“You do not have any other competition in the world than yourself.”

That’s how my friend Mudita Nigam closed our conversation on our podcast.

I want you to sit with it for a moment before I say anything else about it, because I think it’s easy to hear a sentence like that and stash it away as just another pithy motivational quote.

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But coming from Mudita, it didn’t feel like just another hanging kitty poster. It felt impactful. Mudita is an engineer leading teams of teams at Amazon while moving — in her own words — at supersonic speed. In an industry that runs almost entirely on comparison with performance cycles, promotion committees, and stacked rankings – the next rung on the ladder is being climbed by the person next to you and there’s only one ladder. If anyone had reason to believe she was in a race against others, it was Mudita. But here she was telling us explicitly that she isn’t.

The Silent Comparison

Almost none of us think of ourselves as being particularly competitive in a basic sense. We don’t picture ourselves elbowing a rival or hurting someone’s shins before competition. But, comparison inevitably sneaks in anyway.

It shows up as the internal scorecard you keep against the peer who got promoted faster. It’s the team that seems to ship more, complain less, and burn out slower. Lately, it even shows up as comparison against machines and technology like AI.

In our discussion, we consider whether this comparison is even fair.

Crystal vs Rubber Balls

The only comparison that might serve us is knowing which things to prioritize and what can wait for later. Together, Mudita and I discussed a helpful framework for prioritization. That is, understanding the difference between the types of balls you are juggling is key.

Ask yourself – are they crystal balls or rubber balls? Some of what you’re juggling — like your physical and mental health, your closest relationships, and your own sense of who you are — is crystal. Drop that ball and it shatters. You’ll spend a long time picking up the pieces and it may never be recovered.

Other things like soft deadlines and deprioritized projects are rubber balls. They bounce. You can drop them and pick them back up when you have more time.

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Human First Leadership

Mudita talked about how she learned, as a young girl in a small town in India, that the “sub-caste” other kids kept asking her about didn’t apply to her. When she came home confused with questions, her father answered simply: you are human first.

And that was everything. This perspective formed the foundation of Mudita’s growth and development. Long before she ever walked into a workplace ripe with internal and external comparison, she’d already been taught that her worth was intrinsic.

That grounding belief shows up later in a skill often overlooked by today’s developing leaders, and that’s self-advocacy. Mudita talked about learning, sometimes the hard way, that your work doesn’t always speak for itself. Sometimes you have to speak for it.

Helping your management team understand the impact of your performance is key. Not necessarily because you are competing with the person next to you but because if you aren’t your own best advocate, no one else will be.

Consider the Crystal

So, is there a race you are running against a competitor who never actually was one? Is it a peer? A co-worker? Maybe even an earlier version of yourself that no longer is…

Because here’s the thing. You are replaceable at your job. Everyone is. You are not replaceable in your family or in your friendships. And isn’t that the whole point?

Your job — the fancy title, the varying promotion cycle, the stacked rank ratings — that was never the place of irreplacability. Your job is like a bouncing rubber ball that you will rebound from if it falls. Your family. Your friends. The people who love you. You are irreplaceable in that space. That’s the crystal ball that will shatter once you check out. Your presence is the glue that holds that crystal ball together.

So, this week when you’re moving at supersonic speeds again, observe moments when you catch yourself measuring your self-worth against someone else’s and ask yourself whether that race is even yours to run and whether the competition itself even serves you. Chances are, the answer will be a resounding “No!”.

If you’re open to it, share some of the ways in which you catch yourself in competition. Are there ways that this comparison can be reframed? I love catching up with you and I look forward to reading your insights.

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If this resonated, I’d encourage you to listen to the full conversation with Mudita. Her journey from a small town in India to leading engineering organizations and building teams of teams at Amazon is a perfect jumping-off point for exploring the role of AI in leadership and prioritizing humanity in a dynamic technological landscape.

While I was reflecting on it, a companion piece crossed my desk. KPMG’s Global AI Pulse is a survey of more than 2,000 senior executives distributed across 20 different countries.

Remarkably, 1/3 of these leaders cite a limited understanding of AI costs and economics as a barrier to deploying it. Nearly half say they have already scaled back AI agent deployments because the costs outweighed the benefits. And yet, roughly 75% indicate that AI will remain a top investment priority, even in a recession.

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So, basically, AI expense is increasing. Commitment to the technology is unwavering. Yet, the results are underwhelming.

What the Numbers Really Say

Here is what I have come to realize: this dynamic moment is not a story about machines or even technology. It’s a tale as old as time. A parable of minds and hearts.

Consider the conditions the survey describes. Leaders adopted AI before they understood it. They acted from a position of fear of being left behind rather than having a firm idea of where they were going. They believed that AI could be dropped into an organization like a coin into a vending machine, and progress would come tumbling out.

But reactivity is not strategy, and reactivity is expensive. The survey shows that expense in dollars, but dollars are the least of it. In my conversations with industry leaders, the real costs of AI show up somewhere else — in teams exhausted by shifting mandates and unclear focus, people wondering whether they are being stacked up against a computer, leaders who profess that they cannot always tell whether they are leading the AI revolution or being dragged along by it.

These are examples of fear just below the surface of all the decision-making.

The Perspective We Are Missing

The AI debate has plenty of lenses from which to view it. It has the technical lens, the financial lens, the competitive lens, the doom loop lens, and even the utopia lens, all clamoring for perspective.

What it is missing from the debate is the mindfulness lens. The innately human perspective.

Mindfulness is not just something you tack on as an afterthought. It is a fundamental foundation in approach. It’s something you carry with you into every moment. Because what mindfulness actually helps with is the capacity to pause between stimulus and response. To recognize the fear driving the decision, even before the decision is made.

Mindfulness helps you ask the right questions even in the middle of the moment when there’s a risk of being swept away. Mindfulness helps you regain control and consider: What is the objective? Who does this serve? What are we trying to accomplish?

In my talk with Dr. Sandeep Krishnamurthy last week, he gave us a sentence that centers this thought: intelligence is not consciousness. AI acts like it is intelligent. But acting as if isn’t real.

An organization can act as though it has a strategy, but, as the KPMG survey suggests, very few act in alignment with that strategy.

What I Hear in the Thick of It

Consider the engineering leader who told me her team had been handed five AI tools in one quarter plus a target for “adoption metrics” but there was no conversation, not one, about the objective of these tools.

I think of the executive who admitted the AI mandate came from the Board of Directors and that he was translating panic downward while calling it vision. And then there’s the nagging question still being asked by mid-career technologists — will AI replace me?

Every one of these is a person experiencing reactivity. But here’s what I know from my training and research into mindfulness over the years: you cannot think your way out of reactivity. You’ve got to pause your way out.

The moment of pause is one where the plural intelligences Sandeep spoke of come into play. It’s the intuitive intelligence that senses something is off. It’s the relational intelligence that notices the team is scared, not just resistant. It’s the moral intelligence that asks not can we do it but should we. These are exactly the intelligent capacities that reactivity shuts down, and exactly the ones the moment requires.

Artificial intelligence is singular. The wisdom to deploy it well is plural. And this ability is something that only humans can offer.

It’s Both-And, As Always

I am taking courses to learn more about AI. To be honest, AI even helped with this essay, suggesting plenty of edits. But I kept my discernment close, taking only the suggestions that served the writing and releasing the rest. Ironically, that is the practice at its core. It is about embracing AI while remaining anchored in the humanity of who you are. Both, together.

The invitation is to stop choosing between rushing and resisting – the only two options the current conversation seems to offer, and to stubbornly stand in a third place while remaining engaged, curious, and awake. Stay present so that you can adopt AI with intention. Stay grounded enough to know when pausing is wisdom and discerning enough to remain focused on the goal of the tool and objective of its use.

The executives in that KPMG survey are no dummies. They are reporting on the outcome of moving fast without intention.

And that’s just one of the reasons that I > AI. Not because we are faster or more precise but because we can be more mindful. We can pause mid-momentum and choose differently. No system can do that.

And Sandeep, since I know you will read this, consider this essay my half of a conversation that is clearly not finished. You gave us the concept of AI as the neighbor’s boy. The data is starting to roll in on AI effectiveness and implementation outcomes. There is more here for us to explore.

So here is my question for my audience this week: Where are you in your relationship with AI? Are you adopting it, resisting it, or learning about it? Are you reacting to it, or responding mindfully?

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I hope to hear from you. I appreciate the insights that we can share together and enjoy reading every comment.

🎧 If you missed my conversation with Dr. Sandeep Krishnamurthy — listen here.

Source: KPMG Global AI Pulse Survey. Full quarterly reports at kpmg.com/aipulse.

Maybe it wasn’t a boy in your house. Maybe it was a girl, a cousin, a neighbor three doors down. But if you grew up in an Indian household, you know exactly who I mean. He got the best marks. He got into the good college. And every auntie, every uncle, every well-meaning relative at every family gathering would eventually turn to you and ask some version of: why can’t you be more like him?

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I hadn’t thought about that boy in years. But, in a conversation with my dear friend Sandeep Krishnamurthy, Dean of the College of Business Administration at Cal Poly Pomona, a person who has spent his whole career thinking about intelligence, technology, and what makes us human — he said “Today, AI is that boy.”

