Everyone wishes each other success.

It's the socially acceptable blessing we throw around at graduations, job interviews, and New Year's resolutions. "I wish you success!" we say, as if we're gifting someone a lottery ticket.

But I've stopped saying it.

Instead, I wish people clarity.

Clarity about what they're actually buying into. Because success isn't what most people think it is, and the price tag is hidden until checkout.

## Success Is Going Against the Cows

Here's what people get wrong about the "natural order" of things.

We're told success flows from simplicity to calm, like water finding its level. But that's backwards. The natural order of things is chaos—what I call "cows." Herds moving together, following the path of least resistance, grazing where everyone else grazes.

Success means breaking from the herd. It means friction. It means defying the gravity of comfort and convention.

Most people know their destination but have zero clue about the hurdles waiting between here and there. That's the problem with wishing someone success—you're essentially saying "I hope you win a game without knowing the rules."

## Success Is a Trojan Horse

Here's the brutal truth: success is more expensive than people think.

It arrives disguised as a gift, but inside it's packed with costs nobody mentions:

- Relationships that don't survive your growth
- Comfort zones you'll never get back
- Sleep you'll lose to anxiety about losing what you've built
- The person you were before, who dies a little each level up

Success demands sacrifice, but it never tells you what's on the altar until you're already holding the knife.

The hustle culture peddlers selling "just grind harder" are lying by omission. They show you the destination photos but never the receipts for the journey.

## The Price of Moving Worlds

Every successful person I know has paid prices they didn't expect:

The entrepreneur who built a million-dollar company but lost their marriage to 80-hour weeks. The artist who achieved their dream show but discovered fame felt nothing like they imagined. The executive who climbed the ladder only to realize they hated the view from the top.

Success isn't cruel—it's just honest about physics. You can't move from one place to another without friction. You can't defy gravity without burning fuel. You can't break from the herd without walking alone, at least for a while.

## Why I Wish You Clarity Instead

When I say "I wish you clarity," I mean:

Clarity about the real price tag. Not just the obvious costs like time and effort, but the hidden ones like who you'll become and what you'll leave behind.

Clarity about your actual destination. Not the Instagram version of success, but what you specifically want and why you want it.

Clarity about the hurdles. The obstacles aren't bugs in the system—they are the system. They're not roadblocks to success; they're the price of admission.

Success without clarity is just expensive confusion.

## The Gift of Knowing What You're Buying

I don't wish you success because success is a decision, not a destination. And decisions require information.

I wish you the clarity to know exactly what you're signing up for. To understand that success means choosing your hard, not avoiding it. To realize that breaking from the herd means walking alone until you find your tribe.

The most successful people I know aren't the ones who had it easy. They're the ones who knew the price and decided to pay it anyway.

That's not luck. That's clarity.

So here's my wish for you: May you see clearly what success actually costs. May you choose your struggles consciously. And may you never mistake the Trojan horse of success for a gift with no strings attached.

The cows will keep grazing. The question is: are you clear about why you're walking away from the herd?

And if you know me, you know how obsessed I am with being smart.

By the way, I noticed the very huge white space there. I was supposed to add an image but I'm too lazy to do that so bear with me and just ignore it.

For some reason that I struggled to explain for a very long time, it was becoming hard for me to write New Year's resolution. So I had to do a deep down introspection to understand a little bit what was happening to me. And this is what I came out with.

The smarter you get, the shorter your planning cycles should become

Most people treat goal-setting backwards. They think big, annual commitments show ambition. Actually, it shows you don't understand how intelligence works.

Smart people adapt fast. Their decision-making improves, their pattern recognition sharpens, their priorities shift based on new information. Locking yourself into January's version of success is like coding in a language you'll outgrow by March.

The Intelligence Evolution Problem

Here's what happens when you're relatively intelligent: your brain gets better at seeing the world every few months. Not every year. Every few months.

You spot patterns you missed before. You develop new frameworks for thinking about problems. Your understanding of what's actually important shifts as you gather more data.

If your planning system can't keep up with your cognitive evolution, it's not a planning system—it's a cognitive anchor.

Why Annual Planning Fails Smart People

When you set 12-month goals, you're making two bad assumptions:
1. That future-you will want the same things current-you wants
2. That current-you is smart enough to predict what future-you should be doing

Both are wrong.

