Until something broke inside me. After ten years in a relationship, when I had become a husband and a father, I understood that I wanted to teach my child something different from what I had been taught. My wife was open to conversation, she listened to me, and her support allowed me to embrace that change. That was the moment I stopped pretending I had to fit in — and started seeing things differently.
I’m an IT professional. And this is where I see the most examples of how even very creative people can convince themselves that something “can’t be done” — while every day they create things that didn’t exist before. Maybe that’s why I’ve always been drawn to asking the questions no one wanted to ask out loud.
I’m unconventional — and today I no longer try to fight it. My brain works differently. I have dyslexia, dysgraphia, dysorthographia and several other connections that were once called “difficulties.” For a long time I thought that was a flaw. Now I know it’s simply a different map — one I need to learn how to read.
Communication was never obvious to me. I had to learn it — literally. Sometimes someone didn’t understand me, sometimes I didn’t understand them. Today, instead of being ashamed of that, I say: “We can talk about it. We can clarify what each of us meant.” It often turns out that shifting your perspective by just a few centimeters is enough to make everything clear.
I have many passions and just as many limitations. Both have taught me that the world is neither good nor bad — it is simply complex. And whether we see it clearly depends on how we look at it.
That’s why I move through life like a wanderer. Slowly, carefully, with curiosity. And I try to see things differently.