Author: Nik

When I decided to start a free, daily blog on February 7th, 2022, I had no idea how I would do it. I didn’t know how long it would take each day, how I’d keep finding ideas, and how I’d manage on days when I’m sick, sad, traveling, or busy. I just knew I had to take Seth’s advice, and I had to trust that he was right: “The secret to writing a daily blog is to write every day. And to queue it up and blog it. There is no other secret.”

More than 365 days later, here I am, and as it turns out, Seth was right. I wouldn’t say publishing every day was easy, but I also wouldn’t call it hard. Challenging on some days? Certainly. Manageable on all of them? Absolutely. On some days, I wrote for five minutes. On others, I wrote for three hours. But every day, I showed up, and that’s the part that matters.

“I always come up with stories in my head. Should I try creative writing? Do you think there’s something there?” someone just asked me. “I have no idea,” I told them, “but unless you try, you’ll never know. Just start!” Two words. “Just start!” I think it easily qualifies as my — or anyone’s, really — best piece of advice. I give it again and again, because frankly, most of the time, I really don’t know. If I have no clue how I’ll execute my own plans, how can I know if yours are any good? No idea. Just start!

A woman at my WeWork has been trying to start her own business for three years. “Where do I begin? What do I do? Which idea do I pick?” At first, I tried to help her sort through her options. Now, I’ve given up on strategy. Too soon for that. “No idea. Just start!”

A few years ago, one of my readers sent me an email. “I want to write more but I’m having trouble getting started. When did you start writing? What content did you start with? Did you hold off on publishing? How can I write a book if I don’t know where to begin?” You know where this is going. “No idea. Just start!” Two years later, he was working for me full-time as a writer.

After one year of daily blogging, I could talk about traffic, tactics, and lessons learned all day long. But right now, I feel there’s only one that matters: Just start! Whatever it is, just start. You’ll never regret going home to a project you deeply care about, and even the biggest obstacle on the path isn’t worth worrying about until you’ve taken the first step.

“What inspires you to write?” someone asked me. After eight years of daily writing, the answer is “Nothing and everything.”

I no longer need a “why” to write. I write whether I’m inspired or not. And when I write, everything can be inspiration, but nothing necessarily needs to be. If you asked me to write about screw caps, I could. Some days I write about soap. On others, I share loftier reflections.

When you do something every day for a long time, it becomes part of who you are. With some habits, that’s exactly what you want. “The goal is not to run a marathon, the goal is to become a runner,” James Clear says. At other times, our self-image may hold us back from dropping a no longer useful behavior.

Initially, action begets identity, and later, identity begets action. There comes a point when “who” replaces “why.” You’ll rarely be able to catch that moment in real-time, but it’s worth noticing once you’ve passed it — and making a conscious decision as to whether you want to turn back or not.

I am a writer, and so writing is what I do. Who are you, and what habits do you bring with you?

In the world of business, particularly online, people love to “collaborate.” Almost as soon as you start playing the game, you’ll find your inbox full of requests. “Can we write a free guest post for your site?” “Want to be an affiliate for us?” “Let’s cross-promote on Instagram!”

As a beginner, the attention is flattering. It’s tempting to say yes to every one of these “opportunities.” Ask anyone who’s done so for half a year or more, however, and you’ll find them exhausted — and usually no further in advancing their true cause. What happened?

What happened is that these “win-wins” were never aligned with your goals in the first place. They were lopsided propositions, and every time you agreed, you gave a little more than you got. Those asks will never stop coming, by the way. You’ll just have to learn to ignore them.

The second kind of collaboration is slightly better but still stands on shaky ground. You work together on an ongoing basis, but there’s little trust and commitment, and definitely no sacrifice. Most affiliate marketing relationships fall into that category. It’s in the word: You’re “affiliated” — but nothing more.

Big brands have hundreds, sometimes thousands of affiliates, and if you do something they don’t like, they’re happy to swap your face for someone else’s on their homepage. If the main brand you’re promoting cuts the commission rate in half, what are you gonna do? Can you afford to stop promoting them altogether? Once again, in the long run, you’ll find most long-term collaborations to be somewhat one-sided.

