Who Am I?

I was born in the U.S., but I never really lived there. I spent most of my life in Istanbul — a city that shaped me with its energy, contrasts, and chaos. My parents were both well-educated and deeply allergic to sitting still. They became tour guides, lived across continents, and raised me in airports, jungles, ruins, and rainstorms. I grew up moving. Fast.

By the time I was ten, I’d been to more countries than I could count. I’d slept next to tarantulas in the Amazon Rainforest. Posed with wild alligators at Cuiabá. Nearly died of fever at Machu Picchu. I didn’t fully grasp what was happening around me — but I knew I wanted to live intensely.

Sports gave me structure. I started with gymnastics. Tried sailing. Landed on basketball — and for ten years, it became everything. I trained hard, made it to the national team candidate squad, and even shared the court with now-NBA players. But while I was focused on hoops, school fell apart.

That led to a big decision: I transferred to a basketball-focused school where academics were an afterthought. It was a reality check. For the first time, I realized what it meant to throw away an opportunity. And I decided I wouldn’t do that again.

In 10th grade, I made a deal with my family: take me back to the hard school. Let me prove something. I studied like my future depended on it. And it did. That year, I learned the truth: success isn’t about talent. It’s about systems, consistency, and a refusal to coast.

That mindset still drives me.

I ended up scoring in the top 1% on the SAT, got into Bocconi University in Milan, and built a life around challenge — physical, mental, and creative. I ran two marathons in two weeks. Climbed peaks across Türkiye. Started journaling, habit-tracking, learning languages, experimenting with Notion and Obsidian, building systems for everything from workouts to money.

Then came the Ironman. I signed up to do the thing I was worst at: swimming. Paired it with something I was a complete beginner in: cycling. And added running — something I was barely okay at. Why? Because I wanted to know what would happen if I kept going. If I stopped making excuses and leaned into the thing that scared me.

That’s what this blog is about.

I don’t have all the answers. But I’m chasing them — through discomfort, through effort, through presence. I write to make sense of things. To share what I’m learning. To stay honest. And maybe to connect with a few people out there who are on their own version of this path.

If that’s you — welcome.