Striving towards Excellence

-Karthik Gurumurthy

I've been thinking about this whole idea of aging and making mistakes lately. There's this comforting truth that as long as we learn from our past mistakes and try not to repeat them, we're doing okay.

I'm realizing that the rules that apply to me apply to everyone else too. We're all getting older together, and not necessarily getting much wiser! Once I accepted this, I found myself becoming more forgiving and kinder to both myself and others.

The good news is that time really does heal, and things do get better as you age. The more mistakes you've already made, the less likely you are to make those particular ones again. That's why youth is so valuable - it's basically this period where you can make tons of mistakes and get them out of your system early!

But here's the thing - this idea that we automatically get wiser with age? Not exactly true. We keep being just as capable of messing up, we just make different mistakes. It's like there's this whole "pickle jar" of fresh mistakes just waiting for us to fall into. The real wisdom is accepting this and not beating yourself up when you inevitably screw up something new.

I can look back and clearly see all the mistakes I've made, but I'm completely blind to the ones waiting for me around the corner. That's just how it works. True wisdom isn't about becoming perfect - it's about learning how to mess up and still walk away with your dignity and sanity intact.

When we're young, we think aging only happens to "old people," but it happens to all of us, and it seems to accelerate the older we get. The more adventurous and flexible we are, the more new territory we'll explore - which means more opportunities to make entirely new and creative mistakes!

In a way, making new mistakes is a sign you're still growing and trying new things. It's all part of the "getting older but not necessarily wiser" journey that we're all on together.

-Karthik Gurumurthy

I find Kahlil Gibran's quote really profound: "I have learned silence from the talkative; tolerance from the intolerant and kindness from the unkind. I should not be ungrateful to those teachers."

This resonates with me because of specific experiences in my life. For example, I once had a coworker who would dominate every meeting with endless talking, interrupting others and rarely pausing to listen. Initially, this drove me crazy, but over time, I began to notice how others disengaged when someone monopolized conversations. This "talkative teacher" inadvertently showed me the power of thoughtful silence - I became more deliberate about listening fully, creating space for quieter voices, and valuing quality of contribution over quantity. Their excessive talking taught me the importance of silence in a way that a naturally quiet person never could. It's such a powerful flip of perspective to see difficult people as teachers rather than just obstacles.

Similarly, I encountered a particularly judgmental family member who seemed to have rigid opinions about everything from politics to how I should live my life. While their intolerance was frustrating, it made me examine my own judgments more carefully. When I found myself starting to make snap judgments about others, I'd remember how it felt to be on the receiving end of that intolerance. This difficult relative became my unexpected teacher in developing a more open-minded, tolerant approach to differences.

The most powerful lesson came from a neighbor who rarely returned greetings and seemed deliberately unkind in small interactions. Their coldness initially made me defensive, but eventually, I challenged myself to respond with consistent warmth regardless of their reaction. This practice of offering kindness without expectation of return strengthened my ability to choose my responses rather than just react. The unkind neighbor taught me a deeper, more unconditional form of kindness than my naturally friendly connections ever could.

Gibran's wisdom helps me see that sometimes our best teachers aren't those who model what to do, but those who show us what not to do - and in that contrast, we find our own path more clearly. Every person I run into and every situation I face is basically offering me free life lessons if I'm paying attention. I've noticed I learn what I truly value in people when I pay attention to what bugs me about them. And I discover more about myself when I'm honest about the stuff that doesn't sit right with me.

It's so easy to dismiss experiences as "worthless" just because they're boring or annoying. I do the same with people whose backgrounds are different from mine. But it takes real intention and effort to see the value in every moment. Each one is teaching me something if I'm willing to pay attention. And it's funny how the lessons that help me grow the most are usually the ones I appreciate the least when they're happening. 

I'm trying to remember that whatever annoys or upsets me today is probably going to teach me something I wouldn't learn any other way.

-Karthik Gurumurthy

I've noticed something profound about how we invest our time...

