Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Attitude & Aptitude, Content, Emotion, Empathy, Entertainment, Football, Happiness, Love, Loyalty, Netflix, Sport
For a Monday, a post about misery, tragedy and death feels especially appropriate.
You see there’s a show on Netflix called, Sunderland Til’ I Die.
It’s about Sunderland Athletic Football Club where over 3 seasons, they follow the fall … and fall … and slight rise of the team and the affect this has on the players, the fans and the community that surrounds them.
It’s a story of mismanagement, false promises, hope, dreams, pain and desperation and frankly, it’s one of the best shows on Netflix, let alone football.
I’ve watched it countless times because it’s more than a story about football, it’s about how it feels to be left behind by society, industry and government.
A situation many people following many different football teams experience and face all around the World.
Anyway – without wanting to give anything away – the above quote comes from the show.
It’s not a pivotal moment in the series and yet it impacts you like it is.
Because the context of it makes you think about what you’re doing, what you’re working for and towards in your life.
What legacy will you leave?
Will you be remembered?
Will you have mattered?
I appreciate that sounds quite deep for a show about a football team in the North of England, but it’s that good.
Leaving you with understanding why it’s so important to love forever and always.
Regardless of the times or the challenges.
Because at the end of the day, it matters. Even when it hurts like a motherfucker.
It’s a brilliant lesson for life which is why, while I’ll never be a Sunderland fan, I’ll always be a fan of Sunderland.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Age, Attitude & Aptitude, Birthday, Daddyhood, Jill, Love, Mum & Dad, My Childhood, My Fatherhood
So the emotional rollercoaster of posts for this week continues.
Yesterday was a hate-fest.
Monday was a love-fest.
And today?
Well, today is a sentimental-fest.
And the reason for that is simple … I turn 54 today.
FIFTYFUCKINGFOUR.
By any evaluation, that’s fucking old – especially for someone working in adland – and yet it’s because of adland that I don’t feel my age, as the photo below demonstrates. Kinda.
OK, so there’s times where I most definitely do – a 1000 years old to be precise – but for the vast majority of the time, advertising keeps me young.
I love being surrounded by talented and creative people of all ages and backgrounds.
I love being around the noise and wildness of culture in all its forms.
I love being exposed to ideas untainted by logic or conformity.
I feel lucky to still be doing this and to still be excited by it …
Now of course part of that is because of the people I work for and work with. Or should I say, how the people I work for and accept who I am and the ‘ways’ I approach stuff. I definitely realise not everyone experiences this, but bar a couple of times in my career [and a couple of written warnings] I have. Hell, Metallica’s management even told me I’d proved it wasn’t just Rockstars who were immune to maturity.
I think they probably meant it as an insult, but I said “thank you” which confuses them to this day, hahaha.
But the reality is, as I sit here turning 54, I increasingly appreciate how lucky I am.
Obviously not just in work, but in pretty much every aspect of my life.
Now, contrary to popular belief, I have – and do – work hard for it, but I also accept the benefits I’ve enjoyed are beyond anything I imagined and likely more than I deserve.
But this is where age plays her ‘karma’ card.
You see the older you get, the more aware you are of the time you have left.
I’m not saying I’m going to die tomorrow – in fact, given I’ve lost 40kg in the last 10 months, I’m probably going to live a lot longer than I was this time last year – however I’ve certainly got less years ahead of me than I’ve lived so far, which means I’m forced to accept there will be limits on what I will be able to do-and-try-and-mess-with in the future.
And that’s where aging sucks … because when you’re someone like me – a curious, emotional, excitable, immature, ambitious-as-all-fuck, only child – you find taking no for an answer almost impossible to accept.
But it gets worse [and I’m not talking about the photo below]
You see on top all this, I’m in this wonderfully ridiculous situation where – despite being in my 50’s – I’ve entered an entirely new phase of my creative journey … one where I’m playing in a completely different world of creative possibilities … one filled with a completely different world of creative talent who all have invited me to play with a completely different world of creative expression in a countlessly different and new ways.
Not just on my own, but with them and for them.
I still pinch myself that this is happening because it’s insane.
Fucking insane. But I absolutely love it.
And what is even more insane, is I work for a company – Colenso – who give me the space to go off and do it over and over again.
Who the fuck does that?
