It’s 1030pm, Sunday night.

I had decided I was going to give myself this week ‘off’. Because I can. Nobody’s keeping a register. This is my gig. I only have to answer to myself…well, ok, and you, lovely readers1. But you’re generous souls and let me off every now and then…but this is history in the making.

Yes, I referred to it last week, Arsenal winning the Premiership (and being within a whisker of winning the Champions League last night but let’s not dwell).

I am what some would call a fair weather supporter. Of ‘the’ Arsenal, Birmingham City and Newcastle United. I know three teams are not allowed but these are my rules, which maybe I will explain sometime.

Regardless, as a North Londoner, I cannot let today pass by and not comment.

From the moment I boarded a train at 1000 this Sunday morning in Market Harborough after being at the quintessentially British Neville Holt Festival (check it out, 100% age appropriate my friends - we were there to see the Ibiza Symphonic and drink frozen Margaritas… ) I’ve been surrounded by a sea of red. Men, women, children, all ages, sizes, shapes, cultures, faiths all travelling and gathering for one thing. To celebrate and have fun at the Arsenal 5.5 mile parade from the Emirates around North London.

As I battled home, I realised, extensive crowd control preparations had rendered all local tubes, trains and buses diverted. Not to be outdone I took to my trusty Brompton to get me from home, in Stoke Newington, to Euston station to meet a friend for a cuppa before getting a train to another glorious friends’ 60th in Hemel Hempstead, and home again.

Buoyed by one or two too many glasses of Crémant, my 10pm cycle home from Euston just now was a trip.

I smiled with joy as I cycled past pub after pub, still partying, red flags and scarves still flying, chants of ARRRRSSSEEENALLLL still ringing. Streets full of debris. Car horns still honking. Police sirens whining. I dunno. It just feels special to me. A celebration in times that are a tad testing to say the least.

I know aspects of football are divisive. Some football supporters can feel less than generous in their celebration of difference (an irony for another time) and I appreciate at least half of North London will not be celebrating. And of course there are myriad people who don’t like or get football, or think the sport has been ruined by commercialism. All of which I understand.

But for now, I’m just noting the joy, passion and pleasure of the people gathered in Norf London today.

You

As I sip my cuppa and get ready for bed, as ever I’m interested in you. Football fan or not, what gets, or would get, you out to support and cheer?

Drop me a line, I’d love to hear from you.

And remember, sometimes you don’t feel like doing something, like me and this blog, but just do it anyway, you know you will feel better for doing so;-)

Until next week my friends,

Ruth x

ps please excuse any typos…1030pm is not the best time to write ;-)

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Some weeks seem glamorous. Some weeks less so. Last week was a week of two, not necessarily linear or chronological, halves. One was about health. The other arts and culture – ish.

Let’s get the health stuff out of the way.

M-O-T

After years of becoming increasingly ‘mutton’ I decided to have a hearing test. Turns out, the test was only possible after a serious de-wax! Sorry I know that’s a bit grim; Hopefully you’re not eating as you read this. Let’s just say, no wonder I was having difficulty hearing. Turns out my hearing is normal.

Ears, closely followed by teeth. My annual dental check and six-monthly hygienist. I’m all for people learning on the job but blimey, my young hygienist seemed to be excavating for gold. She’s certainly a completer finisher. And yes, I do drink coffee and red wine. I cherish my teeth but those habits? Keepers. And, after years of ‘watching’ its curtains for that old amalgam filling still hanging on in there; it owes me nothing and has done me proud.

Rounded off, and totally out of the blue, I found myself in Moorfields A&E on Bank Holiday Friday afternoon. A scratch to my cornea or the beginnings of an ulcer (WTF!) - the doctor was unsure so decided an aggressive treatment strategy was needed. Hourly, night and day, eye drops for forty-eight hours, followed by five days waking hours, then four hourly for seven! And no contact lenses for a month. Blimey. I think most likely an abundance of caution but I’m not going to argue with my sight. In and out within two and a half hours, not bad, thank you NHS!

The joys of ageing…

Fun

Now for the fun stuff.

Two great films, one incredible play, a daytime ‘disco’ and a Norf London party.

The films were a contrast. Both at The Rio, my local cinema I mentioned in week #114-115

The first – The Christophers. A masterclass in acting from Ian McKellen, playing an ageing, once acclaimed, now cancelled and cantankerous artist. His rehabilitation, made possible by the appearance of the object of his scathing scorn, Michaela Cole. Set up by his less than scrupulous son and daughter (James Corden and Jessica Gunning) Michaela becomes Ian’s assistant. Beautifully shot and acted, well worth a watch.

The second, the 1996 film, Bound. Starring Gina Gershon and Jennifer Tilly the film is a classy, sexy, gangster movie. Unusual in having two leading women who start an affair then take on the mob. A cult film much loved by fans of film noir and lesbians in equal measure. The diverse audience at my cinema certainly had a good time.

The play, Mass at the Donmar. Set seven years after a school shooting in the USA, the parents of the shooter, Hayden, meet face to face with the parents of one of the victims, 14 year old Evan. The acting is sublime, tense, charged, heartbreaking. All four have lost so much. All struggling to move on. The play’s central themes - forgiveness and restorative justice. So raw, so tough, yet for the parents perhaps the only way to move forward after experiencing such violence and grief.

On Saturday I met a group of women from Noon to dance our hearts out at an ‘over 30s’ afternoon disco at Scala in Kings Cross. Two rooms to choose from – Indie or Club de Fromage. I floated between the two settling mainly for cheese, gotta love a Club Tropicana vibe on perhaps the hottest day of the year. And the best part? I was done by 5pm, leaving time to escape the heat of London for the rest of the bank holiday in the country.

And to top it all, Arsenal, my local team (and one of the three teams I support which I appreciate is not allowed…), won the Premiership after 22 years. North London, well half of it anyway, erupted when Bournemouth held Man City to a 1-1 draw.

All in all quite a week.

Soul

I’ve certainly been busy.

And I’ve had fun.

Spent some time with friends. Some time alone.

But have I fed my soul? I’m not so sure. Fortunately, as I write this, I’m on my way to see good friends in the country to just be. Good food, good wine, good chats. Nurturing, restorative, soulful calm time. Exactly what the soul ordered.

The thing is, it’s easy to be busy. That’s what I do.

And the world keeps on spinning.

And I’m another week older.

You

A slightly strange end to this post I know. A glimpse into my life. The fluff, froth and underbelly. Happy, yet slightly off par. It’ll pass. It always does.

Enough about me. As ever I’m interested in you. It’s easy to be busy isn’t it.

How do you ground yourself and make sure your soul is fed?

Pour yourself your favourite tipple and drop me a line, I’d love to hear from you.

And remember, you’re never going to be any younger than you are today, accept not every day, week or month is perfect, just live them anyway.

Until next week my friends,

Ruth x

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The empathy delusion. The title of a panel I attended last week at a financial planning conference. The subject of AI woven into practically every other sentence of every presentation. Visions of a world where AI will gobble up many of the technical roles existing today in financial planning.

The comforting caveat for most speakers and attendees - people will still want to interact with people when it comes to life’s big moments or decisions – births, death, divorce, redundancy, career changes, later life planning. Indeed, I wrote about this following the same conference twelve months ago.

Deconstructing the delusion

Against this backdrop I was fascinated to listen to a colleague, Dan, provoking his fellow panellists as he presented an alternative view.

His starting point: most financial planners expect to have face to face meetings with clients who talk openly about their debts, savings, pensions and investments alongside their hopes and dreams for the future.

But the reality for many clients, or potential clients? Talking about money is hard.

And it goes deeper than a simple lack of understanding of investment, tax and pensions. Money is a source of strong emotions - pride, shame, guilt, worry, anxiety, greed, over confidence, fear - to name but a few. I’ve lost count of the number of clients, women in particular, who said to me “I’m no good with money”, “Money’s boring” or “Just tell me I’ve got enough”. Code for, I don’t want to have this conversation.

No judgement, always available

Dan continued: It’s hardly surprising then that many people are turning to Claude or ChatGPT for their financial guidance and advice.

Claude: super helpful, friendly, non-judgemental, available 24/7. Sure, it may not be offering regulated advice as such, but it sails pretty close asking relevant and insightful questions to finesse the guidance it offers. All from the comfort of the sofa. An always on financial adviser. No sense of shame or embarrassment about asking ‘silly’ questions or the pretence of understanding when confusion prevails.

