Or, put differently – as of typing this – 6,912,000 seconds/115,200 minutes/1920 hours.
Until I step into the ring for my first public boxing match.
The school of hard knocks: admissions open
I am bonkers for doing this; boxing is brutal! But I’ve always erred on the side of cuckoo.
Then again, you only live once.
So why not do something new?
Something that expands your comfort zone.
Something you’ll cherish for the remainder of your days.
Something that will teach you more about yourself than any classroom can.
‘How much can you know about yourself if you’ve never been in a fight?’
Chuck Palahniuk, Fight Club
This is the kind of event that bonds you with people for life. Genuine human connection. Which I love.
All fighters going into Spartans White Collar 3 (taking place on 26th November 2022 – clear your schedule and mark your calendars!) will be subject to an intense training camp, which begins on the 17th of September.
It will be gruelling, but I reckon I should be able to endure what my coaches throw at me.
My tolerance for pain has substantially increased since I started boxing training.
I’d be lying if I said it made me a man overnight; it took many moons (and early mornings) for me to become stronger.
I’m not the delicate darling I used to be. And man, do I love it.
All this said, what I fear most is the mental battle that looms ahead, that I’ve already been fighting on a daily basis.
The hardest battles are indeed fought in the mind.
Although I am overly frank when I write, I cannot disclose what plagues me everyday.
Maybe another time.
But I can tell you why I got into boxing:
Standing up for myself: I was recovering from long-term knee injuries, and decided to take up a sport I knew would kick my arse into shape. So far, so good; I am able to stand without pain, which is a blessing.
Curiosity killed the cat, but saved Karan: I love experiencing new things. And I had no idea I’d fall in love with boxing, and the community, to such a degree. It’s been an eye-opening, and highly emotional journey so far.
On board the self-improvementtrain: I was aware of the rigorous demands of this sport. What I didn’t know was how well it would mesh into my plans of becoming the best version of myself.
Boxing is the best thing I’ve done for my mental, physical, and spiritual health.
I am a massive advocate for it. But I know it is not for everyone.
It is, however, entertaining, which is an excellent segue into what I must do in order to participate in Spartans White Collar 3…
Sell twenty tickets OR two tables.
Here’s the deal. This is a glamorous, black-tie, ticketed event, held at the JW Marriott Marquis Dubai. Standard tickets cost 650 Dirhams per head (approx. 177 US).
The ticket covers entry, includes unlimited alcoholic drinks, and a delicious 4-course meal.
For most who partake in the quintessential ‘Dubai-lifestyle’, this deal is a no-brainer.
But here’s the million-dollar question: are you going to come and watch me on the biggest night of my life so far?
Are you going to put your money where your mouth is, and buy a ticket? This will be a brilliant night. And I am not writing this because I must sell these tickets.
If you know me even slightly, you know I always tell the truth. I need your support here.
I would love nothing more than having people I know – and care about – cheer me on as I throw a left hook; scream my name as I close the distance to my opponent with a ferocious jab; and yell in delight as the announcer declares me victorious.
Of course, that last statement is up in the air. But here’s what I know without a shadow of a doubt.
A real man sticks to his word, and puts in work – in the dark – even when nobody’s watching.
I hope to see you on 26th November. If you’d like to support me by buying a ticket, drop me a message.
Even though a loss would teach me more than a victory…I’m a sore loser, and I want to savour the glorious moment when the referee raises my fist in the air.
Before I left home, however, my mom called me into her room, and asked me to sit on her bed.
“Uh-oh”, this must be serious, I thought.
I won’t get into the specifics, but here’s what I can share:
She said I was crying last night.
I was astonished. I had no idea I cried at home.
Yes – I cried at least 2 times yesterday – but it was with two of my best friends during the day; and it was because I felt grateful, and happy.
She passed by my room (which was locked) and heard me sobbing loudly.
What’s funny is I had no idea this happened.
I will put this strange incident down to rediscovering my zest for life.
Destroy, then rebuild.
Break ups are messy, and usually complicated. I know someone who is going through a rough patch because they broke up with someone they loved.
The best healer is time. I write from experience, because I unceremoniously got dumped by someone I gave all my love to.
Thankfully, we only dated briefly, which meant we didn’t exchange physical belongings.
Instead, what we shared as a couple were fleeting moments of happiness, intimacy, and – in this modern dating world – a digital trail that occasionally reminds me of her.
The person I know shared more with their former lover.
A roof. Possessions. Memories. A life.
Whilst it hurts to see someone I care about unable to find their feet as a newly single person, I realise I cannot help them until they help themselves.
And this is the single biggest lesson I have learnt over the past 9 months, when the girl I liked disrespected, cheated, and lied to me.
When we began dating, I knew I had to fix myself if I were to make space for someone else in my life.
Someone I gave a damn about. Someone I wanted to build a life with. Someone I wanted to discover new things with.
Which is why – seemingly out of nowhere – when I was smoking a cigarette in my building’s parking lot, the idea came to me:
I had physical ailments I had to heal.
I had important relationships I had to rebuild.
I had sinful addictions I had to curb.
So, what did I do? I put myself through hell.
I embraced pain.
I expanded my comfort zone.
And killed a Karan Sharma I hated.
To make room for a Karan Sharma I loved.
It’s been an educational journey. And it’s going to be a long one. The road to self-improvement never ends.
But, as I’ve experienced before, (as a former music vlogger) when you put yourself on a path which aligns with your authentic self, you meet magical people who bring out the best in you.
Death is inevitable. Which is why I want to leave my mark on this world.
I am keenly aware of my impending mortality. We are blessed with one life, and after murdering a self I disliked, I can now see – crystal clearly – what I must do to leave a positive impact before ol’ Grim Reaper pays me a visit.
And as I turned 29 on the 21st August, I could see Father Time in the distance; nodding at me in approval, urging me to continue doing what I do best:
Creating, living, loving, improving, and motivating.
My 29th birthday was memorable because I broke a tradition I’ve maintained since 2015.
For the past 7 years (excluding 2020 – looking at you…Big C) I’ve celebrated my birthday anywhere but Dubai.
2015 was spent in India
2016 was spent in Hawaii
2017 was spent in Sri Lanka
2018 was spent in Romania
2019 was spent in Malta
2020 – you already know
2021 was spent in India
I will probably celebrate my 30th in a different part of the world. Time will tell…
Today marks the end of my birthday week.
And yesterday I met my best friend, who came bearing gifts that were not only thoughtful, but practical. They will come in handy for my White Collar boxing match.
Those are the kind of gifts that tug at my heartstrings. Unsurprisingly, I teared up when receiving them.
I love her. She’s a sweetheart. And one of the strongest women I know. I am grateful to have her in my life.
That is all, for now. Thank you for reading. I will leave you with some photos from my 29th birthday, which I celebrated with my friends – most of whom I’ve known for over 15 years. Precious.
And some from meeting my friends yesterday for a Japanese lunch.
(This is how I journal in Google Keep. I mention the date, write a headline, opening time, do the journalling, and then sign off with closing time. I must write now – editing and structure be damned – else the duties and troubles of tomorrow will weigh me down, and I will not be able to express the way I’m feeling. I secretly hope no-one will read this blog. Because I’m feeling vulnerable. And I’m not the kind to share when I’m feeling down; I prefer to bear my burden by myself.)
God, it’s been a day. It is tough being a man. Yes, it is. Is it tough being a human; no matter whether you’re a man or woman? Also true. But it’s tougher being a man.
We’re expected to largely figure things out on our own. Make something of ourselves. Get a job. Find a mate. Start a family. Put a roof over their heads. Raise the damn family. Protect them.
And be the rock when things go south. Not The Rock. Although I’ll admit, it’d be cool being The Rock.
Man, why do I try being funny. I cringe every time I try to crack a joke in my writing.
(Note to self: do not try your hand at stand-up, no matter how tantalizing the idea of getting up on stage may seem.)
Ding-dong! My phone’s notification bell just went off. I check it, and Bumble tells me I’ve got a new bee in the hive.
It’s a girl I matched with several years ago.
I think back to when we matched; we didn’t get past the messaging stage. She either ghosted me, or I deleted the app. What I do remember is I liked the way she looked, and she was an art-director.
I thought it was fitting, because I used to be a copywriter.
In conventional agencies, copywriters and art directors work together to make ads.
Naturally, I thought we’d make a baby. Or get married. At the very least.
I’m kidding. It’s not like I used any of those lines when chatting her up. I swear.
On this girl. Who I don’t like. At all.
(I actually don’t, just to clear the air. There’s another girl I like, but I’m getting ahead of myself. Read on to know more…)
I used to have an on/off relationship with this shitty dopamine-rollercoaster.
Now, I just don’t give a fuck. If I meet someone I vibe with, great. If not, also great.
I have no shortage of beautiful women in my life, and sex isn’t as appealing as it used to be.
I’ve been around the block. I had an unforgivable addiction to pleasure that I’ve finally tamed.
(This next sentence is graphic. Proceed with caution.)
I’ve had mind-blowing orgasms that have had me rolling my eyes to the back of my head, and had me exhaling in ecstasy afterwards. ‘Pure carnal pleasure’ is putting it mildly.
After that, I usually puff on a Marlboro light, and question if there’s more to life. Spoiler alert: there is.
When you’ve scaled peaks of pleasure as high as I have, you realize you must give purpose to your life.
Devote yourself to a mission. One which gives you a profound and personal sense of satisfaction.
Not happiness. Because happiness is fleeting.
Ideally, this mission should give back to your community in some form.
Happiness is overrated. Contentment? Now we’re talking.
I ask not for a lighter load, but broader shoulders.
I will not write about my troubles – because, again – I dislike being a negative Nancy.
And they seem trivial as I think about them now. Of course, they haven’t gone anywhere.
The problems are snoozing. So should I, because it’s 11:46 PM, and I’ve had a long day.
I was at a boxing class at 6:30 this AM. And another one at 6:45 this evening.
And I’ve got a Strength and Conditioning class at 5:30 PM tomorrow. It is a brutal class.
But I must put in the work. I’m fighting my first public fight in November.
I keep saying this to myself, and telling the world, as if it will come to pass. And it will, subject to my boxing gym finding an opponent in my weight and experience class.
The boxing gym offers free training to the fighters. In exchange, they have to sell tickets so the event is a success, and the gym makes a profit.
I initially had reservations about signing up, because the prospect of selling 20 tickets seemed more daunting than the intense training.
But after a hiatus of 3 years, I’ve reactivated my social media profiles. And I am confident in my ability to generate hype.
As I often tell myself; I am the ultimate hypebeast. I have this gift to get people behind me. Cheer me on in my endeavours.
In fact, being my biggest cheerleader has held me in good stead on my journey to be the best me I can be.
Even when no-one’s watching, so long as I’ve got my beauty sleep, I can motivate myself to finish a project, or put in the hours during training.
I haven’t started promoting my upcoming fight on the-necessary-but-evil social media platforms yet, but the few people I’ve told – even in passing – are keen to come, and support me.
I’m thankful for my circle. I’m grateful to have good people in my life. I was crying about it in my car last week on my sister’s birthday.