Ignoring that the reason why they probably let me do that is because it gets me out of their hair – it means I get to work with a bunch of brilliant people at Colenso creating stuff very few agencies in the World could ever pull off before travelling to different parts of the world to work with a bunch of brilliant artists on projects that every agency in the world wishes they had a chance to work on … let alone pull off.
Does that sound smug?
Too fucking right it does, but do you blame me??? To have this situation at any age would mean you’re winning, but to have this at my age – where things keep getting more interesting and intriguing – is the sort of good news where you would want to smash that person right in the face.
But you don’t have to worry about that because life is doing it for you.
Because everything I’m doing right now, is opening doors to new things I also want to do.
It’s like I’m on a highway where there are endless side roads that all offer to take me to places where there are other new adventures and creative possibilities and frankly, I want to go down each and every one of them to see where they lead. But the reality is I can’t, because not only do I know each one would have their own side roads of opportunity for me to explore, I’M TOO FUCKING OLD TO BE ABLE TO EXPLORE ALL THE ROADS I’M CURRENTLY ON NOW.
Do you have any fucking idea how painful that is for me?
How frustrating that is for me?
It means I have to prioritize and sacrifice and I absolutely suck at that.
Recently I did a stage set design project for a famous musician. They had me work with a famous Broadway set designer and a famous video director.
It was one of the most thrilling, imaginative, informative, expressive and educational projects of my entire career … making me rethink how I saw creativity connecting and engaging people.
I absolutely, fundamentally loved it.
All of it … and want to explore more of it.
But can I? Not really, because I’m working on a bunch of other things I also find fascinating and I don’t want to miss out experiencing that by losing myself in something else.
Am I being greedy, selfish and a bit of a twat?
100%. This is the epitome of ‘first world problems’, but it’s my birthday today so I’ll whine if I want to and you’ll just have to accept it.
But while I know I’m being a spoilt little brat, it does cause me anxiety. I feel time is running out and I’ve finally been given the keys to the gadget shop. In fact the only thing that helps me get a grip is knowing how happy my parents would be knowing I’m in this position.
Not because they want me frustrated but because it means I’m living what they hoped for me:
A life of fulfilment rather than contentment.
I’ve written lot about this over the years but it basically translates to spending more of your time doing things that fill you up rather than empty you out.
To be honest, I didn’t really understand what it meant until I reached my mid 30’s, but now I realise what a gift they gave me in terms of living and evaluating the choices I had for my life. Because rather than defining success simply as salary, job title, possessions or even comfort … they wanted to make sure I knew it was about valuing and respecting the actions and activities that let you feel you’re growing and evolving.
Yes, I know that sounds flowery-as-fuck, but it’s what they believed and nothing proves this more than how my Dad answered this question from me when I asked him why he changed careers – not jobs – so much in his early years.
His response was:
“I love you and your Mum very much, so I better enjoy what I’m doing because nothing would be so disrespectful to you both than being away doing something I hate”
Can you imagine how amazing that made me feel?
How loved?
And while I know he and Mum weren’t able to always live this attitude – especially when the family were facing challenging times – they both fiercely advocated, protected and supported this way of living my life, even though they also wish I had gone into law rather than – at the time – music, followed by advertising, haha.
Which is why I know my parents would be so happy for how I am feeling at 54.
[Not to mention relieved I have somehow managed to have a career … or whatever it is I have]
And while luck has played a massive part in me being able to choose – and live – what my wife calls, ‘the bigger life’, I would be stupid to ignore the influence of my parents and the industry I work in, for helping let this happen.
In fact, in many ways, what my parents and adland [not to mention Jill and the countless bosses, clients and colleagues] have given me is the greatest gift you could ever receive. Even better than the Raleigh Grifter I got when I was 10 – where I fainted in excitement on seeing it – which previously I regarded as the single best present you could ever get.
So while I appreciate no one is going to be ecstatic that they’re turning 54, I can look back on where I’m at and say “I like where I am” and if there’s anything to feel good about being as ancient as I am today, it’s surely that.
The ultimate privilege in fact … one that I am both fully aware of and that I am very clear on how lucky I am to have it. Especially when there are many people – including friends – who can’t feel that way through absolutely no fucking fault of their own.
So with that in mind, I’ll end this post by saying happy birthday to me. It might all fall apart tomorrow, but if it does – I can say it lasted a hell of a lot longer than anyone expected or predicted. And that definitely includes me.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Attitude & Aptitude, Birthday, Jill, Love, Paul
So this week is a week of important birthdays for me.
