Mindfulness

At the start of this year, my company tried to inflict a New Year’s resolution on all of us. Some people reacted badly - others embraced it.

I was somewhere in between and I don’t blame them. After all, a healthy and happy work force is a good work force.

The Managing Director tasked HR with encouraging us all to be healthier in 2017 in four ways – diet, physical health, mind and finance (although finance was a little bit weird in my opinion).

For diet, we were encouraged to eat healthily and they even provided fruit every Monday and brought in nutritionists to chat to anybody that was interested about the benefits of eating good stuff. I wasn’t interested in this because I actually eat very healthily, in my opinion (apart from the odd burger, full English and beer or two).

For finance, we were encouraged to look after our cash and assets with a newsletter pointing out the long term benefits of savings, spending wisely and generally not blowing all of your cash on stupid things. Again, I wasn’t interested because I think that myself and Mrs PM are okay at the moment. Besides, if they want to improve my financial well-being they can bloody well give me a massive pay increase for having to endure some of the shit I have to endure.

For health, various people who exercise were asked to give seminars about their chosen discipline, including kayaking, rock climbing, marathon running and even pole-dancing. Groups of people clubbed together and took on a challenge of trying to walk in excess of 10.000 steps a day, competing against each other for fun. I walk two and a quarter miles every lunchtime of every working day and I am proud to say that I think I walk the most during a working day. HR were very interested in this and asked me to take a group of people on my walk at lunchtime.

I politely refused. Why?

Because the whole point of my going for a walk is to escape work. I pound the streets around my office with tiny little jukebox blasting out pop, rock and heavy metal, to allow me to enter the zone of contemplation and drift into my own little world, expunging, temporarily at least, any work related issues that may induce stress. It works for me and the last thing I want is a group of people bitching about work to further ruin my day.

However, the final topic – the mind – intrigued me.

HR arranged a seminar, inviting a woman to tell us all about mindfulness. This was the only seminar I attended. I am fascinated with the power of the mind and the ability and capability of certain people to use their mind to escape and control other physical attributes. Having been a victim of stress many years ago, and having delved recently into things like hypnosis (for fun initially) I was keen to open my mind to new techniques to support my positive outlook this year.

When I started looking at hypnosis, my purpose was to write a mocking blog post about how stupid people were if they thought that listening to somebody appeal to their subconscious mind would in any way help them to escape their vices, or change their behaviour. When I actually tried it, I was amazed that the effect of being hypnotised can actually vaguely work. Not that I do this now, of course, but I no longer mock those who believe in at as an alternative therapy.

The same principle applies to mindfulness, which is a similar concept. Basically, mindfulness is a form of meditation. The woman who presented the seminar gave us an overview of mindfulness and told us that she had actually used it to help her get through a major health scare a few years ago. She had been diagnosed with cancer and thankfully she is now fully fit again. To help support her mind during those trying times, she used meditation techniques and this helped her cope.

Again, I had a healthy scepticism about it but opened my mind to the possibilities. It wasn’t until we actually tried meditating that I was surprised. She asked us to sit up straight, focus on our breathing and allow our minds to wander, quelling any other thoughts and allowing our minds to settle and drift. There were about twelve of us in the room and I suddenly found myself just listening to her as she guided us through thinking about our own bodies. What struck me was the clock in the room. That may sound weird but I have been in that room many times and never sensed the clock. All I could hear was the gentle ticking. After a few minutes, she spoke again and asked us how we felt. It was almost like being hypnotised and I actually felt really good.

Mindfulness had taken me to the same zone that I enter when walking at lunchtime. It was the same as listening to a favourite song and allowing the gentle melody to take you on a journey through your own imagination.

I actually loved it.

And you are reading the words of a man who, in the past, has taken such things with a pinch of salt and only feigned interest when using it as ammunition to mock people on a medium such as this.

