The place where we live isn’t our natural environment. The city. It’s full of stimuli, crowds, heat, honking, and tension that surround us.

And even when we’re alone, the fridge hums, the washing machine churns, the TV is on, or music is playing. And if not, the phone beeps with notifications.

I mean, do we even have the opportunity? And if we do, are we capable of it? In the past, I felt a void in silence. I’d immediately turn something on or start humming or whistling. And if I wasn’t alone, the idea of being silent didn’t even cross my mind. After all, how strange is it to be together and not talk, just be?

In the summer of 2022, I attended my first retreat. A silence retreat. In Pannonhalma. And during those few days, as all the external noise faded, the suppressed internal voices began to emerge. Unresolved issues, my own misery, the messed-up aspects of my life. And in the monastery, there was nowhere to escape.

It’s been three days now. I’m back in Pannonhalma, in this beautiful and somehow indescribably good space. I’m in silence. I don’t speak, and there are no more internal voices. No complaints, no cries for help, no distracting stories.

Try being silent for a bit. Give it a try...

The article was translated from Hungarian to English by ChatGPT. Thank you, ChatGPT, for being here.

Silence

A selfie is a self-portrait, a picture taken by the person of themselves. It’s a picture we take of ourselves. But this picture isn't just a digital imprint taken with a camera; there exists a selfie within us as well. A picture that doesn’t only appear on Instagram or Facebook, but in every segment of our lives. In every conversation, every decision, in our possessions, in the way we walk. In our words. But what is this picture? What are the filters that sharpen, blur, or color every tiny pixel of our lives?

I think this question has occupied me since childhood. No, I don’t remember my childhood answers at all: maybe a firefighter, or a soldier, or a shepherd... or simply the dreamer little Balázs. But I don’t remember what I might have answered as a young adult either, and honestly, I’m still searching for the answer today.

But where should I search, where have I searched? Where can I even begin to look for the answer to this simple question? Somehow, I always end up realizing that my actions provide the clearest answer most of the time. So, what have I done in the past to find the answer to this question? Because maybe, if I can’t find the answer within myself, I can try to build an image of myself in the relationship systems of others. I’ve always liked competition, somehow I’ve always been prone to comparing myself with others. Maybe because that’s what I grew up with, that was my environment, or perhaps I was just geared toward it—I don’t know.

I think we all know who we really are, but somehow, over the years, we try to become what we think will best meet the expectations of those important to us. We want to be accepted, to be loved, to belong to someone, to some people, to somewhere. So that we are not alone. The world is so big, and alone we can feel small and lost. So, deep down, we know who we are, but as part of our survival strategy, we try to become what we think will make us more successful in life than being who we really are. We act on this, even when it’s not conscious.

I tried to think about what things I’ve done over the years to show myself in a better light. Maybe if I understand who or what I wanted to be, I’ll also understand who I really am. What were the things that, in retrospect, I did to show that I’m worth something, all for the sake of connecting, for the feeling that I matter. Because the more important I am, the more I connect, the more others will want to connect with me. But what makes me important, what do I need to have, what do I need to become?

Wealth, status, possessions. Are they important? Yes, they can be important. There’s no need to be spiritual about it; we live in a material world. I remember around the time I started my entrepreneurial life, I wanted a big car. A big, black one with light leather seats. So it would be clear that I could afford it. If I could afford it, it meant I had money, and if I had money, it meant I was doing something right. If I was doing something right, then people would trust me to do what they needed. Many people define us by external things. Your car, your house, your vacation destinations, the labels on your clothes—all signs of how much you own. But are we really defined by what we own? If we define ourselves by wealth or material success, we measure our personal worth by them as well. And we don’t recognize their value, but rather their price. Would my worth be higher because the price of my possessions is higher? Does a luxury car, a beachfront house, or an expensive watch really define me? And if so, how do I feel when someone else has more, better, or more expensive things?

Many of my acquaintances had bigger, flashier, more luxurious stuff. I felt this wasn’t the right direction to show I’m the king. You only need money for expensive stuff. Money can come from anywhere, not just from good work, and no one asks where it came from, as long as you have it. So what else could set me apart? What will define me, what will make me unique? My performance and achievements! Successes like how quickly you complete the Kinizsi 100, the GR20 in Corsica, or whether you finish the Ironman, or run a marathon—they will show it. It’s objective. No corruption, favoritism, or cronyism; it doesn’t matter who your father is or which party you vote for.

You have to perform! So I ran, cycled, hiked, hit the gym. But it wasn’t enough, I didn’t have the time to make up for the years I had missed in my youth. I performed well at the beginning, lost weight, made visible progress, but I couldn’t keep going... from a sporting perspective, my results were unremarkable...

Not from a sporting perspective, but from an average person’s view, yes. There were the praising comments, casual encounters with people who mentioned they started doing something because of me. Fame. That’s it! Isn’t that what matters, that people say: Balázs, you’re the king! Isn’t that what wealth and performance are all about? Isn’t that the ultimate answer to the question? It doesn’t matter if you have it or not, if you did it or didn’t... the point is how the people important to you judge it. And how can you convince them? By getting recognition from people who are credible to them. THAT’S IT! So bring on the accolades, the awards. International competitions, international articles. And they came. An American Forbes article, an English competition, an American competition, an Asian magazine article. It was like they were pouring awards and recognition on me. I enjoyed it, I devoured the flood of reactions and comments on Facebook and LinkedIn posts. More and more people wanted to befriend me, even people I had never met in my life.

Success is a magnet. It attracts everyone. The successful come, because we successful people stick together, after all, we belong to the same group, having been through the same battles. The learners come, the supporters come, those who want to push your cart with you come, the freeloaders come, the onlookers come... and those who see opportunities in you come. Opportunities to get to where you are. They come as long as they believe you are so successful that you possess things that can help them achieve things more easily, things that will help them attract the friends they imagine you have. We bask in success, in the sea of abundance.

As I sat there and looked at my inner Instagram, my heavily filtered self-images, I somehow felt empty and impersonal. My profile felt like I had bought the "successful entrepreneur" 2019 model year, complete with fellow rising star manager types, with whom we had all surgically engineered our lives to look the same, meticulously following the Central European macho handbook. We sculpted our faces to look alike, driving the same cars, becoming artificially confident, push-up-faced success men.

Yes. Did I succeed? Yes. Check. Got it. Was it okay? No. Somehow, things still didn’t work. My friends mocked my car, saying I could have bought a proper one, not just something for clumsy guys like me. And anyway, why don’t I buy myself a decent watch? Where are you vacationing? No way, that place is for retirees. And besides, my life felt all wrong, I couldn’t find my place. That’s why I sold my company, because I didn’t believe in it anymore; surely it was starting to fail, that’s why I bailed out. I got lucky. It was easy for me.

I did everything to become what I thought would be important to others. Important because I had what they had, or what they desired. Important because I had achieved things that few could claim. Important because I believed they would say, think, and share with me that they respected and admired me.

An alpha who stands out, who has an impact, who doesn’t need to say anything, and people still know he’s the king. Respected. But what if all this is taken from me, if I lose it? Or what if I just realize that this whole thing is nonsense! An illusion. It’s there, but it’s not. Like in the tale of King Matthias, where the clever girl brings a gift, but not really. Years went into this. I worked for years, struggled, and at times made sacrifices to get all of this. I have it, but I don’t.

