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The Cover

December 5, 2019

I was at Harper’s offices for meetings and randomly walked by the art department and saw this laid out.  It’s the cover, the real thing that they wrap around the book.  It was the only one in the whole space.

The man working on it saw at me admiring it, then said, “hey, that’s you.”

I nodded.  “Can I touch it?”

“Of course.”

The red letters of the title, they’re raised.  The feel of the paper, thick with just a hint of grit.  I couldn’t stop touching it.

The editor I was meeting with came over.  

“We’re deciding upon the interior color,” she said.  “We want it classic, because this book will be one.”

“Want one?” the man asked

“Can I?” 

He laughed.  “We’ll make plenty.”

The backstory: book comes out in the U.S. January 7, 2020.

Title looks familiar, right?  Yup.  Self-published in 2012.  By many measures, it became a success.  Not only in copies sold, but most importantly, lives transformed.  And lives saved, literally.  I’ve received so many emails from readers sharing with me the impact of this book.  

So, you’re wondering…then why expand it?

Because I also get a lot of questions.  I’ve replied to each.  My readers showed me where I held back, what they needed.  So, six years after it came out, I decided to go at it again – this time deep.  Resolving every single question.  Soup to nuts, holding nothing back.  

But everything from a place of value.  Just like the original, not a single word wasted.  

Then, I partnered with Harper One, the publisher of one of my favorite books of all time, The Alchemist.  They went gaga over this book and more importantly, understood what I was doing.  All truth, all value, nothing held back.  

With them, I’m going to put this book out to the world.  Starting with the US on January 7, 2020.  

Then: UK, Netherlands, Germany, Brazil, bunch of countries in Eastern Europe, Spain and South America, Japan, Israel, Italy, Taiwan, and more coming… (in the local languages, which blows my mind).

If the original version helped you, this one will blow your socks off.  I promise you that.  

It would mean tons to me if you you pre-ordered some copies:

A lesson from Nepal.

October 31, 2019

(I originally posted this on my Instagram two months ago. Finally trying to be more active on this blog, so re-posting)

I just finished a week of studying with an obscure sect of Buddhist monks. They’re the mystics of their tradition.

Every religion’s got mystics. They’re the crazy ones. Those who want to bypass dogma and bang on the very nature of reality itself.

They don’t want to be told about God, they don’t want to understand God, they want to intimately experience God.

This particular group has spent over a thousand years honing the practice of awakening. A process where the illusions of the mind disappear and all that is left is what is real.

Truth be told, I didn’t come here to awaken. I just wanted to be better. If you were to define me, I think that would be it.

Even if I planned to die tomorrow, I would still somehow work today on being a better version of me.

And what better way to be better than to work on your mind? It’s where it all starts. It’s where it all ends.

But…I got to taste it, this awakening. In the last two days, for brief stretches in focused meditation, I experienced a smidgen of what it was about.

Here’s what it’s like. The mind is the clouds. When they part – and you cannot force it, it’s more of an understanding, and then allowing – what is left is the mountains. They were always there. Limitless and timeless.

You experience this. But it is not you. It wasn’t Kamal who experienced it, because he is the clouds, it was like mountains experiencing themselves.

As the clouds eventually appeared again, I saw Kamal – it wasn’t a seeing you do with the eyes, it wasn’t even a feeling, it was an all-knowing. A natural love arose within.

Look, I’m already rather fond of this guy. One heck of a special human being. But it wasn’t that, it was an instantaneous recognition. And I felt compassion for him. Such sweet compassion. For his triumphs. For his suffering. For all that he is.

That’s what was left when I briefly disappeared into the truth behind it all. Love, and most of all, compassion.

Thank You!

December 13, 2016

Please note that this offer has expired. 

Many of you have read my first two books, Love yourself Like Your Life Depends On It, and Live Your Truth. I have a new book coming out soon. Like my first two, it contains lessons learned from my life, things that work. With this latest book, I believe that I’ve created something truly special.

It’s called, Rebirth: A Fable of Love, Forgiveness, and Following Your Heart.

It will be available on January 3rd. I like the symbolism of the date. A new year. A new you. Rebirth.

The publisher told me that pre-orders incentivize bookstores to carry the book. One of my core beliefs is that if you ask, give massive value in return.

So, I’ve created a great offer in return for you pre-ordering Rebirth before December 31st.


Pre-order 1 hardcover copy.

You’ll get the following:

  1. An audio recording of me on a core forgiveness and self-love practice that transformed my life each time I did it.
  2. A pdf booklet detailing the forgiveness practice.
  3. A pdf booklet detailing the self-love practice.
  4. A beautifully designed bookplate of Rebirth mailed to you.


