Everyone seems to be talking all the time, sharing their opinions, impressions, ideas, complaints or solutions.

And we don’t just do it with our voices.

We post, we text, we comment (or, in my case, we write emails!).

But are you actually being heard?

Is someone on the other end listening to you?

Because that’s what ultimately matters. Behind our need to talk, to express, is our deep human need to be heard.

To be seen and acknowledged.

And, in spite of the media-driven ease with which we can communicate, I have a hunch that we are being listened to less and less.

It’s never been easier to have — or at least have the illusion — of having a platform on which you can stand and share your point of view.

One of Facebook’s early taglines was “Facebook helps you connect and share with the people in your life.”

But did it, and all the other platforms that came after it, really fulfill our need for connection?

For being heard — and for being genuinely seen for who we are?

Interactions become performative, everyone conscious of the image they’re carrying. I hear younger generations are more reluctant to do stupid stuff in front of their friends for fear of being filmed and forever judged.

It reminds me of the Panopticon.

Real feelings are muted, real human energies constrained to hide behind our complex, muddy, stuttering, and unsure selves.

What we need are spaces of listening.

Spaces where we give nonjudgmental attention to another being who is yearning to share something deep within.

To allow them to get it out into the open.

To let it go.

Listening is the ultimate act of love.

Till next time,

Ben

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I turned down a stable teaching position and I started my own business, one with zero revenue and zero clients.

It’s been just over six months since I made that decision and, today, I want to share with you where I’m at. Or, more specifically, how I’m feeling about it.

Part of me is still scared.

What if I run out of money before I figure out how to provide something valuable enough that it can financially sustain me?

If I don’t, what happens then? Will I be a failure and, if so, how will I deal with that? Who will I be?

I’m scared about what will happen.

You probably recognize this voice: the voice of doubt, worry and fear. I often want it to shut up but, I now realize, it’s only looking out for my survival.

But another part of me is feeling like my fearmonger’s fun-loving and exciting twin:

I’m also feeling super excited.

I’m super excited that, after years of dreaming about it, I’m actually trying to build my own business. Not only am I trying, but I’m actually doing it.

I’m excited to be writing like I have nothing to lose.

I’m excited to be meeting new people, people who see value in what I have to offer.

I’m excited to be creating ideas that only existed in my mind and witness their imperfect materialization.

I’m excited to see what will happen.

The thing is, my voice of fear and my voice of excitement come from the same source. They are just different manifestations of that same energy.

I cannot have one without the other.

And so I’m learning to sit with both, to listen to what they each have to teach me. I don’t have to believe them in everything they say but they are both there to help me, to guide me.

I see that now.

Our emotions are not to be run away from. They’re our friends, trying in their own idiosyncratic ways to tell us what’s important to them.

It’s up to us to invite them in and to listen to them with compassion and curiosity.

What do they have to teach us?

Till next time,

Ben

I’m curious, what emotions are you currently feeling? What are they teaching you?

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• You Days are Like Rain on the Landscape of Your Life

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Anyway, I quickly learnt that I wasn’t musical, that playing music wasn’t for me.

“I’m not a music guy, I’m a sports guy!” I told myself.

And so it was until the age of 40 (but more on that in a bit).

The thing is, during those decades, music was actually such an important pillar in my life.

Some of my most formative experiences I had had music at their core: listening to Millencolin as a teenager in the darkness of my bedroom, to Daft Punk on a bus somewhere in Spain on my first trip alone, to Sigur Rós live with my friends while the whole audience sat on festival floor-boards.

And I could name so, so many more.

My point is, throughout that time, I loved music but I didn’t play it, or even attempt to play it, because that simply ‘was not me’.

Now, fast-forward to late last year and a friend asks me if I want to jam with him. In his basement, he has an electric drum set, and a couple of amps and guitars.

With assurances that I’m terrible and it won’t amount to much, I go.

And it turned out to be so… much …fun. I couldn’t believe it.

Making noise with others was fun!

This spurred me to learn as much about music theory as I could (mind-blown, by the way) and to practice almost daily.

And now, I’m still not great by any means and I have absolutely zero aspirations — except to continue having fun.

But one thing has become absolutely clear:

I no longer hold onto my old label that music is not for me.

I see now that that label wasn’t truth, even though it felt like it. I just wasn’t good enough yet and hadn’t studied music in a way that I understood.

I hadn’t put in the effort.

And this is so true for so many parts of our lives.

We impose labels onto ourselves thinking that they are fact. “I’m not good at this,” or “I shouldn’t even try that.”

And so I ask you:

What if your labels are achieving nothing more than limiting your ability to explore something that might hold real significance?

How might we show up if we stopped taking them at face-value?

Till next time,

Ben

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• You Days are Like Rain on the Landscape of Your Life

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Yet many of us approach our days in a desperate frenzy to solve problem after problem. It’s as if we’re playing that fair-ground game, whack-a-mole.

Once we strike one down, another pops up somewhere else.

My point here isn’t to pessimistically say that life is just an unending series of problems, it’s to simply say that they’re unavoidable.

Whichever position we find ourselves — whether rich or poor — we will find ourselves confronted with problems. (Granted, the size of the problems will differ significantly, but they’ll still be there and, crucially, bearing a weight upon us).

Whatever job we do, no matter how happy we are to have it, we will experience times when we just don’t want to go to it.

The same is true with our family and friends. No matter how much we love them, there will be times when the relationship gets frayed and complicated.

