(#003) A bridge across
DISCLAIMER: This is one of two articles that were originally published as a single piece titled #003 Tokyo9, Act II: A Bridge Across.
That article covered the second of my nine trips to Tokyo as part of my Tokyo9 project.
Given how life-changing 2024 has been for me—and how pivotal my trip to Tokyo was in this transformation—the original piece naturally evolved into a story of self-renewal.
Later, I took the advice of my dear friend ‘K’ (the same most influential friend I often mention in my articles) and decided to split it into two standalone, yet deeply interconnected, parts: one focused on my personal cycle of self-renewal (this one), and another centered on my days in Tokyo—an extension and revision of the original article, which is currently a work in progress.
“In going where you have to go and doing what you have to do, and seeing what you have to see, you dull and blunt the instrument you write with. But I would rather have it bent and dull and know I had to put it on the grindstone again and hammer it into shape and put a whetstone to it, and know that I had something to write about, than have it bright and shining and nothing to say, or smooth and well-oiled in the closet, but unused.”
- Ernest Hemingway
This story was initially meant to be told in video format and be intimately tied to scenes shot in the great Eastern Capital during my second of nine trips there as part of my Tokyo9 project. Some footage still exists, but I had to keep up with a torrent of engagements, so I never got to put the video together. Perhaps I will one day edit the footage to realize my original vision.
Chapter 1: What should have been, is.
I can’t really say whether my life in the last 20 years has been successful, I guess one can’t really put the final word to it until the end, but sure I have lived adventurously.
I left Italy when I was twenty-four, right out of school, and went to China at the peak of its transformation. My port of landing was Shenzhen. Like most other people, I had hardly heard of it at the time. I worked for the first year and a half with neither local employment papers nor a regular employment visa. I didn’t have health insurance and started with a net worth of 280 euros, which I carried in my pocket when I crossed the border and deposited in the first bank account I ever opened. The bank teller was kind enough to open the account even though I had left my passport in the hotel room. That tells you everything you need to know about Hong Kong, and the world, in January 2005.
Sixteen months into the job, I quit and moved to an even less known city, Hangzhou, about a two-hour drive West of Shanghai, to take over a job of vastly larger responsibility for which I had absolutely no qualifications. I felt like an impostor, but my new employer was wiser than I gave him credit for. He had the acumen to understand they needed someone able to adapt fast to a new environment, culturally and linguistically blend in with the local partners, learn how things were operated with an open mind, and stick around through the craze without panicking, regardless of previous experience with the specific product or even in manufacturing and procurement in general. I fit the bill.
Fifteen months into my second job, I—covertly—set up the basic legal infrastructure to run my first business. My first deal came around a year after that, leaving me no further excuse to quit my job and go on my own full-time. In fact, as part of my leaving, I also managed to convert my employer into a client. I felt invincible.
I run deals as disparate as importing scrapped silicon wafers from Germany into China (before it became forbidden), selling photovoltaic panels all around Europe, the Middle East and the USA, selling Iranian oil to Chinese oil majors, selling a major Nigerian oil & gas logistics infrastructure asset to the Chinese military, I worked on several solar plants in the Emirates, a wind farm in Brazil, worked with the Argentinian Government to bring investment in their energy and transportation infrastructure, I was hired by the Chinese Government to advise on the development of an industrial zone in Eastern China, I worked on importing waste treatment technology in China, I advised Chinese State Owned Enterprises on securing contract work in Eastern Europe worth well over a hundred million US dollars and deploying dozens of millions of dollars in foreign direct investments in Europe, I established a renewable energy development company, developed it into a global group with assets across Europe and the USA, launched an investment fund, participated in raising tens of millions of euros into the fund, sold my assets to the fund, and became member of the asset management company managing the fund, and eventually worked through three long and complex years to secure a clean and financially dignifying exit. (And then, there are those truly spicy roles and engagements of which I am not cleared to speak openly.)
I wasn’t infallible, either. Not even close. Some of the above ventures succeeded. Others were gigantic flops. Some made me financially comfortable, and I dearly enjoyed the experience. And some made me broke, and I weathered the storms.
