One thing that doesn’t get enough appreciation is how great it is to be alive at this time of the year.
We sit around the dinner table with our hands joined, expressing heartfelt gratitude for all the good in our lives — the health, the family, the career. Then, at the strike of midnight, Black Friday presents us an opportunity to spend that hard-earned money on stuff we'd always wanted for half the price.
If you’re an employee, this is probably the best time to wind down. You take a couple of weeks off, get on a cruise, or fly to warmer part of the globe to escape the cold (or if you're like me, vice versa)
Not to mention the season of giving? Presents? Parties? Food?
In any case, today on my birthday — and pretty much the past thirty-odd birthdays of my life — it’s the perfect time to slow down and enjoy all the good stuff before the inevitable turn of the year.
But if you’re like me, it also happens to be the time when I reflect on the year that just swooshed by.
As I've said before, there’s nothing inherently special about the day we were born. But I also think there can be something powerful in these artificial constructs — in deciding to mark a turning point, in encouraging us to pause, reflect, and reset.
So a big part of this reflection practice involves me thinking about a potential word that could mark the theme for the incoming year. In fact, the word should appropriately represent an area I want to improve on. The word I’d set for 2025 was strength.
Strength, to me, embodies more than just the physical, but the quieter version you carry inside. In family, it’s about being a stable, unwavering presence to my loved ones rather than a whirlwind of emotions. In business, it’s about refusing to allow a declining sales figure or a dip in the savings account to dictate my happiness and progress. In the personal realm, it’s about showing up even when you’re tired, anxious, and afraid — that, in the face of criticism and circumstances, you stick to your guns and stay true to your word.
Of course, things are always easier in imagination than in reality.
Truth was, I started off 2025 not exhibiting any feats of strength, or at least not in a way I’d described earlier. Truth was, on many occasions, I caved in when things got tough. Truth was, when there was little or no evidence of growth in my life, I allowed my emotions to get the better of me. I was suppressed by what others thought about me. I was freaking out about unrealised plans. I was distracted by whether we were profitable or not, and constantly frustrated at what little progress I seemed to be making. Consequently, my mental health took a hit, so did my marriage and ultimately, happiness.
The reason for this, as I looked back, was that I had fixated my energy on results, on opinions, on money, on so called “objective” metrics, that I had, in fact, commodified every outcome to be an end rather than a means to an end. Unknowingly, I did the exact opposite of what every ancient wisdom says not to do — I had attached my fulfilment, my identity, my pride, my joy to something I have zero control over.
But what I was really doing was what the performance psychologist Michael Gervais described as “refusing the gift of the moment in front of me.”
In other words — and I don’t care how corny this phrase sounds, I care more for what it stands for — I had forgotten to live in the present.
A while ago I talked about how anxiety had robbed me of my ability to enjoy my work and the presence of others. As a parent, I’m always worried if I’m ever doing enough for my son, whether the decisions I’m making today are costing him more than the benefits. Instead of celebrating small wins, I’d thought about the failures of the past. Instead of focusing my attention on the very people who were relying on me, I was busy worrying about what could have gone wrong… even when nothing had happened.
Though it’s not something to be inhaled or a pill to be popped, anxiety, the philosopher Seneca said, masquerades as a vice. Like a “tragedy that feeds on itself,” I reach for it to feel the rush, yet after, I feel worse off, only to fall back on it.
And it’s not just me who suffers. I’m not as generous with my compliments as before. I lose my wit. I frown more. I sometimes refuse, even hold back hugs. Laughter — the antidote to existential pain — becomes an increasingly rare occurrence.
In the end, a deprived version of myself shows up at the expense of those who would benefit from my presence.
Objectively, I don’t think there’s anything wrong when we think about the chaos that makes up our lives. If anything, it often shows you’re aware of the impediments to success, and it’s only a natural response to do something about it. But it’s that in doing so, you risk overlooking the basic things that came before them — things that success cannot do without.
So what Gervais meant when he said we were refusing the gift of the moment in front of us was…
We may be physically present with our loved ones… but mentally elsewhere.
We may be working hard at our jobs… but lack clarity and efficiency to be effective.
We may have received compliments… but unconsciously push them away.
We may have achieved progress… but berate ourselves for inadequacy.
We may have peace… only to have anxiety overwhelm us.
If there’s anything I’ve learned up till this point, is that being present — to accept and enjoy everything for what it is — is the best gift you can gift yourself.
