A Tale of Three Cities

I just got back last night from a three week trip to Europe, and thought I’d share a little summary of the places I visited and a bit of social commentary on my observations.

Vienna, Austria

Vienna is a breathtakingly beautiful city. Full of awe-inspiring cathedrals, palaces and museums. Home to Mozart, Beethoven, Freud, Goethe, the royal Hapsburg family, and (of course!) Vienna Sausages–in many ways Vienna represents the pinnacle of Western civilization.

vienna sausage

However, Vienna is populated by filthy degenerate liberals determined to shit all over the city’s rich cultural legacy. They litter the city’s public places with communist propaganda, they stage live street demonstrations, they went to presumably great expense to replace all the little walking man symbols on the crosswalks with stick figure gay couples (two men or two women holding hands with a little heart above them), they’ve brought hordes of Muslim immigrants to bring their special brand of “cultural enrichment” (though, to be fair, the kebabs are pretty good), and they fill their ornately and beautifully constructed museums with modern “art” that looks the result of the “artist” eating pixie sticks until she vomited all over her canvas. It’s probably just a matter of time until this city produces another Hitler to come purge the filth.

ugly modern art
I’m not making this up.

Budapest, Hungary

Budapest looks a lot like Vienna, with impressive churches and castles, and lots of people walking the wide streets. Certainly a beautiful place to explore. It’s a big party spot; I heard it referred to as the “Las Vegas of Europe”. It also has the biggest, most labyrinthine nightclubs I’ve ever seen.

Hungary is part of the European Union, but the people aren’t as backwards as those in Vienna. Hungary’s highly popular Prime Minister Viktor Orban has famously defied EU demands that Hungary accept Muslim refugees within its borders. Hungary also does not use the Euro. Hungary to me represents something like a middle ground between East and West.

Belgrade, Serbia

Like Vienna and Budapest, Belgrade is also located on the Danube river, and it has a similar feel–with wide streets and large numbers of people walking everywhere. In general, Belgrade’s buildings aren’t as old or impressive as in Vienna or Budapest, largely because Belgrade holds the dubious honor of having been destroyed and rebuilt more than any other city in Europe (or so my tour guide told me). Belgrade’s central Orthodox temple looks very different than the other cities’ Catholic cathedrals, but is every bit as impressive. Belgrade also has amazing night life every night of the week; I went to huge industrial warehouse parties, live rock concerts, and floating nightclubs in boats on the river.

belgrade temple
Temple of St. Sava

However Belgrade still bears the scars of its not-so-distant communist past in its numerous remaining Soviet apartment buildings, which are ugly drab grey eyesores which provide a good visual representation of the jarring ugliness of leftist ideology. It’s what the whole world would look like if liberals had their way.

communist architecture
Communist architecture

However, the Serbian people seem to have learned their lesson well after being subjected to decades of communist oppression. They are generally very conservative and nationalistic. Serbs supported Trump overwhelmingly, and they generally tend to be hostile to leftists who try to shove their faces in whatever happens to be their perversion du jour. And it shows in their appearance and demeanor. The men are strong and stoic, and the women are demure and feminine and stunningly beautiful. It’s a refreshing reminder of what a normal, healthy, sexually dimorphic population looks like. Most of Belgrade is made up of ethnic Serbs, but with a noticeable minority of gypsies fighting each other in the streets or begging you for money while you’re eating at a restaurant. I suppose even conservative countries are plagued with some persistent ethnic minority underclass.

My Thoughts

It’s interesting to me to visit different parts of the world and observe how they fit into the strong men/good times/weak men/bad times continuum (illustrated below).

hard times strong men

I’ve wanted to visit Eastern Europe for quite a while now. In the normal American consciousness, when we think of Europe, we think of Western Europe. And we tend to think of them as weak-willed liberal pussies. Which seems to me to be mostly true. Vienna is emblematic of that. Western Europe is full of weak men who are destroying the good times that produced them and in turn bringing about hard times.

But Eastern Europe is quite different. Eastern Europe has endured incredibly hard times during the Soviet era (and even more recently in the Balkans), and seems to me to be full of strong men creating good times. In the same way that prosperity is rapidly escaping overtaxed, overregulated, bankrupt, poverty-stricken California and fleeing to solidly red states like Texas and Florida, I expect that as Western Europe continues to destroy itself, Eastern Europe may well step up to take its place as seat of the civilized world.

