After a well needed vacation in Spain and Italy in the middle of August, and after a two week fight with a Dengue infection, we’re back to our regularly scheduled programming.

There’s something I love to do on trips - especially those that involve long flights. I’ll find a trilogy to binge-watch. And the ~20 hours of flight time to and back from Barcelona allowed me just that. Considering the nature of the trip —a trip with extended family for 10 days, I wanted to keep the trilogy light-hearted. And it had been a minute since I had watched “The Hangover” trilogy, so that was the selection of choice for this trip.

For those of you who have not seen at least one of the three movies—the reference will be lost on you, but I hope the essence will pass through the filter.

In the beginning of Part 2—during a rehearsal dinner for Stu (one of the main characters) and Lauren’s wedding, Lauren’s father calls Stu “Khao”— a bland soft white rice in lukewarm water—as a part of his toast. Clearly this was meant to insult Stu, but he slyly tries to mask it as a compliment stating that the world needs “Khao” for sustenance. This comment disturbs Stu but he lets it pass.

In the end of the film Stu confronts his future father-in-law and admits that he wishes he was Khao…he wishes he was bland, but for better or for worse he was not. He pauses and tells him that he’s got a dark side…he says, “I’ve got a demon in me”. This wasn’t the first time Stu admitted he had a dark side. In fact, in a pivotal (and quite hilarious) moment in the middle of the second film, after learning about the disastrous rampage he had initiated after getting drugged, he decides that he should call off the wedding, that he needed to save Lauren from him and his dark side. He said he was better off shifting his dental practice to Bangkok and living a life of squalor because that was all he deserved. But by the end of the movie he accepts his dark side and says, “I’ve got a demon in me” with acceptance.

He was referring to the same actions, the same decisions, the same consequences but in one scene he was dejected and ready to give up on life, and in another instance he was saying it with his head held high, holding his fiancee’s hand, and confronting his future father-in-law. How could the same experience yield to such a different outlook?

The fact that I was reflecting on a Hangover film itself was a huge surprise to me—some would say that in itself is a disturbing vice. But I let myself indulge further…

At risk of stating the obvious, we all have demons and we all have vices. But it’s how we interact with those “faults” that I find intriguing. Some choose to suppress their demons at any cost. Some choose to indulge. And an elite few have accepted their vices and live with them on their terms.

But when it comes to our faults, what is suppression, indulgence, and acceptance?

Obviously like with every reflection, there isn’t a right or wrong answer here—because I think there’s a time for everything—I want to take a deeper dive into when suppression is best, indulgence is entertained, and when acceptance is achieved.

Suppression

After the hilarious shit-show of the first film, Stu does everything in his power to not let similar events transpire. He refuses to have a bachelor party. He refuses to have a drink. He is sceptical of hanging out with his friends on the first night of the wedding festivities. He does everything in his power to suppress situations that may lead to his “inner demon” breaking through the locked door. We often play this card with our vices—have a sweet tooth? Completely restrict all desserts, candy, and sugary treats. Frequently consume alcohol? Go cold turkey and refuse to have any libations. Doom scrolling on social media every night? Delete all social apps. The list goes on and on.

Suppression often feels like the safest strategy because it removes choice from the equation. If the dessert isn’t within reaching distance, we can’t eat it. If the social app isn’t on our phone we can’t engage.

And suppression can absolutely be the apt choice when our self control is compromised. A recovering alcoholic will have a difficult time moderating their consumption. A distraught lover may find it heart wrenching to keep distance from their ex.

But a locked door doesn’t make what’s behind that door disappear. In fact some would argue that the more energy we spend on keeping the door locked the more power we give to whatever is on the other side. We don’t stop wanting the dessert, we instead think about it all day.

That’s the limitation of suppression. It can work well when we’re able to control every variable, but life isn’t like that. We can’t control every variable. So although it can be perfect for the short term, it can be detrimental in the long term.

Indulgence

When Stu expresses to his friends that he will not have a drink or not have a bachelor party, his friends tell him he can have one beer. What is one beer going to do to him? Stu finally accepts. We often give ourselves scenarious to indulge in our vices. Hey, I’m on vacation, I can eat all the desserts I want and drink a little too much.

