"How do I live more intentionally?" It's one of those questions that sounds simple... until you actually try to answer it. Everyone seems to have advice. Find your purpose. Discover your passion. Figure out what you're meant to do. But I don't think that's how it works. I've spent most of my adult life chasing ideas—not because I knew they were my purpose, but because they wouldn't leave me alone. I auditioned for movies. Started businesses. Lived in different countries just to experience something new. Taught as an adjunct professor while working full-time. Started a nonprofit that helped kids become healthier. Launched a podcast. Now I'm building 3rd Space Bucharest to help people form real friendships. None of those came from some master plan. They started with a simple question: "What if I tried this?" When I look back, there are only two things that make me feel like I've truly lived with intention. The first is being a dad. Not because I'm perfect. But because I've been present. School drop-offs. Homework. Sports. Weekend adventures. Thousands of little conversations that probably seemed ordinary at the time. Those moments weren't glamorous. But they mattered. The second was creating things that made other people's lives a little better. The kids' fitness program. The agency that helped b2b podcasters get paid sponsors The events I'm hosting today. I didn't know whether any of them would succeed. I only knew they felt worth pursuing. That's why I've stopped asking myself: "What's my purpose?" Instead I ask: "What's the next project that might help someone?" Because purpose doesn't always arrive before action. Sometimes it only becomes visible in the rearview mirror. So if you're waiting until you know exactly what you're meant to do... maybe stop waiting. Start the project. Volunteer. Teach. Build something. Help someone. You may discover that purpose isn't something you find. It's something you create—one meaningful action at a time.

This is going to sound a bit crazy, but women I match with on Bumble actually end up paying me. Not for dates. Not to meet me one-on-one. They pay to come to my events. Here’s how it happened. After my divorce, I did what most people do—I went back on dating apps. Bumble was the main one I used. At first, it felt normal. Swiping, messaging, setting up dates. And it worked. In about 8 weeks, I went on 7–8 dates. There were some great people, but something felt off. It was too much context switching. Too many first dates. Too much time spent trying to “figure someone out” in a loud bar over an hour. It didn’t feel efficient. It didn’t feel natural. And honestly, it didn’t feel like the best way to meet people. At the same time, I was already doing something I loved—hosting small cocktail parties. Nothing fancy. Just bringing interesting people together in my apartment. 10–12 people max. Good conversations. Good energy. People always left saying, “That was different.” But I kept thinking… what if I scaled this? What if instead of 10 people in my apartment, I could bring 25–30 people together in a real venue? And what if people actually paid a small ticket to attend? So I tried it. I launched my first cocktail party in February. It sold out. Now here’s where it gets interesting. All those women I had matched with on Bumble—but never actually went on dates with—I had connected with them on Instagram. At some point, I stopped trying to force dates and just said: “Hey, you seem really cool. I’m taking a break from dating apps, but let’s connect on Instagram.” Almost all of them said yes. So now, instead of being random matches I never met, they were just part of my extended social circle. When I started planning my first event, I thought: Why not invite them? So I did. I messaged a few of them, told them I was hosting a casual cocktail party—25 interesting people, fun icebreakers, no awkward networking energy. Three of them said yes. And they came.