The First Week of 2026

What I learned from stopping my credit cards

The first week started in Nainital.

Early morning boating on clean water. The government manages the tourist places well there. Everything felt careful. Intentional.

We went to the high-altitude zoo. I saw a leopard and a tiger. I took pictures and sent them to my sister's son. He's building a zoo collection across India. I'm helping him document it, one place at a time.

On the way back, we saw clouds spread like an ocean below us. We were standing in the mountains, watching the clouds move underneath.

Then fog closed the roads. Everything disappeared except the headlights.

That night, the power went out. I slept in the cold. When it came back on, I woke up confused.

By Tuesday, I was back in Zaap.

My brother called on Monday.

I'd been using his credit card whenever mine ran out. The money always came back. But something about it felt off. He mentioned it. Nothing harsh. Just mentioned it.

I made a decision that day: No more credit cards this year. Not even his. Not mine either.

But I realized I didn't want that anymore.

Cash only. What's in my account is what I have.

This isn't about money. It's about clarity. About knowing exactly what I have and working within that reality.

I don't want the illusion of more. I want to honor what's actually here.

The rest of the week felt like watching things change.

Work resumed. I talked to my co-founder Ragu about New Startup. I'm reviewing a proposal from Hari for a government project in Jammu and Kashmir, using drones to map land records.

I'm also working on an RI story. About school students I met during a field visit. They're not learning in their native language. I'm watching how it disconnects them from their first way of thinking. How it shapes a generation that doesn't belong to their own language first.

I don't have the intervention yet. Just the observation.

On January 2nd, we celebrated Anandhi's birthday.

I asked Harshita to cook, dal, potato fry, and rasam. Home food. We cooked for three hours. We ate together.

It felt simple and full.

New Year's Eve was at a pub with Pao, Jigmat, Charlie, Vidhu, charu, Jigmat bhaiya and Udhaya. We played truth or dare. It felt weird but honest. We stayed until 3 AM. I dropped Udhaya hostel in the fog.

The next morning, I thought about time.

I've lived 9,148 days. Over 13 million minutes. Nearly 800 million seconds have shaped how I think, react, and choose.

Time didn't ask what I would do with it. It just kept moving.

So I'm not rushing. I'm showing up with care. Letting depth grow quietly. Trusting that consistency compounds, even when nothing feels loud.

I bought myself a lemongrass candle with a diffuser this week.

Not as a reward. Just as care.

I watched a video about Japanese self-care. It reminded me that care doesn't have to be loud or motivational. It can be mechanical. Ordinary. Almost boring.

I open the window before opening my phone. Air first. Inputs later.

I slow down while making tea. Not to be aesthetic, but to interrupt urgency.

I wash my hands without multitasking. A small rehearsal of presence.

None of this changes my life dramatically. That's why it works.

Stability is built from small, repeatable signals that tell the nervous system: "You're safe. You can think clearly today."

This is not indulgence. This is maintenance.

Friends are leaving Zaap now.

They've been here for six months. Now they're gone.

Every day, something that was there is no longer there.

I'm still reading the Bhagavad Gita. The teachings about spirit, duty, and detachment are changing how I see this. How I see people leaving. How I see work continuing. How I see myself staying.

The year doesn't actually start on January 1st. It just continues.

I'm not starting fresh. I'm continuing from where I was. From Day Zero to Day One to Day Two.

The only difference is I'm paying closer attention now.

I started keeping a note on my phone this week.

Just one question: "What tension did I experience today?"

Some days, it's small. Like realizing I'd been using my brother's credit card without thinking about what that means.

Some days, it's bigger. Like watching students learn in a language that isn't theirs.

I'm documenting this year publicly. Not highlights. Not lessons. Just what actually happened.

The material isn't missing. My attention is.

For now, this newsletter and LinkedIn are the only two places I'm holding.

That feels enough.

This is from January 2025 - the first month of my Annual Edition.

I'm documenting this entire year. Not highlights. Not lessons. Just what actually happened.

Where I was. Who I spent time with. What the days felt like. What I learned.

If you want to read the full record of 2025, enter your details here:

You'll get access to the complete story as I write it.

Thank you for reading.

—
Meenakshisundareswaran Ravichandran (Nami 🌊)

Note to Readers

This newsletter is a factual record of the week as it unfolded. It is written to document experiences and reflections in real time, not to offer advice or conclusions. Some questions remain open by design, as they are still part of an ongoing process.

Where to find me:

• Newsletter

• LinkedIn

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