P.S: This entry is a follow up for How to Deepen Your Friendships, Part I & Part II.

There were days when my phone didn’t buzz once unless it was a food app alert or a work reminder. I’d leave the office and walk home past crowded restaurant patios, watching groups of friends lean in close, laughing in that easy, unthinking way that comes from years of knowing each other. I didn’t have that. I’d tried - dropped hints about meeting up, hanged around after work hoping for an invite - but nothing stuck. It wasn’t just being alone that sucked; I felt like everyone else was good at friendship except me.

When I did get invited somewhere - a coworker’s birthday, a neighbor’s barbecue - I carried the weight of that loneliness with me. I’d stand at the edges of the crowd, drink in hand, unsure where to step in. My small talk ran dry in seconds. People smiled politely before turning back to the friends they actually knew. I left those nights with the same hollow feeling I arrived with, only now paired with the sting of having tried and failed to fit in.

At some point, I stopped waiting for connection to happen on its own. I started looking closely at the people who seemed to build great friendships naturally, paying attention to what they did differently - where they hang out, how they stayed in touch, carved out time, created moments that pulled people closer. Bit by bit, I began piecing together a set of actions that made forming deeper friendships less a matter of luck and more a matter of choice. This guide will share those steps so you can turn casual connections into strong friendships and keep the ones who matter most, closer.

How and Where to Find Potential Friends

I. The Foundation

A strong social life begins with a choice: treat friendship as a…

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P.S: Most people loved Part 1 of this friendship series.

There were days when my phone didn’t buzz once unless it was a food app alert or a work reminder. I’d leave the office and walk home past crowded restaurant patios, watching groups of friends lean in close, laughing in that easy, unthinking way that comes from years of knowing each other. I didn’t have that. I’d tried - dropped hints about meeting up, hanged around after work hoping for an invite - but nothing stuck. It wasn’t just being alone that sucked; I felt like everyone else was good at friendship except me.

When I did get invited somewhere - a coworker’s birthday, a neighbor’s barbecue - I carried the weight of that loneliness with me. I’d stand at the edges of the crowd, drink in hand, unsure where to step in. My small talk ran dry in seconds. People smiled politely before turning back to the friends they actually knew. I left those nights with the same hollow feeling I arrived with, only now paired with the sting of having tried and failed to fit in.

At some point, I stopped waiting for connection to happen on its own. I started looking closely at the people who seemed to build great friendships naturally, paying attention to what they did differently - how they stayed in touch, carved out time, created moments that pulled people closer. Bit by bit, I began piecing together a set of actions that made forming deeper friendships less a matter of luck and more a matter of choice. This guide will share those steps so you can turn casual connections into strong friendships and keep the ones who matter most, closer.

How to Make Fun Plans to Bond to

Acquaintances form in set environments - workplaces, classes, sports teams, or other regular settings. These situations provide natural chances to…

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There were days when my phone didn’t buzz once unless it was a food app alert or a work reminder. I’d leave the office and walk home past crowded restaurant patios, watching groups of friends lean in close, laughing in that easy, unthinking way that comes from years of knowing each other. I didn’t have that. I’d tried - dropped hints about meeting up, hanged around after work hoping for an invite - but nothing stuck. It wasn’t just being alone that sucked; I felt like everyone else was good at friendship except me.

When I did get invited somewhere - a coworker’s birthday, a neighbor’s barbecue - I carried the weight of that loneliness with me. I’d stand at the edges of the crowd, drink in hand, unsure where to step in. My small talk ran dry in seconds. People smiled politely before turning back to the friends they actually knew. I left those nights with the same hollow feeling I arrived with, only now paired with the sting of having tried and failed to fit in.

At some point, I stopped waiting for connection to happen on its own. I started looking closely at the people who seemed to build great friendships naturally, paying attention to what they did differently - how they stayed in touch, carved out time, created moments that pulled people closer. Bit by bit, I began piecing together a set of actions that made forming deeper friendships less a matter of luck and more a matter of choice. This guide will share those steps so you can turn casual connections into strong friendships and keep the ones who matter most, closer.

1. Understand Deep Friendships

Friendships exist on a range from…

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P.S: Most of you loved this previous entry on How To Deal With Toxic People.

What follows is a continuation of this entry, On Grief. I decided to do more research and expand on it because I know many of us are facing this monster and don’t know how to tame it. So whatever you’re going through, I want you to know that I’m always with you in spirit. With love, A.V

I. Introduction

Grief is the rupture of a world you once believed in, replete with the love of your favorite person. When someone you love dies, or when a foundational role or relationship is torn away, you don’t just lose them—you lose the version of yourself that existed in their presence. You lose the future you imagined, the structure of a life that felt safe and happy. The moment distorts and rearranges your internal landscape like a landslide.

And yet, this is something we’re all expected to simply endure. You lose someone on a Monday. You’re back to work by Thursday. Maybe you cry in the bathroom. Or you scroll through their old photos late at night and wonder if you’re doing it “right” — because no one taught you how grief works and how you should process it.

But through scientific advancements, we know now that grief is a psychological, neurological and physiological upheaval. Your dopamine circuits fire. Your sleep is altered. Your immune system weakens. Your stress hormones surge. It’s a breakdown in the predictive systems of the brain that track where your loved ones are, when they’ll return, and how to reach them. You don’t just feel like something is missing—your nervous system is actively searching for someone it still believes exists.

And it’s why “moving on” doesn’t work because the brain doesn’t need consolation. It needs data. It needs new experiences to overwrite the predictive maps of the person we’ve lost. This only happens through engagement—with protest, despair, memories, rituals, reorientation. The only way out is through.

The essay below will give you tools—biological, psychological, practical—for what to do when grief guts you. It will help you understand why you’re feeling what you’re feeling, and how to move through that terrain without becoming stranded in it. I won’t teach you how to forget or replace people. The healing process is about integration—how to carry what you’ve lost without losing yourself in the storm-like aftermath.

