Tag Archives: Self-Awareness

Understanding one’s own thoughts, emotions, behaviors, and motivations.

Cover of the book Think and Grow Rich by Napoleon Hill

#67 Burning desire, clear plans, and persistence: lessons for the New Year

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I always wanted to subscribe to Blinkist, but I found it too expensive. Unexpectedly, Blinkist came my way, as my partner accidentally bought a yearly subscription and I decided to split it with her. One thing that’s amazing about Blinkist—and that I didn’t know—is that you can have a joint subscription.

I dove into it and I’ve already read/listened to multiple Blinks, which, for those who are not familiar with the app, are summaries of great books you can consume either by listening or reading.

Among these, I found one filled with amazing reminders: Think and Grow Rich by Napoleon Hill.

Since it’s the end of the year, and I think this book could help anybody who wants to have a successful and great next year, I wanted to share my main takeaways in an even more concise way, with a personal perspective where applicable.

1. Burning desire

A burning desire—for me, it’s completing my novel. Even though I will still reflect on it during my Year Compass reflections, which I will do this week, I already feel this desire clearly guiding me.

👉 If you want to know more about the Year Compass, you can read my post on this topic here:
#18 A compass for the year ahead that works

2. Detailed goal and plan

Goal and detailed plan: read them out loud twice a day.

As I was reading this, I realized I want to follow this approach to finish my book—having a detailed plan of my weekly goals, but also a clearly laid-out book structure. This instead of relying on spontaneous moments of inspiration, which, despite being fun and amazing, come with the downside of being sporadic.

With the blog, this is much easier. Its format—periodic posts related to topics I’m interested in, reflections, and personal insights—already provides a solid framework. The openness of a blog and its frequency are a really good structure to achieve this.

3. Unwavering faith

Have unwavering faith in yourself. It can help us move mountains.

I think, for example, of my desire to leave Italy and explore the outside world. I held this dream for almost the 17 years I lived there—and I eventually achieved it. I think about my university achievements despite the obstacles and gaps I had. I think about finding a job again after more than a year of unemployment.

👉 I wrote more about this difficult period and what it taught me here:
#33 Do we remember with honesty? | #28 Le sfide del processo d’integrazione tra ammirazione e invidia

4. Autosuggestions

Autosuggestions— influencing yourself with specific, purposeful thoughts. Persuading yourself.

This is a kind of self-hypnosis, but as long as it’s done consciously, without losing your compass of what’s realistically achievable with your current knowledge and experience, this is definitely a powerful tool.

5. Knowledge is power

Repeating Mr. Bacon’s evergreen Scientia potentia est, translated from Latin as “knowledge is power.”

But stacking facts on top of each other is not what this really means. Knowledge is experience—and yes, knowledge itself—not a mere accumulation of concepts. It’s the willingness to continue learning throughout our lives.

We also need to know where we can find knowledge, and for that, it’s always better to be surrounded by people who know more than we do.

6. Dreams into ideas, ideas into reality

In a nutshell, we need to be able to imagine with no boundaries, then shape those ideas into something concrete and within our reach—and then go for it in the world we live in.

7. Know your own strengths and weaknesses

Being self-aware in an honest, conscious way allows us to take action against our weaknesses.

To do that, Hill suggests asking ourselves the following three questions:

  • Have I achieved my aim for this year?
  • Was I a good communicator?
  • Did I make all the right decisions along the way?

Then, ask what could have been improved. Finally, evaluate this with somebody who knows us well and is honest enough to point out our weaknesses. We also need to be open to hearing it.

8. Positive emotions

Here, I feel I have a lot of room for improvement.

In recent years, overconsumption of news and listening to my own—and others’—overcritical voices has made me quite pessimistic about many aspects of life. Without mentioning the component of negative thinking that comes from my own family.

👉 This theme also runs deeply through my novel-in-progress:
#60 “Il giovane che voleva andarsene”, un romanzo – Parte I, 1

Positive emotions are key to a successful life and must be nurtured. Feed the positivity within you. Avoid negative people and information. Don’t waste your life on pessimistic headlines. Fill it with love and enthusiasm.

9. Determination is key

Make decisions and stand behind them, no matter what. Stick to what you believe in. Don’t let negative, unsubstantiated influences and criticism get to you.

At the same time, stay open to constructive feedback. Smart people know how to point you in the right direction while empowering you. Surround yourself with that kind of people.

10. Only the persistent will succeed

Persistence and endurance are key. Remember these lessons:

  • Identify your burning desire
  • Have a concrete goal
  • Have a very specific plan
  • Don’t let negative, unsubstantiated opinions affect your resolve
  • Have a trustworthy and knowledgeable network of people around you—people who are better than you and can provide support and assistance

11. The bigger the goal, the more people you will need

This closing thought really resonated with me.

