In last week of March, I was mostly resting and recovering from a health issue. When I found out about it, I also realised that some of the “procrastination” I felt earlier wasn’t entirely procrastination…it was my body pushing back against my mind.

On one hand, I wanted to listen to and respect my body. Yet, I also felt stressed that I’m not able to do things (as much or as well as I want to). What added to the frustration wass not having a clear date for when I’ll be back in full swing.

As March came to an end, my mind also spiraled for a bit that a quarter of the year has already passed, and I’m still figuring out my new rhythm.

And then I remembered something a friend shared, which I now want to share with you:

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Write down:

• 7 people you spend the most time with (in real life or in your head)

• 7 places where you spend most of your time

• 7 activities you spend most of your time doing

This simple exercise shows you how you are actually choosing to build your life.

Because attention and time are our most valuable currencies, this cuts through intention and belief; and reflects what’s truly happening. And from there, you get to choose if you want to change it.

The beauty of this reflection is that you can do it over different timeframes: a week, a month, or even six months. (For longer periods, it helps to keep some record. Our perception can be misleading.)

For me, the shift came when I looked at my list of activities. While I wasn’t doing everything I wanted for my coaching practice, it wasn’t like I was doing nothing. And since rest was at the top of the list, I also knew I wouldn’t want to change that.

One small change I made: keeping my phone away and my Kindle closer.

When you recognise thatyou are choosing something, it helps shift you from frustration to ownership.

(Also read -Are you being reasonable or truly alive?)

As you go through this reflection, you could also look at it across two areas: professional and personal.

• As a leader, am I spending enough time coaching, mentoring, and supporting the people who matter most at work?

• Are the most important people in my life truly getting my time and attention?

• If I want a better relationship with my parents, am I choosing time with them over an extra meeting or another call or another presentation?

• Who are the 7 people I spend most of my time with across work and life?

• How much time goes into replying to Slack or WhatsApp versus thinking about strategic work?

• If staying connected to friends and family is a priority, how much time do I actually spend with them (in person or on the phone)?

For shorter durations, you don’t need to be overly precise. But if you do this check-in regularly (say every week), you’ll start to notice patterns. You’ll begin to see what your life might look like by the end of the year if nothing changes, or what different seasons of life want you to prioritise. And then take stock once those seasons pass to shift your time accordingly.

So, what might you want to shift in your priorities?

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Since 2019, I’ve developed a deep liking for solo travel.

I had done a few short 2–3 day solo trips even before that, but things changed after 2019. I experienced longer solo travels, week-long (or more), and something shifted.

There was a different kind of freedom in it.
The freedom to do what I want, when I want.
To skip the touristy stuff if I didn’t feel like it.
To eat and sleep whenever (and however much) I wanted.
To not feel obligated to be chatty when I needed silence.

It started simply. I didn’t want to miss out on travel just because my friends’ schedules didn’t align.

But over time, I began to enjoy it so much that I resisted travelling with others.

This changed last August.

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After more than six years, I travelled with my brother and sister-in-law. It felt like a safe bet…they know me, and I could step away if I needed to.

And surprisingly (or maybe not), I had a lot of fun.

That continued when I travelled to Norway with a friend.

We even joked before the trip: what if travelling together spoils our friendship?

The real test came on the return flight.
We were both exhausted. We barely spoke.

But we were comfortable being in our own shells, without wondering if something was wrong.

A few days later, I was still intrigued to know what her experience of me was as a travel companion.

Our styles were quite different, and I wasn’t even sure anymore what it meant to be a “good” travel companion.

(She said I passed with flying colours. And we share the kind of honesty where I know she meant it.)

This curiosity reminded me of something:

“If you think you’re enlightened, go spend a week with your family.” - Ram Dass

And I once heard Trevor Noah say he feels like the best boyfriend when he isn’t dating anyone.

In the journey of life, it’s easy to become myopic…so focused on ourselves.

Healing our wounds.
Letting go of baggage.
Working on ourselves.

And somewhere along the way, we forget to practice all of this in real life. Or even the point of it all.

Unless we are practicing being “better” in relation to others, all the work we’re doing can remain an illusion.

As Tim Ferriss writes in The Self-Help Trap:

“You can spend your whole life preparing for, instead of playing, the game of life.”

You may be becoming the greatest version of yourself, in isolation.

But that’s a controlled setting.

Real life isn’t.

Only in relationship with others, where you can’t control everything, do you truly begin to see yourself.

I first realised this about two years ago.

A past toxic relationship had slowly led me to stop “playing” in real life. I had begun keeping all personal relationships at a distance, safe enough that they couldn’t affect me deeply.

And then something shifted.

One of my closest friends sent me a picture of her three-month-old daughter in the ER.

I remember feeling an overwhelming wave of pain just looking at it.

I asked her how does she handle even the possibility of something going wrong?

She said that pain comes with an immense kind of love, one she didn’t know she was capable of.

In trying to protect ourselves from hurt and hassles of life,
we may also limit our capacity for love, joy and growth.

I’ve often believed that leadership is a path to inner growth.

As a leader, you move towards a mission but you also have to take people along.

And at some point, the real work becomes about people:

How you lead them

How you respond and react when things don’t go your way
What people trigger in you
What judgments arise
And what all of this reveals about you

Even in relatively less emotionally charged environments like work, people will help show you parts of yourself:

Your insecurities
Your shadow sides
Old baggage you may still carry
Places you thought were healed, but aren’t

If you can observe all of this and continue doing the work, there’s nothing like it.

But even more important than “doing the work”
is becoming aware.

And then, accepting what you see.

Not dismissing it.
Not blaming others.
Not telling yourself “this isn’t me.”

Even if you don’t yet have the intention to change certain parts of yourself…

Acknowledging them is enough.

“Know thyself, and to thine own self be true.”

Invitation

Think of 2–3 people in your life who trigger you (even if mildly).

And reflect:

• What do your reactions around them say about you?

• What, if anything, would you like to do about it?

If you’re curious about working together, you can learn more about my coaching here.

Not because I had nothing to say.
In fact, quite the opposite.

There was too much happening: new people, new experiences, new energy entering my life. And somewhere in the middle of all of that, the writing quietly paused.

I finally managed to sit down again this week, and I’m happy to reconnect.

Back in January, I was sitting with my theme for 2026:
“I am rooted, but I flow.”

I had been reflecting on what it would mean to move through this year with that spirit- not exploring in isolation, but while engaging with the communities around me.

When life became full

As a result, January became surprisingly full.

I hosted a get-together after nearly eight years, joined an improv workshop (be ready to hear more reflections on life and leadership from these sessions in upcoming newsletters), and that same gathering also led to a few of us signing up to learn Urdu from my sister-in-law. And more recently, in March, I joined a running group as well.

As I met new people and stepped into different ways of learning and being, I found myself wide-eyed with awe at how much there was to explore. At the same time, I also felt stretched… though not in a way that made me want to give anything up.

I kept feeling inspired by these experiences and constantly noted things I wanted to share with you. But I couldn’t quite get myself to sit down and write.

Partly because these activities and new connections took more time, and the rest of my time went into resting (which you need when you suddenly make yourself super busy).

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Partly because the energy of inspiration felt dynamic and restless, and didn’t allow me to sit still long enough to write.

For two weeks in January, I judged myself for abandoning writing, especially since I love it so much. By the third week, inertia kicked in. It started to feel like a big effort to sit down and begin.

And then February arrived with our improv show finale, a cousin’s wedding and a trip to Norway to witness the Northern Lights. (An unexpected highlight from that trip was taking cold plunges in the Arctic Ocean when the air temperature was –11°C.)

The moment of questioning

March then brought with it a small wave of panic about what I’m doing with my life, questioning some of my choices and wondering how things will turn out.

It was triggered partly by personal reflections and partly by self-judgment about not putting as much effort into certain things as I thought I should have.

What’s happening in the world probably had something to do with it too.

Around that time, a different way of looking at things occurred to me.