You’ll learn why the old five-stage model fails, why yearning is more central than sadness, how grief mimics addiction in the brain, and what not to say or do to the grieving. You’ll learn how to protect your body while processing grief and healing your mind. And you’ll practice how to honor the love that preceded the loss—without falling into the perils of despair, distraction, or denial.

Because grief isn’t just a wound that needs time as most platitudes will tell you. It’s a…

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I receive messages like these often (identity concealed for privacy),

I’ve dealt with my fair share of the same troubles.

I used to lie to my friends about why I didn’t want them coming over.

I’d say, “The house is a mess,” or “My uncle’s working late and might get cranky.” The truth? I never knew what version of him I’d get. Sometimes he’d be quiet and dismissive, sometimes he’d talk too much, ask invasive questions, and make everyone uncomfortable. But the worst days were when it was just me and him.

He never hit me. That’s what made it harder to explain. But he had this way of making me feel small. Like I owed him something for living there. For eating his food. For sitting on his couch. He’d say things like, “Don’t walk around like you own the place,” or “You should be more grateful. You think your dad would’ve done half of this?”

Every little thing turned into a fight. A dirty dish in the sink. A tone in my voice. Once, he picked a fight because I bought my own shampoo. “What, mine’s not good enough for your hair?”

I started disappearing. Staying late at school. Saying yes to every sleepover. Spending entire dinners trying not to breathe too loud. And still—it was never enough. He’d find new ways to poke, to push, to wear me down.

For the longest time, I thought I was the problem. I thought maybe I just wasn’t trying hard enough to keep the peace. But peace with people like that? It’s impossible. You keep bending, and they keep pushing.

I didn’t have the words back then. But I do now. And if you’ve ever been stuck in a situation like that, where love feels like walking on eggshells, this might give you the tools to finally name it, deal with it, and move differently.

Sometimes it’s romantic relationships. They start well. Our potential partners seem intelligent, even charming. You're flattered by their attention—drawn into long conversations, texts that feel like a sublime connection, and the sense that you've finally met someone who gets you. But then the air gradually changes. You find yourself second-guessing your words, apologizing more than usual, defending yourself against things you never said or meant. You feel drained after every interaction, but guilty if you pull away. The more you try to explain yourself, the more confused you get. Somehow, you’re always the one at fault.

That’s the trap of the high conflict personality, what most people casually refer to as “toxic.” But unlike difficult people who frustrate us occasionally, these individuals create a pattern of chaos that doesn’t go away. They manufacture conflict and thrive in it. And more dangerously, they often appear harmless at first.

So who are these people?

“Toxic” isn’t a clinical term, but in the work of Bill Eddy—a lawyer, therapist, and mediator who’s spent decades navigating divorce courts, custody battles, legal conflicts, and mediation rooms—these people fall under a behavioral category called High Conflict Personalities (HCPs). HCPs aren’t always mentally ill, but they are compulsively disruptive. They repeat the same emotional loops in every environment they enter: blame, distortion, projection, escalation, crisis, and manipulation. And they don’t change, because they don’t self-reflect. They externalize blame so effectively that you’ll often find yourself the one apologizing while they double down.

I want to warn you that this essay isn’t about changing toxic people. It’s not about forgiving them, fixing them, or turning the other cheek until you’re too exhausted to stand. It’s about defending your peace by seeing the signs early. It’s about knowing when to walk away, how to hold your ground, and how to communicate in ways that protect your time, energy, and identity. It’s about prevention when possible, adaptation when necessary, and survival — always.

The strategies that follow are built on what works in real-world conflict—when courts are involved, families are split, and reputations are under siege. They are drawn from the life’s work of someone who’s resolved thousands of these cases, and they are practical enough to use starting today. We’ll look at,

1. What Makes Someone “Toxic”?

2. How to Identify the Different Types of Toxic People & Partners

3. How to Avoid Toxic Relationships Early

4. How to Handle Toxic Family Members When You Can’t Leave

5. The 4 Rules for Dealing With Toxic People (with Practical Examples)

6. How to Leave Toxic People Strategically

You can't save asshats. But you can stop losing yourself to them.

Previously,

II. What Makes Someone Toxic?

Not everyone who frustrates you is toxic. Some people are simply irritating, inconsistent, emotionally immature. But there’s a different category of a person who doesn’t just drain your patience—they distort your reality. These are the ones who twist narratives, hijack conversations, assign blame, and walk away from every shattered relationship with a clean conscience and a new enemy. They are what Bill Eddy calls High Conflict Personalities, people who don't just cause conflict, but need it to function.

They repeatedly make other people’s lives worse by default.

There are four behavioral signatures that define a toxic person. First is…

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“You’re amazing, but I just think we’re better off as friends.”

We were sitting in the back of our favorite restaurant that smelled like warmed-over pesto and old conversations. She stirred her iced latte without looking up. Then she said it. That awful, impossible sentence.

I nodded. Of course I did. Because that’s what you do—act mature and non-chalant. But inside, it was like getting stabbed with a spoon. Dull. Weirdly repetitive. And more painful than it should be. I’d much prefer to end on bad terms than just be ‘friends.’

Friends?!

This wasn’t the first time I’d been told I was great, but not what she wanted. Wasn’t the first time I heard “You deserve better.” And definitely not the first time I’d walked home from a date with that same old ache in my chest, half confused, half ashamed.

I kept asking myself what I was doing wrong. I wasn’t toxic. I didn’t play games. I drank the bad coffee she made at 6 a.m. I cleaned up nice, dressed decently, listened when she talked, practiced the entire Kama Sutra. I tried. And I mean really tried. Yet somehow, after a few weeks or months, things would collapse, either with a ghost, or a breakup text, or the classic “We need to take a break.”