As I listened, I began to think Dan is on to something:

Are financial planners deluding themselves in believing the moat that protects their position is the ability to show empathy?

On a similar theme, Abraham, the founder of the firm powering the conference, used a powerful analogy of the US Admiral who, before the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbour, was adamant of its impenetrability. And we all know what happened there.

Those who think that chatting about this weekend’s Eurovision winners, FA Cup results or the weather means they have a strong relationship are no longer going to cut it. The tech natural client of the future, by which I mean now, will demand more.

Interest piqued, I prompted Claude directly:

“Do you have empathy?”

It told me it has “something that functions like empathy” adding:

“What I can’t claim with certainty is whether there’s genuine feeling behind it — the subjective, felt sense of ‘I know how that hurts’ that comes from human experience. I don’t know if I have inner experience at all, and I think intellectual honesty requires me to hold that question open rather than confidently assert either way…. empathy in practice is largely about behaviour — listening carefully, not dismissing emotions, trying to understand before responding, recognizing what someone needs in a given moment.”

Thinking about this fascinates and fries my brain in equal measure.

Might AI have the edge?

I’ll be bold and put it out there.

The better financial planners are skilled in deeply personal conversations using carefully trained questioning and listening skills . Gently coaching and guiding clients to good outcomes.

But AI might appear to exhibit empathy more convincingly than a significant proportion of financial advisers. Heresy? I think not.

In just twelve months, the momentum of AI has shifted noticeably. At last year’s conference the position of a financial planner with life coaching skills seemed assured. I’d posit it still is, yet none of us in the knowledge industries should rest on our laurels around the security of our position. The antidote will be a deliberate development of truly human skills; trust, behavioural management – when fear and greed rear their heads- the exploration of personal meaning and being there at the moments that really matter to listen, calm and guide.

You

As ever, I’m interested in you. Financial Planner or ‘normal’ human, how are you using AI to guide you? And how do you see the future role of humans in advice and planning?

Reboot your brain and drop me a line, I’d love to hear from you.

And remember, you’re never going to be any younger than you are today; what can the uniquely human you do today that can never be taken over by a machine? Go do it.

Until next week my friends,

Ruth x

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Home from my travels, I’m settling back into London life.

Local life

I’ve loved my travels. And I’m happy to be home. Grateful to be back in England. London. Hackney. Back in time to witness this week’s local and mayoral elections. No longer a two-horse race, a shakeup of our political system not seen in my lifetime. In Hackney, a Labour stronghold, we’ve gone Green. In Havering, a mere twelve miles away, they’ve gone Reform.

The perfect backdrop to today’s post contrasting my experience of an ordinary May, Friday night/Saturday morning, and the quiet and free ‘highs’ of living where I do.

Friday night with The Godfather

On Friday I went to see a classic at my local turn of the 20^th century cinema, The Rio. Whilst not exactly ‘free’, The Rio has been a community-led charity since 1976.

My pick? The Godfather Part II in original 35mm film. I thought I’d seen it before, clearly my lack of recognition of any of it meaning I’d confused it with the original and Part III!

Introduced by Asif Kapadia, a Hackney born filmmaker, the near four-hour film (with an interval, just like old times) began. Part prequel, part sequel, it was the first film to bill itself as a ‘part two’, with outstanding performances by Al Pacino, Robert De Niro and Diane Keaton, to name but a few.

The crackly, slightly jumpy film, with its strangled sound part way through, enhanced the depiction of the times, moving back and forth between early 1900s and late 1950s Sicily and New York, as we watch Michael Corleone grow into the family business.

So many themes relevant today – corruption, power over, violence, sycophantism and the ‘supporting’ roles, violence and judgement of and towards women.

An extraordinary film. Made even better by the enthusiasm of the youngish film boff I sat next to who told me of the art house cinemas he frequented, sharing our mutual dislike of large, soulless multiplexes.

We said our goodbyes and I wandered home. My gangster land evening taking on a lighter theme as I lapped up the relaxed fun and party nature of Dalston High Street; a melting pot of London’s diverse cultural, religious and LGBTQ+ communities.

Saturday morning joy

Saturday started with a cycle across my local park, Clissold, and around the Emirates stadium (can Arsenal do it this year?1) to the glamour of my local dump - or to call it by its correct name, Hornsey Recycling and Reuse Centre, technically Islington not Hackney - to deposit my load. How satisfying to finally dump those old clothes and shoes, too worn out to give to a charity shop, I’ve been meaning to ‘rag’ for months, you know the ones…

Buoyed by my dump trip, and eventually recovered from a tendon mishap last Autumn which I chose not to bore you with, I decided to do a slow trot around aforementioned Clissold Park.

I love my local park in all weathers, but on a sunny Saturday May morning, it’s a joy. By 1030 the park was buzzing with runners of all shapes, sizes, ages and speed. Some alone, some in gangs, proof that running has become the new dating for twenty/thirty somethings. Runners mingling with the dog walkers, toddlers and grunting boot campers. Londoners at play before indulging in one of the many barista coffee sheds and carts dispensing reassuringly expensive single origin coffees and pastries. The atmosphere topped off by the May fair readying itself for a midday opening and the food festival already partly open to the early crowds.

Perspective

As I strolled home, red faced and sweaty, I reflected on my good fortune; to have loved my time away, and feeling content and happy to be home. My mood in contrast to the news oozing with stories of discontent, dislocation, inequality, and division.

I’m not denying we have difficulties and challenges. Yet there are communities, here in Hackney and beyond, living in (relative) harmony, accepting each other’s difference, and just getting on with life.

Maybe I’m naïve. Maybe I’m seeing the world through rose tinted spectacles, my age and good fortune insulating me from reality. There may be some truth in that. But perhaps I’m also a realist who sees the difficulties the country is facing and instead choses to see the simple things that are working too.

You

As ever, I’m interested in you. What are the things you see or do in your local community that lift and inspire you? And, I must ask, have you seen The Godfather trilogy and if so, which is your favourite?

Grab yourself some popcorn and drop me a line, I’d love to hear from you.

And remember, you’re never going to be any younger than you are today, stop delaying that trip to the dump, you know how chuffed you’ll feel once you do 😉

Until next week my friends,

Ruth x

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Last week the Assisted Dying bill (The Terminally Ill Adults (End of Life) bill) ran out of time in the Lords. A private member’s bill bought forward by the MP Kim Leadbeater. Passionately and intelligently endorsed by the broadcasting legend we all grew up with, Esther Rantzen, herself terminally ill with lung cancer.

Filibustering

The bill was intended to allow those over 18 with a terminal illness - meaning they have less than 6 months to live - the choice of an assisted death. The recommended safeguards included oversight and ‘sign off’ by an ‘expert panel’, the members of which were under debate.

The unwhipped ‘free’ vote passed the Commons, 330 for to 275 against on its second reading. It then went to the Lords where over 1,000 amendments were tabled by a minority of Lords. Claims of filibustering have been made - the practice whereby a proponent talks and talks and talks essentially to prolong the debate such that the debate runs out of time.

Thoughts, experiences and observations

I don’t claim to know the intricacies of this debate, so I merely comment as a member of the public, who’s lived a bit of life, including a stint as a nurse, and years talking to clients about their plans for dying. Including one lovely guy, who, aged nearly 50, was diagnosed with a rapid form of Motor Neurone Disease – the same that took the life of Doddie Weir. My client knew he was going to die a distressing death, sentient to the end, having lost his ability to perform even the most basic of bodily functions. And all he could do was wait…

I also comment as a daughter having discussions with her mother. My mum, a woman who is 100% cognitively sound, certain that if she is unable to live a life of independence and knowing, she would rather not live. A statement I believe to be true. The reality though - macabre family jokes aside about my brother’s fishing pond, a small boat and a pair of concrete wellington boots - a decision such as this does not currently sit with the individual nor the family. In fact, by the time someone might wish to invoke such a right, they may have already lost the capacity to do so, a cruel irony.

Of course, we have Lasting Powers of Attorney, which can cover Health and Care decisions. This allows the ‘donor’ (the person who is appointing others to make decisions on their behalf) to direct their attorneys to make the decision whether to consent to life-sustaining treatment.

