The Year I Learnt to Solve for Peace

History's greatest minds kept journals. Marcus Aurelius wrote his Meditations as private notes to himself—they became one of philosophy's most enduring works. Leonardo da Vinci filled thousands of pages with observations, sketches, and questions. Darwin's journals from the Beagle voyage laid the groundwork for evolutionary theory. Virginia Woolf, Anne Frank, Benjamin Franklin—all of them understood that writing down what you learn transforms how you see the world.

Inspired by these examples, I started my own daily learning journal six years ago. Each day, I write down one thing I learnt—from the profound to the practical. My sources range from books and podcasts to life experiences and the feedback people give me, both direct and indirect. Last year, I shared my learnings from 2024, organised into key life areas.

2025 was different.

This was the year I lost my father. I also lost two dear friends—one to a sudden health crisis, the other to depression. Grief arrived in waves, each loss stripping away another layer of illusion. The illusion that I had infinite time. The illusion that the people I loved would always be there. The illusion that I could postpone the hard questions about what actually matters.

In the months that followed, my journal entries shifted. The medical learnings (practical insights from daily work) and productivity hacks were still there, but underneath them ran a deeper current: a desperate search for peace in a world that suddenly felt far more fragile.

What emerged from this year wasn't just a collection of lessons—it was a something deeper. And at its centre was one realisation that changed everything: health, success, relationships, creativity—all of it revolves around peace of mind. Everything else is downstream.

Here's what 2025 taught me, organised not as a list, but as a journey (sentences in bold are my journal entries).

I. The Podcast as Mirror

This was the year our podcast, Luminary Lounge, truly came alive. We recorded conversations with remarkable people—entrepreneurs, artists, scientists, armed forces veterans, police officers. I went into each of my episode as a host thinking I was there to extract wisdom from my guests. What I didn't expect was how much they would reflect back to me.

One guest told me: "Commitment to work, respect for partners, and working for something bigger than yourself—these are the three pillars." I wrote it down. But it wasn't until weeks later, sitting with my journal after a particularly difficult day, that I realised the impact of this line. What does bigger than yourself mean?

Another conversation revealed this: "The most important thing in life is how much you're willing to suffer to get—or keep—what you want." It sounds harsh, but it's liberating. Because once you know what you're willing to suffer for, everything else becomes noise.

The podcast also taught me about character. I learnt that the true integrity and character of entrepreneurs matters more than their ideas. You can have the most brilliant concept in the world, but without integrity, it crumbles. This became a filter for everything—who I worked with, who I trusted, who I invited onto the show.

The podcast taught me something else too: wisdom can only truly be expressed through stories. Lists are helpful. Principles are necessary. But stories—stories change people. They did for me.

II. Consciousness, Collapse, and Free Will

Losing people you love forces you to confront the big questions. What is consciousness? What happens when it ends? Do we have free will, or are we just playing out a script written by karma?

I found myself drawn more to Advaita Vedanta this year—the philosophy of non-duality. The idea that consciousness is the background function that gives rise to both us and the world felt less like philosophy and more like direct experience. In meditation, I started to glimpse it (or did I?): the space between thoughts, the awareness that watches the watcher.

One entry from my journal reads: "Free will is the collapse of the quantum information field into a classical state." This was after reading latest research in the field of consciousness. I don't know if that's scientifically accurate, but it felt true. Every decision we make is a collapse—a narrowing of infinite possibility into one reality. And if that's the case, then the quality of our decisions depends on the clarity of our consciousness.

Which brings me back to peace. A clear mind leads to clear decisions. Anxiety, anger, distraction—these aren't just uncomfortable emotions. They're noise in the signal. They corrupt the collapse.

This year, I learnt: the only job of consciousness is to become increasingly self-aware. Not smarter. Not more productive. More aware. Because awareness is the key to transformation.

I also came across a beautiful scientific truth that resonated deeply with Hindu philosophy: You are nothing but photons from the Sun, converted to a human being. Every atom in your body was forged in a star. Every calorie you burn came from sunlight captured by plants. This explains the reverence given to the Sun in Hindu culture—it's not superstition, it's recognition of a fundamental truth. We are, quite literally, children of the Sun.

III. The Mitochondria Manifesto

I'm an anaesthesiologist, so I spend my days thinking about physiology. But this year, I became obsessed with mitochondria—the tiny powerhouses inside every cell. And the more I learnt, the more I realised: mitochondria might be the CEOs of our lives.

