I need to pivot.

I know this because everyone tells me so.

Some are people who love me. Some are kind, decent people with my best interests at heart. And some are chatbots who never get tired of kissing my ass.

“Have you thought about what you’ll do next?”

“This is an opportunity to reinvent yourself.”

“You could do something completely different.”

“Ah freedom! There are so many things you could do.”

All of these suggestions lead me to the same place. The same word.

Pivot.

Officially, pivot means to spin or twist. To make a major change in direction or focus. To make an “intentional, strategic shift” when your current path no longer fulfils you.

But — ahem — here’s the thing. There is nothing intentional or strategic about my current circumstances. I wasn’t unfulfilled. I liked the life I had, the work I had, the income I had, the people I tried to help.

Then everything I had was whipped off the table, even the bloody table cloth, so I have to start again.

Now, this is not a pity party. That would bore everyone, including me. Plenty of people lose their jobs — get fired, made redundant, “restructured out,” burn out or are forced to leave for personal reasons.

And, from down in those trenches, we’re advised to pivot. To spin on our hapless heels and turn our pain into personal growth opportunities. To post “I’m excited to explore what this next chapter might hold” on LinkedIn.

When, the truth is, we might not be very excited at all.

We might even be scared.

*****

Everywhere you look (especially when you’re out of work) you see stories of people who’ve found joy on radical new paths after having their careers, or lives, upended. That the worst thing turned out to be “the best thing” that ever happened to them.

But that’s not the reality for most. When I practiced as a psychologist, I heard so many depressing tales from over 50s — experienced and highly skilled people unable to get work, knowing (without actually being told) their age counted against them. All while panicking about money.

So the idea that everyone can simply “pivot” is a fantasy. Especially when you’re over 50 and the job market is inwardly assessing your date of birth while outwardly praising your experience.

Still. Feeling bold one morning this week I decided to grasp pivoting by its scruffy neck. Right after I’d had toast.

I leapt online and googled suitable occupations for a “senior” person with a background in psychology. Good at sitting still and listening.

AI to the rescue.

It identified my transferable skills. It praised them with a (good) mother’s devotion. It told me I could build a personal brand around my “lived experience” and “unique perspective”.

Then it made some suggestions for a new career. Bird watcher. Textile weaver. End of life doula. Professional studio model, extra suited to long posing. (I would not have to be naked, I could be draped in a sheet).

Aha. Finally an occupation that recognised my strengths. The sheet was a concern, but I was willing to remain open-minded.

I stared at the screen for a long time.

You can’t say AI wasn’t trying. After all, it was programmed by humans and we like a story with a happy ending. We like to believe that the thing that knocked us sideways was secretly preparing us for something better.

But sometimes a yucky thing is just a yucky thing.

Sometimes you lose something you liked, it hurts and you don’t immediately discover your true calling.

You don’t emerge from the wreckage with a podcast, a bestselling book and an attractively lit home office free of dying pot plants.

Sometimes you emerge with toast crumbs down your sweater and no idea which way to spin.

Which is where I was on that particular morning.

Quietly cursing Mary Oliver for reminding me that I have “one precious life” and I need to make the most of it.

Because this is the bit nobody puts in the reinvention brochure.

The bit between the old life and the exciting new one.

The bit where you are supposed to be “exploring possibilities” but mostly you’re wandering around the house wondering what day it is and telling yourself firmly that it’s too early for a glass of wine.

Maybe that’s not failure, nor the squandering of a life.

Maybe it’s just the bit where you feel dizzy.

So I am officially giving myself permission not to pivot.

At least not today.

Today I am going to remain open to professional studio modelling. And go find an old sheet.

Just in case.

You’ve heard of The Let Them Theory.

It’s Mel Robbins’ wildly successful tool for letting go of trying to control others’ actions so you can bring your best energy to your own life.

It’s stellar advice. I’ve read it. I’ve tried it. It works — unless people are being really, really mean.

If they are, let me introduce its less-evolved cousin. The Get Them Theory.

It’s not a philosophy. It’s not a movement. There are no books or podcasts. You can’t buy a t-shirt. It’s simply a tool for those occasions when your higher self has left the building.

Come on, don’t tell me you’ve never had a vengeful thought. Don’t tell me you’ve never imagined the perfect comeback line three days too late. Or fantasised about your enemy meeting the stickiest of sticky ends.

When I was a practicing psychologist I heard lots of these stories, most of which involved relationships gone wrong — exes, parents and kids, bosses, colleagues, even friends.

Some were minor acts of small-mindedness: letting down car tyres, dumping the ex’s clothes at the charity shop, the workplace bully getting a disciplinary note from the manager.

Others were darker: destroying possessions, leaking private information, ruining reputations.

Before you get too wound up, these were fantasies. Well, most of them were. The point is, when we’ve been hurt our brains go into invention overdrive. We want to “get” whoever wronged us.

Fantasies are useful as emotional pressure valves. They let us restore a sense of justice before our frontal lobes (hopefully) put up the stop sign and prevent us from sending that nasty email, keying the car or posting about the manager’s drinking problem.

Revenge fantasies aren’t evidence that we’re bad people. Or that our thinking is worryingly dark. Or that our inner psychopath has broken free.

They’re evidence of our pain, and that fairness matters to us.

That we’re just people who want to be understood.

Spare Me the High Road

Former First Lady Michelle Obama’s famous quote “When they go low, we go high” is great advice for life. We all know we’re supposed to be the bigger person. Rise above it. Take the moral high road. Forgive, forget and move on.

But let’s keep it real. Being a big person doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to have small person feelings. And being a big person is easier when you haven’t had your heart, your trust, your sense of who you are, your plans for the future…all crushed.

Often, before we get to the high road, our brains take a detour down Petty Lane. So we have space to cry, rage and lick our wounds before reluctantly getting back to our higher selves.

How to Use The Get Them Theory

The Let Them Theory says: release your need to control others.

The Get Them Theory says: sure, but first let yourself imagine controlling the universe — being insanely vengeful — for seven glorious minutes. Eight, if you’re really, really mad.

Here’s are three-steps to guide you.

Step #1: Get Them

Give yourself permission to vent for seven minutes. (Seven minutes is long enough to get the emotion out—but short enough to stop it from taking over.)

Let yourself imagine in detail how you’d like to “get” your enemy. Half-hearted revenge fantasies don’t work. Actually, they’re a bit pathetic. So rage and cry. Go wild. Imagine life as truly awful for the one who has crossed you.

Do this all in your head and behind your front door. If you need to write it down, destroy the evidence. Remember, thoughts are just things. Without further instruction, they will remain just that.

Step #2: Get Calm

Take a breath. Revenge must not be acted on. No 3am messages with a few wines on board. No home drive-bys. No obsessive stalking. No mysterious “accidents” befalling your foe. Create physical and mental space between them and you. Do not act. The Get Them Theory is a fantasy-based tool, not a pathway to a court appearance.

Step #3: Get Going

Take the starring role in your own show. Lock in on the things you can control—primarily, how you spend your time. Use the experience to help your understanding of people. Remember that what people do to you is a reflection of them, of who they are. As Maya Angelou said, “When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time.” Or at least the second.

Park forgiveness for now—that’s too hard. Don’t try to forget. Just accept that it happened and they hurt you, because acceptance is the gateway to peace.

Then press on with your life, shuffle forward, get going. Choose something you can throw yourself into, something you can better at, something that absorbs you. Abide by the words of George Herbert: “Living well is the best revenge”.

New shoes don’t hurt either.

I used to want to live to be 100.

I could see myself — celebrating my 100th birthday with a glass of Sauv Blanc, in perfect physical health, my memory blade-sharp, still chuckling at my own jokes.

I’d tear open my personal message from the King and eat a big piece of chocolate cake. Then I’d die, smiling, in my sleep the next day.

I was about 40 then, no aches and pains when I launched out of bed in the morning. There was no pill organiser on the bedside cabinet. No grabbing for the handrail as I headed downstairs. I could rip through a book without reading glasses, look okay in tops without sleeves. When I tripped over it was just bad luck. I hadn’t had “a fall”.

But dreams fade. And, as I’ve gotten older, and seen more of old age up close, I’ve begun to think 100 might be an onerous, and not particularly pleasant, goal to chase down.

Because while I’ve always known that the quality of a life is more important than the length of it, there’s nothing like creaky knees and forgetting why you opened the fridge to bring that message home.

*****

How do you know when you’re officially old?

Beyond getting a superannuation payment (and gold card discounts), it’s an arbitrary line.

Because age just sneaks up on you. Like when you look at the faces of police officers, doctors and All Blacks, and realise they are too young to be your children. Or you crick your neck and need physio just from sleeping in a bed that’s not your own.

The language changes too. It acquires phrases all of its own. Gradually you begin to hear these things and, then — scarily — use them.

You don’t pop out to the shops. You venture out. You’re not busy. You’re keeping active. You don’t catch up with mates. You’re maintaining social connections. You’re not stubborn. You’re determined to retain your independence. You don’t forget things. You have a senior moment.

Then, of course, you don’t trip over. You have a fall. And (my personal nightmare) you’re no longer in good shape, you’re sprightly.

But that’s not what bothers me the most.

It used to be that growing old used to be what happened if you survived the trials of middle age. You could finally breathe out, put your feet up, and let fate take its course.

