Category: Daily Blog

This week, I’m playing a stupid amount of a racing game called Asphalt. Why? It’s Ferrari season.

I have loved Ferrari since I was five years old. More than two decades later, I’m still a long way from driving my own. I can, however, virtually test-drive all kinds of Ferraris — and that may be just as satisfying. It definitely feels good enough for today.

Sometimes, you need a halfway goal. A little milestone along the way.

The best thing about halfway goals is that they’ll feel halfway even if you’re a good distance from the 50%-marker. If I were to spend 200 € on owning a virtual Ferrari (or waste several dozen hours playing the game to get it), that’d still be 1000th the price of a real one. Would you spend 0.1% of your dream budget on gaining renewed inspiration to achieve it for a week, a month, or even a year? That could be a decent deal.

When you can’t travel the world, plan a local weekend trip as a reward for doing well this quarter. When you want to lose 20 pounds, buy a pretty blouse after you’ve lost five. And when you want to save six figures, take $100 and treat yourself after you’ve invested $10,000.

While halfway goals are fun to celebrate, they also provide a chance to check in with yourself: Why do you want to reach this goal? Is it still the same reason from when you started? Have you outgrown your destination on the journey, or does the finish line feel as meaningful as it did on day one? There’s no shame in letting go of goals that no longer serve you.

Even in those cases, halfway goals will be worth it. After all, they’ll now have to stand in for the real thing! You can’t achieve it all, and that’s okay. Thanks to your halfway goal, you’ll move the finish line closer, say farewell with a ritual, and be at peace with the steps you’ll never take.

For now, however, it’s still Ferrari season. The game isn’t over, and you have both real and virtual races to win. Now if you’ll excuse me — I think it’s time to play.

In Brief Answers to the Big Questions, Stephen Hawking outlined what it would take for humans to reach other planets, particularly inhabitable ones. With existing rocket technology — the chemical combustion of fuel — we can reach planets in our solar system in an acceptable time frame: from 130 to 260 days to get to Mars, for example. But what if Mars isn’t habitable? What if none of the planets in our close vicinity are?

In that case, we’d have to go to another solar system, a group of planets congregating around another star like the sun, the nearest of which is Alpha Centauri. Unfortunately, at a distance of 4.37 light years, with existing rocket tech, it’d take three million years — one-way. Therefore, we’ll need faster rockets, rockets nearing the speed of light.

“Nuclear fusion could provide 1 per cent of the spaceship’s mass energy, which would accelerate it to a tenth of the speed of light,” Hawking wrote. “Beyond that, we would need either matter–antimatter annihilation or some completely new form of energy. In fact, the distance to Alpha Centauri is so great that to reach it in a human lifetime, a spacecraft would have to carry fuel with roughly the mass of all the stars in the galaxy.”

And then, in a voice I can only imagine but that sounds so much like Hawking, he said: “In other words, with current technology, interstellar travel is utterly impractical.” Impractical. Talking about humans traveling to another solar system, a feat that’d require an absurd amount of fuel we don’t have, the kind of which we don’t even know exists, Hawking used the word “impractical.” Not impossible. Impractical. 

Meanwhile, we don’t believe there’s a chance in hell Stan from accounting will give us a callback.

Hawking’s relentless hope is a recurring theme throughout the book. “So far, so possible,” Hawking comments on a theoretical, highly complex laser-propulsion of only-centimeter-big, unmanned spacecrafts set to reach Mars in an hour and Alpha Centauri in 20 years. Another phrase he likes to use? “Turning science-fiction into science-fact.” 

If we used the word “impractical” wherever we now use the word “impossible,” we might actually find the guts to tackle our dreams — even if they’re nothing but castles in the sky. We might even dare to break down our lofty goals into tiny impractical pieces, and then turn fictions into facts one page at a time.

If a man confined to a wheelchair for 50 years and forced to communicate using only his cheek muscles can show that kind of optimism, who are we to use the word “can’t?”

You don’t have to say anything. “Good morning.” “Goodbye.” Both are optional. Why say farewell to someone you’ve barely met?

Maybe because “barely” means “scantily,” but scant is not zero. Some addition has happened, but will the sum be more than its parts? That’s up to you.

What if “barely” means “only just,” and you don’t yet know where that train is going? Well, you’re already on it! You may as well get to know your fellow passengers.

The best reason to say “Ciao,” however, is that your courageous step into uncertainty might make a stranger’s day. A pioneer rarely sees her work come to full fruition, but she trusts that it will – and we’re all the better for it.

When you buy a new TV, you buy it mostly for the screen. What distinguishes that screen from the others? Maybe it’s a curved one, the one with the highest-ever resolution, or the first one using OLED technology.