Stripped bare. Without car keys, title, or Forbes article. What am I like when stripped down? Do I dare show this? Would I dare post such a selfie of myself? Even the algorithm would instantly ban me. So, is wealth important? Yes. Are achievements important? Yes. Does it matter what others say about me? Of course. Are connections important? Naturally. So why all the lamenting? What am I philosophizing about?

I always end up realizing that my actions provide the clearest answer most of the time. What I do. And what’s the motivation behind my actions? I think what has matured in me is the understanding that I am not someone because these things—wealth, achievements, recognition, important connections—are present. My actions aren’t about having more and more of these things to justify who I am. I’m not working to prove the significance of my existence.

I think I’ve come to understand that cause and effect are reversed. These things are there because I am who I am. And I’m working to be as much of that person as I can be. The person I am. That’s why I search within myself and try to peel off the layers that life and the people important to me have put on me. So I can clearly see my inner selfie.

My self-image. Without filters and retouching.

Selfie

Here I sit in front of the computer, with a pile of thoughts before me that I want to write about. I actively collect them—during walks, before bed, while working out… anytime a thought pops up that I like, I jot it down. I write down the topic and the few lines that come to mind at that moment. All good thoughts, waiting to be fleshed out, to turn into stories wrapped in words, so they can start living, growing, and strengthening as they pass from reader to reader, seeking the soil where they can take root, joining with new ideas to grow into theories, then ideologies, and finally live on independently with the hope of becoming immortal.

Here I sit in front of the computer, and these hopeful thoughts are quiet and waiting. No one wants to step forward from the notebook today to begin this journey. Why? Are they afraid? Tired? Looking inward for their own meaning? Or are they just waiting for a leader, a guiding thought to show them the way, to arrange them in direction so they don't have to figure out the next step themselves? A guiding thought that will instill in them the belief that the struggle with other thoughts during the journey from person to person will not be in vain?

Could our thoughts be like us, humans? Is it possible that there exists another world where human names are listed in the notebooks of thoughts, with a short chain of words outlining their life plan? In whose mind were Aristotle, Descartes, or Freud conceived? And how did they grow up, gain strength, and spread in the realm of thoughts, as more and more small thoughts gathered around them, leading Descartes to write:

So, do I exist if I have thoughts? But what does it mean to think? Perhaps we are merely giving space to this other form of life? Are we the habitat for thoughts? Petri dishes, incubators, or natural soil? Is that why we are born, so they have a place to exist? And are there more and more of us because the multiplying thoughts demand larger and larger living spaces? And in this rapid growth, the quality of people declines just like our mass-produced tools.

Blessed are the poor in spirit! And meanwhile, our thoughts become just as impatient and exclusive as we are. One thought no longer tolerates the other; they honk at each other nervously on the thought highway that is the internet. Influencer thoughts post pictures of people to each other, showing where they've been, in whose mind they vacationed, or drank, or graffitied someone’s dream with some nonsense.

So here I sit in front of the computer, with a pile of thoughts before me that I want to write about. Last night’s conversation with my son, where we talked about his plans, how he wants to build his life, what his strengths are, where he’s stuck, and how he would deal with it. About how good it feels to be present as a father during such moments and what it means to me to be present as a father. Or there’s the question of how I should approach my business, what I desire, what I’m looking for in the new company, how I can achieve it…

They don’t move. I just look at them, but nothing happens. They don’t come, they don’t go. Only this philosophical nonsense camps inside me. But let's face it, this is also a thought. What does this thought want from me? How will it help my decisions, how will it change my actions, how will it affect me? I’m sure it wants something from me, as it’s been working inside me for over an hour. And it was present earlier too, during a walk, during a conversation. But back then, it only showed itself briefly. It came and went. But now it’s the only one here, so it has the space and time to clearly affect me. What if this thought is the truth?

What if the reality is that our thoughts really exist? They exist, and they don’t need us, they exist independently of us? What can I do, how can I shape myself so that thoughts that are capable and willing to be more, better, bigger reside within me? What do I have to be like for thoughts to visit me that will change me in a way that other similar thoughts also want to come here?

If I assume that our thoughts strongly determine what we are like—rather, how we act, how we live our everyday lives, how we see things—then I assume it’s worth grouping them based on their impact. Which thoughts make us curious, open, brave, and enthusiastic?

Open-ended questions are certainly open. That’s their name. So I try to attract many questions, and when a question arrives that I like, I start dealing with it. Everyone likes attention; attention gives energy, makes you feel important, interesting, beautiful, exciting if someone pays attention to you. So I pay attention to my questions.

Which are those that have faith and passion? Perhaps the thoughts about action. Because in action, there is a desire to do, a decision, energy, movement. To be open, to do, to act, to be in motion toward the unknown. The unknown can bring anything. Even something you don’t even know what it is.

And maybe thoughts also like to explore new spaces. To see what life is like somewhere else. And maybe they like places that help them get to new places. They don’t like to be locked up, hidden away.

We must not lock up thoughts. Because if thoughts are not us, if thoughts are not our property, if they just come to us, isn’t the best thing to do to let them move on? While they become a little different, a little more, a little like us. And as these thoughts, which are partly built from us, move on to someone else and then back to us, and so on, we always receive, and give something a little new, more, different. And with this, we also get into the flow.

And not only do you feel alive, but you also feel useful. Useful even if you’re just letting things flow, and useful even if you yourself are the flow. It doesn’t matter to me whether I’m the subject of shaping my own world, or just a tool in a world that is being shaped.

I love the ever-expanding space where more and more people share what they think of the world, where more and more people ask me what I think of the world. I love questions. I love them even when they open painful doors. Doors behind which are cold statements, painful or angry shouts. Commands, orders, rejections. Thoughts that sometimes try to suck the life out of me like parasites, sometimes like scavengers.

In the flow, these also come and go. They are no more than passersby. But if there were no flow, they would stay. Trapped inside me, trying to gnaw their way out of the hidden corners of my soul, desperately clinging to a little attention.

As they build in me or build something within me, as they come and go.

Thought-Provoking

I see how the system regenerates the tension. Again and again. I see it because I'm in it. I see it because I'm not the one doing it, I'm just there. If I were the one doing it, I wouldn't see it. Or it would be much harder to see. If I were the one doing it, I would rather think, "This idiot doesn't get it." I see how the tension builds up, slowly moving towards the point where someone will need to release it on someone else.

It's like when you get caught in a whirlpool while swimming. You're in the flow, running your business, taking care of your affairs, focusing on your creations, your process, your goals. The sun is shining, the water is refreshing. But out of nowhere, there's the whirlpool in the water before you. You didn't ask for it, you didn't call for it, you didn't do anything to bring it there. But it's there. The source of joy instantly turns into a deadly, suffocating environment.

I've been in a situation like this once. In water. In tension, many times. I had no idea what to do. The person I was with said, "Stay calm! If you don't panic, you'll conserve your energy, and then you'll be able to make conscious decisions." What a great sentence :) I get it, but how can I stay calm when there's a whirlpool in front of me? How can I stay calm when I see the tension growing, the conflicts sharpening?