Understanding the rhythm

I realised that energy in our lives moves a lot like water. Different parts of river can be going through three hydrological processes:

At times, gathering water -
fed by rain, tributaries, and melting snow.
There is movement, expansion, and incoming energy.

At other times, settling and deepening -
the water slows down, sediment settles, and the riverbed quietly reshapes itself.

And then there are moments when the river surges forward -
carrying that accumulated energy downstream.

Looking back at the last couple of months, I realised I had been in a phase of gathering.

New people, new experiences, improv sessions, running, learning Urdu, travel: there had been a lot of inflow. Maybe even more than I realised at the time.

And when a river receives that much inflow, the current can become restless before it finds its rhythm again.

I also began noticing how my life often moves through phases where one aspect takes precedence over others: inspiration, processing, or execution.

Sometimes these phases last days, often shaped by emotions or even the menstrual cycle.

Sometimes they last weeks. Some people notice similar shifts with lunar cycles.

And sometimes they stretch across months, depending on what’s happening in life or around us.

Realising this helped me feel more at ease about the last two months.

Had I tried to tightly control this phase, perhaps I would have been more “productive.” But inspiration and life experiences don’t always arrive on a schedule.

And so I’m glad I allowed myself to go with the flow.

For quite some time before this, I had been very rooted (read: disciplined) and used to a certain stability.

But recently, spending every weekend in improv, taking risks and channeling my energy there made me feel alive, yet also a little destabilised.

The image that comes to mind is water held behind floodgates.

For a long time, the energy had been contained and directed. And once the gates opened, the water rushed out.

And rightly so.

It needed some time to find its own rhythm again.

So right now, I’m choosing to allow myself the grace to find my footing as I learn to flow.

Maybe I moved from one extreme (rooted) to another, and I’m simply beginning to find my balance. Or maybe the riverbed itself will shift a little as I move through this process.

Until then, I trust the current will eventually settle into its own rhythm again.

Maybe this phase I’m in right now is simply the river finding its rhythm again.

An invitation for you

If you find yourself judging yourself for something, pause and ask:

What else changed?

Maybe the “struggle” you’re noticing is simply a by-product of something new emerging, and what you’re experiencing is just the adjustment.

You might reflect on:

• What might help you ease into that adjustment?
• Where might it help to move with more moderation, rather than opening the floodgates all at once?

If you’re curious about working together, you can learn more about my coaching here.

Most career transitions don’t fail because of a lack of options.
They fail because we aren’t ready internally, to take the journey.

In my transition coaching engagements, most of the work happens on the inside. On helping people prepare for the uncertainty, the fear of the unknown, and the difficulty of letting go of the good parts of “what is.”

That inner readiness is often what determines whether someone moves forward, or stays stuck.

The question I find myself asking most often is this:
“What costs or consequences are you willing to face to get what you want?”

Because sometimes, we think we want something but we don’t want it enough to go through the struggle it demands.

There’s a difference between wanting something and liking the idea of wanting it, without wanting the discomfort that comes with it.

That discomfort may look like:

• putting yourself out there and being okay with rejection

• trying something new and being willing to fail

• accepting slower financial growth for a while

When we’re unwilling to sacrifice anything, we often end up feeling stuck and even miserable.

That’s why the question “What are you willing to struggle for?” matters so much (credit: Mark Manson).

And this isn’t just true for careers. It applies to life itself.

Happiness and fulfilment require struggle.

There’s a famous case study from the 1950s where a cake premix failed, even though the cake tasted great and all one had to do was add water.

The reason? People felt guilty that it was too easy.

When the company changed the recipe to require the addition of one egg, sales soared. That small effort transformed a shortcut into a meaningful experience.

While this was a marketing move, it also reveals something deeper: effort gives meaning to our experiences.

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In The How of Happiness, Sonja Lyubomirsky explains what happiness is shaped by:

The reason circumstances matter so little is hedonic adaptation. We quickly get used to new situations, whether they’re positive or negative.

Which means trying to be happy by changing external conditions alone (without intentional effort) doesn’t work long-term.

It may help, for a while.

But not for long.

This is why “I’ll be happy when/if…” is largely a myth.

We don’t get lasting fulfilment by waiting for life to align.
We get it by engaging, choosing effort, and working through difficulty.

This can look like:

• not taking our marriages for granted

• continuing to learn and stretch even after landing our dream jobs

• recognizing that adaptation is inevitable, and effort must be ongoing

Positive experiences are relatively easy to handle: they’re fleeting delights, often dependent on things going our way.

Negative experiences, on the other hand, can only be avoided for so long. They surface more sharply because of adaptation or social comparison.

So the real skill in life is learning how to deal with them, through intentional effort.

When we accept that struggle is part of the path, and that effort is what leads us to meaning, life becomes easier to navigate.

And when things do go our way?
They become the cherry on top.

Ultimately, what we get out of life isn’t determined by the good feelings we want but by the struggles we’re willing to sustain to reach them.

So here’s a question to sit with:

What effort or struggle would you like to choose this year?

If you’re curious about working together, you can learn more about my coaching here.

I feel deeply grateful for the kind of subscribers who read this newsletter. Almost every issue brings me one or two thoughtful replies, and that makes the whole process feel even more meaningful. (Though the primary motivation remains that writing helps me clear the clutter in my head and brings clarity to my own thinking.)

One of the posts that brought back the most reflections was: Feeling Lost in Your Career? Why Transitions Feel So Unsettling.

Different parts resonated with different people, depending on where they were in their own journeys. But one response stayed with me and nudged me to elaborate on their insight.

Referring to a passage, about sitting in a period of uncertainty and ambiguity, they shared:

“I have been feeling lost for quite some time, but it gave me a perspective that if I make the jump, I have nothing to lose. But if I don’t, I may miss out on the adventure of a lifetime. Why play safe when you can afford to play with risk?”

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The passage they were referring to was:

Zen meditation teacher Henry Shukman captures this beautifully:
“Any true journey is a journey into the unknown. If we are really developing or truly growing in this life, we will always be moving into what we don’t know yet… So we can let go of the need to know or to understand, because that’s how new discoveries are made.”

What would it feel like to free ourselves from the need to know?

As you enter the unknown (even if only in your inner world at first), you could either feel lost, or see it as the great adventure of a lifetime.

Now, the level of risk one can take is deeply personal. It depends on circumstances, responsibilities, and one’s own internal appetite for uncertainty.

But irrespective of that, stepping into the unknown during transitions feels uncomfortable for most of us. Often, we make decisions through strategy or instinct, or some combination of both. Those who have relied heavily on strategy tend to feel the most discomfort because strategy provides a sense of control. You can plan, prepare, create experiments. But there’s only so much you can strategise. There’s only so much you can do.

Interestingly, during these phases, people may not be clear about what they want to do next, but they become increasingly clear about what they don’t want. This clarity often comes from sensing what no longer feels aligned… a deeper tuning into who they are becoming.

And if we could focus on who we are, and who we want to be - that can become the anchor. In a way, that becomes the new strategy. 😀
It can help reframe the uncertainty as an adventure and make us feel more prepared to make (or even contemplate) the jump.

Take one of my clients as an example. Despite having achieved everything one could hope for, including an Ivy League MBA, they “knew” a career transition was coming. When we started, they were certain about one thing: they wanted clarity before quitting. “I can’t just sit and figure it out,” they said.

So we began with alignment - what feels like them, and what doesn’t. We explored identity, not action.

In one session, we used an analogy:
They were underwater, holding on to an anchor. They knew it wasn’t helping them go where they wanted, but the destination still wasn’t visible. So the plan was: hold onto the anchor for now, explore the currents, notice where the water (their natural inclinations) was taking them, and understand how each direction felt. And once they felt comfortable navigating the water, or could see even a hazy glimpse of the next anchor, they could let go to swim in its direction.

But midway, they paused and said:
“This anchor won’t let me explore fully. It’s actually what’s holding me back. So even though it’s scary, I think I need to let it go.”

