71 · Get In, Get Rich, Get Out

There will come a phase where you can live — do hobbies, join societies, all of that. But when you are deep in the grind of making something of your life, everything other than your light shrinks into something that merely passes by. The only focus is escaping the situation you got yourself into. It's not about happiness, excitement, emotions — those become variables, and that is the cost I chose. I understand that the properties of light must be sustained and emulated as much as humanly possible, and I know for a fact this is the phase I'm in. If you're going to do this route of launching businesses and building the foundation — do it properly, G.

This is my "excuse," or reason, whichever: the party will always be there. You can always travel the world, pick up hobbies, have new experiences. But the energy, the vitality, the visceral drive to work almost every waking hour — that does not last forever, or at least I'm scared it won't. You have one shot, one opportunity, one twenties. Put everything on the line, work the decade where you will almost never burn out, push radically, come out rich — then peak, then think about work-life balance. Give yourself credit for the things you haven't lived out; you only need a day or two of complete release as long as the work is the thing.

At some point I realised I am too radical — and that this is the true cost of ambition. I forget about love, relationships, the slow mundane life everyone else lives, and stay obsessed with what my soul loves. I'm so deep into solitude, building what I know I can pull off, that not staking everything would be a grudge I could never tolerate. I just love working sixteen to eighteen hours, seven days a week, on my own things. Not forever, I hope — but for the visions I have, I must live for them and die for them, because the rest is distraction.

Who would be willing to work sixteen hours a day, seven days a week, for a decade? The thought itself is too absurd for most people — and me being willing to make certain choices and lay everything on the altar is exactly why I operate in a different universe.

And yet — the stuff on my altar: love, peace, joy, serenity, girlfriends, friends, family, relationships, inner peace, mental health, happiness, culture, experiences, travelling, sports, memories. Everything that is the complementary set of the few things I must make work. The concept of going on a date or watching a game hasn't crossed my mind in three years. I know exactly what I traded.

So the philosophy holds in both directions: if you play the game, go hard or go home. And second — don't forget to come home. Get in, get rich, get out. Then travel. Then the café, the campus, the zoo, the scorpions. The grind is a season, not an identity.

There are decades that feel like weeks and weeks that feel like decades. Going through enough cycles, you start to realise it's just a ride. Sometimes you're working with the best hedge fund managers in private suites; sometimes you're living in a truck on an air mattress; sometimes you're a Starbucks barista in Luxembourg; sometimes you're building your eighth startup in Bali at thirty-five; sometimes you're a PM in New York. Be willing to fall back to the floor — it gives you more risk tolerance. Life wasn't suicidal when I worked warehouses; my mistake was not knowing how many options I had globally. When you invest enough into yourself — knowledge, skillset, experience — you gain the confidence to take initiative, knowing you might fail miserably, and being okay, almost excited, about that.