Each time, I learned a bit more about how to make money—a helpful skill, and each time, I learned a lot more about how to keep it—an essential skill. Thanks to the latter skill, I eventually set aside some respectable savings.
But I never considered a life devoid of the sense of endless possibilities and constant renewal I have always lived.
In 2022 then, after 18 years of living there, I decided to leave China, a place that for almost two decades had provided daily adventures and an incomparable training field to grow into the person I was always meant to be. A place where I managed to build a distinguished social position and a comfortable life, but also a place more recently culturally and economically deeply troubled, with a capricious Government. A place that has lost the magic spark that made it the world locomotive for four decades and is now struggling to keep the appearance of forward motion.
And so, after two decades of global hustling, by the end of 2023, I was legally free, physically safe, and financially comfortable.
In other words… I was settled.
Chapter 2: The hero in the adventure. The adventure in the hero.
They don't often tell the story of what happens to the hero after he slays the dragon and returns victorious to the village to find his wife and children in good health, the granaries full of crops, and the priest, the merchant, and the tavern keeper all thriving and in peace with one another.
What life does he go on to live?
What life does a dragon-tamer pursue once everything has settled? Can he live in contentment for the rest of his days? Were the external circumstances that forced the man to rise to the moment, or was the adventure in him that drove him into his inevitable faith? Traditional narrative arcs wash away the dilemma with a convenient, “and they lived happily ever after,” and for a good reason: because what happens after is a much more complex albeit less popular story.
Now that the hero has survived his incredible adventure, will he survive the end of the adventure?
I was aware that September 30th, 2023, my last day on the last job that kept me tethered to my past, also marked the moment I was free to start a new life.
However, the freedom I long fought for also meant a pressing obligation to choose a path forward.
After all, true freedom is having the liberty to make decisions following our own heart and intuition, but freedom is not in the procrastination of the state of optionality. Until we commit to something, we are no more free than the one who has no choice.
The moment we commit to something is the one instant we live and express our freedom. The instant before, we may as well have had no choice. The instant after, we no longer have the option.
The weight of the absolute freedom I successfully achieved on October 1st, 2023—after decades fighting for my financial independence and after years fighting for an exit from the machine I was part of—was a hard one to carry. It was an absolute weight.
With only a couple of months before the Christmas holidays, all the preparation work I had to do for my Tokyo9 Act I trip (the prequel to this story, narrated here), and with the awareness that this time I was navigating a major transition in life and therefore I should have listened attentively to what my heart was telling me, I managed to justify remaining uncommitted until the end of the year. Besides, I had spent fifteen years primarily investing in one of the world's most transformational macro-trends (energy transition) and in one of the most successful industries of all time (renewable energy); hence, opportunities to continue a career in the same industry were abundant and not time sensitive.
The pressure really kicked in by early 2024, when I fully realized that, yes, I was surrounded by endless opportunities to monetize my experience, capitalize on my track record, and consolidate my position as a successful member of society, still, this story also felt stale and unoriginal.
Did I travel to uncharted lands, draw novel maps, and deciphered languages of pristine civilizations only to return to the base camp to seal everything away as “my early adventurous years” and move on into a predictable, comfortable life?
By now, I knew I had to do something quick, before the fear of having lost momentum would creep into the otherwise deeply inspirational search for future adventures.
I also needed new input. You cannot extract new inspiration and real growth working with the same elements and experiences you already have. You don’t strengthen your life’s scaffolding by reinforcing the arguments in favor of your existing beliefs. You have to be ready to discover that you have been mistaken, or you sail a fragile ship.
And so I resorted to the quickest debating tool available: books (traveling would have been an even better eye-opener, but it was impractical for my circumstances).
I read like I haven’t in ages. I read self-help books, productivity books, entrepreneurship books, books about arts and creativity, economics and general culture, books on how to make a million dollars in a year, how to make a million dollars in a weekend, how to make a billion dollars with an app, books on spiritual awakening, health, and dieting, I started following a dozen related podcasts and put everything in perspective with my journaling.
I read not to sharpen the tools I had in my toolbox. I read with the crystal clear intention that I was looking for ways and protocols to change, I was looking forward to hearing about tools I never heard of, and figure out how to build those. When an answer is not ready to be found in your heart, the only hope you have to find one is to give up the comfort of your mastery and surrender to the uncertainty of novelty. As open-mindedly as you can.