I was struck when he said it, because he's right, isn't he? AI writes faster. It never gets tired, never has a bad day, never needs a weekend. (It does, famously, make things up with total confidence — but then, so did the neighbor's boy.) Somewhere underneath all our talk about productivity and career disruption, a niggling voice has started asking the same question our aunties used to ask: why can't you be more like AI?

Unfair Comparison

Here’s the thing about the neighbor’s boy: he was only one kind of smart. He could ace an exam. He probably could not have told you why you were crying, or noticed when you needed someone to simply sit with you and say nothing at all.

Sandeep named the deeper problem in a single line:

“Artificial intelligence is singular. Human intelligences are plural.”

Artificial intelligence is, by its nature, built to produce whatever answer is most likely to satisfy you in the moment. But human intelligence was never singular. It’s plural. It’s the friend who can perform two hours of Shakespeare from memory. It’s the leader who walks into a room and somehow makes everyone in it feel more at ease. It’s the person who notices, before you’ve even said a word, that something in you feels off.

You cannot hold the same ruler up to that kind of variety and call the measurement meaningful. It wasn’t fair to compare you to the neighbor’s boy, and it isn’t a fair comparison now.

Intelligence, Not Consciousness

There's a second distinction hiding underneath the first. Intelligence and consciousness are not the same thing. Sandeep put it simply: AI acts as though it's intelligent. It performs understanding. It does not hold what he called, in Sanskrit, the jivatma — the living presence, the animating spark that enlivens us all.

No AI has ever made you feel instantly at ease the moment it walked into a room. No AI has ever made you feel truly seen and loved in an unconditional way. That is not insignificant. In fact, it might be the whole shebang.

This is Not a Competition

You don’t have to compete with the neighbor’s boy. You never did. That burden wasn’t yours to bear then, and it’s not yours to carry now.

So notice the places where your humanness — not your productive output — is the thing that actually matters. Lean into it. Be the one who sits with a struggling friend instead of rushing to fix them. Savor the moments when you are simply, fully present with another person, in a way no algorithm could ever be.

Sandeep left me with a phrase I haven’t been able to put down, and I’ll leave it with you:

I > AI.

The human is greater. Not your output. Not your speed. You — the whole, plural, conscious human that no system, however magnificent, can act its way into becoming.

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So I'll leave you with a question, and I genuinely want your answers: What is one human quality you will never outsource — the thing you'll lean into as this world keeps changing? Share it in the comments. I have a feeling we'll learn more from each other's answers than from any algorithm.

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If I > AI resonates with you, Sandeep and I go much deeper in the full conversation — what AI really means for your career, and why he believes artificial intimacy may prove more dangerous than artificial intelligence. Check it out!

It often feels like relief. Like setting something down that you didn’t realize you’d been carrying.

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Interoception: Sensing the Signals

Neuroscientists call the underlying mechanism beneath this phenomenon interoception — the brain’s ability to sense signals arising from inside the body. When we deliberately tune into physical sensations like the weight of our bones or the pounding of our blood, we activate the insular cortex, a region associated with self-awareness, emotional regulation, and — most importantly — a sense of safety.

Most of us spend our days with our attention turned outwardly. To our inbox, to the next thing on our calendar, to other people’s demands. Our bodies become tools rather than a safe place we embody holistically.

An Invitation to Reset

This meditation is an invitation back to sensation. Rooted in ancient frameworks around the four elements of earth, water, fire, and air — it helps draw the connections you need to stay present.

The calcium in your bones is the same mineral found in mountain stone. Seventy percent of your body is water that once moved through glaciers, rivers, living creatures long before you. The heat your cells generate is energy that began in the sun, traveled 93 million miles, and found its way into you through everything you’ve ever eaten. You are one with the earth and the elements that comprise it.

When we start to understand this, the perceived boundary between oneself and the outside world beyond begins to weaken.

You are Part of Something Larger

Research on awe shows that this kind of perception of vastness downregulates the default mode network, the part of the brain that generates our most anxious thoughts. This downregulation is key to achieving deep focus, present-moment engagement and emotional relief.

When you realize that you’re a part of something larger than yourself, you don’t shrink smaller by comparison — you grow in scale and connection in real ways that can help you regulate your emotions and become more mindful.

This guided meditation practice is about 7 minutes long. Find a comfortable seat, close your eyes if that feels right, and meet the meditation wherever you are.

What came up for you? I’d love to know — hit reply and tell me which element landed most deeply.

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Not only is it my birthday, but since 2014, when the United Nations declared it International Yoga Day, it has become something else entirely. For me, this declaration from the UN was a sort of cosmic validation that I was exactly where I was supposed to be, practicing exactly what I was intended to learn.

For years, I marked the day with yogic discipline. I hosted large gatherings and led community yoga sessions. I offered 108 surya namaskaras. These are sun salutations repeated over and over until the body becomes pure. It was joyful and rigorous and uplifting.

This year is different. Those of you who have been with me through these past few months know a bit about why. And what I can tell you is that this change has really opened my eyes and helped me return to some of the fundamental yogic teachings.

It’s been a reminder that the postures and shapes we make with our bodies — that physical tradition is only a few hundred years old. Yoga itself is ancient, and it was never intended for the body alone.

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Yoga is a Union

It’s the union of the I — mind, body, and spirit together as one. The union of the We — our connection to the human beings around us, to shared hopes and even grief. And the union of the Us — that humbling, expanding awareness that we are each a speck in the grand universe and a part of something more.

I, We, Us is a mindfulness framework I have taught and continue to return to again and again. I recently led a meditation for the Healing Circle. It touched upon these three unions — I, We, Us — and felt like something you might like to hear about, too.

So, I hope you’ll settle in, close your eyes if that feels right, and let it wash over you.

When you’re done, I’d genuinely love to know – is this how you want to hear from me? Does video feel right? Reply and tell me. I enjoy reading every comment.

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So today, I’m sharing something a little different. It’s a guided meditation on loving kindness. Loving kindness is not about pretending things are fine when they aren’t or even faking it until you make it. It’s about reconnecting with the capacity to love that you already have. We’ll focus on the ability to extend care outwardly and to receive love, too.

This meditation runs just over 8 minutes long. You don’t need experience with meditation or even the perfect conditions to practice. You just need to press play and listen as the words tumble over you.

I have more of these on my YouTube channel, but this is the first time I’m bringing this kind of offering to you. I’d love to know what you think. Please share your thoughts in the comments.

Press play when you’re ready.

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If you’d prefer to read rather than listen, the full transcript is also available.

TRANSCRIPT

Let’s practice loving kindness meditation together. Take a moment to arrive here. Doesn’t matter where you were a moment ago, you’re here and now.

Bring your awareness to where you are sitting, the surface in contact with your body, and your pressure against it, becoming aware of your body in this moment, bring awareness to your breath through some conscious inhales and exhales.

Let’s do it together, a deep inhale in and exhale through the mouth. Ah, we do this together again, inhale, and now let the breath breathe itself. No effort on your part, the way the body naturally knows how to breathe, you’re just being present with it, and as you settle now, bring to your awareness someone you can love easily, you know, your heart becomes larger when you think of them, that love is unconditional, flowing all the time for them.

Hold them gently in your heart and silently we’re going to whisper some phrases for them, taking a deep breath in and holding them in your heart, and saying, may you be safe, may you be safe, may you be protected, may you be happy, and may you live with ease.

Let’s again repeat these phrases for someone you have unconditional love for, and these phrases will come easily for them. May you be safe, may you be protected, may you be happy, may you live with ease, and just sit here and let them absorb this. Imagine as if these wishes are flowing right into them, and they can experience your well wishes, they can experience that safety, they are protected from inner and outer harm, they find happiness, and they are at ease.

And as you sit with this, you imagine that they are extending the same wishes to you, you can now see them in your awareness, and they are saying the same phrases that you extended to them. They’re saying, May you be safe, may you be protected, may you be happy, may you live with ease, and they extend these, you receive them wholeheartedly, opening your heart up and taking in the wishes that are directed to you, and you hear them again, may you be safe, may you be healthy, may you be happy, may you live with ease, place one hand on your heart, if that feels right. And now offer these wishes to yourself. May I be safe, may I be protected, may I be happy. Be may I live with ease. If this feels difficult for you, because it’s hard to extend love and compassion to ourselves, it’s not a problem. You can even whisper, may this also be held with loving kindness. The fact that it’s hard for me to love myself.

Now bring to your mind somebody who has cared for you, a teacher, a parent, a mentor, a friend, somebody who has showed up for you in times of difficulty, and now we’re going to extend these phrases to them, bring them to your awareness as if they are present right here, right now, and let’s extend some phrases to them, may you be safe, may you be protected, may you be happy, may you live with ease. Say it again one more time with utmost sincerity, may you be safe, may you be protected, may you be happy, may you live with ease, and now we’re going to extend the circle even more, let your awareness expand in all directions, beings you will never meet, those who are struggling tonight, those who are grieving, those who are newly born into this world, all of them like you wanting to be safe, all of them like you wanting to be loved, all of them like you wanting to live with ease. Let’s extend our wishes to them, may all beings be safe, may all beings be healthy, may all beings be happy, may all beings live with ease.

