All Articles

It's true: a name is a very important thing. If you'd asked me a few years back, I might have disagreed. I'd have said, "It's what you do that counts, not what you're called." But names do matter; they're how we recognize each other. While writing this, I got really into how people name their kids, and the different customs around the world

I’ve lost a lot. But what I’ve gained through that loss is perspective. These lessons don’t make death easier. But they make life fuller. If you’ve lost someone, I’m not going to say “sorry for your loss.”Instead, I’ll say: Tell me about them. Or don’t. I’m here either way.

I’ve always been a little Ron Swanson about it. The kind of person who throws out a computer if it gets too close. I love tech—I work in tech—but I also want to sip mimosas on a nameless beach, in a town where no one knows me. And for a while, the algorithm respected that. For a while, I lived in a little curated bubble of comedy chaos.

It began in 2020. The pandemic made everything foggy. I reached out to a friend in the mental health space and got myself a therapist. Let’s call them Therapist 001. We had a few sessions. Therapist 001 told me I had grown up in an environment that wasn’t entirely fair. It tracked. But after one session where I talked candidly about money, Therapist 001 increased their rates.

There are moments when we pause, caught between the practicalities of life and the whispers of something greater. In those moments, what drives us becomes clear—not always immediately, but in the quiet corners of our minds, we start to understand. For some, it’s the steady, reassuring rhythm of goals—tangible, practical, a checklist to be conquered. For others, it’s the fleeting, yet profound nature of aspirations—shifting, evolving, like the gentle pull of the tide, always m

There is an ache that rarely gets spoken of—the ache of failing quietly. Not the kind of failure that leads to a book deal or a redemption arc on a podcast, but the silent kind—the layoff you don’t share, the business that folded before it began, the days you couldn’t get out of bed and didn’t have a name for it. In those moments, what we long for is not a solution or a saviour, but something simpler: to be seen, and to not be left alone in the dark.

Be aware of my struggle. But don’t repeat it. Don’t reset the clock. If you can ask for help and get it—do it. Being self-made doesn’t mean