Life is not fair

 

“Life is not fair.”
It was a thought she felt crossed her mind more often than anyone else in the world.

That familiar sting had followed her since childhood — it always came back when things went against her wishes. Yet, in the face of every hardship, her mother, a single parent, had remained the epitome of positivity. She had this quiet, stubborn grace that turned every setback into a lesson.

That was twenty-four years ago. Back then, she was just a little girl of ten — too young to truly grasp what fairness meant.

“I am born out of wedlock and have never seen my father,” she would complain.
As a teenager, she found little comfort in her mother’s soft assurance that she was a love child — born of deep affection between two people who could not be together. It was too much philosophy for a young mind to hold — the idea that two people could love deeply, and yet be bound by constraints that love alone could not conquer.

Her mother used to say, “Sometimes love teaches us to let go — not because it is weak, but because it is wise.”

This morning, that same phrase came back to her — along with that old familiar thought: Life’s not fair.
She could feel it even before she opened her eyes — he was gone.

Soon, this house, this room, the furniture, even the garden they had built together, would lose their meaning. The hibiscus, the rose, the marigold — all would fade into dullness, drained of color but memory.

They both knew this relationship lived on borrowed time, a season stolen from reality. They had chosen to take what they could — a handful of beautiful, impossible moments — instead of a lifetime of compromise.

And now that it was over, she felt something strange.
Not just loss — but recognition.

Maybe it was destiny.
Maybe she was simply re-living a chapter from her mother’s life.
Or perhaps, somewhere deep in her being, it had always been coded into her genes.

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Read Reflect Rejoice

Why Less Negative Thinking Can Be the Most Positive Move

 

Let’s start with a thought-provoking question:
Which matters more — thinking more positively or thinking less negatively?

Most people instinctively reach for positive thinking. It sounds uplifting, energetic, empowering. But if you truly want to move forward faster and feel lighter, the answer isn’t more positive thinking — it’s less negative thinking.

Positive thinking has its place. Hope, optimism, and vision are essential to growth.
But what weighs us down isn’t usually the lack of positivity — it’s the quiet undercurrent of negativity we allow to run unchecked.

It creeps in silently.
The inner voice that criticizes, complains, or worries slips into our day before we even take our first sip of coffee.

Leadership and performance coach Price Pritchett described how our engagement with negativity often takes shape through what he called “the attack of the five C’s”:

• Complaining – focusing on the problem more than the possibility.

• Criticizing – seeing flaws instead of effort or progress.

• Concern – worrying excessively about things we can’t control.

• Commiserating – bonding over shared negativity instead of shared solutions.

• Catastrophizing – inflating one setback into a full-blown disaster.

Each of these drains focus, creativity, and confidence. The good news? The moment we start recognizing them, we begin to regain control over them.

So the next time you notice one of these patterns sneaking in, pause.
Take a breath.
Ask yourself: Is this thought helping me move forward — or holding me back?

“Less negative thinking” doesn’t mean ignoring reality or pretending everything is fine.
It means noticing negativity — and choosing not to feed it.

Sometimes the fastest way to bring more light into your life isn’t by adding brightness — it’s by removing the shadows that have been dimming it.

Take a moment to reflect:
Which of the five C’s — complaining, criticizing, concern, commiserating, or catastrophizing — tends to show up most in your thoughts?
And how might your day feel lighter if you simply released your hold on one of them?

🌿 Read. Reflect. Rejoice.

The Practice of Presence: Relearning the Joy of Deep Work

 

Yesterday, we asked a simple but profound question:
What deserves my full attention today — and am I willing to give it that gift?

If you still doubt the reach of intermittent attention, try a small experiment — one I’ve done myself.

Go to a coffee shop with time on your hands.
Take a seat at the back, where you can quietly observe most of the guests.

Notice the tables — people sitting alone, those with partners, and groups of friends.
Try to observe them all.

Watch how often their activity breaks — whether in the middle of a sentence, a thought, or a shared laugh.
And pay attention to the triggers. You’ll be surprised how easily people are distracted, even by strangers walking in, even by the ping of a phone that isn’t theirs.

That question lingers, doesn’t it?
It’s not easy to practice that wisdom, even when the answer is clear — the choice is to be here, not everywhere.

We often imagine focus as a discipline of the mind, but at its heart, it’s an act of care.
When we give something — a task, a conversation, a person — our undivided attention, we’re saying:

“You matter.”

Presence is love in its most practical form.

But every action has two sides.
If giving undivided attention says “you matter,” withholding it quietly says the opposite.
And when we act that way toward those who do matter, we begin our descent down a slippery slope — the path of unhappiness.

As we close this series, it’s worth remembering:
We hold the key to our peace and happiness in our own hands.

