Sarala Life — Life in Chapters: Careers, Canines, Cabernet & Courage

There was a time when, if I could pour a glass for my younger self, it would have been filled with warnings.

Don’t trust so quickly (though I still did).
Don’t give so much (oh, boy, well did I over-give).
Don’t work yourself to the bone thinking rest is something you earn later (worked through muscle and bone).
Don’t confuse urgency with importance (well, I’ve lived through 3 million seasons of everything is urgent).

Today, if I poured that glass again, it wouldn’t come with advice at all.

It would come with permission.

I wouldn’t tell her to move faster.
I wouldn’t tell her to hustle harder.
I wouldn’t tell her to prove anything to anyone.

I would tell her this instead:
You are allowed to slow down before life forces you to.

For a long time, urgency felt like success.
Quick decisions. Full calendars. Being needed. Being relied on. Being the one who could handle it. In my professional life, urgency became a badge of honour — the deal that had to close, the crisis that needed managing, the role that required everything I had and then some. I thought that pace meant purpose.

But urgency is loud.
And loud doesn’t always mean aligned.

At some point — quietly, without ceremony — I began choosing intentionality instead.

Intentionality in the work I say yes to.
Intentionality in the leadership roles I take on.
Intentionality in how much of myself I pour into rooms that were never meant to hold me.

This shift didn’t happen overnight. It came after years of building, achieving, carrying responsibility with grace even when it was heavy. It came after realising that success without space to breathe becomes another form of survival mode.

In my career pivot — stepping away from the certainty of a defined corporate path and into a season of recalibration — I learned something deeply uncomfortable and deeply freeing:
Not every decision needs to be rushed to be right.

Some need to be felt.

Intentionality looks like choosing work that aligns with your values, not just your CV.
It looks like redefining leadership beyond titles — toward impact, integrity, and how people feel after working with you.
It looks like understanding that stepping back is not stepping down.

And personally?
It looks like trusting myself enough not to explain every choice.
It looks like no longer measuring my worth by productivity or proximity to power.
It looks like allowing softness to coexist with strength.

If I could pour that glass again, I wouldn’t warn my younger self about heartbreak, disappointment, or uncertainty. She was always capable of surviving those.

I would simply sit with her and say:
You don’t need to rush to become who you already are.

Some seasons are about momentum.
Others are about meaning.

This one — for me — is about intention.

And if no one has told you today:
You are allowed to choose peace without apology.
You are allowed to evolve without explanation.
You are allowed to take your time.

Pour the glass slowly. 🍷
You’ve earned that much.

About the Author

Shalini S. Rambachan is a corporate commercial attorney, governance advisor, and reflective writer exploring leadership, growth, and the quiet seasons in between. Through Life in Chapters and Canines & Cabernet, she writes about building a life — and a career — with intention, integrity, and heart.

Clue of the Week

I’m learning that urgency often comes from fear — and intentionality comes from trust.