The phrases that irritated me as a child and made me feel that Truth and Understanding were always being pushed further down the road make perfect sense today. The people who said them loved me. They wanted the best for me. “One day you’ll understand, my son”, “When you’re older, I’ll explain”, “Don’t try to understand everything now”, “There are things only age can answer”, among many other sayings that used to drive me mad and leave me furious. There is no shortcut through time. Time itself explains everything. Our minds absorb things at their own rhythm. And no matter how desperate we are for answers, we simply will not value them properly before the right moment. Today, I understand. Back then, I didn’t.

There is also Intuition. That physical sensation telling us there is something right about a certain point of view, something that makes more sense in this choice, a signal that settles itself biologically within us, capable of leading us towards a particular option. Something inexplicable that we often try to silence with reason, even though it exists powerfully within the energetic charge we are made of.

Each one of our stories is shaped by our experiences, the environment in which we grew up, the people we connect with, the choices we make, the opportunities we seize. The butterfly. The sunrise. Sleeping in a little longer. Trying. Tasting. Repeating. Feeling. Wanting. So many things impossible to define. That is what we are. Why we are. Who we are.

I’ve been reading more. I’ve heard people say for years that reading matters. For a long time I ignored that idea. Today, I realise that the more I read, the better I understand and decide. Not because I memorised what I read. Not because I can replicate it. Not because I know the author’s name or even the title of the book. But because I understood the meaning of the content. Because I absorbed it. Received it. Because I understood the intention behind the message. Because I identified with the sharing and adapted it to myself. To my Self.

Life truly goes by fast.

I remember hiding underneath the sofa waiting for my father to come home from work and tickle me. I was just a baby, but I remember it. There’s an image inside my mind every time I close my eyes and try to revisit that moment. More blurred with each passing year, but still there. Maybe that’s why I restored those old sofas. The ones now inside B16, half a century old, fully renovated, classic and beautiful.

I remember playing outside the front door of “our” house in Linda-a-Velha when I was three years old. With our neighbours. In the street. With my brother protecting me from imminent dangers. I remember that image.

I remember the Lisbon-to-Faro coach journeys with my brother and our mother when we travelled south to spend weekends with our father in the Algarve capital. I remember the double-decker buses. Sitting in the front seats upstairs. I remember it vaguely, but I remember it. There’s something inside me that takes shape through that memory too.

I remember playing with the Playmobil cowboys, horses and Indians we had in the house on Rua de Santo António when I was four or five years old. We stayed in that house for a short time, but I remember it. Those were the toys. There were no others. And I remember reinventing them every single time.

I remember our house in Penha. And Primary School. I remember our street. My first friend, Tiago Bandeira, and my second friend, Valter Veríssimo. I remember growing up in a time when the street belonged to us. When we came home for dinner only after hearing our father whistle. Playing marbles, football, tag or hide and seek. I remember exploring. I remember being free.

I remember that period very clearly. And the further forward I move in time, the sharper those memories become. After that, things become easier to remember. And now that I am a father myself, I wonder what memories my children will carry when they reach my age. What kind of memories they will be. Who will remain imprinted inside their minds.

Childhood. Adolescence. Youth. Post-youth. The pre-adult phase. Adulthood. And now, this phase of absolute maturity, in which I feel like the best version of myself. I don’t know how many years I have left, but logically speaking, perhaps another two or three decades. Through experience and knowledge, though, I no longer think like that. I prefer knowing that I am alive now. And that is what matters in the present moment.

Life truly goes by fast.

I remember primary school. Lower secondary school. High school.
I remember friends, passions, places.

I remember having to choose one of four academic areas when moving from Year 9 to Year 10. I chose Sciences. The first group.
I remember the typical mental blocks of that age.

And I’ve already written about the story of the teacher who wouldn’t let me take a photograph of my Year 9 class… that defining episode.

I remember the crossroads between the good-looking boy and the rebellious boy. Between the well-behaved kid who rode horses and perhaps should have pursued sciences to become a veterinarian, earn a zoology degree or something even more sophisticated like equestrian specialisation in London. And I remember the excesses, the rebellion, the irreverence. Pausing and extending my mind inside the confusion of novelty, pleasure, fame, recognition and social validation. Bad company. Bad choices.