So if you’ve you’ve ever found yourself dreaming of a place with low cost of living, beautiful women, homogeneous population, good people, and no migrant crisis…then Eastern Europe might be the place for you. Let the good times roll.


Dying Words

I had a very strange dream last night. I dreamt that I was lying in my bed meditating. I put on some headphones, opened the music player on my phone, and put on a track that was meant to accompany a DMT trip. I was not on DMT, either in my dream nor in real life (if it’s right to say that “real life” is more “real” than a dream), but I figured that it would make a good soundtrack for my meditation.

I lay on my bed, clearing my mind and listening to the music, gradually becoming entranced in my meditation the way that I suppose is normal for those who meditate often. I felt an energy around me, at first lightly but then gradually getting stronger, and I welcomed this energy as the proper result of a deep meditative state.

Then, all of a sudden, I felt the energy turn dark. Evil. Directly above me, hovering maybe four feet over my bed was a dark entity. It was round and black and had a shape that vaguely resembled a face. I knew what it was. What HE was. It was Satan. The energy I felt kept getting stronger: some powerful, evil force surging toward me from this dark entity.

The energy got so strong that it began physically pushing me sideways off my bed. The physical force was weak enough at first that I could resist. It pushed me a bit, and I pushed back to get to my original position. But the force kept getting stronger, and eventually I couldn’t fight it anymore. It pushed me off my bed, so I had to get out of the bed and stand up.

Then I saw this dark energy billowing through the wall above my closed bedroom door, thick and weightless and dark grey, like black smoke, but without any smell. I could see it and I could feel it. It felt like an intense tingling sensation, and my soul was screaming at me that without any doubt this was the presence of pure evil. It quickly filled the small room, and I felt the energy envelope me.

In the next scene (and I don’t remember how I got to this part, if there was any transition at all), I’m in what seems to be a huge warehouse. There are a lot of people around, and they all look somewhat panicked, though none of them seem to know why. The same dark energy is pouring into the warehouse, first covering the floor, like low-lying fog from a fog machine. Again, I can see it and I can feel it.

I ask some of the other people around if they can see the energy. I don’t remember getting a response, but my intuition was that they could feel the dark energy and knew that it was evil, but they could not see it. All of the other people were unknown to me, except for one. The one person I recognized was a very nice Colombian lady with whose family I had spent a day trip in the Amazon a few months prior (in real life), and hadn’t thought of much since. I asked her if she could see the energy. I don’t remember any response, but it was clear that she knew it was there. All of the people were running, all in one direction, away from the energy, in the seemingly infinite dimensions of the warehouse.

Then—somehow–I begin talking to another person I knew in real life: a young woman with whom I had been spending the past few days. This girl is (in real life) incredibly beautiful, sweet, dainty, and constantly filled with a happy, child-like enthusiasm that I find absolutely intoxicating. Perhaps my subconscious mind chose her for this role because she is the closest thing I have to a real-life representation of the feminine ideal. Or maybe she more broadly represents everything in the world that is good and pure and right and worth protecting.

I have two variations of this part of the dream in my mind, and I can’t remember which is the correct one. Perhaps both are. But they are very similar anyway. In one version, I have her against the wall of the warehouse, pressing my body up against hers to protect her as much as I can from being exposed to the dark energy. In the other version, I’m alone and I call her on the phone. In both versions, I know—somehow I am sure–that I have to die in order for her to live.

I accept this without much thought or even fear. I just know that it has to be done. My last words to her are these: “Live every day fully. Be spiritual. Find God in everything.”

Then I woke up from the dream. The feelings were so intense I started crying. Awake, I could still feel the energy coursing through my body.

I somehow knew, without explanation, in the same way that I “just knew” certain things in the dream, that this dream had some sort of special significance. So I laid in bed for another half hour or so, replaying the dream in my mind and trying to remember all the details. Then I decided I should write it down.

This was the most intense, profound dream I can ever remember having, and the first one I’ve ever felt compelled to try to remember, let alone write down and share. I don’t really know what it means, though I’m sure I will spend plenty of time over the next few days speculating.

What stuck out to me first and most forcefully, though, were my final words. I can’t remember ever having any other dream in which I died, or accepted death. For some reason, some deep part of my soul that I don’t understand saw fit to communicate this to my conscious mind as my dying words:

Live every day fully. Be spiritual. Find God in everything.

