My name is Benjamin. Or Dr. Benjamin Erhardt. Or bezoo. Or simply Dr. ADHD.
When I began writing this book, I realized that in a way, I had already started it once before—without knowing it at the time. That was when our first daughter was born and I redesigned my personal website. The guiding theme of that page back then was:
“The journey is the destination?
Nonsense.
All or nothing.
The destination is the destination!”
This mantra I had back then, I only discovered when I found the text again that I had originally remembered when the thoughts for this book matured. It was that text in which I tried to describe myself and my motives as honestly and authentically as possible.
It illustrates the fundamental misconception of the first four decades of my life. Today I understand that I simply never could grasp why the journey could also be the destination. I believe the first step was realizing that the goal of life consists of a multitude of individual goals, which—alongside one’s own values—form one’s identity and thus the meaning of one’s life.
And logically, it quickly became clear to me that if I am on the path to achieving my goals or to maintaining goals already achieved, then the destination is also simultaneously the journey.
But on a deeper emotional level, it took from that logical realization until the moment when my younger daughter was almost four years old. Only then, when I spent time with both of them and plans were overturned within minutes, did I also understand emotionally that the journey itself is the destination—regardless of whether you achieve seemingly relevant small goals or not.
This is the text I wrote back then to describe myself:
“I don’t like empty texts!
Therefore, I want to spare you a classic introduction. Instead, I want to quote a passage from Thomas Mann’s Tonio Kröger, which partly describes me as I am, partly as I would like to be, and partly as I do not want to end up:
He did not work like someone who works to live, but like one who wants nothing but to work, because he considers himself as nothing as a living person, only wishes to be regarded as a creator, and otherwise goes about gray and inconspicuous, like a made-up actor who is nothing as long as he has nothing to portray. He worked silently, withdrawn, invisible, and full of contempt for those little ones for whom talent was a social ornament, who, whether they were poor or rich, went about wildly and raggedly or indulged in personal ties of luxury, above all intent on living happily, amiably, and artistically, unaware that good works arise only under the pressure of a hard life, that those who live do not work, and that one must be dead to be a true creator.”
I wrote back then: “I don’t like empty words.” That was more than just a phrase. It was my confession that I can hardly bear it when language carries nothing, when it is mere ornament or polite façade. For me, every word had to have weight, meaning, truth. Words were always more than communication—they were self-description, confession, sometimes even a weapon. Maybe that’s why I couldn’t be satisfied with a conventional introduction, but instead chose a quote that was at once a mirror, longing, and warning.
When I chose this passage from Tonio Kröger, I immediately knew why it touched me so deeply. It reflected my own feelings—and at the same time my fears of how I did not want to end up.
“He did not work like someone who works to live, but like one who wants nothing but to work …”
That’s exactly how it often felt for me. I could hardly bear simply being, without at the same time creating something. For a long time, my right to exist lay solely in doing.
“… because he considers himself as nothing as a living person, only wishes to be regarded as a creator …”
This sentence expressed what I could hardly admit to myself: that I devalued my humanity when it was not connected to achievement. That I believed I could only be seen through results and works.
“… and otherwise goes about gray and inconspicuous, like a made-up actor who is nothing as long as he has nothing to portray.”
How often I felt this emptiness—the invisibility after the performance, the sinking into everyday life as soon as the fire of presentation was extinguished.
“He worked silently, withdrawn, invisible …”
That was me, too. Work as retreat, as protection, as a bulwark against a world that seemed too contradictory, too loud, too chaotic to me.
“… full of contempt for those little ones for whom talent was a social ornament …”
I admit: sometimes there was also this bitter look at the lightness of others. At those who wore their talent with charm and sociability, while I sank into heaviness and seriousness.
“… unaware that good works arise only under the pressure of a hard life …”
Whether that’s really true, I still don’t know to this day. But back then I felt that my inner restlessness, my agitation, my suffering was always the source of what I produced.
“… that those who live do not work, and that one must be dead to be a true creator.”
This last sentence frightened me the most. It was both a warning and a temptation. I didn’t want to become like that—not to give up life just to be a creator. And yet I felt how close I already was to that abyss.
That’s why I chose this quote. It was mirror, warning, and self-description all in one. It showed me where I was, what tensions shaped my life—and why the world around me often seemed like a wild Absurdistan: full of ruptures, inconsistencies, absurdities that I couldn’t ignore.
Following this, I wrote the section “Guiding Principles—What I Believe In”.
