You say “goo” and I say “How was your day then?” You say “gah” and I say “Really? Did you enjoy it?”

We talk, not typical conversations. A series of “goos” “gahs” and “ehs”. You reach for my face. You scream “ahhhh” when I turn away. You always smile first thing in the morning when we open the blinds.

You’re in my bones now. When we wrestle, you lie on my chest and I say “are you gonna get me?” “you’re not gonna get me”. You’ve already got me. I’m yours.

When I look up from that spot, your face is my whole world. It’s only when I see you from a distance, in your high chair or in someone else’s arms that I remember how tiny you still are.

There’s never been any doubt, but perhaps on some level there was. There is now no doubt that you are here. You’re in my life, forever. That thought settles me now, whereas perhaps it frightened me before. Is this it? Yes, this really is it. Yes, you really are here. “You enjoyed your brocolli last night didn’t you? It’s nice isn’t it. Mummy and Daddy like brocolli too.”

I thought I’d want to share you all the time. I thought being a dad would become my new thing. I thought maybe, I’ll become a dad-fluencer. Maybe, maybe being a dad will give me a new professional purpose.

You have given me a new purpose, but not a professional one. Not one for social media. I’m yours, all yours. This isn’t for everyone else.

I share so many of my thoughts and ideas with others that I want you just for me. I don’t want to bare my journey as a dad all the time. I want privacy, I want intimacy, I want what we have in our four walls to be special - just for us. I thought I might think deeply about my role as a dad. I might read books and write about fatherhood. But I don’t want to, I don’t want to think about being a dad and turn it into a job online. I want my job with you as a dad in the real world.

Because here’s the truth. I’m already noticing the moments when I’m not fully present with you. When I drift off thinking about work. I don’t like it. I don’t hate it, i’m kind enough to myself to let it go, but I don’t like it. I don’t want you, or our family to become my work. You’re my life. I don’t need to read books to tell me how to be a dad. I already know how to be one, it’s in me. When I am totally present with you - nothing has ever felt more natural to me in all my life. For once, just once - I don’t need to think. For someone who lives in their head, I can’t tell you how much of a pleasure this is. How real this feels.

All of these feelings that come up are enough for me for a lifetime. The complexity, the strain, the guilt, the presence, the helplessness, the lack of control. I didn’t know what to do when you had that cough last week, I wish I could tell you just to blow your nose. I wish I could blow it for you.

Your growth dictates our life. Everything about you is new and everything about our life right now is new. Sarah, who I now refer to 60% of the time as “Mummy” is ordering new baby grows every 5 minutes, she’s googling “allergic reactions to Aubergine” and I’m assembling new furniture or baby products at 9.30pm every night.

Your growth is explosive and our life is exploding with you in it. Every morning is like that scene in Harry Potter in Bellatrix Lestrange’s vault at Gringotts. Toys, books, nappies, wet wipes, milk, bottles, food exploding and multiplying everywhere and everywhere until you can’t see the floor. We tidy it up again and again and again, for you to put that little red cup in your mouth and throw it on the floor again and again and again.

It’s all new. New furniture. New routines. New teeth. Blink and we miss it. We miss you.

And we are obsessed with you. We’re all obsessed with you. I’m obsessed with your breath. How you breathe. Breath itself. It’s as if you are a living embodiment of life itself. Do you take the breath in? Or are you given the breath by the world? You’re giving me answers to questions I didn’t know I had and giving me even more questions to answer.

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I want to be more like you and less like me. You make me want to be a child again, a baby. I love seeing the world through your eyes. I never noticed the tiny flower buds on that bush at the bottom of the garden. I never looked up and saw the bare branches of that tree against the blue sky. I never stopped for long enough to listen to the wind chime and watch the birds in the sky. “Gah” “Yes, that is a birdy”

Your eyes might just be the greatest gift, to hold you up to the world and be your platform - to let you look out from our body. And to gaze in them, as deep as I can to let you know how loved you are. To see the ocean in those eyes. The waves of possibility and of imagination, of who you are and who you might be. There is so much depth in those eyes.

I have to constantly give myself permission to be here. To be with you. I have to constantly remind myself that work isn’t the only way to be a dad, even though it feels like a really big one. The hunger to provide in me is real. I want to make money. For you, for us, for our life and I’m owning this urge within me. It feels real and true. Yet I also have the growing desire to be as physically present with you as I can and this is a conflict. I might be only the second man in my whole family tree who really has the privilege and option to be a very present dad. So I try and tear myself away from my desk when I know i’m done. Even though I’m scared to stop, I never regret finishing early to be with you.

Only now, possibly for the first time have I taken a moment to stop and let you sink further into me. 3 months ago I said that you were on my skin. Now you’re in my bones.

6 months of you and I’m only just realising that I have a lifetime of you.

Cheers,
Dad x

For a while now, I’ve been saying “I’m at 30% of my potential”

For a while now, I’ve felt this tug on my heart, these whisperings in my soul.

Something unsaid. Something unfinished. Some part of me dormant, in the shadows - desperate to come out.

I haven’t ignored this voice. I’ve just not known what to say back.

This longing in me has remained, this urge unexplained. I’ve felt it, day after day - in the back of my mind. In my cluttered thoughts. In my head at night as I close my eyes.

In my dreams, I wonder, where could I go? What could I do?

And yet, when I wake. When I walk the streets for a morning walk, or make a morning coffee. Whilst I’m full of the warm glow of contentment and comfort, I feel something missing. I know in my heart there is some emptiness in me and in my life.

Aliveness, spark, fear, fire, risk. I’m at 30%. I’ve been here for a while.

I’m in the wrong lane and I can’t quite get out. There’s too much traffic coming through and I can’t pull aside. My indicator has been on for a while. I’m driving too close to that car in front, I’m impatient to get out of this lane. But I don’t know how.

These lanes manifest for me day to day in my work. My work in Stoke and Staffordshire on regional development through the creation of the MSc Entrepreneurship course and starting a local media outlet is no longer the right lane for me and hasn’t been for a while. It’s the slow lane, in fact if I don’t get off it soon I’ll end up on the M56 to Warrington. As much as I wish it could be different and I could find the community, energy and progression I want that feeds my soul. It is not in this lane. When I stay in this lane, I do not feel alive.

My work with founders as a coach, advisor and mentor is rewarding. I find satisfaction in helping others and being a confidante, guide and counsel. This comes easily and naturally to me. I see a world here; a career, a business of James. Find your niche, hone it, scale it. Build a 7 figure coaching practice. I could stay in this lane and here I am for now. I’m on the motorway.

It’s the middle lane though. You know, the one you’re not actually meant to be in for that long. You’re either overtaking, or getting out of the way to be overtaken. And you’re not supposed to hog it. Either get in the slow lane, or get in the fast lane. Pick one.

It’s comfortable in the middle lane. You have to be watchful of course. There’s still traffic. Freelance work is feast and famine. It comes, it goes. As much as I enjoy this work and the flexibility that comes with it. My soul feels as conflicted as ever here. Constantly flirting with the dreams of others. Being a bit-part player in someone else’s drama. I drop in and out of everyone else’s theatre. Never in my own. I love the founders I work with and want to keep working with them all, but I know in my heart that being in this lane forever will not fulfil me.

So here I am again, ready for another lane. Another transition, another change in direction. Perhaps I need to stop the car and get on a motorbike? Or drive to the airport and get on a plane? I know in my heart there’s something else out there for me. A new mission, a new purpose, a new way of being. I sense it burgeoning in me. Wanting to come out.

For a long time, I have wanted me to go more deeply into the world of men, masculinity and men’s mental health. In my mind this is probably the most “me” thing of all. Yet I’ve never procrastinated more on anything in all my life. I know rationally that this lane, makes the most sense for me. Something leads me to this space all the time. A voice whispers in my chest to write Jack The Lad. Write a book for men. But then all I hear is quiet and emptiness. I don’t know where else to go. I’m fearful of accelerating into another lane, only to be let down again - only to have to change lanes again.

I get the feeling that there is more in this space for me than I have allowed myself to explore or to share and for the first time in a long time I do feel some fear. Which I know, is a good thing. Perhaps there are feelings to explore around fatherhood and edges for me to find as a man that scare me. Perhaps I need to go toe-to-toe with Andrew Tate and the manosphere bro’s.

Perhaps for now this is all I need to know. Or to feel. Some fear. Some trepidation. To know that changing lanes is a good thing, is the right move to be making. Not to worry too much about exactly what lane I’ll be going into. Or whether it’ll be a new road entirely. It might be enough just to follow some curiosity of the soul, to listen to that inner voice. To notice some of that fear I’ve written about before and step ever so slightly more into it. Stop trying to predict exactly what’s in the next lane or where it goes.

The truest thing I have shared today is that part of my fear about moving into a new lane is to be let down again. To fail again. This requires another blog post, because there’s a story I have that says everything I touch fails, everything I touch sparks like a match but never a bonfire. Maybe this is true. Maybe I’m a fire-starter and nothing more. Maybe accepting this about myself will allow me to flourish more. Maybe I just haven’t found the right fuel.

I’m changing lanes, again. This time I’m not kidding myself that it’s the only lane I’ll ever be in. The more I learn of myself and my nature. I’m starting to believe that I’ll be changing lanes all my life.

Cheers,
James x

I see so much fear. I see it all the time. I feel it in me. I see it in others.

Fear is like the grim reaper, he comes in the night wearing that black cloak and chokes you up. Paralyses you.

