How to stay on the path and let go of the end point

I’m starting to accept that, beyond the death of your physical body, there is no end point to life. There is no full stop. No moment when it’s all done, or accomplished. No time when you can rubber stamp where you’re at, look around all satisfied, and know it’s all done and dusted. All loose ends tidied up.

For the longest time, I’ve been telling myself a different story - despite plenty of evidence to the contrary.

When I was younger, I thought marriage, or having a family was it. Maybe becoming a home owner, or finding the place I wanted to call home. Maybe it was finding a ‘career path’, or some kind of professional identity. When I got this degree, or that accreditation. And every time I tick another box, or cross another of my desires off the list, I realise that there’s still more.

And don’t get me wrong, this is not coming from a place of deep ingratitude or dissatisfaction. Not in any sense. Each milestone, each achievement, each exciting development has brought delight in its own way. Some of it makes me scratch my head in smiling wonder at how it ever came to be. Much of that delight is absorbed into my day to day, moment by moment experience.

But I also keep noticing that I’m not done. Not by a long shot. That where I’m at right now is remarkable beyond belief - but that there’s still more. There’s more I want to see, more I want to do, to experience, to create. That I am perpetually evolving, whether I want to or not. That my feet are, and always will be, itchy. That I will always be expanding, and reaching for what’s next. Always be growing in some way. And that however much I might sometimes want it to, life is never going to give me a free pass, and allow me to ‘settle’.

In my younger years, this used to manifest in all sorts of physical ways. There was a decade, or more, when it seemed like I was forever moving house, or country, or reproducing. For now, that’s stopped. The reproducing has stopped, the house bought, the work I love discovered.

Outwardly, I’m ‘settled’. Outwardly, it’s all in place.

Except, to my surprise, it’s not. To my surprise, this is in no way the end of the road. This is yet another beginning. This is simply another point on the path that I have no option but to keep walking. That as long as I am on this earth, the path of expansion is forever opening up before me.

I am perpetually incomplete.

I am always, at any moment, whatever accolades and ‘successes’ may befall me, on my way.

I am always heading toward something more.

However delightful the feeling of satisfaction may be as I tick something off my bucket list - it is, and always should be, transitory. A launch pad for more desire, more exploration, more growth.

Whether I want to be or not, I am always a work in progress.

And counter intuitive though this may sound, this perspective is what enables me to sit more powerfully in the moment. This way of seeing the world allows me to be more mindful of ‘what is’ in the here and now.

When I am tempted into seeing life as one long ‘to-do’ list, I am lured into the belief that there is some end point I am headed toward where personal or professional ‘success’ lies. Today, the story I am telling myself is that ‘success’ looks like generating a particular income doing the work I love, reaching a bigger audience, becoming a better, more impactful teacher. But when I ‘achieve’ all that - when I have that moment of realising I’m exactly where I thought wanted to be - there will simply be a new desire - a new opportunity. Life will call me to expand in a bigger or different direction.

It’s just the way it is.

And the more willing I am to settle in and enjoy the ride - the more willing I am to allow my perfect incompleteness at any given moment - the more fun I have. The more I let go of notions of how life ‘should’ be, and start enjoying life exactly as it is. The more I start approaching life exactly as I am.

Why glowing matters, even when its gloomy

I am, at heart, an uplifter. I’m a hopeful and optimistic soul. It’s what I do - personally and professionally. I turn people toward the light - in themselves, in others, in challenging situations. And I love to do it. It brings me huge pleasure. It feels worthwhile and meaningful. I love nothing more than witnessing someone I’m working with discover a new, more resourceful perspective. I love watching a client as they discover that what once seemed impossible, is absolutely possible. It’s exciting beyond measure.

Not because it’s always easy.

Because it’s not.

Resistance pops up. Old stories will try and send you off on unhelpful detours. Sometimes the hard feelings have to be felt, right down in your bones, in order to release them and make way for something new and better. And every day I have the privilege of taking this journey with remarkable individuals ready to do this work.

It’s nothing short of a delight.