My point is this.

If ever someone promises you a life without problems, a life of calm seas and smooth sailing, they’re selling you an illusion.

You will always be moments away from your next problem.

That’s why the solution isn’t to pick a path that looks like it might be easy.

The solution is to pick a path that you really want to go down, knowing full well that problems await you along the way.

Because, isn’t it much better to be confronted with problems that are on a path you actually want to be on, rather than dealing with ones that leave you empty?

So, next time you’re facing a decision, make sure to choose the right poison for you.

Till next time,

Ben

I’m curious, do you feel content with the problems you face? Why or why not?

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Projects at work, projects at home. Tasks here, chores there.

The endless ‘I have to do…’s. And all this too easily leads to overwhelm.

You’ve been there, I’ve been there.

And it isn’t fun.

It’s stress-inducing and it leaves us with the feeling that we haven’t done enough — that we’re not enough.

So whatever you currently have on your plate, no matter how many deadlines you have coming up, I want to ask you this:

Which project is your most important?

I’m here to tell you it should be you.

Whatever shape it takes, it should be something to do with your health or wellbeing.

Sleep.

Movement.

Food.

Relationships.

Personal flourishing.

Your body and your wellbeing are your engines, your sources of energy and vitality. Without them, you are nothing but a shell going through the motions.

And the thing is, it’s nobody’s responsibility to take care of yourself but your own. Nobody will give you a deadline to get into shape or a list of tasks on how to get better sleep.

Only you care enough to make sure you get what you need.

So, before any other priorities take hold, I invite you to invest in yourself first.

Go for that morning run.

Spend that extra on quality food.

Forego the evening Netflix binge.

Spend time with those you love.

Pick up that hobby you always wanted to do.

I’m not telling to do them all, or any of these; whatever you need, you know yourself best.

But I am saying this.

When I ask ‘what’s your most important project?,’ you will answer one word:

“Me.”

Till next time,

Ben

I’m curious, what do you most need to invest in for yourself right now?

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• You Days are Like Rain on the Landscape of Your Life

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Looking out at a mountain, he was pointing out a line to the summit and said something to the effect of:

“Doing an alpine climb is a work of art. The climber traces an imaginary line up the face of the mountain in the same way that a painter does on a canvas.”

That line, he went on, although invisible, remains after the climb is done.

I found that such a beautiful thought.

I’ve shared a similar sentiment with regards to runs and hikes I’ve done over years.

Granted, they’ve been nothing compared to Messner’s feats but, looking at all my GPS tracks criss-crossing landscapes around where I’ve lived or visited, I’ve always been reminded of Messner’s words.

The act of movement through space captured a moment in time and place, one which would never be replicated.

An invisible line that would remain forever.

Then I realized.

This idea is applicable to life itself.

From the moment we are born to the moment we die, we are tracing invisible lines across our physical world but also through each others’ emotional lives.

The places we go, the people we meet; the things we do and the people we inspire.

That’s a pretty accurate description of what a life is.

An invisible, beautiful, line.

Your work of art.

Till next time,

Ben

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• You Days are Like Rain on the Landscape of Your Life

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I’d read all the latest books, underlining passage after passage and scribbling notes in the margins.

I’d get a high reading through the first couple of pages of a new book and feeling that I was about to uncover some powerful secret. I’d rip through the pages and then — inevitably finish it and place the book back on my bookshelf.

Now, I am not one to disparage you from reading. I genuinely think it’s a key that unlocks nearly limitless knowledge.

But, when it came to my personal growth, I noticed that reading more books was not helping me grow. It just loaded me with more information.

And I’m willing to bet you’re the same.

You’ve read the books, you’ve watched the videos and you’ve listened to the podcasts. You already know more than you need to get started on whatever it is you wish for yourself.

More information isn’t what you need.

Personal growth doesn’t happen from accumulating more information; it comes from action.

• From looking at the world around you with fresh eyes.

• From trying something new.

• From changing how you perceive yourself.

And taking action starts by believing that you can do it.

That the way you are — and where you are today — don’t define who you know you can be and where you want to go.

In my experience, that belief is the missing piece.

Belief in yourself.

And I know full well how hard it is to nurture it when all the evidence points in other directions.

But belief is not a switch. It’s not on or off.

It’s something you build, action upon action, day after day.

It comes from repeatedly doing things that mean something to you until you start changing how you view yourself. And then building up from there.

Belief is a process.

That doesn’t mean it’s easy. It’s a real challenge of persistence, but one you don’t have to go through alone. It’s so much easier to keep going with the support of people who are rooting for you.

That’s why I’m starting my private community here called The Circle.

For $8 USD a month or $80 USD a year, you’ll get access to a private community chat where — every week — I’ll prompt you with questions designed to make you reflect on where you’re at.

I will be there to read your replies, chat with you and give you the support you deserve.

If that sounds like something you want to be a part of, you can join by upgrading to a paid subscription, whenever you’re ready.

(To celebrate this launch, I’m offering you a 30-day free trial via the link below).

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Till next time,

Ben

P.S. If you enjoyed this post, here are three more ways I can support you:

1. From the Archives: Read one of my popular posts.

• Getting Comfortable with Uncertainty

• You Days are Like Rain on the Landscape of Your Life

• On Starting from Zero

2. Join my private community.

Belief is a process. Join The Circle and get the support you need on the challenging journey of change.