Here's what I mean: mitochondria produce the energy that powers every thought, every heartbeat, every decision. When they're stressed—by inflammation, poor sleep, chronic anger—they falter. And when they falter, so do we.

From the article in Scientific American 

I started treating my mitochondria like honoured guests. I fasted to give them time to repair. I swam to keep them resilient (Yes, aerobic Zone 2 activity improves mitochondrial function). I meditated to reduce oxidative stress. I cut out omega-6-heavy oils after 7 PM because I noticed they tanked my heart rate variability.

Chronic stress impairs mitochondrial function through oxidative damage—cortisol literally corrodes our cellular engines. Positive emotional states, whilst not directly "energising" mitochondria, correlate with better inflammatory markers and cellular health. Solving for peace, then, isn't just philosophy—it's cellular maintenance. Your cells are listening.

One of my favourite entries from this year: "What does anger do to mitochondria? It adds oxidative stress, impairs repair, and causes long-term cellular damage."

IV. Relationships as Guardrails

Grief taught me something else: relationships are the only thing that matter when everything else falls away.

Losing my friend to depression haunts me still. I keep replaying conversations, wondering if I missed signs, if I could have reached out more. It taught me this: talk to people who might be vulnerable, and talk to them when they're vulnerable. Don't wait. Don't assume someone else will check in. Every phone call from a known person is crucial (especially if they are out of hours).

I also learnt a practical lesson the hard way. Whilst travelling with a diabetic relative, they nearly collapsed from hypoglycaemia. We were miles from help. Since then, I always carry sugar sweets when travelling with a diabetic. It's a small thing, but small things save lives.

This year, I became more intentional about the people in my life. I learnt that every relationship needs well-defined boundaries—not as walls, but as guardrails. They keep you safe without cutting you off.

I also learnt this: nurturing relationships, especially with juniors, is vital for downstream treatment of everyone. In medicine, we call it "culture." In life, it's just decency. How you treat the people who can't do anything for you reveals who you really are.

One of the most humbling lessons came from a simple observation: never underestimate the power of not informing seniors or mentors of a big change in your life. They expect to be informed. It sounds obvious, but I'd been so focused on other things that I forgot. Respect isn't weakness. It's glue.

I also realised: always have gratitude to the community that raises you. Your success is not just your own—it belongs to everyone in your journey. This hit me hard after my father's death. Everything I've achieved carries his fingerprints, and those of countless others who believed in me before I believed in myself.

And this, which I'm still working on: be aggressive in kindness. Don't expect anything in return.

One more insight about relationships: always have a wingman or wingwoman to read everything else happening in life. You can't see your own blind spots (remember Top Gun?). You need someone who cares for you enough to tell you the truth. Friendship!

Finally, this profound truth (from Modern Wisdom podcast episode): A husband owes a lot to his wife for bearing his child—she risks her life. Men need to know this. Childbirth is still one of the most dangerous things a woman can do. We forget that too easily.

V. The Metal Detector Analogy: Finding Your Pieces

One of the most powerful metaphors I encountered this year came from a conversation about self-discovery:

You are a fully formed statue. However, at birth the statue is broken into various pieces, and the pieces are for you to find to make the statue whole again. Whenever you are closer to a piece, you will feel it—jealousy, inclination towards it, curiosity. Find it as early as possible.

This reframed everything. Jealousy isn't a character flaw—it's a metal detector. When you feel drawn to something someone else has or does, pay attention. That's a piece of your statue calling to you.

This connects to another insight: curiosity is the precursor to a lot of things, including—and importantly—empathy. When you're curious about someone, you naturally begin to understand them. Curiosity dissolves judgement.

And this: we can never build a strong inner self with a recipe book. We need to keep testing, training ourselves with challenges. There's no shortcut to becoming whole. You have to do the work. You have to find the pieces.

VI. The Goldilocks Principle: Distance and Balance

Teaching taught me about distance this year. I learnt about the Goldilocks zone for teaching: be at "just the right" distance. Too close, and you suffocate. Too far, and you abandon. The sweet spot is where you're present but not intrusive, available but not overbearing. It also resonates with the principle of gravity wells caused by mass in the space time fabric. Too close - you crash and burn. Too far - You are not in orbit anymore.

This applies to everything. Parenting. Mentoring. Friendship. Leadership.

