Category Archives: Nonfiction

#16 A spontanous reflection after a long day

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I had forgotten how, at the end of each day, work can deplete us of the energy to create anything beyond what we are expected to do at the office. This is not a complaint—it’s just an acknowledgment of reality. As I write these words, I’m squeezing my neurons to produce something meaningful, even though I know it might be a failed attempt.

I usually write my posts well in advance, which allows me to reflect on what I wrote and polish it if necessary. I focus on a specific topic that I’ve had in mind for a while, or sometimes on something that comes up spontaneously. Regardless, I usually schedule the post to be published on Fridays. Today, however, I’m writing a very spontaneous post on no particular topic, which I will publish immediately.

I’m not sure why I feel this need to justify myself—to whom? What I write is barely read by anyone. Even my girlfriend and a really good friend—whom I forced myself to send links to a couple of posts—aren’t particularly interested in my “work thoughts,” and honestly, I don’t blame them. This can be an exhausting topic and difficult to follow purely on a personal impulse, as I tend to ping-pong here and there without a precise plan, guided only by my love for writing. But I love it the way it is. I don’t seek much visibility; I really enjoy my “wannabe” blog/personal website that never quite takes off, with its occasional visitor who drops by briefly—and the rare reader who shows appreciation with a like.

I guess I’m not justifying myself but rather reflecting on this nonsensical train of thought on a very long and tiring Thursday.

There are a lot of topics I want to discuss in my future posts, including the following draft titles that I have in mind:

  • A good manager and a good team are the most important things in a job
  • Understanding that I can overcome any struggle helps with challenges (I think I will repeat this topic over and over, as it’s some sort of “resilience-building mantra” for me)
  • Perspective and free writing
  • How I use AI in my blog posts
  • Reflections on the end of the year: a tough one

So, for my courageous (or imaginary) readers, stay tuned, as 2025 is going to be filled with boring, probably badly written, and unexciting topics.

#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

#12 The paradox of self-awareness

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A portrait of radical self-awareness

Recently, I watched a wonderful film called E.1027 – Eileen Gray and the house by the sea. What I loved most about it, without going into a detailed plot description, was the self-awareness displayed by the main character as she navigated intense events in her career and personal life.

I was struck by her ability to discern, with extreme clarity, what she wanted and where she drew her boundaries. She always knew what affected her, in what ways, and what she wanted to do about it. She would then act in alignment with her needs, accepting the consequences without victimizing herself, while allowing space for the emotions that naturally arose.

There were simple things she said that were impactful, eye-opening, and at the same time extremely relatable. It felt as though I had arrived at the same conclusions myself many times before—only to forget them again and again.

Solitude, Fear, and the Search for Home

For example, at one point she says something along these lines regarding how relationships disrupt her work:
“A constant stream of conversations and small activities prevents me from focusing on projects I value […] I need to spend days in a row on my own to allow ideas to flow again.”

At another moment, she reflects:
“People and open spaces sometimes frighten me.”

Or, as a conclusion on her search for a place she could call home:
“The home I was looking for was in my imagination, in my work.”

I was moved by these statements, primarily because they were part of the character’s inner dialogue, free from judgment and filled with compassion.

The power—and subtle trap—of self-awareness

And that’s where, once again, I acknowledged the power of self-compassion—the value of a kind and empathetic inner dialogue, which has such profound potential to support us through life’s challenges.

Yet there’s also a deceiving aspect to self-awareness. I think it’s essential to allow self-awareness to simply be, rather than overthinking it as a concept. Our minds are like lighthouses: they illuminate what needs attention, although sometimes we need to elevate our perspective to truly see the full panorama.

Self-awareness is not a destination; it’s an evolving aspect of our growth, and it requires an openness to paradox. Embracing self-compassion alongside self-awareness can help us navigate this journey, allowing us to uncover insights and perspectives that guide us—perhaps not always where we expected, but ultimately, where we need to be.

#11 Avoiding resentment and reactivity

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Strength vs. reaction in the workplace

Some people believe that, in a work environment, you must assert yourself by setting firm boundaries with strength and determination, never allowing anyone to undermine your position. I fully agree with setting clear boundaries, but the approach matters. If “strength” translates to being aggressive, defensive, or perpetually on guard, assuming the worst in others, then I disagree.

In the long run, this approach breeds paranoia, making it challenging for others to work with and relate to us. I’ve been on both sides of this dynamic at different stages in my life.

Emotional maturity as a daily practice

What I’ve found insightful is that a company’s culture is rarely about the idealized values outlined by executives. Rather, it’s defined by the values each employee embodies and the way they adapt to the existing culture within their teams.

The companies and teams I found the easiest to integrate with—and where I felt I could thrive—were those where emotional maturity prevailed or where there was, at least, a collective inclination toward it. By “emotional maturity,” I mean an environment without inflated egos, where no one overly identifies with their role in a way that makes them unduly reactive or critical. For instance, when team members see feedback as a mutual growth tool rather than a personal critique, it fosters a supportive environment rather than a hostile one.

Of course, no workplace is perfect. There will be times when we take things personally, and tense moments are inevitable. We are human, after all. Expecting total detachment or a complete absence of reactivity over months and years of collaboration is unrealistic. The key is learning to manage these tensions constructively.

A practical framework: Nonviolent Communication

On this regard, I’ve found tremendous support in the Nonviolent Communication (NVC) principles developed by Marshall Rosenberg. NVC emphasizes empathetic listening, focusing on both our own and others’ needs, and communicating in a way that strengthens relationships rather than damages them. I recommend reading Rosenberg’s book or even attending NVC workshops; these principles can genuinely transform our interactions.

Ultimately, it’s essential to avoid harboring resentment—whether toward ourselves or others—and to remember that we’re part of a continuous growth process. Every challenge is an opportunity to learn, depending on our perspective. Rather than labeling experiences as “good” or “bad,” it’s more productive to view them as parts of life’s broader journey.

What truly matters is our ability to work harmoniously with the communities we’re part of, remaining aware of our values, staying true to ourselves, and upholding our principles without losing our sense of self. By focusing on collaboration and maturity, we contribute positively to both our personal growth and the work environment around us.