Mine.
Jill’s.
Paul’s.
However the good news for you, is that only my birthday falls on a day I write a post … so you will only have to endure one over-written post rather than the 3. Or as the old saying goes, ‘it’s my birthday, but you get the present’.
God … what a tragic start to this post.
Anyway … while I will leave you to spend the rest of the day desperately trying to get your huge gift to me in NZ in time, I will leave you with a post about love.
Not mine.
Not about someone I know.
But the sort of love that I think embodies what love is supposed to be about.
It’s about actors Jason Watkins and Clara Francis.
You might not know them – or you may only know them from some of the roles they’ve had – but recently they were in The Guardian Newspaper talking about their relationship … their families … love, loss and the pain of broken hearts and enduring relationships.
Put simply, it was one of the most beautiful expressions of compassion, love and consideration I’ve ever read.
Ever. Read.
Not just towards each other, but also towards their family, Jason’s ex-wife and the daughter they lost through sepsis.
You are left in no doubt they are incredible people and an incredible family.
One bonded tightly together … appreciating who each other is, what each other brings [and needs] and how each person works.
It’s a beautiful, chaotic, engaged and alive type-of-love … one where you’re left in no doubt why it works and why they have been able to continue when the loss of a child often results in the breakdown of many relationships.
In essence it’s a celebration of humanity … and I include Jason’s ex-wife in this, because in their darkest hour, she rented a flat near them so she could support them. If that sounds strange, bizarrely, once you’ve read the article, it all seems to make perfect sense.
There’s so many parts I love.
How Jason describes Clara’s family.
How Clara would ‘accidentally-on-purpose’ bump into Jason at the supermarket.
The way they would always keep an ear out for how the other was doing, even when life had moved on.
But it’s the way Jason talks about Clara that really gets me. Especially the last part of his last paragraph where he says:
“Clara illuminates any room. Every year, her light becomes brighter.”
I’ve written before how Jill doesn’t like being the centre of attention – even as a blog post, hence there is no accompanying photo of her even though I would love to – but the way Jason talks about Clara is how I feel about Jill.
But it’s more than a light for me, it’s warmth.
A feeling of where I belong.
Where I am needed and wanted.
Where I need and want to be.
He says so much more than that and I loved and hated every word because it’s just so bloody perfect.
I often struggle to find the words to express what Jill means to me. What she has done for me. But he has done it.
And while it is about Clara, it is also perfect about Jill. Except I can’t say it to her because they’re his words, not mine.
So I hope one day she reads this.
She won’t be happy I’ve made this about her, but I hope she’ll see past that to feel the words.
Of course, I hope she also knows this through my actions, but it’s nice for my heart to feel able to properly speak.
We’ve been together 20 years now.
We’ve gone through a lot.
And while there has been times I’ve sadly let her down, she’s never done the same to me.
Through thick and thin, she’s been a rock.
A kind, compassionate, super-supportive, super-strength, super-human.
Whatever the future holds, it’s brighter for having her in it with me … which is surely the greatest gift anyone could ever have?
So to my darling Jill.
Thank you for everything you are.
I love your strength, your smarts, your bravery and your love.
I hope you have a beautiful birthday on the 15th and I’ll be doing everything I can to make it that way.
Big hugs and kisses to you my love and big thanks to Jason [and Clara] for the words my heart wanted to speak, but didn’t know how to say.
You can read the rest of them … and the story that affected me so much, here.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Attitude & Aptitude, Cats, Death, Emotion, Empathy, Family, Hope, Jill, Love, Loyalty, Mum, Mum & Dad, My Childhood, My Fatherhood, Otis, Paul, Respect
This week has been a week of pretty heavy posts.
But given the standard I normally write at, this has – if I may say so myself – been pretty good. And hopefully today will top that off, albeit in a pretty emotional and confronting way.
Let’s see …
When I was young, I remember thinking that I never wanted to be with my parents when they died. My belief was the pain of watching them go would be too much for me to deal with. That seeing their final moments would leave an indelible scar on me for the rest of my life.
Thank fuck I came to my senses …
Because while their deaths were – and continue to be – the worst days of my life, I’d have been haunted if I’d not been by their side.
It could have happened.
It could have happened easily given I was living in different countries when they passed.
Australia for Dad. China for Mum.
