What I’m Really Curious About After 30 Years of International Work

What are you curious about?

“The important thing is not to stop questioning. Curiosity has its own reason for existence.” – Albert Einstein

I was sitting in a conference room in Antananarivo at 2 PM, watching colleagues argue over strategic planning targets while I tried to stop my hands from shaking. Several sessions and hours into what was supposed to be a “quick negotiation,” and my body was staging a revolt. That’s when it hit me: I’d spent three decades helping countries figure out sustainable development, but I’d never actually figured out how to sustain myself.

You know that moment when you realize you’ve been giving advice you don’t follow? Yeah, that was mine.

The thing is, I thought I had it figured out. Growing up in the Seychelles, my grandfather Dharmalingam taught me about balance – how the morning tide always returns, how you can’t fight the ocean but you can learn to move with it. Simple wisdom that somehow got buried under years of briefings and emergency sessions about health and development targets.

But here’s what I’m curious about now, as I’m approaching retirement: Why did it take me so long to understand that my grandfather’s morning meditation wasn’t just tradition – it was survival strategy?

The Morning I Almost Lost It

During Covid-19, we, in Madagascar, were working on support to key populations vulnerable to HIV infections. Another 6 AM wake-up call, another crisis that couldn’t wait. I stumbled to the gym, not because I particularly wanted to work out, but because I’d promised myself I’d stick to some kind of routine. That morning, grinding through a basic workout after twenty minutes of meditation, something clicked.

It wasn’t about the exercise or even the meditation itself. It was about having done something for me before the world started demanding pieces of me. Before my phone buzzed with urgent messages, before the local officials needed immediate responses, before the day turned into a chess game where everyone else seemed to know the rules better than I did.

That morning routine – meditation followed by whatever movement I could manage in whatever space I had – became my anchor. Not because it made me some zen master (trust me, I still lose it during some negotiations), but because it gave me twenty minutes where nobody needed anything from me except showing up.

The Failure That Taught Me Everything

Here’s what nobody tells you about working in international development: the work is emotionally brutal, and nobody talks about it. You’re constantly confronted with problems that feel too big, timelines that are too short, and resources that are never enough. I spent years thinking the solution was to work harder, sleep less, push through.

I tried every productivity hack in the book. Time-blocking, meal prep, those apps that track your habits. None of it stuck because I was treating myself like another project to optimize rather than a human being who needed actual care.

The breakthrough came during a particularly rough mission in Comoros. I’d been there for six weeks, and my usual morning routine had completely fallen apart. No gym, meditation sessions that lasted about thirty seconds before my mind started racing through the day’s agenda. By week four, I was making mistakes I’d never made before – forgetting crucial details, snapping at colleagues who were trying to help.

That’s when I realized: my grandfather’s approach to balance wasn’t about perfection. It was about showing up consistently, even when everything else felt chaotic. Especially then.

What Actually Works (And Why It’s Not What You Think)

I’m curious about why we make wellness so complicated when the basics are fairly simple. Not easy – simple. There’s a difference.

My morning practice now looks nothing like what wellness Instagram would have you believe. Some days it’s fifteen minutes of meditation in an airport lounge before a 6 AM flight. Other days, I find the hotel gym at 6 AM in my favourite hotel in Quatre Bornes, Mauritius. I do whatever workout I can manage with jet lag. Sometimes it’s just sitting quietly with coffee before checking emails, remembering what my grandfather taught me about letting the mind settle like sediment in still water.

The Kyokushin Karate I started over four decades ago? That happened because I needed something that demanded complete presence. You can’t think about carbon credits when someone’s teaching you to break boards with your bare hands. The yoga came later, when I realized that all this work was destroying my back and I needed something gentler than punching things.

But here’s what I’m really curious about: Why did it take working across Madagascar, Mauritius, Comoros, and back home in the Seychelles to understand that different situations require different approaches to staying grounded?

In Madagascar, I learned that sometimes wellness means eating whatever local bio food keeps your energy stable, even if it’s not what you’d choose at home. In Mauritius, I discovered that swimming in the ocean does something for my nervous system that no gym workout ever could. In Comoros, I figured out how to meditate in spaces that weren’t quiet or private, because waiting for perfect conditions meant never doing it at all.

The Questions That Keep Me Up at Night (In a Good Way)

As I’m approaching retirement, I find myself curious about things I never had time to explore during those intense MDG and SDG years. Like, what would it feel like to have a morning routine that isn’t constantly interrupted by urgent texts from headquarters? How does one’s identity evolve when it is no longer connected to crisis management and demanding deadlines?

I’m curious about whether the resilience I’ve built through this work – the ability to function on three hours of sleep, to find calm in chaos, to adapt quickly to new environments – is actually sustainable, or if I’ve just gotten really good at functioning while depleted.

Here’s what I know for sure: the morning practice isn’t about becoming someone else. It’s about remembering who you are underneath all the roles you play. Whether you’re negotiating climate agreements or just trying to get through Tuesday, the principle is the same.

What I Wish I’d Known Earlier

If I could go back and tell my younger self something, it would be this: start before you need it. Don’t wait until you’re shaking in a conference room to realize that taking care of yourself isn’t selfish – it’s essential for doing the work that matters.

The meditation my grandfather taught me wasn’t about achieving some enlightened state. It was about building the capacity to stay present when everything around you is demanding reaction. The physical practice – whether it’s karate, yoga, or just consistent movement – isn’t about looking a certain way. It’s about having a body that can handle whatever your life throws at it.

And here’s the thing I’m most curious about as I look toward what comes next: What would the world look like if more people in high-pressure jobs understood that sustainability starts with sustaining yourself?

I don’t have all the answers. After thirty years of international work, I’m finally getting curious about the right questions. And honestly? That feels like progress.

The morning tide always returns. My grandfather was right about that. But now I’m curious about what happens when you stop fighting it and start moving with it instead.