Knowledge: Boon or bane for Creativity?

Do something great.

I am at a crossroads. Staying on the path offers predictability, certainty, security. Turning left offers satisfaction, a sense of achievement, a chance for glory. Turning right offers excitement, new vistas, possibly misery but also creativity and gratification like nothing else. Guess which path I know the least about. The one to the right. But is it the right one for me? Am I ready for something creative?

Research suggests that the relationship between knowledge and creativity is complex and nuanced. Creativity is the result of a complex thinking process, so there are many influencing factors such as knowledge, thinking skills, motivation, environment... Knowledge provides a strong foundation for creative thinking. A thirst for knowledge is essential for creative exploration. Broad knowledge exposes you to diverse ideas and perspectives. A deep understanding of a domain empowers you to develop effective and innovative solutions.

At the core of this idea is the Ten Year Rule which shows that even the most noteworthy and talented individuals require many years of preparation before they begin to produce their masterpieces.

But can too much knowledge get in the way of creativity?

Too much knowledge can sometimes overload your cognitive processes, making it harder to think creatively. Deep knowledge can lead to confirmation bias, where you may be more inclined to seek information that confirms your existing beliefs, hindering open-mindedness. With expertise comes a sense of comfort and security, which can make you less willing to take risks and explore unconventional ideas. I know that that this risk-aversion has definitely stunted my entrepreneurial instincts.

Dean Keith Simonton’s U-shaped relation between creativity and education is based on research, which studied over 300 visionary individuals born between 1450 and 1850. The results showed that while some formal education may be necessary for creative development, excessive academic training may frame one’s thoughts into rigid stereotypes and paralyse creativity.

Is there an optimum? A point at which one feels they have sufficient knowledge to make a viable decision?

The Dunning–Kruger effect, a cognitive bias in which people with limited competence in a particular domain overestimate their abilities, explains this. As a corollary, high performers tend to underestimate their skills.

I suppose the key is in finding a balance. And, and this is a big AND, having a bias for action and experimentation. A moderate level of knowledge seems to be optimal for creativity. Too little, and you lack the foundation; too much, and you could be becoming overly rigid in your thinking and too risk-averse.

As I meander (and flounder) through this river of self-discovery, I'm consciously choosing to rely on three stepping stones - open-mindedness to new experiences, a growth mindset to view any mistakes as learning opportunities, and some playfulness where I jump into something just to have a good time.

I'm discovering that what hangs in the balance is not whether I'll do something great, but simply whether I'll do anything at all. I'm choosing to do something. Period. 

Bridges from the Past

Last week was atypical in so many ways, not least because I was in a foreign land. Foreign, but not unfamiliar by any means. I had the wonderfully nostalgic and refreshing opportunity to attend the 20-year Reunion of my MBA cohort, at the University of Oxford.  

With each person that I met again, many literally after 20 years, I thought of what had changed in the time that had passed. Time's a funny thing, isn't it? Like a trickster, it can play with our minds. It's like magic!

Sometimes, you can spend years with someone and still feel like strangers. And then, there are those times when you meet someone and it's like you've known them forever. You can see someone every day and still feel like you're miles apart. But you can meet someone after years and it's like no time has passed.

The top three questions that came up in all initial conversations were: #1 what do you do now and what's been the journey, in terms of locations and vocations, over 20 years? #2 how many kids do you have and how old are they? #3 when was the last time you were in Oxford?

#2 and #3 were a matter of fact. What struck me was the diversity in the stories I heard in response to #1. Of course, this was to be expected simply given how diverse we had been as a class, 170 people from 47 countries, almost a third of whom had made it for this occasion. It was by far one of the most talented, fiercely driven, and brightest groups of people I've ever been amongst. So it was understandable that many had risen to the top of their chosen professions, while some had changed their vocations completely, yet achieved measurable success. Overall, it spelt a certain sense of equilibrium as far as a professional identity was concerned.

