Category Archives: Life

#22 My forgotten Happy Thoughts

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Toodles: [Searching for something on the floor] Lost, lost, lost.
Peter Banning: Lost what?
Toodles: I’ve lost my marbles.

With this short dialogue, we were introduced to Toodles in Hook, the amazing Peter Pan movie from the ’90s starring Robin Williams. The way I understood it, the marbles mentioned in the dialogue were a metaphor for Peter Pan’s happy thoughts—something he had literally lost, growing up into an insensitive workaholic adult named Peter Banning. Later in the movie, he finds them again (both Toodles’ marbles and his own happy thoughts) after an amazing adventure in Neverland to rescue his children from the clutches of Captain Hook, who had kidnapped them.

On a separate and unrelated subject, a few days ago was the birthday of one of the most important people I’ve met in my entire life: my uncle Beto. During my childhood, Uncle Beto was like a father to me—the best one anyone could wish for.

He made me laugh and taught me amazing things, like putting glass on my kite strings to win kite battles against other very competitive kids. He allowed me to express myself: smile, laugh, make silly jokes, and ask a thousand times the same question—he would actually play along. He never dismissed me and always explained things in a way that sparked curiosity, even when I had no idea what he was talking about.

I could spend an entire day listing the reasons why he played an immense role in my life and the person I’ve become. Despite this, he never sought recognition or validation. Life eventually pulled us apart for reasons too long to explain, but hardly a day goes by without me thinking of him as one of the heroes of my childhood.

On another unrelated topic, last year (2024) marked the 30th anniversary of Ayrton Senna’s death. “Ayrton Senna from Brazil,” as the famous Brazilian commentator Galvão Bueno used to call him enthusiastically while narrating Senna’s Formula 1 performance, which kept all of Brazil glued to their TVs. Senna also influenced me greatly with the values he embodied: tenacity in the face of immense challenges, generosity and passion among many.

Now, here is where these seemingly unrelated topics come together.
The other day, after greeting my uncle for his birthday, I told him I had watched the Senna miniseries on Netflix. It reminded me of when we used to go to his parents’ house for the weekend and ended the day watching Formula 1 Grand Prix races, rooting for Senna.

He replied with a beautiful message that made me very emotional. He said he had also watched the series and that it reminded him of me. He recalled some episodes from when I was a kid—like how, while driving with me in the backseat about to fall asleep, he would say, “Look, there’s Senna out there!” and I’d wake up immediately, looking for Senna outside the window. I couldn’t remember that memory before he mentioned it, but it was so precious to me because I loved hearing my uncle’s laugh—always full of joy and childlike energy, despite his ability to make us all feel safe and protected.

Then, he reminded me of the day Senna died. It was one of the saddest days in Brazil’s recent history. As crazy as it may sound, you’d have to have been there in Brazil during those years to truly understand. My uncle told me that after learning the news, he came to check on me. We were going to his parents’ house that day, but when he found me, I already knew. We cried together in the elevator while getting ready. Now I remember that moment, though I didn’t before he brought it up. There are many moments of my childhood that I don’t remember—many happy ones.

I’m left with a question: Have I gone from Peter Pan to Peter Banning? Have I become an insensitive workaholic adult who’s lost his marbles and happy thoughts? Maybe, or maybe not. Perhaps Hook will come for me and take me back to Neverland. No! As usual, I’ll need to do the hard work of digging, understanding, and integrating to get there.  But once again, thanks to my uncle, Senna and Peter Pan, I’ve learned something important: it’s never too late to rediscover the joy and wonder we once held close.
Whether through reconnecting with loved ones, revisiting cherished memories, or embracing the values of our heroes, we have the power to reclaim our marbles and rediscover our happy thoughts.

#19 The humbling path of starting over

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When I started my new job last November, I thought I would have learned everything there was to know about the role very quickly, that I would have been speaking the smoothest German in no time, and that after a few weeks, I would be having promotion talks with my manager for my outstanding performance.
I came from a very challenging position as a Senior Content Designer, handling the end-to-end content of multiple products in different languages for a tax-filing app. Whatever lay ahead of me, will not be more challenging than that. I thought.
– Besides. – I said to myself. – It’s just a customer support role. How difficult can it be? Plus. – I concluded. – I am a senior professional with years of experience helping people understand complex topics easily.”

I can’t believe the size of the bait I took from my own ego. My arrogance, ignorance, and stubbornness were totally detrimental to me. On the outside, though, I was handling myself very well—I wore, once more, the shoes of a devoted student who’s fully dedicated to learning as much as possible and who’s very appreciative of the opportunity given, especially in these times when having a job feels more like a privilege than a human right. On the inside, feelings of dissatisfaction and frustration corroded me, as I secretly perceived this new beginning as a step back in my career—a feeling that got in the way of the smoother and more pleasant start I was so much looking for.

But paradoxically, what saved me from complete self-sabotage was exactly the intensity of the challenge I was facing, which stimulated my curiosity and willingness to overcome the obstacles and difficulties I encountered.

