Mettle Monday - Missing My Shot

Freddie Bennett • February 15, 2021


Inspiration can strike in the unlikeliest of places. For some, it’s in the shower. Others may be hit by a moment of clarity whilst out in nature, meditating or reading a book. Personally, my great awakening occurred in a less holistic environment. I was in a hotel room, surrounded by empty bottles scattered around the cramped space like shrapnel from a grenade of self-destruction. The morning sunlight burned an accusatory glare through the curtains as I stared at my crumpled reflection with bloodshot eyes that had not seen sleep for 36 hours. And when that revelation hit me with a sobering jolt, for the first time in a long time, I knew I had a purpose. A mission, a goal...an objective that I knew I absolutely had to achieve, and no element of self-doubt or chemically enhanced anxiety could stop me.

 

My mind was made up.

 

It was time to kill myself.

 

Taking the leap

 

Of course, it won’t be a ‘The Usual Suspects’-level spoiler if I tell you I soon discovered that suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem. And besides, it’s bad for your health. But I only decided to exit the hotel from the ground floor rather than the roof that morning thanks to a very long, very tearful conversation with the UK suicide hotline, The Samaritans.

 

Once I promised the compassionate (and extremely patient: imagine some drunken oaf yelling “but I don’t want to liiiiiiive” down the phone at you on repeat for two hours whilst you’re trying to enjoy your Cornflakes) lady that I wasn’t going to do anything silly, I put down the phone and looked at my reflection once more.

 

32 years old, skin so deathly pale and black rings around my eyes so deep that I could have been munching on bamboo in a faraway zoo, about to embark on an species-saving mating programme. My belly strained against my shirt and the threads in the seat of my trousers were pulled tighter than my nerves. Chipped, nicotine-stained teeth jutted out like yellowing tombstones as I grimaced at myself.

 

I gave a huff and a puff and tried my best impression to pull myself together.

 

After all, it was time to go to work.

 

Putting your hand up

 

Now, in the Hollywood version of this story, this would be rock-bottom. The defining moment when I turned my life around and rose like a phoenix from the ashtray. But I always prefer to tell it like it is. Because we’ve all read the articles, seen the TV shows and listened to the podcasts. We know what to do.

 

Put your hand up. Ask for help. Talk to someone. Remember that suicide is the biggest killer of UK men under the age of 45.

 

I did all these things, and for a while, it worked.

 

On the surface, life was good. I had a young family, good job, wore a £1,000 suit to work, drove a beaten-up Porsche, had nice holidays, kept my drink and drug consumption firmly in the weekend warrior camp without ever totally drifting into ‘Requiem for a Dream’ territory.

 

But the warning signs kept appearing. And I stopped putting my hand up and started hiding my true feelings. Because asking for help is fine. Bosses, colleagues, friends and family gather around and walk on eggshells as they quietly keep an eye on the levels in the whiskey bottle and the knives in the drawer. Then we get the help and the counselling, and we tell the stories and cry the tears. And we expect to be ‘fixed’.

 

Car not working? See a mechanic. Phone screen cracked. Get it replaced. Mental health shot to pieces? See a therapist. Job done. But really, I knew it wasn’t.

 

Sometimes I’d want to stay in bed all day, or maybe I’d go out for a quick pint and then fall through the front door at 6am. On a Tuesday. Or there would be the time a drug dealer held a loaded gun to my head and threatened to pull the trigger.

 

But I’d always laugh it off. Because I’d created a whole persona around being ‘Fun time Freddie’, the good-time-guy, the bloke who was first at the bar, first to get the shots in, first to get thrown out of a club, first to lose a mortgage payment in a casino.

 

What a legend.

 

I felt I couldn’t let people down. Everyone loved that guy. If I stopped being him, I’d be selfishly depriving my friends a night of entertainment with the court jester. I didn’t think they would like the real me. After all, how could they? I didn’t like the real me either.

 

The old me

 

And so, I continued flushing my hopes and dreams down the toilet. Oh, I had big dreams alright. I could talk about them for hours. The adventures I’d go on, the things I’d achieve, the grand goals I’d accomplish. And I’d do it...straight after the next promotion, the next child, the next project, house, holiday. I’d do it all, just as soon as the world seemed a bit more ‘stable’. Sitting on the sofa every night, beer in one hand, large slice of Mighty Meaty in the other, I’d scoff at the people achieving things on TV. The bitter excuses flowed quicker than my loafing shuffles to the fridge.

