Alpha Moon Rising

07/13/2026

Remember when finding information was hard?

Back in the day, you had to go to the library, search the Internet, ask somebody, or buy books and read the whole thing.
Sometimes it took months. Sometimes years. Finding the information was a full-time job on top of your job.

Fast forward to today.
We live in the Information Age, where everything— and I mean everything— is one click away and available 24/7.
And yes, knowledge is power.
Well... can somebody please turn the power off for 5 min?

Because as far as I'm concerned, I'm exhausted.
Back in the day, I was chasing information. Today, I feel like information is chasing me.

Before I've even opened my eyes, my phone is ready to dump everything I missed while I was sleeping. My watch tells me how I slept and how many steps I should walk today. The Wall Street Journal reads itself to me. LinkedIn, Slack, Teams, podcasts, newsletters and AI have all politely informed me that I'm already behind.

By the time I pour my coffee, I'm already sweating.
The coffee used to wake me up, now it's my survival breath.
And you would think it stops there, right?
It doesn't!

Now I'm deleting. Unsubscribing. Closing tabs. Muting experts.
Trying to decide what not to learn today.
Nobody warned me that filtering information would become the 3rd job on top of the 2nd job on top of the first job.
I swear, somewhere in the middle of all that, I sometimes forget what my actual job is.
They said: "As an entrepreneur, you'll wear many hats."

And here's where it gets sneaky.
Most of the information is good. It's really good.
That's exactly my problem.

Every expert has one more thing I apparently can't afford to miss.
Every new tool promises to save me time.
Except the tool that's supposed to save me time comes with homework.
You have to understand it.
Verify it.
Learn it.
Test it.
Decide whether it's worth keeping.
My to-do list has evolved into a list of to-do lists.
And before I know it it's 11 a.m.
My brain is fried and ashamed because I haven't done a single minute of the work I was actually supposed to do.

And here's the embarrassing part.
I genuinely thought I was making progress.
I wasn't.
Actually... I'm still not.
I quietly accepted a new status game.
It's called: "Being up to date."
Because the message is everywhere:
"With access to everything, you have no excuse not to know."
I fell for it.
Hard.

I'm convinced the next billion-dollar idea will be the first app that quietly looks at me every morning and says:
"Relax... you don't need to know this one... and nope, not this one... and this one..."

Because somewhere along the way, I started confusing "learning" with "progress".
And I'm falling behind ...trying to keep up !

https://www.linkedin.com/posts/angeliquesakhogreen_remember-when-finding-information-was-hard-share-7482518958307475456-PFal?utm_medium=ios_app&rcm=ACoAAAAhGm0BzPm0wH9QSdwRiRHum8bJQqogHBo&utm_source=social_share_send&utm_campaign=facebook

07/05/2026

Home isn't always where you're born.

Sometimes it's the place you keep returning to until one day you realize you've stopped leaving.
This week, America celebrates 250 years of Independence.
Like many people who chose to become American, I remember sitting with that little civics book.
Questions. Dates. The Constitution. The Bill of Rights.
I memorized the answers like everyone else.
What I didn't see coming wasn't the test. It was the question that appeared between the lines.
How did this place become my home?

Picture it.
France. 19 years old. Fresh out of high school with my baccalaureat in one hand and my suitcase in the other.
Instead of going straight to university I went straight to Washington, D.C.
I barely spoke English.
I lived with my American host family on 16th Street in Silver Spring—the same road that leads straight toward the White House.
Studied at Montgomery College. Took my TOEFL at Howard University. Discovered breakfast at night at IHOP. My first real burger at Fuddruckers.
Spent weekends getting wonderfully lost in Washington.

Back then I thought I was simply here to learn English. Looking back, I think I was slowly learning a country.
Life eventually took me back to Europe.
I tried other places. Other jobs. Other dreams.
But somehow... I kept coming back again and again.
Until one day I realized it wasn't really the country I kept returning to. It was the people.

I remember my first internships on Pennsylvania Avenue. I walked into a boardroom full of strangers. Hoping nobody would notice me.
Across the table, a woman kept looking at me.
As if she were reading me.
Then she smiled and introduced me warmly to everyone in the room.
Without making a speech. Without saying anything extraordinary.
She made room for me.
She didn't know me. She didn't owe me anything. But in a single moment
she made me feel like I belonged.
Only years later did I fully understand who she was.
One of the most respected voices of the American civil rights movement.

Her name was Dorothy Height.
At 19 I had no idea. I only knew how she made me feel.
She wasn't the only one but she was the first.
A taxi driver. A teacher. A cashier. The janitor in my building. A DJ
Eventually a future husband in Brooklyn.
One person at a time, they kept making room.
Nobody ever stood up and announced "Welcome. You belong here."
They simply scooched over a little. Just enough for me to fit.

People often say America is the land of opportunity. I used to agree. Today I think I found a better word.
Possibilities.
Because possibilities don't begin with a country. They begin with people.
The people who somehow make you believe "You're going to be okay"
I was born French. I was born Senegalese. Those were my bonuses.
America was the first country I chose.
And looking back, I don't think I fell in love with a place. I fell in love with its people.
They didn't ask me to become someone else.
They simply scooched over just enough... for me to fit

Happy Independence Day!

https://www.linkedin.com/posts/angeliquesakhogreen_home-isnt-always-where-youre-born-sometimes-share-7478926719211450368-KboW/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=member_desktop&rcm=ACoAAAAhGm0BzPm0wH9QSdwRiRHum8bJQqogHBo

Home isn't always where you're born. Sometimes it's the place you keep returning to until one day you realize you've stopped leaving. This week, America celebrates 250 years of Independence. Like many people who chose to become American, I remember sitting with that little civics book. Questions. Da...