My Annual Birthday Check-In: 14 Lessons From My 34th Year of Life
Some practical, non-obvious lessons I learned in the last year.
There’s no question that 2025 has been a transformative year for me — both personally and professionally. For the first time in a long time, I stopped chasing what wasn’t working and started doing what I genuinely love: writing longform profiles of people I find fascinating.
So far this year, I have published:
— The Immortal Anthony Scaramucci
— Ryan Serhant Won’t Stop Until He’s No. 1
— A new profile will be published in the next two weeks —> become a premium member to receive it first
As many of you know, I've been doing annual reflections for the last six years (check out 33, 32, 31, 30, 29, and 28), and I really enjoy this tradition of revisiting the lessons of prior years and seeing just how much I’ve changed and just how much more there is to learn. As Dan Gilbert once said, “Human beings are works in progress that mistakenly think they’re finished.”
I’m very much a work in progress. Thank you for being part of the journey. I’m more excited than ever for what’s to come.
I hope these reflections resonate with you, and I’d love to hear what you’re learning, too.
1. Understand the nuance between ‘playing to win’ and ‘playing not to lose’
I’ve been writing The Profile since 2017, yet I myself hadn’t published a single longform profile until this year. The question is why?
It wasn’t until my husband told me casually, “I really think you could be the greatest at what you do. But I also think part of you is scared of that.” That was the contradiction that revealed the truth. I wasn’t writing profiles. I was circling around them — interviewing people, writing Q&As, curating others’ work. I enjoyed all of it, but it wasn’t the thing I enjoyed the most.
Here’s what I’ve learned: High-achievers don’t self-sabotage because they lack ambition. They do it because they’re terrified of going all-in and still falling short. Writing original profiles meant risking judgment, being seen. It forced me to shift from “protective mode” to “creative mode.”
Now I ask myself one question: Am I playing to win, or playing not to lose?
For years, I was playing not to lose. Always on defense. Avoiding the leap. Skirting around the risk. Now I’m playing to win — and it’s changed everything.
2. A focused brain is the antidote to general anxiety
People often ask how I managed to write a book while caring for my newborn daughter back in 2021. At the time, I didn’t fully understand it, but I do now: writing that book wasn’t just a task, it was a life raft.
If you're prone to anxiety and don’t give your brain something meaningful to work on, it will start inventing problems just to have something to solve.
When my son was born two years later, I had fewer creative outlets, so he became my sole focus. And while that sounds noble, it actually made the postpartum baby blues hit harder than they did with my daughter. There was nothing wrong, but I became hyper-vigilant — on edge, scanning for danger that didn’t exist. It reminded me of that old saying: “The devil makes work for idle hands.” When your mind isn’t engaged with purpose, it tends to spiral.
It’s not about mindless distraction, but rather about being intentional with your attention. Direct your brain toward something that feeds you. It can be a project, a goal, a creative pursuit — literally anything that gives your mind a productive outlet.
3. Motivation is more important than qualification
If someone isn’t motivated to work, no amount of credentials will make up for a lack of drive. I’ve seen it time and again: the most qualified person in the room can still underperform if they’re not hungry to grow, contribute, and improve.
On the flip side, someone with less experience but deep motivation will often exceed expectations, largely because they care. They ask questions, they look for ways to improve, and they take feedback with grace.
Skills can be taught, but passion and relentlessness can’t. That’s why I always say: I may not be the best writer in the world, but I will outwork, outlast, and outperform anyone doing the same thing. When in doubt, bet on the person who wants it more.
4. Don’t fan the flames of drama
In my 20s, I tolerated a lot more than I do today. These days, when someone says something that gets under my skin, I’ve learned to pause, step away from my phone, and ask myself: “Is this really about me, or is it about them, their fear, or their anxiety?”
One of the qualities I admire most in my husband is his ability to stay calm in situations where I’d be ready to explode. He often reminds me: “Don’t fan the flames of drama.” That phrase has stuck with me. It’s helped me take the high road — either by offering a short, polite response that ends the conversation or, if it’s not worth it, by not responding at all.