We willingly dedicate four or six years to earning a diploma, convinced it's essential for our happiness. Yet how many of us invest even three months—let alone a year—in learning to navigate our emotions, to listen with genuine compassion, or to speak with kindness?

This disparity has made me wonder: What if we approached emotional intelligence with the same dedication we give to formal education?

I've come to believe that learning to transform anger, sadness, and despair is as crucial as any academic pursuit. When we develop the skills of loving speech and deep listening, we don't just improve our own lives—we become capable of bringing genuine happiness to others.

The more I think about it, the more I'm convinced that these emotional and interpersonal skills might be the most heroic education of all. They transform us into people who can truly make a difference in the world, one compassionate interaction at a time.

Perhaps it's time I invested in this other kind of diploma—the one that teaches us how to be fully human.

-Karthik Gurumurthy

You know, I've been thinking about how we respond to people's problems. Sometimes, we hear about issues that don't actually have neat solutions. But that's not why people share them with us in the first place. They're including us in their process, inviting us to be part of their journey.

What they need might be sympathy, a shoulder to cry on, or just some basic kindness. I've learned that knowing when to offer a comforting cup of tea and a listening ear versus when to roll up my sleeves with practical tools is a real skill. I try to get it right, but honestly? I still mess up more often than I'd like to admit.

And about conflicts? I've decided to always be the first to say sorry. Doesn't matter who started it or who was right. When both people are acting like stubborn children, someone needs to be the adult in the room.

We all have disagreements sometimes—it's just human nature. But I've made a commitment to myself that I'll be the one to extend the olive branch first. Why? Because I'm secure enough in myself that apologizing doesn't diminish me. I can say sorry and still stand tall, still keep my dignity intact.

When I apologize, it's genuine. I'm truly sorry that we got caught up in an argument that probably made us forget what really matters. By the time a disagreement escalates to a falling out, we've already made several mistakes along the way, no matter how small the initial issue was.

Strong people don't hesitate to apologize first. It's not weakness—it's actually one of the strongest moves you can make.

-Karthik Gurumurthy

I've discovered this about making positive life changes: don't preach about it! Keep it to yourself.

It's funny how when you change your attitude and start feeling better, people naturally notice and ask what you've done. The trick is to just say "nothing" or "just having a good day" without going into details. People don't actually want the full story - they're just making conversation.

It's like when someone asks "How are you?" They're expecting "Fine" as the answer, not your life story. If you start unloading all your problems (or your amazing transformation), they'll back away pretty quick! I am guilty of giving a long reply when I landed in US three decades back-:)

I'm learning to be  someone who makes positive changes without broadcasting it.  I have witnessed people who quietly applied the principles without bragging about it were much more successful.

Even when you're excited about your changes and want to share them, you should resist the urge. Let others discover things for themselves. It might seem unfair, but people tend to shy away when they feel they're being preached at.

It reminds me of ex-smokers who suddenly become evangelists for quitting and drive all their smoking friends crazy. Nobody likes that person! Better to just quietly go about your life, making your improvements with a bit of private smugness rather than public preaching. Make your positive changes, enjoy them, but don't become a smart-arse about it! 

PS: Even this blog post, I wanted to keep it short but somehow we have a way to share more than what's necessary. I will stop now.

-Karthik Gurumurthy

I've been reflecting on Merle Shain's insight that "one often learns more from ten days of agony than from ten years of contentment," and it resonates deeply with my own journey.

When I look back at the periods of intense struggle in my life – I experienced a profound sense of betrayal upon discovering the lack of transparency within the business venture I had committed myself to, that painful misunderstanding with a relative of mine, or my dad's demise due to cancer that forced me to reevaluate everything – these concentrated moments of difficulty taught me more about myself than the long stretches of smooth sailing ever did. During my comfortable years, I was on autopilot, rarely questioning my direction or examining my values. But those brief periods of agony? They cracked me open. 

