Postponing the Necessary

I’ve always had a decent nose for investments. It’s not like I only pick winners, but I pick enough of them to do well—in theory. In practice, I can relate a little too much to Carter Thomas:

“I’ve always bought the right stuff at the right time — I’ve just never held it long enough.”

When I heard it five years ago, Carter’s story about selling his Apple stock too early left me with a big lesson: You don’t get rich by taking profits. I also kept a clip from the show on my desktop to rewatch it every few months.

Half a decade later, I’ve done okay overall, I think, but I’ve still lost more money from selling too soon than I’ve gained by getting rid of stuff that ended up only declining. It makes sense if you’re picking enough winners: Just let the losers go to zero! The home runs will more than make up for it. Maybe, I, too, should adopt the motto Carter wishes he had espoused: “Never sell.”

It’s not like I haven’t been trying. For my cryptocurrencies, for example, I set email alerts a few months ago. If one of my major positions hits a big target, I’ll automatically get an email. No portfolio-checking needed.

Until recently, however, I still had the app on my phone. The reason was purely logistical: I hadn’t tied my portfolio tracker to an email address. If I don’t have an account, I can’t get hacked, and no one would even be able to find out how much I own of what. But without an account, deleting the app would mean I might lose my data altogether. So I spent months stewing in the question. Setting up an account would mean added risk. Keeping the app around would mean I’d keep checking more than I’d like.

A few days ago, I finally bit the bullet. Getting hacked has a lot of ifs attached to it. And besides, there are far more valuable targets in the world of crypto than me—and many of them voluntarily post their numbers online. I connected my tracker and deleted the app. Ahhh, quiet bliss!

When I recap the whole scenario now, it seems obvious: Nik is good at picking and holding assets. He’s patient and has conviction. But the more news he reads, prices he checks, and pretends to want to stay up to date, the more great returns he fumbles. If he would just throw money at assets, then leave them alone, he’d be just fine. Clearly, he should delete all of his trackers and investing apps from his phone.

Are you really struggling with a decision? Or are you just postponing the necessary? Every now and then, the only path to right leads through wrong. Just make sure you walk faster once you can see the light—and try not to sell your winners along the way.

Signs You’re Nailing It as an Artist

There is just one, and it’s not the one I saw when I opened Substack for the first time in months. The home page feed looked more cluttered than ever. More algorithmically curated than ever. Front and center, I saw note after note with thousands of likes, all “inspo” and feel-good vibes in one form or another.

One proclaimed, with a big picture of simple black text on a white background, to know all the “signs you’re nailing it as an artist.” The joke being, of course, that there was just one: “No one understands what you’re doing with your life.” Haha. Great! Another one! One more cheap chuckle for the road.

Looking at the page, at all the accounts of people posting about writing, competing for likes and attention, it appeared the answer to the implied question was a different one: Apparently, what people really believe to be the #1 sign you’re nailing it as an artist is that you’re popular on social media. That seems to be the part everyone’s trying their hardest at—not the actual writing.

It’s easier, too, you know? Post lots of short, fluffy bits, grow an audience, and ask them for money. Then, send them two to three mediocre, perhaps AI-written pieces each week to allow them to justify their subscription cost, and voilà, you’ve got a writing empire! How hollow it’ll feel once you get there, however, that’s a different story. Good luck crafting funny notes about that.

For a moment, I was tempted to respond to the note. To take a big red marker, cross out the glib nonsense, and furnish the same note with the truth. But that’s exactly what they want you to do, isn’t it? To take the bait and start playing the same game. I took a breath, then logged out.

That’s okay. You and I will always know. There really is just one sign you’re nailing it as an artist. It requires zero popularity or social media presence, and even how you feel doesn’t matter. It’s the first, last, and only part that matters. The one aspect no one can take away from you but yourself: You create every day.

Be Realistic: Plan for a Miracle

In 1976, the Indian philosopher Osho answered audience questions at his ashram. A man asked about his relationship and profession as a dentist. Was he making the right choices or throwing his life away?

Osho astutely observed that, since these two issues are somewhat diverse yet connected, there must be a deeper problem bothering the man. He was right. The man admitted to a general tendency to be negative and low-energy.