And when I’m immersed in the realm of these relationships, I’m in my comfort zone. If a client feels stuck in their life, I willingly hold space for them to find a way through - even if I have no idea what form that might take. I’m signed up to this way of being in the world. And it works well for me.

But when I start to look more widely than the people I interact with on a day to day basis, I get uncomfortable. Overwhelmed even. I find myself pondering how my hopeful optimism can possibly interact with the fear-inducing forces at work in the world right now, the tone with which the news media reports it, and the way politicians flail about reacting to it.

I find myself wanting to turn away on a regular basis. Not from what’s happening, so much as from a narrative that feels so at odds with my own convictions about the world. The tone of fear that permeates the discussions. The false divisions between ourselves and others that we cling to so tightly when the chips are down. Our willingness to look away from our common humanity if it suits us to do so, giving us a false, flimsy sense of security. Our unwillingness to recognise that, on the most basic level, we all share the same planet. We are all the same species. No one group of people has any more inherent ‘right’ to the land masses we inhabit than any other. Yet in our determination to cling tightly to an external sense of our own ‘identity’ we completely lose sight of this bigger, more truer truth.

And sometimes it seems that we’re so completely attached to our version of the ‘way things are’ that we can’t see the wood for the trees. We become so enmeshed in our discussions of scarcity, austerity, and in small places like the UK, our lack of physical space to home those who have nowhere to go. We overlook the abundance with which we are surrounded. We lose sight of the fact that moment by moment we are blessed beyond measure, abundant in the extreme and enjoying a sense of safety and wellbeing that others in the world could currently only dream of. We could do well to remember what Bob Geldof and Midge Ure reminded us in their sardonic ‘Band Aid’ lyric back in 1984 “Tonight thank God it’s them, instead of you”.

This time of year in the UK is externally dark and gloomy. And as a nation we use Christmas as an opportunity to get all lit up. In spite of the inclement weather, and the all too fleeting appearances of the sun - we decorate wildly. We hang lights, and accentuate them with shiny, twinkly decorations. We decorate our homes, our front gardens, sharing some of our own light with others. Some of whom we know, and some of whom we’ll never meet.

Some of the challenges facing our global community are equally dark and gloomy. And like England in the winter, it sometimes feels like we’ll never see the sun again. However, we can still choose to find ways to light up from within. In fact, as anyone in the Northern Hemisphere knows, this is the only sane response to dark, gloomy, cloud filled skies. We don’t deny the darkness, but we respond to it by consciously creating a twinkling beauty that’s certainly not apparent when we look out of the window.

This Christmas season, seek ways to light up from within. Cast your internal glow widely. And let those out in the gloomy darkness bask in its warmth.

How to exercise ripple awareness

When I do something, like make a change, or a choice about my life, it has a ripple effect on a whole bunch of people. Some of those people I know. Some people even tell me the ways in which my change, choice, or decision has impacted on them. And most of the time (if it’s been a good change, choice or decision) it’s awesome to get that feedback. To hear that in some way you’ve inspired someone to make a change themselves, or think differently about something they were stuck with.

But then there’s all those invisible folks. Those ones who are impacted by me in ways I can’t even imagine or begin to get my head around. Perhaps it was a glance on the bus, or a throwaway remark that got overheard at the school gate, a thought I had…..the possibilities are infinite. But, in short, whether I want to or not, I am going through life making ripples.

And so are you.

And so is everyone.

Whether we mean to, or want to, or try to, we’re doing it.

We’re affecting others.

Perhaps we’re doing something in a very active sense. Or perhaps we’re not doing anything. Either way, the ripples are happening. We can’t stop the ripples from happening. Whether we want it to be the case or not, our very breath sends vibrations down the spiderweb of humanity, and is felt by someone, somewhere in some way.

Which is a staggering thought. Really staggering. But undeniably true. The very fact that you exist is enough. Your very existence sends ripples. Your very existence contains an energy. A vibration.

If you’re alive, you’re transmitting.

You can’t turn off the ripples however hard you try. You can’t turn off the ripples by underachieving. You can’t turn off the ripples by screwing up royally and landing on your arse. You just can’t.

You emit ripples.

You impact the world by virtue of being you.

