Archives for September 2020

A few months ago, I came across this video from Matt Colville titled, ‘Leading a Creative Life’.

His core message is “leading a creative life” happens when you believe your ideas—your writing, music, art—may be of interest to other people.

But he also identifies the horrid feeling we get when we dare to share our work with the world: we feel a sense of “choose your word for it… arrogance, hubris, ego.”

We feel the societal pressure. We imagine others saying, “Who do they think they are?” We listen to them, we cower in a corner, and we decide to stay quiet.

However, Matt then unpacks how it doesn’t have to be this way. He shows us how to be comfortable sharing our work with the world. He gives us permission to think that others may find our ideas cool. But most of all, he encourages us to try.

I hope you find Matt’s words inspiring today.

I recently listened to an interview with a sportsperson where they were asked, “So, how did you get that stunning result?”

They replied, “Honestly, I don’t know.”

Winning is great, but knowing why is even better.

Knowing why is the difference between luck and a predictable probability.

Knowing why is the difference between a hopeful wish and a solid game plan.

Knowing why is the difference between a nervous night and a sound sleep.

Knowing why can turn a fleeting success into a repeatable venture.

Our old flat was Northwest facing. Although we didn’t get direct sun, our windows drew in enough natural light that we never complained.

In contrast, our new flat is Southeast facing. The morning sun is direct and strong. There is an abundance of natural light, and it heats our home quickly.

As we’ve uprooted ourselves, I’ve paused to be grateful for what we had, and for the new things that have come along.

Change, if we’re open to it, brings along with it the opportunity for adaptation, evolution, and gratitude.

For the past 6 months, Maru has been in Argentina with her family.

Border closures and a strict Argentine lockdown meant her return date was up in the air for most of that time.

Although the pandemic has disrupted all our lives in many ways, it has created the space and time for the most important things: the people we love. So I’m thrilled that Maru got to spend half a year with her folks.

But today, Maru arrived in London, and I’m so grateful to have her back!

Home hasn’t felt the same without her.

It’s worth spending a moment with Haruki Murakami’s powerful words on love:

“If you remember me, then I don’t care if everyone else forgets.”

From the 2002 novel, Kafka on the Shore.

I’m convinced that 90% of success comes from 1) a clear understanding of the basics, and 2) doing the basics well.

There is always going to be that new piece of software, the next shiny productivity tool, or a quick hack, that promises great results in less time.

But, in my small sample, a disciplined and ruthless focus on the basics has a much higher chance of leading to repeatable success.

A short one from me today.

It’s been a dawn-till-dusk moving kinda day.

We’ve had an amazing 4 years in our tiny 1 bedroom flat, but we’re looking forward to settling into our new place and having a little more space!

As I’ve done with every place I’ve lived—and as I’m sure many of you do, too—I did a final walk through, taking a moment to be grateful for the memories, laughs, and love shared whilst there.

Jacob Collier is the most talented musician on the planet.

I’m not exaggerating.

He composes and arranges music that leaves even the smartest musicians dumbfounded. If you want evidence, his arrangement of Lionel Richie’s ‘All Night Long’ won him a Grammy earlier this year.

And so when I heard he wrote a song that moves into a musical key that none of us have heard before, I was super curious.

In typical music, there are 24 keys: 12 major keys and 12 minor. Every song you hear on the radio is in one of those keys.

So here is where Jacob Collier breaks that boundary: in his song ‘All I Need’, as the second chorus hits, the entire song is transposed up half a semitone. Instead of a traditional key change, moving from C to C sharp, the song moves from C to C Half-Sharp.

Here is a link to 10 seconds before the key change. When you listen to it, sit back and feel the key change happen. How does it feel to listen to music in a key that isn’t in any other pop song?

To me, it’s other worldly!

Packing your house for a move is a boring task. But the sorting, cleaning, and organising is made better by the company of a good audiobook.

I’ve been making my way through Bill Bryson’s ‘Body: A Guide for Occupants’, and I’m learning random, impractical, but thoroughly interesting facts about our bodies.

Here are a few that have stood out.

Each of us are made up of 37 trillions cells. Alone, these cells don’t have much meaning. But when combined in exactly the right way, they make, well, us!

We’ll grow about 7.5 metres of hair in our lifetime. And we’ll secrete 36,000 litres of saliva, which is more than a litre per day!

We also get cancer everyday—with between 1-5 cells turning cancerous in a 24 hour period—but our body captures and kills them.

And scientists still don’t know why we cry, as there is no physical benefit to it.

This is a different read for me, but I’m glad im on the journey. I’ve certainly developed a new found appreciation for my wobbly, carbon, nitrogen, oxygen, calcium, hydrogen, phosphorus home.

Imagine you’re on a hike, and a small stone finds it way into your shoe.

You’re in a rush to get to your campsite by sunset. You’ve got a long way to go.

The stone rubs against your heel. It’s painful, but not unbearable.

So you press on.

But over time, the stone makes itself at home. A blister forms, and your raw, red heel has paid the price for you not sitting down to sort the problem out when it first emerged.

We encounter many small stones in our daily lives. And despite the inconvenience, we’re often better off getting rid of them the moment they arise.

If you haven’t seen Richard Linklater’s 2014 film, Boyhood, I highly recommend it.

It’s a coming of age story, but it was filmed over a 12 year period, following the same actor as he grew from 6 to 18 years of age.

Linklater started production without a script, and only wrote the next year’s plot after reviewing the previous year’s footage. He adapted the script based on the changes he saw in the actors, too.

I marvelled at the seamless transitions between the years, and I imagined the commitment required from the producers, actors, and the production team to bring this story to the screen.

If you end up watching it, let me know what you thought of it. I think there is a lesson we can all find in Linklater’s Tenacity.

Following on from yesterday’s post, I’ve been impressed by this quote from Henry David Thoreau:

“The cost of a thing is the amount of … life which is required to be exchanged for it, immediately or in the long run.”

Many of us likely believe time is our most valuable possession. Yet, I’ve never considered the trade-off as boldly as Thoreau.

But instead of getting lost in the abstract, this may just be my way of admitting I’d like a Roomba.

There’s a hidden cost when you buy something: the cost of selling or disposing of it when it’s no longer needed.

I’m really feeling the hidden cost this week, because we’re selling a bunch of things before our home move.

I feel like Newton’s third law is a fitting metaphor here: For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.

Buying the item is easy and straightforward. Using it is much the same. But a lot of energy has been spent in the past few weeks trying to sell them. I’ve been listing items, messaging and meeting potential buyers, and posting items, too.

This process has got me thinking: going forward, I want to be more conscious about the things I buy and bring into home, because at some point, we’ll have to figure out where they go next.

Is there anything you’re avoiding just because the answer is painful?

When we answer that question honestly, we often stumble upon ways forward not previously considered.

And maybe it’s not the pain itself, but the anticipation of pain—the fear of, the dread of—that’s really holding us back.