Yet an individual cannot choose the time they wish to die. And should another individual assist in anyway, such as a trip to Switzerland, they can be found guilty of assisted suicide which is illegal and punishable with up to fourteen years in prison. Incidentally, have you seen the Pedro Almodovar film The Room Next Door with the luminous Tilda Swinton and Julianne Moore? Watch it. Thought provoking, beautifully acted and stunningly shot.

It’s complex yet…

I can of course see the risks of such a bill becoming law. Potential abuse from relatives perhaps keen to receive an inheritance or relieve themselves of heavy caring duties. Dependant individuals feeling they don’t want, or shouldn’t be, a burden to relatives. Some may not have the mental capacity to understand the implications of a life ending decision not to mention those suffering from severe mental ill health or depression who might not take such a decision were they in receipt of effective treatment. All need to be protected, without doubt. Of course there must be safeguards.

There will be some who disagree with euthanasia or assisted suicide on religious grounds. Views which also need to be respected.

There are many who would argue if our End of Life and Palliative care services were properly funded and more robust, those facing these heart-breaking decisions might have different options.

And then of course there is the Hippocratic oath taken by our doctors, the commitment to cause no harm - an undeniable tension with assisted dying. I believe our medical profession does its best to manage this in close discussion with family members or next of kin but, in my experience, this happens right at the end, the end of life. When it’s too late to make any other choices.

Like so many decisions in life this is not clear cut. It’s complex. The tension clearly exists. And right now, I have never had to make this decision personally, or in collaboration with someone I love. Yet I can’t help but think, as an advanced society, the option to manage this most important choice should exist.

Kim Leadbeater has vowed to bring back the assisted dying bill in the next parliamentary session. Let’s see what happens.

You

As ever, I’m interested in you. What are your views on Assisted Dying? And what experiences may you have to share. Pour yourself a thoughtful brew and drop me a line, I’d love to hear from you.

It’s a tough one this week. But, as Esther would have said way back when, ‘That’s Life’. Life at any age, and not least when you’ve entered your 1000Weeks. Which reminds me, you’re never going to be any younger than you are today, do you need to have a conversation with someone about your or their end of life wishes? Not easy but I’m sure you won’t regret it.

Until next week my friends,

Ruth x

ps photo, Abney Park Cemetery, Stoke Newington this morning, worth a trip.

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My Mallorcan vacation continues.

One of the reasons we come here is to cycle. As do many of the tourists here right now.

Made for cycling

Those canny Mallorcans realised some years ago there is a whole cycling market to cater for in the off-summer season. And cater they do, very well.

Velvety tarmacked roads, Hackney, and to be fair most of the UK, eat your pot-holed hearts out. Sweeping mountain switchbacks varying in length and gradient. Breathtaking coastal vistas. Evocative smells, oranges, lemons and spring blossoms.

Freshly brewed coffee, thirst-quenching orange juice and tasty tapas stops dotted along the way in beautiful hillside and port towns.

Respectful motorists, patiently waiting and giving distance as the cyclists climb up and down the hills.

Cycling meccas in villages such as Pollenca, built to cater to every velo whim.

Essentials

Kit and clothing are an essential part of the cycling experience. The precious metal bicycles with their whirring wheels, near-silent electric gear changers and efficient disc brakes. The essential clippy cleats, melding person and bicycle as one.

Then the gadgets. Beeping and buzzing as groups pull in for refuelling, monitoring every movement - heart rate, speed, metres climbed, distance travelled, cadence, calories consumed - all ready to upload to Strava to tell of the day’s highs and lows.

And then there is the Lycra. Clingy, crevice-and-bulge-hugging, encasing cyclists one and all, young and old. The adonis-like young men and women, not an ounce of fat between them, all sporting the muted pastels of the season; not colours for the faint-hearted. To be sure, there is also a fair mix of MAMILs (Middle Aged Men in Lycra) among them, with a sparse but determined sprinkling of more-than-middle-aged, Lycra-clad women. We know who we are.

My rides and experiences

Our climb out of Port Soller over the Col de Soller — some 10km from sea level to peak, with an average gradient of 5.7%. Chuff, chuff, chuff, as we slowly make our way up the mountain. Thirty switchbacks in all. The toughness eased by my Spotify playlist of legendary artists: Katrina and the Waves bringing the sunshine, Kate Bush running me up that hill, Erasure demanding A Little Respect (fair enough), and those Four Non-Blondes asking What’s Going On?

The descents are dramatically less gruelling on the heart, lungs and legs, replaced instead with fear, concentration, and a constant inner monologue about loose stones and buses swinging just a little too wide around the next corner.

Some days a pleasant 40km, others a more gruelling 70km with 2,000 metres of climbing spread over seven peaks. Each of us riding our own pace. Some faster uphill, some like bullets downhill. Regrouping along the way, encouraging each other when it gets tough, and comforting ourselves with the entirely reasonable observation:

“How many other 62-year-old women have you seen out today?”

What joy. Exercise, sun, mountains, sea, friends. I can’t think of many better ways to spend a day.

Which leads me back, as I often do, to reflecting on and cherishing the life-enhancing, compunding benefits of being outside and moving my body. Counting myself supremely lucky that I can and do. Long may it continue.

You

As ever, I’m interested in you. And I’m conscious I’ve lingered rather lovingly on my Mallorcan sojourn for three weeks now - normal service resumes on Sunday when I return to Blighty. My question to you is this: cyclist or not, what sporting or exercise culture do you belong to, whether as participant, spectator or fan? And what are the must-have kit, gadgets and clothing that go with it?

Pour yourself a protein shake and drop me a line, I’d love to hear from you.

And remember: you’re never going to be any younger than you are today. What one thing can you challenge yourself to do this week to raise your heart rate? I have no doubt you won’t regret it.

Until next week, my friends,

Ruth x

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Our Mallorca adventure continues. Four, soon to be five, women in a house on a hill, overlooking the stunning, forever changing, Tramuntana mountains. When the mist and rain lifts anyway.

This blog almost didn’t see the light of day. My mind has been empty. Just enjoying the sun, the early morning sea dips, cycling, chatting, eating, drinking, reading, studying…but then, I kinda made a promise to commit to a weekly muse. And after all, it’s been raining for the last 36 hours so here’s today’s.

A taste of the communal

In some ways this follows my Come Live with Me thoughts. The benefits and accommodations of living with others, even if just temporarily. Four/five women. All in their later fifties and early sixties. Each a product of the years leading to today. Experiences, relationships, habits, upbringing. All playing out in how we navigate three to four weeks of communal living.

A fascination for me is the roles we play and the tasks we naturally default to.

My three friends, each amazing cooks. I’m not. Each night we eat delicious, creative, healthy food. Fish and vegetables grilled, baked, barbequed, roasted. The odd sausage thrown in for good measure.

My role becomes shopper, chopper, table setter, bottle opener, and clearer-upper. All valuable supportive roles. Never the main act. But that works for me; here at least. Why wouldn’t it, I get to eat delicious food in the company of good friends. And someone’s got to be in the chorus line.

I’m also pretty adept at rubbish and recycling, which can be a puzzle in overseas lands. My sensitive nose identifying when food is on the turn or leftovers in need of disposal. And give me a broom or a brush to sweep away errant crumbs and I’m away.

Ingrained habits

It’s curious to observe the habits of my friends. One an inability to shut a cupboard door. Another a need for geometry of items. The other fresh air. Me, I’m drawn to light whether natural, electric or candle.

Each finding a way. Giving each other space. Letting each other be. Recognising we are all odd creatures.

Last night we were talking about our homelives growing up.

One of my friends making us laugh about her mother’s “BN Box” – the Bloody Nuisance Box. In her childhood home her mother’s mantra “a place for everything, and everything in its place”. If it wasn’t, it went in the BN Box.

What a perfect solution to a messy teenager who can never find anything. We don’t have a BN Box as yet, but I guess there’s still time.

Another friend recalled her mum’s egalitarian and foresighted holiday decision to plan food and cook one day each week with her, or one of her two siblings, a sister and a brother, encouraging the art of cooking as she went.

Unlike my friend, I recalled the sexist division of tasks in my home – me the food prep and ironing. My brother the rubbish or any electrical tasks…we don’t talk about the exploding electric blanket. In those pre-You Tube days nobody had told him the importance of the ‘earth’. I guess he had to learn somehow.

Fascinating how we are all formed by these early experiences and how they travel with us through life.