I wrote a few hundred words about how I felt…although I’m not sure if that blog will see the light of day.
I didn’t have the cojones to complete it, because I felt I came across too sappy.
Sappy? Ooh boy, you have no idea how sappy I can get! Screw it, let me tell you about the girl I mentioned earlier.
Love yourself boy,
or no one will.
Right. There’s this girl I like. (“Oh Sharma, not another one!” You can almost hear the collective groan of my friends as I declare my undying devotion to yet another woman.)
To be fair, I used to fall for every second girl who was reasonably attractive several years ago.
Thankfully, after my last breakup that saw me end up in the hospital – don’t ask, I let my vices get the better of me…
And the subsequent changes that took place, which included:
10 months of falling in love with myself;
Rediscovering my self-worth;
Building a life I’m proud of;
Embracing my masculinity;
And being wanted by women
I’ve finally developed a benchmark for what I seek in a partner. And that last point particularly earmarks how far I’ve grown since my breakup.
I never knew how much of a big deal it made to me. Wait, that’s not entirely true.
I always knew I’ve loved the attention from the fairer sex. Who doesn’t like an ego boost? Especially, as an Emirati girl told me this weekend…it’s clear as day I’m a proud Leo! And us Leos love the spotlight.
Let me take you back to 2014. I was consistently hitting the gym, and I looked hench.
I strutted into a fancy bar in Souq Al Bahar (an upmarket area next to the Burj Khalifa) to meet the boys on a Thursday night.
The second I walked in; I caught a girl who was shamelessly eye-raping me.
I had never felt more like a piece of meat in my life. And you know what?
I fucking loved it.
I knew she wanted nothing more than to go home with and ride me until the sun came up.
I didn’t give her the time of night, though. I enjoyed seeing her want me.
That was enough. Knowing I had that effect on her.
Ever since that Thursday night, I relish knowing women find me attractive.
I’m happiest if you put me on a dancefloor, which is my natural element. Add some banging house and techno to the mix…and you’ll find me snickering at the desperate attempts of women to woo me.
And me? I ruthlessly shoot down every single one of them.
”I don’t want to be your boy toy for the night, missy!”, I tell them with a cheeky grin.
Single, but not quite ready to mingle.
Although I know what I want in a partner…I’m also madly in love with being single.
It’s brilliant, being able to live life on your terms, with no one to answer to.
That said, if the right woman comes waltzing into my life, I’d love to tango with her.
It’s a funny place, this. What, you ask? The space me and this girl I like, are in.
I don’t think she likes me romantically, or views me as a prospective partner.
Me? I consider her to be my best friend. And I love her, platonically.
But…you’ll have to hold that thought. Allow me to wax lyrical for a few:
She is the most radiant woman I know. When she walks into a room, all eyes are on her.
And it’s not because of how attractive she is – on a related note – her sense of style would make Audrey Hepburn turn green with envy.
No, everyone’s eyes turn towards her because of her energy.
She’s got a bubbly, vivacious, childlike, contagious energy. I love it. I live for it.
At the same time, she carries herself with grace.
As if Cinderella herself advised her on how to be the belle of the ball.
I love her lilting voice, and her crisp North American/Indian accent.
The cherry on top of this gorgeous sundae is her impish laugh.
It rings clear in the air,
if you’d be oh-so-lucky to hear.
The way I’m writing about her, you’d think I’m madly in love. Or, I’ve gone barking mad.
Perhaps a bit of both? Bear with me, I’ll explain myself shortly.
Bottom-line: she’s a beautiful soul. I could sense she was pure the first time I met her, and I believe it was a serendipitous day we met.
I can be myself around her. And as energetic as she is, she brings an odd yet comforting sense of familiarity, and warmth when she’s around me.
It is effortless being with her. And that is rare, considering how cuckoo I can get, on occasion.
“Act normal, as that’s crazy enough.” This Dutch phrase describes me to a t.
Oh JT, you beauty. If you think I’ve fallen head over heels for my best friend, think again.
I’m not 19 years old anymore. I’m a decade older. I just can’t fall in ‘love’ with someone so easily anymore.
Or demonstrate the worst kind of love: which is unrequited.
I’ll tell you what it is.
I’m in love with the idea of being in love.
I entertain the thought of having this special woman by my side. Knowing if I’ve had a tough day – much like today – I can be vulnerable just for a few moments with someone I trust, and who’s opinion I value.
And of course, enjoy the other things that lovers might take for granted: waking up by their side; cuddles; new experiences; being their rock and biggest supporter; growing as people; celebrating the good times and commiserating the bad ones.
But even if I – on the rare occasion – fantasize being with someone I may never end up with, I can’t disregard that earlier today, she shared something with me that was dear to her.
And at that moment, I wanted to be by her side. Just to put my arm around her, and ask if she was okay.
My day wasn’t the best. But I wasn’t going to tell her that.
Is this the price one must pay to be a man? To be a rock, even if you’re going through a rough time?
Or is this the truest definition of ‘love’ – even if it is completely platonic?
I have no idea. It’s late, and I must sleep.
I don’t know where this will go, and if I want it to go anywhere at all.
Maybe, just maybe, the smallest part of me wants sparks to fly.
But here’s what I know without a reasonable doubt: if a woman’s mere presence in your mind inspires you to write, even if she’s a few thousand kilometres away; you keep that woman close to your heart.
This obsessive focus on The Work is our reason for being and our competitive edge.
We believe The Work is the only true measure of an agency.
Hi dear reader, I trust you’re doing A-OK. It’s been a couple of months since my last post, and I want to change that. Excuse my topless torso in your inbox – I will explain my shirtless-ness shortly.
I meant to write last night; but was not in the right state of mind, and sleep was not forthcoming either. At one point, I started thinking deeply about several topics, but when you’re bound by your own mind, things can get heady…
Which is why I write. Writing offers me the opportunity to untangle, and more importantly, weaponise my thoughts into action. As always, if I end up sparking positive change or create a shift in perspective for someone, I will be as happy as a squirrel that digs into their secret acorn stash after a harsh winter.
I hope this turns out to be the case, but I wrote this blog more for myself than anyone else, which is why I doubt it will resonate with anyone. If it did, please let me know.
Now…on the cover image. Guess who’s the owner of that glorious, sun-kissed body? Me – Karan! I’ve popped my ‘first topless photo on the Internet’ cherry with this upload, and it’s a big deal for me.
Why? Because as confident as I am, I’ve always felt insecure about my body, and I don’t quite know why.
I was fine up until the age of 8, when I used to visit Dubai’s famous Jumeirah Beach with my family.
It might have been my tweens (hello puberty!) when I started to feel awkward about taking my shirt off.
I vividly remember excusing myself from a fun day out at Wild Wadi Waterpark with my school friends when I was 12, telling them I didn’t feel comfortable in the water.
If anything, I felt more comfortable under water, than out of it.
The photo of them making a splash at the water slide is still up on Facebook. Minus me.
Skinny fat. That was my body type. I didn’t have muscle, and carried some weight around my stomach.
Still, I looked decent when I dressed up. There was only a slightly visible paunch, which didn’t faze me.
As long as I had a shirt on, life went on…
Started from rock bottom. Now we here.
Cut to 16 years later. With a pandemic thrown in for good measure. (Which I survived, in case you were wondering. If your heart is still beating, type ‘Life is as good as you make it.’ in the comments.)
God, it’s good to be alive.
I am still amazed at how much I’ve physically changed in the last 6 months.
Although this photo is probably not the best indicator, because I’m comparing myself from one of my lower points in 2020 – when my depression had returned – and I turned to (junk) food and (overindulged in) sex to cope. I packed on the pounds quicker than I could demolish a Big Tasty, and that’s saying something.
Even so, those cheeks are impressive – I could probably host a village of Smurfs on each one. Ah, and the cute double chin.
A combo of gluttony with a lack of physical exercise and a side of excessive masturbation got me to this stage.
It wasn’t pretty, but I never considered myself a pretty boy. Handsome? Under the right conditions, yes.
Burn, baby, burn: boxing, HIIT, and getting fit.
The photo from February 2022 is when I was a month into boxing.
I was hooked (punch me for that silly pun – I can take it) after the first class.
But here’s the thing: I never intended to get into shape. I merely fell in love with the sport.
I’ve always been a high-energy guy, and boxing was the perfect outlet to channel my excessive energy.
After the initial shock and subsequent struggle, my body adapted to the demands of each class, and I felt myself getting fitter.
Apart from the varied classes (HIIT classes, technical classes, and strength and conditioning classes) I took up weight-training and powerlifting to become stronger.
Naturally, I didn’t want to undo the hard work by pigging out. I just upped my protein, regulated my carbs, and slept well.
For better or for worse, when you lose a drastic amount of weight in a short period of time, people notice.
And people love to talk. Don’t get me wrong; I’m all for it – I love stimulating conversation.
But to make a comment for the sake of making a comment? That vexes me.
“You’ve lost weight, Karan. Is everything ok? You’re looking thin, Karan.”
I’ve been working hard since January 2022. I attended two boxing classes every day, 4 days a week, every week.
One at 6:30 in the AM, and one at 6:45 in the evening. Sometimes, I’d stick around to spar at 8 PM.
And ooh boy, 6 minutes in the ring will leave you gassed!
I’d slip in a powerlifting/weight training session on the fifth and sixth day, and rest for one.
I was burning upwards of 800 calories per class. That’s about 1600 calories per day.
Which meant all that subcutaneous fat disappeared. Fast.
Oh, and in case you didn’t know, I’m Indian. Now, what has that got to do with anything?
Culturally speaking, in olden times, having a pot belly was viewed as a sign of prosperity.
Since I’m Indian and work in the construction sector in Dubai, I interact with many Indians. Some of whom get needlessly personal.
And most of whom have a traditional mindset. Who do not question the world. Who are content living in their bubbles, doing the same thing, day in, day out.
Like suave, well-dressed monkeys, hitting keyboards.
Which inevitably led to some variation of the question above. It was fine the first few times…
But the fiftieth? Give it a rest, man.
What really got my goat, however, was hearing I’ve become weak. People had no idea.
Yes, I look lean. But I’m the strongest I’ve been all my life, and I’m only just getting started.
There is a difference between looking muscular à la the classic bodybuilder look versus putting on lean muscle yet becoming strong i.e. a professional athlete (think gymnasts, basketball players, football players, etc.)
Have you heard how a wolf does not lose sleep over the opinions of sheep? This is not to say I’m a wolf.
Oh, no. I’m a God damn lion. After pushing the envelope for the last half year, I’ve realized I can do anything if I apply myself.
People start to treat you differently when you take care of your appearance. Numerous studies have proved how attractive people earn more, are thrust into leadership positions, are trusted more, and generally do better at life than, say, average-looking people.
On a related note, it is a strange feeling to have unknown men nod at you as they pass. On the opposite end of the spectrum, it is amusing how women throw themselves at you in social situations.
Pardon me if this sounds masturbatory. It is the truth. I’ve always written the truth. And will continue to do so, until my last breath.
Speaking of death, I am keenly aware of how I could die, or get seriously injured at a moment’s notice.
It may not even be my fault. Picture the most horrific car accident you’ve seen.