 

“Yeah, but they’re an athlete” ... “It’s easy for them, they used to be in the SAS”... “If I had rich parents and went to a posh school, I’d be an adventurer too”.

 

But to my credit, I tried to change. I heard the podcasts by Robbins, read the books by Goggins, tried to feel the fear and do it anyway, and became an expert in the subtle art of not giving a fuck. And never did a damn thing to change. The messages never resonated with me. There’s only so many times a perma-tanned Californian millionaire can tell you to “forget about money”, or a burly ex-military bloke can shout at you to “smash your comfort zone”.

 

After a while, it all became white noise. So, I settled into my existence of quiet desperation, sure that life was just never going to turn out the way I’d imagined.

 

“Screw the crazy goals and dreams”, I muttered to myself. “That stuff if for kids”

 
 

Fatherly advice

 

It was my father who taught me that life is short.

Although, rather selfishly in my opinion, he decided to teach me that lesson by dying. Late September 2017 found me slumped at my desk in a nondescript office, horrifically hungover, angrily stabbing at my laptops as I complained at a spreadsheet.

 

“Surely my life can’t get any worse”, I growled.

 

Then the phone rang. Four hours and 300 miles later, I was in an Intensive Care Unit, looking down at my unconscious father. Then I kissed him on the forehead and watched him die. Neither of us had known that day would be his last. I could easily say that was the moment that kickstarted my feeble attempts at transformation...but that would be a lie.

 

I’d just been handed a get-out-jail-free card. No one dares question your behaviour when you’ve lost a parent in such a sudden and brutal manner, so I spent the next six months partying harder, drinking heavier, giving less of a shit about work, caring about only myself. After all, I told myself, you only live once.

 

Then, on March 8th, 2018, after another solo night-out, staggering around the dark streets of a faraway town like an extra from The Walking Dead. A sickening feeling snapped me to my senses. It wasn’t fear, shame, remorse or the weapons-grade hangover that pounded at my skull.

 

It was the feeling of regret.

 

I thought about my dad, and the moment when he must have realised that day was to be his last. What regrets did he have? What opportunities did he miss? What moments did he miss out on when he was uncorking his fourth bottle of wine or lighting his 50th cigarette of the day?

 

I didn’t want that life. I didn’t want my children to have that father. So, after missing so many in the past, I decided to give myself one more shot, and find out what I was truly capable of.

 

The Desert Storm

 

And what action did I take as a bereaved, stressed, depressed, addicted and unfit 36-year-old?  Someone who couldn’t complete a Park Run without a beer and a smoke? The only thing that made sense to me. I entered the Marathon des Sables, more commonly known as the world’s toughest footrace. 200 miles, self-supported, across the scorching Sahara Desert. Or, to put in another way, I had to run seven marathons in six days in an environment that was designed to kill me. If I were to write down all the reasons not to do this race, the list would be plentiful.

 

It wasn’t the right time, I wasn’t ready, I didn’t have the skills, nor the confidence or time to train. I didn’t really have the money (thanks to too many nights in London’s slightly less holistic establishments). I wasn’t fit enough, strong enough and to top it all off, I felt like the world’s biggest imposter.

 

But a tiny voice inside my head whispered: “What if you COULD do it?”

 

I encountered temperatures exceeding 50 degrees Celsius, tornados, dehydration, damaged kidneys, detached toenails, sandstorms, poisonous snakes and scorpions, hallucinations...and only one spare pair of underwear. But I approached the finish line after running 200 miles across dunes, dried riverbeds and climbing mountains of sand that stretched a kilometre into the sapphire blue sky, I thought about the guy I used to know.

 

The joker, the piss-taker, the moaner and complainer, the guy who was great fun but you’d never take him seriously, the guy who once drank a cup of piss to get people to laugh whilst he was crying on the inside. I’d liked that guy, once upon a time. But now, it was time to kill him.

 

It’s about time

 

Surviving the desert could have been the end, but it was just the beginning. I donned my wellies and heavy waterproofs and ran my way into the Guinness Book of Records as the world’s fastest fisherman. Became an Ironman...after never attempting a triathlon before, never swimming in open water before, never cycling 100 miles before, and certainly never running a marathon straight after. Ran around my tiny garden non-stop for 13 hours to raise money for the NHS in the UK’s first lockdown ultramarathon.