Now, we’re expected to excel at ageing too. We must age well. Or positively. Or successfully. Or, if we’re really committed, become a “Super-Ager” (yes, that’s an actual thing.)

As if by taking long walks (impact work for your bones), lifting weights (for building muscle strength) and doing crosswords (for cognitive health), you’ll negotiate a better deal with your biology.

Look, I don’t object to anyone looking after their mind and body. Actually, I believe whole-heartedly in it. I, too, want to hit old age with pain-free knees, biceps that can hoist a bag into an overhead locker and wrists that can screw open a jar of relish. (Although as I can hardly do it now, that seems unlikely).

But does every life stage have to be a self-improvement project? When do we finally earn the right to stop trying to be better versions of ourselves? When do we get to RELAX?

Sorry, it’s not just a number

I once worked with a man who quit his high-stress job shortly after he turned 60. His parents had both died in their sixties and, although he was fit and healthy, he’d done the maths.

“If I’m lucky I have 12 more Christmases,” he said. “I’m thinking hard about how I want to spend that time.

“Everyone says age is just a number. But it’s a reality. Anyone who doesn’t look it square in the eye is in denial.”

He’s right. Spend time around people in their eighties and nineties and you realise ageing, and health, can be scarily unpredictable—even downright unfair. Some people draw the short straw despite doing everything “right”. Others ignore every longevity rule ever written and enjoy long, easy(ish) lives. Turns out, biology (and fate) aren’t too interested in our best laid plans.

That’s why I’ve revised my goals. I’m not up for chasing any “super ager” badge. I’ll settle for ageing adequately.

A person who still loves. Still laughs at ridiculous things. Still enjoys a good book. Still wears jeans. Still appreciates a decent glass of Sauvignon Blanc. Still has people to share it with.

If I make it to 100 in good enough shape, I’ll happily rip open my letter from the King; I’ll eat all the cake I want.

You’re all invited to the party. But not if you call me sprightly.

*****

Thanks for reading A Good Enough Life. If you’re interested in practical wisdom for the art (and struggle) of being human, you’re in the right place!

Help me, I’m stressed.

When I practiced as a psychologist I heard those words, or similar, most days. To be fair, not many people sign up for therapy when they’re feeling good — even though that’s a great time to do it.

But I saw how stress played out for people physically, mentally, emotionally and behaviourally. I saw how it infected them, prompting them to say and do uncharacteristic things.

I saw how it made them sick, gave them headaches, racing hearts and squirmy stomachs. I saw how it dulled their spark. I saw how its insidious tail snaked through their relationships and families.

I heard about the impact of shocking life events, what happens to people when they carry stress over a long period. I witnessed the super-combo too: when people who are already stressed are plunged into crisis.

I knew how to help them; I got pretty good at it. So I thought the next time Big Life Stress knocked on my own front door I’d be ready; armed with all the tools to help, heal and recover.

I wasn’t.

Sure, some stress is good for us. In acute (short) doses, it can keep us sharp, focused and motivated. Managed well, it can help us overcome challenge and achieve great things.

But the other kind, the stress which puts mind and body on high alert, takes an enormous amount of energy. And when it goes on and on, has a way of recalibrating who you are.

Of rearranging your personality, of sucking away your joy, of making you look and feel real old, real fast. Of making you do and say dumb things to the people you love (or could fire you).

In essence, stress is destructive; you can’t afford to give it too much room. Or it’ll swing a wrecking ball at your life.

*****

Stress came calling in a very personal way when my career upended recently. I knew what to do - in theory, anyway.

I needed to rest, stop pushing myself, chill out for a while. But how do you “do nothing” when you’ve been used to doing a lot? How do you lie around reading when your brain is racing, there’s laundry to fold and any attempts to relax come with an outsize dose of guilt?

But, as they say, the teacher appears when the student is ready.

On one such bad day, into my mind jumped something my kids used to do when teenage life became too much: Lie face down. (Face up was resting, apparently; face down was complete surrender to life’s woes).

Looking back, it was probably their excuse for not cleaning their rooms, and getting pizza, but — all out of options — I decided to try it. I figured I could file it under “grounding techniques.”

So I lowered myself gingerly onto the lounge floor (old knees and all that) and lay there splayed like a starfish, my face squished into the carpet.

From there, I wasn’t having to solve anyone’s problems, start a project, write a novel, prove my worth or make decisions about the rest-of-my-life.

I was just an undignified person lying on a slightly stained carpet.

I felt only relief. You can’t scroll when lying face down. You can’t make eye contact with anyone who wants to know where their keys are or what’s for dinner. You can’t see the crap all over the bench or move the needle of your life forward. All you can really do is breathe and wonder why it’s six years since you cleaned the skirting boards properly.

I remained prone for 20 minutes.

When I hoisted myself up, carpet weave imprinted on my cheek, my problems were still there but they’d stopped shouting. I’d stopped fighting. I wasn’t wound up or boiling mad. I’d reminded myself that I’m human  - with limits. And that rest doesn’t have to be earned. It needs to be taken  -  it’s a basic human need, right up there with food, shelter and love.

Maybe life-changing magic is overstating the benefits. But it’s no bad thing to cut yourself some slack when you’re in a hole.

And, lying face down doing absolutely nothing, might just be the first step to recovery.

That, and cleaning the skirting boards.

*****

"Be crumbled. So wild flowers will come up where you are. You have been stony for too many years. Try something different. Surrender." - Rumi

*****

Thanks for reading A Good Enough Life. If you’re interested in practical wisdom for the art (and struggle) of being human, you’re in the right place!

Kia ora koutou katoa / Hi and greetings to all!

Me again, from the beanbag. This is where you and I sit down over a coffee and have a monthly catch up. I’ll share five things from my favourite place in the house.

My sister and her pooch kindly posed for this month’s beanbag photo because it can’t be all about me…and I only have one beanbag! If you have a fave beanbag pic I can use for these monthly notes, please send it in (Note: Let’s keep human faces hidden to preserve the mystery.)

What I’ve been thinking

I’ve been thinking a lot about what comes next.

Not in a grand, five-year-plan, vision-board kind of way. More like, what the hell do I do now? Like tomorrow.

For a long time, I knew what came next. There was always “stuff” in the diary, a deadline, a column, a client, an interview, a book, somewhere I had to be and something I was supposed to be doing.

Then, if you’ve been following my journey, it all (rather spectacularly) stopped. At first, I thought the challenge would be managing the crazy emotions that went with it. Yep, there was that! Still is, if I’m honest.

But, as the days have ticked on, the ground’s shifted. Now, it’s more about trying to be okay with waking up to NOTHING on the agenda. Getting comfy with the change in my identity and my life. Especially on Mondays. Seriously. Mondays don’t make any sense without the structure of work.

Good news! I’m getting (a bit) better at it. Change, and not knowing what comes next, is not the disaster I assumed it would be. And being free of all the responsibilities that go with work is pretty wonderful.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s weird and I’d like more certainty but I took inspiration from something a former client said to me this week, “hang in there. Something good will happen.”

It will. Good things do happen. The trick is to be awake enough, and open enough, and not too bogged down in self-pity, to notice them.

Which is a good thing to tell yourself when you’re lounging in a beanbag.

What I’ve been reading

Nora Ephron. Because she mastered reinvention. And she’s funny.

An American writer, filmmaker, and journalist, Ephron was famous for her sharp wit, observational essays, and beloved romantic comedies like When Harry Met Sally… and Sleepless in Seattle. I love her essays best.

When life is out of sync (or just plain hard) there’s value in forcing yourself to laugh — through books, TV series’, movies, podcasts, social media videos or just whatever it takes. Laughing is a stress antidote; it releases feel-good hormones, relaxes your body, boosts mood and can even improve heart and immune health. Excellent when done with others but take a gold star if you can crank out a belly laugh with no-one but yourself for company. You’re my tribe :)

What someone said

Nora Ephron, naturally, on change and reinvention:

“And don’t be frightened. You can always change your mind. I know: I’ve had four careers and three husbands.”

And music legend Dolly Parton on the same topic.

"We cannot direct the wind, but we can adjust the sails."

What made me smile

My husband Kevin Norquay wrote this piece on retirement villages. True story. I have never seen him jump higher. Ageing is hard, but sometimes it’s funny. And it’s coming to all of us.

What nobody warned me about retirement villages. Are they simply boarding school hostels in geriatric clothing?

What I’ve written

On my Substack lately you’ll find my takes on getting to grips with my new life:

How to have the resilience of a cockroach You can say this about cockroaches: they are bloody hard to kill.

Will I make the Over-60 best dressed list this year? What to wear when you have nowhere to go.

If you had one more day to live what would you do? If we’re going out, we’re going out with bacon.

Love makes the world go around but it won’t take out the trash Advice on love for those who can’t stand advice on love.

I have lots more coming up — if the concepts of lying face down, The Get Them Theory (for revenge-seekers) and not turning ageing into a self-improvement project, intrigue you, watch this space.

*****

Big News!

I have a new book coming out soon, The Pocket Guide to a Good Enough Life. It’s a limited edition, a collection of all my reader favourites - columns, blogs etc - related to the therapy phase of my life. It was fun to compile and now they’re all “preserved for posterity” (or whatever) in one place. Check out the cover below. But more on that next month!

*****

That’s it for August.