3. Get 1-on-1 Support.

Need somebody to talk to, to gain clarity or figure someone out? Reply to this email and I’ll send you the info to book a call.

I’d post regularly for a few months, then run out of steam and stop.

And, every time, it would be because of the pressure I’d put on myself. I’d be trying to write the best possible thing every time.

Another way of saying that is I didn’t want to make mistakes, or look foolish.

So my perfectionism was making the writing process painful.

Arduous.

Tedious.

Frustrating.

I’d write a sentence, immediately reread it, edit it five times over and only then go to the next one. Editing often felt like going around in circles.

The act of writing became synonymous with self-inflicted torment.

Under those conditions, I don’t think anything can be practiced for any degree of time without burning out.

But, the thing is, I do love to write.

I find a great deal of satisfaction writing down my thinking. And sharing it with you gives it an extra dimension of vulnerability, which is helping me grow.

So, what to do?

How can I overcome my perfectionism and retrain my mind to just do things in spite of fear?

I’ve adopted a very simple approach:

Every day, I pick something I want to say, I open a new draft and start a timer for 25 minutes.

Then I write down the first sentence, and then the next.

My only rule?

I cannot go back and change anything while I’m still writing.

Then, when I’m done, I reread the text once, correct any glaring mistakes — and then I hit publish.

No analyzing, no second guessing.

Perfectionism is nothing more than a protection against our own fears.

Fears that are stopping us from doing the things we actually want to do.

Till next time,

Ben

I’m curious, can you relate to this? What has your experience with perfectionism been?

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P.S. If you enjoyed this post, here are three more ways I can support you:

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• Getting Comfortable with Uncertainty

• You Days are Like Rain on the Landscape of Your Life

• On Starting from Zero

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2. Get 1-on-1 Support.

Need somebody to talk to, to gain clarity or figure someone out? Reply to this email and I’ll send you the info to book a call.

They were like being given god-like powers of hovering over expanses of land and exploring what was just beyond.

Maps empowered me to know what my eyes couldn’t possibly see.

And later on, this applied to other types of visually represented data, such as graphs and charts. I’d study them intently, deconstructing what the information was saying and what that meant.

These artifacts of information became the puzzle pieces with which I constructed my abstract picture of the world.

So far, so good.

But what if I pointed to the very obvious (but largely ignored) fact that a map is just a representation of a territory? A graph/chart is just a representation of data.

A map is not the territory itself.

It contains information that was chosen by someone at some point to be there. A deliberate choice — whether political, practical or other — was made to include certain elements, and exclude others.

My point isn’t that mapmakers have agendas, only that a map can never be the exact equivalent to the landscape it portrays.

If it did, it would be the same size, texture and smell as the landscape it represents. And, needless to say, that would be impossible.

So, why am I telling you this?

I’m guessing you might not care about the accuracies of a map.

But what if I asked you: what pieces of information are building your understanding of the world?

If you’re like me, you’ll say things like social media posts, news reports or podcast interviews.

But these are all just versions of the map. They convey information about a representation of reality, never reality itself.

I guess my point is this:

It’s one thing to experience the world mediated through flickering light of a device. It’s another thing entirely to experience it first-hand.

To be a human again, devoid of god-like powers, walking on our own two feet across the landscapes of our lives.

Till next time,

Ben

P.S. If you enjoyed this post, you can:

1. From the Archives: Read one of my most popular posts.

• Getting Comfortable with Uncertainty

• You Days are Like Rain on the Landscape of Your Life

• On Starting from Zero

2. Get 1-on-1 Support.

   Need somebody to talk to, to gain clarity or figure someone out? Reply to this email and I’ll send you the info to book a call.

What I mean by that is everyone talks about finding work that you’re good at, that confers status or makes good money.

Those are legitimate perspectives to take, but what about the other side of that coin?

What about finding work that is good to you, for you?

It’s a two-way street.

I’ve learned this from personal experience.

I’ve worked in the corporate world, I’ve worked as a teacher and I’ve worked for myself.

Each job put me in drastically different environments and some were better suited to my personality and needs than others.

As someone who is highly curious, analytical and on the introverted side, each work environment fed me in different ways:

• The corporate world fed my analytical mind and the regular salary gave me stability but the office politics drained me.

• Teaching fed my need to do meaningful work but managing large groups of students and class dynamics left me too little time to breath.

• Working for myself (in the form of a business or freelancing), which I have done repeatedly, puts pressure on the financial side (will I make enough to pay the bills?) but feeds my need for independence.

So, even though my professional life looks disjointed from the outside, it’s actually been a process of me trying to figure out what suits me. What works for me.

And one thing I’ve learned is to not discount the need to find work that is in sync with who you are. Your nature, your personality, your being.

Yes, money is important. Yes, so too is meaning.

But it’s so much more grounding to wake up each morning and flow through the day from a place of strength.

It’s the difference between forcing yourself into someone else’s version of success and, instead, honoring you’re own.

You have tremendous value within you already.

But are the environments you find yourself in feeding who you are?

Till next time,

Ben

P.S. If you enjoyed this post, you can:

1. From the Archives: Read one of my most popular posts.

• Getting Comfortable with Uncertainty

• You Days are Like Rain on the Landscape of Your Life

• On Starting from Zero

2. Get 1-on-1 Support.

Need somebody to talk to, to gain clarity or figure something out? Reply to this email and I’ll send you the info to book a call.

Like, it forced me to stop what I was doing and take the time to understand it.