Indulgence gives us permission to briefly step outside the rules we have created for ourselves. And sometimes thats perfectly fine. A life built on restrictions and suppression can and will be exhausting. Not every desire is a threat and not every moment of excess means we have lost control. There is joy in ordering a dessert, staying out later than planned, or having a beer with a friend.

But “just this once” can quickly become “one more time”. One beer can quickly become three. Fifteen minutes of social app scrolling can become hours. Indulgence is acceptable when its a conscious choice with clear boundaries—not an automatic response disguised as a reward.

And when those boundaries inevitably fail we may choose to have bouts of suppression. People end up having lifetime relationships with their vices in these two buckets. Juggling between suppression and indulgence. But there is another path. A path that is often difficult to understand and one that I will try my best to explain the way I know how.

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Acceptance

By the end of the film, Stu is no longer convincing himself that he’s “Khao”. He accepts that there is a side to him capable of reckless behaviour, anger, and chaos. But accepting that side doesn’t mean that he intends on spending the rest of his life waking up in Bangkok with fresh face tattoos. Acceptance means that he no longer believes its existence makes him unworthy of love.

The best why I can differentiate accepting our vices and indulging in our vices is our mindset during each phase. Indulgence is: I know I want that dessert so I WILL have it every Sunday along with my cheat meal. Acceptance is: I know I have a sweet tooth but I decide what to do with it. I remember when I wanted to be off sugar, I thought I had found the ultimate cheat code with sweets and desserts with stevia or monk fruit extract. I was eliminating processed sugar but I was eating “sugar-free” desserts 3-4 times a week consuming hundreds of extra calories.

I understand that sometimes the lines can be muddled between acceptance and balanced indulgence. Part of being human is that those lines can have blurry boundaries.

I myself am constantly learning what vices require suppression, when I can allow indulgences, and what faults I have accepted and have a mature relationship with.

And I guess what makes it more exciting, scary, and challenging is that all my faults are in different buckets at different times. Some of my vices I need to suppress, some I allow to indulge in, and some I have accepted. But in other times in my life I’ve had a different relationship with those same vices.

And I think the biggest take home message I can give you is to be HONEST about your relationship with your vices and to be honest about which bucket that vice deserves to be in RIGHT NOW. Recognising the different categories and having an internal dialogue about them and spending some time to decide which vices belong in which category is 80% of the work.

So I hope this reflection can begin that internal dialogue.

Sitting across the table from me was a weary entrepreneur. That isn’t to say that the typical entrepreneur is always bright and cheery…I think most of us look tired yet hopeful—excited but exhausted.

But this entrepreneur had something else in his eyes…was it regret? Resignation? I couldn’t pinpoint it as he started to tell me his story.

He began by briefing me on his illustrious career—working for a large hospital chain in India—and retiring with flying colours. He spoke about this part of his career with such pride and joy. And retirement had not extinguished the fire in him.

He found this wide gap in oral screening in India—especially for oral cancer. What baffled him was that funds had been allocated among various national programs but the budgets always lapsed. And he had concocted the perfect tool that would be key in oral disease screening—it was portable, could be battery operated, but didn’t replace the dentist—it empowered them.

So he built a team, invested his savings and put in 5+ years of his retired life into bringing this device to market. What he accomplished was impressive—he didn’t have a technical background and he wasn’t an engineer. Yet he developed a medical device, got it clinically validated, got it approved by the appropriate regulatory authorities and brought it to market.

He had done everything by the book…anyone listening till this point would say he had done everything right. And yet, the business failed to gain momentum.

I reflected on this after our meeting. He had an addressable market. The venture was properly funded. He was solving a problem. He had a working device. Doctors had positive feedback. And yet—he couldn’t get the business off the ground.

Was there a problem more fundamental…more primitive than what met the eye?

Now it’d be tremendously easy to play “hindsight 20/20” and point out mistakes made along the way. And I don’t want to get into the mechanics of whether he had a concrete business plan, correctly identified the customer, or achieved product—market fit. The questions that stayed with me were more personal. Is there something beyond the quality of the idea or the strength of the business plan? Is there a “special sauce”? Could this business have been more successful in another entrepreneur’s hands?

Does entrepreneurship have an expiration date?

