“While I’m deep in the weeds sorting through drafts and photos to catch up on my Japan travel posts, I figured it was time for a quick pit stop to share what my day-to-day life actually looks like right now. Spoiler alert: When I’m not mentally traversing the streets of Tokyo, my actual reality looks significantly less like a high-flying global itinerary and a lot more like a slow-motion science experiment. For those wondering how a recovering tech leader with a restless ‘monkey mind’ stays anchored between big trips, the answer turns out to be fewer bullet trains and significantly more agonizing over a single embroidery stitch. Here is a quick update on the current focus areas ruling my schedule—and keeping me from eating myself alive…”

When people find out I’m mostly retired, the question I get most often—usually delivered with a look of mild concern for my sanity—is: “But how do you keep yourself busy?”

It’s a fair question. For decades, my identity was entirely wrapped up in being a high-flying, hyper-efficient, classic Type A tech leader. My brain was a finely tuned racing engine. But then, twelve years ago, a Traumatic Brain Injury (TBI) forced an uninvited, aggressive downshift. I eventually had to leave a high-octane career I absolutely loved and face the humbling, frustrating, and often absurd task of learning a “new normal.”

Today, my professional output consists of a few high-level consulting projects and stepping onto a stage for a keynote speech a couple of times a year. It’s just enough to satisfy the old ego. But the rest of my time? I’ve traded intense strategic planning sessions for balance poses and spreadsheets for satin stitches.

To keep my recovering brain healthy and resilient, I’ve dedicated myself to learning entirely new, wildly contrasting skills. If you had told the younger version of me that my daily schedule would revolve around Tai Chi and embroidery, I would have laughed you out of the room. Yet, here we are.

If you are a fellow Type A trapped with a restless “monkey mind,” here is how I spend an hour and a half every day keeping my brain from eating itself alive.

The Morning Routine: Rewiring the Hardware. My daily brain-remodeling project happens in highly deliberate, bite-sized increments. It turns out the brain doesn’t need a grueling eight-hour shift to change; it just needs consistency.

Phase 1: The Morning Beach Walk & Tai Chi (20–30 Minutes). Every morning, after a brisk 2-5 mile walk on the beach to get the blood flowing, I step in to the comfort of my living room for 20 to 30 minutes of Tai Chi.

Now, if you’ve never seen a former corporate Type A attempt Tai Chi, picture a Ferrari trying to drive at exactly 2 miles per hour. Every fiber of my being wants to power through the movements, but the magic of Tai Chi is in the agonizing, beautiful slowness.

• The Brain Science: By forcing my body to calculate fluid, slow-motion movements in three-dimensional space, I’m giving my cerebellum (coordination) and parietal cortex (spatial awareness) a massive workout. Tai Chi triggers the release of acetylcholine—a neurotransmitter that essentially acts like a “save button” for new neural connections. It’s structural engineering for my balance and motor maps, heavily disguised as a slow-motion martial art.

Phase 2: Micro-Movements and Embroidery (20–30 Minutes). Later in the morning, I pivot entirely. I sit down for exactly 20 to 30 minutes of embroidery. Yes, embroidery. Stop laughing.

Going from high-level tech strategy to meticulously threading a needle is the ultimate exercise in humility. My primary motor cortex—specifically the massive chunk of real estate dedicated to my hands and fingers—is forced into a state of hyper-synchronized focus.

• The Brain Science: Every single millimeter of progress requires intense visual tracking and micro-motor precision. This creates dense, localized clusters of synapses in my motor and visual cortices. Even better? The aerobic boost from my earlier walk and Tai Chi primes my brain with BDNF (Brain-Derived Neurotrophic Factor), a literal fertilizer for neurons. By the time I pick up the needle, my brain is chemically optimized to build and insulate these new pathways.

The Intermission: Taming the Monkey Mind. Sandwiched into this routine, I add two 15-minute sessions of mindfulness and gratitude meditation daily.

For a Type A personality, meditation can feel like a form of psychological torture. Sit still? Do nothing? Focus on my breath when there are problems to solve? It feels counterintuitive. But for a brain recovering from a TBI—and a mind naturally prone to swinging from branch to branch like a caffeinated chimpanzee—this practice is non-negotiable.

This double-dose of daily mindfulness allows me to:

• Hit the neuro-brakes: It down-regulates my sympathetic nervous system (the fight-or-flight response that Type A’s live in) and dials down the amygdala, reducing the background anxiety of “not doing enough.”
• Anchor to the present: Instead of mourning the pre-TBI past or obsessing over an unpredictable future, it forces my prefrontal cortex to anchor into the absolute current moment.
• Foster structural resilience: Studies show regular meditation actually thickens the gray matter in areas involved in emotional regulation and memory, while thinning the areas associated with stress.

The Hardest Part of the “New Normal.” If I’m being completely honest, it is still really hard to admit—even to myself—that I’m no longer leading huge, Worldwide Initiatives. My ego still wants to be the one orchestrating global strategies, not sitting on a couch trying to figure out how a single French knot works. Stepping back to enjoy the absolute simplicity of embroidery and Tai Chi, sprinkled with a bit of meditation, required swallowing a massive dose of pride.

But there is a silver lining to this forced humility. While my inner overachiever might still throw the occasional tantrum, those around me have noticed a massive shift. They genuinely appreciate a new calmer, kinder, and much more patient Rane. So, while I’m primarily doing this to painstakingly claw back some executive function, my friends and family are just glad I’m finally learning how to breathe.

Twelve years post-TBI, I am not the same person I was in leadership team meetings, and that is finally okay. I’ve learned that keeping a brain healthy isn’t about running it ragged; it’s about challenging it with novelty, precision, and deliberate rest.

If you are a fellow Type A struggling to slow down, or if you’re navigating your own version of a “new normal,” I highly recommend building your own eclectic routine. Pick one thing that challenges your large-scale balance, one thing that demands microscopic focus, and throw in some stillness to keep the gears greased.

Your monkey mind might fight you at first, but your synapses will thank you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some fabric to tension, and it is going to take all the mental fortitude I possess.