Introduction [start here]
20/01/25
Sometimes thoughts don’t need structure or a specific purpose to carry meaning. They can be simple, raw, unfinished—all they need is to be written down. “Thoughts” is exactly that kind of space. A space where I can gather my reflections, away from the noise of social media.
If you’re an entrepreneur, my approach to design and way of thinking—combined with my work—might help you decide if I’m the right person to collaborate with, or even inspire you to rethink how thoughtful design can impact your business.
If you’re a designer like me, you’ll find my perspective on our industry, a glimpse into my work, and perhaps inspiration for your own explorations.
And if you’re here out of curiosity, my thoughts on life, philosophy, experiences, or notes from books and travels might give you something to pause and reflect on.
The content here is as varied as the moments in which I write it. Sometimes it stems from experiences, other times from the need to organize my thoughts. It doesn’t always have deeper meaning—but it’s always mine.
You won’t find a comments section here—this space has its own rhythm. But if something resonates with you, feel free to reach out—or share your perspective in your own digital space.
On Paradoxes
10/03/25
It’s nothing groundbreaking to say that the world is full of paradoxes. But I can’t ignore the fact that lately, I’ve been noticing them more and more.
There’s something fascinating about them. Paradoxes are situations, statements, or phenomena that at first glance contradict logic and common sense, yet often contain a hidden truth. Some are just interesting curiosities you can acknowledge and move on from, but others stay with you. They can turn your way of thinking upside down, make you notice patterns you hadn’t seen before, or simply leave you with the feeling that you know even less than you did before.
To put this into perspective, I’ve chosen three paradoxes—each in a different category: The Eye-Opening Paradox, The "I Know That I Know Nothing" Paradox and My Favorite Paradox.
### The Eye-Opening Paradox
Sometimes, change feels impossible—not because things are too difficult, but because they’re just good enough. Not perfect, but comfortable enough not to push yourself. Not perfect, but tolerable enough to avoid any real pressure.
And that’s the worst kind of situation. It doesn’t give you a reason to grow, to improve your life, or to take action. Here are a few examples from my own life:
|
I knew something was off with my health, but it wasn’t bad enough to take immediate action. By the time I finally did, the consequences were much worse.
|
I spent years stuck in an average, unfulfilling job that didn’t help me grow. It wasn’t difficult or toxic, so I never felt an urgent need to leave. Just good enough to stay. Just bland enough to bring no real satisfaction.
When things are really bad, you act. But when things are just "okay," you settle into comfortable mediocrity. And that’s exactly what The Region-Beta Paradox describes. Ever since I learned about it, I keep wondering: how many things would I have changed if they had been just a little bit worse?
### The "I Know That I Know Nothing" Paradox
I came up with this category for paradoxes that generate more questions than answers. For me, The Meno Paradox fits into it perfectly.
In ancient Greece, Socrates had a conversation with Meno about virtue—what it is and whether it can be taught. At one point, Meno asked: "How can we search for a definition of something if we don’t know what it is? And if we already know it, why search at all?" If we don’t know what we don’t know, how can we ever learn anything?
Socrates had his answer—he believed that the human soul has always known the truth and only needs to remember it. But for me, this paradox reveals something else. It’s a reminder that I can never truly know how complete my knowledge is. That there are entire parts of reality I’m not even aware of. So maybe growth isn’t about collecting answers, but about recognizing the extent of our own ignorance.
### My Favorite Paradox
After this philosophical deep dive, it’s time for something more grounded. The Paradox of Simplicity is a great example of how things that seem easy are often the hardest to achieve.
In thinking, true wisdom isn’t about making things more complicated, but about simplifying them in the right way. And paradoxically, that’s not so simple. After all, what does it really mean to simplify something well?
If you strip things down too much, you take away something essential—functionality, depth, flexibility. It takes real discernment to keep what’s valuable and remove what’s truly unnecessary.
That’s why this paradox is my favorite. It’s everywhere—how we communicate, how we think, how we design things. And every time I come back to it, it reminds me that simplicity isn’t about removing complexity but about mastering it.
This definitely won’t be my last thought on paradoxes. And since I’ve already touched on design, maybe next time, I’ll explore paradoxes from that perspective.
Reflections on The Brutalist
03/02/25
When I watch a film or a series, I pay attention not only to the plot, script, visuals, acting, and music but also to its message and the life lessons or new perspectives it might offer. This time was no different.
László Tóth—the main character, inspired by the great modernist architects—is a man whose life has been shaped by war, loss, and exile. His work is more than just art; it is a way of confronting his past. He doesn’t shut out pain or try to erase it. Instead, he transforms it into something tangible—a structure that echoes the places where he was once imprisoned but with one crucial difference: space. High ceilings, light, air—architecture born from trauma, but instead of enclosing, it allows one to breathe. A symbol of freedom.
Personal experience can be a powerful creative force. Not every artist chooses to work this way. Some distance their work from their own history, separating life from creation. Others, like Tóth, can’t—or won’t—draw that line. And maybe that’s why his work carries so much weight.
But vision is one thing, and reality is another.
Tóth struggles not only with his own ambitions but also with the expectations of others. Creation is never a fully autonomous process. Every artist, designer, or architect eventually faces the question: how much can you stay true to yourself, and how much do you need to find common ground with your audience?
Vincent van Gogh remained true to his style until the end of his life but was only recognized posthumously. Staying completely faithful to your vision is a romantic ideal, but reality rarely allows for it.
If you design for people, sooner or later, you reach a point where you have to consider their needs. A bridge that leads nowhere is just a sculpture. A building that no one inhabits remains an abstraction. You can resist, fight for your ideas, but if you want your work to exist in the world, you have to find a way not just to speak but to be heard.
“No matter what others try to sell you, it is the destination, not the journey.” The film’s final words seem to challenge the popular philosophy that the journey matters more than the destination. They prompt a reconsideration: what is truly more important? The road or the result?
In art, design, and architecture, the final outcome is what others see. No one looks at how many iterations, trials, and failures led to it—what matters is what remains in the end. But if you focus only on the final result, it’s easy to miss everything else.
Maybe the outcome is for others, while the journey is for ourselves. We are the ones who experience the process, who learn, who struggle. It’s up to us to make the journey meaningful, but the world will only see the final work.
Perhaps it all depends on context. Perhaps it’s about balance. I don’t know. All I know is that after this film, I know even less.
Everything looks the same
27/01/25