The more I thought about these questions, the more I thought about a few personal dimensions of entrepreneurship that could give me some answers:

1. Capacity for reinvention

2. Personal runway

3. The founder’s relationship with the venture

These may sound straight from a business school textbook…but bear with me:

The Capacity for Reinvention

We’ve all been told time and again that being an entrepreneur means that you’ve got to wear multiple caps—especially in the first few years of the business. You’ve got to be a salesman, a fundraiser, an accountant, maybe handle logistics, hell even take care of housekeeping.

But wearing multiple hats isn’t simply about performing different tasks. It requires the ability to repeatedly become a beginner.

If you’ve had a long and illustrious career before starting your first business - are you mentally equipped to take on novice roles? Is there friction in wearing other caps?

Experience undoubtedly gives an entrepreneur advantages. It can provide judgement, credibility, relationships, and a deeper understanding of an industry. But experience can also harden into identity. If you’ve spent your entire career seeing yourself in one way, it can be difficult to become whatever the business needs next.

But entrepreneurship demands repeated reinvention.

The question is not whether you would “do anything” for your business. The real question is: what does “anything” mean when the business asks you to become someone you’ve never been before?

Personal Runway

We generally speak about runway in financial terms: how many months can the company survive before it runs out of money? But founders have a personal runway too. That runway includes money, health, energy, relationships, and emotional resilience.

Every entrepreneur carries a personal life into the business. That doesn’t mean they’re less committed…it makes them human. And our professional and personal ambitions don’t always move according to the same timeline. A founder may be prepared to take an enormous risk in one stage of their life and find that same risk irresponsible at another.

Timing matters.

When a founder’s circumstances align with the needs of the business there can be tremendous amounts of growth. But when they don’t, it can be frustrating. Businesses never respect the founder’s preferred timing.

And it doesn’t matter how committed you feel towards your business…you’re trying to give it your everything. But when the weight on your shoulders constantly pulls you down, you may not be able to get back to the surface.

The Founder’s Relationship with the Venture

This dimension of an entrepreneur is probably the most difficult to assess. Every venture demands conviction. An entrepreneur must believe in something long before the evidence surfaces and continue to believe even in the face of rejection.

But conviction and attachment are not the same thing.

Conviction says, “This problem is worth solving.”

Attachment says, “The problem has to be solved, but my way and on my terms.”

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The longer an entrepreneur works on a business, the harder it becomes to separate the venture from their identity. After 5 years of effort, the oral screening device was no longer a product…it became a part of the founder’s image—maybe even the final chapter through which he hoped to define his legacy.

A healthy relationship with the business requires the founder to separate the problem from the solution—and the solution from themselves. Sometimes as a founder the most important thing you can do is to not hold on. Maybe you’ve got to bring in a partner, or give another person authority, or step aside to allow the business to become something different from what was originally imagined.

And yes, I am aware how difficult that can be.

So, does entrepreneurship have an expiration date?

If we’re speaking about age…then no. (Sorry to disappoint, but the answer isn’t so black/white)

Older founders don’t have a monopoly on being stubborn, just as younger entrepreneurs don’t have a monopoly on energy or adaptability.

What may expire, is the fit between a particular founder and a particular stage of a business.

The “special sauce” of entrepreneurship could be less about having a fixed collection of traits and more about remaining capable of honest adaptation. Can you reinvent yourself when the business changes? Do you have the personal runway for what the venture requires? Do you love the business deeply without making it inseparable from your identity?

If you’ve answered no to some or all of the questions…then let me save you some time…if it smells foul it’s probably expired.

The title for this article came from a post I read from Dan Koe…it really resonated with me. Rarely do you see that kind of conviction from seasoned professionals stepping into business for the first time in their “later years”. And I don’t think it’s a coincidence that you see delusionally optimistic entrepreneurs who are young and inexperienced.

The last decade has probably been the most eventful period of my life: I went to grad school and got my MBA, I got married, moved back to India and started my first company, Promea Therapeutics. Then came COVID-19 (does this need an explanation?)—which I experienced not only as everyone else did, but also through Promea, one of the few companies that manufactured detection kits and provided testing services to more than a million patients. Somewhere amid all of that, I had two kids.

Some might say I’ve earned the right to cruise through this next decade: focus on raising my kids, be present for all the little moments. Others would say this is the time for me to double down and scale my companies—relaxing is for my 50s.

