Starting over is never easy. It’s about looking at what has already happened, acknowledging what went wrong, and still choosing to move forward.

But, over time, I realized that starting over is not a sign of weakness, but of courage.

It happens when life forces you to be honest with yourself, to stop insisting on paths that no longer make sense, and to face the truth that success sometimes hides: nobody grows without starting over.

When I left Brazil and decided to start all over again in Ireland, I didn’t imagine how much this move would transform me.

I had a stable career, a defined path, a professional identity.

And suddenly, I had to abandon all that to be a waiter in a country where I could barely express myself. It was a shock of reality and humility.

But it was there, in the discomfort, that I began to understand the true value of starting over.

It forces you to shed who you were, to make room for who you can become.

Starting over is, above all, an exercise in honesty.

It’s admitting that the previous phase served its purpose.

That it’s no longer about proving something, but about reconnecting with what makes sense.

With each new beginning—whether in personal life, business, or projects—there’s a dose of uncertainty, but also a new clarity: that we don’t need to be who we were yesterday to keep moving forward tomorrow.

At SEDA, I experienced countless restarts. Changes in strategy, model, and culture.

And in each one, I learned that restarting doesn’t happen when everything goes wrong, but when we have the courage to do things differently before it’s too late.

Starting over is an act of leadership because it demands detachment, vision, and, above all, because it inspires others to also believe that it’s possible to reinvent themselves.

Today, I see starting over as the most honest point in any journey because it’s when we shed our masks, titles, and expectations.

It’s the moment when we return to the essentials, to the purpose that drives us.

Starting over is accepting life’s invitation to begin better, not bigger.

And perhaps that is the greatest wisdom of all: understanding that, no matter how far we go, there will always be a new beginning waiting for those who have the courage to rewrite their own story.

Every beginning of the year brings a feeling that’s hard to describe. It’s as if the world falls silent for a moment, and we have the chance to take a deep breath before continuing.

I like to think that the year that begins is like a blank book: 365 pages waiting for the choices we will make.

And the most interesting thing is that nobody writes this book for you. It’s yours.

Over time, I’ve learned that you can’t control everything that will happen in each chapter.

Some days will be days of achievements, others of doubts.

Some plans will work out, others will change completely. But that’s what makes life real and growth possible.

What makes the difference is not what happens, but how we respond to each event. That’s where the new chapter begins to take shape.

For years, I entered each new cycle in a hurry: I wanted to solve, build, achieve.

Today, I see that the beginning of a new year is less about rushing and more about redefining course.

It’s about looking back and acknowledging what has been learned—including mistakes—and looking ahead with the tranquility of someone who knows that the journey is worth more than the destination.

At SEDA, I learned that every beginning is an invitation to reinvention.

Each student who arrives afraid to speak English, but decides to try anyway, reminds me that writing a new chapter requires only this: courage.

Courage to try, to start over, to leave the past where it belongs and believe that the next step can lead to something greater. Perhaps the secret is not planning the perfect year, but living each day with presence and purpose.

Writing one chapter at a time, with attention, with truth, with the awareness that not all need to be brilliant, some just need to be sincere.

So, if there is something I wish for this new year, it is this: that each of us writes our own book with more lightness, more coherence, and more gratitude.

May we know how to close what needs to be closed and make room for the new to enter.

Because, in the end, 365 chapters is enough time to change any story, as long as we truly decide to start writing.

When I started my entrepreneurial journey, I believed that a business’s success was measured by numbers: revenue, growth, expansion.

And of course, all of that matters. Profit is what keeps the wheels turning, sustains jobs, enables new projects, and provides the structure to keep dreaming.

But, over time, I learned that profit alone is not enough. What truly gives meaning to a company is the impact it has on people’s lives.

At SEDA, this learning came naturally.

In the beginning, the goal was to offer accessible education to those who wanted to learn English and live new experiences outside of Brazil.

But I soon realized that what truly transformed our students wasn’t just the language—it was the feeling of belonging, of overcoming challenges, of believing in themselves again.