Virtue Signaling is the Opposite of Virtue

By now I expect most of us normal people who don’t live in California have come to the realization that virtue signaling is not indicative of actual virtue. I think it actually indicates the opposite. And not only that people who virtue signal are less virtuous in general (although that is almost certainly true), but that they measure up poorly even on the very virtues they signal.

People who obsess over tolerance are blatantly intolerant. People who like to claim that “#lovetrumpshate” are about the most hateful people imaginable. People who publicly claim to oppose racism really hate white people. People who moan loudest about destruction of the environment are the biggest polluters. People who complain most about inequality are the least likely to actually do anything to help people poorer than themselves. And, of course, habitual virtue signalers HATE HATE HATE people who demonstrate actual virtue–because they intuitively realize how poorly they compare.

Why, then, are vacuous, virtue-less people so intent on empty virtue signaling? The most obvious answer is that it they believe it gains them social status points in the eyes of others. Therefore it follows that the appropriate response from decent people to virtue signaling is mockery and derision. It is pathetic behavior, after all, and should be called out as such.

So next time you hear, for example, someone smugly proclaiming how much xe “fucking loves science” (while almost certainly believing that gender is a social construct, races are psychologically identical, homosexuality is a perfectly healthy lifestyle, social hierarchies are purely a product of societal conditioning, that a man who lops off his genitals and puts on a dress is a woman, etc.), do the world a favor and reply with a sarcastic “Wow you’re so smart and sophisticated and courageous!! I bet you go to modern art galleries and drink craft IPAs too!” If you’re an overachiever, point out xir (probable) scientific illiteracy while you’re at it.

ugly modern art
modern art

You’ll be bringing the world one step closer to right side up: one in which actual virtue is rewarded and virtue signaling is ridiculed as the feeble try-hard self promotion that is.

A Glimpse of the Transcendent

I’m a big fan of the British magician Derren Brown, whose magic tricks often involve playing tricks on people’s minds. Derren is adamantly atheist, and some of his gimmicks attempt to prove that any sort of belief in religion or the supernatural is irrational. In one segment, Derren uses hypnotic techniques to induce a woman who is an atheist and a scientist to feel the presence of God and so renounce her atheism. After bringing the poor woman to tears and convincing her that God does exist, at the end of the experiment, Derren sets her straight again. “Haha jk God doesn’t really exist, I was just playing tricks on your mind!” Rather cruel thing to do to somebody, in my opinion, but it did make for interesting TV.

Ironically enough, Derren Brown’s skepticism regarding religious experience was echoed heavily in my own upbringing in American Protestant, largely non-denominational, churches. They taught me in church that I should not rely on “emotion” to be close to God, as that was fickle and subjective. They told that all that mattered was “the message”, and that the fiery oratory and beautiful music and awe-inspiring architecture that characterized much of Western religion were equivalent to the free pizza offered by college political clubs: that they are just superficial embellishments designed to make the message seem artificially more attractive.

For most of my life I considered this to be sound logic, but now I’m starting to believe that perhaps such thinking is devaluing what in reality are some of the most profoundly meaningful experiences a person could have. Perhaps the deep longing experienced by the woman in Derren Brown’s experiment to be close to her Creator is not merely the result of a cruel coincidence of evolution, but reflects a fundamental element of the human soul, meticulously designed by a Creator who chooses to make His presence felt through a number of accessible methods, some of which might even be able to be replicated by a skilled cynic.

Perhaps we mere mortals really are capable of catching glimpses of the transcendent. Perhaps we can feel the presence of God in the perfect arrangement of melodies and harmonies layered together in a beautiful song. Or by looking out at the mountains, or the ocean, or the stars on a clear night. Or perhaps through psychadelic substances or profound meditation. Perhaps when we believe we feel the presence of God, it is not because our minds are playing tricks on us, but because we actually do.

Perhaps the awe-inspiring cathedrals of yesteryear were not merely a frivolous expenditure of money and human effort that could otherwise have been used to feed the poor, but, like the expensive perfume with which Mary Magdalene anointed Jesus’ feet, were timeless acts of true worship that offers human beings another glimpse of the divine.