The version of you that reads your January goals in December has processed thousands of new data points, refined dozens of mental models, and developed capabilities you can't even imagine yet.

You're essentially taking strategic advice from a less intelligent version of yourself.

The 3-Day System

I switched to maximum 3-day planning cycles with one concrete objective per cycle. Everything else stays fluid.

Why 3 days? It's long enough to make meaningful progress, short enough to pivot when you learn something new.

This isn't about being scattered or uncommitted. It's about building a system that scales with your intelligence rather than constraining it.

The Retrospective Trap

Same logic applies to year-end retrospectives. Writing detailed "lessons learned" for your future self assumes the person reading them won't have evolved beyond needing that advice.

If reading your old journal entries doesn't feel a little cringey, you're not growing fast enough.

The gap between who you were and who you are is where growth happens. Don't try to bridge it with advice from the past—leverage it with systems that adapt to the present.

Systems Beat Goals

Smart people need systems that get smarter with them:
- Short feedback loops over long commitments
- Adaptive frameworks over rigid plans
- One clear next action over dozens of distant targets

Your planning system should enhance your intelligence, not limit it to what you could imagine 12 months ago.

“Hey, I wanna rent a luxury ship, float it near the ass-end of Argentina for two weeks, fill it with rich people, scientists, and fancy food, and charge $14,000 per person…”
You’d look them in the eye and say:
“That sounds like a loss-making PowerPoint deck, not a business.”

And yet, it’s a thriving business.
Not just thriving. Booked-out-in-advance kind of thriving.
So what’s going on here?

A friend of mine actually did one of these cruises. Over the weekend, we spent nearly 50 minutes watching the documentary that was made about her trip. There were whales, glaciers, and scientists explaining the local ecosystems. It was surreal. She told a little behind-the-scenes things, like how they had to wear boots just to go ashore, and how the penguins didn’t even care that humans were standing a few feet away. The whole thing felt part safari, part TED Talk, part five-star resort. It made me realize: this isn’t just a vacation. It’s a very specific kind of dream.

And the part that’s hard to wrap your head around, especially if you’re used to building “normal” products, is that this is an extremely expensive idea targeted at a very narrow group of people. Renting a ship, getting a highly trained crew, bringing in scientists and chefs, coordinating excursions in places that barely have Wi-Fi? The logistics alone sound like a nightmare. And yet, they sell out.

So here’s the question I keep coming back to: did the cruise idea come first, or did they already know there were people willing to buy something like this?

Maybe it’s a mix of both. What’s clear is that the people behind this understood something deeply: there’s a group of travelers who don’t just want a vacation, they want an experience so rare, so curated, so immersive, that it feels like a story they’ll be telling for the rest of their lives. These aren’t tourists. These are explorers with credit cards.

And what they’ve built isn’t a mass-market cruise. It’s a floating, French-speaking, luxury classroom with wild animals as supporting characters. The ships are small, the staff is highly trained, and the destinations feel exclusive. That’s the product. That’s the value proposition.

What I find most fascinating is that they didn’t try to appeal to everyone. They aimed straight at the top, people who want education and elegance in the same sentence. And they priced accordingly.

For someone like me, who’s used to thinking about scale, affordability, reach, this breaks all the usual rules. But maybe that’s the lesson. You don’t always need to create something for millions of people. Sometimes, all you need is 100 people who really, really want what you’re offering, and are willing to pay for it.

This cruise wasn’t built to convince the masses. It was designed for the few who already knew they wanted something like it, even if they couldn’t quite describe it yet. That’s what a sharp, unique value proposition looks like. And for all its absurdity, it’s also kind of brilliant.

But...how do you even find these people?

So here I am, staring down 32 like it's some kind of existential math problem I never studied for.

Let's talk about Europe for a second. I've noticed something bizarre since moving here: people who look my age (or older) often behave like they're waiting for their parents to pick them up from school activities. Meanwhile, I'm over here looking 22 but mentally calculating my five-year-old daughter's future education costs while picking her up from kindergarten.