“If you feel a basic low energy, then you cannot make any decision,” Osho told him. “That is the problem for a low energy person, mm? You cannot decide—you go on thinking and thinking and wavering your whole life. But remember one thing: Whether you decide or not, a decision is continuously being taken. Even if you can’t decide—that too is a decision.” That last bit comes straight from Sartre.

Since the man’s inability to decide had led him to settle into what was right in front of him—dentistry for nine years and a certain woman for however long—Osho told him to flip the script. “Don’t give it a single thought again—just get out of it.” For a man who overthinks, more thinking could not possibly be the answer. So Osho told him to step back and see how he feels. Did he actually want to be a dentist? Then he should make a positive, affirming decision to be a dentist. And right now, he couldn’t do that because he had simply settled into the role.

As for the man’s fears of potentially losing both his job and his relationship, Osho only needed one line: “Be realistic: Plan for a miracle!” Still, he graciously elaborated: “There is nothing to worry about. At the most one can become a beggar. At the most death can happen—which is going to happen anyhow, mm? Take courage…and I am coming with you.”

Possibilities work in tandem, Osho believed. They are always connected. “When you close one door, another opens. If you don’t close this door, no other door opens—because it is the same energy which has to open the other door.”

Sometimes, the most pragmatic thing you can do is to throw caution to the wind—because the only way to find out what life truly has in store for you is to stop clinging to what you’ve already bought. So be realistic—and plan for a miracle!

On the Slowdown Side of Life

I recently wrote about two AI companies going to court over who gets to sell their users’ data. It was a pot-vs-kettle situation with a big elephant standing in the back: The only ones completely ignored are the people who create all the value yet receive nothing for it.

One reader response surprised me. Rachel said the article better helped her understand the current tech madness. “I avoid AI as best I can. I avoid putting any real writing into any social media, all due to scraping,” she wrote. Her reasoning was straightforward: “It is so wrong for all these creators to not receive any sort of acknowledgement financial or otherwise.”

But it was Rachel’s next and last sentence that really made me think: “I am glad I’ve reached 70 and [am] on the slowdown side of life.”

For one, it beautifully explained why Rachel had such a clear opinion and was comfortable voicing it. Once you’ve reached your eighth decade, you know who you are and what you stand for—and you no longer have enough time to care what other people think about it. That’s one advantage of getting older.

What struck me most about her comment, however, was the sense of gratitude. “I’m happy I’m 70 and slowly riding into the sunset. It’s nice.” That’s what Rachel seemed to say. Most of us are worried about hitting 30 and 40, many outright afraid to reach 60, 70, and beyond. But age brings more than health problems and a lack of energy. If you take the right road to get there, it’ll also bring wisdom, confidence, and appreciation.

Don’t look forward with a frown. It’s still a gift to reach the second half of a century. And if you do, better yet, you can enjoy the slowdown side of life.

Will Anyone Even Notice?

On Friday, I had to collect something in the city in the middle of the day. I knew it would mean around two hours away from work. I try to end a bit earlier on Fridays regardless, and I wasn’t too busy, but I still wanted to take my work phone with me, just in case.

Less than 200 meters away from my house, I realized I had forgotten the phone. It was still sitting on my desk, charging. But it was also too late to run back and grab it. I’d miss my collection appointment. Ugh! Anxiously, I proceeded without my phone.

I returned almost exactly two hours later. Good estimate! When I opened my laptop, I found…the status quo. Nothing had changed. I had perhaps one or two extra messages, if those. Other than that? I could pick up where I had left off. No one had even noticed.

I finished my work, then wrapped up for the day. In the end, everything got done. My to-dos. My chores. And the only unnecessary task was worrying about my phone.

Will anyone remember this in five days? Will anyone still care in five weeks? What about five years down the road? These are all good questions to ask when you find an issue gnawing at you. Even for the moment, the same principle often applies: Will anyone even notice?

It’s not about getting away with shortcuts. It’s about whether panicking would be considered an appropriate response by people other than you. Usually, those situations are obvious. Everyone is in a state of alert. “Let’s raise all hell and get this done, people!” Most of the time, it’s just you—so you might as well skip the worry.

You are the vast, infinite sea of endless calm. Don’t let small waves rock your big boat.

Fighting To Get vs. Fighting To Keep

In Hunter x Hunter, the 19-year-old Leorio is obsessed with one thing: money. As a boy, he lost his best friend because neither of them could afford the expensive medicine for his rare disease. His drive to be able to pay for any and all healthcare in the future takes him a long way. He passes the nearly impossible hunter exam and wins the license that’s like a cheat code for printing money.

