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I have always identified my existence with teaching. It was never accidental. It was instinctive.

I pursued Chartered Accountancy because it offered security – something I believed teaching could not. Practice was more lucrative. More predictable. More socially reassuring. But Teaching was passion. Practice was prudence.

For years, prudence won.

It took me until after 45 to take teaching seriously. That decision was not impulsive. It was a quiet battle between the heart and the mind. Both were right from their own perspectives. The mind argued responsibility. The heart argued fulfilment. I often sided with the mind because family came first.

Eventually, I began saying “No” to myself.

By “myself,” I meant the mind.

Once I chose teaching fully, I went all out. Long hours of standing. Voice stretched to its limits. Energy poured into classrooms. In front of students, I never felt tired. The exhaustion appeared only after I reached home. Sleep came instantly. Family time quietly reduced. But I was happier.

Now I am past 60. I still teach. I still ride. Both remain passions.

Something changed after my ride to Pondicherry – Southern Smiles. I began listening more carefully to myself. My riding averages reduced. The accelerator stayed calmer. I stopped pushing the machine. More importantly, I stopped pushing myself.

I wish I had learnt this earlier –  but I carry no regret.

Teaching still demands long hours. My throat rarely rests. Recording online classes has added new pressure. Deadlines amplify urgency. The temptation to push “just a little more” is always present.

Today I won a small but meaningful battle.

After about ninety minutes of recording, I sensed slight discomfort in my vocal cords. Nothing dramatic. Just a whisper.

The mind said, “It’s fine. Continue.”
The heart agreed, “One more hour won’t matter.”

But I stopped.

For the first time, I said no – not to fear, not to laziness, but to excess.

I refused to disrespect the very instrument that serves my vocation.

We often speak of listening to the heart. We also glorify listening to the mind. But rarely do we speak about listening to the body.

The eyes tire.
The throat strains.
The back stiffens.
The breath shortens.

Ignoring these signals is not dedication. It is disrespect.

Self-respect is not loud. It does not announce itself. Sometimes it simply looks like stopping when you could have continued.

Today I chose to stop.

And strangely, that “No” felt like deep respect – not just for my voice, but for myself.

Tell me now, what is your body telling you right now?