 

Won ultramarathons, wrote a book (Starting at Zero, published in April), dived with Great White Sharks, walked on fire and started a business to help individuals and some of the world’s largest businesses to Dream, Disrupt and Deliver.

 

And most important of all, I got sober, stayed sober and became the father my children begrudgingly loved when they could tear their eyes from YouTube for long enough. But here’s the most important part, this isn’t about crazy adventures or extreme challenges, because I know most of you wouldn’t want to do these things (and I wouldn’t blame you).

 

In fact, it’s not really about health and fitness at all. It’s about time. It’s about living a life without regret. Because I believe that everyone has that thing they’ve always wanted to do. Be it write a book, go to an art class, climb a mountain, start an adventure, a relationship, a business or anything in between.

 

Why can’t you do it?

 

But if you want the things you’ve never had before. You’ll need to do the things you’ve never done before. I’m just an everyday guy who decided to do extraordinary things. If I can be where I was, and then do what I’ve done….

 

Then you can do anything you dream of.

Freddie Bennett is on a mission to help people who are adversely stuck in their comfort zones and to find the courage to start living the life they dream of. You can find him at: www.freddiembennett.com

Do Your Beliefs Belong To You?

By Blaise Brady • September 12, 2022
Most girls dream of their big day, meeting the love of their life and having the most beautiful wedding. They have a dream dress in mind sometimes well before even knowing the person they might marry. But for me it was different, I never dreamt of that day. In fact I had a perspective that was quite the opposite.

Mettle Monday - Thank You For The Life You Gave Me

By Helena Cornes • May 23, 2022
When Brin and I brought our first house, we were beyond excited to finally have our own space. We moved in together in June 2015 and couldn't wait to start our next chapter. A few days before Christmas 2015, we were both going on our annual works night out, I dropped him off at the pub, he told me he loved me and that was to be the last time I saw him.

Mettle Monday - On The Edge Of Existence

By Wendy Searle • March 28, 2022
Written by Wendy Searle When I reached the South Pole in 2020, I was exhausted, elated and not a little relieved. I had just completed a 42-day solo, unsupported expedition; over 700 miles of vast, white nothingness. Those feelings persisted throughout the flight back from Pole (which took only 4 hours, to do what had taken me five weeks), throughout the return to the UK via South America. I had already been delayed at the start, thanks to bad weather, so I returned to work after a long weekend at home. My colleagues seemed genuinely glad to see me back, and were interested in my journey. For the first week or so, I couldn’t sleep, despite being achingly tired. (I also couldn’t stop eating, after losing 10 kilos in just over a month, so much so that I once had to stop for supplies during a 15-minute walk.) I was high as a kite, and still so wired after the continual focus of expedition life. It’s akin to climbing, or skydiving, where your whole focus is in the moment. Was I too cold? That could be fatal. Was I too hot? A surprising risk in polar latitudes, as if you sweat it will freeze. Was my kit OK? How long to the next break? And on and on, for what felt like forever when I was actually out on the ice. It’s that element of total immersion, of being so far removed from the everyday – emails, traffic, work; that is at once so daunting and so addictive. After the initial high dropped to merely walking around being more back there than present here, I started to think about going back to training. For what though? I had nothing to train for, and very little in reserve. I took to tyre hauling, which is what I spent so much of my time doing in the run up to the expedition – the traditional method of building leg strength and endurance for pulling a sled (or pulk) for 11-12 hours a day. As soon as I strapped on my pulk harness, I could transport myself back to Antarctica. And that helped, because I was struggling to readjust to life after expedition. It wasn’t just those weeks alone on skis that I missed. I’d been planning, training and fundraising for what amounted to just over 1,000 hours, for five years. I’d met a team of soldiers who were traversing Antarctica, and I became more and more drawn to this extraordinary continent. I read some polar history, some accounts of the first Polar expeditions, when they were true explorers. Despite not having any kind of adventure experience to speak of, I was hooked. I dedicated my life to making the expedition happen. Everything was in pursuit of the Pole. If I read a book, it was about Antarctica, if I had free time, it was spent attending events where potential sponsors might be found. I spoke to everyone who had ever been to the South Pole that I could. After working out what training and experience would be required, I set about ticking it off; Norway training, a spectacular crossing of the Greenland ice sheet, time alone in Iceland. The training was, if not at the level of an Olympic athlete, was certainly dedicated. Twice a day, for six days a week, I hauled tyres, ran up hills, lay in rivers and ice baths, and put up my tent in my house, over and over so I’d have the muscle memory ingrained when I was tired at the end of a long day skiing. Once I was back, I decided the only cure for the huge gap in my life that all those things had left, was another expedition. I don’t think I’m unique in that regard, but I actually missed the build-up, the nurturing of this idea, which became the expedition, which eventually took on a life of its own. I missed the slightly-sick feeling in my stomach when I thought about actually having to go ahead with what I set out to do, the uncertainty of my ability to complete the journey. When COVID stopped all travel outside the UK, my plans took a hit. The world became smaller overnight – so small it really only included Wiltshire, where I live. I’d gone from an all-or-nothing challenge to, well, nothing. Ideas, plans, even talks with sponsors, were pushed into the long grass. Ironically, after finding the South Pole on my own, I felt a bit lost. But gradually I began to see that the adventure can lie in the everyday. I had to if I wasn’t going to lose my mind. I bought a mountain bike for the first time, and began to explore the local off-road routes and tiny jumps. I wrote a book proposal about my journey. In the end, I think that period of quiet gave me to time to reflect on the enormity of what I’d done – being only the seventh woman in history to complete the journey solo, unsupported, from Hercules Inlet to the geographic South Pole. Instead of jumping into another trip, I allowed that to sink in, for it to become part of who I was. And now I’m ready for the next adventure.