Fear likes to come dressed up as money. Fear loves money. Money is the perfect conduit for fear to breed and dig its thorny claws into you.

Fear comes in many forms. Fear of failure. Fear of who you might become (success). Fear of rejection. Fear of the unknown. Fear of letting go. Fear of abandonment. Fear of not being needed. Fear of past trauma. Fear of going backwards.

Whatever flavour the fear is in, it’s a double glazed window that stops you walking forward into the world that’s waiting for you. You can see through it, but you can’t walk through - you keep bumping into that same fear again and again. Worse still, your mind becomes the window which you look out into the world of what you could be doing. Fear is the looking glass stopping you stepping forward.

My fears usually centre around money, conflating money to worth. Therefore being afraid of being worthless. I also love to be afraid of the unknown and enjoy spending my time controlling as much as I can to avoid the unavoidable unknown of life itself. I resist being alone too, with a deep fear of loneliness - despite consistently proving to myself that when I’m comfortable “on my own” - I feel more connected than ever.

It’s hard to fully smash through your fears and remove them forever. What’s more realistic is the practice of consistently facing them. In this sense being fearless is not having no fear at all, it’s your willingness to face fear head on.

It’s the most simple inquiry in the world, but simply asking yourself what you are afraid is powerful. What are you afraid of?

Right now I’m afraid of sitting in my office alone for 8 hours and writing a book. I’m afraid it won’t work. I’m afraid I’ll fail. I’m afraid I’ll waste my time. I’m afraid I’ll be a total failure.

I could have many therapy sessions about all of these things, but I’ve found that only gets you so far. It’s better to do some version of your own exposure therapy. Take managed risks that encourage you to face your fears.

For me this might be, spend one full day writing my book. Say no to all paid work for that day and spend a full day on it. I’m sure this will go well. Then next, it’ll be to do it again. Do it for two days. These risks at your edges encourage you to expand and grow, into your fear.

Money is a good one. If your fears centre around money. Losing it, not having it, never having it. Then my invitation to you is to spend it or try a period where you have less of it. Whatever fear money is harbouring for you, will quickly come to the fore and you can face it by using money as the conduit. Obviously don’t do anything stupid (this isn’t financial advice) but if you’re worried about never having money (when you actually have a decent amount in the bank), buy something for yourself that celebrates how far you’ve come. I’m certain when you do this, you’ll open up space to generate even more money in the future.

Fear is always holding us back. Keeping us safe, both from harm, but also from risk. Listening to some of this is healthy. It stops you spending your life savings on bitcoin. But lots of your fear is stopping you from walking forward into the life that you can actually see for yourself - the life behind the looking glass.

I believe facing our fears isn’t something we do once, or once and for all. It’s something we do daily, consistently and marginally. Until one day we’ve moved the looking glass so close to the life we want that we are actually there, living it, with no fear. That starts today. It could be a LinkedIn post. It could be a conversation. It’s a managed risk. It’s a task that makes you squirm, a bit. Something that makes your heart race just a little bit.

For example, for me, right now, I feel excited writing this blog post in this form. Where I’m being a little bit more forthright in saying what I think and telling people what to do. I feel excited, as if I might be growing a bit here, expanding into a fear, into an edge. I’ve been afraid of being “worthless” of “not making anything of myself” so it feels scary to write on an ethereal topic with no attachment to the outcome. Yet that was the prompt I gave to myself this week; “Write with abandon” Write without fear.

Fear is holding you back and it always will. Yet we all have a chance to catch it. To notice it steal into our lives and put us in our own glass box. We can notice those moments we bump our head into the looking glass of our lives where fear is holding us back. Then, we can choose to face fear. Take a risk, knock on the glass, walk around it. Take an action that puts us in contact with our fear - like a game, an experiment.

Do this and fear doesn’t necessarily evaporate, but we move through it.

Actually, we move with it.

Fear will always remain, but we don’t remain the same.

James

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You become someone you never thought you’d be.

When you change, you betray who you once were. You go from one version of you to another. If the change is dramatic, then the sense of betrayal is dramatic.

This will show up in your relationships, the decisions you can or can’t make and the way you live your life.

I experienced this in my early twenties when I decided to go out less and drink less alcohol. I very quickly began betraying the person I once was, and the personality that I was. I betrayed my mates who were my drinking buddies. All of a sudden I wasn’t doing that with them, I betrayed them. I betrayed myself. 2 years prior if I’d have known that I’d have taken off these clothes, I’d have been outraged. This is who I am!

I betrayed myself and others when I sold Sanctus. 5 years earlier I’d say things like “I’ll NEVER sell out” and I fully meant it. Years later, I battled with the new desire burgeoning in me to sell the company and move onto a new mission. I resisted this change in me for many years and caused myself a lot of pain and heartache.

If you are growing then there will naturally be things that you did that you can no longer do. Maybe you used to see that mate all the time, but now, you’re busy working on something you care about and they’re in the same job they hate. You’re into hiking and yoga now, you don’t like Rugby that much any more. This change is a betrayal to them and if you keep pretending you haven’t changed, you’re betraying this new version of you too.

You’re now becoming the kind of person who does things that you believed you never would. You took a first class flight and it felt good. You bought an expensive house. You’re not from money, you’re betraying who you are and where you are from. You’re a different person now, you’ve forgotten your roots.

I see the pain this causes. I see the conflict in you when you are changing, betraying a former version of you. There’s conflict. One foot in the past, one foot in the future and you are trapped, twisted in betrayal - holding onto loyalty that is no longer serving you, and truly you have already let go of. You’ve already changed.

Then, by not fully stepping into who you are becoming, you’re actually betraying yourself because you are still pretending to be who you once were. You’re trapped.

This pain can be alleviated by simply acknowledging the fact that you are changing and being witnessed in that change. This is what often happens in coaching sessions. I might simply acknowledge to someone - “you’ve changed.” Not in the judgemental tone that might exist in your head. It’s not loaded. It’s simple. It’s true. You have changed. You are different now to then. This witnessing and acknowledgement allows people to walk over a threshold. They take a breath and sigh; “I’ve changed” Now you are more able to deal with the consequences of this change.

Maybe you stop feeling so bad about not gong out with that mate as much. Maybe you say to them,”I’m just not into that stuff any more mate” and let yourselves both be a bit sad about that. Maybe you communicate better with your team, or your customers and explain why circumstances have changed. Maybe you sit in your childhood bedroom at your parents house just for 5 minutes and think about how far you’ve come. You take ownership of the change and alleviate the sense of betrayal. By shining a light on it, it fades.

In a broader sense, in a company or in a team - by highlighting the change and owning any sense of betrayal then you allow this sigh of relief to be a collective exhale. From here you can move on, or the people feeling betrayed, maybe team members or customers might decide to leave and move on - opening up space for more.

You might think betrayal is a “bit deep”, I don’t think so. I don’t believe you can change at all without a sense of betrayal, I just don’t think we like to admit it. If you are growing a lot, you’ll cross multiple thresholds like this and there may be many layers of betrayal that you need to work through and shake off over time.

You cannot evolve without betraying the past. Own your betrayal and your path to growth will be smoother with less resistance. Avoid it and you’ll constantly feel conflicted and will be plagued with decisions that you get stuck in and struggle to make. If you fall into consistent patterns of inability to move forward or make decisions, it’s probably because you haven’t taken ownership of the fact that you have changed and committed to the forward facing version of you. You are still negotiating your sense of betrayal and you are actually betraying yourself more each day by not saying yes to the change that is out there waiting for you.

Don’t let betrayal hold you back. Own it. Cross your threshold and choose who you are becoming, don’t just be loyal to who you once were.

James

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Many of these I made to myself, and then to the world.

In not seeing them through I’ve lost confidence in myself. I’ve broken my own trust. Now, it’s time to forgive myself and follow through on what I said I’d do.

That’s how I’m going to regain my confidence. By keeping the promises I make to myself.

I said I would put the world’s first mental health gym on the high street. I promised myself, and the world, that I’d do that.

I didn’t.

I built something great, but it wasn’t what I promised. We did not fulfill the mission we said we would.

I said I would publish Jack The Lad, Bridget Jones’s Diary for Men.

That’s still in draft.

I said I would create an independent newspaper for Stoke and Staffordshire.

That’s not finished.

By not following through with what I said I’d do, my confidence has been chipped at. This process began in COVID when I was reduced to a small square on a computer screen and lost all my power. I felt small and invisible. Too much time confined, too much time to think.

Then exiting Sanctus, whilst on paper everything looked swell, internally it wasn’t for me. “The optics look good” as a friend said to me. Yet, I’ve been filled with regret around what I did and did not achieve.

Leaving London, moving to an area where being creative and entrepreneurial is met with more resistance. This has been another challenge to my confidence.

Then, losing a baby was the final passage that last year took me to rock bottom. Despite feeling totally out of control, I also somehow felt like I’d failed again.

All of these things have waned my confidence. Now, I’m coming out of the other side.

My inability to keep the promises I made has chipped at my confidence. If I’m totally honest, I have lost some respect for myself.

It’s not just about the outcomes, I know we can’t control those all the time. It’s that I know deep down I haven’t worked as hard as I could to bring these visions to the world. I know that on some level I gave up, or procrastinated or just didn’t keep going.

It’s those moments of staying in bed that little bit longer, or that important task or conversation that kept getting put off or the other bits of “easy” work that constantly get prioritised over the hard impactful stuff.

It’s in these moments that I have broken promises to myself and in showing up this way consistently over a number of years now, my confidence has declined along with it.

