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We live in a world we did not choose at the start, yet one we inevitably continue to build. And if we see life as construction, then we are not tenants under a contract but architects of our own reality. An architect does not argue with the terrain; he takes measurements, selects materials, and designs so that the house stands firm and fits with the houses next to it. In this chapter, we take exactly this perspective: not “who is obliged to fix everything,” but how we design and raise our own world among the many worlds of others, which often intersect with ours.

Inheritance of Circumstances

“We cannot choose the family or the place we are born into. But we can choose who we become, in spite of it”

Viktor Frankl, neurologist, psychiatrist, Holocaust survivor, founder of logotherapy

We come into the world with different starting points. Some have warm evenings with their parents and a modest budget. Others grow up in a spacious house, with adults following a strict schedule of care. Some are fortunate in several ways at once, while others begin their journey with almost nothing. This is not about whose life is “better” or “worse,” but about the different starting positions that shape what is available to us from the very beginning: health, the time adults can give, the safety of the neighborhood, the quality of the school, the circle of friends. Year after year, research confirms that starting conditions really do differ – from income and savings to life expectancy and quality of education. Across countries, the wealth gap is such that the top 10% of the population owns about half of all assets, while the bottom 40% has only a few percent, and even life expectancy is significantly higher among those with more education. This is not a verdict, but rather the terrain each of us has to walk.

Our “childhood address” also plays a role. Large datasets show that the neighborhood where we grow up has a significant impact on adult outcomes – from income to the likelihood of completing education; and this effect can be seen even at the level of individual communities. In other words, even with similar levels of poverty, neighboring areas can give children very different chances in life. This is not “mysticism” or politics – it’s about networks of contacts, the quality of schools, the safety of the streets, and the presence of role models nearby.

Health also follows a social “gradient.” The WHO Commission on Social Determinants of Health showed years ago that living and working conditions create a systematic ladder of health inequality within countries. Where housing, access to education, and stable employment are worse, people tend to get sick more often and live shorter lives – and this applies not only to the poorest, but to every rung of the ladder from bottom to top.

To this picture we must add another layer – childhood experience. Large-scale studies on adverse childhood experiences show that trauma, abuse, unstable families, and chronic stress in early years are linked to a higher risk of health and behavioral problems later in adulthood. These are not stereotypes or labels – they are well-documented connections observed by doctors and psychologists for decades.

If we look more broadly at the “lottery of birth,” social mobility on average is quite low: in a typical country, children born into the lowest-income families will need about four to five generations to reach the society’s median income level – all else being equal. This doesn’t mean that “everything is predetermined” – it means the slope of the path is real, and for many, the journey is simply longer, though there are always those who manage to climb it much faster.

Global statistics confirm this: multidimensional poverty (when people lack not only money but also access to basic services such as education, healthcare, clean water, and safe housing) still affects hundreds of millions of people, and more than half of them are children. These are not abstract percentages but real differences in starting opportunities.

What should we take away from this “inheritance of circumstances”? First, no one starts from the same line. Second, this is an objective part of reality, not a reason for mutual blame. Each of us has our own hand of cards – sometimes generous, sometimes modest, sometimes skewed: time without money, money without time, care without resources, resources without care. And third, the slope of the road is not a sentence. It explains why some have it harder, not why some “shouldn’t even try.” We are outside politics, religion, and “someone’s right or wrong”: there is no single addressee of blame here; there are different contours of reality, each resisting in its own way.

Yes, there are systems and institutions that improve the overall terrain – schools, healthcare, urban infrastructure. But even where the “elevator gets stuck between floors,” the local steps of people and communities can soften the slope: safe courtyards, support from neighbors, mentoring for teenagers, respectful speech instead of humiliation – all of these are local actions that work precisely because they happen “on the ground.” And the smoother “my stretch of road” is, the easier it becomes for those walking beside me.

If the starting positions are unequal, then the most direct lever is what lies within our zone of control: how we speak, what we leave behind in the shared space, what we share, how we earn, and how we help. The external slope changes slowly, but our own step can change immediately.

From Heir to Founder

"We are not what happened to us. We are what we choose to become"

Carl Jung, psychiatrist and psychoanalyst, the founder of analytical psychology

We do not choose our starting point, but we do choose who we become along the way. After the "inheritance of circumstances," each of us faces a simple yet tough question: what do I do with my set of cards? Do I leave everything as it is—or do I turn this inheritance into material for building? At that moment, a person ceases to be merely an heir and becomes a founder—the one who sets the rules of their world and takes responsibility for them.