5. Sometimes the best thing you can do is … nothing
When something feels “off” — sadness, anxiety, fatigue, confusion — the default reaction is: “What should I do? What should I apply to this? How can I solve it immediately?” We start layering on: strategies, podcasts, advice, habits, to-do lists, guilt, and overthinking. But sometimes what our inner world needs most isn’t action — it’s non-interference.
When life feels uncertain, your nervous system kicks in with a survival message: “Fix this. Do something. Get back to safety.” This gives a temporary sense of control, but it’s built on the belief that: “If I don’t manage this perfectly, something bad will happen.” And suddenly, we’re not solving a problem. We’re trying to outrun fear.
Our sense of calm becomes conditional — only available if we’re doing it “right.” And the harder we try to force safety, the more anxious, reactive, or exhausted we become.
The moment you stop grasping for control, your nervous system gets a new message: “We’re not in danger. We can sit with this. We can handle it.” You create space for things to unfold naturally — for healing, clarity, or resolution to emerge without force.
This year, I’ve learned that sometimes the most loving, intentional thing we can do is ... nothing. It creates a paradox: The more we try to force safety, the more unsafe and frantic we feel. The more we chase happiness, the more unhappy we feel. The moment we start letting things be, space opens up to show us that’s where peace lives.
6. Complaining is one of the worst habits
Over the past year, I’ve worked hard to break my habit of complaining. When life feels overwhelming, it’s easy to vent, but that venting can quickly become a crutch. Before you know it, you’re not just someone who vents … you’re a complainer.
The problem is that complaining leaves a residue. Every time I grumble about something trivial, I catch myself and realize how fortunate I am: the family I have, the city I live in, the work I get to do.
When I interviewed CAVA co-founder Ted Xenohristos, he said, “It’s that immigrant mentality — watching my mom leave at 6 a.m. to get to a place that opens at 8, right? Seeing that, how can I whine about going to my restaurant that I own, you know? There’s no room to whine. You have no right to whine.”
Yes, he was sleeping at the restaurant, but it was his restaurant. He was working for himself. If we can see the struggles not as roadblocks but as hurdles to clear, life gets so much sweeter.
7. Shrink your problem to something solvable
Happiness often hides in the details. If you’ve been reading The Profile for a while, you know I have a deep obsession with nuance, precision, and specificity. That’s because, time and time again, I’ve seen how clarity can transform chaos. The sharper your lens, the better you see, and the better you live.
I’ve noticed a pattern among the people I study: Whenever a situation feels overwhelming or a mood feels impossible to shake, specificity is often the tool that cuts through the fog.
Start with your relationships. Both personal and professional ones tend to break down when our language gets too vague or too absolute. Psychotherapist Esther Perel warns against using phrases like “you always” or “you never.” These kinds of sweeping declarations aren’t just inaccurate — they’re inflammatory, and they only escalate the conflict. “It leaves the other person with no option but to refute what you just said about him, to stonewall you, or to attack you for your offenses,” Perel says.
Instead of “You never do the dishes,” she suggests something like: “I’d love help with the dishes during X, Y, and Z times.” The specificity in this situation is instrumental in replacing pure emotion with a rational ask. Suddenly, you’ve moved from a general grievance to a specific request, one that invites cooperation instead of conflict.
If you’re feeling stuck or afraid, try asking yourself: What exactly am I afraid of? Is it telling your boss you’re leaving? Disappointing your parents? Giving up the comfort of a steady paycheck? When you move from “I feel uncertain” to “I’m nervous about X,” you shrink the problem to something solvable.
As author James Clear puts it: “The more precisely you define the problem, the more easily you can find a solution. ‘I feel bad’ can have a million causes. ‘I didn’t sleep much last night, and I haven’t exercised in a week’ has a very straightforward answer.”
8. Remember that success is a double-edged sword
The thing that lifts you up is often the same thing that threatens to destroy you. I was reminded of this after working on my Ryan Serhant profile. At the very end of our time together, he said something I haven’t been able to forget: “I'm definitely the kind of person who needs the adrenaline so I can use it as fuel. But if you're not careful, that fuel will also burn your house down.”
Success is a double-edged sword. It doesn’t guarantee happiness, fulfillment, or peace. It’s shaped by what you bring to it, and what you’re willing to give up along the way.
