I know what it feels like to feel out of place for a long time.
I know how easily we define ourselves through performance.
I know how to numb out – the subtle and the obvious ways of not feeling what feels too much.
And I know what darkness feels like.
I know this landscape. And I move through it steadily.
For many years, I lived in a world where performance mattered.
Where image was louder than being.
Those who shine remain. Those who do not fall behind.
And I sensed that my inner compass was pointing elsewhere.
Ten years ago, a serious illness shifted my perspective on life and work. It came suddenly. And it was existential.
Today, it is no longer about functioning for me – but about meeting as we are.
I do not work from theory alone.
I work from experience.
From the pieces.
And from the trust that change does not have to be loud to go deep.
Perhaps I have reached a point where it is no longer about constantly sowing and cultivating – but about harvesting what has grown, and allowing myself to enjoy it.
And that is how I meet people.
I think it began with my first bicycle. With the moment I realized: I can go farther. Not just a few blocks. Out beyond. I pedaled with my own strength, and my radius expanded. I didn’t need a bus. I could take the shortest way — through fields and woods. That was my first freedom.
But that wasn’t all. There was the dynamo. I wasn’t just moving forward — I was generating light. Enough to ride in the dark. The fact that movement could become light fascinated me. I would have loved to take my bike into my room just to power my own lamp.
And then there was something else that carried the same kind of wonder: a small solar calculator. It worked simply because light touched it. Energy that is already there. Energy that doesn’t burn anything.
Years later, in 2007, that fascination led me onto the first production hybrid sailing catamaran — from Lisbon to Mallorca. At the helm, carried by wind or electric power, I discovered something I only know from sailing: a state of being I don’t experience anywhere else. That was my second great freedom.
And it still is my passion. Sailing into the sunset. Spending a warm summer night at the helm under a full moon, watching the reflections of light on the water — that kind of movement has a quality of aliveness and calm I rarely find elsewhere. I obtained all the required sailing licenses and later on designed my own fully autonomous sailing catamaran: energy from sun and motion, fresh water from seawater. The idea of staying out at sea, without needing to enter a harbor.
And today, it’s the electric car. Enough range. Enough power to take care of devices on the road. A car I can comfortably sleep in when needed. Highly efficient. Quiet. Safe. Clean. And with the prospect of driving without my active input in the future. That would be my third great freedom.
In my imagination, it looks like this: lying down in my car after setting a destination — and waking up there without having driven myself. The foundations for this are being laid right now. Autonomous driving already exists. Still early. But underway. For me, this isn’t a gadget. It’s the continuation of something that has moved me since childhood: being a living part of the whole, moving through nature in connection with it, using what is available — and causing as little harm as possible.
Freedom without causing harm — perhaps that is the central theme of my journey.