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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Question: I often feel like life is spinning out of control—work demands, personal responsibilities, and the state of the world. How do you find meaning and keep going when chaos surrounds you?

Response:
I wish I could tell you I’ve mastered this, that I wake up every morning with clarity and purpose, no matter how messy or difficult life gets. But, to be honest, there are days I feel lost too.

Chaos has a way of pulling the rug out from under us when we least expect it.

Anyway, here’s what I’ve learned: meaning isn’t something you find in perfect moments. It’s something you create, even in the messy ones.

A few years ago, I went through a particularly chaotic phase—work was overwhelming, my personal life felt scattered, and the news seemed to be a constant stream of bad headlines. I thought, “How can anyone make sense of this?”

But then, as I got deeper into studying about the human condition and spirituality (not religion, but spirituality), I started noticing the small things that grounded me. A kind word from my child, the rhythm of my breath when I took a walk, the earth under my feet, the way sunlight danced on my desk in the late afternoon. These weren’t grand revelations, but they started to feel enough.

Philosophers like Viktor Frankl have written about finding meaning in suffering, and that idea always stuck with me. It’s not about waiting for chaos to subside but about asking, “What is this moment asking of me? What can I give to it?”

Sometimes, meaning is as simple as showing up. You don’t have to solve everything; you just have to take the next step.

Life might never stop being chaotic, but you can always choose to live deliberately within it.