Actually, the key thing is that you don’t have to go away and hide to give this a go – and you can achieve a calmer demeanour in as little as two minutes.

There was a little bit of Buddhist nonsense attached to it, which I have dismissed, but the principle is sound and I would recommend giving it a go, particularly when news about Brexit or Donald Trump appears on your telly box.

Progressive Thoughts - Day 2

Today's song is Owner of a Lonely Heart by Yes.

I love this song because it combines early 1980’s pop music with a progressive rock feel.  Here it is:

The song is about taking control of your life, rather than just allowing yourself to drift without questioning anything. I’ve certainly been guilty of this at various times during my fifty four years.

What is bizarre about this is that we all go through phases when we question, and act but also we just slot into role that society expects of us and conform with expectations.  I know that I am guilty of this.

Certainly as a child, I questioned everything. I wanted to know everything. My grandad bought me a brilliant book for Christmas containing the answers to 100 questions that every child asks about a variety of subjects, questions like “What is the biggest number?”. The reason he bought it was because I was constantly pestering him from simple questions like “Why is the sky blue?” to more awkward questions like “When will Nanna have another baby?”

The book was fascinating and as a seven year old I soaked it up. I still remember the answer to the question “What is the biggest number?” because it introduced me to two concepts.

First that there was a huge number called a “googol” which has a value of 1 followed by 100 zeroes.

Does the name sound familiar? The company Google is a misspelling of the word. It was originally meant to signify that Google could provide huge quantities of information – which of course it can via its search engine.

Secondly, I was introduced to the concept of infinity. The true answer to the question is that there is no largest number because if you were to find it, you could just add one to make a new largest number. This opened a door in my mind and I became fascinated with maths (if you are American, I mean, of course, “math”), steering me in the eventual direction I took in life.

Of course, when I went to school I conformed until my hormones kicked in and made me question everything again. I wasn’t a pleasant adolescent; I became a rebellious arse who didn’t like the rules but had to stick to them. I asked questions like “Why can’t I tell the teacher he’s a cretin?” and “Why do I have to do what you tell me to do?”

Over the years, I have taken a few chances and broken out of the drudgery that life expects me to adhere to. A controlled population is, after all, an easy society to deal with. Yes, I got a job, got married, had kids, bought a house, paid my taxes, went on holiday, blah blah blah, but there were a few blips along the way, like getting divorced.

Yet, as I get older, the non-conformist rebel is surfacing more and more and I find myself questioning the shackles that bind me again. I am desperate to escape the rat race and have been doing so for about ten to fifteen years now.

It’s not that I hate my job. In fact, when I think about work, I have a bittersweet relationship with my career. It has allowed me to travel the world and provided me with everything I have now. Yet at the same time, it has been like a sort of open prison where I have had to go to an office for almost 240 days a year since I was 21 years old and have to listen to certain people, a few of whom I have had  little respect for.  I love the social aspect of work and have made many friends over the years.

The problem is that now I’m bored with my career and want to do something else – I want more freedom. I don’t want to have to justify everything that I do for a common goal that rewards certain people more than others. The rebel has been trying to surface to get me to take a chance. As the song says: “Prove yourself, you are the move you make, take your chances, win or loser”.

If only.

Never mind. I am now fifty four years old and as the days go by I care less and less about my job. I can see a light at the end of the tunnel and the one remaining shackle to complete will, within disappear within the next decade.

The rebellious adolescent is speaking to me again – and I love it.

The Meaning of Life - How To Live Your Life

Every day there is somebody telling me how to live my life, mostly in a subtle manner but on some occasions, the message is blatant.

To those people, I say this.

“Leave me alone! It’s my life not yours.”

Of course, I don’t have total control. To start with, I am governed by the laws of the land. For example, I can’t break into a rich man’s house and steal all of his money. I can’t strip off all of my clothes, paint myself purple and prance in the centre of Manchester screaming “Look at my dongle!”

