In Philip Pullman’s His Dark Materials, angels are ominous creatures. They look the way you’d expect them to — strong, big, humanoid beings with powerful wings — but they seem to have their own agenda. They intervene when they shouldn’t and don’t when they should. They pursue their own goals, and they’re not always ends of pure virtue alone.

When a researcher first discovers angels in both an unexpected place and form, she remembers the words of Saint Augustine: “Angels are spirits, but it is not because they are spirits that they are angels. They become angels when they are sent. For the name angel refers to their office, not their nature. You ask the name of this nature, it is spirit; you ask its office, it is that of an Angel, which is a messenger.”

Maybe angels aren’t meant to take sides. Maybe they’re just playing a role, like all of us.

When a young boy helps a grandmother across the street, and she says, “Aren’t you an angel?” she is pointing at the role the boy is performing, not who he is. In fact, calling someone an angel may do more damage than good. What if the pressure to live up to this label ultimately drives that kind boy into madness and despair?

Humans have a vast potential for goodness, but just because we have said potential does not mean all of our actions will turn into said goodness. We become human through our behavior, and that process of actualization happens every day for as long as we live. Some will be good. Some will be bad. On some we’ll be good. On some we’ll be bad. We are both the yin and the yang. Both the light and the dark.

“Angel” is just a job description, and while it’s nice to be reminded that you’re performing your duties well, we mustn’t let the praise go to our head — for Saint Augustine knew one more thing about angels, and that was that pride changed them into devils, whereas only humility could make humans deserving of said label in the first place.

In my last semester of my undergrad studies, just before writing my thesis, I was obsessed with starting a business. I had just come back from America, and one of my professors there had been raving about Tim Ferriss. I read The 4-Hour Workweek and spent half my time planning, thinking, trying to come up with ideas.

I don’t exactly remember why, but after my last exams, I applied to some internship programs. Perhaps I thought it was my duty to at least sample the job market before jumping into entrepreneurship with both feet. And so, on a cold November morning, I sat on a train to Munich, wearing the one suit that I had, freezing my butt off. The interview went well, but I had no expectations.

Miraculously, a few days later, the phone rang: I would be spending five months in the marketing department of BMW M — the company making the cars I had adored since I was just a toddler, barely able to point them out from the backseat of our car as they went by. It was a dream come true.

The work was fun. No one took themselves too seriously. I even got to drive all the cars! Plus, it was spring and summer — in Munich! They also took us to some really cool events, like the 24-hours race at the Nürburgring. I really enjoyed every second of it, and yet…

By the time the internship was ending, several key people were leaving the team, including my mentor and now friend, the person who had hired me. They told me I was “their best intern ever” but somehow bungled getting me into their fast-track program for Master’s students. Most of all, however, after less than six months, I felt there was nothing left for me to learn. It was all routine, and the cars practically sold themselves. While it was fascinating to get a behind-the-scenes look, the best part was still driving them, not selling them.

When I returned to Karlsruhe to complete my thesis, I bolted through most of it in just a week. I was more driven than ever: I would become an entrepreneur. That winter, I registered a sole proprietorship, and I never looked back.

When Master Oogway confesses to Master Shifu that he had a vision of their arch enemy breaking out of prison, Shifu instantly instructs the prison to “double the guards, double the weapons, double everything!” Remaining calm as Shifu gets more and more agitated, Oogway only says: “One often meets his destiny on the road he takes to avoid it.”

What if I had gotten a job after my internship? What if I had enjoyed my comfy life at BMW? Maybe, I was secretly hoping for it. To not have to go down the harsh road of self-employment. Of course, in the end, even the best job I could possibly get only solidified my initial decision. No matter how many fancy cars I drove, the road always led right back to my destiny.

In the grand scheme of things, control is but a persistent illusion. If something is truly meant to be, there is nowhere we can run to escape it. You won’t always know that’s what you’re doing, and you’ll only ever find out in hindsight what was planned and what was only a deviation, but in the end, all roads lead to destiny — and there’s no reason to ever believe you’re on the wrong track.

Looking at the neon signs of all the bars from the balcony of the one she works in, Julia says: “When the lights over the bar street come on, that is my sunrise. I can forget all the bad stuff in my life.”

Cheung is half-impressed, half-skeptical: “You can find joy so easily. You can be so…simple.”