Mettle Monday - Sickbed To Summits

By Sara Crosland • August 30, 2021
A few hours later, I’d be called back to the hospital under the pretense my consultant had a cancellation. He sat me down and told me that I had a brain tumour. It was an acoustic neuroma (sometimes known as a vestibular schwannoma), a low grade, but in my case, uncharacteristically fast-growing, cystic tumour that was growing on the hearing and balance nerves within the confined space of my skull. This explained many of the symptoms I’d been experiencing recently, but not all.

Mettle Monday - Always Believe In Yourself

By Lindsay Walter • August 9, 2021
I lost all of my hair at age 2, due to the autoimmune condition, Alopecia. It was extremely hard to navigate not knowing anyone else with my condition. I felt very alone and isolated. I began to wear a wig since I can remember to fit in with everyone else. I never truly felt like “me” but I didn’t know how to be ok with my Alopecia and the emotional roller coaster that was being bald. Kids were extremely mean to me and bullied me a lot for my wig and lack of eyebrows and eyelashes.

Mettle Monday - A Sign

By Pete DePrez Jr. • June 21, 2021
I don’t recall much about the call. It was a dead guy, or girl. I helped the coroner collect the body and went outside. It was night-time and the lights from our overheads were swirling in the darkness. I began speaking with another deputy, and suddenly became aware that I was seeing his face as he would look if he were dead. It wasn’t a conscious decision, it just happened. It wasn’t as shocking as one might think. I blinked and even laughed to myself about it, but I couldn’t shake myself free from what I was seeing. It should have been a sign; I should have questioned what I was seeing, but I didn’t. My mind had begun to operate on its own. I should have questioned what was happening, but I didn’t. I told myself it must be a natural repercussion of seeing so many dead people. But it didn’t stop.

