After three months at Network School, combined with a journey through China, I returned to Singapore with an uncomfortable realization: the "Matrix" is real, but it's not what most people imagine.

It's not a sinister simulation; it's the subtle pull that keeps us comfortable, making it easier to choose mediocrity over pursuing our full potential. I saw the NS team embody this contrast daily - while many unwind after eight hours, these guys pushed relentlessly. That's a hardcore mindset.

This "Matrix" reveals itself in the daily choices we make:

• Consuming algorithmic feeds vs. creating meaningful content
• Working a standard 9-to-5 vs. embracing 18-hour days of focused intensity
• Being content with small optimizations vs. pursuing transformative change
• Maintaining comfortable relationships vs. seeking true alignment with high-agency individuals

Before Network School, I believed I had already broken free from these patterns. I dedicated myself to my office daily, maintained a strict exercise routine, and prided myself on my discipline. But NS revealed an entirely new level—like upgrading from SD to HD, then realizing 4K existed. What I thought was hardcore was merely scratching the surface. Seeing people driven by purpose, tackling massive problems, and thinking in decades instead of quarters revealed the true depth of what I was missing.

My disciplined daily 10K felt trivial when I met someone running a marathon on a challenge while building a multimillion-dollar app business. My 12-hour coding sessions felt commonplace when I witnessed someone orchestrating multiple world-changing projects simultaneously. The "Matrix" isn't just about breaking free from established patterns; it's about constantly discovering new levels of possibility you never knew existed.

The Pitch Perfect Paradox: Balaji's Lesson in Repetition

A powerful contrast between a "normie" and hardcore mentality was evident in Balaji's actions. While many take pride in "not having to repeat themselves," here was a billionaire spending 14 hours, pitching the same vision repeatedly.

Consider that commitment: from 8 AM to 10 PM, Balaji shared his vision with anyone willing to listen. Running a marathon is tough, but try pitching for 14 hours straight. While most grow tired explaining something twice, Balaji maintained the same passion whether it was his first or last pitch of the day.

The genius lies in understanding pitching like weightlifting—it's all about the reps:

• Each repetition refines the delivery
• Every audience reaction helps hone the message
• The consistent practice builds unconscious competence
• The repetition creates an army of ambassadors

The last point is particularly brilliant: everyone who heard his pitch became a vector for his ideas. When others asked us about our conversations with Balaji, we found ourselves repeating his vision, almost verbatim. Without realizing it, we had become amplifiers of his message.

This revealed a stark contrast in mindset:

• Normie: "I hate repeating myself. I'll say it once; you better listen."
• Hardcore: "I'll repeat my vision until it becomes reality, no matter how many times it takes."

The irony is profound: a highly valuable billionaire relentlessly repeats himself. Meanwhile, those who complain about repetition often achieve less with their ideas.

The lesson here isn't merely about persistence. It's about understanding that great ideas flourish through relentless iteration, refinement, and repetition. Each rep is more than just practice—it's planting a seed for your next opportunity.

The Evolution of Community: From FOMO to Freedom

The paradox of modern life is the simultaneous pull toward community and the push toward individualism. Before Network School (NS), I lived in this tension—always different, always slightly out of step with my peers. I said no to drinking sessions, chose early morning workouts over late-night parties, and pursued unconventional paths in business and investments. While others chased BTOs and stable jobs, I built multiple businesses, immersed myself in emerging technologies from crypto to AI, and pushed my physical limits with annual marathons. I was deliberately swimming upstream, both in my professional and personal pursuits, yet constantly fighting FOMO (fear of missing out).

At NS, I discovered true community. It wasn't merely about shared interests; it was about shared intensity. Within weeks, I saw the organic formation of high-performance groups, including an accountability brotherhood focused purely on execution. No philosophical debates, no social pretenses—just a relentless focus on getting things done. These weren't just study groups; they were micro-communities of action-takers holding each other to higher standards.

The irony? It was through these intense, purpose-driven communities that I finally found comfort in my solitude. This seemingly contradictory experience revealed a profound truth: authentic connection doesn't diminish independence—it strengthens it. Knowing others are walking similar paths, pushing their limits, and holding each other accountable makes it easier to stand alone.

This realization has transformed my relationship with solitude. Where once I forced myself to be different, now I simply am who I am. The FOMO has dissolved, replaced by a quiet confidence born from knowing I'm part of a larger movement of ambitious individuals, even when physically apart.

Looking ahead, I see a broader cultural shift emerging. We're entering an era where intentional communities—what some might call "cults" without the negative connotation—are becoming increasingly relevant. Consider Bryan Johnson's "Don't Die" movement or NS itself. These aren't the manipulative cults of old, but rather communities of shared purpose and values, often built around specific goals and mutual accountability.

As society becomes more fragmented and traditional institutions lose their hold, people are seeking new forms of belonging. The future belongs to these purpose-driven communities that balance individual autonomy with collective alignment. They offer what many of us secretly crave: the freedom to be ourselves while knowing we're not alone, and the structure to push ourselves beyond our perceived limits.

This evolution in how we think about community and belonging might be the next frontier in social consciousness. Just as society has become "woke" to various social issues, we might be approaching an era where we rethink our relationship with intentional communities, recognizing their potential for positive transformation rather than dismissing them as fringe phenomena. The future of community isn't about conformity—it's about finding your tribe of fellow builders, doers, and achievers who understand that real growth happens at the intersection of individual ambition and collective accountability.