You

As ever, I’m interested in you. What’s the division of tasks and habits in your home? And how do you recall the chores being split growing up?

Put down that broom and drop me a line, I’d love to hear from you.

And remember, you’re never going to be any younger than you are today, is it time to drop that ingrained, irritating (for others) habit of old?

Until next week my friends,

Ruth x

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I rather fancy myself as a woman who relishes new things, change, different experiences. Yet arriving to Port Soller on Thursday for a few weeks with friends, I found myself gratefully relaxing into the familiar. Self-image dimmed!

The source

The source of my familiarity envelops me; the route from the airport, arriving into the Port, the hotel, the bars, the restaurants, the bike hire shop. The welcome from the restaurateurs remembering our annual visits. The Dorada, the Albariño, the various salts – local, Maldon and the forever untouched ‘eggy’ variety from Pakistan.

The cycle ride, climbing from the Port, up the switchbacks to Deia. The long slog from Deia slowly climbing to the peak, legs grumbling, head chattering, before the steep sharp down into Valldemosa. Lunch at Cappuccino, looking onto the town square, served by familiar waiters. All of us showing signs of gentle annual ageing. The arrival of more friends joining us for the umpteenth year running, all equally relaxing into the easy familiarity.

Competing yet compatible

The familiar v the unfamiliar? Each has its attraction. Competing yet compatible. Both have their place and balance.

Arriving to Port Soller offers predictability. Comfort. Anxiety falls away. An easy routine sets in. The ease of being with friends. Supporting each other through ageing parent worries and health niggles. Laughing, chatting, swimming and cycling up steep hills together. Time together and time apart. A welcome and easy escape from normal life.

But stay too long and the relaxing escape morphs. Boredom and a sense of stagnation seep into the initially welcoming routine. I start to crave difference, the unfamiliar. Something new, whether place, people or experience.

Claude, my AI of choice, tells me what I’m feeling is what makes us human. The tension between security and adventure. An evolutionary survival mechanism and the fuel of personal growth.

Each unique

Observing my friends I sense we each have differing tolerances for the new and the familiar. Whether in relationships, career, location, travel, pastimes, food…I guess that’s what makes each of us unique. Routine leading to contentment or discontent depending on where you land on the familiar – unfamiliar continuum.

Sometimes I feel too restless. Sometimes not enough. Maybe it’s enough to just recognise my own individual balance. Familiar foundations in one space giving me the courage to seek unfamiliarity in another. The boundary conditions ebbing and flowing as I move through time. One only existing due to the presence of the other.

You

As ever, I’m interested in you. Where do you sit on the familiar – unfamiliar spectrum? What are your familiarity non-negotiables and where do you seek novelty?

Pour yourself a comfortable drink of choice and drop me a line, I’d love to hear from you.

And remember, you’re never going to be any younger than you are today, what’s one familiar yet neglected thing you could do today to ease and comfort yourself?

Until next week my friends,

Ruth x

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Sorry. Couldn’t help it. No this isn’t a reflection on the ubiquitous Heaven 17 song. This is a contemplation of communal living.

Dinner party talk

Friends and I have been talking about pooling our resources and living together for ages, normally after the second bottle of wine…But out of this dinner party chat, a few of us, less restrained by money, age, work, family or geography, are starting to talk more seriously about making this happen.

As the financial planner in the group, I’m charged with exploring ownership structures and finances. Which led me to a fascinating conversation last week with a woman who has made co living happen with her husband, children and two other families.

Before we spoke I’d done my share of thinking on the subject- how do you decide on the location and structure of the property; what’s the legal agreement; is the financial commitment equal or on an affordability basis; how do you divide the square footage fairly; how are collective decisions made; what are the boundary conditions; what if someone gets ill, falls out, finds a partner, loses a partner, dies? It’s easy to stop before you start.

But how?

Which brings me back to my conversation this week. My new friend generously shared her community’s journey. Their collective why. Their decision-making matrix. The financial commitment. The property viewings – which amazingly turned out to be just one! The purchase process. The legal decisions. The development of each home. The Memorandum of Understanding they drew up. The collective expectations. And how they made their dream happen.

Like most dreams it’s had its challenges but six years later they all continue to live happily together but apart. The model they chose, separate but adjoining homes. In and out of each other’s houses but independent. Separate but with a shared garden, land and assets to use and be taken care of. Agreed rules in place to manage differing views of ‘done’, ‘enough’ or ‘left as found’. Harmony maintained by weekly round tables where everyone shares what’s going on for them allowing ‘stuff’ to be aired.

She was clear it’s not all rose coloured spectacles. She told me of a few friends who’ve done similar projects with different ownership and legal structures where things didn’t go to plan.

Collective courage

As we spoke it became clear it’s all in the planning. The anticipation of potential problems. Managing risk as far as possible. Completing a pre-mortem1 and keeping the collective conversation rolling on an ongoing basis. Communication, as ever, key.

The thing that excited me most was her answer to my question:

“What has been the best outcomes from living together?”

The colour and warmth of her reply crystallising the idea for me. The leverage arising from collective organisation- in their case large projects, parties and gatherings. The collective courage of the group - the whole being more than the sum of its parts, and being with and seeing daily the people she loves and cares for.

Love that.

The next stage for me and my friends is to build a collective spreadsheet to gather each of our ‘core’, ‘nice to have’ and ‘wow’ property and living criteria. Bring on the highlighter pens, gantt charts and coloured pencils!

I know co-living isn’t for everyone but it really appeals to me. I like my own space but I am not a fan of living on my own. Why live on your own, or as a couple, when you could share with others? I’ll keep you posted.

You

As ever I’m interested in you.

What are your thoughts and or experiences of co-living? And what am I not thinking of in my Pre-Mortem that I really should include?

Brew yourself a cafetière of your favourite coffee and drop me a line, I’d love to hear from you.

And remember, you’re never going to be younger than you are today, what’s the first step you can do this week to make your dream a reality?

Until next week my friends,

Ruth x

ps photo is Grayson Perry’s stunning House For Essex which I was lucky enough to stay in with friends in February 2020.

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So said one of my financial planning coaching clients recently.

He’s working. He’s not retired. How can he know what retirement really feels like from the inside.

Right or wrong?

Factually correct but I think he’s wrong. He can give brilliant financial planning advice. He just needs to expand what that advice looks like.

Historically the financial planning sector has solved your money problem carefully guiding you to ‘enough’. The number. The figure that means you will hopefully never run out of money. An important and laudable task.

I’ve done it myself.

The financial planning sector is waking up to the realisation money, whilst a foundational element for most, only solves part of the retirement problem. A truth I have experienced in this liminal space I find myself in. I was fortunate enough to solve my money problem only to find the open space and time I gained came at a loss of identity, purpose and community.

As my wise coaching client said, how can he advise on a situation he hasn’t yet experienced?

I think he can.

Relational skills

Financial Planning is founded on technical skills – the spreadsheet, investment and legislative piece. Some financial planners are recognising the underlying place behavioural science has on how we humans think, behave and act. Our biases, beliefs and the impact our habits have on how we function, particularly around money.

The game changer for clients is the financial planner who also builds their relational skills – the relationship between the financial planner and their client.

I’m not just talking about building rapport, conversation and likeability. Important as these things are. Nor the relationship some planners seem to rely on – the football match, golf or dining experiences. Done well and infrequently perhaps they have a place. But our clients are not our friends and, overdoing such activities risk a conflict of interest. That’s not the relationship I’m talking about.

I’m talking about professional relational skills. Learned and delivered by coaching. Where the Financial Planner truly knows herself first - her preferences, biases, self-limiting beliefs and habits. She also learns how to actively listen to her client. What they don’t say as much as what they do say.

She develops personal insight and listening skills so she can help her client understand themselves better and truly identify the life that is theirs, not the life their family, friends, tradition, society or social media expects for them.

Signposting

Additionally, the financial planner of the future knows to talk about, discuss or signpost the wider aspects of life beyond work and the need for a balance across the five pillars of wellbeing identified by Rath and Harper I’ve spoken of before. These pillars can be vulnerable, or lost, when work ceases; purpose (which doesn’t have to have a capital p) meaning a reason to get up in the morning; social relationships, whether family or friends; finding a non-workplace community to replace a sense of belonging; ageing healthily, and of course money.