Mettle Monday - Survivor

By Rachel Wild • June 7, 2021
Written by Rachel wild I am a survivor of sexual abuse by my own father. Still feels like a taboo subject even currently. Therefore, it is so important for me to speak out. bravely... loudly... so everyone can hear. It was not my fault, sexual abuse is never the victim’s fault, but they carry it like it is.... they carry the shame and the guilt and the anger. The man who was meant to protect me from all evil in the world was the person who damaged me the most. Both parents were abusive physically and mentally, which I still struggle to understand as to how you can hurt your own child. I have been on an incredible journey and life has been made much harder because of this, however it has made me fight hard to do the right thing, it has made me resilient, it is developed my kindness and compassion. It also affects your ability to trust, I have nightmares, I have hyper independence as I have always had to do everything on my own. I went into care at 15, I got my own flat and three jobs at 16 and took myself to night college and studied to become a beauty therapist and Dental Nurse. I have always had a defiance, a drive, a determination to not let what has happened ruin me or use it as an excuse to behave poorly. I strive to do well in life, I have had so much stolen from me, I have a lot of life to live and make up for. I have slowly over the last two years started to process what has happened, I have felt incredible hot white rage, depression, panic, such sadness I have not wanted to go out, grief and loss of my childhood and all the things they stole from me. But I have grown as a person. I do not carry this secret alone, I feel empowered, calmer, more peaceful. It has given me kindness and compassion for myself. I want to help other survivors of sexual abuse, I want them to know life can be good, you can move forward you can heal. For me what has helped me heal, has been unburdening myself and sharing, reporting to the police, friends, support from counselling and specialist services, running, nature, mindfulness, meditation, and yoga and cheese and chocolate! Walking into the police station to report this was one of the most terrifying things I have ever done. What happens if they do not believe me? what happens if he comes and gets me and attacks me? what happens if other people attack me? I had the most incredible Detective, who listened whilst I told her some of the most intimate details of the abuse, feeling so ashamed. Not once did I feel judged, I felt listened to and cared for... and eventually so empowered. Not straight away, I felt exhausted after reporting, scared... I could see him everywhere. I had panic attacks, nightmares, I could not sleep... this lasted for about 12 months, and then eased slightly. It is normal to feel how you feel, it is important to acknowledge it and access help, the Independent Sexual Violence Advisor at the RASASC (Rape and sexual Assault Unit) probably saved my life, as did the support from my friends. If someone discloses abuse to you, be aware of the strength and vulnerability that it takes, you might be the first person they ever tell. It is so important to listen... just listen... please do not judge, please do not tell them how they should or should not feel. Just listen to them and do not interrupt, depending on the situation later ask them if they have ever spoken to anyone.... and would they like to talk to someone who deals with abuse/rape/assault like the RASASC unit. Just telling one person can start a domino effect on the path of healing. You do not have to report to the police, ringing an anonymous line, telling a friend, a counsellor, journaling can all start the process to you feeling lighter and getting on the road to peace and contentment. I reported sexual abuse by my father in 2018, he was being charged on the 15th of September and did not turn up to court. A warrant was issued for his arrest, he was found dead at home. Ten days earlier my Grandad died, he was my only family member so the past few years have been incredibly difficult. The last few months were so difficult, but also because my father is dead for the first time in my life, I feel safe. This will never go away for me, it will always have happened, so it is a life-long journey, it is part of who I am. Please do not tell survivors to put it behind them, forget about it, or move on, it is not that simple. Trauma is complex, I still have nightmares, I still think I see him, I still feel unsafe if out running and there is a man that looks like him. Even though my brain knows I am safe, my survival brain is trying to keep me safe. I have always been a very private person and kept things to myself. One of the things I have found most beneficial and helpful is talking to other survivors. I have always felt very alone and felt no-one understands (and I do not want anyone to have to experience this), especially with it being my own Father. The feelings I have had, and the experiences resonate with others and it has made me feel more understood, more normal almost. No two experiences are the same even if the circumstances are similar due to a multitude of factors, but there are some common denominators which have brought me comfort. The compassion, awe, and kindness I feel for other survivors, is something I have been able to start to apply to myself, which has been difficult. As a coping mechanism I downplayed, minimized, compared my situation, it is a survival technique that trauma victims use. This meant if I made it small it was not that bad, so therefore I did not have to deal with it. I am thankful for our incredible brains; I think it is fascinating how our brain protects us until we are ready to deal with a situation. Due to the abuse, I am a huge advocate of speaking out about abuse and rape and helping individuals to become empowered and hand the shame back to the abusers. I want to raise awareness so more people can speak out Bravely and be heard and supported and access the right help. I am working with RASASC (rape and sexual abuse Centre) this year to help provide training for the police and other agencies in how to help survivors. I am also going to train as an Independent Sexual Violence advisor, because how you are treated and supported is essential for the healing process. I also want to show people that with the right tools and support they can cope, they can have an amazing life....and that life can be great.

Mettle Monday - From Sea to Summit

By Andrea Mason • April 12, 2021
My sense of adventure and my love of sports started from a very early age. I grew up in a military family which meant we travelled the world as my Dad was posted from one country to another. I went to more than 15 different schools and lost count of the number of houses we lived in. For many children this is extremely daunting, but for some reason I loved it, I was always on an adventure.

Mettle Monday - A Love Letter To My Pain

By Ruth Cooper-Dickson • March 29, 2021
I wrote this letter to articulate how the experience of post-traumatic growth has affected my life and through my own lived-experience, how my friend Pain was difficult to live with for many years. It also highlights how, pain must be present in our lives to experience the beautiful, the pure and the good. Life is a short and yet bittersweet journey, that to appreciate fully will require finding your strength that is forged from within.

