Rakesh Menon's Linkedin Analytics

“You’ve changed.” They don’t mean it as a compliment. It’s usually said with a sigh, a smirk, or a subtle jab. And almost always, it means. “You’re no longer making me comfortable.” You’ll hear it in a dozen everyday moments: When you stop gossiping during chai breaks -> “What happened to you? You used to be chill.” When you say no to weekend plans to build your thing -> “Arrey, don’t be so serious all the time, bro.” When you raise your standards at work -> “You’ve become too intense lately.” When you start dressing differently, speaking less, thinking deeper -> “Tu toh bohot alag ho gaya hai.” They’re not wrong. You have changed. And it’s supposed to feel weird, for them and for you. Because growth isn’t just about winning more. It’s about outgrowing. Old versions of yourself. Old patterns. Old dynamics. And that’s uncomfortable, especially for people who got used to your earlier self. The one who said yes to everything. The one who laughed along even when it didn’t feel right. The one who played small to belong. But here’s the thing. Change is not betrayal. It’s permission. To stop performing. To honour what feels true now. So the next time someone says “You’ve changed,” Smile. And say - “I hope so.”

AI isn’t cheating. Being lazy is. It is not a magic wand. It’s a mirror. What you put in is what you get out. Everyone’s shouting about AI. But here’s the real kicker. AI isn’t creating brilliance out of thin air. It’s amplifying the clarity (or confusion) of your thinking. I use AI's premium versions. For writing, planning finances, solving work problems, even therapy journaling. But let me be honest. 99% of the time, the quality of the output has nothing to do with AI’s “intelligence.” It has everything to do with mine. If my thinking is sharp, the results are powerful. If I’m vague, lazy, or unclear, AI just spits back fluff. Think of it like this. AI is like a super calculator. But if you don’t know what equation to solve…it just throws numbers at your face. The smartest people I know are not scared of AI. They’re using it to extend their thinking. To test, refine, reflect, challenge. They don’t ask, “What can AI do for me?” They ask, “How can I sharpen myself through it?” That’s the real game. This isn’t about prompt hacks or cool tools. It’s about adaptability. Evolution didn’t reward the strongest. It rewarded those who adjusted fastest. Now we’re facing something faster, smarter, and tireless. We adapt, or we become irrelevant. Start using AI to think better. Because it won’t replace you. But someone who knows how to use it will.

Turns out, I’m not a genius. And that’s probably the best thing to realise and accept. No delusions of being the next Da Vinci. No Nobel Prize by 30. No plans to colonise Mars. Just me, a half-decent coffee, and the relief of being…adequate. Not dazzling. Not dumb. Just decent and done performing for imaginary panels of excellence. Life gets lighter when we stop chasing extraordinary and start living sincerely. Turns out, being adequate is wildly underrated. Tired of chasing brilliance? Join the High-Functioning Mediocres Club. No auditions. Just honesty.

The brain is a GPS with one obsession, “Where are we going?” Take any trip. Backpacking, wandering, no plans. Give it 10 minutes your brain will still ask, “So… what now?” It’s wired in. We’re built to predict. Built to plan. Uncertainty was once a threat. Now it just shows up as overthinking, stress, that itch to figure life out. But the moment we can give words to the acceptance of this uncertainty. “I don’t know what’s next” the grip loosens. It’s not clarity that calms us. It’s acceptance of the lack of it. Sometimes, the most honest direction is, I’m just here now.

Here are 5 subtle signs it’s time to evolve. Not every stuck phase is burnout. Sometimes, it's your old self asking to be let go.

A sum up of last week's thoughts and ideas.

The satisfaction is not in reaching the destination. But finding content in the motion used to reach it.

A thought I have been reflecting on the past few days. "We don’t suffer from our life. We suffer from comparing it to lives we never lived. Clarity isn’t found in more choices. It’s found in the courage to walk one."

In corporate, nobody grows just by slogging more. Leverage is the real game. It’s like using ChatGPT to draft, instead of staring at a blank doc for 2 hours. It’s the system that runs when you're off. The teammate who moves without your push. The decision that clears 10 others from your plate. Stop chasing output. Start building leverage.

The Performed Self, Who Are You Without the Script? Went for a morning walk with my dad. Met one of his friends. Polite hello, a few laughs. But something odd happened A version of me surfaced. Not the full me. Just the polished bits, job title, opinions, well-wrapped identity. It made me ask? Where does the self end and the performance begin? We don’t lie. We just carefully edit. We choose what’s acceptable, impressive, “safe.” But over time, that gap between who you are and who you present? It becomes restlessness. Or worse, quiet sadness. These days, I pause and ask. What part of me am I hiding? Would I still say this if I didn’t care about being liked? It’s not about being raw for the sake of it. It’s about being real enough to feel whole. Because you’re not here to be a clean version of yourself. You’re here to be a complete one.

When people call out your differences. It's rarely about you. It's about what they are not able to sound out loud.

Have you ever felt off during a time when everything was supposed to feel right? That’s been me lately. New chapter A role I’ve worked years for External wins lining up But inside? Foggy. Restless. Like I’m outgrowing something I can’t name. It’s the feeling of saying yes to a future you want… While quietly grieving the version of you that fought to get here. Like waking up one day and realising: Your old routines don’t excite you Conversations feel a bit emptier The "next goal" isn’t hitting like it used to... That’s when I stumbled back into Spiral Dynamics—a model of how our inner world evolves. It describes this exact phase. Not burnout. Not failure. But a transition between identities. You’re not stuck. You’re shifting. From striving to questioning. From control to clarity. From doing to being. And that shift is disorienting. But also sacred. If you’re here too, give yourself space. Growth doesn’t always look like progress. Sometimes it looks like stillness.