That’s just the way it is.

So, given that there’s no off button, and that this is not an optional function like predictive text on a smartphone, you may as well embrace it. You may as well accept that you are shooting out ripples all over the shop. That you are an unstoppable rippling machine. That you are the ripples and the ripples are you, and nothing, but nothing can ever stop that being the case.

You ripple. Deal with it.

And when you stop and think about it, if your rippling is getting all up in other people’s faces whether you mean it to or not - that’s kind of a big responsibility. Actually, that’s a huge rippling deal.

All thoughts carry an energy - the good and the bad. And next time your mind gets all tangled in judgemental and angry knots - remember this -  these negative thoughts are belching out a toxic cloud into the ethers. A stinky, grey murky cloud of misery and discontent. A cloud that will pollute, and cause dis-ease more widely than you’d like to imagine.

And sure, none of us intend this to be the case when we silently judge another in the confines of our minds. None of us intend this to be the case when we lose ourselves in anxiety and self recrimination. We don’t want to send a cloud of misery out into the world. But we do. Because we can’t control that bit.

We exist. Therefore we ripple.

And if our energy is shitty, and our thoughts negative, then we ripple in a shitty and negative way. Which is a bit troubling and unsettling.

But is also awesome news.

Let me tell you why.

Because there’s a huge part of this ethereal jigsaw that you do control. A huge piece of the pie that is yours to create. And that’s the kind of thoughts you have, and the kind of ripples you emit as a result.

That’s up to you.

You are absolutely and completely at choice here. It’s a massive responsibility, sure. But it’s definitely in your hands.

And that takes some work.

In fact, that takes a shedload of work, a good dollop of self awareness and some very conscious choices. But it’s absolutely possible to change that funky, poisonous cloud into an emission that’s altogether more sweet smelling and alluring.

How to find your own personal Hogwarts

Thanks to the wonder of YouTube, I have some great spiritual teachers accompanying me around the house right now. They share their wisdom with me as I sort socks, pick up lego and cook meals. And they tell me the same thing over and over - that (as the recently deceased Wayne Dyer puts it) “we are not human beings in search of a spiritual experience. We are spiritual beings immersed in a human experience.”

Which in many ways is a perspective shift to end all perspective shifts.

Because accepting this requires a conceptual move beyond everything that seems to be of this world. It requires us to move above and beyond our physical experience. To take an imaginative leap into the ethers. To run, Harry Potter-style at a wall, in the hope that it’s not going to end in broken ribs and a nosebleed, in order to discover a whole other dimension.

If Harry Potter’s not your thing you need only look up at the night sky to consider the concept of a whole other dimension. Astronomers refer to an observable universe for good reason. Because they know that there’s an unobservable one as well - that there’s more ‘out there’ than we’re currently able to detect with a telescope, despite the technological advances of recent times.

Which is all mind bending stuff.

But mind bending stuff with a simple message.

That there’s more to life than meets the eye.

And yes, I get that Harry Potter is a work of fiction, and that I would end up with broken ribs and a nosebleed if I ran at a wall in a station. But as a metaphor, it speaks to the perceptual shift required in order to access this other dimension. A willingness to think in a way that seems counterintuitive, to do things differently, in the hope that if you do, there might just be more available to you than first appeared to be the case.

We become so attached to our perceptions of the world. So wedded to how we ‘know’ the world to be. Certainty is revered in our culture, associated with strength, power and stability. And in some contexts that’s awesome. I want someone with a big ol’ dose of certainty when I get on a plane, or go under a surgeon’s knife - no question. But in so many arenas, illusions of certainty hold us back from making changes, trying new things or exploring new terrain. We tell ourselves that it’s too silly/difficult/risky/expensive/complicated/exhausting - that because no one else around us has done it, our desire to do so must be wrong. We settle into the comfortable sofa of certainty. We seek validation from those who share our point of view. We shake our heads, and tell ourselves it was just a ‘moment’s madness’, a passing whim, a crazy idea. We know for sure it was only ever going to be a pipe dream. We tell ourselves off for forgetting, momentarily, to be ‘realistic’.

