June 2026
The Festival of Biodiversity is an annual treat for curious kids and adults in Singapore. Held just a few weeks after GenZero’s Ecosperity, where trillion-dollar climate funding frameworks are discussed and debated, it might seem like a world apart. But this Festival focused on grassroots education and conservation is really setting the emotional baseline for decisions that follow way down the road.
At this year’s Festival, which took place last weekend, I was thrilled to host a workshop for children based on my new book, If You Were a Monkey. The idea for the story occurred to me after a string of unrelated encounters with macaques that my family had in a single week 🙈🙉🙊- and the stark differences in how such encounters are dealt with depending on which country/city you live in. We see these local monkeys as intruders in our world. But clearly, it is a shared world. What would it be like if we popped into their world, even for a day?
Children are a tough, honest audience. Running an immersive, hour-long workshop for children of an unpredictable range of age groups is always a mix of nerves and excitement. But I’m delighted at how naturally the structure of the programme emerged and how well the theme of the book lent itself to a holistic “head, heart and hands” experience. Huge thanks to National Parks Board for this opportunity and a big shout out to Raka, Meera Gurumurthy and Mitu from Chowk Production for enchanting the audience with rhythm and movement inspired by the animal world.
Interestingly, watching the room during the movement segment offered an unexpected insight. When this part unfolded with a fluid, organic energy, some children and parents hesitated on the sidelines. In Singapore’s highly structured environment, open-ended activity can sometimes feel ambiguous. It reminded me of how we often stall when facing highly unstructured challenges like climate change. We freeze and watch from the sidelines. To find the energy and confidence to move, we need clear, actionable guidance.
I’m not the first person to write a story about monkeys and apes. That yarn is as old as the hills. The more you observe these creatures, the more you discover how fascinating and unique they are, but even more importantly, how much alike we are. While some science educators might worry about anthropomorphising animals, I know from experience that seeing what we have in common is a bridge to empathy and more considered decisions. In the words of conservationist Baba Dioum:
“In the end, we will conserve only what we love.
We will love only what we understand.
We will understand only what we are taught.”
Originally published on LinkedIn
June 2023
What do a Disney hit song, a book on neuroscience and an ancient scripture have in common? The same message.
Let it go.
Reading David Rock’s Your Brain at Work made me feel like a student again. I read and re-read paragraphs, highlighted entire pages and took copious notes like the over eager undergrad I once was (and still am?). One of the things he describes is how dopamine works. When our expectations are met, we get a nice little hit of dopamine and feel good. When our expectations are not met, or even worse, when our expectations are shattered, we experience a sudden crash in dopamine levels. The resulting emotional chaos can set us on a path of poor decision making that lead to worse consequences, unless we redirect our instinctual reactions. So what can we do? For a start, observe our expectations regularly and gradually minimise them.
That seems to be pretty much the core philosophy at the heart of the epic Bhagavad Gita (or the portions of it I’ve read so far): do your duty, don’t expect rewards. If you think that’s easier said than done, I’m with you. The wisdom inherent in detachment is clearly timeless, and lies at the heart of much vaulted 21st century skills like listening, coaching, negotiating and leading. In modern life hacking terms, we frame this in more practical, less spiritual terms: commit to the process, and embrace the outcomes that emerge, whatever they may be.
But detachment is HARD.
After a recent spate of rain, I made a paper boat for my 3 year old daughter and we floated it down a little stream of rainwater that was gushing along a drain. Laughter and merriment quickly turned into a sense of loss when the boat picked up speed and sailed into the drain and out of sight. Two giant drops of tears rolled down my toddler’s cheeks as she cried out for her boat. She had been in the presence of that little paper boat for hardly two minutes. How quickly attachments form!
And all of life is a process of learning to let go, they say…
Originally published on LinkedIn