What is time?
Is it something that truly exists, or merely a human system built around planetary movement, ageing bodies and clocks on the wall? I still do not know, and I am no closer to understanding whether life is real, a simulation or something even stranger.
What I do know is that time has a price.
Years ago, I believed that my main problem was a lack of time. I worked full-time, paid my bills and spent whatever energy remained trying to build something of my own. I wanted more time for music, photography, videos, writing and the countless projects constantly forming in my head.
I thought the solution was simple: earn enough money from other sources to buy back my freedom.
It was not entirely wrong. Money does give us choices. It can reduce our dependence on an employer and allow us to decide where, when and how we work. But there was something important I did not understand at the time.
I assumed that I could keep borrowing energy from myself until one of my projects eventually paid it back.
That is not how it works.
Eventually, my body stopped cooperating. I burned out, crashed and became unable to continue living the way I had. The shortage was no longer just time or money. I no longer had the energy to use the time available to me.
That changes your perspective.
Before the crash, I described myself as being trapped in a hamster wheel. My job consumed most of my time and energy, while the financial reward was too small to make the arrangement feel sustainable.
Looking back, I could already see what was happening.
I liked parts of my work, but liking your job does not make you immune to exhaustion. A life can become unsustainable without being completely terrible. Sometimes it is enough that the demands remain slightly higher than your capacity for far too long.
I kept thinking that I only needed to work harder for a little longer. I would build a portfolio, publish more videos, make more music, write more articles and develop additional sources of income.
The problem was that all these supposed routes to freedom required the same limited resource: me.
I still want to create ways of earning money independently.
That part has not changed.
I work with photography, video, field recording, websites and software projects. I want to build sound libraries, sell photographs and create tools that solve real problems. I still like the idea of being able to work from home, from the forest or from wherever I happen to be.
Music used to be one of the central parts of my life. I still think about making it. I still make plans. But very little actually happens.
During a month-long summer break from band rehearsals, I did not even unpack my bass.
That probably says more than any dramatic declaration could.
Perhaps the music is not gone. Perhaps it is only resting. But at the moment, it belongs more to memory and intention than to my actual life.
When the music’s over, turn out the lights.
YouTube still interests me, although producing good videos requires considerable time and energy. I want to make videos because I have something worthwhile to show or say, not because an algorithm demands another upload.
Photography and field recording allow me to slow down, observe and spend time outdoors. They can perhaps become sources of income, but they already have value before anyone pays for them.
My software projects may have greater commercial potential. They are based on problems I have encountered myself and workflows I genuinely want to improve. Even there, however, I have to remember that a useful tool is not worth destroying myself to complete.
I used to search for passive income.
Music royalties, advertising, affiliate links, merchandise, stock photography and digital products all seemed capable of generating income after the original work had been completed.
Technically, they still can.
What is usually omitted is the scale required. Most income streams remain insignificant without a large audience, steady traffic or years of accumulated work. They also require maintenance, marketing, new material and continued relevance.
Passive income is often delayed payment for active work.
That does not make it worthless, but it does make it less magical.
The realistic goal is not to create money without work. It is to create work that can continue producing value after the initial effort, while gradually reducing the need to sell every hour directly.
Years ago, I concluded that my real problem was not a lack of time, but a lack of money to buy the freedom to decide how that time was spent.
I still believe there is truth in that.
But now I would add something more:
Freedom also requires enough health and energy to experience the time you have.
There is little value in gaining control over your schedule if you are too exhausted to use it. There is little freedom in working constantly to escape work. There is little success in building an independent income if the process leaves you unable to live.
Today, my ambitions remain, but the pace has changed.
I still want to create a life in which my income comes from several sources and where my work is not tied to a particular building or fixed schedule. I still want more time for nature, photography, recording, video and making things.
But I am no longer willing to treat myself as an unlimited resource.
The goal is not simply to make more money.
The goal is to build a life that I can actually survive—and, ideally, enjoy.