And then, Julia, a lowly singer in one of the bar streets many bars, dropped into some random place in the three-million-people urban jungle that is Hong Kong in the 1960s, casually reveals the secret of life: “Happiness should be simple. If I can do the things I enjoy every day, I am very happy.”

As long as she can sing and dance, Julia is happy. There is no need for more. “Once you find the place where you belong, you don’t want to leave, no matter what happens.” For Julia, the Gold Bar is her home.

Yes, some customers are difficult. Yes, not everything is perfect. But every day, she gets to sing. To dance. To play. And that is enough.

When life feels complicated, it’s only because we make it so. Find your singing. Find your home. And then enjoy simple happiness.

Despite appearing in 50 action-packed movies, many released to both critical and commercial success, martial arts legend Jet Li has never used his skills in the real world. “I have never been in a fight in real life, nor do I wish to be in one,” he says.

Li practices wushu as part of his Buddhism. He does it for health and inner harmony, not to dish out more powerful punches faster. His work may be full of violence, but Jet Li is not, and he proves it by putting down his weapons when he leaves the set.

You are not your work. If you dropped all of your professional responsibilities today and disappeared from your team, your audience, or your company, the world would still keep turning. You can have inner harmony with or without the kung fu battle that is your career — perhaps sometimes more during a break from the fighting.

Remember to take off your work hat from time to time. Even Jet Li thinks that “the strongest weapon is a smile and the best power is love.”

When humble noodle-maker Po becomes the surprise-elected savior of the village, aka “Dragon Warrior,” his first day learning kung fu doesn’t exactly go well. Po fails every single exercise, prompting Master Shifu to claim that, where there wasn’t before, there’s now “a level zero.” Worse, all the other fighters mock him behind his back, and he overhears every word.

As Po stress-eats peaches on a lonely cliff that night, Master Oogway pays him a visit. When he asks him why he’s upset, Po blurts out: “How’s Shifu ever gonna turn me into the Dragon Warrior? Maybe I should just quit and go back to making noodles.”

“Quit, don’t quit. Noodles, don’t noodles. You are too concerned with what was and what will be,” the master says. “There’s a saying: Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, but today is a gift. That is why it is called the present.”

Overthinking comes in many flavors. We may regret the past, worry about the future, or endlessly brainstorm about an immediate challenge — none of which lead anywhere. But if we’re simply sitting down on our path, we might as well take a proper break, not fritter it away with fretting.

Whether we relax and breathe or take our next step, being present means accepting the uncertainty of noodles. You don’t know when you’ll have your next portion. You can’t say whether you should make them for a living. You’re not even sure which kind you prefer! All of that is okay — because none of it matters all that much. The important part is walking the road that’s in front of you, and refueling whenever you need rest.

Sometimes, when I debate with myself in my head, I suddenly hear Oogway’s voice: “Noodles, don’t noodles.” It always makes me chuckle. “Alright, yeah, that train of thought is going nowhere. I can just let it go.”

The twist, of course, is that everything in life can be noodles. As with actual pasta, we each prefer different kinds, flavors, shapes, sauces, and sizes at different times — but they’re still noodles. On some days we’ll have some, on other days we won’t.

Whatever fruit you’re holding in your hand right now, remember: Today is a gift, and it’s the only gift you can truly redeem. Everything else is just noodles — and if you choose to enjoy it, a peach will be just as delicious.

Sometimes, it’s harder to not do something than to keep going. We don’t want to lose that piece of our identity. But what might we gain if we let go? Time? Money? Inner peace?

Giving up isn’t always an act of generosity, but it is always an act of giving. It takes energy to say no. To extricate ourselves from habits running like well-oiled machines. Winding down projects, processes, and routines requires work — work we might want to avoid like any other. Why not just maintain the status quo?

The answer is that if the status quo no longer serves us, whatever the reason may be, it needs to make way for something better. Often, “something better” starts with less. First, we must carve out some space. Wipe the whiteboard clean so we may begin anew. The wiping is a task like any other, but if the end result is more clarity, freedom, or motivation, we should tackle it with gratitude and vigor, not put it off like it’s our own funeral.

Sometimes, our most brilliant parts can only be put into place once we’ve buried another — but just because it feels like sacrifice doesn’t mean letting go isn’t working.

As she accompanies the recently orphaned Rose to the UK in search of her long-lost brother, Lyta Hall ends up talking to the handsome man in the plane seat across the aisle. They go back and forth a bit, and the man claims Rose is lucky to not be alone, to have Lyta by her side.

“No, I know, and friends are great but…”

“What?” the man asks.