I didn’t find the answer in any single book; I wasn’t expecting to, but the sum of all those books ferried me through one of the most transformational periods of my life. My self-renewal became so vivid I was able to describe its stages on a daily basis (as I did on my journals.) I thoroughly refreshed my notions of entrepreneurship and investment, productivity and creativity, and even fitness and longevity.
I also realized that…
…living an intentional, creative, adventurous life of constant renewal was not just a phase in my life in the years past—it was not my youth, it is my truth—and adventure comes in my life from feeding my entrepreneurial spirit.
I did not become ultra-wealthy, famous, or powerful, but I lived one of the most original, adventurous lives I know of.
And I would not change a f…
Nor would I trade a single day of my life with anyone else’s. And I don’t know many people who can say the same.
And that matters.
To understand what kind of choices in life will leave us with no regrets and, in fact, will leave us with great stories we can be proud of and a sense of fullness and meaningfulness is the most essential awareness we can have.
Leaving Italy twenty years ago wasn’t to run away from something. It wasn’t a temporary distraction. It was my answer to a calling—a calling to find myself. And I did. And now that I have worked so hard to develop all those skills needed to lean into the life I am meant to live, I will not quietly slide into more comfortable shoes because that comes with comfort and benefits and that’s what everyone does about this age anyway.
And why should I? Especially when I feel I have more ideas, resources, energy, and things to say than ever.
My North Star was clear: I had to shake things up once more and chase my next entrepreneurial adventure wherever it was taking me.
Except that…
…unlike twenty years ago, today my life is not mine only. In making my decisions and charting the course of my future adventures, I have to account for something bigger than myself and something that I love dearly: my family.
Chapter 3: If there was an easy fix, it wouldn’t be original.
Let’s be clear about one thing. My family is not a limitation.
They are the living evidence of the success of my past twenty years of personal growth.
It takes a lot of work to build a family. Every single adventure I have been through has prepared me a bit more to be a man capable of having a loving family of my own. Family requires you to give every day. It also gives back every day. You can’t keep the score—only in a family built on love can that happen.
But a family does create practical constraints to the nomadic life I have experienced for two decades—the only life possible if one wants to cross the lands I have traversed.
And so, here is the puzzle:
How do I live fully what I have built and love the most—my family—without losing the adventure in me? Without losing who I am?
Finding a single complete answer to that question was a long shot, so I worked on isolating parts of the problem trying to science out elements of the solutions one by one.
One thing I knew was that I wanted to stay connected with Asia, starting from Tokyo. It was clear to me there was so much more for me to explore and I wasn’t nearly anywhere close to have tapped into that potential. Even if I couldn’t live there any longer—at least not in the foreseeable future—I could still juggle a travel agenda to remain present and connected to that world. This is in fact how the very Tokyo9 project started—a nine year long project with nine consecutive trips, one each year—and the hidden force behind my trip there last year in December 2023. Something I put in motion even before I fully understood the role it was—and is—playing in my life.
I also wanted to give life to at least some of the many business ideas I envisioned and felt excited by during the years and postponed because the time wasn’t right (or so I told myself.) The idea of waking up one day to realize that I have day-dreamed about so many more good ideas but lost the courage to start with the next one would have crushed me—especially considering how my eyes were now open wider than ever and I could see endless living examples of people who had the courage to continue to renew and change and start and how, honestly, it didn’t even really mattered whether or not they achieved success… because they were living their truth.
Certainly I could no longer spend day after day on end, early morning to late nights, weekends included, working incessantly (this has been my life for the better part of the almost two decades I have lived in China), however, my experience in life and in business on the one hand, and my newly acquired concepts of entrepreneurship on the other, equipped me with tools to tackle new opportunities so much more nimbly. I now had the confidence to figure out my way around a much broader range of enterprises, and without having to seriously compromise my health and longevity. In fact, the sum of all such new habits and tools encouraged me to think that I could do more, better, and for longer, even by investing less time into it. (Time will tell whether or not I am right.)
