Quiet Roads, Loud Minds

The air was thick but cooler than the daytime scorch. It was the kind of Colombo night that promised both exhaustion and introspection. The three of us Sid, Sam, and I. Had just finished a hearty dinner that could only be justified by what we were about to do.

Thirteen kilometers. Kandana to Katunayaka.

The last time we attempted this, it was under the relentless Colombo sun. By the end, we looked like overcooked street-side snacks. Tonight, though, the plan was smarter. No traffic, no blaring horns, no sun. Just moonlight, streetlights, and silence.

We started walking at 10 past 11, a deliberate pace carrying us past easing traffic. The buzz of the city was beginning to dim, its relentless hum replaced by a strange calmness. Shadows stretched longer as the neon lights faded into an overwhelming darkness. It was in this transition from chaos to calm, that the conversation began.

As usual, we bounced from topic to topic, each more random than the last. Judging people had become my new favorite hobby. A pastime cultivated by long hours on flights. I threw in some funny stories from recent trips, and Sid, in true Sid fashion, shared his “priestly wisdom.” He’s the kind of guy who learns from everyone else’s mistakes, always ready to dish out advice that feels both annoying and annoyingly right.

Sam rarely screws up. He moves through life like he’s playing chess, while the rest of us are still arguing over the rules of checkers. But when he does mess up? It’s glorious five-star, slow-mo, replay-it-forever kind of epic.

Me? Let’s just say my life lessons come the hard way. After the screw-ups, not before. It’s why Sid gets to smirk, and Sam gets to laugh.

Our rhythm was effortless, like a well-rehearsed play. The three of us might approach life differently, but at the end of the day, we thought alike in more ways than we’d admit. After a while of pulling each other’s leg and cracking jokes, we stopped for a quick hydration break.

This is where it really began. Sam, fresh into his new teaching batch, started sharing how he kicked things off:

Sam: “I was a student at Tea Leaf Vision for nine months—never missed a single class. Then I became a teacher there, worked for three years, and still, not one class missed. Now, this course I’m teaching? It’s just 42 lessons, twice a week, and it’s online. So, when I see people skipping lessons, it’s honestly a joke to me. If you really want to do something, you will.”

I couldn’t help but clap for Sam’s dedication.

Me: Macha, respect. That’s what makes you a great teacher. I’ve always admired your passion for teaching. Honestly, as the ‘reader and writer’ of the group, I feel compelled to throw in some wisdom of my own.”

Sam rolled his eyes, probably expecting something dramatic. But I had a quote ready.

Me: This one’s on my wall: ‘You can either have excuses or results, not both.’

Sid nodded in agreement, Sam smirked, and for a brief moment, it felt like we were all perfectly aligned. Then, another quote popped into my head.

Me: “And here’s another one: ‘If you want to have work-life balance and an 8-to-5 job, you can’t achieve something big or be great. Take any successful person, they never had work-life balance’”

I should have known better. That quote was like lighting a match in a room full of fireworks.

Sam: Wait, wait, wait. Are you saying work-life balance isn’t important? That sounds like a recipe for burnout, not success.

Sid (cutting in): And what even defines success? If you’re miserable, is it worth it?.

The debate had begun.

Sam: mmmmm are you saying work-life balance isn’t important? That sounds like a recipe for burnout, not success.

Sid: And what even defines success? If you’re miserable, is it worth it?

I paused, letting their words settle for a moment. They had a point, but I felt the need to clarify what the quote truly meant, at least the way I saw it.

Me: You’re not wrong. Burnout is real, and so is misery. But that’s not what this is about. It’s about understanding that greatness (whatever it means to you) requires sacrifice. The most successful people? They didn’t stop at 5 PM and call it a day. They gave their dreams everything they had because those dreams mattered enough to demand more.

Sam raised an eyebrow, still skeptical. I continued, knowing I was just getting warmed up.

It’s not about glorifying overwork or saying you should give up your life for a job. It’s about alignment. When you want something big, your priorities shift. Work-life balance doesn’t always mean splitting your energy equally. It means putting your focus where it counts in the moment. Sometimes that’s your career, sometimes it’s your family. But if you’re chasing something extraordinary, you have to be willing to go beyond the ordinary.

