Bids for connection are moments in relationships (no matter what kind) where somebody indirectly asks the other person to share an experience with them. These moments might not seem like much, but when accumulated, they are important for the health of the relationship.

Steven Pinker states that good writing is pointing out:

Pinker suggests approaching writing as if you were pointing something in the environment out to another person – something that she would notice for herself, if only she knew where to look. Imagine directing someone's gaze across a valley, to a specific house on the other side. "You should pretend," writes Pinker, "that you, the writer, see something in the world that's interesting, and that you're directing the attention of your reader to that thing." He calls this the "joint attention" strategy.

It helps me to consider my writing as a bid for connection with the reader. I'm pointing something out, asking for joint attention.

It doesn't have to be an earth-shattering new idea or the most exciting piece of content ever. It's just a small moment that we share.

It’s incredible how much of what the Stoics wrote about 2,000 years ago still applies today.

One sentence, just three words long, has stuck with me the most:

Therefore establish your own guilt as far as you can. Investigate yourself; play the part of the prosecutor, then of the judge, only then of the advocate. Offend yourself sometimes.

Offend yourself sometimes.

My upbringing didn’t involve role models who showed me how to do this, so it took me years to figure out how to achieve it more often than not.

For the longest time, I didn’t really understand what "ego" was or how it could get in my way. I’m not sure when it finally clicked, but at some point, I realized that who I want to be and what my ego tries to accomplish are often two separate things.

My ego makes me defensive. Whether it’s defending me from others or from myself, if it’s something I shouldn’t be shielded from but should confront, this defensiveness blocks my personal growth.

I have to offend myself without taking offense.

I treat relationships, health, and hobbies like projects that demand effort, and whose success is my responsibility.

They become a perpetuum mobile of self-efficacy. The more I invest, the more control I feel over my life. This builds momentum. This flywheel can only be stopped by a lack of kindness toward myself.

To make this work, I see the things important to me as malleable, and I see myself as someone who can shape them.

Since everything, including myself, changes over time, this is a never-ending cycle of improvement. Hoping something will stay the same is a futile fight against entropy.

So I embrace entropy as a fundamental truth and consider everything important to me as a fun project I get to work on.

Making an effort is never wasted.

I pay close attention to the scalability of my actions. This often leads to situations where it seems like I’m acting against my best interests, but I want to make choices my future self will thank me for.

Instead of allowing myself a slow morning after a restless night, I go for a run.

Instead of relaxing on the couch, I'm teaching myself how to code.

Instead of avoiding a difficult conversation, I embrace it.

These things share one important truth: I know that I will feel better once they've happened. These actions are scalable because they optimize for delayed gratification. They anticipate a future that will be better because I welcomed friction.

Nothing worth having was ever achieved without effort.

Once I internalized this way of thinking, it changed how I see myself and those around me. Chasing instant gratification doesn't align with the life I want, and watching others do so isn't something I enjoy.

I want to be, and surround myself with, people who are willing to put in the effort to live a life their future selves will thank them for—people who make scalable, life-affirming choices because they know these actions grow and compound over time, leading to greater, unexpected benefits.

Since I started running in January, I’ve noticed something that, while not incredibly surprising, is still new to me: while I’m running, I feel stronger, more physically capable, and healthier. It’s a reliable way to experience eustress on a scalable level.

What’s more, when my body feels like it’s functioning as it should, the quality of my thinking improves as well.

Physical strength leads to clearer, more optimistic thoughts, and less ego-driven thinking. When I’m not using energy to build up defenses, it’s easier to be more kind, humble, friendly, empathetic, and loving.

In short, feeling physically strong makes it easier to think strong thoughts. Running is a simple, scalable and reproducable way to achieve that.

Apple nonchalantly released iOS 18 with a new feature that’s about to change the lives of a huge part of the population. Vehicle Motion Cues is an accessibility feature that’s on by default and activates when your iPhone detects a moving vehicle around you.

It works by layering a bunch of animated dots on top of the content you’re looking at. When the device detects changes in the vehicle’s motion, it animates the dots accordingly, tricking your brain into thinking everything is fine instead of making you feel like you need to puke because the real-life physics engine stopped working.

I’ve struggled with motion sickness and haven’t read a book in a car or bus in 29 years. I didn’t find it very convincing that showing little circles on top of everything else would help, but yesterday, I spent 24 minutes on a bus, reading a whole chapter, and I was completely fine.

That never happened before.

Vehicle Motion Cues works, and it literally changed my life.

Something I enjoy a lot is thinking about potential future versions of myself. At some point, I’m going to be a dog owner. Someone who enjoys classical music and regularly attends orchestral concerts. I might have a couple of years where I get into biking, woodworking, hiking or knitting.

It's not like I'm actively planning these versions. I might get a dog when I'm 50. Or when I'm 75. I could start woodworking tomorrow or 20 years from now. Maybe I'll spend my 40s learning how to play the piano. Who knows.

The fun in thinking about these possible iterations is not in knowing when exactly they're going to happen but in expecting to have a life full of achievable possibilities. A life full of things I’m going to enjoy.

No matter what happens, there’ll always be an iteration of me that’s preoccupied with his current obsession—who’s looking forward to getting out of bed to go for a walk with the dog, sanding a piece of wood, polishing a bowling ball for the big tournament, or practicing a sonata.

I love that for me.

It had been years since I was in the same room as a piano. That changed the other day, and I didn‘t expect how deeply hearing it live would move me—far more than a recording of the same piece would.

There’s something different about hearing an instrument played in person. Every speaker will always only be a representation of what the music is supposed to sound like. But when that layer of translation is removed something changes and you’re somehow able to feel the instrument as part of the music and room.

Now I‘m wondering if I should give going to the orchestra a try. Or even start a new side quest by taking piano lessons?

I feel like sharing thoughts with strangers online gets harder the longer you go without doing it. My plan was to write at least something in August so it wouldn’t be a month without any activity here. Obviously, that didn’t happen. Partly because my month was filled with great people, activities, and weather, and partly because I felt like I needed to write something of value and couldn’t manage to produce anything I was happy with.

As you can see, I decided to solve this issue by posting something about not posting anything. An age-old trick in blogging: blogging about blogging. That being said, I actually believe it helps to keep the sharing muscle from atrophying. These posts don’t cost me anything. I don’t have to be precious about them.

A lot has happened since I wrote about my intention to move back to Hamburg.

For example: I moved back to Hamburg.

The move itself went off without a hitch. My stuff was put into a truck, my cats and I were picked up by friends, and we all made it successfully to my new flat. It took far longer than expected, but it got done.

Since then, I have unpacked all the boxes, kind of arranged everything in a roughly pleasing way, and got to know my new neighborhood and even my neighbors. I have gone for lunch, dinner, and walks with friends. I continued running every other day, even together with friends. I went on a couple of dates, found a new dentist and hairdresser, and have thoroughly enjoyed where I live.

I can't stress the last point enough: my sheer existence here feels like bliss. I step out of the house and love every second of it. Life is happening all around me, and I'm taking part in it.

The last three weeks felt like reality has realigned with how it should be, and I couldn't be happier about it.