There’s something both liberating and terrifying about living in a time when anyone can build almost anything. You open your laptop, type a few words into a tool, and suddenly you have a logo, a website, a script, a product, an app. (Of course, it’s not actually that easy. It’s far easier than before, just not effortless.) We’ve entered an era where the act of creation itself has been democratized. And the more I reflect on this democratization, the more I become afraid of losing something subtle yet essential, something that often gets lost in abundance: purpose.

When everything is possible, very few people stop to ask why they’re doing it. When the world hands you infinite choices, it quietly takes away your direction.

Every day, I see people racing, chasing trends, trying to make something viral, copying what worked for someone else last week. There’s this collective rush toward what might work instead of what truly matters. And what I’ve realized is that when everyone follows the same signals, no one really stands out. You can feel it even in the digital air: repetition, mimicry, a lack of soul. It feels as if the world is producing a thousand echoes but very few original voices. And this keeps me wondering…

What if the real way to stand out now isn’t by chasing, but by staying still long enough to listen? What if the only thing that can’t be automated or copied is the thing that comes naturally to you, the one you already do without effort or permission?

There’s something that lives in each of us that we can’t help but do. It’s not a job title or a skill but rather a way of being. Maybe you always find yourself helping, organizing, or turning chaos into calm. Maybe you’re drawn to beauty, or you can’t help but connect people, or you find meaning in telling stories. It doesn’t matter what form it takes. It’s the thing that returns to you no matter how many times life changes. The thing that refuses to leave. The thing you love the most. Your calling.

For me, that thing has always been people.

I love being around them, supporting them, seeing them come alive when they do what they love. I love helping people believe in themselves again, especially the ones who forgot how. Maybe it’s because I know what it feels like to need that kind of support and not have it. There were moments in my life when one kind word, one small act of belief, could have changed everything. And I think that’s why I keep giving it away now, because I know how much it can mean. The best part is that it comes naturally to me. It’s part of who I am, of what I love to do, of what I’m passionate about.

Every project I’ve ever designed, every idea I’ve explored, has had the same heartbeat beneath it: empowerment. It was never presented as a slogan or a mission statement, but as a quiet, persistent need to lift, to help, to remind others that they matter. It’s in the way I talk to people, in the things I design, even in the reflections I write here. That instinct has never left me. It’s the thing I can’t stop doing.

But love alone doesn’t build a life. We all need stability, to care for our families, to have a home, to live with dignity. And that’s where the real challenge begins:

How do we turn what we love into something sustainable without corrupting it? How do we build a bridge between our nature and our livelihood?

I can say that finding the answers to these two questions has taken most of my time. I’ve searched for them relentlessly. I still am, though I believe I’m closer now than ever before. I’ve always been doing smaller things, pieces that maybe belonged to a larger whole, fragments of the bigger work I’m meant to create. But they were never the ones that could bring me true stability. I knew I needed something bigger, something more complex, yet simple at its core, something that could bring every piece together. The final puzzle. The real bridge.

And after a long time, I believe that bridge might be Zyra (formerly known as Y, pronounced “you”. Some of you may remember it as that.) Zyra hasn’t been released yet; I’m actively working on bringing it to life. So I don’t know for sure whether this will be the actual bridge, or just the piece that takes me closer to it. (But how can I find out if not through trying it, right?)

The idea of Zyra started as a question: Can empathy be built into architecture?
Could I design a space where people feel supported simply by being there, where artists, dreamers, and creators could breathe again without competing for attention? I dream of designing a digital home that rewards authenticity instead of performance, where presence matters more than popularity.

Zyra is my attempt to turn my nature into a system, to take what I love and translate it into something that can live in the world, sustain others, and sustain me too. And while Zyra is the largest manifestation of that vision, it isn’t the only one.

The smaller things I create (the thoughts I share, the reflections I write, the garments I design, even the conversations I have) are all part of the same constellation. Each one is a small way of living my nature out loud. The products may differ, but the purpose is the same.

What’s interesting is that the more technology evolves, the more I find myself valuing what can’t be digitized (and I believe more people will start to as well). Technology can write, draw, compose, and code, but it cannot care. It cannot feel. It cannot understand the fragile complexity of the human dream.

That’s why I believe that in the world we’re now entering, our most valuable asset won’t be our speed or skills but our sincerity. The world is about to be flooded with infinite creations. What will make ours matter is that they come from somewhere true.

And truth can’t be faked. At least, not for long. It lives in the details, in the tone, in the care. People can sense when something is made from love and when it’s made from fear. They may not always articulate it, but they can feel it. And that feeling, that pulse of humanity, is what keeps them coming back.

Sometimes people ask me how to find what they love, or how to turn it into something tangible. I never really know how to answer in a neat sentence.

But I think it begins with noticing what keeps calling you, the thing that returns even after you try to walk away from it. You’ll recognize it by the way it survives your doubts. It’s not the thing that feels glamorous, but the one that feels inevitable. You’ll know it because when you do it (or even just think about it, or explore it), time truly disappears.

Once you find that thing, the work becomes about building the right container for it, a structure that allows it to flow outward without drying up inside you. For some, that container is a studio. For others, a classroom, a platform, a practice, a series of conversations. It doesn’t really matter what form it takes, as long as it protects your instinct instead of draining it. The goal isn’t to industrialize your passion but to give it a body that can walk.

There will always be a tension between love and money, between the purity of the impulse and the realities of living. But I’ve come to believe they don’t have to cancel each other out. You can build something that supports your life and stays true to your heart, as long as you keep returning to the core question:

Does this choice nurture what I love, or does it distort it?

If it nurtures it, it will likely nurture others, too. If it distorts it, no reward will make it worth it.

The more I create, the more I realize that fulfillment isn’t the reward for doing good work, but the strategy that makes good work possible. When you build from fulfillment, your energy regenerates. When you build from fear, it burns out. One path nourishes; the other depletes.

The world may call one “practical” and the other “naive,” but I’ve learned the opposite: the most practical thing you can do is protect the source that keeps you alive. We live in an age obsessed with speed, visibility, and scale. But maybe the real art, the true value now, is to stand still. To go deep instead of wide. To refine instead of multiply. Stillness may be the new competitive advantage.

While others sprint to keep up with algorithms, you can anchor yourself in something that doesn’t move: your truth. Because when trends fade (and they always do), what remains are the creations made by people who meant it (the true trendsetters).

So if you’re reading this and you feel that quiet call inside you, the thing you can’t stop doing, don’t ignore it. Pay attention to what you already give away without realizing it. That’s your thread. Follow it gently. It might start small, almost invisible, but if you keep following it, it will lead you somewhere honest. And honesty, I think, is the new frontier.

I often say that the next revolution may not come from innovation at all, but from alignment, from people who do what they would do anyway, and find a way to let it feed both them and the world. The future doesn’t belong to the fastest makers, but to the truest ones. The ones who remember that in a time when everything can be built, being yourself is the most radical thing you can do.

Because the thing you can’t stop doing might be exactly what the world needs more of right now. And perhaps the real work of this era is simply to build a life around it, so you can keep doing it, again and again, until it turns into something that outlives you.

Thank you!🌹

Eduard🌹

What’s been expressed in this article is simply the thoughts of someone who loves exploring the world around them, questioning the things they read, see, and experience. I don’t consider myself a successful person (not yet, at least), so please don’t take these words as advice. See them instead as my way of thinking, as a new perspective. Question them (please do, actually) because that’s how more conversation is created, which leads to new perspectives, and eventually more value for all of us. Thank you!🌹