What if you were caught in the crossfire? Collateral damage ensues – you lose your vision, or maybe a limb?
What if you were to become paraplegic? And had to use disabled toilets, and park in ‘reserved’ spots for the rest of your pathetic, miserable life?
I have an Indian-American cousin who’s a year older than me. We’re similar in many ways, yet the key difference between us is our egos. Not the size of them, mind you.
We’ve both got egos the size of Mount Everest, but what differentiates us is how I know I am nothing in the grand scheme of things.
I could get punched, bleed internally, and die next Thursday whilst sparring a Mexican in my boxing gym.
Which is why I am filled with nothing but love for people, wanting the best for everyone, whilst my cousin can be self-centred, violent, and arrogant.
At the same time, what else can I offer this world but my self? Sure, I may look different now, but whatever happens, I will never let go of my inner child that lusts for novelty, craves adventure, and loves bringing joy to those around me.
Sleep was a foreign concept to me last night. I instead stared at myself in the mirror, thinking of how far I’ve come.
Thinking of how I held my own against bigger men in the ring. Thinking of how much money I’ve made. Thinking of my recent European holiday. Thinking of how much fun I had dancing in the sun by myself. Thinking of all the women who wanted nothing more than to fuck me. Thinking of how I climbed mountains no-one dared climb. Thinking of the new friends I made. Thinking of the old ones I reunited with.
(I also thought of this woman I like, and how I want her to become the woman she once was, even if we will never be together.)
I’ve grown more in the past 9 months than I have in the past 3 years.
But the work cannot stop. It does not stop. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
There’s immense work to be done. On this blog. On my YouTube channel. On my t-shirt project. On my boxing. On my relationships. On my business.
But every once in a while, it’s okay to pause. To watch yourself in the mirror, wide-eyed.
Admire the person you’re becoming.
And thank them for being there, every step of the way. Because nobody, (are you listening to me!?) nobody – except for you – did those push-ups. Even when no-one was watching.
It’s scary, yet liberating to be by yourself at 3 AM. With nothing but your thoughts for company.
I’m proud of you, Karan. Thank you for being there for me when no-one else was.
But we’ve got a long way to go. I hope you’re ready for what lies ahead.
(Before you begin reading, you should know I have a YouTube channel where I vlog my life. I vlogged part of my run, and I’d appreciate it if you watched. I am excited to explore the creative opportunities that YouTube offers. If you enjoyed watching – please subscribe. For now, I hope you enjoy the blog.)
It is 4:34 PM, 27th March 2022 as I’ve started typing this. I am proud to have completed my first 10K yesterday; the Expo 2020 Dubai: Run 3.
Going into this run, I was sure of 2 things:
My lower body would curse me for signing up for this run a mere week ago, and
I would cry after crossing the finish line
One of those things happened yesterday.
My right hip was stiff, my knees protested with every step as I climbed the stairs to my room, my calves had grown into bulls, and I had developed an angry-looking blister on the underside of my left foot.
Number 2 happened this morning. (Ha, number 2 happens every morning!)
I woke up at 7:07 AM, went to my balcony, plugged my earphones in, started listening to this euphoric electronic house track, exhaled about 30 seconds in, and felt a surge of emotion overwhelm me.
Before I knew it, tears had welled up. I let them roll slowly, eventually raising my right forefinger under my left eye to dab my face, and brought it to my tongue.
Surprisingly, it didn’t taste salty. “Good, I hydrated sufficiently last night.”, I thought to myself.
I then went on to unceremoniously perform number 2. I’ll spare you the finer details…but I will say it was the performance of a lifetime. I’m kidding, of course.
It was, however, the best performance of my day, so I’ll chalk it up as a win.
Emotions running high.
I’m not surprised I cried this morning – I’ve cried countless times these past few months. Most times in the car when listening to music (that’s when it hits me the hardest); sometimes when failing to dead-hang from the pull-up bar in my community; and there was the one time I vividly remember getting emotional after I’d finished performing lunges at Spartans, my boxing gym, whilst listening to Mall Grab’s ravey, yet nostalgic club-ready anthem.
I rushed to the washroom to ensure no one would spot me, and ask what was wrong.
I splashed water on my face, stared at myself in the mirror, mentally berated myself for letting my emotions get the better of me, and then walked out as if nothing had happened, hurriedly leaving the gym.
I’ve analysed why I cry in my journals. This is what the most insightful entry in Google Keep reveals:
Pay attention to, “I thought of The Lion King, and was probably overwhelmed by knowing the time has come to earn my rightful place in life. And that I’m only just getting started on my journey. It is both exciting and scary.”
To unravel this requires its own blog, and I want to focus on my run in this one.
But to sum up this ‘journey’…I got into a relationship in September 2021 and knew if I wanted to make time and care for someone I loved, I had to first ensure my life was in order.
(If you’re reading this, you’ve probably flown in an airplane.
A brilliant way of viewing the idea of self-care is by pondering on the phrase heard some 30,000 feet in the air,
“In the event of a sudden drop in pressure, an oxygen mask will drop from above. Secure your own mask first before assisting others.”)
You cannot help anyone else unless you first help yourself.
Which is why I made a conscious decision to start taking care of myself, began fixing 8-year-old gym injuries, and proceeded to shoulder more responsibilities, and wrest control of my life; after the 2020 shitshow left me directionless.
I cannot gloss over the facts the woman I briefly dated asked we become exclusive, then cheated on me, broke up with me over text (coward!), and decided to up and leave the country after promising we had a future.
I rarely, if ever, wish ill on anyone, but I did not wish my ex-girlfriend the best in her future, either.
As much as I love connecting with people, want them to achieve their full potential, and want the best for everyone in general, I can cut people out of my life at the drop of a hat should they cross me.
And my ex wronged me. Revenge is a dish best served cold.
Having said this, I was not seeking vengeance. But after that abrupt break-up, I decided to focus on improving myself with renewed vigour, and vowed to myself I would never put anyone else’s needs above mine.
A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.
To this end, I’ve started prioritizing my health. You can read about it here:
Taking on the challenge of running my first 10K was right up my alley, and fit into my plan of pushing myself physically and mentally in order to grow.
A 10K is ideal for experienced runners who are seeking a greater challenge.
It is the kind of run anyone with moderate fitness levels should be able to complete with ease.
Funnily enough, I am not an experienced runner. The last time I’d run was in school (16 years ago, to be specific). And my knees aren’t in the best shape, either.
Understandably, on the eve of run, I was a nervous wreck. You can watch how I felt here.
Beware the spoiler: l filmed myself after finishing the run and edited it into the clip, and I felt fantastic.
On the flip side, my fitness levels have considerably improved ever since I started boxing, and implementing HIIT into my workout routine.
This is why I decided against introducing anything new into my routine, and didn’t run even once in the weeks leading up to D-Day. I decided to wake up, rock up, and run like I’d never run before…
26th March 2022: up and running at 4 AM.
I only managed to sleep for about 5 hours the previous night. Partly because of excitement, and partly because I’d worked out my arms to steady my nerves, which had the opposite effect of rejuvenating me.
After breaking bread with a peanut butter sandwich, banana, and mug of black coffee, I donned my bright yellow Expo 2020 Dubai: Run 3 t-shirt; and drove to the Expo site, which was only 20 minutes away.
The 10K was scheduled to start at 6:30 AM. I had received a lengthy email briefing on 21st March, in which runners were told to arrive one hour prior to their race, which meant I had to arrive at 5:30 AM.
I pulled up into the Mobility Parking at roughly 5:45 AM and was pleased to see a crowd of over a thousand strong people, walking towards the Mobility Plaza.
So when I came across the Expo 2020 sculpture and wanted a photo, I asked a fellow 10K runner named Suraj to click one with his phone and send it to me over WhatsApp.
I started chatting with Suraj and his friend, and he told me he was from Bombay – I love Bombay people – I find them interesting.
This wasn’t his first rodeo: he was an experienced runner. I asked him for tips, and he told me to find my rhythm, have fun, and remember to breathe.
Remember to breathe.Got it, Karan?
I thanked him for his tips. We’d arrived at the security gate, wished each other a good run, and said goodbye. I placed my Expo bag on the conveyor belt, walked through the metal detectors, and stepped foot into the Expo site for the first time since it opened.
I always thought I’d go…but in-between work, being a social butterfly, my fitness goals, and creative work…I never did.
On my way to the start line, I learned of the 3 Expo passes I’d received, I could only use the other two the same day (one pass counted against my entry). Which I was not too pleased about, because I was sure I’d be knackered afterward.
It didn’t matter; my thoughts were focused on the run. After dropping my bag at the Festival Garden, I passed by the stage where an MC was urging runners to take their place at the start line, his energetic voice ringing clear on this brilliant Saturday morning.
I was texting my best friend, who was getting snapped (she’s a model and actor) in the desert as the sun rose, and she told me to kill it. I appreciated her words.
I limbered up, focusing on my calves and hips. They are tight because of fat-pad impingement in my knees – a long-standing injury I’m only just starting to fix.
I got another photo clicked at the start line from someone named Tejes, who asked I click one of him in return; I happily obliged.
Formalities out of the way, I crossed the line and began to jog.
The clock had begun to tick. The tag I sported on my shirt served two purposes:
It would record my finish time since the tag had a chip attached to it.
It would help identify me in photos clicked by official Expo 2020 Dubai: Run 3 photographers.
On the path of truth.
Before I describe my run, I’d like to tell you about a Yugoslavian proverb that just came to mind, “Tell the truth, and run.” I read this in Hey Whipple, Squeeze This, an excellent book I recommend for anyone looking to break into the advertising industry, learn how to make great ads, or improve as a copywriter – which is what I used to do prior to what I’m doing now.
I’ve always been an honest guy; my parents raised me well, and I have a loving family. But I bring up the concept of truth because as I’ve started working towards becoming the best version of myself, I’ve had to kill a past self: one that indulged in pleasure, was lazy, and did not live up to his potential.
And as I’ve dug deep into what my core values are, I’ve realised honesty is paramount amongst them.
I want to live an honest life. And whilst I never lied to anyone, I used to lie to myself. Frequently.
I made promises but failed to honour them.
They were little things. Like telling myself, “Karan, you will not smoke a cigarette today.” Or, “Karan, you will not indulge in so-and-so vice today because you have to make it to work on time tomorrow.”
When I made these commitments to myself but didn’t follow through, my unwavering moral compass – my conscience – scolded me. I knew in my heart of hearts what I was doing was wrong, but didn’t take corrective action.
I watched myself repeating the same mistakes from the outside when I’d journal.
I hated failing, and felt frustrated.
Until one day, I’d had enough. I decided to be better. The aforementioned break-up also played a role in shaking me up.
As I’ve started walking the path of righteousness, I’ve met people who – either by virtue of their nature or the kind of communities they’re
a part of – have helped broaden my horizons, and experience new things.
So, as I started to pick up the pace on my run, I was not surprised to hear Dani – my boxing coach at Spartans Boxing Club – call my name in the distance.
I never would have run this 10K, let alone know about this if it weren’t for her.
She told me about it towards the end of February after one of our classes. And now, 1 month later, there I was, running alongside her and vlogging it.