The first massive challenge I experienced was communicating with colleagues exclusively in German. The funny thing is that a German-speaking job was something I had been looking for since I moved to Germany, but achieving that isn’t simple. You need a good level of German to start from, and despite the hundreds of hours I had invested in courses, tandems, reading books, and watching movies in German, having a normally paced conversation at work is tough. You can’t really stop and ask people to repeat a sentence constantly.

The second challenge was learning new concepts related to computer networking, electronics, and many other technical topics fundamental to understanding the products and customers.

Finally, the third biggest and maybe most complex challenge is understanding the myriad of problems that customers face and learning how to guide them toward the best, most simple, and satisfying solution possible—all while avoiding taking anything personally and being a company cheerleader.

So how did I keep afloat during these first two months in this radical and challenging career change? How did I maintain my sanity while facing such a steep learning curve? Once more, acceptance and surrender really helped me. Understanding that I couldn’t have everything under control as I did after years of experience in other roles, and that I would struggle to communicate with my colleagues and clients in German, was truly like lifting a huge weight off my shoulders. I know that my German will suck for months until it doesn’t anymore; I know I won’t be in my comfort zone in terms of skills and knowledge until I will again; and I know I will struggle to solve most customer problems until I have mastered the most important of them.

Growth is less about perfection and more about perseverance. It’s more about embracing limitations and focusing on incremental improvements than setting flashy goals and unrealistic expectations. When we restart with a series of overwhelming challenges ahead of us, it’s really okay to feel uncomfortable, to struggle, and to sound silly while speaking a very complex foreign language—that’s learning right there, that’s growth right there! Nothing could be better than that.

Things take time, especially when there are big changes involved that we are not used to handling. But things are difficult until they aren’t anymore.

I’m really looking forward to seeing where I’ll be one year from now. At the same time, I want to exorcise from my future any freaking layoff shadow—even though now I know that I can overcome that too.

#18 A compass for the year ahead that works

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I initially wanted to write yet another 2024 wrap-up, which would have most likely turned into a me-me-me redundant post filled with complaints about my “almosts” and “not yets” from the past year. Instead, I prefer to share something that brought clarity to previous years and became a reliable tool for a hopeful start to each new year.

Nowadays, we receive end-of-year wrap-ups and new year’s resolutions updates from almost every app on our phones. This barrage can make reflecting on recent experiences and planning ahead feel overwhelming. However, cutting through the noise to find a tool that truly works for us can transform these reflections into powerful and inspiring activities.

For the last four years, my go-to tool has been a booklet called Year Compass (which you can download entirely free here).

I was first introduced to it by my ex-girlfriend. We began filling out our respective booklets together at her parents’ chalet-style home in Brussels, sitting in front of a rattling fireplace as snowflakes fell like tiny meteorites, driven by a strong and gelid wind. Despite this picturesque, almost dreamlike setting, my first experience was painful. It took me at least three hours to complete the entire Year Compass, as it required deep reflection across all the major spheres of life.

Each year, though, the process became easier, and its effectiveness grew to the point where I can’t imagine starting a new year without it.

So, for anyone seeking a way to process their experiences, integrate the past year with a sense of accomplishment and closure, and face 2025 with renewed hope and confidence, I highly recommend filling out this amazing and completely free tool. You can download it easily, and it’s best to complete it before the new year begins—or at the latest, within the first two weeks of January.

#15 When stoicism turns sour

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The Slow Drift Into Pessimism

The way I understand it, the Stoic approach teaches us to accept whatever comes our way with calmness, without compromising our values. And I think it’s a valuable way to see things. However, over time, I realized that this philosophy led me to focus more on the negative possibilities lying ahead rather than the positive ones. I started to picture worst-case scenarios to prepare myself to accept them beforehand. I kind of twisted Stoicism to my own disadvantage—DIY philosophy gone wrong, ouch!

Focusing on the gloomy side of things eventually drained me, and I didn’t even realize what I was doing until I pushed it too far. At first, I would comment on discussions, expressing mainly opinions on what could go wrong. When someone called me out for being pessimistic, I would correct them, insisting I was just being “realistic.”

But this mindset snowballed. I began developing irrational fears about even the smallest things. I became extremely controlling—of myself, my habits, my activities, the situations I put myself in, and the people I met. I built a pattern of suspicion toward literally everything, and over time, it became more and more ingrained in my system.

High Performance, Low Humanity

What’s fascinating to notice, though, is that at the same time this mindset was evolving, I became more organized and productive than ever—but with a cynical and detached attitude toward others. Strangely enough, in terms of my career, this period marked the most significant advancements. I felt a bit like one of those high-ranking professionals or “psychopathic CEOs” living in a bubble of strategic thinking, productivity, and metrics-driven values.

But this way of thinking wasn’t sustainable, at least not for me. I’ve always been a sensitive person, deeply connected to and attentive toward the people around me. This mindset was kilometers away from my core.