But I was most intrigued by the stories where people had taken a pause in their careers, or veered off the beaten path, or decided that they needed more change before settling down into stability. And this got me thinking about why, in this day and age of knowledge work, technologically well-supported at that, one feels compelled to appear 'occupied', 'engaged', 'busy', and constantly 'in the middle of something'.

A lot of people I talk to feel bad about taking it easy. They think they're lazy if they're not always busy. They don't like to relax, be alone, or just sit around. I get it, I've been there. In fact, I probably still am there!

For a long time, I needed other people to tell me I was doing a good job. I didn't take the time to figure out who I am, what I want, and what I need. Was I just trying to do what everyone else wanted me to do? Perhaps, I needed to look inside myself and ask what makes me happy and fulfilled, what makes my work meaningful to me.

Of late, I've begun to see how important it is to slow down and spend time by myself. I'm realising that the energy you have, whom you share it with, and how you expend it, are far more important than time. Every relationship, whether it is work or personal, is about exchanging energy in different ways. You can't tap into your energy and trust your gut unless you quiet things down, be still, and listen to yourself. You also need to get rid of old, negative beliefs. The ones that make you scared, judge yourself, and hold yourself back from being your best self. Soul-searching takes time...

And that's been the biggest takeaway from that magical Reunion Weekend in Oxford. As I progress through this sabbatical exploring, experimenting with, and evaluating different ideas, I realise that the path to the future is going to emerge from the interweaving of several threads from the past. 

Relationship status: ‘Uncommitted’

 I have just come out of a couple of relationships and am on the verge of exiting one more. The first was with somebody that I had held as a very close friend for a very, very long time. I did what would today be called ‘quiet quitting’, but in the realm of social relationships, following their lead. I decided that I would do the minimum necessary to be continued to be seen as their friend, which, in the current situation, is doing nothing at all. The second was with an employer from whom I had started to feel distanced for quite some time.

The third case, the one that I’m about to end, is perhaps the most nuanced because the relationship in question is not with a person or an entity but with an idea that I’ve held about somebody that was close to me. I’ve realised that, in my head, I had a very expansive vision for the potential of the relationship with them. And that potential is not about to be fulfilled. And, so, I must do what it takes to call it like it is. This idea just isn’t what I had made it out to be. So, I must not entertain it. This idea and me, we are not working well as a team anymore.

When do you know that a relationship has ended? There are several signs that pop up early, but a specific few signal the final nail in the coffin.

It usually starts with the sudden onset of forgetfulness - ‘I forgot we were to meet that day!’ ‘I forgot that it was your birthday/ anniversary/ performance!’ ‘I forgot that you were leaving then!’ ‘I forgot to ask if you are available.’ So many events and occasions are ‘forgotten’ that you wonder how this person functions through a regular day!

Then comes the phase ruled by the mighty calendar with which no one can mess around. ‘I’d have loved to meet that morning but a relative is visiting in the evening.’ ‘I really wanted to be there but the kids have a sports class that day.’ ‘I would have made it but I finally got a haircut appointment with my favourite stylist after ages!’ ‘I would have come but I have a new boss and they have a scheduled a team meeting that Sat morning to be prepped for the next week.’ You start to realise how this person has a whole (new) set of priorities and you are not anywhere in the top hundred.

After this, but sometimes earlier or later too, you start to notice the faint but distinct tone of formality and perfunctoriness in conversations, almost all of which are likely to be initiated by you. Brief, often monosyllabic, responses to queries/ questions/ remarks you might make, with little information being volunteered, and almost no interest in/ reciprocation by way of asking after your wellbeing.

Once this has gone on for long, you might feel the need to confront the person and ask what’s going on. But here is where you are in for what should be completely expected but could still strike you as unusual. In its mild form, it could be efforts to delay a response, but at its height, it is radio silence! A complete breakdown of communication despite every conceivable channel and technology being available. A refusal to be in a situation where they have audience with you and might find themselves in a spot. This really is the precursor of the end.

