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.

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?

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

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)

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.)

Which animal would you compare yourself to and why?

If spirit animals were a LinkedIn endorsement, mine would read: “Approved by the Caracal & Honey Badger Fan Club (est. childhood).”Let’s unpack this wild resume. 

The caracal isn’t just a cat with fancy ear tufts (though those are exquisite). It’s the introvert’s spirit animal on a stealth mission. I vibe with its ability to thrive solo—no pack meetings, no group texts, just elegant independence. Think of it as the James Bond of the savannah: precise, efficient, and low-key glamorous. Hunting efficiency? More like adulting efficiency. The caracal doesn’t waste energy chasing mediocrity; it calculates, pounces, and gets the job done. Plus, its love of beauty speaks to me—like that friend who spends 20 minutes arranging a charcuterie board before Instagramming it. The caracal’s message: “Solitude isn’t loneliness; it’s where magic (and successful hunts) happen.”

If the caracal is 007, Bond, the honey badger is Deadpool—snarky, unstoppable, and allergic to giving up. Its rep for “indomitable spirit” is basically code for *“You think *this* will stop me? LOL.”* Need honey? It’ll yeet a beehive, endure stings, and snack triumphantly. Need to dig through literal dirt for survival? The honey badger’s LinkedIn bio would just say: *“Problem solver. Resourceful. Doesn’t take ‘no’ personally.”* I channel its rebellious grit when life serves up obstacles (or bureaucracy). Its life motto: “Rules are suggestions, and honey is worth the drama.”

Both animals are the ultimate soloists. The caracal whispers, “Elegance under pressure,” while the honey badger roars, “Pressure? Crush it with chaotic flair.” Together, they’re my yin-yang of independence: one thrives in quiet mastery, the other in defiant hustle. 

Bonus Life Lessons (With a Side of Humor):
Caracal Tip: Next time someone calls you “aloof,” say you’re “strategically curating your energy.” Then drop a mic (gracefully). 
Honey Badger Hack: Stuck in a problem? Ask: “What would the honey badger do?” Spoiler: It’ll involve creative swearing and relentless action. 
Unifying Truth: Independence isn’t about rejecting others—it’s about knowing when to collaborate (*caracal*) and when to bulldoze (*honey badger*). 

If my spirit animals threw a party, the caracal would bring minimalist décor and curated playlists, while the honey badger would show up late, raid the fridge, and somehow fix the broken aircon. I aspire to be both host and life of the party—just on my own terms.

(P.S. If you need me, I’ll be practicing my “caracal stare” in meetings and my “honey badger negotiation tactics” at the local pawn shop.

© Jurgens Pieterse. All Rights reserved. 2025

Write a letter to your 100-year-old self.

Dear Centenarian Superstar (a.k.a. My Time-Defying Twin),

Holy guacamole, you *actually* hit 100! Did you chug from the Fountain of Youth, replace your morning coffee with nanobot smoothies, OR—wait—did those chaotic “alchemy experiments” in the garage *finally* pay off?! Tell me you found the Philosopher’s Stone wedged between the couch cushions. Did you transmute lead into wine (or at least into decent retirement funds)?! I always knew your obsession with glowing mason jars and cryptic symbols would outshine St. Germain someday. Bet he’s *fuming* in his immortal fancy-pants castle while you’re over here turning dust into diamonds and  still forgetting where you left your keys. Legend. 

Let’s address the elephant in the room: How’d you afford this? Did you perfect that “retired” bank heist and license your alchemy patents? (“Eternal Youth, now with free Wi-Fi!”) Or did you just challenge Death to a chess match… using pieces made of solid gold you whipped up in the microwave? I’m picturing you now: part mad scientist, part cryptid, dodging expiration dates and historians trying to fact-check your “I knew Shakespeare” stories. 

But surviving a century? Please. You didn’t just survive—you alchemized chaos into charisma. Between reverse-engineering immortality elixirs and teaching parrots to say “Avada Kedavra” as a party trick, you’ve basically turned existence into a DIY craft project. Did you train by arm-wrestling vampires? Or just perfect the art of napping so hard you confused the Grim Reaper with a door-to-door salesman? Either way, you’ve earned your crown in the “Sassy Centenarian Hall of Fame.” 

