Where Energy Lives: Three Men, Three Lives, One Question

It began, quite unexpectedly, with a joke about an “energy tree.”

Three men, sitting across three continents, imagined a place where you could simply pluck energy like fruit and eat it. Ritesh smiled at that image. In India, there is always some connection between nature and life — trees, rivers, seasons — but at the same time, he knew that if such a tree existed, it would not be equally accessible to everyone. Even something as simple as energy would carry layers: age, responsibility, culture, relationships.

That day, what stayed with him was not one answer, but three different ways of living. Three men. Two generations. Three continents. And somewhere in between, a shared question: where does energy really come from?

For Ritesh, it came first in a very small, almost invisible moment — a glass of hot water in the morning. He described it simply, but while speaking, he realised it was not so simple. In India, many things begin as habit and later reveal their deeper meaning. One side is practical — digestion, hydration, health. These are the explanations you will find if you search online or ask elders. But the other side is emotional. The fact that his wife prepares it without him asking. That before the world begins — before work, before expectations — there is already a gesture of care.

For him, that becomes energy. Not dramatic, not loud, but grounding.

At the same time, he cannot see only one side. Because he also noticed something uncomfortable. On days when that routine breaks — when the walk is delayed, when she is not in the mood — his own rhythm breaks with it. And he has to ask himself whether he is creating his energy or depending on someone else to create it for him. This question stayed quietly in his mind.

Across the screen, Ismar’s answer came from a very different place. He did not speak about rituals or relationships. He spoke about appointments. At first, Ritesh found it surprising. But then it started to make sense. Ismar said that on days when he has something scheduled in the morning — something that requires him to wake up, prepare, go somewhere — he feels more energized. And on days when there is nothing, the energy is lower.

It was such a simple observation, but it carried weight. Because underneath it, Ritesh could sense something deeper — a life where structure does not come naturally from surroundings, but has to be created intentionally. A life where energy is not sparked by someone handing you something, but by having a reason to get up. Ritesh respected that.

Then there was the Mayor, sitting somewhere in Europe, bridging both worlds in his own way. He spoke about waking up at 4:15 in the morning, not out of discipline, but because his mind was already active. He described it humorously — ready to swing through the jungle like Tarzan — but beneath the humor, there was something else. A body that had adjusted to its own rhythm. A life stage where energy behaves differently. Not necessarily more or less, just… shifted.

Ritesh noticed how casually generational differences appeared in these conversations. For him, energy is something he is still trying to manage. For them, it is something they are adapting to.

What struck him most was how each man’s energy was shaped by his relationships. For him, it is his wife. For Ismar, it is his mother. For the Mayor, it is both his wife and his aging mother — each in very different ways. And again, there were two sides in each story.

When Ismar spoke about caring for his mother, he did not try to beautify it. He said clearly that it drains his energy. There was honesty in that which Ritesh found rare. In Indian culture, caregiving is often framed as duty, something noble, something you accept without complaint. But Ismar spoke without that layer. At the same time, he also showed understanding — that his mother may not be fully aware, that her reactions are not always intentional. So even in his exhaustion, there was patience.

Ritesh connected with that deeply. Because this is how he also tries to see people — not just what they do, but what might be behind it.

The Mayor added another layer. He spoke about his own mother — still independent, still driving long distances, still active at an age where many people slow down. And yet, there was also fear. The quiet fear of a moment when memory might fail, when she might not find her way back. Ritesh could feel that contrast — strength and vulnerability existing together. Again, two sides.

And then, almost unexpectedly, the Mayor shared a different kind of story — one that stayed with Ritesh longer than he expected.

He spoke about a relationship from many years ago. They used to sit together and read aloud to each other. Not casually, not as background activity, but intentionally. One would read, then the other. Sometimes sitting back-to-back, so there was no distraction, only the voice and the words.

Ritesh found this image very powerful.

Because in his own life, conversation often becomes functional. What happened today, who called, what needs to be done tomorrow. Useful, but limited.

This idea — of sharing something intellectual, something imaginative — felt different. It was not about exchanging information, but about entering the same space of thought.

At the same time, he also saw the other side.

The Mayor said he could not do this with his current wife. It simply did not work. The rhythm was different. The connection was different.

That made Ritesh reflect even more.

Not every good thing can exist in every relationship.

Sometimes, what is beautiful in one context does not translate into another.

And that does not mean one is better than the other.

It simply means… people are different.

When the conversation returned to daily life, Ritesh began to see his own patterns more clearly. Most of his energy is consumed by work. Not just work itself, but the way work happens. The interruptions. The conversations that cannot be avoided. The expectation of being present, even when you do not want to engage.

In many Indian workplaces, you cannot simply step away. If people are talking, you sit. If discussions are happening, you stay. If you withdraw, you risk being seen as arrogant. So you participate — even silently. And that silence also costs energy.

Then he comes home carrying that weight, and here another layer appears. His wife expects conversation — real, focused, intentional. For him, walking together and talking is enough. For her, it is not. For him, silence is comfortable. For her, silence feels like distance.

Neither is wrong.

This is something he has learned slowly — not to see differences as right or wrong, but as different expectations shaped by different experiences. Still, understanding does not always solve the problem. Sometimes, even when you understand, the energy is still drained.

At one point, the conversation became lighter. There were jokes about aging, about hair, about money. Ritesh shared a saying from his place — that people who have more money lose more hair because they are always thinking about it. Everyone laughed. But even in that humor, there was a truth. Stress, responsibility, overthinking — all connected.

Energy is not just physical. It is mental, emotional, relational.

What stayed with Ritesh was how different their sources of energy were, and yet how similar the patterns felt. Ismar finds energy in purpose — having somewhere to go. The Mayor finds energy in rhythm — waking early, moving through the day. Ritesh finds energy in connection — small acts, shared routines.

Three different lives. Three different structures. And yet, all of them navigating the same balance.

If he looks at it honestly, he cannot say one way is better. This is something he has become very careful about. In his upbringing, many things were presented as fixed truths — this is right, this is wrong. But life has shown him that most things are contextual.

Marriage gives support, but also demands effort. Solitude gives freedom, but also creates silence. Responsibility gives purpose, but also takes energy.

There is no perfect arrangement. Only trade-offs.

At the end of that conversation, he did not feel like he had found an answer. Instead, he felt a kind of quiet clarity. That energy is not something you get from one source. It moves between different parts of life. Sometimes it comes from a person. Sometimes from a routine. Sometimes from a responsibility. Sometimes simply from having a reason to wake up.

And maybe the most important part is to notice it.

To notice the small things — the glass of hot water, the early morning appointment, the shared joke, the quiet fear, even the idea of sitting back-to-back and reading to someone you care about. Because these are the places where energy actually lives.

Not in big ideas, but in everyday moments that, if you are not careful, you will miss.

When Ritesh thought about it later, he felt a quiet gratitude. Not just for his own life, but for the chance to see these other perspectives. To understand that even across continents, across generations, across very different circumstances, people are still trying to answer the same question.

How do I live in a way that gives me enough energy to continue?

Maybe there is no single answer.

Only conversations that bring us a little closer.