There are things I wanted to do, pieces of work that I said I would share with the world. And because I haven’t done them, or more importantly, put in the work to make them real. I can’t take myself as seriously. I can look myself in the mirror, but if I stare for a long time I’m disappointed and frustrated at what I see when I look deep into my own eyes.

This is the high level of accountability and challenge that I need to see in the mirror and it’s only now that I can look.

I have been kind to myself, I have been compassionate. This isn’t me beating myself black and blue. These are the standards I want to hold myself to, so that I can realise the potential that I know I have inside.

I am not avoiding this hard edge of accountability that is rising up inside me. This voice that says “James, you know you can do better than this.”

Having Xander has brought this to the fore.

I can’t be the dad who says “I had an idea for a fiction book once”

[sharp intake of breath] “Be careful starting a business son, I did it and it’s hard, are you sure?”

Or, the dad that rolls his eyes when he sees someone doing well, “probably came from money”. A sceptic, a cynic. No, that won’t be me.

There are a few very important things to me that I said I’d do and I haven’t. I can forgive myself for that and I am compassionate towards my younger self, But I couldn’t forgive myself for not doing anything about them now I’ve looked hard in the mirror.

The word confidence stems from the Latin word “confidentia”, which means “full trust” The way I see this, confidence is a trust in yourself and trust in life.

I have felt this level of trust and confidence before. I’ve walked tall and steady. It’s a confidence that isn’t frail with bravado. It’s quiet, deep and needs nothing else.

Trust is a currency, a bank account that goes up and down. I’ve been taking too much out and not putting enough back in. I’m ready to invest again.

I want to keep those promises I made to myself. Then, I can look myself dead in the eyes in the mirror and know I did what I said I would, no matter what the outcome.

I’ve got unfinished business. It’s time to get to work.

Cheers,

James x

I’d love to hear from you if this resonates. Reply privately over email or respond in the comments.

What promises haven’t you kept?

Can you forgive yourself?

What’s your unfinished business?

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The last 90 days have been the most violently transformative period of my life. I’ve loved it, but I won’t claim to have loved every single second. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that this experience has nothing to do with Xander, he’s perfect, it’s all to do with me.

I think we’re probably supposed to start counting down in months now, not weeks, but I’ll stay in weeks for as long as I can. Holding onto them like I’m holding onto those baby-grows he’s already too big for.

I’ve come down from the high I was on. I’m swimming deep into the normality of bottles, nappies, night feeds and witching hour.

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It’s the daily wrestle of how to get him down, the moment by moment conundrum of working out what a 3 month old baby needs.

I feel a little bit more able to allow myself to have some harder feelings about all this. After losing a baby I didn’t feel like I could dare begrudge any part of this process. As if any criticism of my current experience of parenthood was sacrilege towards the baby we lost.

3 months in and I can admit. It’s amazing, but let’s be real, it isn’t all amazing.

The same words are bandied about by new parents; “hard” “tired” “tough”. Yet these words are unhelpful to prospective parents or those alongside you. They’re not colourful enough.

The tiredness, at times, is overwhelming. It consumes you and gets into your bones. Affecting everything you see and do.

I find that it’s more than being tired. It’s being depleted. Being weary. I notice I’m not just physically tired. I’m overwhelmed by the constant not knowing what to do, or how to navigate this radically new stage of my life. This constant newness is exhausting.

The “hardness” is a constant fight with the uncertainty and fragility of a baby who you love very much.

I know that when I find myself dropping my shoulders and saying to others that “it’s hard” - I’m 1) doing this weird thing that British parents do where we compete and wallow in how tough it all is. 2) I’m actually saying (but not saying) “I’m finding this hard and I need help”

The “toughness” is all of it. How such a small being can now dictate your whole solar system. It’s not just the baby that’s “tough”. It’s the bickering you now have with your partner. It’s the sink full of dishes. It’s the untidy house. It’s how it used to be you, you two - two fairly well rounded and self-sustaining individuals. Now it’s you three and he’s slap bang in the middle.

And, it’s “hard” because all of these feelings begin bubbling up inside you. Feelings that you only have a moment at 3am to deal with. Anger. Frustration. Boredom. And Love. Deep deep love that comes from a pit in your stomach you didn’t even know existed. So you’re left wondering, how deep does this well go?

Who am I now? Who am I if I love this person this much?

I said before that I could tell I was discovering unexplored parts of me. That, is so true. I feel as if there is a whole world of love, care and parenting in me that I’m still to venture into.

It’s hard, but this level of change is hard. You don’t just breeze up a mountain.

The final thing I’m learning after 3 months is that none of this really has anything to do with Xander. He’s absolutely perfect. As, I believe, are all babies.

This. Whatever this experience of parenting is. Is absolutely all to do with me. My response. My relationship to him and to my new life as a parent. He is perfect. He is innocent. He is a baby. I’m the complex, broken adult filled with a lifetime of conditioning that’s been hard wired into me.

Of course, babies are different. When I say they are perfect. I mean, they just are. They are pure being. Therefore, all I can do is respond, relate and try, try my best to make conscious choices that aren’t based on some limiting belief or frustration.

This level of change and transformation on a personal level is violent. I mean that word. I’ve personally never felt this level of change in my life. The closest I came was founding a business. There is a reason people make analogies between babies and business (the business is your baby). There’s a vicious amount of change coming through you that is unstoppable. This change permeates your practical day-to-day life and your identity. It’s cellular. There is no escape from a full, violent transformation of you and your whole life.

I can feel it in me. I am becoming someone totally new.

When I wake in the morning. I don’t just think about my work. I don’t just think about me (which honestly, I’ve spent my life doing). I think about what I need to do for Xander and Sarah.

And the truth is, I don’t always want to think like that. This new part of me is absolutely pummelling the old me. The old me is reeling, ouch. Old me is wondering when he’s going to play Padel again?

You’re not playing Padel for a while buddy, you’re a dad now. Deal with it.

When people say “it’s hard”. They’re not just talking about being tired, they are talking about a total identity shift. A violent, beautiful transformation. A hurricane of change. Now, that’s hard. A lot harder than disrupted sleep.

I’ll check back in at the 6 month mark. Which somehow feels like half way. I don’t know why.

Cheers,

James x

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It’s the beginning of the calendar year, but when I look around me, when I feel my own tiredness and my own energy. I don’t feel the “new year, new me vibes” yet. Far from it.

This is not new year in the way we are sold it. Go for a walk and look at the naked trees and ask them if it’s new year? They’ll laugh their branches off at you. Of course it’s not the new year yet! It’s absolutely freezing.

My year starts properly in February. When we come out of the depths of winter and can turn towards Spring.

January is one big doorway we are all walking through. One foot is across the threshold but the rest of your body hasn’t made it across yet. You’re in transition. From 2025 to 2026.

I’ve taken this approach to new year for the last few years and it’s helped me a lot to quell any new year anxiety. That feeling that grows over the Christmas period in the unknown of it all where I’d start feeling anxious about my new year goals. I’d start ruminating over how I was going to be really successful in the new year, all the things I’d do. I noticed I was never doing this goal setting or reflecting from a place of fun and creativity, it was always fear-fuelled planning with a Jan 1st deadline. Pointless.

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I like creating new year intentions, goals and resolutions. I have made them. Crucially, they are still in draft. I’m not locking them in until February 1st. I’m going to keep letting January confuse me, let myself arrive into 2026 some more and then, only then, will I stride head first into 2026.

Until then, I’ll use January to remember what I do, who I am and notice what old patterns from last year are still with me. What do I want to leave behind in 2026? What’s not coming through the doorway with me? And, I’ll use January to really listen to and observe what’s emerging for me - what seeds have been planted? If I look beneath the frozen earth, which ones are sprouting? Once I’m through the doorway, where do I want to go?

If you’ve landed in January and you feel lethargic. If you feel the January blues. If you “just hate January” or the “weather gets you down”. I’d reframe your expectations. Don’t resist Winter. Perhaps this isn’t your new year yet either, maybe you need to hunker down a little longer. Come out of your cave properly in Feb and start your new year then, with me.

Happy New Year.

James x

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I love winter.

I love the darkness, the mist, the low light, bare trees, frost, death and return of the light.

I love Christmas in the UK because I feel like it’s one of the only shared traditions we have.

The commerciality of it sugarcoats the true meaning; a sea of Amazon parcels glosses over what it actually is.

But the Christmas spirit lives, families come together, people are kinder, happier and we all focus on connection.

On a spiritual level, Christmas hijacks the winter solstice, the event that (IMO) holds all the meaning.

It’s this event and this timing which is why I love Christmas and why I believe it’s a powerful time of year for everyone.

The light continues to fade to its lowest ebb and then on the morning of the winter solstice - the light begins its return until it reaches its peak on the summer solstice in June.

After a calendar year of work, love and strife. The winter solstice marks the dying of the light. The bitter end. And then, the shy beginnings of something new.

I love this opportunity to wave goodbye to the year. Whilst also taking a peak at a new turning of the sun too. Wondering what 2026 will behold for me?

The cold, the mist or the frost wraps me in this state. Holding me down in this reflective, sometimes melancholy place of wondering and reflection.

The entire Christmas period and especially the pickle jar between Xmas and NY is a bardo. A space between death and rebirth.

I experience it like a long corridor. Nowhere. No time. No place. It’s a limbic space where you’re suspended, floating between worlds. It’s a threshold to linger in.

