But honestly, I don't regret it. Because Formula 1 turned out to be completely different from what I imagined. It's not just "cars driving in circles." It's psychology, physics, nerves, milliseconds in which an entire season lives or dies.

And that's when I stumbled upon him. Max Verstappen.

My God, it's a whole other world 🌀

This man lives for racing. Not figuratively—literally. Simulators at night, karting since he was three, a racing driver father who molded him into a champion even before Max could read. He missed out on childhood. He skipped his teenage years. He chose the track—and it seems he's never looked back.

F1, karting, sim racing, testing, analysis... He never takes a break from speed. He lives in it.

And I caught myself with a strange feeling—a mixture of admiration and a little sadness 🥺

Because he's 27. He's incredibly talented, a four-time world champion. And yet, relationships, family, "ordinary life" always take a backseat. The price he pays for greatness is very concrete and very human.

I don't judge. Not at all. Everyone chooses what to dedicate themselves to. And when you see a person so whole in their calling, it's mesmerizing. Such concentration of will and passion in one spot—it's almost art.

But sometimes I wonder... does he have moments when he's driving on the track and suddenly longs not for speed, but simply for silence with someone close? 🤍

Or is that its silence—300 km/h and the roar of the engine?

I couldn't do that; I put relationships first, above all else.

I don't know. But I think I'll be thinking about it for a long time. And watching races. And exploring this strange, cruel, beautiful world where every second counts 🏁