I turned to my friends. My guy friends were just as lost. Solid dudes, stable careers, emotionally present—and still single, confused, and annoyed. One of them was dumped by someone who said, “You’re too good to me.” Another spent six months in a situationship that ended the second he caught feelings. So I asked my female friends. And what they said made it worse. “He just changed,” one told me, “We stopped having fun.” Another said, “He used to be obsessed with me. Then he became... indifferent.” The worst part? These weren’t chaotic relationships. They were fine. Peaceful. Their stories were mirrors of mine.

Even older people weren’t immune. Colleagues in their forties, fifties—divorced, divorcing, or quietly enduring. One told me, “We haven’t had sex in three years.” Another: “We’re just together for the kids.”

I couldn’t tell if love was just this difficult, or if I was missing something fundamental. I replayed old arguments in my head, re-read text threads, analyzed patterns. Still nothing. No culprit, no smoking gun.

At some point, I gave up. Not on love entirely, but on the pursuit of serious relationships. I got too busy. Clinic hours got longer. I was writing more. Catching flights. Trying to build something perrenial. I didn’t have the bandwidth for emotional logistics. So I opted for something casual. No relationship talk. No expectations. Just good food, laughs, light flirtation. And that’s when something unexpected happened.

They wanted to stay.

The women I saw casually seemed more drawn in. More playful. More engaged. They initiated contact. Made plans. Stayed longer in bed, lingered in conversation. Said things like, “I don’t know why, but I just feel so good around you,” and the, “I can’t stop thinking about last night.” It didn’t make sense. I wasn’t even trying. I said no more often. I wasn’t more charming or more available. I was just... less effortful. More alive.

At first, I dismissed it as luck. A lucky month. Lucky matches. But the pattern didn’t go away.

What I eventually realized wasn’t manipulative. It wasn’t about pick up tactics or mind games. It was about understanding the psychology of what actually sustains desire, connection, tension, and love. Not fantasy. Not logic. Something stranger. Something truer. It finally dawned one me that I was living in a way that didn’t suffocate connection. I connected these dots when I read the acclaimed literary author, Marcel Proust.

This essay is about that principle. Or rather, a set of them. It’s not a how-to guide, and it won’t promise you soulmates. But it will show you what I couldn’t see for years: that love doesn’t usually die from betrayal or fights. It dies from something slower—something we almost never talk about.

“Be thirsty heart,

seek forever without rest.

Let this soundless longing

hidden deep inside you

be the source

of every word you say.” — Rumi

Keep reading. Especially if you’ve ever heard someone say “It’s not you, it’s me,” even when everything seemed to be ok. Especially if you've ever wondered why something that started electric turned lukewarm. I’ve lived that confusion. But once I saw the truth behind it, my relationships became happier, more exciting and fulfilling.

Previously,

The Dangers That Kill Love—and How to Avoid Them

Marcel Proust’s monumental novel In Search of Lost Time offers a profound exploration of love’s paradoxes. One of its keenest insights is that the true assassin of love is not conflict, betrayal, or even jealousy, but the…

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A few years ago on this day my friend committed suicide. Towards his death, he often carried a blank, distracted, withdrawn air but he always said he was ok, just a bit tired. I understood. Medical school has that effect on people.

Looking back, he smiled — yes — but it was forced, the outer corners of his eyes didn’t form the crinkled crow’s feet. It wasn’t a Duchenne smile. I often regret that I was too unaware to notice the signs of depression, frustration or discomfort in him and probably intervene as best as I could. I always wish I knew about body language back then, because, as I later discovered, however much one tries to hide their expressions or furnish their words, there are always those micro-expressions that betray their internal state. Or perhaps he might have wanted to open up but I pushed him away with my indifferent body language, tone and naturally angry & dismissive facial expression.

He might have been alive.

That’s the theme of today’s entry. The lessons that follow in the essay below may not carry as much importance as saving one’s life, but you can use them to build relationships, deepen bonds by analyzing people’s moods and gauging what they like or dislike, pass interviews, recognize the people uninterested in you and move on quicker, or catch those envious of you and adjust yourself around them before they ruin you. For example,

“The German philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer (1788–1860) devised a quick way to elicit these looks and test for envy. Tell suspected enviers some good news about yourself—a promotion, a new and exciting love interest, a book contract. You will notice a very quick expression of disappointment. Their tone of voice as they congratulate you will betray some tension and strain. Equally, tell them some misfortune of yours and notice the uncontrollable microexpression of joy in your pain, what is commonly known as schadenfreude. Their eyes light up for a fleeting second. People who are envious cannot help feeling some glee when they hear of the bad luck of those they envy.” — Robert Greene

This is part 1 of a 2-part series on body language. The lessons are about how to avoid body language mistakes and polish your presentation in social situations and also how to decode them in others.

I. Eye Contact

People rely on eye contact to decide if you're…

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ephemeral

The first thing Adrian felt was weightlessness. The car had skidded too fast on the rain-slicked road, and now it was airborne, flipping. The crunch of metal and the sickening sound of shattering glass came before the pain—a deep, electric sensation running through his body as he hung upside down, barely breathing.

As the smell of gasoline filled his nostrils and sirens wailed in the distance, a scary thought hit him: Is this it? Is this how I die?

Three days later, he woke up in the hospital, blinking against the fluorescent lights, his body aching from head to toe. At first, he felt nothing but the dull weight of his injuries—stitches tugging at his forehead, his shoulder bound so tightly it might as well have been in a vice. And then, like a slow-building wave, a different kind of pain settled in. A realization so sharp it almost made him gasp.

His quest for a bigger cheque had lured him into a trap.

Tears welled up in his eyes before he could blink them away. A hot streak rolled down his temple, pooling near his ear as he fixed his gaze on the speckled ceiling tiles above him. He mourned all those moments he had ‘next-timed’ invitations to go out with his friends, all the times he had observed couples having fun wishing he could experience the same, and all the laughter from his neighbor’s game nights that he had let slip away like smoke yet he could have joined in.