I’d welcome your feedback and ideas. Feel free to send in your thoughts, questions and suggestions — I read them all!

​If you want to pass this newsletter on to a friend, here’s a link to my Substack.​

Kia pai tōu rā / Have a great day

Karen

Until my ears and rear were assaulted moments apart, I had seen a retirement village as a pre-ordained destination on life’s natural progression.

I started in a nursing home, then my parents’ house, then boarding school, a student flat, a rustic first home, an array of family havens, and finally a post-children townhouse.

Next, as sure as wrinkles and grey hair, would come a retirement village apartment.

On TV and in brochures they look like heaven rather than God’s waiting room. It’s all laughing couples hand in hand, clonking croquet balls, sipping wine on balconies while grandchildren gambol nearby, where seldom is heard a disparaging word.

Judging by TV ads, there is a woman who loves retirement village life so much she lives in Tamahere, Matamata and Mt Maunganui institutions all at once. It’s possible I’ve been duped by the ads and she’s actually an actor, but she sure looks happy.

And she’s not alone. It’s a system that works. Retirement villages are a lifestyle and care model people love. They’re safe and secure, there’s no gardens to weed, no lawn to mow, no gutters to clear out, no windowsills that need paint.

If you want a social life it’s right there, there are a range of care options, and you know your costs so you can budget, which takes away later-age anxiety. And oh look, a movie theatre, a gym, a bar … in my mind I was moving in.

But then reality groped.

With my wife, I visited my now 96-year-old mother in her sunny, peaceful Auckland retirement village. It’s so well insulated you hear nothing, and sleep comes easily and uninterrupted.

Don’t be fooled. It’s a war zone.

Once you get past the slick construction and plush carpet, you discover some residents are akin to a cardigan-clad gang, fiercely defending their turf or recruiting fresh blood to the cause.

If Mum had deigned to purchase Sky Sport, we might never have known. But she hadn’t, so we headed for the village lounge, where two massive TVs were showing the All Blacks above a comforting pretend fire.

We rounded the corner towards TV No. 1 to find a sea of grey heads settled comfortably in front of the screen. They all turned to stare at us as though we were an invading army or, perhaps, a swarm of bees.

“You can’t sit here,” barked an elderly gentleman who appeared to be the gang leader.

It was boarding school all over again, and Mr Megaphone was the bullying prefect with eight decades more practice. At least he didn’t hit me on the head with a rugby boot or push me down the stairs. But I know he wanted to.

“Do you own this village?” I asked, momentarily allowing my disdain for rude wankers to turn me into one.

We left Mr Megaphone, his twittering sycophants and his embarrassed wife to search for TV No. 2 across the foyer.

Even on manicured carpet, it proved a perilous journey, bringing to mind Lord of the Flies or Cormac McCarthy’s The Road, a novel full of deadly flesh-eating marauders.

Halfway there we encountered a flesh-seeking female, an octogenarian with octopus-like tendencies. She stared me down.

“You’re new here,” she observed, groping my bum.

Her finger strength was impressive. Maybe it had been honed in a Depression-era vegetable garden, a World War II munitions factory or on the bowling green. Whatever the source, I leapt higher than Hamish Kerr winning Olympic gold.

“She groped my bum,” I gasped to Karen and Mum.

“She does that to all the men. Look, there’s free seats over there,” Mum replied, seemingly unsurprised.

About then I decided I wasn’t ready for a retirement village. Perhaps never.

What happens if Mr Megaphone is your neighbour and Ms Groper lurks in corridors waiting for unwary bottoms? Ms Groper was later transferred to a care unit.

Was a retirement village simply a boarding school hostel in geriatric clothing, I wondered? Was there a hierarchy where the last person in ranked somewhere below the “turd former” of my high school days?

Apparently yes, although you won’t find that in the brochures.

As always, there are people who study this stuff. One of them, Erving Goffman, was the Canadian-American sociologist renowned for his work on social interaction.

His theory of “total institutions” originally applied to prisons, boarding schools and psychiatric hospitals, but let’s borrow it for the modern retirement village.

The theory suggests that when people live in enclosed, managed environments where sleeping, recreation and much of daily life occur under one authority, they regress.

Deprived of familiar identities such as boss, parent or homeowner, they become intensely protective of the small things they can still control, like a favourite lounge chair or the TV remote.

So Mr Megaphone wasn’t just being a wanker. He was defending his regime.

Then there’s Professor Sheila Peace and Dr Caroline Holland who have spent decades researching how older people interact with communal spaces in retirement housing.

It’s a wonder they’re still alive, if you ask me.

Their research shows communal lounges are rarely truly communal. “Unoccupied” space is largely a myth.

Long-term residents establish unwritten tribal ownership over favourite chairs, television remotes and sitting areas because those routines create predictability and security.

So when we wandered in, we weren’t simply visitors. We were unregulated border crossers, unwanted immigrants threatening the established social order.

As for Ms Groper, some older people do lose their inhibitions, feeling they no longer need to maintain the social filters that had governed their working lives.

Researchers describe this as “role exit”. Without careers to pursue or reputations to protect, some people simply say and do things they never would have in what we think of as normal life.

So where does that leave an older version of me?

In a caravan, at least initially. If Mr Megaphone or Ms Groper turned up, I could simply hitch up and drive away.

Or perhaps at home, fiercely defending my own territory.

“Don’t touch that pile of books.”

“Those cables are organised.”

“Yes, I know it looks like an untidy nest.”

Maybe we all become retirement village residents eventually. Some of us simply start rehearsing early.

Be prepared. That’s my motto.

*****

Kevin Norquay is a guest writer for A Good Enough life. This article was first published by the Sunday Star Times, New Zealand.

There’s no shortage of advice about love.

It comes in clichés and memes, in romcoms and self-help books; it’s the stuff your mother may have told you when she really shouldn’t have.

But when your heart’s in a twist, these well-thrashed pearls of wisdom aren’t much help. In fact, some of the most popular advice about love is downright terrible.

Here are my favourites.

You’ll just know.

You might, but this is usually said by slightly smug people in retrospect when their relationship HAS worked out. Plenty of people thought they’d found The One only to discover their dream partner was not at all who they thought they were. Or that, over time, they changed beyond recognition.

The moral of any love story is that you might “just know” when you’ve found the love of your life, but do some intel gathering before you throw your whole heart into it. And don’t beat yourself up if you get it wrong. High chances are it’s them, not you.

Love will conquer all.

Yes, love makes the world go round. Love, and connection, is arguably foundation of happiness. And the counterpoint to hate which is a very fine thing indeed.

But love won’t feed the dog, pay the bills, put out the trash on Tuesdays or bring you chicken noodle soup when you’re sick. Love is good (when it’s good) and it should be celebrated and appreciated.

But love can’t do everything, not even close. And it’s pretty naive to expect it to.

Love means never having to say you’re sorry.

Bad idea. And a terrible excuse for bad behaviour. Sorry, when said genuinely and without justification, is a powerful tool in any relationship. Learning to use it appropriately is a big tick for your emotional intelligence.

Good things come to those who wait.

Possibly true. But they come faster, and more often, to those who pursue them.

Never go to bed angry.

This is a fine idea IF your skirmish is relatively minor and you are both skilled at sorting out your difficulties quickly. In reality, it’s a lot harder to achieve. Some conflicts can’t be quickly settled, and many people need time to cool off or process what’s going on.

Conflict can escalate — and problems made worse — when people try to solve their issues in the moment. Some people need time to cool off. Trying to settle a battle in the heat of the moment can just make things worse, and say/do things that make it worse. Walking away and agreeing to come back to when you’ve both had time to think and order your thoughts can lead to a better outcome — and relationship.

“Don’t go to bed mean” is (much) more helpful advice.

Treat ’em mean, keep ’em keen.

Hmmm. Let’s pause and wonder about the psychology of the person who came up with this gem. Then worry about what life was like for their partner.

Follow your heart.

Yes, by all means, the heart is the, er, heartbeat of love. But the heart has a tendency to get carried away, and prompt some pretty awful decision making. Follow your heart but make sure you bring its life partner, the head, along for the ride.

Stay together for the kids.

Many in struggling relationships are desperate to keep the family together and home life stable for their children. They don’t want the emotional trauma or disruption — for anyone.

But if you knew how many adults showed up in therapy saying “my parents were miserable” or “don’t know why they stuck it out so long” you might ponder the virtue of this.

Kids who grow up around parents who are chronically unhappy in their relationships (and therefore lives) do not turn out mentally healthier.

It’s worth knowing that before you spend 20 years with gritted teeth.

If you love someone, set them free.

The rest of the Richard Bach quote goes like this: “If you love something, set it free; if it comes backs it’s yours, if it doesn’t, it never was.”

Quite honestly, I think this advice is best (and only) suited to homing pigeons. Okay, there’s no fun or gains in clinging desperately to someone who doesn’t want to be with you because, as time goes on, their disinterest will erode your spirit.

But if you love someone who craves freedom, don’t push them out into the wilderness with a backpack. Just tell them honestly how you feel, and let them make their decision. Then, mustering your dignity, you make yours.

You do you.

A very good idea, in theory. Being totally relaxed with someone, and able to be fully yourself, sounds like the passport to relationship happiness.

But relationships function best when both parties are mindful of their partner’s experience of being with them. Healthy relationships are about compromise — and that means acknowledging our annoying traits and doing something about the worst of them.