The true delivery wasn’t in the certificate, but in the journey that led to it.

Over the years, I realized that human impact is the most valuable asset of any company. Businesses come and go, markets change, technologies evolve, but what remains is the effect we leave on people.

That’s what makes someone remember you, trust you, and, above all, want to grow with you.

And this kind of impact doesn’t appear in reports—it appears in glances, in stories, in silent transformations that happen every day.

Profit is a consequence of something much deeper: the ability to solve a real problem with genuine purpose.

When a company exists only to generate profit, it wears itself out. When it exists to generate value, it multiplies. And it is at this point that purpose and results meet.

A financially healthy business is fundamental, but a business that changes lives is unforgettable.

I learned that leading a company with purpose requires listening. It’s about understanding what people really need, not just what the market demands.

It’s about having the courage to make decisions that aren’t always the most profitable in the short term, but are the most correct in the long term.

It’s about understanding that each employee, each customer, and each partner is part of something bigger—a story that only makes sense when everyone wins in some way.

Today, I see that social and human impact is not a “department” of the company, it’s its soul. It’s what sustains the culture, guides the choices, and gives meaning to every effort.

Profit is important, yes, but it’s the purpose that makes it sustainable. Because money can keep a company alive, but it’s the impact that makes it worthwhile.

I’ve always enjoyed observing how logic and human behavior intertwine.

And one of the examples that has most impacted me is the famous Monty Hall problem, that mathematical challenge known for confusing even the greatest geniuses.

At first glance, it seems like just a game of probabilities, but over time I realized that it actually speaks to something much deeper: our difficulty in dealing with change.

For those unfamiliar, the problem is simple: imagine you’re on a TV show and you have to choose one of three doors.

Behind one of them is a prize; behind the others, nothing. You choose one.

The host, who knows where the prize is, opens one of the two remaining doors and shows that it’s empty.

Then he asks you a question: “Do you want to keep your choice or change?”

Most people insist on keeping their initial choice, believing that, statistically, changing maintains the same odds.

But that’s not the case. Change doubles your chances. And this is statistically proven and known as the Monty Hall Problem.

And that’s the lesson. Resistance to change isn’t rational—it’s emotional.

We cling to what we’ve chosen because changing means admitting that perhaps the first decision wasn’t the best.

And in the world of business, careers, and life, this dynamic repeats itself all the time.

How many times do we insist on paths that no longer make sense simply because that’s where we started?

Entrepreneurship has taught me that changing your mind isn’t a sign of uncertainty, it’s a sign of intelligence.

Just like in the Monty Hall problem, life gives us new information all the time. What seemed right at the beginning may cease to make sense when the context changes.

And ignoring this is the same as choosing to lose, just because we’re afraid of seeming inconsistent.

When I founded SEDA, I had to change plans several times. Business models, strategies, teaching formats—nothing stayed the same for long.

At first, every change felt like an admission of error.

Today, I understand that it was precisely this flexibility that kept us alive. Persistence is important, but adaptation is vital.

The problem of Monty Hall taught me that change isn’t starting from scratch, it’s starting over with learning.

It’s understanding that the value lies in the ability to recalculate the route, to recognize that the first choice doesn’t define the destination.

Life rewards those who have the courage to reconsider decisions—not those who insist on them out of pride.

In the end, the changes that most transformed my trajectory were precisely those that, at the beginning, seemed like contradictions.

And perhaps that’s the greatest lesson of the game: sometimes, giving up the first choice is the only way to reach the right prize.

For a long time, I believed that entrepreneurship was synonymous with financial freedom.

That success lay in the numbers, in achieving goals, in accelerated growth.

And, of course, all of that has its value.

Financial results are important; after all, they sustain the dream, give the project momentum, and open up new possibilities.

But over time, I realized that the true meaning of entrepreneurship lies not only in what you achieve, but in why you choose to achieve it.

Money is good fuel, but a terrible destination. It motivates you at the beginning, but it doesn’t sustain the journey. Because after the goal is reached, what makes you continue?

It was this question that led me to see entrepreneurship in a different way.