Thoughts in motion.
Thoughts into action.
I decided against vlogging my run. With my back camera not working properly, I’d have to use my front camera. As handsome as I am, I didn’t want people watching my sweaty face for the majority of the vlog.
I marvelled at the grand architecture of the pavilions around me, thinking of the time, effort, and collaboration of numerous people it must have taken to construct them.
I continued to run.
I looked around, watching men and women running alongside me. Some older, some younger. I noticed one girl had switched to walking within the first 500 meters. She was recording herself, “Man, I can’t believe I’m tired already. I’m sweating so much, I should have…” her voice trailed off as I looked back, smiled at her, and continued running.
Over the next 500 meters, I slowed down, as I realized how much further I had to go. Considering my lack of preparation and stimulated state of mind, I estimated finishing in roughly an hour, which meant it wasn’t sustainable to continue at the pace I did. I started to slow, but not quite jog. It was somewhere in between. I had found my pace.
Suraj’s words resonated with me.
My breathing was steady. Now, all I needed were my tunes. I plugged in, and…
I continued to run.
I breezed past some people, who had stopped to take photos. I, of course, had no idea why they were running, but personally, I was there to run to my heart’s content, no matter how long I took to finish.
By this point, the electronic music had taken over, invigorating me with every step.
I had hit my stride.
I turned a corner. The sun was shining bright, bathing us in its joyous light.
It was a glorious day, and I was ecstatic I’d decided to take part.
I continued to run.
Around this point, I was sweating. Profusely. Up ahead and to my right, I noticed a table with water bottles on them. A friendly person was handing them out to runners as they passed.
I drifted to the side, and slowed down, right hand at the ready. Without missing a beat, the man at the table handed me a bottle. I thanked him, and
I continued to run.
I slowed down to open the bottle, take a few gulps, and assessed how my body felt.
My feet had started to get sore. My calves felt tight. I’d probably been running for about 4.5 km now, and the unwelcome thought of if I’d be able to complete this run crossed my mind.
I thought of that thought for a few seconds. And dissected it.
The reason why that thought came to my head is because my body was tired, and it told my brain I should stop running.
But it was just a thought. Must we pay attention to every thought that comes to our head?
Must we act on the thoughts that come to us? Yes, but only if they’re good thoughts.
Thoughts that inspire us to enact positive change.
If our thoughts do us more harm than good, it is best
We determine what led to the thought in the first place
Become aware of how our body responds to the thought – do we feel stressed? Anxious? Angry?
And consequently take corrective measures – which could include writing for yourself to identify negative thought patterns, and remedy them by any means necessary.
So I banished the thought of not being able to complete the run, and instead visualised how I’d feel after crossing the finish line. The pain in my legs slowly started to seem insignificant.
“Mind over matter, Karan.” I thought to myself, with a smile.
I continued to run.
I picked up the pace and slowed down when needed. I was mostly looking straight ahead, occasionally looking to my side to see someone overtake me with a burst of speed.
A few minutes later…I overtook them, as they had slowed down.
Thousands of people. Hailing from different countries. With varied economic backgrounds. Possessing different fitness levels.
There we were. On that sunny Saturday.
Running as fast as our bodies would allow. No matter where we came from – or at what stage of life we were in – we were united by a common goal that day: finishing a race.
How long it took us to finish was irrelevant.
We were going at our pace, putting our best foot forward.
Knowing this, a strong sense of love for all those runners started to develop within me.
I felt connected to everybody.
As these pure thoughts washed over me, I felt a surge of energy rush through my body, which emanated from my nether regions. (TMI? I’m nothing if not honest in my writing.)
I felt a chill in my forearms. I looked at them, noticing I’d got goosebumps. I stretched my arms backward and grinned in delight.
The time had come to unleash my secret weapon…
Runner’s high, calculated.
I knew there would come a point during my run when I would all-out sprint.
That would probably happen as I neared the finish line, but considering I was currently experiencing this powerful, electric energy coursing through my body, I decided to leverage it – and see how far I could push myself – coasting along pure energy, boosted by the perfect track.
I switched from Spotify to SoundCloud, typed the words ‘Janeret Equinoxe’, hit play, and felt the first notes of the energetic kick-drum vibrating in my ear canal.
I pushed my earphones in, creating as tight a vacuum as possible.
Janeret had introduced the bassline, and it teased me, goading me to pick up the pace.
Not yet, I thought to myself.
I was now a minute into this gorgeous track, and it continued building up to a bouncy crescendo.
Which is when I started to increase my speed. I put one foot in front of the other, trying to time each step with every clap in the track, going faster with every step.
God, I love house music.
I was 2 minutes in, and the opportune moment was nearly upon me. Any second now…
2:15. There was a moment’s pause before the drop. Until it dropped. Karan, we have lift-off!
I sprinted. With the sun bearing down on my sweaty face.
With the morning breeze welcoming me like an old friend.
Suddenly, I felt like I was 11 again, when I discovered I had pace. When I realized my skinny legs could generate raw power, and I could run. Fast.
I was beaming from ear to ear and felt as lithe as a gazelle and as free as a bird as I continued to run, leaving people in the dust.
I continued my all-out dash, my heels barely making contact with the ground before I felt them touching, faster this time.
I had reached an all-too-familiar state of euphoria. I’d also run about 200 meters.
My breathing was already laboured, and my heart was pumping wildly, moving oxygenated blood to my muscles and brain.
I started to slow down. And just like that, I returned to baseline speed…
Until I spotted people on the sidelines starting to cheer. I wasn’t sure what was going on. I looked at my watch – I had been running for about an hour.
A smattering of yellow and pink t-shirts lay ahead. Although my music had created a personal bubble of thoughts and emotions – there seemed to be a shift in excitement levels amongst the runners and onlookers – which pierced through this bubble.
Intrigued, I took out my earphones and listened to what the cheerleaders were saying over the megaphone.
They were saying something to the effect of, “Runners, you’re almost there!”
And then it hit me: I was nearing the finish line!
The end of a journey, or the start of a new one?
I tempered my pace, until I completely stopped in my tracks, about a kilometer away from completing my first 10K.
The clock continued to tick, but I didn’t care. I looked into the distance and exhaled.
Not out of breathlessness. I was awestruck.
Over the course of this hour, I didn’t stop running even once. Simultaneously, my mind had travelled to several places – which I chose not to write about.
Although I will mention one memory, which was brought back by listening to one upbeat house track as I ran.
It was the memory of the girl I liked. And how, when she left with no prior warning, I felt heartbreak.
Or something close to it. I’m not sure what it was. But I felt a strange sadness I had never felt before.
To get over her, like I mentioned earlier, I started focussing on myself. Oh, and I partied. Hard.
And how I loved someone unconditionally, expecting nothing in return, putting their needs above mine.
Sacrificing my growth to help them grow.
That will never happen again. Unless I find the right person.
As I stared at the runners up ahead, turning a corner, about to finish their 10K, I thought back to how far I’ve come since I started taking ownership of my life. When I decided to be better.
When I decided to become my best physical, mental, creative, and spiritual self.
“God, it’s been a ride.”
the thought came to me, seemingly out of nowhere.
And I smiled a wide smile. Probably the widest one over the course of these 10 kilometers.
I looked around, wide-eyed, in amazement. I was as happy as a sunflower on a midsummer’s day, and it showed.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a photographer quickly raise his DSLR to capture my look of pure joy, as I surveyed the scene, turning to face the crowd of new runners, gearing up for their 3K.
I do not know if that man published that shot. If he did, I’d love to see it.
With that, I started running again. As I approached the finish line, I took out my earphones and vlogged as I crossed it.
I had just finished my first 10K! This was my first run since my early teenage years.
I didn’t train for this.
I have bad knees and a weak lower body. Which I’m fixing.
Let me repeat to myself: I finished my first 10K with that figurative weight on my shoulders.
And I finished it in an hour.
Not too shabby, Karan.
If that is how I performed with no preparation – to have fun and wing it – how would I do if I practiced?
If I fixed my lower body?
I’d kill it, that’s what would happen. I’d cut my time to under 50 minutes.
The run done and dusted, I stretched. Expansively. I knew the pain would come later, and I had to do my best to combat delayed onset muscle soreness (DOMS).
I collected my finisher’s medal and hung out with Dani for a bit, who clicked some winning photos of me.
I then basked in the sun like a proud lion, waiting to collect my bag, which I’d dropped earlier at the Festival Garden.
It was there I got talking to a friendly Filipino called Johndel. He was an excellent listener; I was excited to tell him how I’d run my first 10K with no preparation, and how I’d expanded my comfort zone by taking part.
On his part, he told me how he’d been reading The 5AM Club by Robin Sharma, and enjoyed it.
I haven’t read it, and probably won’t, because I’ve been waking up no later than 5:30 ever since I decided to be better. It’s been paying off handsomely – I have more time for my goals.
Johndel also told me how he’d visited Armenia, his first holiday in far too long. It gave him a fresh perspective on life, helping him break out of his routine.
As someone who had developed tunnel vision around work and had forgotten to live in 2020, I could empathize.
We continued chatting until I had to leave. I collected my bag and headed to the nearest bus stop, which would drop me close to where my car was parked.
Whilst waiting for the bus, I struck up a conversation with a man, asking him how we’d find our results.
The clock just struck 6:56 PM, and for once, I’m not blogging from my office.
I’m in my room, sat on my desk, and eager to get these words out so I can get a solid arm workout in, break a sweat, listen to some tunes, and get those endorphins flowing.
I cannot expect every blog to be as inspirational as the last. I’ve been telling a dear friend lately you cannot expect perfection from every job, but that doesn’t mean we cannot aspire to reach it.
It is high time I practiced what I preach.
And maybe, just maybe, there may be some beauty to be found in writing about the mundane…
The WhatsApp messages keep coming in as I type this; and they’re on the ‘Fam jam’ group and they pertain to two work-related issues from today.
It is tough to mentally unplug from work when you’re a business owner. Even more so when it’s a family business.
But this is what I signed up for, when I abandoned pursuing my dream of becoming a music vlogger.
It was a jolly good year, and the most creative (and hedonistic) year of my life; but I had to stop playing Peter Pan, shoulder responsibility, and become the man I was meant to be.
Please read about it by clicking the link below. I touch upon the perils of social media, the skills I have transferred from my old job as an advertising creative to my current job, and how I touched thousands of lives through electronic dance music.
Before I get into today (28th March 2022), I’d like to tell you about my weekend.
I completed my first 10K in an hour on Saturday, and I am chuffed with the effort.
My knees aren’t in the best shape
I didn’t practice for this run
I haven’t run in 16 years (the last time I did was in school)
I didn’t know I was running my final lap
An hour is not too shabby! With preparation, I can bring that time down to 50 minutes. Easily.
Once a runner, always a runner, eh?
After the run, the aforementioned dear friend told me she was done with her shoot (she’s an actor and a model) and asked if we could have breakfast. I was hungry, but smelly.
After a quick pit-stop at home to freshen up, I was raring to go.
Since I’ve been watching what I eat (I’m on a see-food diet. I see food and I eat it. Note to self: this dad joke does not work on paper!) and she does too, Subway was the perfect choice.