Let’s rest here for a moment in this vast open heart, no boundary between yourself and the world. This is loving kindness. This is the innate quality of a human heart, the ability to love with abundance unconditionally. It’s not a feeling you have to manufacture. It is a capacity that’s always within you, something to nurture and carry with you when you’re ready. Let’s take a deep breath in, and with exhale, spread that kindness around.

And one more thing important to remember – these stages don’t necessarily arrive in order, one after the other. Instead, they circle. They overlap. They recede. They return. Even as I write about Stage Three, I am not writing from the other side. I’m still right here, with you, in the messy middle. And remember, if you are struggling with something, there are people who can help you. Seek professional assistance when you need it.

I was reading a passage from Parker Palmer recently. He wrote: I am a person of hope and one prone to depression. My wholeness depends on accepting that I am both-and.

I read it and was struck because I am both-and too.

I am someone who teaches presence, while also being one who spent years negotiating with her own body’s pain rather than listening to it. In that Mumbai hotel room, I was someone who writes about mindfulness while desperately trying to will myself into a different reality.

Wholeness, Palmer reminds us, has nothing to do with perfection. It means embracing the broken parts as integral — not despite them, but with them.

I am still learning that lesson.

Too Late to Say Goodbye

The first time I was depressed, I was 22. My father died suddenly from a massive heart attack at 3am. I felt it before I knew it. I’d awakened from a deep sleep, gasping, unable to catch my breath. Something felt broken inside me. That was hours before my sister called. By the time I reached home, it was too late to say goodbye.

I hated being in that state. Hated feeling the oppressive overwhelm of sadness. The kind that sticks with you. That moves with and through you. That makes the world around me feel like it is happening to someone else, and I’m just an observer.

Like most everything else in my life, I wanted to manage my grief. To minimize and outrun it. So, I did what many of us do. I smiled.

It wasn’t a performative smile. In fact, it was something more insidious than that. I genuinely attempted to feel what I projected.

You push the corners of your lips up, and you think: surely my body will follow. If I look like someone who is holding it together, I will become someone who is managing.

There is science behind it. The facial muscles send a signal to the brain — dopamine begins to flow. The neurochemistry does shift a little when you smile, even a forced smile. So, I kept doing it.

What I didn’t realize was that I was also building something else: a reputation. Anu is so positive. Anu is so full of light. It was a story that others began to tell about me, and that I eventually began to tell about myself.

By the time this most recent round of grief had arrived in my body — the one about my knee, my spine, my physical freedom, my mobility, my independence — I had been “the positive one” for decades. I didn’t choose this moniker, exactly. But it had become an expectation. Mine as much as anyone else’s.

The Question is Progress

My sister saw through it. Years ago, during the bad months, she said to me: your smiles are fake these days. Fake like something is missing. The lightness isn’t there.

Nobody else had noticed. But she did because she knew what joy looked like for me, and this wasn’t it.

I’ve thought about that a lot this year. So I started doing the mirror test. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, I ask myself: Anu, are you really smiling? Or are you sad behind this face?

Some mornings, the answer is clear. Some mornings I am not sure. And some mornings, I realize that the question itself is progress because for a long time, I hadn’t even asked.

Don’t Lose Perspective

When I came back to Seattle after the diagnosis, I didn’t adjust well. The weather felt like it was a reflection of my personal health. The cold, grey chill settled into my bones.

I couldn’t walk the way I used to, couldn’t get outside the way I always had, no matter the weather. I couldn’t even practice yoga anymore. These were the things I had built my sense of self around — my physical strength, my ability to move through the world, to hike, to stand sure on the mat, to be the one who laced up her shoes and went outside anyway, even in Seattle grey.

People around me, people who love me, said: look at everything you have. You have so much to be grateful for. Don’t lose perspective.

They weren’t wrong. And it didn’t help at all.

Because what I was doing was grieving. I was mourning the loss of a self I had known for half a century. Loss of being the one who could move through the world freely.

But I had become the positive one. And the positive one doesn’t get to say: I am depressed. I am sad. Something has been taken from me and I don’t know who I am without it.

So instead, I practiced a BIG smile while grief lingered just below the surface.

The Trap: A Mask of Courage

This mask, I’ve learned, is its own kind of courage — and its own kind of trap.

Courage is keeping on showing up, not letting the darkness win every morning. There is something real in the discipline of showing up anyway, even when it's hard.

The trap is when the smile becomes the story. When the performance becomes so practiced that even you start to believe it.

Women know this trap especially well. We are permitted a narrow emotional range. Not too angry. Not too sad. Not too much. The moment we step outside that range, we are labeled as difficult, fragile, or too emotional. Men carry their own limitations — stoicism as armor and strength as silence. Different cages. Same result. So we mask. All of us.

We mask depression because we don’t know what else to do with it. Because the world keeps moving, and we are expected to move too.

The Discomfort and Beauty of Both-And

Here is what I want you to hear, if you are dealing with some tough emotions right now: depression is not a character flaw and it’s not about being ungrateful for what you have. Depression is not failure. It is simply how we process what cannot be processed any other way.

The stages of grief, Kübler-Ross taught us are not a ladder. They are more like waves that come and go. Or concentric circles that resonate together, amplifying one another.

And if I'm honest with you, there are days when I'm still in it. There are times when I stand at that mirror and the answer is no — I am not really smiling. And there are days when I offer the smile anyway, knowing it's hollow. I try to be kind with myself about that, too.

It’s the discomfort and beauty of both-and.

Mindful Minute: This week, try the mirror question. Just stare at yourself in the mirror or while taking a selfie and ask: Am I really smiling? Or is something hurting behind this face?

You don’t have to answer out loud. You don’t even have to do anything with what you find. Just practice the honesty of asking, observing, and reflecting.

If this resonates and you want perspective on some of the other stages of grief within the context of mindfulness, you’ll find Stage One: Denial and Stage Two: Anger here.

If this piece touched something raw, I want to gently say: please don’t navigate it alone. I write from my own experience and from my coaching practice, but I am not a therapist, and this is not a substitute for professional support. If you’re navigating grief, a health crisis, or a season that feels unmanageable, a licensed counselor or therapist can offer support.

Outside, the city did what Mumbai always does — it refuses to sleep. But inside that room, I was caught in a loop I could not escape.

How did I miss this?

How did I not know?

I have practiced yoga for twenty-five years.

I have even taught it.

I know what it means to embody attention — to know the difference between effort and strain, between allowing and forcing.

I’ve sat in Vipassana meditation and experienced its mental purification through self-observation. No movement, no music, no escape from your thoughts. Just watching. Just noticing. Just observing what is happening inside you, moment by moment.

I have done all of this. For years. Earnestly. With commitment and conviction.

And yet, somehow, I still ended up here — alone in a hotel room in Mumbai, staring at MRI results I could barely absorb, a 21-day cancelled retreat, and a doctor telling me I needed surgery. Immediately.

How did my body betray me?

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3am Questions

Anger, for me, arrived as frustration. As a relentless, circular interrogation that played on repeat throughout every sleepless night.

I had been so present. So committed to the practice.

I kept asking myself – if all of this practice is supposed to make you more attuned, more aware, more awake, and more mindful — how did I end up here?

You can listen carefully, practice diligently, live with genuine intention, and still miss things. Still override what you know to be true in your gut. Choosing, again and again, to keep moving when it might be better for you to pause.

Likely, I had noticed them.

Maybe, the signals were coming through loud and clear.

Probably, I just didn’t want to listen.

What My Body Was Saying

I had piriformis syndrome, a meniscus tear in my knee, and a full ACL rupture. There was also spinal stenosis – where your spinal canal narrows and begins to press on the nerves that run through it. There were bone cysts. Compression. Degeneration.

And my body had been announcing all of this, in the only language bodies have – with feeling and sensations.

I couldn’t walk down the stairs. Couldn’t climb up them either. Sitting for any length of time sent pain shooting through me. Standing hurt. Walking hurt. Sleeping brought no relief — just a different configuration of pain. Muscle spasms I could neither predict nor control happened in places I didn’t even know could spasm. Spinal compression was impacting my digestive system, causing problems with the most fundamental of biological processes.

Tingling in my leg began. And with it, sensation started to leave. It didn’t happen all at once, but feeling was withdrawing the way light does at the end of a long day. Slowly and surely, I was losing the ability to feel my own body.

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Overall Fine

I started with a physiotherapist. Not because someone sent me, but because that’s how I operate. I identify the problem, I find the solution, and I get to work.

PT strengthened both sides of my leg. They were consistent, disciplined sessions. What nobody knew — because nobody had looked inside — was that we were strengthening a structure that was collapsing from within.

When I finally went to the doctor, they took X-rays. But X-rays show bone. They don’t show soft tissue. They don’t show what is happening inside a joint or what is pressing on a nerve. The doctor looked at the images and said: things look good.

I told them…Something is wrong.

They looked at their X-rays and dismissively said: looks overall, fine.

A part of me, and this is the part that belongs to the previous stage, to denial, accepted it. Accepting “overall fine” meant I could keep going.

