How I became a human be-ing

For as long as I can remember, my dreams have been stories where I am saving people. Sometimes it’s one soul, sometimes a small group, and sometimes—humanity itself. They play out like a film, where I’m both the viewer and the hero, swept into relentless action. In my earlier years, they felt like adventure epics—always racing toward a victory that never quite arrived. But in recent times, they’ve shifted into something darker, a nightmare. I wake in a hot sweat, shaken by visions I can hardly describe, as if my subconscious has run out of patience with subtle whispers and chosen more shocking ways to figuratively wake me up.

This theme of saving the world has weighed heavily on both my subconscious and conscious mind, ever since my early twenties when the full weight of my privilege settled on my shoulders. I was stepping into adulthood when An Inconvenient Truth hit the global stage, and the message felt pointed, personal. Privilege, it seemed to me, came with a responsibility to take action, if not me, then who? If not now, then when?

So act, I did. I launched an environmental non-profit. I founded a climate tech company. I steered our family philanthropy, joined boards, dove headfirst into the impact community. I spoke on stages, volunteered my time, and threw myself into the work of catalysing change—for people, businesses, and systems. Act. Act. Act. Do. Do. Do. It was a wheel I couldn’t step off, a destination that seemed perpetually out of reach and somewhere along the way, I had forgotten how to enjoy the journey.

I wasn’t sure when it happened, but I had stopped being a human being and became a human doing. And when I finally asked myself why it felt so radical—so terrifying—to slow down, I had no answer.

Letting go, and finding a new way 

"Sometimes letting things go is an act of far greater power than hanging on.", Eckhart Tolle 

The path forward seemed shrouded in uncertainty, blocked by barriers as old as I could remember. Deep-rooted behavioural patterns, entrenched in my psyche like ancient trees with roots that spread far and wide. I knew I couldn’t simply will them away with a positive intention; these patterns had been part of me for too long.

I realised that this journey of slowing down was not one I could navigate alone. I needed guidance, someone who could help me untangle the knots and illuminate the way forward. And so, I reached out to a friend, admitting for perhaps the first time that I needed help. This led me to Marike Knight, a coach who became both a guide and a companion on this transformative journey.

At the heart of this journey was a daily practice of meditation and breathwork. Vedic meditation was already a spiritual foundation I had maintained for over a decade. Initially, this practice served as a buffer, easing discomfort and helping me navigate the demands of my achiever mind while keeping burnout at bay. But as my journey deepened, so too did my relationship with myself. Meditation and mindfulness was no longer a mere pacifier; it became a tool for tapping into wisdom and knowledge that transcended the limitations of my mind.

I began managing my time with more intention, learning the art of saying no more often than yes. I found myself trusting in the flow of life, resisting the urge to control every detail, and slowly loosening my attachment to specific outcomes. Life felt less like a battle and more like a dance, one in which I was beginning to find my rhythm.

But this change in energy and pace didn’t mean I was sitting idle. It simply meant that everything I did, and continue to do, carries a different energy—a deeper sense of purpose and presence.

Why is this important to share?

I believe if we continue to strive for a future driven by fear and hopelessness, we risk manifesting a world that reflects those very emotions. Acting from a place of despair, anxiety, and relentless pursuit often leads us further from the thriving, regenerative future we dream of. Yet, for so long, these have been the tools we’ve relied upon—the fuel of urgency that leaves little room for clarity or grace.

The most profound realisation of my journey has been this: I can achieve more by doing less. There is immense power in letting go, in practicing the art of being. When we pause to listen—to nature, to one another, and to the quiet voice within—something remarkable happens. The frantic cycle of doing fades, and from the stillness, right action emerges.

Life becomes simpler, clearer, calmer. Barriers begin to dissolve. We stop seeing others as “them” and ourselves as “us,” and a deeper empathy grows—even for those with whom we disagree.

I was recently struck by the story of the Shambhala Warriors, a 1,200-year-old Tibetan prophecy relayed by deep ecologist Joanna Macy, that feels resonant today. It speaks of a time when ordinary people will rise to heal the world, to bring about transformation. These warriors come from no single place, wear no uniform, and carry no flag. They don’t even recognise themselves as part of this tribe.

Their weapons are wisdom and compassion, not force or fear, but insight and love.

Now is the time to build a community of human beings, connected to ourselves, each other and the greater beauty of our world. 

What will this blog explore?

I will endeavor to find balance in my writing—a harmony between allowing ideas to emerge organically from my experiences and interactions, and offering structured reflections on the inefficiencies I see in the systems I navigate daily.

Over the past 20 years, my work has unfolded with a sense of strategic cohesion, despite it never really feeling like that over the course of the journey. I move between NGOs and philanthropy—bridging the worlds of fund seekers and fund givers. I operate within impact startups while also stepping into the role of investor. This dual perspective, alongside my inner work, has granted me a unique clarity.

I’ve seen where connections falter and where processes, once designed with purpose, have grown stale. I’ve noticed habits taking precedence over sense, where measurement and data—meant to guide us—have stifled innovation. And most profoundly, I’ve observed how deeply entrenched paradigms hold us back, stalling the kind of change that no political shift can undo.

These insights, born of working across the spectrum, fuel my desire to share—not as criticism, but as an invitation to rethink and realign. To build systems and solutions that are truly in service of the world, not saving it.