentor turned friend had repeated to her over and over again while they were working in the same team: “We’re not saving lives here. Relax.”

Now, if you’re a nurse, doctor, fire fighter, police officer, or first responder, my hat goes off and my heart goes out to you. Thank you! Frankly, I don’t know how you do it. Or, rather, I don’t know how I would do it with that brain of mine, which already overthinks the most trivial details all the time.

But if you’re part of the large majority typing, tapping, and staring at screens, chances are, whatever you do can wait—and if you won’t do it, someone else will. Or not. And, in many cases, that’s fine, too. This isn’t to say your work doesn’t matter. Just that your sanity matters more. It’s not worth throwing away over any project, product, or service. However much it is, you’re not paid enough to worry.

If you’re having a tough one, and the stress seems to drill straight through your skull, imagine how a monkey would describe what you do if he could speak. Remember life is a ridiculous affair all around, and if you’re not saving lives, it’s probably okay to relax.

Most people will be, most of the time.

Several years ago, I was gifted a weekly calendar consisting of tear-off postcards. Each one had a funny “Denglisch” idiom on it—a typically German expression translated literally into English. Throwing away the postcards would have been a waste, so I had the idea of actually mailing them to my friends. But in order to do that, I first needed everyone’s address!

Over the Christmas holidays in 2025, I finally bit the bullet and started reaching out. With some friends, I hadn’t spoken in years. I was hesitant. Would they appreciate me showing up in their chat windows? Or wonder what I could possibly want after such a long time? Still, I kept going through my list.

Two things surprised me: First, how quickly everyone shared their address. Not only their willingness to do so but also their literal response time. Thank you, Christmas! A time when everyone has time. It truly brings people together in ways both common and unforeseen.

The second, bigger surprise was how happy everyone was to hear from me. “Nik!! Oh my god, it’s been ages! How are you doing? What’s new?” Across the board, people seemed genuinely excited, interested, and grateful for our interaction. Some were brief exchanges. Others turned into two-hour long catchups. But every single conversation took a positive spin.

When folks unexpectedly reach out to me, I try to tell them: “Thanks for messaging me! Great to connect with you again!” You can…just say that, you know? And the more we all do, the easier it will be to pick up the phone once more. Because whenever we’re scared to take the risk of messaging first, we’ll remember: Most people will be happy to hear from you.

“Juggernauts.” That’s how their fellow players described them. Like the Indian temple chariots the term goes back to, once Tucker and Eric got rolling on season 38 of The Amazing Race, there seemed to be no stopping them.

From the moment this scavenger hunt around the globe started, all other teams shared one opinion: These two brothers were going to be a force to be reckoned with. And they were. Tall. Crafty. Fast. And not short on wits either.

Tucker could pretty much build a rocket in a garage, and Eric seemed to have near-photographic memory. They were great with directions, could drive manual cars, and knocked out most challenges as if they were piñatas at a kid’s birthday party.

The only reason they placed in the top four for the first three legs of the race was that from the starting gun, they had a target on their back. But you can only stop a juggernaut for so long. They won the next four legs in a row. “Let’s goooooo!” their catchphrase rang out from the TV dozens of times.

Then came leg nine. A roadblock forced the brothers to choose one of them to master the Greek alphabet. This typically would have been Eric’s gig. But teams must make sure both members complete enough roadblocks throughout the season, and so, somehow, this one landed in Tucker’s lap.

He struggled. A lot. Greek lowercase letters? All jumbled up in order, with weird, similar-sounding pronunciations? It just wasn’t Tucker’s thing. So it took time. And more time. And more time. They had arrived at the challenge in third place but left in last.

After that, despite being only a few minutes behind, it only took a bit of taxi chaos in Athens to break the camel’s back: When Tucker and Eric met show host Phil Keoghan on the mat of the so-called Pit Stop for their check-in, all hope came too late. They had been eliminated.

I don’t yet know how the season ends. It was sad to see the other teams cheer so much at the brothers’ demise. Then again, I understand. Five Davids had slain a Goliath, and they all felt like they finally had a real shot at winning.

That’s the thing about giants: They may be tall, but they’re still walking—and that gives them as many chances to stumble as the rest of us.

It was a small update to my health insurance plan. I forwarded my provider’s letter about the new rate to a colleague from finance. She was already out for the Christmas holidays. In her autoresponder, one sentence struck me: “Your email will not be read.”

At first, I was shocked. “Wow! What a statement. Can you do that?” It wasn’t without context, of course. Her note explained that she was on leave and would return by a certain date in the new year—after which she’d read your email and get back to you. But not before. That was the point.

