Optionality

Last Friday, my family and I went out for Japanese food. Nothing fancy — okonomiyaki (what I call the Japanese vomit) sashimi in a bowl, the usual joy of trying to keep kids from knocking over soy sauce bottles. On the way home, we walked through a park and somehow ended up staying out until 11pm, watching the kids climb a massive slide like it was Everest. It was one of those moments where you remember: Oh yeah, this is why we live here.

Switzerland isn’t cheap. But the lifestyle trade-offs? Pretty compelling.

I’ve been thinking a lot about what it would mean to live elsewhere, when (if?) financial independence would arrive. Lower costs in some countries, sure, but also higher taxes on my investments. Here in Switzerland, I don’t pay capital gains taxes, as long as I keep things part-time and stay outside the “professional investor” category. That’s a huge advantage. Plus, I can still invest in U.S.-listed ETFs, which is normally impossible for European investors.

Earlier this week, I listened to an interview with Andrew Mack, and one thing he said really stuck with me: his concept of escape velocity. Basically, the idea of building enough momentum — financially, psychologically, professionally — to break free from the default path and build your own.

Andrew’s story is wild. Bouncer, pro sports bettor, options trader. It feels like he’s already lived three lives, and somehow he’s still younger than I am. Inspiring and humbling at the same time.

Here is what he means by Escape Velocity:

Choosing agency: Getting to escape velocity isn’t just about speed; it’s also about decision-making. You have to decide to dedicate your time and energy toward your goals and then follow through

Beyond the baseline: Mack points out that after long, exhausting days, like working a physical job, you have to push yourself even harder: “you get home… you put on a pot of coffee … drink 10 cups of coffee, and you study … until 10:30 at night”.

Extraordinary effort for change: You can’t just clock out and hope things improve. To lift off, you need sustained work in off-hours—reading, networking, building skills—to acquire the momentum for a transition

Why this is relevant to me?

About a year ago, I started a podcast with two friends. Like most side projects, it started with SOME excitement and LOW expectations. Creating the content, the actual conversations and the ideas, takes maybe 20% of the time. The other 80%? That’s where things get tricky.

Editing, distribution and uploading to platforms, it’s all the invisible work that makes the thing “real.” Thankfully, my co-hosts shoulder most of that, which I’m hugely grateful for. But even with help, it’s a time sink.

Recently we got a sponsor. They invited us to a day-long bootcamp in their office, along with other creators and influencers. That’s when it hit me: we’re not… polished.
Maybe not “unprofessional” exactly, but still improvising.

We’re aware of the 100 little growth hacks we should be doing. They’re not secrets. They’re just buried under the reality of full-time jobs, families, and trying to record when three calendars align. Now that we have a budget, the plan is to get some help, hire someone. But even that takes time. You need to find the right person, explain the vision (if you even have one), and hope they stick around long enough to matter.

It’s all very Pareto: 20% of the effort makes the podcast, 80% makes it sustainable. And the 80% is the part we keep punting. Probably not even punting, cause we are not trying.

Meanwhile, I have a coaching service. Something I rarely talk about, mostly because, well, it’s not exactly a well-oiled machine either. In fact, the way it’s managed is borderline amateur. Yet somehow, I have clients. And in a business where trust is the currency, that always surprises me. I can only hope that the content speaks clearly enough to build that trust without the polish.

Sometimes I read comments like, “Nicola works at [company], has [title], so he must know what he’s doing.” That LinkedIn page this info comes from? Just the tip of my iceberg. But I’ll say this: even that small slice probably puts me ahead of 99.9% of the finfluencers out there. The ones with ring lights and neon signs and smooth takes.

Most of them will never face real financial risk. I face more in an hour of work than they’ll see in a lifetime.

But sure, follow the guy with the neobank promo and color-graded thumbnails. What could go wrong?Put your financial future in their hands.

</rant off>

The willingness to take risk or look foolish or just be a bit weird is paradoxically useful when you’re trying to achieve conventional success (from here).

Kris, as always, is full of useful insights. This blog brought me to the podcast but the podcast is what is pushing the flywheel now. We have plenty of ideas…and not enough time. Unless I go full gingfacekillah (Andrew Mack).

Should I hit the accelerator?

That’s the question I keep circling back to.

I have a family. Two kids. I’m not chasing burnout, not even for something I love (I guess I never pushed hard in my life to ever get remotely close to it but…let’s assume for a sec). And lately, this whole setup feels like a balancing act: full-time job on one side, a growing pile of side projects on the other. Some days it feels manageable. Other days, it feels like I’m walking a tightrope with no net.

The day job? I’m pretty sure they’re not thrilled about the entrepreneurial stuff I do on the side. It’s still technically “under the radar,” but only barely. The side gig is now too big to ignore…and still too small to replace the paycheck. A classic in-between stage: mid (high-ish?) visibility, low security.

The whole thing is borderline absurd at times.

Top priority on my official “Development Plan” at work? “Become more influential with colleagues and stakeholders.”
Meanwhile, there’s a company literally paying me because I already am influential. Just not within the corporate org chart.

Last night I had dinner with a friend, and I explained this weird duality. His first reaction?

“Wait, you have a podcast? What’s it called?”

Then:
“You talk on it?”

Yeah. No one, including myself, would have predicted this.

And here’s the thing: I’m not naive. I understand the odds. The chances this side gig becomes something truly material are Slimmmmmmm. The chances it blows up my day job? Increasing by the week.

It’s a strange space to occupy: you’re building something meaningful, but you’re still not sure it’s real. You’re doing good work, but it lives in the shadows. Somehow, it has to. You’re getting attention, but you cannot really push it.

For now, I keep walking the tightrope.

Because even if it never becomes anything, it’s the most fun I’ve had in years.

What I am reading now:

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