The work of navigating the unknown still continues for them. But letting the past go, metaphorically or psychologically, and shifting the anchor from doing to being, to self-belief, is what ultimately sets us free.

And yet, these mindset shifts are a journey of their own. You can’t will them into existence, but work towards them!

If you’re navigating a similar phase, you can begin by gently noticing:

• Where might the flow of life be leading you? What excites you?

• What’s a thought or fantasy that keeps returning? What about it feels energising?

• What about the present no longer feels like “you”? What would need to change for it to feel aligned?

You don’t need to act on any of these right away. Just start noticing. Awareness has a way of opening doors you didn’t know existed.

If you want to read more on transitions, pair this with:

1. What If Unhappiness Isn’t A Problem To Fix

2. Is It Still Aligned? Reflecting on Purpose, Plans, and Growth

If you’d like some support in navigating through your drifts, I’d love to support you. You can learn more about my coaching here.

Over the past year, I’ve been thinking a lot about happiness. This reflection began during a conversation with a friend who shared an observation: no one seems to be fully, consistently happy. Even our parents, who have lived full lives and are now retired, still worry about something, despite things turning out well overall.

In that moment, I told him that I’ve accepted that happiness comes in phases. There are times when I feel content and fulfilled, and then there are periods when I feel dissatisfied, restless, or focused on striving toward something, believing happiness will return once I achieve whatever it is I’m working toward.

He agreed, and we moved on, but the thought stayed with me. I wanted to explore it further, to check if I was oversimplifying it, or if there was something deeper I hadn’t yet understood about my own patterns.

A side note: Some people in my life refer to astrology when things get difficult. Because of their influence, I’ve been exposed to it too. I’m still undecided about how much I believe in it, partly because some predictions have been surprisingly accurate and other completely wrong, and partly because I remain open to the possibility that not everything is fully explained by science yet. I’ve also noticed that these predictions can offer comfort. When you hear that the difficult period will end soon, even if the dates aren’t exact, it provides a sense of hope. And if you’re told the tough phase will last for years, it helps you mentally brace yourself and still move forward with clarity.

One of the recurring predictions in my chart is that I will never feel fully satisfied. Most people interpret this as never being completely happy. But to me, it actually feels reassuring — it suggests I may not settle, that I will continue evolving, exploring, and discovering where life wants to take me next. I’ve experienced this in my career. At every stage, I was “satisfied enough,” yet something kept nudging me forward until I eventually found coaching, which feels like home.

And even here, I know I will continue to evolve. The core direction — supporting others through coaching will likely remain, but the way I approach it, the methods I use, and the kinds of conversations I’m drawn to will probably shift. In fact, they already are. (Related post: “Is It Still Aligned? Reflecting on Purpose, Plans, and Growth”)

Recently, something I read helped me connect all these dots.

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I came across a section about orcas in Mari Andrew’s book How to Be a Living Thing. She shares how orcas in captivity experience a form of psychological and physical distress. When kept in tanks, they receive regular food and are safe from external threats, yet they often become severely under-stimulated, to the point that some develop self-harming behaviours due to stress.

It sounds counterintuitive: shouldn’t a predictable, comfortable life feel easier and therefore better?

But orcas are designed for vast, dynamic, unpredictable environments. Their bodies, instincts, intelligence, and social systems are wired for complexity, exploration, long distances, uncertainty, and collective problem-solving. When they are placed in confined, artificial spaces, even well-maintained ones, they don’t experience peace; they experience anxiety. Their environment may appear safe, but it is fundamentally mismatched with their nature.

A captive orca lives with absolute certainty, something many of us believe we want. And yet, that certainty becomes its suffering.

It made me wonder:
How often do we keep ourselves in our own version of a clean, comfortable tank — repeating familiar cycles, feeling safe on the outside, but quietly aching on the inside?

If that prediction about lifelong dissatisfaction is true, then I don’t see it as a limitation. It may simply be my nature calling me toward movement, curiosity, expansion, and evolution. Just like orcas aren’t meant for aquariums, perhaps humans aren’t meant for emotional or professional captivity either.

And if you are currently in a phase where what is no longer feels like home, my gentle invitation is this:

Don’t rush to fix the discomfort.
Don’t judge it as failure.
Don’t assume something is wrong with you.

Maybe it’s the first sign that your inner compass is pointing you toward the ocean.

If you’re curious about working together, you can learn more about my coaching here.

While I couldn’t be happier about the issue finally getting resolved, the other two were harder to navigate, especially because I had to choose whether to take action or not. Sometimes, we know what the “right” thing for us is, but taking that step can still be difficult. Fear, a sense of safety, or holding onto something we value, even when it no longer aligns with our life or where we’re headed, can all keep us stuck.

William Bridges, in his book Transitions, says that while change is what happens on the outside (a new job, role, city, or family situation), it’s the psychological transition that truly matters. Sometimes the transition comes first: we need to let go of the old before we can take up the new - not just outwardly, but inwardly, where our connections to people, places, and things define who we are. At other times, change happens first, outside our control, and the inner transition follows later. And only then do we begin to feel settled.

I had been feeling unsettled for a while. Whenever I thought of making a change, discomfort would surface. I was familiar with what was, and uncertain of what lay ahead if I let go. My work partner had become something of an anchor for me, but at the same time, it felt like they were also holding me back from the direction I wanted to move toward.

The direction itself was only broadly clear; I didn’t know exactly where I would go or how I would get there. That ambiguity kept me from letting go for a long time. I had to prepare myself psychologically for the ending.

This process usually begins with feelings of dissatisfaction, disengagement, or misalignment. Yet, the unknown future makes us question ourselves - Are we sure? Is this truly misalignment, or just a passing whim?
And then, one day, staying begins to feel scarier or more difficult than moving on. That’s when you know you’re ready for change.

But it doesn’t end there.

Bridges describes three stages of a transition: “First there is an ending, then a beginning, and an important empty or fallow time in between. That is the order of things in nature.”

Fallow time refers to the period between crops when the land is left unplanted. In today’s world of constant productivity and efficiency, this fallow time is the hardest. It’s distressing to live in this gap - to not be doing, producing, moving forward or sometimes even taking a step back. This discomfort can even make us question if ending things was a mistake.

Many of my clients going through career transitions struggle most with this loss of identity, the sense of self that came from their work. Even when we know we couldn’t have stayed, we experience the emptiness as an absence - of purpose, relatedness, or meaning. And so, we rush to fill the void.

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We find ourselves going back, in new ways, to old patterns… trying to replace what’s missing. I caught myself doing that too, restlessly thinking about how to replace the working relationship I’d just ended.

At such times, Bridges invites us to appreciate this in-between phase. The fallow period has a purpose: it allows us to recover our vitality and prepare for the next season of growth.

I’m reminded of a quote from the Buddhist teacher Pema Chödrön:

“Only to the extent that we expose ourselves over and over to annihilation can that which is indestructible be found in us.”

Her words may sound intense, but the essence is this: it’s only in the pause, in the nothingness, that something new can emerge.

It’s the anxiety of the unknown that makes us want to move faster.
When worry grips us, everything speeds up. Our thoughts race ahead to imagined futures (What if I’ve made a career mistake? What if I never earn as much again? What if I lose this connection forever?). Our breathing becomes shallow, our actions hurried - as if we could outrun our fears.
(And maybe even now you’re reading this post quickly, but why?)

Anxiety feeds on speed.
So the opposite is also true, we can starve anxiety by slowing down.
By allowing ourselves to rest in the emptiness rather than struggle to escape it. If we can remember that the old has to wear off before we gain a fresh perspective, we might begin to see anxiety as part of the process, not a problem to fix.

So while I’m watching my own anxiety unfold, I’m choosing to stay open. To notice what new opportunities inspire me, without rushing to act just to escape discomfort.

There’s no escaping the fallow time.
But how we respond to our anxiety changes everything about how we experience it.