Leorio’s friend Kurapika is even more zealous. His entire family was killed for their precious, scarlet-red eyes, making him the last living member of the Kurta clan. Kurapika’s desire for vengeance is boundless, and he regularly puts his own life on the line just to hunt down the Phantom Troupe responsible for the massacre.

Some people turn a lack in younger years into fuel for decades to come. Scarcity can be a powerful motivator. “If only I’d had money, strength, influence.” But in most cases, this source of energy runs out before its owners do. Scarcity fades with every piece of gold you attain. Sooner or later, you’ll realize you have enough.

Gon and Killua, the last two members in Hunter x Hunter‘s main character quartet, have different inspirations from the start. They’re curious, free, and not always sure what they want—but they do know one thing: They love their friends, and they would do anything to protect them. They’re fighting to keep, not to get. That’s why neither Leorio nor Kurapika will ultimately surpass them. Even the latter, for all his anger, eventually realizes it’s better to save your alive friends than to avenge your dead ancestors.

“A real soldier does not fight because he has something that he hates in front of him,” G. K. Chesterton wrote in the 1910 New Year’s Eve edition of The Illustrated London News. “He fights because he has something that he loves behind his back.”

Know why you’re marching, and don’t be ashamed to admit you’ve found better reasons.

First Person Plural

Perhaps you’ve witnessed this scenario when invited to a get-together: Someone declines for their entire party, but they make the “we” a really big deal. I remember an instance of this in a college chat group a few years ago.

Two friends of ours had started dating, and they were both in the group, invited as individuals. One of them said no, but the message was the equivalent of capitalizing “WE” every time they mentioned it and adding a couple emoji at the end for good measure. At least, that’s what it felt like at the time.

I also remember some folks gossiping about the event later on, and I’m pretty sure I agreed with their take: “It’s fine that you’re a couple now, but it’s not like you’ve grown together at the hip.”

Well, the other day, I was editing an article about my and my fiancée’s trip to Japan, and guess what? I realized I kept writing “we” and “our” all the time. Of course, we were on the holiday together. It wasn’t an “I” trip at any moment—but you, the reader, don’t know that. And unless our togetherness is relevant to the piece, you also won’t care. So if I keep saying “we” and “our” without you even knowing who I mean, that would be hella confusing.

This is not the first time that “we” has snuck into my writing. It’s been happening more since we moved in together, and I guess that makes sense. The more you become a family, the more you’ll think on behalf of everyone rather than just yourself. But it does make for interesting patterns in communication.

For example, whenever I mention our apartment on my blog, I’m tempted to say “our apartment.” It’s not my apartment only, after all. And even if I were to write that, it wouldn’t change the fact that my fiancée pays half the rent. So suddenly, I’d be taking more credit than I deserve. If I was alone, I wouldn’t live in this big and expensive of a flat. It’s our togetherness that makes it possible, so it only feels fair for me to mention. But of course I also don’t want to throw a quick “my partner” into every story just because, especially if the article is about cleaning, not cohabitating.

Was that chat incident way back when someone bragging or just young love? I’ll never know. But I have discovered the point when first person plural simply feels natural, and I must say: No matter how it looks in conversation, it sure feels nice to live as a “we” every day.

Desperate Moves

For many years, I hosted my brother-in-law’s website domain. It was a simple CV page to help him get a job. Now, he didn’t need it any more. So I canceled it. Little did I know this cancellation would feel like the beginning of a book rather than its ending.

Godaddy, the registrar company, sent me nine mails about the domain’s termination. Nine. And somehow, I have a feeling they’re not quite done.

Godaddy sent three emails leading up to the cancellation dates. “Your domain expires soon.” Okay, fair enough. Some people forget to auto-renew and lose their websites. It happens. On the day of, they sent another message. “Renew your expired products before you lose them.” Interesting. If my products have expired, haven’t I already lost them? And isn’t that kind of the point of an expiration date?

Of course, Godaddy makes money whenever someone pays for another year of ownership to a domain. And if it’s not an insanely popular address, who better to ask to pay for it again than the person who originally bought it? From their point of view, they can’t send you enough reminders to renew. Any day you take the bait is a good day for Godaddy.

