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From Floppy Disks to AI: How Technology Turned My Job Into Sci-Fi

How has technology changed your job?


When I was born, “technology” meant a calculator that could do basic arithmetic without smoke coming out of it. The personal computer was still a twinkle in some nerd’s eye, the internet was a secret government project, and a *mouse* was just a rodent that occasionally chewed through your cables. 

Fast forward to today, and I’m casually arguing with artificial intelligence like it’s my know-it-all coworker. (“No, ChatGPT, I did *not* mean to write that email in iambic pentameter.”) 

My Job Didn’t Evolve—It Shapeshifted!
When I started working, a floppy disk was considered high-capacity storage. (Yes, the ones that could barely hold a single JPEG of a cat today.) I studied Management Information Systems back when “the cloud” was just something that blocked the sun. The systems we used then were about as connected as two tin cans and a piece of string. 

Now? I work in Microsoft 365, a digital universe where documents multiply like gremlins in a rainstorm, meetings happen with people who might be on another continent (or possibly another planet—I don’t ask), and my job didn’t just change —it became something that would’ve been pure sci-fi in my childhood. 

The Speed of Progress? Ludicrous. Ha ha ha…or 😄😄😄😄,…now emoji’s is even cool in a formal report!
No generation before mine has seen such a radical transformation in one lifetime. We went from rotary phones to video calls, from encyclopedias to Google knowing exactly what I meant despite my terrible spelling, and from filing cabinets to AI assistants who still don’t understand sarcasm. 

Am I amazed? Absolutely. Am I occasionally nostalgic for the simplicity of paper memos? Maybe. But mostly, I’m just thrilled to have lived through an era where my job literally didn’t exist when I was born—and now I can’t imagine working without robots whispering suggestions in my ear. 

Technology didn’t just change my job. It turned it into something my younger self would’ve called magic. Neurolink, humanoid digital companions? Bring ’em on, I am ready for the future.



Now, if you’ll excuse me, my workflow just notified me of a new ‘must read” notification… Again.  I am afraid worked shifted from me being the driver of technology to me slaving for technology.

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The Art of Saying “No”: Protecting Your Goals Without Losing Your Humanity

How often do you say “no” to things that would interfere with your goals?

 
As I get older, I begin to realize more and more the importance of setting boundaries. We have a responsibility to ourselves to achieve our goals and live up to our full potential. Let’s be honest—the average human lifetime is too short to waste on things that don’t add meaning and satisfaction to our lives. Every day, we must say ‘no’ to distractions that pull us away from our purpose and peace of mind. Every ‘yes’ to something that doesn’t align with our goals is a theft of time—time we’ll never get back. 



But let’s be real: a purely selfish goal can also be a detractor. We are, after all, social creatures. Collaboration and reciprocity are woven into the fabric of what it means to be human. Sometimes, we must sacrifice a bit of individual ambition for the bigger picture—for communal upliftment, for relationships that matter, for causes greater than ourselves. 

The balance between ‘yes’ and ‘no’ must rest on the sweet spot where self-interest and community intersect. The key is to surround yourself with people who support your goals and believe in you—not people you simply use to achieve them, but those who give you their trust and encouragement. These are the people who multiply your ability to become more, to achieve more. When there is reciprocity, sometimes a ‘no’ to one thing is a ‘yes’ to something far greater. 

Stay focused on your goals. Stay connected to kindness, to those who lift you as you lift them. In that balance, you will find the path to your fullest potential. 

So, how often do you say “no” to the things that interfere with your goals? And more importantly—are your “no’s” protecting the right things?

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How to Dodge Emotional Kidnappers and Alchemize Your Way to Inner Zen (Without Turning into a Cactus)

What strategies do you use to cope with negative feelings?

Greetings, fellow cosmic traveler. Let’s talk about those uninvited guests we all know too well: negative emotions. You know, the ones that ambush you like a gang of melodramatic bandits in a telenovela, toss you into their metaphorical van, and drive you straight to the Land of Overthinking and Mismatched Socks. The best strategy? Don’t let them anywhere near your taco truck of inner peace. Set boundaries so firm they’d make a Buckingham Palace guard nod in respect. Ask yourself who’s on your VIP list—spoiler: if someone drains your energy faster than a toddler with a juice box, they’re not VIP material. Define your non-negotiable code of harmony: maybe it’s eight hours of sleep, zero hours of unsolicited advice from your soul-sucking cousin Larry, and 100% less doomscrolling. And if someone tramples those boundaries like a bull in a china shop? Walk away. You’re not a doormat; you’re a fortress. With better decor. 

But let’s say the kidnappers succeeded. The van’s moving, the sack’s over your head, and despair’s blasting Taylor Swift’s “All Too Well” on repeat. Now what? Time to channel your inner Dumbledore and transmute that emotional lead into gold. Sit down, close your eyes (ignore the urge to doom-text your ex), and visualize your villain era—but make it inspirational. Swap despair for gratitude, fear for resilience, and that passive-aggressive coworker for a golden retriever. (Dogs don’t steal your stapler.) Reframe your mind like a home renovation show host: “This wall of self-doubt? Let’s knock it down and install a skylight of confidence!” Yes, it’ll feel weird. So does yoga. But stick with it, and soon you’ll float through chaos like a gypsy girl in a flower field, humming “I Will Survive” as storms rage around you. 