Dr Seuss said this: “Today you are You, that is truer than true. There is no one alive who is Youer than You.” Being yourself is wonderful. But the super-power is in knowing how your you-ness affects someone else.

You need to love yourself before you can love anyone else.

Plenty of wonderful people struggle to love themselves. I saw the evidence many times over in the therapy room. But this doesn’t mean they don’t love their partners, families and friends wholeheartedly.

Loving yourself is a lofty aim, especially when your inner self-critic is having a shouty day. Just commit to learning about yourself and trying to improve who you are. And know you are free to love others well while you do that.

*****

Thanks for reading A Good Enough Life. If you’re interested in practical wisdom for the art (and struggle) of being human, you’re in the right place!

Okay, I don’t know if there’s a best dressed over-60 list.

There probably is. If not, someone will invent one. The world loves to rank women’s appearance at any age and stage. Certainly there’s plenty of advice telling us what not to wear.

But when I rolled out of bed this morning, it struck me: what exactly is a retired person supposed to wear?

Active wear? A pickle ball outfit? Hush puppies?

Or should I lounge around the house in my work clothes as proof I’ve still “got it”— that I am just a rebel without a job?

Who knew?

So I do what any mildly confused person, anywhere, would do: Google it.

AI responds sensibly: Wear things that make you feel comfortable, confident, and genuine. Find a balance between “practical comfort and personal style”. Too easy, I think.

I slide open my wardrobe. It’s having an identity crisis. All my clothes seem to be in competition: pick me.

The blazers line up stiffly  -  they know they have to fight for their future. The denim jacket flexes, more confident than usual for a weekday. But the sweatpants and the sneakers look smug, they know their day has come.

Look, choosing the right outfit is a perennial frustration. Show me a woman who has never dressed for work, looked in the mirror, hated what she saw, so got changed again.

We’ve all done it.

Sometimes, er, more than once.

But is that still okay when you’re not working? What’s going on when you find yourself trying on several pairs of jeans (with boots) for going precisely nowhere?

Actually, I knew the answer. I just wasn’t quite ready to face it.

You see, clothes aren’t just clothes. Clothes say things.

They signal to the world who we are  - or at least who we’re trying to be. On a good day they give us confidence (and maybe compliments), on a bad one they let our insecurities leak out.

I once heard someone say that art needs walls. Creativity, apparently, flourishes within limits. On the other hand, having a blank canvas can cause paralysis, so you end up doing nothing. Perhaps wardrobes work the same way?

When we’re working, the walls (or rules) are already in place. Tradies wear hi-vis and steel-capped boots. Surgeons wear scrubs. Public servants wear  -  I don’t know  -  a lot of brown things.

The rest of us have our “uniforms” too.

I’d spent years dressing for “being a psychologist,” unconsciously curating the version of myself I wanted clients to meet, feel comfortable with and be happy to pay to see.

My clothes weren’t fake. But they were occupational, they were “work clothes”.

Then the walls disappeared.

Suddenly, there were no clients. No therapy sessions. No meetings or interviews. No requirement to choose a blazer over a sweatshirt, boots over sneakers. No-one to please, or to judge me.

It should feel exhilarating, right?

But faced with utter freedom of choice, I lose my nerve. Decision fatigue ripples.

Because, now, whatever I pull off the hanger isn’t saying, “This is who I am at work.”

It’s saying, “This is who I truly am.”

That’s an awful lot of pressure for a Tuesday morning.

I stare at the rack in front of me. The trousers look too formal. The Zoom tops vaguely stupid. The shoes impractical for padding around the kitchen.

But I don’t want to look like I’ve given up or  -  perish the thought  -  even older than I am. Not that I was going to jump into a tweed skirt, but you get my point.

“Come on,” I say to my clothes. “Do some work. Make a pitch for yourselves.”

Nobody does.

So I abandon all hope of making the best dressed over-anything list this year and go downstairs in my sweatpants and socks.

There, I open the fridge. The cheese has her hand up. So do last night’s chicken-something leftovers. I can’t face any more decisions so I pad over to the pantry and grab a biscuit instead.

Life is hard.

My kids once told me in 20 years I’d be the old woman escaping from the retirement village wearing nothing but a purple hat.

It pains me to consider this, but they might be right.

*****

Thanks for reading A Good Enough Life. If you’re interested in practical wisdom for the art (and struggle) of being human, you’re in the right place!

I know, I know, we’re supposed to live every day as if it’s our last.

But, honestly, who does that? Who has the imagination? The foresight? The energy?

These are the things I ponder from the depths of my beanbag as I try to convince myself that enjoying a coffee (with a biscuit) counts as a productive afternoon.

It reminded me of someone I lived with in my twenties.

Every evening she’d ask the same question. “How was your day?”

At first I answered politely. Good, thanks. But, as she kept asking, I could feel my resentment bubbling: Ask me something else. A different question. A better question. STOP ASKING ME THIS STUPID QUESTION.

The problem, as you’ve probably figured out, wasn’t her question, nor her personality (she was nice). It was my answer. Or rather, the fact that I didn’t have a good one.

At the time, I didn’t like my job. I dreaded my boss. I had barely enough money to cover the bills. Every day felt suspiciously like the one before. I felt stuck, riding a terminal conveyor belt to a boring old age. And my flatmate’s daily probe threw the spotlight on it.

Back then, in my mid-twenties, I believed fervently in Carpe Diem; that a day “not seized” would lead to a wasted life.

I don’t believe that anymore. But I’m not sure what I believe instead. The only thing I know for sure is that moments pile up. Days pile up. And the sum of how we spend them makes a life.

An Informal Experiment

We each have our own ideas about what makes a great day. We’ve all heard the cliches: be present, finish something, connect with others, declutter, do less, do something you’ve been putting off, be kind, be grateful, look after your body and record a happy memory.

I don’t know about you but my ideal day would never include doing my GST return or cleaning out the utensils drawer. Then recording both in my gratitude journal.

But  -  even if it did  - the stakes change markedly when a single day is loaded as the last of your life.

So I decided to stop wondering.

For one week I asked everyone I met exactly the same question.

What would you do if you found out you only had one day to live? (And you had no financial limits).

I expected some BIG ideas, travel, wild adventures, relationship closures, delicious Last Suppers. I expected people to say they’d tell everyone in their inner circle they loved them, heal rifts with estranged family and friends, forgive their enemies. Watch the sunrise. Watch the sunset. Throw a party. Leave nothing unsaid.

But the answers were surprisingly simple. No-one wanted to go to work or meet any deadlines. No-one mentioned their appearance or weight. No-one wanted more “me” time. No-one was amping to post their activities on social media.

As one woman put it: “I’d drop all the selfish stuff, spend the day with my family and eat fries.”

Most answers fell into three categories:

Food

Food surprised me. It beat family. Almost everyone wanted “something delicious” for their Last Supper. Most popular: Fish on the barbecue. Gourmet Burgers. Fries. Brunches. A cocktail. Those with a sweet tooth went straight for desert. No-one thought about their weight. No-one mentioned healthy meals or Dry July. So, apparently, if we’re going out, we’re going out with bacon. And a drink.

People

Almost everyone wanted to bring together loved ones. Record memories to leave behind. There was no room for social media “friends” here. Most people closed ranks: they only wanted those closest to them, their own version of “family” and that often meant friends. One woman wanted four funerals — so she could have four lots of laughs with her favourite people.

Gentle endings

Hugely popular were smiles, laughter, hugs, no conflict, a few prayers. This seemed related to how people wanted to leave things and their relationships  -  calm (or at least anxiety-free) and in peace.

*****

There were other interesting responses: Only one person wanted to jet off to a foreign country  - but that was about seeing something new for the last time. One young woman wanted to pat as many dogs as she could. Far more men than women wanted to end the day with sex. Just saying.

Me?

I’ve pondered this long and hard.

In no particular order I’d like a hug or two, a glass of white wine or two, a laugh or two and a bowl of skinny fries. And to make sure my husband knows my bank account password.

Funny old world, isn’t it. Faced with one last day, none of us seem all that interested in being extraordinary. We just want to savour the ordinary, one last time.

*****

“Peace can only be found in what your extraordinary imagination has defined as an ordinary life.”― Shannon L. Alder

*****

Thanks for reading A Good Enough Life. If you’re interested in practical wisdom for the art (and struggle) of being human, you’re in the right place!

Nobody wants to be compared to a cockroach.

If I had to pick a creature to align with, I’d go with a courageous Lion. A soaring Eagle. Maybe even a Phoenix, one who rises from life’s ashes. At worst, a popular breed of dog.

But when I was having a tough day last week, my husband made the selection for me. “You’ll be okay. You’re a cockroach, remember?”

Now, I don’t ever remember describing myself as a cockroach. I wouldn’t do that, for obvious reasons.

Cockroaches are pests. They transmit bacteria and diseases. They are happy eating rotting garbage; they love a good sewer.

More superficially, they’re — dare I say — ugly. Or at least creepy. Greasy shells. Hairs on their backsides.

So, no, cockroaches don’t make the vision board; no-one dreams of cultivating the adaptive qualities of a household pest.

But cockroaches do have a super-power, a highly enviable trait in this chaotic world.

They are bloody hard to kill.

The subtle art of hardening up

Ever tried to get rid of a cockroach?