In both cases, I would be arrested immediately.

I hasten to add I have no desire whatsoever to do either of those things.

Other forms of control are more subtle but nonetheless still exist.

For example, in order to be able to do the things I like to do, I have to conform to society’s expectations. I need money therefore I need to work. When I work, I have to conform to the terms and conditions of my employer otherwise I run the risk of being sacked.

Work is the bane of my life and I would gladly free myself of the shackles if I could.

The day I win the lottery is the day my freedom begins. Failing that, I have to wait another fourteen years before I can retire. I can’t wait. I just hope that by that age I’m not a doddery old codger who can barely walk without gasping for breath.

That’s why I want to get a lot of stuff done now - while I still can. And I don’t want anybody to tell me what to do or how to do it.

I’m amazed by adrenaline junkies who actually want to risk their lives to get a buzz. I would never try to tell them what to do and what not to do but such dangerous pursuits are not for me.

Anything involving falling from a great height, whether tied to a bungee rope, a parachute wrapped in a rucksack or metal frame with a lot of plastic sheeting is far too risky for me to try. I would be so scared that I probably would probably croak due to heart failure before the adrenaline kicked in.

I just don’t get it. Life experiences are fantastic and I applaud them. But if there is even the slightest chance that I would end up on the ground as an unrecognisable red splat then it’s not for me.

I’ve always had goals of sorts, but what surprises me most is that most of them didn’t materialise until I was older. If, for example, I had decided that I needed to write a book at the age of 18 I would have actually done so by now, changing my plans and studying English or journalism instead of messing around with computers. I might even have even written a few books.

Instead, I find myself writing a blog, which I started at the age of 45 and only now, eight years later, am I actually attempting to write a novel as part of NaNoWriMo (my latest 30 day challenge).

If I had been bitten by the travel bug at the age of 18, I would have seen a lot more of the world than I have.

If I had learned to play a piano or guitar at the age of 18, I could have been a member of a rock band by now, travelling, writing and enjoying the fruits of my creative juices.

My life would probably be so different. That said, I wouldn’t go back and change anything because I would never have had two great kids and met Mrs PM.

Still, it’s never too late to live my dreams. I’m happy enough and I can still realise some ambitions – just as long as they don’t involve heights, danger and pain.

And as long as nobody tries to tell me which goals to choose, I will remain happy.

Equally, I would never tell anybody else what to do either.

The truth is, I still want every day to be the perfect day and my feelings are summed up by this rock song from Skin, a great British rock band, who had some success in the mid 1990’s:

Over to you, dear reader.

Are you an adrenaline junky or have you ever been one?

Are you happy with the way you live your life?

Have you any regrets?

What are your ambitions?

What is your Perfect Day?

Mr Sleepy Head

I have just returned from a trip to Oman and am desperately trying to adjust my body clock to match UK time. Even though there is only three hours difference between Muscat and my sleep has been curtailed by being jammed up in economy class like a battery hen on a flight that left Abu Dhabi at 2:30 and flew overnight.

I hardly got a wink of sleep, either smashing my legs on the seat in front or being pushed by somnambulists, walking down the aisle in a trance on their way to the toilet having quaffed too much liquid in the airport.

I arrived at home at 8:30 in the morning and went straight to bed. And today, a day later, I am shattered and don’t know when to sleep.

There are people I work with who follow the mantra of Mr Motivator, whose drive and desire to work at 200% mean that, in their opinion, there aren’t enough hours in a day. Such people think that I should have gone into work on Friday – for at least half a day, “because there is so much to do and the work won’t complete itself”.

I wasn’t asked directly – probably because the people concerned know that my response would have rhymed with “duck trough”.

I have many reasons to dislike (and for some people actually detest) those who follow the work ethics of Mr Motivator but lack of sleep and tiredness are major ones.

When I travel to a place like China, a journey that can last over 18 hours, I am expected to work as soon as I possibly can after I arrive. The first day of work is usually totally non-productive because of jet lag.

