When I started writing this blog, I made a list of topics I thought might interest my audience - founders, entrepreneurs, and leaders. As I was thinking about what to write next, I glanced through that list after a gap of 4 months. I realised none of them stood out. I didn’t feel like picking up a single one.

Early on, I had understood that for this to be sustainable, I needed to write about what I felt strongly about — not just for the sake of writing. After all, I wanted to model the same authenticity that I work with leaders on.

So, I looked back at what I had already written, hoping to find some inspiration. I noticed hazy outlines of leadership-related themes, but not in the conventional sense. There were undertones of life, reflection, ease, and surrender. I still can’t pinpoint a particular theme. Or even say clearly who this is for.

Then my mind spiralled into a barrage of questions:

Am I turning into a life coach?
(For years, I’ve judged that term because of the 1000s of self-proclaimed life coaches on Instagram. But maybe that judgment hides a layer of self-judgment too?)
Am I getting distracted, and confusing my readers in the process?
They may have signed up expecting a certain kind of content… and maybe they aren’t finding it here anymore.
The topics I cover are so scattered. Do I even know what I’m doing?
Am I just writing for an audience of one — me?

I spent some time trying to figure out how to get back on the path I originally started with. But it didn’t feel right anymore.

I feel more energised when I write about the topics that are naturally evolving for me. It’s like this blog is its own organism — growing, shifting, changing. And maybe I’m evolving along with it.

A similar shift is showing up in other areas too. Recently, an unexpected opportunity came my way. In the past, I had been averse to the kind of work it involves — but this time, I feel genuinely excited about it.

Earlier, I would have seen such temptations as a test of resolve — asking, “Will you stay true to your path or get distracted?” But right now, as I feel myself flowing toward this work, it doesn’t feel like a distraction. It feels aligned. It feels right.

A river may begin in a straight line, but it turns and curves as it finds its way forward. Maybe I’m at one of those turning points. And rather than forcing the river to stay straight, I’m choosing to flow with it.

Of course, doubts still linger:
Is this the natural course for me — or a distraction from what I’m “supposed” to be doing?
But who decides what we’re supposed to be doing?

Isn’t a lot of that shaped by our conditioning?

I’m reminded of this moment from my childhood. I had asked a distant cousin to fill out my slam book. To the question What do you want to be when you grow up?, she wrote: a great housewife. I couldn’t understand it then — but for her, it was an obvious answer. That’s what her world told her was worth aspiring to.

Often, the banks created by others, or by ourselves — restrict our natural flow. They steer us toward a certain direction, whether or not it fits.

A duckling raised among sparrows might try its best to become more like them — managing, struggling, adjusting. But only when it stops trying to be a sparrow, and simply lets itself be, can it grow into what it’s meant to be: a duck.

In struggling to adjust, it may “improve” in the environment it’s in. But it’s only in surrender that it can evolve.

So back to my question — how do I know if I’m getting distracted?

More often than not, I listen to my energy. What’s giving me energy? Not just on a single day, but again and again, over time. I may not know exactly what this will evolve into, but I can still trust myself — trust that I’ve got my back even if I take a wrong turn. I’ll find my way.

I’ve been drawn to psychology since my college days. I even wondered if I had taken the wrong path by choosing engineering. I didn’t have the courage back then to switch fully (and landing a job at McKinsey as your first gig only increases the opportunity cost of such a shift).

But I kept exploring psychology on the side. And now, a decade later, I find myself immersed in the very ideas I loved — through coaching. It was never part of a grand plan, but things evolved. And I’m glad I kept listening to what gave me energy.

A caterpillar doesn’t become a butterfly overnight. It takes its time. But it will turn into a butterfly — not a beetle. It’s just a matter of time before I find out what kind of butterfly this becomes for me.

If you’re feeling the current shift and want support in flowing with it—I'd be glad to walk alongside.

Click here to explore how we can work together

Is It Still Aligned? Reflecting on Purpose, Plans, and Growth

You Don’t Have to Feel Calm to Be Okay

Why Most Habits Don’t Stick — And What to Do Instead