Have you ever had one of those moments where life seems to hand you exactly what you were looking for, but not in the way you expected?

Say “yes” because that’s what happens with almost all of us. It’s almost as if the universe waits for you to stop trying so hard before stepping in with a quiet, “Here you go.”

Well, that’s how I found the name “Boundless” for my book. For weeks, I had been going around in circles to come up with a name that stuck. I first thought I would call it “Words to Live By,” and then “The Journal of Wisdom.”

But both sounded too clichéd, and especially “The Journal of Wisdom.” Readers would have thought I was too lazy to name my second book so, after the first being “The Sketchbook of Wisdom.”

I was stuck. And the more I tried to get to a title that really hit home, the less inspired I felt. I thought of coming back to it after a month or so.

Then, out of nowhere, it happened. I was about to take a seat in a restaurant for an anniversary meal with my wife, when I saw a magazine—turned upside down, and soiled with pasta sauce—on my designated table and called the staff to take it away. As I casually picked it up to keep it aside, my eyes landed on the word Boundless, written in very small font, on the front cover.

It hit me like a spark. “Boundless” was it! Somehow, I didn’t see it just as a title, but a feeling, an idea. It was exactly what I wanted my book to capture—freedom, growth, and the sense that life is boundless if we let it be.

I have had several encounters with serendipity in the past—in finding friends, stocks, books to read, among other things. And every time I look back at those moments, they remind me how many things or people we find in life come to us not when we are in the process of “finding”, but when we step away from it. They sneak in when we least expect them, when we’ve let our guards down just enough to notice.

Honestly, I think that’s the beauty of it. And a reminder that not everything in life can be planned or controlled. Sometimes, the best things happen when we step back and give life a chance to surprise us.

That word—Boundless—didn’t come from hours of brainstorming or a flash of brilliance. It came from an ordinary moment, a random magazine, and a little bit of luck.

And maybe that’s the lesson—sometimes, we must stop searching for life to find us.

Question: The world feels heavy lately. How do you hold onto hope when everything seems so bleak?

Response:
Hope can feel elusive in hard times. I don’t have a perfect answer, but what keeps me going is the idea that hope isn’t something you find—it’s something you create.

In my darkest moments, I’ve turned to stories—stories of people who faced unimaginable hardship and still found a way to keep going. Viktor Frankl, Nelson Mandela, Mahatma Gandhi, Anne Frank, even my own grandmother. Their resilience reminds me that no matter how dark it gets, there’s always a flicker of light if you’re willing to look for it.

Now, hope isn’t about blind optimism. It’s about choosing to believe in possibilities, even when the odds are stacked against you.

It’s in the small acts—reaching out to a friend, planting a tree, writing a book. Those things don’t fix the world overnight, but they plant seeds for a better one.

Hope is a choice, not a feeling. And some days, it’s the bravest choice you can make.

Question: I want to take a leap in my life, but I’m terrified of the uncertainty. How do you deal with fear of the unknown?

Response:
Fear of the unknown is primal—it’s hardwired into us. But the thing is that everything we’ve ever wanted exists in that unknown space. It’s scary, but it’s also where the magic happens.

When faced with uncertainty, remind yourself that life itself is uncertain. Even the most “stable” path can shift unexpectedly. Knowing that, you can figure you might as well take the leap toward something you care about.

Also think of fear as a companion, not an enemy. It’s there to keep you alert, to remind you to tread carefully. But it doesn’t get to drive the car.

Finally, remind yourself of a quote by Joseph Campbell: “The cave you fear to enter holds the treasure you seek.”

Fear isn’t a sign to stop; it’s a sign that something meaningful lies ahead.

Question: I want to achieve big things, but I also want to enjoy the present moment. How do you balance striving for more with appreciating what you have?

Response:
This is a question I’ve wrestled with for years. I’ve always been ambitious, always reaching for the next goal. But there were moments when I achieved something big and felt… nothing. It was like I was so focused on the next summit, I forgot to enjoy the climb.

What I’ve come to realize is that ambition and contentment aren’t opposites. They can coexist, but only if you let them. Contentment doesn’t mean settling; it means appreciating where you are while still dreaming of where you want to go.

One practice that’s helped me is gratitude. Not the Instagram-worthy kind, but the quiet, personal kind—writing down three things I’m grateful for every day, no matter how small. Gratitude grounds you in the present while still allowing you to dream.

I also remind myself of something I once heard: “You can be happy with a full cup and still have room for more.” The key is not letting your ambition rob you of the joy of what you already have.

Question: I constantly doubt myself, even when I know I’m capable. How do you quiet that inner critic and trust yourself?

Response:
Oh, self-doubt—my old friend. I wish I could say I’ve silenced that voice for good, but the truth is, it still visits me. The difference now is, I’ve learned not to give it the final word.

Self-doubt is sneaky because it sounds like it’s trying to protect you: “What if you fail? What if you’re not good enough?” But the more I’ve examined it, the more I’ve realized self-doubt is less about protecting you and more about keeping you small.

One thing that’s helped me is reframing self-doubt as curiosity. Instead of letting it stop me, I ask myself, “What if it’s wrong? What if I can do this?” That little shift turns doubt from a roadblock into a question I can explore.

Another thing I’ve learned is to separate my worth from my performance. You are not your success or failure. You are enough, even on your worst days. It sounds cheesy, I know, but sometimes the truth is.

