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METTLE MONDAY -TWO KEY LESSONS FROM SAS SELECTION
Graeme Walker • Jun 20, 2019
Written by Dan Pronk
I think it’s fair to say that service with Special Forces changes a person, and that the process of profound change commences on the selection course. Reflecting on the selection course that I underwent more than a decade ago now I can see that it was a pivotal point in my life both personally and professionally. I had entered the Australian Army aged 23 on a scholarship to study medicine after a failed attempt at a career in professional triathlon, and I first became aware of Special Forces a year later through my brother who had successfully completed selection for the Australian Special Air Service Regiment (SASR). From the moment I got a glimpse at what that unit did, and met some of the blokes involved I was hooked, I had to be a part of it. As it transpires it would take me a further seven years to be allowed to attempt SASR selection, and I would spend the five years subsequent to that serving with Australian Special Operations, including four tours of Afghanistan. I am not the same person now that I was when I stepped up for selection all those years ago, my service has changed me. I can see now that the process of change for me truly began on the SASR selection course, and the following are the two key lessons that I took away from that three gruelling weeks.
1. Persistence is key
Calvin Coolidge sums up eloquently what I’m trying to convey here with the following quote:
Nothing in this world can take the place of persistence. Talent will not: nothing is more common than unsuccessful men with talent. Genius will not; unrewarded genius is almost a proverb. Education will not: the world is full of educated derelicts. Persistence and determination alone are omnipotent.
From the outside there is a perception that Special Forces soldiers are a superhuman species endowed with physical and psychological attributes out of the reach of the average person. While I accept that there are some exceptionally genetically gifted individuals amongst SF units worldwide, in my experience for the most part SF is made up of average guys and girls with above average persistence. I know this because I am one of them. I stand 175cm tall, weight 70-odd kilograms on a heavy day, and I was the smallest officer on my selection course by a decent amount. When I toed the starting line of the course I had spent a mere 18 months in uniform, having spent the six years of my army career previous to that in medical school, and then working as a junior doctor in civilian hospitals to gain experience before my first posting to an army unit. I lined up on selection next to 40 officers who all had significantly more experience than I did, and yet I was among the 5 officers who successfully completed the course that year and were considered suitable for ongoing training with the unit. I don’t offer this information for self-promotion, simply to illustrate that the sole factor that led to my success on selection, as well as my subsequent time with SF, was persistence. I had first enquired about SASR selection in early 2002, however was not accepted onto the course until mid-2008. Many would have been disheartened by this and potentially quit on the dream, however for some reason I was not wired that way. I viewed this as the perfect opportunity to prepare myself physically and psychologically for the course, and set about a seven-year training program towards the objective. I used that time to learn everything I could about the unit and its selection process, and then busied myself with activities that I felt would make me better suited for service with Special Forces.
Mental aptitude and learning ability were fundamental, and I figured I had that one covered through the process of medical schooling that I already had underway. Fitness was an obvious requirement so I started logging hundreds of kilometres of pack marching and running, as well as thousands of push-ups and chin-ups. I’d read that languages were an advantage so I signed up for Arabic language night school and thrashed away at that for three years, reaching an intermediate level in the spoken and written language. Scuba diving seemed relevant so I joined a dive club and started logging hours underwater; rock climbing looked like a useful skill so I started to spend weekends away scaling local cliffs. Shooting proficiency was a must so I joined a gun club and began putting thousands of rounds downrange from both handguns and rifles alike. The irony was that I never used my Arabic language skills during my military service, never did a single military dive, never had cause to rock climb in a military capacity, and didn’t fire a single round from my handgun in anger during my service. All those hours of training were not lost however for what I was developing was the discipline of persistence, so much so that by the time I eventually got to the start line of selection my mental resolve had been strengthened to the point whereby there was no way I was going to quit. Barring injury or forced removal from the course I was convinced that I would be there at the completion of the three weeks and it would be up to the unit to decide my suitability. Once the course was underway I watched as soldiers smarter, fitter, stronger, more experienced, and more naturally talented than I quit at an astonishing rate. 160 candidates very quickly atrophied to half that number, and then to 36 over the three week course. Throughout the entire course I was never the top candidate in any activity, and I failed my initial timed 20 kilometre pack march, being required to re-test on the activity before achieving a pass. Toward the final days of the course my body was racked with infection and began to fail me, but my mind stayed strong and allowed me to persist. When all was said and done I was mentally and physically exhausted and broken, however simply by persisting I was lucky enough to find myself among the 15% of starters that year who finished the course and were deemed suitable for ongoing training with SASR. Persistence truly was key.
