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The Two Paths of Learning: Training and Observation

We’re always learning—whether we realize it or not. But not all learning happens the same way. Some lessons come from structured instruction; others sneak in quietly through observation. As I reflect on my own journey—through leadership, academia, and personal growth—I’ve come to see these two paths as essential, complementary, and powerful in different ways.

1. Learning by Training: The Power of Structure

This is the kind of learning we associate with classrooms, certifications, online courses, or coaching. It’s formal, deliberate, and often efficient. You’re taught the steps, the why behind them, and the expected outcomes. It’s the world of frameworks, blueprints, and best practices.

I’ve relied on this kind of learning many times—when preparing for a new role, earning a certification, or diving into a new field. It gives clarity and accelerates mastery. But it has its limits. Training can tell you what to do and how to do it, but it doesn’t always show you when to apply it, or why it matters on a human level.

2. Learning by Observation: The Art of Absorption

Then there’s the quieter kind of learning—the one that happens when no one is officially teaching. You learn by watching how a colleague handles conflict, how a mentor speaks in meetings, or how a friend responds to challenge. This path is slower, less predictable, but often deeper.

I’ve learned some of the most important lessons in leadership and life simply by observing others. How someone listens. How they remain calm in chaos. How they navigate ambiguity with grace. These lessons can’t be taught in a slide deck. They must be witnessed.

And sometimes, the most impactful observations are those that teach us how not to act.

There have been moments where watching someone interrupt, dismiss, or act from ego made something crystal clear: I don’t want to be like that. These moments can be just as formative as witnessing excellence. They sharpen our values and guide our choices, often more powerfully than a textbook ever could.

The Dance Between the Two

Neither path is better—they work best together. Training gives us a foundation. Observation gives us nuance. One gives us the map; the other helps us read the terrain. Together, they build not only knowledge but also wisdom.

As Aristotle might say, we don’t just learn by knowing—we learn by doing, imitating, and reflecting. He explores these key philosophical ideas about learning and knowledge in his works, particularly the Nicomachean Ethics and Poetics.

A Question to Reflect On

Where in your life are you relying too much on training and not enough on observation? Or vice versa?

Sometimes the next lesson is right in front of us—quietly unfolding in someone else’s actions, or reactions.

What I Learned in My Second Semester of the PhD (Beyond Theory and Methods)

I just finished my second semester of the PhD, and today I’m allowing myself to fully rest — and to fully celebrate.

These past weeks have been intense. Between final essays, presentations, and all the mental load that comes with academic life, I found myself running on pure determination at times. But here I am, on the other side of the storm, and it feels like a moment worth pausing for.

This semester wasn’t just about theories and research methods. It was about endurance. About carving out time to think while managing work, life, and everything in between. It was about showing up to class even when I was tired, and still finding myself moved by a line in a book, a discussion with classmates, or a quiet insight that came unexpectedly.

It was also a semester full of new skills and challenges — the kind I didn’t expect when I first signed up for this journey.

I learned about the publishing process, as the school is working on publishing a book that will include a chapter from each of our theses. Seeing our academic work take on a more public shape is both exciting and humbling.
I also learned how to conduct and edit a video interview, which was part of an assignment that pushed me to connect with someone else’s story in a deeper way.
And I recorded my first podcast episodes, learning the basics of scripting, recording, and sharing ideas through audio. I never thought I’d enjoy podcasting so much — but I did.

More than anything, this semester reminded me that growth often happens in silence — in the late-night reading sessions, the late classes on Mondays and Saturday mornings when I had to talk myself into staying focused, and the afternoons I spent editing the same paragraph over and over. It taught me that I’m more resilient than I thought, and that my desire to learn is stronger than any obstacle in my schedule.

There were also small victories that I hold close: the moment an assignment came together, a thoughtful comment from a professor, or the realization that a concept I struggled with last semester now feels like second nature. Those moments remind me that this journey is working — little by little, it’s shaping the way I see the world and the way I see myself.

Next semester, I want to carry this learning with more gentleness. I want to keep being disciplined, yes, but also kinder to myself in the process. I’ve come to understand that rest is not a reward — it’s part of the work.

Today, I’m simply resting. But beneath the calm, there’s a quiet sense of pride. Because this wasn’t easy — and I did it anyway.

The Power of Closing Cycles: Why Endings Deserve Attention

We often celebrate beginnings—a new job, a new year, a new relationship—but we rarely give endings the attention they deserve. And yet, over the past few years, I’ve learned that how we end things can be just as important as how we start them.