Click here to get this offer

Or, Pre-order 2 hardcover copies. One for you, one for someone you love.

You’ll get the following:

  1. A video interview from me answering questions from readers. It’s an update to Love Yourself, distilled from answering four years of emails from readers, a guide to deepening the practice. The fundamentals of what works. If my first two books have served you, this will take it to the next level.
  2. A video interview from me answering your questions. Yes, send me your questions and as long as they’re appropriate and the answer helpful, I’ll answer them fully. This may turn into a series of videos that only you will get access to, depending on how many questions I receive.
  3. Plus all the gifts mentioned above for buying 1 hardcover copy.

Click here to get this offer

Or, Pre-order 10 hardcover copies. For yourself, as gifts for those you love.

You’ll get the following:

  1. A half-hour Skype call with me.
  2. Plus all the gifts for 1 and 2 hardcover copies.

I’ve built companies in Silicon Valley. I run a Venture Capital fund and invest in startups. I also advise successful startups and entrepreneurs. I’m very good at this. I’m also expensive.

You’ll have a VC / multiple startup founder / author advising you on whatever you need. I’ll do everything I can to deliver you massive and honest value. I promise you, this is one heck of a deal.


Click here to get this offer


Thank you so much for reading my books. It means the world to me. As always, please reach out to me anytime.



A Simple Way to Happiness

November 28, 2016
Each time I’ve done this, it works.  The key – like anything important in life – is to do it consistently.  The effects compound over time, almost like there is a tipping point.  You may not feel the gradual increase in your happiness but there will be a day when you’ll realize the vast difference in your inner state and you’ll be amazed.

The concept I use, I call: “bookend the day.”  It’s this:

1) Do not check email / internet / social media / tv / news (especially news) for the first hour after waking.
2) Do not check email / internet / social media / tv / news (yes, especially news) for the last hour of the day.

That’s it.  Simple.  Each time I’ve done it, I’ve found my life to gently become better.  I’m more in touch with my emotions, more in touch with who I am and what I want.  I use this time to write and read or reflect or workout or connect with a loved one.  What you do in this time, it’s up to you.  You could create rituals (maybe I’ll write about that in another email) that solidify the day, but really, the core concept is to stop getting caught up in the rat race of the mind that consuming media creates.

I’m sharing this with you because I’d forgotten it for a while.  So I’m committing to myself to do this.  Try it for a week.  Let me know how it works for you.

Oh, if you do the Love Yourself practice during that morning and night time, even for 5 to 10 minutes, it will transform your life.  It really is that simple.


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I hope you pre-order my new book because it encourages bookstores to carry it.


June 22, 2016

I drive down Highway One, top down, looking for the trees. Half a mile South of the lighthouse in Pescadero, I see the familiar fence separating the meadow from the road.

I pull over and turn the car off. The engine slowly clicks into silence. Then I grab my daypack, hop the fence, and hike towards the trees. The breeze ripples through the brush as I walk. At the far edge is the open Pacific. Big blue summer sky above.

I discovered this meadow when I first moved to California. I’d get in my car and just drive and drive, amazed by the massive beauty of the Pacific Northwest. There’s nothing in the world quite like it.

Years ago, I brought a girlfriend here. When we reached the trees, I tore out a piece of paper from my notebook, handed her a pen.

“You need to forgive yourself,” I said to her.

She still carried guilt from her divorce. It was time for her to let it go.

“Write down whatever you’re holding against yourself,” I said. “Everything. Then forgive yourself. Write that down too. When you’re done, we’re going to give this paper to the ocean. It’ll set you free.”

She was quiet for a long while. I think she might have cried a little.

“You have to forgive yourself too,” she said. “For not going to medical school.”

One amazing thing about women, their wisdom. She was right. I’d chosen startups over a career in medicine and no matter what story I told myself, it was a selfish choice. Of money over doing something that mattered to me. A choice I hadn’t come to terms with.

So we both worked on our letters, then we hiked down to the waves, balled up the papers, and threw them into the ocean. And you know what, it worked. Something released inside and I never looked back. The regrets about giving up on med school went away. On their own. So simple, this exercise.

Here I am at the grove, once again, this time alone. Only two windswept trees left. The third lies across the grass, the long trunk charred. Lightning strike, perhaps. A shorter trunk sits a few feet apart, bleached white by the wind and rain.

I climb it and stare out at the ocean. Early evening. The sun is high and large. The water below it, all the way to the horizon, shimmers a path of gold.

I pull out my notebook from my daypack, tear off a piece of paper, and write. Today’s date. What I’m holding against myself. For screwing up when I knew better. For closing my heart. For hurting more than I needed to. For the mistakes. Everything.