And keeping going was what I knew how to do, so I was appeased for a while.

Eventually, knowing something was wrong, I pushed for an MRI. I insisted. By the time anyone actually looked inside, my meniscus was destroyed. My ACL was damaged. My spine was compressed in ways that were affecting my nervous system.

Months. I’d spent months strengthening a body that was falling apart from the inside out.

In that Mumbai hotel room, anger raged in every direction. I was furious at the healthcare system, yes — for not looking sooner. Mad at the doctor who minimized my pain. Frustrated with the health insurance requirements in the US that make receiving authorization for advanced medical imaging almost as rare as winning the lottery.

But I was also angry at myself. I’d been making choices too. I’d accepted fine when every instinct was telling me otherwise. I’d participated in my own form of denial, and that made me angry too.

Questions Without Answers

And so the 3am questions came. Night after endless night.

How many times did my body remind me? I’ve spent twenty-five years learning to listen. I’ve sat in silence for hours learning to notice. How did I not hear this?

And then the question that cut deepest of all — the one that felt almost too painful to consider:

How did the universe not guide me? Why did the divine choose to lead me here - to this room, to these results, to this reckoning?

I had no answer. I still don’t, entirely.

But I have learned that anger doesn’t just look for someone to blame, it searches for the truth. And the truth here was complicated. The healthcare system could have looked sooner. I could have stopped sooner. Denial had been a choice I made, over and over, at every trail and every airport and every PT session.

Anger wanted someone to blame — a single moment, a single choice, a single person responsible. Grief refused to give me that.

It doesn't move in a straight line. It circles back. It sits with you in the mess.

What Anger Can Look Like

Elisabeth Kübler-Ross named this stage anger. But, we often imagine anger as something loud. A slammed door. A raised voice. Unmistakable and undeniable.

This didn’t feel like that.

The way I experienced anger felt like lying awake in a hotel room in a city that wasn’t mine, while replaying every hike, every PT session, every decision, searching for the moment I could have changed the outcome.

It was frustration turned inward and sharpened into something harder.

Anger is not always something we project outward towards others. Sometimes it sounds like, why didn’t I know better? Sometimes it shifts towards the heavens and pleads, why did you let this happen to me? Anger tries to find someone or something to hold responsible because holding yourself completely responsible is more than you can bear.

All of it is anger. All of it is valid. All of it deserves to be named and examined.

I’d spent decades learning to feel everything, and now I was having to feel this.

There was a terrible irony in that.

The Taxi Was Still Running

Downstairs, I finally sent the taxi away. The three-week retreat was canceled. Next steps were still being formulated.

But before any of that could be faced, there was this. This cold, soulless hotel room. The warm, sleepless nights. Outside, the Arabian Sea gently lapped the shore, eternal and indifferent.

Kübler-Ross mapped these stages, but she never promised they would arrive once and leave cleanly. Anger came back when I thought I had moved past it. Denial returned when I thought I had made peace. The stages are real. The sequence is not.

Grief has its own timeline. Anger manifests distinctly. The most mindful thing you can do is not to rush past either one. You can’t perform your way through anger or pretend it doesn’t exist. You can’t negotiate with it until it agrees to disappear.

Just stay. Just feel it. Just let it be.

As complicated, as contradictory, and unresolved as it is.

That, I have come to understand, is the work.

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Mindful Minute: Have you ever had your body speak to you so clearly yet found yourself not ready to listen? And if you’re willing — share it in the comments. Someone else is lying awake. Your words might be exactly what they need to read.

This is the second in a five-part series exploring the stages of grief through a personal lens. If this resonated, please share it with someone who needs it. And if you missed Stage One — Denial — you can find it here.

If this piece touched something raw, I want to gently say: please don’t navigate it alone. I write from my own experience and from my coaching practice, but I am not a therapist, and this is not a substitute for professional support. If you’re navigating grief, a health crisis, or a season that feels unmanageable, a licensed counselor or therapist can offer support.

Just the day before, I’d been hiking Mt. Elbert - one of the highest peaks in Colorado at over 14k feet, very nearly reaching the summit. But that was when something in my hip just kind of snapped.

Something Snapped

The descent was filled with pain; my hip felt like it was on fire. But I made it down on sheer will and determination. So, throughout the flight, I shifted from one side to the other, unable to find relief. I could barely endure being seated.

Of course, I consulted with a doctor right away, and the diagnosis was clear. Piriformis syndrome – no hiking for at least six weeks. Well, this wouldn’t work!

The Math Doesn’t Math

I was leaving for Kathmandu at the end of the month. The trek to Everest Base Camp, a lifelong dream, was about to start in just seven short weeks. The team I’d been training with for months was counting on me. The time away from important employment-related activities had been carefully negotiated.

I nodded politely at the doctor, while mentally packing my bag, calculating altitude breaks, staging timelines, remaining PT appointments, while considering whether pain could be made to disappear entirely… if only the need was strong enough.

I did reach my goal. I made it to Everest Base Camp.

But, every day, every step, every breath was a negotiation. At the time, I called it resilience. Looking back, I wonder if it was denial. Denial is, of course, Stage One.

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A Familiar Negotiation

Years later, after another intensely eventful season of life, we’d planned a ten-day trip through Utah’s Mighty 5.

By now, pain management had become familiar. Daily negotiations normalized. In Zion, I was not only negotiating with my body but with the strikingly majestic scenery. There was reverence. Spirituality. Cathedrals sheltering the pilgrim – gods to be encountered — found in the red rock rising from the burnt umber desert floor. Sandstone cliffs, millions of years old, beckoned to me, inviting me into their embrace — it was all too much to resist.

We tackled Angel’s Landing, a strenuous hike rising 1,500 vertical feet along a narrow ridge equipped with a chain rail for safety.

At Arches National Park, we hiked through Devil’s Garden, scrambling gingerly over sandstone bridges. I remember pausing on one of those ancient spans, looking out over the vast alien landscape, and feeling a mix of awe and stubbornness — willing myself to go on. That stubbornness is what got me out of the garden.

A Life of Negotiation

I was not simply hiking through Utah’s Mighty 5. I was hiking through a whole, lifelong negotiation with myself. One about worthiness, personal strength, and the realization that perhaps, I didn’t know how to stop.

Early conditioning taught me that endurance was a virtue. That stopping was a weakness. That strong people pushed through. And I was resilient. I was one of the strong ones. So many self-help books had taught me that resilience was built from discipline and self-denial.

At the time, I believed the lesson was about courage. I even wrote a Substack post about it. Instead, I think I had become very good at denial.

It was…always minimized…

Just inflammation.

Just overtraining.

Just my age.

Just temporary.

Just something to negotiate.

Just something to manage as I continued my passion for hiking and exploration.

The Last Straw

When I returned from Utah last fall, it was obvious my condition had worsened. Even going up stairs required a strategy. Sitting too long hurt. Standing and walking hurt, too. Relief wasn’t even possible when sleeping. I was having muscle spasms in places I could neither predict nor control. My body was stripping away every illusion of functionality.

So, I did what I knew best — more research, more discipline, more adaptation, more mindfulness. I stretched more, strengthened more, recovered better, and pushed myself. I found the right experts. I advocated for my health. I navigated healthcare systems in two different countries and health insurance in the hardest one of all. Yes, part of me still believed this was a problem I could solve.

Remembering How to Heal

I had booked a yoga and ayurveda retreat on the Indian coast many months ago for the turn of the year. Determined to keep this commitment to myself, I just knew it would propel me back into better health. I told myself that through slow, gentle grace, with kind pampering, rejuvenating daily massages, and conditioned mental reset, that I would be healed. I reassured myself that if I could just get there, if I could just make it to the retreat, that my body would remember how to heal itself once again.

The Results Came

Before leaving for India, I got an MRI to get a better sense of the problem, but without serious consideration for any implications of the outcome, I flew to India before the results had even arrived.

If I’m being honest, the 18-hour journey there was brutal. I sat on hot water bottles, generously provided by caring flight attendants, trying to dull the sharp, shooting pain with little relief.

Just a few days later, I walked ever-so-slowly along Juhu Beach in Mumbai, inviting the New Year and all that was to come with eagerness and open arms.

And then, the MRI results came.

Everything Shifted

I remember exactly where I was when I got them. I opened the report on my phone in the hotel room the morning I was supposed to leave for my special retreat.

Suddenly, everything shifted. The taxi that was supposed to take me to the 21-day Ayurvedic and yogic retreat was downstairs with its engine running. The retreat was supposed to begin in just a few short hours.

As I read through the MRI report, the medical terms sort of seemed to jump out at me.

Degeneration. Compression. Bone cysts. Impingement. Spinal stenosis. Complex meniscus tears. ACL damage in the knee.

Time Will Tell

I stared at the screen for a while before calling the doctor at the retreat center. The conversation went a little something like this:

Could I still come? No. I wrote it down. Taking notes, as if the act of writing it would make the facts of the matter less painful to bear.

Would the program help? Not when you’re injured. Of course not. Of course not. I thanked him and kept on with my line of questions.

Should I rest instead? Yes. Rest. Hmmm… I had never been very good at rest. I knew the importance of operationalizing pause. Wrote and taught about it even. But I still wasn’t very good at it.