My renewal work symbolically culminated on February 12th, when I decided to write a letter to myself in ten years from then (when I will be fifty four) summing up everything that I had unearthed during these few months of introspection and renewal. This is an extract from that letter: “There is no doubt in my mind that I want to start something fresh. I want to design my lifestyle. I want to go back to feel the excitement of the moment when new small milestones are passed with a product or service of your creation (a first sale!) I am a creator at heart. I can be good at “not creating” (repetitive, operational tasks) but eventually I feel my soul dying a little bit inside with every moment I spend caught into the script of a life made of greater systems and greater businesses I don’t have any personal connection with.”
I made several lists of all business ideas I could launch and filled in dozen of pages of my journal with comparison charts and long narratives until I felt there was nothing more I could discover unless I actually went back into action.
Of all the ideas on my list, I ended up picking one: Jam Nation. An app that helps musicians get together for group practice (product plug in! Check this out jam-nation.com.)
How the idea came about is a long (fascinating but unrelated) narrative, suffice to say that I picked this business (ad)venture out of half a dozen “finalists” on my list.
I worked for two months on the concept and on what I believed were some of the more brilliant ideas I could contribute. I confronted the mission with a whole new set of tools and mental categories than in my previous entrepreneurial experiences. I committed to doing everything with as lean a structure as possible. I also worked through a process of researching every aspect of the business that could be known in advanced, defining hypothesis for what could not be known, and devising minimum risk and minimum investment methods to test these latter and move forward.
By April, I was ready to launch a prototype. As I approached the starting line, I hesitated again. I had been engaged in so much “motion”—reading, journaling, evaluating, planning, designing, etc.—but not yet any “action”—selling.
I had invested so much effort into it but I could have still gone back to my old industry, enjoying 15 years of experience, a global network of resources, an effortless sense of accomplishment, a roster of medals to show off at my next meeting, and the ultra-soft pampers of an Old G. I could have still told to the world that all I did was take some well-deserved time off and no one would have noticed the tsunami I went through—whereas if I went public with my new business, there was no turning back.
I stood on the fence for days.
It was thanks to the presence of my spiritual brother, we will name him ‘K’—coincidentally enough the same person forever imprinted in my first experience of Tokyo—and thank to weekly “accountability sessions” he and I established earlier this year, that I committed to take a first step to launch Jam Nation and gathered the courage to make my new venture public within my community.
On April 17th, I switched the website access from ‘private’ to ‘public’, posted about it in the few platforms where I have a presence, and—most importantly—I personally wrote to everyone I knew. I told the world “Hey everyone, I am doing something else.”
I felt sick to my stomach.
April 17th, when I told the world what I was up to, I was, officially, beginning again. I was not afraid of failing anyone. I was frightened of failing myself.
Being an entrepreneur is far from the most difficult job on earth. There are many undertakings that are way more challenging (high stakes roles in the field of law enforcement, medicine, and the military are only some examples.) But being an entrepreneur is the role with the greatest existential challenge. You are, ultimately, alone. Your world exists because you wake up in the morning and convince everyone that it does—starting from you. Until you go to sleep. And the next morning you start all over again. Entrepreneurship is a Groundhog Day. At least until your enterprise grows legs of its own, which doesn’t always happen either until later, much later, or never.
And so the next six months went by with highs and lows that required me to grab hard onto every single last lifestyle coping mechanism I developed in my recent healthier years: a regular, tight, laser-sharp workout agenda, a scientific diet, regular meditation, focused creative and artistic practices, a transformational rediscovery of the importance of social network—specifically the importance of investing and working on close and intimate friendships.
The moods and motivational swings were harsh, but my lifestyle helped me through.
I had moments when I was overwhelmed by the number and novelty of the challenges, moments when I wanted to quit, even moments when I rationalized how I may have made the wrong decision; But also moments when I felt intensely proud and accomplished, when each and all elements to my decision were standing in front of me in all their impeccable logic and, in a way, days when I already felt a winner simply for the fact that I dared to do what I did.
What I didn’t foresee was how my Tokyo9 project was going to come and give me the energy and inspiration I needed and give my business the pulse I was chasing.
And that is part of another story…
L.F
NOTE: this article can be read as the first one of a two parts article. The second one being Tokyo9, Act II, and currently work in progress.