Here it is:

What jumped out at me wasn't the huge unequal distribution of renewable energy in relation to fossil fuel consumption (while that’s worth going into, let's leave it as a topic for another day).

What truly stood out to me was the massive upward trend in total global energy consumption per year, especially since the 1950s.

And to make this spike even more striking, keep in mind that total energy consumption prior to the graph’s beginning has been estimated to be less than 1800 levels.1

So, if we zoom out and look at the entirety of human history, we’re left with a flat-line of global energy consumption followed by an extremely recent exponential spike.

We’re looking at the most hockey-stick growth graphs imaginable.

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My immediate conclusion to this was maybe what you’re thinking — “this is completely crazy” and “this cannot be sustainable.”

We cannot ignore that global energy consumption has increased 30-fold in just 200 years.

And so I looked into it.

My first step was to take into account population growth over the same time period:

As you can see, population growth has gone from 1 billion in 1800 to 8 billion today. So it’s little wonder our global energy consumption has increased over the same period.

But has it still increased, even if we take a per capita perspective?

The chart below shows that it does. The average person in 1800 spent 5.8 MWh of energy per year; in 2023? 20.3 MWh.

So, even taking population growth into account, we’re still looking at 4x increase of the average global energy consumption per capita over the last 200 years. (And this isn’t even taking into account regional differences!)

This got me wondering what the outcome of all this energy consumption growth has been. As in, what, ultimately, have we been using all this energy for?

My immediate answer was to say: to make life better.

(To me, it should be a given that everything we have done or are currently doing should be in the service of making life better in some way, shape or form).

I’m curious, do you agree with this statement? Or would you say there is another purpose?

For example, what’s your personal energy consumption enabling in your life?

Leave a comment

So I wondered if more energy consumption always led to better life outcomes. But how could I see ‘making like better’ in data?

There are many qualitative metrics to choose from but, for the sake of simplicity, I chose to look at life expectancy (as it’s impossible to argue that a life lived to 70 is worse than one ending at 30).

Here’s that chart:

As you can see, even though the charts I’ve shared so far show two vastly different things —global energy consumption and life expectancy — they both follow a similar pattern: a flatline throughout much of history, followed by a sharp upward trend.

So the next logical question: are they correlated?

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Given I was looking to compare apples and oranges here, I decided to compare their relative growths from the first year on record, namely 1800.

So I indexed 1800 values to 100 and then plotted both growth curves on the same chart.

Here’s what I got:

To keep this short, I’m not going to comment in detail on this chart but what I do want to point this out:

As energy consumption has increased through time, there has also been an increase in life expectancy.

And it makes intuitive sense.

Starting in the 1850s, we’ve been using energy to improve things like infrastructure and education, which then improved technological innovation, which consequently improved life expectancy.

This created a virtuous cycle.

Indeed, global life expectancy in 2023 has more than doubled from its 1800 level. And, in the same period, global energy consumption per capita has more than tripled.

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Looking at this, my initial assumptions were that we’re seeing diminishing returns on energy consumption when it comes to longevity.

It would make sense that, once the low-hanging fruit of access to clean water, heating, food production and basic healthcare are assured, it becomes harder to increase longevity in proportion to energy consumption.

But using my rudimentary statistical skills, I’m not so sure. Indeed, plotting longevity and energy consumption per capita on a scatter plot returns this:

Other than showing there’s very strong correlation between per-capita energy consumption and life expectancy over the observed period (r=0.95), I don’t believe there is statistical proof of diminishing returns on energy consumption with regards to longevity.

If you’re willing to help me out with this particular analysis, do get in touch!

But I digress.

I don’t want to lose sight of my fundamental point:

As shocking as the first chart I showed of global energy consumption is, it carries a lot of hidden implications.

All that growth in energy consumption has served us — for example, by enabling us to live longer.

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But, as we approach what must be close to the limits of our biological bodies and the finitude of planetary resources, I’m left with this question:

How is this level of energy consumption serving us today?

What do we get in exchange for it, and, is it still worth consuming more than 160,000 TWh (and growing) of energy per year?

I believe we need to ask ourselves — and I’m talking about the western world here2 — what’s the purpose behind this ever growing energy consumption?

As in, what’s our goal?

Is it still to make our lives better (longer, healthier, happier)?

Or is something else going on?

What you think? Is this something you think about and, if so, what conclusions have you come to?

I’m genuinely curious to hear your perspectives on this so please do share below.

Leave a comment

The dark winter days are slowly lengthening here and I feel like I’m emerging from hibernation.

The other day, I went down to my small allotment garden to see how it was doing after the snow had melted. I hadn’t been there since before the end-of-year holidays and I didn’t know what to expect.

When I got there, I was pleasantly surprised to see the onions and garlic I had planted in the autumn were peeking out of the ground, their green shoots ready for the warmer days.

As I walked through the cold crisp air, listening to birds singing in the bushes close to me, I was filled with that unmistakable feeling:

Spring is around the corner!

And so, I thought it suitable to share with you my outlook on the importance of being in a garden and on how I use it as a pedagogical tool.

Even though I mainly work with children now, I think the lessons are as applicable to us adults (hell, maybe they’re even more important for us!).

So, have a read and let me know what you think.

One of the children had found something hidden amongst the lettuce.

With shouts of excitement, the other children ran over and looked in awe as the boy picked up a snail and watched it slither across his hand. Before I could say anything, the rest of the children had begun to rummage through the beds to find more.

It turns out children are very effective snail hunters.

So, although they are very effective pest-control, that’s not why I had a group of 10 year olds in my small allotment garden.

We were here because of a belief I have come to see as my fundamental pedagogical approach: trust that, when sparked, a child’s curiosity will fuel their desire to learn.

Children are natural learners

Children don’t need to be taught how to learn. All they need are environments and the support that encourage them to interact with the world around them.

They need time to observe and deconstruct patterns before them; the freedom to connect the relationships between cause and effect.

Driven by their curiosity, the learning will happen.

That’s why my pitch to parents was simple: your children will learn — not by sitting and thinking — but by doing, by experiencing, and by noticing.

That’s how, once a week, I pick up small groups of children from school and proceed to let their curiosity guide their learning.

The garden as a classroom

Most often, we go for walks through a local forested park, by the river that cuts through Ljubljana — or we go to my small allotment garden.

There, we do whatever — depending on the season and the weather — needs to be done. We weed, we plant, we water, we cut and we collect biomass for the compost.

I let the children decide what they want to do and, so far, I’ve never had a situation where a child didn’t want to do anything.

The group gets to work and everyone finds their place in it.

The children learn to communicate. They also learn about the rhythms of the garden and, most importantly, they get to witness.

Being outside, exposed to the elements and watching the seasons change, is not something that is taught on an intellectual level; it’s something that is felt.

Being in the garden helps to connect the dots.

A tiny speck of a seed grows into a vibrant green plant, out of which a flower, fruit or vegetable emerges.

It then turns brown and shrivels as it decomposes on the compost pile; a compost pile that becomes organic matter in which the following spring’s seeds are sown.

But it isn’t only about plants.

The rain gauge shows how many liters of water have fallen per square meter; the small flag atop a pole shows wind strength and direction; and the thermometer, hygrometer and barometer paint the invisible atmospheric picture.

And the presence of wildlife is everywhere, if only attention is paid to it.

The field mice nesting at the bottom of the compost bin. The bees buzzing in and out of flowers. The birds of prey circling high overhead.

But there is also something else: the tiger mosquitos that seem to be more numerous year upon year.

Their invasive presence in Europe, on the scale of human history, is extremely recent (only within the past three decades). Their long-term impact on our ecosystems remains to be seen.

But they are a reminder of the globalized world beyond this small garden and the container ships that brought them here.

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Touch soil with your bare hands

Now, I cannot speak for the children but I trust that they’re taking something valuable from being in the garden. Something that will inform their intellectual growth and understanding of the world they live in.

In time, they will learn about climate change and the problems that face us. They will learn about the carbon cycle imbalance, about warming temperatures and extreme weather events.

But being in this garden is setting the foundations upon which that knowledge can make sense.

By touching the soil with their bare hands, a vital bond is created — one that goes beyond the intellect.

It’s showing them that they too are part of the natural world.

For all its benefits, our modern world has separated us from our natural environments, to the point that we no longer see ourselves part of them.

This is simply not true.

We are all an integral part of the complex and fragile systems that regulate Earth. We are not, in spite of our delusions, above them.

That’s why the first step in addressing the problem of climate change is to rediscover our emotional, physical — and dare I say — spiritual connection to the ecosystems we are a part of.

Planting a seed and eating its fruit can be a transformative way to do that.

Looking to Spring

Once the days start to lengthen again and slowly warm up the hardened ground, I will once again spend more time in the garden.

We will prepare the beds for sowing and will plan out which seeds to plant where. But we will continue to bear witness to the transformations happening around us and at the end of our fingertips.

The blackbird chirping in the bushes.

The delicate primrose flower blooming in small clusters.

These experiences will continue to shine an awareness on the fact that we are not separate from the earth.

We are part of it.

Till next time, I wish you all the very best! ☀️🚶‍➡️🌲

Ben

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The story was compelling — almost too compelling.

He spoke about how he had worked hard, climbed the corporate ladder and, as a result, had spent too little time with his children. Then, in his 50s, he suffered a heart attack, barely survived, and vowed to completely change his life.

It was a familiar story. And it worked.

The video was well made but — having worked in video production before — I was struck by how every single anecdote in his story had perfect footage to go along with it.

Intrigued, I clicked on the channel’s about page. At the very bottom, I read this:

DISCLAIMER: Individuals in our videos are AI-generated for storytelling. Advice is compiled from real-life experiences. Content is for educational purposes only and should not replace professional guidance.

I read it again.

First confused then angry.

The story I had just heard shattered and I was left with an after-taste of distrust.

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Thinking about it, the problem wasn’t that AI was involved — it was that I’d emotionally invested in something that had not been lived. It felt like a perversion of why we tell stories in the first place.

So, even though I’ve no interest to jump on the AI-hate bandwagon, this moment did force me to question my relationship with content altogether.

Like you probably are too, I’m tired of the flood of information that never stops. It’s endless and soulless.

The infinite scroll, the emotional slot machine.

So I’m taking action.

Blocking addictive sites. Curating my feeds. Unsubscribing to things I don’t value highly enough.

The information flood is happening — and I want out.

What I crave is fewer inputs but more presence.

Less reactivity. More reflection.

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If this resonates with you, I’d genuinely like to hear from you. How are you dealing with this problem in your life?

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And if what I write doesn’t add value to you, feel free to unsubscribe. I’m trying to build something quieter here, not necessarily bigger.

Till next time, I wish you well!