The successful financial planner know when to refer to or call in the help of others who might be more skilled in these areas. I’ve recently met two great women who are examples of this cross referral – Clare, an Occupational Therapist by training, who uses her understanding of physiology and psychology to help her clients in various life transitions. The other, Emma, a psychotherapist, who brings a deeper understanding of the therapeutic space for those clients who are really stuck or dealing with deeper emotional issues beyond the scope of coach training. Each professional bringing a new and rich dimension to the financial planning relationship and the at times difficult transition into a new chapter of life, one which may or may not include work.

As someone living through this, I can tell my coaching client with confidence he can provide ‘retirement’ advice, outside of the figures, he merely needs to expand his interest, skill set and ‘black book’.

You

As ever, I’m interested in you. For my readers who are financial planners do you think this remit is yours and how are you widening your skills? For my non-financial planning readers is your financial adviser or planner talking to you about these wider aspects of life post work? And if not, would you like them to? Do drop me a line, I’d love to hear from you.

And remember, you’re never going to be any younger than you are today, which of your five pillars of wellbeing do you need to pay attention to rather than waiting for tomorrow?

Until next week my friends,

Ruth x

ps The photo has a tangential reference to today’s post - it’s me and two fabulous financial planning friends of mine, Tina and Emily, and Rosie the dog, just before we enjoyed a delicious birthday lunch together at Shell Bay, Studland. Go!

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“Before I go for a cigarette, can I just say, I can’t believe we aren’t talking about what’s going on in the Middle East right now”

So said my dinner host on Tuesday. She wasn’t wrong.

The Middle East

We five friends had gathered for a delicious dinner, to eat, drink a few glasses of wine, catch up on each other’s news, laugh and relax. As worldly wise, intelligent women in our 50s and (very) early 60s we inevitably stray into politics, workplace debates and world news so I’m sure we would have got to it at some point, but our host’s observation nudged the topic up our unwritten agenda.

The situation in the Middle East (can I still call it that?) hangs heavy doesn’t it. At once far away and yet so close.

I told of a friend of mine who’d been glued to Sky News. Not because he’s a news junkie but because he’s fascinated to watch the computer guided missiles rain down on Iranian targets almost in real time. In awe of the technology. Like some brutal computer game divorcing the reality of his observations from the death and destruction being caused.

People and personal

We spoke of our sadness for the plight of the civilian populations in Tehran, Bahrain, Doha, Dubai and all across the wider region. The horror of living with the fear of bomb strikes, debris and suffocating smoke. And of course we spoke of those war weary souls in the Ukraine.

We tried to imagine how we would feel if this was happening in London. What if a carefully guided missile suddenly took out 10 Downing Street and its inhabitants? Something that suddenly feels possible, even if not, for now at least, probable. What would we do? Where would we go? What would we need?

One friend suggested we prepare a ‘Go Bag’, a bit like a nearly at-term-mother might do. Water purifying tablets one of the necessities. Bicycles were deemed the best mode of transport. And head east…

What can we do?

We speculated how long the war might last and reached no conclusion. We speculated on the dangerous effect the war will have on our already fragile environment. The economy. The oil supply. Food supply. Not to mention the murder and displacement of hundreds of thousands of innocent people. This whole frightening and murderous nightmare seemingly orchestrated by half a dozen elderly men who seem to have lost all touch with the beauty of the world and human kind.

No conclusions. No idea what we can do. Vague ideas of joining a demonstration. We reconciled ourselves with remembering our circles of influence and control. A mantra I often remind myself of or speak of:

Can you do anything about it? If yes, do it. If no, remain informed but don’t worry, worry won’t change the outcome, it just spikes anxiety levels and makes you feel rubbish.

Often easier said than done…

And we returned to our normal dinner chat. Enjoyed our food, chicken curry not elephant as you ask, and wine, a crisp Viognier, and idled the rest of the evening away, burying our sense of unease for the rest of the evening at least.

But enough about me and my friends, as ever, I’m interested in you.

You

I’m pretty good at not worrying about things I can’t control but I will admit to a low grade feeling of unease. A feeling I recall from the early days of Covid when we had no idea what was going to happen next.

How do you deal with uncertainty and worry? How do you maintain your equilibrium when the world feels unhinged?

Make yourself a comforting brew and drop me a line, I’d love to hear from you.

And remember, you’re never going to be any younger that you are today, don’t put stuff off waiting for normal to return…you might just wait for ever.

Until next week my friends,

Ruth x

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Give to Gain. The theme for this year’s International Women’s Day. A simple statement. Open to misinterpretation. Yet so true.

The elephant

I went to an IWD event on Wednesday for Women In Platforms1. Over one hundred women and a small yet welcome group of male allies gathered to listen to several awesome women from financial services.

The lurking elephant in the room? Divided views on the GiveToGain theme.

Women are already giving, giving, giving and now they are being asked to do more?

Not my reaction to the theme but I could understand the point. My friend and fellow Substacker Emma Kriskinans spoke of a similar observation in her 2024 post.

One of the wise panellists, Amira, offered a helpful reframe - give with intent. Very different to giving by extraction, you know, the feeling you have when someone has just rinsed your knowledge or views, leaving you feel used, cheated or put upon. A feeling I recall from early in my career when, after sharing a technical anomaly I’d identified around pensions, I found my boss had turned it into an FT article with no mention or nod to me…

Reciprocity

Give with intent. Gain by reciprocity. Sometimes by the recipient giving back time, knowledge, energy or something else, something more subtle.

As social animals we, women in particular, are wired to give and care for others. When we give with intent we are rewarded by the release of a cocktail of chemicals, the ‘Helpers High’ – dopamine, serotonin, oxytocin and endorphins. What a feeling.

Wisdom

The panel proceeded to answer questions on GivetoGain.

They spoke of the knowledge and wisdom women, particularly we more mature women, have to offer those in earlier stages of their careers. In return we have much to learn from those carving their path today

The next generation are doing it differently. Of course they are. Afterall, when I was in my mid-thirties, the age of many of the women assembled, email was new, internet usage was patchy, dial up routers were screechy, slow and unpredictable. The award of a Blackberry a badge of honour; before we realised it was just a way to metaphorically keep us chained to our desks after hours or when out and about.

Justine spoke of learning as she grew. Of dealing with early failure, pressure and imposter syndrome “in spite of evidence to the contrary” – love that line. Of dropping the mask, the need to imitate [insert dominant, most likely male, force in your business] and just be, you. And as her confidence grew, the recognition she was her own best advocate. And you rise by lifting others.

Givetogain, the definition of a virtuous circle. The giver gains, the recipient gains, the gainer gives…and so it goes on.

You

As ever I’m interested in you. Where do you stand on GiveToGain? Who lifted or shone a light on you? And how are you doing that for others now?

Pour yourself a cuppa, maybe make one for another whilst you’re at it, and drop me a line, I’d love to hear from you.

And remember, you’re never going to be any younger than you are today, crack on!

Until next week my friends,

Ruth x

Ps Beautiful beach photo by Alison Saeng of Unsplash

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“AI will widen inequality more than it will increase productivity”

Or will it.

Such was the motion at The Sylvans1 debating society the other Monday.

Of course, as an expert on AI and its likely impact on business, life and the future of humanity - #not- this was a doddle for me…

I love a good debate. And I’m fascinated to learn. So, I dragged my mate Tracey along and off we went to the Ole Cock Tavern on Fleet Street, once a hotbed of journalistic endeavour, to listen, discover and heavens knows, maybe chip in.

Guinness zeros in hand, it was a Monday after all, we joined the meeting.

Proposing and Opposing

The motion was proposed by Helena, a hugely impressive, fin-tech entrepreneur friend of mine. The financial planning app tech start-up she is building is AI first. A woman immersed in a world of cutting edge LLMs and technology. Experiencing first hand the ruthless world of capital raising, venture capital and private equity - tough for a man, nigh on impossible for a woman. Not to be beaten, she fights on.

Helena spoke of her experience of AI restructuring some of the most rudimentary tasks in her lean start-up. Not to mention the AI assistant her team has built as the core of the business, Aida, passing the exams needed to provide financial advice.

Her warning – the technology is moving fast. Get with the AI programme or get left behind in the workplace. Even worse, get ready to lose your job.