How people expect you to work, when the time difference is eight hours and you have travelled for almost an entire day on at least one long haul flight on an aircraft where sleep is utterly impossible, is totally beyond my comprehension.

Yet it happens.

And that is just the travelling aspect. I have heard Mr Motivator say absurd things like:

“Don’t believe people who say that you need a minimum of seven hours of sleep a night are just lazy. You can get by on four hours. Margaret Thatcher did – and so do I!”

Everybody needs a different amount of sleep. Not everyone is like Mr Motivator. I would go further and say that while Mr Motivator thinks he can get away with only five hours sleep, the reality is that he can’t. You will see him sitting there yawning occasionally and totally fuelled by caffeine to get him through the day.

I’ve done some research on this and I hope that Mr Motivator is reading because people really do need sleep. Here are ten effects of lack of sleep:

(1) Tiredness causes accidents. If you live miles away from work and have to drive on a motorway after only a couple of hours’ sleep, the chances of having an accident because of drowsiness and slow reaction times is vastly increased.

(2) You are more stupid. Lack of sleep impairs concentration and alertness and slows down your capacity to think clearly. In a job like mine, where I need to use my brain to solve problems, I need a full night’s sleep to make my mind sharp for the challenges of the day. This may explain some of Margaret Thatcher’s ridiculous policy decisions.

(3) You look older. Sleep deprivation can have a detrimental effect on your skin, as well as those bags under your puffy eyes, making you look as if you have aged a number of years.  The term “beauty sleep” was not coined as a joke. And it is quite clear that I need a lot of beauty sleep.

(4) Increased health problems. Being a hypochondriac, I wish I hadn’t discovered this. Lack of sleep can increase your chances of suffering from heart disease, high blood pressure, strokes and diabetes.

(5) Lower sex drive. Apparently age has an effect on your sex drive so if you are also not getting enough sleep then your libido will suffer. I can’t make myself younger (God knows I’ve tried) so I think I need more sleep.

(6) Depression. Depression is bad enough but if you can’t or won’t sleep because you are depressed, the  condition can be aggravated.

(7) Forgetfulness. As I grow older my memory is fading slowly but if you do not sleep enough, your already addled brain struggles even more to locate nuggets of information locked in your mind in little boxes labelled “Do not forget this”.

(8) You get fatter. Latest research suggests that lack of sleep can increase your appetite, causing you to eat more and therefore put on weight.

(9) Impaired judgement. Your brain suffers quite a lot because of sleep deprivation but as well as the effects mentioned above, your ability to assess situations correctly is also impaired.

(10) Increased risk of death. Possibly the scariest effect is that lack of sleep can increase the risk of fatal health issues.

If you are reading this, Mr Motivator, and think that I should spend more of my time working and not sleeping then you can think again. You may feel like you can survive on five or six hours’ sleep but I can’t. I need at least seven hours and I will continue to do that.

I am pretty sure that any readers who regularly wake up naturally after a full night of sleep will agree with me that there is no better feeling. You are refreshed, your brain is alert and you do not need a bulletproof caffeine injection to stimulate your groggy brain into action.

There may not be enough hours is a day for you Mr Motivator, but that is your problem and not mine.

I will not lose any sleep over your ill-judged advice, particularly if I have just suffered the ignominy of trying to sleep on a crammed aircraft next to a snoring bloater who is so fat that every time he moves, the entire aircraft shifts to the right, causing my knees to smash into the seat once more.

You should not have to adapt to a lifestyle created by Mr Motivator, dear reader; tell him to bugger off and get your eight hours of sleep.

You will feel healthier than he does.

I feel like starting a campaign.

Who’s with me?

Mr Motivation Strikes Again

A while ago, I posted about the Art of Underachievement, where I introduced a character called Mr Motivation, a conglomeration of a few people I have met in many years of suffering the ups and downs of corporate life in the seemingly inexorable rat race.

