Adjust to the Beat

We keep looking far.

What we want to achieve. Who we serve. How to be the best. Amazing. Growing. Striving. Conquering. Like gladiators. Like superheroes.

I am with you.

I also know friends who are not like that. Who strive and do in their own way. Making a life that's comfortable and beautiful with less. Less travels. Less expenses. Less expectations. And doing awesome.

Without any of this:

• Look into this topic.
• Learn from that teacher.
• Read this book.
• Listen to this podcast.

I feel deep. I go far. I reject surface as my priority.

I am thankful. I am grateful.

I am angry sometimes. Sad. Excited. Nervous. Mean. Not nice. Not kind.

My intentions are pure. My best in mind.

My executions are sometimes clumsy. Naive. Not professionally thought through.

Feeling like exploding with overflow. It's hard to focus in one direction.

It's expansion in all directions.

That's my world.

Not introvert. Not extrovert. Maybe an otrovert. Maybe an ambivert.

In this lifetime it sometimes feels like being a billiard ball shot into the universe — unable to control its course, having to live with the consequences of its actions. Intended or not.

There's a need for flexibility. To not give up because of incidents that happened through my push on others who were in their own rush or in their own stillstand.

I can go deep. Philosophical.

I also learned that's not very useful.

Interesting sometimes.

What we actually learn fastest from — for a happy and beautiful life — is looking at others who seem to have it. And learning from them.

There was the time I spent a quarter million dollars in a year to learn from the best.

There's the time where others are willing to pay me double to learn from me.

Much I got free. And gave free.

I love playing piano. Making music. Singing with my daughter. Having a blast. Raving. Shaking the room.

I love creating software. Tools. Entertainment. Fast.

I love spending time with my daughter without pressure to do something specific. Just being together. And usually we end up doing something awesome. Interesting. Fun. Educational. Something worth remembering.

So what does this have to do with the hook?

All and nothing.

It was for me the entrance point to keep writing. I thought of something so simple and obvious to be grateful about — the ability to read. Not given at birth. Not a gift handed over without effort.

It took each of us time.

Remember the letters you painted carefully on paper. The curves. The lines. The dots. The spaces between.

We worked hard for it. No question.

That is something to celebrate.

And we often forget. Find excuses not to celebrate daily. Get lost in other duties.

My whole point: