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Today is January 10, and I've been Client Work Free for over two months. No need to panic. It's not a failure; it's by design.

Make time for reflection

At a recent dinner, my friends and I talked about how easy it is to rush through life, constantly staying busy, doing, and executing until you are forced to stop. Maybe a loved one gets a severe illness. Or a marriage ends. Or maybe, you wake up one day, realizing you have gone through half your life and have no idea whose life you are actually living. That's when you start an affair with your coworker who was born when you got your driving license or put on a complete outfit in lycra and start to bike 50 km per day or any other clichés we joke about when it comes to midlife crises.

This is not what everyone does, of course. Some of us like to divide our existential anxiety into bite-sized packages instead. Chew on them like bitter-flavored Snickers bars as we road trip through life.

Like turning 26 and reaching the modest life goals I had set up for myself and was now facing a lifetime of ... this daily life? I'll take two of those panic snack bars while I cry in the shower and try to figure out what to do with it all.

Or maybe the ongoing stress of a global pandemic combined with taking on too much responsibility at work, and without really noticing, you start losing perspective on what matters in life. (Obviously in no way talking about myself here.)

And here is an opportunity. Do you:

a) Continue on your current trajectory, lock away the anxiety snack bars and shove the little alarm bells going off in your head far down into your subconscious. There is success and validation if you just continue!*

Or,

b) Push the brakes, acknowledge that the view along this route is not quite what you wanted, get a room in a dingy motel and, again, have some bars and cry in the shower. Maybe throw in a piece covered with low-key depression while at it.

I know B doesn't exactly sound appetizing, but option A has a fine print:

If you keep your emotions locked away, they will inevitably catch up with you at some point. And they will do so with a vengeance. Whatever challenging thing you're avoiding at this moment will expand in your subconscious until it one day explodes, and it will most likely not be at a "convenient time" for you to have a meltdown. Or bike to work in lycra.**

Where it brings me

This is a long-winded way of giving some background to why I decided to leave the company I have been working with for the past two years and take two months off.

Being with Relatable, a brand that is no more, has involved significant growth, particularly regarding leadership and acting in line with your values. I'll write more about it at some point. I've managed our products with the small (but mighty) product team, been part of the management team, and for an interim period, I also led the larger team of Project Managers. What I'll remember most, besides the lessons learned, is the privilege of working with such intelligent and dedicated people on a daily basis. I've been in this industry for 12+ years and it's not something you experience often.

Today is Tuesday, January 2023, and I'm now done with eating existential anxiety bars and reflecting on life for this time. If you're looking for a Product Lead/Project Manager in any capacity, let me know!

* For a while.
* * I don't think there's ever a good time for that tbh.

It's been a month back in the default world. A month filled with delicious showers, work headaches, and little time to process while trying to stay calm and not divorce my parakeet. With dubious success, I might add, but that's a story for another time.

Burning Man was rough this year. This was only my second burn, so I have few to compare with, but many of the veterans seem to agree. The heat, most days peaking at 45 degrees, and dust storms lasting for hours, took their toll. So did having my period and jetlag for the first few days. The period part I was prepared for (pads instead of a cup was definitely a wise choice), but jetlag is the silent killer of my energy. I can push my body to stay awake after 8 pm; my brain, however, will not be forced. Thus, I was mostly sleepwalking in the evening, making poor conversation and having limited capacity for adventure.

Anyway, I obviously lived. And now I'm sitting from the comfort of my home in Lisbon, knowing very well I lack the talent to describe the week with any accuracy, yet I can't help but try.

The thing about Burning Man is this: You go through the hassle equal to moving house across continents just to get there, and then you live an everyday burning man life for a week, and then you go through an equal amount of hassle to leave, and somehow it is all fucking worth it.

Before I ever went, a friend described it to me as being in an alternate universe where society plays by different rules. That's when I made my decision; I had to experience this. Not the drug-fueled parties and wild orgies people usually associate it with*, but being part of this social experiment. I'm not just talking about gifting, which might be most commonly known. Active participation, radical self-reliance, communal effort, everything covered in the 10 principles. What happens when we subscribe to this? With the interactions we have? How we view ourselves?

When my friends ask me how it was, I default to describing some episode that happened. Like talking about the night we stopped by a camp that gifted us our spirit animals, which proved to be the most accurate representations of ourselves. Or that night when we queued for poutine at midnight while watching people stripping and singing a cappella karaoke.

It sounds absurd, but in a city of 80,000 people, where absurd is the norm, it just is. What makes the experience is what happens in between. When people feel comfortable letting their guards down, or when they are pushed to the limits with the heat and the dust and the never-ending beat of 100,000 techno parties going on simultaneously. The conversations. The friends you make. The feeling of letting go and surrendering to the experience because there is simply no other option.

I think Burning Man can be more accurate compared to a week-long wilderness hike than your average festival. You are out in rough conditions, dependent on yourself and the people you meet. Being away from my usual comforts and entirely offline works as a mental reset. Each time I come back with a list of things I want to do differently, on and off playa.

Something I do not want to do differently is my camp. I got to camp with my favorite librarians again, which drags thousands of books to the playa every year. Being surrounded by dusty books and people who love to talk about books is pure joy for yours truly. Also, there is something about impersonating a strict librarian with a deadpan face and lecturing fellow burners on the importance of returning your books within the generous check-out period of one year that just gives me life.

Don't worry; I didn't spend my entire burn with only books.

I also ventured out.

Dancing to Monolink's set at Mayan Warrior while the sun slowly set was a memory for life. Listening to this recording still gives me chills. Pure playa magic. After this, we returned to the esplanade, got caught in a dust storm, and found shelter with great music and soft pillows. I could not have asked for more.

Burning Man is an insane endeavor. I know. And still, after taking the seven showers required to get all the dust off, I already start to plot my return. There is just no place like it.

*Although I'm certainly not opposed to either.

PS: TikTok of van rental adventure here.
PS2: Thanks Bori & Lara for being better photographers than me and sharing it, Tom for being a splendid burner partner, and everyone I got to burn with this year. ❤️‍🔥

Monday. A week that takes us into June, and as good time as any to get back into old-school blogging. Don't worry, I won't start posting photos of my breakfast.

I recently did a writers retreat and if there is one thing I take with me, it is the importance of showing up for yourself. Every day, accepting your own inadequacy, keep going. I know, feel free to roll your eyes, I'm stating the obvious here. To know something is different from getting the reps in though. I'll share more about the retreat later, but it was five days of exercising that creative muscle and I'm slowly finding the joy in writing again. Bear with me as I try to find my groove here. It might take a while.

On Thursday two of my favorite Swedes are coming to visit and I can't wait to show them everything I love about Lisbon. The plan is to share my recommendations but let them choose their own adventure*.

Until then, business as usual. Working, climbing aerial apparatus at Jaya, and publishing at least one more post here. Do hold me accountable.

*As long as the adventure includes at least one pastel de nata because you simply do not visit Portugal without trying them fresh from the oven.

When was the last time you felt happy and content? My partner asked me this and I had to stop and think. Certainly not during this pandemic, Adam Grant's talk about languishing sums up my state for most of it. How about the year before? It was better, but a challenging work situation hovered over me for most of it. 2018, I concluded. It was a magical year.

Ever since we had that conversation I've been contemplating what had changed. But maybe the answer lies in what did not.

Now, happiness is not something I strive for. I think it will come and go, trying to hold onto it will have the opposite effect. But the feelings I connect to contentment, that is what I'm after. I believe it comes with being aligned with your values. You do what you say, and you say what you think, and you know where it all comes from. It sounds easy enough, but I don't think I'm the only one who struggles with it.

There's a number of things which have changed. My home base is Lisbon, not Berlin. I work with a company long-term instead 0f interim consulting. My relationship status went from single to a partnership. All changes I'm happy about. But I've also struggled with my meditation routine. I've done enough doom-scrolling for a lifetime. And I've almost completely stopped any form of creative expression.

The last part is what brings me here: I'm rebooting my online corner to give my writing muscle a workout. No grandiose plans, no unrealistic expectations. Just a step towards daily creativity by publishing something small, every day.

Habits first, then we can work on quality.

The world is facing a unique situation, at least in modern times, and it’s creating some interesting personality changes for some of us. It’s like my normal self has taken the backseat, and suddenly this new quarantine alter ego has taken over to deal with the situation at hand.

My usual self knows very well that my best contribution to any kitchen is to stay far away from it. I burn half the things I make, and the still edible half I drown in truffle salt because that’s the only thing that can overpower the lingering ash flavor. Among my repertoire, you can find Truffle Tacos, Truffle Chili Chickpeas, and the classic, Truffle Toast. Once I set my kitchen on fire when making popcorn. 

I think you get my point. 

Quarantine Sanna, however, does not. She thinks she belongs in The Great British Bakeoff* and attempts recipes like “Vegan Dark Chocolate Peanut Butter Monkey Bread”. After an hour of dedicated hard work, the result would more appropriately be named “Vegan Desert Dry Cacao Falafel”. I live with seven people and every single one of them declined a second taste. I can’t blame them.

By the way, almond flour cannot be switched out with chickpea flour without consequences. 

My usual self would prepare for a video meeting with a potential new client. Put on something casually professional and do my best to look like I would blend in at a real office well enough to not be escorted out by security. 

Quarantine Sanna has gone so long without using makeup, she would probably lose an eye if she tried to put on mascara. Her yoga pants are like a second layer of skin at this point, and while she does maintain basic hygiene, she has also discovered that she can wear the same French braid for six days before it turns into a literal birds-nest. 

She's not all bad though. Sometimes she even impresses me.

Take home workouts as an example. It’s one of those things I saw myself doing, in a parallel universe, far, far away. I traveled with a yoga mat and every so often I get lured in by a fancy ad and sign up for online dance classes and yoga membership sites.  Did I muster the energy to roll out my mat and do a workout? Nope. Never. I tried, and then I remembered that there are many interesting things on the internet, and this floor needs cleaning right now, and what was the name of that song I heard in Brazil last year? 

Quarantine Sanna though, she has been rolling out her mat almost every day on the patio. It’s everything from absurd HIIT** and calisthenics sessions to focused hip and shoulder mobility practices. Something I need but never do unless an instructor can see me and tell me to stop cheating. 

Granted, she also snacks like there's an end of chocolate as we know it, but all in all, I guess it could be worse. 

*Disclaimer: I only know about this show because of Instagram.

**She even does burpees. Who is this person? Who am I? Existential crisis.

Of all the places I pictured myself at for my 34th birthday, self-isolating in a camper van in New Zealand due to a rampant pandemic was not one of them. As @Effinbirds eloquently phrased it: ”This went from zero to clusterfuck in a hurry."

It sure did, bird. It sure did.

By March most of us had gotten the memo that Covid-19 was not your everyday flu and life was about to change radically. Countries closed their borders, we were told to wash our hands as if our lives depended on it, and, you know, to stay the fuck at home.

For many of my fellow location independent friends this posed a question I've been pondering for years; where is home? But this time not as a philosophical musing, now it was something we had to decide, and every hour we waited circumstances changed. Some friends went back to their home countries, wanting to be close to family. Some decided to stay put wherever they happened to be.

While I love Bali as one loves a quirky, hippie friend who’s not known for being reliable, sharing a house with that friend indefinitely was not my ideal scenario. Going back to Sweden, where I would put family and friends at risk did not make sense either. I had just made my decision to go to Portugal, where I could settle long-term and self-isolate, when new transit rules effectively shut down every reasonable way I had of getting back to Europe.

In a drastic turn of events, I got a ticket to New Zealand and six hours later I was on the plane. Not long after I arrived, a national month-long lockdown was announced, which brings me to where I am now; sharing a house with seven friends in suburban Auckland who all had the same idea: find a place we could ride this out at for a while. Needless to say, we got lucky.

I’m far from the only one who has been engulfed in the news for months, but for my own sanity, I’m now mainly staying up to date on what’s close to home: New Zealand and Sweden. Two countries on opposite ends of the spectrum for how to deal with the virus.

New Zealand went hard early. They had the benefit of seeing this unfold in other countries before cases showed up here. It’s also an island nation, making the border easier to control. With only a couple of hundred cases, they announced a national lockdown, where only essential businesses are allowed to operate and you can only go outside for grocery shopping, healthcare visits, and exercise. As many others I’ve been impressed by Prime Minister Jacinda Ardern’s leadership. Her communication has been clear and forceful from the start, while remaining empathetic. There are lessons to be learned here.

Meanwhile, the Swedish approach is to trust their citizens to be responsible and keep distance, without closing down the country. It’s a bold move when the world seem to panic. This article in Vanity Fair, Can You Beat COVID-19 Without a Lockdown? Sweden Is Trying, sums it up well, and I particularly like this description:

An imperfect but useful analogy is to the highway speed limit. Set it to 10 miles per hour, and you might save a lot of lives, but at a huge cost to efficiency and sanity. Set it to something a bit higher, like 40 miles per hour, and you could still save three quarters of those lives but still allow a semblance of normal transit to continue. In this analogy, most of the world has lowered the speed limit to 10 miles per hour. It saves lives, but people won’t tolerate it for long. Sweden has lowered its limit to 40 miles per hour. That saves fewer lives, but people can live with it for a long time. It prevents carnage on one side and madness on the other. And you might save more lives overall.

I don’t think there’s a one-size-fits-all for dealing with this. The cultural and structural differences between countries are not small factors to consider. Even in hindsight, it will be hard to tell what exactly made some strategies to work and what caused some to fail.

What I do believe is that there will be significant changes in how we operate in the world and how we relate to each other. For the first time in modern history, we now share one enemy. And we’re connected enough to work together on fighting it.

At my favorite conference-at-sea last year, I joined a workshop on mastermind groups. Besides doing a great job with defining what it is and can do for you, Jimmy and Alex also set a few guiding principles. One was daring to be vulnerable. Another, which I want to highlight here, was to focus on asking questions instead of going into problem-solving mode.

Simple advice, yet, so difficult to follow.

We sat down in groups of four to practice our own mastermind session, with 12 minutes per person to share a challenge and for the others to give input. When you hear someone describe what they struggle with, you listen through your own history filter—you fill in the blanks, based on what you experienced. They say a, you think aha, the whole alphabet. And you’re rarely aware of doing so.

Having short conversations where people did not give unsolicited advice, and instead tried to really understand what you were saying, made it clear how rare that is. Instead of explaining how I already knew this or that, I got the chance to dive deeper into my real issue.

And the same goes for how I act. To listen and ask open-ended questions, it’s hard. Sharing your story, which you know by heart and can adapt like its play-dough to fit into anything, is easy.

But you can probably guess what is more impactful.