"What is improv?" you may ask. It’s perhaps the nerdiest, most captivating, extraordinary, and sometimes downright horrible theatre art form out there. Look it up!

For two of those years, I was also a proud member of QUAKE, an Athens-based improv collective that organized jams, workshops, and collaboration sessions. Back then, beginners and experienced improvisers alike would often ask us where to find information about upcoming festivals, because they had no idea the Improv Festivals Worldwide spreadsheet even existed.

So what is this spreadsheet? It’s a publicly shared Google Sheet that lists most of the improv festivals worldwide. It’s kept up to date, openly shared and edited by members of the global improv community. I don’t know its full history or who first started it, so if you do, please get in touch so I can update my text and give proper credit!

I’ve wanted to turn that spreadsheet into a website for years. I started working on it about a year ago and only recently found the time to finish it.

The beauty of this project is that the community already maintains the spreadsheet, so there’s no extra burden of keeping data current. All I had to do was fetch it, format it, and display it in a more accessible way.

I didn’t implement every possible parsing check or data optimization, simply for lack of time. My goal was the cleanest, most straightforward solution, and I think the result turned out pretty decent.

For the UX, I experimented with different placements of the information, trying to figure out the best way for users to quickly find and focus on the most important bits—like the date, festival title, and location.

If you want to see all the different iterations in detail, check the image here.

Regarding colors, there wasn’t much of a deep reasoning process—mostly trial and error. I ended up between purple and orange, and purple won. Since I liked all of the options, I included CSS classes (.orange, .yellow, .blue, .green) that can be added to the body element to switch the color scheme.

This project is open source, of course, because I see it as a community effort.
So anyone can fork it, customize it, and host it. No attribution required.

Currently, the site is hosted as a demo on a subdomain here:
improv-festivals.radical-elements.com

You can check the GitHub page of the project, with its technical info too.
There's not a lot of documentation, as I feel the codebase is very minimal and pretty much self-explanatory (for people familiar with Laravel or MVC frameworks).
But feel free to contact me ([email protected]) for any info on the project!
My goal is to also create a dockerized version of it so that people can host it anywhere, regardless of their tech stack.

My hope is that another (or many!) developer(s) from the improv community will pick it up, host it under a proper domain (improv-festivals.com is available at the time of writing), and keep it alive.

This is a small token of gratitude to the improv community, which has shaped my life in many, many ways.

Thank you :)

The pull toward adding more features to cover every possible need is always strong. It feels safer to expand than to refine. Yet the users who seem happiest are those who find coherence and clarity, not abundance. A clean, intentional UI may drive away some who want infinite options, but the ones who stay will truly feel at home.

So, instead of adding more features, we focused our remaining time on refining what was already there. Improving keyboard shortcuts, cleaning up dropdowns, tidying the codebase, making the product a happier place for both users and us as creators.

This is the slower path. The less flashy one. But it’s the one that deepens the product, rather than bloats it.

In tech, slower paths are often deemed as unproductive and scaling is treated like the highest good. Companies obsess over more. More features, more users, more growth. In general, capitalism rewards expansion. And don't get me wrong, I'm not saying that's always a bad thing. Maybe we wouldn't have advanced surgery techniques and mechanical wonders were it not for this call for constant growth. But in tech, this growth often comes at the expense of coherence and user happiness.

Personally, I think I’d rather have three Numenon users who are passionate about using the product, than twenty lukewarm ones who only tolerate it.

Depth asks for intentional limitation.

Take relationships, for example. I enjoy a wide circle of friends and acquaintances, and I’m happy to see them once in a while. But I can’t keep close contact with more than 5–6 people for long. Whenever I try, the quality of attention I give to those already close drops.

Meaningful relationships need presence and mental space. You have to remember what matters to someone, hold it with care, and be ready to ask, help, listen.

Sometimes that means making hard choices. When your capacity is full, it’s okay to postpone connecting with outer-circle friends so you can stay fully present for your inner circle. This isn’t about refusing new connections (people move in and out of circles all the time anyway), it’s about respecting the limits of attention and care.

I notice the same in hobbies and personal growth. If you want to deepen your relationship with something, you have to commit. I’ve done ceramics once a week, aerial acrobatics twice a week. All of those were very rewarding, but up to a point.

Practicing something daily has a fundamentally different effect than practicing weekly. It means restricting other hobbies, having less variety, but, perhaps, a lot more meaning.