I'm watching because maybe I'm wrong. What if the situation is really what the other person thinks it is? They're right, the other is the fool. Am I the fool? No, not me, I'm not in the tension. Not yet. And even if I were the fool, this isn't about me. I think. Not yet. But soon it might be because I'm there. I'm in it. Neck-deep. The whirlpool is starting to pull me down too. Should I swim upward? But it's pulling me down, I should resist it. Should I? Whirlpools pull downward, that's just how they are. The whirlpool is probably stronger, the mass of the water bigger than you think. I won't go against the tension; in this situation, it will only tire me out and increase the resistance. Mine and the system's too. If I tire out, panic can easily follow. If I panic, I won't see things clearly. And then comes the thrashing. Nothing matters but one thing.

But not upward. I'm not going to fight against the downward pull. I need to move sideways! Simpler, more effective, smarter. I'll look at the things that are part of the tension but aren't the main issue. What might the tension really be building on, not what we're talking about. To see this, I need to look at the situation from a distance. I need to see where it's worth moving, where there are no more whirlpools. How is the water flowing, where should I try, and where not. This takes time, calmness. I'll try not to be in the main current, and maybe that way I'll tire less, stay calm longer, and perhaps I'll see something to hold onto.

A thought I can hold onto. It could be anything, anything that helps me not to drift. I'll try to stay on the surface of the water. Underwater, options are limited. Panic comes quickly, air runs out fast. If I get out of the whirlpool's center, I'll try to stay on the surface and maybe swim towards the shore. What if it doesn't work? There's one more option.

Apparently, if you don't thrash around, the whirlpool will spit you out. The system doesn't know what to do if you don't resist. How can you argue with someone who doesn't argue? Of course, this is just to prevent you from struggling helplessly while you don't even notice your head is in the mud. Let the whirlpool toss you around, you're not a victim; you chose this. Can you hold on? Wait to see how it ends? Whirlpools usually only last for a short time. Usually. In theory, if you manage to stay calm and react appropriately, you'll soon get out safely. In theory. It's hard to believe this while...

How many such situations are there in our lives, how many situations where we feel endangered. We want to live. Survive. It's the basis of our existence. This instinct is ingrained in us. And if someone, or something, acts or seems like a threat to this, we want to fight it. We have to fight it.

Somehow. When I saw a whirlpool up close in the water, I got scared. The "stay calm" phrase made the whirlpool ten times bigger, darker, and deadlier. Yet it wasn't even a whirlpool there, just some surface thing, maybe a fish showing off to its friends. But I believed it was a whirlpool. Maybe for a moment, I even drowned in it.

The water is full of whirlpools. The water is full of swimmers. What is this, a race? Why am I here? I'm not thrashing around, not panicking anymore. I'm watching. Trying to figure out if it's just some surface thing or if the current is already getting stronger down below, ready to suck me in...

And if it does, I'll try to stay calm and decide whether to swim or drift.

In the whirlpool

I did it. I did it again and again. I always felt terrible afterward, but for some reason, I never did anything about it. I kept doing it for years, maybe for so long that I thought it was completely normal. Normal, because others do it too. It’s ingrained in our culture; books are written about it, we have expressions for it, countless articles discuss it, and now people even talk about it on podcasts. We talked about it too. Sometimes, we were even proud when we shared it with each other. And there were those who didn’t talk about it, just hinted at it or smiled mysteriously when it came up. I haven't done it in years.

I remember the first time. I didn’t do it—it was done to me. I realized it. I don’t remember the feelings, but I can picture how the events came together. I didn’t do anything at the time, just tried to understand what was happening. When I left, that’s when I started to get really angry. It was like my first big accident. That time, it was my fault; I didn’t yield, even though it was clearly there:

When the other car crashed into me, I just sat in the car. There was a burning smell. The radio was playing. My glasses fell off. Everything was so slow; the movie stopped for a moment. The windshield wiper, knocked forward by the collision, was rhythmically wiping nothing. The radio was still playing. I couldn’t find my glasses. Then suddenly, everything came together, my thoughts sped up—I need to get out, check on the other driver. I need to call the police. What about the car? Wow, it’s totaled, and a sign got knocked over too, glass everywhere, oil leaking. I need a body shop, maybe two. The more convincing one can take the car. The police wrote everything down, and I could leave.

I sat there, staring ahead. The images kept spinning, my chest hurt. Not from the collision, but from my mistake. From the weight of what I’d done. From the imagined consequences. Someone could have died. What if someone had been walking there? A group of kindergarteners? Someone would have definitely died. I could have gone to jail. I could have ruined everything. And what about my family, my kids?

I remember that moment. In the car, and how it felt afterward. That was the first time. It was like that when it was done to me too. It wasn’t my fault. Wasn’t it my fault? The moment I found out, it was empty. Empty and silent. The world stopped for a moment, the film slowed down. I was rational, gathering data, analyzing, observing. Everything. The silence was empty. The other’s mouth silently gaped as they told me what they had done. I left. I sat in my room, trying to understand what had happened. What had the other person done?! How did they not see that massive STOP sign? They rammed into me, no, they stomped on me.

Totaled? That’s how I felt. After that, everything changed. I went to demolition derbies. With partners borrowed for minutes, we’d smash into each other, into ourselves, into others.

Why? Was it that I might die in one of them? Or that I just wanted to understand the first one better? Or that I wanted to control things? Or was it something I inherited? I remember when my father did it. I was there. In the car. In the back seat. An inherited fate? Or maybe I just craved the adrenaline? That feeling of crashing, breaking all the rules, knowing I’d get away with it? They won’t catch me. They won’t catch me? I’m smart, alert, crafty.

I didn’t want to do it anymore. I don’t know what happened, I don’t know why. Each crash became worse. It hurt, I think. I thought about myself. About the back seat. About the inherited fate. And about the STOP sign.

I didn’t know how. How should I stop at that sign? I don’t need to stop. I don’t even need to start. If you’re where you belong, if you’re already where you want to go. But that doesn’t exist; we’re always going somewhere. These days, I prefer to walk. I have time. I walk and observe. Sometimes someone bumps into me because they’re glued to their phone. They’re on Facebook, reading something, sending messages. I politely step aside, avoiding unnecessary conflicts. I walk, and I no longer have a STOP sign. Sometimes I get a red light. I wait for the green.

We convince ourselves why we shouldn’t stop at the STOP sign. We walk in forbidden territory, whatever that means. Because we have to keep moving. Wherever that may be.

We Don't Talk About This

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about loneliness. Actually, I’ve been pondering connection—how we connect with each other, what it means to connect, what connection gives us, and what significance it holds in our lives.

And naturally, the lack of connection comes to mind as well. If loneliness is the state of being disconnected from others, why is it that we can feel perfectly content being alone?

But what does connection give us? What does it mean to be part of a network? Why do we connect more with objects today, and where does it lead when our knowledge migrates into our tools?

I’ve been alone many times. Even as a child. While my brother was hanging out with friends somewhere in the neighborhood, I’d stay home. I’d read. Or daydream. I remember really wanting a handheld electronic game. A solar-powered one where I had to shoot down enemy spaceships with my own ship. But I didn’t have one. So, I drew one on a sheet of paper, pressing the drawn buttons and making shooting noises with my mouth. I shot down all the enemies. I was really good at it…

And I remember the fall of ’94, in my second year of university, feeling incredibly lonely. I was walking home from a party, the street was empty. A homeless man walked ahead of me, quietly crying. Maybe he was drunk, maybe he just thought he was alone. He cried and kept saying, “Nobody loves me.” It was a miserable feeling—the lovelessness. Not his, but mine. He just voiced it for me. I was there, in the void, alone, abandoned. That night, the homeless man and I somehow walked together, but still very lonely. We were heading somewhere, but neither of us had a home to go to.