Mr Motivation is an arrogant man (or woman) who is so driven by the lust for money, achievement, material goods and power that he sacrifices everything, including his soul, and thinks that every other person should do the same. To him, I am an underperforming imbecile who simply must be unhappy, bored and depressed in my pointless dreary underachieving life even though I have found a niche in my career that I am relatively happy with. In other words I have found, for me, an almost perfect balance between work and life with benefits that make me comfortable and happy.

Mr Motivation considers me to be a loser and himself a winner.

And now Mr Motivation has struck again – and he has made me annoyed.

I have a thick skin and can deal with people like this. I give as good as I get and remain totally and utterly unimpressed with their so-called achievements. I don’t care whether they have a huge house and top of the range cars. The fact that their salary is bigger than mine is irrelevant.

In short, the only person who cares about Mr Motivation and his life is Mr Motivation.

However, this time he has gone too far and raised doubts in the mind of Mrs PM.

Mrs PM and I both do a similar kind of job (it’s how we met). We are both good at our jobs and Mrs PM is particularly happy in her chosen career – certainly happier than I am in mine. She is at a level where she can cope with the demands of the job and takes pleasure in her achievements.

She is not a high flyer who wants to dominate her chosen career, working relentlessly to climb up the ladder, achieve goal after goal, winning the rat race as a high flying manager in charge of hundreds of people; she just wants contentment and enough to be comfortable – just like me.

Last year, Mrs PM went to a university reunion and ended up in conversation with an acolyte of Mr Motivation. He simply said to her:

“What happened?” 

In other words, why are you stuck in a rut with no ambition to better yourself?

In other words, she was subjected to a typical quotation from the bible of Mr Motivation.

I have had discussions with people like this before; Mrs PM rarely considers this and these ill-chosen words pushed several buttons - mostly the button labelled SELF DOUBT.

Mrs PM is a very clever woman – far more intelligent than I am. She excelled at university and so far had been successful at whatever she has turned her hand to in her career.

Mr Motivation’s acolyte is a typical example of the kind of person who thinks:

“If you’re not earning megabucks or haven’t climbed high up on the corporate ladder then you are an abject failure. If you don’t work really hard to achieve world domination then you may as well be an amoeba.”

Mrs PM opened her heart to me and we had a chat about it. I had to stop myself from saying:

“He’s a complete arsehole”

I didn’t want to make her think that she really is a failure. She isn’t. She is far from it.

I just tried to give her some perspective.

First of all, Mrs PM earns a pretty good salary. Like me, the demands on her time can be quite high at times but mostly her position gives her an opportunity to balance life and work evenly. Her work, while it can sometimes be demanding does not take over her life.

Furthermore, unlike the motivational acolyte, she is in a happy relationship and has enough time to pursue other goals in life. I tried to emphasise the differences between the motivational acolyte and herself and made her realise that she is fact happier than he is.

I’ve met this guy before and I will again. And when I do, I will have a chat with him. I will point out to him that while money and career power are the most important driving for motivational acolytes, not everybody wants to reach the top of the tree. Some of us are happy where we are. I’ve had this conversation many times before.

I have to tell you the story of one person in particular I used to work with. I’ll call him Dirk (not his real name).

I met Dirk at a company social event. At the time I didn’t work with him but we actually got on well enough to become friends. A year later, fate intervened and we ended up in the same department and as I started working with him, I realised that he was a highly intelligent guy – but also very ambitious.

At first, it wasn’t too bad. However, his desire to climb the corporate ladder soon began to take over. He was more driven by promotions than his enjoyment of the job. And it worked. He was promoted.

Before I go on, let me just reinforce the fact that I don’t mind ambitious people. There are people I work with who have climbed up and up yet remained friendly decent people who I am proud to call friends and still get on really well with.

