How we seek to spend our time may depend on how much time we perceive ourselves to have.
― Atul Gawande, Being Mortal
Earlier this month, on my birthday, I announced the publication of my second book, Boundless. I received a lot of congratulatory messages, but a few people also asked about the two other books I’d announced previously—The Worldly Wisdom of Charlie Munger and Shut Up and Wait. Neither has made it to bookshelves yet.
I knew this question was coming. Honestly, I’ve been asking myself the same thing. Why start a new project when there’s unfinished work on the table?
The truth is, sometimes your heart doesn’t follow the same timeline as your to-do list. It’s not that the tasks on your list aren’t important—they are. And ignoring them entirely isn’t an option. But there’s this quiet nudge that comes from somewhere deeper, maybe your heart, that says, “Not now.” Or sometimes, “Now, before it’s too late.”
As I’ve found out, this—when your heart diverges from your to-do list—often happens because the stakes feel different. The to-do list you create is a result of your priorities and deadlines. The heart, on the other hand, operates on meaning, intuition, and emotion. It asks questions that no spreadsheet can answer: What will you regret not doing? What feels urgent—not in the hurried sense but in the soulful sense? What would bring you joy, peace, or fulfilment?
Anyway, it was in May this year, on a trip to Omaha, that I realised why this shift mattered.
Before moving forward, I should explain the Omaha trip because it wasn’t just another trip, but a pilgrimage. For years, I’d dreamed of attending the Berkshire Hathaway Annual Meeting, of seeing Warren Buffett and Charlie Munger in person. They’ve influenced my thinking in profound ways, shaping how I view investing, decision-making, and even life itself. But despite that, I’d never made the pilgrimage. Why? Oh, the usual excuses—too busy, maybe next year, not the right time, or too crowded for my comfort.
But Munger’s passing last year at 99 reminded me of time’s unrelenting march, for all of us. So, I asked myself: “What if I never get to see Buffett?”
It wasn’t just about him. It was about me, too—whether I was putting off something that mattered deeply for reasons that wouldn’t matter at all in hindsight. Would I regret not going? The answer was a loud yes.
So, I booked the trip, without any overthinking or hesitation.
As I walked into the AGM venue on Saturday, 4th May 2024, at around 7 AM, surrounded by thousands of others who had made the same pilgrimage, I felt an overwhelming stillness—a sense of both insignificance and connection.
Buffett had spent decades sharing his wisdom, but he was still just an aging human sitting on a stage. And when he said this as his closing remark, “I not only hope that you come next year but I hope that I come next year,” it hit me that we’re all working within the same constraint: time. No amount of brilliance or wealth can buy more of it. And that’s the beauty of it, isn’t it? No one escapes time, but we all get to decide how we spend it.
That thought stayed with me long after the trip. But apart from peace, it also brought forth a few big questions, like: “If this were my last year on Earth, what would I regret not doing? What have I been putting off because I think I have more time than I really do?”
These aren’t easy questions. In fact, they’re a bit terrifying. But they’re also necessary. For me, they triggered what I can only describe as a “life review”, where I started looking back at my choices, evaluating whether they align with what I truly value, and then deciding what needs to change.
And like the most important twists and turns that appear in our lives, these questions weren’t something I planned. They just happened, sparked by that trip and deepened by a growing awareness of my own mortality.
A quick history of where I am coming from may help here. Heart issues run in my family. My great-grandfather died of a heart attack in his mid-40s. My grandfather passed away of cardiac arrest soon after turning 60. My father had heart bypass surgery at 64 and fought cancer before passing at 70.
At 46, I’m aware the clock is ticking—not in a doomsday way, but in a ‘make the most of it’ way. In fact, that thought of mortality doesn’t scare me as much as it motivates me. I don’t see it as a burden but a wake-up call and a reminder that time is finite, and how I use it matters.
This awareness reshaped how I lived through most of 2024. I started asking myself questions that were uncomfortable but clarifying:
- What am I holding onto that no longer serves me?
- What am I putting off that I might regret later?
- What really matters to me, and what’s just noise?
This self-assessment made one thing clear: I was carrying too many commitments, too many distractions, and too many unfinished projects. And this wasn’t just physical clutter but mental clutter.
I realised that every “no” I said could make room for a deeper “yes.” Saying no to unnecessary obligations meant saying yes to more time with my family. Saying no to constant busyness meant saying yes to the things that truly inspire me—like writing Boundless.
This wasn’t easy. Setting aside projects I’d started but hadn’t finished felt like a betrayal of my own values of seeing things through and never quitting. But I had to remind myself that saying no to something isn’t the same as failing. It’s making a choice—a conscious one—to prioritise what matters most (or more).
And that’s how Boundless came to be. The book wasn’t on my radar at the start of the year. In fact, if you’d asked me in January 2024, I would’ve told you I had no plans to start a new book before finishing the ones I’d already started. But as I reflected on my life, my notes, and the lessons I’ve learned, it became clear that Boundless was the book I needed to write—not later, but now—and not just for my children or anyone else who may benefit, but for myself.
Yes, writing Boundless wasn’t just about creating a book, but about confronting myself. The process forced me to look at the gap between what I say and what I do, between the lessons I’ve learned and the ones I actually live by.
It was humbling. Writing has this way of exposing your contradictions. But it also gave me clarity and a sense of alignment between who I am and who I want to be.
This clarity came from asking questions, over and over, and sitting with the discomfort of not having easy answers. In fact, just sitting with my questions was a revelation for me, for that gave me time to slow down and really feel the weight of them.
The questions, like the ones I mentioned above, weren’t tidy or linear. They came in waves. But sitting with them gave me something I hadn’t realised I was missing: perspective. It allowed me to step back from the noise of daily life and really examine what I was doing with my time—and, more importantly, why I was doing it.
In fact, one of the biggest lessons 2024 has taught me is that clarity isn’t something you stumble upon but something you create. And you do that by letting go of what doesn’t matter and holding tight to what does.
For me, that means doing less but doing it better. Fewer projects. Fewer investments. Fewer distractions. Fewer decisions. More focus on the things that truly matter—my family, my writing, and a couple of meaningful endeavours.
The rest? It can wait. Or maybe it doesn’t need to happen at all.
And I’m okay with that. What matters to me now is asking questions—and taking steps, however small, to live in alignment with the answers.
Looking ahead to 2025, I don’t have any resolutions. I have a simple intention: to live fully and embrace my finite time not with fear but with a renewed sense of purpose and possibility.
I don’t know what the year will bring. None of us do. But I do know this: I want to keep writing, keep learning, and keep sharing. I want to be present for my family and close friends, and true to myself. I want to live a life that feels boundless, even within the bounds of time.
And that would be enough.
What about you?
If you paused for a moment and really thought about it, what would you realise you’ve been putting off? What’s one thing you could do today to live with fewer regrets?
It doesn’t have to be big or dramatic. Maybe it’s booking that trip you’ve always dreamed of. Maybe it’s writing a letter you’ve been meaning to send. Maybe it’s just taking a moment to sit with yourself and ask: Am I living the life I want to live?
You don’t need perfect answers. You don’t even need a plan. All you need is a willingness to start. Sometimes, that’s all it takes to turn a question into a life well-lived.