I turned 35 almost 2 months ago. Since then I go through the work week with this feeling of wanting to do more.

I used to play tennis. Couldn’t I start taking lessons again and maybe be competitive? I have a Kindle lying around—couldn’t I build a habit of reading more books. My PS5 and Switch are gathering dust—couldn’t I finish a few video games? I love writing; couldn’t I write more? There’s so much of the world I haven’t seen; couldn’t I travel more? I love photography and I’ve got a couple of cameras—pretty nice ones at that— shouldn’t I be documenting my life more?

These thoughts especially come front and centre on Sundays while I’m sipping on my second espresso with a slight buzz—and for a few minutes, every possible version of my life feels within reach.

But why now? Why am I flooded with these thoughts right after my 35th birthday. It’s not like anything significantly new happened. It’s not like when the clock struck midnight there was any evidence that time was running out.

And yet, something felt different.

From as far back as I can remember, the question—what next—was easy to answer, almost like I was following a script. Finish school. Churn through med school. Get a business degree. Get married. Start a company. Have children. This wasn’t a playbook written by me…it was every Indian boy’s to-do list. And each milestone naturally progressed towards another.

That doesn’t mean the playbook has completely run out of pages. I will continue to grow my companies, continue to be a better father, be more emotionally present for my wife, and build greater financial security. But these ongoing commitments don’t have clearly defined end goals or a clearly marked finish line.

Maybe that’s why all of these neglected ambitions are being pushed to the front of my brain. Tennis, photography, reading, writing, and travel aren’t simply items from a wish list. The combination represent versions of myself that I can still imagine becoming.

What strikes me is that most of these aren’t new ambitions. They are parts of myself I knew before—or at least parts I once intended to develop. Over the last decade, the demands with the clearest consequences naturally took priority. The camera could wait. The unfinished book could wait. The writing could wait.

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And they did wait, without complaint.

Now they seem to be asking whether their turn will ever come.

There is another possibility I’ve begun to consider: maybe I’m bringing the same milestone-oriented instinct to the things that are supposed to provide an escape.

Maybe the script hasn’t disappeared. Maybe I’ve internalised it so thoroughly that, in absence of someone else telling me what comes next, I’ve started writing new milestones for myself.

If that’s true, doing more may not be the answer. It could be that part of the challenge is learning to do something without requiring it to lead anywhere.

I still don’t know whether this is the decade in which I should cruise or accelerate. I’m beginning to suspect those aren’t the only choices.

Maybe I don’t need to play competitive tennis, read fifty books, finish every video game, travel the world, and scale my companies all at once. Maybe the desire to do all of them is simply the reminder that there are parts of me I don’t want to lose while focussing on the parts that demand the most from me.

It’s possible a full life isn’t built by fitting everything in it. Maybe it’s built by choosing what deserves my attention now—and accepting that choosing one thing means leaving something else for later. And maybe what we leave behind defines our lives as much as the interests we decide to pursue.

For the moment I’m choosing to write.

Yesterday I attended a “first look” launch of a wellness venture. The founder had invited a small group of friends and family to absorb their first reactions and questions (definitely an effective way to get early-stage feedback).

She began the presentation with a problem statement and her journey of exploring what wellness means. It was the problem statement that lingered after the event and through the better part of today —

Everything around us that we consider as development—whether that be technology or infrastructure has led to new wellness problems that need solving:

1. Computers and desk jobs have led to a sedentary work environment

2. Social media and short-form video content has led to dopamine depletion and mental fatigue

3. Hyderabad’s rapid development has increased dust and noise pollution

4. Swiggy and Zomato have increased consumption of unhealthy food

These were some of the examples she gave, but the basic crux was that every advancement that we’ve made has created new wellness challenges.

This led me to reflect on the last decade. Have we done more harm than good to humanity in the name of all these advancements? If I had to label the last 10-15 years with one word - I think it would be “consumption”. Most examples of technological advancement I can think of in the last 10 years have only made consuming something more convenient, and we’ve become obese—figuratively and literally—because of it.

I guess, in order to feel better, I want to spend this week reminding myself of the irrefutable discoveries and inventions from the last 25 years that the majority of people would agree were net positive. As they come to mind I’ll post them on X and Substack.