It’s easy to resist this space. Avoid it with the busyness of plans and planning ahead. Retaining the same energetic state that we’ll embody for Q1, 2, 3 and 4. Yet to do this. To stay on this same frequency is to reject the invitation of Christmas and turn away from its low hum that can lull us towards the fruitful unknown.

If we can let go. If we can truly stop. We can enter this bardo. We can let ourselves metaphorically die and be reborn again in caesars January.

This doesn’t mean no plans, or no planning. But it does mean saying yes to an energetic reset. A nervous system massage of mince pies, cosy fires and family walks.

It’s quite fashionable now to tell people that Christmas can be hard. A difficult time. When I was in the depths of grief last Christmas I certainly didn’t feel jolly. Yet even with a gaping hole in my heart I let the flux of Xmas time rub its wintery balm on my soul. Even if you hate your family, or you resent how much sugar you’ll inject into your veins - you can still let go into the great unknown for a spiritual reset from Xmas eve until Jan 2nd.

I’ll be reading A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens. I always read something festive. I’ll be reading Following Aslan and this book on Santa as a Saint, Shaman, Symbol as well to connect to this period on a deeper level.

I’ll do some journaling. Possibly filling in the Year Compass. I’ll light a fire and stare at it. We’ll have NYE with friends and ask some expansive questions over dinner. I’ll go on many, too many walks and watch the weather - looking at the bare naked trees as they give me clues about what’s next. I’ll keep my eye out for Robins. I’ll take a good look at the Christmas tree and smell it’s pines. I’ll watch the fireworks go bang on NYE. These aren’t just things to do over Christmas. Each one is a ritual, a moment, a symbol. If you let it be or connect to it so.

I’ll try and try I will to stay present with family, be there - feet on the floor. Connect. I’ll fail constantly and try again over and over and that’s the best we can do.

“Show me someone enlightened”

“Show me someone enlightened with their family”

And now to let go into the bardo and misty passage of time that will float me to January.

One tip to fully let go into this time of year is to absolutely do everything you can to round out the year. Demolish the to do list. Have that work drink. Squeeze this year to the pulp. When there’s nothing left, it’s easier to let go. Notice your resistance, notice if you’re a little scared to truly switch off. Feel the fear and step into the mist.

Now, I can feel the ghost of Christmas calling me. I’m entering my bardo.

I’ll see you on the other side.

Merry Christmas and thanks for being a reader this year.
James x

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We welcomed Xander into the world on 21/10 at 11.09pm.

It was a new moon and one of the busiest nights of the year at the hospital. So busy, they nearly had to close the doors.

There’s too much to say.

How I’ve become a Dad, but I already was one to Teddy. How after losing a baby there are feelings of guilt that occasionally darken this experience.

The birth. The most magical, primitive, primal experience I’ve ever been part of. Front row seats at the most incredible natural moment on earth. The spellbinding love I feel and felt for Sarah in that moment.

Then holding Xander in my arms, hearing his fleshy cry. Knowing my whole life changed in that instant. Feeling like a totally different person.

I could write on all of this. On the purpose I’ve felt ever since. On how our house now feels totally different. How baby clothes cover the radiators. How all the baby kit costs £179. How there’s such a culture of fear and fear-mongering in parenting and the healthcare system.

There’s too much to say.

And yet, there’s so much undiscovered and unexplored too. I feel a deep love, commitment and responsibility. My connection and relationship with Xander is still forming. In my heart I feel the sprouting seeds of a love that is unbridled, I feel him soaking into my skin, but there’s still much more to go.

There’s a world opening up in me that it’s too early to speak to. I’m at the edge of a new map and I can’t quite say yet all the ways in which this new passage of life will change me.

I just know it already has.

The concoction of emotions is crazy. Everything from deep gratitude to severe exhaustion. The chaos is wild. Going from black sludge in a nappy to the most beautiful cuddles on your chest. Watching grandparents fall in love and go daft, knowing that when we shut the door to say goodbye to visitors he’ll scream the house down and we wonder when we’ll sleep again?

There’s too much to say.

What I can say with certainty is that I have changed. New achievement unlocked. Dad mode: On. Something went ping in my head the moment he came safely out. A switch flicked.

For the first 3 weeks I was on an absolute high, pure adrenaline. I was charging around the house carrying a moses basket, breast pump and nappy caddy all under one arm, draped in muslin cloths, taking two stairs at a time.

I felt alive with direction and purpose. I loved the newness of everything.

Now, 6 weeks in and reality is beginning to sink in. He’s not going anywhere. There is no end to this race. I can rush to get us to bed as early as possible, but it doesn’t matter, because we’ll be doing this every night now in some form for many years.

There’s too much to say.

But, it is sinking in.

We were really ready for this to happen, losing a baby was like the ultimate cruelty - giving us a taste of what we wanted, but taking it away from us. The flip side for our relationship with Xander is that our hearts were ready and the doors of gratitude were wide open. We feel so lucky to just have a healthy, happy baby. Everything else is fine. Like Grandma says, no parent ever died from tiredness.

The whole journey so far for me has been one big lean into acceptance. Embracing it all. I know that I could make our experience of parenthood very hard by resisting what this really is. If I long for the times I slept 8 hours, went to the gym, played Padel and meditated every day I’m going to make life really painful for myself. I’m not clinging on to my old life. I’m living in a new one. That doesn’t mean I want to forget and forego who I was and what I enjoyed doing. It’s just that this is so new, so intensely different that to survive and appreciate it I have to fully fully accept all that this is. Everything from poonami’s when you don’t want them, to him waking up 5 mins after we’ve put him down at 3 in the morning. Those “hard” bits are the ticket into the stadium, where you get to witness a new life unfold.

The bad bits are so easy to describe; “tired”, “hard”, “no time for yourself” - the good bits are so good you need to be a poet to put it all into words. Mesmerising.

My intention for parenting and fatherhood is simple; “no moaning”. We lost a baby and I refuse to moan about having one. It can be hard. I can be tired. Our relationship can be strained. Holidays may never be the same again. We can feel anger, sadness, frustration, burnout - whatever we want on the emotions wheel. But I won’t moan about this. I won’t moan about the greatest gift on earth.

If I feel myself wanting to moan. To resist the situation. To blame him. To zone out. I take a breath and look at him. I look at this beautiful, precious, fragile, helpless baby that can’t yet meet his own needs. Who is completely reliant on us. I look at him, take a breath and remember how grateful I am to even be here and that we actually wanted this. We chose this. So get on with it, pick him up and give him the cuddle he needs to feel safe.

I’m pretty certain my views, feelings and objectives about everything in my life are about to change. Like I said, I’m a different James.

The world already looks different. I never appreciated how that stretch of Meaford Road on the walk we always do, doesn’t have a pavement. I never thought about how rank our old kettle was. I never appreciated what the schools might be like in Stone. I never thought; “how many days a week will I want to work when Xander is 2?”

It’s a new me. A new world. A new life.

Welcome Xander.

Cheers,
James x

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Looking for hearty and wholesome content about men, men’s mental health and masculinity? Head to JACK.

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Publication for men, about men, by men. Good news & deeper stuff.

By James Routledge

And it’s the day Sarah turns 40 weeks pregnant. Due date. We’re expecting a baby boy.

It’s also the end of Baby Loss Awareness week and we spent last night remember all the babies lost too soon at a service near us.

I feel as though we’re sitting in the waiting room. Waiting for our names to be called.

“You can become parents now. Next.”

It’s too lazy to describe this last year as weird. There’s too much to say. Everything from how arbitrary due dates seem to be all the way to going to a 15 week scan and getting post-mortem results at the same time.

Too much to say, it feels like a book or a film.

Grieving Teddy, whilst also creating space within for all the feelings surrounding a new pregnancy. Sometimes it’s felt like it needs to be a choice, one or the other. As if there isn’t enough emotional bandwith for both experiences at once, we’ve had to stretch. Stretch a lot.

“Another baby” that became the key phrase for me to feel like I was respecting both journey’s. Not a replacement. Not the one we always wanted. Another baby.

“Is this your first?” That question always stings, even if sometimes we just say “yeah” to avoid a long conversation in the queue at the post office - the answer is always “no, we lost our first” muttered inside.

We’ve had to protect and close off at times, there’s only so much emotional energy you can expend, especially in the queue at the post office.

Grief and new life all in a year. All in one body. All through Sarah, with me as a constant witness.

All year I’ve felt like I’ve been holding something back. Holding something in.

Every piece of work. Every newsletter. Every LinkedIn post. Every meeting.

I’ve been there. I’ve been true. Yet I’ve been withholding a huge part of my life. A huge part of me. A massive weight being carried around all of the time.

Under the surface all I’ve really wanted to talk about is babies. Losing babies. Making babies. Having babies. How we got pregnant again quickly, unexpectedly. As if it might be a miracle. I’ve felt it in my writing, my writing has been OK, but I’ve been holding myself back - lacking love, lacking real feeling because I’ve had to hold that down. I’ve not dared to share. For once in my life I couldn’t handle more public vulnerability. I’ve craved more privacy. Cherishing this new journey just for me, just for us. Keeping him close and hoping, praying, dreaming.

I’ve been living this year holding my breath. No full exhales.

Now, I’m ready. So ready to breathe out.

So ready to meet the baby boy who’s there. Just there inside that bump. I can feel him.

I’ve never been more ready for anything in my life. The experience of losing a baby makes this all even clearer. Super sharp. I can see it all. Because when we lost Teddy I became a Dad, but not quite. I fully saw what I wanted my life to look like and who I wanted to become, I had it in my hands for a moment. Then it was gone. Like a feather.