The heir lives by inertia. He accepts not only the apartment, the language, and the family habits, but also the ready-made explanations: "this is how we do it," "this neighborhood has always been this way," "let those at the top decide." The heir waits, agrees, gets irritated, argues, but rarely changes anything within the reach of his own hands.

The founder acts differently. He begins with an inventory: what do I truly have—time, health, skills, connections, possessions, reputation? What drains my strength, and what restores it? Which habits do I repeat simply because that’s how people around me lived? The founder does not rewrite his entire life overnight—he sets up points of support from which he can move forward, and it is from these that he builds his first floor.

A support is not some abstract "strength of spirit," but a set of concrete decisions that we make ourselves and carry out ourselves.

1. Personal Perimeter. What is fully under my control today: my room, my stairwell, my workplace, conversations at home, my body, my schedule? Here each of us has the power to create order without permissions or endless discussions.

2. My Principles of Speech. I speak in a way that does not demean; when I feel a dispute has turned into a battle over “who’s right,” I stop: “It seems we’re looking from different angles. Let’s try to find a shared perspective, and if not, I suggest we close the topic.” This is not weakness but a choice to keep my energy from being wasted on noise.

3. Minimum Security. Food, sleep, basic income, documents, contacts, essential belongings. Without these, there is no stability and no creation. If something here is missing, the very first step is to strengthen or begin building exactly this foundation.

4. One Habitual Step a Day. The smallest one. Pick up a candy wrapper on the stairs and throw it away. Say “thank you” to the janitor or at least wish him a good day, lifting both his spirits and your own. Help an elderly neighbor carry her grocery bag – she may refuse out of modesty, but she will be grateful because it is difficult for her. Small is not heroism – and that is its strength: it is modest, but steady, because it repeats and gradually makes the world around a little kinder.

We all have different combinations of resources. This is not a reason to give up – it is a reason to build differently.

– If closer to survival. Focus on steps that bring immediate returns and require no investment: selling waste paper or scrap metal for money and keeping the collection site in order; small household services for fair pay; giving away items “to good hands” – to free up space and help neighbors. This means income, respect for the environment, and new connections.

– If in stability. Take steps that save resources and improve shared spaces: repair instead of replace; dispose of batteries once a month; take “stairwell duty” not formally, but genuinely; negotiate instead of ordering or quarreling.

– If in abundance. Help in ways that do not offend or create dependency: by request, with choice, quietly. Provide tools for those who earn with their hands. Cover the cost of a dumpster for construction debris after a renovation in the yard. Offer a scholarship or mentoring for a teenager on clear, respectful terms.

In any of these paths, we are not “fixing the whole world” – we are establishing our own, and it begins to resonate with those nearby. This is the shift from heir to founder: from passive waiting to active creation.

Everyone has the right to their own opinion; each person builds their world as they can, based on the start they had. Each has their own unique path. But there are areas where no one but ourselves can make a change. No one “from above” will pick up our cup, replace our conversation with a child, or correct our speech. In these zones, waiting means abandoning our own world. A founder does not look for the guilty; he looks for points of effort: “What exactly can I do right now, on my own square meter of earth?”

Yes, somewhere the elevator is stuck between floors – the system fails. But that is precisely why local solutions that require no permissions are so important: cleanliness, courtesy, predictability, help when asked. These are the bricks from which our house of values is built – visible and tangible.

A founder does not think in terms of “grand achievements,” but in repeated actions. One step does not change everything, but it triggers the next. In this sense, we are all a bit like engineers: setting simple, achievable tasks and repeating them until they become the norm. This way, not only does the space around us change – the way we see ourselves changes too: “I am capable.” From this point of support, it becomes easier to take the next level.

There is one important caveat. Being a founder does not mean “building your own at someone else’s expense.” On the contrary: your world becomes stronger when it is compatible with the worlds of others. We set boundaries and rules, but leave room for other people’s freedom. We bring order to our own space, but do not demand that everyone live “by our instructions.” We help – but first we analyze what kind of help is needed, and whether it is needed at all.