On the same theme, and to borrow a quote from another legendary figure, author Mark Twain is quoted as saying:
It’s not the size of the dog in the fight, it’s the size of the fight in the dog
During the years I spent in Special Forces I had the opportunity to observe the selection process for several units on multiple occasions and there was one thing that rang true course-in and course-out, that being the little guys were generally better represented in successful candidates than the physically bigger blokes. In analysing this observation I’ve come to consider that being average throughout life may indeed be an advantage for the Special Forces selection process. Let me explain.
For a candidate to reach the starting line of a SF selection course they must have already completed a degree of screening to suggest that they meet the minimum criteria to potentially be suitable for service with Special Forces. They all therefore meet a minimum required baseline standard; however there will be a significant degree of difference in the effort an individual has been required to put in to meet that standard. Naturally more gifted and stronger candidates will meet the standard more easily and can often breeze through the pre-selection process. As a generalisation these soldiers will have excelled throughout their lives, being sports stars at school, and oftentimes coming from the elite elements of regular army units such as recon and sniper platoons. They will often have held a high degree of status in the unit they have come from and are likely used to praise and accolades, allowing them to develop a healthy degree of associated ego. Contrast this with the candidate who is not as physically or mentally gifted, and who has had to struggle throughout his life to meet the same standard. This soldier was never the one picked first in gym class, was never the star on their high school sports team, never excelled at school despite their best effort, and has had to grind their entire life to be anything above average. To achieve the minimum standard required to be considered suitable to attempt Special Forces selection these soldiers have generally had to dedicate years of their lives bettering themselves. They are not accustomed to praise and are generally quite used to criticism, oftentimes using it as fuel to strengthen their resolve towards a goal. These are the small dogs that, through persistence, have developed an abnormal amount of fight.
Contrast these two classes of candidates as they get underway in a brutal selection process that is very deliberately characterised by the psychological stress of near constant failure to achieve set tasks, varying levels of verbal abuse, and regular suggestion from Directing Staff that the candidate is not up to the standard required for the unit and should consider quitting the course. Throw in the added cumulative stressors of sleep and food deprivation, and it has been my observation that the big dogs with less fight quit at higher rates for the simple fact the selection environment is so foreign to them and challenging to their ego. They know they can return to their previous unit and back to their familiar role with its relatively high social status. The little dog with lots of fight however is used to this environment, it is simply an extension of what they have experienced their whole lives, so they knuckle down and push forward. Of course there are exceptions to this rule and you unquestionably do see the big dogs with plenty of fight that successfully complete selection and go on to great careers with Special Forces, and these guys are a force to be reckoned with however, in my experience, it’s the smaller more unassuming soldiers that are the ones to back for success.
2. The only competition is yourself yesterday
I grew up with a copy of Max Ehrmann’s Desiderata on the back of our toilet door, and therefore spend dozens of hours of my best thinking time contemplating the poem over my childhood years. One line that is relevant to this article, but that took me until the final days of SASR selection to truly appreciate is as follows:
If you compare yourself with others you may become vain or bitter; for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
The very first time in my life where I became above average at anything came in my mid high school years when, for reasons I can’t recall, I started running middle distance on the track. Within months of taking up running I found that I had a temperament well suited to the individual sport, and as such I trained hard and was able to start winning races at a school and regional level, eventually competing at a State level with some success. This love of running led to me taking up triathlon, and by the time I left school I was fixated on a career as a professional triathlete. Looking back on my years competing as a runner and triathlete I can now see, somewhat embarrassingly, that my primary motivation was to beat others. Improvements in my personal best times were always secondary to where that time placed me in the race, and on reflection it is clear that winning races did indeed make me vain, and losing would certainly make me bitter. So much so that I remember deriving pleasure from the misfortune of other athletes, be it a flat tyre on the bike leg of a triathlon, or illness on race day leading to their suboptimal performance. I had absolutely no ability to derive pleasure from someone else’s achievements, and drew my own self-esteem relative to my performance against others. I had no ability to contemplate that the performance of others was completely outside of my control and the thing that I should be solely focused on was self-improvement, which may or may not ultimately lead to beating others. I carried this attitude throughout my late teens, twenties, and it was with this attitude that I lined up at the start of SASR selection as a 31 year-old. The three weeks that followed would forever adjust my way of thinking.