I speak from a place of authority here. I’ve said all those things to myself and more. I’ve squashed down the dreams, argued myself into submission and berated myself for thinking that I might want more from life. I’ve resisted change, and held myself back from venturing into new territories. I still do it from time to time. But these days, I also have the voices of these spiritual gurus ringing in my ears as I go about the house - reminding me that there’s more to life than meets the eye. I now have the lived experience that taking risks can yield results beyond your wildest dreams. That being uncertain, and staring at a wall you’re about to run at can feel a bit edgy and ridiculous - but that more often than not, you don’t end up with broken ribs and a nosebleed - in fact, you end up discovering your own personal Hogwarts - a world you never knew existed until you ran straight at it.

Maybe you’re convinced. Maybe you’re not. Maybe you’re about to run at a wall. Maybe you’re convinced you’d never do something so risky and stupid. Either way, I’ll leave you with a poem by Valerie Cox that illustrates rather beautifully how, even in the most innocuous situation, all is not exactly as it appears to be.

The Cookie Thief

A woman was waiting at an airport one night
With several long hours before her flight
She hunted for a book in the airport shop
Bought a bag of cookies and found a place to drop
She was engrossed in her book but happened to see
That the man beside her as bold as could be
Grabbed a cookie or two from the bag between
Which she tried to ignore to avoid a scene
She munched cookies and watched the clock
As this gutsy cookie thief diminished her stock
She was getting more irritated as the minutes ticked by
Thinking "If I wasn't so nice I'd blacken his eye"
With each cookie she took he took one too
And when only one was left she wondered what he'd do
With a smile on his face and a nervous laugh
He took the last cookie and broke it in half
He offered her half as he ate the other
She snatched it from him and thought "Oh brother
This guy has some nerve and he's also rude
Why he didn't even show any gratitude"
She had never known when she had been so galled
And sighed with relief when her flight was called
She gathered her belongings and headed for the gate
Refusing to look back at the thieving ingrate
She boarded the plane and sank in her seat
Then sought her book which was almost complete
As she reached in her baggage she gasped with surprise
There was her bag of cookies in front of her eyes
"If mine are here" she moaned with despair
"Then the others were his and he tried to share"
"Too late to apologise she realised with grief"
That she was the rude one, the ingrate, the thief.

I see your true colours shining through

I’m still watching Big Brother. It’s nearly finished, which is no bad thing. But now I’ve come this far, I can’t look away. The fascination won’t budge.

This week the housemates are being made to fight for the prize money amongst themselves - in all kinds of demeaning ways. And understandably, they’re all getting snarky with each other. They’re all scared, and they’re all acting out in a multitude of different ways.

And when a housemate inevitably loses their cool, the others all leap up, vitriolic, fingers pointed - saying “now you’re showing your true colours”. The assumption being that if you dig deeply enough into any one of us, our “true colours” will look like an ugly, bitter, angry, tangled fearful mess. That at our core is something hideous that we have to keep hidden from the world. That when we act kindly, or lovingly it’s a pretence - or in Big Brother terms, a “game plan” - that is ultimately selfish and self serving.

While this may be nothing more than a sad insight into the mentality of a bunch of 20-somethings who’ve been locked in a camera-ridden house for the last 8 weeks - I think this speaks to something bigger. Namely, our unthinking and automatic bias toward the negative, the difficult and the ugly.

We throw terms like “real life” and “true colours” around, laden with negative connotations. Among parents, there’s a common narrative about the need to prepare our children for “real life”. A version of life that’s very different to the one most kids enjoy - filled with positive encouragement, a focus on their inherent qualities and their successes, and people who are patient and generous with their affection and love.

This, we assume, is not reality.

This is for children only.

This is what children need, but apparently, not what adults are entitled to.

Reality, we preach, is hard. Reality is to be endured, survived, and struggled through. And it’s our job as adults to disabuse the younger generation of the notion that the life they’re enjoying right now can continue beyond the age of 18. It’s our job to ‘prepare’ them for what lies ahead, for the realities of adult life.

Since when did ‘reality’ become synonymous with ‘shitty’? Since when did ‘true’ become another word for ‘ugly’?