We spoke about many things, and the conversation flowed effortlessly, like water. She’s a new friend. Prior to this, we’d only met a handful of times, but she’s brought out the best in me, and I’ve helped her too, which I’m super happy about.
I love meeting new people. I love connecting with people. Two sides of the same coin.
And if I click with someone, I let them know how much they mean to me. Unconditionally.
It’s the Leo in me: we’re incredibly loyal, steadfast with our love, and generous with those we consider dear.
(Spoiler alert: this new friend played a telling role in inspiring me these past 3 days. And she’s played a crucial role in helping me rediscover my voice as a writer, and capabilities as a creative. To know more, read until the end.)
Right. So I’d chowed down on my footlong, and she’d grazed on her salad. With our tummies sated and hearts content, it was time to get going. We bade goodbye, and planned to hang another time.
I had to pick up a fabric roll from Naif, and deliver it to Al Quoz to get it fire-treated. We were going to manufacture acoustic baffles on Monday and ship them to Oman soon after, and it was critical I got the roll to the fire-treatment people in time.
Into my Rav 4 I go.
It was a long drive from Motor City. And my legs were crying for some much-needed R&R. Even though I’d had a hectic week, there is no rest for the weary.
After collecting the roll, I was off to Al Quoz. I was there earlier than expected.
The driver promised he would be, too.
I had to wait for half an hour. I was terse with him as he apologetically rolled up in his minivan.
Home. Sweet. Home.
Work done, I tried to sleep. It wasn’t forthcoming. I was still riding the euphoric wave of having smashed my first 10K.
I tidied my room, and continued reading Joshua Mezrich’s brilliant ‘How Death Becomes Life’. Notes from a transplant surgeon.
Before I knew it, the sun had set, and my mind needed rest. I fuelled up, and crashed. Hard.
Sunday. Fun day.
The day began with a choice. Do I get an ab workout in? Nah, I thought to myself.
My body had been put under enough stress yesterday. I instead had a healthy breakfast, and got my Rav 4, my pride and joy, a much-needed wash.
I headed in to the office afterwards, and attempted to get down to working on my post-10K run blog. It wasn’t to be.
I usually have my head in the right place when I sit down to write, but I couldn’t focus my thoughts into telling a compelling story.
A couple of hours had passed. And it was time to get Sterilac yogurt for lunch.
My dad insisted I get this brand.
I knew it was only available in select stores. He recommended one. Three stores later, and a not-so-fun adventure later, I’d given up and come home with Almarai.
I wolfed down lunch, and rushed back to the office to attempt to write. In the meantime, a friend wanted to catch up.
She’s a gem, and she’s been going through a tough time off-late, so I took out some time to Zoom, and inspire her to improve…
Experiences worth noting, not nothing.
I’m on the journey to become my best self. And people have been taking notice. They want to understand what drives me, what I’ve been doing differently, how I’ve seemingly been killing it at my life, and want to share some of my energy.
Without putting too fine a point on it, it’s bloody hard work. People are not privy to the behind-the-scenes. All they see is the final product: whether it’s an entertaining vlog, or an inspiring blog.
Which is why I’m learning to be more careful with my time than ever.
Be mindful of who I spend my time with; either physically or digitally. I’ve realized being a social butterfly isn’t easy.
I love people too damn much. And I want to help everyone out. But when you do that, you realise that you might not have enough time left over for yourself. To excel at work. Or succeed at your creative endeavours.
Thankfully, I’m old-school in more ways than one. When I want something done now, I call. I loathe texting.
Mostly because people respond to messages selectively, over-share, (guilty!) or are terrible texters.
As wonderful as it is to be in touch with friends the world over through WhatsApp, (insert your preferred comms platform of choice here) I’ve learnt from my past-life as a music vlogger that I place unnecessary importance on digital relationships.
Not anymore. From juggling conversations across Antibes to Dubai, from Los Angeles to New Delhi, and beyond; I now place responding to WhatsApp messages at the bottom of my priorities.
It takes time. And mental effort. For the first time (in a long-time) in my life, I’ve got goals. Which demand much from me.
Whilst it may sound selfish, I’ve learnt the hard way that if you do not put yourself first, you will not be able to help anyone else.
Of course – if there’s quick plans to be made, things that require immediate attention, or digital relationships that I feel are worth my while fostering – I will respond to you. On my time.
I love you. Don’t forget. But right now, I love me, first.
One digression later…
Right. Where were we? I’d Zoomed with my friend in Berlin; put a smile on her face, reminded her why she must soldier on with her musical journey, and I now had to get back to finishing my 10K blog.
Several hours and coffees later, I had to show my family (who were relaxing back home) my gorgeous mug for dinner.
In. And out. Both: the food and me. Back to my office desk. Getting those words out.
10:45 PM. And I still had loads to write. I was tempted to work late into the night and finish it, but if there’s anything the past few weeks have taught me, it’s that burning the candle at both ends is sheer stupidity.
Even though I’d got two blogs out and felt creatively satisfied, things at work were piling up. Big time.
The weekly work forecast was jam-packed, and I had to bring my A-game.
Immediately after uploading my vlog, I was shocked to see it had been automatically converted to a YouTube Shorts.
Which meant it would pop up on people’s phones at random. Which, of course, is great to amass views. One of my best friends from school was stumped to learn his innocuous Honey Singh vlog had gained 14 million views.
Personally speaking, I did not want random eyeballs discovering my YouTube through Shorts, so I was freaking out about seeing my excited face talking back at me.
I will not disclose the biggest reason why I didn’t want the Shorts, but one of them is that I want my channel to grow organically.
As with all my creative endeavours, my YouTube is a labour of love.
I ask people to subscribe, but only if they want to. Only if they would like to support me as I discover the art of storytelling through video.
Anyway. There I was. At my work-desk. Freaking out.
I didn’t know who to turn to in that moment of madness, until the answer presented itself clear as day.
My new friend. Who I’d met on Saturday for breakfast. I am my truest self when I’m with her.
I can turn to her without being judged.
I feel comfortable sharing things I’ve never shared with anyone else.
And she turned up. I needed something confirmed, and she pulled through, when no-one else would have. What’s more, her words had the unusual effect of calming me down. I use the word ‘unusual’ because I’m fiercely independent, and can be as stubborn as a billy goat, rarely listening to people.
But because she’s someone I trust completely, I know she’s got my best interests at heart; so knowing she told me to calm down put me at ease.
Better still, she told me to stay in the present. And as I drove home, listening to this tune, I knew that is all we can do.
Live in the present. Not thinking about what may, or may not, happen tomorrow.
All we can do is give our best in the moment-to-moment, and trust that things will work out.
Which brings me to…today.
I woke up with my legs still smarting from Saturday’s 10K. Much to my chagrin but with the wisdom of hindsight, I decided to cancel tonight’s 8 PM HIIT boxing class I’d booked yesterday, because if I’d go, I knew my body would not thank me for it.
The first thing on my agenda was a meeting with our acoustic underlay supplier in their warehouse in JAFZA.
We’ve bagged the scope of undertaking acoustic works for The Marriott in the Jumeirah Village Circle, and I’m relieved to have secured this order.
The contract is worth around 750,000 Dirhams, and it will keep us afloat for the next 6 months.
We have a growth mindset in no small part thanks to my dad – who inspires me with his drive even as he nears 60.
My sister, who unfailingly lends a hand when I have surplus on my plate, and makes up for my weaknesses in Excel and accounting and finance.
And, of course, my two colleagues, who keep me on my toes. They’re hardworking. And loyal – I feel like my dad trusts people too easily, but the way things have progressed over the past 5 years – he seems to have picked the right pair.
Right. We had to determine the inventory situation in our supplier’s warehouse and confirm if they had enough stock to supply us for the next few months or so.
Although we’ve placed an order for 20,000 sq. m. of acoustic underlay, we’ve only supplied a partial quantity because the site is not ready for us to install.
Which is why we had to establish if our supplier would not run out of stock in the middle.
If they did, they would have to order more from Germany, and because of:
Global freight prices skyrocketing;
The Russia-Ukraine war, and subsequent increase of petrol prices;
And COVID-19’s continued after-effects on the business world
Our supplier would hike their price. Which they would pass on to us. Which would affect our bottom line.
Which we cannot afford. Not in this market. But they gave us their word, on the condition we would collect the rest of our order over the next few months, and not wait until 2023.
This will be the second major project I will handle. I will admit, I royally screwed up on multiple occasions on my first, a 63-storey tower in Business Bay.
But I’m going into this project with experience, confidence, and most importantly, knowledge. I could have excused myself on the first, all variables considered.
On this one? No fuck-ups, Karan.
Before I left the warehouse, I shared a video of what I’d gotten up to with my new friend. I’m proud of my job. It’s honest work.
And if there’s one thing I will never forget from the first time I met my friend, it’s that she took an ardent interest in my job. That was 2020, and I was battling imposter phenomenon that year. So to have someone who gave a damn about what I did for a living that torrid year was refreshing, to say the least.
Time is money.
I won’t write about the rest of my day. But one episode of collecting an outstanding is worth recounting.
As assistant manager, I don many hats. I do a bit of everything: management, procurement, invoicing, operations, admin, social media, accounting (both receivables and payables), site-work.
And considering it’s been a mad few weeks at work, and I’ve been blogging, and I’ve been keeping on my fitness grind, and I’ve been maintaining an active social life, sometimes…it can all get a bit much.
Unsurprisingly, I’ve developed immense aggression. This is both a by-product of deciding to take ownership of my life; and rediscovering, and harnessing my raw, masculine energy.
Which is why I no longer have patience for mediocrity. Or stupidity.
Unfortunately, I experienced both when trying to collect a cheque this afternoon.
Here’s the backstory: we’d submitted an acoustic report for a hotel to a contractor.
We were supposed to get paid some 2600 Dirhams within 30 days.
I called every few days. They never answered. I emailed their accounts team (it wasn’t worth my time going to their office to chase them) but to no avail. They were indifferent to my mails, occasionally responding with the generic Indian corporatese I despise with every fibre of my being, “Noted. Shall update.”
On occasion, it infuriated me we still hadn’t got our dues, but I had bigger cheques to claim, so this relatively paltry sum fell by the wayside. Before I knew it, 90 days had gone by with this back-and-forth.
I had had enough. I decided to cut out the middleman. And go straight to the decision-maker. Who in this case was the project manager.
It only took a few stern calls with a brusque tone (on my part), and sharply written mails (my time in advertising will continue to serve me well in the future) to start applying pressure on him.
Finally, they budged. A man-who-shall-not-be-named asked for our bank details last week, and mentioned he’d prepare our payment certificate, which I had to sign in order for them to release our long-overdue outstanding.
What worried me, however, was him mentioning this would be a PDC (post-dated cheque). Those were not our payment terms. Our payment was already late by 90 days…how much longer would they delay this by?!
Which is why I went into this encounter hostile. I was prepared for it to be delayed further, but it was the circumstances around collecting this payment that set me off.
I entered their office, and was redirected to another counter, where some clerk had no idea what was going on. I mentioned our company, and he dawdled towards the back of the office.