When I founded SEDA, the initial motivation was practical: to create a real opportunity for those who, like me, wanted to live an experience outside of Brazil and learn English in an accessible way.

But over time, I realized that what truly motivated me wasn’t the business itself, but rather the impact it had on people’s lives.

Entrepreneurship with purpose means understanding that financial success is a consequence, not an objective. It’s when the “why” comes before the “how much.”

It’s knowing that the product or service you offer needs to solve a real problem, transform lives, and generate value.

And this requires sensitivity to see what people truly need, not just what the market is demanding.

Throughout my journey, I’ve seen many brilliant entrepreneurs give up not for lack of results, but for lack of meaning.

When purpose is lost, work becomes a burden. When purpose is clear, even difficult days gain meaning.

It’s what keeps you standing when things don’t go as planned, and what reminds you why it’s worth continuing to try.

Today, I understand that entrepreneurship is an act of service. It’s using your skills, your vision, and your energy to build something that goes beyond yourself.

It’s about contributing to something bigger, whether in people’s lives, in the community, or in the world.

And when that happens, financial success ceases to be the end of the journey and becomes just one of its fruits.

Purpose is what gives soul to the business. It’s what gives the company an identity, the brand a voice, and the work meaning.

And it’s also what transforms the entrepreneur into someone better, more conscious, more mature, more human.

In the end, entrepreneurship isn’t about earning more, it’s about making more value.

It’s about creating something that endures, even when the numbers change.

Because money fades. Impact doesn’t.

Over time, I’ve learned that entrepreneurship isn’t just about strategy, innovation, or courage; it’s about emotional balance.

With each challenge, I realize that the true test of an entrepreneur isn’t in the market, the competitors, or external conditions, but in how they react to what they can’t control.

Emotional intelligence, for me, is what truly separates those who survive from those who get lost along the way.

When I decided to start a business outside of Brazil, I imagined the biggest obstacles would be technical: understanding the language, the laws, how the system worked.

And, of course, all of that was a challenge.

But what demanded the most preparation from me wasn’t outside; it was inside. It was dealing with the loneliness of decisions, the fear of making mistakes, the responsibility of leading even when I didn’t have all the answers.

I learned that the success of a business is directly linked to the leader’s ability to remain calm in chaos.

Emotional intelligence is what allows us to move forward when the plan changes. It’s what prevents the ego from making decisions that should come from reason.

It’s what helps to recognize mistakes without being paralyzed by guilt.

And, above all, it’s what keeps empathy alive, because without it, leadership becomes just control, not inspiration.

Throughout my journey at SEDA, I learned that leading is not about knowing everything, it’s about knowing how to deal with everything. It’s understanding that you don’t control people’s behavior, but you control how you react to it.

That it won’t always be possible to please everyone, and that, often, silence is wiser than an immediate response.

Emotional intelligence is the art of acting consciously, not impulsively.

I also realized that the fastest-growing companies are those guided by emotionally mature leaders.

Because these are the leaders who create environments of trust, where people feel safe to make mistakes, suggest, disagree, and evolve.

An emotionally balanced team is born from leadership that sets an example and shows that vulnerability and strength can coexist.

In the end, emotional intelligence isn’t an extra skill; it’s the core of everything.

It’s what keeps you standing when results are slow in coming, what helps you celebrate with humility when things go right, and what teaches you to keep learning when things go wrong.

Today, I believe that entrepreneurship is, above all, an exercise in self-knowledge.

Because the world changes, businesses change, but those who don’t learn to manage their own emotions will hardly be able to lead those of others.

And that’s why, for me, emotional intelligence isn’t just a skill; it’s the foundation of any building that intends to last.

Every year-end makes me think about how much we live on autopilot.

We pile up goals, plans, deliverables, and often forget to stop and understand what really made sense.

For me, the turn of the year has always been less about celebrating and more about reflecting.

It’s a time to look back honestly and forward with purpose.

Because, in the end, growth isn’t just about meeting goals: it’s about learning from the path that brought you here.