When we made it so.

And the good news is that we can undo what we did.

I’m stumbling around on Instagram right now, posting some images, putting them through the app’s filters, making them look a thousand times better than they ever did when I snapped them on my phone. Like most people living in 2015, I’ve had a love/hate relationship with the images on social media - so often depicting an unattainable version of reality.

In my more fragile moments, these images have triggered feelings of “not enough” and “less than”. I’ve often used this blog as a space to counterbalance all the apparent ‘perfection’ out there on the internet. I’ve sought to speak my own messy and uncomfortable truth as I negotiate parenthood and career change in my own very imperfect way.

But that’s not the only space I want to inhabit.

Because life is not only messy and uncomfortable.

It’s also exquisitely beautiful.

It’s also magnificent and fulfilling and crammed full of meaning, purpose and hope.

And for me, there’s something about those Instagram filters that help me tap into that. There’s something magical about sticking a filter on a slightly unremarkable image of my kids, or my friends, and have it start to reflect more accurately the feelings I have for them.

Last weekend I spent a happy half hour watching the DVDs we’d made for close family, depicting photos and video of the kids when they were tiny. We’d given the images a soundtrack, choosing songs that spoke to the love and fun they’ve brought into our lives. It was a joyful and gorgeous way to spend some of our weekend.

And here’s the thing. What we watched on those DVDs is real life. My kids looking adorable is real. Your friends looking awesome on Instagram is them showing their true colours.

My kids are adorable.

Your friends are awesome.

We all are.

Let’s start noticing that more.

I invite you to live life today like there’s an Instagram filter on everything. Or an amazing soundtrack playing in the background.

And watch as the beauty starts emerging all around you.

And then watch as that beauty starts to become your reality.

The quiet defiance of love

In the fearful days after the attacks of 9/11 I read this article by Ian McKewan. In the simplest terms it spoke about love as an act of defiance. How, as the attacks in New York happened, expressions of love were everywhere, even in the midst of life altering tragedy. How those who knew they faced death, found ways to let their people know they loved them.

It was the only thing I read at that time that brought me any sense of comfort or light. It was the only narrative that expressed an alternative to the fear, anger and hopelessness of the situation. The article didn’t turn away from, or ignore the pain and anguish, but it did gently refocus the conversation. It reminded us that love sustains, even in the face of hideous violence - something that came more sharply into focus on that terrible day.

And today, as the world absorbs and responds to the news of yet another mass shooting in America - I was reminded of that article. Not because of the mainstream news reports that brought the incident to my attention last week. Their focus was as fearful and hopeless as ever. But because these days my Facebook feed offers me a different perspective. Over time, and one cull at a time, it’s become a place of hope and love. The words of Martin Luther King, Jr were everywhere. There were reflections from the likes of Marianne Williamson, Brene Brown, and Glennon Melton. And the comments sections were filled with calls for stillness, prayer and reflection. Sure, there was anger, pain and sadness, but there was a noticeable absence of reactiveness. There was no knee-jerk hate-speak. No raging. No arguing between commenters.  There seemed to be a collective recognition that this was a time to send love those in mourning. There were conversations about forgiveness, about feeling the pain and the brokenness of the situation.

Now I’m under no illusion that this is not what everybody’s Facebook feed looks like. I have no doubt that it would take a single click to discover a snake’s pit of hatefulness and cynicism in response to the Charleston shootings. I am under no illusions that if fear is what I wanted to look for, I could find it, and then some. But what this really underlines for me is the power of perspective. The power of the lens you look through to alter how you experience something, however desperate and however horrid.

And this week, Facebook has brought that home for me.

Because I can choose what my Facebook feed looks like - I can choose who and what I give airtime to, when I hit that little blue square on the screen of my phone.

So often, beyond the realms of Facebook, making that choice doesn’t feel quite so easy. So often the loudest, most prevalent voices are preaching fear and hopelesness. This absolutely happens in the mainstream media, but it also happens in the way we speak to ourselves. We are so well practiced at listening to the inner voice for doom, gloom and disaster. The muscles that so quickly and effectively turn our heads in that direction, are well developed and strong.