Together Series - Chris Michaels

By Chris Michaels • March 11, 2021
It's something that I thought would never happen within my lifetime, I don’t think anyone would have thought the same. For one moment within that initial chaos, it became real that we were to put our lives on hold. Not just that, the whole of life was put on hold for everyone. So all these months later, what have we learned?......or have we? When it was first said it was only going to be 3 weeks in length but those few weeks turned into many months. For most people, everything within their life had to change. They then had to find a way to get through each day. But something I’ve realised that maybe many haven’t was in fact that, 2020 has been the biggest wake up call for humanity. So why would it be the biggest wake up call at all? What I’ve seen was how people had to adapt to this ‘New Normal’ but not just that, they had to find a way to live. I took every opportunity to build and learn. I wrote a book, started a podcast, built a business and expanded my network. But through this time, once again I often questioned a lot of what was happening. We saw a rise in celebrities carrying out morning workouts, focusing on using physical fitness to help us all put us in a positive mental headspace. For once, it seemed that all the things I had been using to help manage my mental health for years was being used to show people how effective it was. Same as going outdoors, exploring the mountains and hills, just to take time out in nature. So did it take a worldwide pandemic for people to actually get up and become active? It seems not just the power of exercise but also we saw, the canals of Venice crystal clear and the smog lifted from the Himalayas to finally see Everest. For once we could see the destruction we’ve done to this earth. But will it last? Absolutely not, it’s not that I’m pessimistic, definitely not. But I don’t have the greatest of faith in humanity at the best of times. Even though, I’ve consistently used my social media to promote positive mental health and for people to think for themselves so they can better themselves. A large majority of people will continue to carry on their usual routines ignorant of the destruction that we’re doing to this planet. Just think of that one piece of rubbish that was lingering in your hand, how powerful that is. Why you may ask, think of that one piece of rubbish, we’ve now got a choice. We can put it in our pocket and put it in a bin and let it be collected to be put in a landfill site to be covered with other millions of pieces of rubbish, slowly decomposing but working its way down to the water table. Or we can drop it with all the rest of the rubbish that another person has dropped, for it to collect and suffocate the seas, pollute the earth, choke innocent animals in their natural surroundings. The choice is yours, but one thing we need to do as a society is have a global rethink on how we protect this planet. Years ago, I came up with a recycling project that was cost effective and which would put an end to landfill sites. I was rejected by Councils and local authorities. It was simple in its approach, filling sealed Olympic sized swimming pool vats with rubbish using chemicals to break down the everyday household rubbish but leaving the materials that could be recycled. But not just that, at every level of the operation, there would be a filtration unit that would clear the rubbish in the chemicals, scrubbed and reused. The factory could be powered by green energy, reducing the carbon footprint. We are slowly choking and suffocating the earth and oceans with all the rubbish from products we consume. It’s a simple choice really, we concentrate on developing ourselves in subjects that are either intrinsically or extrinsically motivating depending on your needs Vs wants but we don’t spend enough time concentrating on how we can all improve the world around us. So whilst we’ve seen that level of self development rise and a large number of people have been intrinsically motivated to create and build a positive lifestyle, there are many that have jumped on the bandwagon and to join in this movement to escape the lockdown blues. So whilst we saw a large number of people out running, cycling, walking in the hills, using this excuse of “Because Boris said we can” what happened when the lockdown was lifted? Did they do it because it was a way to show some kind of compliance or rebellion? How many people actually changed their lifestyles or carried on post lockdown. Did they look at what they needed to become better instead of carrying on being full time members of the Netflix and Dominos club? So if Sir David Attenborough joining Instagram wasn’t enough to show the world that it needs change, that we as a population needs to open our eyes and see the destruction that we’re doing to our planet. Then I don’t know what will make people change. We as a population need to take our level of self accountability to a whole new level. 2020 has been an interesting year, one I hope we all learn from because if we don’t, then it’s only going to get more difficult. Now if I can create a business, write another book, start a podcast to get people talking more, having those important conversations and network on a higher level, then I can’t see why others can’t too. Globally, we’ve got the power to interact and connect to anyone at anytime. So let’s make a positive change, together we can make a change but let’s not carry on being politicians pawns on their global chessboard. If one person can create one positive action, just think of the possibilities of what millions can do?
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