Whatever attribute you care about most, there’s a main feature – a feature that makes all the others mere add-ons. Sure, good sound and extra HDMI ports are nice, but you’d never upgrade your TV for those alone.

If someone contemplated whether to buy “a dose of you” and add it to their life, what would be the main feature? What’s the trait they’ll be intrigued (or turned off) by? The one that stands out above the others? It could be a past accomplishment, a skill, or your behavioral default – something you do more (and maybe better) than most of the people you know.

If you’re “the bestselling author of X,” that might get me to buy into you, but how long will it last? Like TV technology, your past success will become dated. You’ll have to do something new to stay in my living room.

If your main feature is a behavior, it better be a good one. “Patty? The one who always complains?” That’s not the kind of credibility you want.

The best main features are skills. Connection is a skill. Sometimes, it’ll look like yapping, ranting, or gossiping, but if the outcome is connection, each word will have been in service. Is the laughter annoying or genuine? Tune in, and you will see. Identifying main features isn’t much harder than watching TV.

Every main feature has its price. As best as I can tell, my main feature is to think. It means I am thoughtful – but also that I overthink. It’s all two-for-one deals when shopping for relationships.

One word I think a lot about lately is “noise.” Noise might be the worst main feature. There’s already so much of it. Noise in the literal sense: Do you think before you talk? Are you in meetings just to meet? But also noise in a figurative sense: Do you consume just to consume, both information and stuff? Will your reaching out benefit me, or is it just more noise in my already loud life?

What’s your main feature?

You are not a TV, of course. If you look in the mirror and don’t like your strongest suit, change it! Wear another one. Weave it if you have to. Building new habits, achievements, and skills takes time, but it doesn’t take forever.

There’s another way life’s different from the electronics store: The goal is not to sell out. It is to make your main feature one worth not discounting. You are priceless. Act like it.

It sucks to be en route. The goal is the destination. But there is choice in how we arrive.

You can run a marathon in shoes below your size. It won’t make finishing feel any better, but it might prevent you from running the next one.

It hurts to realize you have a few pounds too many. Can’t the image in the mirror just…change? No, but you can loosen your belt. Let it out a notch, and get on with your diet.

Huffing and puffing won’t make the bike go faster. Breathe calmly, and arrive with something left to give.

The road sweeper is the bane of my existence. Who knew a golf-cart-sized vehicle with two rotating brushes could make as much noise as a Boeing?

I have woken up way too early many times thanks to the road sweeper. Today, one woke me up, and another passed me on the way to work. Then, he circled around and drove past me again. Sped ahead, did a loop…and passed me again.

Have you ever had a fly whizz around you just to taunt you? This felt the same. Until, after five minutes of “Really?” I had a different thought: “The curse is in your head.”

The road sweeper sweeps roads. That is his job. The city does not send him out to wake people, but some always will. A tree does not break up with its leaves when they turn brown. Gravity is what gets them.

You didn’t curse yourself on purpose, and yet, your head is where the curse resides. Can you unfurl your mind and find it? Open the window and let it out?

Stop wrapping your brain so tightly around external stressors. They don’t mean to stress you. Most likely, they don’t think about you at all. Can you do the same?

When you realize the curse is in your head, you take the first step towards healing. You might not be able to immediately clear the air, but at least you can start looking for the sun. Stop focusing on the noise, and you will notice the streets are clean – even early in the morning, and that’s a beautiful thing.

My building is a mix of hotel rooms and private apartments. Since the room service needs to wash many sheets every day, the laundry machines in the basement are only open to the public after 3 PM. I went to buy tokens at 1 PM, but the concierge wouldn’t sell me any.

“Oh, I’ll wash after 3 PM. I just want to get the tokens already,” I said. She shook her head: “Unfortunately, I can’t do that. We’ve had people claim the same in the past, but then they’d wash already, and the staff couldn’t access the machines when they needed them.”

Everyone in my building lives in a circle of trust. The staff trusts the machines to be available at the specified times. The people trust the 24/7 concierge to be there around the clock. The concierge trusts the tenants to pick up their parcels soon after they arrive (so they won’t clog their tiny desk).

It only takes one person for the circle of trust to be broken. One package uncollected, one emergency at the wrong time, one round of laundry done too early.

When the circle breaks, it breaks for everyone. It doesn’t matter who did it. Now, every member of the circle has to work to re-establish trust. That’s a lot of work – a lot more work than the little bit of effort it takes each person to keep an existing circle intact.

We’re part of many circles of trust. Sometimes, you’ll break one by accident. At other times, there won’t be another choice. Most circles, however, you can maintain without much friction at all.

