LOUIS, MISSOURI — Business and economics students aren’t exactly known for their spiritual awakenings. We spend most of our time thinking about models, markets, and the occasional financial crisis. But every so often, life throws us a moment of clarity—sometimes in the form of a balance sheet, and sometimes in the quiet corridors of a centuries-old temple in Singapore.
During my MBA Global Immersion in Singapore, I joined a few classmates and a local guide on a visit to the Thian Hock Keng Temple, a beautifully preserved Taoist temple–the oldest of its kind in Singapore–in the heart of the Lion City’s Chinatown. I expected an aesthetic experience, maybe some historical trivia. What I didn’t expect was a lesson in warfare—of the deeply personal kind.
A different kind of warrior
As we wandered through the temple, our guide pointed out statues of various deities—some familiar, others less so. But one figure caught my attention: Guan Gong, the Taoist God of War. In the West, we tend to imagine war gods as larger-than-life figures presiding over the chaos of battlefields, reveling in conquest–think Mars or Apollo. But in Taoist belief, Guan Gong is less about swords and sieges and more about the struggles within.
“The real war,” our guide explained, “is not between people, but within ourselves.”
At that moment, I felt like I had just stumbled upon a universal truth wrapped in incense smoke and temple carvings. Guan Gong, with his fierce expression and imposing presence, wasn’t simply the patron of warriors and generals. He ruled over discipline, loyalty, and the internal battles we fight daily—against doubt, fear, and the temptation to take the easy way out.
Inner battles
If you think about it, life—much like economics—is full of trade-offs. Every choice comes with an opportunity cost. Do you stay in the comfortable job that pays well but drains your soul, or take a risk on something more fulfilling? Do you let insecurity paralyze you, or push forward despite the fear of failure? These are the kinds of battles Guan Gong presides over: Not the ones fought with weapons, but the ones waged in the boardroom, in relationships, and within the confines of our own minds.
As someone who has pivoted careers and taken the plunge from structured paths to uncharted waters—I know a thing or two about inner warfare. I’ve wrestled with the fear of letting go of stability, the doubt that comes with starting anew, the question of whether reinvention is a bold strategy or sheer recklessness. And each time, I’ve come to realize that winning these battles isn’t about brute force—it’s about discipline, resilience, and knowing when to fight, lie low, or when to surrender.
The art of strategic retreat
In both business and war, not every battle is worth fighting. Good generals—and good investors—know when to cut their losses. There’s wisdom in recognizing when an investment, whether financial or emotional, is no longer serving its purpose.
The same applies to personal struggles. Sometimes, the hardest battle is accepting that a certain path, relationship, or belief no longer aligns with who you are becoming. Surrender, in this sense, isn’t defeat—it’s strategy. Taoism teaches balance, not brute force. And perhaps that’s the lesson Guan Gong imparts: True strength lies not in relentless fighting, but in knowing when to stand firm and when to step back.
Finding peace in the chaos
Walking out of Thian Hock Keng that day, I found myself reflecting on the wars I had waged with myself over the years. The sleepless nights spent agonizing over decisions. The fear of stepping into the unknown. The relentless need to prove something—to myself, to others, to some invisible standard of success.
But maybe the lesson wasn’t just about struggle. Maybe it was about making peace with the chaos. Accepting that doubt, fear, and uncertainty will always be part of the equation, but they don’t have to define the outcome. That real victory isn’t about crushing the enemy—it’s about mastering the mind.
The God of War isn’t telling us to fight for the sake of fighting. He’s reminding us to fight wisely, to know which battles matter, and to recognize that sometimes, the greatest act of strength is learning to let go.
And that, I realized, is a lesson worth carrying far beyond the walls of any temple.
Now, it’s time to make the critical decision of whether to have Kopi O or Kopi C.
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Author’s email: thedumalady@gmail.com