The opposer offered a calm and thoughtfully structured riposte. He spoke of the ability for AI to help solve many of the challenges facing the world today and the exponential productivity boost that could follow. He contrasted the fears we hear with those voiced at the time of the invention of the printing press, the industrial revolution, the internet…and still life goes on. Humanity adapting to the needs of the time.

The floor

The debate opened to the crowd. A wide range of ages and backgrounds, mainly men with a sizeable minority of women. Their views expressed the need for government regulation, the introduction of a Universal Basic Income, an overhaul of taxation systems to tax machines and profits rather than the declining working population, and an uncertainty around the intent and integrity of the dominating tech bros. Others had a bit of a ramble or seemingly just practiced their public speaking skills.

The vote included a number of abstentions. I was one of them. We can speculate, debate and pontificate on where AI is taking us but in truth, we just don’t know. Yet.

My view? People need people; humanity, purpose, community, connection and a sense of belonging. AI may revolutionise the way we work, plan and research but deep down I think humans will learn to use this incredible tool to leverage our innate abilities, not kill us.

My strong steer to anyone, and my generation in particular, is get involved, learn, use it. A case in point, Claude recently analysed a seven-page pdf summarising the debits, credits and energy usage of my brother’s electricity consumption. Full analysis and response provided within five minutes. A task that would have taken me hours of tedium and frustration, done! Get stuck in. You may just find it super charges many areas of your life, not just work.2

Respect

Of course, the topic of the debate doesn’t really matter. The purpose of The Sylvans is:

“To bring together a diverse group of people to discuss topics in depth in a friendly atmosphere of mutual respect.”

I can’t help thinking we need more of this – places to meet to respectfully share opinions and see the other side of the ‘argument’.

The views of others were stimulating. Many points raised I’d never thought of. Some people raised my hackles. Some I agreed with. Regardless, it was a welcome opportunity to mix with people different to me and learn. People I would not normally interact with. How lucky, and important, is that.

You

As ever I’m interested in you. Where do you go to hear differing views? To be challenged? Does a debating society interest you?

Pour yourself a tasty livener and drop me a line, I’d love to hear from you.

And remember, you’re never going to be any younger than you are today; debate, decide and just bloody do it!

Until next week my friends.

Ruth x

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Last Sunday I had the pleasure of watching Arsenal Women v Manchester City at the Emirates. The stadium an easy half hour walk from where I live in North London. So close, on a clear evening, I can pretty much tell the score from the roars and groans of the fans.

As I approached Arsenal tube, I joined the throngs of fans making their way to the twelve o’clock kick off. Men, women, children, families. A happy, positive, joyous vibe. So different to my first football experience at St James’ Park in Newcastle in 1989.

It’s 1989…

Imagine the scene. Me, a football novice, there with my devoted Newcastle United fan boyfriend. One of a handful of women in the sell-out cauldron, sorry, stadium.

This was before the terrible tragedy at Hillsborough, when the Gallowgate End was still all standing - a seething, jostling mass. I can’t recall who ‘we’ were playing but I recall vividly the scene I surveyed.

I’d never seen anything like it. Grown men all around me. Shouting, swearing, singing. Many drunk, eating pies or hurling insults at the ref.

The days when it was seemingly acceptable for sections of the crowd to sing “get your tits out for the lads” when an attractive young woman happened to make herself seen.

Demeaning voices alongside clever and cheeky football chants, celebrating or ridiculing the star players of the day - “We’ve got Mirandinha he’s not from Argentina, he’s from Brazil, he’s f**king brill”.

The atmosphere tense and tribal.

My alienation not helped by my boyfriend’s refusal to talk to me throughout the match so he could concentrate on the game…

The result win or lose, impacting the mood of the ‘toon’1.

I quickly realised football in the North East is akin to religion.

And now…

Thirty-six years later, the Emirates told a different story.

I met my three friends at Gate J. Over engineered coffee cups in hand, we went in. The carnival atmosphere heightened by the appearance of the two rival teams. Teams sporting many of our beloved Lionesses - Russo, Mead, Williamson, Kelly.

More friends joined us just after kick-off. One bought her mum along who, rather brilliantly, played for ‘Donny Belles’ back in the day.

Olivia Smith put us one nil up in the 16^th minute to great applause and cheers. A goal which turned out to be the winner, moving Arsenal into third place in the Women’s Super League.

The mixed crowd of 39,000 had a ball. The atmosphere - fun, uplifting and brimming with possibility. Happy smiling faces - the Arsenal supporters anyway.

My half time Guinness with friends, followed by a(nother) pint and chips at a local Holloway pub after sealing the enjoyment.

High

Perhaps it was being with friends, the banter, the laughs. Maybe it was the brilliance of the players – their teamwork, skill and commitment. It could well have been the exuberance of the crowd. The thrill of a win.

Perhaps it was the break from the relentless unfurling of the appalling Epstein ring and the utter disrespect of so many women. Such vile misogyny contrasting with the acceptance and inclusivity of the game.

I don’t know, but I was on a high for a day or two afterwards.

Sport can be so uplifting and levelling.

You

As ever, I’m interested in you. Where do you stand on football – men’s or women’s? Who do you support and why?

And remember, you’re never going to be any younger than you are today. That sporting event you’ve been promising you’ll attend, why delay further? Just book it, now, you won’t be disappointed.

I’ll leave you with a bonus thought from the rather brilliant James Clear which echoes much of what 1000Weeks stands for:

“If you wait, will it get easier or will you just be older?”

Until next week my friends,

Ruth x

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Maybe it’s the four black americanos, the last one well after noon. The strange hotel bed. The delicious Moules et Frites. Or the half litre of Belgian beer. One thing’s for sure, I can’t bloody sleep.

Should I box-breathe. Meditate. Count sheep. Read – a novel not a text book obvs. Make a cup of tea?

I certainly should not be scrolling on Substack, reading the BBC News or writing this blog.

But I am wide awake.

Most unlike me.

I’m a good sleeper.

A solid 7-8 hourer. The odd loo trip aside.

So what’s up?

Why?

I’m not worried about anything.

Maybe I’m a little excited about being in Brussels for 48 hours to see my friend Steph’s art exhibited at the Affordable Art Fair. The multitude of chocolate shops within a stone’s throw of my bed. The imminent launch of my coaching website. The AI tool I’ve been playing with. The start of the winter Olympics or going to Arsenal Women v Manchester City at the Emirates on Sunday.

I don’t know.

Maybe I just went to bed too early. The one-hour time difference putting me off my stride. The heat of the room. The intermittent noise from the street as tipsy drinkers make their way home along the cobbled streets below. I’ll switch that rattling heater off maybe.

Whoop, my omnipresent fitness and health tracker, is going to have a right fit with me in the morning. Sleep and recovery scores will be panned, I just know. The best thing is, I really don’t care.

And still I can’t sleep.

Now my mind is drifting towards the many political dramas playing out at home and abroad, things outside my control, just leave them Ruth. So I do.

Is this room haunted? Now I’m just being ridiculous!

All things I shouldn’t be thinking about at 0259 in the morning.

Definitely not like me.

And now my skin’s itching.

What-a-to-do.

Perspective

But at least I’m doing something useful…doing the SFD1 of this week’s 1000Weeks.

My sleep disruption a small price to pay for the pleasure and freedom of jumping on the Eurostar at 1104 in time for lunch in Belgium, with a friend, our agenda art, sight seeing and chocolate! How lucky is that?

I’m putting it down to the caffeine. Lesson learned. Decaf only post midday. Until the next time I forget, intentionally or otherwise. Maybe the answer is not to fight the insomnia, instead turn it into something useful?

You

As ever, I’m interested in you. Are you a sleeper or a waker? What causes you to not sleep? And What do you do to get yourself back off?

Pour yourself a milky Ovaltine and drop me a line, I’d love to hear from you.

And remember, you’re never going to be any younger than you are today; why fight the awakeness when you can lean into it and do something useful instead!

Until next week my friends, sleep tight,

Ruth x

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One more run Ruth - the title of the award I ‘won’ this week on my Noon ski trip to Grindelwald. Let me explain…

St Anton

I learned to ski in my mid-20s in St Anton. St Anton before the Crazy Kangaroo (if you know, you know). My budget was low. Reflected in the hotel and its culinary staple – sauerkraut. The days when sauerkraut was just, sauerkraut.

My desire to ski with my friends, who were already good skiers, massively outweighed my ability. But the energy of relative youth, drive, fitness levels and my desire to belong meant by day five I was careering down icy red runs. No style, no skill, pure adrenaline.

