Especially when AO wakes us right at peak panic hour, when the brain switches off all logic and replays every fear that will most likely never happen. And good luck falling back asleep.
I think about how short life is. I replay Aunt Anna telling me how much she misses being young and how fast it all went. Or the notary I met this week, who said pretty much the same thing: enjoy AO while he’s little, because before you know it they’re off to uni. I count my kid’s years as years until my expiry date.
Then I compare myself with people who’ve already made a name for themselves, run fast-growing companies, and somewhere along the way put a few kids into production. Why can’t I just find my PMF, or my MMF (my-market fit)? Like the ElevenLabs guys, who went from zero to over $500M ARR in four years. Or Alexandr Wang and Lucy Guo, who co-founded Scale AI before most people finish uni. (Wang just casually demonstrated F* money on stage at Meta.) Or Whitney Wolfe Herd, who took Bumble public at 31 and rang the Nasdaq bell with her toddler on her hip.
Luck, right place, right time. Smarter? Even at this hour I don’t buy that. Better prepared when the moment came, that I can believe. I work freaking hard, and I don’t think I lack anything to break through. Yet I keep building momentum only to hit a wall face first. The project we fought so hard for suddenly died. The government changed, the incentives changed, and nobody bothered to tell us to stop wasting our time. Again. I’m bad at playing politics. My Polishness won’t let me be nice to assholes.
In my early 20s, bursting with plans and starting my first software business, I talked to a friend in his late 30s. He was comfortable on a payroll, he sounded tired, and he asked why I’d even bother. I’m not him, and I hope I never become him. I don’t want to go indifferent and do the sloppy job so many people settle for. (If anything, now that AI is turning knowledge into a commodity, I hope it forces people to find what actually sets them apart.) But when you get knocked down again and again, it gets harder to get up and brush off the bruises. At night it hurts more.
I know I live in abundance. Our businesses make good money and we’re comfortable. I travel pretty much when and where I want (yes, even with a baby), and I have so many beautiful photos that I pay for the top tier of Google Photos. I have a loving partner, a healthy family and great friends. That’s the baseline. And I never started this uphill battle for money, or at least not only for money. Money is a nice byproduct of giving value, but I want to stand for something. I don’t want to run on a hamster wheel and only stop when it’s too late.
And yet at 3am I think my best years to make it or break it are gone. The world celebrates the young, the successful and the smart. Or is it just vanity shouting the loudest online? In moments of fear, everything I have seems like nothing. There’s always someone who has achieved more, someone you admire. The pixelated grass is always greener on the other side of the screen.
By morning, after a few gulps of strong coffee, the monsters & co. go back into hiding. “Let’s do it” returns, along with the feeling that I still have plenty of time. (Nobody sane practises memento mori for fun.)
It’s 00:26. I sneaked out after AO’s first wake-up to write this while it’s still dripping with dread. Tomorrow a dose of incorrigible optimism will wash it away. I know it sounds heavy and not much like me, but I’m posting it because many of you feel the same, and it’s worth remembering that none of it makes sense in daylight.
Ok, back to sleep. AO, please spare me at 3.
