Huno Museletter #72

Sun 30 Mar, 2025 Morelos, Mexico

Dear Reader,

I’m writing this on a Friday afternoon, just before I go fully offline for the weekend (so yes, this is a scheduled museletter!)

No phone, no laptop, no checking in on how posts are doing, no rabbit holes of articles.

Just presence. Nature. Stillness.

The sound of my own thoughts — or ideally, the space that opens up when even those thoughts settle down.

It’s something I used to do regularly — going tech-free from Friday night to Monday morning — but I haven’t done it in a while.

And my body misses it.

My nervous system misses it.

That inner spaciousness, where nothing is being performed, optimized, or tracked. Just being.

I’m in a little mountain town in Mexico right now.

One of those pueblos mágicos that’s held by the land in this quiet but powerful way.

I came here after a stretch in Mexico City, where I noticed how hard it was for me to sleep, to stay regulated, to stay connected to myself.

There was just so much to process — the noise, the movement, the density of energy — and while I loved the vibrancy of it, I also felt how deeply it pulled me away from my center.

It got me thinking about the cities we live in — both physical and digital.

Because the internet is like a city too.

Constant stimulation, endless options, more information than the soul can digest.

Even when we consume “consciously,” we’re still holding this tiny glowing rectangle in our hands, beaming radiation through our nervous systems.

It’s no wonder we start feeling fragmented.

So much of my journey in the last few years has been about learning how to come back to wholeness.

Not just physically moving from overstimulating places to quiet ones, but also learning how to filter what I let in — energetically, emotionally, even algorithmically.

I’ve been more aware than ever of how the spaces we spend time in — both outer and inner — shape who we become.

The cities we live in, the apps we use, the people we surround ourselves with, the content we consume.

They don’t just reflect us, they inform us. They mold us. They subtly tell us who we need to be to belong.

And I’ve realized how seductive it is to keep chasing the next environment, the next system, the next tool, hoping it will finally feel like home.

But what if home isn’t a place?

What if it’s a way of being?

Lately, I’ve been watching myself wrestle with the question of where to settle.

After more than four years of nomadic life — constantly changing countries, climates, currencies, languages — I can feel that part of me wants to land and root somewhere.

But it’s not a straightforward decision.

Because it’s not just about choosing a place that’s beautiful or affordable or stimulating.

It’s about facing the deeper resistance inside me — the fear of commitment, the fear of being trapped, the fear of regret.

I’ve started to realize that some of my constant movement was never really about exploration.

It was about avoidance.

Avoiding the discomfort of staying still.

Avoiding the question of what it means to truly belong somewhere.

Because when you’re always passing through, you don’t have to face the ache of not feeling fully part of a place.

As a traveler, there’s a kind of freedom in not belonging — you’re the outsider, the observer, the one who can leave whenever.

But to live somewhere, to stay… that’s vulnerable.

That asks something of you. And it brings up the fear: what if I never truly belong anywhere?

And that’s the thing.

Belonging is one of our most fundamental human needs, but we rarely talk about what it really entails.

It’s not just about people. It’s also about place. About land. About feeling that your energy is in rhythm with the frequency of where you are.

Some places I’ve visited — even for the first time — I’ve felt immediately at peace.

And others, even ones I grew up in, have felt off.

Like they were asking me to shrink or to pretend.

And the more I’ve been with that, the more I realize:

Belonging isn’t given. It’s chosen. And maybe it starts not with a place, but with the inner decision to stop running.

This weekend, I’m not just unplugging from my devices — I’m pausing the search. The search for the next perfect place, perfect post, perfect productivity system.

I’m allowing things to be a little undone. And in that space, I want to listen. Not just with my ears, but with my full body.

That’s something I’ve missed in the swirl of creation lately.

The subtle. The quiet. The in-between.

I used to reach for my phone to “kill time.”

Now I realize how precious that “dead” time actually was.

That’s where the soul breathes. Where art is born. Where ideas arrive unannounced.

And while I love the stimulation that comes from learning, creating, even drinking a well-made coffee while deep in flow… I also know how easily I can get pulled into cycles that leave me feeling numb.

Hyperproductivity, overstimulation, checking one thing after another — until my nervous system feels fried and I start forgetting why I’m even doing what I’m doing.

So I’m returning to the slow this weekend.

To the non-performative. And it feels like the only thing that makes sense right now.