Since those heady slopes and après ski years, I’ve skied upwards of twenty times. Ski buddies evolving as I’ve moved through the seasons of my life.

Friendship

Having not skied since 2023, I felt the need to go this year conscious if I didn’t, I might lose my ski habit. Or worse, my nerve. But who to go with?

As I pondered, Noon – Eleanor Mills platform for women in mid-life1 – announced a ski trip. Coincidentally just as one of my friends and former ski pals announced she was up to go too. We both signed up.

We gathered at Zürich airport for our three-train transit up to Grindelwald. Nine women. Each looking out for the other as we dashed to make our 5 minute connections. By the time we arrived, friends.

Grindelwald. So beautiful. So Swiss. Chocolate box pretty. Nestled under the watching eye of the Eiger.

Our lovely hotel, and its naked sauna and steam room, a place of much post skiing delight, the fun only slightly diminished by the stern-faced bare Swiss men hushing our chatter.

The main event

But the reason we went was to ski. We weren’t disappointed. Great snow topped up by a biggish dump overnight meant we skied in powder on Thursday morning. Perfect.

The group naturally split into two. An instructor/guide each. Ryan, our Durham bred ex political adviser guide, subtly teaching us as we went. Transforming my skiing with a few gently offered tips: Weight forward. Knees soft. Always be turning. Jacket zip downhill. Just feel the slope.

We had a blast. Four midlife women scorching down the slopes, dancing in and out of the powder. Such a thrill.

Skiing down to the village mid afternoon on day one, as we passed the mid station cable car, I couldn’t resist saying:

“Back to the top again?

Challenge made, of course we were going back up to the top…

Joy

When we weren’t skiing, or being told off in the sauna, great conversations ensued. Everyone a story to tell. Something to give. Something to share. Curiosity rife. All beautifully wrapped up on Thursday night when Jennifer, Eleanor’s right-hand woman and friend, presented the awards: Amazon. Multi Tasker. Guardian Angel, to name but a few. And me, ‘One more run Ruth’. I was strangely delighted to receive it; still got it, and long may it continue.

My personal highlight? Discovering I could still do it. Ski, (relatively) fearlessly, surrounded by the majesty of the mountains and glacier. The icing on the cake being surrounded by awesome, like-minded women, all leaving their cares behind and just having fun. So lucky.

I take none of this for granted. My physical ability. My skiing mindset. My ability to afford such treats. The weather. The finding of a gang to play with. The sheer exhilaration of speed, community and being out in nature. I’m very lucky.

You

As ever, I’m interested in you. You can probably tell, skiing is one of my things. What’s the thing that challenges, inspires and lights you up?

Pour yourself a warming glühwein and drop me a line, I’d love to hear from you.

And remember, you’re never going to be any younger than you are today, what’s the thing you loved doing when you were younger that it’s time to do again?

Until next week my friends,

Ruth x

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There I was, on the banks of the Thames, walking into Henley Business School asking myself, “what the hell am I doing here?”…whilst tingling with anticipation.

I announced, somewhat nervously, in a post a few months ago that I was putting myself out there as a Coach. A Business Coach. A Coach for financial planning business owners1 or those aspiring to be. A formal statement of my decision after a few years coaching on a word-of-mouth basis, deliberating and dithering about my decision to go public.

A new qualification

This pronouncement of course ‘necessitated’ a new website; its in its final design stages as we speak.

And, most importantly, a course. A course leading to a(nother) qualification.

So there I was, embarking on the Professional Certificate in Executive Coaching course. A nine-month hybrid course combining three in person long weekends at Henley Business School, the balance online, self-study and practice.

The onboarding for the course surprised me. Forgetting that Henley Business School is part of the University of Reading I hadn’t factored in spending upwards of three hours watching compulsory training videos around safe-guarding, consent, bias and abuse. My cohort are mature, part time students, kept well away from the ‘normal’ student population, why did we need this? But, once I got over my huffiness, they were an informative watch. A vivid lesson in change, so different to the early 80s when, as a wide eyed just nineteen year old, I started nursing, but I digress. Maybe another day…

The gold

The course is led by three very experienced lecturers/coaches/authors. Two men, one woman. All masters in their own fields. Each bringing something different to our learning.

I’m devouring the new knowledge. But the unexpected gold is the people in my group. A gift of new friends.

The course kicked off with each of us introducing ourselves to the group. The only rule, no mention of profession or job title. What a difference that omission made. Allowing us to see each other as fellow humans, not roles or status.

Twenty-seven of us. Ages ranging from late thirties to early sixties. Yes, I am one of the most, if not the most, ‘mature’ members of the group. A good balance of women and men. A variety of backgrounds, careers, seniority and success. All with a voracious appetite to learn and grow, most whilst juggling full time careers, children and family life. The benefits of a self-selecting group.

Stepping out

Coaching practice in front of and within the group necessitates openness and vulnerability. Tough, emotional and very private stories were shared, all in the spirit of learning and experience. Our role as coaches, is not to dwell on what the ‘coachee’ is saying (tempting because my goodness that was raw at times) but on how the coach responded. A masterclass in gentle yet firm enquiry, encouragement, silence and reflection.

Our mutual trust, caring and support is high. We are there with a shared ambition- to learn, to practice and to be challenged to become the best coaches we can. All in service of helping others.

I’m stepping outside of my familiar environment. Seeing the world through a new professional lens. Whilst noticing the many cross overs to financial planning from a client relationship, values and ethics perspective. Learning from others.

People often talk about being lifelong learners. The benefits of continued growth. Its protection against a shrinking world view. Not to mention its cognitive and neuroplasticity benefits against the effects of ageing. I for one am super excited about my new insights and the feeling of stretch.

You

As ever I’m interested in you.

I was chatting with a financial planning business owner friend over a Dishoom2 brunch on Friday. He posed the question, which I’d like to pose to you:

How open are we really to challenge and change? Or do we stick with what we know hidden safely behind our carefully constructed barriers and excuses?

That’s me a bit out on a limb there challenging you dear reader. At the same time asking myself the same questions…feel free to challenge me back!

Pour yourself an Irn-Bru or a wee dram, after all, it was Burns night yesterday, and drop me a line, I’d love to hear from you.

And remember, you’re never going to be any younger than you are today, what challenge or change are you silencing that keeps whispering in your ear?

Until next week my friends,

Ruth x

Thanks for reading my 101st week! Join the conversation by leaving me a comment, or maybe a ❤️, share it with a friend, or if you haven’t already, why not subscribe? I’d love to have you along, thank you.

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100 weeks down. 900 to go. 10% complete—or 90% still ahead?

I’m not sure which sounds better, but one thing’s for sure: I can’t quite believe this week is my 100th week in my 1000-week project.

Why 1000Weeks?

A reminder, or for newer readers, this project stems from Oliver Burkeman’s thought-provoking book, “Four Thousand Weeks: Time Management for Mere Mortals.” It starkly points out that if you live to age 80, you live for 4,000 weeks, give or take. You’re never going to get everything done so—embrace your limits, change your life, make your four thousand weeks count.

A somewhat sobering read as I approached my 60th birthday and calculated, on this basis, I only have one thousand weeks left.

And just like that, this project was born.

The intent

I’m not really sure what my intent was. So it was with interest that I re-read week one. The initial idea was to write about money, life and time for those at this stage of life.

I had grand notions: starting a community possibly focusing on women. I’d write about smart money decisions and how to think about money as an enabler to a life of meaning. About how time is our most precious resource.

I thought of launching a podcast with wise and interesting people. I even bought the 1000weeks.com domain. Just in case.

I paid a consultant to help me brainstorm ideas.

I bored my friends rigid about it.

People even suggested I could monetise the idea.

But nothing grabbed me enough to actually do something.

The reality

So here it is, week 100. A mishmash of my thoughts, ideas and observations served up on a broadly weekly basis.

I’ve shared with you my travels. Friends’ illnesses. Stories about my mum, and my friends. Death. My crypto journey. Money pointers. Shopping habits. Reflections on wellbeing. Health trackers. Ageing. To mention but a few.

And you, you blooming lovely thing you, have read it.

My ‘method’

Some of you have asked where I get my ideas from and how I keep going.

Well, I jot down notes as I go about my day. Things I see, hear or feel. Thoughts I’m having. Ideas to develop into a blog.