The sentence itself may feel a bit blunt, but you know what? It sets clear expectations. At least, now you know you won’t get an answer until the person returns. There’s no vacuum left to fill or other colleague to follow up with—who likely lacks context and won’t be able to help you regardless.

In most companies, there’s this unspoken rule that you should never tell someone you won’t do something, especially in your autoresponder. Just offer a soothing excuse and refer them to another person to pester. Of course, in reality, we decline and ignore tasks all the time, often with good reason. And what better reason than being on holiday? After all, we also know there must be some time during which we don’t read emails. It’s healthy. So why not let the people know?

“Clear is kind,” the Brené Brown saying goes. It’s not rude to gently turn folks down, particularly if it’s only for the time being. Don’t be afraid. Go out of office. Give folks what they need in your absence. And for anything you won’t get to, just honestly tell them: “Your email will not be read.”

I read 19 books in 2025. That’s awesome! Way more than I expected. But at the end of the year, I had only written reviews for three of them so far. Yowza! If I’m trying to keep my reading public, somewhat accountable, and have at least a handful of thoughts to refer back to for each book, that cadence won’t work.

The three reviews I had written were thorough. Almost like mini op-eds. “How am I supposed to write 16 more of them?” I wondered. “Let alone maintain that habit for a dozen or so books each year?” Unless I wanted to throw most of my own book writing time at this venture, I couldn’t. I needed a less time-consuming system.

Earlier today, I set a timer. One hour. Hit play. My goal was to see how many off-the-cuff book reviews I could complete in that time. Answer? Six. I pasted in existing thoughts I had shared on my daily blog, linked to some posts in the reviews to keep them from getting too long, and just typed whatever words came to my mind. None of these reviews were perfect—but I was all out of perfect, and these turned out to be more than good enough for the moment.

When will I digitize all my highlights from these books? Import the reviews from Goodreads to the blog? And perhaps flesh them out a little more, at least for the books I liked and care about the most? I don’t know. But I can always improve it later. And so can you.

It’s hard to work with something that doesn’t exist. But as soon as you have a crappy version one, you can start thinking about version two. For a while, it’ll even let you sleep comfortably, knowing the information, the tool, the service is at least out there.

Shipping early doesn’t mean you’ll stop aspiring to be better tomorrow. It just means you’re shipping. Doing. Making. Tomorrow is tomorrow. Today, you hit publish. And you can always improve it later.

In the first episode of Stranger Things, the gang of young boys centered around Mike Wheeler plays Dungeons & Dragons. In the last episode of Stranger Things, aired over nine years later, the gang also plays Dungeons & Dragons. It’s an emotional farewell for the group, and for any dedicated watcher, too.

The game is a tabletop role-playing game. Every player takes on the role of a certain character. But without a game master who narrates the action, which can take hours to reach its conclusion, D&D wouldn’t be half the fun. This part, the mantle of the storyteller, is carried by Mike throughout the show.

Having been to hell and back together—and not just in the game—the friends are about to say their post–high-school farewells, and so this last campaign is special in many ways. Thanks to Mike’s narration, we catch a glimpse of their futures and the long way they’ve come. “And the storyteller? What about him?” Max blurts out after Mike has covered everyone in the group.

Talking more about himself than his character, Mike goes on: “The storyteller keeps telling stories, stories inspired by his friends.” We see a future version of Mike writing with a typewriter. “One day, he hopes their tales of grand adventure will spread far and wide across the land so all can know of their great bravery.” He reveals one last secret to the team, and just as everyone sits in emotional silence, a moment of sadness, happiness, and closure, a familiar shout echoes from the top of the Wheeler basement’s stairs: “Guys! What’s going on? The lasagna’s getting cold!”

As he climbs the last steps, unsure what future he’s heading into, Mike turns around. His sister and her friends have taken over the table. They’re about the same age Mike and his friends were when we started following their journey—and they’re arguing just as fiercely about who gets to play which role. A new generation takes over, and the cycle continues. But the storyteller will keep telling stories…

What’s your proudest role? Is it mom, stepdad, best friend, or big brother? Writer, musician, or facilitator? It could be host, cook, or organizer. The designation doesn’t matter—what matters is that you keep doing the thing. Over time, our roles literally grow on us and we with them. The why becomes secondary. It’s merely who you are. It’s a beautiful destination to reach, and yet, it is only the beginning.

If you’re a chef, keep cooking. If you’re an engineer, keep building. And if you’re a storyteller, keep telling stories. Through beginnings and endings, challenges and growth, emotions and ideas—let your defining role carry you, and take pride in your best habits. Even when they start with something as seemingly small as narrating a round of Dungeons & Dragons.