the entire universe is rooting for you

Sometimes, it feels like the entire world is working against you. People don’t even follow up.

But really, the world becomes a much more pleasant place when you start to believe that the entire universe is secretly working in the shadows, helping you succeed.

I moved to London six months ago, almost to the day. In that time, I’ve been a recipient of so much kindness that I’ve lost count. Almost everything good that has happened to me, happened because multiple people helped me get there.

This is half a reflection on Kevin Kelly’s blog post “How Will the Miracle Happen Today?” and half a reflection on hitting six months in London. KK spent decades hitchhiking and roaming Asia, relying on the kindness of strangers with such regularity that he stopped being surprised by it and started expecting it. He came to believe that generosity isn’t random, but summoned by a deliberate willingness to be helped.

I wouldn’t have believed it myself six months ago, so I wrote this for those who may not believe it yet either.

I moved from San Francisco to London for an opportunity. No real plan, no income, with my backup plan being that I either just go back to SF or flee to Chiang Mai to sulk in some Khao Soi. I’d “scouted” the UK for a few weeks earlier that summer, and thought there was something interesting happening. I was gonna call it my “swinging for the fence” era. If it all went south, it’d at least be a nice chapter in my memoir.

I was terrified.

The first weeks in London were rough. I kept getting scammed in places I’d rent. Rooms filled with mould, strange in-between neighbourhoods near Camden and Euston, crazy roommates, the usual. I’d crash with a girl I’d met a few weeks back in the summer. A warm bed. She’d sometimes make food, usually with too much off-brand gochujang. It was one of the first great acts of kindness I received. We’d end up dating.

But I was haemorrhaging money. Deep in the red. It was Week 3, and I had no idea how I was going to last another three weeks, let alone another three months.

Right in that moment, I received a grant from Tyler Cowen via Emergent Ventures, over a 1.5-page application, a five-minute interview, in just five days. I’d been rejected from EV at least once before, and I’m sure I would’ve been rejected again if it wasn’t for IF, RK, and AM who vouched for me, believing in me.

I eventually settled down in a lovely flat in South London, with a couple who wanted to save up for their wedding. They were renting their spare bedroom, and it felt great to be able to take this money I was gifted to contribute to their future, all while finally having my own space.

I had no clue ahead of time who would help me, when, how, why, or even for what. But every good thing that has happened to me, without fail, happened because of another person’s generosity.

I’ve been trying to figure out why. I didn’t know what it meant to “summon kindness” at the time, and I’m still far from an expert. But looking back, there’s a few things I think I did.

I worked in public to the best of my ability. Not as much as I do today, but before anyone was paying me to do anything, I wrote about my progress, sharing ideas, putting rough drafts out into the world. Sending rough drafts are underrated. Though most of it got no response, every once in a while, someone interesting would reach out. A few of those people I now consider good friends. Working in public truly is like standing on the side of the road with your thumb out. Just making yourself visible to whoever might be going your way could lead to incredible acts of kindness.

Looking back, I was also very honest about how things were going. When people asked how things were going, I tried to be honest, especially if it was about philanthropic funding that people thought was some magical thing.

I think there’s something about candour that unlocks generosity. We know how to perform competence and comfort. But when you do that, it actually stops the gifts from being summoned. If anything, honesty is even more valuable than crisp writing these days. We all just want to relate to each other.

Last thing, I tried to be thoughtful about my generosity network, a.k.a the people who, for whatever reason, were overly generous with introductions and their time. I’ve tried giving it back, offering help to others and being generous with my time like others have been for me. I think of it like karma: you get back what you put into the world, and you never know how the universe will brings things back to you.

Today, I work out of an office I do not pay for, chat over free coffees, often even dinners, with free knowledge from experienced friends and colleagues infinitely more successful than me.

I do this all while preparing to go back on the road to seek more gifts for another philanthropic program. I’ve received and tried to give many more gifts since arriving, usually non-monetary. But unfortunately, I’m still in a phase of my life where I’m receiving more gifts than I’m giving.

KK writes about the art of being “kinned”—of being the recipient of generosity as its own kind of practice. Most of us are terrible at it. We resist it until we’re helpless and desperate, equating needing something with weakness. To truly believe in the conspiracy, we must acknowledge our helplessness and accept the uncertainty.

And when you’re finally kinned, when you receive that gift, you must do so with genuine humility and confidence. You are not an object of pity for receiving great generosity from a stranger. You provide something that they do not have, you are a Merchant of Light that brings knowledge from another world. Without this confidence, you will not be able to summon the gifts. You must be uniquely vulnerable to summon the kindness from others.

KK calls the act of believing in the conspiracy as pronoia—the opposite of paranoia. Instead of believing everyone is out to get you, you believe everyone is out to help you. The story of your life becomes one huge elaborate conspiracy to lift you up. But to be helped, you must join the conspiracy yourself.

I’ve come to accept that life, as it seems, is an ultimate culmination of goodwill and gifts, for those who are able to summon it.

I wrote this on the plane to London six months ago, before I knew at all what was to come. I’m including it here because I think it’s honest in a way I can’t be today.

Flying to a new country with my life packed into two bags. It’s enough, though, since how I dress won’t be what matters.

I’m running out of cash. I’ve let my place go. I won’t end up back there.

High risk, high reward. I’m swinging for the fence.

I’m swinging for the fence in a way so many people before me couldn’t. Maybe they were immigrants who literally couldn’t leave their job or else they’d be sent away. Maybe they simply didn’t have the opportunities and support that people like myself have been fortunate to receive. Maybe it’s their family, who constantly encouraged them to go the safe route and just print money with a cushy job.

I’m lucky. And I truly am grateful. But I’m terrified.

So many people believed in me. And I can’t let them down. I can’t stop now.

So I swing for the fence for that shy kid in third grade who barely spoke English. My friends, the ones before me who couldn’t, the people who’ve believed in me and still believe in me. There must be something after this. Something so much greater.

The only way past is through. So I just have to keep on swinging.