Pain has this way of cutting through the noise and forcing clarity. It strips away pretense and reveals what truly matters. When everything hurts, I can't hide from myself anymore – I have to face my fears, my weaknesses, and ultimately, my capacity for growth. I don't usually welcome these changes (who does?), and sometimes the change actually makes things hurt even worse for a while. But given enough time, I usually look back and think "oh, now I get why that had to happen." I'm not saying I seek out suffering, but I've learned to approach difficult times with a different mindset. Instead of just enduring the pain until it passes, I try to remain open to its lessons, asking "What is this teaching me that contentment never could?"

The wisdom gained through suffering has a different quality – it's deeper, more embodied, and somehow more authentic than intellectual understanding alone. These lessons stick with me because they were earned through genuine struggle, not just passively received during easy times.

The chill, peaceful times in life have their own purpose too. They give me space to catch my breath, adjust to all the changes, and nurture this "new me" that's emerging from all the hard stuff.

I've been working on seeing all my experiences - good and bad - as necessary parts of my journey. When I can do this, I drop a lot of the negativity I'd normally attach to difficult situations. Sometimes I can even appreciate those tough times, recognizing how they've helped me grow into who I am today.

A positive attitude today will definitely make everything I experience more valuable. And the cool thing is, that attitude is totally my choice to make.

-Karthik Gurumurthy

King Midas's story is a Greek legend that powerfully illustrates the danger of getting exactly what we wish for.

In the ancient tale, King Midas was obsessed with accumulating wealth, particularly gold. When granted a wish by the gods, he wished for the power to turn everything he touched into gold - the famous "Midas touch." Initially, this seemed like a dream come true - every object he touched instantly transformed into solid gold, makintg him unimaginably wealthy.

However, the tragic consequences of his wish quickly became apparent:

• When he tried to eat, his food turned to gold
• When he tried to drink, his wine turned to gold
• Most devastatingly, when he hugged his beloved daughter, she was transformed into a lifeless golden statue

The story reaches its climax when Midas realizes his "blessing" is actually a curse. He becomes desperate to rid himself of this power, understanding too late that his obsession with wealth had cost him everything that truly mattered in life.

I see modern versions of the Midas touch all around me. Take my friend Alex's father, a successful tech entrepreneur who, like Midas, was obsessed with turning everything into 'gold' - in this case, monetary success. He pushed all his children toward high-paying tech careers, regardless of their interests. Just as Midas discovered the terrible cost of his wish when he turned his daughter into a golden statue, Alex's father realized too late that his singular focus on financial success was turning his relationships with his children cold and lifeless.

The story's wisdom particularly hits home when I think about parenting patterns I've observed. I remember Elika, a  student o f mine whose parents were so focused on creating a 'golden' future for her - prestigious college, law school, partner track - that they inadvertently turned every family interaction into a performance review. Like Midas's power, what seemed like a blessing (their resources and connections) became a burden that stifled her authentic self.

What strikes me most about the Midas story is how it exposes the confusion between what we think will make us happy and what actually brings fulfillment. I've experienced this myself when I was so focused on achieving certain professional milestones that I nearly turned my passion into something cold and lifeless - much like Midas's golden touch. It took a personal crisis, my own version of Midas's wake-up call, to realize I was pursuing success at the cost of what truly mattered.

The key lessons I've drawn from this ancient tale feel surprisingly relevant:

• First, be wary of one-dimensional wishes. Like Midas's obsession with gold, single-minded pursuit of any one thing - whether it's wealth, status, or achievement - can turn life's richness into something sterile.
• Second, consider the unintended consequences. Just as Midas didn't think through what 'everything to gold' really meant, we often don't fully consider how our wishes might affect other aspects of our lives.
• Finally, and perhaps most importantly, recognize that what we think will bring happiness often isn't what we truly need. Like Midas, who thought unlimited wealth would bring fulfillment, we sometimes chase things that ultimately leave us unable to embrace what really matters.

These lessons become particularly poignant when I think about how they apply to parenting and mentoring.

I've seen the opposite approach work wonderfully with another family. My colleague Lisa's parents gave their children what I call 'fertile soil' rather than a 'golden touch.' When their son showed interest in becoming a chef instead of joining the family's engineering firm, they supported his passion while ensuring he understood the practical challenges. They provided resources for growth without dictating the direction - more like gardeners than goldsmiths.

