Category: On Moments

A year ago, I decided to create a small corner for myself in the vast ocean of the internet.

I called it between everywhere and nowhere because it seemed to capture exactly what I was trying to do: bringing together nowhere—the virtual world—and everywhere—the places my thoughts had travelled.

At the time, I did not have a master plan. If anything, this blog began as a small act of rebellion against my own habits.

I wanted to prove to myself that not everything needs to be optimized, categorized, justified, or turned into an achievement. Some things can exist simply because they are worth doing. Because they help us reflect. Because they help us understand ourselves a little better. Because sharing an experience can sometimes be reason enough.

I assumed these posts would quietly occupy a few servers somewhere in the world and little more.

What I did not anticipate was how much writing here would change my understanding of sharing.

I have always considered thoughts to be among the most private and sacred parts of a person.

Not because they are necessarily brilliant or unique, but because of what they are made of.

A thought is rarely just a thought. It is an accumulation of observations, mistakes, curiosities, disappointments, discoveries, memories, conversations, and countless invisible connections made somewhere within the mental faculty. It is evidence that a person has passed through life in a particular way and attempted to make sense of it.

For that reason, I kept many of my thoughts to myself for a long time. Publishing them felt vulnerable, unsurprisingly.

Yet over the past year, I realized that sharing a thought does not diminish its intimacy. Sometimes, it even expands its purpose.

What feels deeply personal to one person may feel deeply familiar to another.

Somewhere in the world, there may be someone asking the same question, carrying the same uncertainty, navigating the same experience, or searching for words for something they have never quite been able to articulate.

Perhaps this blog has simply been my way of saying:

“I experienced this. I reflected on it. This is what remained after I tried to understand it. Here it is. If any part of it resonates with your own journey, you are welcome to take it with you.”

Here, I have offered neither a lesson nor a universal truth. Only an experience and the meaning I happened to draw from it.

What continues to fascinate me is how a thought, once released, can be received through lives, beliefs, perspectives, and stories that may have little in common with my own.

It returns in different coats—critical or compassionate, skeptical or spiritual, certain or questioning—and yet it arrives all the same. Meeting beneath the same sky of human experience.

Looking back, I think this blog has also been my way of letting go. For most of my life, I kept my thoughts close to myself.

Then one day, I folded them into little virtual paper boats and released them into the vast ocean of the internet.

I did not know where they would drift. I did not know whether they would disappear among millions of other voices.

Instead, I watched them travel.

Across screens. Across cities. Across countries.

Across lives I will probably never know.

In a very tangible sense, this blog became my farewell to a certain kind of reserve I had always carried with me.

It also became a quiet reminder that I do not always have to resist the currents.

Some things in life are not meant to be controlled, only released.

Writing, I discovered, is one of them.

Another unexpected gift of this blog was the permission it gave me to use language differently.

For years, I had grown accustomed to using my mind and my sentences almost exclusively in service of professional purposes.

To translate. To explain. To communicate. To solve.

Somewhere along the way, I had placed a seal over the more aesthetic and exploratory side of my relationship with language. This blog helped me remove it.

It reminded me that sentences can be built not only for others, but also for oneself. Not only to arrive somewhere, but also to wander.

Beneath that old seal, I discovered colors I had almost forgotten were there.

You have accompanied these virtual paper boats on their journey.

You have spent a few minutes with thoughts that once existed only inside my own mind.

You have challenged them, expanded them, questioned them, and sometimes embraced them.

You have reminded me that once a thought enters the world, it no longer belongs entirely to the person who created it. And that is a beautiful thing.

The internet often feels vast, noisy, and impersonal.

Yet somehow, within that immeasurable ocean, these thoughts found their way from one screen to another. 

From nowhere. To everywhere. For that, I am genuinely grateful.

And who knows?

Perhaps somewhere among all these crossings of thoughts and experiences, there is a bottle drifting through the same waters carrying a life-changing insight, an unexpected truth, or a joke so good that it alters the course of a day.

Perhaps I will find it tomorrow.

Or perhaps, I already have.

Either way, thank you for spending part of your journey between everywhere and nowhere.

Artwork: Breakfast In The Loggia, John Singer Sargent

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