4 years ago, I signed up for a 3-day acting class. I walked out by the end of Day 1. Not because it was bad. Not because I was bored. But because it felt like everyone could see right through me. I wasn’t afraid of acting. I was afraid of being seen. Raw. Unprepared. Without the mask of competence, I had worn for years. They asked us to “just be”, to express something real without performance. My mind panicked. My body froze. I endured the day and didn't turn up the next day. I told myself I wasn’t cut out for it. But deep down, I knew the truth. I was terrified of showing a part of myself I hadn’t even met yet. That discomfort still lives in my body. But now, there is a realisation of what's there on the other side. Not the urge to act or perform. But the feeling of... Just to be. Because the work isn’t about getting better at the mask. It’s about gathering the courage to take it off. If you’ve ever walked away from something because it felt too intimate, maybe it wasn’t failure. Maybe it was a doorway.

"You’re weird." In 37 years, no one had said that to me at least not seriously. But this time, a friend meant it. And meant me. I didn’t feel offended. Just… curious. Me? Weird? I’ve always seen myself as normal. There’s comfort in that. You blend in. Keep things agreeable. Avoid saying what doesn’t fit the script. Because at some point, we all learned, different is dangerous. Belonging matters more than truth. But now? We live in a world that rewards divergence. Originality. Odd patterns of thought. The courage to say what most people only think. So maybe the question isn’t “Why am I weird?” Maybe it’s, What gets buried when we try too hard not to be?

So here’s a reminder to myself (and maybe to you too). The peace you’re craving won’t come from clarity. It comes from courage. I can’t tell you how long I’ve been stuck in this loop. Consuming everything I could. Books, Podcasts, Essays. Philosophy, psychology, history, biology. Searching for that one idea that would make it all click. But here’s the bitter truth. No amount of knowledge will change your life. Unless you do something out of it. I used to admire writers I followed online. Dissecting how they thought, what made them so good. Secretly believing they knew something I didn’t. That they had unlocked a special kind of clarity. But the reality? They simply had the courage to begin, and to keep going. That was always the difference. Stop waiting for the perfect mental model. Stop over-preparing. Start doing. The real clarity lives on the other side of motion. Don’t just admire the builders. Start building.

Burnout isn’t always from overwork. Sometimes it’s from overacting. Not the kind on stage. The kind where you’re constantly shaping yourself to fit the room. Smiling when you don’t mean it. Agreeing just to keep peace. Telling stories that sound good but feel off. That’s the real exhaustion. It’s not your workload. It’s the distance between who you are and who you’re pretending to be. I’ve felt this. Still do, sometimes. And each time I catch it, I remind myself. Rest doesn’t come from sleep. It comes from being real again.

I sat on a Sunday morning asking myself, "What is the goal?" Not a title. Not a number. This felt closer to the truth. Sharing my personal compass, not for ambition, but alignment. What will be in your compass?

No one’s watching. That’s the liberating part. Three years ago, I dared myself to post on LinkedIn. No strategy. No “personal brand.” Just a punch of discomfort and curiosity. And then I stopped. Because I didn’t know why I was doing it. No rhythm. No reason. Just noise in my head, followed by silence. Cut to two months ago, I started again. With a clearer head. This time, with a system, a flow, and a better sense of what matters. But here’s what hasn’t changed: The resistance. Right before I hit publish, it still creeps in: “What’s the point?” “You sound like an imposter.” “No one gives a damn.” And maybe… that last one is true. Maybe no one is really paying that much attention. That used to bother me. Now? It sets me free. Because this main character story in my head, how people are sitting around judging my words? It’s fiction. Everyone’s too busy being the main character in their story. Nobody’s watching. Nobody’s scoring. And that means I can stop trying to be clever, or polished, or perfect. I can just say what feels true. No proclamations. No playbooks. Just the choice to keep going. So here I go again. Not to be seen. Just to write. Just to say it. Let’s keep showing up anyway. Because the fear never goes. But neither does the reason we started. Cheers to that with my coffee cup :)

If there’s one thing I’d tell my 21-year-old self. Let go of that character armour you’re so proud of. It’s not strength. It’s a cocoon. Built from self-validation. Reinforced by fear. Be scared. Fall flat. There’s no script. Make a mess and find "You" in the chaos. P.S. The photo also represents a part of my life where I had a lot of hair :P.

Leadership isn’t hard. Ego is. More than a decade into it, the more I see this truth play out. Most people aren’t addicted to leadership. They’re addicted to the feeling that comes with it, the power, the control, the illusion of being important. They think they’re guiding the team. In reality, they’re just protecting their fragile self-worth, under the mask of authority. I’ve led high-performing teams. I’ve also led from insecurity, disguised as decisiveness. The leaders who moved me most? They didn’t bark orders or handhold. They made me think. They made me dare. They made me do things I wouldn’t have done on my own. That’s what most people need. Not answers. Just a nudge. Just one person who sees them and says: “You’ve got this. Go.” Weak leaders assume their teams are waiting to be told what to do. Strong ones know, people are waiting for permission to trust themselves. If your presence doesn’t unlock courage in others, it’s not leadership. It’s ego management.