An invitation for you:
If you’re considering a change, even if you’re not ready yet, slow down.
Even small acts of slowness, like a few deep breaths, can create space between you and your anxiety.

While tackling the personal issue I mentioned earlier, I often turned to two minutes of box breathing to calm myself.
Perhaps it will offer you a moment of pause too.

If you’re navigating transitions and want support through your fallow period, I’d be glad to walk alongside.

Click here to explore how we can work together.

I recently returned from my third Vipassana retreat — a 10-day silent meditation retreat with complete disconnection from the world.
But this time was different. It was my first retreat since I started coaching full-time.
So, while I gained insights for myself, I also noticed lessons that apply directly to the people I work with.

One of the foundational premises of Vipassana meditation is to simply observe whatever arises — without engaging with it.
Be it your thoughts, emotions, or physical sensations — the practice is to just notice them while keeping your attention focused on bodily sensations, moving from head to toe, and toe to head.

(It may sound monotonous, and that’s part of the training — learning to stay with what is.)

A side note: after the fifth day, you’re even encouraged not to react to something as small as an itch on your nose — and instead, watch it pass.

Through this practice, insights begin to emerge. With no new inputs (thanks to complete disconnection), you slowly build a distance between yourself and your thoughts or feelings. You strengthen your observation muscles.

You might still feel things deeply — I, for instance, experienced strong waves of anger and frustration I didn’t even know I was carrying — yet you also begin to witness them.

It’s almost like being a witness to your own self.
And that, I realised, can be a superpower (without going for Vipassana) — especially when it comes to emotional or behavioural patterns that no longer serve us.

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Most of us can stay aware and grounded when our nervous system is regulated. But what about those subtler, in-between stages — when we’re not entirely calm, yet not completely dysregulated either?

Psychologists and spiritual teachers describe this as natural cycles of expansion and contraction.

• Expansion is linked to openness, positivity, growth, inspiration, joy, and bliss.

• Contraction is associated with closedness, fear, restriction, sadness, and tension.

Experiencing both states is essential for emotional balance. A balanced life involves moving between them — without getting stuck in either.

But often, we do get stuck.
We escalate our thoughts and feelings — building stories, gathering evidence, adding more data to support those stories — and end up keeping ourselves hooked in a contracted state.

Think of a moment when your heart or mind felt closed off, and then recall a moment when you felt fully alive.
The sensations in your body are likely different — one might feel tight or heavy (for e.g. I clench my jaw), the other light and expansive.

This is also what happens when we react with the same familiar patterns we’re trying to change.
We judge ourselves. Or, we strive intensely not to repeat it — which ironically creates more contraction.

Even when we deeply want something to happen, there’s often a sense of striving, of tightening around the outcome.
Contrast that with wanting something from a place of openness and flow.
Which one do you think will make you more effective?

When we become witnesses to ourselves, we create just enough distance to see the mind’s narrative — rather than letting it run the show.
From there, we get to choose how to respond.

Of course, as beginners (and even as seasoned practitioners), there will be moments when putting on the “witness hat” isn’t possible in real time.
But we can still interrupt the downward spiral by adding one small phrase before our thoughts:

“The story I’m telling myself is…”

That gentle framing instantly brings awareness and distance.

💡 Tip:
If it’s hard to see how an open or expanded state can support behavioural change, try this small experiment to feel it:

1. Make a tight fist with your right hand and keep it clenched tightly.

2. Now, try to open it with your left hand while your right hand resists. How does it feel?

3. Next, wrap your left hand softly around the fist, holding it in a gentle embrace while your right hand stays clenched. Notice the difference.

You’ll likely feel your right hand begin to soften.

Just as your hand softens, letting go of resistance and contraction opens space for something new to unfold.

Pair it with Mindfulness isn’t Meditation and How to Meditate When You Can’t Stop Thinking.

If you’re curious about working together, you can learn more about my coaching here.

For those thinking about career transitions, one thing stood out. Most of them — like many of us brought up in middle-class Indian families — had a clear, set path: join a good college, get a great job, and for some, add an MBA in between. Even when we didn’t have the exact plan, we knew the direction — or at least where to look for clarity. (Often in what Sharma ji ka beti/beta was doing.)

For me, for the longest time, a cousin who joined IIT before me was that compass.

And then, there comes a point of disillusionment: Is this what I was aiming for? Why don’t I feel satisfied or fulfilled after reaching where everyone wants to be? Does it even feel like me anymore?
Sometimes, priorities shift too — after having a child, facing a health scare, or simply wanting to spend more time with family.

At such junctures, we start to feel lost. The compass we had is no longer useful, and the compass others are following doesn’t feel like ours either. We may even wonder if this feeling is just temporary, something that will eventually pass.

It can feel like a pendulum: on one side, holding on to what we’ve achieved; on the other, letting go to find what truly aligns with our heart and soul.

That’s the beauty of transitions — and what draws me so deeply to working with people navigating them.

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In his book Transitions, William Bridges makes an important distinction between change and transition.

• Change is situational, what happens on the outside (a new job, role, city, manager, or family situation).

• Transition is psychological.

He writes: “Transitions start with letting go of what no longer fits or is adequate to the life stage you are in… The transition itself begins with letting go of something you have believed or assumed — some way you’ve always been or seen yourself, some outlook on the world or attitude toward others.”

This is why transitions are often hardest for high-achievers. Not because they aren’t smart or hardworking, but because the rulebook they followed no longer works. There are no “right” answers to the questions they’re asking, no set guidelines — they have to write them on their own.

The famous nine-dot puzzle is a great analogy here. You’re asked to connect nine squarely arranged dots with four (or fewer) straight lines, without lifting the pen or retracing any lines.

If you have never seen this puzzle before, go ahead and try it before you scroll ahead.

At first, it feels impossible because we imagine a boundary around the dots, assuming we must stay within that square. But the solution only becomes possible when you step outside the perceived boundary.

That’s what life transitions are like too. We could either feel frustrated that our old compass no longer works, or feel excited about the possibility of discovering a much bigger space to play in.

Zen meditation teacher Henry Shukman captures this beautifully: “Any true journey is a journey into the unknown. If we are really developing or truly growing in this life, we will always be moving into what we don’t know yet… So we can let go of the need to know or to understand, because that’s how new discoveries are made.”

What would it feel like to free ourselves from the need to know?

As you enter the unknown (even if only in your inner world at first), you could either feel lost — or see it as the great adventure of a lifetime.

During such times, I often come back to the idea of Wonder. Maria Popova, in The Marginalian, defines it as:

“That edge state on the rim of understanding, where the mind touches mystery… our best means of loving the world more deeply. It asks of us the courage of uncertainty because it is a form of deep play… inherently open-ended, without purpose or end goal, governed not by the will to win but by the willingness to surrender to the experience and be transformed by it.”

🤔Reflect (inspired by what my brother once shared):
Would you rather be lost — aware that you’re trying navigating your way — or truly lost — not even knowing you may be on the wrong path?

PS: If you found this helpful, you may also enjoy a recent contemplation I wrote on one of my own mini-transitions here: Is it still aligned? Reflecting on purpose, plans, and growth

If you’re curious about working together, you can learn more about my coaching here.

While “doing nothing” over the weekend and then seeing inspiration find me (rather than me chasing it) sounds easy, I also realised — it isn’t that easy.

Why?

• It’s tempting to slip into tiny chunks of multitasking, losing minutes and seconds to what Brigid Schulte calls Time Confetti.

• Doing nothing is genuinely hard. How long can one really sit still — or even read a book — before reaching for some form of stimulation?

I’m reminded of childhood, when I would often tell my mother, “I am bored.” If she suggested something that didn’t interest me, I’d rather stay bored than do it just for the sake of being “productive.”

As an adult, I haven’t felt that pure, unfiltered boredom in years. Yes, I’ve felt bored while doing something for too long — like reading a book or finishing a painting — but then I’d simply switch to another activity, watch TV, or check my phone. That’s not the same as just being bored.