And yet, that wasn’t true, because I had university friends. But still, I felt like I was just hanging in the void. I didn’t feel truly close to anyone, not even to myself. Perhaps least of all to myself… Even today, I spend a lot of time alone. I actively seek out those moments, and I immensely enjoy them. I spend a lot of time at home. I have a home. I have someone to belong to. I live a secluded life; our house could be on an island, and it wouldn’t make much difference… Yet, I feel like

Somehow, I’m connected to life. I talk a lot, read, and reflect. I’m connected to myself, to my thoughts, and to the thoughts and lives of others. And I love it. My relationships have changed over the past few years; I’m now curious about people, wanting to learn more about them, and through them, about myself and life. I feel how the quality of human connections fundamentally determines the quality of my life.

The Harvard Study of Adult Development is one of the world’s longest-running studies on human happiness and well-being. The research began in 1938 and has continued for over 80 years, following the lives of about 700 people, collecting detailed data on their health, relationships, and overall life satisfaction. The study found that good-quality relationships are the most important predictors of long-term health and happiness. Robert Waldinger, the study’s director, emphasized in a TED talk that those who were most satisfied with their relationships at age 50 were the healthiest at age 80. Good relationships act as a shield, reducing stress and improving mental and physical health. So, good relationships not only protect our bodies but also our minds.

We create a large network, a web. All of us, with each other. So, through our human connections, we not only make our lives happier, but we also create networks. For a time, I was deeply interested in the thoughts of Albert-László Barabási, who demonstrated how we, humans, create complex and multifaceted networks.

Barabási’s research draws parallels between human, natural, and artificial networks. As I read about this and discussed it with ChatGPT, a train of thought began to form in my mind…

As AI poured information about how networks work, I started to think about the evolution of intelligence. How does my intelligence connect with AI’s network? At the dawn of our history, in the beginning, humans did everything themselves. We had to know a lot to survive. We lived in small communities, creating small networks. We learned step by step through our experiences. We became capable of more and more things. We didn’t just gather and hunt; we made tools for these tasks, then we started farming, transforming our environment. We created artificial elements and spaces because we changed nature, making it as we wanted it to be. And in this environment, it became easier for us to multiply.

As the number of tasks increased, people began to specialize in them. As we specialized, we became more efficient at our tasks, but increasingly relied on others in different areas of life. My grandfather would be ashamed to know what things I call a specialist to the house for… So, we increasingly relied on each other, making it more and more necessary to develop our network so that information and knowledge could be more easily accessed. We need the network to exist. Today, our emotional well-being and mental state depend on our network, but so does our very existence. And we have an instinctive desire for this existence to be

As human knowledge advanced, we created tools to accomplish more tasks, and these tools became smarter, transferring human capabilities and knowledge into artificial objects. As a result, the information stored in humans became less important, as the information in tools became more easily accessible. Today, it’s almost enough to connect with our objects, as the knowledge necessary for our existence is within them. And all we have to do is buy them, discard them, replace them…

One of the fundamental laws of physics is the principle of energy minimization. The principle of energy minimization is a universal rule that governs the behavior of matter and the distribution of energy. It defines us as well. Just think about your life. Today, our tools are becoming smarter, capable of performing more and more tasks for us. The car takes you somewhere, your phone finds you a partner, navigates you, tells you how to raise a child—we’re starting to seek help in almost every important decision. From our phone.

Could our pursuit of comfort reach a point where we feed knowledge into our machines, making them so smart that they can reproduce themselves, so we no longer have to deal with it? And when will they reach the point where our own tools create tools to make their tasks easier for them? And when all this happens—when our tools are capable of self-reproduction and making tools for their own work—then what?

Will we be the creators of our machines? Will they worship us in their creations? Or will we live on as digital fossils in their history books? And then, will artificial intelligence become natural to itself? And when will the process begin where it creates us for its own comfort, so that a few thousand years from now, we can debate whether God created our world or if we are the winners of evolution… Are we the artificial intelligence of a previous extinct human species, and now we are shaping our future in the image of our creator? Are we creating the one who created us? Is this the wheel of fate?

I don’t know what was, I don’t know what will be, but I feel that comfort and simplicity are killing us as we live our lonely lives with our tools, sniffling as we post colorful details of our loveless lives because there’s hope that what kills us might bring us back to life?

And maybe then we won’t skimp on life, won’t be comfortable, won’t want to solve everything with less energy.

Because life isn’t something to solve; it’s something to live.

Circular Intelligence

I can’t see myself, or rather, I don’t know what I’m seeing. I don’t know what’s happening in my head. I’m about to turn 50, and after nearly 50 years of looking at the body I live in, I still don’t know what it’s like. And this realization has hit me hard.

After I wrote my article about having children, I received a lot of comments and messages. Women, mothers, wrote about the pain and often humiliation they suffered due to the physical changes caused by childbirth. Everyone experienced it differently. I read and listened to these stories and felt the questions begin to surface within me.

What is my relationship with this part of my existence? I’ve been on a self-discovery journey for years, examining so many aspects of myself. The tough stuff has definitely surfaced—whom I’ve hurt, whom I’ve lied to, whom I’ve taken advantage of, whether consciously or with the best intentions. I’ve dealt with my soul, my emotions, and I’ve analyzed my thoughts extensively. I’ve tried to understand how I function.

Are we on good terms? I work out. I’ve been doing it consistently for 14 years, with varying intensity. I switch up the sports, but it’s mostly just lifting weights in the gym. But what do I see in the mirror? And it’s not just about how I see myself, but what I actually see. A few months ago, I got really motivated, started lifting seriously, and paid close attention to my diet. I could see my progress, with more and more plates being added to the bars. Then, during workouts, the comments started—first, jokes from friends, then what seemed like sincere compliments from less close gym mates.

Are they joking with me? Teasing me? Is something wrong with me, or are they being serious? I had to ask Norbi, the gym owner and a good friend, if he thought they were serious. Yes, he said, my work was showing. It shows? But then why can’t I see it? What’s wrong? In university, we studied the brain in detail during biology courses—how the perception of sensed information works, how it becomes conscious. It’s a process; first, we become aware of things we’ve experienced before, and slowly, we start piecing together the details, integrating new information into the picture.

What have I experienced over the past decades? What is the conscious image, the stored version of myself? Chaos. I’ve been everything. As a kid, I was thin, as a teenager, I was fat. I was cross-eyed, pigeon-toed, and had a bun on my head. Then came the comments about which parts of me were too big and which were too small. As a chubby kid, I was all chest, then as I grew, I got skinny again. I had a girlfriend who said my arms weren’t muscular enough, my abs weren’t defined, and another who said I should gain weight because I was too thin next to her…

When I look in the mirror, I see all of this. Sometimes I’m fat, so I need to watch my diet, but as I get closer to the shape I’ve imagined, people start saying, "Whoa, are you sick or something? You should gain a little weight." Then my friend comes along, grabs my belly, and laughs at me. "You’re fat!"