But relearning presence is not about withdrawing from the world — it’s about returning to it more fully.
It’s not about rigid control; it’s about regaining agency over where our mind rests.

Deep work, in this sense, is not only professional — it’s spiritual.
It’s the practice of immersion, of being wholly absorbed in what we do, until distraction loses its grip.

Our challenge is to build environments — and inner habits — where depth can thrive again.
Because while distraction is easy, depth is rare.

So before we rush back into our noise-filled routines, let’s pause for a simple — yet life-changing — promise:
To be fully present in the moment.

There may be many ways to achieve this, but I leave you with a simple routine to start practicing every day, starting today.

Notice where your mind drifts.
Each time it wanders, pause.
Take a breath.
Return to the task, the conversation, or the moment in front of you.

This simple practice, repeated over days and weeks, is how attention rebuilds itself — quietly, persistently, like a muscle regaining strength.

  Intermittent attention is not a personal flaw — today, it’s a cultural symptom.
The future will belong to those who can connect deeply to one thing at a time.

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🌿 Read. Reflect. Rejoice.

Link to Part 2 

           Link to Part 1 

The Epidemic of Intermittent Attention: How Constant Distraction Is Reshaping Our Minds

 

Today, we start from where we left off yesterday — where we shared wisdom from great minds on the importance of concentration and focus.

Now, let’s go a step deeper and explore how to rebuild attention as a habit, not merely resist distraction — how to move toward a philosophy of focus and presence.

We are living in a time when information comes at us with the quantity and force of a fire hose. We can no longer easily decide what is important and what is not. In that constant quest to stay updated, we live on alert — forever scanning for what comes next, and in the process, we lose hold of the present.
Consequently, attention has become a rare commodity.

This state has reached epidemic proportions, so much so that it now has a name — intermittent attention: a fragmented mental state where focus keeps leaping between a dozen competing demands.
Each tiny interruption steals a fraction of our mental energy. Over time, we end up scattered — busy, but rarely absorbed; informed, but seldom thoughtful.

Unlike true multitasking, where we attempt to do several things at once, intermittent attention is a kind of rapid toggling where we accomplish almost nothing.
It feels productive, but it isn’t.
This constant switching breaks the continuity of thought, disrupts memory, and slowly erodes creativity.

Our minds were never designed to refresh like a screen. Research shows that it takes 10–15 minutes for the brain to return to its pre-distraction focus state.

Students: The Most Affected

Students are the most vulnerable — precisely because they have the highest capacity to learn. Their minds are open, curious, and capable of deep absorption, but their environment constantly pulls them outward. Surrounded by devices engineered to capture attention, they live in a trap that is hard to escape.

Over time, the ability to read, reflect, and understand deeply begins to fade.
It’s not a lack of intelligence or motivation — it’s the environment itself working against focus.

Beyond the Classroom

This struggle extends far beyond students. Professionals, creators, and leaders — anyone whose work depends on sustained thought — face the same challenge.
When attention fragments, strategic thinking, problem-solving, and innovation all suffer.

We end up producing more activity than achievement — a generation constantly engaged, but seldom present. The cost of lost productivity is alarmingly high. Beyond economics, this restlessness drives organizations to turn toward non-humans — bots and AI — not only for efficiency, but because human focus has become unreliable.

Reclaiming Control: A Path Forward

To reclaim our attention, we need both personal discipline and collective awareness. For both, we can adopt a simple mantra:
Resist distraction. Build attention.

Here are a few starting points:

• Single-tasking: Set dedicated blocks of time for one task only — no tabs, no toggles.

• Digital hygiene: Turn off non-essential notifications. Keep your phone out of sight while working.

• Scheduled disconnection: Spend part of each day offline — read, walk, or simply be still.

• Mindfulness: Simple breathing or meditation practices retrain the brain to resist constant stimulus.

• Learning reform: Encourage depth over speed. Slow reading and reflection build lasting understanding.

The Way Ahead

Intermittent attention isn’t a personal flaw — it’s a cultural symptom. The systems around us are designed to reward distraction. But the future will not belong to those connected to everything — it will belong to those capable of connecting deeply to one thing at a time.

Focus, then, becomes an act of quiet rebellion.
In a world that thrives on speed, the one who pauses, reflects, and stays present will not only think better — they will live better.

So, as we move forward, let’s carry one question with us:

What deserves my full attention today — and am I willing to give it that gift?

Link to Part 1

Link to Part 3

Timeless Wisdom on Focus: What the Great Minds Taught Us About Concentration

 

Picture this: I’m sitting with my laptop, trying to write today’s post. But the problem is — I can’t focus. My attention keeps bouncing between the cup of tea on my right and the smartphone on my left.

Sounds familiar? It probably does.
This tug-of-war of attention has a name — intermittent attention.