Could it even be healed? Time will tell. I held the phone in my hand for a moment after we hung up. The room was still. Downstairs, the taxi driver was still running the meter.

Even when presented with undeniable evidence, a part of me clung to denial. Denial that anything was really all that wrong. Denial that I wouldn’t be able to heal myself with a focused and restorative retreat.

Mindfulness in the Messy Middle

I kept the taxi driver waiting for over two hours(!) while I negotiated with myself. I was holding onto dreams that no longer matched my reality. I stubbornly believed that I could will myself back into the life and into the healthy body I had before. And that was the beginning of my latest journey with grief.

In this five-part series, we’re going to explore how a medical diagnosis can shift perspective. We’ll consider how this experience mirrors the Kubler-Ross 5 Stages of Grief, and together we will explore ways to practice mindfulness, even while still in the messy middle.

Mindful Minute: Have you seen denial show up in your life or in that of your loved one? Comment below to share your experience – someone else might benefit from your reflection.

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p.s. This post is the first in a series of five as we explore the stages of grief together and learn how they can impact our lives. Stay tuned for another post next week. If this resonated with you, please share it with a friend!

If this piece touched something raw, I want to gently say: please don’t navigate it alone. I write from my own experience and from my coaching practice, but I am not a therapist, and this is not a substitute for professional support. If you’re navigating grief, a health crisis, or a season that feels unmanageable, a licensed counselor or therapist can offer support.

The answers tend to cluster around the same themes. Upskilling. Digital fluency. Change agility. Learning to work alongside LLMs. All of it is reasonable. Thing is, most of it is missing the point.

I recently spoke with Nandini Chawla, CEO of TV Rao Learning Systems. With 25 years in leadership development, as a PCC-certified coach, and one of the most grounded thinkers I’ve encountered on what actually makes organizations work, Nandini’s answer to the question of how to prepare leaders in the AI era really surprised me.

Go back to basics, she said. The most fundamental of all is: how can we be more human?

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The Case for Connection

As artificial intelligence becomes more embedded in the fabric of organizational life — inserted into the tools we use, used to help drive the decisions we make, developing the processes we run — the one thing it cannot replicate is genuine human connection.

And connection is important. People know when they are faced with inauthenticity. And they reject it. They don’t engage with it. No matter how seamless the interface or how sophisticated the system, people can feel the difference — and they respond accordingly.

Nandini made an observation that really made me think. She said we are in a moment of collective fragility. After the emergent period of the pandemic, people came back to work still burdened by things they hadn’t fully processed during that time.

These unprocessed feelings are still helping foment the uncertainty that people are experiencing in an AI-disrupted economy. The implied contract — not to mention the psychological contract — between organizations and their people is more fragile than it was even just five years ago.

Add to that mix businesses that are doubling down on automation with their foot on the gas for maximum velocity, hurtling into a brave new world. One that’s simultaneously pulling back on real-world human infrastructure. The pressure to move fast is real. But so is the cost of moving fast without strong direction and trusted leadership.

Leaders Who Matter Navigate

The leaders who will matter most in the next decade are not the ones who understand AI the best. They are the ones whose teams trust them enough to believe in what’s actually happening and to believe in their ability to navigate uncertainty together.

That kind of trust is something built slowly through consistent behavior over time – through difficult conversations handled with care, the admissions of not-knowing everything, and decisions made with enough transparency that people feel included rather than subject to outcomes beyond their control.

Prioritizing Gratitude

Finding your way when the road ahead is unclear demands emotional stability and mindfulness. Nandini’s firm, TV Rao Learning Systems, is now including elements of gratitude in its 360-degree feedback tools. When you embed gratitude into the systems people actually use, you invite them to slow down and genuinely reflect on it. When something as seemingly intangible as gratitude can turn into a measurable data point, it’s a signal that an organization actually values the full humanity of its workforce, not just their output.

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The Deeper Challenge

We’ve spent decades making the case that soft skills are, in fact, hard skills — and that something like emotional intelligence has real, demonstrable ROI. We’ve emphasized the importance of company culture as a key driver of performance, not just a byproduct of it. And we’ve done that work knowing we were always swimming against a tide that favors what’s measurable over what matters.

But what we’re seeing now is that when things get crunchy and uncertain, organizations are still cutting their investment in human infrastructure first — coaching, training, development programs, the reflective time that leaders and leadership teams are given to aspire and inspire.

A Strategic Miscalculation

The instinct to make budget by cutting headcount is understandable, but it’s also increasingly a strategic miscalculation.

The irony is that AI should be making it easier for us to develop leaders, not harder. The more we automate the transactional, the more we can focus on the qualities and conditions of leadership that can make a real and lasting contribution to the organization. We should be gaining time, space and bandwidth for deep organizational development — not losing the will to invest in it.

When the technological playing field levels out — which it inevitably will — organizations will be competing on the quality of their leaders and in their ability to navigate uncertainty. The differentiator won’t be who adopted the best tools the fastest. It will be those who built the most trusted and capable leaders.

Leaders who stay intentionally, intuitively, and stubbornly focused on workforce development are not behind the curve. They are ahead of it.

If you’re ready to hear more about what Nandini had to say about leadership development in the world of AI, download my podcast at your favorite place to catch up like Apple or YouTube.

Mindful Minute: What are you seeing in your own organization? Is the investment in human leadership infrastructure holding strong or is training and development the first thing on the chopping block? I’d love to hear about your experiences in the comments.

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Nandini has been part of the company for 25 of those years, growing from a young facilitator once too afraid to be taken seriously to a PCC-certified coach and CEO who has shaped leaders across some of India's and the world's largest organizations.

Their conversation weaves together Nandini's personal journey — from engineering to sales to marketing to discovering her calling in leadership development — with remarkably practical wisdom that leaders at every stage can apply today.

Here's what you'll hear in this episode:

• The 360° feedback myth: Why this powerful tool is most often misunderstood, misused, or feared — and what a truly holistic 360 looks like, including why Nandini's firm invites family members into the process.

• The workshop moment that changed everything: How Nandini learned the most important lesson in facilitation — and in leadership — by throwing away her agenda and simply listening.

• Insecurity as preparation fuel: How Nandini channeled her early self-doubt about youth and experience into deep, relentless preparation that became her greatest professional strength.

• Humanity in the age of AI: Why the rise of artificial intelligence makes being genuinely human the most strategic leadership skill you can build right now.

• Gratitude as a system, not a practice: How TV Rao Learning Systems is embedding gratitude directly into 360 instruments — and why building it into process is more powerful than leaving it to intention.

• The two habits every aspiring leader needs: Reflection and continuous learning — and how to access both even when you believe you have no time.

Nandini closes with a beautiful invitation: everything can be a source of learning, from the dinner table conversation about Friends characters to observing how a senior leader handles a difficult moment. Leadership development doesn't have to be formal. It has to be intentional.

_______________________________

Learn more about Nandini Chawla, CEO TVRLS: An ICF Accredited PCC coach, Nandini has 29 years of rich cross-cultural work experience in the areas of Leadership Development and Organisation Development. She is the CEO and Co-Founder of T V Rao Learning Systems and Perfect Professional.

An Electrical Engineer and a Post Graduate Diploma in Business Administration from NMIMS Mumbai, she started her career with Titan Industries Limited in the areas of Sales and Marketing.

Nandini brings to the table a live business exposure as a successful line manager, having interacted, managed & dealt with sales professionals, subordinates, peers, senior management and above all Customers.

She is a life member at the NHRD network and was a member of the Executive Committee for the NHRD Network Bangalore chapter for two consecutive terms. In addition to presenting papers in conferences, she has authored many Articles and co-edited the book on 360-Degree Feedback and Performance Management Systems Volume 2, 360 Degree Feedback and Assessment Development Centers Volume 3, Life after 360 and ADCs Volume 4.

______________________

#LeadershipDevelopment #360Feedback #TalentDevelopment #MindfulLeadership #TVRaoLearningSystems #LifelongLearning #HumanLeadership

Something in me answered right away – I would be love.

It took just a split second to arrive.

I am love. I almost said it out loud - pure love.

Not dependent or independent of the pain or the problem.

Just … love.

But, even I began to have nagging doubts. Could I hold onto love without knowing just how the month will unfold for me? Can I hold onto love when my body aches? When the night stretches on without relief? When my mind returns to its familiar patterns? But again, what do I have to lose?

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So I Choose Love

So perhaps I was willing to experiment with the idea. With what love means. With what it looks like. With how it makes itself known.

And, in the perfect response to my expanding vibration of love, that’s when I was introduced to love on a wholly different level.

A love that knows no bounds. Pure and unconditional.

You see, our son and daughter-in-law shared that they are expecting a baby. A baby! I’m going to be a grandmother!

Suddenly, this practice of love, being love, and being in love, feels less abstract. It has somewhere to go. It has someone to meet!

Poetry Returns

I wrote to my newest inspiration almost right away, poetry easily returning to me:

I see you everywhere, my little one.

In the cherry blossoms, peeking through soft pink petals.

In the river flowing around the rocks.

In the bright blue sky, with streaks of white—

as if you are writing something just for me.

