Nowadays, I like to reflect and consider what I can learn from every encounter that surprises me (besides having a story to tell later). I usually journal these events and try to come up with a lesson that I would share near a campfire overlooking the translucent lake with stars dancing near my reflection. Sometimes, I am lucky; that lesson can be articulated in a few words. Here is a random selection of lessons in no particular order or extra context.
13 lessons I take with me
They can't all be that bad or unlucky.
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If I had eight hours to chop down a tree, I'd spend the first six seconds sharpening the axe
The work that will matter most—the thing that will actually change your life—is probably smaller than you think and messier than you'd like and waiting for you to stop sharpening and start swinging.
vestige
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The Precise Mechanics of Our Contradictions
In the end, silicon handles the repetition and carbon provides the plot twists. And somewhere between the automated and the artisanal, we're building a world that runs on our oldest currency: the spectacle of each other, failing beautifully.
Silence is silver, speech is golden
The people who resist this most are often those who've spent years in spaces where truth was dangerous—families where feelings were weapons and relationships where vulnerability meant losing. Their silence isn't cowardice; it's accumulated wisdom from a harsher world.