Time feels different at 52 than at 25. My kids don’t need help tying their shoes anymore. There’s a quiet shift when you realize you’ve gone from being their entire world to becoming a chapter in their expanding life.
My father passed a few years ago. My mom passed when I was eleven. I live with the unfortunate truth of knowing exactly how many more moments I’ll have with them, and the number is zero.
I’d trade everything I’ve earned for one more hour with them.
Seneca said "Life isn’t short, we just waste it." I’ve wasted plenty. I’ve rushed when I should have slowed down. I’ve attended meetings that drained life instead of adding value. I’ve said yes when I should have kindly said no.
Marcus Aurelius said: “You could leave life right now.” One day you’ll wake up for the last time and not know it. That doesn’t depress me. It sharpens me. It brings everything into focus.
Mortality shows up quietly: a child outgrowing a phase, laughter at the dinner table evolving into deeper conversations, friends moving away as life reshuffles itself, opportunities you once assumed would always be there slowly fading.
I’m not trying to optimize every second. That’s a stress trap. I’m choosing what matters.
If I don’t want to spend time with someone, I don’t.
If something drains me, I drop it.
If I’m tired, I rest.
If one of my kids wants to talk, I close the laptop.
When I care, I go deep.
And here’s the upside: when I spend time with someone, they know I truly want to be there. I show up with more presence, more patience, more warmth. I connect more honestly. I feel more like myself because everything I’m doing is aligned with who I choose to be. I’m living by design, not by inertia.
I’ve lost money. I’ve made bad decisions. Money is replaceable, time isn’t.
Many people talk about urgency and clarity that mortality brings. My perspective is different: don’t treat time as a motivator — use it as a filter.
If I had ten good years left instead of forty, I wouldn’t retreat from life. I’d let go of more nonsense. I’d keep fewer grudges. I’d be slower to irritation and quicker to laughter.
Mortality is a filter. It quietly asks:
Is this how you want to spend today?
Is this conversation worth having?
Is this relationship worth nurturing?
Is this work worthy of your life-force?
I’ve had the very human misfortune of attending many funerals over the years. Don’t wait for tragedy to wake you up to what you already know.
The reminders are around you: in your relationships, your aging body, your memories, the irreplaceable moments that slip by unless you notice them.
“You have two lives, and your second life starts when you realize you only have one.”
– Confucius
With each passing day, the AI space looks more and more like home mortgage securitization at the peak of the housing bubble with its overlapping series of capital conveyor belts.
We've seen many cases of Tylenol "causing" autism. When a symptomatic reaction (ie. a rash or fever from a vaccine) is suppressed, it can become a severe chronic illness.
Here I reveal what they never tell us about fevers and the real dangers of Tylenol.
https://t.co/m5K1Ecic8X
Has the bull market in diversification begun?
Returns YTD (rounded):
Foreign deep value: 40%
Foreign stocks, gold: 25%
Foreign REITs, Emerging stocks, bitcoin: 20%
US stocks 10%
US Bonds, US REITs: 5%
In the final stretch of the dot-com bubble, obscure companies began adding “.com” to their names—often with no internet business to speak of.
A dog food retailer became a tech stock. A warehouse supplier turned into a B2B e-commerce play. Simply associating with the future was enough to send stocks soaring.
Today, the same pattern is playing out—only the suffix has changed. Forget “.com.” Just buy crypto.