The end is really only about going through the motions then. A clinical, often generic note, delivered in a tone and language bereft not just of feeling, but also of logic. One-way communication with no pretence of any effort to save the relationship or even seek a response.

It has been hard to let go when I’ve invested so much time, effort and emotion in each of these relationships, whether I’ve been at the giving or receiving end. But for each relationship that I’ve signed out of, I’m so grateful for the many more that I’m still a part of! And each time someone gives me any feedback, especially the critical type, I feel fortunate that they care enough to let me know… to help me become a better person. I deeply value that commitment.

Therapy for the Soul

#myhorcruxes #friendships 

I've recently returned from a long overdue vacation. Like many other vacations that I've taken, there was the usual relaxing, sightseeing, dining and photo-clicking. But this vacation was special. It was the first in over eighteen months, and the first after Dad's passing, which was an unbelievably hard time. The last time I'd been to this place was with him and Mum.

When I first went to the UK over twenty years ago, I had butterflies in my tummy for all kinds of reasons. I'd never been outside India, didn't know a single person in the new country, had taken on a huge financial liability to be able to study abroad in an expensive country, and was going to be away from family for the longest time that I'd ever spent apart from them despite the boarding school experience as a child. 

But every visit since has always felt like a homecoming. This time I was visiting somewhere I'd never been - Wales, and somewhere that I've actually lived before - London, one of my favourite big cities in the world. But what set this vacation apart was the opportunity it gave me to reconnect with so many friends from that part of the world. And just that has been so overwhelmingly therapeutic. 

I got to meet some of them after a gap of six months, some others after more than five years, and yet others after two decades! With each reunion, however, despite the physical changes we noticed in each other, the feeling of nostalgia and reconnection was palpable. It was almost as if the time in between had not passed. 

When friends meet after long periods of time, the conversations tend to be rather unstructured and meandering - one moment we'd be discussing the weather (a common British pastime no doubt), the next we'd be asking each other the size of our broods... or the size of our investment portfolios, and seamlessly move on to narrating a recent incident on the train (like being separated from a child on the London tube - mine!) 

While there were several group reunions, sometimes one meeting was not enough, and so mini-group reunions followed the bigger ones. And sometimes even that was not enough so one-on-one meetings were also required. There was just so much to catch up on! I happily flitted from breakfast meetings to brunch meetings to lunch meetings to coffee meetings and then to dinner meetings, on a single day at times. 

Given I was on vacation but everybody else was not, scheduling catch-ups required some pre-work. Making trusty old Whatsapp my main tool, I managed to provide sufficient heads-up to most people that I was around. But just as a surprise element can make an exquisite choreography even better, some of the most heartwarming rendezvous were those that were not even planned. 

A friend that I hadn't seen in twenty years reached out after they saw a post from me on LinkedIn mentioning my arrival in the UK. Another who had remained incommunicado for all practical purposes for the better part of two decades insisted on taking a train ride together just so we'd have some quiet time by ourselves outside the large-group chatter. Another showed up to a group dinner early so that we'd have some one-on-one time together. And one made a surprise appearance when I wasn't expecting to see them at all, brightening up my day. 

But time has passed after all, and there is so much that I have missed, so many stories that I haven't heard and shared. Not just birthdays, weddings, promotions and change of careers or home bases, but also the birth of their children, the demise of their parents, the separation from spouses, the health scares, the trials and tribulations of being single parents, the anxiety over and reconciliation with the fact that their choice of where to put down their roots had changed their family structure forever...

I was reminded of how much more I had to learn and do as a friend. And how much joy it brought me to be in the same time and space as them, sharing parts of ourselves with each other, in a way that no amount of social media could ever do. The horcrux analogy by Trevor Noah really rang true for me in every way. These conversations, however truncated they may have seemed, put back more life in me in a single week than I've had in several months! And I'm so grateful for my good fortune in having such horcruxes who make me come alive again. 

