At the company where I worked, there was a plaque on a cabinet by the office entrance that read: “Those who truly want something look for opportunities; those who don’t look for reasons.” At the time, I saw this phrase as a simple and unconditional principle of life: if you truly wanted something, you had to stop making excuses, take action, find a way, and build your own life. After school, as I entered a new phase of my life and began my career, these words became my internal compass. Life began to take on new shapes.
It was only much later that I understood the danger of such slogans and their one-dimensional nature: they work only when the task has been defined correctly, the available resources are clear, and the actual constraints can indeed be overcome through action. In other circumstances, such a phrase can easily become an instrument of pressure: a person is forbidden from pointing out that the task itself is flawed, while their analysis is dismissed as “looking for reasons.” Later, within my own philosophy of distinguishing form from meaning, I would call this type of thinking Command Flat Mind: a state in which a formula of will or a directive replaces an understanding of actual conditions, causality, and the limits of what is possible. But at the time, I could not yet see it.
By that time, my contact with Vasya and Zhenya T., with whom I had once shared a strong friendship, had already been reduced to a minimum. After school, they became quite popular in our neighborhood, but their involvement in selling marijuana was unacceptable to me. I tried to avoid interacting with them: I might not answer their calls, and when we met, I would not stay long and kept our conversations brief.
My need for communication and self-expression had not disappeared, and the online world began to play an increasingly important role in my life. I immersed myself more deeply in that environment, finding new connections and opportunities to express myself.
Back then, when online life and communities were just beginning to emerge, I had already been an active participant in the STS chat for two years. By that time, I had my own money, which opened up new possibilities and broadened my horizons. I can’t say I was everyone’s favorite — I was often considered something of a show-off. However, that didn’t prevent me from becoming increasingly involved in the life of the chat, which became a window for me into a world of new acquaintances.
But even here, there were unexpected challenges. For a whole year, I had feelings for a girl from our chat who seemed absolutely unattainable. Her name was Vesta. She lived with her mother and stepfather in Moscow’s Zyuzino district, near the Kakhovskaya metro station. Her family was well-off, and Vesta attended a prestigious private school. She was only fifteen—two years younger than me—yet her mature and profound outlook on the world amazed me.
Our communication was like waves rolling onto the shore and then receding. Vesta had a significant influence on me, shaping my worldview and the direction of my development. At times, she would point out what she called my “lack of education.” I had a good grasp of physics and mathematics, but whenever I tried to get closer to her, she invariably steered the conversation toward philosophy, a subject in which she felt completely at home. Her fascination with philosophy was boundless, and she eagerly shared her extensive knowledge, making me realize how much I still did not know.
Vesta talked a lot about Nietzsche, especially his work “Thus Spoke Zarathustra,” whose ideas resonated with her own reflections on life. Once, she mentioned Taoism and asked whether I was familiar with its teachings. She was also interested in Jung’s work and often quoted his ideas about the collective unconscious. Vesta spoke about the works of Erich Maria Remarque as well, reflecting on war, loss, and human suffering. In our conversations, she often reflected on the imperfections of society and her place within it. At times, she felt that she saw and understood more than those around her; at others, she felt alienated and misunderstood.
Her youth was combined with a remarkable maturity of thought. Vesta was a mysterious person and hard to understand. On the one hand, she called herself an ascetic, but on the other, her asceticism was a kind of “stylish asceticism.” It revealed itself in her habit of smoking cigarettes, wearing modest yet stylish clothes, and creating atmospheric evenings for herself with tea and candles, devoted to reflections on the transience of existence.
She especially liked to reflect on how people wear masks and play certain roles, rarely allowing themselves to be genuine and sincere. She could also talk for hours about Buddhist teachings and would mention Osho, Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh. His talks and books explore spiritual seeking, awareness of one’s true nature, and inner freedom.
It was no surprise that Vesta became a catalyst for my self-development. Not wanting to fall behind in our philosophical discussions, I began actively reading books on psychology and philosophy. Thanks to Vesta, I immersed myself in philosophical and psychological literature in the autumn of 2005, which had a profound influence on my inner development.
Although on the surface my life did not change dramatically that autumn — I continued going to work, corresponded with Vesta from time to time while persistently trying to win her attention and trust, and occasionally attended meetups with members of our chat — in reality, this period became a time of profound inner transformation. The events of my everyday life remained merely a backdrop.
My routine at that time was quite measured: daytime was spent at work, and evenings in chats and reading books. In my free time, I met up with friends — Lesha and Kolya, with whom we lived in the same courtyard. Kolya had studied with me since the 10th grade, and Lesha, who was three years older, was his friend.
But with the arrival of winter, everything changed. Vesta, unexpectedly for me, invited me to go snowboarding. Before that moment, I hadn’t even known what it was, but thanks to her, I stood on a board for the first time. This trip was a real discovery for me — a new world full of cold wind, snow-white slopes, and adrenaline.
It was then, in the winter of 2005-2006, that I enrolled in six-month courses at MEPhI in mathematics and physics. Every morning, I went to work, and in the evenings, I hurried to the courses, where I plunged into the world of numbers and formulas, trying to cope with homework assignments.
My life gradually acquired structure: work, courses, studying, and then returning home, where not only rest but also responsibilities awaited me. I earned money, providing not only for myself but also for my family — a sick father and a brother who suffered from cerebral palsy and was five years older than me. I became the sole breadwinner in our family of three, and this placed certain duties and responsibilities on me, which I carried with honor.