It's a strange cultural inversion—Europeans with visible signs of aging discussing weekend raves while looking like they should be discussing mortgage rates. Of course, I fully understand that the life expectancy in Europe is significantly higher than in Mozambique, which naturally leads people to organize their lives differently and extend certain phases of life. The timeline is objectively different. But knowing this rationally doesn't stop me from noticing these differences and occasionally complaining about them like any normal person would. It's this weird cognitive dissonance where my logical brain understands the demographic reasons while my emotional brain is still processing the cultural shock.

Here's where it gets complicated. By Mozambican standards, I'm firmly in adult territory—especially as a father. Responsibility isn't optional when small humans depend on you. I've got the dad reflexes, the ability to function on minimal sleep, and the constant switching between being my five-year-old daughter's best friend one minute and her worst enemy the next—enforcing bedtime or saying no to that fifth snack request. I've mastered this strange parental duality that feels both natural and surreal.

But internally? Part of me still wants to stay up until 3 AM vibing with my computer, flowing with technology and exploring concepts that most people would find mind-numbing. My idea of a perfect Friday night isn't hitting a club—it's the quiet thrill of getting into a flow state with tech while the rest of the world sleeps. And I still get that same rush of excitement that thrilled 19-year-old me when I finally vibe with a solution I've been working on for hours.

The real mindbender comes when trying to socialize. In one setting, I'm nodding seriously about educational philosophies with other parents. In another, I'm the "old guy" among twenty-somethings who can't believe I remember life before smartphones. And in European contexts, I'm sometimes the "young-looking but oddly mature one" among people who are technically my age but operating on a completely different timeline.

It's like playing a cultural age game where the rules keep changing, and someone constantly redraws the boundaries. So where does this leave me? Somewhere in the weird overlap of a Venn diagram where "physically looks 22," "mentally feels 35," "emotionally experiences 17," and "has responsibilities of 45" all collide.

I'm a dad who still loves adventure. A young face with old soul moments. A responsible adult who occasionally needs to spend all night vibing with tech puzzles that only make sense to me. And maybe that complexity isn't something to "reconcile" but something to celebrate. After all, isn't the whole point of growing up figuring out that the boxes we try to put ourselves in were imaginary all along?

So here's to 32—whatever the hell that means.

A few days ago, I came across something, maybe while scrolling online or flipping through a book, that hasn't left my thoughts since: People tell you their true intentions all the time. They show you who they are. Listen to them. Don't project. Accept people for what they are.

Nothing revolutionary about this idea, right? But for some reason, this time it really stuck with me. And now it keeps popping up in my head throughout the day.

I find myself thinking back to conversations where someone essentially told me exactly who they were, and I chose not to really hear it. Those moments when I decided my interpretation was more accurate than what they were actually showing me.

"I'm not good at commitment." "I don't really have time for close friendships." "I tend to disappear when things get difficult."

They told me. They literally told me. And how many times did I respond by thinking, "But maybe with me it will be different"?

Now this thought follows me around daily. When a coworker says they'll "try" to meet a deadline, I notice how I automatically assume they definitely will. When a friend who's always late says they're "on the way," I see how I've been making excuses rather than accepting this is just how they operate.

The interesting part is that it's not about judging people. That's what keeps resonating with me. Accepting people as they present themselves isn't about deciding if they're good or bad—it's just about seeing what's actually there instead of what I wish was there.

There's something kind of freeing about this realization. I've spent so much energy trying to figure people out when often they've already shown me who they are. I've felt disappointed when people act exactly like they said they would, just because I convinced myself they didn't mean it.

I'm looking at my relationships differently now. It's uncomfortable sometimes, I'll admit. I'm noticing patterns in myself that are a bit embarrassing to acknowledge. But it also feels like removing a weight I didn't know I was carrying.

I'm not sure how long this particular thought will dominate my mind. But I have a feeling its influence will stick around. For now, I'm appreciating this mental reminder that keeps things simple:

Listen. See. Accept.

There's peace in reality, even when it's not what I imagined it would be.

Venho liderando a revista Kabum por alguns meses, e durante este período aprendi uma meia dúzia de coisas novas.
Uma delas é sobre como as revistas ganham popularidade. Para contexto, adicionei neste artigo duas metáforas que me ajudaram na análise: efeito anti-gravidade e balanço gravitacional.