I came back from the vacation refreshed, rejuvenated,... healed. I came back having renewed my vows to be a better friend. 

Abu Dhabi Diaries

It’s been a while since I’ve spent so long in a new city. Abu Dhabi wasn’t what I’d imagined it would be (most of my references came from SATC, so that’s hardly surprising, I suppose.) It started with curiosity, waned as ambivalence, and eventually settled as a quiet, comfortable rhythm. The city has grown on me over the past six weeks, due in large part, no doubt, to the somewhat special conditions of my stay here, being on client site for a project. 

There was the tourist avatar that I got to don, even if unwittingly. Qasr Al Watan, the Presidential Palace, was a sight to behold. The Louvre didn’t disappoint, notwithstanding the 15-min long survey that the hapless and witless attendant at the exit made me fill out. 

Quad-biking at sunset on the Ajman dunes was just the rush of adrenaline I required that Sunday afternoon. The way Emiratis celebrate on the UAE National Day made me wonder at the simplicity of it - how exciting can spraying string confetti and foam on fellow countrymen, in this case country boys and girls, get, I wondered. That, and honking the horn of your car synchronously with hundreds of other cars jamming the roads leading to the waterside where fireworks were on display. To each their own…

There were the hotspots that I got to visit. It turns out that a handful of restaurants are at the top of every culinary list in downtown Abu Dhabi - Zuma, Grand Beirut, 99 Sushi, Coya, Bentleys, Hakkasan, Cafe Milano. I got to sample the fare at four of them. While I didn’t visit the beach at Corniche or Yas, I did make it to Soul Beach on Saadiyat Island, the newest posh neighbourhood in the making. 

There were several ‘firsts’ during this stay:

• First Thoughtworks project onsite
• First time in a room full of stickies
• First time staying on the 20th floor of a building
• First sauna experience
• The first time that I felt motivated to learn how to swim
• A karaoke debut
• First time zooming down the highway at ~200 kmph in a sports car, the Porsche Boxster

However, I think most of it has to do with the human experiences I’ve had here. At work, it was a bunch of great colleagues that I’d never met before but got to know very closely. 

Outside work, it was a lot of the service staff at the hotel I was staying that became regular appearances in my day. At breakfast, there was Sabah who always smiled wide, and Faisal who never smiled at all, except today (and I caught him at it!) There was Aftab who was always prompt and Bandana who was always helpful. There was Jayvee who was very eager and Niraj (?) who was mostly avoidant. At the Health Club, there was the perpetually tired but always smiling Kabita, the initially grumpy but eventually friendly Suleiman, the doe-eyed beauty from Sri Lanka, Prithimali, and the good natured Thu. At the cafe, there was the always attentive Rose and the somewhat shy Joemarie. At the entrance of the hotel, there was the eager-to-please Mohammed, and the quietly helpful Joe. At the spa, there was the immensely talented Lina, who worked my high-strung traps like magic. 

Then there were other guests at the hotel who became friendly, such as the Emirati gentleman (whose name I never managed to get) who wished me enthusiastically at the gym each morning, and some who wanted to become too friendly, such as an older Emirati who was eager to give me unsolicited attention (yikes!) In the final week, I also made friends with my next door neighbour, a big burly Australian, Nat (short for Nathan?), who goes to work in Dubai. Turns out that both of us like to work out early in the morning. 

But I think the biggest reason that this time in Abu Dhabi will stay with me is because it gave me time with myself, to process the pain and grief of losing Dad. It gave me the chance to think about what happened, what I’ve lost, what I’ve earned, and what I’ve learned. It gave me the chance to get away from my regular life to focus on me and how I was dealing with his passing. It created the space for me to figure out how I can support my family, especially Mum, from here on. It gave me the chance to be just me for a while. And for that, I’m grateful. 