However, if we listen very carefully, there’s also a smaller, quieter internal voice preaching love, peace and hopefulness. A voice that we carry with us everywhere we go. A voice that requires us to turn our heads in a different direction. To use muscles that may be weaker, and less developed, but still work.

That voice is always there. It’s always transmitting. And the more often we turn our heads in that direction, the more developed those muscles will become. The more we make what Marianne Williamson describes as ‘chiropractic adjustments’ of our ‘attitudinal muscles’, the more natural and fluid that movement will become.

It takes work to build muscle. It takes practice and repetition - and to keep muscles strong, we have to keep using them. In the aftermath of tragedy and disaster, we need those muscles more than ever. We need their strength to keep turning our heads away from the noise of fear and hopelesness, and back towards the quiet, defiant expressions of love, hope, change and forgiveness.

What reality TV has to teach us about connection

I love the TV show Big Brother.

There I’ve said it.

I’ve loved it long beyond most people my age. I’ve loved it long beyond it being the novel TV phenomena it was when it first started over a decade ago. It’s not ‘worthy’ TV. On the surface it’s apparently meaningless, reality TV nonsense. But there’s something about it that keeps calling me back.

For me, it’s the opportunity to sit back and watch people. To understand what makes them tick. What triggers them. What brings them alive. My soul is, and has always been, hungry for that kind of knowledge and insight. And Big Brother offers that up in spades.

But there’s something else too. To me, it seems like the fame-hungry Big Brother housemates are engaged in some kind of prime time, heavily edited morality play. And because Big Brother is always watching them, they constantly run the risk of having things they have said and done played back to them. They run the risk of something they said about a fellow housemate being played back into the house for all to hear, including the person they were talking smack about. It’s entertaining (in a mortifying kind of a way) to watch.

But what interests me, much more than the ghoulish entertainment of watching people squirm on TV, is the reminder it offers us that there are real consequences for the way we choose to conduct ourselves in the world. That there are real personal consequences when we talk down the people around us, when we fail to be generous in our judgements of our fellow human beings, and when we diminish others in order to make ourselves feel better about ourselves.

And sure, on Big Brother, the process is sped up, and the consequences are dramatic, tangible and uncomfortable to witness. But it’s actually no different for you and I. When I open my mouth, and give air time to my critical, judgemental thoughts about those around me, there’s a part of me that knows this is a shitty way to conduct myself. There is a part of me that knows this is not in line with how I want to show up in the world, and there is a part of me that knows that I am adding nothing of any value to the conversation I am having in that moment. When I choose to head down that judgemental road, once the initial euphoria of ‘getting it off my chest’ has passed I am left feeling grubby, unworthy and cheapened by the experience.

While no one is replaying my comments for my reality TV housemates to hear, and no one is filming me behaving in that way, there is absolutely still a consequence for me. And while that consequence isn’t publicly shaming or humiliating, I am left feeling shabby and like I’ve let myself down.

Now in no way is this suggesting that you or I should beat ourselves up for our very human imperfections. Nothing, but nothing good can come from that. But what the human petri-dish that is Big Brother has highlighted for me, is how automatically, quickly and unthinkingly we choose to judge the people around us. How, so often, this is our ‘go-to’ position. How happily we excuse ourselves for being judgemental and critical behind other people’s backs, because what’s the harm? They’ll never know. Right?

Sure they won’t necessarily know the words you said to your spouse about them, or the sentiment you expressed to your friend over a glass of wine. But they absolutely will experience your inability to look them in the eye, or establish a meaningful connection with them next time you’re together. It’s abundantly clear when something’s “off” in your relationship with another person, when judgement and criticism are alive in one or both people. And if you’re honest with yourself, you will absolutely feel the icky, grubbiness that comes from judging another human being behind their back, and smiling to their face.

It feels icky because we’re wired to connect with one another. It feels grubby because as Brene Brown says “we are biologically, cognitively, physically, and spiritually wired to love, to be loved, and to belong. When those needs are not met, we don't function as we were meant to. We break. We fall apart. We numb. We ache. We hurt others. We get sick.” 