Finally, I remind myself that everyone—even the people I admire—struggles with self-doubt. The difference is, they act anyway.

Courage, they say, isn’t the absence of doubt; it’s moving forward despite it.

Question: Sometimes life feels like I’m just going through the motions—work, eat, sleep, repeat. How do you stay motivated when it feels like nothing exciting is happening?

Response:
Monotony is a sneaky thief. It creeps in quietly and steals the spark from your days before you even realize it. I’ve been there too—stuck in the rhythm of routine, wondering, “Is this it?”

What’s helped me is shifting my focus from grand, life-changing events to the small, almost invisible moments that make life meaningful.

We often think motivation has to come from big goals or dramatic changes. But sometimes, it’s about finding joy in the mundane—like the taste of your morning coffee, the sound of rain, or even the quiet satisfaction of finishing a book.

Philosophers like Søren Kierkegaard believed in the idea of living life as an “art of repetition.” Even in the monotony, there’s beauty if we look for it.

Life isn’t always exciting, but it doesn’t have to be dull either. The trick is to slow down enough to notice the magic hidden in the ordinary.

Question: I’ve been struggling to forgive someone who betrayed me. I want to move on, but the anger and hurt keep pulling me back. How do you truly forgive?

Response:
Forgiveness is one of the hardest things to grapple with. People talk about it like it’s flipping a switch—decide to forgive, and poof, the pain is gone. But in my experience, it’s rarely that clean or easy. Forgiveness is messy, awkward, and sometimes painfully slow.

For me, forgiveness starts with admitting the hurt. That might sound obvious, but it’s surprising how often we try to gloss over our pain to seem strong or “above it.” But you can’t forgive what you haven’t fully felt.

Acknowledge the wound—how it hurt, why it hurt—and give yourself permission to sit with it.

The philosopher Desmond Tutu once said, “Forgiveness is not forgetting; it’s remembering and choosing not to seek revenge.” That thought changes something within you, doesn’t it?

Forgiveness isn’t about excusing the behaviour or pretending it doesn’t matter. It is about freeing yourself from the weight of anger and resentment.

Forgiving doesn’t mean you have to rebuild the relationship. It’s an internal process, not necessarily a reconciliation. And it takes time. I’ve had situations where forgiveness took years. Some days, I’d think I was over it, and the next, I’d be consumed by rage again. That’s normal. Forgiveness is a process, not a destination.

The truth is, forgiveness is as much for you as it is for the other person. It’s about reclaiming your peace, even if the wound doesn’t fully heal.

Question: I’ve been holding onto a dream for years, but it feels like it’s slipping further away. How do you know when to keep going and when to let go?

Response:
This is such a tough one because dreams feel so personal. Letting go of one can feel like letting go of a part of yourself. I’ve wrestled with this question more times than I can count.

Here’s what I’ve come to believe: Dreams evolve, just like we do. The dream you had five years ago may not fit the person you are today—and that’s okay. Letting go isn’t about giving up; it’s about making space for what’s next.

Letting go doesn’t mean you stop dreaming. It means you trust that life has more in store for you. And it does.

Question: I love learning and growing, but sometimes I feel like I’m putting too much pressure on myself. How do you find a balance?

Response:
Oh, I’ve been there. When you’re someone who loves growth, it’s easy to turn it into a never-ending to-do list. Read this book, adopt that habit, fix this flaw. It’s exhausting. And honestly, it’s not sustainable.

I used to think growth was about doing more—more learning, more achieving. But then I realized that growth isn’t about adding, but about becoming.

It’s less like building a skyscraper and more like tending a garden. Sometimes you plant seeds, sometimes you water them, and sometimes you just let the sun do its work.

One of the best pieces of advice I ever heard came from Lao Tzu: “Nature does not hurry, yet everything is accomplished.” When I feel like I’m burning out, I ask myself, “Am I growing in a way that feels natural, or am I forcing it?”

Burnout happens when you treat growth like a race. But life isn’t a race; it’s a rhythm. Some days you sprint, and some days you rest. And both are okay.

The key is to listen to what your body, mind, and soul need in the moment.

Question: I’ve faced failure recently, and it feels like my entire identity is wrapped up in what I’ve lost. How do you move forward when failure seems so final?

Response:
Failure hurths. Let’s just get that out of the way. It’s heavy, humiliating, and—if you’re like me—it feels deeply personal. When I’ve failed, it wasn’t just a setback, but felt like I was the failure.

The hardest ‘failure’ I ever faced was tied to my career. I had built up this image of myself as someone who was going places. Then the financial crisis hit in 2008, and my carefully constructed plans came crashing down. For months, I kept replaying it in my head: What could I have done differently? What does this say about me?

The answer didn’t come overnight. But over time, I realized that failure isn’t the end of the road; it’s the beginning of a new one. It’s like that Rumi quote: “Try not to resist the changes that come your way. Instead, let life live through you.” Sometimes, the road you’re on isn’t the one you’re meant to stay on.

I started asking myself, “What can I learn from this?” At first, the answers were painful—lessons about humility, resilience, and letting go of control. But those lessons became the foundation for everything I’ve done since.

Failure strips away the inessential. It’s uncomfortable, but it forces you to ask, “Who am I without this success?” The answer is deeper than you think.