Ben

At the age of 14, needing a physical outlet, I began to play rugby. (If you don’t know, it’s that sport played with an oval-shaped ball but without the helmets of American football).

I ended up playing until I was in my early 20s, when a couple of injuries and university life (a.k.a. too much temptation not to train) brought an end to my playing.

But, in the period I did play, the game left a deep impression and love within me, one that I carry to this day.

Because, beyond the brutish and dangerous perception of the sport (which, I admit, is at times valid), rugby did teach me fundamental lessons that I think are worth sharing.

Being on a rugby pitch, you’re surrounded by 29 other people, 15 of which are using their physical might to try and bring the ball over to your end of the pitch.

You and your teammates are trying to stop them and, instead, bring the ball to their side of the pitch.

On one level, the game is very simple. It’s an attritional affair, a face-to-face tug-of-war, but in reverse.

So — and you cannot avoid this lesson — the nature of the game means that, without your teammates, you are nothing.

This feeling hits you the first time you play.

You get given the ball and your experience your first tackle — the physicality hits you. Then your teammates rush in and push the opponent players in order to secure the ball.

You could be the best player on the pitch but, without the support of those people on your side, you’d be crushed.

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As a result, more than any other sport I’ve played or any professional situation I’ve been in, your reliance on your teammates in rugby is on another level.

And it’s been my experience that these moments of adversity builds deep trust with them. I recall playing with people from different walks of life, speaking different languages and playing in the knowledge that they’d back me up.

That’s a powerful feeling.

And it went the other way too: being ready to support a teammate, regardless of any personal sense of fear or physical tiredness.

This instilled a sense of selflessness.

Within the 80 minutes of the game, it wasn’t about the “me” in my head; it was about dealing with the particular situations of the game, as a team.

I may have come across as competitive back then but I actually didn’t care much if we won or lost. All I cared about was that we played as well as we could have.

I remember one of my coaches always saying: “Make sure you leave everything you can on the pitch.”

That idea rings a little differently after all these years but it still means something to me.

Pride in one’s self, maybe.

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Now, for the first time in 20 years, I’m thinking of playing again.

I’m apprehensive though: rugby has been linked with Chronic traumatic encephalopathy (CTE), which is a brain disease linked to repeated head injuries.

I also have to question whether the very real risk of any injuries is worth it at a time when I’m firmly entering middle-age.

Regardless, rugby has — by far — been the closest I’ve felt to being part of a band of brothers.

Of being part of something bigger than myself.

I didn’t always like all my teammates, I didn’t love every second of being in such a tight social group, which was, at times, complex to navigate.

But it felt real and raw.

Tribal, almost.

Writing this out, I’m left wondering: what kind of environments still foster that level of bonds with strangers? And this, especially as a middle-aged man?

And so, will I play again? I don’t know.

But I do know this: rugby is more than mud and beer.

It’s about connection.

I’m curious, does this feeling of belonging and connection through a shared activity resonate with you?

How do you fill this need in your life right now?

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Till next week, I wish you all my best! 🏉

Ben

What was I going to call it?

And what was the logo going to be?

I decided to call it Seeking Wisdom because it felt like an accurate description of what I felt I wanted to do.

That hasn’t changed, and I still like the name, but I actually want to tell you about the logo.

Granted, I’m no designer (the extent of my practical skills when it comes to designing was using MS Paint back on Windows XP). But still, I was happy with the logo you see below.

In the foreground, a black circle that overlaps a white circle in the back. And in between the two, a grey one.

To me, this was hugely symbolic because wisdom is exactly that.

It’s the act of trying to make sense of things never being fully black or white. It’s a lens we develop through which the grays can be better be understood.

Now, why am I telling you all this?

Because now, three years later, I feel that my understanding of things is more gray than ever.

I’m finding that my position on a whole variety of topics is very seldom black or white anymore. I’m feeling more and more detached from prior beliefs I once had.

At times, this untethered position makes me feel lost and disorientated. I have, for want of a better way of putting it, entered into a space of uncertainty.

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Now, that uncertainty was always there and always will be; it’s just that I’m seeing more of it now.

This may sound negative to you, and fair enough, you might be right. But I do feel there is a silver-lining.

And it’s this:

I’m learning the need to live within that uncertainty, that gray, without the impulse to run from it.

I’m learning to sit within it and get as comfortable as I possibly can — in spite of it.

So that gray, that field of disorder between the black and the white, that’s what I’m trying to figure out and why I write to you.

We are not alone in this uncertainty.

We have each other.

Till next time,

Ben

P.S. If you enjoyed this post, here are three ways I can support you more:

1. From the Archives: Read one of my popular posts.

• Getting Comfortable with Uncertainty

• You Days are Like Rain on the Landscape of Your Life

• On Starting from Zero

2. Join my private community.

Belief is a process. Join The Circle and get the support you need on the challenging journey of change.

3. Get 1-on-1 Support.

Need somebody to talk to, to gain clarity or figure someone out? Reply to this email and I’ll send you the info to book a call.

The new year is upon us so before I say anything else, let me tell you this:

I hope you’re well wherever you find yourself and I wish you all the very best in this new year. May it be kind to you and your loved ones.

After the festivities of the past couple of days, I spent the day today thinking about what it is I actually want to share with you.

What is it that I’m carrying with me into this new year?

Back in 2016, I was applying for a job as a copywriter at a tech company.

Up until that point, I’d been working as an entrepreneur and was trying to jump onto the corporate train.