Up against your best strategies, they just don’t care. They adapt. They evolve. They resist poisons designed to wipe them out. They skitter through the narrowest gaps. They can survive for days without their heads.

True, it’s a repellent kind of resilience. But it’s more honest than the glamorous version sold to us by the self-help industry.

Resilience is commonly touted as the ability to “bounce back” quickly from tough times. To survive, then thrive. Go live your best life. Cue: tanned, happy people flexing at sunsets on Instagram.

But resilience is not that -  unless you are an influencer. More often, it’s about being mildly dishevelled, eating toast for dinner, feeding the dog, paying the power bill and finding something ridiculous to laugh at when you didn’t think you’d ever laugh again.

In reality, resilient people spend plenty of time with their face in the dirt. They just don’t keep it there. They stand up, wipe it off, regroup, find the cracks of light and eventually emerge, battered but still shuffling forward.

That, I suspect, is what the cockroach has to teach us.

It doesn’t waste energy arguing with reality. It doesn’t call a strategy meeting to identify where the poison baits are. It doesn’t file a bullying complaint with People and Cultures. It simply adjusts and keeps going.

Humans are more complicated, of course. We over-think, analyse, catastrophise and tell ourselves stories about how hard life has become. And sometimes those feelings are fully justified.

But there comes a point when resilience stops being about how we think and feel and starts being about behaviour.

When I was a practicing psychologist I would never have dared to tell anyone to harden up. It’s like an unwritten code of the profession: Thou Shalt Not Subject Others to Such Cruel Words.

I got that, and while I spoke directly to clients at times, I don’t ever remember transgressing those vows. But there are moments in life when we do need to say those two words  -  perhaps not to someone else, but to ourselves.

Not in a mean, punitive way. More in the way a sensible friend might say, “Right. You’re in the crap. Now what?”

When we’re struggling, we need to wallow a little and give ourselves space to adjust, but we also need to be careful with our attendance at the self-pity party. Too much of that doesn’t do anyone any good.

Hardening up, as I’ve come to think of it, isn’t about being as stoic as a Navy SEAL or emotionally numb. It isn’t running “I’m fine” on repeat when you’re not. It’s accepting that pain may be unavoidable while deciding not to set up camp inside it.

Some days that means making a difficult phone call. Some days it means rolling out of bed when every cell in your body votes against the idea. Some days it means lying face down on the floor for ten minutes, then getting up and carrying on.

That’s not glamorous resilience. It’s not what a lion would do. Or even a phoenix.

It’s cockroach resilience. The interminable fight to carry on.

And, in the difficult seasons of life, it may be the most useful resilience of all.

*****

"The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places." – Ernest Hemingway

*****

Thanks for reading A Good Enough Life. If you’re interested in practical wisdom for the art (and struggle) of being human, you’re in the right place!

Kia ora koutou katoa / Hi and greetings to all!

Welcome to Notes from the Beanbag. This is where you and I sit down over a coffee (or a pink gin if that takes your fancy) and have a monthly catch up. I'll share five things from my favourite place in the house.

What I’ve been thinking

Some of you will have followed my “change in circumstances” - where one day I had a full diary, a weekly column and a career I’d spent 20-plus years building. A short time later I was sitting in a beanbag with nothing out front and wondering what on earth came next. (True story, I’m sitting in it right now).

All of that led to some pretty interesting reflections around what happens when your career suddenly falls off a cliff - and takes a big chunk of your life with it.

Most of us, sooner or later, find ourselves standing at the edge of some sort of cliff - a stressful life event that takes everything we’ve got in terms of resilience to get through it. Dr Lucy Hone, renowned grief and resilience researcher/author, calls these BFTs (Bloody Fucking Things) - I think that sums it up nicely!

The strange thing about cliffs is that they don't always announce themselves. Sometimes they arrive as a diagnosis, a divorce, a redundancy, a friendship ending, a financial shock. Sometimes you wake up and, with a groggy blink, realise the landscape you were standing on has disappeared.

It’s a BFT. And you just don’t know which way to turn.

While we’re all aware of the life advice “It’s not what happens to you, but how you react to it” - it’s not that easy when you’ve lost the life you thought you had and the future that went with it.

Jim Collins in his latest book What to Make of a Life offers some comfort in saying that beyond the cliff is always fog. That is, you can’t be expected to just “bounce back” or pivot or leap straight into a brave new world. You don’t have to “solve” the fog. You can just sit in it for a while and that can take, gulp, up to a couple of years.

I’m not sure I want to sit in the fog for that long, but I do know from my work as a psychologist, that grief/loss can persist, it touches people in so many different ways and it can flare up at odd moments for a long, long time.

So that’s where I’m at. If you’re there too, be gentle with yourself for a while, but not so gentle that you become swamped, and shut down, by it.

What I’ve been reading

Dr Lucy Hone has a new book out. It’s called How Will I Ever Get Through This? A practical guide to navigating life’s toughest times. It’s full of practical things you can do to wind your way through difficulty.

I got a personally signed copy as a gift from my brother and the timing is perfect. I will navigate my own BFT (see above) with her wisdom!

What someone said

On new beginnings. This is cool from translator and poet Stephen Mitchell.

“First they pull the carpet out from under your feet, and then they pull the floor out from under the carpet, and then they pull the ground out from under the floor. And now you’re ready to begin.”

And…

“What we are tempted to call a disaster is sometimes the first, painful stage of a blessing.”

What made me smile

I was trawling back through some pieces I wrote a few years back and found this on resilience, written during the Covid lockdowns. It’s the century-old wisdom from the honeyed-lips of Winnie-the-Pooh. It was fun to write at the time, and fun to revisit this week.

10 timeless resilience tips from Winnie-the-Pooh. (I particularly like #10. Keep perspective.

What I’ve written

On the Substack lately you’ll find my takes on coping in the fog:

• Why having a pink gin for lunch is not such a bad idea (and maybe even an excellent one).

• The utter relief of dropping your standards (inspired by Tony Robbins)

• What it means to muscle up to life without a job title.

I’ll have a couple more for you next week - if the concepts of lying face down and cockroaches intrigue you, watch this space.

*****

That’s it for this month.

I’d welcome your feedback and ideas. Feel free to send in your thoughts, questions and suggestions - I read them all!

​If you want to pass this newsletter on to a friend, here’s a link to my Substack.​

Kia pai tōu rā / Have a great day

Karen

What do you do?

You’ve asked it, I’ve asked it, and we’ve all been on the other end of that question. Because “what do you do?” is the founding brick of small talk. It could well be the tagline for LinkedIn.

When faced with it, most of us respond the same way. We give a work-driven answer: I’m a teacher. I’m a plumber. I’m a caregiver. I’m a middle manager. I own a cafe. I’ve got my own business. I’m a retired (something).

We don’t comment on the kind of person we are. Curious. Arty. Kind. Empathetic. Brave. Outdoorsy. Spiritual. We don’t list our interests, nor do we say what we’d like to do but probably never will: “I’m a comms guy but in my heart I’m a stand-up comedian.”

We wear our job titles like name badges. We write them down on Government surveys, legal/medical documents, new patient forms at the physio. Loan applications. Online dating profiles. Even arrival cards for flights across the Tasman. I’ve often wondered what would happen if you filled in those little boxes with the letters: N.O.T.H.I.N.G.

All of that means we tie our identities tightly to our work. That’s fine when we’re happily sipping Sauv Blanc while “networking” or our careers are shooting skywards. But when it’s not  - when we’ve hit a flat patch or the roof’s fallen in on our working lives  -  it’s a lot more challenging.

Anyone who’s taken parental leave, been made redundant, been “between jobs,” suffered burnout or chronic illness/injury, retired - or just can’t get a bloody job  - has felt the awkwardness of the identity shift.

Yes, we should own it. But it’s hard to do that when you’re left standing by yourself at an event because you don’t have a cool (or any) job title to make you “interesting” or usefully “connected”.

Beyond the paycheck

We all know work supplies much more than a paycheck.

And we all know  -  at least in theory  - that we’re much more than our jobs. That work is a subset of life, not the other way around.

But reality waves a harsher stick.

As well as the obvious things work provides - structure, community, purpose, social contact, ideas and access to the fruit bowl (if the latest round of budget cuts haven’t emptied it) - it gives us tiny jolts of reassurance, a continued sense of belonging.

Think about it.

At work, someone says good morning to you (by name). Someone needs your expertise, or says thanks. Someone asks your opinion on the All Blacks style of play or slaps you on the back because you drew France in the FIFA world cup sweepstake. You have meetings on your personal calendar; you get emails with your name on them. The local barista knows your coffee order and that you’re quite partial to a mince and cheese pie  -  but will never tell your partner how often you have one.

You feel enveloped in your job, even when you don’t particularly like it. So when it disappears, it’s a lot.

It makes you feel kind of invisible. Rudderless. And, if you still need money (please show me someone who doesn’t), scared.

We often talk about people “losing their job” as if the main problem is financial. Of course that matters hugely. But there’s another loss that gets less attention: the loss of the person we knew, the identity we carried at work.

• The person who was “the boss.”

• The person everyone told their problems to.

• The “ideas” person; or the “problem solver”.

• The person who told the best dating stories on Mondays.

• The person who made everyone put their cups in the dishwasher.

• The person you knew when you looked in the mirror each morning and saw them dressed for work. (Even though they were about to get changed because they didn’t like their outfit.)