The Samurai's Warning: Finding Your True Enemy

Meeting the legendary "10,000x Engineer" Oz Nova, brought clarity to a problem I hadn't fully understood. I kind of knew my problem: I lacked a clear goal. Sometimes, it takes hearing it from someone you admire to make it click. That conversation became a pivotal moment in my professional journey. During what began as technical coding lesson but evolved into a counseling session for the group, he offered me a handshake bet alongside a profound quote from Miyamoto Musashi:

"The primary thing when you take a sword in your hands is your intention to cut the enemy, whatever the means. Whenever you parry, hit, spring, strike or touch the enemy's cutting sword, you must cut the enemy in the same movement. It is essential to attain this. If you think only of hitting, springing, striking or touching the enemy, you will not be able actually to cut him."

This wasn't about swords—it was about purpose. Oz posed a simple question that cut through years of ambiguity: "Are you building technology, or using technology to build business?" My background as a "business-minded generalist" with tech skills had become a liability. I wasn't building the next AI model or coding core crypto algorithms; I was using these tools to build businesses. The clarity was both obvious and revolutionary.

The choice became clear: 10,000x engineer or billion dollar business builder? I chose the latter.

My prior activities were a whirlwind: AI exploration, meme coins, marketing, podcasts, supplements – all motion, no cutting, practice without purpose. Oz's bet: "Don't be the perfect engineer; hack your way to a successful business application." Success outweighs perfection; build the business first, then hire the engineering talent. Chasing engineering mastery had been a distraction. My real challenge was identifying and solving significant problems.

Breaking Free from First-Order Thinking Back in Singapore, I immediately fell into old patterns. Within days, I was:

• Writing scripts to scrape emails
• Building a Carousell price tracker
• Creating migration tools

Classic first-order thinking: seeing immediate problems, building immediate solutions. As Dogecoin creator Shibetoshi Nakamoto noted, "Less than 5% of the population is capable of second-order thinking."

The challenge isn't in building solutions—it's in choosing which problems are worth solving. It's the difference between:

Network School's other co-founder Donovan illustrated this perfectly: Most people never create wealth because they're consumed by small savings. Picture an elderly woman at the supermarket, fighting over cents while opportunities worth thousands pass her by. I caught myself doing the same—spending days to save $300 on an iPhone, burning mental energy that could have built something worth millions.

The real transformation needed isn't in technical skills but in problem selection. Network School showed me that while I was proud of solving immediate problems efficiently, I was ultimately optimizing for the wrong things. This realization led to a critical question: What are the second-order problems I should be solving? What challenges have I deeply contemplated rather than reactively addressed? The answer isn't in immediate technical challenges but in understanding deeper market dynamics and human needs.

The trap is subtle but deadly: optimizing for pennies while missing chances for pounds. It's not about the money—it's about the scale of problems we choose to solve. First-order thinking asks, "How do I save on this purchase?" Second-order thinking asks, "How do I make this purchase irrelevant?"

The real enemy isn't technical challenges or market dynamics. It's our own tendency to mistake motion for progress, to confuse optimization with transformation. The samurai's warning is clear: know what you're trying to cut before you start swinging.

The Path Forward: From Performance to Purpose

As I settle back into Singapore, I'm reminded that true growth doesn't mean abandoning responsibilities; it means integrating them into your pursuit of purpose. Throughout my NS experience, I balanced remote work, honored my commitment to be home for my wife on weekends, and made sure I didn't burn the bridges that support my ambitions. This balance wasn't always easy, but it taught me that pushing limits doesn't require self-destruction; it requires clarity.

Reflecting on my experience, I realize the single most urgent task I've been avoiding is deciding on a clear purpose—or in Oz Nova's words, identifying the real "enemy" to cut. For too long, I've been in perpetual motion: coding small scripts, exploring random tech, chasing marathons and new supplements. All good disciplines, but ultimately directionless without a core mission.

The irony is striking. I went to Network School thinking I needed to level up my technical skills or business acumen. Instead, I discovered that my real barrier was the courage to confront and decide on a true purpose. It's easier to keep training, to keep performing, to keep optimizing—but harder to step back and choose what really matters.

It's been almost three weeks since leaving NS, and I've been procrastinating on this very reflection. A crucial lesson I've taken away is that setting unrealistic timeframes, or beating myself up for not achieving them, is counterproductive, especially as challenges become more complex. Progress, not perfection, is the goal, and that includes being kinder to myself. The key is simply to keep moving forward.

For years, I've operated under a "performance without purpose" philosophy, inspired by figures like David Goggins. While that discipline is valuable, especially for training my mind and body, I now see that when applied to business, purpose becomes non-negotiable.

"Performance without purpose"

David Goggins talks about it and while that mindset can build discipline, it's not enough for business or any high-stakes creative pursuit. There, purpose is everything. As Israel Ardasanya warns, we exist in a world designed to pull us back into the Matrix each day. If we don't actively train our minds—through daily focus, accountability, and a clear sense of mission—those "demons" creep in, and we lose the momentum we fought to build.

So here's where I am now: happy to be home, training, and taking the time to decide on that business enemy I'm going to cut down. I'm no longer in a rush to get back to NS because I left with something more valuable: a blueprint for building unstoppable drive wherever I am. I also know I need to keep refining my pitch—practicing it as relentlessly as Balaji does—until it becomes second nature.

And yes, I believe that the next generation of businesses will look like "cults" in the best sense of the word: tight-knit, mission-driven communities that value extreme ownership, unwavering purpose, and genuine accountability. Whether you call it a tribe, a collective, or a purposeful cult, it's a place where real growth happens.

My challenge now is simple: Fortify your mind and find your enemy. Whether it's a problem you're solving, a vision you're pitching, or a community you're building, the clarity of that purpose is what keeps you from drifting back into normie mode. Embrace it, nurture it, and watch how quickly the Matrix fades into the background. Then you'll be free to push your limits, to find new edges, and to keep leveling up—just like the hardcore builders at Network School.