I wasn’t — or at least I didn’t feel — competent for the job.

I had done a ton of writing in the form of scripts and proposals but I hadn’t done what they were looking for.

So, as I progressed through the interview process, I was given the task write an article about the local start-up scene.

I was given a week.

And so, imposter syndrome on full blast, I had no choice but to get to work.

I made a new Twitter account and reached out to people I thought would be interesting to talk to: start-up founders and investors, both from the local scene and from abroad.

To my huge surprise, the majority of people I contacted generously got back to me, either by giving me information or agreeing to a call.

If I had felt nervous before, now my body was alight with a strange mixture of fear and excitement.

I had jumped into this without thinking too much about it and now I had real people meeting me in real life.

That’s how I spent the next few days speaking with super interesting people from a world I knew close to nothing about. I felt like I was being given a private behind-the-scenes tour of something I had made the entrance ticket to.

It was interesting, exciting, and thrilling!

I felt like someone who’d put on a high visibility jacket and, carrying a ladder, had bluffed my way into places with previously closed doors.

I went onto finish the article, but only just enough to submit it for my job application.

I got the job and the thing that had fueled me to move beyond my discomfort was gone. Unfortunately, I never brought the article to a point where I felt it deserved to be.

It’s now been a decade since this experience and, although it felt deeply meaningful to me, it’s crazy to say that not once have I tried to replicate it.

Not once have I allowed myself to push past the immediate pain of anxiety, even though I know that doing so is the price of entry to anything meaningful.

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Why am I telling you this?

If what I just said resonates with you, I’d wager that things tend not to happen in your life if there isn’t a big enough reason for them to happen.

Intellectually, it’s easy enough to know that some things are worth doing (because they’ll bring financial, health or other benefits); it’s another thing entirely to embody all the emotions that those actions tend to produce.

So I ask you, what’s driving you? What is it you really want to do in this new year?

And now, what’s holding you back?

For me, I’ve been allowing fear stop me from going out into the world and interact with it in a way that is truthful to me.

I’m working on this and I’m proud of the steps I’ve taken. I’m excited — and still scared! — to continue to do so in 2026.

Because that’s the whole point, isn’t it? It’s not about feeling fear and letting it consume you.

It’s about feeling the fear, acknowledging it, and still stepping forward into doing whatever you want to do.

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If this resonated with you, reply to this email: what it is you really want to achieve in 2026? And what’s holding you back?

I’m here to support you because, if there’s one thing I’m learning, we don’t have to do this alone.

You got this! 💪

The summer is already long gone but before it completely recedes from my memory, I want to tell you about a small dream I managed to accomplish.

Exactly three months ago, I found myself hiking up the rocky landscape you can see on the picture below.

It didn’t feel like it because of the thick fog but I was actually at over 2500 meters high, about to reach the top of Grintovec, Slovenia’s second highest mountain.

Now, this isn’t a particularly extraordinary feat — thousands of people climb this mountain every year — but that’s exactly why I want to tell you this story.

I want to tell you about how important it is to pursue your dreams, no matter how insignificant or small they may appear (to you or to your outside world).

See, I had wanted to climb this mountain ever since I had moved to Ljubljana back in 2022.

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A planted seed

For those three years, I’d often spot its tooth-shaped peak as I went about my business around town. On a clear day, looking north, it’s hard not to miss.

And, every time I saw it, I told myself that one day I’d climb it.

At the end of the first year, I hadn’t.

“I still have time and I’m so busy now”, I’d tell myself.

Then, at the end of the second year, still not. Same excuses.

Even though I had explored easier hikes, at the end of the third year, I still hadn’t climbed it.

And the reason for that, if I’m being honest, is that I was scared to do so.

It’s a big mountain, yes, but the physical challenge wasn’t so much the problem; it was the fact that it was just outside of my emotional comfort zone.

The fear wasn’t the problem though.

The problem was that I didn’t accept the fear as an obstacle, which means I couldn’t figure out ways to move beyond it.

You don’t have to do it alone

As it turns out, during that third year, I met my friend, Martin.

At some point during the spring, one of us mentioned the idea of going to the top and so that’s how, at the beginning of August, we set off for a planned three day hike.

I typically hate planning and packing but, for this trip, I was lit by an energy that can only be described as a fire within.

The plan was this:

• Day 1: hike from Kamniška Bistrica up to the mountain hut on Kamniško Sedlo.

• Day 2: cross along a ridge line to another mountain hut on Kokroško Sedlo.

• Day 3: ascend to Grintovec, then make our way back down to Kamniška Bistrica.

Simple enough, right?

Micro-adventures don’t follow plans

Everything went great on the first day. It’s on the morning of the second day that the plan fell apart.

We set off on this ridge (behind Brana towards Tuska gora, if ever you’re in the neighborhood) and it immediately became clear that we wouldn’t be able to go on.

We’d heard this passage was very dangerous but seeing it person was something else:

Looking down at the drop we were supposed traverse, there was no way in hell I was going to take another step in that direction.

And so we had to come up with a Plan B.

It turns out we couldn’t find safer a way around so we ended up hiking north, descending into the jaw-dropping Logarska Dolina valley, over a couple of passes (even briefly entering Austria), and back down into the Ravenska Kočna valley.

By the time we finished that second day, we’d been through Plans C, D and E, and ended up walking for over 8 hours.

We bailed, cancelled our planned ascent to Grinovec, and went home.