I don’t want that for me, I don’t want that for you, I don’t want it for the Big Brother contestants, and I don’t want that for any of us.

So next time the temptation arises to judge, criticise and berate another human being for being as imperfect as you are, notice what’s happening. Remember you are wired to love and connect with the human beings you share this planet with. If you need to, imagine the impact of your words being played back for that person to hear Big Brother style - and then decide if what you have to say still seems worth saying.

In all likelihood, it probably won’t.

What kids get that we've forgotten

As I sat in my garden this afternoon one of my kids ran past, brandishing a sword, shirtless, and completely lost in an imaginative game. The sword was being wielded, he was making swooshing noises, and he was completely embodying whoever it was he was ‘being’. A familiar sight in this house.

And in that moment, I realised just how much time young children spend ‘being’. So many of their games start with “who do you want to be?” - be it a Power Ranger, a Princess or some computer generated monster - they spend a crazy amount of time trying this stuff out. They act out how the Blue Power Ranger speaks, fights and interacts with the world. They create scenarios for him to put his ‘powers’ into action. They imagine what it would be like to walk a mile in his shoes. And then they move on, and the next day, or the next game, they’re ‘being’ Steve from Minecraft, Emmet from the Lego movie, or whichever Premiership football player is flavour of the month.

Because they get, in the simplest and most intuitive way, that who they choose to ‘be’ in any given moment is limitless. They get that in no way do they have to show up for life as a single version of themselves. They get that they have ‘powers’ beyond their wildest dreams. And the consequence?

Kids are magnificent creatures.

Kids show up for life with an openness and a curiosity that we adults look at in wonder - horrified and delighted by their propensity for asking questions that make the adults around them shift uncomfortably in their seats. Kids have the ability to penetrate right to the heart of the matter, because they’re not editing their curiosity in order to be socially appropriate.

And the consequence of that is that they learn - crazy amounts. They learn the heck out of life. Their development is remarkable - year on year, parents and relations sit back amazed, not only by the physical changes, but also the attitudinal, social and emotional ones that seem to happen in abundance month on month, year on year. It’s a beautiful thing to witness.

And what occurred to me, as I watched my shirtless, sword wielding son in the garden this afternoon, is that at some point we adults forget the learning that’s available to us when we allow ourselves to think about who we’re ‘being’ in the world. We forget that we are as at liberty as my 5 year old son is to try ‘being’ someone else. I’m not suggesting that we stride down the street embodying Richard Branson, donning a fake beard, and trying to imitate his voice (necessarily). But I am suggesting that if Richard Branson is someone you admire, or Miranda Hart, or your local shop keeper, why the heck shouldn’t you try ‘being’ them for an hour, or a meeting, or a day? Why, simply because of your age, should you hold back from exploring which aspects of yourself get expressed when you tackle your emails with a Richard Branson energy, or bash out a blog post with an air of Carrie Bradshaw? You don’t have to announce it to your co-workers or your spouse. No one need know but you. But surely its worth a try.

Because frankly, kids are onto something. Think about the unapologetic magnificence of a 5 year old, and ask yourself why on earth you wouldn’t want to express some of that magnificence in your adult life.

As an adult I think I unconsciously rejected that kind of imaginative exploration - thinking it was for children. Thinking (wrongly) that their need to develop was very different to mine. That as an adult I had somehow signed up to my own singular way of ‘being’, and was somehow committed to that for the rest of time.

And then I became a coach. And discovered the transformative effect of exploring, and playing with who you’re ‘being’ in any given moment. And realised that we adults have as much choice about who we want to ‘be’ as a 5 year old does. It’s just that we forget that we do.

We forget that our adult selves still have a ton of developing to do as well. We forget that we’re still every bit as magnificent as we were when we were 5. That we are every bit as curious and imaginative.

We just need to be given permission to rediscover that and put it into practice.

And so here I am, giving you that permission.

Throw off your shirt, if the mood takes you.

Pretend to fight an imaginary predator, if you fancy it.

Or simply sit and let your imagination run wild, and ‘be’ whoever the heck it is you want to ‘be’ today.