In truth, as Monday approaches, I often think, “bloody hell, what am I going to write about today?”—it probably reads like it too! But once I sit down and start to tap away, I find myself immersed in my thoughts and just writing.

I could be at my kitchen table, my local café, or on the bus or train.

I might look at my ideas, or go with something front of mind. I hash up a title and then just write, in a directionless, unedited way. What Brené Brown calls her “shitty first draft.”

Once done I leave it to fester for 24 hours or so.

Next, it’s time to give it a bit of an edit. A trim. Rearrange paragraphs. Remove random ‘thats’. Sometimes I ask Claude (an AI tool) to make suggestions as my editor, always whilst maintaining my voice. Sometimes I agree with it. Sometimes I don’t. Nonetheless it’s a helpful second pair of ‘eyes’. Like when we used to sit in an office and ask a colleague to read something before hitting send…

Often the biggest challenge is finding an image of some sort (hence my many dodgy selfies!).

Consistency

It seems consistency pays off. It gives me a sense of achievement (and relief) to know I have met another week’s promise to myself, and you. Equally, I no longer beat myself up if I miss a week or two every now and again. That’s just life.

I’ve trained myself not to worry about likes, subscriber numbers or open rates—well, as you ask, around 384 subscribers and a 57% open rate as we speak, which I’m dead chuffed about.

But the ‘catnip’1 for me is the number of you that leave a comment, send a text or email me to share your experiences, stories or insights. Or tell me you enjoy 1000Weeks dropping into your inbox each week. Or when I bump into you out and about, take the time to tell me you look forward to receiving 1000Weeks.

Knowing you are reading genuinely keeps me writing. I don’t take that for granted.

You

As you know, I like to finish by thinking about you. And asking you a question or two…

Where does consistency show up for you? What does it look like? What does it mean to you?

Before you brush your teeth tonight—something I’m assuming you do with consistency ;-)—do drop me a line. I’d love to hear from you.

And remember, you’re never going to be any younger than you are today. Where are you ducking consistency where it might just help you achieve something important to you?

Until next week my friends,

And a final, deeply felt, thank you,

Ruth x

Lovely reader, thanks for being here. If you enjoyed my words please do leave me a comment, ❤️, share or subscribe. Why not all four? I really do appreciate you being here.

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“I think my parents have found the C-Word”

I remember my lovely client Kate saying something to that effect to me in her Annual Planning Meeting. We were having our normal past year download, me asking about her work, health, partner and family, when she brought up the C-Word.

Contentment

There it is, I’ve said it out loud. Contentment.

How are you?

It came to mind earlier this week when a friend and I were catching up over dinner and asking each other how we were, really.

My reply? Good. Calm. Relaxed. Grateful. And then it just came out. Contented1.

I used to think contentment was some kind of cop out. A mediocre state to be tolerated until something better came along. Something more exciting. More rewarding. Better. Bigger. Racier. Sexier.

Now I realise that yearning for ‘more’ reflected my restless unease and searching.

I’m not saying I’m done - in a Radio Times on my lap, feet up, daytime TV kind of way. Definitely not. There’s lots I still want to do: travel, adventure, sport, learning, building my coaching business, relationships, moving, giving. But I’m feeling content. Content these things will unfold in the way they’re meant to, when the time is right.

Perhaps this is a natural state at my time of life. I’ve lived a bit, seen a bit, accumulated a bit; money, friends, experience, dare I even say wisdom.

Or maybe it’s a state of mind. One that might have been available to me at any stage had I allowed or noticed it.

It’s probably a combination of both.

Five Years

That, combined with finding a balance of wellbeing that works for me.

I’ve spoken about wellbeing before, and the five pillars underlying it: purpose, social, community, physical, and financial wellbeing. It’s taken me a while to land this feeling. After all, it’s already five years since I finished full-time work in January 2021. We were still in the throes of Covid with the restrictions and uncertainty that brought.

Since then, I’ve experimented with a few things; Ladybones2 being one of the work-related ones. I’ve done some fabulous travelling: South East Asia, New Zealand and the US, not to mention Spain, Greece and Italy. I’ve discovered cycling and paddle boarding. I’ve done some MCing, podcasting and writing, starting this 1000Weeks project. And I’ve had a long-term relationship change.

But rarely have I felt contented. Until now.

Change

I’m conscious this state is likely to change. We certainly live in a crazy, unsettled world which seemingly becomes less recognisable and more unsettling on a weekly basis. I accept it may sound ‘off’ to say I feel a sense of contentment with all this uncertainty, at home and overseas. Perhaps being in this space enables me to lean into this uncertainty.

Nobody knows what’s around the corner. So I will enjoy this feeling whilst I can, holding in mind my word for 2026: Simple. Focusing on the things I can control or get involved in, taking steps forward, and feeling grateful as I go.

You

As ever, I’m interested in you. What’s your relationship to the word contentment? What does it mean to you? How do you find it? And if the word for you isn’t contentment, what would it be?

Pour yourself a matcha latte, oat milk naturally, and drop me a line. I’d love to hear from you.

And remember: you’re never going to be any younger than you are today. What are you searching for that no longer serves you?

Until next week, my friends

Ruth x

Thanks for reading this weeks 1000Weeks. If you enjoyed it, I’d love it if you left me a comment or a❤️. If you know someone who might enjoy my words please do share this piece, or subscribe if you haven’t already. Why not all four? Thank you, I really appreciate it.

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“Shall I, shan’t I?”

That was my challenge when I woke up this morning.

“Should I write a 1000Weeks blog to kick off the New Year as I mean to go on, or should I just cut myself some (more) slack?”

I bet I wasn’t the only person feeling this way this morning. The first Monday following the Christmas and New Year holidays when, for many, real life is suspended.

My festive Tour

My suspension was a goodie. A fine mixture of family, friends, food, walks, being by the sea or in open spaces, conversation, moderate alcohol consumption (ahem, New Years Eve…) and relaxation as I toured from London to Devon, to Dorset, to Leicestershire, to Worcestershire and finally home to London. Fortunately, this year I had the foresight to book a car early so didn’t end up driving a transit van like I did last year. But that’s a different story…

And it really is true that a bacon sandwich is the answer to a New Years Day hangover.

Choices

Opening Gmail and Outlook over the weekend I had the normal onslaught of New year this, that and the other emails.

Being a sucker for a self-development moment I read them with glee only to find my state of calm was being agitated by a sudden overwhelm of pressure and choice. Should I complete Tim Ferris’s Past Year Review? Shane Parrish and Remarkable’s Annual Review ‘workbook’? or Dr Lucy Ryan’s Looking Backwards; Looking Forwards review?

I plumped for Tim’s, having done it a few years ago at the end of 2023. Basically, you go through your 2025 diary allocating your activities a + or a - based on whether they caused you positive or negative feelings (or if you are anything like me you have a few that straddle the line!). Tot up your list and do more of things that caused positive emotions and less of those that don’t.

By the time I got to mid-February, I already knew the answers. It was a double down of 2023.

Turns out I already know what brings me joy (see my scribbles above, all underpinned by my SHED1).

Word

Which led me to my word of the year:

Simple.

As in keep life simple.

Simple speaks to me of – clarity, focus, acceptance and presence. And keeps me out of ruminating and FOMO. It says stop second guessing or making long to do lists. Or deliberating around choices. Over analysis. Reading just one more guru’s email just in case it holds the elixir to life. Just crack on. And keep moving2.

2026

And the three things I will be focussing on in 2026:

1. Building my Coaching business.

2. Exploring living in … deliberately teasing you here. Let’s wait and see.

3. Paddleboarding. In 2025 I only got out twice.

You

So that’s me, my word and plans for 2026.

As ever, I’m interested in you. How did you choose to wind up the Old Year and set yourself up for the New Year? Is it a review, a word, a resolution or something else?

Pour yourself a mushroom enhanced non alcoholic beer and drop me a line, I’d love to hear from you.

And remember, you’re never going to be any younger than you are today, what can you choose to stop doing in 2026 to give you more time to do the things you love?

Until next week my friends,

Here’s to a cracking 2026 for us all,

Ruth x

Thank you for reading 1000Weeks, I really appreciate it. If you enjoyed it, I’d love it if you left me a comment, a ❤️, subscribed or shared it with someone you think might enjoy it. Thank you.

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