But for reasons I’ll be eternally grateful for, I was there. With them. Able to tell them how much I loved them, was grateful for them and would do my best to honour them.
Because even though I was drowning in a sea of overwhelming grief as I witnessed them take their final breaths, it was the moment I understood – with absolute certainty and clarity – why I had to be there.
For them. And for me.
A few years before Mum died, her sister-in-law passed away. It was unexpected and she died at home on her own. To be discovered the following day.
Mum was understandably very upset about this. Not just for the loss of a woman she liked very much, but that her final moments had been on her own. That she must have been so scared. So desperate to be surrounded with the people she loved.
One day, while visiting from Shanghai, Mum confessed how she feared this would happen to her. That she’d be alone. I’d never heard her say something like this before and it genuinely haunted me. Not just in that moment, but till the end.
My Mum was an amazing woman. She had endured a huge amount of hardship through her life and all I wanted to do was look after her. But she was also fiercely independent, so it was always hard to get her to accept anything from me. In her mind, I had to focus on my life – not hers – which is why revealing her fear was so heartbreaking.
You see, not only was she acknowledging her own mortality – which was devastating to hear, let alone for her to say – she was admitting there was something I could do for her, even though we both knew it was something that was almost impossible to ensure.
What made this even more emotionally charged is that we both knew that this admission had ‘slipped out’.
Mum spent her life trying to protect me from pain and inconvenience at all costs – from her gentle words to try and coax me out of my delusion that Dad would miraculously get better after his devastating strokes through to me finding notes she’d written prior to death to make sure it was easier for me to handle her affairs – so the pain of hearing her fear was no doubt matched by the pain she felt for causing me sorrow.
She was that sort of person. A wonderful, compassionate and considerate human. A woman who would genuinely give someone her last £1 than keep it herself. Which I admit, annoyed the fuck out of me sometimes. Ha.
And that’s why I’m so grateful I was with her when the worst happened. As I was with Dad. And if you look back to March/April 2015 on this blog, you will read the anguish and pain I went through. But among all the desperation and loss, you’ll also see clues why I was so happy to be there on one of the worst days of my life.
Because while the idea of not having to see your loved one’s die, makes some sort of sense – the reality is quite different.
In fact, I’d go even further.
As bone crushingly devastating saying goodbye to a loved one is, it’s not as agonising as you would feel for not being there.
You see at that point, it’s not about you – but them.
However you feel has to place second-fiddle to their needs and situation.
For them, knowing they’re not alone at their final moments gives them peace. A way to leave with love rather than just fear. It doesn’t matter if they’re conscious not, they know and I can say this with absolute certainty.
As I said at Dad’s funeral, when we arrived to be by his side after an urgent call from the hospital, we found his body in the throes of turning off all the lights. Imagine someone walking around their old house and checking that all the windows were closed, all the lights were off and all the doors were locked. Making sure everything was done before they left for good. That was Dad and his body had almost finished its final check bar one little candle flickering in the night. But the thing was, he wasn’t going to blow that out till we were there … till we could tell him he could go … that we loved him … that we were grateful for all he had done for us … that we knew he loved us.
And when we did that, we watched him metaphorically blow out that final light out without fuss. A dignified, quiet passing, leaving us distraught with the loss but happy we were together.
Which is why I am so glad I came to my senses about not wanting to be there when my parents died. Because if I did that, not only would I have left my parents to experience fear instead of comfort and loneliness instead of love, I would have spent a lifetime trying to come to terms with what I’d done. How in my selfishness, I’d left people I loved – and love – at their most desperate and alone, at a time where they arguably needed me most in their life.
Of course, for some, they don’t have the option to be there.
Sometimes it’s because of circumstance, sometimes because of situation. And to them, I hope they are able to find some sort of peace because I can’t imagine the pain and burden that must inflict on them.
Now I say all this for 2 reasons.
One. Because tomorrow is the 9th anniversary of my wonderful Mum dying.
Two. I recently read an article that brought all this back to me … but through a perspective I’d never considered – the final days of a pet.
As you know, I bloody love my cat Rosie.
She’s basically my first real pet … and while we originally got her to keep Jill happy, she has become a true member of the family.
I’ve turned down jobs because of her.
I’ve started companies to bring in her favourite food for her.
I’ve taken big freelance jobs to aid her movement to new countries for her.
She is very, very special to me.