I received three more emails after the domain was gone. The third was a “final cancellation notice,” in all caps of course. But guess what? I got two more notifications since then. “Urgent! Domain has expired! Save it by the end of the month!” Um, it’s okay, I think you can stop trying.

In life, in business, or with people, the problem with desperate moves is that, most of the time, we can tell your desperation is the main reason you’re making them—and that’s never a good look. The best desperation can trigger is sympathy, and while that might get you an extension, it’s not enough to last.

You don’t need to hide your despair, mind you. It’s not about pretending all is well. But whatever you do, you must show us there’s more than just despair that keeps you going. Why did you start in the first place? What was so important it got you into this situation? Make us stay for the story, and perhaps you’ll live to fight another day.

And if not? That’s okay, too. At least most of the time. Sometimes, we must let the old expire to make room for something new. Just try not to send nine emails about it.

That Time I Thought Germany Had Too Little Housing

It was probably the last ten years. My architect friend Matt must have reminded me that we had plenty of space a dozen times. But I’m human, you know? I forget. That is, until yesterday.

Yesterday, Matt showed me the numbers. The numbers are simple to grasp: Since 1950, the number of flats in Germany has tripled. In that same time frame, the population has grown by 20%. Technically, that’s all you need to know. Why can’t we fit 20% more people into 200% more flats?

That’s where the debate opens the door to nuance. And more numbers, of course. Like the average square meters of housing per person going up by 37% in the last 30 years alone. Or the share of one- and two-person households going from 45% to 75%. Or the fact that most people live in or near big cities, whereas the countryside has space but not enough job opportunities. And so on.

Still, the original two items on the scale remain: 43 million flats and houses, 83.5 million people. If we put at least two folks in each home, we’d be set. Renovations pending, of course…

This isn’t to say that housing in Germany is an easy problem to solve. It’s to show that the problem looks differently than I had originally imagined. I was looking at it like a graph in a two-dimensional plane: Build more houses, cover more people. Every time I saw an article about Germany failing yet again to meet its annual construction target of 400,000 units—we built only 251,000 in 2024—I nodded and said, “Look, there’s the problem.” But actually, the graph leading us to the solution of this challenge lives in an eight-, nine-, who-knows-how-many-dimensional space. There are different arrows pointing in all kinds of directions—and the first two, number of people and number of apartments, are the least relevant in helping us find the target.

Now that I’ve admitted this, I can have a better conversation about the subject. Not a perfect one, by any means, but hey, better is what counts.

You won’t always think twice of your own accord. But when life and friends point you to a new view, try not to knock away their hand. Do it on your own time, but go there. Find one extra angle. It might be the one you’ll end up living in—and who knew there were so many spaces ready to house our minds?

Doing Justice in the Right Places

Ever since I started publicly tracking what I read on Goodreads, I’ve mostly stuck to their five-star rating system for reviews. It’s easy! I finish a title, I hit the stars, I’m done. This is efficient but unsatisfying.

It’s not that any of my 65 followers on there are desperately craving for Nik’s next book review. It’s unsatisfying because it’s important to me to do a book justice. If I, as a writer, who has written actual books, can’t cobble together a few paragraphs to properly process, appreciate, and communicate someone else going through the same, momentous effort to create a book, then who can? Plus, it helps me pull my own thoughts together in a way that lets me remember the book for the long run.

Sometimes, I get lucky. A four-star book like The Million-Dollar, One-Person Business makes it easy enough to just type and hit send. But for five-star books and literary classics? Phew. I spent the last 30 minutes thinking about Camus’ The Myth of Sisyphus, and I still don’t know where to start. I’m not sure I’ll ever find a system that’ll allow me to review everything I read without eating up all of my own writing time. I’m trying, but when in doubt, I prefer defaulting to “stars only” than to put out half-assed reviews that make great books seem like anything less than they are.

This whole conundrum and many others like it are part of the “you’re an adult now” starter kit: You can never do justice to everything you touch, so all you’re left with is consciously deciding what you’ll neglect and where you’ll be uncompromisable. It’s okay, my friend. We’re all burdened by this tradeoff many times over. Ultimately, getting out of it with some sense of contentment comes down to little more than trying to choose well and adjusting as you go.

Do justice in the right places, and you won’t have anything to judge yourself for in the end.

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