Of course, even wizards need backup. If your mental GPS is stuck on “abyss,” deploy the cavalry. Therapists are like emotional plumbers—they unclog the gunk you can’t reach. Needing help isn’t weakness; it’s a refusal to let the Dark Side win. (Darth Vader never booked a therapy session, and look how *that* turned out.) Remember, you’re not here to tolerate emotional piracy. You’re here to dance through storms, alchemize chaos, and laugh at the absurdity of it all. So avoid the kidnappers, transmute the nonsense, and call in reinforcements if needed. May the Force—and a well-boundaried to-do list—be with you. 

Signing out, 
Joda — Your light-wielding, metaphor-obsessed cyber warrior teacher

P.S. If all else fails, eat the tacos. Tacos are neutral in the Force but pro-you.

© Jurgens Pieterse. All Rights reserved. 2025

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The Rewind Button of Life: What My Reluctant Re-Watches Taught Me About Connection

What movies or TV series have you watched more than 5 times?


There’s a quiet magic in repetition. The way a song’s chorus loops in your soul, or a well-loved recipe tastes like nostalgia. But when it comes to movies and shows? I’ve long believed hitting “replay” was a frivolous act—a detour from life’s forward motion. Until I realized how many stories I’d absorbed, not for their plots, but for the people beside me. 

Let’s start with the obvious: Miss Rachel and Barney. These aren’t just children’s shows; they’re portals. With grandchildren giggling at Ms. Rachel’s sing-alongs or my own kids, decades ago, glued to Barney’s purple antics, these re-watches became rituals of love. The scripts are etched into my bones (“I love you, you love me…”), but the real story unfolds in the living room: sticky hands clutching mine, wide-eyed wonder, the soft weight of a toddler asleep on my shoulder. These aren’t re-watches. They’re heirlooms. 

Then there’s Top Gun: Maverick. Let’s be clear: Fighter jets and machismo aren’t my usual vibe. Yet here I am, for the third (fourth?) time, because my wife lights up when Tom Cruise smirks from the cockpit. I’ve memorized the dogfights, but what lingers is her laughter during the cheesy one-liners, the way she squeezes my arm at the triumphant finale. The movie isn’t the point; it’s the shared rhythm of her joy, the unspoken “I’m here because you’re here.”

Vampire Diaries? Oh, the irony. I’ve sat through more brooding vampires and convoluted romances than any mortal should endure. But my stepdaughter’s eyes gleam as she dissects Damon’s latest anti-hero twist, and so we binge. It’s not the plot twists I remember—it’s her animated theories, the way she tucks her feet under my blanket, the mundane miracle of bonding over something she adores. 

Then, the exception: Vikings. Here, repetition felt like reverence. As someone who works with runes, who traces their ancient curves like whispers from the past, the show became more than entertainment. Each re-watch before a new season was a ritual—a way to touch the sagas that shaped my craft. The battles, the symbols, the primal clash of honor and ambition… they resonated. This was repetition with purpose: not passive viewing, but active communion. 

So, what’s the lesson in all this?
Life isn’t measured in how many stories we consume, but in how deeply we let them weave into our relationships. The movies we re-watch aren’t about the screen; they’re about the hands we hold while watching. Time isn’t wasted when it’s spent building bridges—between generations, between hearts, between the past and present. 

Maybe hitting “replay” isn’t about the story at all. It’s about saying, “I choose to be here, again, with you.” And that? That’s a plot worth revisiting. 

—A Reluctant Re-Watcher (Who Finally Understood the Assignment)

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Confessions of a Synchronicity Junkie (No Black Cats Were Harmed in the Making of This Blog

Are you superstitious?

So, are you superstitious? Let’s unpack that! According to my dusty old dictionary, superstition is an “excessively credulous belief in the supernatural.” But let’s be real—one person’s “woo-woo nonsense” is another’s “sacred ritual.” Me? I’m over here casually strolling under ladders like I’m auditioning for a daredevil circus act. Friday the 13th? Pfft. I waltz through that day with the confidence of a bull in a china shop (minus the broken dishes, because adulting).

Now, does this make me immune to life’s little “oopsie-daisy” moments? Absolutely not! But here’s the tea: I refuse to side-eye black cats or blame Mercury Retrograde for my Wi-Fi crashing. Cold, hard logic? That’s for Vulcans and Star Track enthusiasts (looking at you, Mr. Spock). A world where everything must “make sense”? Sounds about as fun as a spreadsheet party. No thanks—I’ll keep my humanity, complete with its glorious chaos!

But synchronicity? Oh, my friend, that’s my passion. I live in a world where nothing is a coincidence—it’s all a cosmic wink. Meet a stranger? Clearly, the universe sent them to hand-deliver a life lesson (or maybe just a killer cookie recipe). A bird lands nearby? That’s Mother Nature’s TED Talk just for me. Clouds morph into shapes? That’s the sky’s way of doodling motivational posters.

Call me “superstitious” if you must. Scoff at my habit of high-fiving fate. Roll your eyes at my belief that the universe is my overly enthusiastic bestie, conspiring to make my dreams come true. But here’s the thing: my life is a glitter-filled parade of magic, wonder, and the occasional “wait, did that just HAPPEN?” moments. Logic can keep its pocket protector—I’ll be over here, dancing with serendipity, sipping cosmic lemonade, and living my best enchanted life.

Who’s with me? 🕯️✨🚫🐈⬛ (But seriously, don’t walk under that ladder. I take zero responsibility for paint cans.)