Micro Experiments
I quit my job to solo travel across Asia.
Not because I had all the answers.
But because I needed to find them.
My first stop: Hanoi.
Not as a tourist, but as a trial for the nomad life.
The plan was simple.
Four days in the Old Quarter, then three weeks in a quieter apartment in West Lake.
I wanted to see if this life was for me.
It wasn’t.
Hanoi suffocates.
Breathing the world’s most polluted air feels like smoking.
The noise is relentless and the honking from the scooters drown every thought.
I left the Dutch winter to be outdoors and to regain focus.
Hanoi gave me a N95 mask and earplugs.
Three sleepless nights was all I could take before buying another flight.
Some might call that a failure.
I call it clarity.
A micro experiment saves you from big mistakes.
It buys certainty without betting everything.
This isn’t the first time I’ve used experiments to navigate big decisions.
In 2022, I bought a piano. Took lessons for a year. Sold it.
In 2023, I studied Italian for six months. Achieved B2. Moved on.
Long-term commitment is hard. It’s saying yes to one thing and no to the rest.
Daring becomes less daunting when you replace “no” with “not now.”
Micro experiments aren’t an excuse to quit. They’re the filter that separates what’s worth pursuing from what’s not.
How do you know what’s worth it? You feel it.
After a year of piano lessons, I still had to force myself to practice. Not once did I sit and play for the joy of it. That was my answer.
Micro experiments aren’t free, but they buy what no amount of research ever can: how a decision feels to you.
Every risk changes you.
Every experiment reshapes your self-image.
Each step forward proves one thing: “If I did that, I can do this too.”
That’s how you want to be remembered:
As someone who,
when it mattered,
went for it.
When they ask, “What’s your plan?”
Just say, “I’m figuring it out one step at a time.”
No one expects you to have a full plan. But that’s no excuse for not taking action.
People rarely think as badly of you as you think of yourself.
While you worry about coming across as a flake, they’re admiring your courage.
They wish they had your guts to try.
For them, uncertainty is a solid wall.
For you, it’s a glass door where you can see the opportunities behind it.
Once you see, it’s not about courage anymore. It’s about clarity.
To them, it’s crazy to try.
To you, it’s crazy not to.
After my trip to Asia, my next experiment is set: one month as a barista.
I’ve dreamed of opening a café for years. This is how I’ll learn the ropes: Making minimum wage and maximum learning.
I’ll be a spy in an apron, taking notes, asking questions, and seeing what it really takes to run a café, not the fantasy I imagine as a customer.
Like playing a café simulator game with no risk and all reward.
Or maybe cafés aren’t for me. That’s the point.
Micro experiments replace illusions with reality.
Better to fail fast and cheap than to pursue something you just thought you wanted.
That’s the beauty of experiments. They move you forward. Or sideways.
But never stuck in limbo.
Decide in the field, not in a lab.
No amount of reading could’ve taught me what I learned in three days.
Leaving Hanoi wasn’t just about escaping the smog.
It was about following my gut instead of a plan.
You can measure pollution in numbers, but numbers can’t tell you how it feels to breathe, to live, to be there.
So I’ll keep experimenting.
Next stop: Nha Trang.
Two days booked.
Let’s see what happens.