What had it all been for? To be safe? To be responsible? What was the point of having it all, making it through life unscratched, if it meant he had barely lived at all? Life had showed him it didn’t care about how good, practical and rational he was—the grim reaper could end it at any time.

“While we are postponing, life speeds by.”— Seneca

A nurse walked in just then, checking his IV. "You alright?" she asked, noticing his face.

Adrian wiped his cheek quickly, swallowing down the lump in his throat. "Yeah," he croaked, voice rough from disuse. "I think I just woke up."

See, Adrian had always played it safe. He followed the rules, kept to himself, and never took unnecessary risks. He was the kind of guy who double-checked his seatbelt before reversing, who left parties early because he had “stuff to do,” and who, for some ridiculous reason, thought fun was something for careless people.

He decided, right then and there, that he wasn’t going to be that boring guy anymore. There was usefulness in advancing his career and building wealth, but life was too short, too beautiful and full of fun experiences to live it on one dimension.

Perhaps, you’re like Adrian, wondering how to make your life vibrant and interesting. To embody the Hunter S. Thompson’s idea of a well-lived life,

“Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming "Wow! What a Ride!”

How does someone go from uptight and overly cautious to the kind of person who makes life feel like a movie?

How do we unlock that effortless magnetism, that ease in social situations that turns every interaction into an opportunity for fun?

Let’s break it down in this short essay.

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Previously,

How to Avoid Being Boring

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don juan

“I want you to f*ck me.”

The words were whispered so softly that only Adrian could hear them. Her breath, warm against his ear, sent a ripple of tension through the space between them. Across the table, her boyfriend laughed at something one of his friends had said, completely oblivious.

Adrian leaned back in his seat, swirling the last of his whiskey in his glass, letting the moment settle. The thrill of it wasn’t just in what she had said—it was in the way she had needed to say it. The way she had been drawn to him, unable to restrain herself. The way the entire room had slowly, inevitably, bent toward him without him even trying.

He could feel it happening. The eerie change in energy, the way people listened just a little more closely when he spoke, the way men unconsciously measured themselves against him, unsure of what exactly made him different—but knowing something did.

See, Adrian didn’t just talk—he made people feel something. He could weave a conversation so effortlessly that by the time someone realized they were completely wrapped up in him and doing his bidding, it was already too late. And here, in a new city, at a table surrounded by people who had only met him tonight, it was already happening again.

He took another sip of his drink and smirked— at her, at the situation. He had been in this exact moment too many times before. He knew exactly how it would play out. Because Adrian didn’t just walk into new places and hope to make an impression.

He engineered it.

new town, same game

When Adrian stepped off the airport and into the neon-lit streets of his new city, he had nothing but a leather duffel bag slung over his shoulder, a freshly inked tattoo still stinging on his forearm, and an unshakable sense of confidence. The air smelled different here—electric, charged, as if something was about to happen. He took a deep breath, his Dior Sauvage cologne mixing with the crisp night air, and walked forward, ready to carve out a space for himself.

New city. No friends. No reputation. No safety net.

Most people would have felt lost, overwhelmed, maybe even lonely. But Adrain? He thrived in the unknown. He had spent years refining his aura, his ability to command a room, turn strangers into allies, bewitch lovers, and leave a long-lasting impression many moons after walking away.

His first night in town, he found himself in a dimly lit cocktail lounge—the kind of place where expensive watches clinked against whiskey glasses and laughter hummed beneath the low jazz playing in the background. He ordered an old fashioned, leaned against the bar, and did something most men in his position wouldn’t—he waited.

He watched.

He studied the social fabric of the room.

Who was leading the conversations? Who was simply trying to keep up? Who was looking around for an escape from dull small talk?

Then, with the ease of someone who belonged anywhere, he slid into a conversation between two well-dressed professionals debating the best bars in the city.

"You’re both wrong," he said smoothly, taking a slow sip of his drink. His voice carried just enough confidence to intrigue rather than irritate. "The best place isn’t downtown. It’s a hidden jazz club on 14th. You have to knock twice and tell them Marcus sent you."

The way they turned toward him, their interest piqued, was his first victory of the night.

And by the time his glass was empty, he had a dinner invite for next weekend from a potential friend, two business cards slipped into his pocket, and the beautiful scent of a woman’s perfume on his sleeve.

The city, it seemed, was already his.

the art of seduction

Adrian understood something most people never did—conversation wasn’t just about spewing words. How people feel in your presence - the way they hung on to your words without realizing why, the way their attention gravitate toward you - that’s what matters most.

At coffee shops, he would strike up effortless debates about whether espresso was a scam, drawing out laughter from baristas who usually had no patience for small talk. And by the time he left, there would be an extra shot in his cup, “on the house.”

At work, he wasn’t just another guy in the office, fading into the background of endless emails and meetings. He was the guy bosses noticed, clients remembered, and coworkers secretly tried to figure out. When he spoke in a meeting, people actually listened—not out of obligation, but because he made them want to.

And when he walked into a party? He didn’t have to be the loudest, the flashiest, or the richest man in the room. It was the way he looked like someone who had better places to be—but still, somehow, chose to be here.

Adrian knew how to make someone feel like they were the most interesting person in the room. Yet, he was the one they’d be thinking about later.

But it wasn’t always like this.

He had made every mistake before.

He had been the guy who talked too much. Who corrected people over irrelevant details, convinced that being “right” would impress them. He had tried too hard, misread social cues, and let his own interests overshadow the natural flow of a conversation.

And every time, he had seen it—the polite smiles that didn’t quite reach the eyes, the nods that were just a little too forced, the subtle tells in body language that screamed I’m not enjoying this.

