FALAK ✪

Sat down with a liquid billionaire yesterday. His best advice for every business owner: Hire a “send and delete” person. You fire off the request → immediately delete the task from your brain. They handle it. No follow-ups. No mental overhead. Once you hit send, you consider it done. If you ever have to remind them? They’re not an asset; they’re slowing you down and stealing your bandwidth. Fire and move on as quickly as possible. This one hire changed how he scales everything. Hope this helps anyone who needs it!

Working on my bento.me alternative. Hopefully it will be live in 3-4 days.

Not the big “I was crying every day” depression. The quiet kind where you keep functioning, keep replying, keep showing up, keep making jokes, keep paying bills, and you don’t even realize how dead your inner world got until something turns the lights back on and you’re standing there like… oh. This is what it feels like when the room has oxygen. Eight weeks in and suddenly you’re saying “coffee is good” like you just discovered fire. it sounds funny, until you remember what it takes to make a person forget that coffee tastes good. Like, that is not a minor glitch. your brain being so starved of reward and softness that even basic pleasures stopped landing. Not “sad.” More like muted. Flat. Everything technically fine, but nothing hits. You could have a decent day and it would still feel like chewing cardboard. I feel you You’re in your kitchen at some normal time, 09:14, light coming in through the window, and you pour coffee and you catch the smell and for the first time in a long time it actually registers as pleasant. Not intellectually. In the body. You take a sip and there’s that small warm yes. Your shoulders drop without you asking them to. And you just stand there holding the mug like it’s proof of something. Because it is. proof you were way more depressed than you admitted to yourself. Depression lies by making itself feel like your personality. It makes gray feel normal. It makes “I don’t care” feel like maturity. It makes numb feel like stability. It makes survival feel like a lifestyle. And because you’re still working, still talking, still laughing at the right moments, nobody panics. You don’t panic either. You just assume this is adulthood now. This is what it feels like to be “realistic.” Then medication works, or sleep improves, or the fog lifts for whatever reason, and you realize you were living in a version of reality that was missing whole colors. you start noticing tiny things and it feels almost embarrassing. A song hits harder. Food tastes like something. The shower feels good instead of just a chore. You walk into your house and you get that weird thought, I love my house. Not because it is a mansion. Not because it is perfect. Just because it’s yours and it holds you. That thought lands and you almost want to cry because you realize you’ve been living in the same place for months like it was a waiting room. specific grief in that. Grief for the weeks where you were alive but not really in your own life. Grief for the version of you who couldn’t feel any of this and still kept going. Grief for how normal it felt to move through your days without pleasure, like you were built to endure rather than enjoy. rage hiding under it. Like, wait. So this whole time I was judging myself for not being grateful, not motivated, not disciplined, not present, when my brain chemistry was literally preventing my reward system from doing its job. I was blaming my character for a physiological state. cruelest part of functional depression. It doesn’t come with a dramatic signal. It comes with a slow theft. You do not notice the water boiling because it boils one degree at a time. Then one day you’re like, “coffee is good.” And you realize you were in hell. no the fire and screaming hell. The beige hell. The hell of “nothing matters but I’ll still do everything I’m supposed to.” The hell of answering texts like customer support. The hell of living in a house you don’t feel. The hell of having friends you love but being unable to access the feeling of loving them. The hell of being technically fine while your inner self is quietly starving. that it captures how simple the return is. It’s not “I found my purpose.” It’s “life can be enjoyable.” the actual miracle. Not the motivational poster stuff. Just enjoyment returning like a muscle you thought you lost. it can feel almost manic at first, not in a clinical sense, just in contrast. Like, why am I smiling at a tree. 👇

the worst part about being self-made is having to learn tennis at 30 instead of 8

Social data in Search Console, woohoo! 🎉 We're starting with TikTok, Instagram and Youtube. developers.google.com/search…

Instagram added a freshman finder #BOOYAH