And now. Today. All we can do is wait. “Baby will come, when baby is ready”

Waiting to rewrite our story. Hoping to have a positive birth experience. Hoping for what we truly want to arrive.

Still there’s doubt. Plenty of doubt. Doubt that something bad could happen again. That we’ll be another statistic. We live with that now. That scar from past experience that will always mark us. In impossible situations , it always make us think; “yeah but what if?”

Marked by our grief we walked into Stoke Minster last night for a service on Baby Loss Awareness week. Lighting a candle in the wave of light, on our due date.

Bizarre and twisted and weird. Beautiful. Kind. Life has never felt so rich and full and murky. Life has never felt so real.

I imagine this fear or doubt will never go away. Our scars might fade but they always remain. Instead we practice facing that fear every day. Consciously, with awareness stepping into the great unknown.

And whilst the tears roll as we watch the candles flicker, somehow I do believe that this whole experience has made my life far richer.

I truly hope my next newsletter is about our baby boy.

Cheers,
James x

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Earlier this year, my monthly income was zero. I felt shit. I felt not good enough. I was equating the amount of income landing in my bank account each month to my self-worth.

I was viewing money as finite. A resource that would run out. I was in scarcity. Not enough to go around. Fear.

I could have felt differently. I could have been… all good! I could have felt light. I could have smiled and thought “this is a reset”. I could have accepted that it was an era, a chapter of change in my life. It was. I see that now, but at the time the way I was relating to money in my life was heavy, really heavy.

My relationship with money was draining me. Draining my energy. Making me feel small, holding me down.

I leant into it. Noticed how I was relating to money and made the conscious decision to change this relationship.

I had some cash sitting in a business bank account. I’d been keeping it there. Keeping it “safe”. So I took it out of the business account, I freed up the flow. I actually spent the money I had. The energy moves. The money flows. I stopped keeping money there “just in case”.

We got the bathroom done. We spent £12,000 on it. We made an investment, even when I wasn’t earning a lot. We had less money in the savings as a result. But we let the money flow out, we let it move. Making that investment in our home, felt good. I love our new bathroom and don’t miss that money at all. It’s gone now and a new bathroom has appeared. That’s way better.

When I was getting bills I was feeling tight. I was feeling constricted. I was taking a sharp intake of breath. Huuuhhhh, “I need to pay out more” But what about the reframe? The more tax you’re paying, the more money you’re making. You’re making a contribution to society. Being a good citizen. Isn’t that a good thing? Spending money was feeling like a loss, rather than an exhange.

It’s not about the bill or the invoice you need to pay. It’s about your response to it. That’s what’s revealing. Money has energy to it. How’s money making you feel?

Money isn’t the end, it’s the means. How we relate to it is what matters.

Resistance vs Flow

I was feeling a lot of resistance towards money in my life. I was feeling constricted, scarce. Now I’m leaning into flow more. Letting money move in and out.

I’m trying to be more generous. Because that’s who I want to be. If I become more generous with my money. Will money be more generous with me?

The other day I gave ~£150 to 3 different charities (generous to others). I spent £300 at M&S on new clothes (generous to myself).

I bought some fresh veg and whilst the self check out beeped I smiled and thought; “I sold my skills to pay the shop its suppliers for growing this veg.” Exchange. It’s pretty laughable when you think what money actually is. When you really think about the value exchange that’s happening in your bank account, it’s disarming and shows money for what it really is. Energy, value, commerce. Not your self-worth.

This isn’t about money. This is about me. This is about you.

I see this all the time in founders I work with, and myself too.

You build a great business with decent revenue, but your relationship with money is still scarce. You’re still stressing over every penny. Every transaction is stressed over. Every pound is scrutinised. You’re still paying yourself like a teenager. No investments into your life. It’s all locked up in your business.

I had the same with Sanctus, then I freed myself and sold some shares and I felt lighter. But even then I felt scarce, feeling like the money I had made was finite. As if it was all I’d ever make, I left that lump sum sitting in my bank account going stale for 18 months. That money decision was made by a child counting his pennies in his savings jar.

Prompts and Reflections

Some great prompts to reflect on:

• What is your relationship is with money at the moment?

• What does money actually mean to you?

• What value and meaning are you placing on money in your life?

• If you get a bill how do you feel?

• Go through all your transactions and look at them. Is this you? Is this your life?

• When was the last time you bought something for you? Made an investment in you?

• Do you have a pile of savings sitting there, going stale like a pile of dusty coins? Are you scared this will be the only money you ever have?

Money is energy. It’s value. Exchanging, flowing back and forth. How you relate to money says a lot about you and your life.

I’m learning to be more free with money. Less tight. Less constricted. I’m trusting that more money will flow in, and out.

And if it doesn’t… I’m learning to be more free, more light. Money does not define me.

That’s only a good thing.

Cheers,
James x

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p.s I’m looking for ~5 people to join me as “early birds” - you’d get my newsletters in raw unedited form before anyone else and have the chance to provide feedback, edits and build on the themes. I’d incorporate your feedback into my final post and credit you. I think this could be fun if 1) you like my writing, 2) you like writing, 3) you like editing, 4) you like the “deep stuff” and creative process. Respond to this email if you’re interested. I’d put you in a whatsapp group and send first draft newsletters to you for feedback, chat and builds.

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I’m working 1:1 with Founders and Founding Teams as a thought partner, founder coach and brand builder. Coaching, facilitating, mentoring, advising - high level on the business and going deep on storytelling and brand. Book a chat here.

I’ve worked for myself for 15 years.

How often have I actually benefitted from the luxury of managing my own time?

I’ve expensed a few coffees. A few meals. A few work trips. Yet, how much time freedom have I actually enjoyed?

Not loads. Freedom to work on what I want with who I want. Definitely that. But, my time? Not much at all. I’ve travelled and worked remotely, but no matter where I’ve been or what I’ve been working on, I’ve always had typical 9-5 conditioning around my time.

Even though I’ve had loads of independence and autonomy over my time, I’ve always forced myself to work the same hours as everyone else I know, or a lot more.

If I have ever gone for a run in the middle of the day, or taken a Friday afternoon off or had a lie in. It’s not long until I’ve chastised myself for it. Beating myself up with the belief that I’ll never be successful like this.

This year I’ve been coaching and consulting - working a really flexible schedule. Still, I’ve chained myself to my desk from 9-5, or longer. Just like I should.

Breaking the cycle. Experiencing Flow

In the last month, I’ve stopped doing this. I’ve broken the pattern. I realised I’ve been forcing myself into a conditioned working pattern for no reason. I’ve been forcing myself to hum at a high pitched frequency. When really, I want to be on another wavelength.

By forcing myself to work the typical 9-5, or 8-6 - I’ve been disrupting my own flow, to fit into another box designed by someone else. I’ve been putting on my own golden handcuffs. I’ve been chaining myself to my desk. In this sense, freedom is a choice - and I’ve been choosing to fit the handcuffs.

However, in the last few weeks I’ve more naturally followed my own flow. I’ve taken a slow morning and started my working day at 10 or 10.30. Some days I’ve not even done that much. Last night I finished at 4pm and made a celery and potato soup.

The other day I went for a 1 hour walk at 3pm, it was wild.

I’ve been in tune with how and when I want to work.

It’s working.

The weirdest thing is, it’s working. Connections are coming my way. Opportunities seem to be finding me. All when I’m not doing a lot. When I do work, I’m present, connected, grounded. I’m not in a rush. The founders I’m working with are getting a lot of value from my work. I believe it helps that I’m on a different frequency, it’s what they pay me for.

I know why “it’s working”. It’s because I’m aligned. I’m in alignment and I’m on the frequency I want to be on. I’m humming. I’m the walking equivalent of “ommmmmm”. Calm.

I’m feeling the benefit. I’m experiencing flow. One of the many benefits of an entrepreneurial career is flexibility around my time. So if I’m not feeling that benefit, then I’m not experiencing the joy of this work. I may as well get a proper job.

Feeling the benefit is important, because it puts me in touch with why I do this work, with the soul and essence of why do this, why bother? When I enjoy my day, because I’ve been on my schedule. It makes me want to do more. There’s momentum. There’s flow.

So many times I see people start businesses because they want freedom. Instead they chain themselves tighter and tighter to their desk. They take themselves further and further away from the very reason they went on this journey in the first place. They disrupt their own flow and block themselves.

I’d been placing myself in a mental prison, honestly I’ve done it for most of my career so far. I work on “different” things, but I still mould myself to how everyone else works or how it “should be done”.

Whatever the benefit is of an entrepreneurial or creative life to you, you have to live it and experience it now, not later.

For me one of the great benefits is the opportunity to work on and be on a different frequency. Starting at 10am after a mindful morning and not getting in my head about it, not thinking “i’m not working hard enough” - trusting that there’s a different way for me. This is important to me. This is part of my “why”

I’m getting up when I want and I’m starting to work when I want.

I’m not just “in flow” - I’m experiencing it.

What’s the benefit for you? What’s your creative life?

Experience it, now. Not later.

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That story became my ego.

I’m not letting that happen again.

It’s late 2015. I’m living in an abandoned 3 story townhouse in West Hampstead.

I’m working for Doug as an “investor” and I’ve had 4 flat whites at Ozone coffee in Old Street.

I had 5 or 6 frenzied meetings with startup founders that day. It was dark and rainy outside.