O "efeito anti-gravidade" é uma metáfora para à tendência das revistas em utilizar a popularidade de celebridades já consagradas para impulsionar sua própria reputação, como se elas estivessem desafiando a lei da gravidade e elevando-se cada vez mais. Ou seja, a presença dessas celebridades nas páginas das revistas atrai a atenção do público e aumenta a relevância e a popularidade dessas publicações, que passam a ser vistas como mais importantes e influentes. Essa relação é vista como uma espécie de "anti-gravidade" porque, enquanto as celebridades sobem em popularidade, as revistas também são levadas a um patamar mais alto de reconhecimento e prestígio.

Isso acontece porque as revistas são vistas como tendo um valor proporcional ao calibre dos entrevistados. Porém, essa abordagem acaba deixando de lado muitas pessoas relevantes, mas não tão populares, que não recebem a mesma atenção da mídia.

Por outro lado, quando as pessoas menos conhecidas aparecem na mídia, funcionam como uma espécie de gravidade no seu curso normal de funcionamento, isto é, para baixo, a revista reduz o seu impacto e torna-se menos relevante.

Mas, será que falar apenas de pessoas já conhecidas agrega algum valor para a sociedade, afinal, elas já são conhecidas?

A mídia tem um papel importante na divulgação de histórias e personalidades. Mas, é preciso refletir sobre o tipo de informação que está sendo transmitida. Falar apenas de personalidades já conhecidas pode levar a uma falta de diversidade de ideias e opiniões na mídia. Por outro lado, explorar ângulos não conhecidos sobre pessoas conhecidas pode torná-las mais populares e ampliar o alcance de suas mensagens.

Nós, na Kabum trazemos a segunda metáfora: balanço gravitacional.

Balanço gravitacional é aqui usada para se referir à distribuição do impacto e da popularidade de uma revista, neste caso a Kabum, entre pessoas famosas e pessoas menos conhecidas, mas que ainda merecem destaque. Assim como um corpo celeste com um balanço gravitacional bem distribuído é capaz de manter outros objetos próximos a ele em órbita, uma revista que equilibra bem a cobertura de personalidades famosas com outras menos populares pode manter o interesse do público em suas publicações.

Isso pode ajudar a ampliar a audiência da revista e torná-la mais relevante para um público mais amplo. Esta é a nossa estratégia para nos tornamos relevantes equilibrando influências positivas nos dias de hoje.

There are currently 195 countries recognized by the United Nations, each with its own unique culture, history, and governance system. From the small island nations of the Pacific to metropolis in Southern Africa, the countries of the world are diverse in their landscapes, languages, and customs. However, one commonality that many of these countries share is their position as a source of power and authority within their respective territories.

I often hear the phrase "the world is run like a business," suggesting that everything is about profits and market competition. But when it comes to countries, is it appropriate to think of them as companies?

It is plausible to argue that countries that behave like companies are monopolies, wielding excessive power over their citizens and other nations. To start, let's define what a monopoly is. According to the Merriam-Webster dictionary, a monopoly is "complete control of the entire supply of goods or of a service in a certain area or market." In other words, a monopoly is a situation where one entity has exclusive control over a product or service with no viable competition.

If we apply this definition to countries, it's easy to see why the argument is that they are monopolies. After all, countries have exclusive control over their territories and the people who reside within them. They have the power to make and enforce laws, regulate industries, and engage in international relations on behalf of their citizens.

As the world becomes increasingly interconnected, the boundaries between countries and companies can sometimes blur. Countries are responsible for providing for the welfare and security of their citizens, while companies seek to provide value to their customers and generate profits for their owners or shareholders.

For companies that focus on delivering value, there can be significant overlap with the goals of countries in some ways. By creating high-quality products or services that meet the needs of their customers, companies can contribute to the economic growth and stability of a country and provide jobs and opportunities for its citizens. Additionally, companies that prioritize ethical and socially responsible practices can help to promote a healthier and more equitable society, which is in line with the goals of many countries.

One of the main similarities between countries and companies is that they both have a defined territory or market in which they operate. Countries have a defined geographic area, while companies have a defined target audience or customer base. Both entities must navigate a complex web of laws, regulations, and stakeholders within their respective territories or markets.