I’ve become intentional about closing cycles. Not just the big ones like moving cities or leaving a job, but the small, everyday ones too—like how I end my workday, how I wrap up a conversation, or how I say goodbye after a visit to see family. Each closure is an opportunity to reflect, to honor what was, and to make space for what’s next.

Why Closing Cycles Matters

Leaving things unfinished—or worse, pretending they didn’t happen—creates mental clutter. It lingers. It takes up space in our minds and hearts, making it harder to move forward with clarity and intention. I’ve felt it in my own life: the emotional weight of half-closed chapters, the open tabs in my brain.

But when I consciously bring things to a close, something shifts. There’s peace. There’s resolution. There’s a subtle but powerful sense of integrity in saying, “This mattered. It happened. It’s complete.”

The Practice of Closure

For me, closing cycles isn’t dramatic—it’s mindful.

Sometimes it looks like writing a few lines in my journal at the end of the day, acknowledging the good and the not-so-good. Sometimes it’s sending a thank-you message after finishing a project. Other times, it’s more symbolic: taking a solo walk to process a difficult goodbye.

These simple acts help me integrate the experience, rather than rush past it.

Closing the Big Cycles

While small daily closures have their place, sometimes we need to revisit the big chapters of our lives to fully close them. Over the past year, I did something that felt deeply necessary: I returned to a few cities where I once lived—places that shaped me, challenged me, and held pieces of who I used to be.

When I first left those places, life was a whirlwind. Busy, busy, busy. Packing, deadlines, logistics. I didn’t give myself the space to say goodbye—to really walk those streets one last time, take in the views, or sit with the emotions of leaving.

Going back, this time with no rush, allowed me to close those chapters with presence. I wandered familiar neighborhoods with new eyes. I visited my favorite restaurants, took long walks, and let the memories surface. It was quiet, emotional, and healing. Those visits weren’t about nostalgia—they were about honoring who I was back then and letting go of what no longer belonged to me.

Sometimes closure isn’t just emotional; it’s physical. It’s returning, witnessing, and releasing.

Endings Are Not Failures

One of the biggest mindset shifts I’ve had is understanding that endings aren’t always sad. And they definitely aren’t failures. Letting go of a habit, a routine, or even a dream that no longer fits is an act of courage, not weakness. It’s a way of saying, “I respect myself enough to not stay stuck.”

I’ve also learned that some cycles need to close before we feel ready. And that’s okay. There’s wisdom in moving on even without a perfect sense of closure. Sometimes we find the meaning later.

What I’ve Gained

By honoring closures, I’ve gained clarity. Emotional space. Confidence. And more than anything, a sense of flow—of being able to transition from one season to the next without dragging old stories behind me.

It’s still a work in progress. But now, I no longer rush to the next thing without asking myself, “Have I closed this well?”

What cycles are still open in your life?

Maybe it’s time to give them the goodbye they deserve.

Life is Simple — We Just Make It Complicated

I’ve always believed that life, at its core, is very simple. Somewhere along the way, though, we humans began to complicate it.

Our basic needs are straightforward: food, shelter, connection, a sense of purpose. But our minds are masters at weaving stories, creating fears, and setting expectations that turn these simple needs into tangled webs. We worry about the future, regret the past, compare ourselves to others, and build towering structures of “should” and “must” that weigh heavily on our hearts.

Philosophers have noticed this pattern for centuries. The Stoics, like Marcus Aurelius, taught that it is not events themselves that disturb us, but our judgments about them. Henry David Thoreau famously wrote in Walden, “Our life is frittered away by detail. Simplify, simplify, simplify!” Even in Buddhism, there is a teaching that suffering arises when we resist the simple reality of impermanence and interconnectedness.

Life invites us to live simply, but our minds often prefer complexity.

In my own life, I try to stay connected to simplicity in small but meaningful ways. I prioritize presence over perfection. I find joy in little rituals: an afternoon walk, a good conversation, a moment of stillness before a busy day. I try not to overload my schedule, and when decisions feel overwhelming, I remind myself to return to the essentials. What really matters? What brings genuine peace?

Life doesn’t have to be complicated. Often, the most beautiful moments are the simplest ones — a shared laugh, a sunset, a deep breath.

Maybe today, we can all pause for a moment and remember: Simplicity is always available to us, patiently waiting for us to choose it.