I also learnt about balance in a new way: Stoicism is not about being devoid of emotions, but about decreasing the range in which they manifest. You still feel joy and sorrow, but you don't swing wildly between ecstasy and despair. You find the centre. Equanimity or Stithapragnya.

And this: Moderation is holding two opposing ideas, facts, or emotions and being in balance. Life is full of paradoxes. The goal isn't to resolve them—it's to hold them without breaking.

Another paradox: leave the same gap in life as much as a hand out of the water surface leaves—get ready to be forgotten. This sounds bleak, but it's liberating. You're not here to be remembered. You're here to live fully. The gap you leave will close. And that's okay.

VII. The AI Reckoning

2025 was the year AI stopped being a novelty and became a force. The pace of change accelerated every week. AGI—artificial general intelligence—no longer felt like science fiction. It felt like next year.

This raised urgent questions: What makes us human, and how do we retain it?

I wrote this in my journal: "Conversational AI is blurring the lines of what actually makes us human. Ethics matter." And later: "We will need to prove we are human in the future." (There's even a project called ORB working on this.)

But here's what I keep coming back to: AI will not take jobs. We will eliminate a lot of jobs. The question isn't whether AI is coming—it's what we choose to do with it. Do we use it to amplify our humanity, or replace it?

One insight from a podcast guest stuck with me: "What can you use AI for? Orchestrating is more important than playing all the instruments." In other words: the future belongs to conductors, not soloists.

And this, which I think about constantly: "Friction is required in life, especially with AI, to learn and create. Don't take the easy way out." If we let AI do all the thinking, we atrophy . The goal isn't efficiency—it's retaining the human element of creativity.

The key skill for the future? Speed of adaptability plus vision to see change. Think of a footballer or basketball player reading the game three moves ahead. That's what we all need now.

VIII. On Work, Credibility, and High Agency

This year taught me hard lessons about professional life.

First: keeping your word when someone else's time is involved is paramount for credibility. And once you lose it? To gain back credibility after losing it is an uphill task. Protect it.

I also learnt: judgements should be based on a solid foundation of information, not bias. This sounds obvious, but in practice, we judge constantly based on incomplete data. Slow down. Gather facts. Then decide.

One of the most surprising insights: many don't put effort in because they fear facing success, not failure. This is called the Jonah complex. Success means responsibility. It means visibility. It means you can't hide anymore. For some people, that's more terrifying than failure.

I also learnt about decision-making: be democratic until a decision is made, then be dictatorial later. Invite input. Listen. Then decide and execute without second-guessing.

And this: asking "stupid" questions leads to better clarity and a compounding effect. The questions that feel embarrassing to ask are often the ones everyone else is wondering about too. I am still figuring how to perfect this art.

Another principle: focus on input metrics and keep a watch on output metrics. Never fixate only on a North Star. Outputs are lagging indicators. Inputs are what you control. Obsess over the inputs, and the outputs will follow.

Finally: developing high agency means taking on life and acting with a bias for action. Came across this concept in the website on High Agency

Don't wait for permission. Don't wait for perfect conditions. Act.

IX. Life as Poker, Life as Dance

Two metaphors shaped my thinking this year.

The first: Play life with a poker mindset—luck plus skill to hack the system. Life isn't fair. You don't always get good cards. But you can learn to play the hand you're dealt better than anyone else. That's the game.

The second: Treat life like a dance—no major purpose or endpoint. This is the opposite of poker. It's not about winning. It's about moving beautifully through the moment. Both are true. Life is poker and dance.

I also came to believe this: Life equals love (kindness), laughter (joy), and work (fulfilment). If you have all three, you're rich. If you're missing one, something's broken.

And this: no virtuous act is quite virtuous from the standpoint of friend or foe. We need the final form of love: forgiveness. Your enemy won't see your kindness as virtue. Your friend might take it for granted. The only way out is forgiveness—of them, and of yourself.

X. Simplicity, Complexity, and Creation

I spent a lot of time this year thinking about simplicity.

Einstein's principle: Keep things as simple as possible, but not simpler. There's a line. Stay on the right side, and you gain clarity.

But I also learnt this from our Podcast guest: Reductionist thinking might be flawed. We need to think creationist—complexity arising from simplicity. Simple formulae leading to complexity. The universe isn't just breaking down. It's building up. Emergence is real. Simple rules create galaxies, ecosystems and much more .