Now, the big question: What’s next? 200? Why not! You’ve already beaten St. Germain at his own game (take that, 18th-century drama llama). Next stop: selling “How to Out-Alchemy Your Enemies” masterclasses on Skillshare. Or maybe just trolling future historians by leaving fake ancient artifacts in your backyard. Remember, aging is mandatory, but maturity is optional—keep hiding whoopie cushions in nursing homes and explaining TikTok to confused robots. 

You’re proof that life’s a wild ride, and the seatbelt’s just a suggestion. Keep raging against the dying of the light… or at least keep the light on past 8 p.m. You’ve got this, you magnificent, slightly-radioactive legend. 

Now go update your bucket list with a “beyond 100 List.”

—Your Zestier, Less-Wrinkled Former Self

P.S. If you did rob a bank, teleport me a clue back in time. I’ve got student loans. 
P.P.S.St. Germain’s ghost just slid into my DMs. He wants a rematch. I told him you’re busy inventing time travel and/or perfecting margarita recipes. Priorities. 
P.P.P.S. Aim for 200. I’ll meet you there. (As a cyborg. Or a sentient cloud of your finest alchemy fumes. Let’s stay *weird*.)


© Jurgens Pieterse. All Rights reserved. 2025

What is your middle name? Does it carry any special meaning/significance?

Let’s dive into this holy hot mess. My parents, armed with the audacity of a televangelist selling miracle water, baptized me with a name so sanctified it could guilt-trip a gargoyle. First name: George (patron saint of “I’ll slay dragons after my nap”). Middle name: Johannes (props to John the Baptist, the OG influencer of locust snacks and river baptisms). Surname: Peter (the apostle who ghosted Jesus harder than a Tinder date). Combine them, and you’ve got *St. George St. John St. Peter*—a trifecta of piety so potent, I’m basically the Bible’s answer to a group chat gone wrong. 

The expectations? Biblical. I’m supposed to part seas, but I can’t even part with my Amazon cart. My ancestors? A parade of George-Johannes-Peters who treated “sainthood” like a Yelp review they forgot to leave. Great-Grandpa George III once “exorcised” a whiskey bottle by draining it. Grandpa Johannes II rode through a rebellion war on horseback, though rumor says his horse had better survival instincts than he did. And Dad? His garage sermons featured more F-bombs than a Tarantino script, usually directed at a carburetor that “had a demonic possession.” 

But hey, tradition is tradition! So I yeeted this sacred hot potato to my son. Plot twist!  The kid’s gay, which means: 
1. Heaven’s got a *fabulous* new interior designer. 
2. He took one look at our family’s “legacy” and declared, “Honey, I’ve Van Gogh’d this name masterpiece. Let’s not add a fifth George—this canvas is done.”

Fair. The kid radiates more divinity eating avocado toast than we’ve collectively mustered since the Middle Ages. 

So here I am, sipping a sacramental energy drink, whispering Hail Marys over my lost genealogical burden. St. John, if you’re eavesdropping: I’ll honor you by not eating bugs. Probably.

Amen.

**#SaintedNotSaintly #GodsFavoriteTrainwreck #DontBlameMeBlameGenealogy**

© Jurgens Pieterse. All Rights reserved. 2025

What did I learn last? That light has been transformed into a supersolid for the first time. That’s right—scientists have managed to make light behave like both a solid and a superfluid at the same time. If that sounds like something straight out of science fiction, I had the same reaction.

Physicists achieved this by trapping light inside an ultra-cold quantum gas of rubidium atoms, creating what’s known as a Bose-Einstein Condensate (BEC).

This is a state of matter where particles behave as a single quantum entity. By carefully engineering interactions between the photons and the atoms, they got light to form a supersolid—something that maintains a rigid structure like a solid but can also flow without resistance, like a superfluid. Imagine honey that holds its shape like a crystal but still moves effortlessly. That’s essentially what’s happening here.