Psychologists have long known that role engulfment  -  where one role comes to define the whole person  - makes us more vulnerable when life changes. And life always changes. Careers hit the skids, or just stall. Companies restructure. Children grow up. Bodies degenerate. Retirement arrives, ready or not.

Perhaps that’s why enforced change can be unexpectedly revealing. Once the initial panic settles, people often rediscover parts of themselves that had been squeezed into the margins while work occupied centre stage, and gobbled up all their best energy.

They remember what they enjoy, what they’re good at and who they are when nobody is looking them up on LinkedIn.

And maybe, beyond despair or awkwardness, there’s freedom. Because when your title is gone, and the expectations that go with it are gone, you get the chance to find out who you really are.

And it might just be the most fun you ever had.

*****

Thanks for reading A Good Enough Life. If you’re interested in practical wisdom for the art (and struggle) of being human, you’re in the right place!

When was the last time life cut you down?

Like, brought you to your knees? Made you wonder if you could actually face getting up again?

I had one of those recently — I’ll spare you the details but the stars collided to leave me jobless. Abruptly.

One day I was functioning (sort of) normally in the world, the next I was sitting in my beanbag wondering what tf to do with myself.

Now, I built my psychology career on this; how to cope and what to do when life serves you up a test.

I’ve worked with people who came to therapy shocked and frightened; who’d had their careers end in disaster or disgrace, been smashed with scary health diagnoses, financial ruin or horrible relationship breakdowns.

There’s no end to the ways in which life can wound us, and I’ve been privy to lots of those stories. As a psychologist I knew what to do. I think I was pretty good at it.

But when I found myself here, on the morning of my first day without the structure of work, I froze.

So this is sudden, forced retirement.

No time to make a plan.

What to do?

A day with nothing in it

As I reclined in my beanbag, I recalled a conversation I’d had with a younger colleague some months earlier.

“You won’t ever retire, will you?” he’d asked. “You can just keep going.”

It made me feel like a tortoise—a plodder who’d, er, plod on until I couldn’t. Unflattering, but kind of fair. Mine was the kind of job that could go on and on — at least while the cerebral lights were on.

Now his question flashed at me in neon.

Because retirement was no longer an abstract concept; it wasn’t something that happened to other people; it wasn’t something I could give serious thought in a few years’ time. It was sitting on my lap in the beanbag.

And I wasn’t sure what to do with it.

The thing is, retirement has become a loaded word. Anyone over the age of 55 finds themselves in those conversations: What will I/we do? Where will I/we live? Will I/we have enough money? Will I/we downsize, slow the pace, move to the country, etc.

But there’s a special admiration for people reserved who work into their seventies and eighties — especially if they’re still sharp, fit and not grumpy. We celebrate second and third acts, side hustles, consulting or Board gigs and late-life reinventions, people who do big, bold things when they could be reclining in the La-Z-Boy.

We go on and on about purpose, passion, productivity, staying relevant and the importance of doing more with our days than the morning crossword.

The message is pumped: Keep going. Keep contributing. Keep building. Reinvent. Experiment. Whatever you do, don’t stop. And, if you do, just take a day off then get out there volunteering.

Which is all very well until you have the rug ripped from under you.

The day before, friends had brought me a beautiful bottle of Blush gin, as a show of support.

At 10am it started winking at me from the kitchen bench. The angel and the devil sat on each of my shoulders. “No,” the angel said, triggering my guilt button. “Make a cup of tea. Put the gin away. You’d be getting on a train you can’t get off. You can’t do that.”

But the devil wanted a turn. “Yes you can,” she whispered. “Be a badass. What else are you doing with your day?”

It was true. I had absolutely no plans. No structure. No obligations. I had a whole day with nothing in it. All I wanted to do was get through it.

At 11.59pm I glanced sideways to check no-one was watching. (Unlikely since I was home alone). Then I inched over to that boysenberry gin, poured it over sliced lemon, blocks of ice, tonic, a sprig of rosemary — in a stemmed glass.

Then I carried it clinking into the lounge and sunk into the couch to watch the FIFA world cup football.

A long time ago a supervisor gave me some advice I have never forgotten. When people feel bottomed out, that life’s all too much, have them ask a simple question, then act on the answer: What’s the next (right) thing I need to do?

So I took a long, delicious sip of that gin—and savoured it.

I know it’s not a healthy coping strategy. I know I won’t find the meaning of life in the bottom of a glass.

But this I know for sure: it was the next (right) thing to do.

*****

Thanks to The Angels for the gin! If you’re interested in practical wisdom for the art (and struggle) of being human, you’re in the right place!

“Are your standards high enough?” personal development coach Tony Robbins bellowed at me this morning from LinkedIn.

“Is the life you’re living no longer acceptable? Do you need to stop living on autopilot, break those patterns that are holding you back, and start being who you are going to be NOW.” (Or something like that.)

He’s a big man, Tony. Six foot seven inches tall; big voice; big, big plans for all of our futures. It’s hard to get out of his way, even through a screen.

I rubbed my eyes. This was the first day of my forced “pivot” out of clinical psychology and all that went with it. Aka unemployment. I had nothing to do, nowhere to be and I had not set the bar anywhere. I didn’t even know where the bar was. Probably under the house, broken.

But it made me think. Why the relentless pressure to dream big, live daringly, step into the arena, get sh*t done — especially when we’ve had the life kicked out of us and making a sandwich is as good as it gets?

Too far, too high, too soon

When I worked as a psychologist I saw so many cases of burnout in people with High Expectations.

People jumping to reach an insanely high bar and, even if they managed to hit it, barely pause for water (let alone a celebratory tipple) before raising it again.

It left them self-critical, permanently discontent, and feeling like they were not quite good enough for anything.

But it’s a tricky line to walk because if you advise someone to lower the bar it’s seen as a dumbing down of hopes and dreams; of encouraging people to be less than they’re capable of.

No-one wants to be that psychologist. No-one would come back for a second session.

Big dreams are fine; it’s wonderful to become the person you are capable of being, to be and have all that you deserve.

But, unless you are over-supplied with narcissistic traits, lasting happiness doesn’t lie in the power and the glory of professional achievement. Or even mad passion for anything — or anyone.

It’s down in the cracks of everyday life. With the conversations you have, the people you meet, the things that absorb you, the random laugh you have with someone you barely know.

Satisfaction comes from looking difficulty in the eye. It’s in the triumph of overcoming challenges, or learning to manage, them.

It’s in helping others to do the same.

What “lowering the bar” really means

Lowering the bar doesn’t mean you won’t be successful in life.

It doesn’t mean you’ll settle for work, relationships, friendships that are not worthy of you (unless you want to).

It doesn’t mean you are a person without aspirations, a loser Going Nowhere Fast.

It just means you are smart enough to avoid the rat trap of trying to be the perfect person living the perfect life — and then hating yourself when you don’t pull it off. Because you won’t.

It just means when you’re really struggling you cut yourself some slack. You forget about goals and productivity. You watch the FIFA world cup football and eat a tomato and crisp sandwich, or you lie face down and cry.

Because a successful life does not come down to the bars you hit. It’s not in the fact that your name and achievement will the answer to a pop quiz question 20 years from now.

It’s in the life you created below the bar, it’s in the people who joined you on your journey and the experiences you had along the way. It’s in whether you stayed anchored to the things that mattered to you and found fun in the littlest things.

It’s in whether you looked after yourself when you needed to.

So, sorry Tony. I’m not raising my standards today.

When life challenges us, we need to lower the bar. Sometimes we have to drop it so low we’re in danger of tripping over it.

Then, slowly, quietly, we can begin the climb back up again.

*****

Thanks for being here and a huge welcome to new readers. If you’re interested in practical wisdom for the art (and struggle) of being human, you’re in the right place!

Kia ora koutou katoa / Hi and greetings to all!

I’m Karen Nimmo, creator of the A Good Enough Life newsletter, a regular source of practical tips and tools to help you navigate life and love.

I spent 20 years practicing as a clinical psychologist; now I’m sharing everything I’ve learned through my work, research (and life!) through articles, books, speaking and tools.

Through this fortnightly newsletter, I send out my latest articles and any other interesting life “stuff.” But you can also jump on the Substack anytime, and explore the stories. In time, the full library of my work will be available here.

Whether you’re new to my work, or already well acquainted, welcome and enjoy!

Latest Articles

The mid-winter life audit

It’s mid-winter here in New Zealand so we’re all wrapped up and bracing for a cold one. But, no matter where you are, mid-year is a good time for a bit of introspection, to gauge if you’re on track or if you need a shake out, big or small.

Here are three pieces to spark your thinking.

The Mid-life Reinvention: Exciting in Theory, Terrifying in Reality. Are you dreaming of something more than the life that you’re currently drowning in? Especially when you’re going through a hard time. But should you suck it up? Or strike the match?

Yes, You are a Genius. Here’s how I know. This is not about unleashing your inner Albert Einstein. It’s how to bring all the bits and pieces of yourself together to create the whole. Genius? Why not.

Are you in a relationship with your phone? Here’s a fun checklist to see if your phone use is veering into addiction territory. Are you brave enough? (If not, take comfort in this: for most of us, the answer is yes. )

Retirement (because that counts as a life audit)

Here’s an interesting piece from Dan Haylett on Substack sharing kosher meta- research that found the time when people are at highest risk of mental health struggles is at the moment of retirement itself. The transition is the danger zone. Then comes the holiday period: Years 1-3 depression drops. Then, 10 years after retirement depression risk shoots way up. Food for thought.