This connects to another idea: the mediocrity principle. The universe cares nothing about you—not because it's malevolent, but because it's about nature and its laws. You're not special. And that's freeing. You don't have to carry the weight of cosmic significance. You just have to live well.

And this: Nexus is the way to think about any event—multiple factors are responsible for it. Nothing has one cause. Everything is a web. Thinking in systems, not lines, is the key to understanding the world.

XI. The Discipline of Peace

By mid-year, a pattern had emerged in my journal. Nearly every other entry—whether about health, work, relationships, or spirituality—pointed back to the same thing: peace of mind.

I wrote: "Solve for peace always. Easier said, difficult to implement."

And: "Nothing can bring peace except yourself and your triumph of principles."

And: "Mindfulness opens the mind for clarity and peace."

Peace isn't passive. It's not about avoiding conflict or numbing yourself to pain. It's about building a solid core of values so you can stand up anywhere. It's about surrendering to the flow of life whilst acting with intention—like swimming with the current, adding energy with positivity.

Here's what I learnt about building peace:

• Silence is a solution to many paradoxes. When in doubt, stop talking. Stop thinking. Just be.

• Staying silent frees up brain processing power. Your mind is a tool, not your identity.

• Take breaks: hourly (1 min), weekly (3 hrs), quarterly (1 day), yearly (1 week). Rest isn't maintenance. It's essential.

• Indecisiveness is a major contributor to unhappiness. Make the call. Move on.

• Save energy for better decisions, or earn it by doing the right things. Decision quality requires brain energy.

• Feeling secure and having basic needs met leads to creative and multidimensional pursuits. Maslow was right. You can't self-actualise when you're worried about survival.

  
  

And this, which might be the most important thing I learnt all year: "Happiness should be independent of external factors. Easier said."

I'm not there yet. But I'm closer.

One more insight: missing out actually makes the choice made more meaningful. Decide on what matters most. Every yes is a thousand nos. Own that. Celebrate it.

XII. Coffee, Ritual, and Presence

This year, I tasted close to twenty different types of coffee from across the globe, especially India. I wrote about the experience on my blog, exploring how tasting coffee and understanding people has common ground.

What I learnt: Freshly ground coffee makes a huge difference to taste. But timing matters too. Don't drink it too early—cortisol is still spiking. The best window is 10 AM to noon. Any later, and it can affect your sleep.

Coffee became a ritual for me this year. Not just caffeine, but presence. A moment to pause. To taste. To be grateful.

XIII. Teams of Rivals

One final lesson about collaboration: Team of Rivals—partner with the opposite party if the goal is the same.

Lincoln did this. He brought his fiercest critics into his cabinet because he knew they'd make him sharper. Ego is expensive. Results matter more.

This applies everywhere. In business. In medicine. In life. Find people who disagree with you and work with them anyway. The friction creates something stronger than either of you could build alone.

XIV. What I'm Taking Forward

As I look back on 2025, a few lessons rise above the rest:

1. Grit is more important in the long run than talent or IQ. Keep showing up.

2. Excellence is mundane. It's not one heroic act—it's a thousand small ones.

3. The universe will help if your intent is clear and aligned with decreasing entropy. Work for something bigger than yourself.

4. Irrational dedication to build and create is what really creates beauty in the world. Don't wait for permission.

5. Awe is the emotion we need to have daily. Seek it. Create it. Protect it.

   
   

And above all: Solve for peace.

Because everything else—health, success, love, creativity—flows from that.

How to Start Your Own Learning Journal

If this resonates, here's how to begin:

Choose your format: Digital, physical, voice notes—whatever works.

Set a daily reminder: Reflect each evening. One learning per day. Don't skip.

Be specific: Write what you learnt and why it matters.

Be honest: This is for you, not an audience.

In a year, you'll have 365 pieces of personal wisdom. In five years, you'll have a manual for living.

Start today. Write down one thing you learnt. Tomorrow, do it again.

The beauty of this practice is that it trains your mind to stay curious and alert to life's lessons. Every day brings new insights if you're paying attention.

2025 taught me that wisdom doesn't come from avoiding pain—it comes from paying attention to it. From letting it reshape you. From asking: What is this trying to teach me?

My father's death taught me that time is the one resource we can't earn back. So spend it wisely. Spend it on peace.

Wishing you a year of clarity, courage, and deep peace. Happy 2026!

Author Note: I have taken the help of Claude Sonnet 4.5 to edit this document