My Tryst with The Buddha

11 things I learned from a trek to Sandakphu, the viewpoint for the Kanchenjunga aka The Sleeping Buddha

1. Sometimes baby steps are all you need to overcome your biggest tasks. 

It was Day 3 of the trek – one of those long-distance days – when we were going to cover 14 kms, including a 700 ft overall ascent. The interesting part – we first descended about 900 ft over a long 7-km downhill walk from Tumling, via Lameydhura to Gairibas, via a beautiful trail in the Singalila National Park. So, in effect, the second half of the trek, via Kaykatta to Kalapokhri, was all an uphill climb of 1,600 ft. 

After the first couple of kms of uphill treading, I was beginning to find it, well, an uphill task. My trek-mates were still visible somewhere in the distance ahead, but I did not seem to have an inclination or the strength to catch up with them. To make matters worse, it started raining… hard… hailstones hard! So, you are climbing up an average incline of 25 degrees, in the cold weather, wet to the bone because the rain has entered even your shoes and socks making it heavier to move, and you have hailstones pouring down on you!

In an alternative universe, I would have sat down there and waited for some kind soul to drive me to the destination. That’s not always an option in the Himalayas… sigh. So I told myself – just walk 12 more steps without stopping (I don’t know why I picked that number… maybe because of my yogic training…) I found that I could do that with relative ease, so I said, let’s try 24 steps without stopping. And I found that I could mostly do that too. I’d walk 24 steps, sometimes 36 or 48, and then take a moment to catch my breath. And, I made it through the rest of the 5 kms uphill, through the hail and wind, 24 steps at a time. 

When I finally reached the tea house at Kalapokhri (Indo-Nepal border), my heart was palpitating as if unsure of whether to stop or to go on. For a few moments I could not move beyond the doorway. I had walked the bulk of the distance, a few baby steps at a time. Sometimes, just that much is all you need to go on. 

2. No goal is larger than your willpower.

Day 4 of the trek was *supposed* to be the shortest of all – just 6 kms of trekking. But, obviously, there was a catch, no, there were two! One, the 6 kms were all uphill, at a higher incline than what we had seen so far, about 35-40 degrees, and, two, there were an additional couple of kms after the so-called 0 km point to our actual destination! Plus, of course, we were ascending about 1,550 ft to take us to the highest point of our trek, Sandakphu, from where the view of The Sleeping Buddha was promised. 

I started the day feeling upbeat despite the fact that I hadn’t slept soundly the previous three nights because of the cold. Also, how far could 6, or even 8 kms, really be?! Alas, half a kilometre into the trek and I was beginning to lose steam. One of my trek-mates fell behind with me to egg me on. She could see I needed the motivation.

This last stretch was all along the motorable, albeit broken, road that goes up to Sandakphu, so there were several 4X4s that passed us by. With each passing vehicle, I felt my resolve not to ask for a lift diminish little by little. At one point, about halfway through, even our trek guide suggested I take a lift.

But, how exciting is a destination if you haven’t had to undertake the journey to get there? I wondered if I’d enjoy the view as much if I didn’t get there on my own two feet. I squeezed every ounce of willpower within me to carry on, 24 baby steps at a time. 

We were supposed to have reached the top by lunchtime, around 1 pm. I got there just a little after 2 pm, my trek-mate by my side. But the sense of achievement was palpable. I had summited my mountain!

3. Hospitality is a factor of the space in your heart, not of the space in your house.

Living in the hills is all about optimising energy, in every way possible. No resource is to be wasted. Luxury is not a thing in the hills. One of the most visible ways this manifests is in the size of the dwellings of the mountain people. With each location that we put up at, the tea-houses got smaller, the rooms cosier. 

This might sound Newtonian, but as the size of the rooms got tinier, the hospitality got warmer! At all our rest stops on Day 1 and 2 – Kopidara, Chitrey, Meghma, Tumling – there was a quiet cordiality to interactions with our hosts. By the time we were at Sandakphu and Shepi, Days 5 and 6, the quality of the conversation was decidedly welcoming and warm. 

