Category: Life

Watching the Apple Event Like My German Neighbor Painting His Fence

I watched the Apple event out of the corner of my eye — the same way I watch my German neighbor repaint his fence every spring. Same fence, just shinier paint.

iPhone 17 Air: Now Sharp Enough to Slice Bread

So now we have the iPhone 17 Air. Air. Dust. Plastic salvation for humanity. It's the thinnest yet — perfect for slicing bread while doomscrolling TikTok.

Apple Watch Ultra 3: Talk to the Satellite

The Apple Watch Ultra 3 can now talk to satellites. Great. All that's left is for the satellite to start charging a monthly fee.

AirPods Pro 3: Your Pocket Cardiologist

AirPods Pro 3 now track your heart rate. I can already imagine the day they whisper, “You have tachycardia.” I’ll take them off, but they'll keep beating in the case.

“More Affordable Than Ever”: Translation Required

And all of this is served under the slogan “Now more affordable.” Which loosely translates to: “You’ll survive with last year’s model, peasant. Take out a loan and stop whining.”

Civilization is tired. Apple, however, is still joyfully painting that same old fence.

P.S. AAPL is crawling upward — I bought a little before the show.

My Superpower: Turning Movement Into Momentum

My superpower is turning movement into tangible results — and inspiring others to come along.

According to CliftonStrengths, I'm an Activator and Achiever: I launch things, take the risk, and don’t stop until the goal is met. Combined with curiosity and optimism, this turns ideas into actual wins.

Why Strengths-Based Leadership Works

Leaders who lean into their strengths see up to an 8% increase in productivity and a 15% boost in team engagement (Gallup, 2016).

Focusing on talents improves life satisfaction and reduces burnout risk (Clifton & Harter, 2003).

Using your core strengths makes you more effective — and happier (Applied Psychology, Harzer & Ruch, 2012).

Build on Your Strengths — Not Your Weaknesses

It’s simply smarter to build a life and business around what makes you thrive — instead of constantly patching your weak spots.

So… what’s your superpower?

Burning Man is not a festival — it's a transformation

It's like if Stanford, a desert rave, a contemporary art exhibition, and an ancient shaman all merged into one being and decided to live through your inner transformation for you.

People who feel like dreams

I met a girl from Toronto who was convinced she was a witch. On the third day, she gave me a stone and said it vibrated on my frequency. Later we danced at sunrise to some kind of Japanese techno-house. The next morning, she left to find meaning in the desert. I never found her—or the meaning. But the stone remained.

Trust the toast and a glowing jellyfish

I met a guy who introduced himself as Alex but said here he’s “Star Cat.” He made me a mozzarella toast with the phrase “Trust the dust” burned into it. We sat under a glowing jellyfish sculpture and talked about blues. He turned out to be a developer from California and had the best chillout spot in camp.

Where strangers give compliments

One stop had a Compliment Bar. Strangers said kind things to other strangers they'd never met. Someone told me, "You look like someone who could be trusted with a galaxy." Two days later, I met a grandpa in a mermaid costume at the same spot.

A glowing cloak, a deer-bike, and a silent rave

I met a woman in her sixties who said it was her eighth time at Burning Man—because, here, men listen. She wore a glowing cloak and rode a bicycle shaped like a deer. She invited me to a silent rave—everyone had headphones on, but we were all still yelling. It was beautiful.

The art of unresolved pain

On the third day—eyes full of dust, electrolytes in hand, and baby mango puree for lunch—I met a guy who had lived in a monastery in Nepal for two years. Now he builds art installations shaped like emotional wounds he can’t let go of. One was a giant open hand with the words “Say it anyway.” We just stood there in silence.

When everything becomes unreal

At night… everything becomes surreal. Fire, lights, costumes, dancing, smells, dreams. Everything you thought you were begins to dissolve. And everything you feared most comes in for a hug. It's not scary. The desert is just showing you.

Fire, silence, and the ones you don’t take pictures with

Then it all burns. You stand in front of the giant burning Man, and inside, there's absolute silence. Not because there's nothing—but because there's peace.

I met people you don’t want to take pictures with. You just want to sit in silence beside them. No one writes about them in posts. But they might be the reason I’ll come back.

When Plans Fall Apart—and That’s the Best Thing That Could Happen

I was headed to a regular, no-frills blockchain conference. Tickets to Tallinn—booked. Slides—polished. Pitch—rehearsed. Even the startup T-shirt was freshly washed for the first time in months.

