The guide tells me to ignore the shrieks of the baboons that populate the reserve. They are not close at all. I relax and, within an hour, ascend to the summit of a small hill, arriving at several large granite boulders. I follow the guide’s path, pull myself up, and sprawl on the highest flat spot available.

Years ago, when Tesla was struggling to meet its production targets, Elon Musk did something extreme even by his own standards: he moved his desk onto the factory floor.

We no longer needed God to explain the laws of the universe; we had physics and philosophy. Governments no longer required divine right; rational consent was enough. For the first time in history, humanity stood on its own feet — and found the ground strangely hollow beneath them.

Comfort, I’ve realised, is the great sedative. It kills growth, courage, and creativity. Self-mastery is the antidote. Saying no to sugar, or to a screen, or to that second drink, is the same act that says yes to meaning, to work, to love. It’s all one movement — toward coherence.

I devoured books the way some people binge on sweets—self-help manuals, spiritual guides, popular psychology, even esoteric teachings promising enlightenment.

Not because I dislike the game — I love it, maybe too much. But if it rains, I won’t have to play. That’s how far it’s come: I’m praying for bad weather to save me from my own compulsions.

This morning, I sit in stillness, coffee in hand, birds singing faintly in the background, with a pen and my journal. For a moment, aliveness flows through me. Writing, even these first lines, feels like oxygen.

This morning, I wrote by hand. No keyboard. No AI. Just me, a pen, and the raw silence of the page. It felt slow, painfully so. My hand cramped after twenty minutes. More than once, I was tempted to stop and let ChatGPT “make it better.”

Michel de Montaigne, in his essay Of Idleness, describes what happens when the mind is given freedom without direction. Hoping for peace, he instead found monsters.

Serotonin is associated with contentment, stability, connection, and self-worth. It’s not a spike—it’s a baseline. You feel it when you do meaningful work, when you spend time with loved ones, when you live in alignment with your values.

The same corridor, the same forced smile to the receptionist, the same tug of heaviness in my chest. The air smells of my office having just been cleaned, and the first whirring of the air conditioner. The light overhead is too white, too harsh.

After a few months of silence, I’m writing again.

Not for the algorithm. Not for applause.

But because I must.

The new year didn't bring the usual rush of excitement or fresh beginnings.

Instead, it feels like an extension of last year—momentum without inspiration, movement without clarity. Like walking through a persistent fog, each step forward requires more effort than it should.

For me, it all started with small daily rituals. Every morning, before work, I’d spend an hour reading, meditating, and journaling. These activities became the foundation of my transformation. At first, I didn’t need to see a therapist; the journaling itself helped me become more self-aware.

I started thinking about how AI is already trespassing on every corner of my life. It helped me create my new 30-minute daily strength routine, edit and polish my essays, and assist me at work, analyzing Google Analytics to improve my marketing team’s SEO activities. It even helped me find good restaurants in London when I was there during the Christmas holidays.

Over the Christmas break, I found myself in London, surrounded by family. It was a rare gathering—my daughter flying in from New York, my son already in London, my sister, my brother and his family, and even my niece with her newborn.

A few days before and after the new year, what would make 2025 a great year was playing on my mind. Then Rumi’s ‘The Breeze at Dawn’ poem gently poked me.

Writing has always been more than words on a page—it’s a way to connect, inspire, and make sense of the world around me. My blog has become a canvas for exploration, creativity, and expression this year.

I’m up at 5 am, and before I’ve even had my coffee, my mind is buzzing, and my heart is racing. Not only am I travelling in a few days, but we are also a few days from the end of the year, when I review my year, both accomplishments and regrets.

It was the second day of the six-day Salkantay trail to Machu Picchu, and it was the most challenging. At an elevation of 4,800 meters (15,750 feet), though I was fit enough, I struggled to breathe, stopping every few minutes to take five deep breaths.