I enjoy behavioral economics and its applications. The works of Dan Ariely, Nassim Nicholas Taleb, Steven D. Levitt, Malcolm Gladwell, and Herb Simon have been excellent places for me to start. One of my interests is social currency. I'd like to share some thoughts about social investment and its proposed currency.

It doesn’t matter what has happened or is happening to us. It doesn’t matter what others did to us or how much we’ve inflicted on ourselves. Nothing matters anymore, except what we do today.

The electronics kit that his dad gave him as a Christmas gift smelled like licorice. The oscilloscope had hundreds of loose components, dozens of circuits, and one ten-year-old to assemble them.

Today is Tuesday, 22 February 2022. 22.02.2022. There are mathematical descriptors for such numbers. It happens to be on a Tuesday. For many, it's the second day of a workweek. People who study the earth, the moons, the stars, and the universe talk about energies. This date falls in that realm.

What bread baking taught me about mentorship

“I’m fine. Thank you,” I replied as I was pulling my leg from under the motorbike, trying to stand up. “Is this oil from your engine, or was it already there?” she asked. I wasn’t sure. I think I lost balance as my bike got to a standstill on top of the hill at the intersection, or I might have slid on the motor oil already there.

Breathe. Focus. Listen. Explore. Choose. Act.

I read between the lines and remembered my conversations to try and get wisdom from the fathers I interviewed. They don’t tell stories of being fathers. They are. This is an attempt to squeeze fatherhood from their stories. Here we go.

I’m not big on celebrations, especially birthdays. Let me correct that. I’m not big on loud, distracting parties when I want to celebrate. It is counterintuitive, and I’m sure I’ve missed a lot of fun.

It has been challenging to craft a story for this week. I tried. I could not get myself back to business-as-usual. After the life-changing explosion of Aug 4, my last post was one of defiance, hope, and love. This morning, I believe it even more.

6:09 pm. Starbucks (Mtayleb) is 9 km bird’s fly from ground zero. The explosion shook people on the terrace and blew the doors open. One week later sitting at the same table…

She’s the canine who occasionally comes to Starbucks with her coffee-drinker buddy. She lays on the terrace close by the entrance of the store and loves to greet people. She grew on the regulars.

Taking my temperature with a contactless device, Rony cleared me to enter. They made sure my table was freshly sanitized. No one claimed any of the other two seats during. If you’re there for pick up, you’d order outside the store, someone would run in, make your drink, and hand it to you.

Hey Starbucks! I don’t miss the coffee as much as I miss my friends, the vibe, and your baristas. Sorry.