Effortless effort

I had no plans to run a 10k that day.

It had been a long workday and my mind was exhausted. I craved a clear mind so badly. Running usually helps, so I got into my running gear and headed to my favorite spot—the East Coast of Singapore.

The air was crisp, with a slight breeze after a day of rain. The path stretched out before me, lined with tall, towering trees whose leaves danced in the wind. To my left, the endless sea seemed to blend into the horizon, its waves gently crashing against the shore. The cool air was perfect for running, and the humidity from earlier in the day had long faded away. There was no pressure today. I wasn’t thinking about pace or form—just movement. Just running.

I started slow, taking in the scenery. East Coast is a runner’s dream. A long, straight path with the occasional cyclist whizzing by, families walking their dogs, and the serene, rhythmic sound of the sea. The sky, still painted in hues of pink and orange from the sunset, gave the entire scene a calmness that I desperately needed.

Four kilometers in, I felt surprisingly good. My legs moved effortlessly beneath me, and my mind, which had been weighed down all day, felt lighter. I didn’t intend to run a 10k, but with each step, I realized I was craving more—not more distance, but more of this moment. No stress about pace or performance. No concern about anything other than the sound of my feet hitting the pavement and the fresh air I was breathing in.

The thing is, running that evening wasn’t about a race or hitting a personal best. It was about being in the moment—about letting the worries of the day dissolve and finding peace in each stride. The sea beside me, the trees overhead, the cool air filling my lungs—it was a rare kind of clarity. A rare kind of calm.

Who would have thought a run would help relax? My 20-year-old self would have never believed it!

It was an effortless effort.

The most effortless run!

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I’m not sharing this to convince you to start running, though.

This isn’t about the act of running itself—it’s about finding that thing you love, that activity that recharges you because it allows you to be fully present.

For me, it’s running. For you, it could be painting, gardening, playing music, or even cooking. Something that connects you to the moment, and in turn, reconnects you with yourself.

We all want every moment of life to feel this way—immersed, focused, alive—but the truth is, it doesn’t happen often. That’s why finding and regularly doing something that brings you into the present is so important.

Whether it's a run along the coast or another passion, it's that moment where the rest of the world fades, and all that’s left is you and the thing you love.

It doesn’t have to be grand or perfect—it just has to be something that makes you feel whole again, even if it’s just for a little while.

What’s your version of that?