As an adult, I don’t watch many cartoons anymore. I might stream an anime once in a while, but generally, my cartoon-watching days are behind me. However, if you asked me to look back at the “Golden Era” of my childhood, specifically from the early 90s, one show stands above the rest.
Sure, the 90s were famous for cartoons like Batman: The Animated Series or Ren & Stimpy. For me, my favorite watch was Scooby-Doo.
(more…)
If you had asked me this question twenty years ago, my answer would have been immediate, and, looking back, a little superficial.
When I was young and perhaps a bit naive, I admired performers. I looked up to the people who could stand in front of a crowded room and command attention. I admired the speakers who could think on their feet, the debaters who could win any argument, and the “strong” personalities who never seemed to back down.
To my younger self, that was leadership. It was about the spotlight. It was about volume. It was about winning.
But as I’ve gotten older, my definition of “admirable” has shifted entirely. I’ve realized that what I was admiring wasn’t leadership; it was just charisma.
(more…)
What technology would you be better off without, why?
If you asked me to list the technology that drains my happiness the most, my mind jumps to the usual suspects.
I could blame social media and the infinite scroll that destroys my ability to focus. I could blame the loss of privacy from smart home devices listening in on my living room conversations. I could even blame workplace chat apps like Slack that keep me on high-alert.
But those are just symptoms. If we really want to cure the digital fatigue we are all feeling, we have to look at the root cause. We have to look at the delivery mechanism.
If I could un-invent one piece of technology, it would be the Smartphone.
(more…)
If you had asked me in high school what kind of person I was, the answer would’ve been easy: a night owl. Staying up until 1 AM or 2 AM felt completely natural. There was something comforting about the quiet darkness, the glow of a screen, the freedom to watch movies or shows without interruption. Nights felt like my time.
But somewhere along the way, things changed.
(more…)
Most people see me as the quiet one. When I’m in a large group, there are usually people who do most of the talking. In that situation, I usually keep quiet and like to listen. When I’m in a smaller group, or perhaps in a one on one situation, I like to participate in a balanced conversation.
It’s not that I like being quiet, quiet the opposite. Like everyone else I have my opinions and thoughts. It’s just that I really dislike being interrupted I talk, so I try not to do that to others. These days, I find that people love to talk. They talk fast, and move from topic to topic. Sometimes I feel like if I want to contribute, I’d have to interrupt, but I try to avoid that.
I can be talkative if I want, but I find myself not needing to as much. Maybe it’s age, but I find more value in listening now. Then there are those who love to dominate conversations, taking up most of the time. I find myself losing motivation to talk to those folks.
People often misunderstand quiet people. Quiet people are usually seen as shy, even nice, or maybe dull. But quiet doesn’t mean we’re just sitting back. We think before we speak. We listen. And then we choose to talk.
When I think of the word successful, the first person who comes to mind is Steve Jobs — the man who, in my mind, shaped the modern world of smart devices. The iPhone alone changed everything. Even beyond that, he had this magnetic energy — a “reality distortion field,” people called it — that could make the impossible possible. When he presented a product, the world believed in it.
The image that always sticks with me is the black-and-white portrait from his biography — the one with his fist resting casually under his chin. That was probably the first biography I ever finished. Reading it made me realize how rare it is to find someone with such vision, even if it came with flaws.
Jobs’ list of achievements is long: Apple I/II, Mac, iPod, iPhone, iPad, and even Pixar. Most people would be lucky to create one thing that defines a generation; he helped build several. He left behind a legacy that reshaped industries and habits worldwide.
What I admired most about him was his tenacity — that relentless drive to push past limits. At the same time, I know I wouldn’t have liked working for him. According to his colleagues, he was difficult, even harsh. It’s strange to look up to someone whose leadership style I probably couldn’t tolerate. But I think that makes him more fascinating: his flaws were as much a part of his story as his brilliance.
For Jobs, success wasn’t just a product launch or a billion-dollar milestone. It was his ability to keep creating, influencing, and moving the world forward. Death was the only thing that stopped him. To me, that is both inspiring and tragic.
Compared to him, I’m nowhere close. I start many projects and never finish any of them. But maybe success isn’t about being like Steve Jobs. I like to think that being a better husband and father makes me more successful than he was in ways that matter to me.
When he died, I read his biography and felt motivated, less lazy. For a while, that drive changed how I lived. I should probably reread it again, just to recalibrate.
I still admire him, even knowing he wasn’t perfect. His passion, his presence, his ability to make people believe — all of that still moves me. Every once in a while, I rewatch one of his keynotes on YouTube, not for the nostalgia, but as a reminder of the success he had.
I had to think hard before I could remember the last time I did something fun by myself — not errands, not a workout, just something for me. The best I could come up with was shooting hoops or maybe window shopping. It’s funny: for someone who enjoys being alone, I rarely go out alone.
Maybe it’s because doing things solo costs money. When I’m with others, spending feels justified — events, movies, trips — but when it’s just me, I’d rather save the money. It feels selfish somehow, like I should save that money for something “real.”
At home, I’m comfortable alone. I work out, watch sports, read, and stream shows — things that keep my mind busy. But being alone in the world feels different. It’s not just quiet; it’s exposure. I envy people who can eat out or watch a movie solo without caring who notices. They seem confident in their own company.
If I were to start, I’d keep it simple — go see a movie alone. It’s low effort and doesn’t require small talk. Still, I know I’d regret it and think about how I could’ve just watched something at home. But there’s something appealing about the freedom — no coordinating, no compromises, no worrying about anyone else’s preferences. Just all me, doing what I want.