But that morning, everything went off-script. Alarm didn’t go off. Elevator broke. The taxi got stuck in traffic. And there I was, suitcase in hand, staring at a closed check-in counter, feeling like an idiot. The only thought in my head: “That’s it—no conference, no investors, no rooftop coworking coffee.”

A Coffee Instead of a Conference

And then something strange happened: I didn’t rebook. I didn’t text frantic apologies. I just walked into the nearest café and thought: what if… I didn’t go back?

That’s how my first plan-free, open-ended world trip began. I just followed the warmth, low prices, and decent Wi-Fi.

Wine, Khachapuri, and the Art of Doing Nothing (Temporarily)

First stop: Georgia. I drank wine, ate khachapuri, and told myself this was a short break. Just a week or two. Then came Japan, Singapore, Colombia. A “week” turned into nine months.

The Suitcase Full of Slides—and a Life Left Behind

I carried the same suitcase everywhere—with a folder of printed slides from the talk. Just in case I needed to remember the idea. I opened it once in Mumbai, again in Sydney. Then closed it. Life kept distracting me.

From Freedom to Fake Structure: Addicted to Planning

At first, I wanted to feel free—no deadlines, no meetings, no hustle. But I quickly realized I was uncomfortable without a schedule. So I started building one from scratch. In Quito, I gave myself a Spanish sprint. In Lima, I researched scooter rentals. In Goa, I woke at 6 a.m. to structure my trip in Notion. Ridiculous? Yes. But I was obsessing even over rest.

Same Hustle, New Time Zones

I carried old code. As if I was still playing the same game—just from a different time zone. Every new place, first thing I did was look for a place to work. Coworking, coffee, Zoom sessions. Told myself I was just remote. Truth was, I was scared to stop. To really stop—and ask, “Who am I without this endless hustle?”

The Turning Point: A Village in Chile, No Laptop

The peak came in a remote Chilean village. Someone stole my laptop. My mission control—gone. I sat wrapped in a blanket, staring out the window, trying to remember why I even started traveling. When did this stop being joy and turn into just moving the same story around new backdrops?

The Journey Ends Where It Matters Most

I opened the suitcase—and there it was, like a scene from a movie: the startup T-shirt. Clean, folded, never worn. A little artifact from my old self. Funny, sweet, completely out of place.

That’s how I’d been carrying my old self this whole time. With all the same goals, worries, drive to “achieve.” I realized it doesn’t matter if you’re on a call with investors or in a tent on a beach—if you don’t shift internally, you're just dragging the same baggage across different countries.

The world trip didn’t end in Bali, or LA, or under the Eiffel Tower. It ended inside. The first time I allowed myself to just do nothing. No plans. No purpose. Just… be.

And that folder with the slides? Still in the suitcase. But now it’s a reminder that I can choose to be someone else—whenever I want.

A Café, a Coffee, and That Feeling of Stuck

Late '90s. Autumn. I’m sitting in some depressing café with plastic chairs, sipping an Americano and nibbling a cheesecake—because that’s all I can afford, and the coffee is non-negotiable.

It was that kind of time—when life felt like it was buffering. No clear plan. Work was annoying. The city weighed on me. I felt like I was stuck between “still young” and “why hasn’t anything worked out yet?”

The Startup Table and the Forgotten Card

In the corner, a lively group. One guy pulls out a laptop! Shows something to the others. I catch a few words—startup, demo, pitch, angel investors. These words sounded like a spaceship to me at the time. I wasn’t from that world. I was from the world where PowerPoint took 20 minutes to load, and “project” usually meant something my boss made up again.

A few minutes later, they leave. But one of them forgets his business card on the table.

The Email That Wasn’t a Resume

I hesitate for a second. Then I take it. Then I sit there another 15 minutes, just turning it in my fingers.
Then I write an email:

“Hey. I overheard you. I can do this, I’m curious about that, I know a bit of this. If you need someone—I’m around.”
And I hit send.

It wasn’t a resume. It was a jump.
One of those jumps that begins with: “Well… why the hell not?”

A Different Life from One Message

Three days later, they replied.
A week later, I was in their new office talking marketing and building presentations that actually loaded.
Another week later, I got paid—not for hours worked, but for results delivered. A first.

I still think about that café sometimes. About that business card. About how everything would’ve gone a different way if I’d just finished my coffee and walked home.

Sometimes fate hands you a business card.
More often, you just have to ask yourself:
Why the hell not?
And jump.