Dirk was different. Dirk relished his responsibility and began to work longer and longer hours, pushing his team to do the same, unnecessarily so in my opinion. As he climbed, he changed. He started looking down on people like me and often came out with quips, in meetings, like:

“This is exactly why you won’t be a manager, Dave.”

However, it was soon evident that his ambition did not match his ability. He was a classic example of the Peter Principle – a person who is promoted beyond his level of competence.

He had no clue how to manage people.

And it got worse. He rose to be a pretty powerful manager – but not a good manager.

One Christmas, on my last day of the year, we were all out on the annual pub crawl. He marched up to me and said in front of others, “I was so close to cancelling your holiday and sending you to Singapore.”

“Merry pharking Christmas, Dirk,” I said before walking away.

In the end, he was found out. Redundancy struck and he ended up on the list.

A couple of years later, he reappeared at the company as a mere project manager – a significant step down. Sadly for him, the Peter Principle still applied – he ended up being made redundant a second time.

I haven’t seen him since.

One thing I know is that I feel sorry for Dirk. I would still buy him a beer but I would chat to him about how his career fluctuated and failed. I would ask him whether he should have stayed at the level he was good at. I think I might still be working with him today if he had.

Yet somehow I imagine he will still be clinging onto the dream of ruling the world and working his fingers to the bone to do so – while looking at people like me and calling me a failure.

Thankfully, Mrs PM is happier now, content in the knowledge that she is brilliant at a job she really loves.

That, to me, is an achievement. I'm proud of her.

The Art Of Underachievement

When I look back on my life, I do so with a sense of satisfaction, a touch of sadness, a lot of euphoria and smidgeon of pride. I have achieved enough to keep me happy and one thing is certain: I have not sold my soul.

I am comfortable and the balance in my life is not that far from perfect; it could be better but it could also be far, far worse.

Yet there are certain people in the world who might look at my life and call me a failure – or at least an underachiever.

Such people rule the world; such people sacrifice everything to climb the corporate and social ladder. They have one goal in mind – to be the best – or even the best of the best – or, absurdly, the best of the best of the best – you catch my drift I’m sure.

Such people look down on me because, in their eyes, I have the potential to move on in life. They probably look down on you too, dear reader.

I have a problem with this philosophy and there are good reasons why.Let’s take one of these rulers, these overachievers and give him a name: Mr Motivation.

Mr Motivation is driven, so driven in fact that he is blinkered. His focus is his career or his determination to climb the corporate ladder, or to achieve absolute greatness in whatever field he has targeted and he will do anything to get there.

While his ambitions may be admirable, the cost of achieving those ambitions is too high for somebody like me.

I will illustrate what I mean with a conversation between me, as an underachiever, and Mr Motivation as an overachiever.

Mr Motivation: What have you achieved in life?

Plastic Mancunian: I have a job, I have a lovely lady, two kids, a car a house, three cats and I get to travel, write a blog and relax as and when the need or the desire arises. I’ve achieved enough.

Mr Motivation: Sounds dull. How much do you earn?

Plastic Mancunian: Enough to keep me happy and pay the bills.

Mr Motivation: Well, looking at your car and your house – and the area where you live, you just seem ordinary to me.

Plastic Mancunian: That’s what I am – an ordinary bloke.

Mr Motivation: How boring. You could be so much more. You have a degree and you are obviously intelligent. Why are you not running your company? How can you be happy with your life as it is?

Plastic Mancunian: I prefer a decent work/life balance. I go to work; I do my job; I come home; I do the things I want to do.

Mr Motivation: Pointless. You should strive to be the best. That’s the kind of drivel I hear from underachievers everywhere. Let me tell you what I have achieved in the last ten years. I am the managing director of a multimillion pound company. Last week alone I secured the biggest deal in the history of my niche. I drive a Bentley, own two Porsches and a seven bedroomed house in the Cheshire countryside. I climbed to the top in record time. I work my fingers to the bone. I don’t just “do my job”; I excel at my job. I go above and beyond the call of duty every single day of the week. I work as many hours as I can to achieve what I want – and it doesn’t stop there. I want to move on and earn millions.