Finished, I write that I forgive myself. For it all. And in that moment of forgiveness, I write that I am clean and pure. Because I know I am.

That is the first step. There are two more left. Life has taught me this much in the time between when I first discovered this grove and today.

I hike down to the beach, sit on a rock, and watch the waves. They crash and crinckle over the pebbly shore. I raise the letter to the sky and read it out loud. All that I hold against myself. All the forgiveness.

I repeat this until it’s not needed anymore. Then I reach behind me and grab a large pebble. When I see it, I laugh. It’s shaped like a heart. Ah life, you do have a sense of humor.

I fold the paper tight around the stone heart, stare at the waves again. This is a sacred moment. Of giving over all that I held against myself to something bigger. For it to do what it may. For it to take it away from me so that I may unburden myself. So I may live the life I’m meant to live. After all, it’s the things we hold against ourselves that weigh us down more than anything.

When the moment feels right, I throw the rock high in an arc into the water. It splashes in a quick plop, then it’s gone. The waves rush over and around it. That easy. I watch for a while, wondering if the water will return it to me. It doesn’t.

I hike back up to the grove, sit on the trunk again, and pull out the notebook. This time, I write a different letter to myself. Short and to the point:

Dear Kamal,

 I vow to love you fully and completely and deeply in every way, in all thoughts, in all actions, in all my desires, and my being. I vow to love you, Kamal.

I sign and date it.

I put the notebook down, stare out at the sun. It’s moved halfway down the sky. The wind shimmers through the tall, brown grass. It’s getting chilly. I throw on my jacket, take it all in.

Then, back to my notebook, and I read out aloud. My vow to myself. From a clean and pure place. This, my starting point. It feels beautiful. It feels, well…it feels right.

That’s how you know when you’ve hit it. When it feels right. No one can teach you this, you just have to do it. And the more you do, the more you develop a trust in this feeling, the more you listen to it, the more you live it. And this transforms your life.


The novel I’ve spent the last few years working on is finally coming out.  Based on my life, it’s a story about love, forgiveness, and following your heart.

If you pre-order it, that would mean the world to me.  It’s available online here:

Amazon I Barnes & Noble I IndieBound I Books-A-Million I Indigo

The Hands of Love

November 23, 2015

I sit by my grandmother in the hospital room. She’s out of the ICU, finally. But she is weak and in pain.

She raises a shaking hand, motions for my aunt.

“I want to go,” she says in Hindi. For some reason, I can fully understand her. Anybody else in that language, no.

I reach over and hold her hands in mine. Her skin, always so soft. Those very hands that welcomed me into this world. That held me close. The hands that raised me when I was a little boy.

Barimummy,” I say, using the name I gave to her as a child. Literally translated, it means: Big Mom.

She turns her face to me slowly. My Big Mom. Her body so tiny in the hospital bed.

“Where do you want to go?” I ask in English.

Bhagwan ke ghar,” she says. God’s house.

She wants to go be with God. The word Bhagwan, said with such tenderness and reverence, it makes me think of love and creation and the very Universe itself wrapped into one.

Mummy,” my aunt says, stroking my grandmother’s forehead. “You will get better and we will take you home and I will wash your hair.”

As far back as I can remember, her hair was always white and long and flowing. She, the wise one. The one everyone loved. The one the neighbors came to for advice. The one everyone trusted.

“Guess what?” I point to my head and grin for effect. “Our hair is similar.”

Last time she saw me, I had short hair, reminiscent of the high and tight from my Army days. This time, it’s a big shock of white everywhere. She laughs, taking my aunt by surprise. It’s the first time she has laughed in the hospital.

The next day, when I return to the hospital, my mother and aunt are in the room, both reading out loud from a book in Sanskrit. My Grandmother seems to be sleeping.

I motion to my mother. “Shouldn’t we be quiet, let her rest?”

“We are reading the Gita,” my aunt says. “It is what we are supposed to do for her.”

“It’s tradition, beta,” my mother says. She looks so tired. “When a person is dying, it is important to do this.”

I nod, feeling foolish, and sit and listen. When they finish, a thought occurs to me.

“Can I read it to her?”

“Of course,” my mother says. “I’ll buy an English version for you tonight.”

I smile. In my pocket is the world’s largest library. I pull out my iPhone, fire up Safari, and a minute later, have an English version ready to go. My aunt reviews it, then satisfied, tells me to read Chapter eighteen. The title: Final Revelations of the Ultimate Truth.

I go and stand by my grandmother’s bed. She raises a shaking hand up to me. She is ready. My first time ever with this ancient text. I start fast, my voice stumbling.

“Asked Arjuna, I want to know the truth,
and also about sacrifice.”

My grandmother closes her eyes softly.