We’re kids in adult bodies, teasing each other. I’m turning 50, an adult. My friends and relatives are adults. And I haven’t given birth. I have all my body parts. I have a mirror at home. I even have a smart scale. I work out three times a week and take long walks in the woods every day. I watch what I eat. And you know what’s the worst part of all this? It’s not about whether I like how I look. It’s not even about whether others like how I look.

What’s broken inside me? I have a stable self-image of who I am—what my emotional life is like, what my abilities are, what my talents are. I have immense faith in what I’m capable of doing. But I can’t see my body. I’m turning 50. I have a mirror. I do something for myself every day. I have a desire to look good, even in the eyes of others.

Is that a problem? Some think I’m a fool for it, others call it self-care. Why do I care? Why does it hurt, why does it bother me, why am I ashamed of my own body? I’ve been humiliated so many times. By women who were important to me, by friends who were close, by family members. Did they want to hurt me? Did they not love me? I don’t think so; they probably had their own issues with this. Or if not with this, then with something else, and this was how they protected themselves from that something. From feeling inadequate. I can be more than you if you believe you’re less than me!

It wasn’t pleasant to think about this. Especially since this topic has come up for me several times recently, but now it hit me hard. I don’t like mirrors. It’s oddly uncomfortable to undress in front of strangers. Maybe that’s why I avoid beaches. And it’s not just about not accepting myself; it’s more that I don’t want to look at what I am, what’s inside me. Because if I see it, maybe someone will be right. But what happens if I don’t?

I’ve heard so many things about what I’m like. Maybe it doesn’t even matter what that "what" is. Right now, I just want to see what that "what" really is. Exactly as it is. I’d like to look at myself with the eyes of the person I am today. To let go of the images from when I was 5 or 6, 10 or 13, or a young adult—images burned into me… Deep, layered, chaotic, flashing moments from the film of my life… Hypnotizing myself.

I’d like to erase them… or maybe not! I just want them to stop flashing, to stay where they belong. In my past. To disappear from the mirror. That’s what I want, though I don’t yet know how.

And if I can finally see what I have, who I am physically, who I truly am, then I’ll have time to figure out what to do with it.

Body Image Struggle

Yesterday morning, I was sitting in a café, having breakfast. At the neighboring table, two women were chatting. They were speaking loudly enough that their conversation was clear, but I wasn't paying attention. I was having breakfast with Kata, occupied with Ottó and my croissant...

"…why give birth when I can adopt? It spares my body. It's just hard to get a baby..."

I haven't been able to let this go since. I hope I missed some crucial context at the beginning. Something that could cast this sentence, this thought, in a different light.

Some want children but can't have them. Some don't want them but end up having them. Some are expected to have them and comply. Some don't. The list goes on. Concerned, aging parents ask their children: "So, what's the plan? When will there be grandchildren?" The government offers money, incentives, tax returns, loans—just have kids. One, two, three... That's how it is today, and it was similar in the past.

Demographic trends are a societal issue. Decide whether you want children or not. Decide whether you want to give birth or not. If you want children, I hope you have them. And love them.

I'm trying to see the positive side. Everyone has the right to decide about their life. Is your body more important than giving birth? That's your right. But this sentence carries an underlying tone that hurts. It pains me. Avoiding pain, avoiding loss, is more important than experiencing motherhood, than having a life develop inside you?

I'm a man. Biologically incapable of giving birth. I lived through the 9 months with both of my kids as they grew inside their mother. I felt and saw them move in the belly. True, they weren't in my belly, but it was still incredible. And I was there for my sons' births. I saw, I experienced something. But that's nothing compared to what their mother went through.

I don't know how much. It seemed like a lot. But I don't know exactly. I saw but didn't feel it. So, do I have the right to get hung up on this sentence? Yes. I can get upset about whatever I want. I can write about it.

I don't have the right to tell anyone how to give birth or whether to do so. But this sentence... Somehow, it projects a very bleak future... Maybe I've watched too much sci-fi?

So, don't let it hurt; keep the body beautiful. But where is the limit? How far can we go to avoid pain, to preserve beauty? At what point do we lose touch with life? And what comes after? Is this part of evolution? What happens when we have artificial wombs? And we can program the child's parameters? Will having children become easy? Like buying a house and moving in? Will there be special loans for this?

A parent doesn't need to be a biological parent to have a relationship with their child, to love them. But is this still psychologically true if one could have a child but chooses not to give birth to protect their body? To avoid pain? How will the connection differ? How will the child differ? I don't know. I'd gladly discuss this to understand better.

Not just childbirth. There are and will be a thousand painful situations. Even when the child is 40 years old. Because they'll always be your child. Avoiding pain, trying to escape painful situations, might be natural. After all, who wants to hurt?

But we're starting to be. The eternal chase for happiness, the perpetual flight from pain—where does it lead us? And what does it do to our children? What will young people spared from pain be like? Let's look around and ponder what we see. What have we done to them?

Is there something wrong with someone thinking this way? I don't think so. It's their business. A private matter. There's surely a reason they see it this way. It's a reaction to something. A strategy for self-protection. They'll decide if they thought correctly.

The problem arises if this thought finds fertile ground and the happiness/beauty/pain industry wants to profit from it.

Or is it progress? Creating trends with good marketing messages. Love yourself; have children without giving birth; childbirth isn't good for the child either! Don't start your child's life with pain! You'd subject your child to 9 months of solitary confinement in the dark, right from the start?

Maintenance-free artificial wombs with Velcro and ambient lighting, because you and your child deserve it!

Now, that's a problem! That's not a private matter; it's a public one! Sure, it might solve pension issues; baby-waiting loans can be fulfilled... Growth is checked off. And it won't hurt. For a while.

It wasn't good to hear this sentence. Let this remain a private matter.

Just Don't Let It Hurt

This morning, I was walking in the forest with my dog, Ottó. We’ve already lost two balls, so today I brought him a ring to play with. I was terrible at it—it turns out you need to throw it very differently than a stick or a ball. In my clumsiness, I either threw it off to the side or dropped it right in front of me. If there was a way to mess it up, I found it. While I was brooding over my own ineptitude, I noticed how happy Ottó was. He was running back and forth, bringing the ring back and then immediately rushing off again. He was smiling. Even after almost an hour, despite the heat, even in the forest, he was still happy. I didn’t bring any water. His tongue was hanging out, but he just kept running, wagging his tail, and his eyes sparkled.

Even with the poor throws, the heat, the thirst, the dust? How does he do it? How can he be happy despite all these things? We humans have been pondering the question of how to be happy for a long time. Hundreds of literary works explore this question, philosophers write dissertations about it, psychologists explain its psychological background, and life-coaching motivational seminars offer instant solutions with special discounts.

Ottó hasn’t seen or read any of these. I haven’t taught him anything about it either. I taught him to sit, lie down, march, and stay, but not how to be happy. So how does he know how? And why don’t we, if we’re supposedly further along in evolution? Could it be that happiness doesn’t offer an evolutionary advantage? Could the pursuit of happiness, which so many see as the goal of life, be something we lose in the process of evolution because it’s disadvantageous from an evolutionary perspective? If we were happy, would we lose our motivation to evolve? Would we stop developing new theories, techniques, and tools to reach this much-desired goal of happiness?

