BREAKING THROUGH

Sometimes I don’t know

how to reach the world

with what I believe matters.

Who doesn’t want to be seen?

Heard?

To make a difference?

It’s never been easier.

And never been harder.

Everything is possible,

they say.

And yet

everything is crowded.

I want to matter.

But I don’t know how.

It feels like others

have found the key.

The trick.

The rhythm.

I envy them.

Then I grow tired of them.

Especially when the same figures

fill four out of five headlines.

When noise becomes presence

and repetition becomes importance.

We speak through platforms now.

Mostly those.

They work.

I know they do.

And still,

I struggle to imagine

another way of speaking.

Another way of starting conversations.

Better ones.

Conversations less exposed

to manipulation,

to money,

to hidden interests.

I feel like I have something important to say.

But it disappears

among things

that feel loud

and empty.

And sometimes I wonder

if there’s a reason

I remain unseen.

Maybe it’s marketing.

I know that field well.

Just not how to use it

for myself.

I’ve come to realize

that success doesn’t stand still.

It belongs to a time.

And time changes faster

than we can adapt.

What mattered yesterday

feels irrelevant today.

What was knowledge

is now a footnote.

What felt true

has become optional.

You can complain.

You can resist.

You can stand your ground

and call it integrity.

The world moves on anyway.

Everything is temporary.

I don’t like that.

It unsettles me.

And deep down I know

it includes me too.

Just when I felt competent,

I became a beginner again.

Success no longer demands certainty,

but motion.

Not answers,

but openness.

So if there is a formula,

it isn’t built on control,

but curiosity.

Curiosity about the world.

About people.

About what I don’t yet understand.

Maybe that’s what success is now:

to keep learning

while everything keeps changing.

/ Simon Philip

I’ve always liked my intuition.

It’s not always right.

But it’s a good friend.

It doesn’t explain itself.

It just shows up

as a feeling.

A quiet yes.

A tightening no.

It lives somewhere

before language.

Before arguments.

Before logic starts clearing its throat.

Then it hits the brain.

And that’s where it often gets rejected.

Because the brain wants reasons.

Proof.

Something presentable.

“You can’t know that.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

Suddenly it takes confidence

to say:

This feels right.

Or worse:

This feels wrong.

Animals don’t hesitate.

They don’t calculate.

They survive on intuition

because the world is too complex

to solve first.

Maybe listening to your gut

isn’t naive at all.

Maybe it’s brave.

Because nothing hurts more

than knowing something deeply

and choosing against it anyway.

/ Simon Philip