Reflections on Friendship, Inspired by Aristotle

Friendship is one of the most enriching experiences in life. Over the years, I’ve come to understand that not all friendships are the same — some are fleeting, others are situational, and a rare few are deeply transformative. Reflecting on what friendship means to me, I couldn’t help but think of Aristotle’s timeless wisdom.

In his Nicomachean Ethics, Aristotle describes three kinds of friendships: those of utility, those of pleasure, and those of the good. Friendships of utility are based on mutual benefit; two people come together because they find each other useful. Friendships of pleasure are built around shared activities and enjoyment — the friend you laugh with, celebrate with, and have fun with. But the highest form of friendship, according to Aristotle, is the friendship of the good — a bond formed between people who admire each other’s character, virtues, and goodness.

I first studied Aristotle and the Nicomachean Ethics during my first semester of the PhD. It was a time of intense learning and personal growth, and his reflections on friendship resonated deeply with me. These ideas have stayed with me ever since, quietly shaping the way I see and nurture the relationships in my life.

Looking back, I see friendships that fit each of these categories. Some thrived during a certain phase and faded naturally. Others brought joy and spontaneity but lacked a deeper foundation. And then, there are those rare friendships that feel like a quiet miracle: built on admiration, support, and a shared pursuit of a good life.

Friendship Across Life’s Chapters

Some of my most treasured friendships are with people I have known since I was a baby. These lifelong connections carry a special kind of depth and familiarity. We have witnessed each other’s growth, setbacks, and transformations, creating a bond that feels almost like family — woven through shared experiences and an enduring sense of trust.

Many of my friendships have also been formed through school, in each phase of my life, from early education all the way through my PhD journey. These friendships have been a constant source of encouragement and discovery, growing alongside me through the different seasons of life. One of the most meaningful friendships from this journey began during my master’s degree, when I met someone who would become one of my closest friends. What I enjoy most about our conversations is that they always revolve around ideas and our diverse interests. Every discussion feels like an exploration — of philosophy, art, travel, and dreams — and it constantly reminds me how enriching it is to have friends who inspire curiosity and growth.

Other friendships have emerged through work. Over the years, I’ve had the privilege of collaborating with people who later became mentors — and in some cases, close friends. These relationships grew from shared challenges and achievements, often grounded in mutual respect, trust, and a common vision. The support and wisdom of these friends have shaped not only my career but also my personal growth.

I also have a friend whom I only see once a year, yet our bond feels as strong as ever. Every time we meet, we go out for dinner at a nice restaurant and talk for hours. Our conversations are open and honest, and we share our dreams, our challenges, and the ups and downs of life — from health to relationships to work. That depth and sincerity create a kind of connection that feels timeless. This reminds me that frequency isn’t always what defines closeness — openness and vulnerability often matter more than how often we see each other.

Some of the most meaningful relationships in my life have come from unexpected places. I met some very close friends through our shared love for The Tim Ferriss Show podcast, a common interest that sparked deep, enriching conversations and a genuine connection. These friendships bring happiness, meaning, and psychological richness — perfectly embodying the three dimensions described by Shigehiro Oishi. They have expanded my horizons, supported my growth, and made life more vibrant and fulfilling.

What Deep Friendship Requires

In today’s fast-moving world, where conversations often skim the surface and interactions feel rushed, cultivating deep friendships takes time, patience, and intention. It requires listening not just to words but also to the silences in between. It asks for vulnerability, generosity, and a willingness to grow alongside someone.

Shigehiro Oishi, in his book Life in Three Dimensions, beautifully writes, “In sum, you can evaluate pretty much anything in terms of happiness, meaning, and psychological richness. Academic courses can be happy, meaningful, or psychologically rich courses. Some friends are fun to be with. Other friends are useful and helpful. Other friends help you expand your horizons.” This perspective complements Aristotle’s view: some friendships bring joy, others offer support, and a few challenge and expand who we are. Recognizing these different dimensions allows us to appreciate each friendship for what it brings to our lives.

True friendship, as Aristotle reminds us, is not transactional or shallow. It is a meeting of souls who wish good for one another, not for personal gain, but because they recognize goodness itself. It strengthens us, sharpens our virtues, and enriches our journey through life.

I’m grateful for the friends who have walked with me at different stages, and especially for those few who have become companions of the soul. In a world full of noise, they remind me that friendship remains one of the purest melodies we can share.