I’ll be delving deeper into that subject in one of the coming days — the rhythm of focus in our daily lives.
But before that, let’s pause and revisit what some of the greatest minds have said about concentration.

Across centuries, scientists, philosophers, writers, and leaders have echoed one truth:

Focus is a superpower.

It’s a challenge to pick just five timeless thoughts from so many great ones — so here’s a random selection, yet each one a gem:

“Concentrate all your thoughts upon the work in hand. The sun’s rays do not burn until brought to a focus.”
— Alexander Graham Bell

“Take up one idea. Make that one idea your life – think of it, dream of it, live on that idea... This is the way to success.”
— Swami Vivekananda

“Focus is the art of knowing what to ignore.”
— James Clear

“Concentration is the secret of strength in politics, in war, in trade — in short, in all management of human affairs.”
— Ralph Waldo Emerson

“I never could have done what I have done without the habits of punctuality, order, and diligence — without the determination to concentrate myself on one subject at a time.”
— Charles Dickens

Each of these voices points to the same essence:

Attention is the bridge between thought and achievement.

And perhaps tomorrow, we can explore what happens when that bridge begins to flicker — and how to find our way back.

Link to Part 2

Like to Part 3

The Real Story Behind Conflict: It’s Not Just a Number

 

Photo by Kris Møklebust: Link

Kenny Rogers once sang, “Sometimes you have to fight if you’re a man.” But let’s be honest—war doesn’t decide who’s right; it only decides who’s left once the dust settles.

People lose their limbs, homes, and sense of safety—often forever. Even those who think they’ve won carry scars that never heal.

History tells the same story again and again. When two sides clash—whether nations, communities, or individuals—what gets recorded are the statistics of death: how many killed, how many wounded, how many displaced. But these numbers never tell the whole truth.

When a report says, “1 person killed,” that “one” represents a much bigger loss—it’s just the tip of the iceberg. What we don't see are the deeper wounds—the wife who lost her husband, the parents who lost their child, the children growing up without a parent. These unseen faces never make it to the headlines, yet they carry the heaviest weight.

When conflict arises, not everyone who seems to support you has your best interests at heart. Some will trap you in a double bind; others will be loud with opinions, cheering from the sidelines, urging you to keep fighting. Don’t give them your attention, and never give them your peace of mind.

Most people just want to live peacefully—to work, raise families, and thrive as a community. No one chooses a fight that leaves behind only broken homes and broken hearts. Be aware that those who start the fire aren’t the ones who burn.

Often, people use fear and division to gain control or advance their commerce. Don’t be misled. Don’t let anyone push you to hate or fight for their agenda.

Every life matters. Every family matters. Let’s not be trapped in conflicts that leave everyone worse off. The real heroes aren’t those who destroy—but those who protect, rebuild, and stand for peace, even when it’s hard.

“Thank you for visiting and spending time here. Before you go, feel free to share your thoughts in the comments below—your input helps. If you enjoyed this post, keep exploring the other offbeat and motivational posts. Hope to see you again soon!”

The Last Voice in Art Appreciation

 

When it comes to art appreciation, I often wonder why my opinion doesn’t matter. I know why — but it has little to do with how much knowledge I have about the subject. And I am not alone in being inconsequential.

In truth, the perspective of the common man has rarely influenced what is considered valuable or significant in the art world — and that is unlikely to change. Art, much like power in society, is shaped by those with the resources and reach to dictate cultural narratives, regardless of what the majority feels.

When it comes to art criticism, the voice of the man on the street rarely counts if it doesn’t align with that of the elite critics. His thoughts live and die in informal corners — at tea stalls in Kolkata or Trivandrum — but seldom travel beyond.

The psychology of how we perceive art is complex — a code difficult to breach, an algorithm impossible to decipher. There are countless stories of world-class musicians performing incognito in train stations, unnoticed by passersby. Beautiful photographs appear on our screen savers all the time — if only we are ready to notice. Even great poetry, tucked inside a “Good Morning” message, rarely earns a second look. The pattern is everywhere.

Consider Picasso: he never painted for the masses. He stripped art to its essentials, challenged convention, and sought truth through childlike simplicity — much like our prehistoric ancestors might have done on cave walls. Satyajit Ray captured a similar sentiment through Dutta’s character, revealing how true artistry often lies in seeing differently, not merely in seeing more.

Not everyone can — or even wants to — see the world the way Picasso, Ray, or Calatrava saw. And perhaps that’s the quiet beauty of art itself: it doesn’t demand approval; it simply waits for the few who pause, look, and truly see.

Art continues to remind us that beauty isn’t democratic—it reveals itself not to everyone, but to those willing to slow down, observe, and feel beyond the frame.