Until he figured it out.

Until he mastered the invisible rules of social gravity.

And now? Now, women threw themselves at him, and he was the one saying no. Now, men hated him, envied him, but still couldn’t help but respect him. Now, he didn’t chase opportunities—they found him.

But why?

What did he know that others didn’t?

What mistakes did he stop making that changed everything?

What invisible traps was everyone else still falling into?

That’s where things get interesting. And it’s what we’ll get into today.

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Previously,

Avoid These Conversation Mistakes

We all stumble in conversations. Even the most charismatic among us misstep, interrupt, or say something that doesn’t quite land. The difference between those who are socially magnetic and those who struggle is…

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White Nights—A Short Story (Wittier than Dostoyevsky)

I sent the message at 7:14 p.m. The three dots appeared. Then disappeared. Appeared again. Then—nothing. Silence. My bowels growled. I considered the possibilities. Perhaps she had been kidnapped. Perhaps her phone had exploded. Perhaps she had thrown herself from her building rather than engage in one more exhausting conversation with me.

But no, the explanation was much simpler. She was just not interested.

By 9:00 p.m., my heart had descended into my stomach, where it sat like an undigested meal. I refreshed the chat. Checked my WiFi. Turned my phone off and back on again—that would definitely increase my chances of receiving a reply. I told myself to be patient. Maybe she was busy. Maybe she was asleep. Maybe—

Then, at 9:46 p.m., a notification. A response!

I opened the message with the enthusiasm of a man being handed his newborn child, only to be met with one devastating word:

"Lol."

Ah.

I thought we had a connection.

Well.

Naturally, this was the beginning of my villain origin story.

I tried to be rational. Really, I did. But by midnight, I was lying in bed, phone gripped in my hand, staring at the ceiling with all the grace of a quadriplegic awaiting death. My brain insisted on playing an uncut director’s edition of our relationship, carefully replaying each interaction to pinpoint exactly where I had ruined everything. The possibilities were endless. Had I texted too much? Too little? Had my laugh been too enthusiastic? Had I made the fatal error of being myself?

Morning brought the answer. Not from her, of course—her silence was now a permanent fixture in my life—but from her Instagram story, where she had posted a blurry photo of cocktails, tagged at some rooftop bar.

I zoomed in. An arm. A male arm.

My stomach twisted into knots. I was suddenly a world-class detective, a forensic analyst of heartbreak. I checked timestamps, scoured her likes, cross-referenced previous posts for patterns. Was this a new man? An old one? A brother? Unlikely. Statistically speaking, no woman has ever gone on a glamorous rooftop date with her brother.

And so began my descent into the many stages of post-rejection self-sabotage.

Step one: Isolation.

I told myself I didn’t care. Besides, I had just known her for a few weeks. But my brain had other plans. It interpreted this as we must now dedicate every waking hour to thinking about her. I stopped responding to friends. They assumed I was busy. I was not. My schedule was entirely dedicated to overanalyzing a ghosted text message from every conceivable angle, as though solving it would earn me a PhD in Emotional Forensics.

Step two: The Digital Spiral.

Social media? Deleted. Texting? Muted. The only interaction I engaged with was from the most loyal and unwavering companion a man can have: pornography. A time-honored tradition among the romantically unsuccessful, it was a temporary escape, an illusion of control. Of course, I didn’t enjoy it—I simply needed it, much in the way a man lost at sea needs to drink seawater.

Step three: The Reluctant Return to Dating.

Eventually, I re-entered the field, armed with all the confidence of a man handing out his résumé to employers who are not hiring. But, dear reader, I kind of always went after girls that didn’t like me thinking they were just acting hard to get. Conversations fizzled out. First dates did not lead to second dates. The ones who stayed a little longer still left. At this point, I began to suspect that my romantic appeal was limited to women who were in the process of leaving me.

Dostoyevsky’s words echoed in my mind at vulnerable moments,

"My God, a whole moment of happiness! Is that too little for the whole of a man’s life?"

But, of course, rejection was not content with destroying my love life alone.

The fear crept into everything.

Starting a business? I thought about it. I even had ideas. Good ones. But the thought of putting myself out there—of working on something only to watch it be ignored—was paralyzing. What was the point? I could already imagine the failure.

Medical school networking events? Absolutely not. Nothing like standing alone in a crowded room, clutching a drink I didn’t want, pretending to text a friend who did not exist. Every time I tried to make conversation, my mind reminded me: You are deeply, profoundly uninteresting. And so I remained where I was most comfortable—on the outskirts of life, spectating.

The worst part wasn’t the loneliness. It was watching others live. People were falling in love, starting businesses, traveling, making friends with an ease I could not comprehend. They navigated life as though it were a well-written script. I, meanwhile, was improvising a deeply unfunny sitcom that had already been canceled.

And yet, in the rare, unguarded moments when I wasn’t numbing myself with distractions, a more horrifying thought crept in:

What if this wasn’t just a phase?

What if this was simply who I was?

Something had to change. But, unfortunately, I had grown quite comfortable in my misery, and I wasn’t entirely sure how to evict myself from it—until I came across a virile way of living that values rationality, self-respect, power, clarity, confidence, love, strength, and beauty.

Applying this philosophy to overcome my fear of rejection has helped me get my now beautiful, loving and sweet girlfriend, enjoy the company of the coolest friends, start this publication without the fear of sharing my ideas and vulnerability to tens of thousands of readers, sculpt a beautiful body, get great mentors for my medical career, and reach out to hundreds of clients for my ghostwriting business.

I’ve never felt more alive.

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Valentine’s Date Resource:

How to Handle Rejection

Below is a short practical essay on how to handle rejection.

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I shouldn’t have looked through her phone. But in my defence, she made it very easy.