The Quiet Crisis: What the mental health data actually tells us about retirement, and why nobody in my industry is paying enough attention

And then there’s this from A Conscious Rethink, sent to me by a friend.

8 Psychological Reasons Why Life’s Pleasures Feel Different As You Get Older (And How To Prevent Them From Feeling Hollow) It has a look at the question of why things felt more vivid, more exciting and more alive than when you where younger.

Wise Words

On the them of reinvention…I once heard it said that “you are only one decision away from a totally different life”. I can’t find the source of it, but it still makes me shiver. Here are some others to think about.

"You can't go back and change the beginning, but you can start where you are and change the ending." —C.S. Lewis

"When I let go of what I am, I become what I might be." — Lao Tzu

"If you're remarkably lucky, you'll get a second chance at something, or better yet, a something else." — Howard Nemezov

*****

Thanks for being part of the ‘Good Enough’ Life team.

Fresh ideas always welcome. Feel free to send in your feedback, thoughts, questions and suggestions - I read them all!

​If you want to pass this newsletter on to a friend, here’s a link to my Substack.​

Kia pai tōu rā / Have a great day

Karen

“Am I having a midlife crisis?”

When I was practicing as a psychologist, I heard that line  - or similar  -  often.

Unpacked, it was almost never a crisis, it was more a restlessness, a questioning of choices, a recognition that life was finite and they had to Make the Most of It.

Most of the dreams were pretty modest.

Should quit my job? Move cities? Work less? End the relationship or start a new one? Start the business? Write the novel? Rent out the house and spend six months wandering Spain?

Whatever the guise, the same theme ran underneath: Should I become a “new me” before it’s too late?

You might call those thoughts a privilege reserved for those who can actually afford to have them. I mean, who’s moving to Spain when they can barely fill the car with gas?

But it’s natural to daydream of something more, of a life bigger than the one you’re currently drowning in.

From the outside, reinvention looks exciting  -  bold, even glamorous. Social media is bursting with people “starting over” at 52 or ditching corporate life to renovate ridiculously run down villas in France.

But in real life, reinvention is like standing at a fork in the road where both paths are thorny and rock-strewn, and you’re too tired to venture down either. Because in midlife change isn’t just about possibly. It’s also about risk.

Risk to stability. Risk to a safe income. Risk to your family. Risk to the version of you carefully compiled over decades, the person everyone knows, loves and relies on.

That’s the tension. While most people are suckers for the fantasy, they’re also scared of it. What would change mean for their people? Their career? Their place in the world?

The cliche of a midlife crisis is one of drama and impulsivity; hot sports cars and doing things you shouldn’t with people you shouldn’t go near.

But what I saw often was more psychologically complex  - an internal audit, a re-evaluation of choices and regret  - sometimes through bad decisions, but very often in chances not taken.

And, unlike the stereotype, most people don’t leap. We hover. We scroll Instagram longingly. We stare at our bank balances. We lie awake in the night fantasising while continuing to show up for work, family and the admin of life.

So if life is winking at you like a temptress, get curious before you react. Not every longing for change is a call to action. It’s just information. Or grief. Or a sign that you’ve outgrown yourself.

Here are some things to think about:

What feels too small right now?

Your work, your relationships, your daily rhythm, or your sense of self? Vague dissatisfaction often hides something very specific. Dig deeper.

Are you craving a new life, or feeling more alive in this one?

Because there’s quite a difference! Reinvention is one route ,  but not the only one.

What would you be risking if you changed course?

People often underestimate how much identity is tied up in stability, status, income, or being “the reliable one”.

What would you be risking if you didn’t change anything?

Most people avoid this question  -  yet it often contains the real pressure point.

Is this desire consistent, or episodic?

Midlife questioning often comes in waves. Maybe it’s seasonal and “summer” will be back again soon?

What parts of your life do you like/love - even if they’re tiring?

Always consider what’s good, because not everything is bad. If the good outweighs the bad, you’re looking at a tweak rather than creating a whole new life.

***

Reinvention doesn’t have to blow up your life. It can be done in degrees  -  by going out more (or less), taking a night class or joining a club, setting boundaries with relationships that no longer work; by making a greater commitment to your own needs.

But, sometimes, a new life is calling and you have to strike the match.

And if that’s you, go well and take poet Dylan Thomas’ words with you: “When one burns one’s bridges, what a very nice fire it makes.”

*****

* This article first appeared as a column on the Stuff news website. Join me on Substack if you’re interested in practical wisdom for the art (and struggle) of being human.

Inspiration comes from the strangest of places.

Working in India a few years back, I was put up in a hotel that far outstripped my needs (and my budget).

But it wasn’t the palatial room, the attentive service or the aromatic food that stayed with me after I returned home. It was a simple note left on my pillow by the cleaning staff every morning.

“Leave a trail of genius.”

Now genius is a big ask, for anyone. In a chaotic world, just getting through the day sometimes seems like a reason to throw a party.

But here’s the thing. Whatever is happening out in the world, whether we do great things, or humble ones, or nothing at all, we’re still getting older.

We’ve still got less time left on earth than we did yesterday.

And we still have to do something with it.

Why not leave that trail?

But I’m no genius

“It never failed to amaze me how the most ordinary day could be catapulted into the extraordinary in the blink of an eye.”—Jodi Picoult, Handle with Care

Officially speaking, genius refers to an exceptional level of natural ability, creative productivity or outstanding intellectual power. Historically, it’s been used to describe both the rare quality and the person who possesses it.

But the modern understanding of genius has shifted beyond a high IQ or natural intelligence. Today, it is widely viewed as the intersection of your unique passions, strengths, and traits—often called your “genius zone”.

And that can be tied to your ability to a natural ability to perform an everyday skill, like dressing stylishly, gardening, knitting, DIY, juggling, listening, getting on with people - the list is endless.

Delivering on your genius doesn’t mean you have to be the world’s greatest something. It doesn’t mean you have to be rich or famous or incredible or flawless or no. 1 in your field.

It just means offering up your own unique package of personality traits, skills, interests and talents.

It means finding wonder in the life you have.

And everyone has the power to do that.

Here’s how.

*****

“We all have the extraordinary coded within us, waiting to be released.” — Jean Houston

*****

Know what you like to do.

This sounds obvious. That’s because it is. But a lot of people struggle with this because they’ve never fully allowed themselves to explore their own interests and talents. Or they’ve been devoted to meeting the needs of others.

If you know what you like to do — what you do when no-one’s watching or judging you — then you’re on your way. You have something that makes you come alive. If you don’t, spend some time being curious and finding out what lights you up, even if just in a small way.

Create a habit around it.

“Even the smallest changes in our daily routine can create incredible ripple effects that expand our vision of what is possible.”—Charles F. Glassman

Creating a habit around your interests is the easiest way to ensure you do it regularly. And, as Glassman suggests, it can create a powerful ripple effect. Involve other people if you have to — having to be accountable to others is a great way of making sure you show up.

Get good at it.

Because here’s the eternal truth. If you do a lot of anything, you’ll get better at it. That’s a guarantee.

Then you’ll get good, maybe great. You may not be the best in the world BUT — when you mash it up with your other skills — who knows?

My cousin likes to tinker with old tractor engines. He’s done it since he was a boy. He may only ever be the 145th best tractor engine tinkerer in the world but that doesn’t matter. Because he’s so devoted to them he keeps getting better. And in that devotion is his own trail of genius.

Show some bloody grit.

If you want to improve at anything, you are going to have challenges and frustrations. They’re part of the trip. You need grit and determination to keep going. Stay in the chair (or office or garage or training pitch or wherever) when it gets hard. Take a break if life stressors force you to, but come back. Don’t bail altogether. Persist.

Don’t look sideways.

Don’t look on social media either, especially when you’re having a bad day. Comparison is not just the thief of joy, it’s the thief of courage, of determination, of everything. So don’t look sideways. There will always be greater and lesser people than you. Richer and poorer. And better dressed. Don’t measure yourself by any of them. Run your own race. Wear your own clothes. Keep your eyes open and find the wonder in your own life. Because it’s there, if you look.

Stay light on your feet.

You don’t have to stay fixed to something that’s not working or you no longer feel any joy in. It’s okay to pivot, swivel, jump, do a 180degree spin, flip or take a step to the left. As Stephen Covey suggested: Your ladder could be leaning against the wrong wall. If so, just shuffle the ladder to another wall. It’s your ladder. Actually, forget ladders. It’s your life.

All roads lead to somewhere or other.

Nothing is wasted. All roads lead somewhere; everything you do is part of your story. At some point, the roads will merge and you’ll understand the trail you’ve been on, you’ll see your genius for what it was all along. As tech era pioneer Steve Jobs said: you can only connect the dots (of your life) backwards. So you need to get out in the world and throw down a whole lot of dots first.

*****

* Thanks for reading! Join me on Substack if you’re interested in practical wisdom for the art (and struggle) of being human.

“Sorry, just give me a second,” you say, smiling down at your phone.

Your partner is quiet, waiting. When you surface, they’re looking at you expectantly. You have no idea what they were talking about. Can you fake your way out of this…again?