“When you lose your parents, you suddenly realize it wasn’t gravity keeping you on the ground all this time. It was knowing you were someone’s daughter. Or sister. Or wife, in my case.”

As it turns out, Lyta has lost someone too — and the man sitting so close to her she could touch him is her dead husband. Then, she wakes up.

Psychologist Alfred Adler believed that “all problems are people problems.” As a corollary, almost everything we do is, in one way or another, for others. Even the things we believe we do for ourselves — pursue more money, fame, or freedom — are actually highly incentivized by other people. Chances are, we want to use the money to help our family, the fame to make friends, and the freedom to spend time with the people we love.

Humans are herd animals, be it at the local or at the global level, so nothing any individual human being does happens in a vacuum. It all happens against the backdrop of the rest of humanity — or at least your local community.

In many ways, our being inextricably linked to others keeps us humble. Whether it’s a genuine drive to make your daughter happy or a desperate attempt at proving your dad wrong, the immense power our relationships wield over us is awe-inspiring. How often do we try and fail to escape their controlling grasp?

What Lyta says suggests that, perhaps, we shouldn’t try so hard to be independent. Maybe the fact that we can barely do anything alone is the entire point. There is nothing more devastating than to lose one’s most treasured relationships, and the behavior of some who do often illustrates that truth. When people commit atrocious crimes because they feel they have “nothing left to lose,” it is actually, “no one left to lose” — so they might as well try and take by force what other humans seem to withhold from them.

Don’t feel bad for being so beholden to the people around you. It is the way of things. Everyone struggles in and with their relationships, yet there is much we can do to improve them. When we build a secure foundation of strong connections, we can even thrive thanks to — and perhaps only thanks to — our relationships.

Working with each other, for each other, that’s what being human is all about. What good is it ridding yourself of your crops if everyone around you is a farmer? What are you gonna talk about over dinner?

It’s not gravity keeping us on the ground. It’s our relationships — and that’s exactly the way it’s meant to be.

We think of rabbit holes as these topics that excite us, where we can spend hours jumping from one link to the next, driven by curiosity. But that’s not the only kind of rabbit hole.

When we sit down to work and open a certain application, that too can be a rabbit hole. As soon as the window appears, you might “get lost” in your inventory planning for an hour or more. The same applies for particular web browsing profiles, bookmarks, or creative applications, like Word, PowerPoint, or a folder of Google spreadsheets relating to a distinct project.

In corporations, they use a term called “workstream.” A standalone activity, like “Marketing on Twitter,” or bigger milestone of a project, like “Testing Process Implementation,” could be a workstream. Often, multiple people have to spend long amounts of time contributing to one workstream until it can be closed or automated. If you’re a solo creator, “Write Novel” might be one workstream, and so could be “Pitch Media Outlets.”

The word “stream” as in “river” is a good way to think about it: As soon as you jump in, you’ll keep floating for a while. The stream could be calm one day and tumultuous the next, but regardless of whether you’ll have to paddle aggressively or can just drift along, it’ll take you a while to get back out of the water.

In a bad case scenario, you’ll pick the wrong workstream — the wrong rabbit hole — each morning and get lost in the wrong direction for hours. Then, after lunch, you’ll be scrambling to get back on track. Ideally, you’ll pick your workstreams deliberately each time. “What most needs my attention now?” Open the right door, and then, feel free to lose yourself in the task.

It is worth taking five or ten minutes each morning, just to sit and think about which stream to jump into, which rabbit hole we should be approaching. It is marvelous how singularly focused our minds can become — let’s make sure we direct their lasers at the right targets.

In the very first post on this blog, I argued that “you must leave your comfort zone to find happiness.” While I still believe this is somewhat true, eight years later, I have a much more relative view of this idea.

Back then, it was the only advice 23-year-old me could give — probably because it’s advice for 20-somethings. When you’re young and don’t know what you want out of life, venturing out into the world and trying many things is a great idea. In fact, it’s your only good option. If you stick with the first thing that falls into your lap, be it a job at a car dealership, a career as a lawyer, or a business degree, chances are, you’ll live the dreams of those who set you on that path rather than your own.

So yes, while it is uncomfortable to reject what our families and friends want for us only to look as if we have no plan as we explore the unknown — because we do have no plan — it is necessary if we want to find authentic happiness in our work.