She had been acting suspicious for weeks—quickly switching apps when I walked into the room, laughing at her messages like she had smoked some weed, and, most damning of all, being extremely nice to me. Nothing sets off alarm bells like unexpected kindness in a relationship whose health is marked by lots of arguments and banter. And yet, I had resisted to look into it. Because I was better than that. Because I was a mature, trusting, evolved human being.

So when her phone lit up late one night, unlocked, I did what any completely rational and emotionally stable person would do. I glanced. And there it was. When are you telling him? Now, I’m not a genius, but this was not the kind of message one receives from a plumber about a delayed appointment. Unless, of course, the plumbing in question was metaphorical.

My stomach grumbled and turned into a sort of horrified clench that made me regret every meal I had ever eaten. My hands went cold. My heart started beating so loudly I was fairly certain she could hear it in her sleep.

After exactly 2.5 seconds of moral struggle, I picked up the phone. I scrolled. Up. Down. There was nothing left to misinterpret.

Meanwhile, she slept peacefully, oblivious to the fact that I was sitting beside her, rethinking every single decision that had led me to this exact moment. I wish I hadn’t seen that fucking shit.

At that moment, I had two choices: wake her up, confront her, and have a dramatic argument that would lead to an immediate breakup and the tragic throwing of sentimental objects—or sit in silence like a Victorian ghost, staring into the middle distance while my world crumbled. I chose option two. Not because it was the mature thing to do, but because and I was too stunned to function.

I don’t remember the confrontation the next day. I assume it was spectacular—filled with gaslighting, accusations, lots of Really? and Wow. Just wow. And at least one theatrical “I can’t believe this.” But what I do remember, with vivid clarity, is the exact moment she walked out of my apartment for the last time. The door shut. The silence settled. And I, a grown man with a bank account and a basic understanding of emotional resilience, sat on the floor like an abandoned pet. Gaddamit!

At first, I thought I was handling it well. I went to work. I ate food. I convinced myself that my pain was mysterious and poetic rather than pathetic and overly familiar. The days that followed were a crash course in the seven stages of grief, except I got stuck somewhere between “pathetic moping” and “annoying my friends beyond reason.” They tried their best. They took me out, poured drinks down my throat, and strategically seated me next to new, interesting people in the hopes that I might flirt instead of sigh dramatically into my beer.

But I had developed a fascinating new skill: repelling romantic prospects at record speed. “Hey, so what do you do?” a woman would ask, smiling. “Oh, you know,” I’d say, swirling my drink like I was in a film noir. “Just trying to survive in a world where my ex used to text me goodnight, but now she’s probably texting some other guy, and he probably doesn’t even appreciate how cute her sleepy texts were.” She’d nod politely, make up an excuse about needing to run some errands, and leave. My friends stopped trying after that.

I’d also compare myself to everyone—which I came to realize is a fun masterclass at making myself feel shitty. It involved looking at happy couples in public and thinking, Why them and not me? It was seeing my friend receive a “thinking of you” text and feeling victimized by the universe. It involved watching a romantic scene in a movie and thinking, Must be nice to have someone who doesn’t cheat on you.

But then came the day. The day I truly hit rock bottom. This happened on a random Tuesday at work while I was doing my best impression of a functioning human. I wasn’t even thinking about her. I was fine. And then I walked into the office and saw it—flowers. Chocolates. Love notes. It wasn’t even Valentine’s Day. It was just one of those days when people in relationships do ridiculous things like appreciate each other. Meanwhile, my desk was painfully empty. No gifts. No sweet notes. Not even a passive-aggressive sticky note from my boss reminding me about a missed deadline. I had never felt more single in my life.

I wished a person would tell me they loved me and meant it. I wished she would have been cool and wanted us to grow old together. I wished I could have back what we had because it was real, fun, beautiful. Truly, if wishes were horses, I would have a whole ranch. But in all seriousness, my soul wouldn’t let me to be with someone like that. Yet, for some reason I couldn’t get over her.

I need to move on. I told myself.

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How to Get Over Your Ex

Below is a short practical essay on how to get over your ex.

It’s what helped me and I believe will do the same for you too.

The Comfort of Unfinished Stories

Some losses are harder to let go than others—not because the person was irreplaceable, but because letting go would mean confronting something more unsettling than heartbreak itself.

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P.S: Scroll to the bottom for a step-by-step practical guide to get people to like you.

James sat in his parked car long after the engine had stopped running.

His hands lay lifeless in his lap, the only sound the mournful buzz of streetlights, like an elegy for the night.

His head felt as if it was filled with lead, each thought a burden too great to bear.

He stared at the dashboard, his eyes unfocused, as the evening's sharp, cruel memories carved themselves deeper into his soul.

The night had begun with such hope.

He had planned the date carefully—picked a restaurant with a warm, casual vibe, nothing too fancy.

She had smiled when she arrived, and for a moment, he thought maybe tonight would be different.

But then the awkward pauses crept in, followed by the forced small talk.

He tried cracking a joke—something about how parking in the city should be considered an Olympic sport—but her laugh didn’t reach her eyes.

By the time they’d finished their meals, she was barely pretending to check her phone anymore.

The goodbye was kind, too kind, a gentle rejection wrapped in courtesy.

The one that meant, You’re nice, but this isn’t going anywhere.

Now, in his car, a profound sense of failure enveloped him, a shroud of loneliness thicker than the night.

For months, he'd clung to the belief that love was just around the corner, that his loneliness was temporary.

But tonight, for the first time, the thought came unbidden:

What if it’s me?

What if I’m the problem?

His stomach twisted with the agony of that possibility.

He leaned back, his breath escaping in a long, defeated sigh, trying to escape the self-doubt, but it clung like tar.

Shame heated his cheeks, and his throat choked with the thick bolus of his inadequacies.

James had always considered himself a decent guy—kind, polite, maybe a little reserved.

But, like a stench, it’s like people were avoiding him.

