When the day announces itself early
The day was a hard one for me, and I feel compelled to write about it. For reasons I am still searching for, the emotional part of my mind slipped into a deep sadness, edging toward depression. The gloom made itself comfortable in my thoughts and refused to acknowledge itself as an uninvited guest. I sensed, early on, that a difficult day was imminent.
An unease at home
The situation at home felt uncomfortable with a new maid working on the daily chores assigned for the month. It took great effort to hold in my emotions as tears rolled down my cheeks and soaked into my dress. I quickly got up, washed my face, and tried to contain myself.
Choosing to show up
At that moment, I did not have enough clarity to infer the cause of such an emotional upheaval. All I knew was that I could not break my second promise—I had to show up at the office and be true to it. Past experience has taught me that giving in to depression rarely helps. So, like a brave foot soldier, I resolved to move through the day.
Breakfast, decisions, and momentum
I ordered breakfast from Murugan Idli—three idlies with coconut chutney and coffee. The order arrived as messy as my mind. Still, I ate, because cooking or preparing anything myself felt impossible in that state. The decision was simple: eat, and then go to the office.
Moving through the day quietly
I have observed that I prefer not to unsettle a day once it has begun. Yet I also know that stepping from the known into the unknown can rattle the mind through environmental stress. Meeting people, especially when I am unable to respond emotionally to their questions, becomes difficult. When sadness invades the space of my mind, I usually turn into a passive onlooker.
Keeping small promises
Despite this, I completed my self-assigned task of writing a poem a day and a haiku a day, recording them as a happy twenty-first day entry. I left the house at ten fifteen, took an Ola ride, and reached RASA carrying my anxious mental weather, longing for the comfort of soft light.
At work, with softened light
When light sensitivity sets in, I prefer switching on the lamp above my desk and turning off the harsh tube light to my right. I have encountered such situations many times before and have learned to manage them with small, personal adjustments. Perhaps inner awareness provides the necessary protection—an instinctive self-preservation against recurring mood loops. Becoming aware early, before things worsen, helps me understand what needs to be done.
Listening as a way out
Keeping promises steadies my day far more than avoiding responsibility. At the office, I recognised that my light sensitivity persisted. My plan was to complete the interview efficiently and then seek permission to leave early. I managed the day by focusing on the interview. While recording the responses, my mind snapped out of its vicious depressive loop. I listened as the life of an adventurer and theatre artist unfolded before me.
Though the emotional fog lifted, the light sensitivity remained. I longed for darkness, which daylight could not provide. Thankfully, everyone was accommodating, allowing all the lights to remain switched off. The septuagenarian I interviewed—himself in pain and discomfort—was gracious enough to adjust to the low light streaming in from the window.
Leadership, empathy, and culture
As we moved into the second question, his response aligned beautifully with his life’s journey and the experiences that had shaped him. My mind, once brooding over unnamed sadness, shifted its attention to the vivid, colourful life before me. I found myself fascinated by the arc of his journey and everything it held beyond.
At the helm of this experience was a compassionate leader who understood my constraints and showed flexibility—something I realised more deeply after the interview. The emotional quotient of a leader is always reflected in workplace culture and in the emotions of employees, who are never merely statistics.
On the way back home
After seeking permission, I left the office. On the way home, my thoughts returned to the interview and how it had reshaped my perceptions. I reflected on what it means to be heard, seen, and gently guided by a leader. The spirit of learning from scratch and striving toward excellence emerged clearly through the interviewee’s character.
Even as I felt nervous during the ride—while the driver kept changing routes citing one-way restrictions—I understood that life, too, demands determination to see things through to their closure.
Writing despite fatigue
Once home, I ordered a salad, knowing digestion would be difficult. I rested briefly, half-watching a drama series, yet my thoughts kept returning to the stories shared during the interview. I realised I could not hide behind passive viewing; I was compelled to write.
I switched on the lamp, lowered the fan despite its faint squeak, and let that sound guide me. Slowly, the interview took shape as I captured his journey and career expansion in words.
What the day finally taught me
Completing the interview brought partial calm, though nervousness lingered about editorial approval. Sometimes the emotional weight of work is driven by inner resolve; at other times, by the standards we set for ourselves.
Yesterday was filled with challenges, but it was also invigorating—a shift from low mode to high performance within a few hours. I completed the interview and shared it with my team.
I learned much from the challenges I faced yesterday. I am glad I chose to go to work rather than withdraw from it. Some days start hard but end gently on the mind. Yesterday was one such day for me.
Credit: Polished by Mira (AI Powered ChatGPT)
Itinerant Storyteller 