From a Glimpse to the Bigger Picture
Running Home #2 - Context
In my first post, I gave a glimpse into my current life — a short piece about an easy run I did last week. That moment meant a lot to me because I know the full context, but it probably didn’t mean much to you.
You might have thought, “All right, good job, the guy ran a bit and is training for a marathon — like many others these days.”
Or you may have simply skipped it in the mass of online content. Understandable.
Why I’m Writing This
In today’s post, I want to zoom out a little and give you more context — about what I’m going to write here, and why I have this recurring, intrinsic urge to share the story of my life.
This recurring urge will be an important part of the whole journey I’m documenting.
I Want to Help
Because I believe there are many people out there with similar roots and backgrounds, still stuck in situations that feel grey and hopeless.
People who think they have no passion, no real interest.
Who believe they need something external — a friend, a partner, money, stuff, food, alcohol, drugs — in order to be happy.
I know these feelings well.
Not because I was a diagnosed addict, but because I had a difficult childhood.
Even if people wouldn’t have guessed that at first glance.
I had to fight through the negative emotions I developed early on — confronting deep insecurity and a constant sense of uncertainty. I grew up without parents who could show me a way, and without mentors I could follow.
There was no blueprint.
So I tried to copy the people around me, hoping to stumble upon someone whose life might somehow fit my own.
Who am I? And where is my life heading?
A “Normal” Story That Still Hurt
My story is not extreme. It’s not full of trauma that draws immediate empathy.
It’s more of a regular life — one that started below average, poisoned by a strong inner critic, social anxiety, filled with self-doubt and impostor syndrome.
I believed I was worse than everyone else.
I didn’t even want to drive a car because my mother had convinced me — unintentionally but thoroughly — that I’d crash it.
She passed on her fears and insecurities, and I believed every word.
Because that’s what children do.
Survival Mode
You can live like this. It functions. You survive.
You get a job — maybe not one you like, but one that pays.
You eat, you rent a flat, you buy clothes.
You please others, pretending you belong.
You stay on the safe side, always over-preparing, trying to control everything around you.
It works.
But it’s not living.
When Everything Is “Fine” but You’re Not
I was there.
I had nothing but my insecurities.
I pushed myself into a relationship without ever checking in with my own needs.
I wore nice clothes but had no money in my pocket, hoping to convince others (and myself) that I was on the right path.
But inside, I wasn’t happy.
Every day, I feared my girlfriend would cheat.
That I’d lose my job if I didn’t overdeliver.
That I’d end up homeless.
I lived with a constant sense of looming catastrophe.
I couldn’t sleep properly, riddled with anxiety.
I dreamed of saving my mother — and sometimes woke up screaming her name.
I was the biggest people pleaser you can imagine.
I did everything to be accepted, to feel part of a group.
I smoked and drank just to fit in.
For an introvert like me, that was exhausting.
And it didn’t help.
Even if people thought I was nice, funny, maybe even “cool” — I wasn’t okay.
When I finally had a few hours where I wasn’t pleasing anyone, wasn’t working, wasn’t doing chores — when I could’ve spent time on something just for me — I simply lay on the bed, eyes open, doing nothing.
I was bored.
Not lazy — just disconnected.
I had no idea what I was interested in, because I’d never learned to ask myself what I needed or wanted.
I was doing exactly what my mother did:
Work, chores, endless complaints about people and life — and then collapsing onto the bed, not to rest, but to wait for the next thing she had to do.
Not something she wanted to do.
What If I Told You...
But what if I told you that today I have far fewer of the things people usually chase — and yet I’m happier, healthier, calmer, and more secure than ever? You might think that’s just what happens with age. And yes — maturing is part of it. But when I look around, I’m not convinced that aging alone solves these problems.
I don’t have a girlfriend. I’m 38 — and that’s fine.
I don’t have a family and I spend holidays alone — and that’s fine.
I travel alone, live alone, and have only a handful of friends — and that’s fine.
I smile while folding my laundry on a Sunday.
I smile while running through the park.
I laugh hard at a good movie or book.
I fall on my face trying some silly mobility exercise — and laugh again.
Be Happy Alone
I read that sentence so many times, and I took it seriously — even before I understood what it really meant.
Now I do. And it feels amazing.
It makes you feel unbeatable, because you’re independent.
Not disconnected from emotion, but free.
You enjoy your own company.
Rejection is no longer a threat.
Being alone on a weekend is no longer something to avoid.
My thoughts — my own presence — became my best friend.
Everything We Need Is Already Within
I don’t own more than I did ten years ago.
But I am a completely different person.
I learned that everything we truly need is already within us.
That’s why I want to share all the memories, all the steps I took — because I truly believe that many people can find peace with themselves and radically improve their lives.
You don’t have to stay unhappy or insecure.
Where We’re Heading
Hopefully, now you have a better sense of why I’m writing.
In the next chapter, I’ll take you deeper, step by step, into my childhood — because it’s key to understanding the emotional roots of my journey.
You might even find pieces of your own story reflected in mine.
And if that helps you in any way, I’ll be glad you’re here.
Running Home
I’ve always considered myself a man without a home.
That’s still true — but the difference now is that I know where to look.
I know what it will feel like when I find it.
I can close my eyes and already see it.
You’re welcome to come along on this journey.
It won’t be a sprint. It will be a marathon.
But one day, I hope to be sitting in the garden of that dream.
The late afternoon sun lighting up the kitchen.
And I’ll write about it here.
Anyway — this week, I ran 63 km.
Week 7 of 18.
I ran my fastest 28 km ever.
Things are moving
