Noticing Life, Not Just Passing Through
Do you just take off and land—or do you truly fly?
Do you just pass by flowers—or have you paused to see them in full bloom?
Do you notice the things you see—and more importantly, the things you don’t?
Because in the end, it’s not about the flowers, the flight, or the view. It’s about what’s inside you. That restless, beating thing called life.
And life isn’t in the rush. It’s in the noticing.
You can’t drive forward while staring only at the rearview mirror. But every now and then, a glance back reveals pieces of you—the roads you’ve taken, the people who’ve shaped you, the moments that still linger.
This random pink bicycle, caught in my mirror at Nariman Point, wasn’t just a cycle. It was a portal—to childhood races, to friendships that felt endless, to laughter that echoed down familiar streets.
Memories don’t hold us back. They fuel us forward. They turn a mundane day into something meaningful.
What’s in your rearview mirror today?
What do you keep in the background? What do you focus on?
These are the first lessons a photographer learns. But over time, they prove just as valuable in business—and in life.
Years ago, while fumbling with my first camera, I met someone for whom the camera was an extension of his arm. He shared a simple truth:
“A good photographer learns what to include in the frame. You get better by learning to keep out EVERYTHING that doesn’t add to the picture.”
That lesson stuck. In photography. In work. In life.
Because clarity isn’t just about what you see—it’s about what you remove.
(at Isle of Wight)
He sat, painting red stripes on a quiet, unremarkable side step of the Meenakshi Temple. No rush, no shortcuts—just steady, precise strokes, his diligence filling the air.
Much of our work is like that. We aren’t always building rockets or reshaping the world. Most days, we show up, put in effort, and add our strokes to something bigger than ourselves.
The real magic isn’t in what we work on, but how we do it. With care. With intention. With the quiet belief that even the smallest efforts hold meaning.
And that’s not a trick. That’s the truth.
It’s never about the weight—it’s about how we carry it.
It’s never about the work—it’s about why we do it.
It’s never about the grand sights—it’s about the stories they hold.
It’s never about big things—it’s about finding big meaning in small moments.
Happiness isn’t loud. It doesn’t need a grand stage. It lives in quiet corners, in the way we see, in the way we let things be.
To find joy is to notice it. And to let it stay.
(at Pattaya, Thailand)
He is all bone and muscle, sun-worn skin, a pronounced jaw, and a stubble for a head. But what stands out most? That smile. A smile that stretches wide, giving his broken, uneven teeth even more mileage.
He’s the man of the waves, guiding our water scooter with the ease of someone who knows the sea like the back of his hand. The waves bend to him, the machine moves at his command.
From the shore, he waves us on.
“Have fun. You have time,” he calls out.
And as we bounce over another wave, he settles into the sand, watching, waiting. When we return, exhilarated, he grins—a full, gap-toothed smile.
“Enjoy it while you have the time,” he says.
He may not know how profound those words are. Or maybe he does.
Because wisdom often lives in the ordinary. In the men who wrestle with waves, in those who know that time isn’t something to save—it’s something to use.
(at Pattaya, Thailand)