Going down the escalator to the underground of the Northern Line, I had a panic attack.

For weeks and months these episodes kept happening. In the end I wrote about them. Talked about them. Started a whole a business about them. About mental health.

I made links and analysed my experience. Sharing themes that resonated with others. This felt amazing. Healing. Cathartic. I told this story a thousand times.

‘I was wearing a mask. I wasn’t opening up. I never grieved my last company. I was lost. In an existential crisis.’

10 years on. And the other day I had two strong coffees.

I nearly had a panic attack.

I had to calm myself down and make sure my feet hit the floor.

Could it be, that on that day going down to the underground ten years ago, I’d actually just had too much coffee?

Could it be that I spun a story out of something to give me purpose, energy, direction?

Could I have turned that story into a blog post encouraging startup founders to ditch caffeine?

Was it about my mental health after all? Or did I just drink too much coffee that day? What would have happened if I only had one?

That story became my identity. I developed that moment into a narrative, into a persona.

I see it more clearly now. It was a story. Not me. The story was true. It was real. That’s why it resonated so strongly. I was being honest, vulnerable and authentic.

But from that moment, in the years that followed. I became attached. I became the story.

This time, I’m not doing that again. I’m not my feelings. I’m not what happens in my life. I’m me, not my life experiences. I can tell stories, share the feelings, recount the experience. But I am not them. I am me.

This feels important. And I see it in many others too. How stories, thoughts or emotions become so fixed in their mind that they become that story. They think themselves into a person, rather than being a person. They base their identity on who they think they are, rather than who they actually are in the world.

This to me. Is ego. Mind-constructed thoughts that wrap around you to become a persona. Ego isn’t ambition, or money, or status. Whilst ego often wants those things. They get unfairly labelled. Ego, to me, is “who you think you are” it’s you defining you by an image and catalogue of thoughts in your mind. This way, you stay fixed, you become rigid. Because your persona is so fixed in your mind based on the stories you’ve been telling yourself and others over the years, there’s little room for growth. There’s no expansion. There’s you and your ego moving through the world wrapped in a bubble of you.

My mental health story created an ego for me. I used it for good. But actually I created a fragile ego that was based on story. Ironically my ego was centred around my identity as someone “open about mental health” - still though, it was an ego - another mask for me to wear. In the end this ego actually limited my world and my possibilities, because I was armoured against what was possible. My world actually became closed, not open. To have no ego is to be free, open and limitless. To have an ego is the opposite.

This happens all the time. We see it in many people, especially founders and creative people. Especially when the world wants their ego, when they get asked to do keynotes or go on panels. Their ego becomes reinforced, more fixed, stronger and stronger.

I’m not doing this again. No stories. No personas. No fixed identities.

I’m staying fluid and I hope, more real, more me.

I wonder where I’d be if I’d just had a peppermint tea that day?

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I’m working 1:1 with Founders and Founding Teams as a thought partner, founder coach and brand builder. Coaching, facilitating, mentoring, advising - high level on the business and going deep on storytelling and brand. I’m currently working with 9 founders/teams and have space for 1 more before I hold fire. Book a chat here.

They go deeper than typical non-fiction personal development books. These speak to the heart and soul, not just the brain.

Each of these 10 books had a profound impact on me.

1. Siddhartha - Herman Hesse

This is the only one that’s a story. It was a gateway drug for me. I read it at a time I was changing and taking off masks at 25. This helped me see that there are many lives, many selves, many stories, many people we can be.

2. Power of Now - Eckhart Tolle

I listened to this (on the Northern Line), and I think that enhances the experiences. It doesn’t just remind you to be ‘present’ or ‘mindful’. Words that are losing their meaning because they are over-used. If you really listen it tells you how “now” is all there is and can take you completely out of suffering. A challenging read that at the time, I didn’t want to hear because I still thought all the problems I had were because I was so special and I was raising my awareness to an environment I was unhappy in.

3. Love’s Executioner - Irvin D. Yalom

If you don’t want to go to therapy yet. Read this and it’ll do the job for a bit until you’re ready.

4. The Artist’s Way - Julia Cameron

The irony is I never finished this one, but I’m yet to meet anyone who committed to Morning Pages and their life didn’t change dramatically.

5. The Invitation - Oriah Mountain Dreamer

If you only read the poem, that’s enough. But it goes deeper. This is a hidden gem that few people know of and it’s an urgent call to action to be yourself that doesn’t hide from how hard that is. I remember the chapter on betrayal took my breath away.

6. The Creative Act - Rick Rubin

I just love Rick Rubin. For me he’s the only current artist/creator bridging the gap between work, art, entrepreneurship and health in a way that feels spiritually relevant to me. If you create anything - read this.

7. Heart Minded - Sarah Blondin

Comes with meditations to do alongside. A call to listen to your heart and live from it. Reading this is the equivalent of placing your hand on your heart and really paying attention.

8. Dark Nights of the Soul - Thomas Moore

A salve if you’re going through a very dark passage in your life. This book turned my darkest days into an awakening and made me realise the dark night is what I’d been avoiding for a while.

9. Anam Cara - John O’Donohue

I find it very hard to find books about spirituality or something “higher” that aren’t either totally Eastern/Buddhist or written by Americans. Being British with Irish ancestry I wanted something that spoke to me, to where I’m from. The Celtic tradition does this and John O’Donohue is masterful at sharing it. If I had a bible, it might be this. If Nature is your “God” this is for you.

10. Tao Te Ching - Stephen Mitchell (Translator)

It humbles me to know that someone 2,500 years ago was writing in a way that completely speaks to me now. To know we haven’t changed at all in that time is somehow a real comfort. This book is a compliment to any home in my opinion.

I hope you might find a book here that speaks to you.

I’m not sure if these books change you, or, you’re already changing when you find them… who knows.

On some level I think all of these books speak to “Truth” . They write about something universal. Some call it “The Universe”, “God”, “Energy”, “Dao”, “Unknown”, “Being”, “Nature”.

Each of these books take you to the edge of the map, to places undiscovered inside. These books will take you to the unexpected places you need to go.

Enjoy and pop any recommendations you have in the comments.

Cheers,
James x

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I’m working 1:1 with Founders and Founding Teams as a thought partner, founder coach and brand builder. Coaching, facilitating, mentoring, advising - high level on the business and going deep on storytelling and brand. I’m currently working with 9 founders/teams and have space for 1 more before I hold fire. Book a chat here.

Deep feelings of inadequacy and inferiority were in the dark and I never took the time to pull back the curtain.

Shame around where I’m from was left hidden away.

Desires for wealth and status that were rooted in insecurity and the need for external validation ran me from the inside out whilst I misunderstood them as ambition and purpose.

These parts of me were tucked away in my darkest corners - I only saw them in therapy.

I only saw them in the mirror of the relationships I cultivated. Some healthy, some ugly.

Since peering into my shadow I’ve been able to heal wounds that were driving unconscious behaviour.

I’ve became aware of what my shadow side wants.

This doesn’t mean I’ve stopped wanting to make money, or be recognised for my work.

It means I’m more conscious of how I’m operating and whether I’m being ran by my shadow - the lingering beliefs of doubt, fear and insecurity…

Or, whether I’m operating from a place of kindness, love, excitement and passion.

When you look into the darkness you are able to make a decision - bring out what you find into the light, or, acknowledge what you’ve found and let it stay in the cool, dank place it lives.

I never realised how much I wanted external validation, wealth and status. Still, I know, these desires dance around in my shadows. I catch them in the corner of my eye.

I’ve still got some work to do to truly own these desire and bring them into the light with no shame. I want to be comfortable with these desires and not push them back into the dark.

I know too that in the darkness I feel loneliness and difference, that “nobody gets me” - as much I might try and coax these parts of me out into the light I’ve learned these parts likes to stay in the cave. I’m just aware they are there and I have to get comfortable in the dark to spend time with them.

It’s hard to see into your shadow.

The first thing you have to do is face the light.

You might catch a glimpse on a walk in the sun, but your shadow will sneakily bounce away when they can, or the light will fade.

To see your shadow clearly you have to be in the light, but you won’t see your shadows if you keep chasing sunsets. You have to turn away from the sun and look into your blind spots. You have to look behind you, in the places you don’t usually stop to look.

You can live your whole life and never see your shadow. I’d argue many of our world leaders are running on shame, fear and insecurity totally unconsciously. Their shadow runs them.

Those who chose to do this work though will ultimately, I believe, live a more open-hearted, compassionate and fulfilled life.

All you have to do is face the light and look behind you.

What’s in your shadow?

Cheers,
James x

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I’m working 1:1 with Founders and Founding Teams as a thought partner, founder coach and brand builder. Coaching, facilitating, mentoring, advising - high level on the business and going deep on storytelling and brand. I’m currently working with 9 founders/teams and have space for 1 more before I hold fire for now. Book a chat here.

For months, I’ve noticed that I wake up in a rush.

My mind, immediately, is busy.

With all the things I have to do.

All the opportunities in front of me.

All the ideas I have.

Trains of thought come running at me from all different directions as anxiously switch platforms hoping to catch the next one.

“I need to shower, I need to workout, I need to go for a walk around the block, I need to make a healthy breakfast. I need to start working ASAP(!)”

“I could do this. I could do that. I need to do this. I need to do that. When I talk to him I’ll say this. I never should have done this. When that happened I could have said this”

The need to get to work fast creates this rush, this adrenaline. Like a ticking time bomb on count down. I must “start my day” at work. I must produce, lest I get left behind.

