You don’t get resets. You get deadlines.

I touched stone that laughed at time.

In Luxor, I ran my hand across walls carved three thousand years ago. Every line still sharp, every symbol still alive. Pharaohs are gone, but their choices are etched into granite so deep they mocked centuries of sandstorms.

A week later, I was back in London. Damp streets. Shorter days. A suitcase that still smelled of suncream. My coffee went cold before I could finish it, and I realised: here, nothing defies time. Time wins.

And then the news came: a friend from university had died. Thirty-nine years old. No warning. No second act.

That jolt shook me more than the rain or the dark mornings ever could. Because it made the truth impossible to ignore: we don’t have endless seasons. We don’t get to assume another autumn will be waiting for us.

Egypt gave me monuments. September gave me deadlines. And life itself gave me a reminder I can’t shake: eternity is carved in stone, but urgency is carved in us.

Pharaohs could spend decades shaping legacies that outlived them. We don’t get decades. We get seasons. A few dozen autumns, if we’re lucky. And this one is already sliding away.

This isn’t a reset. It’s a reckoning.

So here’s the question I’ve been carrying since I got off the plane: If your life can’t be carved in stone, what proof will you leave this year before the light runs out?

Big ideas are useless if they stay in the clouds. A reckoning only matters if it changes what you do with your days. Proof isn’t built from epiphanies; it’s carved from tools, rituals, and reminders that keep you aligned when the year starts slipping.

Here are 3 finds this week to help you carve proof, not promises:

Each week, I’ll share 3 things that have genuinely helped me, small shifts across the three pillars of ConfigurSelf: mindset, habits, and health. The kind of things that have made a real difference in my own life, and that I’d happily recommend to a close friend.

I’ve been taking NMN and resveratrol every morning for a while now. NMN goes under my tongue, and I take resveratrol with it. It doesn’t feel like a “stack” or a hack, more like a small daily ritual where I’m saying to myself: I want more good years, not just more years.

I started because I’d been reading about how our NAD⁺, the molecule that fuels our cells, drops as we get older. By middle age, we’ve already lost half. That hit me hard. Energy, repair, resilience, all running on half a tank.

Resveratrol works differently. It’s the compound found in red grapes that switches on sirtuins, the genes that depend on NAD⁺. I first came across the research through David Sinclair at Harvard and Lenny Guarente at MIT, who’ve been studying this pathway for decades. It isn’t anti-aging fairy dust, but there’s real science behind how these molecules support repair and longevity.

Since then, it’s become one of the few things I’ve stayed consistent with. Not because I expect miracles, but because it makes me feel like I’m not just letting the deadlines in my body tick down without a fight.

It’s not magic. But it’s my quiet negotiation with time.

Get the NMN I use here→ and Resveratrol here

I’ve dipped in and out of so many books on health, mindset, and performance, but Meditations by Marcus Aurelius is the one I’ve never really put down. I don’t even read it cover to cover. I just open a page and let it hit me.

It’s basically a private journal from a Roman emperor, written almost 2,000 years ago. He never meant anyone to read it; it was just his way of reminding himself how to live when the weight of the world was on his shoulders.

What I love is how practical it feels. No fluff, no “philosophy-speak.” Just blunt truths: life is short, you can’t control most of it, but you can control yourself. When I read it, it feels less like advice and more like someone older, wiser, and long dead putting a hand on my shoulder and saying, “Don’t waste your time.”

I go back to it whenever I feel caught in the noise. It doesn’t give me new hacks or strategies; it just reminds me what actually matters. And sometimes that reminder is enough.

Once a month, I stop eating for three days. No tricks, no juices, just water, black coffee, and tea.

The first 24 hours are noise, hunger, cravings, and excuses. The second day is sharper. My brain feels cleaner, like static has lifted. By the third day, it’s just me and time. Every hour stretches. Food stops being background and becomes sacred again.

I don’t do it to lose weight. I don’t even do it for the health benefits (though there are plenty). I do it because it feels like setting a deadline in my body, stripping back everything unnecessary, and proving to myself I can live with less.

When I break the fast, even something simple, eggs, broth, bread, feels like life itself. That reminder is worth the discomfort.

Most of my podcasts start as background noise, dishes, emails, and dinner. But every now and then, something catches me mid-scroll and actually makes me stop. This week, it was this.

If something in this email made you pause, think, or feel seen, send it to a friend who’s been quietly trying to make a change, too.
You never know what might land at the right moment. Link here.

And if you’d like early access to the eBook I’m writing, the real systems, mindset shifts, and habits that helped me lose 50kg and rebuild my health, you can join the waiting list here. “You’re not behind. You’re building, and that takes time.”