4. Simplicity is beautiful.

The best things in life are really quite simple. Even though it was May, temperatures in the middle eastern Himalayas, along West Bengal and Sikkim, range between 5 degrees C to 18 degrees C, give or take a few depending on rain and wind. Hot water, especially for a bath, is a luxury, finger-numbing freezing water being the norm. In such conditions, being served steaming hot homemade food for each meal was like having Annapurna herself descending to feed us. 

At the tea-house rest stops, we had practically the same lunch and dinner (sometimes breakfast too) on five consecutive days – wheat flatbread (rotis), local rice, potato curry, and yellow lentils (daal), served with paapad and chilli pickle. Sometimes, we’d have a boiled egg too. But we relished every morsel! Guess the warmth and caring with which it was served had a lot to do with it. Our trek guides would almost physically manoeuvre us away from our photographing and selfie-taking narcissistic selves to get us to eat the food while it was still hot. 

5. The key to good health is consistency, period. 

Talking about being served the same food, I learnt that our trek guides, locals from the region, had even simpler fare on a daily basis. But the ingredients usually came from their own or a neighbour’s vegetable patch, the staples were indigenous, and all the fresh produce, including the wine (rhododendron/ rice/ berries), was organic. 

These people are fit, to say the least, and hardworking. They wake up with the sun, around 4 am (eastern sunrises have a charm of their own!) and go to bed shortly after sundown. They do this every day, changing course only as per the season. Is it any wonder that they don’t seem to age or slow down?!

6. Practice, indeed, makes perfect.

Day 4, which I mentioned above, was undoubtedly the toughest of all. Our trek guides had budgeted 3.5 hours for us to get through the 8 km – 1,550 ft climb. We overshot that. But guess how long each of them usually takes to undertake that stretch… a mere 45 mins, that too without a trekking pole! The 10,000-hour rule applies here like nowhere else! The more you do something, the better you get at it. What seemed incredibly hard for us is the way of life for these folks. The ease with which they traverse the mountains is a result of practice, which began when they were but little children. 

7. Common experiences, especially the tough ones, make for strong human connections.

I’ve been on a Himalayan trek once before, six years ago, with a 10-member group, all of whom were strangers to me, but many of whom have become great friends of mine. This trek was no different, probably more intense because it was tougher and because we were a small group of just three, all women. The fact that each of us came from different backgrounds, belonged in different age-groups, and had different motivations for coming on the trek did not matter. Our shared experience of the trek, over just a 6-day period, has bonded us in a way that few routine interactions, even over a prolonged duration, could have done.

I saw this even more starkly among the locals. Everybody seemed to know each other. Everybody was considerate of the other’s needs. Everybody made time for another. Everybody stopped to say hello to the other no matter how pressing their own schedule. This was human connection for real, sans mobiles and the Internet. 

In fact, none of us had mobile connectivity while on the entire trek. And we felt so much the better for it!

8. Borders can separate man from man, but not humans from humanity.

The trek route was interesting not only because it crisscrossed two states – West Bengal and Sikkim – but also because it switch-bordered two countries – India and Nepal! In fact, on three nights out of five, we slept in Nepal. But the interactions with the locals had a consistent quality throughout, one of healthy curiosity, warmth, and concern for our safety and comfort. We were not the high-paying tourists that would alleviate their financial need, so it was definitely a higher human motive that drove them to engage with us so transparently. 

In the Himalayan reaches of West Bengal, most of the population is Nepali (gorkhas, sherpas, gurungs, tamangs, chhetris, etc.) and Tibetan. Despite being proud of their heritage and continuing to have family ties in their home countries, they have an endearing respect for their adopted country. In fact, the homestay that I put up in at Darjeeling after the trek was run by an enthusiastic Tibetan couple. They all continue to take the meaning of hospitality to a higher level. 

