johnro

Tag: life

  • The Hardest Goal I’ve Ever Set

    The Hardest Goal I’ve Ever Set

    Daily writing prompt
    What was the hardest personal goal you’ve set for yourself?
    View all responses

    I’ve gone through this phase a few times in my career—the moment I realize I’m stuck. I’d had good jobs, good enough pay, and steady growth through referrals and word of mouth. Networking carried me far, but it also trapped me. My opportunities depended on who I knew, not necessarily what I knew. At some point, I wanted to be able to stand on my own.

    That’s when I set what turned out to be the hardest personal goal I’ve ever tackled: upskilling myself.

    Back when Hackerrank was new and Leetcode was just starting to spread, I picked up one of those “cracking the interview” books and dove in. I wanted to sharpen my CS fundamentals—algorithms, data structures, systems design—all the things I barely touched since college but that interviews love to test.

    I found the process surprisingly empowering. The platforms gamified the grind—daily challenges, streaks, leaderboards—and it felt like building muscle memory for my brain. But what made it truly hard was discipline. I had a family, limited time, and a full-time job, yet I spent hours every day grinding problems, revisiting old concepts, and learning to think from first principles again.

    My wife was incredibly supportive, and that made a huge difference. Having that kind of backing made it easier to push through the nights when I was tired or second-guessing myself.

    The breakthrough came when I started walking into interviews with confidence. Instead of panic, I felt calm. I could think clearly, explain clearly, and problem-solve with structure. Eventually, I landed great jobs—multiple offers, even—and for the first time, I could choose where to go next. That feeling was priceless.

    Looking back, it wasn’t just about learning algorithms or passing interviews. It was about proving that I could still grow—that I could bet on myself, even after years in the field. It taught me that hard goals don’t stay hard forever. Once you build momentum, discipline becomes habit, and habit becomes strength.

    If I could talk to my younger self, I’d tell him this: you’re capable of more than you think, but you have to commit before you feel ready. The tools are out there, the path is clear—you just have to start walking it.

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  • If I Couldn’t Fail

    If I Couldn’t Fail

    Daily writing prompt
    What’s something you would attempt if you were guaranteed not to fail.
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    The easy answer would be to win the lottery. If I’m guaranteed not to fail, that means I’d win, right? But that feels like cheating. The premise of this question already breaks reality, so I might as well think beyond money.

    If failure wasn’t possible, I’d probably start with something I could do perfectly. Maybe run a company? After all, success there ultimately leads to what the lottery gives you: money. But the funny thing is, once you have money, money stops being the point. So maybe that’s not the best use of my one perfect attempt.

    Perfecting a skill feels more satisfying. Because when you perfect something you love, value follows you anyway. Maybe I’d choose writing. Writing is useful everywhere—whether you’re leading a team (need documentation), writing a blog/book, or trying to express something that matters. To write perfectly would mean I could tell any story, explain any idea, or reach anyone in exactly the right way.

    Of course, I could also take it to the extreme. Maybe I’d save the world. Why stop small when failure isn’t possible? If I could actually do that—end suffering, fix climate change, cure disease—that would be the obvious choice.

    But maybe the deeper point isn’t about what I’d do if I couldn’t fail, but about what disappears when failure does. Fear, embarrassment, wasted time—all the friction that makes us hesitate. Humans cope with failure by glorifying it: “You must fail to succeed.” If failure were gone, maybe we’d finally see what we really want, stripped of all the excuses.

    If I couldn’t fail, I’d still choose writing. Because even in a world without failure, the thing I’d want most is to connect—to say something that matters.

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  • If I Had a Million Dollars to Give Away

    If I Had a Million Dollars to Give Away

    Daily writing prompt
    If you had a million dollars to give away, who would you give it to?
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    If I suddenly came across a million dollars, my first instinct would be to invest it. But since this is about giving it away, I’d probably start with the people who come to mind first—my parents.

