Chapter Content
Okay, so, um, this whole thing, it's, like, about how my life totally flipped upside down, you know? And it all started with this one kinda brutal conversation.
Basically, I was just chilling, having a drink with a friend, and we were doing the usual, "How's it going?" thing. And I gave him the standard "Good, busy!" response, which, let's be real, is basically a badge of honor these days, like being stressed is something to brag about. But he totally threw me for a loop. He was like, "I'm actually making time for the important stuff," because his dad had been sick.
And, I don’t know, that honesty just hit me. I admitted that living in California was getting to me, being so far from my parents back East. And then he just comes right out and asks, "How often do you even *see* your parents?" I told him, like, maybe once a year. Then he asks how old they are, I said mid-sixties, and then he just drops this bomb: "Okay, so you're gonna see your parents fifteen more times before they die."
Seriously, gut punch. I almost got angry, like, *whoa*, but he's a good friend, he knows my parents. It wasn't meant to be mean, it was just… math. Average life expectancy, their age, seeing them once a year… fifteen more visits. And that math? That broke me. That changed everything.
You see, I come from this crazy mix of backgrounds. My mom, she's from India, flew all the way to America, supposed to come back, but, you know, she didn’t. My dad grew up in the Bronx, supposed to marry a Jewish girl, become an academic. But nope! They met in a library at Princeton, she asked him out for ice cream, and he straight up told her his family would never accept it. My mom, being optimistic, totally missed the point at the time, haha. And he was right, his family wasn't cool with it. He had to choose, and he chose my mom. I never met his parents because of it.
Anyway, I grew up on this conveyor belt, right? Do well in school, get into a good college. I was obsessed with baseball. Somehow got a scholarship to Stanford. But then, boom, shoulder injury, dreams crushed. Had to figure out something else.
So, I did what I thought any ambitious person would do: I asked rich people what they did and how I could do it too. One family friend was all about investing. He's like, "You'll make six figures right out of school, half a million soon after, and by thirty, you'll have more money than you know what to do with." Sounded great! 'Cause, you know, I kinda thought money equals success and happiness. I think I just kinda absorbed that growing up and being surrounded by other high achievers.
So I took the job, thinking I was on the road to the good life. I'd put in the time, and eventually, I'd reach this stress-free future. But, um, it wasn't true.
By thirty, I had everything: the job, the title, the house, the car. But I was miserable. I started thinking *I* was the problem. I had been grinding, believing the reward was just around the corner. One bonus, one promotion, one fancy bottle of wine away... Then I got there, and I was like, "Is *this* it?"
There's this thing called the arrival fallacy. It's the idea that reaching some goal will make you happy forever. We think we'll finally "arrive." I was making millions, I had arrived, but the happiness was nowhere to be found. I just wanted more.
And I'm pretty sure I'm not alone in this, right? How many times has something you dreamed of become something you complain about? The house you longed for is now too small. The car you wanted is now always in the shop.
And the worst part is, I was so focused on more that I missed what was right in front of me. I was chasing a castle in the air. My health was going to crap, my relationships were suffering, and my time with my family? Like my friend said, depressingly finite.
Chasing money was ruining my life. I knew I needed to change something. From the outside, I looked like I was winning, but it felt so wrong.
So, I started asking myself a different question: If I was playing the wrong game, what was the right one?
That's where it all started. I had to define success for myself. I read *everything*. Ancient philosophy, modern self-help, biographies, religious texts, you name it. But books can only take you so far.
You need to talk to people, *really* talk to them.
I talked to people from all walks of life. Recent grads, CEOs, stay-at-home parents, athletes, ski bums, you name it. I became a student of the human experience.
I talked to a grieving widower, a young man with a brain tumor, a new mom struggling with work-life balance, a man just out of prison, a barber who was proud to provide for his family, a ninety-year-old woman who just took up painting. And in all of those conversations, there was one constant exercise that I had done that was recommended to me: Imagine your ideal day at eighty. What are you doing? Who are you with? Where are you? How do you feel?
And through all this, the books, the conversations, the tears, the laughter, I realized something:
We all want the same thing, and it has nothing to do with money.
Young or old, rich or poor, the ideal future always came down to: time, people, purpose, health. Spending time with loved ones, doing things that matter, feeling good.
Money was just a tool, not the goal.
Then it hit me: I wasn't playing the wrong game, I was playing the game *wrong*.
The problem was the scoreboard.
Our scoreboard is broken. It tells us that wealth and success are all about money. But what you measure is what you manage. And if all you measure is money, that's all you'll focus on. You might win the battle, but you lose the war. Your time slips away, your relationships suffer, your purpose fades, your health declines.
So, I started building a new tool, a new way to measure life, based on those timeless pillars: time, people, purpose, health. Not just knowing they're important, but tracking them.
Listen, I'm here to tell you that *you* can change everything in one year. Not ten, not five, not three. One. One year of asking the right questions. One year of prioritizing the right things. One year of focused action.
I know, because I've lived it.
I used to be miserable, prioritizing the wrong things. Then, in one week, my wife and I had those deep conversations, figuring out what really mattered. In one month, I could feel the impact. I quit my job to start something meaningful. I started taking care of my health. We sold our house and moved back East to be closer to our parents. That fifteen-more-visits thing? Ancient history.
In one year, everything was different. My new ventures were thriving, I had time for walks and hobbies, and we got pregnant! Our son, Roman, was born. And when we came home from the hospital, our whole family was there to welcome us.
I was walking with Roman one day when an old man told me, "It goes by fast, cherish it." And the next morning, I brought Roman into bed with us. He was asleep, a tiny smile on his face, and the sun was coming through the window. And I had this feeling: I had arrived. And for the first time, I didn't want anything more.
It was enough.
Don't let the chase for more distract you from the beauty of enough.
My name is Sahil, which means "the end of the journey." And this whole thing has been my journey, made possible by rejecting the broken scoreboard and choosing a new one.