Dreams don’t have deadlines

But as we went home that night, we made a commitment to come back and make it to the top.

And that’s exactly what we did.

A month later, we met again and hiked the more direct route from Kamniška Bistrica to the top of Grintovec.

So, what did this experience teach me?

Firstly, how dangerous alpine hiking can be, especially on crumbly limestone (at one point, mountain goats sent rock falling above us — thankfully, we were wearing helmets — always wear helmets above the tree-line!).

Secondly, climbing peaks — at least for me — is somewhat overrated.

They tend to be the goals we set ourselves but the true beauty of the mountains are to be experienced in each moment.

Thirdly, the experience taught me the absolute satisfaction of achieving a personal goal. This was a goal that had absolutely zero value to anybody but me.

And that’s precisely why it was worth doing.

I will never forget it.

So, if I can leave you with parting words, it’s these:

Go do whatever it is you want to achieve, no matter how small or insignificant it is to others. When you do, you will feel an energy and aliveness that is the best feeling in the world.

I waited three years to climb up a mountain.

Don’t wait.

Have a quiet drive for something that matters to you, even if it doesn’t feel “big” to the world?

I can help you explore it.

Book your entirely free session here — I’d love to support you on your journey.

🙏

You may be wondering how this email ended up in your inbox.

And that’s a completely legitimate question. After all, it’s been been months since I last wrote to you.

So, before you go ahead and delete, let me tell you why you might want to read on.

I’m here to give you fresh perspectives on where you are right now.

Hi, I’m Ben 👋.

I started writing this newsletter back in September of 2023.

At the time, I had just burned-out big time from several years of working in a corporate environment. I had just cracked from an overload of expectations that were just outside of my grasp.

I felt lost, powerless.

Worst off, I had completely let the most important thing in my life slide: taking care of myself.

Of my physical and mental health.

Of my dreams and aspirations.

Of my inner child.

And so I wrote to find myself — to find out what I thought and what I believed in.

I wrote to connect with people like you because I knew I wasn’t the only one with ‘big’ questions.

And it worked, until, at some point — between my professional obligations and taking care of my family — I stopped sharing.

I stopped putting myself “out there”.

Now, this goes against my values of leading by example, of being vulnerable, honest and compassionate. These are so important to me because they are me.

So now, several months later, I am choosing to reclaim that identity.

I am choosing to start again.

And I want to take this opportunity to remind you that you can too.

Right now.

You have the choice start again; without judgement, guilt or shame.

Just as you take in your next breath, simply begin again.

If this resonates with you, do let me know in the comments.

You deserve all the support you can get because:

• You are choosing to act.

• You are choosing to be brave.

• You are choosing to have faith.

And, most importantly, you are choosing yourself.

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Till next time my friend,

Ben

Seeking Wisdom. is a place where I share lessons from my life: from working in a corporate job, to becoming a teacher, to now setting out on building my own coaching practice.

My goal is to support you to take the actions you need to take to bring your life more in alignment with who you truly are.

One step at a time.

Back in early January, I shared my goals for this newsletter. One of the goals I had was to publish something every week. And so far, I’ve managed to do that.

The thing is, over the past few weeks, engagement on my posts has dropped and I’m not sure why.

As much as I’d like to think I’m writing for intrinsic reasons, I have to be honest and say that this drop has demotivated me.

It’s hard to keep writing when it feels that the words aren’t delivering value.

To be clear, I’m not blaming you. I’m clearly not writing about stuff interesting enough to engage on. And thats's on me.

But I want to learn and get better.

And so I want to take this opportunity to get to know you a little better. (If I do, maybe I’ll write about more interesting stuff).

So, if you have 5 minutes, I’d really appreciate you filling out this short survey.

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Thank you for sharing 🙏

Have a great weekend,

Ben

Every day, I’d wake up and, instead of seeing my task-list get shorter, it’d be longer.

You know exactly what I'm talking about.

In such a situation, it’s so tempting to just want to give up. What’s the point of doing anything when it doesn’t make a dent?

And so we go out searching for answers.

Am I doing something wrong, you ask? What’s the secret?

You feel that there must be some productivity hack that you somehow missed.

And so, just like I did, you read all the productivity advice possible.

• Eat that frog

• The Eisenhower matrix

• Getting Things Done

• Time-boxing

• Timeblocking

• Task batching

• The Pomodoro technique

• …

The truth is none are the secret you were looking for. None will defeat the task-list tyrant.

That’s because, as helpful as each of these techniques can be, they all offer a false promise.

You will never get to the end.

We just have too much information to deal with and we are finite beings.

We all get tired.

We all have our limited bandwidth. And we all get just 24 hours in a day.

Yet the tasks keep coming.

And so you end up feeling like I am now: stuck in a hole with just a spoon to dig myself out.

So what’s my solution? I don’t have one.

Work and work, and you’ll still be left with all the other stuff to get done. I guess that’s just life.

But I will say this:

Done is better than perfect.

Don’t agonize over every little detail. Doing something, even badly, is better than not doing it at all.

By doing something, you’re sending energy out into the world.

It becomes real, even if it isn’t pretty. (Just like this post!)

But don’t worry about pretty — focus on returning the ball across the net.

Focus on catching the juggling ball and throwing it back up into the air. The next one is coming down fast.

Then do the only thing you can do.

Repeat.

Repeat.

Repeat.

You’ve got this.

ps. If you enjoyed reading this, you can support my writing here.