An excerpt from another piece I wrote ( Every day ) about the value stemming from the ritual of daily practice:

A ritual isn’t just repetition. It’s an act of meaning, something you return to not because you must, but because choosing it again and again gives it weight. It becomes an expression of self-love.

I feel the need to clarify here that I'm not saying depth is inherently “better” than breadth. Sometimes you crave variety, exploration, the pleasure of trying many things. I’ve always called myself a "jack of all trades, master of none", and I usually meant it as a flaw. But, I’ve come to appreciate that this breadth brings richness, perspective, and flexibility that dedication alone cannot. I'm proud of the multitude it has given my personality and skills. Yet the sense of meaning that comes from devoted practice is something else entirely.

Both approaches can have value at different points in life. But in software, depth usually wins.

Depth requires choice. It requires letting some things go. Not because they don’t matter, but because your time, energy, and care are limited resources.

With software, this choice shows up in design. By being deliberate about which features exist and where they live, you may lose some users who wanted one extra button or two. But the users who stay will be happier. They’ll feel the clarity, the focus, the lack of clutter. In a sense, you’re training your own users. Not by restricting them, but by giving them a space that feels coherent and intentional.

The same goes for people, or crafts, or self-care. To deepen is to honor what you touch. It won’t scale in the way capitalism teaches us to admire, but it will create trust, meaning, and skill that breadth alone can’t offer.

“It gets easier. Every day, it gets a little easier. But you gotta do it every day. That’s the hard part. But it does get easier.”

I think that line stuck with me because it reframes consistency. Instead of sounding like discipline which carries something forced (even punishment), it speaks to ritual and to devotion.

A ritual isn’t just repetition. It’s an act of meaning, something you return to not because you must, but because choosing it again and again gives it weight. It becomes both an expression of self-love and a way of belonging to something greater than yourself.

Doing something every day is less about grinding forward and more about sitting with yourself through a process, even when it feels stagnant, even when you can’t see the progress yet. That’s where the devotion lies, trusting that change is happening beneath the surface.

Growth is often invisible until suddenly it isn’t.

I think it resonated because it aligns with how I view growth. Not as a race or an accumulation of achievements, but as a slow, steady offering to yourself. Like watering a plant. Like writing a paragraph a day. It’s small, ordinary, almost imperceptible. A quiet act of showing up. And over time, that quiet presence becomes transformation.

Back then, while building our first website, we did what every developer does. We filled the work-in-progress with nonsense, and the best example was the "Who we are" page. Instead of our portraits, we used troll photos as placeholders.

But they couldn’t be just any trolls. They had to match our characters, look good, they had to be art. That’s how we stumbled onto Olivier Silven’s sketches on Behance. They were so beautifully ugly. Perfect.

I even cropped them into avatars and even played with our logo so the trolls looked like they were breaking out of prison bars.

When launch time came, we were supposed to replace them with our actual photos. But we couldn’t do it. We’d grown attached. So we adopted the trolls, contacted Olivier, and he generously let us keep them, as long as we accredited him.

The trolls stayed with us. They even became part of our 404 page.

Over the years, they were always an icebreaker. New clients would check out the website before meeting us and would mention them right away. Some said the trolls convinced them they wanted to work with us. Others just laughed. Either way, it worked.

Fast forward to now. After years of working on big, closed projects, it was finally time to re-enter the market. The old site had served us well, but it felt ancient. We needed something new.

We struggled with a logo for months. Nothing fit. Then Alexandros said it: what’s the one thing people always associate with Radical Elements? The trolls. That was it. Finally something clicked. And who better to design our new logo than Olivier himself?

We reached out again, ten years later. He said yes. He worked lightning fast, turned our vague ideas into exactly what we wanted, and we made only the tiniest tweaks. The new Radical Elements logo was born, true to our history, consistent with our aesthetics, carrying our ridiculous little legacy into the future.

Olivier was fantastic to work with. Quick, responsive, and somehow inside our heads. You can see more of his work on his Behance and Tumblr pages.

--

PS: A few days ago, I was deep in bug-solving mode at my home office, frustrated. My partner came in and decided to mess with me by licking my cheek, which always infuriates me. I started banging my fists on the desk, exactly like our troll in the logo. He pointed at me, thrilled and laughing, and yelled: “That’s where it comes from! You are your logo!”

Apparently we’ve taken brand identity a bit too literally.

One side effect that I recognize is that human ownership doesn't scale as fast as production does. This means that it will be easy for someone to create many systems via prompts, but will they vouch for them? Will it be viable to maintain or even understand the outcome?