Realizing, and relishing my words have power.
The useless clerk returned, and still hadn’t communicated my company’s name to the right person.
Vexed, I opened the receipt book and pointed to our logo, and mentioned who had told me to come in.
He walked off. After far too long, the accountant came in. The guy who’d asked for our bank details. So he could prepare the payment certificate.
I took one look at it. And immediately spotted a typo in our company’s name.
I pointed it out to him. He didn’t understand. He robotically asked me to sign.
(God, everybody I meet seems to be meandering through life! Or is it me that’s got too much energy?)
I told him again. He finally understood. I then noticed when the payment certificate was dated for.
26th June 2022.
This payment was already 90 days late. A little over 2600 Dirhams. All this trouble was not worth my time.
“Stuart, (name changed) this payment certificate is dated for June. Which means this payment would be 6 months late. Are you joking?”
“No, sir, I’m not. This is my management’s decision.” came his robotic reply.
“Fair enough. Tell me, when you go to the supermarket to buy a bottle of milk, do you pay them 6 months later?”
“But this is not milk. What are you saying?” he asked, unintelligently.
“Exactly. This is a business. If we go by your logic, how is it fair to pay for FMCG’s on time, but not pay for an acoustic consultancy service on time. Do you know what the sole purpose of a business is? It is to make a fucking profit.”
I could tell he was more shocked than usual by my rude tone. As an accountant who’s been delaying other people’s payments, I’m sure Stuart had faced the wrath of many.
I know he’s been delaying other supplier’s payments because I had a chat in the lobby with a poor chap who was owed 63,000 Dirhams, and he’s been waiting for it for over 6 months.
But here, Stuart was defeated by my argument. Besides, I’d switched up my accent to add a bit of British flair (love you, Lancaster!) for dramatic effect, and he could tell I wasn’t your usual, meek Indian.
“I cannot do anything.”
“Yes, I know you can’t. You’re just following orders. But can you explain why you’ve made a mistake in our payment certificate? You asked us for our bank details. We sent them. You merely had to type our company’s name and print this out. You had one job, Stuart. Were you half-asleep when working? Or did you not have your coffee?And then, you try to justify a delay?!You delay a meagre sum of 2677 Dirhams for 90 days, periodically respond to emails, never answer your God damn phone, and then have the audacity to date this 3 months later? Preposterous!” I started to raise my voice.
My mask slipped off my mouth, he saw my angry jaw, and I spotted fear in his eyes. So I went for the jugular.
“Is this what you’re paid to do? Make elementary mistakes on payment certificates? You’ve wasted my time, and even if I accept this ridiculous delay, why on Earth should I excuse mediocrity?!”I bellowed.
He backed off, and said he would do something. Amidst hearing me shouting, two colleagues came over. One tried to pacify me. I told him I chose not to relax in this moment, and to mind his own business.
I noticed the drones in the back room shift with unease. I reckon they were probably even enjoying the drama.
Well, I won’t lie. I loved it. I loved using my command of the English language to make that grown man squirm.
I’ve only recently come to realize the power of my words. Off-late; I’ve used my words to inspire, make people cry with joy, help them tell their stories, and in a professional context, make money.
Of course, it’s not my words alone that are having an impact on people, and changing my life as I speak.
I’ve also been boxing for the past 3 months. I’ve always been a supremely confident guy (bordering on cocky, some may say). And boxing has caused my confidence levels to soar. I’m the fittest I’ve ever been, and I’m only going to get better with time.
My posture has improved drastically. I stand straight, with my shoulders back. I don’t merely walk; I strut.
Also, when you know you can knock someone out with a few punches if you wanted to…you tend to be more assertive with what you want.
I’d like to say this story will have a happy ending, but I doubt that will be the case. There’s only a slim chance our client will prepare a new current-dated cheque – there’s excessive bureaucracy with big companies – even to release a tiny sum of AED 2,600. Nevertheless, Stuart Little has asked me to come in the day after to collect the cheque, and I’m going to enjoy toying with him again….
Update – 31st March 2022. Being assertive paid off: I received a cheque dated for 2nd April. Which means I do not have to wait for 3 months more for this money. Admittedly, it is a small amount, but I will take it as win.
On finding someone who matches my vibe, and inspires me.
I ended my day by posting a story on my WhatsApp status, where I shared how I felt bogged down after the events that transpired when attempting to collect that cheque. But as I watched myself talking to the world, (rather my world – I’ve limited who can view my status) I didn’t like what I saw.
I saw a guy complaining. Moaning. Whining. And bitching. About how things didn’t go my way.
But things will rarely go your way. Such is life. It is a test. Of our mettle. And it is how we respond to life’s trials and tribulations that makes a world of difference.
I don’t want to put negative energy out into the world. As I’ve explained in my blog’s about section, I’ve chosen to play the hero in my life. And a hero doesn’t complain. He may occasionally take an arrow to the knee, but he marches on, resolutely.
So I deleted my vlog 20 minutes later. I rarely delete content I post online, because I publish with consideration.
But it’s what happened immediately after deleting my vlog that not only cheered me up, but caused me to rush home, and write. And write. And write.
I started typing this blog at 6:56 PM. It is 12:26 AM, and the colons continue to blink. I have not had dinner. And there’s no way I am going to work my arms out now. If I do, I will probably be up until 4 AM.
I thought of my new friend. Scratch that. I thought of my best friend. I wanted to know how her day went. I also felt like telling her about why I deleted my story.
I knew I could talk to her openly and tell her exactly how I felt, because she’s a great listener.
And that is important for someone like me, who loves to talk! Thank goodness I’m well-read: I know a little bit about everything. I draw from psychology, creativity, anthropology, the arts, biology, pharmacology, culture, philosophy, self-development, pop-culture, the human condition, and my own deep wealth of experiences, and numerous adventures.
So whenever I open my mouth to utter something, it mercifully isn’t complete horseshit. Most times.
But enough about me.
I am keen to share the story of how I met my best friend, who has inspired me in my creative renaissance to the point where I continued to post videos on my YouTube because she motivated me in her signature carefree,
and energetic way.
Remember how, earlier on in this blog, I mentioned how I used to place importance on digital relationships?
Well, that is me to a T. I value relationships; period.
Again, I write: I just love people too much, God damn it. I want to be there for everyone, all the time. And want to uncover the best in people.
But just as my network has expanded over the years through travel, my world has shrunk as I start to shoulder more responsibility.
There simply isn’t enough time in my day to adequately maintain strong relationships. As I’ve matured, I’ve become aware of this fact.
On my part, I put my best foot forward, and express myself sincerely.
Not everyone may like me or my energy, but they don’t need to.
No, wait, that’s not true. Most people like me. I’m a likeable person. (I’m also a lickable person, but you’ll have to verify that with one of my old flames…)
Jokes aside, once I’ve identified that someone wants the best for me purely out of the goodness of their heart, I will let them know I love that. And I will tell them I love them. And I will be there for them. To celebrate their victories. And give them company in their miseries.
Several years ago, when I didn’t have a plan for my life, and no goals, I would constantly think of my friends, and how I could add value to their lives.
I’d often use the phrase, “I’d take a bullet for you, xxxx!”
There was no need to get emotional.
Because as my friends have grown older, and they’re married, they can lean on their partners for support.
So, I’ve backed off. I trust by now my close friends know I’m there if they need me.
A chance meeting with
a beautiful soul.
It is perplexing how some people appear in your life at critical junctures.
I will forever marvel at this unexplained phenomenon.
The person in question is a friend of a friend, but I’d never known about her existence.
Until one winter day, I went to hang out with my friends, and she was there.
I remember how she carried herself with grace, was well-spoken; and like I mentioned earlier, exhibited a genuine interest in what I did for a living.
We didn’t see each other for 10 months after. And when I saw her again, I felt like I was reuniting with an old friend, which was strange, because I barely knew this girl.
Subsequently, we bumped into each other at parties, danced together to Bollywood music, and got to know each other over a glass (or three) of Merlot.
And we kept in touch. Over WhatsApp. Which is key. You see, although I’m not on social media anymore, this doesn’t mean I’m not a social butterfly.
My personality rang through by way of voice notes, and my words.
I’d also launched my YouTube around then, which she supported, wholeheartedly.
And at one point, there was an unexplainable sixth sense that pushed me to check in with my (then, still-fledgling) friend.
I shared this video. And texted, “Just in case you needed this. If not, keep your head down and continue getting that work done. (Insert bicep emoji here)”
Personally, I was in my element once again. I used to come up with ideas, and write and edit scripts; and headlines for a living.
And helping this friend reminded me of how much I used to love doing this.
How I was excellent at this.
By helping a friend tell her story, I’ve been able to tell my own. Again, and again, and it will happen again.
Because now, after 4 years, I’ve finally found the courage to start publishing on my blog again. And now, I’ve hit my stride.
My mind is buzzing with ideas and I need only make time to get them on my blog.
I can’t quite place my finger on what it is about you that’s inspired me so greatly, Ridhdhi. Maybe it’s your vivaciousness. Maybe it’s your energy. Maybe it’s your bubbliness. Maybe it’s your infectious laugh. Maybe it’s your innocence. Maybe it’s your goodness. Or…”Maybe you’re born with it, maybe it’s Maybelline.” (Sue me. It’s the perfect tagline, I couldn’t help but weave it in there. I’m sure you laughed out loud – I cracked up writing this.) Whatever it may be, thank you, once again, for bringing out the best in me. I love you.
As I’ve told you, I feel incredibly comfortable in your presence.
I feel like I can talk to you about anything in the world. And to be yourself around someone; to speak without judgement, laugh about silly things, share personal anecdotes, and grow alongside them is an indescribably precious thing indeed.
And that concludes yet another story on my blog! God, I feel elated to publish another one. I have definitely hit a purple patch in my writing.
But at this point, I know unleashing your creativity is neither good luck, nor is it something mysterious. It is work. Plain and simple.
And you’ve got to put in the hours. Like with anything you want to succeed at.
The next blog in my series will be about my first 10K. I look forward to sharing.
If you’ve enjoyed reading, I would love it if you subscribed to my blog by email.
You can scroll to the top, hit the button, and I bloody well hope I don’t need to tell you how to type your email in.
I promised myself I wouldn’t bring this up until I’ve built a habit of consistently publishing. Now that I have, I have no shame in doing so.
I appreciate you reading, and I will catch you in the next one.
It is 9:45 PM, 22nd March 2022 as I’ve begun typing this from my office. I just exhaled.
And again. I’m on top of the world, even if – just two hours ago – my family jewels were swinging gleefully in Dubai’s not-quite-summer, not-quite-winter evening breeze as I walked with purpose to collect my Expo 2020 Dubai: Run 3 goodie bag, because I didn’t have any underpants on.
I pause to laugh. Did you actually write that, Karan? I suppose explanations are in order, folks…
Before I get into the gory details of my family jewels, allow me to recap my day.
Although I’d set an alarm for 5:30 AM, I struggled to rouse myself because I’d worked out my arms yesterday late at night, and the task of going for a run to prep for my first upcoming 10K (and first ever public run) was daunting.
