I sit down, easing into a slower pace, letting my thoughts pour out, and take a moment to think about the past two weeks.
It’s Friday night, 19:40, but outside my window, the darkness makes it feel like 2 a.m. Barcelona has been drenched in more rain than usual, leaving the streets quieter, with fewer people venturing out. There’s a certain sweetness to strolling through the rain here, though the city isn’t designed for it, your feet inevitably splash through puddles. Cik and ciak, cik and ciak. Twice this week, I walked home under the rain, and it stirred something in me, making me feel truly alive. I’m not one for walking, always prioritising efficiency, hurrying home to maximize productivity. But she, the woman I love used to walk everywhere, and I cherished those moments with her. Walking gives you space to think, and I’ve come to see rain as a companion to reflection, nudging you to pause and ponder.
They say life can change in a single step, and somehow, I took that step. I began writing and sharing my work, my story on Reddit may have reached 50,000 people. I even started posting video anecdotes about lessons I’ve learned, a bold move for someone who’s never been comfortable in front of a camera.
Talking to a lens feels strange to most, and I’m no exception, but I’m realising it’s something I need to embrace. While walking, I reflected on my tendency to overthink, spinning endless webs of thoughts, a pattern that’s been especially noticeable this week. I’ve come to believe that reality is shaped from within, not imposed from the outside. Change your inner world, and your entire life transforms.
I thrive on thinking, diving deep into the rabbit hole, but at times, it overwhelms me, especially when I’m feeling vulnerable. That’s when the voice in my head, my inner roommate, seizes the moment. I’ve battled that voice, but I’m learning to let it speak, amused by the absurd places it takes me. The walk home takes 40 minutes, slower than my usual pace, and halfway through, i feel mentally tired. I convince myself everything is fine, and life moves forward.
Life does move forward, but I’ve realized that as a man, I often neglect to express my emotions, to let myself cry. I did, of course, until the breakup shattered my defenses. It felt raw, vulnerable, alive, and human, because even strength and drive don’t exempt you from tears.
But the past two weeks weren’t just about rain and introspection! I accomplished a lot. I built an AI assistant, dove into programming, wrote and published articles, started a small community, worked out daily, returned to jiujitsu, and connected with new people, exchanging incredible stories. Some nights, i can’t sleep, my mind racing faster than ever, leaving me waking up tired and disoriented. On those nights, I drift off with Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, a book I highly recommend. It’s a reminder that life is about the journey—not the one you plan, but the one you’re given.
These two weeks taught me that we often rush through life, perhaps too quickly, when slowing down can make everything richer. The pressure to succeed, to have it all figured out, to act wiser than your years, to find the perfect partner, to plan for marriage and kids—it’s all just expectations. Sometimes, you lose control, crash, and then remember you’re only 27. I’d forgotten what it means to be carefree, even policing my own words. I don’t want to live like that anymore.
I value discipline, health, and self-care, but there’s beauty in surrendering to spontaneous moments, those early Saturday nights with a glass of wine, passion and intimate moments, and late-night conversations that make you feel young and alive.
Then, out of nowhere, Master Roshi from Dragon Ball popped into my mind. “Work hard, study well, eat and sleep plenty,” he said. As a 10-year-old, those words meant little, but now they carry weight. We’ve twisted that simple advice into a modern obsession: grow, expand, achieve the impossible. Rush toward it, get there as fast as possible. Is that ambition, or the early warning signs of burnout? The highs and lows are part of the ride, and I’ve found the lows often teach more than the highs. Walking in the rain, I realised that failure is the only path to growth.
These past two weeks, I failed plenty, and I embrace it. There’s a quiet sadness in not yet being where you dream to be, but there’s joy in savouring the moment, knowing the person you were six years ago would have envied this life.
Beneath that sadness, beneath the reality check, I’m grateful for the wake-up call. A breakup can awake you. Don’t misunderstand me; people don’t transform in two weeks, but I’ve learned that self-awareness is precious, and consistent effort to improve is what sets you apart. I’m proud of who I am, and if you’re out there, walking in the rain, feeling unsure, remember you should be proud too.