The Thread that Binds

Feeling the love bursting forth, I began writing letters to this little one waiting to be born. It became a way for me to stay connected to this concept of love in its purest form.

Then, in April, on my mother’s birthday, I was caught a bit off-guard. She would have been 100 this year.

So, I think about her. I write about her. About how strong she was. About how unconditionally she loved me. How remarkable she was. About what she might have felt, knowing this new life is coming forth.

I write to my little one. In loving memory of my mother. Of their great-grandmother. Of something that feels like a thread connecting all of us.

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Expansion of Love

Little one, you are teaching me to love again. New love. Love for the first time. It’s truly remarkable. I can love this little being I have not yet seen with such ease. With no expectations. Without fear. Without condition. Without restraint.

Which makes me wonder….

If I can love someone I haven’t met with such openness, can I love the people already in my life more openly? Can I soften the sharp edges of expectation? Can I love them without limit too?

Taking this idea further – can I include myself in this vibration of love? What about my struggles? My limitations? Can I love the whole package of me? Can I love who I’ve become?

There are ways that we invite love into our lives. There are ways we restrict the current of love from flowing.

Love is Regenerative

Love, in its purest form, does not require history, track record, evidence, or even proof of worthiness. I know this, because I am in love with someone I have never met — and there is not a single condition attached to it. Not one.

So, what would it mean to bring even a tiny bit of that unconditional love to the people already with me? To my friends navigating their own struggles. To the leader in my coaching practice who is harder on themselves than they would ever be on anyone else. To the version of myself that is still trying to figure things out.

What if my grandchild has not only given me someone to love — but has shown me how? Love isn’t a finite resource. It’s not something we can run out of.

Love is never-ending.

Mindful Minute: Are there ways that you have remained open to receiving and giving love? Small ways? Big ways? Feel free to share. Your perspectives could shift something for someone else.

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Last week, on a bright, unusually sunny spring morning in Seattle, I had the pleasure of presenting a session called, Finding Your North Star: What Coaching Really Is (And Isn’t).

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As the room began to fill, I let my eyes drift across the faces looking back at us. These were early-career women in tech. Curious. Capable. Educated. Enthusiastic. And working in the often unforgiving workforce of modern technology.

I could see them trying to take it in: the norms no one had bothered to tell them about, the codes of conduct they were still deciphering, the invisible ladders that others seemed to climb with ease. They were looking for sure footing. They were looking for a roadmap.

In That Moment, I Was Transported Back In Time

My first day at Microsoft was not the first day of my career. But, it was the first day of my career in a new country.

I arrived with what I can only describe as stars in my eyes. I was full of ambition, optimism, and an unshakeable certainty that if I worked hard enough, success would follow. Wasn’t that the American Dream?

I was a go-getter, and I knew it.

But, very quickly, I discovered something that no one tells you at orientation. Working hard is not enough. It is necessary. It is foundational. But it is not enough.

There is a whole subtext to professional life. The security of networks, the importance of advocacy, the courage to ask for what you want, the wisdom to know what you’re worth… and I didn’t speak that language yet.

Then, Microsoft sponsored me to attend a conference in the Bay area.

My World Opened Up

I sat in the audience, exactly where the women in front of me were sitting now.

I remember the feeling of my world expanding, session by session. People were talking about speaking up. About understanding your own strengths. About having clarity on your career path rather than just following wherever the current takes you. It was about finding mentors, building networks, and lifting other women around you as you rose.

My optimism, which had grown dim and diffuse in the grinding reality of figuring things out alone, began to come back. Not in the same way. I didn’t just feel hopeful again. I felt empowered.

What Followed Was Nothing Short Of Magic

I met Eddie Pate, the Diversity PM at Microsoft at the time, and asked him what I thought was a simple, innocent question: Why doesn’t Microsoft have its own women’s conference?

That question became a proposal. The proposal found its way to Charles Stevens, former VP of our division. He agreed to sponsor it. He gave us a small budget and a great deal of faith, and we built something that outlasted all of us – the first Microsoft Women’s Conference, putting women’s development at the forefront.

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Make the Invisible, Visible

I also found my mentors during this time period. Patrick Copeland and Shoshaana Budzionowski are people whose paths I could see ahead of mine and who were generous enough to share the inside view. They gave me not just inspiration but also information. They helped make the invisible, visible.

That is what this kind of investment does. That is what happens when someone with more experience says: here is what I can see that you cannot yet. Let me show you.

So, as I looked at the faces of the women in front of me last week, I felt that familiar swell of recognition and hope.

And, then I was struck.

The Room Was Half Empty

I have presented at this conference for years. I have seen rooms packed with standing-room-only audiences, humming with the energy of women hungry to grow. This time, the seats were pretty empty.

The organizers told me why: organizations are no longer sponsoring these kinds of workshops. They don’t see it as essential. Companies are in survival mode. They are placing their bets, and increasingly, they are betting on artificial intelligence over human development.

Failure to Invest is Fiscally Irresponsible

The thing is, there is no artificial intelligence in the world that can replace the learning, growth, and wisdom that come from the lived human experience. From trying and failing. From being in a room full of other people who have stumbled, then found their footing and turned to extend their hand to help someone else.

When we fail to invest in the full development of half our population, we are not making a fiscally conservative choice, we are making an extraordinarily costly one. We are leaving future potential on the table. Wisdom untapped and disavowed.

The women in that room were ready. I saw it in how they leaned forward. In their engagement. In the questions they asked. In the hunger that I saw in their eyes, because I’ve been hungry too.

They are not asking anyone to do the work for them. They are asking for what I once asked for, for what every person at the beginning of their journey hopes for — for someone further along to turn around, recognize the need to assist, and let them know that they’ve been exactly where you are. To say, “I understand how you feel. Now, let me show you what I’ve learned along the way.”

We owe them that room. That conference. That space and time for connection. We owe them that investment. In their future, and in ours.

Mindful Minute: What has been a turning point in your own career? Please share your story in the comments. Someone else might need to hear it.

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Maybe you were referred by a friend.
Maybe you came through a Substack recommendation.
Maybe you don’t even know why you clicked through.

Wherever you’re coming from and whatever is stirring within you —welcome.

This space has emerged from my personal experiences. Out of a need to make sense of moments that don’t always have easy answers. Out of times of uncertainty, change, and disruption —whether in the body, in leadership, in business, or in life itself.

What This Space Is About

At its core, this is a place for reflection. There are no quick fixes or step-by-step frameworks or productivity hacks.

Instead, you’ll find writing that sits at the intersection of:

• mindfulness and complexity

• leadership and inner awareness

• neuroscience and lived experience

• personal healing and shared humanity

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What You Can Expect

Most posts won’t tell you what to do.

They’re meant to help you pause, notice, reflect, and begin to see something in a slightly different way about your own life.

These writings may resonate if:

• You’re navigating uncertainty, personally or professionally

• You’re leading others and feel the weight of that responsibility

• You’re working through something that doesn’t have a clear solution

• You’re open to slowing down long enough to listen inwardly

How to Use This Substack

Start with what sparks your interest. Sit with it. Comment if you are compelled. And return when you feel called.

You don’t need to read everything, and you don’t need to read posts in order.

If these reflections strike a chord, there are a few ways to go further:

• Comment on the posts that speak to you

• Send me a message to connect

• Subscribe to receive new posts directly in your inbox

• Become a paid subscriber to receive exclusive monthly guided meditations

• Join as a Healing Circle member to participate in a monthly live online healing circle, where we gather together in an intentional, shared space for healing

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A Final Thought

There are moments in life when we are undergoing change and experiencing uncertainty. In those times, what we need isn’t more information — it’s space.

Space and time to process. To reconnect with what is and what will be.
Opportunities to remember who you are and to return to what matters.

If that’s something you’re seeking, I’m so glad you’re here.

I love hearing from you and learning how new ideas have been sparked by your reading. Please send me a message — I am so excited to read every single one of them!

~ Anu

🔗 If you want to catch up with me, visit my website or follow me on LinkedIn.

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In Jayanagar, a suburb of Bangalore, my sleep would also be interrupted, not only by painful adjustments and attempts to quiet the throbbing in my knee and back, but also by the incessant blaring of car horns.

One of my first nights in Bangalore, I remember thinking that the honking alone might make me deaf in no time! But, the beeping of taxis, buses, and impatient drivers told me the night was still going on, with or without me. While I fought my body for rest, the night was still alive in a way that is hard to describe unless you’ve experienced it.

Bangalore has nearly 7x the population density as the suburb I live in. It’s an overload for the senses – the colors, sounds, clutter, chaos, conversations, unceasing movement. I went from a world that never sleeps back to one that feels almost silent in comparison.

At first, that stillness felt like relief. But then, I began to miss it. Not the noise and chaos but the closeness of others. The rich tapestry of humanity closing in around me. The ease of building connection.

But this is not about elevating one city or even one culture above another. I have deep connections here, too.

Dear friends have brought me food, day after day. They come to check on me and take me out for fresh air. People check in with me. They care.

Human beings around the world are not so very different.

Pain is pain. Care is care.

Love is love. Friendship is friendship.