    When my sister and I were little, our family never seemed to struggle. My parents’ business did well, and money wasn’t something we worried about. But as I grew older, that changed. Their business slowed, and I started hearing the arguments—the yelling, the blaming, the tension that filled the house. It took years to realize that money itself wasn’t the problem; it was the lack of understanding around it.

    If I gave my parents money today, I’d probably do it over a phone call. We don’t talk often, but I think they’d appreciate the surprise. I wouldn’t make a big deal out of it—just something between us. Quiet giving feels right. No one else has to know.

    Beyond family, I’d look around to see who else truly needs help. Most people want more money, but not everyone needs it. The truth is, money only brings temporary happiness unless something deeper changes. If I really wanted the gift to last, I’d try to make sure it came with guidance—maybe a resource or a conversation about saving, investing, or building a future.

    To me, a good use of money isn’t about spending—it’s about letting it work for you. Saving, investing smartly, understanding compound interest—basic ideas, but powerful ones. If even one person learned how to manage money better because of what I gave, I’d feel I gave well.

    Because at the end of the day, it’s not about coming across the money—it’s about what you do with it once you have it.

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  • Working Out as My Favorite Pastime

    Working Out as My Favorite Pastime

    Daily writing prompt
    What is your favorite hobby or pastime?
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    I used to roll my eyes when my dad talked about eating healthy and taking care of my body. Now that I’m older I catch myself doing the same: watching what I eat, exercising, and sleeping well. I can’t believe I’m becoming more like my dad.

    I was active as a kid, taking taekwondo like my son now, and in college I started lifting and never stopped. A few years before COVID I got more serious, but it became more real starting the summer of 2023. I had just flow back from Korea when I felt like I was having a heart attack. That was the moment when I decided I had to turn things around.

    These days I’m addicted to my routine: wake up early for black coffee, massage and stretch my body, warm shower to wake up and warm up. Then it’s 45 minutes of HIIT class at Basecamp. I love the feeling during my workouts when my lungs burn and my body is pumped; I feel strong, young, alive. If I skip my routine, I feel… off. Sore for the entire day.

    After my class, I take my protein mixed with creatine, hit a cold shower as my cryotherapy treatment, and I make sure to get enough sleep at night. Eight hours if possible. Of course, working out every single day (or I try to) like I do isn’t the textbook definition of “healthy”, and I’ve made trade-offs to keep going. I used to be a night owl; now I hit the sack early. I cut back on drinking and junk food. To me, it’s worth it.

    Fitness taught me the simplest rule: if you want a long, healthy life, you have to take care of yourself. No cheat codes. Just reps. Level up, again and again.

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  • Skill I Would Like to Learn

    Skill I Would Like to Learn

    What skill would you like to learn?

    Sometimes I think about all the skills I wished I had learned growing up. I was a creative kid, always curious about how things worked and eager to make things of my own — to draw, to play the violin, to build robots, to write stories. My parents never quite understood that side of me. They wanted me to focus on academics, to walk a path that was safe and respectable. So I did, even if it meant leaving behind some of those early dreams.

    As an adult, I still feel that small gap inside me — a reminder of the creative boy who wanted to explore and make things just for the joy of it. Life has a way of filling up, though. I have a full-time job, two kids, and an apartment where the sound of a beginner violinist might drive the neighbors crazy. It’s not easy to carve out time for side hobbies anymore. Still, if I ever had more space in my life, I think I’d like to learn the violin. There’s something about its sound — beautiful, soulful — that’s always spoken to me.

    I can imagine the benefits of learning it: using music to unwind after a long day, meeting others who share the same passion, maybe even teaching kids someday. But more than that, it would feel like reclaiming a piece of the creative spark I had as a child. I’ve realized that it’s not too late to pick up new (or old?) dreams — they don’t disappear, they just wait quietly for their turn.

