Learnings

Stop Chasing Beauty: How to Actually Glow Up

My worst breakup wasn’t with a person. It was with my own reflection. Not in a poetic way. In a painfully literal, forehead-to-mirror, skin-scabbing, “how did we get here?” kind of way. I broke up with my reflection the day I caught myself leaning inches from the mirror, under that harsh yellow bathroom light at 6:47 a.m., layering concealer on a fresh breakout like it was spackle. The skin was raw, already inflamed, and the more I covered it, the more it screamed back. I wasn’t getting ready—I was unraveling. It crept in gradually—the …

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Climbing Past the Summit: What Nimsdai Taught Me About Being Human

He climbed into the death zone with a hangover, no sleep, and a man dying in his arms—and still kept going. Not to summit. But to save. The mountain was never the hardest part. Being human was. I’ve never stood on top of a Himalayan peak. Not one of the giants, at least. But I have walked paths where the air is thin, the fatigue is real, and you start to meet the quieter voices inside your own head—the ones that ask, "Why the hell are you doing this?" Which is why Nimsdai Purja’s story didn’t just move me. It rearranged something …

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Say What You Need. Then Say It Again.

I didn’t grow up knowing how to ask for what I needed. I mastered silence instead—quick smiles, polite nods, and a library of guesses about what others wanted from me. That’s how I survived. And when I fell in love, I carried this skill like a shield, only to realize it was useless in the battlefield of intimacy. Most people aren’t afraid of rejection. They’re afraid of being seen in their raw, unedited form and still not being loved. That’s what makes saying what you need so terrifying. You’re not just making a request. You’re peeling your …

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The Balance Between Boundaries and Openness

Every relationship has an operating system—spoken or unspoken. Some people move through the world expecting others to adapt to their rhythms.Others over-adapt, constantly shape-shifting to avoid tension. I used to fall into the second category. I wanted people to like me, understand me, get me without explanation. When they didn’t, I felt slighted. Misunderstood. Invisible. Eventually, I realized my emotional state was being dictated by everyone except me. That’s when I started writing a mental manual. Not for others, but for …

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The Day the Voice Went Missing (And Took the Ego With It)

There’s this old story Joel ben Izzy tells, right near the middle of the book. A man walks into a tailor’s shop and orders a suit. The next week, he returns to try it on. It’s awful. The left sleeve is too long, the right one too short, the trousers sag and pinch in all the wrong places. “This is unwearable,” the man complains. “It’s perfect,” the tailor insists. “Just tilt your head like this, drag one foot a bit, hunch your shoulder—see? Now it fits beautifully.” The man limps out of the store, contorted and ridiculous. Two women pass by. …

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I Started Deciding Faster. Everything Else Got Lighter.

Most people don’t know how much time they’re wasting. Not on distractions or bad habits, but on the mental weight of decisions they refuse to make. They let them hang. Unsaid, unsent, unresolved. One or two feels manageable. Ten starts to feel like a second job. I changed the deadline. That’s all. I stopped dragging small choices across entire weeks and started closing the loop by the end of the day. No ceremony, no spreadsheet, just a quiet rule: handle it now, not eventually. The shift wasn’t subtle. My brain felt cleaner. Lighter. As …

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If They’re Going to Forget Me, I Might as Well Remember Myself

One day, someone will skim through my life in a 300-word obituary, awkwardly mispronounce something at my funeral, and quietly wonder if the samosas were too oily. A few people will show up out of obligation. Some won’t make it because their dog got sick or a client meeting ran late. The people I loved will huddle around, say nice things, maybe even cry a little. And then they’ll go back to work, to errands, to Netflix. Not after months. Not even weeks. Sooner than I’d like to admit. That used to sting. Now, it feels strangely …

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The Fraud Test and Why I Keep Coming Back

Some people collect souvenirs from their travels. I collect gut punches from hard things. Trekking. Running. Healing. All of them sound nobler on paper than they feel at hour twenty-two when I’ve run out of snacks, patience, and reasons. And yet, I keep coming back. Not because I enjoy suffering—I’m not that evolved—but because these moments, the really punishing ones, are the only time I feel honest. The rest of life, no matter how full it looks, has room for bluffing. But there’s no bluffing at 3AM when you’re bloated, sleep-deprived, and …

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