Sid (nodding thoughtfully): So you’re saying it’s not about abandoning balance, but redefining it?

Me: It’s never been about perfect balance.It’s about building a life that bends toward what matters. Balance isn’t still, it sways with your seasons, leans into your calling,and pulls back when you need to breathe. In that rhythm between the giving up and the holding on you find growth, discipline, and a kind of purpose that doesn’t just fill time…it fills you.

Sam let out a slow breath, his skepticism softening into understanding.

Sam: Alright, fair point. But no matter what you say, my Sundays are non-negotiable. That’s the day I do absolutely nothing. and I do it religiously.

We all laughed, the debate momentarily finding its resolution. But the thought lingered, stretching out into the quiet night, as if the road ahead was just as much about discovery as it was about distance.

Sid: Nah, I’m not buying it. That’s just what corporate culture wants us to believe. They sell us this idea that we have to give up everything; our time, energy, even our families to achieve some imaginary version of success. It’s just a scam to keep us in the rat race. Work harder, longer, and don’t question why you’re doing it.

I stopped walking for a second, surprised but not entirely shocked. Sid always had this way of poking at ideas until they cracked open.

Me: You’re not wrong, Sid. There is a rat race, and a lot of people do get trapped in it, chasing promotions, paychecks, and titles without ever asking themselves if that’s what they truly want. But that’s not what I’m talking about.

Sid glanced at me, waiting for my explanation.

I cointinued Here’s the difference: this isn’t about working harder to make someone else richer. It’s about working harder to create a life you want. Success doesn’t have to mean climbing a corporate ladder or hitting someone else’s benchmarks. It could mean starting your own business, mastering a skill, or making a real impact in your community. But whatever your dream is, it’s going to demand focus, effort, and yes, sacrifices. That’s just reality.

Sam (chiming in): But isn’t that the same thing? Sacrifice is sacrifice, whether it’s for you or a paycheck.

Me: Not necessarily. The difference is intention. If you’re grinding away for a dream that’s truly yours, it feels different. It’s not about the rat race; it’s about the marathon you’ve chosen to run. You’re not running in circles, you’re running toward something that matters to you.

Sid: But don’t you think that line gets blurred? People convince themselves they’re chasing their dreams when they’re just chasing someone else’s goals. Or lets say money

Me: Of course, it happens. That’s why self-awareness is key. You have to constantly check in with yourself: Am I doing this for me, or am I being sold a story? But let me ask you this. If you had a dream, something you were truly passionate about, wouldn’t you give it everything you’ve got?

Sid didn’t respond immediately, but his expression softened.

Sam: I think what Thiva’s saying is, it’s not about giving up everything. It’s about giving up what doesn’t matter for what does.

Me: Exactly. And if someone decides they’re fine with the 8-to-5, that’s okay too, as long as it’s a conscious choice. But for those who want to build something extraordinary, it’s going to take extraordinary effort.

Sid shrugged, still skeptical but not entirely unconvinced.

Sid: Let’s be real. Ronaldo, Steve Jobs, Bill Gates, do you honestly believe they’re all just about passion? You think Ronaldo is still passionate about football and not about the millions he earns? Or that Steve Jobs wasn’t just trying to sell more and more? It’s the same with Bill Gates. Money isn’t secondary. They preach passion, but they’re as money-driven as the corporations they built.

I sighed, not because Sid was wrong, but because he’d thrown us into yet another rabbit hole.

Me: Okay, Sid, I get where you’re coming from. And yeah, money plays a part. But let’s not confuse the two. Just because someone earns a lot of money doesn’t mean they’ve lost their passion. The two can co-exist.

Sid: Oh, come on. If they cared so much about passion, they wouldn’t be hoarding billions. It’s not about doing what they love. It’s about doing what sells. And they sell this dream of passion to keep us stuck in their system. If everyone wanted to live on farms and be self-sufficient, the whole economy would collapse. So they push this narrative to keep us buying into the system.