Yet there were times when, inexplicably, people in Bangalore quickly became a part of my everyday. Even those I didn’t personally know became an important part of my world. The fruit vendor. The taxi driver. The doorman.

In the Pacific Northwest, that sense of connection feels more fragile somehow. It’s not that connection doesn’t exist. It’s that it has to be intentionally created. Chosen. Nurtured. Scheduled even.

How do I bring what I love about there… into the life I am living here?

I am home.

This is home.

Has been home for over three decades. But right now, it doesn’t feel completely like my home.

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I’ve moved to a spare room on the ground floor to avoid the stairs. Doctor’s orders. Upstairs, my room opened onto a wide, inviting deck surrounded by a forest of evergreen trees. This one does not. It has no views. The window faces the side wall of the neighbor’s house, just three feet away.

At first, it felt claustrophobic. Now I’m getting used to the smaller space. Even beginning to like the way everything is accessible and not too far away.

Thoughts arise. Not all of them are chosen.

I know how to work with them—by noticing, naming, and not following every one.
It’s not about controlling every thought. It’s about what I do when it arrives —what I stay with. What lingers.

So, while where I am now is very different from where I was and where I have been before, each of these suburbs has a story to tell. And I’m here to listen.

It could be a conversation. A walk. A group chat sent to a few people. Over time, momentum builds, and it begins to grow and take shape.

Simple Ideas Have a Life of Their Own

Recently, I sat down with someone who has experienced this first-hand. What struck me wasn’t just what Pankaj built — but instead, how he built it.

Listen to our conversation on my podcast

It didn’t begin with a goal or a plan or even a vision. It started with curiosity and a simple desire to connect. From there, something organic and beautiful unfolded.

What began as a WhatsApp group for women in analytics became a community of over 1,500 people spanning multiple disciplines, varied interests, and all life stages.

And to think, all of this developed out of trust and curiosity.

So much of what we are taught about leadership is rooted in theories of absolute control. Authoritarian direction. Singular focus.

But when I spoke with Pankaj Rai, we talked about leadership that creates space for others. Leadership that invites participation rather than directs.

When we stop trying to control everything, something more beautiful, more collective, more alive, and more universal can begin to emerge.

There are moments when we hold on tight — out of fear, out of habit, out of a belief that if we don’t, things will fall apart. And yet, the opposite is often true.

When we allow space… things don’t fall apart. They have room to expand.

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Making Room for Expansion

This idea of expansion came up in another way during our conversation as we spoke about curiosity. Curiosity that allows you to ask questions without needing conclusions. To engage without outcomes.

In a world that values efficiency, productivity, and results, curiosity can feel… inefficient and ineffective. Yet, it is often the very thing that leads us to the most meaningful connections.

Curiosity Creates Space for Success

Our conversation also led to a reflection on success. What does it mean individually and as a collective? What defines success? Often, in moments of retrospection, we realize that it is not just our own effort that brought us to where we are, but rather the people we have connected with along the way. The conversations we’ve had. The doors that we’ve opened and that have opened for us.

There is a humility in recognizing that our success is not individually won, and there is also a responsibility to open doors for others, creating space for them to grow and expand.

As Pankaj and I moved into a reflection on technology and AI, we began to consider the disparate impact of opportunity. We are living in a time where the tools available to us are unlike anything we’ve ever had access to before. The potential of engagement with AI is immense. But it also brings to mind access.

Who has access to this life-changing technology? How do we ensure that the benefits of what we are building extend beyond the technologically engaged? How do we create inclusive systems?

Listen to the Podcast with Pankaj Rai

Trend-Setting Not Trend-Spotting

It’s easy to observe what is happening, to notice what is emerging. But there is something very powerful in choosing to act on it and in being open to the experiment. To attempt. To create. Even when the pathway is not clear.

And perhaps that brings me back to where this reflection began. To the idea that not everything needs to be fully formed before it begins.

Sometimes, all we need is a spark. A moment of curiosity, a willingness to connect, and the flexibility of letting something unfold.

We like to think leaders have all the answers. But what if leadership is about asking better questions? What if it is about creating spaces where others can step forward? What if it is about trusting that something meaningful can begin to emerge —even when we are not fully in control.

This kind of leadership creates a lasting impact in the relationships it nurtures, the communities it enables, and the opportunities it opens up for others.

In a world that is moving quickly, that kind of centered leadership matters more than ever. So, if you’ve been holding on tightly to a dream, perhaps this is an invitation to loosen your grip just a little. Stay curious. Create space for expansion and see what might emerge.

Hear from Pankaj Rai

What began as a simple WhatsApp group for women in analytics has grown into a thriving network of over 1,500 members—spanning industries, interests, and life stages. But as Pankaj shares, the growth wasn't engineered—it was enabled.

At the heart of it all are three powerful ideas: curiosity, community, and the willingness to let others lead.

In this episode, you'll discover:

• How a small idea can evolve into a large, self-sustaining community

• Why curiosity is one of the most underrated leadership traits

• What it means to "show up" for people you don't yet know

• How simple frameworks can shape health, work, and relationships

• Why the future belongs to trend-setters, not just trend-spotters

• How AI is transforming opportunity—and what it means for individuals and institutions

Pankaj also reflects on his personal journey—from IIT to IIM, and into one of India's largest organizations—and the role that mentorship, reflection, and openness have played along the way.

This is a conversation about how we build connection, create opportunity, and lead with intention in a world that is constantly changing. ___________________________

Learn more about Pankaj Rai:

Pankaj Rai is the Group Chief Data Analytics Officer at the Aditya Birla Group. He is known for building large-scale communities, including a 1,500+ member network supporting women in analytics and digital fields. With a background spanning IIT and IIM, Pankaj brings a unique perspective on leadership, curiosity, and the transformative potential of technology. Connect with him on YouTube.

If this conversation resonates, explore more reflections on leadership, resilience, and the human experience on my Substack at Mindful Leaders or on my website.

There have been painful flare-ups and days when I thought I was getting better, only to find myself pulled back down once again. Back into rest. Back into resolve. Back into a body that is not performing in the ways I have grown to expect of it.

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Visible and Invisible Shifts

My life has shifted in ways that are both visible and invisible. What once brought me joy – weekly hikes, long electronic-free walks, endless effortless movement – it’s all gone for now. In its place are hours of physical therapy, massage, short walks, cautious steps, and a very clear boundary: no stairs.

I met this downshift with intention. Knowing this would require not just physical fortitude but mental steadiness, too. So, to this challenge, I brought with me everything I know. Meditation, mindfulness, intentional vibrations, affirmations, and connection. Plus love. So much love.

People showed up for me with so much of it, showering me with food, phone calls, check-ins, offering grace, giving hope, and even just being there for me. Presence alone can shift energy. Can shift outcomes. I thought I was giving myself the time and the space to nurture the inner balance that would help me find my way through this uncertainty.

That is, until I landed in the emergency room.

Old symptoms had resurfaced. Along with them came stories — other people’s stories, their worries, their prognosis, their fears. Somewhere in that mix, I began to feel a throbbing pain in my temples. Each evening, I would meditate, and it would get better. Until that night it didn’t.

Into the Danger Zone

By the fourth day of constant throbbing, I was worried. I checked my blood pressure. I have had high BP only once in my life, and that was 35 years ago. But here it was, flashing in the red danger zone.

I wasn’t alarmed at first. I have practices. I know ways to manage the body’s reactions. Ways to settle the mind. I started with breathing techniques. I practiced them for an hour. I checked again. Instead of being improved, both numbers had gone up. A few hours and more rising numbers later, I made my way to the ER.

Many hours after that, I was home with a low-dose medication and a doctor’s prognosis of stress-induced high blood pressure. Stress.

But I wasn’t ignoring my body or my healing. Or even my stress. I was doing everything I could to align. But still, something was off, and the evidence was clear.

Peace of a Beginner

What has been obvious to me throughout this journey is that I cannot manage this on my own. So, I reached out to my teachers. My yoga and pranayama (breathing practices) teacher Ms. Rao, whom I began learning from 25 years ago, invited me back into her classes — not as a teacher, but as a student once more.

That transition was not easy. There is something humbling about returning to beginner’s space after years of practice. And yet, being a student again has brought me peace.

Observation Not Judgment

My Ayurveda mentor, Dr. Shetty, guided me in another way. He reminded me of the practice of close observation. Not analysis. Not judgment. Just observation.

Dr. Shetty invited me to look at my intake — not just of food and drink, but of everything I was taking in through my senses. What I see. What I hear. What I watch. What I smell. What I read. What I surround myself with. Who I surround myself with. And then, just as importantly, asked me to observe how I respond to it. To notice what lingers. What agitates. What soothes.

Through this practice of observation, something else began to reveal itself: Prajñāparādha.

Mistake of the Intellect

Often translated as the mistake of the intellect, that translation isn’t quite right. Prajñāparādha is about knowing better, and overriding anyway.

When I look introspectively, I cannot say this health journey began with my knee injury. Or even with my spinal cyst.

It began to take shape much earlier. So much earlier.

My pain had begun to grow roots even before the thought of summiting to Everest Base Camp became a dream. The reassuring urge to push through the pain. The impulse to ignore my body’s distress signals in order to achieve my goals.