The earlier I start work. The more money I’ll make. The more successful I’ll be.

If I plan conversation in my head. If I scheme in my mind. I’ll be more likely to win at whatever do. So I must rush to start my day. My inhales are short and sharp, I’m not sure if I exhale.

But what am I rushing for?

When the day begins, I’m in a rush to get stuff done. I’m making a to-do-list. I’m ticking off tasks. I’m going from one meeting to the next. I’m running 5 minutes behind. I’m driving just a little over the speed limit to make time up.

I’m rushing and I don’t want to be.

I’m in a state of lack. I’m running off the belief that by controlling what I put in, I can control what I get out. My mind is a calculator. My life is a meat grinder. I’m churning out sausages.

I believe that by rushing to work, by busying myself through my day that I’ll get to whatever my end goal is. Money, success, fame.

But, I’ve been getting it wrong.

Because really, what do I want?

• Money = security, safety, possibility, generosity.

• Success = power, abundance, freedom.

• Fame = connection, fun.

I’m not chasing money, I’m chasing the feeling that comes with it. Security. Contentment.

I’m not chasing success. I’m chasing that feeling I’ve had before where I feel powerful, like anything is possible.

I’m not chasing fame. I’m looking for more connection, more chances to share my thoughts. I want the fun that comes with all that.

So I’m rushing around in the morning to work harder to get to the end quicker.

And it’s not working.

Or, even if it is. It doesn’t feel so good. Because I’m not present. I’m not hugging Sarah in the morning because I’m thinking about what I can make today to get me closer to where I want to go.

I’m not hearing the sounds of the birds because I’m planning what I’ll say in that conversation I might have in two weeks.

I’m there, but I’m not there because I’m rushing. I’m thinking. I’m in my head working it all out.

And I’ve been getting it wrong. In fact, I’ve been living upside down.

Input-output feels great. It feels safe and secure. If I can figure it all out, I’ll get to the answer and then i’ll be safe. I want to be in the known universe.

Yet actually, everything I want. I can have now.

I can feel secure now.

I can feel possibility now.

I can feel powerful now.

I can feel connected now.

I don’t need to wait to feel these emotions, I don’t need to rush towards them. I can slow down into them, now.

And now the irony comes. By not rushing. By slowing down. By feeling contentment now. By feeling secure now. By being connected now. I’m inviting in more possibility into my life.

I’m receptive. I’m present. I’m here. I’m not there.

And this is where it get’s weird. This is where it get’s mystical.

By practicing these feelings now, by slowing down. By noticing myself rushing and catching myself. Slowing myself down and saying “it’s all ok, you have enough - you don’t need to rush”

By doing this, I’m going to get what I want faster than if I was rushing.

I don’t know how, because I can’t plan for it. When I’m rushing I’m following a plan, input/output.

Yet by slowing down, feeling harmonious. Hugging Sarah in the morning, listening to the birds, meditating, walking slow. I’m humming a new energy into the world, a vibrational frequency that’s going to bounce something new back to me.

And, I’ll have my eyes open to see it, my ears tuned in to hear it.

What I’m describing isn’t manifestation.

It isn’t writing down your goals every day.

It isn’t dreaming about becoming a multi-millionaire.

It isn’t planning.

It’s feeling. It’s presence.

It’s reflecting on what emotional state you want to be in. What emotional state do you actually desire? Usually something like love, peace, contentment. And being in that state now. Right now. Today.

That’s why I’m giving up rushing. Because I don’t want to be in a rushed state of existence. I want to be in an expansive one, at peace, relaxed and secure. When I rush - I’m not in that state even though I’m trying to rush towards something new.

Be the state you desire now.

Evoke the feeling now.

Bring more of that into your day-to-day.

And the future you desire will reach you in unexpected ways.

For me this currently practically means

• Meditating every day and practicing feeling calm and contented, full of peace

• Long hugs with Sarah every day where I feel full of love and secure

• Noticing when I am rushing and physically slowing myself down.

My belief is that by focusing on these practices today I’ll invite something new into my life that responds to my frequency of peace, love, calm and security.

Sent with calm.
James x

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I’m working 1:1 with Founders and Founding Teams as a thought partner, founder coach and brand builder. Coaching, facilitating, mentoring, advising - high level on the business and going deep on storytelling and brand. Enjoy the journey, express yourself and grow. Book a chat here.

I’m loving it.

I’ve not played sport for years.

I’ve ran, hiked, been to the gym, rowing. It’s all been gentle, mindful. It's all been about the process, you know - detaching from the outcome. How they tell us to do it in meditation…

Nothing competitive. I’ve not played games. I’ve not played sport. I’ve not been trying to win. That’s so Wolf of Wall Street. I’ve been after Peace and Love. Eastern philosophy, not Western culture.

But I’ve been playing Padel and I’ve been loving it. Because I’m loving competing, winning and losing.

I win, you lose.

There’s a primal desire in me there that is spoken to whist playing sport. It’s been dormant for a while. A desire to win and compete that feels really good and healthy to let breathe, or sweat. To shout “AGH!” when I hit the net. To fist pump “Vamos!” when I finally hit a much needed winner to save break point.

In the circles I run in and the books I read, this competitive nature has been tempered, or, worse, shamed. The meditations I listen to or poetry I read speak of the flow of water and sounds of the trees. They speak of ‘abundance’ and ‘enough’.

I understand why, I know that man’s greed and desire to win at all costs has harmed our health and our planet. Our competitive nature that drives capitalism has created the extractive economy we have that is harming our planet and making people run around on fumes feeling like there isn’t enough to go around. Our desire to win and fight creates world wars, death and destruction. It’s to blame for our attention economy, our over medicalised, over stimulated anxiety fraught hypochondria and dopamine drained neurosis that makes me wonder; are we all going mad? Why are the rivers running so low? What did I go on my phone for?

My philosophy is one of peace, abundance and love. We all have enough in business, in life, in love. It’s generative and expansive. I believe we’d be so much better off if we all moved more in that direction. If our politics and leadership was broadly less masculine, more feminine and generally more balanced.

So why do I want to feel more masculine and what on earth does that have to do with playing Padel?

Why do I want to smash the ball in exactly the spot I want it to go in and why do I want to see my opponent unable to get it back.

Don’t get me wrong I don’t want to destroy them (but I must be honest and say a small part of me really does). Mostly, I just want to win. And it’s not a feeling I’ve felt for a while.

If anything, it’s a feeling, that for a while, I thought was “bad” “negative” and “destructive”

Of course it can be. That’s why so many workplace environments are toxic and dangerous for employee mental health because people treat work like sport and try to win, clambering over each other in games of status and posturing. Ruthless management sees human beings as a commodity in the drive to “win” in business. This is played out in business, in politics, in war.

Yet, I feel called to revisit and rediscover my own competitive side. This part of me that wants to win, at all costs. And it feels.. masculine. I’m interested in it.

When I say masculine and feminine. I’m not saying men and women. I’m using these words to describe broad groupings of behaviour and traits (I don’t always find this massively helpful, but I think it’s important to begin to re-evaluate and reimagine masculinity and what’s associated with it, so that’s what I’m doing).

I have a sneaky sense that I’ve pushed lots of my “masculine” traits into the shadows. I’ve been letting my virtuous, gentle and nurturing sides dominate. I’ve leant back and said that I’ll “open myself up to life’s wisdom and let life’s waves take me to where I need to go.” Rather than pick up my hammer and anvil and chip away at life.

The side that picks a goal and says “I want that and I’ll do anything to get it”. I’ve shunned a little bit. This part of me, I’m saying, is masculine. The part that reaches, grasps, pushes.

So, back to Padel and why I believe it’s relevant.

1. I’m enjoying playing a game.

2. I’m enjoying doing that with friends,

3. I’m enjoying competing and the tactics of competition.

4. I am enjoying being precise, picking a spot and aiming for it.

5. I’m enjoying taking my anger out on something, not people, not myself - but a little round green ball that I can smash as hard as I want and all it’ll do it bounce back (or more likely hit the net).

6. I’m enjoying working back from a goal (winning) and figuring out how to do that.

7. I’m enjoying trying and failing, being in the arena.

8. I like that as a game it’s not all about power. It’s about precision.

I’m almost surprised. Surprised that this competitive part of me is rising up so strongly. Surprised that I want to be so “traditionally” masculine and dominate.

Yet I’m excited because this is important.

Nobody has a clue what healthy masculinity looks like. Most of the time, still, we hear masculinity and we associate it with toxicity. We think “boys will be boys”, we think of men bantering with each other and not being honest. We think of bullying and judgement.

We think of putting other people down and lifting up women’s skirts, smoking cigars, lifting weights and driving fast cars shooting guns. We think of men who believe it’s their god-given right do whatever they want and never face any consequences.

It bitterly disappoints me that what society currently believes to be “masculine” is actually just teenage boy behaviour that’s never grown up. As a 34 year old man it’s depressing to me and I long for more reputable male leaders with integrity that I can look up to in the world who don’t believe being a strong leader is putting others down, or searching constantly for scapegoats.

And somehow, that’s why playing Padel feels important. Re-discovering my “masculine” side is important because I truly believe we all need to re-learn these parts of ourselves and find something new.

(BTW I don’t think there’s anything at all wrong with lifting weights and driving fast cars, or smoking cigars. I’m making the point that there exists a very narrow and shallow view of masculinity and this disappoints and enrages me)

• What’s leadership without scapegoating, pillage and plunder?

• What’s winning without breaking myself and breaking anyone else?

