Just the other day I had a sweet call with a close friend of mine, Eve (not her real name).

Eve happens to be a founder, whose business is going through a huge transition. It’s a big part of her life, so we talk about it for some time.

As you know, I love talking about moments of change, transition, and unraveling.

Eve is facing some big questions about what would be in her’s and her company’s best interest as things change. They boil down to what kind of leader am I supposed to be now? She shares that she’s feeling unsure about how to proceed with some very tactical decisions.

And I just blurt out: “have you thought about asking <company name>’s spirit?”

Shit, I’m thinking. I said the quiet part out loud.

A breath later, we are doing just that.

I’m not always so free with my radical ideas, especially with my more left-brained tech / MIT friends. It’s different with clients, who have decided that they want Rishi as their coach.

Somehow, with friends, the stakes feel higher. I feel like I have more to lose when I fully own just how out there many of my ideas are.

Eve, though, is kind of a closet spiritual weirdo like me. At the very least, she’s willing to include and work with the emotional stuff.

So, we do some imaginative play. I can’t share the details, but what I enjoy is hearing Eve directly express what she feels able to say “yes” and “no” to, and what kind of parent she wants to be for her organization.

Afterwards, she tells me that she loves talking with me because she doesn’t know anyone else who thinks like I do.

I was touched.

I haven’t always enjoyed being someone who thinks differently.

In my younger days, desperate to be seen, I did what a lot of kids do - I worked hard to fit in. I thought the best way to be loved is to hide and suppress my divergence.

I think this, more than anything else, led me towards alcoholism. At MIT, where the culture celebrates rational intelligence and a practical, get-things-done attitude, radical listening practices didn’t feel so welcome.

In order to “win” intimacy, I did what I saw others doing: blowing off the steam of an incredibly demanding workload and competitive peer environment by getting fucked up, over and over again¹.

I’m lucky to have friends who see through my hiding, even friends from MIT. But for many years I was lost just because I couldn’t show myself.

Later, I did the same thing, working in tech, which has a very specific set of cultural ideals. If you’re in tech right now, you know what I’m talking about. These ideals are reinforced by venture capital, employment hierarchies, and peer networks that can make or break one’s career, sense of belonging, and feeling of safety in the world.

I gave up my own values to conform to a value system that I thought would solve my woundedness around belonging.

It didn’t work.

This newsletter is part of the change in my life, where I can fully own exactly how I think and feel. Today, I’m seeing my divergence as a gift, and asking how to nourish it. Turns out, that’s a far more satisfying way of being seen.

I’ve been talking about grief, spirituality, and aliveness openly. I use the word “animism” in my linkedin profile. I want people to know who I am, and I want my people to be reaching out to me.

Every time someone reaches out because of this newsletter, it feeds me. It opens a door in my heart between us, and I get to receive from and pour love into the channel.

I’m lucky to live a life that’s filled with imaginative play, some of it involving witchy, channeling, animistic stuff.

I want this life to be a beacon for all the leaders² out there who are also looking for permission to choose their own value system, even if it means swimming upstream.

It’s for those founders who value their own emotional and spiritual worlds, for the artist who’s got their head down in creation even if they haven’t found a commercial niche, for the child of a family that has a rigorous sense of right and wrong.

So, here’s my claim: Channeling the spirit of your business is fun, and it works.

Do you know someone who’d read that and think “fuck yes, I wanna try this”?

If so, would you please send them this email and my number?

Tell me about the ways you’re a different thinker than everyone else.

What’s the thing you might put on your linkedin that so does not belong on there? What would help me see you with more definition?

I want to see you.

And I doubt there’s anyone out there who really thinks like you.

Thanks for being on this weird and wild journey with me.

Next week, I go on this march, and we plan to listen to the lands of Tamil Nadu together. I’m glad to feel that I know something about listening.