This section contained a collection of 6 quotes in the following order:
- Thomas Mann:
“He much preferred finding to inventing.” - Oscar Wilde:
“I’m a man of simple tastes. I’m always satisfied with the best.” - Stephen Covey:
“Effective leadership is putting first things first. Effective management is discipline, carrying it out.” - Godfrey Harold Hardy:
“Beauty is the first test: there is no permanent place in the world for ugly mathematics.” - Albert Schweitzer:
“I’m especially interested in the future, for that is the time in which I will live.” - Augustine of Hippo:
“Only those who burn themselves can ignite others.”
And again, I want to try to retrace my thoughts on this selection individually.
“He much preferred finding to inventing.”
This Mann quote precisely describes my work: I rarely invent at the drawing board; I find structures that are already inherent in the material. My network-like thinking reveals hidden patterns; the idea for the ticking price system was just such a discovery: suddenly fully formed, including the interface. As a father, too, I try to find what is already inherent in my children—not to force it upon them. For me, finding is humility before reality: I arrange what is, instead of artificially fabricating.
“I’m a man of simple tastes. I’m always satisfied with the best.”
“Simple” for me does not mean “a lot” or “cheap,” but low-stimulus and high-quality—a protection for hypersensitivity and ADHD. I reduce channels, choose few but excellent tools, clear texts, clean models. Quality calms my nervous system; mediocrity creates noise. This is not snobbery, but hygiene: few signals, high quality, so I can think.
“Effective leadership is putting first things first. Effective management is discipline, carrying it out.”
My constant conflict: vision vs. implementation. ADHD accelerates insight, makes prioritization harder. “First things first” forces me to build my day around family, health, and core work—before emails, meetings, micro-urgencies. Discipline for me means: externalizing thoughts, parking impulses, forcing decisions into order. Leadership: choosing the right thing. Management: doing it consistently—even when my mind is already three steps ahead.
“Beauty is the first test: there is no permanent place in the world for ugly mathematics.”
Beauty is a criterion of truth for me. If a model is elegant, symmetry, parsimony, and explanatory power usually align. My inner sense of disturbance at logical gaps is ultimately an aesthetic sensor. That’s why I sketch structures visually: beauty makes coherence visible and communicable. Unsightly theory rarely survives with me—it falls apart in reality or in my need for consistency.
“I’m especially interested in the future, for that is the time in which I will live.”
I think forward: AI development as a late passion, portfolios instead of monocultures, school as a mission, finally fostering neurodiversity appropriately. For me, the future is not a vanishing point, but a work assignment: building systems that suit my way of thinking—and giving children an environment where underchallenge does not become a silent wound. The journey-is-the-destination idea thus gained grounding: shaping the future means sensibly organizing the present.
“Only those who burn themselves can ignite others.”
My burning is real: hyperfocus, nights, fireworks of ideas. It inspires teams, students, clients—when I lead the flame. Unguided, it burns me and others; guided, it warms. That’s why I need rituals and breaks, clear boundaries and honest closeness: in the family, so that intensity doesn’t overwhelm; at work, so that urgency isn’t confused with importance. Inspiring without burning out—that is the daily art.
Attitude—my priorities in life
Statisticians like numbers and diagrams. Maybe that’s why my self-description ultimately becomes visible in the form of bars. For me, words are never just decoration, but tools of clarity. And sometimes it takes numbers to express what tends to blur in prose.
Family & friends – 100 %
Developing things – 95 %
Achieving goals – 90 %
Avoiding boredom – 85 %
Fitness – 75 %
Sleep – 40 %
Everyday life – 20 %
Legend 0–100 %: Indifferent – Required – Important – Decisive.
This list appears sober, almost schematic, and yet it tells a lot about me. At the very top, unchallenged, is my family, together with the few friends who not only tolerate but accept my otherness. Close behind is my urge to develop things, to create structures, to bring ideas into form. Achieving goals is less an end in itself for me than an inner need for coherence—a way to give direction to the restlessness of my thoughts. Boredom, on the other hand, I perceive as a threat: it robs me of energy, whereas challenges nourish me.
Fitness appears because my body is the foundation for all this, even if I neglect it too often. Sleep remains at a much too low level, not out of disregard, but out of inner restlessness: my mind rarely switches off, even when my body urgently needs it. And everyday life—routine, formalities, the endless minutiae—ranks at the very bottom. For others, it is support; for me, it is a brake.
In the end, this creates a picture that is not objectively valid, but deeply personal: a small statistic of my life. Bars that not only represent priorities, but also the tensions that define me. And it is precisely at this point that the view opens to the next step: from the bars of my priorities to the structures of my thinking, to the way in which attention, hyperactivity, sensitivity, and intelligence interact within me. That is where my journey through the wild Absurdistan begins, which I try to describe in the second chapter.