Let's take a small web development agency, for example. I will say words and you will be able to fill in the gaps with your mind: Sales, proposals, WordPress, WooCommerce, templates, hosting, support. You have a picture. The average web agency uses all these tools and processes to scale, to sell more and code less. Quality should be acceptable, but no rocket science is involved.

Now this agency has the full AI deal: autonomous agents and whatever. Proposals will write themselves. The customer will be able to form the whole spec while talking to an agent via prompts. The website will be 80% ready by the AI. The humans now only have to curate the final content and possibly add some human flavor to the aesthetics.

Where is the web agency now? Why does it exist? What does it really do? One word comes to my mind: Insurance. And another word: Context. You want to delegate to a specialized company to take care of your "Context" to have a pool of all your prompts, assets, data, and history. To maintain this context over the years and ensure that it will be usable and reusable across your systems. Say welcome to the "Context Agencies".

What do we really control when it comes to AI? The input. And what else do we control that will shape the output? The Context. The Context is the function.

Output = Context(Prompt)

How do we improve the output? By ensuring that the Context is as optimized as possible for the task. Everybody believes that the job of the future is prompt engineering. Well, that is definitely not the case. Prompt engineering is not engineering. It's hardly a skill.

Context engineering is what can indeed become engineering and will have a great impact. More and more systems will not just ask you for a prompt, but will also ask you for context.

I can imagine companies in the future struggling with the decision to keep context management in-house or outsourced. And how are we going to handle sensitive data? Context permissions and security layers? Are the new APIs going to focus on how to return a thin, spot-on context instead of a JSON response? Are we going to build protocols to communicate this information?

Currently, the idea of context management is already in place. I could say that Retrieval-Augmented Generation (RAG) is exactly that. But currently, you can't have access to that technique as an individual. At least not in a cohesive standard way. Another example:

Let's say we gather the marketing and the creative teams and brainstorm a new brand identity. We produce a ton of data in the form of ideas, sketches, conversations, mind maps, jokes, etc. Not all of this data will be useful, but some of it will be. Imagine that we could feed all this data somewhere. Then we classify it and curate it. The process doesn't matter. What matters is that now, this information is part of the history of our company. We accepted it as important enough to be retrievable in the form of a context, somewhere, somehow.

Now let's say that two years from this brainstorming, it's time to launch a campaign or something. The current team can access the previous brainstorming. Not as data. Not by browsing the mind maps manually or looking at discussions. But, when a member of the current team is going to ask the AI to do a task, she will feed the previous context and the AI will be on the same page. Better yet, it will have a sense of the company's history relative to the task at hand.

The example I gave has the following problems right now. How do we decide which data are going to be valuable in the future? How are we going to classify them, security-wise and content-wise? And how are we going to know how to use them? How to retrieve the correct context? I don't really have concrete answers to these questions, but I can imagine that the solutions to problems of that nature will shape a big part of future services.

• Fail fast, fail often
• Fail forward
• Move fast and break things
• Pivot or die

And the list goes on

I don't know about you, but I'd be okay if I never read a similar phrase again in my life. It's not that they're wrong. They try to compress many truths into 3 to 5 words. But the compression isn't lossless, and the message can't be applied everywhere. It's not enough to just follow these concepts blindly. You have to understand why they exist. Otherwise, you'll most probably create a culture of chaos in your company and in your mind.

In order to begin an entrepreneurial journey, you have to have a vision and you have to be optimistic about the future. That's why everyone preaches to "fail fast", because knowing if your vision is a delusion as early as possible is critical. You want the minimum possible investment of time and money to get that answer. But not less.

Do you see the contradiction here? You have to exist in a conflicting state. Be optimistic about the future, but not that optimistic because you'll probably fail. So don't over-invest. But still stay optimistic that eventually you'll succeed, so don't let failure crush you. This isn't a simple way to live your life. This is a sophisticated state of existence. It's not easy.

Your vision is somehow a prediction. You predict that the thing you're making will appeal to a certain number and type of customers, at a specific point in time. This looks like a long shot regardless of the content of your vision.

The internal conflicts are all over the place. You have to have passion and believe in your vision, otherwise, why bother? But at the same time, you have to be open to the fact that you could be delusional or simply wrong.

The optimistic dreamer and the cautious realist

The optimistic dreamer and the cautious realist should live together and be productive. Good luck. Even if you know that this is the way to go, it's not a comfortable position, constantly trying to balance.

