When Productivity Quietly Steals Meaning

Some years are productive. Some years are meaningful. And sometimes, the year becomes so productive that meaning quietly slips away.

On 27 December 2025, driving toward Kuala Lumpur with another 2 hours and 45 minutes ahead of me, I realised something that felt almost embarrassing to admit. I had lived 2025 at 14 out of 10. When I asked myself whether it was a meaningful year, my honest answer was only 6 out of 10.

Not because the year was empty, but because the year was too full.

When life is overdone, focus gets divided. When focus gets divided, the people we love start receiving what is left, not what is best.

This reflection is not meant to be a full review of 2025. But the end of a year has a way of making certain truths louder. I have never been so conscious about time in my life. Not because time is cruel, but because time is honest. That honesty led me back to marriage. and respect. To the kind of leadership that has no stage, no audience, no applause, yet quietly shapes everything.

Ten Years In, Something Finally Shifted

27 December felt like a continuation of Christmas. Beyond Christmas, it was also our 10th wedding anniversary.

10 years.

That number carries weight. Not in a dramatic way, but like a long road that remembers every pothole, every detour, every moment you wanted to stop the car and walk away. It also remembers the quiet victories that never make it to social media, the ones only two people inside a home would ever understand.

Somewhere between years 7 to 10, many couples reach a shift. Less about negotiating roles, more about integrating identity. Not because wisdom suddenly arrives, but because life keeps repeating the same lesson until you finally stop dodging it. I felt that shift this week, and it scared me a little. Not the fear of losing each other, but the fear of realising how much time can pass before you finally learn something basic.

The day before, I said something raw to my wife. I told her I could not stand feeling disrespected. That I felt I deserved respect. It was not polished. It was not elegant. It was honest. What surprised me was what happened the next day. She did not argue. She did not defend herself. She simply demonstrated the very thing I was asking for. Same truth, different timing. Same point, different posture. And the effect was completely different.

Choosing Presence Over Performance

That day, I made a quiet decision I was proud of. I spent the entire day focusing on my wife and my children. I had been feeling for some time that my 3rd child was being left out. Over these few days, I managed to create a bond that felt like it could last a very long time, maybe forever, if I sustain it intentionally.

That word intentionally matters.

Relationships do not drift toward health. They drift toward neglect. That morning, I received a request from my family members, my siblings and parents, to pay another visit to relatives whom I had just visited. Under normal circumstances, I would have gone. If I had nothing better to do, I would do it.

But I was about to travel to China, my last trip of 2025. When I returned, 31 December would already be gone. Which meant 27 December was, in reality, the last full day I would spend with my wife and children this year.

So I decided.

Decision, I am learning, is not about finding the best of both worlds. Decision is about knowing what to turn down, even something good, so that what matters most does not receive leftovers.

That day, we did our devotion, had breakfast, took our time, and went out for lunch. We had our lunch near the paludarium that my wife appreciates. Just a simple hawker centre. Nothing fancy. And yet, it felt rich.

I finally brought my wife to visit the paludarium. Watching her enjoy herself, discovering a newfound hobby, brought a quiet joy I cannot fully explain. There is something deeply grounding about seeing your spouse happy without trying to fix or manage anything.

Later, we went home. The children slept. My wife immersed herself in her hobby. In the evening, we brought the children swimming. The day remained simple. Even grocery shopping after the swim carried meaning. The government had given RM100 to every Malaysian adult. We went to 99 Speedmart for rice and milk. I let the children choose a toy each. I rarely do that, but that day, I did.

Children do not only remember big events. They remember calmness, and how it felt when you were not rushing. Ordinary days form the deepest memories. I did not realise how much that mattered until dinner time.

The Dinner Table That Held Up a Mirror

We came back late. Past dinner time. As usual, my 3rd son, Evan, was difficult to feed. I grew impatient and raised my voice. I assigned my eldest son, Aden, to supervise his brother, to teach responsibility.

Aden took the task seriously. Too seriously.

“Evan, quickly finish your food,” he said, in a cold, unfriendly tone.

My wife stepped in. She asked Aden to go upstairs and make his bed. After he left, she turned to me and said something that stopped me in my tracks.

“Now our beloved Aden is not around. There’s something I need to tell you. I see you. I see your shadow in Aden. The way he spoke to his younger brother is exactly the way you speak to him.”

I was shocked. Not shocked by the idea that children imitate adults. I already knew that intellectually. I was shocked by how blind I had been to it in practice.

Children copy tone before content. They absorb emotional posture before logic. They do not only learn what we teach. They learn who we are when we are tired.

What surprised me even more was my reaction. I was not defensive. Normally, I would have been. I would have explained myself, pushed back, felt criticised.

But my wife chose her timing. She waited until Aden was not around. She protected my dignity while still telling me the truth. Because of that, I felt respected. When you feel respected, you can listen. When you listen, growth becomes possible.

Marriage, Maturity, and the Ripple Effect

That moment revealed something bigger than a parenting issue.

Maturity does not come from the absence of conflict. It comes from the ability to repair quickly. To move on without holding grudges. To reflect without defending.

This is true for individuals. It is true for marriage. Mature individuals form mature marriages. Mature marriages form secure families. Secure families raise emotionally safe children. Emotionally safe children shape emotionally mature communities. Communities shape nations.

The ripple effect is real. We talk about systems thinking in organisations. How small inputs create large downstream effects. Family works the same way. Home is the first culture a child ever lives in. Home is the first leadership classroom.

This is also where servant leadership begins. Not in public. Not on stage. But in private, in moments where titles do not work and influence must be earned.

What I Learned, and What I Will Do Differently

I ended the day asking myself 3 questions.

1. What really happened today?

I tasted the joy of marriage after ten years. Not because everything was perfect, but because respect was present.

2. What did I learn?

I learned about my blind spot. My children were imitating behaviours I had normalised. I was careful and diplomatic with staff, yet impatient and harsh with my own children. That contradiction was uncomfortable, but necessary to face.

3. If I could restart the day, what would I do differently?

I would speak kindly. I would stop raising my voice. I would ask for help instead of commanding it.

Authority can demand compliance. Influence earns alignment. At home, authority may get the food finished. Influence builds the child.

And finally, I learned this.

I can say no, even to people I love, so that I can say a fuller yes to my wife and children. Decision is not about balance. It is about priority.

If I want 2026 to be a year where I truly love life better, then I cannot keep living at 14 out of 10.

I need meaningful routines. Clarity on who matters. And the courage to turn down what distracts me from them.

The Reversal That Changed Everything

I used to think respect was something you demand when you feel wronged, but now I see it differently:

Respect is not the reward after love. It is the soil where love grows.

The quiet reversal is this: The fastest way to become someone worth respecting is to become someone safe enough to correct.

That day also reminded me of a leadership truth I will carry with me: The people who feel safest with you will be the ones most willing to grow with you.