Two days ago, I played padel for the first time. A new complex that just opened near my place. Four glass walls, rackets that look like nothing I’ve ever held, and a doubles match that went to three sets. I don’t know what came over me — maybe the need to do something that has nothing to do with a screen, with code, with numbers. Just a ball, a partner, and me trying to figure out the rules while playing.
And for three sets, it worked. No notifications. No WhatsApp from an accountant. No specs sheet changing for the third time. Just the game. The ball bouncing off the glass. The adrenaline of a point won. I’d forgotten what it felt like to think about nothing but winning a rally. Not the dollar-to-shekel kind. The yellow-ball-against-a-glass-wall kind.
But even on a padel court, I’m still me. Walking off the court, I got talking with the manager of the complex. Nice guy, passionate about his project. We talked about his business, how he saw things growing. And naturally, I mentioned that I build apps. His face changed. “We’ve actually been looking for someone to build an app for the center.” He took my number. We’ll see — I’ve stopped getting my hopes up about “we’ll see” — but that’s how I operate. Every encounter is a thread to pull. When you owe more than $800,000, you don’t let anything slide. Not even a sweaty conversation by the side of a court.
At work, this week tastes different. The Telegram mini app we’ve been building with my boss has gone V2. And this time, it’s the real deal. We integrated a full shop inside, automations for future clients, a complete user journey. But above all — and this is what changes everything — the first curious visitors have started showing up. People who didn’t know us, discovering the app, asking questions. For the first time in months, one of my projects isn’t ending up in a drawer. It’s alive. It’s breathing. It’s attracting people.
My boss felt it too. He told me that next week, we’re sitting down with the company’s leadership. The agenda: dividing up responsibilities for this new venture, and talking about how much each person will earn. A meeting like this, two months ago, I would have dreamed about it. Today, I’m staying cautious. I don’t know the market, I don’t know what it’s worth, and I’d rather wait and see than get carried away. Everything is a bonus. But deep down, I know one thing: without me, this app wouldn’t exist. Not V1. Not V2. Not the shop. Not the automations. I built all of it, screen by screen, night after night. And no meeting can deny that.
On the debt front, an encouraging sign. My lawyer has finally moved. He contacted my accountant to request additional documents for my tax case. It’s not a victory, it’s not even concrete progress. But it’s movement. After weeks where every follow-up from me was met with silence or “soon,” knowing that he’s actively working on the file brings some relief. The $170,000 tax bill isn’t going to disappear on its own. But at least someone is popping the hood to look at what’s underneath.
This morning, my aunt sent $300 for my daughter’s birthday. A simple, generous gesture, like she’s always been. I called to thank her. We talked a little — about my daughter, about the family, about everything and nothing. About everything, except the subject. The one that floats between us like a polite ghost that nobody invites to sit down. She didn’t ask me anything. Not a word about money. Not a hint. Just her warm voice, her questions about the kids, and that elegant silence she’s maintained for months. And me, on the other end of the line, smiling while my throat tightened. Because this woman entrusted me with her life savings. And here she is, still sending money — for my daughter — as if nothing happened. That’s the weight of family debt. It’s not anger that destroys you. It’s kindness.
And then there’s the prop trading platform. My platform. The one I finished two weeks ago that sits there, ready, silent, like a brand-new car parked in a locked garage. This weekend, it’s decided: I’m going for it. Marketing, trading groups, prospecting. I’ve put it off too long because I didn’t have time, because the boss’s priorities came first, because there was always a spec sheet to redo or a live stream to film. But if I wait for the perfect moment, it’ll never come. The moment is now.
What these days taught me: Sometimes, the best thing you can do for your debt is leave the house. Drop the screen, step onto a court, and let the world come to you. The best opportunities aren’t on LinkedIn — they come from talking to people, from staying curious, from remaining open even when everything pushes you to close off. That padel complex manager has no idea he’s talking to a guy who owes $800,000. He just sees someone who knows how to build apps. And that’s exactly the version of me I need right now. Not the guy in debt. The guy who builds.
Day 7.