Today, a post crossed my feed on the Day of Hungarian Culture. It was about what culture means to me. Human experiences. Memories. National motifs. And yet, something was missing. As I started thinking about it, one thing became clear: We often describe culture as an internal experience. But most of the cultures we talk about in everyday life are not internal at all. They are ways of living together. ...
Today I came across a text from 1320. It’s called the Declaration of Arbroath. And I paused for a moment. Not because it’s old. But because it felt unexpectedly familiar. In it, a community explains why it keeps its leader. And also when it would not. Not bloodline. Not rank. Not “this is how it’s always been”. ...
(how this blog was built — not technically, but humanly) Let’s start with why, not how. I didn’t want a blog. I wanted a place where thoughts don’t disappear into a feed. Something durable. A space of my own. Not driven by algorithms. So we began with what this blog does not want. It doesn’t want to demand attention. It doesn’t want to decide for you. It doesn’t want to be “smarter” than you. ...
I didn’t build a blog. At some point, I realised: what was forming was a place. At first, I thought the hard part would be the technical side. Domain. Hosting. Deploy. DNS. SSL. Surprisingly, those were the easiest. ...
We’re in this shit together. And that’s why it might actually work. 😏 Most of our systems are built on a quiet assumption: that we should have things under control. That we should be coping. That we should be fine. That struggle is a personal failure. So we perform. We optimise. We hide the cracks. And the moment something really goes wrong, people don’t ask for help — they disappear. They burn out. They break down. Sometimes they literally die alone rather than say: “I can’t do this by myself.” ...
An elderly man was taken to the emergency department. Over the course of the night, the entire right side of his body froze. So severely that doctors said his hand may need to be amputated. This didn’t happen because help wasn’t available. It happened because he didn’t ask for it. Today, people would rather suffer — even die — than ask for help. And this isn’t an individual tragedy. It’s a systemic outcome. ...
More and more, I see that the Human Growth Model is not pushing against capitalism. It’s a natural consequence of it. Mental health entered the conversation back in the 1970s. At first on an individual level — mostly through symptoms: burnout, stress, breakdowns. Later, it appeared on a social level: charities, grassroots initiatives, support projects. Important steps — but largely symptom-focused. Then something else began to emerge: awareness. First in individuals. Then in communities. And eventually in organizations. ...
Most companies are powered by the collective. Yet they optimise individuals in isolation. Performance is rarely created by one person. It emerges from interaction, timing, trust, and shared context. Yet most organisations focus on: boxed roles individual KPIs responsibility matrices optimisation in silos Instead of optimising connection. When the system doesn’t support natural collaboration, something predictable happens: People get stuck. They feel exposed. They start scheduling meetings — not out of curiosity, but out of fear. ...
Not because people would be lazy. But because there’d be nothing to run from. Most of today’s speed isn’t driven by ambition. It’s driven by internal pressure: – proving – performing – not falling behind When mental wellbeing becomes the baseline, that mode simply stops activating. If it’s good where you are, you don’t need to escape elsewhere. Travel stops being avoidance and becomes curiosity. Work stops being pressure and becomes creation. Performance stops being the goal and turns into a side effect. ...
Somehow, everything connected. I walked into a disagreement with a friend. He brought up the “witch-hunting” parallel. I didn’t react immediately. I just said that, to me, it looked like a classic pattern of enemy-making: “I’ll protect you from the enemy” — only back then, with far more brutal tools. Same mechanism as today. We paused. A shared silence. Then he explained the logic behind his view. I listened. He had to rush, so we didn’t close it — I just said: we’ll come back to this. And that felt right. ...