Yangon Residents | Myanmar

After wrapping up my first startup and completing major projects, I was exhausted. Small opportunities kept appearing, and I didn’t want to miss any of them. Without a clear way to assess what was truly worth pursuing, I pushed myself hard. I was afraid of missing out. In all the busyness, I never paused to reflect on what really mattered. That’s when I flew to Myanmar.

I lived in a quiet neighborhood near the Bago River, the third largest in Myanmar. There were no cafés, Wi-Fi was unreliable, and communication was often difficult. But in that stillness, I found clarity.

The streets were lined with homes of all kinds—straw huts, wooden shacks, working-class apartments, and large houses. It was a place where people from different walks of life coexisted, and I loved observing them.

One day, as I rode my bicycle through a village, I met a woman who greeted me warmly. After a brief conversation, she invited me into her straw house, offering me tea and letting me try Thanaka, a traditional Myanmar cosmetic. Her kindness was a simple yet powerful reminder of the warmth found in human connection.

Another time, I passed a young man selling goods at his stall. He was carefully cleaning the area around him, and as I got closer, I noticed a message written on the roof: Never never never never never give up. His quiet determination stayed with me.

A strawberry vendor once handed me two strawberries as a gift, a small but touching gesture.

One afternoon, I was working at our pop-up store when a small child brought me a chair. He must have noticed us standing for a long time and thought we needed a seat. This quiet little observer filled me with warmth.

Later, their family welcomed me into their home and served me a warm, homemade meal.

Through these interactions, I realized something important. The small opportunities I once feared missing weren’t nearly as meaningful as the connections I was making, the kindness I was receiving, and the peace I was finding in simplicity.

Life there became simpler. I stopped saying yes to things I didn’t truly want to do. I let go of unnecessary competition and began focusing on what really mattered. I found peace in shaping my days and discovered the joy of missing out. My thoughts and actions felt aligned, and that made me happy and present.

In a world that constantly pushes us to do more, be more, and chase more, Myanmar taught me something different. Sometimes, the greatest freedom comes not from having more, but from needing less. It’s in needing less that we actually find more: more peace, more clarity, and more space to live authentically.