We came into life as heirs – with different cards, fortunes, and distortions. To become a founder means taking this inheritance and turning it into a foundation: defining your perimeter, setting rules for speech and support, choosing one repeatable step and holding it every day. From that moment, our world ceases to depend on someone else’s goodwill and begins to rest on our own choice.

Balance of Worlds

“True unity is not in uniformity, but in the harmony of differences”

Rabindranath Tagore, poet, philosopher, and Nobel laureate

We build our own world, which inevitably intersects with the worlds of others. Like in a house with thin walls: if we put up barricades, the air disappears; if we live without boundaries, chaos arrives. Balance is the art of combining freedom and respect: I’m okay, you’re okay; my walls do not become your prison.

At home we are especially vulnerable and especially important to one another. Our rhythms, habits, and needs differ – sometimes radically. Balance begins with simple things: listening before responding; pausing when emotions rise above meaning; agreeing on rules before a conflict, not after. Care is not control and not “I know better how you should live.” Care is asking: “How can I help? In what way exactly?” – and accepting “no” if now is not the time.

We can keep a few quiet agreements: leave shared spaces cleaner than we found them; observe morning and evening “quiet hours” – not only about noise, but about tact; phrase requests without reproach. When the home is calm, we gain the strength to create outward as well.

Our small decisions in shared spaces multiply. A greeting in the elevator, closing the door behind us, picking up a candy wrapper at the entrance, a polite message in the house chat instead of “who made this mess?” – these are the building blocks of compatible worlds. At work it’s the same: giving feedback on time, setting clear deadlines, respecting others’ time, taking personal responsibility for the shared result.

On the internet, balance is especially fragile: it’s easy to turn someone else’s world into a target. If a conversation slips into “who’s right,” we can choose either to sort it out with facts or to respectfully close the topic. We don’t have to win every argument to remain human.

Skin color, nationality, orientation, or the shape of one’s eyes do not matter – what matters are the actions we take toward one another. In another country, people may look at us with surprise. Not because we are “bad,” but because to someone we are simply new. Today they look at us – tomorrow we will marvel at someone else’s custom or appearance. Instead of resentment, reproach, anger, or condemnation, it’s worth choosing curiosity and respect: to ask, to explain, to smile, or to pass by without sarcasm. In doing so, we protect our own world without breaking someone else’s.

Each of us carries our own “truth,” shaped by family stories, faith, views, teachers, and books. These truths form us and give meaning. But they are not grounds for hatred. We stand outside the struggle for the “one true” position. For us, there are two honest choices:Each person is a separate world with their own path. This path does not deserve negative judgment in itself. Judgment begins only where actions cause harm. Up to that line, there is the right to be different; beyond it, the right to defend boundaries.

1. A joint search – if there is the will and time to examine facts and meanings, a compromise can always be found.

2. A respectful closing of the topic – if there is no will or time.

This way we preserve dignity – our own and that of the other person – and save energy for meaningful actions rather than wars of opinion.

Balance does not mean “everything is allowed for everyone.” Balance means “each person is responsible for their own, without intruding on others’.” We do not judge people by labels or identity; we look at actions. If actions cause harm, we have the right to say “no,” to set boundaries, to seek protection, to defend them. A respectful refusal is also a language of creation: it protects our world without unnecessarily destroying someone else’s.

Three Rules of Compatibility

1. Assume good intentions and verify reality. Ask first, then judge.

2. Consent before help. Even a sincere impulse can hurt if it’s imposed.

3. Respect people, evaluate actions. The person is never under attack; actions are the focus of the conversation.

Small Practices of Balance

– One shared meter: leave places cleaner than they were – at home, at work, in the yard.

– One phrase instead of an argument: “It seems we’re looking from different sides. Shall we try to find common ground, or close the topic?”

– One gesture of respect: thank those whose “quiet work” makes shared spaces better – janitors, concierges, drivers, cashiers.

– One boundary check: “It’s important for me to have calm during this time. Can we agree?”

– One look of curiosity: when encountering something unfamiliar, ask a clarifying question or simply walk by without judgment or condemnation.

We maintain balance when we build our own space while leaving room for others. This way, our world becomes compatible with other worlds – at home, in the community, in the city, in the network. And for this balance to hold not only through rules but also through warm practice, we need a shared way of speaking.