The funny thing is that everyone goes into business in order to take risk. They don’t necessarily realize it, but by definition, that’s what you’re doing. People are happy to invest $10,000 of their life savings into a restaurant or take a big gamble on the person they choose to be their cofounder, but then as soon as operations start rolling, they dial back the very behavior that got them into business in the first place. “How can we get something for nothing? How can we make as much progress as possible while giving up as little as necessary?” The result is a lot of fair weather collaborations, and in the long run, those never work.

Of course, the problem will always be the problem: Do you really want to place a huge bet on an affiliate partner you barely know? The main reward for taking the risk of starting a business is that you get to take to take even more risk in how you choose to run it. It’s a feature of entrepreneurship more so than a bug. But only if you do decide to take those risks — where real trust, commitment, and sacrifice are required — can your collaborations become joint efforts of the third and only fruitful kind: equal, long-term partnerships where both parties benefit in same measure, and where the stakes are high for all involved should any one collaborator fail.

There’s one party for whom this is always true, by the way. It’s easy for them to get lost in a sea of potential partnerships — but your customers? Your audience? They’re always counting on you, and, ultimately, they’re the ones you should try your hardest not to disappoint.

Be careful what you say yes to, especially if it’s a win-win that seems too good to be true.

Let’s say there are two elevators in your building. One is ten seconds faster than the other on each trip. If you take the slow elevator twice a day and live in the same building for 20 years, that’s 40 hours of time. An entire workweek, spent in elevator shafts.

The lesson here is that both privilege and productivity often rest in hidden places.

A food vendor who lives on the seventh floor of an old building in Mumbai — no elevator — will lose a lot more than those 40 hours. Meanwhile, a banker in the UK enjoying her daily ride in a Mitsubishi Electric probably won’t think about that ride at all — let alone consider that it’s something she is actually enjoying as in “benefitting from.”

If you’re closer to the food vendor than the banker, shaking your fist at her privilege won’t help, of course. What might is looking for other, similar tiny gains that are accessible to you. Perhaps there’s a way to lug less food up and down the stairs. Maybe you can shorten your commute by 10%.

When I’m staying at my girlfriend’s house, I barely look at my phone. Last week, my screen time was down 40%. That was half an hour a day not spent on checking WhatsApp, news, or other nonessential media. It’s also something I can easily repeat, if only I pay attention to it.

Notice your privilege. Notice your potential. Be thankful for both, and then make the most of it. Here’s to taking the faster elevator.

When I first went to America, I made a classic German mistake. I’d go to a café and say: “One coffee please!” Without fail, the barista would look at me and ask: “Well, what kind?” Now, I was the one getting confused: “Uhh, just…a normal one?” Inevitably, I’d end up with an Americano, and, to a German, that’s not “a normal coffee.”

Eventually, I discovered that “Kaffee,” the standard drink served millions of times a day in German cafés, restaurants, and office kitchens, is actually “caffè crema,” a long espresso exclusive to Germany, Austria, Switzerland, and of course Italy, the place it originates from.

Unlike an Americano, which is an espresso topped up with about 450 ml of hot water, a caffè crema is made from around 200 ml of water, pressed directly through the beans. Essentially, you just keep the espresso running for longer, which makes it a less sizable but usually stronger drink than an Americano. If you hear a German complaining about “weak American coffee,” this difference is why.

Yesterday, I slipped into the old habit of ordering “just a normal coffee,” and, as I was explaining the whole story to a friend, our barista explained that in Malaga, where he was from, they had not one, or two, or five types of coffee but ten. “The smallest one is called ‘nube,’ which means ‘cloud.’ It’s basically all milk. The second-smallest is called ‘sombra,’ which means ‘shadow.’ It’s basically still all milk.” He confessed to us that, even as a local, he often couldn’t figure out the different proportions, but that most tourists didn’t mind.

In Malaga, coffee was a rare commodity after the Spanish Civil War. When customers ordered “a finger of coffee,” as they were used to, owners would often serve too much or too little, depending on the size of their fingers. Don José Prado Crespo, founder of Café Central, solved the problem with a little mural outside his shop, depicting ten variations of everyone’s favorite beverage and giving them names.

Now, if you wanted a coffee without milk, you’d order one of the first four kinds, and if you wanted something a little lighter, you’d order one of the remaining six — although the “no me lo ponga” aka “don’t bother” didn’t find too many takers (it’s an empty glass).