That freedom is what draws me to it. But there’s also a small fear: that people might see me sitting alone and think it’s sad. Maybe that comes from childhood — the instinct to not look “left out.”
Maybe the trick is to focus on the moment — the movie, the meal, the game — and stop caring about others. Comfort probably starts there: when you stop needing your solitude to be hidden.
Doing things solo doesn’t have to mean isolation; it can mean discovery. Maybe there are parts of me I haven’t met yet — interests, capabilities — waiting for me to start.
When I think of balance, I imagine life in perfect harmony. Everything I do has a counterbalance — a way to even things out. If I work hard, I make sure to take time to enjoy life. If I indulge, I do it in moderation. I love food, but I eat moderately and work out to balance it. For me, balance isn’t about cutting out the things I enjoy — it’s about creating equilibrium so nothing outweighs the rest.
Balance, to me, applies to everything — time, energy, and emotion. If I spend time on something, I try to counter it. If I eat junk food, I make up for it with healthy choices. When I spend energy, I make sure to rest. When I face chaos, I seek peace. It’s a constant back-and-forth. Life will always throw me off-center, but being mindful helps me find my way back.
A balanced day probably looks boring. I work out in the morning to spend energy, then eat protein to replenish. I go to work and make sure to take breaks. I eat proper meals to refuel throughout the day, and when the day ends, I sleep to recharge. I try to split my time between work, myself, and my family — and I try to give as much as I receive. Again, boring.
I can tell when I’m out of balance. My body lets me know. I’ll feel off — like I have too much of something or not enough. Maybe I’ve been too busy, or too lazy. Too stressed, or too relaxed. The imbalance reveals itself in small ways — in my mood, my focus, or my energy.
Keeping balance is really about maintaining a routine — and recalibrating when life throws me off. The hardest part IMO is work, because people are unpredictable and stress comes out of nowhere. When that happens, I have to consciously step back and find ways to destress, to pull myself back toward center. Sometimes that means making changes. Chasing balance shouldn’t mean forcing yourself to do things you hate. If something that once felt “balanced” starts feeling draining, that’s a sign it’s time to change the routine — switch jobs, try a new gym, find new motivation.
I’ve learned most of this through experience. No one taught me about balance; I just noticed that when things go out of balance, something always gives — your body, your mindset, your energy. Over time, I’ve realized that moderation is the simplest way to stay balanced. Don’t do too much of anything, and life tends to find its own rhythm again.
When I’m balanced, I feel content — like I’m giving the right amount in every area of life. It helps me show up for others, whether that’s family, friends, or coworkers. Balance makes space for connection. And I don’t think balance is something you ever fully achieve, I think it’s something you continually adjust.
For most of my adult life, I’ve moved homes every couple of years — dorms, student apartments, new places after getting married. Each move gave me a natural reset: a chance to throw things away, start fresh, and only bring what really mattered.
But my current place? I’ve lived here for eight years now. And in that time, stuff has piled up. Not just mine, but my family’s too. We’ve optimized for space — used vertical storage, rearranged furniture, and done small rounds of decluttering — but the accumulation never stops. Our kids are growing up, collecting their own things, and slowly, the floors are starting to disappear.
It’s not that we live in chaos — we have a cleaning lady who helps keep things tidy — but with nowhere to put things, “clean” only lasts about a day. Every closet, hallway cabinet, and drawer is packed with items we don’t use but can’t seem to let go of. Some hold sentimental value. Others are “just in case” items — things I’d hate to throw out only to need later. And then there are old photos, already digitized, but impossible to toss because they still feel like little time capsules.
Part of me knows what I need to do: go through everything, one weekend at a time. But between work, workouts, chores, and life, it’s easier to keep putting it off. And maybe, deep down, I’m not just putting off cleaning — I’m putting off letting go.
A friend once told me he throws away everything he doesn’t actively use. “If I ever need it again,” he said, “I’ll just buy it back. Space is worth more.” I’ve thought about that a lot lately. Because what I really want isn’t a new house — it’s space.
I want to open a cabinet and actually have room inside. I want to walk into our home and feel lightness, not clutter. Maybe this isn’t just a cleaning project — maybe it’s a reset. A reminder that, in the end, we don’t take any of it with us. So why carry so much of it now?
The first time I really felt like a grown-up wasn’t some grand milestone. It wasn’t landing a job, getting married, or becoming a dad. It was the first night I moved into my college dorm—completely free, finally on my own.
I remember setting up my computer, feeling independent and responsible for the first time. Meals? My responsibility. Laundry? My responsibility. Sleep schedule? My problem. And what did I do with all that newfound freedom? I fired up Diablo II. My sorceress’s spell sounds echoed down the dorm hallway—loud enough for everyone to hear. Looking back, I can’t believe I did that. So embarrassing.
That moment was my first glimpse of adulthood: freedom mixed with clueless enthusiasm.
Years later, the “grown-up” moments kept leveling up. Getting my own place after college. Paying rent. Starting my career. Doing taxes, paying bills, keeping food on the table—all the standard side quests of adult life. It’s tiring, but also strangely rewarding. There’s comfort in the rhythm of responsibility.
Now I’m the husband, the father, the guy who makes sure things keep running. My younger self would probably see me and think, “Wow, I became my dad.” And he’d be right. The difference is, I understand now why my dad always looked tired—but also why he kept going.
I still don’t always feel grown up. I go through the motions: work, family, bills, repeat. Sometimes I wonder if anyone truly feels like one, or if we’re all just older kids pretending, learning as we go. Maybe being grown up isn’t about feeling like one—it’s about doing what needs to be done, even when you’d rather be doing something else.
johnro 