Archives for 2025

In April 2026 the ‘The Lord of the Rings Weekenders’ is happening at the Royal Albert Hall. It’s a movie marathon with a twist.

The films will play and be “accompanied by the very orchestra that brought Howard Shore’s iconic score to life in 2001 – the London Philharmonic Orchestra. Joining by the London Philharmonic Choir and the Trinity Boys Choir, all under the command of the great conductor Ludwig Wicki.”

The best story of all time coupled with live music from the iconic films?

I’m in!

Most first versions—first drafts, first sketches, first melodies, first concepts—are not very good.

It’s a willingness to push through to the second, third, fourth, and fifth versions that result in a polished end result.

I played team sports throughout my childhood. Football, rugby, volleyball, hockey, dragon boating. I was always in a team.

Now that I’ve picked up tennis in my thirties, I love the solitude of the sport.

There is no one else to impart energy, to lift the team up when it’s down, to share the pressure, to change strategy. I love the mental challenge that it brings. I love the necessity of controlling my own emotions and relying on my own decisions.

The solitude of the game was an unexpected benefit.

An excuse is easy to find. There are no shortages of excuses, nor people willing to wield them

When you meet someone who doesn’t make excuses, who doesn’t complain, who just rolls up their sleeves and grits their teeth, the difference is night and day.

The forecast is a guide, it’s not gospel.

When we plan for the forecast to be wrong, we wind up with a more resilient plan. We’re mentally prepared for alternative scenarios. We’re more adaptable.

It pays to prepare for the forecast to be wrong.

I’m approaching 6 years of daily writing and posting. I’ll hit that milestone on 21 July 2025, and I’m considering finishing up when that day comes.

I’ve learned so much over the past 6 years; about myself, about how to stay open and curious about the world around me, and about developing my own style of writing. I’ve also met and made friends with some wonderful people from around the world.

However, over the past year, I’ve felt a dimming of the creative flame. I’ve pushed through on many days because daily writing daily has become a habit. But I’ve found myself wondering if it is really something I want to keep up for much longer.

As pressures on my time and schedule have increased, I’ve had less time to write, and I’ve made trade-offs. The quality of my posts within the past year haven’t been of the same quality as previous years, and I’ve often found myself late in the evening with little to say. I’ve also felt that there are other creative outlets that I’d perhaps find more fulfilling.

If it do stop the daily posting, I’ll probably continue to post on an ad hoc cadence, but it certainly won’t be daily. I haven’t come to a decision yet, but I thought I’d write about it and share my thinking with you all.

Humans love to add, to expand, and to clarify. And in doing so, we create complexity in our writing, products, and services.

The irony is that we also have an innate attraction to simplicity. We listen better, are more easily convinced, and are drawn more to ideas when things are kept simple.

It’s hard work to make things simple.

A few years ago I read ‘The One Thing’ by Gary W. Keller and Jay Papasan.

The main lesson was that at any point in time there is typically one thing that is most important for us to work on.

Even if we have a mountain of work in front of us, we should strive to identify this one thing, and be willing to put all our effort into it.

If we can successfully identify the one thing, and repeat the process by identifying and working on the next “one thing”, we can be confident that we’re investing our time most efficiently.

A little mess gets created every day by day-to-day living. If we let it accumulate over the week we have a big cleaning job at the end of it.

A little mess coupled with a little tidy each day makes for a much more manageable set of chores at the end of the week.

It comes as little surprise how much of this applies to our working lives too!

“If we lose the details, we lose it all.”

This above quote is often attributed to Walt Disney, but after some digging it’s not apparent if the man actually said the words.

Regardless, the sentiment resonated. I’ve noticed a correlation between people who sweat the important details and their long-run success, and it’s something I can’t ignore.

Velocity and acceleration are important, but I care more about deceleration; or the distance required to stop.

It’s why I run to work now rather than cycle. I feel safer on the roads at a slower pace; a pace that gives me more control and flexibility.

Earlier today I was running to work and a cyclist was about to speed through a yield sign at a road I was about to cross.

They had to slam on their breaks. I was able to stop early and easily avoid a collision, but it made me reflect on how it’s the distance required to stop—not accelerate—that really matters.

It’s not learning unless we act on it.

Learning without doing is pointless, fruitless, and a waste of time.

The erroneous expectation that the first draft is the final product has killed many a project. People get discouraged before they’ve taken the time to re-do, to re-consider, to polish.

Get all your thoughts out on paper. Make that prototype. Sketch the outline. Embrace the mess, and go easy on your first draft. There will be time to refine tomorrow.

The best teachers from my childhood went above and beyond. They did things for our class that were well outside of what was expected, but these actions had an outsized impact on my life.

When I was twelve, Mrs. J would take a small group of us out of our scheduled class once every two weeks to run a full day workshop on a surprise topic. I remember one was on the life and works of Galileo, and how we tried to simulate the gravitational experiments he conducted at the Tower of Pisa.

I can’t remember much of the subject matter from these workshops, but I certainly remember how I felt. Bursting with energy, curiosity, and confidence. Mrs. J created an environment where asking questions was celebrated, where learning was a joy, and where the pursuit of knowledge was cherished.

Those workshops set a baseline expectation for me going forward. I expected learning to be fun and rigorous. And when future teachers found my incessant questions annoying, I wasn’t phased because those behaviours were validated by Mrs. J in earlier years, so I knew I should continue to question everything.

Twenty years later, the dividends from Mrs. J’s lessons are still paying a return. They influence how I approach new challenges at work, and will influence how I choose to raise my children.

That’s above and beyond.

The boy, perhaps six-years-old, hopped on to the train with his grandfather. They sat down across from me, and the older man couldn’t get the boy to sit still.

The boy left his school backpack with his grandfather and ran up and down the carriage saying he wanted to be a train driver. He had memorised the words to all the pre-recorded messages on our branch of London’s Northern Line, and he would shout out the names of the stops and warn people to ‘mind the gap’.

As I hopped off at my stop, I could still hear the boy shouting the all the words to the automated messages in the carriage speakers. The boy’s unbridled excitement and showmanship was a bright spot in my commute home. I loved how his grandfather didn’t dampen the boy’s spirit or action. He let him be.