We Knew

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It was our three-month ultrasound. We thought it would be like the movies, where you look at an ultra hi-def screen and the baby is crystal clear. It felt like a big moment. I had left work early that afternoon and was hoping to get back quickly. After all, it was just a routine visit, or so I thought. We checked in and were shown into the examination room. The nurse asked Hema to lie down on the bed. She applied gel and began moving the probe across her abdomen, looking for a heartbeat. Her reaction made us realize something was wrong. Hema and I looked at each other. The nurse didn't say anything. She simply said she would be back in a minute. We knew. The doctor came in, repeated the scan, and after a few moments told us that he was unable to detect a heartbeat. It was one of the lowest points of our lives. Three months in, we had already started imagining birthdays, schools, and family vacations. When you experience a miscarriage, it feels as ...
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The Paralysis of Choice

A desk overflowing with choices — the perfect metaphor for a modern mind.

I’ve always wondered why stepping outside my comfort zone feels harder than it should. With so many ways to spend time, I keep circling the same question: am I choosing what matters, or am I just numbing myself with options? Choice overload might be the defining anxiety of our era.

One moment I’m browsing an AI course on Coursera, convincing myself I’ll finally finish it. The next, I’m tempted to restart my Sanskrit lessons. And somewhere in that mental whirlpool, a random LLM video on YouTube quietly steals an hour I never intended to give away. It isn’t learning — it’s drifting.

I think back to my first iPhone 4. One model. One color. No storage decisions. Apple had already stripped away the noise. Life felt simpler when constraints were built in.

Today everything comes in infinite flavors — phones, courses, ideas, careers, spiritual paths, entertainment platforms. Abundance looks empowering, but it corrodes something essential. When everything is possible, nothing feels necessary. Too many choices fracture focus, weaken discipline, and blur identity.

And here’s the part I avoided admitting for years:
I’m not overwhelmed by choices. I’m avoiding commitment.

Choosing one path means surrendering the illusion that I can master every bucket — AI, Sanskrit, Vedanta, technical learning, creative writing. I want a slice of all of them. I know that’s impossible. So I stay frozen, pretending indecision is something noble.

That pattern cost me years. I spent fifteen years telling myself I would publish an “outstanding book.” A decade and a half later, I didn’t even have a draft. Perfection didn’t raise the bar; it muzzled me.

The only antidote I’ve found is constraint. A schedule forces me to choose. So I write during my kids’ music sessions; while they practice their ragas, I type my way out of excuses. I’m learning to give each bucket a defined place instead of letting them brawl inside my head.

Because in the end, life doesn’t reward the person with the most options.
It rewards the one who stops browsing and starts building.

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