We humans have a fundamental flaw: we settle for comfort and run from chaos. We crave certainty, wanting answers before we even begin. At least, that’s how I was—until I unlearned it in some of the most uncomfortable moments of my life.
The Wilderness Lesson
Years ago, my wife and I set out on a seven-day trek through the dense, untouched forests of Bhutan. I was goal-oriented, always needing to know where we were headed and how long it would take. Every day, I peppered our guide with questions about the route and destination.
At first, he answered patiently. Then one day, he smiled and said something that has stayed with me: “Even if I told you, could you make it alone? We are in the wilderness—the beauty is in the journey. We will reach where we need to, even if it’s not the place we planned.”
At first, I struggled. How could we move forward without a clear destination? But my wife embraced it effortlessly. She wasn’t fixated on where we were going—she was immersed in where we were. Slowly, I began to do the same.
That trek became a metaphor for how I see life today. We think certainty is necessary for progress, but the truth is, growth and creativity can only thrive in discomfort and chaos. Plans change, paths shift, and as long as we stay present, we will find our way.
The Noise Within
Years later, I was forced to confront uncertainty again—this time at a 10-day Vipassana retreat. I thought I was prepared for silence. I wasn’t. For ten days, there were no distractions. No talking, no reading, no writing—just ten hours of meditation each day. At first, the silence was unbearable.
My mind, conditioned to seek stimulation, resisted fiercely. But then something shifted. Without external noise, I finally started listening—to my thoughts, my emotions, and my instincts. Not the version of me shaped by expectations and achievements, but the part I had ignored for years.
I realised how much of my life had been dictated by expectations—both my own and that of others. I had been so focused on achieving that I had forgotten to simply be. In that stillness, I rediscovered a connection with myself that had long been buried. Suddenly, I had a direct line of contact with myself, and I was finally having honest and open conversations with the real me.
Vipassana reinforced what Bhutan had taught me: uncertainty isn’t something to fight. We crave predictability, but real transformation happens in chaos. Creation—whether in business, relationships, or life—is inherently disruptive. Innovation doesn’t come from maintaining order; it comes from embracing discomfort, navigating uncertainty, and trusting the process.
I won’t claim to practice Vipassana every day, but its impact lingers. It has shaped how I lead, how I build, and how I live. It has made me more comfortable with the unknown, more focused on progress than just outcomes, and more appreciative of the journey—not just the destination.