Whether your next order is a shadow, caffè crema, or Americano, remember that culture differs everywhere, but culture is also one of the best “things we do.” You can’t expect the world to function the same way in a foreign place as it does right outside your door, but there’s also nothing embarrassing about learning new ways while sharing your own.

May your next cup of black gold be as delicious as your last — and whatever you do, don’t order “just a normal one.”

Today, I learned a new phrase in Mandarin: “你认识路吗 — Nǐ rènshí lù ma” It means “Do you know the way?” Naturally, I thought of a culture with a slightly different name.

The Mandalorian is a TV show in which “Mando,” the protagonist, always knows the way, at least initially. Orphaned at a young age and then adopted into the Mandalorian culture — a Stoic, warrior-bred people — Mando later becomes a bounty hunter and follows his peoples’ creed to a tee.

Unfortunately, that creed includes a lot of outdated rules and misconceptions which, eventually, Mando gives up on one by one in order to navigate his ever-changing reality. Maybe not all bounties should be completed without asking questions. Maybe there are more Mandalorians out there than Mando initially assumes. Perhaps, “this is not the way.”

It is comforting to have a fixed set of rules to live by, a faith of any kind. But even the best rule only lasts so long, and so it is normal, even necessary, to admit that “Yeah, okay, I no longer know the way.”

Our best skill isn’t rote memory. It’s wayfinding. That’s what we were born to do.

Like a certain bounty hunter navigating a vast galaxy, we don’t need to remember every phrase of a new language. What we need is the courage to admit we’ve gotten lost, enough optimism to keep walking, and a little flexibility in where we want to go. As long as we bring these with us, we’ll always find our way.

Early on in Dragon Ball, a young Son Goku receives a gift from his master: Flying Nimbus, a golden cloud that will carry the young warrior wherever he wants to go. Initially, Goku takes Nimbus for a spin, soaring up into the sky, dashing through deep canyons, and zipping across lakes. Eventually, however, he learns to rely on it as dependable companion, a friend that’ll get him from A to B.

Ideas are like Nimbus. They’re fluffy clouds, ready to carry us in a million directions. All we have to do is jump on, and zoom, off we go. Unlike Goku, however, most of us can’t lean on a golden idea handed to us by our master. We must pick our own partners, and that’s where it gets tricky.

Will this green Nimbus bring us to the money faster? Where is this orange one going to lead us? Should we choose the blue cloud, the red one, or stick with good old white? Spoiled for choice, we get fidgety. We jump from Nimbus to Nimbus. We swoosh north one day only to turn around and head south on the next.

If we look at our clouds closely, however, we’ll notice they all have the same shape, and it’s a shape we’re quite familiar with. Clouds look like brains because, actually, all we have is one companion. One buddy to carry us wherever we want to go. Ideas are just the color we dye our brain clouds in, and if we’re too busy trying to cycle through all the facets of a rainbow, we’ll never jump on, soar into the sky, and see a real one.

Wait for your golden idea. Sit. Think. Ward off the glitter the world constantly wants to blow into your eyes. Reject shiny object syndrome until your cloud itself is shiny. What’s the true destination you want it to take you?

Cherish your Flying Nimbus. Recognize it as a dependable friend. Don’t jump on until you’re sure of your goal, but once you’re in the air, ride your brain until you’ve reached your final station. You don’t need a master to hand you the gift of focus, but like Goku, once you have it, you’ll achieve all your dreams and more.

When I first played Zelda: Ocarina of Time, I encountered my first “Game Over” screen early in the game. My character made a terrifying “huarkkk” sound and dropped dead as the world turned black. To a ten-year-old, it was terrifying. So terrifying, in fact, that I shelved the game and didn’t play for months.

I lent the game to friends. I read about it in magazines. I talked about it with my parents. But I didn’t play. Anything not to have to see that horrible “Game Over” screen ever again.

I don’t remember how long it took, but eventually, I found the guts to play again. “It’s just a game!” I realized. “If I hit ‘Game Over,’ I can just keep going.” I’m glad I learned this lesson, because otherwise, I never would have enjoyed the vast world, characters, and music of the highest-rated video game of all time.