• What’s masculinity today, for me?

I’m ready to find a new side of myself. I’m ready to find out how I win, without breaking. With grace. With integrity. With compassion and kindness. Way more Roger Federer, way less Donald Trump.

It’s something to do with my masculinity. It’s something to do with anger, competition and it’s definitely got some reason for fuelling my new Padel obsession.

Exploring this for me as a man, as a leader, as a human.

Cheers,
James x

Connect ☎️

I’m working 1:1 with Founders and Founding Teams as a thought partner, founder coach and brand builder. Coaching, facilitating, mentoring, advising - high level on the business and going deep on storytelling and brand. Enjoy the journey, express yourself and grow. Book a chat here.

I used my story with mental health as the catalyst for an impactful brand that led a mental health movement. Sanctus was the brand I created to be the voice of a societal mission to change the perception of mental health.

I told my own story a thousand times and from that story, the Sanctus brand story emerged. With powerful lines like “We all have mental health”, “We’re making mental health cool” and “Putting the world’s first mental health gym on the high street” emerging as tag lines that created hooks into our movement.

Through storytelling and content marketing alone we attracted 250+ b2b customers and tens of thousands of users equating to £10m+ in revenue over 7 years and £8m+ in investment rounds. We never spent a penny on paid marketing or paid PR. We were featured on BBC News and Radio, Sky News, The Times, The Independent, Stylist, Huffington Post and more. I became a regular commentator, panelist and keynote speaker on mental health. In 2021 I wrote a book with Penguin on Mental Health at Work. We created partnerships with some of the best brands in the world like Red Bull, Spotify and BBC.

I grew my own LinkedIn following to 50,000+ and newsletter to 6,000+ subscribers and had amazing opportunities to share my story with engaged audiences and platforms around the world. Most importantly, I always enjoyed it and never felt like I was being fake or disingenuous. The phrase “personal brand” often made me cringe, but I’ve been able to expand mine in a way that has always felt pure.

I thought this might be a fluke. Yet when I left London and moved back to my home county of Staffordshire I was able to use my story as a platform for something bigger again. I shared my experience of growing up in Stoke-on-Trent and living in Staffordshire to create wider conversations around regeneration and regional development. This led me to developing a global community called Made in Stoke, writing a masters in entrepreneurship course from scratch and creating The Knot, an independent media outlet. Again, I’ve had national press for this work, been on TV, Radio and done brand collaborations with international brands as a result.

Founders & CEOs are Brand Builders

I love building brands and I believe the best founders are incredible brand builders. The problem is that the word “brand” is ethereal and nebulous. It’s become associated with PDF Brand Guideline documents that gather virtual dust in Google Drive. To me, the best brands are built and led by passionate Founders and CEOs who are on a mission. They embody the brand and it spreads into the company who take it on and amplify the message to the world. Employees are inspired and they take this infectious energy into their work, like the disciples of a mission.

A great brand isn’t just a shiny logo, it’s a philosophy, personality and tone of voice that is congruent through every part of your business. The way you write captions on social media, the way you reply to a customer service ticket and the little touches in your product are all part of your brand story. Great Founders & CEOs imbue their brand guidelines not through words in a powerpoint but through their actions and behaviour. This happens when the Founder or CEO is aligned, in flow and in connection with their “source”.

Working with me

I spend time with Founders & CEOs helping them unlock their brand and express it. Together, we unearth your story and the branding hooks that lie within. Then, we help you express yourself and share this story with the world in whatever form that is best for you. We create an action plan for your brand, a strategy with clear steps that expands your brand and fleshes it out. Often, but not always, through content marketing. I help you find what matters to you, what is unique to you and the brand you created and share it with the world.

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There are no long documents, or consultations with the team. I spend time with you weekly or fortnightly. Together, we establish your actions, tasks and takeaways. I’m your thought partner, sounding board and producer who will support you to hit the right notes. We’ll then agree simple tasks you can take away to implement in the business to grow the brand. At times I’ll get pedantic with you over your content marketing plan, others times we’ll unearth what’s important to you and help you express it. Sometimes I’ll spend time the team and advise them. Whatever it takes, I’ll help you build your brand and tell your story in a way that’s authentic to you.

To discuss working with me, connect and let’s find a time to talk.

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• Clear out the eaves

• Paint the log store

• Paint the shed

• Finish off the bathroom

A week of adulting. With a sigh we decided to do it. Stop scrolling on lastminute.com and get down to B&Q

I put the cream paint for the shed in the boot of the car without thinking anything of it.

30 mins of country lanes and no problems.

Then, we turned on the street towards home

I heard it thud.

Straight away we could smell it paint.

I opened the boot and it was like a murder scene. No blood. Just cream paint. Dripping from the boot of the car.

It dripped from up high where the boot door opened, it dripped down below where it was pouring over the bumper.

There it was, 5 litres of paint all over the boot of our brand new car.

Disaster. 8pm at night.

We were supposed to be on holiday in the sun. Here we are ruining beach towels to soak it up

We were supposed to be on the beach. Now the boot of the car is ruined with paint seeping into the crevices of the car.

We spent 4 hours clearing out what we could. Covered in paint. Supported by our neighbours.

Jim came out in his dressing gown and hosed down the parcel shelf for 60 minutes. And there was still paint coming off.

I had paint in my hair. Sarah’s nails were cream, not out of choice.

Why has this happened? Why this disaster on our week off?

Nobody needs this shit. We’ve had a hard enough year as it is. Give us a break.

The next day I met Stephen. I googled “car detailer Stoke” and called him.

He answered straight away; “I’ve seen this before, can you come down now?”

We handed him the keys. For £300 and two days work, he promised he’d get it all out.

He did.

And he loved it.

I don’t meet many people who love what they do. They’re a rare breed.

Someone that’s totally in flow. They love what they do for their work. They’re good at it. They make good money for it. They don’t struggle to get out of bed in the morning. They don’t moan. It’s not always easy. But it’s always natural.

Ikigai.

Stephen had it. Stephen, to me, was in the centre of that diagram. For £350, 48 hours of stress and 5L of paint in the boot - that was all worth it to meet someone who loves what they do. To remind me of why I do what I do.

I needed to be reminded that business or work isn’t just about passion. It isn’t just about service and mission. It isn’t just about money.

It’s about all of it and the balance between them. The centre.

The sweet spot is the middle. I’ve been there. It feels fantastic when you’re in it.

But other times, I’ve been in the edges. I’ve been in passion and service, but the money hasn’t been good so I’ve felt off. Other time the money has felt good, but I’m not in mission.

This situation reminded me of what actually matters to me, holistically. Balance, flow, purpose, impact. This tapestry woven together.

That’s what being a founder has always been for me. It’s been Ikigai. It’s been finding this magical space where everything aligns. I’m using my skills. I’m having an impact. I’m valued for it.

It’s not just been one part.

If it’s just mission. No. I’m not a charity.

If it’s “just a job”. No. Im not fulfilled.

If it’s just money. No. I need to feel I’m making a difference to the world that’s beyond money.

Stephen is absolutely excellent at his job as a car detailer and mechanic. The world needs his services. He absolutely loves cars so much he is happy to work until 7pm cleaning paint out of the nuts and bolts of a car. And, he makes decent money from it.

Stephen had ikigai, I felt it in me and I remembered - this is what I want. That’s the balance and alignment I’m tuning in for.

5 litres of paint exploding in the boot of my car made me remember; the goal for me as a founder isn’t one thing. It’s all of it.

I’m honing in to the centre.

Thanks paint.

Cheers,
James x

Connect ☎️

I’m working 1:1 with Founders and Founding Teams as a thought partner, founder coach and brand builder. Coaching, facilitating, mentoring, advising - high level on the business and going deep on storytelling and brand. Enjoy the journey, express yourself and grow. Book a chat here.

In 2015 I shut my first business down and began writing under an alias “@anonent” (anonymous entrepreneur). I told the hard truths I’d learned about startup life; fundraising, failure, product-market fit and being a young founder. I’d dropped out of University and never went back.

I began writing about mental health. I shared my story as an insecure ambitious founder and a young man grappling with lad culture. What happened next, I never expected.

I led, instigated and became an integral part in changing mental health culture in the UK. I built a business, created a community, brand, podcast and 1:1 coaching product that supported, 150+ businesses and tens of thousands of people. I wrote a book on mental health at work with Penguin summarising my learnings in 2021.

In 2022 I moved out of London and back to Staffordshire where I grew up. I began writing about Stoke-on-Trent, Staffordshire, and regional development. I wrote an MSc Entrepreneurship with University of Staffordshire that launched 100 businesses, built a global community for people Made in Stoke and started a regional media outlet - The Knot.

For 10 years I’ve used writing, brand and community building to instigate powerful social change that’s led to cultural transformation and commercial opportunity. I love this work.

Now, I’m sharing my knowledge and experience with others. I guide founders along the way. I build brands. I write. I create. My own ventures and in partnership with others.

How this newsletter works

This will be unlike most newsletters you receive. I write with vulnerability and honesty, I share my story, live, as it happens.

I write about my experiences of the world in life, in business, in art, in relationships. I have no niche. My niche is me. I won’t wedge myself into marketing, or business building. I write about all of my life in all of it’s colour.

I hope that when you read my writing it slows you down and creates a moment for you to stop and pause. I hope I say what you’ve been feeling, or thinking but couldn’t put words to. I hope you feel seen and heard. I hope you know I’m out there watching the world with you.

Cheers,
James x