About “Dead Poets Society”

My daughter and I watched a movie that seems to be about school, poetry, and an eccentric teacher, but is actually about how the hardest thing is to decide to live your own life.

Carpe diem - seize the day. It seems like a simple phrase we’ve heard hundreds of times, but in the movie it stops being a slogan and becomes a challenge.

A challenge to the education system, to parents, to the habit of staying on the rails or following the paths familiar to those around us.

Robin Williams and all the actors in the movie incredibly boldly reflect how difficult it is to go your own way and create your own moment, to inspire friends and remain yourself.

I deeply relate to the idea that free thinking doesn’t begin with arguing or breaking rules for the sake of it, but with the ability to stop and ask yourself:

“Do I really want this? Is this my choice or an imposed one?”

I wrote earlier about my school friend Anton and how his example influenced freedom of thought and choice, and how he inspired me to be an entrepreneur.

The movie shows there’s a price for this freedom. Sometimes it’s conflicts with your surroundings, sometimes loneliness, sometimes difficult consequences. But the alternative is even worse: living by someone else’s script.

Carpe diem is about the courage to be yourself, to hear your inner voice and allow yourself to step into the unknown while you still have the chance.

It’s interesting to recall important moments from your own life: in which moments did I behave like a student in Keating’s class, and in which - like someone who’s afraid to step out of line and stand on their desk so their voice can be heard.

The movie reminded me: freedom begins within, and every day is a new chance to prove to yourself that you’re using it.

The Weight of Expectations

The movie shows this invisible weight we all carry. These boys aren’t just dealing with strict teachers - they’re carrying their parents’ entire life plans for them, generations of “this is how we’ve always done it.”

It makes you ask yourself: “How many times have I made choices not because I wanted to, but because I couldn’t handle disappointing someone who “only wants the best for me”?”

The real pain isn’t just in the big moments. It’s in all those small times when someone swallows what they really want to say because speaking up feels too risky.

Standing on Desks

There’s this scene where Keating makes the boys stand on their desks. Sounds silly, right? But it’s about seeing the world from a different angle.

My biggest life changes came from forcing myself to look at things differently. Questioning things I didn’t even realize I was assuming. Asking: what if the “obvious” choice isn’t actually obvious?

Standing on that desk is uncomfortable. You feel ridiculous. People think you’re making a scene. But sometimes that’s the only way to actually see what’s in front of you.

Anton’s Lesson

I mentioned Anton. Last week, after 30 years, I found him through Telegram. He’s living in India now, also an entrepreneur.

Peter Thiel, co-founder of PayPal, talks in his book “Zero to One” about the importance of a maker’s mentality. He looks for people who built rockets as kids, took apart computers, blew things up, or invented stuff. Questions like “What did you do as a child that would surprise people around you?” he considers key to finding people ready to change the world.

Anton was always that person Thiel would probably hire or give millions for a startup.

Stories from childhood with him inspired me to look at life more broadly and build companies. For example, once at school Anton was retelling “The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy” to me and suddenly announced he was going to hitchhike to Paris. A few weeks later I was completely shocked: he actually made it to France, without visas, with a bunch of adventures. He even got detained when he left his backpack by the Eiffel Tower, but during that time he managed to pick up some French and somehow safely returned home.

Another time we organized a spontaneous car wash by the river in the city center. It was our first business: we got water in buckets, stood by the road with rags, made pretty good money. But we had to defend ourselves from racketeers and be very fast to keep the money. Thirty years later, Anton also remembered this warmly and said that story inspired him toward entrepreneurship.

He also taught me to build computers, set up modems, connect to FIDO, and write code in Turbo Pascal and C++. I’m very grateful to Anton for the inspiration, and I understand years later how important the environment and interests in childhood are.

The Cost of Conformity

Todd’s story hits differently when you’re older. His fear of speaking up, of being visible - that’s not shyness. That’s what happens when you learn that staying invisible is safer than being yourself.

We’ve all got some Todd in us. The part that would rather disappear than stand out. The part that thinks if I just keep my head down and follow the rules, everything will work out.

But will it? Or do you wake up one day and realize you’ve been living someone else’s life so completely that you can’t even remember what yours was supposed to be?

The movie doesn’t pretend this is easy. Breaking free costs something. But staying stuck costs something too - it just happens slower, quieter, easier to ignore until you can’t anymore.

What Kind of Person Am I?

I keep asking myself: do I help people find their voice, or do I push them to echo mine?

Everyone says they want people to be free. It’s way harder when their freedom means choosing something you wouldn’t choose. When they use their voice to say something you don’t want to hear.

Keating’s real gift wasn’t cheerleading. It was trusting his students to find their own answers, even when those answers led somewhere he couldn’t control.

That takes guts. Guiding without controlling. Inspiring without imposing. Supporting without deciding for them.

This Moment, Right Now

We act like we have forever. We tell ourselves we’ll do that thing later, say that truth eventually, make that change when the timing’s better.

But carpe diem isn’t about the perfect moment. It’s about realizing this moment - messy and uncertain as it is - is actually all we’ve got.

What would change if you really believed that? What would you say? What would you start? What part of yourself would you finally let out?

Those boys didn’t have perfect circumstances. Strict rules, demanding parents, futures already planned out. They started the Dead Poets Society anyway. Meeting in a cave at night, reading poetry by candlelight, because they couldn’t wait for someone to give them permission to live.

What’s your version of that cave? What are you waiting for permission to start?