Starting something new means that you're passionate about your vision. But at the same time, they tell you that you have to be ready to pivot. And pivot, sometimes, means that maybe you have to compromise or adapt to something that you're not that passionate about. But hey, you did this to win, right?

One of the reasons I chose to be an entrepreneur is the freedom. The freedom to envision and build things. I'm sure that other people will have a different set of priorities. And that's the wonderful thing about entrepreneurship. You get to pave your own path. You get to travel your own journey.

All these clichés certainly compress a lot of wisdom, and although I have an aversion to buzzwords, I always try to unpack them and find the essence of them. There's so much knowledge out there, and I want to be open, to learn and enrich myself and my philosophy. But at the same time, I refuse to follow "orders".

I'm not here to solve a puzzle, I'm here to make an original painting.

Sometimes they do. But often, they don’t.

More often, they know what they think they need, limited by a mindset shaped by the way they've always done things. They believe they know the solution to their problem, but they might not even have identified the real problem. Or they might only grasp 10% of the possible solutions. Or both.

And that’s exactly why they’ve come to you: because you’re the expert. You know things they don’t. But sometimes, let’s be honest, you don’t know either.
And that’s okay.

The myth of knowing

If I ever have children, I’ve promised myself one thing: I won’t pretend to have all the answers. When they ask me something I don’t know, I won’t mask my ignorance or give them a generic, half-assed explanation.

Instead, I’ll say: “I don’t know. Let’s find out together.”

Because in that moment, I’m not just offering honesty. I’m modeling something deeper: That the refusal to disguise not-knowing is a quiet form of courage.

And this response, in my opinion, teaches two crucial principles:

1. Ignorance isn’t a deficit. It’s a doorway.

We live in a world obsessed with certainty. But certainty can be a trap. When we tether our sense of self and our identity to always having an answer to everything, we start to fear the learning process, because it reveals the depth of our ignorance. We become defensive when faced with our knowledge gaps. Rigid. Vulnerable to confirmation bias. More on that idea here: The hedonism of certainty.

It's important to have a clear sense of our ignorance.

It keeps us humble, it keeps us alert. It stops us from becoming know-it-alls in a world constantly bombarding us with half-truths and misinformation. It prevents us from mistaking surface-level knowledge for real understanding.

Uncertainty, when embraced consciously, makes us better thinkers. More curious. More open. More rigorous. It keeps us honest in the current reality of echo chambers (algorithmic or otherwise).

2. Research is a skill, and a shared journey.

You don’t need a PhD to begin investigating something. In 2025, access to information is easy. But the ability to evaluate and synthesize that information? That’s a practice worth cultivating. And searching for answers can be a shared act, not a solitary burden.

(Honestly, How to use a search engine to find credible sources should be part of school curriculums.)

Now, how does this apply to client work?

Sometimes clients are explorers too

Clients may come to you with strong opinions or assumptions. But under the surface, they’re often unsure.
Maybe they know their market, but not how to position themselves in it.
Maybe they don’t fully grasp what they want their business to become.
Maybe they’re unsure how the web will affect them, because they’ve never done this before. There may be no data yet, just hunches.

As professionals, we often believe we’ve collected all the data after an initial round of questions. But I’ve found that if you keep asking, digging, gently pushing, there’s always more. And some of it might change the whole direction of the project (I’ve written about that here).

But what if you’ve asked everything you could think of, and you're still unsure?
What if your client simply does not have the answers?

Make space for shared uncertainty

You make space for shared uncertainty, that's what you do.

You turn that murky space from something awkward and uneasy into something that allows inquisitiveness and creativity. You help your colleagues feel comfortable and inspired in there too.

And then, your clients. They've declared their ignorance, you declare yours, and, together, you start searching for the answers.

This shifts the relationship from expert vs. client to co-explorers of an uncharted territory.

You research, map possibilities, test ideas, ask new kinds of questions. You present your findings, not as declarations, but as hypotheses. Then you discuss. And discuss some more.
You co-discover.

And yes, you charge for all of it. Please.
Because research is not free. It is skilled labor, and it is foundational to everything that comes next.

“By embracing uncertainty, you’re developing a culture that supports innovation and learning through experimentation... one that acknowledges testing new ideas will inevitably lead to some failures.” — William Jung, PO at Macquarie Group | Full article

Embrace uncertainty, let it be a tool.

