Between Mountains and Metrics: A Human’s Reckoning with Progress

Me in two different worlds

The Split Within: A Tale of Two Worlds

There’s a moment I return to often.

I’m standing on a ridge after a gruelling Ironman trail. My legs are trembling, lungs raw from the climb, and the wind carries the scent of pine and possibility. The silence is not empty, it’s full. Full of breath, belonging, and a quiet reminder that I am alive.

No emails. No metrics. No need to prove.

And then there’s the other world. The one lit by fluorescent lights and filled with calendar invites, quarterly reviews, and dashboards that measure everything except how someone feels. In this world, resilience is expected but rarely nurtured. We speak of impact but rarely of intention.

I live between these two worlds.

One teaches me how to endure. The other demands that I do. One fills me with awe. The other often empties me. And in this tension, I’ve come to ask: What does it mean to truly grow as a human?

Is it the promotion, the applause, the polished LinkedIn post? Or is it the quiet courage to pause, to feel, to choose differently?

I once mentored a young leader who struggled to balance ambition with authenticity. She was brilliant but burnt out. We spoke not of strategy, but of solitude. She began taking morning walks before work, no phone, no agenda. Months later, she told me those walks changed her leadership more than any training ever had.

Growth isn’t always upward. Sometimes, it’s inward.

The Mirage of Progress

We pride ourselves on progress.

Faster tech. Smarter systems. Bigger profits. But somewhere along the way, we stopped asking why.

We’ve built cities that touch the sky but lost touch with the stars. We’ve connected continents but disconnected from our neighbours. We’ve created wealth but forgotten worth.

I’ve sat in boardrooms where brilliant minds were reduced to KPIs. Where creativity was trimmed to fit a slide. Where empathy was considered a “soft skill” rather than a strategic one.

And I’ve walked through villages where farmers with cracked hands offered me food with uncracked hearts. Where children ran barefoot, laughing louder than any corporate townhall. Where progress wasn’t measured, it was felt.

Who’s truly rich?

I once met a man in a remote village who had never seen a smartphone. He asked me what I did. I told him I worked in technology. He smiled and said, “Ah, you must be very busy. Do you still have time to sit under a tree?”

That question stayed with me.

Progress isn’t just about what we build. It’s about who we become. And I fear we’ve become efficient, but not empathetic. Productive, but not present. We’ve mastered multitasking but forgotten how to truly connect.

The Cost of Forgetting

We’ve forgotten how to sit in silence. How to listen without an agenda. How to walk without a destination. We’ve traded bonfires for dashboards, Stories for spreadsheets. We’ve monetized every moment, even those meant for meaning.

I’ve watched interns enter the corporate world with dreams in their eyes, only to dim them for deliverables. I’ve seen leaders lose their laughter chasing legacy. I’ve felt it too, the slow erosion of soul in the name of success.

There was a time I used to write poetry every week. Then came deadlines, meetings, metrics. The verses dried up. One day, after a long flight and a longer week, I sat by a window and scribbled a few lines. It felt like breathing again.

We forget not because we’re careless, but because we’re conditioned. Conditioned to chase, to compare, to climb. But in climbing ladders, we often descend in spirit.

A colleague once told me, “I don’t remember the last time I laughed at work.” That’s not a failure of culture; it’s a crisis of connection.

The Call to Rewild

But there’s hope. Always.

Hope in the way a mentee finds their voice. In the way a team celebrates not just wins, but each other. In the way a walk through a village reminds me that simplicity isn’t lack, it’s clarity.

Rewilding isn’t about abandoning the corporate world. It’s about infusing it with humanity. It’s about leading with heart, not just head. About recognizing that transformation begins not in strategy decks, but in stories.

I’ve learned that my adventures, skydiving, scuba diving, ultra, marathons, aren’t escapes. They’re reminders. Reminders that life is meant to be felt, not just managed.

I once led a workshop where instead of PowerPoint slides, we shared personal stories. One manager spoke about losing his father and how it changed his view of leadership. Another spoke about her childhood in a small town and how it shaped her values. That day, we didn’t just strategize, we saw each other.

Rewilding is returning. To what matters. To what moves us. To what makes us human.

A Closing Whisper

We are not machines. We are meaning-makers.

And by the time we realize what truly matters, connection, kindness, courage, it may be too late. But it doesn’t have to be.

So here’s my whisper to you: When was the last time you felt truly alive, not productive, not praised, just present?

If this stirred something in you, take a walk without your phone. Or write a note to someone who’s forgotten their own light.

Because in the end, it won’t be the money we made or the titles we held. It’ll be the lives we touched, the truths we lived, and the love we dared to show.