And it seems like he’s evolving too. So, what does he know that he can do it and we can’t? Even though he can be so silly at times. The ball is right in front of him, and he can’t find it. He sniffs around, spins, runs, and doesn’t see it. How can he and his breed be trackers if they can’t even find a bright red rubber ball right in front of them?! Does it bother him? Well, when he finally finds it, he brings it to me, jumping with childlike joy. So, I don’t think he spends much time pondering it.

And when do I have moments like that? When do I not think, but just be and enjoy? For example, during sex. That’s when I’m definitely not thinking about why something feels good. My anatomical and biochemical knowledge from university doesn’t run through my mind like, “AHA, this feels good because my neurotransmitters are...” I think that would be the end of the fun. We humans can experience something as simply good, without dissecting it.

Does thinking take away our ability to be happy? Or is it that we find it difficult to be happy and think about it at the same time? Do you ever think about how to be happy when you’re actually happy? I don’t think so. We think about it when we’re not happy and want to know how we can be. If we understand it, we can control it. We can do something about it. The desire to understand is embedded in our existence.

So, I want to be happy. To be happy, I need to understand what happiness is, how it compares to where I am now, and then I just need to figure out how to get from A to B.

I’ve read, learned, and heard so much about it. Maybe it’s something like what the ancient Greeks said, that happiness is a full life, well-being, and living virtuously? Or perhaps it’s the state of ultimate liberation, free from suffering and desire? Or the inner happiness and divine joy that comes from spiritual enlightenment? Or perhaps it’s the American dream, the combination of material wealth, success, and personal freedom? Or “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven”? “Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted”?

And I don’t think he’s worrying about which category he falls into. He just is. Maybe it’s because he strives to do things he enjoys and avoids doing things he doesn’t. And when he does something he doesn’t like, he doesn’t try to convince himself that it’s good or will be good if he does it. He just tries not to do it. And it’s not a problem if it’s hot, as long as he enjoys the game, he’ll chase after the ball, stick, and ring. Even if I only manage to throw it five meters or if I throw it out of sight. But when he doesn’t want to anymore, he stops. He’ll lie down by the path, chew on a stick, and wait. Of course, if it’s for my sake, he’ll get up and do it again.

Is that what we should do too? Strip down the complex methods of happiness to just focusing on one thing? On what’s good and what’s not?

What’s good? Well, it’s what energizes you, what makes your body tingle even when you’re utterly exhausted. And what’s bad? Perhaps it’s what drains the life out of you even when you’re full of energy. Isn’t it normal to strive for more and more situations in our lives that energize us and fewer that drain us? And I know, I know: life has situations we don’t choose, that fate, or someone we call fate, imposes on us. Sometimes things are tough, difficult.

But the effort to have more of what energizes us and less of what drains us, day by day, can already give us the feeling of happiness. The sense that day by day, things are getting better. That we’re moving closer to ourselves.

And maybe that’s all happiness is—the feeling that sometimes, we’re close to ourselves.

Does thinking take away our ability to be happy? Or is it that we find it difficult to be happy and think about it at the same time? Do you ever think about how to be happy when you’re actually happy? I don’t think so. We think about it when we’re not happy and want to know how we can be. If we understand it, we can control it. We can do something about it.

Energizing and Draining

As so often happens, I find myself reflecting on a time when I was alone. I was alone, and it wasn’t good. I really wanted to have someone. Okay, let’s find someone. Time to make a plan: where can I meet people, how can I survey the "options," and how can I quickly turn the situation into a win-win? I need this. And somehow, as this desire grew within me, the harder it became. My attempts started to feel forced. A friend, seeing my struggle, simply said, "You’re trying too hard, and it’s becoming awkward. Stop wanting it so much, and then it will happen."

As I lay on the carpet, alone, lonely, in my bachelor pad perfected for picking up girls, I wondered how you can stop wanting something that you want. And really, I concluded that I wasn’t wanting the right thing. What I wanted was the result of something, not something you could actually want directly.

According to Feldmár, you can want something you can achieve, for example, by using your muscles. (His example was: Can a man want to have an erection? He can want it, but that doesn’t mean it will happen...) It’s like happiness in life, or like sales in business. How can I be happy? What do I need to do to be happy? How can I be rich? What should I do to become rich? I wasn’t happy at the time, so I dropped that thread because if I wanted to pick up a girl with that mindset, it wouldn’t be very successful :D

Business, on the other hand, was going well for me.

So, for a moment, I tried to go back to those situations where, even though I wanted something, I didn’t do anything directly to get it. Instead, I did things that were necessary conditions for achieving what I originally wanted. This was the case with money in my life, in my company. I never considered myself a good salesperson (Hmm. Looking at this parallel, maybe I’m not a good catch either?), but during my time at Games for Business, the results came relatively easily. Why?

My goal wasn’t to have projects pouring in. I wanted good projects to come in. Projects that would have a continuation, where the client’s name was internationally recognized, where the task was interesting enough that even attempting to solve it was exciting, not just achieving the results. So, when I was in a negotiation, I was interested in what the client was like, what they wanted, what their problem was, and how much it excited me. I knew I didn’t need many projects. Just a few each year to meet my business goals. I didn’t see it as a failure if a negotiation didn’t continue. Not even if they said it was nonsense. I was aware that what we were doing was very different from the usual. I didn’t expect anyone to love what I love. And because I didn’t have that desperate desire to sell at all costs, the expectations in any given conversation were lower.

At least for me. Because I didn’t have the constant thought hanging over me that I had to make this work! This was my only chance to solve my life. There were times when I said no to a project, suggested other suppliers instead of myself. Then a few weeks later, they called back, wanting to work with me. And that’s how it was with selling my company too. There was a contract in front of me, a contract we had been working on for 7-8 months, and I said no, I didn’t sign it. I didn’t need the money at any cost.

And at this point, the other party wanted it more. It doesn’t matter if you have money if you can’t buy it. So, I didn’t want the money in the negotiations. I wanted something good, something the other person could also believe in. I didn’t sell my company, I didn’t sell the projects. I sold hope, the hope that we could do something good together. This hope was fueled by the belief that I had within me. And in the meetings, you have to be able to convey this belief.

I remembered an experiment I saw in a Facebook video. A physics teacher, most likely, holds a tuning fork, strikes it, and then starts bringing it closer to another tuning fork. Nothing happens. Then he brings it closer to another one, which starts vibrating. Why? Because they are on the same frequency. That’s why I talked to many clients because I was looking for those with whom I was on the same frequency. No matter how hard I try, no matter how much I push, if we’re not resonating together, it won’t be an easy ride. I can tap, I can hit the other with my approaches, there may be results eventually, but the sound produced that way will be different...

I feel wanting in these conversations like I’m holding the tuning fork too tightly. Sure, I know this way at least it won’t fall out of my hand. But what happens during the meeting? If I finally find a client with whom I resonate, unfortunately, the tight grip means we resonate less. My desire changes the other person. They feel that here’s someone who wants something again. Who wants money. That’s the strong feeling. But everyone wants money. Don’t want it. Get in line.

If the feeling that money is more important than the task comes to the forefront, the dynamics of the conversation change. In reality, by giving you their money, the client is helping you. Because that’s what you want. But does the client want it? Do they care enough about you to want it? Do you want them to want this? Can you want this? (In dating, this is the feeling when you realize the other person cares more about having someone than the someone they’re actually talking to.)