I switched off the alarm, and turned off the next four, set to ring within the next 10 minutes, and shut my groggy eyes.
I then awoke at 7:45, and rushed to the office to prepare for a meeting with my accountant who was coming in at 9:30.
Not the best start. And that, unfortunately, set the tone for the next 7 hours of my day.
Irrespective of how my week looks, I love getting a morning workout in, because that simultaneously leaves me feeling rejuvenated, and satisfied that I have taken another step towards becoming a stronger person than I was yesterday.
My morning workout could consist of:
A 6:30 AM HIIT boxing, or an all-levels boxing class at Spartans Boxing Club, which I joined in January this year.
An arm workout in front of my dresser, usually performed topless and in my boxers, because hey – I can’t be the only one who likes watching themself work out close to naked, right? My arm workout includes dips, curls (for the girls), push-ups, tricep extensions, a farmer’s walk, and a couple of simple, yet effective exercises involving resistance bands. I also use the resistance bands as part of rehabilitation for my left tricep, which I injured in 2019 but never got around to fixing. I then finish off by performing dead hangs on the bar in my community, which has been a godsend for my shoulders, and back. I used to suffer from a 7-year-old shoulder impingement injury in both my shoulders, until I saw a brilliant osteopath by the name of Kris Rai who recommended I dead hang. The benefits are many, and I will probably get into them in another blog.
A leg workout involving squats, lunges, an elliptical run and some more rehab exercises involving pushing down on a foam roller to strengthen my quadriceps, to treat fat pad impingement in both my knees, which I injured in the gym in 2015.
An ab workout – which I usually dread – that hits different parts of my core.
Although variety is undoubtedly the spice of life, I focus on a few exercises, aiming to perfect, and perform them everyday.
I feel a sense of calm when I execute the same motions repeatedly, and love as I gradually feel myself becoming stronger and growing into the healthy person I used to be. Conversely, when I find my routine gets too monotonous, I soothe my nerves and keep on keeping on by remembering the Zen Buddhist phrase, “Chop wood, carry water”.
Chaos, followed by order.
Right. Back to my day. Which was chaotic. I could not strike the big things off my to-do list because ad-hoc tasks kept popping up. I tried to bring some sense to matters by fully focusing on one job at a time, but to no avail.
Like I mentioned; I didn’t start my day right, so couldn’t give my all to each task. I got easily distracted and even made mistakes, further compounding the time taken to successfully finish each job.
But, all that was to change at 5:30 PM today. I had booked a strength and conditioning class at Spartans, and was raring to go. It had been over 1 week since I had set foot in the gym, and God, I missed it.
Prior to booking a class, I take stock of how my day is looking, and then go ahead and book. By way of this, I make a commitment to myself that I must show up, and hone my boxing skills, or improve my fitness levels. This means that I have to maximize productivity, and get my work done on time.
Simon was setting things up as I walked in, and he greeted me with his usual cheery and amicable self. I told him I was going to run my first 10K on Saturday, and he mentioned how completing it was a mental hurdle as opposed to physical. It was all in the head. I agreed. And couldn’t argue. After all, Simon said it! (I am an endless supply of dad jokes, sue me.)
Joining the class were Sam, a boxing coach at Spartans; Violette, who oversees things in the gym; and Sonal, who I hadn’t met before (I’m not sure if she is a member, or was in for a trial).
After Simon shared what gruelling circuits we’d be in for today, we stretched, and got down to working out to the best of our respective abilities…
The next 55 minutes proved instrumental in transforming my physical and mental state for the next 6 hours.
Because as I performed the exercises, I knew – without a reasonable doubt – that the only person I was competing with in that space was myself.
Nobody knows the extent of my injuries. Nobody knows what body part I’d worked out that day – or the day prior. Nobody knows if I’d had a physically exhausting day at a construction site. Or, conversely, a lethargic 7 hours spent working on my desk.
Nobody knows any of that. Except for me. Which is a sobering reality.
I know that I must work hard, yet smart. I know that I must push myself, whilst constrained by my body’s current limitations.
In sum: I know I must continually raise the bar, but lower it when needed.
As the session raged on, and I lunged forward on one knee, and lunged backward on the other; (to one of Whitney Houston’s most popular tracks – Simon has good taste) I stared at myself in the mirror, and noticed the lack of muscle on my quadriceps.
Whilst I previously would have looked at myself in repulsion, I now view myself with a healthy intrigue.
I briefly thought about how far I’ve come (I am now able to stand for long periods without pain in my knees, which is an achievement in and of itself) and how much further I have got to go.
There’s a long road ahead until I reach where I want to be physically, but it’s a journey worth undertaking – blood, sweat, and tears be damned.
And before I knew it, the class was over. I had become better. Over the course of 60-whirlwind-minutes.
No boxers at a boxing gym? Poetic.
With endorphins flowing, my mental state uplifted, and body buzzing with energy, I headed into the changing room to shower.
But upon hanging my change of clothes on the shower railing, I realized with dismay…I hadn’t brought a change of boxers. (My late start clearly still making me pay.)
There was no way I was going to wear the same pair I had just sweated buckets in. So I decided to go commando, and headed to Ibn Battuta Mall to collect my welcome pack for Saturday’s 10K.
Of course, nobody knew I went commando. And truth be told, it felt great.
I may or may not do this again…
Run Karan, run.
I learnt about the Expo Run 3 from Dani, a coach at Spartans Boxing Club who specializes in cardiovascular fitness. She also relishes punishing me with intense HIIT workouts, but you didn’t hear this from me.
She told me about the run in February. I could have chosen between the 3K, 5K, and 10K. But I delayed registering until last week, by which point only a slot for the 10K was available.
I signed up without hesitation, because I have decent fitness levels. But there’s the small matter of my knees not being in tip-top shape. Plus, I haven’t run in years.
Out of curiosity, I did some cursory research on Monday during my lunch-break to know what to expect when running a 10K for the first time.
I won’t lie; reading that people usually train for 3 – 4 weeks to prepare for a 10K gave me a slight jolt. Several articles confirmed this, giving me the butterflies.
But what put me at ease was learning that – as is usually the case – other people have faced the same dilemma in the past.
And what should they do but type their problem into the search bar, hoping for a solution that only good old Google can provide?
I was a decent short-distance runner in school (often finishing 3rd or 4th) but, if memory serves me correctly, I used to finish 6th or 7th in the long-distance runs.
Apart from the occasional jog, or less-than-occasional sprint, I haven’t run properly in over a decade. Mostly due to my knees.
But when I used to, I remember running with my earphones in until I experienced runner’s high. I loved that.
It remains to be seen how well I do on the day. What is crucial is not to get buoyed by the energy of the other runners, and run too fast, too soon, and exhaust myself.
I am not looking to set a PR. I should have fun, and enjoy the run. Go at my pace, and bear in mind that I will be running alongside those who have practised for this run for weeks, months, even.
As is the case: the only man I will attempt to best is myself. But all things considered, I will take it easy.
I’m on the quest to become my best. Physically. Mentally. Creatively. Professionally. Spiritually.
I’ve always had a soft spot for contact sports (yes, that pun is as intentional just as the grass is green).
And I’m not quite sure why.
It might have been that one late night as I was on holiday in New Delhi, when I was 19 years young. I was lazily channel-surfing after a delightful dinner; Delhi’s fresh vegetables have nothing on the imported produce you get in Dubai.
I decided to check out what was going on in the world of sport. Until I stopped short, and my eyes started to widen. Slowly.
I had come across GSP absolutely mauling some poor nameless chap in The Octagon.
I do not remember the match, or its significance in that year’s UFC title championship.
All I remember is how he utterly dominated those few minutes. He stamped his authority on the judges’ scorecards, left the other guy bloody, and left an indelible mark on my impressionable teenage brain.
I’m not a violent guy. Far from it. But just as I’ve been endlessly striving to become the best version of myself, I’ve also been practicing an arcane ritual accessible only to men, which has not only made me more resilient, and eloquent, but highly emotional, creative, and aggressive too.
And I cannot think of a better avenue to channel raw, masculine energy than by practising a martial art. It humbles you. It disciplines you. It strengthens you.
I’ve been boxing for just under 3 months now. I even picked up a TFCC tear on my left wrist in the first month, which was unfortunate, but not entirely unexpected given the circumstances.
But hindsight is a blessing, and in the time I couldn’t use my left wrist to its full ability, I built muscle in my lower body, which is something I must continue to focus on.
Every time I step into Spartans for a class, I push myself. I want to learn. I want to grow.
But boxing is both, one thing, and many things at the same time.
Boxing is a skill. Boxing is an art. Boxing is a sport. Boxing is self-defence. Boxing is a full-body workout. Boxing is a science.
And each time I don my gloves, I become acutely aware of how much I have to learn in this sphere.
I’ve accepted the fact that life is difficult, so the fact that life is difficult is irrelevant.
Ever since, I’ve been shouldering responsibility and expanding my comfort zone.
Funnily enough, when you decide to take matters into your own hands and journey into the unknown, you meet people.
People who seemingly magically waltz into your life. People who want the best for you. People who mentor you.
Like some of my coaches at Spartans. I’ve already mentioned Simon, who teaches the strength and conditioning class.
Simon has seriously great dad energy. By which I mean that he looks out for you. And pushes you to work harder. As described earlier, I like his taste in music. He also comes armed and ready with a great dad joke or two. (Or ten). And I, for one, am a massive advocate for an infallible dad joke.
Yet another coach I have come to greatly respect is Jalal, who joined recently. I had him saved as ‘Coach Jalal’ on my phone because that is how everybody referred to him as.
And it only took a couple of classes to see why. If there was anyone who’s earned the title of ‘Coach’, it’s him.
I keep it real. And I love people who do. Without pulling any punches, Jalal is a solid coach because he knows his shit. And gives a damn. Oh, and he does a decent moonwalk too.
That’s the first time I’ve cussed on my blog. I can’t quite brush aside the clichéd ‘there’s a first time for everything’, because it makes for the perfect segue as I conclude…
I’m going to run my first 10K in a few sleeps. On 26th March 2022. Is my body ready?
Hell, no! But just as I enrolled into a boxing gym on a whim, and found how it brought order to other areas of my life, I am sure this run will teach me a lesson or two on my journey of self-development.
So long as I take calculated risks on the grounds of the Expo 2020 Dubai, come Saturday morning.
I loved writing this blog – more so than usual. I hope you enjoyed reading. I am happy with the state of my writing and am excited to continue publishing. I will write about some of the positive effects boxing has had on my life in another blog. Until then, I will catch you in the next one.
“A story doesn’t have to appeal to the heart. It can also appeal to the spine.
And with two magic words…ay, no pressure.“
That’s a handsome guy, extra hand notwithstanding. I clicked this on Sunday, 27th Feb 2022 on my way to Wadi Abadilah, Fujairah, with a vibrant and diverse crew.
Time flies when you’re having fun, and it’s been a whirlwind week.
We’re into another weekend as I type this on Saturday, 5th March 2022, and I must get these words out now before life’s duties and responsibilities get in the way of my writing.
I’ve been itching to blog for months, but never seemed to find the words, or make the time.
But as any great writer knows, you must show up, even if your muse doesn’t.