Like dirty dishes, it’s like no one wanted to pay attention to him.

Two weeks ago, he'd dragged himself to Matt's party to escape the solitude of his thoughts.

It was surely better than sitting at home. Or so he thought.

The party was a lively swirl of life and laughter, but James felt like an outsider looking in.

With a beer in hand, he tried to crochet himself into the fabric of the night's stories.

He jumped in, when there was a pause, sharing an anecdote about a road trip he’d taken last summer to add to a similar story.

But his attempt to share, to connect, felt forced and awkward, like speaking a language he didn't quite understand.

The group's polite nods were followed by an immediate return to their world, leaving James standing there, holding his drink, unsure whether to keep trying or slip away.

An hour later, James left without saying goodbye.

The city lights outside were as cold and unwelcoming as his own reflection in them.

He thought about the people at the party—how effortless it seemed for them to talk, to laugh, to connect.

He wondered why it didn’t feel that way for him.

Was he boring?

Too awkward?

Too forgettable?

The questions clung to him, heavy and unrelenting, and by the time he reached his apartment, he was too exhausted to even turn on the lights.

James’s dating struggles were one thing, but it didn’t stop there.

His varsity friendships were also fading.

He stopped getting invites to hang out with his old buddies.

At first, he’d told himself they were busy, but deep down, he knew the truth: he didn’t bring much to the table.

He wasn’t the friend who made people laugh or shared wild stories.

He wasn’t the one who planned trips or gave unforgettable advice.

He was just… there.

Even at work, he felt the same distance.

He’d see his coworkers chatting and laughing during lunch breaks, but when he tried to join in, the group would grow quiet or politely shift the conversation.

Eventually, James started eating at his desk instead. It was easier that way.

They only approached and talked to him when they needed something.

One day he stared at himself in his workplace’s bathroom mirror.

His reflection looked tired, sad, worn out.

“What the fuck is wrong with me?” he whispered aloud.

His voice cracked on the last word, and he quickly wiped off a tear as someone entered the bathroom.

On a Friday night, James sat alone in his apartment, scrolling through Instagram.

His feed was filled with smiling faces—friends at dinner parties, couples on weekend getaways, groups at concerts.

He stared at the photos until they blurred together, his chest tightening with each flick of his thumb.

He set his phone down and leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands tangled in his hair.

The thought hit him like a punch to the gut.

I’m just not the kind of person people want to be around.

For the first time, he let himself sit with the feeling.

The loneliness, the frustration, the quiet fear that maybe this was just who he was.

Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, and his throat felt raw, but he didn’t wipe them away.

He just sat there, letting the weight of it all settle around him.

Is this how my life is meant to be?

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Next week we’ll look at the Stoic Concept of the Soul and how we can access & enrich it.

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Practical Guide to Get People to Like You

Does the above story feel familiar?

You’re not alone, dear reader.

It’s a universal human desire—to feel seen, heard, valued, and connected. Seneca talked about it here.

What follows is a guide to becoming the kind of person others yearn to be around.

You’ll be liked by so many people you won’t know what to do with it.

Not through cheap tricks, memorized sequences, or manipulation techniques—we both know how exhausting those are and how they don’t last.

Below, you’ll understand what makes someone likable and how to leverage it to build connections that feel real, fun, and lasting.

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Conversations are a dance, a delicate rhythm of thought, emotion, and connection.

The best ones resonate with depth and meaning, bridging the gaps of connection between us.

Yet, even for the most eloquent among us, these moments of connection are challenging.

The truth is, great conversations require skill and intention.

Conversation challenges us to think in real-time, adapting as the moment unfolds.

This is why if we’ve ever hesitated mid-sentence, unsure of what to say next, or felt the weight of silence growing heavier with every passing second, it’s normal.

The magic lies between spontaneity and skill, between what we say and how we make others feel.

But…what transforms a mundane conversation into a memorable exchange?

The answer rests on three pillars: Our…

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P.S: Skip to the end to get a mini-course, a step-by-step guide with examples to help you increase your core and situational confidence for a successful social life. Worth $5,000.

Social skills are crucial in the art of living because we spend most of our lives dealing with other humans.

I wrote about their importance in my essay ‘On The Will to Power’.

Knowing how to connect with, charm, and have a conversation with anyone is how you make friends, get business partners & dating prospects, gather crucial information to plot your next moves, influence your spouse, kids, and the people you lead, and create perennial goodwill everywhere you go.

It’s how you enjoy the subtle pleasures of being a social being.

It’s how you give people the rare and intoxicating feeling of being seen, heard, and understood.

However, this refined art has sadly gone out of fashion.

Most people are lonelier than ever, they don’t know how to make friends or have a fulfilling dating life, and they certainly miss out on great opportunities because they close themselves off to connecting with others.

My aim with this section of the newsletter is to bring back that beauty, vigor, and fun back to your life.

To help you master this grace and elegance that’ll expand your life in ways you never thought possible.

To help you become the all-rounded Stoic, as Seneca and Marcus Aurelius were.

This is quality education for the modern world.

I introduce to you Le Monde Élégant.

Today we’ll cover the attitude of mind you ought to have in any social interaction so that it can be successful. Or at least less intimidating.

The Confidence Game

We’ve all had those moments where connecting with others feels awkward or nerve-wracking.

Maybe it’s the shy feeling that creeps in at a party, anxiety, or the little voice of self-doubt that tells us to stay quiet.

These moments can make us feel stuck, like something is holding us back from making real, meaningful connections.

At the heart of this is often low self-confidence.

But here’s the good news—confidence is something we can build.

When we do, it helps us feel better in our skin and makes it easier to relate to other people.

Confidence comes down to two things: core self-esteem and situational confidence.

Core self-esteem is the sense of value we feel about ourselves at a basic level.

It’s the belief that we matter and that we have something to offer.