She is also, very, very old … and while she is generally fit and well … for the last few years I’ve wondered if this is the year we have to say goodbye.
It will happen eventually. I mean she turns 17 this year. SEVENTEEN. And my worst thought is having to one day take her to the vet to put her down.
And despite the lessons I’ve learned from my parents passing, my initial thought was if we had to do that for Rosie, I’d not be able to be there. It would be too hard.
And then I read this.
[Whether a pet owner or not, please read it]
Of course it should have been obvious.
Of course it should never be even a consideration.
But while we treat pets like members of the family, at the worst moment – many of us disassociate ourselves to try and protect ourselves.
Forgetting that at that moment, it isn’t about us – but them.
Yes we will be devastated.
Yes it will be horrific and hard.
But how do we think it is for them?
To face your final moments and not see the person who has been there loving them and looking out for them must be terrifying and confusing. Alone in an unfamiliar room with unfamiliar people.
As the article states:
“You have been the centre of their world for THEIR ENTIRE LIVES!!!!”
“90 per cent of owners don’t actually want to be in the room when he injects them so the animal’s last moments are usually them frantically looking around for their owners”.
Frantically looking for their owners.
Take that in.
I don’t imagine its that different for people in their final moments.
They need us. They need us to feel they still have us. That their final moments are with love and not abandonment.
I know it’s hard. I know it’s horrific. But I also know it’s not about us – not really.
So I write this to say that should you be of the opinion you don’t want to be there … that the pain would be too much. Know I sympathise, but also know it won’t nearly be as painful or deep as the knowledge that you weren’t.
Give the people. pets and places you love a hug, call or kiss this weekend.
See you Monday. I hope, ha.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Attitude & Aptitude, Birkenstocks, Colleagues, Confidence, Culture, Daddyhood, Death, Doctor, Effectiveness, Emotion, Empathy, Family, Fear, Happiness, Health, Jill, Love, Mum & Dad, My Fatherhood, Otis, Perspective, Socks
Back in November of last year, I wrote about how I was eating healthy.
It was quite a big thing for me to talk about – which is weird, given I have absolutely no problem writing about death, unemployment or the size of my best friends appendage, to name but a few of the subjects I’ve waxed lyrical about that many smarter people would rather shut-up than share.
But since then, more things have happened and while I genuinely feel uncomfortable to write it, I am also quite proud of myself, so here we go.
You see what happened was back in August, my doctor asked me to spend 3 months focusing on my health. To try and retrain my habits. To make different choices about my diet. To see what might happen by doing it.
And while I’ve been a helpless – and willing – slave to the seductive powers of pasta and sugar for basically my whole life … I decided this was the time I was going to go all in.
So I did.
65g of carbs a day. 25g of sugar a day. 1700 calories a day.
Every day.
And while it was hard at first, once I knew what I could do – and eat – it was satisfying. Well … more satisfying than I imagined. And that only grew when the results of those first 3 months came in.
I’d lost 22kg.
I’d dropped 4 sizes in clothes.
I saw every one of my health measures hit ‘healthy’.
My doctor called to ask if I was OK as the results were so extreme, he thought either the original results were inaccurate or I was doing a different sort of damage to myself.
[For the record, he was wrong on both counts – I was just in a very intimate relationship with chicken and spinach]
And as good as all that was – and it was very good – the biggest change was that I have started to like myself for the first time in a long time.
Yes, I appreciate that sounds tone deaf and dramatic given there are people who face real challenges and problems, whereas I have an amazing family, a wonderful life and lifestyle and a rewarding and fulfilling job … but it’s true.
In my defence, I didn’t really realise it until I started coming out the other side. Mainly because I think the impact was over time … slowly but surely, bit by bit … until at some point, it found a way to settle permenantly just under my surface.
And while it only popped up to mess with me at certain times and moments – and I suspected what may be behind it all – it is only recently that I was able to confirm my concerns about my health, maybe more than my actual health, was the cause of it.
Or should I say, the concerns about my sub-optimal health.
Just to be clear, what I’m talking about is self-esteem.
God it’s a weird thing.
It’s in your power and yet you’re also powerless to it and I felt I was in its grip.Putting me in a corner that I didn’t think I could get out of so I adapted my ways and choices to try and counteract it, without realising I was just giving it more power over me in more ways.
Which is why as I have got more in control of my health, I have felt a bit of a rebirth.
A bit more confidence about what I can do.
A bit more happiness about who I am.