Worse yet, I lacked the self-compassion to understand where all of this was originating from. My default relationship with myself was rooted in self-criticism and intolerance. I couldn’t stand myself anymore. Things got even worse: I slowly became paranoid. I lost my courage and, to a certain extent, my curiosity to go out, discover new things, and meet new people.

It took me a while to realize these patterns, but when I did, thankfully, I understood I needed to hit the reset button. I had to start working on myself and make the necessary adjustments, whatever that meant.

I needed to heal. And for the person I was back then—diffident, suspicious, and pessimistic—that was a journey I could only embark on alone.

#14 Making space to imperfections

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The ongoing search for the self

I understood early on in my life a very simple yet extremely valuable lesson: focusing on understanding who I am is one of the most important things I could do, if not the most important. However, despite dedicating time and effort trying to get to the core of myself, I often feel distant from it. Every time I learn something that brings me closer, life humbles me with new challenges, reminding me that this is an ongoing process.

I want to approach this topic from a different perspective—an angle I hadn’t considered until I moved to Berlin and met someone special who shed light on an aspect of this journey I couldn’t grasp until recently.

The myth of idealized lives

As a further premise, I believe that the pervasive influence of American media, which often portrays idealized and utopian lifestyles, with its emphasis on excessive ambition and idolizing the wealthy and famous while showcasing only their most appealing sides, has had an influence. This culture obscure the human element in people, fueling unrealistic and, to be honest, often unworthy aspirations. As I write this, I think about Tyler Durden’s words – the character created by Chuck Palahniuk in Fight Club:

We’ve all been raised on television to believe that one day we’d all be millionaires, and movie gods, and rock stars. But we won’t. And we’re slowly learning that fact. And we’re very, very pissed off.

I would modify this quote, adding that we haven’t only been influenced by television but by various forms of modern media. And, contrary to Durden’s sentiment, there is no valid reason to be “very, very pissed off” about it. On the contrary, I feel relieved to have finally understood the deeper meaning of those words and moved beyond them.

To explain what I mean by this, let me elaborate on my earlier, seemingly inconclusive preamble.

I grew up searching for role models everywhere, only to be disappointed when they inevitably failed to embody their values consistently. This pattern of strict and unfair judgment led me to push away many great people and, even worse, apply this same harshness to myself. It took an enormous effort to develop self-compassion and overcome this ingrained self-criticism.

This approach created numerous problems, but the most troubling was my inability to acknowledge and give space to all aspects of my personality, including the “negative” ones I had long judged harshly. However, once I began to embrace these parts of myself, I started to genuinely appreciate who I am and develop deep empathy for others—even those, I assume, whom most people would find difficult to understand.

There is an important distinction to be made between empathizing with someone and accepting all their actions without discernment. Setting boundaries and recognizing what we can tolerate is a crucial part of this process.

I could delve deeper into this topic, but I’ll stop here by stating that a guiding principle I have integrated into my life is to live authentically, own my attitudes, and avoid being swayed by external influences. Self-analysis, speaking from the heart, therapy, and facing my fears have all helped me identify and step back from mental dependencies. These practices have also revealed the patterns people use to draw admiration for their skills or experiences—and the self-imposing limitations we create.


#13 The woman with the bike on the tram

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This morning, I experienced a typical Berlin mid-November scene: a tram packed with moody, wet adults, adolescents, and children on their way to work and school. The energy was subdued yet calming. Despite the lack of enthusiasm and excitement, there was a certain peace in the air. Everyone was minding their own business, respecting the unspoken agreement to keep conversations minimal. Heads were buried in screens, books, or gazing out of the window.

As usual, I took out the book I was currently reading and, within moments, was completely absorbed. The city noises, the smell of soaked bodies—all of it faded as I was drawn deeper into the story. The opening and closing of doors at each stop and the subtle shifts in the crowd barely registered as I turned page after page.

Then, the flow of the commute was interrupted. A woman with a bike entered the tram exactly where I was standing forcing me to make a couple of steps back and squeeze myself against a bench of strangers, including a tiny girl that had chosen a corner for herself to zoom out of the rest of the crowd. The woman with the bike pushed her way in, further jostling against the tightly packed passengers, risking injury to both children and adults standing shoulder to shoulder. Eyes turned toward her, expecting an apology, a conciliatory smile, or, better yet, her realizing the situation and stepping back out. But none of that happened. She stood there, straight and stiff, chin held high, exuding an air of entitlement I had rarely seen.

I noticed a baby seat attached to the back of her bike as she pressed a few children against the doors. The passengers, already drained and bracing for their day ahead, lacked the energy to challenge her behavior. It was simply too early for that. And me? I wouldn’t dare confront a mother during the morning rush in a city as ultra-feminist and politically correct as Berlin. Not a chance.

Still, like everyone else, I was irritated. The carefully curated, mid-November bubble of morning quiet had burst. The shared sense of empathy was gone, replaced by heavy sighs and exasperated glances as the tram carried us to the next stops.

Finally, my transfer stop arrived. I crossed the street to the S-Bahn at Alexanderplatz, boarded the train, and reopened my book, ready to return to my story.

Written on 14.11.2024