Living life this way is not an entitlement, but an obligation. It’s an obligation not to yourself, but to those who came before, to the ones who are relying on you right this moment. “One of the privileges given to those who’ve avoided dying young,” the novelist Haruki Murakami said, “is the blessed right to grow old.” Competing against the number of years you have left, he says, is not the main thing. No, what matters is — can you be physically and mentally present with your loved ones? Can you enjoy your job and be fulfilled by what it gives you? Can you hold your peace without allowing external circumstances to rob it from you?
Part of the reason why we struggle with this simple act is because we get it mixed up.
The great musician and producer Brian Eno explained it perfectly. He once drew a line that represented a spectrum, but with the words “surrender” and “control” on each end. “I think what humans do all the time throughout their lives,” he said, “is we navigate this spectrum between surrender and control.” Like a surfer who is priming himself to ride the wave, they are constantly at the mercy of the physical surroundings (size of waves, when it forms, when it breaks, wind direction etc.). Surfing, he says, is what we do all the time throughout our lives, living in a back-and-forth dialogue with the forces we can’t control. But those who succeed at this are those who can discern “when is the time to surrender and when is the time to control,” for dysfunction and frustration will come to those who try to control what we should surrender, and surrender what we should control.
And what should we control? Or rather, what must we control? Our attitude. Our habits. Our discipline. Our response. Effort. Kindness. Empathy.
We decide if we want to exhibit strength, even when it may not be the most natural response.
This attitude — this gift of the moment — is what I strive to carry with me throughout my career.
I’m nothing but grateful for how far Gosh! Kids has come. Our first camp to Jeju, South Korea, started with a handful of kids, which wasn’t what we’d projected. Needless to say, we were stressed out by the poor response. Was this the right strategy? Did we do something wrong? Is this even a viable business model?
Two years and numerous camps later, we’re hitting capacity. Parents are putting down their interest in programmes we’ve yet to announce. Families are returning for a second, third time. We hear firsthand stories of how lives have been changed, how perspectives on parenting and education and creativity and culture are being transformed by the experiences we’ve curated. They discovered that, by being away in a foreign land, they were unknowingly missing a big part of their kids growing up because of the non-existent work-life balance and other minor, day-to-day distractions. Community, too, was something they’d realised was lacking as much as they needed it.
After the Chiang Mai camp in September, we reviewed the feedback. It was filled with nothing but praise and satisfaction. Kids were happy. Parents, even happier. Obviously, we were thankful, but I remember saying to Gladys, “It doesn’t matter. Let’s get back to work.”
Don’t get me wrong. I’m grateful for everyone who has journeyed with us. In fact, to the extent that I think about the success of our programmes, is the families I think about. They not only give me the satisfaction of knowing the work is making an impact, but they give me the luxury of being unshackled from things like profits and recognition.
And the fact that their family culture is taking an actual turn? That matters more than anything else.
Again, I quote Haruki Murakami, as he shared his thoughts on achieving material rewards and recognition. Sure, monetary benefits and fame can encourage new writers to aim higher and stir competition within the industry, but nothing means as much to him, he confessed, “as the people who dip into their pockets to buy my books.” These are the readers who digest what they read into real self-transformation. It’s the work you do that lasts, he implied. Not prizes, not fame, and to that extent, not profits, because these things more often than not bring you far away from the moments of enjoying the work and thinking about your customers.
What we don’t want families to remember is just another programme to send their kids to, or another overseas camp to escape home, but to be convinced that what they’re doing (parenting, education, family bonding, raising kids etc.) has meaning, and to figure out for themselves what that meaning is.
In retrospect, everything that has turned out well in my life so far followed the same design process: paying less attention to objective metrics, working hard and enjoying the fruits of my labour, figuring out stuff along the way, being quick to express gratefulness.
It doesn’t come from ambitious goals or grand plans.
It comes from unfolding experience, day after day, and learning from my mistakes.
Comparing myself today to that anxious and unstable thirty-three-year-old at the start of the year? I have covered good ground, good enough to believe that the best gift to give yourself is not more material comfort or vacations, but the priceless gift of being in the present — right here, right now.
But to get there, we must learn to ride the wave of surrender and control.
We must, at all cost, exhibit strength.
And so, happy birthday to me? Not so much.
I've done this almost three dozen times now, enough for me to know that it's not that all important.
But what's important is... how are we going to live the remaining years?
Now, on to the next word for 2026!