From the superficial to the deeply, deeply personal.
Part of this is because I’m now wearing smaller sized clothes than I have in literally decades and I’m almost ashamed at how much that has affected me. Of course, it’s also bankrupting me as I have to basically buy new t-shirts that no longer look like I’m wearing a man tent dress … but it has changed more than just the size, but what I choose. Because frankly, more things are now available to me and so I’m experimenting with clothes like I’m a 10 year old kid. Well, I say experimenting, but it really has come down to a few t-shirts in colours that aren’t black and some socks [which is, let’s be honest, already a shock given my Birkenstock obsession] in a range of ridiculous colours. Fuck, I even colour coded my t-shirt and socks once … something never ever done in my life. And – to be honest – never to be done again.
But it is in terms of my family that I am the most indebted.
Because I’ve likely increased the time I’ll be here for my wife and son.
OK, so there wasn’t a identified risk that was going to cut it short … but health is always going to make it last longer and that means everything to me.
Because I love my family.
Love every little thing about them.
Of course they can annoy the fuck out of me, but I am sure I am far worse to them – even though this shocks me as I’m obviously a saint.
But as my son is just 9, I want to be around for as long as I can. I want to see the life he builds, I want to be there for the choices he wants to make. I want to just be in his life and have him in mine for as long as possible. With my wonderful wife by my side. Building new adventures and sharing them. Together.
Now I appreciate that all sounds very Hallmark card … but I do, that’s maybe all I want in some ways … and I’d be denying the truth if I said I hadn’t wondered if this was going to be as possible as I hoped it would be.
And yet … I felt it was an impossible situation to change.
I wanted it.
I knew what could help it.
But I didn’t have the skills or the energy or the willpower. Always having an excuse why I couldn’t dedicate the time and energy to it. Which is mad given I have a fuck-ton of energy and willpower to do a bunch of other stuff … but I had convinced myself that I’d met my match and so that affected me deeply in my head. Loving my family but not knowing how to make sure that love could be around for longer.
I know, it sounds pathetic, but I bet I am not the only one who has faced this psychological prison. And just to be clear, it’s not that I hadn’t tried things to change it. I had. And failed … over and over again. Which not only made me feel a bit more shit about myself, but also convinced myself I was not going to win this battle.
Which is why the pride Otis has in what I’ve done that makes me almost cry with joy. And what breaks my heart is that he obviously had the same worries about how long I’d be around. Not overtly. Not daily. But he tells me how proud he is of me and how happy he is I’m ‘healthy’ … and so while no one knows when the ‘end day’ will come, removing some of the more blatant concerns that it could be sooner than you hope, is a psychological gift in itself.
Now I am not going to say if I can do it, anyone can.
I couldn’t do it for 53 years and you don’t have to be healthy to be happy.
I hate that attitude.
And I was happy … I’m just saying I’m happier now.
With myself.
Of course, that doesn’t mean I don’t have issues – I do, bloody loads of them – but it means I have less than I’ve been carrying, which is nice.
In fact, as of today, I have 30kg less problems I’m carrying – ha.
But let’s not ignore the reality that doing this is really fucking hard – especially at the start – and I needed a Doctor to basically scare me into it and needed to actively choose to not make excuses for not sticking with it. Which is why if anyone resonates with my story and wants to chat about their situation – or what I did to try and get out of it – then just get in touch and I’ll listen and share.
While there is a conscious mental decision to be made, at its heart it’s simply about food choices and portion choices. Oh, and investment … both in time and – sadly – money.
Because it’s a privilege to be able to do this, because – ironically – eating less costs more. Or it does if you want to make it easier.
But the good news is there’s choices that actually are good … and you’re talking to someone who thinks kebab and chips is fine dining. So if you want to know more, I’ll tell you what worked for me and how I did it and then you can decide what’s right for you.
Which leaves me to say a huge thanks to my family, doctor, clients, colleagues and whoever the fuck invented 99% sugar free buffalo sauce … because they made this happen. They made this possible,
And while I may fuck up occasionally, I now know I won’t fuck up every single mealtime and that’s a win in my book, because this journey has taught me things about myself and my habits that have been a revelation.
In fact the only thing I am disappointed about is I’ve still not used the overpriced bloody treadmill I bought. Though I’m glad I got the cool, foldable, wifi and bluetooth enabled one … which means there’s some things about me that will never change.