I've noticed three critical patterns:

1. When parents and mentors focus on 'polishing' rather than developing, they risk creating beautiful but hollow achievements - like Midas's golden statues.
2. The most successful mentor-mentee relationships I've seen maintain what I call 'living flexibility' - like a tree that's both strong and able to bend.
3. The best outcomes often come when guides focus on developing judgment rather than dictating paths - teaching how to think rather than what to think.

The irony, much like in Midas's story, is that parents and mentors who hold too tightly to their vision of success often end up with exactly what they didn't want - children and mentees who are either rebellious or unfulfilled. The real gold, I've learned, isn't in the outcomes we can control, but in the genuine growth and discovery we can nurture.

-Karthik Gurumurthy

Let me share my perspective on how this fear of mistakes plays out, something I've observed closely in our educational and professional circles.

I see it all the time - bright students who are genuinely fascinated by pure sciences, perhaps physics or molecular biology, but end up choosing engineering because it feels like the 'safer' path. I think about my friend Vidya, who loved theoretical physics but opted for computer engineering because, in her words, 'At least I know I'll get a job.' I've seen brilliant minds who light up during chemistry experiments or astronomical discussions, but choose engineering because it's the most-trodden path.

I think about my friend Newman, who spent ten years in corporate finance not because he loved it, but because it felt safe. He had this brilliant idea for a technology startup, but kept saying, 'What if I fail? What if I lose my savings? What if people think I'm foolish?' He was so afraid of making a mistake that he made what I consider the bigger mistake - not trying at all. 

I see this pattern play out in subtle ways too. There's my colleague Priya, who excels at creative problem-solving but keeps quiet in meetings because she's afraid of suggesting something 'wrong.' Or my friend Mahesh, who stayed in his hometown because moving to pursue his dreams in a bigger city seemed too uncertain. Each time, the fear of making mistakes becomes a cage that limits our potential.

But here's what I've learned: those who achieve the most remarkable things often have the messiest journeys. Take my friend Alex- he left a prestigious law career to start a tech company, had a lot of hiccups, and then finally succeeded. Each 'mistake' taught him something crucial that contributed to his eventual success. If we refuse to cut ourselves some slack for messing up, then we'll be disinclined to take chances.

The irony is that playing it safe doesn't actually protect us from mistakes - it just limits our potential for growth and discovery. I've started to see that the real mistake isn't failing at something new - it's letting the fear of failure keep us marching along with everybody else, never discovering what might have been possible if we'd dared to step off the beaten path. If we're afraid that the beat of our own drummer might lead us to a misstep, then we can only march along with everybody else.

-Karthik Gurumurthy

I've come to realize that finding your true calling is less like following a GPS and more like exploring an unmarked trail. Take my friend Gikku's journey - he started as an accountant because it seemed logical and secure. Few years in, he felt that nagging emptiness, despite his years of investing in the field.

He first tried  working on umpiring, thinking it might fill the creative void. Then he explored sport journalism which led him to realize he loved the sports aspect more than the Journalism part. Each 'detour' wasn't really a detour at all - it was a necessary step in understanding what he truly wanted.

I see this in my own journey too. I spent years in Chemistry, then in Bioinformatics, then program management and coaching. Each role taught me something crucial about what energized me and what drained me. Like my Gikku's experience with accountancy - where he had to fully understand it wasn't his true calling before he could embrace sports journalism - sometimes we need to fully explore and even exhaust certain paths to recognize they're not quite right. 

What fascinates me is how our minds work in these strange ways,. We think we should have clear, logical progressions, but often our hearts know things before our minds can explain them. It's like my colleague Sarah, who kept taking art classes while pursuing her PhD in biology. Everyone, including herself, saw it as just a hobby until she realized her true passion was in scientific illustration - a perfect blend of both worlds that she couldn't have planned for.