9. Being in nature provides the best rejuvenation one could ask for.

My singular goal for this *trek-cation* was to be mindful. I wanted to be present in every moment of the experience. And, boy, did it serve the purpose! 

Some things cannot have you be any other way – like on Day 5, climbing downhill from Sandakphu to Sirikhola, via Gurdum, along the forest trail in Singalila, braving the slopes made more slippery by the continual rain. Each step had to be planned uniquely for the right balance between angle of foot placement, depth of descent, frontloading or backloading based on where you can stake your trekking pole, the distance between you and the person in front of you, and what the next stepping ledge/ stone might be. You just had to focus on the task at hand. 

But even otherwise, the mountains have a way of calling out to you. Come, see my many colours, soak in the clouds, gaze at the little things on the grounds far below. Come, let me take you higher!

At the end of each long day, we seemed to be reviving each of our senses, looking forward to the next day with more gumption.

10. Fun is a state of mind, not a factor of the money in one’s pocket or the access to fancy resources.

Even though we were a small party of three, without access to Wifi or even cell towers, the trek brought out each of our unique personalities, allowing us to get to know each other without reservation or judgment. We truly enjoyed each other’s company and had fun enjoying the simple things in life. 

Of course, being on the same trek was the outcome of self-selection, so clearly, there must be a common thread that brought us to share the same time and space. But being limited in resources did not in any way diminish our ability to enjoy ourselves. And, we picked up several tips in this department from our trek guides too.

11. Nothing awakens the spirit like nature’s powerful forces.

Day 5 was what we all had been waiting for – the tryst with the Buddha, if He cared to show Himself from amidst the rain and cloud cover. We awoke at 4.30 am, much like the locals, and found, to our chagrin, rain pouring down in torrents. Pulled on the blankets and went back to sleep. But the Buddha would not let us go empty-handed.

At 7 am, just as we were readying to have breakfast, the drizzle stopped, and the clouds parted just enough to offer us a magnificent view – the entire Kanchenjunga range – The Sleeping Buddha!

I soon found my eyes brimming over. I don’t know exactly what it was but that sight etched a lasting memory in my mind. I was overcome with emotion – at the humility of my small existence, at the bountifulness of Nature, at the gratitude I felt for being able to witness this glorious sight. 

I don’t know if I’ll ever get atop the mighty Kanchenjunga, but I do know that the Buddha stirred something inside me that day. 

Note: ‘Kan’ means head, ‘chen’ means belly, and ‘junga’ means knee. If you can clearly view these three sections at the same time, you can see that the Buddha is sleeping. Hence, this range is also known as the Sleeping Buddha.

*******************

Fantastic at 40: Six Mantras for Life

"I'm not 40, I'm 18 with 22 years of experience." - Unknown

#10yearchallenge #turningforty #fitatforty #lifebeginsagainatforty #lovingbeingforty #fantasticatforty

I turned forty earlier this month. It was an uncharacteristically simple, quiet day at home, without even the celebratory birthday cake, let alone a dinner/ party to mark the occasion. And yet, it was a momentous day for me – I felt grateful, inspired, energised, alive, … fantastic! I realised that my entire fortieth year had, in fact, been a celebration!

Rewinding to my thirtieth birthday, ten years ago, I’d been overcome by a very different set of feelings – feeling ‘old’, considering myself an underachiever on the career track, worrying about health, cursing the seemingly irreversible gain in bodyweight, chiding myself for having neither sizable savings nor significant investments, and such.

And so, it was with a sense of tremendous cheer and calm at the same time that I welcomed the 40s.  I can’t say, of course, that I’ve found the perfect formula for a wonderful life, a culmination of wisdom gained over forty years. But I do know for sure that certain values are here to stay with me for a long, long time. I know what I do and don’t care for. I have jettisoned consciously what I believe takes away from living life fully and embraced thoroughly what I have found makes life richer. This is my list of six mantras that matter.

Me

Fewer things, more experiences.