The bigger the goal, the more of the right people you’ll need to support you and your dream—a selected group of like-minded souls. If these people put all their knowledge and burning desire together, the sky is the limit.

Use this in your Year Compass, and I’m sure you’ll achieve great things next year.

Bottom line

Big goals don’t live in isolation. They need clarity, belief, emotional balance, and the right people around them. What Think and Grow Rich reminded me—through Blinkist and through my own reflections—is that success is less about sudden breakthroughs and more about steady alignment between desire, action, and persistence. If you take even one of these ideas into the new year, you’re already moving forward.

#66 Learning to hear what my parents never said out loud

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There was a time when everything my parents said would piss me off. Even though I rarely reacted to what I perceived as provocations, inside I was boiling—repressing emotions like anger and anxiety.

In the last years, however, I’ve begun finding peace with them, and I still can’t believe it took more than thirty years.

It wasn’t a single moment of clarity. I had to go through a long process that involved distancing myself from them, listening to other people’s stories so I could detach from my own, getting randomly triggered by memories of past moments, and trying to understand what that whole first part of my life meant—if anything at all. It meant facing a lot of uncomfortable emotions, going through multiple breakdowns, and sitting with questions that didn’t have clear answers.

By the end of it—or what feels like an end, if such a thing even exists—I didn’t experience a dramatic breakthrough or sudden epiphany. It was more of a slow realization, one that I’m only now starting to grasp with more clarity. I want to share it briefly here, because it might help someone reflect on their own situation—or smile knowing they’ve gone through the same necessary shit. Or maybe shake their heads, not understanding what I mean. And that’s fine too.

What I realized is this: I don’t have to take everything my parents say seriously or personally, or interpret it as criticism or a lesson.
Learning to read between the lines helped me find peace with them.

And by that, I mean understanding the real meaning—or lack of meaning—behind what they say. Sometimes there is no lesson, no deeper message to decipher, no hidden agenda. Sometimes parents talk simply because they want to be in connection, even when their words don’t land well.

I now understand why this took so long.
Up to a certain point, we expect direction from our parents. And it’s not always clear what they’re trying to say—even though they may be convinced that they used all the words and methods available to communicate their point.

With time, some things did become clearer, mostly because I closed part of the communication gap by making the effort to listen without expecting anything at all. Other things, I believe, will never be totally clear—and I now know I can live with that.

Of course they made a ton of mistakes along the way. Who doesn’t?
What parent doesn’t make mistakes?
What child doesn’t?

We may spend years victimizing ourselves for the things that happened to us—and that’s okay too. It’s part of the process of understanding, of putting together the pieces of a puzzle that takes a long time to make sense. Abuse leaves scars; trauma is no joke. But we can overcome anything—even the heavy things we bury deep in our soul, the things that make us shake when we access them, but that we eventually have to face in order to transcend them.

Once we acknowledge the humanness of our parents, and see how they, too, are normal people trying to do the right thing while raising another human—something nobody ever taught them to do—even the unclear things start to feel a bit clearer.

And some things simply lose importance along the way. We look back and wonder why we spent so much time dwelling on them.

When we finally start listening—really listening—to them or to anyone, without resistance and without judgment, we realize how often we didn’t read between the lines. How often we refused to fill in the blank spaces, the things people cannot express with words.
In my experience, many people from older generations often found it harder to show vulnerability or express certain emotions compared to how we approach these topics today. It’s still not easy now either—but difficulty isn’t an excuse. If we want to convey real meaning in what we say, we need to open up and share our fears, emotions, and the things that scare us most.

And we also need time. Time to learn how to do that, in the right context, and at the right moment.

#65 Expect the least from others and be amazed by what you find

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As far as I can remember, I’ve always been someone who expects a lot from others—too much, actually. But with time, I realized that these expectations disregard the humanness in us—our natural tendency to make mistakes as part of growth.

Growing up in Brazil, I was raised in a very controlled environment—so controlled that my childish mistakes were met with some form of punishment almost every time. Experimenting with freedom and without fear was difficult for me. Things improved when I moved to Italy, as Europe generally feels safer, but not by much. By the age of eighteen, for example, I had never been to a club, never drank alcohol, never even tried coffee—and on weekends, I still had to be home before 22:30. I had done many other debatable things, like punching other kids in the face when I felt they had crossed the line, but I eventually blacklisted that kind of behavior, too.