The process is often complicated by external expectations and internal guilt. A former coworker of mine had a prestigious law degree but found himself drawn to opening a small bakery. The hardest part wasn't learning the new skills - it was giving herself permission to want something different from what he'd invested years preparing for.

What I've learned is that this messiness is not just normal - it's necessary. Each 'failed' attempt, each pivot, each moment of doubt contributes to our understanding of ourselves. I've noticed that true calling often reveals itself in those small moments of lost time - when you're so engaged that hours feel like minutes. Like when you're breaking down the periodic table into a story that makes students' eyes light up with understanding, or when you find yourself sketching molecular structures on napkins at dinner because you're excited about making a complex concept clearer.When we finally find our true calling, it often comes with that unmistakable feeling of both responsibility and joy - a gravity that holds us in place not through obligation, but through genuine alignment with who we are.

The key is to stay open to these seemingly random explorations while paying attention to what truly resonates. Sometimes our calling finds us while we're busy looking somewhere else.

-Karthik Gurumurthy

I've been reflecting deeply on what privilege truly means, and it's fascinating how it goes far beyond just material comfort. While having a comfortable home, good food, and financial security is important, I've come to understand that the real essence of privilege lies in having choices - the freedom to explore different paths in life.

This reminds me of two contrasting stories that really illuminate this idea. First, there's my friend Charu, who comes from a well-to-do family and attended an elite university. On paper, she had everything - financial security, excellent education, and clear career paths laid out before her. But her privilege paradoxically became a constraint because her family had such rigid expectations about what constituted an 'acceptable' career. They'd given her a universe of possibilities with one hand while taking most of them away with the other, pushing her toward traditional prestigious professions like law or medicine, regardless of her own interests.

Then there's this other story that really resonates with me - about someone who took a wonderfully meandering path to find their calling. They started in mechanical engineering, then followed their curiosity through physics, mathematics, fine arts, and finally to architecture. What strikes me is how each shift wasn't a failure but a necessary step in their journey. Despite their parents' anxiety and friends' confusion, each change brought them closer to understanding what they truly wanted.

This journey particularly speaks to me because I've seen similar patterns in my own life and those of others around me. I have a cousin who started in Commerce, switched to psychology, and eventually found his passion in Marine  Management . At each step, he was told she was 'wasting' his opportunities, but really, he was using his privilege exactly as it should be used - as the freedom to explore and find his authentic path.

The real insight for me is that true privilege isn't just about having opportunities - it's about having the freedom to explore them without being constrained by others' expectations or rigid definitions of success. It's like having a map with multiple possible routes rather than being forced down a single predetermined path.

This makes me think about how we often mistake 'the right choice' for 'the safe choice' or 'the obvious choice.' Real privilege is having the courage and support to wander through that labyrinth of choices until you find what truly resonates with you, even if that path looks messy or unconventional to others.

-Karthik Gurumurthy

I've been reflecting deeply on this parenting philosophy of giving children 'enough to do anything, but not enough to do nothing.' It's like providing a robust launching pad while ensuring they still need to build their own rocket.

I see this in how my friend Priya parents her children. She pays for their college education - giving them the freedom to pursue their dreams without crippling debt - but expects them to work part-time jobs for their personal expenses. This teaches them both the value of education and the importance of work ethic. The 'enough to do anything' is the education; the 'not enough to do nothing' is the responsibility for their own spending money.

Another example that really strikes me is how my colleague Dylan  handles his family business. Instead of simply handing his daughter a executive position, he first required her to work elsewhere for five years. He gave her 'enough' by providing the opportunity to eventually join the family business, but not 'enough to do nothing' by making her prove herself in the outside world first. She had to earn her way back in, bringing fresh perspectives and proven capabilities.

I've also observed this principle in smaller, everyday situations. Like my friend Visu who helps his son with a down payment for a house but expects him to qualify for and pay the mortgage himself. Or another family I know who funded their children's graduate school but only after they'd worked for two years and could articulate exactly why they needed the advanced degree.

What fascinates me is how this approach creates a perfect balance between support and challenge. It's like installing training wheels but making sure they come off at the right time. Too many training wheels for too long, and the child never learns true balance. Remove them too early, and you risk unnecessary falls and lost confidence.

