What if trust is enough?

A quiet morning between doubt, Bitcoin, and the radical idea: I am enough.

Hallo Birgit

A silent morning in Da Nang

Silence. A Sunday morning in Da Nang. Sixth floor. I’m sitting on the bed, laptop on my lap, the first green tea still steaming softly beside me. The air is fresh, the air conditioner hums quietly on low. A cone of incense spreads its earthy, spicy scent. Downstairs, the night guard is tiptoeing through the stairwell, silently switching off the lights. Everything feels light. Clear. Simple.

Do you know that feeling? When everything around you is calm — but something inside still stirs?

The whisper of not enough

Maybe you’re sitting somewhere right now, with coffee or tea. Maybe your night was restless, or you’re full of energy — and yet, you know this moment, when you ask yourself: Is what’s here enough?

That’s exactly where I am this morning.

I slept like a rock, but somewhere in the night I woke up — with a headache. Two pills, then back to sleep. And now: this silence. No noise. No honking. No street vendors. Just the gentle hum of the AC and a single bird calling from somewhere outside.

It seems like a peaceful day is unfolding. And still — something stirs within me.

“It’s not enough,” says the voice.

You haven’t written anything this week. No Instagram post. No text for the website. No voice message. No café visit. No output. And Pinterest doesn’t really count.

Maybe you know that too. That subtle tug. That voice asking: What are you actually doing? Are you using your time wisely? Are you showing up enough?

It doesn’t scream. It’s more like fog. A whisper. It lays itself over everything that was actually beautiful just a moment ago.

Still, I stay sitting. I look out. The hills outside the window, a few rooftops, a quiet sky. The kitchen is tidy, the tea still warm. The day stretches out before me. And I wonder: What if this is enough? If nothing needs to be added. No post. No product. No proof. No “Look what I did today” story. Just me. Just this moment.

But that’s not how our world works, right?

Maybe you follow people who share what they eat, feel, and think every day. How they struggle. How they grow. How they cut their own hair and survive an emotional crisis at the same time. And you think: Wow, they’re really living consciously. Or: I really should be doing more…

And this is where the question begins: Who are you doing it for? To show that you’re alive? To prove to yourself that you’re enough? To arrive somewhere, someday, where the feeling will finally show up: Now I am complete.

I know this spiral well. Very well. I’ve studied it. Lived it. Been applauded for it. And at some point I realized: it takes me away from myself.

So this morning, I want to take you on a little journey. An inner journey. Maybe you’ll recognize yourself in it.

Listening instead of reacting

Imagine you wake up. Everything around you is fine. No drama. No pressure. And still, something inside nudges you: Come on, do something. Show something. Be something.

Now imagine you don’t move. You just sit. Sip your tea. Look out the window. And listen to that voice — without reacting. Without pushing it away. Without following it blindly.

What happens then?

For me, a space opens up. A space where I start to wonder: Who is actually speaking? Who wrote this script that whispers every morning that I haven’t done enough?

And suddenly, another system comes to mind. Something that seems unrelated to my life — but actually reflects so much of it.

Bitcoin.

Learn more about Bitcoin.

Bitcoin as a teacher of stillness

Maybe you’ve never looked into it. Maybe you’ve just heard the word. For me, over the years, it has become a quiet teacher. A network that simply continues. Silently. Consistently. Not because someone cheers it on. Not because it needs attention. But because it was designed for one thing: to stay.

Bitcoin doesn’t advertise. It doesn’t send you notifications. It doesn’t promise you wealth. It just says: TikTok — next block.

No matter what happens. No matter if people doubt it, sell it, scream, project. The next block arrives. Period.

And that hit me. Because I realized: this voice inside me — this “It’s not enough” — completely contradicts that. That calm. That steadiness.

Everyone else is shouting: More! Faster! Now! Take profits! Get out! Get in! But the network says: 1 Bitcoin = 1 Bitcoin. Always. Without drama.

What if that’s true for me, too?

1 Dirk = 1 Dirk.

TikTok — next breath.

I breathe. I write. I feel. I am. No proof. No output. No “only when…”

The other voice: but what will you live on?

And yet another voice appears: “Okay… but what are you going to live off?”

I nod. Of course. That question sits deep. In me. In many of us. It sounds like common sense. Like reality. And yes, it has weight.

But here too, a pattern shows up: We believe we have to control everything. That we have to know exactly how something pays off. When it comes back. How it monetizes. That action must create immediate reaction.

But that’s not how life works. Not nature. Not growth. Not love. And not creative work either.

Sometimes, it takes trust. A long breath.

Like in the early days of Bitcoin. The first believers were seen as fools. No one understood them. They gained nothing — for years. But they stayed. Because they had seen something. And because they trusted.

Trust means: I move without knowing the way. I stay, even when nothing comes back. I show up — and that’s enough.

Nature lives this. A seed falls into the ground. Lies there for months. Nobody screams at it to hurry up and sprout. And then, when the moment is right, it breaks through. Not because it must. But because it’s time.

Presence over panic

I remember a scene I once wrote down. A dream, or maybe a metaphor. Suddenly, I’m in a cockpit. Flight 307. Canada. No idea how I got there. No idea how to fly. And yet I know: I have to do it. There’s no one else.

A friend beside me. Calm. Grounded. “You got this,” he says.

And I fly. Not because I studied it. But because I trust — something greater, myself, life.

Maybe you know these moments too. You get thrown into the deep end. And suddenly you notice: You’re swimming. Not perfectly. Not smoothly. But you stay afloat. And at some point, panic becomes presence.

I first shared this scene in Step 1: Full speed, no clue — a story about stepping into something far bigger than yourself, without a manual, without control. And it’s still unfolding. Still guiding me, quietly.

No post. No proof. Just breath.

Today is not that kind of day. Today is still. Unspectacular. And precisely because of that — deeply valuable.

Because today, I choose to stay. Without broadcasting. Without performing. Without needing to.

I’m not writing this to prove anything. I’m writing to share what’s real.

Maybe you recognize yourself. Maybe you read this and think: Yes — I’ve felt exactly like that.

And that’s enough.

That’s connection. Without a show. Without a filter.

I don’t need confirmation that my life has value. And still, this impulse returns: Post something. Make it count. Turn it into something.

But for who? And at what cost?

The moment is complete

What if this moment — you and I, reading, writing, breathing — is already complete?