I am always late for work. There. I've said it. And the frustrating thing is that my lateness isn't caused by traffic or some unpredictable morning disaster. Most of the time, it is entirely my own doing. I wake up and make my coffee. Then I get back into bed, which is right by the window, cross my feet, face the window and slowly sip my coffee. And when I say slowly, I mean slowly. I look at the trees. I watch the birds. I feel the morning sun on my skin. Sometimes I just sit there with my thoughts. I really love these mornings. I've also noticed something else. When I give myself enough time in the morning, my body usually does what it needs to do. A slow morning often leads to a bowel movement, which, as far as I'm concerned, is one of the must-haves of starting my day. And so I find myself wishing for more time. More time to sit. More time to drink my coffee. More time to maybe get outside and do some yoga or mat Pilates on the grass while the sun is stil...
To watch a ballerina rise to principal dancer, a gymnast bend physics to her will, study a polyglot perfecting pronunciation across languages, or an academician write with generational clarity is to witness not just talent — but years of intentional sacrifice. These are not casual efforts. These are lives shaped by years — sometimes decades — of repetition, refinement, and surrender to the process. Mastery is a long road. It demands humility, sacrifice, obsession, and discipline. In many parts of the world, this is understood and honored. In contrast, many Kenyans seem to struggle with the idea of pursuing excellence for its own sake. We prize quick wins, virality, and visibility, often mistaking them for mastery. There is a growing entitlement, especially among creators, professionals, and young entrepreneurs. We want to be paid for mediocrity, compensated for showing up, and crowned for effort. This isn’t just a personal failure — it’s a cultural crisis. The Myth of Instant Geniu...