I’ve learned that reviewing goals is an act of maturity. It’s understanding that not everything we planned makes sense today.

And that’s okay. Life changes, the market changes, we change. Goals are not immutable promises; they are compasses that help us adjust our course.

Sometimes, you need courage to admit that a fulfilled goal didn’t bring satisfaction—and that an abandoned goal opened up space for something more genuine.

In the early years of SEDA, I was obsessed with numbers. I wanted to grow fast, expand, prove that it was possible to do business outside of Brazil.

And we did. But, over time, I realized that goals without purpose are like journeys without a destination: they are tiring, but they don’t transform.

It was only when I started aligning goals with values ​​— and not just results — that growth began to have meaning.

The end of the year is an invitation to do this: reconnect purpose with direction. Ask yourself what really matters.

What do you want to continue building? What needs to end? What deserves to begin? Because starting over is not a break with the past, it’s an improvement of it.

It’s when you take everything you’ve learned — the successes and, especially, the mistakes — and transform it into a foundation for a new cycle.

I also learned that charting a new chapter requires lightness. It’s not about making endless lists of resolutions, but about choosing a few things and doing them with sincerity.

An excess of goals distances us from the essence. When you learn to simplify, clarity appears.

And with it comes the peace of knowing that you are walking in the right direction, even if the path is still being drawn.

Today, I look at each turn of the year as an opportunity to give thanks and adjust. To give thanks for having come this far, and to adjust what needs more coherence and purpose.

Because time doesn’t wait, but teaches, and the most valuable learning is knowing how to use what has passed to better write what comes next.

In the end, it’s not about changing the year, it’s about changing the perspective.

Because every new chapter begins when we decide it’s time to write with more awareness, more truth, and more purpose.

For a long time, I was afraid of making mistakes.

And, honestly, I think that’s a common feeling for anyone starting any journey, especially when venturing abroad, far from everything familiar.

The problem is that this fear, when it dominates, paralyzes. It makes us believe that mistakes are the end, when in fact they are an inevitable part of the process. You will make mistakes.

The difference lies in how you react afterward.

At the beginning of SEDA, I thought I needed to get it right all the time. I wanted everything to work quickly, for every decision to be perfect. But entrepreneurship is not a predictable script, it’s a constant exercise of trial, adjustment, and learning.

And it was by making mistakes—many times, and in different ways—that I learned the most important lessons.

Mistakes teach you what success doesn’t show: the limits, the flaws in the plan, the truths about who you are when things don’t go as expected.

Over time, I realized that the mistake itself doesn’t destroy you; what destroys you is pride.

A mistake only becomes a failure when it’s not faced head-on.

When we try to hide, justify, or blame someone, we lose the opportunity to learn.

But when you acknowledge it, analyze it, and transform it into action, the mistake becomes experience. Learning to deal with it is what separates those who evolve from those who repeat the same stumbles.

Ireland taught me a lot about this. In a country with a more patient and learning-oriented culture, I realized that making mistakes isn’t shameful; it’s part of growth.

Here, mistakes are treated naturally, as a stepping stone, not as a label.

And this made me understand that professional and emotional maturity comes precisely from the ability to start over.

Each failure I experienced prepared me to better handle the next ones, and each wrong decision taught me something I would never have learned if everything had gone right.

Today, when I talk to entrepreneurs or students, I like to remind them: making mistakes is inevitable, but suffering because of them is optional.

What defines the future is not the number of mistakes we make, but our willingness to learn from them. Mistakes don’t define you, they shape you.

If I could give one piece of advice to someone starting out, it would be this: embrace mistakes as part of the journey.

They are the price of progress, the fuel of innovation, and the greatest teacher you will ever find.

Because, in the end, those who learn to deal with mistakes also learn to deal with life with less fear, more ease, and much more wisdom.

When I founded SEDA, I confess that the initial focus wasn’t on social impact.

I wanted to create a different kind of English school, one that would help people adapt to a new country, experience new opportunities, and feel welcome.

At the time, the word “impact” seemed distant, linked to large projects or global causes.