Later you check your emails while making dinner. Scroll the news while the kids are telling stories about their day. Pick up your phone during a TV ad break and find yourself scrolling 20 minutes later. Play a game on your phone in bed  -  or smash the Wordle you forgot to do this morning.

Every now and then, you acknowledge it  -  your phone’s got a hold on you. But is it veering out of control? Are you in addiction territory?

The habit loop of phone use

Our phones occupy a huge amount of space in our lives.

Think about it: They wake up with us. Go to bed with us. Soothe us when we’re stressed or awake at 3am. Solve our memory issues. Save us from boredom or discomfort. Connect us with friends. Make us laugh, distract us from our worries. Demand our attention dozens  - sometimes hundreds  - of times a day.

While most of us wouldn’t meet any formal criteria for “addiction” behavioural research suggests excessive use is a habit loop  - cue, behaviour, reward  - which happens so often it becomes automatic. Reaching for our phones becomes the go-to response  - for everything.

There’s also the fact that phones are designed to keep us on the hook. Rewards  - like those used in slot machines  -  are built into notifications, feeds, messages and refresh cycles. So we keep going back for more.

How much is too much?

Here’s a just-for-fun checklist. Answer yes or no.

• Your partner often complains about your (over) use.

• You panic more when you can’t find your phone than when you can’t find your keys, wallet (or even your child.)

• You take your phone to the toilet.

• You sleep closer to your phone than to your partner.

• Your phone is the first thing you touch in the morning and the last thing you see at night.

• You reach for your phone to counter any/all emotions: boredom, stress, awkwardness, sadness, waiting, any form of dread.

• You “just check one thing” and mysteriously lose 28 minutes of your life.

• You can’t get through a dinner, a sports game or a movie without checking your phone.

• You and your partner sit in silence, scrolling separate worlds and occasionally sharing something by way of “connection”.

• You pick up your phone to do one task and emerge ten minutes later after reading about a celebrity divorce, the best air fryer to buy or outfits you should never wear over 40.

• You feel anxious in queues or waiting rooms without your phone  -  or use it so you don’t have to talk to anyone.

So how’d you do?

Individually, your “yes” answers don’t mean much. But in abundance they point to something psychologists call attentional fragmentation  -  the scattering of focus that makes it harder over time to be present.

And that matters more than we want to admit, particularly when it comes to close relationships. Research shows the quantity of time matters less than the quality of attention. So your partner or kids will get more from having your full focus for 10 minutes than from an hour of sharing you with your phone.

As for a solution? It’s not about digital detoxes or locking your phone in a drawer. We live in the real world. We need phones. We rely on them. A lot of the time, they’re pretty wonderful.

But it’s worth clocking the downside, knowing that every time we reach for our phones, we’re trading something else. Not the dramatic events, but the small moments where your partner gives up on your answer and picks up the remote control. Or your kids turn back to their devices. Or your friend says they’re busy the next time you ask them for coffee.

Because the question worth asking is not whether you’re in a relationship with your phone.

It’s what  -  and who  -  is getting less of you because of it?

*****

* This article first appeared as a column on the Stuff news website. Join me on Substack if you’re interested in practical wisdom for the art (and struggle) of being human.

You retired Friday; a week later you’ve reorganised the pantry, decluttered the kitchen bench, bought new coffee mugs and are standing back waiting for the applause.

Cue, silence.

Strangely, your partner isn’t delighted with your newfound domesticity. They seem irritated, especially when you follow them from room to room offering coffee and asking what time they want lunch. Don’t they realise you’re just trying to help?

Welcome to Underfoot Syndrome  - pop psychology’s nickname for the adjustment phase where a newly retired person is now mostly at home  - and getting “under the feet” of their partner.

It goes like this: The retirement rookie wants more time together, their partner has other ideas. They liked life the way it was and things the way they did them  -  importantly, they don’t want to lose their freedom.

What to do?

It’s a common catch-cry amongst couples when retirement is on the horizon: How will we handle all this togetherness? Have I got enough interests/friends? Has my partner? Will I still be able to do my own thing?

Adjusting to new domestic arrangements can be challenging for the strongest pairs, but add an extra layer of difficulty if the relationship was already strained.

It used to be that many women struggled with their husbands retiring, but now with most people working into their sixties and beyond, the problem occurs across genders. The first to retire gets the chance to build an independent life; the second “interrupts” it.

Retirement can be a jolt not because people stop working, but because they lose the “shape” work gave to the day, along with its contribution to their status/identity, sense of usefulness, challenge and social life.

So after the honeymoon phase (which feels like a holiday), they feel out of sorts, lost, restless and guilty.

Trouble is, the partner already at home wasn’t sitting around, waiting for a new manager to come in and take over.

That’s why the relationship niggles are not really about the pantry or what time you should have lunch. Bubbling underneath are bigger questions: What’s my purpose? Do I have enough to do? How much space do we each need? And how do we stay connected without driving each other nuts?

Retirement for couples is not a romanticised wander into the sunset; exotic travel and endless coffees for two.

For most, it’s a blend of spats, smiles, making food, health issues, life admin and figuring out how to make your money last for a deadline you can’t predict.

But couples who get on best figure out a healthy balance between togetherness and time apart. A few couples spend every waking minute together and it works. But most of us need (and want) individual interests, independent routines and time apart as much as we do connection.

So if retirement’s on the horizon for you, think beyond your farewell drinks. Here are some ideas to help.

“But the thing is this, after a while, you just want to be with the one that makes you laugh.” —Sex and the City

Cultivate your own stuff

Start developing hobbies, routines, friendships and interests of your own. Most of all, don’t retire with nothing in your head except more time with your partner. Unless that’s what they really, really want. (Please check).

It’s a new phase, not a new job

I recall one man (retired from the Navy) who reorganised the house with military precision. His partner had to say: “You’re not the CEO here. There are no prizes for kitchen standards. This job has a salary cap – your pension.” He got it, and luckily they were able to laugh about it.

There’s no magic wand

Don’t kick back in the deckchair and pretend that your relationship will be the same without work. Relationships needs watering and fertiliser - at every stage. Think, talk about expectations, give each other space and be proactive about what you’re going to do.

Say “seeya later”

Sometimes the healthiest thing a couple can say to each other is not “What shall we do together today?” but “Seeya later.” Not every day, though. That’ll bring another set of problems.

Finally, lighten up, have a laugh. Because there are few certainties in life, but this I know for sure: Life together will be awfully long if you don’t.

*****

* This article first appeared as a column on the Stuff news website. Join me on Substack if you’re interested in practical wisdom for the art (and struggle) of being human.

Kia ora koutou katoa / Hi and greetings to all!

I’m Karen Nimmo, creator of the A Good Enough Life newsletter, a regular source of practical tips and tools to help you navigate life and love.

I spent 20 years practicing as a clinical psychologist; now I’m sharing everything I’ve learned through my work, research (and life!) through articles, books, speaking and tools.

Since joining Substack a few months ago, I’ve been sending out articles as I write them. Now, I’m offering them through this fortnightly newsletter so you don’t get bombarded with my emails! But you can also jump on the Substack anytime, have a browse and get the works.

In time, my full library of “stuff” will be available here.

Whether you’re new to my work, or already well acquainted, welcome and enjoy!

Latest Articles

How much is too much?

In a world of overwhelm, we all know the importance of saying ‘no’ and setting boundaries. But - in real life - it’s not so easy! Also, it’s good to be busy, right? Well, up to a point.

Here are a couple of articles that lock in on the dangers of doing too much - or being everyone’s go-to person - and some tips to help.

When everyone assumes you’re okay - the hidden cost of being the capable one

The story of the woman who couldn’t say no.

Struggle with perfectionism? Or procrastination?

And here’s a piece from the library designed for the perfectionists who walk among us. It’s good to do things well, even brilliantly, but it’s horrible when it backs you up against a wall and keeps you stuck. There is a cure though. Here’s something I wrote to inspire you to go mad with the paintbrush or colouring pencils or whatever - and just make some Bad Art!

The quiet power of making bad art

Love - the Good, the Bad and the WTF

On the subject of too much, have you heard of ‘Underfoot Syndrome’? While I’ve heard lots of complaints about it, I hadn’t heard it phrased quite that way until an editor at Stuff pointed it out.

It’s when a couple is suddenly required to spend a whole lot of time together under the same roof and one gets “under the feet” of the other - think retirement or job loss or illness…

Make no mistake, retirement is a biggie in terms of adjustment and can pile unexpected pressure on even the best of relationships. So I wrote my regular Stuff news website column about it. Enjoy.

Ready to retire? Beware ‘Underfoot Syndrome’.

Wise Words

On the theme (or utter necessity) of looking after yourself…

"Almost everything will work again if you unplug it for a few minutes, including you." — Anne Lamott, Writer

“You cannot breathe life into someone refusing to inhale."—Colleen Songs, Singer

“Self-care isn’t about escaping reality; it’s about equipping yourself to handle it.”
― Ronen Danczige, Therapist and Author

*****

Thanks for being part of the ‘Good Enough’ Life team.

Fresh ideas always welcome. Feel free to send in your feedback, thoughts, questions and suggestions - I read them all!

​If you want to pass this newsletter on to a friend, here’s a link to my Substack.​

Kia pai tōu rā / Have a great day

Karen