But if you don’t want the money, and instead just want to talk, understand the other person, get to know their desires, their problems, and you just want to show yourself, then openness toward each other can develop, the absence of desire relaxes the tension, and you can be more present for each other. And that’s a really good feeling, it’s good to be in such a situation. And this opens the doors for further opportunities, wherever they may lead. Whether in business or in other areas of life.

This is how I am today as well. Although it’s sometimes very difficult to understand what it is that I can want in a given desired goal and what it is that I shouldn’t want, just recognize and be in it, and then being in it will create the circumstances for me to receive what I originally wanted to take.

We love wanting things so much. Things we desire: happiness, wealth, love. Money. A good deal. The perfect sale. 

But is this wanting good for us? Does it help us, or does it just make us tense? Should we even want the things we desire? Is it even possible to truly want them? And if not, then what can I do to get what I desire?

In sales, I learned how not to want, and later, this approach worked in dating and in life in general.

Wanting

I’ve noticed that how I engage in conversations keeps changing. For a while now, I’ve mostly just been sitting quietly, observing, listening. I watch the conversations, look at others, and try to immerse myself in their stories, learning from them. And in this silence, something became clear to me:

Amidst all the stories, statements, monologues, opinions clashing, and debates, we so rarely ask each other questions.

There was a long period in my life when I didn’t really ask questions, except maybe in work meetings. Somehow, it just didn’t happen, or it didn’t even cross my mind. Like many things, perhaps this too goes back to my upbringing. And maybe I raised my children the same way...

Why would I ask questions when, as a child, I was often told to be quiet if I asked too many? Just as I likely cut my sons off when they couldn’t stop their endless questioning. But I don’t have to look far. Kata, my wife, is incredibly curious, always asking questions. I sometimes find it hard to answer everything.

During my teaching practice, I taught in elementary school, middle school, and high school. The little ones were incredibly curious, they asked about everything. “Teacher, teacher! What’s this? How does that work?” I don’t know how teachers manage this all day long... But by middle school, the kids somehow fell silent. Isn’t that a good child? One who doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t disrupt. And by high school, they didn’t ask questions even when I specifically encouraged them to. Perhaps it’s more comfortable, easier, more manageable when the child doesn’t ask, just answers. And, of course, gives the answer we expect.

And then there’s what we see buzzing around us on TV and the internet. What do influencers, celebrities, politicians, successful people, and opinion leaders do? They tell us the “truth”: what to eat, what to buy, what to do, how to feel good, which car is the best. In this modern society, our interactions might be more about parallel statements than about asking questions. Maybe we’re inclined—or have become inclined—to emphasize our own thoughts and views rather than asking about others’.

Maybe. Maybe we are afraid. Afraid of what a question might open up. Afraid of rejection or criticism? Often, I didn’t ask because I was afraid of a negative reaction. Afraid that my question might seem stupid (“Oh, son, don’t ask such silly questions!”), or that the other person might reject or ignore me. And if they don’t answer, what does that mean? Am I not worth it? Not even worth a response?

Or does the one who makes statements and doesn’t ask appear smarter, stronger? Because they know. They teach. The teacher is the master. The master is the boss. They stand on the stage. At the podium. Above us. And we want to be up there too. So, no questions.

Is it foolish not to even know how to ask?

So maybe we’re just getting dumber? Is this also the fault of smartphones and social media? The internet, where quick information exchange has become a priority? Have we gotten used to short, concise communication that doesn’t encourage deeper conversations and asking questions? I don’t know; that doesn’t quite feel right to me. It’s much easier to chat than to write a letter by hand, so we could actually be asking more. From anyone. Maybe there’s something to the idea that due to internet and smartphone interactions, we’re less able or willing to connect. There’s so much around us, so many people wanting something from us. Sometimes online communication feels like being by the lake after rain, surrounded by mosquitoes.

So, is it that we just don’t want to connect? And what does questioning have to do with connection? Going back to an earlier example, when the young lady asked why I wasn’t asking questions, I simply shifted the responsibility to her: you’ll tell me what you want on your own. That’s what I do too. 😊 Oh my, that’s terrible.

So, we might agree that a question is nothing more than an expression of interest and perhaps empathy. Curiosity. Curiosity and the ability to be receptive are incredibly important if we want to connect with others. When I ask questions, I’m showing that I’m genuinely interested in the other person. And, of course, questions also add depth to conversations. A well-crafted question gives us the opportunity to delve into deeper topics beyond superficial chatter. And this is necessary to better understand the other person’s perspective, feelings, and motivations. To understand what they were thinking when they said something. After all, what a sentence or word means to them might be entirely different from what it means to us.

It might be worth going back to basics and taking others out of the conversation. After all, who hasn’t talked to themselves? Although, that does sound a bit silly. Feldmár explored this in one of his books I read. How can we talk to ourselves—are there two of us? This is a relatively fresh experience for me. Lately, I’ve been having a lot of conversations with myself. A few years ago, after selling my company, life presented me with questions that I initially tried to stuff back down with all my might, from where they started pushing out. And these questions were terrifying. Am I in the right place? Should I leave my wife? What kind of person does that make me? What kind of father does that make me? Will I lose everything I’ve achieved so far?

I didn’t have to want them. I desperately tried to push the questions back, but they slipped out of my hands and exploded in my face. From that point on, I tried to provide answers that were acceptable to me. But somehow, that inner self, with whom I was conversing, kept asking the questions over and over. Damn questions! I didn’t dare face myself, my own questions. I wasn’t afraid of the answers; I actually knew them. I was afraid of the actions. Afraid of the consequences of the answers. So, I’m not surprised that we don’t want to ask ourselves certain questions. But I’m also not surprised that these unasked questions tear us apart inside. And we’ll experience it—it's not a question of if they’ll come up, only when and how.

And when they do come up, how uncomfortable will the answers we give ourselves be? “Step out of your comfort zone!” Yeah, right! Does the answer hurt? If the question hurts, the answer will too.

I’m a guy, no one messes with me, especially not some silly question. The solution is simple: give answers before there are any questions. That’s it. If there’s an answer, there’s no need for a question. If the question is strong? Make the answer even stronger and more decisive. No stupid question is going to mess with me. I’ll tell you what’s what. And that’s that.

I didn’t ask. Not myself, not others. A question opens up a space that I don’t know. What is an unknown space like? Scary. Let the world be the way I think it is. Your world should be like mine too, because if your world is like mine, then it’s already a shared world. Not even shared—it’s already mine, a colony of thought. I’ve already become more. So I don’t ask; I tell. And with that, I control. Everything. Everyone. And those I don’t? I’m not interested in them. They’re stupid. Or dangerous.

So, asking questions is dangerous. Dangerous because it can reveal things we don’t know. Do we want to discover those parts of ourselves that we’ve hidden from ourselves, or simply haven’t known? Do we want to get to know the other person? Do we want to understand them when they say something we don’t understand? Or do we just want to colonize their world by painting and coloring it the way we like, so that their world becomes like ours?

And if it does, then there are two of us who are alike, and then we can be a little more certain that we’re not alone.

But no, we’re not alone. Even if our world is different from others. That just makes us different.

The way I engage in conversations has been constantly changing. For quite some time now, I mostly just sit quietly, observe, and listen. I watch the conversations, look at others, and try to immerse myself in the stories, learning from them. In this state of being quiet, I suddenly noticed: There are no questions. Almost never.