We rarely get bored — or truly do nothing — anymore. James Clear recently wrote on LinkedIn:
“The reason people get good ideas in the shower is because it’s the only time during the day when most people are away from screens long enough to think clearly. The lesson is not to take more showers, but rather to make more time to think.”

Paul Graham takes this further in his essay The Top Idea in Your Mind:
“I realized recently that what one thinks about in the shower in the morning is more important than I’d thought. I knew it was a good time to have ideas. Now I’d go further: now I’d say it’s hard to do a really good job on anything you don’t think about in the shower.”

So, why is boredom so difficult?

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We’ve trained ourselves to fight it — scrolling, distracting, staying busy. This is also why many people struggle with meditation. A friend of mine, generally calm and not phone-addicted, shared how she can only meditate with a guided track — and even then, one hour is her maximum before frustration sets in.

This is exactly what happens in the first few days of Vipassana meditation. No phone, no books, no chatting with fellow meditators. Just sitting and meditating (or trying to) for 10+ hours a day. You can’t escape the boredom. The sheer lack of stimulation borders on painful.

A funny side note: when I drove to the meditation center, I was listening to a Diljit Dosanjh song. For the first 2–3 days, my mind replayed that song on loop as a way to fight boredom.

Eventually, though, the song wore off. My mind began to settle. Slowly, I grew okay with less stimulation. I became more aware of subtler sensations — the air passing through my nostrils, a tiny crawling feeling near my pinky toe. Before my first Vipassana, I used to think, “I can’t feel much in my body.” But years of practice have deepened my awareness.

Many people coming out of Vipassana also describe a sense of emotional cleansing. That’s because boredom forces us to sit with difficult emotions too — the ones we often avoid.

An HBR article explains:
“Boredom, when you don’t have anything else to think about, switches our brain into the default mode network. This network is mildly uncomfortable because it makes us think about big, existential questions like — What does my life mean? — that we usually push aside.” (slightly edited for reading)

Maybe that’s why so many people quit their jobs during Covid. With fewer distractions, we had to face the harder questions about life, purpose, and meaning.

Maria Popova puts it beautifully in Brain Pickings:
“To be bored is to be unafraid of our interior lives — a form of moral courage central to being fully human.”

Maybe boredom is not the enemy after all, but an invitation — 
…to do nothing extraordinary.
…to sit and think.
…to let our thoughts wander.
To notice the restlessness, and gently remind ourselves: “Nowhere to go. Nothing to do. Nobody to be.”

If you’re curious about working together, you can learn more about my coaching here.

But in the middle of it all, I couldn’t find enough time for other things that needed attention. One of them was writing my posts. The weekend before last, I had so much I wanted to say, but when I sat down to write, the words just wouldn’t flow. The ideas were there in my mind, but they refused to land on paper.

I did keep time aside to rest and even planned to sit down with the post on Sunday. But it still didn’t happen. Eventually, I chose to be kind to myself. I often say this is a “weekly-ish” blogpost for moments like these — when I know forcing myself will only lead to something half-hearted. I tried to show up, and that mattered more than pushing through. So I let it be.

As this past weekend approached, though, I felt the pressure mounting: I have to get the post out this time. Otherwise, I worried it would mean I was slipping into inertia or creative block — or worse, that I was fooling myself into thinking I was trying hard enough. I even told myself: no relaxing this weekend until I finish the post.

And that’s when I stumbled upon these wise words on LinkedIn from a letter Rabindranath Tagore wrote to his friend C. F. Andrews in 1914 (hat tip: Rohit Lamba):

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“We must have no particular plans for our holidays. Let us agree to waste them utterly, until laziness proves to be a burden to us. Just for a month or so we can afford to be no longer useful members of society. The cultivation of usefulness produces an enormous amount of failure, simply because in our avidity we sow seeds too closely.” (emphasis mine)

Reading this, I realised what I had done wrong the weekend before. Even if my body wasn’t working, my mind still was — sowing seeds too close. With a calendar already showing a hectic week behind me, I decided I didn’t want to repeat the same mistake.

Many of you have told me you appreciate the genuineness of my sharing — and that’s because it truly is genuine. If I start forcing it, I’ll lose that. So I gave myself permission not to. I let myself be lazy and useless this weekend.

And here I am now, writing this at 9 a.m., full of inspiration and eager to send it out. Turns out, you don’t always need a whole month of being lazy or “useless.” Sometimes just a day or two is enough.

And if you feel you can’t afford even that right now, here’s my invitation: start planning your year-end holidays in a way that gives you enough space to do nothing, be bored, and let the inspiration find you.

PS: Next post will be Part II of this series.

If you’re curious about working together, you can learn more about my coaching here.

I shared the facts matter-of-factly, adding that it was frustrating at times, but much of it was outside my control. After listening, she told me how commendable she found the way I was handling so much uncertainty.

Her words immediately took me back to a memory where I had felt the same about her — that she deals with uncertainty so gracefully, and I had wished I could do the same. (We often joke that we’re part of a mutual admiration club!)

As I reflected, I realized something: we often admire how others handle difficult situations because we’re not the ones in them. From the outside, we can’t imagine how we’d cope.

And the truth is — there’s really no way to prepare fully for uncertainty. All we can rely on in the moment is our resilience, grit, emotional regulation, and sheer willpower. But how can we ever be sure that that will be enough? We can’t.

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Yet, if we pause and look back, every one of us has faced situations we once thought we couldn’t handle — and still, somehow, we did. It may not have been smooth sailing, but we found the strength, wisdom, and resilience to get through.

I remember asking my therapist something similar after a major incident in my life. Things had eventually worked out the way I wanted, but afterward, I felt unexpectedly depressed and depleted. I couldn’t understand why — I had been doing better in the midst of the action, so why did I feel worse now?

She explained: when we’re in the middle of a “war-like” or “danger” situation, our body and mind do everything possible to help us cope, drawing on every reserve of energy. But once the immediate danger passes, that’s when the body allows itself to collapse or break down.

That made so much sense. Since then, I’ve felt in awe of what our human body and mind are capable of. It’s become a reminder to myself: whatever the situation, I can rely on my body to do its best. It may not be perfect by some external standard, but together, my body and I can figure things out along the way. We will learn and adapt.

If you think about it, our discomfort with uncertainty often comes from our need to control outcomes. When things don’t unfold the way we want — or when we don’t know enough to feel in control — that’s what makes uncertainty hard to live with.

In such times, I turn to the Serenity Prayer:

And sometimes, all we can really do is keep moving with the flow, trusting that things will fall into place when they’re meant to.

👉 What’s one situation where you can take a tiny step forward, despite the uncertainty?

✨ Periods of uncertainty can feel overwhelming — but you don’t have to go through them alone. If you’re curious about how coaching could help you find clarity and direction, let’s start a conversation. Reach out to me at isha@ishasingla.com

I even have a practice of keeping my laptop aside on weekends. So what was it then?

Time Confetti.

Have you seen those party poppers full of confetti — tiny, sparkly pieces of paper you can never fully clean up, no matter how hard you try? That’s exactly what I was doing with my time: shredding it into little pieces.

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The term time confetti was coined by Brigid Schulte. She describes it as “tiny chunks of time here and there, in the form of minutes and seconds, lost to non-productive multitasking.”

We often set out to relax, but the pings, notifications, and mundane obligations add up until, suddenly, all of our “me time” is gone.

Now, I’ve already disabled mail and WhatsApp notifications on my phone. But last weekend, after my LinkedIn post offering 10 gift sessions got a great response, I added a few more slots. And then I kept checking my email — to see who signed up and to learn a little more about the humans I’d soon get to have a coaching conversation with.

It didn’t feel like I was doing anything. Just a few WhatsApp chats, a quick email scan here and there. Each glance only took seconds. But together? Easily a couple of hours. (Schulte and Ashley Whillans note that we tend to underestimate how much time these small moments really add up to.)