I've noticed that families who practice this principle tend to raise children who are both confident in their abilities and realistic about life's challenges. They understand that while they may have advantages, those advantages are tools to build with, not cushions to rest on. They learn that privilege comes with responsibility, and opportunity must be matched with effort.

This balance seems particularly crucial in today's world, where we're trying to prepare children for careers and challenges that might not even exist yet. The goal isn't to give them everything, but to give them just enough to develop the capabilities to figure things out for themselves.

-Karthik Gurumurthy

Lot of people think of luck as an opportunity that lands in our lap - but what we do with that opportunity is what truly matters.

For example, someone gets introduced to an influential person at a random networking event (initial luck). They could either let that connection fade, or they could follow up thoughtfully, provide value to that relationship, and turn it into a meaningful professional partnership. Those who "earn" this luck often send relevant articles to their new contact, offer to help with projects, and maintain genuine communication.

Another example is receiving an unexpected job interview through a friend's recommendation. The initial luck is getting the interview, but earning it means thoroughly preparing for the interview, researching the company extensively, and then working diligently once hired to prove the recommendation was warranted.

Think of a musician who gets a viral moment on social media. That's the initial luck - but turning that viral moment into a sustainable career requires consistent content creation, engaging with fans, and continuously improving their craft. Many viral sensations fade away, while others "earn" their lucky break through dedication.

There's also everyday luck, like having good health. We can earn this luck by maintaining healthy habits, regular exercise, and proper nutrition - or we can take it for granted and potentially lose it.

The key principle is that initial luck opens a door, but it's our subsequent actions that determine whether we walk through that door and make something meaningful of the opportunity. This perspective invites me to ask myself: How am I honoring the advantages I've been given? Am I using my own "grace" - whatever form it takes - to create value for others? It's not about feeling guilty for our advantages or resentful of our disadvantages, but about recognizing that the true measure of our worth lies in what we do with whatever circumstances we've been given.

Even in everyday situations - maybe you stumbled upon a useful professional connection through a chance meeting. Humility is understanding "I didn't strategically orchestrate this meeting - it was random luck." But action is following through, being reliable, adding value to the relationship, and building something meaningful from that initial lucky encounter.

The power lies in this dual recognition: we can simultaneously acknowledge the role of chance in our lives (keeping us humble) while also taking full responsibility for what we do with our circumstances (spurring us to action). It's about saying "I may not have chosen my starting point, but I can choose what I do from here."

-Karthik Gurumurthy

I'm struck by the deep wisdom about life's fundamental randomness and what we make of it.  By Life's fundamental randomness, I mean the inherent unpredictability and chance elements that shape our existence - where and when we're born, the opportunities or challenges that unexpectedly arise, the people we happen to meet, and countless other factors outside our control.

-Karthik Gurumurthy

Let me tell you about Shoba, a seasoned public speaker who discovered three magical secrets about transforming time. It all started when she was preparing for what seemed like just another corporate presentation.

Staring at her blank slides one evening, Shoba caught herself asking that age-old question: "How am I going to fill these 60 minutes?" Then it hit her - she was asking the wrong question entirely. It wasn't about filling time; it was about filling minds. She remembered watching her favorite teacher in school, who never seemed concerned about the clock but instead focused on lighting up eyes with understanding.

But Shoba's story doesn't stop there. One day, stuck in a two-hour flight delay, she noticed something fascinating. While everyone around her was mindlessly scrolling through their phones, muttering about "killing time," an elderly gentleman next to her was writing heartfelt letters to his grandchildren. "I'm not killing time," he told her with a twinkle in his eye, "I'm mining it for gold."

The final piece of Shoba's time transformation clicked into place after a particularly chaotic week. She'd been beating herself up about "making up for lost time" when her wise friend Sofia stopped her in her tracks.

"Lost time?" Sofia asked, raising an eyebrow. "Tell me, Shoba, can you change what happened yesterday?"

"No," Shoba admitted.

