Edwin's Corner

 I recently completed a six-day water fast—yes, 120 hours without food or anything but water—and as I sit here about to break it, I’m struck by how much dopamine actually influences our days. Not in the “I’m on a sugar high” kind of way, but in the quiet moments: the pull toward what feels easy, the push away from discomfort, the internal conversation we barely notice. During that fast, I realized something: we are wired to act emotionally and avoid what feels uncomfortable or uneasy. For someone like me—an introvert who has spent years forcing myself to make a certain number of phone calls daily—it became painfully clear how the “reward” part of my habit loop was often missing. Let me set the scene. Every day, I call ten people. Some days I get excited responses; other days I hear nothing. It’s the latter that always throws me off: the lack of instant feedback, the increasing feeling of rejection or disappointment that sneaks in over time. It wasn’t making the calls that was t...

  I’ve been wrestling with a question lately—one that quietly sits in the corners of my mind: Where did all this conflict between men and women, ego and love, power and compassion actually start? For a while, I thought it was a modern issue—something shaped by patriarchy, religion, and feminism clashing. But the more I’ve read, reflected, and sat in silence with these questions, the more I realize—it’s ancient. It started long before us. And the remnants of that story quietly persist in our behaviors, relationships, and habits today. When I recall that old story of the first man and woman, I see it not just as a tale about disobedience or sin—it’s about emotional awakening. It’s the first time humans experienced shame, blame, and separation. Before that moment, they were united with themselves, each other, and the Divine. Afterward, they hid, pointed fingers, and embarked on a long journey into the wilderness of ego. That was the real start of our emotional conditioning—the...

 Alright, let’s talk real leadership—not just the “boss with a big title” kind, but the kind that stays with people long after you’re gone. When I observe leaders who leave a lasting impact, I don’t only watch their speeches—I also pay attention to how they live “behind the scenes.” Because leadership isn’t a suit you wear on Mondays—it’s a set of daily habits that shape your character. Take Mahatma Gandhi, for example. He encouraged Indians to spin their own cloth, live off the land, and, in doing so, challenged the British Empire’s ego. Then there’s Wangari Maathai, who literally rolled up her sleeves, planted trees, protected forests, and stood up to government bulldozers. Pure bravery. And don’t forget the compassionate presence of Mother Teresa — who didn’t just preach love; she washed lepers’ feet and sat where no one else wanted to sit. What connects them? They lived by their values. That’s our main lesson: Lead by values; make your values habits, and your leadership b...

  “Edwin, I have big problems,” she said quietly, eyes sunken, spirit weary. I nodded, listening. She wasn’t just tired — she was defeated. “I want to change my life for the better,” she continued, “but everything feels against me.” Her words hung heavy in the air. I’ve met many like her — people who carry the invisible weight of pessimism, who see the shadow in every patch of light. And to be honest, I understood her far too well. Why Your Thoughts Shape Every Experience During my teenage years and early twenties, I often carried that same cloud. I’d smile with friends, laugh in class, then walk home feeling like I didn’t belong anywhere. When I was alone, sadness would quietly creep in, whispering that I wasn’t enough. At work, I tried to prove my worth by overworking — early mornings, late nights, chasing excellence as if it owed me peace. I remember one of my first jobs — a start-up full of brilliant minds from the country's best technology university. I was, on the ot...

  The other day, I saw an AI-created image that stopped me in my tracks — twelve bees gathered around a single teaspoon of honey. Their entire life’s work. Each had flown hundreds of miles, visited thousands of flowers, and spent hours in motion — all for that one golden teaspoon we swallow in a gulp and then forget. That image haunted me because it quietly revealed a tragic truth about us: we’ve forgotten the soul of work. We no longer understand how things are created. Because of that, we’ve adopted a casual attitude toward creation — toward effort, craftsmanship, and time. The bee doesn’t waste motion. It doesn’t rush. It works with devotion, precision, and purpose. Every drop of honey is an act of worship. And maybe that’s what we’ve lost — not work itself, but the reverence that should come with it. 1. Work as Worship — Reclaiming the Sacred Rhythm Let’s start here: everyone worships something. You may not bow to an idol, but you dedicate your best energy, focus, and...