The bigger impact, though, wasn’t the total time lost. It was how these interruptions fragmented my leisure hours. Because they were scattered randomly throughout, I never got uninterrupted rest. And as research shows, context-switching drains energy. So instead of feeling refreshed, I ended up feeling depleted.

Writing this newsletter, I noticed the same pattern: I squeezed in small tasks between paragraphs. That’s when it hit me — time confetti shows up not only in rest, but also in focused work.

It felt almost ironic, since I’ve hosted virtual co-working sessions designed specifically for deep, focused work. Clients often share how hard it is to carve out time for long-term thinking because “quick things” keep popping up: someone stops by for a chat, a WhatsApp check leads to handling another task, and so on.

At work, this makes me wonder if we should treat our breaks as sacred too. Instead of slipping in a Slack reply or a “quick” chat, what if we allowed ourselves a true break?

My resolve now: Just as I’ve created defined windows for checking email and WhatsApp on weekdays, I’m going to try applying the same practice on weekends. Emails I can manage. WhatsApp will be trickier — but maybe I can at least keep my phone aside when I want a focused break.

For You to Reflect: Where in your life do you notice creating time confetti? And how does it affect your ability to gather the shreds of time back together?

P.S. Mindfulness — even while doing something mundane, or nothing at all — might just be the bonus antidote to time confetti.

If you’re curious about working together, you can learn more about my coaching here.

A quick search on Google gives the following definition of Mindfulness — “it is the practice of paying attention to the present moment without judgment.”

Meditation is one way to cultivate that state.
The goal isn’t to silence the mind. It’s to notice our thoughts and gently bring our focus back — whether to body sensations, the breath, a mantra, or an image. It isn’t about achieving a blank state; it’s about awareness.

Awareness of what’s happening in our thoughts and feelings.
Awareness of when we’ve drifted away unintentionally.
Awareness to keep bringing ourselves back to the present with kindness.

Over the years, I’ve discovered other ways to practice mindfulness — especially useful if you’re someone who finds it hard to sit still for meditation or “never has the time” for it.

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How Clouds Became My Meditation

I started painting as an adult with no formal training, often copying paintings I found on Pinterest. My first attempt at a complex landscape (for me!) felt ambitious, and I remember struggling with the clouds. They looked robotic and unnatural. Eventually, I gave up on perfecting them. But something interesting happened — that painting sparked a fascination with real clouds.

As children, once we learn the names of things, our curiosity and sense of awe often fade. We stop really seeing them — unless something unusual catches our eye, like a particularly striking sky.

After that painting, I began noticing clouds more often. The subtle variations in colour. The shifting shapes. The way light dances through them. I’d catch myself gazing at the sky while travelling and began to notice how clouds even look different in different parts of the world.

What began as casual observation turned into a practice I loved — simply watching clouds, feeling joy in the moment, being mindful of how I felt, and approaching them with curiosity rather than dismissing them as “just clouds.”

From Clouds to Trees to Birds

This way of seeing soon expanded to trees — noticing the different textures of bark, the shades of green, the shapes of leaves. And then to water — the ripples, the waves, the way they change with the wind.

When I went on my first birdwatching trail, I realised I had been doing the same thing with birds: labelling them as “birds” and moving on. I discovered there were multiple varieties just in my apartment complex. Even common pigeons became fascinating once I truly saw them.

An Invitation

So here’s my invitation to you:
What in your life have you labelled so completely that you’ve stopped really noticing it? Where can you bring more mindful attention?

One more tip: if you have kids, being mindful while you’re with them can be deeply rewarding. They have a way of reigniting curiosity about things we’ve long stopped seeing.

If you’re curious about working together, you can learn more about my coaching here.

The fear?
What if I fall behind?
What if this turns out to be a mistake?

After all, they don’t really know what terrain lies ahead.

And often, this notion of “falling behind” comes from comparing ourselves to those around us.

Most of us already know that we shouldn’t compare. We’ve heard it repeatedly — social media and LinkedIn only show a highlight reel, not the whole story.

And yet… we still compare.
We see what “they” have, and we want it too, which can feel even more frustrating because we know better.

Here’s the first thing I want to share: comparison is an innate trait.

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Back in 1954, psychologist Leon Festinger proposed the Social Comparison Theory — suggesting that humans have an inbuilt drive to evaluate themselves accurately.
In the absence of objective benchmarks, we turn to others as a mirror to assess our own opinions, performance, and abilities.

So, comparison isn’t just natural — it can actually help us grow.
Festinger’s theory explains why we look to our peers: not just to measure where we stand, but also to clarify what we may want more of in life.

Coming back to career transitions, here’s the catch:
There’s no single, objective definition of success.

So, we tend to default to what’s visible and quantifiable — money, job title, the size of someone’s house, the number of vacations abroad.
Even when we say, “I don’t care about all that — I just want to feel fulfilled,” our brains still grasp for some benchmark.

And in the absence of anything else, social media becomes our scoreboard.

Which brings me to the second thing I want to share:
The grass really does look greener on the other side — for a reason.

This isn’t just a metaphor. It’s a real optical effect.
When you look at your own lawn from directly above, you can see the blades of grass and the dirt in between. But when you glance at your neighbor’s lawn from a distance and at an angle, the blades of grass block your view of the dirt. Your image of their lawn is entirely green.

That’s what makes comparison so tricky.
You see your mess and their picture-perfect version.

So yes, comparison can be motivating. It can help you notice new desires or explore different aspirations.
But without an inner compass, it becomes disorienting.

The key is to develop a clearer understanding of what drives you, and what your own self-assessment markers are.

Let’s take one example:
Suppose your goal is to reach a “retirement number” — that point where you don’t have to work for money anymore.
There are multiple paths to get there:

• You could work extremely hard in high-paying jobs to hit that number as soon as possible.

• Or, you could limit your lifestyle, reduce expenses, and aim for a smaller number — reaching it without pushing yourself as hard.

• And of course, there are countless options in between.

There’s no right or wrong approach. It depends entirely on what matters to you.

If your priority is experiencing a certain lifestyle, to explore freely without worrying about money, the first route might be right.
But if you prefer a simpler pace and don’t care much for a posh life, the second option could suit you better.

Once you know your priorities, you can also temper your emotions when comparison creeps in.

Every decision has a cost.
But when you’ve chosen your priorities consciously, you also choose what cost you’re willing to pay — and what trade-off you’re okay with.

That clarity can become an anchor when comparison threatens to throw you off course.
And if you can’t stop yourself from comparing… maybe it’s time to pause and re-evaluate what’s truly important to you.

Reflect:

💭What areas of your life do you need to re-examine in light of your own priorities?
Not society’s, not LinkedIn’s — yours.

If you’re curious about working together, you can learn more about my coaching here.

There’s a striking energy shift I notice every time:

• They feel expansive, alive, a twinkle lighting up their eyes when they talk about what they want to do. Sometimes, they don’t even have a clear picture—just a hazy idea or visual—and yet, even that sparks their excitement.

• They feel restricted and contracted when they speak about their present. They’ll talk about how many factors are at play, how they can’t just make a move, even though they aren’t fully happy with what they’re doing (or know they could be happier).

This line of conversation almost always takes me back to a two-day workshop I once attended. Within a week of it, I decided to try coaching full-time…even though the facilitator explicitly warned us not to make any life-changing decisions for at least 15 days after the course!

What helped me make that shift? Understanding the difference between being reasonable and being alive.

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Reasonable vs. Alive

Being reasonable is what we’re taught to aim for as sincere, responsible adults. It keeps us safe, but it also limits the choices we allow ourselves.

Being alive often means taking risks. And yes, risks come with consequences. But if you’re ready to own your choices and the consequences that come with them, you free yourself from the need to always be “reasonable.”

When we make decisions, we usually weigh pros and cons. We decide what makes sense, what’s safe, what’s reasonable. But to feel alive, it’s not just your head that must agree—it’s your heart too.

