The stadium fills up quickly. Lights, music, noise. Powerplays begin. Boundaries come early, and every ball feels like an event. A single delivery can shift momentum—a mistimed shot, a clever slower ball, or a missed yorker. There’s little time to settle. The game moves fast. That’s T20.
A few weeks later, it feels different. The morning air is cooler. The red ball swings early. The field changes, tight at times, spread at others. Bowlers settle into their rhythm, working long spells, setting traps. Batters leave more than they play. Here, a single mistake might not cost much right away, but small patterns of error can build up. Every session feels like its own quiet contest. Winning the day is made up of many such moments. That’s Test cricket.
Work often shifts between these. Some days move like T20s—quick deadlines, immediate feedback, decisions made in real-time. Product releases, customer issues, market shifts. All asking for quick answers. New tools pop up, like AI, promising shortcuts. The scoreboard moves fast.
Then there are days that feel more like Tests. Deeper work. Designing foundations, solving complex problems, shaping teams. The outcomes here aren’t immediate, but they quietly compound. A design choice today might shape the product for years. A hire today could shape the culture for even longer.
Both rhythms exist side by side. A quick release in the morning, followed by a long review in the afternoon. An urgent patch, then a strategy discussion that stretches for hours. The game changes formats constantly.
Life feels like this, too. In younger years, it’s often closer to a T20. Everything’s an opportunity. The energy to chase them all. Swinging freely. Moving fast.
But eventually, responsibilities arrive. Quietly at first, then surely. Family. People who count on you. The game stretches out. You start planning for longer innings. You leave a few deliveries alone, choose when to play, and learn to let some opportunities pass. Others, you create patiently. Beneath it all, there’s always more happening. Bowlers set things up—swing, bounce, variations—but someone still has to score the runs, one at a time. Singles, partnerships, sessions stitched together.
In work and life, opportunities appear. Some are created by teams, by timing, by conditions aligning. But it still rests on individuals to convert them. Quietly doing the work. Taking singles when boundaries aren’t there. Handling difficult spells without letting them spiral. Sometimes, you’re both bowler and batter. Creating chances for others, while also carrying the responsibility to move the scoreboard. Much of it comes down to how you absorb what’s thrown at you, and how you choose to respond. Some days ask for patience, others for courage, and sometimes, it’s just about showing up and doing the job.
And then, without warning, the conditions change. The clouds roll in. The ball starts swinging. What worked earlier doesn’t seem to anymore. In work, markets move, technologies evolve, roles shift. In life, new situations emerge unexpectedly.
A good player adjusts. Sometimes, the adjustment works. Other times, it doesn’t. Wins and losses follow, but they’re carried lightly. The plan shifts to the next innings, the next opportunity. But always, the game moves only when you’re at the crease. Intent doesn’t add to the score. The delivery must be played. The work must be done. That’s when it turns real.
Over time, the formats blur. Work and life, short bursts and long stretches, fast moves and patient waiting—they all belong to the same game. The skill isn’t in choosing one over the other. It’s in staying present, watching the conditions, adjusting when needed, and playing the next ball. The rest? Just format.
Quiet Reflections 