Your job isn’t always to know. Your job could sometimes be how to not know well.

Clients don’t need you to have all the answers. They need you to help them ask better questions. To help them navigate uncertainty. To stand next to them and say:
“We’re going to figure this out. Together.”

It’s about a Harvard case study, Carter Racing, as it was covered in David Epstein’s book Range. Students are presented with data on a fictional scenario and asked to make a decision based on it. Specifically, whether the company should race or not in the upcoming event.

The article (and the section of the book) describes the process through which the students made their final decision, using the data given to them.

Spoiler alert: Before you go any further, I’m about to spoil the whole point of the article. I suggest reading it first. It’s interesting, it’s short, and it’ll make the following make more sense.

The point of the article is that students spent all their time assessing the data given to them, which was incomplete, without stopping to think that perhaps they could request the missing data from their professor. The professor had mentioned multiple times, “If you want additional information, let me know,” but somehow, no one thought to actually do it.

What’s tragic about this is that the Carter Racing case study is a disguised retelling of a real-world scenario. The 1986 Challenger space shuttle disaster, where overlooking the missing data led to the death of all seven crew members on the mission.

There are many conclusions to draw from this story, but it felt strangely familiar, even though I’ve never been anywhere near HBS. And then I started to realize. We’ve been those students. We’ve been those engineers. Thankfully, we haven’t been in the position to be responsible for anyone’s life, but we have been responsible for our clients' budgets, our clients' clients' payments, and so on.

Solving the wrong puzzle

So often, a client comes to us with an idea, a need, or a problem. And so often we take that at face value, accepting that yes, this truly is their problem.

Of course we ask questions, many of them. However, the answers you receive can be outright misleading if the premise behind your questions is flawed.

This is the trap. Clients often come to us mid-thought.

They've already framed the problem in a specific way. They’ve already eliminated options, narrowed the scope, maybe even come up with a solution. Not because they’re careless or lacking insight. They’re just immersed in their own context. What feels obvious or irrelevant to them might be critical for us to understand the full picture.

They might leave out key constraints because to them, those are just obvious, everyday facts. They might not mention internal politics, budget or time flexibility, the bigger picture, or what they’ve tried and failed at before. That last one is the more frequent scenario and usually the most valuable part of the data. Most of the time, it’s not out of secrecy but because they assume it’s not relevant information.

And so, without realizing it, they give us an incomplete puzzle and ask us to find the missing piece, when the edges are all wrong.

The case for un-framing

This is why just asking questions isn’t enough.

One key part of the process, before we start asking or building, is to un-frame.

We need to rewind. To undo the thread and go back to the root, even if that means setting aside our clients' stated goals or proposed solutions for a moment.

Because if we start from a flawed premise, every answer we come up with, even the most brilliant one, will be answering the wrong question.

And if you think about it, that was the problem with Carter Racing too. The students knew they could ask for more data. But for some reason, no one thought to do it. The engineers too.

I think the reason they didn’t ask is the same reason we often don’t: we’re all stuck in our own mindsets. By nature, we’re limited by our own framing and interpretation. That’s why it’s useful to bounce ideas off others. Another mind will almost always offer a different angle, a new frame. Yet, instead of becoming this "bouncing wall" for our clients, we so often tend to accept the stated problem and rush toward a solution.

And it’s no mystery why. That’s what the human brain does best: seeking solutions. It’s an evolutionary trait that helped us survive and be here now. Our brains do not want to spend endless amounts of time digging for the true problem. That would be terribly inefficient in most cases. We love finding solutions. We don’t love relentless digging.

But as professionals, when we feel the urge to put our solution caps on, I believe that’s exactly when we need to stop and think: “Am I solving the right puzzle? Am I asking the right questions?”

But still, writing code is an act of communication as much as writing is. Many fellow coders don't treat it like that, but they should. Coders compose worlds. Coding is about communicating with other coders or your future self. The way you express your program is a combination of experience, ideas, and opinions on how to structure processes and flows. There are countless opportunities and decisions on how you would express and solve the task at hand. Coders can and should be considered writers.

That's why I expect myself to be able to communicate my thoughts clearly in prose. If I can't do it in plain English, how can I expect myself to do it in code? In a way, these two go hand in hand. If writing is walking in the park, coding is riding a broken bicycle while drunk. So what am I? I am in the business of communicating ideas, constructing worlds, understanding workflows, and ultimately understanding my potential users, other people. Because not only am I a coder, I also sell a product. Other humans will use it. Both development and promotion are a unified process of throwing what once was in my head back into the world.