I spoke to a 22-year-old this week. She is bright, hardworking, and has all the opportunities in this world — but she is also still searching. “Have faith that everything will come together.” That was the only advice I could give. She was already exploring, but since nothing had clicked yet — and perhaps at 22, nothing needs to click yet — what good would it do for me to yell, “Just pick something already!” at her? She probably has enough people in her life doing that already.

What I didn’t know back when I started writing was that, when things eventually do come together — and they will — you must go back home. Back to the comfort zone. Because the comfort zone is where work gets done.

A routine. A quiet home. A predictable week, month, and year. That’s what we need when we want to dedicate ourselves to output rather than throughput. How are you going to keep writing novels until you succeed if, every month, you’re busy chasing some new business idea, some new writing platform to try? You can’t. You’ll lose yourself in all these distractions, and once you know writing novels must be your mission, that’s all they’ll ever be. Distractions.

While I think it’s great that we can now work from anywhere, I also finally realize why being a digital nomad is mainly the dream of 20-somethings: They don’t really want to work. They want to travel. Meet people. And perhaps, along the way, sample a few careers. When you’re in your 20s, that’s probably exactly what you should do! I wish we wouldn’t try so hard to slap this fake veneer of productivity on top of it. A nomad’s main task is traveling, and even with all the apps and tools we have nowadays, organizing travel can still easily balloon into a full-time job. How could they build a software company along the way? The truth is most people can’t, and that’s perfectly okay.

When I slowly grew roots as a writer, no less than three years into the job, mind you, I deliberately chose to become a digital settler. I set up my base in Munich, a city which I loved full of people I loved, and I’m happy to say I haven’t moved apartments in over four years. I haven’t traveled all that much since, but I’ve been rather productive, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

The necessity of a comfort zone only becomes clearer when you add age, family, and kids. If some 25-year-old told my friend Mike to “Do one thing every day that scares you!!” he’d laugh him out of the room. Mike has two little kids and lives by the ocean. That’s probably enough to worry about on any given day. And whenever he’s not making sure his boys don’t drown, cry, or start a fight, he’s busy putting food on the table and paying his rent, trying to do it all in a way that is true to himself. Is that uncomfortable enough yet?

Choosing a career path is a responsibility. It hurts much more to fail at something you’re passionate about than to get mediocre results while half-trying a whole bunch of things you don’t care all that much about. The latter is necessary to find the former, but once you do, it’s time to grow up.

Choosing your friends, family, and loved ones on top of your work — and sometimes instead of it — is another responsibility 20-somethings must rarely fully come to terms with yet. But that, too, is important.

So, by all means: Go out there and try as many things as you need to try to find something you want to sink your teeth into. Say goodbye to the comfort zone. Once your heart feels full and the pull of a specific project, passion, or person feels too strong to ignore, however, please come right back. In the long run, we need you firmly in your saddle. We need you warm, well-fed, and comfortable, so you may share with us your greatest contributions.

Leave your comfort zone to find happiness, but then return to it to spread the joy you brought back.

Standing under a blossoming peach tree, Master Shifu cannot fathom how Po, an untrained panda, is supposed to defeat the great enemy fast approaching the Jade Palace.

“My old friend,” his mentor Oogway says, “the panda will never fulfill his destiny, nor you yours, until you let go of the illusion of control.”

“Illusion?”

“Look at this tree, Shifu. I cannot make it blossom when it suits me, nor make it bear fruit before its time.”

“But there are things we can control,” the clever Master says. “I can control when the fruit will fall!” To prove his point, he kicks the tree, and peaches rain down from the sky. “I can control where to plant the seed! That is no illusion!”

“Ah, yes,” Oogway acknowledges. “But no matter what you do, that seed will grow to be a peach tree. You may wish for an apple, or an orange — but you will get a peach.”

Ultimately, even the Master must admit that, right now, all he can do is trust that the peach is the right fruit at the right time, for the peach — or the panda, in this case — is the only fruit he’s got.

If control seems to elude you, maybe the situation is not one you’re meant to control. Pause in your conversation with fate. Perhaps it’s time to listen rather than speak.

Another kung fu master once said: “Be like water making its way through cracks. Do not be assertive, but adjust to the object, and you shall find a way around or through it.”

When control becomes an illusion, let go of it. Sometimes, we really wish for an apple, but all we’ll get is a peach. It’s not always easy to give up the path we hoped to take in order to walk on the path that is meant for us, but as long as we have time to eat a fruit in peace, there’s no reason to doubt we’ll arrive at the right destination.

Be water, my friend.