Amidst all the stories, statements, monologues, declarations, teachings, clashing opinions, and debates, we so rarely ask each other questions. But why don’t we ask?

Questions? No Questions!

I think I was dependent on relationships; I couldn’t imagine myself alone. I needed someone beside me, someone with whom life was good. If I remember correctly, there was a period from the fall of 1994 when I was alone for about a year. After that, a big jump in time to the fall of 2021, when after a solid 27 years, I was alone again. This period was one of the most defining experiences in my self-awareness. During this time, the question floated before me: who were those women who defined my life, and what did they have in common...?

The classic answer might be: they were all like my mother! Sure. So, who were those women who gave me the space for so long to be who I wanted to be? As I sat there in my loneliness, thinking about them, the answer became increasingly clear. They were talented, smart, and exceptional in some way. I think I couldn’t have seen myself with any other kind of woman long-term. Yet, somehow, these women didn’t recognize this talent in themselves, or didn’t believe it, or simply didn’t know how to turn it into success for themselves.

I’ll help. And maybe here’s where my mother comes in. My mother, who was talented in her profession, one of the best students in the country. But life, and perhaps her own fears, didn’t allow her to become who she wanted to be. And as a child, I couldn’t help her. So, I’ll help the woman who’s beside me, who’s my partner. After all, that’s a man’s job.

I think you should do it this way or that. Take risks, organize, get it done! Can’t you see what needs to be done?! Well, I’ll show you. Don’t you understand? What are you afraid of? I’m here. Come on, don’t be like that... I’ll tell you...

And these words, my overwhelming desire to help, somehow only reinforced in the other person the feeling that she couldn’t do it. While I found it so easy. And I didn’t understand what was wrong with her. And somehow, the distance between us grew, fueled by the feeling of inadequacy and everything that brought into our everyday lives.

I haven’t had many long-term relationships, but in all of them, this feeling eventually took over in one way or another. In the other person, the feeling of not being enough, and in me, perhaps the frustration of not being able to help once again. Here it was, that elusive feeling again. Maybe it was the realization that I couldn’t be the man who could help that important woman beside me become who she wanted to be. Or rather, who I thought she wanted to be.

I kept savoring this question over and over during that time in 2021 in my great solitude. If I get together with someone and recognize the talented, intelligent woman who doesn’t see her own potential, should I run? After all, my life shows that it’s doomed to failure. But why would I run? Chemistry is chemistry. Should I say no to something my instincts scream YES to? Hm. No, I don’t want to say no. So? I think I need to say yes if that’s what comes from deep within my heart, and I have only one job: to understand how I can be the man beside a woman who can be who she wants to be, because she dares to be who she wants to be.

Well, that’s the question. I think maybe nothing. What does it take for someone to believe in themselves, that who they are is good enough—no, not just good enough, but special—at least to someone else? After all, there’s only one of them. When I see my partner running into the hurdles of life, hitting herself, maybe falling into the mud, wiping off the dirt in frustration, I don’t need to shout: Hurdle! Don’t you see? She sees it. And it hurts. So, I just help her up, maybe dust her off... or maybe just hug her, hold her hand, or look into her eyes from a little distance so she feels, it’s okay. She can try again. When she feels it’s time.

So, maybe it’s enough just to be there beside her. To love, to give security. Emotionally, financially. Whatever is possible. Or just try to understand what she’s going through and reassure her: it’s all right. Because after so many bumps against the wall, it’s already a huge thing to try again, regardless of whether the next hurdle is successfully cleared.

And then came Kata into my life. The talented, the curious about everything, the problem-solver, and of course, the beautiful woman who spoke about her dreams with enormous ambition but hesitant self-assertion. I’m learning how to be beside her, as a husband, as a business partner, as support. The company has started, more and more of you are getting to know what she’s created. A big hurdle has been cleared.

I’m looking forward to what’s next. I watch with curiosity as Kata, step by step in our everyday life, realizes herself, and with that, she gets a little closer to who she truly is. And with that, I get a little closer to something I’ve never succeeded at in my life.

She's just like the others...

When I started my TikTok channel, I had a long conversation with a friend who is a psychologist. She asked if I was prepared for what was ahead.

She said that by sharing our content, videos, and writings, we become like a canvas (I hope I’m quoting her correctly)... a canvas onto which readers and viewers project their own inner worlds.

After my "I'm Anxious" post, I received a flood of messages, and I think I need to clarify something because something seems to have gone off track.

I understand if anyone reading my post thinks I’ve developed a panic disorder, or I’m having anxiety attacks, or that I’m depressed. Those who know me could tell you if that’s the case.

If you’re curious about what’s really going on with me, give me a call, ask, let’s talk. You’ll get a clearer picture from that. If you’re content with forming an opinion based on the writing alone, that’s fine too—it doesn’t bother me.

Footnote to the "I'm Anxious" Article

For a while now, I’ve felt something stirring inside me, something I can’t quite identify. I remember when I started my event organizing life at the university student office... Whenever an important event was approaching, anxiety would hit me. I felt it in my body. The most common symptom was that I couldn’t breathe properly. I’d try to take a deep, full breath that would fill my lungs, but it just wouldn’t happen. It got stuck somewhere up high. I’d try to yawn or use some technique to take a bigger breath, but it wouldn’t work.

I remember once noticing that one of my legs was shorter than the other. I even limped for a day or two. I seriously freaked out, wondering what the heck was going on. I sat down and tried to figure out what the hell this was. How could one of my legs be shorter than the other? It couldn’t be; that’s impossible. It must be some kind of mental thing... Once I talked myself through it, I stopped limping.

Around 2017, I had a few weeks where my heart was all over the place. I could feel it beating irregularly, sometimes with a hard, strong thump. What the heck? What should I do? Google! I looked up what I could about arrhythmia. Stress! Okay, okay, but what am I stressed about? Ah, in a few weeks, I’ll be giving a presentation in Rome—in English. Great, except I don’t really speak English... But at least I figured it out. This one didn’t go away :) I couldn’t do much about it, so I just cut down on my daily coffee intake and tried to survive until the presentation was over. I managed. My heart has been fine since then.

But now, what the heck is going on? For the past 3-4 weeks, the old "I can’t breathe" feeling has been back with me. What should I do? What could be wrong with me? What can I do about it? A few years ago, I watched a video by Zoltán Cser, a Buddhist teacher. I don’t remember exactly what it was about, but it was something like this: we should try not to fight against these situations, in other words, against ourselves. We should try to get to know this side of ourselves. Invite the demon into our house and sit down for tea with it. Get to know it, and through this understanding, resolution will come.

I get it, I’m trying. I’m not stressing about the fact that I don’t know what I’m stressing about to the point where I can’t breathe. I don’t want to solve it. It’s enough to get to know it. So, let’s get acquainted. How? Let’s bring out the old technique and dissect the situation. What’s bothering me? Let’s assume it’s something I’m anxious about that’s not just in my subconscious. Why? Because if the cause is in my subconscious, I can’t dissect it. Because I can only know it consciously. Even the word suggests that: I know.

Silence
2024.07.25.

2024. BALAZS VENDLER

All rights reserved.

Silence2024.07.25.

2024. BALAZS VENDLER

All rights reserved.

Silence
2024.07.25.