An Ice Cream Metaphor

Imagine you’re out for ice cream. Your usual go-to is black currant. But today, you see a new flavor you’ve never tried. You can only pick one.

Now, your mind says:
“You came here for black currant. You already know you’ll enjoy it. Remember last time you tried something new and didn’t like it? What if you regret it? You’ll be robbed of the joy you could’ve had.”

So, what would you do if you were being reasonable?

If you were ready to own your choice, you might still go for the new flavor—fully aware it might spoil your mood, but also knowing you can live with that.

Being in choice means you’ve considered the reasons… but then you freely choose whatever you want and accept the consequences.

What if you applied this thinking to the bigger choices in your life?

What if you looked at the options available to you, just as they are. And then asked yourself:

1. What could be the consequences of choosing this option? What price would I need to pay?

2. Am I willing to pay that price?

If the answer is yes, you’re free to choose any option you want—even the “unreasonable” one.

These two questions help in two ways:

• They can burst certain fantasies you’ve been holding onto because you realize you’re not okay with the consequences.

• Or they can show you the opposite, that the consequences are actually exaggerated in your mind and not as severe as you imagined.

It also helps you be honest with yourself. Take the things you feel stuck with, for example: “I CAN’T leave this job right now because of the market… because I don’t know what else I could do… because [insert reason].”

This reframing helps you see that you are choosing not to quit, because you don’t want to face those consequences.

The situation remains the same, but your perspective changes. Suddenly, you’re back in control. You’re choosing as an empowered being, free to do whatever you want.

Often, it’s difficult for us to exercise our freedom, so we externalize the consequences. That way, we’re spared the burden of making bold choices. It feels easier to live in the fantasy that “I could have done XYZ, if only the circumstances were better.”

So, next time you think about something you’ve wanted to do for a long time but haven’t—ask yourself:

What’s the price I’m willing (or not willing) to pay? And what am I choosing?

If this reflection resonated with you, you might also enjoy these:

• What to do when you’re out of choices

• What are you unconsciously committed to?

And if reading this made you feel even a little more expanded, and you want to continue this journey—I’d love to support you as you navigate your way forward.

Click here to explore how we can work together.

Right from the start, I told myself I’d aim to send it out weekly(ish).

It might have sounded like a lack of commitment, but that gentle framing actually helped me keep going. It eased the doubt and fear that can creep in with rigid expectations.

There were a couple of short breaks where I missed a few weeks, but overall, I’m really happy with the consistency I’ve been able to maintain. And I’m so glad I didn’t wait for things to be perfect before starting, or restarting.

In case you missed it, here’s the very first post I sent out:
🏊 Leadership Lessons from Sea Swimming

Now, for today…

It felt tempting to take a pause this week and simply celebrate the milestone. But something I read recently has stayed with me, and I wanted to share it with you.

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The Myth of Always Feeling Good
We’ve been sold the idea that emotional health means feeling calm, clear, and happy most of the time.
Anything less than that feels like a flaw. A red flag. Something to work on.

But emotional health isn’t the absence of pain.
It’s the ability to be with what is. Gently. Without shame.

Some days you’ll feel grounded.
Some days you’ll spiral.
Some days you’ll feel nothing at all.

That doesn’t make you broken.
It makes you real.
 — Quiet Wisdom

It resonated deeply with me, and it reminded me of a couple of past pieces I’ve written that you might also find helpful:

🌀 What To Do When You’re Feeling Down
💡 Something You Might Not Know About Resilience

Thank you for reading and for being here.
Here’s to embracing the spiral and the grounded days — and to continuing, even when it’s imperfect.

If you’re curious about working together, you can learn more about my coaching here.

When I started writing this blog, I made a list of topics I thought might interest my audience — founders, entrepreneurs, and leaders. As I was thinking about what to write next, I glanced through that list after a gap of 4 months. I realised none of them stood out. I didn’t feel like picking up a single one.

Early on, I had understood that for this to be sustainable, I needed to write about what I felt strongly about — not just for the sake of writing. After all, I wanted to model the same authenticity that I work with leaders on.

So, I looked back at what I had already written, hoping to find some inspiration. I noticed hazy outlines of leadership-related themes, but not in the conventional sense. There were undertones of life, reflection, ease, and surrender. I still can’t pinpoint a particular theme. Or even say clearly who this is for.

Then my mind spiralled into a barrage of questions:

• Am I turning into a life coach?
  (For years, I’ve judged that term because of the 1000s of self-proclaimed life coaches on Instagram. But maybe that judgment hides a layer of self-judgment too?)

• Am I getting distracted, and confusing my readers in the process?
  They may have signed up expecting a certain kind of content… and maybe they aren’t finding it here anymore.

• The topics I cover are so scattered. Do I even know what I’m doing?

• Am I just writing for an audience of one — me?

I spent some time trying to figure out how to get back on the path I originally started with. But it didn’t feel right anymore.

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I feel more energised when I write about the topics that are naturally evolving for me. It’s like this blog is its own organism — growing, shifting, changing. And maybe I’m evolving along with it.

A similar shift is showing up in other areas too. Recently, an unexpected opportunity came my way. In the past, I had been averse to the kind of work it involves — but this time, I feel genuinely excited about it.

Earlier, I would have seen such temptations as a test of resolve — asking, “Will you stay true to your path or get distracted?” But right now, as I feel myself flowing toward this work, it doesn’t feel like a distraction. It feels aligned. It feels right.

A river may begin in a straight line, but it turns and curves as it finds its way forward. Maybe I’m at one of those turning points. And rather than forcing the river to stay straight, I’m choosing to flow with it.

Of course, doubts still linger:
Is this the natural course for me — or a distraction from what I’m “supposed” to be doing?
But who decides what we’re supposed to be doing?

Isn’t a lot of that shaped by our conditioning?

I’m reminded of this moment from my childhood. I had asked a distant cousin to fill out my slam book. To the question What do you want to be when you grow up?, she wrote: a great housewife. I couldn’t understand it then — but for her, it was an obvious answer. That’s what her world told her was worth aspiring to.

Often, the banks created by others, or by ourselves — restrict our natural flow. They steer us toward a certain direction, whether or not it fits.

A duckling raised among sparrows might try its best to become more like them — managing, struggling, adjusting. But only when it stops trying to be a sparrow, and simply lets itself be, can it grow into what it’s meant to be: a duck.

In struggling to adjust, it may “improve” in the environment it’s in. But it’s only in surrender that it can evolve.

So back to my question — how do I know if I’m getting distracted?

More often than not, I listen to my energy. What’s giving me energy? Not just on a single day, but again and again, over time. I may not know exactly what this will evolve into, but I can still trust myself — trust that I’ve got my back even if I take a wrong turn. I’ll find my way.

Play is the Opposite of Survival Mode

art & writing about learning to love this life, for you, by brit

By Britchida

I’ve been drawn to psychology since my college days. I even wondered if I had taken the wrong path by choosing engineering. I didn’t have the courage back then to switch fully (and landing a job at McKinsey as your first gig only increases the opportunity cost of such a shift).

But I kept exploring psychology on the side. And now, a decade later, I find myself immersed in the very ideas I loved — through coaching. It was never part of a grand plan, but things evolved. And I’m glad I kept listening to what gave me energy.

A caterpillar doesn’t become a butterfly overnight. It takes its time. But it will turn into a butterfly — not a beetle. It’s just a matter of time before I find out what kind of butterfly this becomes for me.

If you’re feeling the current shift and want support in flowing with it — I’d be glad to walk alongside.

Click here to explore how we can work together.

I hadn’t originally planned for this, but when a reader asks for something, you deliver!

Their specific request was for a follow-up focused entirely on the solution — as detailed as the situation I described last time.

As I started writing, I felt some resistance. A voice in my head said, “You won’t be able to offer a perfect solution — it varies from person to person.” And anyway, wasn’t the whole point of my last post that it’s okay to start building habits in a messy, imperfect, even chaotic way?

