Colombia: Travel, Time, and Tired Knees

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Cocora Valley — where the fog shows up and leaves whenever it feels like it. I remember our visit to New Zealand and Bora Bora 12 years ago. Our days were packed. We would get up at 6 in the morning and retreat at 8 in the evening. A good breakfast, something quick for lunch, and a proper dinner. Day after day, for two weeks. Lots of travel, hikes, and sightseeing — and somehow, we never felt tired. Today, our travel method has changed. We still pack our days, but at a much more relaxed pace. Ironically, we are far more tired. Age definitely catches up. In the middle of a tour, I now look for opportunities to sneak in a secret nap, or I scan the area for strategic locations where a lonely chair might be waiting just for me. I’ve also reached a point where, if given the option between extra excitement and standing around waiting, I’m strongly leaning toward the latter. Add kids to the mix, and the picture changes entirely. Over the last year and a half, we’ve vis...
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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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