Another similarity is that both countries and companies have a hierarchy of leadership and decision-making. In countries, this often takes the form of a government or ruling body, while in companies, it's typically a board of directors or executive leadership team. Both types of entities must balance the needs of their stakeholders and make decisions that align with their objectives.

The question remains, "do countries run like a business?" It's a question that will require ongoing questioning.

I’ve quickly come to realize that there are few universal truths. The world is subjective, and the concept of “good” is no exception. As I enter into adulthood, I am beginning to realize that the world is far more subjective than I ever could have imagined. What I once believed to be universal truths are now revealed to be merely personal beliefs and opinions. One such example is the concept of "good" or "world-class." While there may be a base minimum standard that is widely agreed upon, what qualifies as "good" beyond that point is entirely subjective.

In my short time on this planet, I have come to understand that being world-class in any particular field is subject to the rules and standards of that particular environment. Take music, for example. Who defines what makes a world-class song? Is it based on the number of streams or downloads it receives, or is it based on the critical acclaim it receives from music industry professionals? Or is it simply a matter of personal taste? The same can be said for movies. Who decides what makes a film "world-class"? Is it the number of awards it receives or the box office numbers it generates?

The truth is, there is no one-size-fits-all answer. What qualifies as "good" is subjective, and it depends on a multitude of factors, including personal preference, cultural background, and societal norms. What may be considered world-class in one environment may not be viewed in the same light in another.

In the past few months I've experienced my fair share of stress and anxiety. And like many others, I've found myself turning to food as a way to cope with these feelings. But what started as a way to find comfort and relief quickly turned into a vicious cycle of stress eating, physical pain, and excessive overeating.

At first, I didn't really realize what was happening. I would end my workday feeling drained and overwhelmed, and I would reach for the first thing I could find in the fridge. Maybe it was some leftover pizza, or a bag of chips, or a pint of ice cream. It didn't really matter what it was – as long as it was something that could provide me with a temporary escape from my stress and anxiety.

But soon, I started to notice that this behavior was taking a toll on my body. I would feel bloated and uncomfortable after eating, and I started to experience stomach pains and indigestion. I also noticed that I was gaining weight, and my clothes started to feel tight and uncomfortable.

Despite these warning signs, I found it difficult to break the cycle of stress eating. In fact, it only seemed to get worse as time went on. I would eat to feel better, but then I would feel guilty about overeating, which would only increase my stress levels and make me want to eat even more.

It was like I was caught in a never-ending cycle of stress and overeating, and I didn't know how to break free.

Eventually, I realized that I needed to find healthier ways to cope with my stress and anxiety. I started to make time for exercise, which helped me to feel more energized and focused.

It wasn't easy to break the cycle of stress eating, but with time and effort, I was able to do it. And in the process, I learned some valuable lessons about the importance of taking care of both my physical and mental health. By finding healthier ways to cope with stress.

As someone who has entered adult life for some time now, I can certainly attest to the truth behind the statement that "when you have more you don't own things, things own you." This statement has never been more relevant than in today's society, where the pursuit of material possessions and wealth accumulation is often prioritized over other important aspects of life.

As I've progressed in my career and started earning more money, I've found that the temptation to buy more things has grown stronger. I've purchased a new car, rented a bigger apartment, and bought more clothes than I need. And while these possessions may seem nice to have, I've realized that they come with a price.

The more things you own, the more time and energy you have to spend taking care of them. Owning a car means regular maintenance, insurance, and fuel costs. A larger apartment means more cleaning and upkeep. More clothes means more laundry, organizing, and potentially clutter.

It's easy to overlook the costs associated with owning more things, especially when you're caught up in the excitement of acquiring something new. But the reality is that possessions come with responsibilities, and those responsibilities can quickly become burdensome.

On the other hand, it's worth noting that possessions don't have any obligation toward you. Just because you own something doesn't mean that it will always be there for you, or that it will continue to bring you happiness. In fact, many people find that the things they own eventually lose their appeal or become outdated, leaving them feeling unsatisfied or even burdened by their possessions.

I've come to realize that the pursuit of material possessions is not the key to a fulfilling life. While it's nice to have nice things, it's important to be mindful of the costs associated with owning them, and to make sure that they don't become more of a burden than a pleasure.