This kind of self-esteem isn’t swayed by what happens around us—it doesn’t dip just because someone ignored us or rise because someone gave us a compliment.

It’s sturdy.

Situational confidence, on the other hand, is about how sure we feel in specific situations.

It’s the kind of confidence we draw on when we’re introducing ourselves to someone new, speaking up in a meeting, or joining a conversation at a party.

When both of these types of confidence are strong, they help us connect better with others and handle those moments that might usually feel awkward.

Note that confidence doesn’t mean being loud, cocky, or always the center of attention.

True confidence is quiet, self-assured, and steady—it’s about knowing our worth without needing to show off.

Think about it.

Do we base how good we feel about ourselves on things that are out of our control, like whether someone laughed at our joke or smiled at us today?

What would it look like if our confidence came from a deeper place, one that didn’t depend on anyone else’s approval?

Great, right? That’s why we’re Stoics.

Another piece of the puzzle is the energy we bring into social situations.

Why? People tend to reflect the energy we put out.

If we approach someone feeling low or tired, the conversation will probably feel the same way.

But if we bring a little more energy and positivity, it changes the dynamic.

For example, think about a time when we shared exciting news with someone.

Chances are, they felt excited too, simply because we brought that energy into the interaction.

You can also exude good energy in how curious, open-minded, and witty you are with other people.

This is called emotional contagion—it’s how our energy can affect the mood of the people around us.

Now, this doesn’t mean we need to act over-the-top or fake enthusiasm.

Nobody needs to be on high-dose aderall just to have a good conversation.

It’s about making small adjustments.

If our energy level feels low, what happens if we dial it up with some exercise, if we focus outside of ourselves more rather than our familiar insecurities?

Even a slight shift can make a big difference.

And while it might feel a little unnatural at first, with practice, it starts to feel normal. Even automatic.

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What You Need to Know Before Getting Started

Building confidence, whether it’s rooted in self-esteem or tailored to specific situations, is a rewarding but often misunderstood process.

It’s essential for personal growth and social success but it’s not the magic solution to all interpersonal challenges.

Here are some crucial truths to keep in mind as you begin this journey, ensuring you stay grounded and focused on real, lasting progress.

1. Confidence Isn’t a Prerequisite for Growth

It’s tempting to think we need to be fully confident before diving into social situations.

This belief can paralyze us, convincing us to “fix” ourselves before we try anything new.

The truth?

You don’t need perfect confidence to start improving your social skills or navigating new experiences.

Growth happens alongside confidence, not after it.

How to Apply This

1. Start Where You Are

Focus on small actions that stretch your comfort zone, even if your confidence feels shaky.

Example: If you’re nervous about speaking in groups, start by contributing one idea during a meeting rather than waiting until you feel entirely self-assured.

2. Let Progress Build Confidence

Confidence often comes as a byproduct of trying new things, seeing small successes, and realizing you can handle challenges.

Example: If you’re worried about meeting new people, attend a casual event where the stakes are low. The experience itself will boost your confidence for the next time.

2. Confidence Alone Won’t Make You Socially Successful

Confidence is valuable, but it’s not the only ingredient for success in social situations.

Having specific skills—like knowing how to start a conversation, share engaging stories, or read social cues—matters just as much, if not more.

Confidence amplifies your abilities, but it can’t replace them.

We’ll learn all about these ancillary skills in the coming entries.

How to Apply This

1. Develop Practical Skills Alongside Confidence

Focus on learning specific techniques for navigating social interactions.

Example: Practice asking open-ended questions like, “What’s been the highlight of your week?” This skill works regardless of whether you feel confident at the moment.

2. Don’t Overestimate Confidence’s Role

Recognize that it’s okay to act despite doubts. As long as your insecurities aren’t disruptive, they’re unlikely to derail your success.

Example: If you’re planning a group outing, focus on logistics like picking a great venue and clear communication, even if you’re second-guessing yourself.

3. There Are No Shortcuts to Real Confidence

The allure of a quick fix is strong.

Inspirational quotes, motivational speeches, or temporary psych-ups can give a fleeting boost, but lasting confidence takes time and consistent effort.

It’s a slow climb.

How to Apply This

1. Embrace the Long Game

Accept that confidence is built through repeated effort, not instant transformation.

Example: If you’re learning public speaking, commit to regular practice sessions, even if your progress feels incremental.

2. Beware of the “Psyched-Up” Trap: Temporary boosts, like listening to pump-up music or rehearsing affirmations, are fine in moderation but won’t sustain long-term confidence.

Example: Instead of relying solely on a pep talk before an event, focus on consistent preparation and skill-building over time.

4. Avoid Confidence Sidetracks

It’s easy to get stuck thinking that confidence is the first step to success in any area of life.

This mindset can lead to procrastination, where you avoid challenges while waiting to “feel ready.”

But readiness often comes from action, not the other way around.

How to Apply This

1. Take Action Even When You Don’t Feel Ready

Recognize that confidence often follows effort, not the other way around.

Example: If you’re anxious about attending a networking event, go anyway and set a goal to introduce yourself to at least three people.

2. Balance Confidence-Building with Skill Development

Don’t neglect actionable growth while working on your mindset.

Example: If you want to feel more confident at parties, practice conversation openers and learn to read body language instead of waiting for confidence to magically appear.

We’ll learn all about the art of conversation in the coming entries.

Now that’s enough talk.

The following 3 sections will arm you with the practical steps to start applying today to enhance your core and situational confidence for the best results in your social life.

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A. Practical Ways to Build Lasting Core Self-Esteem

I want you to approach the process of building your core self-esteem like a strategic campaign.

For you won’t be confident at the get-go.

True and lasting confidence is a series of small, consistent steps that help us feel grounded and secure in who we are.

Below are practical ideas that you can integrate into your daily life, along with inspirational examples to make them actionable.

Let’s dive in.

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