Before I realized it, my parents had given me a strong ethical foundation. I had a clear sense of right and wrong—at least from my own perspective. I won’t pretend I didn’t act hypocritically at times, bending the rules I had imposed on myself for personal advantage. Consciously or unconsciously, we all do that. Still, I had my own code of conduct. (As a side note, it always surprises me how strange some things sound when you write them down.)

Over time, that educational method bore fruit. I could focus on what mattered to me without distraction, and I was respected—admired even—for my integrity.

Nowadays, the kind of upbringing my parents gave me—filled with slaps, confinement, and, at times, beatings with a belt—would be completely unacceptable, at least here in Germany, where I currently live. I’m sure I would avoid any form of conscious physical or mental coercion if I were to become a father. However, it worked. And as strange as it may sound, I’m extremely grateful to my parents for that. I believe I was a tough kid, and they did what they could with what was available to them at the time.

The catch, though, is that I came to expect the same level of (self-perceived) integrity and moral drive from others. I simply couldn’t accept mediocrity as I defined it—and that soon led me into self-isolation.

It took me a very long time to understand that we are all different, that we should accept and even embrace those differences. Putting this into practice is still a work in progress, but I can confidently say I’ve improved since I began prioritizing this mindset, researching the topic, and working on myself.

I haven’t yet reached the harmony I desire in relationships. At the moment, I find myself in a phase where I expect the least from people I meet. It’s a way of tricking my brain into opening up more easily. But I’ve been pleasantly surprised by how much quality others can bring into our lives when we set the right boundaries and shape them consciously—when we stop projecting too much of our inner patterns onto the outside world and instead learn to embrace whatever it has to offer.

Expecting less from others doesn’t mean lowering your standards—it means freeing yourself from the illusion that people should act according to your script. When you release that weight, life becomes lighter, and genuine connections have the space to surprise you.

Sirāt (2025)

#62 Months later, one movie still sparks deep reflections: Sirāt

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Today I met a friend with whom I love spending time. She’s a few years older than me, but we get along very well. We first met exactly two years ago through a local app called nebenan. At the time, I was desperately looking for someone to practice my German with, so I posted an announcement on the platform—and she responded. Since then, we’ve been meeting regularly, having tandem sessions almost every week.

We’ve reached a point now where we manage to talk about fairly complex topics. Our rule is simple: half an hour in English, half an hour in German. We take notes of each other’s mistakes and analyze them at the end of each round.

I don’t want to discuss our tandem strategy today, though. What I want to talk about is a topic that came up during our session and has stayed with me since I left the café where we met.

We spoke about a movie we both watched—Sirāt. I had actually seen it first, and it impacted me so deeply that I recommended it to everyone I know who appreciates my suggestions. The thing about this movie is that I don’t think everyone will understand or appreciate it. It’s very distant from the world most of us live in or are accustomed to. However, if you’ve ever experienced pure freedom, profound bonding, or deep experimentation in any area of life, I think the movie might speak to you in very personal and powerful ways—even if not in the same way it spoke to me.

If you’re planning to watch it, I’d suggest going in without reading anything about it. But if you want to know the premise, highlight the next paragraph with your mouse:

The movie follows a father searching for his daughter, who left home and appears to be enjoying raves somewhere in a North African desert. He’s accompanied by his son, and along the way they encounter a group of ravers who seem to know where she is.

I’m not going to review the movie in this post—perhaps I’ll write another one about it later.

What emerged from our discussion of Sirāt was a memory of a past relationship I once had with someone who pushed me to limits I didn’t know I could reach. With her, I experienced things I never thought I would. But things didn’t last—she was too intense, too unpredictable. And as much as I tried to make it work, at some point I felt compelled to break up with her. I did, though I believe she was unconsciously—or consciously—pushing me to do it. But that’s not the point here.

What matters is the awareness that surfaced from that reflection. I’ve always dreaded breakups. I don’t think anyone sane enjoys them. It breaks my heart to break someone else’s heart, and the feeling of loneliness and emptiness often drives me into another relationship too quickly—which isn’t the healthiest response. Still, I’ve been lucky to share meaningful connections with special souls, aside from a few situations where I regretted starting something serious too soon with clear mismatches.

What I’ve learned through one relationship after another is that I shouldn’t overthink things too much. Of course, it’s important to learn from each experience and take time to heal emotionally and mentally. But there’s no rulebook for life. Things happen, and we have to go with them—trusting both the process and ourselves. For me, that’s still hard, mostly because of my constant need for balance and peace—things I’m still learning how to compromise on.

