So, there I was, stuck in a cycle of complaints about the game. Not directing my frustration at him, but at myself. I was giving up before I'd even had a proper chance to retaliate. My resources started to dwindle as I made hasty, poorly thought-out moves, all the while muttering about how unfair and useless everything was. I was throwing in the towel before the next battle even began, simply because I'd watched my (brilliant) opponent make some seriously smart moves that were clearly working. It was a frustrating feeling, one that echoed some of the anxieties I'd been noticing in the online creative space lately.

It made me think - isn’t this what happens in Web3 all the time? You’re creating, minting, posting, grinding. Then someone you know, or sort of know, or used to know - drops a new piece, and boom. Sold out. Retweeted by someone big. Or collected by someone even bigger. Suddenly, their brilliance stings. But why do we feel this way? Perhaps it's amplified in Web3 because the successes are often so public and the democratisation of the space makes everyone feel like they should be succeeding.

And then I realised. We’re not mad at them - we’re mad at what their success reflects back at us. In this world of FOMO, the glitz of fame, and the illusion of success it is so easy to fall victim to jealousy. Social tokens, follower counts, sell prices, these are the modern yardsticks for worth. What we don’t see though is that everyone is building empires in silence - we only see the victory tweets. And as Carrie would say: In a decentralised world where we all say ‘there’s room for everyone,’ is there really space in our hearts for someone else’s success?

Of course, a part of me knew I should be celebrating his victory. And in some distant, rational corner of my brain, I probably was. But in that moment, a different feeling took over: a sudden, intense dislike for the entire game. After all, it’s a game I could never possibly win. And now I was stuck in a battle I never even wanted to fight in the first place. Why is our immediate instinct to just throw our hands up? Does someone else's success automatically negate our own? Is it really a zero-sum game? Or is it simply the luck of the draw?

That feeling of watching someone else have a significant win, that gut reaction that maybe the next opportunity has already been taken… I imagine many artists in the Web3 world can relate. It's easy to feel a dip in interest, a drop in motivation. The thought creeps in: why even try? But isn't the reality that this space is actually quite expansive? One artist's success doesn't inherently block the path for others. We're not truly in direct competition, even if the environment can sometimes feel that way. This isn't a one-shot deal. In reality, the Web3 space has the potential for immense growth and collaboration. One person's triumph doesn't inherently limit opportunities for others; the pie can get bigger. Perhaps the focus should shift towards supporting each other, recognising that someone else's achievement doesn't automatically mean a setback for ourselves.

So, yeah, the game ended, and I was definitely feeling salty. But I recognised it for what it was - my own insecurity bubbling up. So, I suggested another round. He was hesitant, probably sensing my lingering bad mood. But I told him I wanted to get over it, to actually learn something. Playing again, even against someone better, felt like the only way.

After a bit of back and forth, we started over. I knew trying to outmaneuver him head-on wasn't going to work. Army distribution and direct battles? Not my forte. So, I went for something different. Quietly, I started focusing on the less obvious advantages, the spaces right next to me that had victory points. He was meticulously building his army, arranging his units - the melees, dragons, and peons - a powerful, coordinated attack. My approach, however, was more subtle. I started moving my own melee units quietly towards the edges of the map, gradually positioning them to take control of the victory points. Slowly but surely, I captured them, the score ticking in my favor. I had some good cards, but the real difference was how I used them, playing to my strengths, not his. While he was focused on his big strategy, I was building my own, under the radar. And surprisingly, it paid off. I won. On my own accord.

That little win wasn't just about the game; it sparked a real shift in how I saw things. That feeling of happiness I had was about realising that success wasn't out of reach. Even if he kept winning in the future, I now knew I had a chance too. It's the same in Web3. When you see someone else have a big win, it doesn't mean everyone else is destined to lose. Their success shows what's possible, and there are many different ways to find your own success in the space. One person's win doesn't take away from your potential. There's room for many victories.

So the next time he wins I can take a breath, laugh at myself, and tell him: „That was a damn good move.“ Maybe it won’t make my jealousy disappear. But it will remind me that admiration and envy can exist in the same room - if you’re honest enough to name them.

On the screen beside me, Carrie Bradshaw is navigating the chaotic beauty of her own New York life, a cosmos of Manolos and martini-fueled epiphanies. And here I am, in my own corner of the world (Prague, tonight, if you’re curious), feeling a flicker of that same energy. A sense of starting something new. 

It feels like a season of beginnings. My morning runs are becoming a habit. Seeing my own earnings grow feels good. And then there’s this - me, writing again. It’s something I’ve always loved but set aside for a while.

My career in PR has been all about crafting narratives, a different kind of writing. Maybe I’m more of a Samantha in the office, but I’ve always admired Carrie’s ability to reflect on her experiences through writing. Like many, I’ve had periods where I felt a bit lost. Life, as it often does, threw its curveballs. I know I wasn't alone in this existential crisis. It’s a universal human experience, that feeling of treading water. But things have started to shift, and I was beginning to find a new direction. Therapy has helped, and exploring new interests, including crypto and Web3 (which I also work with), has been eye-opening. 

And that’s where the strangeness crept in. As things started to align, I began to feel.. disoriented. It was as if the familiar comfort of being lost had been replaced by the daunting possibility of my own potential. Now is the moment to fully tap into that potential, stepping forward to begin.

My motivation for this blog goes beyond just my own personal journey. I believe Web3 needs more women and more diverse voices. It can seem like a complex and intimidating space, but I want to show that it can be accessible and interesting to women. And frankly to anyone who will listen. I hope that by sharing my experiences and insights, even in these early posts, I can help make this world feel a little less daunting.

​​So, who am I? I’m someone exploring the world of Web3 while staying true to myself. Someone who thinks technology can be understood and empowering. And someone who’s rediscovering her love for writing.

Consider this my introduction. So pour yourself a drink and join me as I try to make sense of the decentralized web. Let’s share the complexities, joys and sorrows of this life together.

With love,

Calliopea