    Some dreams, thankfully, did come true. I grew up loving computers, and I became a software engineer — a career that still lets me create and solve problems in my own way. I even get to work at a video game company, something my younger self would have thought was pure fantasy. Maybe that’s proof enough that the other dreams aren’t so far-fetched after all.

    When I think about the skills I’d like to learn, it’s not really about the violin or writing a book or building a robot anymore. It’s about keeping that creative spark alive, the one that’s been with me since childhood. Maybe one day, when life slows down a little, I’ll finally give that boy’s imagination the time it always deserved.

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  • Learning to Live with Feeling Out of Place

    Learning to Live with Feeling Out of Place

    Daily writing prompt
    Tell us about a time when you felt out of place.
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    If I look back on my life, one theme that pops up again and again is the feeling of being out of place. It’s shown up in different ways over the years—sometimes subtle, sometimes painfully obvious—but it’s always been there in one form or another.

    When I was a kid, I moved from my place of birth Paraguay to the U.S., and then later from a city to another city. Both were big shifts, and both left me scrambling to fit in. It’s not easy as a child to navigate a new culture, new classmates, and a different way of doing things. You learn quickly that little differences—what you eat, how you talk, what you know or don’t know—can make you stand out. And when you’re young, standing out doesn’t always feel like a good thing.

    That feeling carried into my work years, too. There’s a certain comfort in working with the same people for a long time, building rhythms and shared understandings. But when you suddenly join a new team, that comfort disappears, and you feel like the odd one out. Post-COVID, it hit me in a new way: walking back into an office after years of remote work felt strange and foreign. Even something as simple as going to a team outing made me aware that I’m now much older than many of my coworkers. That’s not something I used to notice before, but suddenly it stood out.

    And then there’s my personal life. My wife is great at connecting with other parents through our kids’ school activities. I usually leave that to her, and she thrives in those social circles. But when I tag along to a parent gathering, I can feel that familiar awkwardness creep in. She knows people, and I don’t. She’s at ease, and I’m not. It’s not a terrible feeling, but it’s there—the sense that I don’t quite belong.

    Over time, though, I’ve learned not to fight it so much. Being out of place isn’t something you can always fix, and honestly, you don’t always need to. Sometimes I take the awkwardness in stride. Other times, I just avoid the situations where I know I’ll feel that way, and that’s fine too. What I’ve come to realize is that feeling out of place is simply part of life. Everyone experiences it. And once you accept that, it doesn’t feel so heavy anymore.

    It’s not about eliminating the discomfort—it’s about recognizing it, and living with it.

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  • What Would I Do If I Lost All My Possessions?

    What Would I Do If I Lost All My Possessions?

    Daily writing prompt
    What would you do if you lost all your possessions?
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    First, let’s be clear: this is about possessions — material things — not people. The way I understand the question family, friends, relationships aren’t included. Thank goodness. That alone changes the tone, because as long as I have the people I love, I’m not truly empty-handed.

    Still, if all my possessions suddenly vanished? My gut reaction would be panic. Imagine waking up and realizing everything you’ve worked for is gone: the car, the computer, the phone, the clothes, the bed, all of it. My face would probably drain white in that instant. But then the practical side of me kicks in: I still rent my apartment (not mine!), so the roof over my head remains. My job isn’t a “possession,” so I still have an income. With that, I could start over.

    Oddly enough, the more I think about it, the more I realize that very little of what I own is truly irreplaceable. All my smart devices? Backed up in the cloud. Photos? Digitized. Valuables? Painful, sure, but I could save up again. The biggest blow would actually be something like my retirement savings. Losing it would mean pushing retirement further out, maybe never reaching it at all.

    After the shock, I think I’d feel something surprising: freedom. We live in a world where we accumulate more and more, stuffing closets and drawers with things we barely touch. I know I’ve got plenty of junk that, if it disappeared tomorrow, I might not even notice. Losing it all might feel like a reset button, a forced way of asking, “What do I really need?”