Play by the rules that matter. Protect your circles of trust.

When you live in a street with eight houses, it’s impossible to ignore a new neighbor. You can’t just blend in with hundreds of other residents, like in a big apartment complex. There’s no sneaking out, ducking away, and quickly closing the door behind you.

In a residential area, it’s you, the Millers, the Jamesons, Myrtle the old lady, and now…Death. That’s right. Mr. D moved in next door. In fact, he’s always been there. The question is: When will you acknowledge his presence?

You don’t have to love Death. I wouldn’t recommend going for dinner at his house. He’ll knock on your door when it’s time. You’ll know.

Ignoring him, on the other hand, won’t make him go away. It’ll just make you a grumpy neighbor. When you see Death getting his newspaper, wave at him. Say hi. Be friendly.

If you catch him knocking on Myrtle’s house, nod at him. Remember Myrtle. Shed a tear. Feel for her and feel for Death. His job is not one to envy.

I started greeting Death when I was 23. I hope I won’t stop. 75 is far too late to become a good neighbor. There won’t be enough time to get familiar before he knocks.

The word “mortality” sounds like “more” because when we think about it, it extends the time we have – not by adding hours, but by adding presence.

Welcome to the community. Remember to greet your neighbors.

“I love it when they’re soggy,” I said. “You know, a little chewy from the juice of the tomato, or the cold cuts, or whatever you put on.” I was talking, of course, about the rolls. One hand on the steering wheel, the other on an aluminum-foil-wrapped “Brötchen,” as we call them in Germany, my friend agreed – and sunk his teeth into the delicious mix of dough and salami.

You’d never make soggy rolls at home. You don’t bake them fresh, garnish them with mortadella and cheese, then wrap them in foil and put them in the fridge. The only time you have soggy rolls is when no other kind is available. They’re a sign of adventure.

Back then, my friend’s mom must’ve made at least eight rolls for us, a little overkill for a one-hour drive. I was just tagging along – mental support for his job interview. The car we drove in was a blue jeep. His interview happened in a grocery store. He said it went okay and shared all kinds of details on the way back.

Eventually, he got the job: A coveted spot in a work-and-study program at one of Germany’s biggest retailers. It was a great opportunity, especially given his grades. He would go on to make the most of it, and I’m happy I played a small role in his story.

Whatever I can remember about this day, it all spools off from that moment I see him biting into his mushy sandwich. We all have memories like this, minted not from pleasure or extreme emotion, but from the details along the way – details which, ultimately, stand for something much bigger.

Cherish your soggy rolls.

Despite my guiding force in life being annual themes, I do choose one goal to pursue at any given time.

Usually, it’s a big one, but I don’t think about it every day. I set the intention once, then let my subconscious take over. The goal is always there, somewhere in the back of my mind, quietly steering my actions toward the right ends. I don’t care if I achieve the goal in a year or five or ten, but often, the mere act of choosing it makes it happen a lot faster.

Overall, my life is already fairly goal-less, and yet sometimes, I can’t help but feel tired of goals altogether. I get goal fatigue. I think that’s okay, and I want you to know it’s okay for you to be tired of goals as well.

Life used to be inherently goal-less. Survive! That was our ancestors’ only motto. Will you make it another day? Great! Now go out and play. Paint a cave or something. Whatever you feel like.

We’ve come a long way since then. We can choose where to bundle our intelligent energy, and it’s an absolute marvel to see what that can do.

Option, however, does not equal obligation. It’s perfectly fine to take six months off from “Achieve!” and make “Survive!” your new, intermittent motto – for if survival is easy, there’s a lot you might want to do just for fun! You could play video games for hours, read lots of books, or paint a cave (or a canvas), and it wouldn’t matter how well you do any of them. You could hike more, organize weekly pub nights for your friends, or simply be more available as a parent or partner.

Instead of dictating your life’s direction, you’d listen. Life would tell you what it needs and what it wants you to do, and you could decide individually for each request: Is this reasonable? Or should this be a hard no?

Eventually, you’d pull the strings (and yourself) back together. Maybe life provided a new, clear direction on its own, and if not, chances are, your previous goals are waiting right where you left them. You’d dust them off, look at them – with some new perspective, of course – and decide whether they’re still worth keeping. Some won’t be. Others might glow even brighter than before.

You’d pick one of those shiny orbs and insert it back into the machine. Your blinders would fold forward, gears subconsciously click into place, and you’d be back on track in no time, back to “Achieve!” the fun, honorable, and empowered game most of us get to play these days – just don’t forget to take another break when you feel goal fatigue.