But time—and the people who crossed my path—showed me that true impact is born from everyday life, from simple gestures, from the silent transformations that education brings about.

I remember the first group of students who arrived in Ireland full of dreams and insecurities.

Many of them came from challenging backgrounds, and the opportunity to study abroad was, for some, the first big step outside their comfort zone.

In the beginning, the impact seemed to be in language teaching, in technical learning. But I soon realized that what truly transformed these people wasn’t English—it was the confidence that grew with it.

It was the discovery that they were capable, that they belonged, that they could build a new story.

SEDA taught me that social impact isn’t about quantity, it’s about depth. It’s about generating real change in someone’s life.

Sometimes, what changes everything is a conversation, an opportunity, a word of encouragement spoken at the right time. I saw students who arrived shy, insecure, and afraid, and who months later were leading teams, undertaking ventures, teaching others.

That’s the beauty of education—it multiplies. A transformed student changes those around them.

Over time, I realized that SEDA was more than a school: it was a bridge. A bridge between countries, cultures, realities, and dreams.

And each person who crossed that bridge carried a little of that purpose with them.

The impact began to expand naturally—not only in the lives of the students, but also in the communities where we worked, in the families that reconnected, in the companies that began to value diversity and inclusion based on the international experience of these young people.

Today, when I think about social impact, I think about responsibility. Being an entrepreneur means understanding that every decision, every project, every opportunity created has the power to affect lives.

SEDA taught me that profit and purpose don’t have to be on opposite sides. On the contrary — when a business is born from a genuine purpose, it grows sustainably and transforms the world around it.

True social impact, I learned, isn’t about statistics. It’s about people. About stories that change, about paths that open up.

It’s about looking back and realizing that what started as a simple idea ended up becoming a real force for transformation.

And that’s why, for me, SEDA was never just a company. It was — and continues to be — a mission. A way to prove that education is the most powerful seed that exists when what you seek is not just to teach, but to transform.

Starting a business abroad is much more than just opening a business in a different location.

It’s about immersing yourself in a new culture, relearning how to communicate, understanding different rhythms, and, above all, discovering that what works in one place doesn’t always make sense in another. When I arrived in Ireland, I didn’t have that clarity.

I thought it was enough to work hard and apply what I already knew. Over time, I realized that the biggest challenge wasn’t mastering the language—it was learning to see the world with different eyes.

The first big lesson was about humility. In Brazil, I worked in accounting, had stability, and a defined career path.

When I arrived in Dublin, I started from scratch—literally. I worked as a waiter, relearned how to express myself, faced strange looks, and had to prove my worth in an environment where nobody knew me.

This experience taught me that, in any culture, respect is earned much more through actions than words.

Humility opened doors that a resume never could.

Another lesson was about time and patience. The Irish pace is different. Things happen more calmly, without the immediacy that we carry in Brazil.

At first, this frustrated me.

I wanted to solve everything quickly, to see results right away. But I learned that this serenity has a purpose: it sustains more conscious decisions and more solid relationships.

Ireland taught me that growing slowly is not the same as going backwards — it’s just building with more depth.

I also learned the value of trust and predictability. In Irish culture, promises carry weight, and a word given is taken seriously.

The “yes” only comes when there is certainty, and the “no” is said honestly — something that, at first, seemed rude, but I later understood as a sign of respect.

This sense of transparency inspired me to rethink how to lead and do business. I learned to value clear agreements, realistic goals, and direct, straightforward communication.

But perhaps the most important lesson was about community.

Ireland is a welcoming country that cares about others. This mentality made me understand the true meaning of entrepreneurship: creating something that has a real impact on people’s lives.

That’s what led me to found SEDA — not just as a school, but as a welcoming space for learning and belonging for those who, like me, came to start over far from home.

Entrepreneurship in Ireland transformed me more as a person than as a businessman.

It taught me that success depends not only on strategies, but on the ability to adapt, respect, and learn from differences.

Today, I understand that every culture has something to teach us — and that true growth happens when we let the world change us, without losing who we are.