Vincent Van Gogh - Women Carrying Sacks Of Coal In The Snow   The Cost of Belonging Beliefs are personal things. They reveal who we truly are — raw, vulnerable, unguarded. Still, most of us spend our lives hiding them, covering them with polished personas and polite smiles. Why? Because we all desire connection. We seek to be liked, accepted, and part of a tribe that soothes and validates us. But here’s the paradox — belonging often comes at the cost of becoming. The crowd rarely fosters innovation or greatness because growth requires difference, and difference is uncomfortable. We suppress our deepest beliefs to stay safe. Yet every transformative journey in history — from ancient prophets to modern pioneers — starts when someone dares to believe despite the odds.   1. The Old Man Who Chose to Believe Anyway There’s a story about an old man — seventy-five years old — who was told by an unseen voice to leave everything familiar. The promise? That he would become t...

    There are men and women walking among us who seem whole. They wear their Sunday best, smile politely, and shake hands confidently. But if you look closely — really closely — you’ll notice something strange. Beneath the fabric, even beneath the skin, lies a dark, sticky coating. You can’t see it in daylight, but it glimmers under the weight of hurt. I’ve observed it. It moves silently through life — patient, waiting. The coating doesn’t form overnight. It begins small, like smoke curling around the heart after a deep wound. A harsh word. A betrayal. A loss too raw to name. It sneaks in quietly, promising protection — “I’ll never let this happen to you again.” And in that promise, it finds a home.   When the Coating Finds a Host I once watched a man who loved deeply. He gave his heart to a woman, trusting her with all he was. One day, she turned to him and said, “I don’t love you anymore.” Just like that, his world shattered. The coating saw its chance — an...

  Jacob Aliet, speaker at The Men's Group meeting on the 18th October 2025  We were sitting in the Baraza , that sacred circle where truth often sneaks up disguised as banter, when Steve turned to Jack and said, “You are a lion and a tortoise.” Now, if you’ve ever been to The Men’s Group meeting, you know compliments don’t come gift-wrapped. But this one had weight. The lion — bold, daring, unstoppable. The tortoise — slow, deliberate, unyielding. Together, they symbolize a man who dreams big but also endures the grind. That’s Jacob Aliet. He was late for his slot — so late, I had resigned myself to his absence with a resigned “Haithuru” (Swahili for “It’s okay, life moves on”). The second speaker was deep in his flow when the door swung open. In walked this ripped guy , arms bulging, confidence wrapped in a shirt that could barely contain the testosterone. He dropped a bag of books on the floor, and I caught sight of the word Unplugged . I knew instantly that th...

  The ever-dapper Steve Mburu @ The Men's Group meeting on 18th October 2025  I once heard a story that changed my perspective on fatherhood. It wasn’t shared in a boardroom or over coffee but in a men’s circle where truth and vulnerability hung in the air like incense. The storyteller was Steve Mburu , a man who once led one of East Africa’s largest pharmaceutical companies. To many, he’s a towering professional. To me, he’s a man who carries the quiet authority of someone who’s wrestled with his shadows and found peace on the other side. What Steve shared that day wasn’t about business or success. It was about the shoes that changed his life — and how one tear from his father redefined what strength meant to him as a man, a father, and a human being. This isn’t just Steve’s story. It’s about how fathers help shape our sense of self—not through being perfect, but through being present.   The Generational Script — and the Courage to Rewrite It Steve’s story sta...

I met the man way before I was introduced to him. While many say, “Do your research about a person before you meet them,” I’ve often ignored that advice and said, “I’ll base my understanding on my interaction with the man—and build from there.” Please, never do that with people you aim to interview or negotiate with. Since most of life requires some form of negotiation, it helps to do your homework first. Tongue in cheek, I’ve been learning the art of impromptu interviewing for a skill I’m developing. So, this time, I went in with only what he had shared with me—no online digging, no assumptions.   A Saturday of Silence and Slow Hearts The event had just started. The three scheduled speakers were running late. He— David Kimani —was supposed to speak second, yet he was the earliest to arrive. It was a quiet Saturday. We were still reeling from the state funeral of Rt. Hon. Raila Odinga—a man I deeply respected, whose life had become a mirror for our society’s fracture...