So, here’s my invitation: read this with the same lens. These ideas aren’t about perfection. They’re about how to get started, mess and all. The goal is to overcome inertia and find your own path as you go.

Where we get stuck

At the risk of generalisation, I’d say most of us are fairly disciplined when it comes to work. It’s in two other areas where we often struggle:

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1. Personal habits — around physical or mental health, learning, or hobbies

2. Softer, behavioral shifts — like being more present with loved ones, managing stress better, or changing how we show up

Even at work, we may find ourselves procrastinating on important (but not urgent) tasks or struggling to prioritise. Some of what I share below may help there too. (You can also read more on how to deal with procrastination here.)

👉Start in a staging environment

The first step — no matter what area you’re working on — is to start small, and in a kind of sandbox or staging environment.

What I mean is: pick one specific time, person, or situation where you’ll try something different. Instead of aiming for a personality makeover, aim for a 1% shift.

Examples:

• Meditate for just 5 minutes, twice this week

• Walk 1000 extra steps, three days this week

• Let person ABC finish their thought in Friday’s meeting before jumping in

• Create only one 1-hour slot daily (outside meetings) where you don’t check social media

👉Don’t change everything at once

If you’re trying to build new habits, don’t stack them all together.

For example: deciding to wake up early, go to the gym, and meditate — when you haven’t been doing any of these — is a recipe for overwhelm.

Instead:

• Wake up just 15 minutes earlier, and do nothing else, or

• Go for a short 10-minute evening walk, or

• Try 5 minutes of guided meditation before bed

Pick one thing. Keep it small. Let it be easy for your mind and body to say yes.

👉Find your own version of discipline

Discipline looks different for everyone.

I used to think my father was incredibly disciplined. He’s been going for evening walks for over 30 years — rain or shine. On days when he was busy, he’d go at 10 pm. I could never match that, I thought.

But over time, I realised: what sticks is what we find value in.

His walks help his digestion. That’s his motivation. For me, it’s journaling — I stick to it because it keeps me sane. Meditation is something I keep returning to as well, but it takes a backseat while I travel. And that’s okay. The feeling of spaciousness it gives me brings me back to it when I need it, over and over again.

Discipline is easier when it’s supported by motivation.

👉Ask: Is this a full-body yes?

Why do you want to build the habit? Because you should? Or because you feel it deep in your bones?

Sometimes, we want to want something. (Not a typo.)

For example, you may want to be the kind of person who loves being active — but truthfully, you enjoy being still. In that case, the drive isn’t internal.

If you’re not fully committed, acknowledging that can feel like a relief. It lifts the burden of all the habits you haven’t yet built.

I tried strength training in various forms — yoga, gym — multiple times. It never stuck. I probably didn’t need it back then.

But this year, after reading Outlive and understanding how crucial muscle strength is for long-term health, I found new motivation. And for the first time in my life, my muscle mass is in the normal range! (It used to be below average.)

👉Focus on the intention, not the habit

Get to the root of your intention, and try fulfilling that, not just the habit.

I’ve always wanted to eat healthier. But with PCOD-induced sugar cravings, avoiding sugar has been a lifelong battle.

About two years ago, I discovered that if I have one cup of coffee with sugar in the afternoon, I don’t crave sweets later. In the past, trying to cut sugar entirely meant I’d end up ordering dessert at night — undoing everything I’d worked for all day.

Now, I relish that afternoon coffee. It helps me eat cleaner overall. And there’s no guilt.

👉Make it joyful (or at least meaningful)

I tried walking. I tried the gym. Neither lasted.

I used to love playing badminton with my cousins back home — but it’s hard to find people to play with here (especially at my “bad” level 😄).

Then, in 2022, I signed up for my first trek. They recommended a certain running pace to prepare. I took it seriously — and found that I actually enjoyed running! I also realised I didn’t enjoy treadmills — but I liked running outdoors. Same with swimming — I prefer the sea over pools.

Still, it didn’t become a regular habit. Delhi’s extreme weather makes it hard. So now, I sign up for treks — they give me the motivation I need to keep running. A running buddy could do the same. And these days, I make peace that I am at least moving my body with strength training when I don’t run.

👉Be kind to yourself

If your day is already packed, don’t try to squeeze in a new habit on top of everything else. Your mind and body need rest, too.

Anything new you add should replace something else — not steal from your rest.

On particularly busy days, I skip meditation or reading. If I’m physically exhausted, I let myself rest. And I feel just as proud of that as I would after a workout.

This letter has already become quite long, so I’ll pause here. There are plenty of smaller tips and tricks I haven’t included — but I hope what I’ve shared gives you a gentle nudge to get started.

Take what makes sense. Leave the rest.

If you’re curious about working together, you can learn more about my coaching here.

I haven’t been able to get into the “zone.”
I even tried taking my own medicine — examining if I was procrastinating (turns out, yes, a little), and what might help me break the cycle.

But one recurring thought stood out:
“If only I had no other distractions. If only things went according to plan.”

Reality check: Not going to happen.

Will there ever be a day where I follow a perfect schedule and get everything done exactly the way I want? Maybe, but only if I get lucky. And I can’t expect to be that lucky often. Too many things are outside my control: falling sick, a client requesting a last-minute call, someone rescheduling and throwing off my carefully planned day… just to start with.

Even my own reactions aren’t always in my control. Sometimes I can’t be the wise, calm person I wish to be in the face of disruptions.

In the early stages of coaching, I often hear similar stories from clients. They tell me they really want to focus on our work together, but there’s just too much going on. Other priorities took over. The week was harder than expected and they will be better in future. Underneath all of it, I hear a quiet hope: “Things will settle down in a few weeks.”

But most of the time, they don’t. Especially for my clients from the startup world. Even for others, the pace of life rarely slows. There’s always another fire to fight, another thing to fit in.

That’s why I now offer a reality check early in the coaching process:

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Life may continue to be like this. You might keep getting pulled into urgent tasks.
So, in the midst of all that, what do you want to do?

Swiss psychologist Marie-Louise von Franz called this the “provisional life.”

“There is a strange attitude and feeling that one is not yet in real life. For the time being, one is doing this or that… it is not yet what is really wanted, and there is always the fantasy that sometime in the future the real thing will come about. If this attitude is prolonged, it means a constant inner refusal to commit oneself to the moment.”

What if this — this — is how your life is going to be?

What if the external chaos never stops?
What if your workout or eating habits always take more effort than they “should”?
What if there’s always one colleague who annoys you?
What if you never get that stretch of calm, predictable weeks to bring out your best?

The starting point is to accept what is — without waiting for the fantasy future to arrive.
We’re often locked into a mindset that British economist John Maynard Keynes once captured beautifully:

“He does not love his cat, but only his cat’s kittens; nor in truth the kittens, but only the kittens’ kittens, and so on forward forever to the end of cat-dom.”
(Hat tip: Oliver Burkeman)

We keep postponing joy, clarity, and focus to some imagined “better” future. But what if you started living fully now?

Even seasoned runners don’t run the same distance or speed every day. Their performance varies with food, sleep, weather.

A meditation session is not good or bad based on how still your mind was. Some days you’ll be distracted. That’s okay.
The practice isn’t about never getting lost in thought; it’s about noticing when you do, and gently returning.

Same with building habits. The key is not never falling — but how quickly you restart.

That’s how I define “regularity”:

• It’s not about never missing a day.

• It’s about starting again, the very next day.

• It’s about doing your best given your circumstances — even if that means a 1km run instead of 3, because you’re exhausted.

That’s also how I encourage my clients to think about behaviour change and habit formation.

When you accept that this — your current schedule, your messy life — is how it might always be, you can either feel demotivated…
Or you can feel free.

You stop waiting. You stop being intimidated.
You begin making the best of what’s available.

Start. Even if it’s messy. Even if it’s small.
Starting is better than perfect. Start today.

P.S. If you liked this, you might also enjoy: The Case Against Self-Improvement

If you’re curious about working together, you can learn more about my coaching here.