Time has always fascinated me. It’s this strange thing —always there, always slipping away. Since I was a kid, I’ve tried to get on top of it. My sister and I had these hyper-organized mornings, planning everything down to the minute: wake up at 7:30, wash face by 7:32, breakfast exactly at 7:40. It wasn’t so much a challenge as it was a routine, a way to tame the day before it even began.

That obsession has stuck with me as I’ve grown up. I’ve downloaded virtually every time management app out there, convinced that the next one would finally be the one to help me get it all together. I’ve read books, tried systems, even built spreadsheets. I find beautiful things like capturing a 'life in weeks', inspired by Tim Urban’s deeply simple idea —seeing it all from above, boxed into neat little squares representing my finite time on this planet. It’s sobering and stimulating at the same time. A memento mori of sorts, if you will.

Then there’s the other side of me. The part that resonates with the Zen notion that time isn’t real —at least not in the way we think of it, with our clocks and calendars. Zen invites us to live fully in the present, to let go of schedules and all the ways we try to pin down the infinite. When I manage to let go, even briefly, it feels like stepping into another world. Whether I’m meditating, quietly savouring a good cup of coffee, or wandering without a destination, in those moments I feel present, like I’m finally touching something real.

Yet I still love my calendar and time-boxing. They’re the scaffolding that lets me create and protect those fleeting moments of presence. In that tension between structure and flow is where real magic happens. It’s where the visible meets the invisible, where the practical meets the profound, where time makes sense and becomes space.

After all, time isn’t something we conquer or escape, it’s something we inhabit. It shapes us even as we try to shape it. Maybe the answer isn’t to figure it out but to simply live with it. To embrace the contradiction. To flow with it. In the end, only time will tell.

September feels like a beginning. Summer fades into fall, the world seems to exhale, and a quieter, more deliberate energy takes over as we prepare for the slower pace of winter. It is a natural moment to pause, reflect, and set the direction for the coming months. It is the perfect time for a fresh start. The excitement of a new school year. The return to structure. The thrill of new possibilities.

I like to see it as time to plant seeds for the coming season —small, thoughtful actions that will grow and evolve over time. They can be just intentions —I want to read more—, or good old goals —I want to read a book a month—. Or both. It doesn’t really matter, as long as it works for you. In my experience, nothing beats habits when it comes to moving the needle; playing audiobooks in my long walks is what made me crush my 12 books a year goal months ahead this year.

As per resolutions, this one below is my current list. I wrote the first version of it about three years ago, and it still feels like a good benchmark to assess my progress over time. As it is, it’s amazing the impact it has already made. I will deep-dive into some of these topics later on.

As I prepare for the year ahead, I’m revisiting the list again and acting on it. Coming back from a long parental break this summer, the feeling of a new beginning is more intense than ever. So, as the leaves begin to turn, I’m planting my seeds. Gentle reminders to live with intention, while embracing the unpredictability of life. That is ultimately the beauty in this process: it’s not about reaching a destination; but about growing with the journey.

You are what you repeatedly do. You will most possibly have heard this many times before. Possibly attributed to different people —most of times to Aristotle himself—. Maybe articulated with different wordings. Regardless of the messenger, the message is crystal clear: actions speak louder than words.

A simple idea that carries profound implications. Especially so if you aim to be authentic and intentional, true to your beliefs. Thinking and talking is actually the easy part. Acting on it is where things start to get interesting.

As a strategist, I know firsthand how easy it is to get caught up in the world of ideas, elaborating plans, setting ambitious goals, and making big claims. Don't get me wrong, these are all part of the process of charting your own path. But it's also too easy to fall into the trap of abstraction. Truth is, actions speak louder than words ever could. The story we share —and we tell ourselves— is relevant, but what we actually do is what truly matters. The walk is the talk.

That gap between intention and execution is where the true test of character lies. Values and ideals only exist in the moments we choose to actively live them out. Whether individually or collectively, taking action is crucial. It’s about making those consistent choices that bring your true ethos to life. Practice is the ultimate test of commitment. As someone said, "If it doesn't cost you money, it's not a principle, it's an opinion."

For me, this is a heuristic I keep close in my day to day, setting boundaries and frameworks to live in. Professionally, this is taking me from strategic thinking to strategic practice. Far from being a dramatic shift, this is more of a natural progression. It's about embodying a viewpoint. About focusing on the principles and systems that reflect true ideals and character. About slowly but surely shaping reality to match our aspirations. Most of times, it’s small actions that make the biggest difference over time.

Of course, this isn't always easy. It's comfortable to live in the world of ideas, where everything is perfect and possible. Taking action means facing the messy reality of imperfection and, at some point, potential failure. But it's in this space of doing —trying, learning, and trying again— that real growth and authenticity emerge.

Maybe the next time you find yourself thinking, ask yourself: “what's one small action I can take right now to move the needle towards this ideal?”. Then, take that step. It might feel insignificant, but remember, it compounds.

It’s amazing how intimidating a blank page can be. No matter how much you have to say, the struggle to type that first word is real. That’s been me for a while now, never finding the right moment to actually sit down and do it. Yes, there’s something daring about sharing your thoughts, but there’s a lot of power in it too. So, that’s why I’m challenging myself to do it here, hoping that what I share will resonate with someone.

I see this space as an experiment and a way to improve both my writing and my thinking. More than just getting thoughts and ideas out of my head, which is appealing in and of itself, I want to make sense of them. I have come to see writing as a mirror and as a map —it helps me see where I am and also find the way forward, connecting the dots.

This is also a kind of mindfulness practice to me. A commitment to the process. By sitting down to write, I’m not only taking the time, but also really engaging with my thoughts, shaping them, and letting them shape me in return. Each note here is going to be sort of a little stepping stone, helping me —and maybe you too— find a bit more of clarity and insight.

Now, I should probably tell you upfront; I might not have a perfectly regular posting schedule. Not a consistent theme either. My writing might actually be all over the place in terms of topics, length and depth, but that’s kind of the point. This is not about sticking to a strict plan, it’s about having a personal space where I can share questions, ideas and meditations. I’m excited to see where it all goes.

Thanks for reading.