In the initial stages of selection I viewed the process as me versus the remainder of the candidates, as if there was a set amount of positions in the unit to fill and I needed to compete for one of them. As candidates started withdrawing from the course in ever increasing numbers I remember drawing great inspiration from the fact, thinking that I had “beaten” them. I vividly remember experiencing joy and encouragement during a brief opportunity to take stock when the course came together as a whole after about the first week and I could see that our candidate numbers had roughly halved. As selection progressed from that point my attitude began to change, and through mutual extreme suffering I began to bond with my fellow candidates. Sometime toward the end of the second week I have a memory of watching a fellow candidate take out his Withdraw at Own Request form and begin to complete it. I pleaded with him not to, explaining that the course was more than half over and he just needed to hang in there until completion. He was mentally defeated and couldn’t be reasoned with, causing me to watch on as he signed himself off the course, crying as he did so. I felt genuinely gutted for the bloke, as for the first time I could truly empathise with what he must have been feeling, knowing the training, dedication, and sacrifice that had gone into getting to that point only to see his dream slip away. During the final sleep and food-deprived week of the course the loss of a candidate from the remaining group was more like the loss of a family member than a competitor, and I began to see clearly that the only competition that was occurring was internal, between my mind and my broken body. On the very last activity of the course my body began to fail me. An infection that had started in a blister on my heel had progressed up my right leg and was starting to poison my blood, causing me to stumble and fall repeatedly under the weight of my own pack and rendering me completely unable to assist with the carrying of the extra equipment that our group had been allocated as we raced towards the final pickup point of the course. I would have been completely physically unable to reach the final truck had it not been for the assistance of my “competitors” dragging me along and assisting with my pack. Had they have held the same attitude that I had carried throughout my life pre-selection they would have left me in a heap on the dirt road and completed the course without me, but they didn’t. It was a truly humbling and enlightening experience that would forever change my view on competition from that period forth. When the end of the course finally arrived I was genuinely pleased for each and every other soldier who had reached the finish line, and my ranking among them, as well as whether or not I would be considered suitable for further service with SASR, were largely inconsequential at the time. I could see clearly at that point that the only competition that had existed throughout the course was between my own mind and body, and I had won, just.
From that time onward I have looked inward rather than outward with regard to my benchmark for improvement and I’ve set about bettering myself from the person I was previously rather than trying to beat the person next to me. On subsequent occasions when my performance has been measured against others in a competitive context I can honestly say that I’ve drawn delight from the performance of others who beat me as I can now truly appreciate the effort and sacrifice that they have invested to reach their level of personal performance.
In summary, the Special Forces selection process fundamentally changed me as a person, and my subsequent service with SF reinforced these changes. I use the example of Special Forces to illustrate the points above; however the principles are equally applicable to any facet of life. In my opinion there is little that cannot be achieved by the average person who is willing to commit, persist, and look inward rather than outward with regard to improvement and benchmarking success. Apply these principles and the rest will look after itself. You only get one go at this life, so if there’s a goal you’ve been thinking about for a while formulate a plan and start chipping away at accomplishing it. Best case you’ll smash it, worst that can happen is that you don’t quite get there, but at the end of the day you won’t die wondering.
Dan Pronk is a former operator with the Australian Special Air Service Regiment. He’s a doctor, a father, and the medical director at TACMED Australia.
To read more of Dan’s motivational philosophies and lessons learned from medicine and the military, check out his eBook titled “Average 70kg D**Khead”
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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?