"Can you control what happens tomorrow?"

"No..."

"Then why waste today worrying about either?"

From these experiences, Shoba learned three powerful lessons about transforming time:

1. Don't just fill time - fill minds (like her teacher did)
2. Don't kill time - mine it for gold (like the elderly gentleman)
3. Don't chase lost time - treasure the present (like Sofia taught her)

Now, whenever Shoba speaks, trains, or even just waits in line at the coffee shop, she remembers these lessons. She's become something of a time alchemist, turning ordinary moments into golden opportunities for growth, connection, and purpose.

And here's the best part - she discovered that when you treat each moment as precious, you never really waste time at all. You just keep transforming it into something better.

-Karthik Gurumurthy

I've come to understand something profound about the people who enter our lives...

Life has taught me that we'll encounter two types of people, without fail. The first kind skims through who we are like someone speed-reading a novel, their finger racing down the index, stopping only at the chapters that serve their immediate interest. They extract what they need and move on, leaving the rest of our story unread.

Then there's the second type—those beautiful souls who approach us like devoted readers savoring every page. They take their time with our chapters, even the difficult ones. They fold down corners at the passages that move them most, marking the parts of us that inspire them. These people see our story as something worth treasuring, worth understanding in full.

I've realized that meeting both types is inevitable—it's written into the fabric of our human experience. But here's what keeps me wondering: there's a third reader we never see coming.

This is the person who doesn't just read our story—they become part of it. They don't merely finish our sentences; they help write new chapters. They don't just hold our book; they keep it safe, understanding that our story continues beyond any single page or chapter.

The recognition of these three types has changed how I view relationships. I no longer feel hurt when someone only skims my surface—I understand that's their way of reading. I cherish more deeply those who take time with my whole story. And I remain open, always, to that unexpected third reader who might appear when I least expect it.

Perhaps the most beautiful part is realizing that we, too, play these roles in others' stories. The question becomes: which kind of reader will we choose to be?

-Karthik Gurumurthy

Hey, let's get real about New Year's resolutions - they usually crash and burn faster than a TikTok trend! Instead of saying "I'm gonna lose 10 pounds" (and giving up by February), let's talk about building habits that actually stick.

Think of it like building a house: you don't just throw up the walls and hope for the best. You need a solid foundation. Here are some game-changing habits that actually work:

1. The Sleep-Wake Sweet Spot: Forget the "5 AM club" hype - it's not for everyone! Bob Iger (Disney's boss) loves early mornings, I prefer it too but if you're more productive at midnight like my friend Prashant, own it! The key isn't when you wake up, it's what you do with your alert hours.
2. Move Your Body (But Make It Fun): Even presidents make time for exercise! Eisenhower played golf, others hit the gym. Find your thing - maybe it's dancing in your living room or shooting hoops. Just move!
3. Goals > Resolutions: Instead of "I want to get rich," try "I'm going to learn about investing and save 10% of each paycheck." See the difference? One's a wish, the other's a plan.
4. Find Your "Why": Microsoft's CEO Satya Nadella asked, "What would happen if Microsoft didn't exist?" Ask yourself the same about your life. Heavy stuff, but it helps!
5. Never Stop Learning: With free resources everywhere (podcasts, YouTube, blogs), there's no excuse. Schedule it like you schedule Netflix time!
6. Take Real Breaks: Vacation isn't just for Instagram pics - your brain needs actual downtime. Even if it's just a staycation where you turn off your work notifications.

The Secret Sauce? Don't Try to Change Everything at Once: It's like trying to juggle while riding a unicycle - you're gonna fall! Start small. Maybe begin with one habit, like reading for 10 minutes before bed. Once that's solid, add another.

And here's the real talk: Your willpower is like a phone battery - it runs out! That's why you might crush your healthy eating goals all day but demolish a bag of chips at night. When this happens (and it will), don't beat yourself up. Just recharge and start fresh.

Remember: The goal isn't to become perfect - it's to become better. As they say, Rome wasn't built in a day, but they were laying bricks every hour. What brick are you going to lay today?