As a coder, I consider writing and promoting my product a chore. Something that doesn't suit my personality and the way my brain works. But as I dive deeper into it, I realize that maybe I am wrong. Maybe writing and expressing myself in English is exactly what I need. Deconstructing my vision and trying to get it across is like doing psychotherapy in public. I will certainly not be going to share my darkest thoughts, but I am going to be part of this evolutionary exchange of ideas and feelings.

So yeah, I am a full-time writer. I just don't accept it yet.

I wanted to use Numenon and have someone else build it. I knew very well that I have a need that isn't covered by the tools available in the market, and together with Elvira we decided about half a year ago to take the leap.

I don't know if it will succeed as a startup - time will tell. But it's the first time in my life I feel such great satisfaction from the result. We built something we need and we use it every day, having replaced many other tools.

Something else that has great value is that Numenon potentially appeals to everyone. I can tell friends to go and "play" with it. Organize your personal life. Use it in your company or department. Use it for research or your next music album. It's really that versatile.

Numenon right now is a SAAS knowledge management system. Parts of it might remind you of Notion or Obsidian or something similar. We give you the freedom in how to structure information and make connections by creating a graph. You can use this graph in any way you can imagine. From building a CRM to creating a board game (we have beta testers doing this).

The concern for Numenon was that it should stand strong both theoretically and practically. We achieved this and it's already a very useful tool for quite a few people.

Now the vision is to develop it in the following areas: Collaboration, Security, Interactivity and AI.

It happened to be an opinion I already agreed with. So, when the video ended, I noticed in myself a sense of satisfaction, a quiet pleasure. And I thought, "A-ha! Gotcha!" I had caught myself in a moment of joy, purely stemming from confirmation bias. A simple process of my stupid little brain going:

"I believe x about the world. I am now presented with data supporting x. Oh yes, so nice. I was right. I am safe. I have understood the world. I know how its cogs turn. I am safe."

I like to think of myself as a critical thinker. A skeptic. An inquiring mind. I take pride in the idea that I hold my beliefs lightly. That I don’t associate my personal value with my beliefs and can therefore shift my opinions when presented with new data.

But it seems I, too, am a human being, drenched in insecurity, burdened with the fear of this chaotic, unpredictable, uncontrollable world. And I, too, have moments where I take pleasure in a false sense of certainty and in the idea of control, of clarity, of having peered through the glass to see the hidden levers at work.

And it was in that exact moment, where I felt that pleasure, that I understood. It’s precisely when I detect that feeling that I need to be as vigilant as ever. That’s where we fall victim to our own biases and insecurities. That’s the moment to challenge our beliefs, to feel exposed, to embrace the fear of uncertainty.

It's not a coincidence that all conspiracy theories, half-truths, and pseudo-intellectual mambo jumbo play precisely on that human need for certainty. They present themselves not as possibilities or perspectives, but as absolute truths. They package themselves as airtight narratives, neatly tied together with pseudo-evidence and emotional appeal. They offer certainty beyond doubt, a place where everything makes sense, where no gaps remain, and no questions linger. They give you both the questions and the answers, pre-framed within their worldview. And by doing that, they don’t just feed you information, they erode your curiosity. They disarm your capacity to ask new or different questions, to explore beyond the frame they've set. It's not just misleading, it’s paralyzing.

After watching the reel, I looked up the papers mentioned and read more about the topic. As it often happens with complex matters, things weren’t as simple as the person in the reel made them seem. I had to shift my point of view. I had to accept that it’s one of those cases where nuance matters. And that, based on the data I could find, I couldn’t comfortably land on either side. I had to sit in that very uncomfortable middle ground.

It’s an awkward place. I imagine it as a chair that looks normal but whose seat is ever so slightly rotated, just enough to make sitting on it feel wrong. Or a ledge with a few sharp spikes that never quite let you settle. Not painful. Just uneasy.

But the more often you choose to sit there, the more you recognize that so much of life exists in that in-between space.
And still, it doesn’t get easier. You thought I’d say it becomes second nature, but no.
It remains unsettling, if not terrifying, at times.

But you do learn to live with it.
And more importantly, you learn to look for security elsewhere: in a flexible belief system, a resilient mind, a healthy lifestyle, in deep and meaningful relationships.

But opinions?
Those mofos won’t make you feel safe.
You better let that idea go.