Perhaps every one of these experiences offers us a glimpse of an as-yet unarticulated truth about the nature of reality and our place in it. Perhaps the feeling of transcendent meaning is confirmation from our souls that we are on to something; that we are getting something right. Perhaps this is actually valuable feedback. Perhaps we should listen.


A Little Introspective Goal Setting

**This is a post about me personally and the things I’m trying to work on in my own life. If you’re wondering why I would bother sharing, it’s because I think there are probably a lot of people like me who could benefit from some of the same realizations I’ve had to come to slowly and painstakingly throughout my thirty years of life. Maybe you’re one of those people.**

Throughout my adult life I’ve been fairly obsessed with mastering a wide variety of external skills and working towards external goals. I think I’ve managed quite a lot and proud of my progress. But recently, my ever-present self development efforts have turned more internal. Perhaps it’s because it’s the beginning of the year. Perhaps it’s because I just turned thirty. Whatever it is, my focus has turned considerably more introspective. That’s part of the reason I started this blog. I find fulfillment in writing about things that are close to my heart.

Anyway, here’s a little summary of the internal things I’m trying to work on to live a more virtuous and meaningful life along with some tips that I’ve found to be helpful thus far.

Telling the Truth

I’ve come to the belief that truth is a worthy virtue in and of itself. In part I suppose this has come about as a result of the increasingly intense conflict between politically correct feel-good Western culture and those who dare utter those uncomfortable truths that shatter its illusions. I’ve been on both sides of that conflict. I’ve been a hero and I’ve been a coward. Sometimes I’ve parroted socially acceptable lies in order to fit in, and at other times I’ve stood alone in what I believed to be true–and been hated for it. Often times my decision to stand up for the truth or cower from the masses has been decided by whether or not I thought anyone else might have my back.

I eventually came to the realization that even one person telling the truth can have massively advantageous downstream effects for society as a whole. The first person who dares to tell a forbidden truth in spite of apparent social, financial, and/or legal consequences gives everyone else the opportunity to do the same without being the only one. The more people jump on board, the more the less courageous “normies” are free to join in without fear of reprisal.

This is clearly the case with truths that everyone knows but no one dares say. But perhaps even more significant is that it frees people to consider positions that they would never have otherwise considered. Most people won’t bother to evaluate the truth of a claim that is highly unpopular. They’ll dismiss it out of hand. They aren’t willing to accept the possibility that the claim might be true. That would be too dangerous. So they either come up with a weak straw man in place of the actual claim, or just refuse to think about it at all. The more courageous early adopters stand up for such a claim, then, the more people will be willing to consider it objectively.

Telling the truth is also beneficial in a more day to day context. Say you go out to eat at a new restaurant, and the owner comes over to ask you how you liked the meal. “Good”, you say. Even though it wasn’t good at all. A month later the restaurant is out of business. Did your polite lie really help anyone? Well, yeah, it helped you. To avoid a few moments of awkwardness. You probably don’t feel so good about that, as well you shouldn’t. Our religious traditions, our stories, and our consciences tell us that telling the truth is a righteous and noble thing to do. I think they’re right. Tell the truth and people (the ones that are worthwhile, that is) will respect you more. And you’ll respect yourself more, the value of which cannot be overstated.

This is the best I’m able to articulate it. But at the end of the day what I’m really doing is taking on faith that truth is a worthwhile virtue and will improve my own life and the lives of those around me. I’ll see soon enough if that’s the case.

In my mind, learning to tell the truth comes in three steps. The first is to stop lying outright. The second is to stop saying things that are technically true but likely to be misleading. And the third is to proactively state the truth when you believe it to be beneficial.

I never really realized it until I started to make a conscious effort not to, but I used to lie a lot. Not maliciously. Usually just to avoid making myself look bad or avoid hurting someone else’s feelings. And I’ve found it a difficult habit to break. But I’ve come up with a few tactics that help.

The first is to realize that you don’t have to tell people something you don’t want to just because they ask. You have a right to keep your information to yourself if you don’t think any good will come of revealing it. Sometimes it really is better to keep it to yourself. This is the meaning of Jesus’ timeless advice to “cast not your pearls before swine”. You don’t have to say something that isn’t likely to be productive, even if it’s true.