The process must be trusted. The inspiration will flow. The words will come. The story will be told.
I’m in a good place in my life. I’m happy. But not content. There is much work to be done before I will be.
And once I get to that stage, I will set more goals, and work relentlessly towards achieving them.
If only I had this drive and determination a couple of years ago, I wonder where I’d be today.
That said; I don’t dwell on the past. I only learn from it. A wise man reviews history, analyses what they could have improved, and armed with that knowledge, boldly creates their future.
Which is why, in this two-part blog, I want to tell the story of the most creatively fulfilling year of my life (2018 – 2019) as an electronic dance music vlogger, and t-shirt blogger.
With the exception of a Twitter I barely use; I don’t have social media anymore. Although I use LinkedIn, I’m not lumping it along with the big three – Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter – because it is a different and necessary beast.
(I also loathe how it has aped Facebook’s UI, but that’s beside the point.)
Depending on who you ask, not being on social media may either be considered a cardinal sin or completely normal. What is worth examining, however, is your relationship with, and what you gain from it.
What follows is the unabridged tale of when I was building something greater than myself.
My end goal was to secure a job covering underground electronic dance music across Europe. Either as a journalist, presenter, vlogger, or DJ. Although I already held a day job as an advertising copywriter, I had become disillusioned with the gig 3 years in. The reasons for my disillusionment? Several, but chief amongst them was that I didn’t see the point to my work, because I felt I wasn’t contributing anything of value to the world.
To reach my goal, I decided to hone my creative and social media skills through @karangoesdancing, where I would post Stories involving a mix of vlogs, photos, and blogs every day. All I did was change my existing handle (where I had some 300 followers) and start sharing content that was dance-music-focused.
Post with purpose, essentially.
I started experimenting with vlogs on Instagram in June 2018, making them for myself and noticed that people enjoyed watching. Note; I wasn’t strictly talking about music back then.
I merely went about my day, documented it, and had fun doing so.
After losing my job in advertising (mostly due to managerial changes, in part because my love for it had waned, and it showed) in September 2018, I decided to – with unconditional support from my parents – put all my eggs into the music vlogging basket.
My folks gave me a year to do as I deemed fit (known as a gap year in universities) and I was intrigued to see where this path would take me…
And this path certainly took me places! Some highlights:
1. Being asked to handle on-site social media creation for a boutique Burning Man-esque music festival called Magnetic Fields, held in a heritage 17th-century palace in Jaipur, India.
3. Meeting, and befriending my favourite artists, some of whom shared nuggets of wisdom on leading a creative life. I also crossed paths with veterans from the music industry, who guided me on how to succeed in the business.
4. Winning 4 passes to Glitch Festival, and reuniting with rave-happy friends in gorgeous Malta, who came to party, no questions asked, in the summer of 2019.
5. And last, but not least, connecting with people across the world through music.
I look back in gratitude at these magnificent experiences. And cannot believe what an extraordinary year that was.
…but I’d like to direct your attention as to why I started doing this in the first place.
I wanted to make a career of this, remember? And when you commodify yourself with an identity like @karangoesdancing, there comes a pressure to keep up appearances, especially on social media, where everybody seems to be having the time of their lives.
So, I chose to share,
Cherry-pick and publish highlights.
Things appeared rosy and hunky-dory on camera. But, for better or worse, (better, in my opinion) life is not a party.
There are highs, and lows.
That’s just the way life goes.
Whilst things seemed great digitally,
my physical life was in tatters.
My parents weren’t happy with my still-fledgling career choice. Besides, I wasn’t making any money doing this.
To remedy that, I started freelance writing. I was excellent at my job, so made enough to get by, but working freelance requires extreme dedication, and self-discipline. None of which I had at that time; I’ll admit. My food and living expenses (not to mention credit card bills) were also generously paid for by my loving parents.
I was doing what I loved but wasn’t working to a game plan. Whilst I had connected with key players in the music industry, I wasn’t sure how to leverage these connections into landing a job. And when I wasn’t creating content; I chose to party instead of work.
Common sense dictates you must have a mentor when you journey into the unknown. Especially in a field as hyper-competitive as music.
But what happens when you embark on
a journey by yourself, wanting nothing but to connect with and make people happy due to the naivete in your heart, yet also wanting to make it lucrative – thus going against your fundamental principles for doing something creative
– at the same time?
You overthink. And crash. And burn. Hard. And when you’re a self-professed hedonist, you turn to your vices. Which, for me, was unbridled pleasure.
Sexual gratification. I’d lose myself in lust for days at a time, but like a hamster running aimlessly on the hedonic treadmill, I’d return to my baseline level of happiness after reaching massive heights of ecstasy.
What’s worse is that I would repeat my mistakes, and like good old Pavlov’s dog himself, go through the same thought-stimulus-pleasure loop.
I don’t want to elucidate on this dark period, but of two things I am sure:
1. There is immense work to be done in the shadows, and on my Shadow, before I get to where I want to be. What’s encouraging is that the work began some time ago, and I’ve grown since.
2. Everything in nature is cyclical, and things are bound to improve. So long as we are conscious of our limitations, and make pushing past our comfort zones part of our daily routines.
Back to the story, then. Nobody knew what mental tug-of-war I was going through, yet I blissfully continued sharing Story after Story every day, creating ridiculous hype leading up to Glitch Festival – so when I was awarded 4 free festival passes, I was not surprised.
I’d organically grown my page from a paltry 300 something followers to a 1500-strong community in the span of 11 months.
The math worked out to about 110 new followers every month, which was decent, considering I wasn’t sharing any sponsored posts. I merely interacted with the global dance music community. I also viewed each person I connected with as a, well, person, and not a number.
Although I must say: this number included several bots. I’d be quick on the uptake to block them, but if memory serves me correctly, they would still count as part of your follower count. I do not remember.
People were following my journey every step of the way (the analytics didn’t lie) and were keen to hear my thoughts about this sonic festival on the sun-drenched shores of idyllic Malta.
And I was just as eager to tell that story, but couldn’t do so in good conscience upon my return from that significant trip because of a decision I had to make…
To do what is right, or what is difficult?
That is the question.
My year was up. I had to answer my parents – would I continue the music-vlogging shenanigans (and continue freelance writing on the side), or would I join the family acoustics business?
Frankly, I didn’t have to think long. I was done writing for brands. It was dull work, and I was not a self-starter. It was the same job I’d come to hate over the past few years, except this time I was on my own. No team to help.
I had to be the judge of my own work; which I’ll admit, has held me in good stead…
The music-vlogging was fun whilst it lasted. But I knew the party had to end at some point. Over the course of my vlogging efforts, I was offered one job in the music industry in Dubai, but I didn’t follow up when I should have.
So, I bit the bullet and joined my family business in September 2019. I decided to go off the grid by:
Deactivating both my Instagram accounts @karangoesdancing and @teesonthestreets;
Deactivating my Facebook;
Turning off WhatsApp notifications, and archiving a bunch of chats so I wouldn’t be disturbed;
And not responding to anyone, no matter what remaining platform (such as SoundCloud) they reached out to me from.
Many thought I had died, or worse. It was a selfish decision but had to be done. I had to give my all in this new field. On occasion, I felt the brunt of leaving people (including friends) in the dark, and it stung. But, I had to focus on the bigger picture. My goal was crystal-clear: I had to rise to the occasion of shouldering my family business.
I’d be lying if I said it was smooth sailing post my return from Malta. But, after a year and a half of impostor phenomenon, mistakes, stress, (coupled with the tempestuous time that was 2020 – hola, COVID-19!) I have somewhat found my feet in the esoteric (who am I kidding, this stuff isn’t as difficult as I thought it would be) field of acoustics.
Whilst I do not enjoy every part of my job, I feel satisfied from seeing a project through to completion. I also enjoy managing my team. But, this is no ordinary job, nor can I treat it as such.
This is my business. And I must treat it with the care and attention it deserves.
What I lack in technical know-how, I make up for with my interpersonal skills and resilient attitude: I get the job done, no matter what.
I’ve also belatedly realized that a career in advertising has given me three invaluable skills:
1. For one; I can communicate. Competently. Which already puts me head and shoulders above the masses in the construction industry. Where it seems like people cannot write a coherent email, or give a clear order to save their life…
2. Two; it has sharpened my thinking – the best creative is rooted in logic and insight. Which will no doubt play a vital role as I progress in my career, and deal with people from varying walks of life, and contrasting worldviews.
3. And three; I can sell. Effectively. I’ve recently begun taking an interest in our company’s social media page, and know that growing a business’ digital presence boils down to staying human, no matter how large you become, and utilizing the usual social media strategies – and some unusual ones, too…
I sometimes miss the halcyon days of vlogging about electronic music as @karangoesdancing. But, they’re just that – a time rooted in nostalgia.
It is okay to reminisce on occasion. Anything beyond does more harm than good.
I might return to that side of myself in the future but on a different platform.
Time will tell.
Electronic music is incredibly dear to me and has played a telling role during several moments in my life, shaping me into the man I am today.
Looking ahead, the story of my other digital side-project (@teesonthestreets) remains to be told, which deserves its own blog. Which I will publish. Soon.
If you’ve read this far, thank you. I appreciate it when people read my words, or listen to my story. If you got something from this blog, please get in touch, or leave a comment. I’d love to hear from you.
I missed this. So much. Blogging, that is. I would love it if you subscribed to my blog, but I want to make it worth your while. I want you to gain value from my words. I want you to feel something each time you receive my thoughts in your inbox. I want to write words that resonate with you.
That is what I’ve always wanted. Which is why I won’t ask you to subscribe again. At least not until I’ve built a habit of publishing on a regular basis, and consistently producing work that I am happy with.
The last time I published was in December 2018. The only reason for not publishing since then is because I was scared to write. But now, as I rediscover my creative capabilities, I know that writing is not as tricky as I made it out to be in my head.
After all, I was paid to write. And when people pay you to do something, you must be doing something right, even – and especially – if you don’t recognise it yourself.
No matter what creative activity I pursue, writing will be my first love. I find it deeply cathartic, and view it as a medium where I can allow myself to be vulnerable.
You cannot hide with words.
And if you know me even slightly, you would know I’m a guy who doesn’t mince his words, and wears his heart on his sleeve.
Which makes perfect sense. Because when I write, I write from the heart and look to connect not only with myself but you, dear reader.
I look forward to sharing more stories with you. Catch you in the next blog.
I stirred. And shifted to my side to check my phone, which revealed that it was 7:58 AM. Lying on the mattress, I looked around, examining the unfamiliar surroundings. A Tom Brady poster was plastered on the wall, over a bed where one of my younger cousins slumbered peacefully. Next to his bed was a shelf, adorned with ‘high-achiever’ certificates.
A somewhat tidy study table was placed adjacent to that. To my left, my other cousin, the tallest of the bunch, snored away.
I looked back up and smiled widely at the ceiling. Contentment is a lovely feeling.
“Carpe diem”, I thought, as I lifted myself off the mattress and reached for my jacket. Thinking better of it, I left it where it was, deciding instead to brave the elements. I tiptoed out of the room, careful not to wake my cousins.