The Language of Creation

“Kindness in words creates confidence. Kindness in thinking creates depth. Kindness in giving creates love.”

Confucius, philosopher, thinker, and teacher, one of the most influential sages in human history, founder of the Confucian tradition

Each of us has our own world: our habits, rhythms, and views. But there is something common that binds us more strongly than any differences: the air we breathe, the water we drink, the roads we walk, the stairwells, parks, and riverbanks where we long for cleanliness and comfort. We are different – and yet almost all of us want the same thing: for life to be orderly, safe, and warmly human. Even if someone drops a candy wrapper on the road, leaves trash after a picnic, or walks past a fallen person, the desire to see clean streets, cared-for nature, and a kind, bright world is shared by most.

The language of creation is the way of speaking and acting so that what unites us prevails over what divides us. Not “who is to blame?” but “what do we do?” Not shame and command, but request and suggestion. Not argument for victory, but agreement for results. This language builds bridges everywhere: at home, in the yard, at work, online, and even in another country, where people may look at us with curiosity because we are something new. Today they marvel at us – tomorrow we will marvel at someone else. We do not take offense at novelty; we turn it into a reason for respectful dialogue or a quiet passing-by without judgment.

Four Pillars of the Language of Creation

1. “The bags have been scattered near the container” instead of “Who made a mess again?”Observation without accusation. Speak about the fact without attaching labels.

2. “We want a clean yard and a clear walkway.”Shared intention. State clearly what we all want.

3. “I’ll collect everything today by 7 p.m. Who can secure the lid with a clamp tomorrow?”Concrete request/step. What, where, when, and by whom it will be done.

4. “Thank you to everyone who helped. It’s cleaner now – let’s keep it this way.”Gratitude and closure. Acknowledge the result and reinforce the norm.

This simple framework changes the tone of conversation: instead of “you all must,” it becomes “let’s do this together.” Instead of conflict – compatibility of worlds.

Phrases That Work (Without Morality or Pressure)

– Entrance / yard. “Hi neighbors. A box has appeared on the landing and is blocking the passage. I’ll take it out today, but maybe we can agree to leave large items near the elevator until pickup? Thanks.”

– Park / nature. “After resting, let’s take our bags with us. There’s no container at the entrance – let’s leave no trace so it’s just as cozy next time.”

– Road / public transport. “Thank you for letting me through” / “Could you tell me where it’s safer to cross?” – short, polite phrases reduce tension better than any signal.

– Difficult situation. If you see someone on the ground – don’t just walk by: “Are you okay? Do you need help?” If in doubt, call for assistance (local emergency number).

– Home or work chat. “Looks like we have different views. I suggest we either check the facts and solve the issue directly, or close the topic to avoid arguing. Sound good?”

Home and Loved Ones: Warmth Without Control

Harmony in the family rests not on “I know better,” but on respect and clear agreements. We ask: “Do you need help? What exactly?” – and we accept “no.” We phrase requests without reproach: “Could you keep it quieter after 10 p.m.? It’s important for me to get some sleep.” We give thanks for the small things – and the small things become the norm.

Differences and Identity: People Are Different, the Goal Is Shared

Nationality, skin color, orientation, eye shape, piercings, tattoos, hairstyle – none of these matter; what matters are actions. Each of us has grown up with our own truth, and every truth has the right to exist as long as it does not turn into actions that cause harm. When views diverge, the language of creation gives us two honest paths:

· Work it out together and find a common solution or compromise (if there is willingness and time);

· Close the topic respectfully – this way we preserve connection and save energy for things that are useful.

“In private – the hard things, in public – the good things.”

Praise in public, discuss the hard things in private. Public gratitude reinforces good practices; a private conversation without blame helps preserve dignity and change behavior.

Tone Rules That Keep the Bridge

– Use “we” statements instead of “you all”: “Let’s…,” “We’ll do…,” “We’ll keep…”

– One request at a time, with a clear time frame. Specifics spark action.

– The right to say no. A request is not a command: “If it’s convenient / Whoever can.” This grows genuine participation.

– Fewer words, more deeds. Always be ready to take the first step yourself.

One Minute of Creation

1. Notice – without labeling.

2. Take a doable action.

3. Communicate briefly and to the point.

4. Thank those who supported.

Repeat – and it becomes the language of the place: at home, in the yard, at the office, in the community.