    Of course, I’d replace the essentials first — clothes, toothbrush, bed. A bed is non-negotiable; good quality sleep is everything to me. Work tools would probably come from my company, so no stress there. And I’d rebuild slowly, but I wouldn’t rush to fill my place back up with stuff the way it is now.

    In the end, possessions don’t define me. They make life easier, sure, but they also weigh me down. What really lasts are the things computers, TVs, and couches can’t replace: relationships, skills, and experiences. If I lost my physical possessions, I think I’d eventually be okay. Maybe even better.

    Sometimes losing it all is the best way to remember what actually matters.

  • My Life Without a Computer

    My Life Without a Computer

    Daily writing prompt
    Your life without a computer: what does it look like?
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    If I’m being honest, my life without a computer would look completely different. And I don’t just mean a Windows PC or a Mac — let’s lump in smartphones, tablets, and all the other smart devices too. Otherwise, it’s kind of boring, right?

    I rely on computers for everything — work, communication, entertainment, even creativity. Without one, I basically wouldn’t have my career. I’m a software engineer, so no computer means no code, no programs, no job. I probably would’ve ended up as an author or something like that, which was my original dream growing up.

    But here’s the thing: life without a computer wouldn’t necessarily be all bad. The last time I didn’t own one was in the early ’90s, when I was just a kid. Life was so much simpler then. If you wanted to see friends, you arranged a time and place — and actually showed up. If someone called your house and you weren’t home, you just missed the call. You memorized phone numbers. You went outside for fun. And honestly? There were no endless streams of short video clips melting your attention span.

    My free time would probably shift a lot. Maybe more TV, more books, more family events. I’d be more active. Probably healthier too. Sure, I’d miss the digital world if computers suddenly vanished one day, but if they had never been invented at all, I’d just lean into analog hobbies and not know what I was missing.

    And stress? I bet I’d have less of it. Computers — and especially the internet — made life faster, noisier, and more anxious. Sometimes I think we all need a break from screens just to breathe a little easier.

    So is life without a computer a step backward? Yeah, kind of. But it’s also a rediscovery of simplicity. Some days I really do miss those simpler, pre-computer days.

    Funny how thinking about this makes me feel old. But maybe that’s just the nostalgia talking.

  • Staying Professional When It’s Easier Not To

    Staying Professional When It’s Easier Not To

    Early in my career, I worked closely with a colleague who, for reasons I’ll never fully understand, decided I was “their person.” Whenever something came up — a bug to chase down, a query to run, data to pull — they’d come straight to me. At first, it felt flattering. Being needed always carries a certain weight, especially when you’re new. But over time, the relationship started to drift into something a little more complicated.

    This colleague grew comfortable enough with me to share their unfiltered thoughts about others on the team. They would complain when people spoke up too much in meetings or grumble about how slowly someone worked. One day, they sent me a message complaining about a teammate taking too long to finish a task. And for the first time, I pushed back.

    I said: “She does take time, but she does complete her work.”

    Not exactly a bold speech, but it was enough to draw a line. The response I got back was a crunchy face emoji — one of those moments where you know instantly you’ve embarrassed someone. From that point on, they stopped venting to me about other people. But they also went cold. Conversations turned short. The easy rapport we’d built evaporated.

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  • Overcoming Fitness Setbacks: My Return to the Gym

    Overcoming Fitness Setbacks: My Return to the Gym

    Back in the pre-COVID days, I was living my best fitness life. Thanks to Gympass (basically Classpass’s cousin), I had the golden ticket: unlimited access to gyms, fitness classes, and even cryotherapy. And the best part? I was paying about $150 a month for what easily felt like $900 worth of value. It was probably the best company perk I ever had.

    My weekly routine looked something like this: four HIIT classes at CircuitWorks, three cryotherapy sessions, and a sense of satisfaction at the end of it. Then COVID came along and flipped the table.

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