I did not start writing to be noticed. I started because, at some point, I realised that my path only made sense inside my own head — and not always even there. Putting things in order on a page is the most honest way I know to find out whether they hold together.
From the outside, my profile looks like a sequence that does not quite add up: five years at a technical school studying computing, then communication, photography and audiovisual production, followed by project and account management, and now sales at an Italian tech company. In between came projects that began and ended, some with a name and others left inside a folder. For years, I answered the question “so, what do you do?” differently depending on who was asking. It worked for the conversation; it did not work for me.
This website, and this section in particular, started there. Not with an editorial plan or a personal-branding strategy, but with a simpler need: to have somewhere things could remain still long enough for me to look at them.
An archive before a showcase
When people talk about writing online, visibility is usually the first word to appear. It is a legitimate goal, but it is not my starting point. My starting point is an archive. I want the experiences I have been through — RESET, ShowMe, the years spent in photography, the move from production to project management and then sales — to exist in writing, independently of what I happen to remember or the mood I am in when I describe them.
An archive has one quality a showcase does not: it can include what did not go well. In fact, it must. If I retain only the presentable outcomes, I end up with a brochure biography, and brochure biographies teach nobody anything — least of all the person writing them. Almost all the experiences that shaped me most were projects that did not reach their stated goal. If they have no place here, this place serves no purpose.
There is also a practical consideration. For years I have worked with clients, partners and colleagues who, in different ways, ask me to explain how I think. Starting from scratch every time is wasteful. Having a considered text to share, written calmly rather than in an eleven-at-night chat, is a form of respect for both the person asking and myself.
Making sense of a non-linear path
My path is not linear, and I do not want to pretend otherwise. But non-linear does not mean random. Looking back, some threads are more continuous than I expected. Technical training gave me a way to break problems down that I still use today, even though I no longer write code. Photography taught me to observe before intervening. Entrepreneurial projects forced me to confront the difference between an interesting idea and something that can actually be delivered. Sales, which came last, is bringing all of this together in a profession that has more to do with listening than persuasion.
Writing makes those threads visible. Not to manufacture a coherent narrative, but to test which connections are real and which ones I am merely telling myself are there. Writing is unforgiving in this respect: vague sentences and missing logical steps become obvious. If an argument cannot stand on a page, it is unlikely to stand in a meeting.
What I do not want to do
I do not want to write manuals. There are people far better qualified than I am to explain how to build a communication strategy or manage a negotiation. What I can offer is more limited and perhaps more useful: the perspective of someone who has done these things in real settings, with real budgets and real people, and paid attention to what happened.
Nor do I want to turn every experience into a neatly packaged lesson. I understand some things and not others; on some, I have changed my mind several times. I would rather leave questions open when they remain open than close them with a polished line that sounds good and fails the following day's reality check.
"Writing is the least expensive way I know to discover what I really think."
The agreement with the reader
If you have made it this far, the agreement is simple. I will describe things as I experienced them, naming projects and the people with whom I shared them when it is appropriate, and withholding names when it is not. I will not add figures I cannot verify or manufacture episodes to make a story livelier. If a project ended, I will say that it ended and try to explain why, without excuses or drama.
In return, I ask for an unhurried reading. These pieces were not designed to be skimmed in thirty seconds. They are for anyone interested in understanding how somebody who changed direction several times thinks — and why I eventually stopped treating that as a flaw to justify.
The first group of articles starts here and follows, in the order I experienced them, the stages that mattered: technical school, RESET, photography, ShowMe, working inside a company and sales. It is not a story with an ending. It is an archive under construction, and that construction is the part I want to document.