Sam (chuckling): You know, Sid, you might have just uncovered the biggest conspiracy of our time.

Me: Alright, hear me out. You’re right that money is a huge motivator for a lot of people, but that doesn’t mean passion isn’t real. Take Ronaldo, for example. Sure, he earns millions, but do you think he spends hours training every day just for a paycheck? He could’ve retired years ago. The guy still shows up because he loves the game.

Sid: Or because he loves the endorsements.

Me: Fair, but if money were the only motivator, he wouldn’t put in the effort he does at his age. Passion is what keeps him going, money is just the reward for doing what he’s exceptional at.

Sam: Same with Steve Jobs. Yeah, he wanted to sell more iPhones, but do you think he stayed up all night obsessing over product designs just for the cash? That level of focus comes from passion. Money didn’t drive his vision; his vision brought the money.

Sid (still skeptical): But they all end up hoarding it. How is that passion? Isn’t the whole idea of passion to create, not to accumulate?.

Me: Agreed, but that’s where the lines blur. Just because someone is rich doesn’t mean they’re not passionate. And honestly, how they handle their money isn’t for us to judge. It doesn’t change the fact that their success came from putting their heart into something. If we focus on their passion instead of their bank accounts, there’s still a lot to learn.

Sam: And look, you’re not wrong about the system, Sid. It’s flawed. But the takeaway isn’t to reject ambition because it exists within the system, it’s to use ambition to create something meaningful within or outside of it. It’s about finding a balance that works for you.

Sid: Balance again, huh? You’re obsessed with that word.

We all laughed, the tension easing but not entirely disappearing. Sid’s argument still hung in the air, challenging us to keep thinking as we walked on, the city fading further behind us.

As the debate raged on, we didn’t even notice the distance we’d covered. It wasn’t until we reached the hotel that the world around us came back into focus.

We slumped into the lobby chairs, exhausted, sleep-deprived, and no closer to agreeing on anything. Sam was stretching his legs, Sid was massaging his temples like he’d been personally attacked by the concept of capitalism, and I just sat there grinning, proud of our collective stubbornness.

I pulled out my phone and opened the Whoop app, curious about how long the walk had taken.

Me: Guys… you’re not going to believe this. We walked 13 kilometers in 100 minutes.

Sam: Wait, what? That’s insane!

Sid: No way. That’s like… we were practically speed-walking.

We all stared at each other, equal parts impressed and confused.

Me: So apparently, conspiracy debates are the secret to record-breaking walks. Next time, let’s solve world peace and aim for 90 minutes.

Sam: If arguing makes us this fast, we should start a podcast. ‘The Furious Philosophers: Walking Edition.

Sid: Yeah, great idea. I’ll just sit in the back and watch you two ‘philosophers’ argue about who invented sliced bread.

We burst into laughter, the absurdity of it all finally catching up to us.

But as the laughter subsided, I couldn’t help but think about the weight of what we’d talked about.

For all the humor and wild theories, there was something real underneath it all: a reminder that success, passion, and balance aren’t one-size-fits-all. Sid’s skepticism about corporate culture wasn’t wrong, it was a challenge to think critically about why we do what we do. Sam’s focus on effort and commitment was just as valid, a reminder that dreams require discipline. And me? I was somewhere in the middle, trying to piece it all together, finding meaning in the argument itself.

We walked thirteen kilometers that night,
but the real distance wasn’t measured in steps.
It was in the weight of our questions,
the tug-of-war between comfort and ambition,
between chasing dreams and not losing ourselves in the chase.

Sid questioned the system.
Sam defended the effort.
And I? I listened. Argued. Laughed.
And somewhere between moonlit footpaths and tired feet,
I realized that maybe we’re all walking different versions of the same road,
trying to build lives that feel like our own
without losing our joy in the process.

We didn’t solve capitalism.
We didn’t redefine passion.
But we did what mattered,
We showed up for the walk,
for the questions,
and for each other.

And maybe that’s the quiet kind of success
No one writes books about
But should.