The Slow Brew of Intentionality | Pearls of wisdom #1

Arjun leaned back in his worn office chair, the glow of the monitor reflecting in his tired eyes. At 32, he’d thought adulting would be about cashing paychecks, weekend trips, and upgrading his gadgets. Instead, it felt like juggling flaming swords while blindfolded in Bangalore traffic. The thrill of the latest phone faded in weeks, the taste of a fancy takeout meal was forgotten by morning, and the fleeting rush of a quick promotion trickled away, leaving the same low hum of anxiety.

He’d just received another overdraft alert. An impulsive weekend getaway fueled by a need to escape his stagnant routine had depleted his buffer. Again. The immediate pleasure had been intense, but the nagging worry about rent and bills felt like a permanent tenant in his chest.

He remembered his Uncle Vijay, a man who lived a quiet, disciplined life yet radiated a steady contentment Arjun couldn't fathom. "Quick joys are like gas station filter coffee, Arjun," Uncle Vijay had chuckled once, stirring his evening chai. "They give you a jolt, maybe, but they leave a bitter taste fast. Real strength is in the slow brew." At the time, Arjun had rolled his eyes internally, chasing the 'nitro boost' lattes of life. Now, the bitterness was very real.

He stumbled upon a post online, a quote:

"The price of discipline is always less than the pain of regret."

Arjun read it again. The overdraft pain. The missed opportunity for that training program because he’d spent the evening scrolling instead of studying. The unfinished side-project that could have opened doors. The lump sum he'd wasted on speculative stocks he hadn't properly researched, lured by a quick gain promise. Oh, the regret was a heavy cloak. The price of skipping those takeout meals, staying in, learning a new skill, saving consistently… that would have been infinitely lighter.

It was a jolt. Not the fleeting kind, but a slow, dawning realization. His constant pursuit of short-term fixes – the retail therapy, the impulsive trips, the quick wins at work that bypassed foundational effort – were leaving him financially stressed, professionally plateaued, and frankly, a bit miserable.

He decided to try the 'slow brew'. It felt impossibly hard at first. Saying no to weekend brunches felt like deprivation. Not buying that new pair of shoes required conscious effort. Instead of chasing quick validation, he started doing something he'd always found boring: learning the fundamentals of financial planning. He opened a dedicated savings account, automatic transfers set up for the moment his salary hit. Discipline.

He started focusing at work, not on who was noticing, but on truly understanding the projects, the underlying tech, the clients' needs. He picked up online courses, working through modules slowly, consistently, late into the evenings instead of binge-watching series.

Another quote came to him, from a TED talk he'd saved ages ago and never watched:

"Eventually .... Execution beats luck; Consistency beats intensity; Curiosity beats smart; Kind beats clever; Together beats alone."

He wasn't born 'smartest' or 'cleverest'. But he could execute. He committed to doing one difficult, useful task each day (execution beats luck). He stopped looking for one big break and focused on showing up consistently, doing the work steadily, improving step-by-step (consistency beats intensity). He let go of the need to appear knowledgeable and simply became curious, asking 'why' and 'how', diving into details that used to bore him (curiosity beats smart).

He started listening more to his colleagues, offering help without expecting immediate reward. He discovered being genuinely kind built stronger bonds than trying to be the 'cleverest' person in the room, which often felt like being the loneliest (kind beats clever, together beats alone). He even talked to Uncle Vijay more, not for advice necessarily, but just to share, realizing the quiet strength of connection.

The change wasn't dramatic, not like a sudden windfall. It was slow, like building a strong wall brick by brick. His savings grew, not exponentially, but steadily. He felt a quiet satisfaction watching the numbers increase. Work became less of a competitive arena and more a space for contribution and genuine learning. Projects felt less like burdens and more like challenges he was equipped to tackle because he’d put in the consistent effort, fueled by genuine curiosity. He still faced challenges, financial nudges, moments of self-doubt, but the sharp sting of regret was less frequent. The persistent anxiety started to subside, replaced by a quiet confidence in his own ability to navigate.

Arjun, at 32, was discovering that adulting wasn't just about having responsibilities; it was about having intentionality. The small price of daily discipline was buying him freedom from the heavy cost of regret. The slow build of consistent effort and genuine connection was laying a foundation far more stable and satisfying than any quick, temporary fix ever could. The adult life he was building was quieter, perhaps, but it felt undeniably, profoundly, his own.

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