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There are daily occasions that suggest parallels to my work and team management. Simple things like, for example, choosing which gadget to give to your son or daughter: is a walkie-talkie or a watch better?

I’ve done something in the last few days that I’m not very proud of. But it was something I had to do, that several people suggested I do, that I didn’t even need that they suggested I do, but so I did. I activated an account on Instagram.

This is a long story. I could write a long post. I don’t assume you’re interested: in that case, feel free to close your browser or skip to the next content proposed by your feed reader. But if you would like to know more about this long story, keep reading.

Lately, a question has been buzzing around in my head, and I decided to indulge it: what if I tried replacing Bear for managing, maintaining, and archiving my notes? So, I tried it.

Is it so difficult to find a quiet place online? I am not a frequenter of crowded places on the web: other than social, I avoid forums, community platforms, and other types of aggregative networks. I don’t have much time to keep up with them, but generally, I also don’t have much desire to post online beyond this blog.

My daughter has gotten into the habit of trying to rate the things she does, the food she tastes, the movies she watches, or the situations she experiences. She does it for fun, it’s not an obsession. It’s a pastime that we introduced when she was eating new things that she didn’t like, and I asked her to express her judgment with a grade because all in all, it wasn’t a two as she imagined: she could even give those vegetables a six.

I often read about bloggers who, to protect their mental health, tend to completely remove news from their daily information flow. They manage to stay uninformed and escape daily life by eliminating the noise of things happening in the world. In this way, they improve their mood and approach to the day, they write.

It is a time when I’m thinking a lot about my daughter’s future. She is growing up, and among the various considerations I make, there is one—clearly the least hoped for—that at some point in her life, she will grow up without me. I’m talking about his next recent life, because as far as I’m concerned, dying is the last thing I want to do. Inevitable, but final.