Life is like that. It’s a big world full of wonderful art, characters, and things to experience. Sometimes, you hit a “Game Over.” Your exhibition is a failure. Your robot doesn’t work. Your company doesn’t pan out. In those moments, we can decide: Will we shelve the game and give up? Or do we press “Continue?”

Sometimes, giving up is the right choice, if only for the moment. We won’t like all the games we try. Most of the time, however, a good night’s sleep and a new approach will do the trick. You don’t press “Continue” to run into the same wall in exactly the same way you did before. You do it so you can see whether jumping from a different platform, attacking from behind, or slowing down before a corner is going to work. If you give up on playing altogether, you won’t have to keep coming up with new strategies — but you’ll also miss out on all the joys to be found in our big world.

20 years after I first learned this lesson, I put a controller into my girlfriend’s hands. We now regularly play the latest Zelda together. Sometimes, we hit a “Game Over” screen. Whenever we do, we just press “Continue” — and I suggest you do the same.

Since I started working almost exclusively on Four Minute Books, something fascinating has happened: I keep having ideas. Every morning, I wake up and, almost immediately, write down 3-5 things I should do, or fix, or at least consider going forward. I have ideas in the morning, ideas in the shower, and ideas late at night.

Shane Parrish would say I’m “living in a problem:” “When you commit to living in a problem, you understand things about it that the tourist cannot.”

If one third of your brain power goes to writing a book, another third to an influencer business, 20% to freelance work, and the last 14% to managing your life, chances are, you’re not gonna have many brilliant breakthroughs in any one arena. Thankfully, everyday life admin usually doesn’t demand those — but the rest? Phew. Those are tough without some pizzazz.

If you feel like you’re treading water in several different kiddie pools, try diving off the deep end. Pick a big, important problem and move in. Live in it. Make yourself comfortable. You’ll spot blemishes and details and connections no one else can see, and, as a result, you just might be the one to crack this nut many others have long given up on but that, once you manage to break its shell, will offer the sweet taste of victory.

It might just be everyone looking for scraps of money due to the economy slowing down, but this year, I have been screwed by a staggering number of platforms and services I use to run my online business.

For nine months, my email service provider overcharged me. As it turns out, they automatically upgrade you when you gain more subscribers, but they don’t downgrade you when you lose some. My payment processor and checkout platform casually near-tripled their fees. Meanwhile, the service I use to host my writing course informed me that my “free membership for life” I had won a few years back will now turn into a “pay up like everyone else” agreement — and those are just the issues from last month.

Every time I was confronted with such news, I got angry. I argued with customer support. I brainstormed what service to switch to. I fantasized about taking them to court. After half a day of stewing in misery, however, I always came to the same conclusion: “This is not a fight worth fighting. I can — and should — ignore this problem.”

Yes, I gave my email provider a few hundred dollars too many. Paying more fees on digital product sales sucks. And coughing up $1,000/year for what used to be a free service stinks. If I consider what it would take to rectify these situations, however, especially with respect to how much money I make using these services, the unfortunate reality of business kicks in: You only have so many hours in a day, and you need every single one of them to focus on your true mission.

I can keep arguing with my email service for hours, but I probably still won’t get any credit for what I overpaid. Finding an alternative checkout solution, let alone moving all my products, will take days. And don’t even get me started on moving a 130+ lesson online course. But you know what? None of these are where I make the bulk of my money — and so none of these problems are worth my mental energy.

One way to find focus is to say no to the million directions you could take your project in. That’s hard but necessary. What must follow, however, is maintaining that focus by also saying no to every little distraction that happens along the way. Even if it’s related to your project, it might still be unimportant. And so your job is to ignore every problem you can afford to ignore.

Will it blow up my business if I don’t fight tooth and nail over a few hundred dollars? No. Will it ruin my budget if I pay triple the fees on 10% of my revenue? No. And will I even sell my online course next year? I have no idea.

Problems like this are insidious. They feel important, and they get us to blow our fuse by pushing a sensitive button — the money one — but ultimately, they’ll just keep us from working on what we really need to work on.

Staying focused is one of the hardest challenges in life and in business. Don’t give up on this challenge prematurely by getting dragged into mud fights outside the actual playing field.

For every nagging problem that lands in your inbox, ask: “Can I afford to ignore this?” And if the answer is yes, go about your day as if nothing had changed. Recession or not, the birds are still singing, and you have work to do.