#43 The Ugly Stepsister and The Substance: mirros to our inner and outer worlds

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Two movies that, in my opinion, encapsulate one powerful aspect of our society in a masterful way: looks can get you far, but depending on them will destroy you—inside and out.
In a world increasingly bombarded by an overwhelming storm of video content—much of it led by anyone with a phone who steps into the debatable role of “influencer”—our independent will and decision-making capacity seem to be vanishing. This leaves a dangerous vacuum where ethically grounded, far-sighted, and morally sound role models are missing.

Obviously, these movies are much more than that. As with any work of cinema, each viewer interprets the story and characters differently.
Other themes stood out to me strongly: the comparison trap and the lack of contentment—even when one reaches personal goals. These were portrayed both implicitly and explicitly, reflecting the collective and individual psychosis we are experiencing today and the path toward oblivion we seem to be heading down.

Our capacity for monstrous actions is never pleasant to witness, nor something we enjoy indulging in for too long. Yet acknowledgment is always the first spoonful of medicine we must swallow to begin changing certain patterns, whether individually or collectively.
It’s true, though, that there’s a time for acknowledgment—and perhaps we’re not there yet. I see more and more people around me choosing to ignore these realities and retreat into their own personal La La La Lands. I say this in the least judgmental way possible. As beings deeply connected to what happens around us, unless we cultivate a degree of detachment, objectivity, and realism, examining our problematic self too closely can easily overwhelm us.
That’s why movies like The Substance and The Ugly Stepsister can be so powerful: they compel us to take a deep, unavoidable look at our collective insanity.

I realize I’m talking about these movies without really talking about them—but isn’t that often what happens after we leave the cinema? Whether we’re alone or in company, good films help us reflect on something deeper, and that reflection can linger for days, weeks, even months.

I usually sympathize with both the villains and the heroes in films—unless they’re mere propagandistic caricatures, created to implant prefabricated notions of good and evil.
One major takeaway for me comes from the character of Agnes, portrayed by Thea Sofie Loch Næss in The Ugly Stepsister.
Throughout the entire film, which spans several years, she resists her diabolically jealous stepsister Elvira’s (played by Lea Myren) attempts to undermine her beauty, intellect, maturity, and wisdom. Agnes knows who she is and stays true to her deepest values, no matter what.
And it doesn’t matter whether she ends up triumphant or not—what matters is that she remains connected to her identity, even as the world around her falls apart.

Elvira’s arc is equally powerful. It shows that no matter how far we’ve fallen, how deep we are in the hole, or what atrocities we’ve committed, there is always a way out. There is always a path to redemption—even when nobody believes we deserve it, and even when the consequences of our actions may follow us for the rest of our lives.
Again, it all starts from within: from putting our pieces back together and allowing ourselves to walk the path of self-forgiveness.

#30 Dialogo con l’ombra tra incubi e rivelazioni

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Un alter ego che ritorna di notte:

«Da qualche giorno torno a farti visita mentre dormi. Ti sveglio precisamente alle tre di notte, dopo una serie di incubi ricorrenti che ti danno da pensare durante tutto il giorno successivo. Non è il contenuto degli incubi a tenere la tua mente occupata – quello, se non lo scrivi subito dopo esserti svegliato, finisci per dimenticarlo – ma pensieri apparentemente casuali e disconnessi tra loro.

L’intensità di questi pensieri ti spaventa: sono talmente forti da provocarti seri sbalzi d’umore, mal di testa, o addirittura da indebolirti fisicamente. Questo succede perché non affronti ciò che realmente ti tormenta, qualcosa che si nasconde ancora nel tuo subconscio… oppure, semplicemente, ti manca il coraggio di guardare in faccia la verità.

Quest’ultimo caso è come un limbo per te: finché non affronterai la verità, sarai condannato a un eterno patimento.

Non puoi parlarne in dettaglio con nessuno: si tratta di temi troppo personali e sensibili. Quello che potresti dire è che, tempo fa, c’era qualcosa che ti dava dipendenza. Qualcosa che ti offriva la convalida che cercavi ogni volta che non la ricevevi dalla fonte da cui te l’aspettavi.

Col tempo, e grazie a un lungo lavoro su te stesso, sei riuscito a superare quella dipendenza. Tuttavia, nei momenti di debolezza, insicurezza o incertezza, la tentazione di abbandonarti a essa ritorna. Ha ancora il potere di stravolgere la tua vita, come accadeva in passato, isolandoti nelle tue convinzioni.

Ma la chiave non è più un segreto nascosto dalla tua stessa mente. Devi affrontarmi. Io sono la tua più grande paura. Guardati nello specchio e scruta nel profondo, proprio dove non vuoi andare. Ammetti quello che non vuoi ammettere. Diventa chi non hai ancora trovato il coraggio di diventare.»