Plastic Mancunian: Nobody cares.

Mr Motivation: Excuse me?

Plastic Mancunian: Nobody cares. Of all the billions of people who live on this planet, how many people do you think give a damn about your promotions, your cars, your house or the fact that you secured a multimillion pound deal?

Mr Motivation: Aren’t you impressed?

Plastic Mancunian: Not really. And let me tell you this – neither is anybody else. Your friends may congratulate you but really only those closest to you will care. Joe Bloggs in the street won’t give two hoots. So – you’ve bought a new Ferrari. Big deal. I’d like to drive one, and I’d be happy to be a passenger if you offered to drive me around – but impressed? Nah!!

Mr Motivation: That’s so sad.

Plastic Mancunian: Why?

Mr Motivation: It just shows that you have no goals to better yourself.

Plastic Mancunian: Do you believe that you are better than me because you have material goods? Because you have sacrificed so much time to get where you are? My soul is intact – is yours?

Mr Motivation: What do you mean?

Plastic Mancunian: Well I can’t help but notice that you are carrying a Blackberry that has been chirruping constantly during our conversation.

Mr Motivation: That’s because I am important. I am constantly on call and need to be able to react to get things done – to make more money – to be the best.

Plastic Mancunian: But it’s Saturday afternoon. How many hours work do you do on average?

Mr Motivation: I work 60 sometimes 70 hours a week. You have to do that if you want to be the best.

Plastic Mancunian: Okay – but that phone is still chirruping – so you probably work longer.

Mr Motivation: I reap the rewards. You can see where I am.

Plastic Mancunian: Well I think you’ve sacrificed your soul to be the best. The problem is that aiming “to be the best” while admirable, is not always achievable and it comes at a cost – you are blinkered and don’t see life outside your tunnel vision. Tell me, when was the last time you had a decent holiday? Or spent quality time with your wife and kids? When was the last time you relaxed?

Mr Motivation: You’re just lazy. I am hard working and that’s why I am where I am and you will remain stuck in a rut.

Plastic Mancunian: I’m happy in my rut. I have ambitions but not materialistic ambitions. I want to be happy and I know what I need to do to make me happy. The difference between you and I is that I haven’t sold my soul to achieve it. I realise my own limitations. And I don’t want to be unhealthy because of it.

Mr Motivation: Unhealthy?

Plastic Mancunian: Yes – stressed. Don’t tell me you aren’t stressed.

Mr Motivation: Absolutely not. Nevertheless, my goals demand constant attention and until I achieve them, I am on edge. I work best when on edge.

Plastic Mancunian: You’re stressed then. Tell me something else: can I be the best?

Mr Motivation: Yes – everybody can be the best.

Plastic Mancunian: That’s not true though is it? How can everybody be the best? Surely only those people who are the best can be the best. How can everybody, say, in the UK “be the best”?

Mr Motivation: Now you’re just being facetious.

Plastic Mancunian: But I’m not though. If you go for a promotion with two colleagues and you all work your bollocks off – and you achieve that promotion and that seven figure salary – what have you achieved? Sure – your family might be happy at more money – but the two guys who failed will not be the best, will they? They will have failed. And you will have worked stupid hours, sacrificing your life and another chunk of your soul, just to say that you are the best – until the time you fail. Is the money really worth it if you can’t enjoy it? Will the seven figure salary really make your life easier if it means that you now get 200 emails more a day, have to work every weekend for the next six years, only get a week or two off and have to take your laptop with you if you go on holiday? That lifestyle is not for me. I’m happy with my own balanced, stress free life.

Mr Motivation: You’re an underachiever.

Plastic Mancunian: If that's what you think then I'm proud of it.