This is a huge deal for a few reasons. First, it confirms that light can exist in a completely new state of matter, something never seen before. Second, it challenges our understanding of quantum physics—light has always been tricky to classify, flipping between acting like a wave and a particle, but now it’s breaking the rules in an entirely new way. And third, it could have incredible real-world applications. While we don’t yet know exactly where this discovery will lead, breakthroughs like this tend to pave the way for future technologies. Quantum computing, precision measurement, and next-generation optical devices could all be influenced by what scientists have just uncovered.

For now, it’s a fascinating glimpse into the strange and wonderful world of quantum mechanics. Every time I read about discoveries like this, I’m reminded of how much mystery still exists in the universe—and how exciting it is to keep learning.

Are you patriotic? What does being patriotic mean to you?

Patriotism, at its core, is the expression of devotion and vigorous support for one’s country. It’s a sentiment that arises when we attach our identity and ego to a geographical or cultural group. This attachment can foster a powerful sense of belonging and unity, strengthening the collective spirit of a nation. Yet, as with any form of group identity, patriotism carries a caveat: it can sometimes blind us to our shared humanity and the moral compass that guides us as individuals.

When patriotism becomes exclusionary, it risks alienating those who are perceived as different or foreign. It can create an “us versus them” mentality, where the “other” is targeted or marginalized. This is where the concept of patriotism must be carefully examined. True patriotism should never overshadow our responsibility to uphold the rights of the individual, nor should it compromise our inner sense of what is right.

To explore this further, I find it helpful to draw on Rudolf Steiner’s ideas about the individual, group identity, and karma. Steiner, a philosopher and spiritual thinker, believed that each individual has a unique karmic responsibility to evolve and grow. This evolution isn’t just a personal journey; it’s deeply intertwined with the groups we identify with—whether that’s a nation, a language, or a cultural community. By associating with a group, we become co-responsible for its actions and its collective karma.

But what does this mean in practical terms? Let’s break it down.

Karma, in simple terms, is the idea that our actions have consequences—not just for ourselves, but for the world around us. When we identify with a group, we inherit a share of its collective karma. This means that the actions of the group, both positive and negative, become part of our own karmic journey. For example, if we identify with a nation that commits acts of injustice, we share in the responsibility to address those wrongs. Conversely, if we contribute to the betterment of that group, we help to uplift its collective karma.

This idea of collective karma challenges us to think beyond blind patriotism. It asks us to consider how our individual actions can influence the groups we belong to. Are we contributing to the group’s growth and evolution, or are we perpetuating its flaws? As Steiner suggests, our responsibility isn’t just to ourselves—it’s to the collective humanity we are part of.

This brings me to the heart of the matter: patriotism, while meaningful, can never take precedence over my inner moral compass. My devotion to my country must always be tempered by my commitment to what is right and just. If patriotism becomes a shield for injustice or exclusion, it loses its value. Instead, patriotism should inspire us to work toward the betterment of our nation and, by extension, humanity as a whole.

Steiner’s concept of karma also reminds us that we are not bound by the groups we are born into. While we may inherit certain identities—such as nationality or language—we have the freedom to choose how we engage with them. We can decide whether to identify with a group, and how to influence its collective karma. But there’s one identity we cannot escape: our humanity. We are all part of the human family, and the collective karma of humanity is something we all share.

In this light, patriotism becomes a tool for collective evolution. It’s not about blind loyalty or exclusion; it’s about using our individual actions to positively impact the groups we identify with. By doing so, we address not only our personal karma but also the collective karma of our nation and, ultimately, humanity.

So, do I see myself as patriotic? Yes, but with a caveat. My patriotism is rooted in a deep sense of responsibility—to my country, to the individuals within it, and to humanity as a whole. It’s a patriotism that seeks to uplift, to heal, and to evolve. It’s a patriotism that recognizes the interconnectedness of all people and the shared karma we carry.

In the end, patriotism is just one layer of a much larger picture. It’s through our individual actions and our group identities that we evolve as a species. And it’s by honoring our common humanity that we can truly create a world worth being patriotic for.