Instead of lying, you can decline to answer. Or you can ignore the question. Or you can change the subject. Or you can give an answer that’s not true but is obviously meant as a joke (I don’t consider that a lie, since it’s not intended to mislead). For example, you leave your fun but not-so-serious friends for a little bit to console your girlfriend who is in tears because she thinks she saw you smile at the check out girl in the grocery store. When you come back, your friends ask what that was about. The correct response (obviously) is “we were smoking crack.” Often times that will suffice.

But realize that sometimes it is better to tell an uncomfortable truth than to deflect or refuse to answer–as in the restaurant example earlier. Don’t use this as an excuse to avoid your responsibility to tell the truth when the truth really would be helpful. If your girlfriend does something that really bothers you, then asks “what’s wrong?”, answering “I think I have leprosy” is better than “nothing”, but it would probably be better still to swallow your pride, accept the risk of looking like an oversensitive wimp, and just tell her the truth. Both of you, and your relationship, will probably be the better for it.

Heeding My Feelings

I have a tendency to push myself really hard in pursuit of the various goals and values I’ve set for my own life. A lot harder than I would push someone else who works for me. It works, to some extent, but it also makes me overly stressed. And sometimes it backfires, because I burn out and then don’t get anything done.

I find that it’s really hard to succeed at something if my heart isn’t in it. So I’m trying my best to redirect my effort toward those things that I find fulfilling. Of course, I can’t do this all the time; I still have to pay my bills, honor my prior commitments, and that sort of thing. But the larger the share of my time I can spend doing things that are meaningful, the better I feel, and the better I perform.

In order to figure out what those meaningful activities are, I pay attention to my own feelings. This may sound obvious to some people, but I’ve managed over the years to build up quite an impressive ability to ignore my own feelings in pursuit of a goal. That’s discipline. And it’s a great thing to have, but, like most things, only in moderation.

So I try to strike the balance between work and pleasure that makes me feel the most happy and fulfilled. If I try to take on too many responsibilities during a period of time, I’ll start feeling stressed out and angry, or even depressed. I take this as an indication that I need to take a break and do something easy and fun. On the other hand, if I play video games for three hours straight, I’ll start feeling lethargic and bored. This means I need to start doing something more productive.

I also tend to bite off more than I can chew. I start some new project and have lofty aspirations for it, and try to get results right away. This causes me stress and anxiety, and makes me start to dread the work. I need to divide the work in such a way that each piece is an acceptable level of difficulty. Too easy and it’s boring. Too hard and it’s discouraging. The sweet spot is in the middle.

There are often different was of dividing up the work such that each part is challenging enough to be engaging, but not so much as to be discouraging. I can also divide it up such that I leave the most difficult parts for when I’m feeling the sharpest, the most vaguely defined for when I’m feeling most creative, etc. If I’m not feeling 100% I can work on a less challenging piece. Or if the work is mind-numbingly easy, I’ll listen to a podcast or video while I’m doing it.

In this case I am taking on faith that my feelings represent a higher understanding present in my subconscious of what constitutes a helpful activity. If my heart is not in it, I take that as an indication that it’s not what I should be doing at the moment (unless it’s something I know without a doubt I have to get done, as in by a deadline). Of course, this also requires that I realize when what I want to do is due to an unhealthy addiction. Like meth, or facebook.

Understanding My Motivations

I left this one for last, because I think it’s the most important. I think we’d have a much better world if people had a little more self-awareness. And as with everything, I need to start with myself.

The basic process is this. When I have an impulse to do something or say something, or when I have a strong emotional reaction to something, I ask myself why. I try to be as honest as possible. I try to take on the role of an impartial spectator. It’s actually easier than it sounds. We’re all made up of a bunch of competing personalities (and not just crazy people; what do you think is happening when you’re “debating” something in your  mind?). You can make a conscious effort to switch to a personality that has less emotional attachment to whatever question you’re pondering.

Whatever answer I get I use to inform my decision. For example, if I come up with a new business idea (which happens a lot, actually), I have to determine whether it’s worth my time and energy to pursue it. I ask myself why I am interested in it. If the answer is “just to make money”, then I will generally not do it, because I know that making money in and of itself is not all that motivating to me, and I’ll have a hard time sticking with it. If, on the other hand, the answer is that it advances some value that is really important to me, I’m much more likely to pursue it.

