We try to emulate those in power and people we respect. We imitate those who wow us, hoping to extract the secret elixir that makes them so great.

Sure, it’s admirable to aspire to be more like someone we respect and adore… but we’re not cut from the same fabric. We can never become who we aren’t meant to be. We can only be the best versions of ourselves. Most importantly, what works for them won’t work for us.

Imitation may be the sincerest form of flattery, but the biggest sin to ourselves in dulling the uniqueness that makes us like no other.

We follow the path we avoid the most.
We surround ourselves with people we can’t stand

The more we fight, the more we’re forced to deal with the past…most of us refusing to see the purpose of the lessons left behind.

We let people in to activate our past.
Once or twice is never enough.
Multiple iterations required before we let ourselves see kaleidoscopic patterns.
Accept. Deny. Act. Repeat.
We see what we must.
We can move on only when we create new patterns.

There are no short cuts.
None, whatsoever.
Why do we try to fight the inevitable?

While reading Amy Rosenthal’s “You May Want to Marry My Husband”, I got a glimpse of her abundant energy, pressure for time and undying love for her husband of 26 years. From the long list of to dos, she tried to fill the void she was about to create. If this isn’t love, I don’t know what love is.

Amy Krouse Rosenthal, author and filmmaker died yesterday at the age of 51.

I have never met nor spoken to this woman. The little I know about her is based on two short articles. I think she was great, and today I’d like to celebrate the late author and filmmaker. A human being. A woman. A mother. A wife. A friend, and many more…

From the second article, I’m told that when Amy turned 40, she figured out how many days she had left to enjoy various aspects of life before reaching 80 years old. Her original calculation? 14 600 days. In reality, she would live to see 4015 more days… or 27.5% of her original calculation.

“How many more times, then, do I get to look at a tree? Let’s just say it’s 12,395. Absolutely, that’s a lot, but it’s not infinite, and I’m thinking anything less than infinite is too small a number and not satisfactory. At the very least, I want to look at trees a million more times. Is that too much to ask?” – Amy Krouse Rosenthal

It took me six months to finish Big Friendly Giant (BFG) by Roald Dahl.

I’m a fast reader.
Restricting myself to only few pages at a time,
I didn’t want the story to end…
Not wanting to say goodbye to the characters within.

Why?
To be slow at something, which is the opposite of how I operate.

I dislike wasting time.
So I drive outputs.
I’m in the business of getting things done.
I park personal issues and ask others to do the same.
Focus and ensure minimal disruption.

Why did I slow down? I was trying to be someone else.
I had gotten it all wrong.
On my way up, I can mark the spots and let others follow.
Or bring the fast scouts with me and send them back to guide the rest of the troops.
And create rest steps. People can climb at their own pace.

I’ve started to sprint once again.

We are 19.7% into the end of 2017.
72^nd day of committing to write a word, a sentence, a paragraph, or a page, which has turned into 40,000 words and 65 pages.

Netflix’s first season of Chef’s Table showcases their exciting journey, serving one plate at a time.

Inventions are nudged from scarcity. Hardships forcing negotiations with nature, people, and ideas. Famine. War. Injustice. There is no greater unity than the sense of the common threat.

They start out by imitating the perceived best. They move to Paris. They ignore their past. Living for today and tomorrow. Eventually, they end up feeling like nothing more than an impostor. Mere copycat.

Discouraged, they quit. They pick themselves up. They reflect and finally see their core instead of their outdated versions. They return to the past – the origin. They embrace the crops they grew up with. They own what they know; things took for granted. They plant the seed, harvest and prepare what’s familiar to them, but foreign to everyone else.

They do the work. Invent. Push themselves. Embrace tension. Fingers turn to mush from working 18-hour days. 32,850 hours over the five years or 1,825 days.

One day, someone credible writes about them. Talks about them. The masses join and they form part of the top 50 restauranteurs in the world.

There is no such thing as overnight success.

This morning, I choose gym.
Too early to eat and not hungry at all, I peel off a banana before heading out.

Repetition causes discomfort. The body shakes. It nears muscle failure. Forced to focus on just the physical motion, mind’s wanderings fade away. Both sets of lungs fill with much needed emptiness.
Must execute every exercise with near-perfect form. The body can’t afford another injury. Combined with sweat, endorphin pours out of me.
I pedal faster.

It’s been 65 days since I’ve abstained from consumer goods.
Allowing myself only food and experiences. Marketing campaigns have no effect on me: Get 50% off. Buy two, get one free. Win a voucher, shopping spree, a spa, or a trip of a lifetime…. Go here. Click here. It’ll look great on me! What easy way to pay!

The space between the stimulus (marketing campaign) and reaction (buying stuff) has become infinite. I’m no longer tempted to get a deal. No need to wonder around inside the mall.

I’m in between houses. I get a glimpse of how it feels to be “homeless”. Despite the tremendous generosity and kindness from friends, I can’t help but feel a bit displaced. (I know… such a first-world problem)

But I try to extrapolate my current experience by a factor of 10,000. How tough (understatement, I know) it would be to live out of one small backpack, children in tow. No places to put occasional use items like nail clippers.

How blessed am I to have a roof over my head. A vehicle to carry me. Friends to lend me helping hands. Family members to connect me to the past and the present. A sound mind. Healthy body.