Someone asked me recently what I do for fun. I paused. Not because I didn't understand the question. But because the answer took longer to arrive than it should have. I used to know immediately. There were things I looked forward to. Things that were just mine. Not useful. Not productive. Not for anyone else. Just things that made the week feel like it had something in it worth getting to. I can't tell you exactly when that changed. There was no moment. No decision. No mornin

It's just one hour. That's what I told myself. My kid moved to 1st standard, and school timing changed, which means I have to wake up earlier now. Just one hour. Shouldn't be a big deal. But it is. Nights feel different now. Earlier, I had a rhythm — work would end, I'd get some time to unwind, sleep would come naturally. Now there's a quiet pressure sitting in the background, a clock that starts ticking even before I go to bed. I lie down, and instead of relaxing, I start ca

I asked myself this again. Not casually — honestly, this time. And the answer felt like a yes. Not loud, not dramatic. Just clear. At the time, I was working in Talent Acquisition. I was doing well, and I enjoyed parts of it. But small things affected me more than they should have — a delay, a mistake, a minor setback — and they felt heavier than they needed to. That's when I started noticing something: I didn't dislike the work, but I wasn't deeply connected to it either. Th