I remember failing Year 11 because of absences. Travelling by train to skateboarding championship events or hardcore concerts at Academia. Being a vocalist. Being a bodyboarder. Being a skater. I remember many female passions from those years: some platonic, others superficial, some brutally intense, others very real. Others enlightening.

And I remember clearly the day I walked into the classroom for the optional subject “Drama Expression Workshops”. I was in Year 12, confused about what direction to take after secondary school. The decision weighed heavily on me. Not going to university was not an option in my family. Or at least I never wanted to confront them with that possibility. I followed my brother’s example. I kept moving forward, navigating around obstacles, trying to find my place. Which degree? Which city? What minimum grades? There are no maximum grades. Subjects that lost their charm because of certain teachers and others that unexpectedly changed my life without me even realising it. Professor Ana Cristina Oliveira changed my professional career by giving us a subject so simple, so human, so essential to something inside me that had never opened itself professionally, seriously, or with purpose. I remember enjoying writing lyrics for the songs I screamed, even though I never learned how to play them, read music or interpret it musically. It was a hobby shared by a group of friends who loved one another and grew together. It wasn’t controlled. It wasn’t intentional. It wasn’t measured or orchestrated. There were no syllables, metrics or timing. If the lyrics didn’t fit, I screamed them faster. If the rhythm was too slow, I dragged them along with me. But with Professor Ana Cristina, I learned that words live within white space, silence, time and space itself. That there are meanings we perceive and meanings we associate. That there are expressions of validation, denial and interpretation that can be contradicted through body language, eyes, lips or eyebrows. That there is far more beyond science, physics, chemistry, geology and mathematics. That there is an entire world waiting inside the humanities, the social sciences, art. The Arts. That communication matters. That communication differentiates. That communication separates and connects. I performed theatre. I read plays, books, poems and dramatic works. I listened to music. I watched ballet. I discovered things that had always existed but for which I had not yet awakened any curiosity. Not because my parents or family were unaware of them, but because I myself was not open to them yet.

I also remember that after my experience at Escola Secundária Pinheiro e Rosa, focus appeared. I don’t know whether consciously – I believe not. But unconsciously. Hidden. Emerging. I also remember telling my parents that I wanted to repeat two subjects the following year: Portuguese and Mathematics. I informed them that I had been invited to take part in a theatre production in Lagoa – Mandragola by Niccolò Machiavelli. I played Callimaco. That I would have several weekly rehearsals in the western Algarve. That I needed a tutor. And that I liked skateboarding because it calmed me down.

My parents gave us everything. Philosophically and psychologically speaking, there are chapters in books explaining every stage of the child-parent relationship. I must have gone through all of them. But sometimes I feel such an overwhelming urge to hug them and tell them that I am where I am because of them. For better or worse, that is how the educational process works. To become who we are, at the right moments, we need certain things. Certain experiences. And I am incredibly fortunate. My parents understood. They listened. They did everything. Even when misunderstood.

I remember that second Year 12 vividly. And I remember it with immense gratitude. The support my parents gave me was important, distinctive and transformative. They knew how to wait. They were present. And I never forget that. The way to thank them is to be. To prove. To show. To do.

My life was strange. If it were explained to young people today, they would call me crazy. Misplaced. Confused. I attended only two subjects in the regular school timetable. I had Portuguese tutoring twice a week. Mathematics tutoring three times a week. I devoured mathematics exercise books with pleasure and enthusiasm. Systems of equations, quadratic and cubic equations, derivatives, probabilities, endless formulas and challenges – all of it with enjoyment. With intention. I felt myself evolving every day. My tutor, Professor Ferreira, taught brilliantly and knew how to motivate me. I am fortunate. I’ve just remembered my tutor from Years 5 and 6, Professor Huguete Ribeiro, also responsible for this love of mathematics. I studied and practised every single day, including weekends. I had horse-riding lessons on Saturday afternoons in Vilamoura and there was a period when I also rode on Sundays in Vale d’Éguas. I bodyboarded at Faro Beach whenever there were waves. I skateboarded almost every day. I spent huge amounts of time with my first dog, Renato Filipe. I had a girlfriend and a wide group of friends with whom I wandered around doing this or that. I fulfilled my household responsibilities and spent time with my family. There was time for everything.

I follow a businessman, writer, speaker and business consultant who often says that we must never settle for little. If we have had opportunities in life and if we have health, then we have the OBLIGATION to prove to ourselves the very best we can become – for all those people who never had what we had and still have. Accepting less is not an option.