There’s something else I’ve been sitting with lately — this strange, growing contrast between how fast the world is moving and how much our souls still crave slowness.

Especially in the world of business.

AI is exploding. New tools every week. New ways to shortcut, automate, optimize.

And I’ll be honest — I’ve benefited immensely from it.

In many ways, it’s the reason I was able to grow my business while traveling the world.

It’s helped me write, design, create, build — with speed and precision I didn’t have before.

But I also feel the danger. Not in a dystopian, sci-fi way.

But in a quieter, more personal way.

The danger of slowly losing our agency.

The ability to sit with a question before prompting it.

To let an idea simmer instead of outsourcing it.

To feel into the answer instead of asking a bot for it.

I think about how we used to rely on our memory more before Google.

How we did mental math before calculators.

And I ask myself — what are we losing now? What are we outsourcing that maybe we shouldn’t? What parts of our intelligence are we forgetting how to use?

This isn’t an anti-AI message. If anything, it’s the opposite.

I believe AI is a powerful ally for entrepreneurs — especially solo ones.

But only if we use it as an amplifier of our voice, not a replacement for it. As a co-creator, not as the director.

Because what people are craving — what they will crave even more in the years ahead — isn’t better tech.

It’s better presence.

Real connection. Real reflection. Real human insight that hasn’t been pre-packaged or simulated.

And that’s why I believe so deeply in building guidance businesses right now.

Because while information is being commodified, wisdom is becoming more rare.

And presence? Presence is becoming priceless.

That’s also what shaped the 3-hour guidance business blueprint I built — a way to work with depth, earn sustainably, and still have space to live, create, and feel.

I didn’t want a business that required more of me. I wanted one that asked for more of me.

That’s the part I find exciting — that if you’re someone who’s walked a deep path, who’s healed, explored, questioned, lived through the fire… your presence is your medicine.

You don’t need to be louder or more productive than AI.

You just need to be more human.

And if you know how to guide others with that, if you can hold space, listen deeply, reflect truth — you’re already irreplaceable.

This is why I’ve shaped my business the way I have — around spaciousness.

Around depth.

Around working three focused hours a day and letting the rest of the time be filled with life.

With creativity. With beauty.

Not because I’m lazy.

But because I’ve tasted both extremes — burnout in corporate and vagueness in the artist phase — and now I just want something real.

Sustainable.

Alive.

What’s shifted for me recently is a deeper return to art for its own sake.

Not for content. Not for sales. Just for the joy of creating.

Photography. Writing. Even cooking a slow meal or walking without headphones.

Letting beauty come back into the everyday.

Because the thing is — even business is a kind of art.

It asks for creativity, for shaping experiences, for tuning into resonance.

But unlike pure art, it has constraints.

You need to generate revenue. You need to structure offers. You need to make things work in the world of money.

And sometimes, if you’re not careful, it becomes all about strategy.

You forget the soul of it.

So for me, the sweet spot has always been finding where the two meet.

Letting the business fund the art.

Letting the art nourish the business.

Letting presence thread through both.

That’s why I’ve gravitated toward products instead of services lately.

There’s more creativity. More freedom.

And also — more leverage.

I love working with people, and I still do, but I’m increasingly drawn to creating things that can live on their own.

Tools. Templates. Frameworks. Blueprints. Soon, an app.

All designed to help others build their own meaningful work — without burning out, without selling their soul.

​The 3-hour guidance business blueprint is one of those — born from everything I learned through trial, burnout, healing, and reimagining how work could feel.

And maybe that’s the deeper point of all this.

Not just unplugging from tech for a weekend.

But unplugging from the entire performance. The constant seeking.

The subtle fear that we’re not doing enough, being enough, growing fast enough.

The pressure to find the place, the path, the niche, the offer that finally feels like home.

Because maybe home isn’t found.

Maybe it’s chosen.

Created through stillness.

Maybe it’s that quiet moment when you look at your life — your art, your work, your rhythms — and realize you don’t need to escape it.

You just need to return to it.

That’s the space I’m entering this weekend.

I’ll be offline, but more connected than ever.

And when I return, I’d love to hear what this stirred in you.

What are you longing to unplug from?

What’s been quietly waiting for you beneath the noise?

Thank you for reading.

Love,

Nik Huno

P.S. Spaciousness is a strategy. Presence is a lever. The 3-hour guidance business is where I share how I built my business around both.