9. Rock bottom is often where reinvention begins
There’s something to be said about who you are “before the fall” and the person you become “after the fall.”
In April, I published an interview with Jonathan Bush, the former Athenahealth founder and CEO who got pushed out of his company by activist hedge fund Elliott Management.
Bush used to carry himself with a carefree, jovial energy — playing drinking games with employees and laughing through high-stakes meetings.
That changed when he was forced to confront issues he never saw coming. Like he told me, he didn’t think he needed humbling — but life thought otherwise. “Failure is good for you, but it's not fun,” he said. “When you're wiped out, you scrub some of your arrogant barnacles off your hull.”
Sometimes, rock bottom is where reinvention begins.
10. Start with where you are, with what you have
One of the most powerful lessons I’ve learned this year came from my interview with democracy activist Evan Mawarire.
During our conversation, he said something that’s stayed with me ever since: “We cannot wait until we feel like we are enough according to the standards set around us.”
So many of us hold back — waiting until we have more experience, more funding, more approval, more something.
We try to match some imagined ideal of what a change-maker, entrepreneur, or creator is supposed to look like before we dare to start. But as Mawarire put it: “Start where you are with what you have, and the world will respond to your passion.”
This principle applies to everything — building a business, launching a project, speaking up, or simply trying to make a difference. The world responds to passion, consistency, and courage.
11. True happiness is found in life’s most ordinary moments
Freedom comes from anchoring your identity in something internal, not in external metrics that can disappear in an instant.
For me, the most meaningful moment in my work isn’t when something goes viral or when praise rolls in. It’s right before I hit publish — when the piece feels complete, when the work is mine, and when I can feel the quiet satisfaction of becoming someone better through the process.
No single moment changes your life. The real transformation is microscopic, and it’s found in the small daily choices and the invisible habits.
Don’t expect anything to transform your happiness level. The most extraordinary happiness is almost always found in the most ordinary moments of everyday life.
12. The future isn’t as far away as you think
Whenever I’m out with the stroller and pass an older couple on the street, I make it a point to glance at their faces. More often than not, I catch a small smile of recognition.
The other day, my daughter was bothering my son as we walked, and one such couple looked over, then exchanged a knowing glance. In that split second, I understood something deeply: the phase I’m in now — the noise, the chaos, the tiny hands and tantrums — will one day be their memory … and my memory too.
We tend to think of the future as distant, but it’s not. It’s approaching quietly and then all at once. These seemingly ordinary days are the future in the making. One day, I’ll be the one smiling at that young, frazzled parent and remembering how it all felt.
13. Make sure you don’t live to regret ‘failures of kindness’
Looking back, the regrets that linger longest aren’t usually about what we did, but what we didn’t do. The words we didn’t say. The help we didn’t offer. The kindness we withheld out of fear, indifference, or convenience.
As George Saunders said in his commencement speech, what he regrets most are “failures of kindness” — the times he responded mildly when someone in front of him was hurting. I’ve felt this too. As a foreign kid trying to fit in, I remember how deeply a single act of kindness stood out amidst a sea of indifference.
And now, years later, I’ve come to cherish the people who choose kindness over and over again, even when it’s inconvenient. Friends who go out of their way, ask how you really are, and show up without being asked.
As Mister Rogers once said, “I hope you're proud of yourself for the times you've said 'yes,' when all it meant was extra work for you and was seemingly helpful only to somebody else.”
14. In this moment, everything is OK
Earlier this year, a doctor misdiagnosed me with something terrifying. I remember walking out of the office feeling heavy, consumed by worry. I soon saw a specialist who gave me the correct diagnosis and calmly explained the risks.
Still, my mind spiraled.
I started asking catastrophizing questions: “What if X happens?” “What if I develop Y, and then Z happens?” I was deep in the second- and third-order effects of something that, as it turns out, never even happened.
Sensing my anxiety, the doctor paused and said gently, “You know what? I’m not going to let you do that. Right now, in this moment, everything is OK.”
That one sentence has echoed in my head ever since: “Right now, in this moment, everything is OK.” Even when it feels like something dreadful might be coming, it helps to pause and remember: Right now, in this very moment, everything is OK.
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