After a year of concentration, commitment and focus on improving the grades in the two subjects that would determine my university entry, I achieved 15 in Portuguese and 19 in Mathematics in the final national exams. I don’t believe it still exists today, but back then, scoring 19 in Mathematics in the national exam was not for just anyone.

There I go again, patting myself on the back, awarding myself medals and validating myself as a person.
Identified.
Forward.

Mission accomplished. It was time to rank my university choices by priority. That’s what I did. I also applied to two private universities. Fortunately, I got into every single one I applied for: Nova, Católica and Lusófona. I spoke with my parents. Spent time thinking. Reflecting. Trying to approach some acceptable form of clarity for a confused teenager who had no idea which direction to take. Every decision felt definitive. 

After a few days, I chose the one that made the most sense to me. The one that spoke to me. I listened to that instinct. Even though it was more expensive for my parents. I chose the degree in Social and Cultural Communication at the Faculty of Human Sciences of the Catholic University of Lisbon. Because my parents could afford it. Because my parents did not oppose it. Because my parents empowered me.

And in the blink of an eye, the life of a veterinarian, zoologist or horseman shifted into that of communicator, producer or creative. An entire world opened during those years of returning to Lisbon, discovering that international city, living alongside the national elite, learning, experiencing, growing and awakening individually.

Within this catharsis I have been fulfilling chapter after chapter, this context matters. This explanation matters. This note matters. Every decision carries consequences. And I do not spend much time thinking about “what if”. The truth is that from the moment I entered, everything flowed naturally, with meaning and value.

Life truly does go by fast.

As fast as the signal our stomach sends whenever we think about it. It is voracious. We feel it. It is real. We know that yesterday we were, today we are, and tomorrow we may become. We know because we have already done. Because we have already lived. Because we have already experienced. Because someone else has already shown us that endless continuity of memories, people, places, sensations and meanings. Life goes by quickly because, in some way, at some point during “yesterday”, we framed the situation of “today” and projected the outcome of “tomorrow”.

There is no end to the description. Or rather, there may be one, but it is long. And I do not wish to lose myself in an endless and euphoric digression about myself or my life story. That is not the process. That is not the intention. The intention is to demonstrate how small episodes change our lives forever. To demonstrate that we are not here by accident. To demonstrate that the “here” and the “now” have a reason to exist.

The faster life passes, the more we want to remain inside it. The more we want to appreciate it. The more we want to remember it. The more we want to do. Live. Dedicate ourselves. Contemplate. Experience. Share. Collect. And my life is rich. Very rich.

Just like everything that followed from 2018 onwards at B16.

Yes, that’s it. All these turns and detours just to arrive here. At this moment. At this year. At this phase of the company. And I take all these turns because within them I find the truth behind what we do today; what we are as an entity; what we have built as a team; what we offer as an infrastructure; what we envision, what we feel, and what remains essential to us as human beings, as people. The purpose behind the product or service.

Looking at 2018 means accepting that from this year onwards the company changed. It consolidated the accelerated rhythm of its production. It increased the complexity of challenges for each Client. It increased the number of Clients. It established itself in the market with innovative solutions, such as the actions developed in the field of “Organisational Culture” for some of our Clients. It produced content on the level of major agencies. It invested in communication, advertising and market positioning. It diversified its artistic collaborations. And it left marks on the history of some of the organisations we worked with.

Without even realising it, I was walking towards my responsibilities as managing partner, businessman and investor, while always maintaining the operational and technical side. I wanted more Clients, more projects, more challenges. I wanted to work with more people, create more collaborations, be present in more places. Still without true business awareness. Still without tacit knowledge. Still without corporate strategy. Just acting. Proactively.

Smart bikes, dolls firing people, samurai cousins, coloured powders, smoke grenades, rubbish installations and graffiti cans, visual artists, Brands, logos, websites, a new car, with hair and without hair, unicorns, talking houses, aquariums filled with paint, projects that never came to life, politics and politicians, fashion, shopping, the Hermans, Gisela, and the “one”.

To speak about 2018 is to speak about a year in which the direction of learning changed. Where perspective became different. Where the focus became different. To speak about 2018 is to speak about the future businessman who still has much to learn. But who wants to do.

A year of work, stories, memories, sensations and meanings.

Life goes by fast.
Truly.
So very fast.