This applies equally to small, day-to-day activities. For example, if I get sucked into an argument on Facebook, I’ll step back and ask why I’m doing it. Sometimes the answer is “to assert my intellectual dominance.” Actually that’s probably the case most of the time in this scenario. If that’s the case, I judge the motive as unworthy and so I stop the activity. If, on the other hand, my honest motive is something more noble, such as to inform or persuade onlookers (I’m almost never trying to convince the person I’m actually arguing with; that’s almost always a futile endeavor) of something that will improve their lives and perhaps society as a whole, then I might continue.

Some emotional motivators are clearly more noble than others. And sometimes they’re easy to confuse. A beggar asks me for money, and I give it to him. Did I do it out of a pure desire to help my fellow man? Or was I just trying to get him to go away? Or was I acting on some misplaced sense of guilt at having more money than him? These questions help me to understand myself and make better decisions going forward.

Pretty much everything we do, we do for the sake of emotion, after all. We do things because we “feel like it”. We do things because they make us happy or fulfilled, or they boost our ego, or they satisfy our desire for revenge, or they allow us to avoid a situation we fear (such as getting evicted for not paying rent). Some of these motivations are base, some are purely practical, some are noble, and some are evil. I try to be honest about which motivation falls in which category.

Many of these can and should be let go of, as they don’t add anything to our lives or the lives of those around us. Resentment, hatred, envy, and irrational fears are obviously some of these. Others are less clear. Greed and anger, for example, are useful at times but can also be destructive. Chief among these for me is ego. I do a lot for the sake of feeding my ego. But ultimately I don’t think that’s very productive, so I’m trying to let it go. I’m trying to avoid doing things whose only real motivation is ego.

But again, I’m mostly taking on faith that some part of me already knows on a visceral level what constitutes worthy and unworthy motivations. The hard part is not judging the motivations, but being willing to recognize and honestly admit them in the first place.


Unfettered Femininity and Escaping the Poz

As I write this, I am looking out an open sliding glass door at the enormous mountains of the Andes surrounding Medellin, Colombia. Despite its bloody history, Medellin is now considered quite safe and has become a popular destination for digital nomads (I was introduced to this term a few days ago, and I think it fits nicely) such as myself.

medellin andes mountains digital nomad
The view from my office

There’s a lot to like about Medellin: the spectacular views, the year-round beautiful weather, the dirt cheap prices. But to me what stands out most of all are the women.

Women in this city to me represent what unfettered femininity looks like. Beautiful, curvy, soft-spoken, long-haired, loving, always smiling and optimistic little clouds of estrogen with nary a care in the world of conforming to some grotesque worldview dictated by fat, angry blue-haired dikes. For a man (with healthy T levels), there is nothing more beautiful in the world.

These girls don’t try to pretend they’re stronger than you. They don’t try to compete with you in credentialist pissing matches. They’re rarely fat. They won’t complain about your “toxic masculinity”; in fact they find it very sexy. They wouldn’t be caught dead in a romper or high-waisted jean shorts or whatever hideous fashion atrocity happens to be in vogue with American (or–worse–Western European) women (game tip: point out the gringas and europeas that look like slobs. Colombian girls get a kick out of that). The local girls are unabashedly feminine, and they appear not to be subject to the endless barrage of feminist propaganda that Anglo women have to endure demanding that they act more like men.

I told a few local girls how much I loved how feminine they were. I think they found it to be a strange compliment. For them it’s nothing special; it’s just the normal, natural way to behave. I explained that American girls go out of their way to act masculine. One girl responded simply: “that’s not cute.” Indeed, not cute at all.

It seems to me that the saving grace for Colombia is the fact that few of them speak English. The poz (a cutesy term used by gay men to affectionately refer to gays who are HIV-positive and cleverly appropriated by the alt-right as shorthand for Western cultural degeneracy in general) seems to spread largely via the English language. Populations that speak English are invariably bombarded with the fetid cultural rot dripping from American movies and TV shows. You can see this to some extent in Western Europe where nearly all of the younger generation speaks good English, as well as the more Americanized Latin countries such as Puerto Rico.

I’m a big fan of traveling in general. But far better than the usual “you have to travel to find out who you are!” pretentious crap that you hear from the stereotypical nomad types, travel offers you a way to–if temporarily–escape the poz and enjoy a life-affirming breath of fresh air, absent the faintest trace of cultural liberal stench. But you might have to learn another language.