“All of these acts should be performed
renouncing the attachment to the fruit of actions.”

I don’t have to look up from my phone. I can feel her listening.

“Without aversion to unpleasant work
and without attachment to pleasant work,
the renouncer is intelligent and free
from all doubts.”

I slow down and find my pace. I’m no longer stumbling. I read out loud. When I finish, her eyes are still closed. Her face, calm. And I am in awe. I’ve just read fundamental human truths on happiness, on right action, on giving one’s all to their task without attachment to outcome. It’s also about letting go and giving up to something greater than yourself.

This is a gift I’ve been given, I realize, to take part in an ancient ritual of helping a loved one cross to the other side. I read it to her one more time the day I leave.

My last memory of her is the darkened hospital room. The rhythmic beep of the heart monitor, the white sheets over her tiny body, the oxygen mask on her face. I stand by her side. She knows I’m leaving. She raises a hand and places it over my head, blessing me. The effort tires her out. Hand drops, eyes close.

I kiss her forehead, walk to the door and watch her for a long time. My mind is a numb echo. Then I walk back and kiss her forehead again. I think I repeat this twice.

“It’s time to go,” my aunt says gently. “Your flight will leave.”

I nod and give her a hug, then walk out the room, take the elevator down to the ground floor, past the sleepy guard, and on to the waiting car, then the hotel, a glass of white wine by the garden in the musty Delhi air, and off to the airport, and on to the plane, seatbelts, wheels up, and as I stare out the window to the night, I think of my grandmother taking in her remaining breaths on this planet. A sudden exhaustion sucks me in and I fall asleep.

She passes away two days after I return to the U.S. For the first several weeks, I wake up from dreams of her, crying. There was one point in the hospital room, when it was just her and I, me standing by her side and holding her hand, and I felt her drop.

Something in her started to go. The oxygen saturation monitor started beeping. I held tighter. There was nothing to do. We’d spoken with the doctors, it was her time, and no measures would be taken.

I held and she dropped and I held tighter and she dropped and I felt my chest squeeze from the inside. The monitor beeped louder. And then, just as fast as it’d happened, it stopped. Her breathing became regular. She started to rise. But my heart squeezed and squeezed.

I’d wake up to that memory, crying. Wishing I could have done something to take away her pain. You hold a hand, you hold it tight, you give it all the love you got. Everything. But sometimes, that is not enough.

Sometimes, life has its own plan and it has run its course. Do we hold on for ourselves or for the one whose time has come? Ourselves, I suspect.

It’s been over a month. I don’t wake up crying anymore. Besides, if she saw me this way, she’d lovingly smack me upside the head and tell me to stop being silly and find a great girl and get married. Thinking of her doing that always makes me laugh.

I remember her, this amazing human being who was such an influence in my life, and I smile, and I feel, for lack of better words, a depth of gratitude.

And that’s what love transforms into when the person is gone. Gratitude.

The novel I’ve spent the last few years working on is finally coming out.  Based on my life, it’s a story about love, forgiveness, and following your heart.

If you pre-order it, that would mean the world to me.  It’s available online here:

Amazon I Barnes & Noble I IndieBound I Books-A-Million I Indigo

Night Flight

June 10, 2015

Redeye to New York from San Francisco. Somewhere over the midwest, I pull the window shade down and stare at the constellations. A bright clear night, slight patch of clouds. Below, pockets of scattered lights.

The moon is just out of sight, ahead of the plane. I press my face into the glass, nose bending sideways, and squint until I can see it. It is a half moon. From this angle, it looks like the moon with a face, like you see in children’s books. He smiles at me.

“Beautiful, huh?”

I nod, then look out past the wing and up to the stars.

“It is,” I breathe out loudly. “It is.”

We stay that way for a while. The man on the moon, stars, earth, the hum of the jet engines, me. My mind wanders, thoughts upon thoughts. Things I wish weren’t so. Things I wish I could change.

I feel the moon watching me. I look at him again. He’s smiling. An ever knowing smile.

“It’s still beautiful,” he says.

I watch my thoughts disappear into wisps. Only the stars remain.

“Yeah,” I say silently in my head. “Yeah.”

I press my face harder into the glass until I can see him better. He glows bright, lighting up the sky.

“It’s not my light,” he says. “I’m just open to it. So I receive it. The brightness you see from me, it’s because of that.”

So I don’t need to create light, I think. It already exists. I just have to open to it. The rest happens naturally.

I can feel him smile.

“Like a Lotus,” he says. “Receive the light, you will bloom.”

A Lotus blooming. I love that image.

“Go to sleep,” he says gently. “You’ve learned enough for one night.”

I nod, whisper a thank you, pull up the shade, and lie back in my seat. The jet engines lull me to sleep.

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