And some dreams simply must come true. At any cost. At every cost. And for me, Everest was one of them. Eighty-six miles and 18,000 feet in elevation gain over eleven grueling days. Traversing rugged terrain in oxygen-depleted air required relentless effort and an undeniable spirit.

And I’d arrived with a hip that was already injured. At the time, doctors said I had piriformis syndrome. I was in physical therapy the very same morning that we flew out for our hike to the Himalayas.

My physical therapist demonstrated myofascial release and pressure-point therapies so my husband could perform techniques to bring me some relief while we were on the go. And yes, my hip was already throbbing when I boarded the airplane.

So I knew exactly what I was bringing with me into that trek.

And I made a conscious choice to go anyway.

There was no confusion. No lack of awareness. Just personal negotiation and lots of wishful thinking that everything would be fine. That I would manage. That I’ve handled worse.

And for eleven days, I did. I pushed through the pain. I adjusted my gait. I gritted my teeth and smiled through the hip screaming at me. I even forced myself when I had to. And I ignored everything that didn’t fit my goal, including pain and discomfort.

So, this is where I have to be honest with myself. I am not writing this to beat myself up. My trek to Everest Base Camp was not a mistake. It was a choice.

Everest was a Meaningful Choice

There are moments in life that call us forward towards challenge, towards growth, towards something larger than ourselves. And sometimes we say, “Yes”.

So, I don’t regret going. But as I sit with this reflection, I can see the journey and myself more clearly.

My injuries did not happen in a single moment. There was no dramatic fall. It was a slow accumulation of misalignments that resulted from me overstepping my personal boundaries. Small encroachments. Repeated overrides. Normalized self-denial.

It’s those times when you know you need rest, but you push through the exhaustion. When you know something hurts in your body, but you continue on day after day without seeking the guidance of an expert.

It’s when you know a conversation matters and that it needs to happen – but you delay it —sometimes for days, sometimes for years, sometimes forever. This is Prajñāparādha.

Ayurveda describes three ways this happens. Dhi, is when our understanding becomes distorted. We misjudge what is beneficial for ourselves and what is harmful. Dhriti, is when we know what is right but lack the will to act. Smriti is where we forget past consequences and repeat the same patterns again and again.

Healing is What You Consume

Through the simple act of observation, I began to notice what I was allowing into my life. Healing is not just about health-related modalities. It is also about what you consume. And that is when I began to observe the quality of energy around me.

There are moments you can feel. Someone not listening - just waiting impatiently for their turn to talk. A sense of disconnection that leaves a vacuum in the conversation. Comparison or dismissal of someone else’s experience. Perhaps even a bit of personal satisfaction in another’s struggle. Schadenfreude.

It’s as if someone else’s struggle is a way to reassure ourselves that we are okay. Personal pain lessened through comparison with another person’s struggle.

Through close observation, I began to notice how my body responded to witnessing Schadenfreude in action. My chest tightened. My gut contracted. Subtle unease. I began to see that my body was not just healing from injury. It was responding to everything I was taking in.

That observation led me to make an important choice. One to prioritize my well-being. To step away when I need to. To not absorb everything. Not to stay where it doesn’t feel good. To trust myself and my body’s signals.

Prajñāparādha cannot be fixed overnight. But it is something to be aware of. Through this awareness, we can begin to build a little more understanding. And then, slowly, realignment.

This journey is not just about my knee or my spine. Or even my hip. It is about the injuries beneath the injuries. About the visible and the invisible pain. About all the ways I have learned to override myself. The ways I have normalized self-denial along the way. And all the ways I am being invited to listen and respond anew.

I had plans to kick off the year. It would begin with a retreat at Kaivalyadhama in Lonavala, a place devoted to yoga, healing, and the wisdom of the body.

But before that could happen, the MRI results for the pain I was having in my spine came through, and the results changed the trajectory of my joy.

It wasn’t just one problem; two things had become very apparent with the advanced imaging – a growing spinal cyst and a meniscus tear in my knee.

My body, the one I’d trusted for decades, became almost alien and uncertain to me.

I’d believed that with enough discipline and careful attention, my body would find its way back to health. Now that belief was being tested.

And slowly… another realization began to surface. My very definition of a well-lived life would have to shift as well.

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The Endless Night

Sleep became elusive. Nights stretched on painfully and mercilessly.

I’d lie awake for hours, tossing and turning from one side to another, exhaustively searching for a position that did not aggravate my back or provide a sharp reminder of the pain in my knee. Every adjustment brought only temporary relief.

In those lonely hours caught between cat naps and the pursuit of relief, unavoidable questions began to bubble up.

Questions like …Why did this happen to me? What is happening with my body now?

I remembered my discipline and unwavering trust in my body and its equanimity, but my confidence was shaken. I knew that no amount of discipline would heal my ailments. If healing were to happen, it would require something I was less practiced in. It would require accepting help from others.

The Month of Small Miracles

February brought with it the wonder of small miracles. Nothing dramatic. But the kind of miracle that counts.

It was my spine doctor who patiently convinced me that pregabalin would help my nervous system settle enough for sleep to return. It was the kind Ayurveda therapists, Tanu and Sreelakshmi, who worked tirelessly with my body, absolutely resolute in its potential to heal.

It was my loving sister and my niece who cared for me with a tenderness that only family can provide and made sure I was eating healthy food to help heal my body.

It was friends and helpers appearing in ways that felt both ordinary and, in their quotidian, absolutely profound.

The universe seemed to gather the right people around me at the right time.

For someone who had built much of their life on personal independence and discipline, learning to accept help and understand that my healing had become collective was a humbling experience.

But in between treatments, small moments began to shine. Observing everyday life happening from my balcony was enlivening. The pomegranate held a remarkable sweetness to it I hadn’t observed before. Papaya and guava tasted better than I remembered.

Life was still unfolding beautifully in small, ordinary moments.

A Different Kind of Living

As the body began to yield with consistency and focus, something began to shift in my perspective, too. I’d started to allow myself small indulgences.

Dessert before a meal!

Sweets like my favorite, the famous Mysore Pak, that my internal discipline would normally have resisted, became an almost daily treat.

And it felt oddly liberating. I was learning that healing required something beyond discipline. It required tenderness and grace. This realization helped me center on ease for my transition out of India and back to the Pacific Northwest.

Ease in Acceptance

As I began to plan and prepare for my journey out of India, the word ease became an important focal point. With all of the uncontrollable external factors affecting our journey, inviting ease into every moment became my goal.

I had stopped demanding that life be any different than it was. I accepted my body in its imperfection and sometimes in its pain. Ease was accepting help from others. It was noticing the deliciousness of ordinary moments.

The Real Journey

So yeah, my definition of a well-lived life has been inexorably altered. And for a while, it felt like defeat.

But slowly, through sleepless nights and pain-filled days, with consistent care and kind intentions, a new definition of a well-lived life has begun to emerge.

Being strong doesn’t mean going it alone. It means allowing yourself to accept help. To understand that the healing you need might have to come from beyond your own application of discipline and resilience. This new definition has also left room for me to discover something new about myself. It has pushed me to question my own narrative and to begin to rewrite my story of a well-lived life.

I’ll be honest – I didn’t expect this kind of rapid growth, but I think what seems to resonate is a willingness to reflect, to sit with uncertainty, and to talk about difficult things, even while the journey is still unfolding.

We’re all trying to make sense of life in the messy middle of the unresolved, finding joy where we can and seeking ways to relate our own experience to those of others.

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What This Space Is (and is Becoming)

This is a space where mindfulness meets lived (and shared) experiences. It’s where we explore leadership as awareness, reflection, and introspection.

Most of you are navigating change in your own lives. You are leading teams, organizations, and families. You are tasked with making decisions in increasingly uncertain environments.

At the same time, you are asking important questions. Questions like:

• How do I remain centered when the ground feels like it is shifting underneath me?

• How do I lead with authenticity?

• How do I stay open and mindful with all the external pressures?

These are not questions that can easily be answered with frameworks and carefully executed organizational development formulas.

This is where the work is. And where the magic happens.

Spreading Joy and Shifting Perspectives

Joy. This growth is a source of joy for me. It is a signal that people are interested and resonating with the material. It means that I can spread joy around the world and help shift perspectives more broadly.

But with this growth is also a sense of responsibility to be thoughtful about what I share and honest about what I’m going through, even when it’s not pleasant or resolved.

There are still a few more reflections from India that I’ll be sharing in the coming months - they are stories that continue to unfold in their own special ways the longer I sit with them.

I’ll also be sharing takeaways from two podcast interviews I am hosting with some incredibly inspirational business leaders whom I met while there. These discussions will explore elements of leadership, development, and community engagement.

And together, we’ll continue to explore the beauty of life unfolding around us. We’ll marvel at the big moments and reflect on the small, almost inconsequential ones that form the tapestry of our lives.

Quite Simply, Thank You

If you’ve been here from the beginning or joined just recently, thank you.

Thank you for reading and for being open to these kinds of reflections. If something in here has resonated with you, I invite you to share it with someone who might find it valuable as well.

I always appreciate hearing from you, so let me know what’s stirring!

I’m grateful to be here, together with you.