The thirties were markedly a time for acquiring more things. But I’ve realised over the past few years, that an abundance of things not only takes away focus, attention and energy, but also dilutes an emotional experience. I have resolved to consciously work towards reducing tangible and intangible clutter, and seeking out new experiences.

[Fortieth year highlight – living out a childhood dream: making my acting debut with an independent Marathi film, Eka Veli Ek Diwas, by award-winning film-maker, Sarika Joshi.]

Not body weight, but body confidence.

My approach to body image has taken a 180-degree turn, due, especially, to my enhanced understanding of the science behind how the human body works. I am finally in a good place to evaluate what works for me, what doesn’t, and what targets I should set for myself. As I get closer in touch with my body, the better it responds to my efforts to keep it fit.

[Fortieth year highlights – Losing several kilos of body fat, gaining a couple of kilos of muscle, improving strength training PRs by over 100%, running an impromptu 10K and finishing third.]

Mine

Less Facebook, more face-time.

My belief in real-world, real-time, in-person relationships, has been solidified in the past few years. The make-believe world of social media does not and can never replace real relationships. I will be sure to invest more time in the latter with people that matter to me – my family and friends.

[Fortieth year highlight – Doing a two-week cycling tour, immersing in the culture and history of Vietnam and Cambodia, with some of my dearest girlfriends from around the world for company.]

My legacy is not my ideals but my actions.

Becoming a mother has been the single most defining moment of my life thus far. As a parent, I’ve realised that it is not what I teach my child that is important, but what I allow him to learn from me. He watches my actions and models his own behaviour. The best I can do is be the role model he needs.

[Fortieth year highlights – Having my son enthusiastically read his favourite books to me, watching him dance to rhythm, observing him playing fair and being generous, hearing him set high aspirations.]

Ours

Conserve and sustain.

I was always aware of the value of conservation and ecological sustainability. Thanks to an upbringing as an Army officer’s kid, often in the hinterland of the country, I experienced enough scarcity of environmental resources such as energy, water and habitat, to learn how to value them, conserve them, and put them to judicious use. As an adult, with greater disposable and discretionary income, I could afford more comfort, convenience and even luxury. However, I have also realised how much at odds comfort, convenience and luxury can be with the ecological sustainability of our planet. The answer is simple – comfort is a state of mind, convenience is a choice, and luxury is optional. The bottom line is that we have only one planet. And I have to do my part to keep it clean, safe and rich.

[Fortieth year highlight – actively monitoring, measuring and reducing those actions that have a harmful effect on the environment; also, actively sharing my tips for environmental conservation with family and friends – It’s not a saying yet, but should be - Conservation begins at home!]

Create social impact.

I was never troubled by existential questions such as ‘what is the meaning of life?’ Or, ‘what is the purpose of my life?’ So, it was with a sense of gratitude that I received the answer when the Universe decided to give it to me anyway. A personal tryst with health-related issues, mine and the family’s, and the resultant journey towards regaining health set me on a path to learning about health and fitness in a way that I’d never imagined. The experience, although serendipitous, made it clear to me that health and fitness is the foundation of personal, familial, societal and national wellbeing. It simultaneously uncovered my deepest passion for the subject. If there is one area where I want to create lasting social impact, this is it.

[Fortieth year highlight – I finally figured out what it was that I would want to ‘start’ on my own. It began with becoming a certified Fitness Coach. I have also overcome my fear of the unpredictability of entrepreneurship; hence, I believe my forties are going to be very different from earlier decades.]

I am a sucker for lists, targets and plans. I realise I work better with them. So, here’s a list of things I want to do this year, my forty-first!

Stretch my physical capabilities – Do a full rep of:

·      a pull-up,

·      a pistol squat, and

·      a handstand

(Re)Learn a skill

·      How to do make-up

·      Practise my foreign language skills, especialmente Español

Accomplish critical items on my to-do-list

·      Write a full non-fiction manuscript

·      Take the entrepreneurial plunge

Bring it on!