Good luck doesn’t always lead to success. You need to capitalize on the good luck event and take advantage of else it’ll be squandered.

Bad luck sometimes leads to absolute failure and there will be nothing you can do about. The downside risk of bad luck is way greater than the upside of good luck. The downside effects are non linear – it comes out of nowhere and can end you.

Do what you can to manage downside risk. Flying a plane is always a good metaphor – as long as you can land the plane and keep it intact then you can take off again. If the plane crashes and burns then you are a goner. No plane and you are dead. 

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When an elderly person breaks their hip and loses their independence, it’s usually the beginning of a downhill slide. Once they are bedridden and lose mobility, then other body and brain stuff start to fail. They die from another cause, but it’s the broken hip that was the fatal catalyst.

Keep an eye out for fatal catalysts. Young people are not immune to it either, although the cycle is longer. A nasty cold stops them from exercising every day. Less exercise means more fatigue and worse eating habits. Maybe sugar intake increases as a supplement for the exercise endorphin kick. The common cold was the catalyst to an unhealthy lifestyle and a broken routine.

The benefit of youth is that the body is resilient and bounces back, but it still requires energy and discipline to get back into the good rituals and routines. Old people don’t get second, third or fourth chances. Use them wisely when you are young.

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When I was six years old, we moved to a new home in the same neighborhood. The new house was a good ten-minute walk from our old one, but it all felt very new, with different road noises, creaky floors and different routes to school. The first few days were disorientating and unsettling.

The day after we moved in, our old labrador who had been with my family before I was born, went missing. My dad finally found him walking back to our old house. The dog had jumped the gate and was on his way back to his old home. Even though none of us lived there anymore he still saw it as his center.

Last month our favorite local coffee shop closed down. I still find myself walking past the closed shop in the mornings even though there’s no more coffee brewing, and the familiar faces I saw every morning have scattered around the neighborhood. I’m just like our old labrador, plodding back to my old home that doesn’t exist anymore.

After a bit, I’ll find a new morning pathway to a new local, new faces and new friends. It always works this way, but I’ve learned to savor the “no-mans land” moments between old and new rituals, as I wait for the new one to appear.

Me and our lab circa 1980’s

Between high seasons is my favorite time. The tourists have gone home. The surge of temporary workers has receded. The skeleton crew at the restaurants are the full-timers and owner/managers. The service is slower and less manic, but everyone knows the menu and has tasted all the dishes. People have the time and space to chat, and it’s not about turning over tables as quickly as possible.

The clouds have a different feel after the long summer, and the sea is no longer inviting you in. The evenings and early mornings have a bite reminding you that autumn is coming. Breathe deeply. Enjoy.

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A newspaper is delivered to our house every week. It’s one of those free papers that covers all things local from sport, municipal votes, upcoming festivals, a police blotter, letters to the editor. There’s always a glossy real estate insert. The back page covers the local sports teams.

I enjoy flipping through it because it informs me about local news that the internet and larger news organizations ignore. There’s not much money in newspapers anymore, but these small newspapers soldier on. There’s a whole classified section at the back advertising plumbers, injury lawyers, immigration help, language courses, etc. that I’m sure pays the bills.

There’s also an obituary section, and I’ve made a habit of reading through them. The other day I read about someone who was born in Italy and moved across the globe in her twenties, met her husband, and built a whole new life on a faraway continent. When she died, she left behind children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. Others died young and sadly left young families and friends behind.

Death notices are not something that gets a lot of clicks during our daily internet browsing between email, Twitter, and Instagram, so I’m grateful I get to read about people’s lives written by those who loved them.

The obits gently remind me that death is part of all of our communities, and it doesn’t discriminate. It’s coming for all of us, and we aren’t getting out of here alive.

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People create air pockets on buses and trains all the time. My stop will be coming up, and I’ll make my way to the exit doors and will be blocked by someone. It’s usually a man with a large backpack still on his back standing in the way. He’s blocking the exit path, and there’s a considerable space in front of him where all of us could congregate before the bus stops. Instead, people build up like a dam of water behind him. This happens a lot, and it’s intriguing to see what the other blocked passengers do. Some surrender to the blocker and his backpack and wait, others contort their bodies and miraculously squeeze past him without making bodily contact. Others politely ask the person to move aside. As soon as he steps aside, a rebalance happens, and everyone flows past him and into the pocket he created. Now that the system is back in equilibrium, people can exit quickly, the bus stays on time, and the ongoing passengers are happy. Most of the time, he’s oblivious to what he’s doing and quite happily and absent mindlessly moves aside and then goes back to looking at his phone.

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The wake-up call was around 5am in the morning. It sounded like the dogs had climbed onto the tin roof. It was the monkeys scrambling and playing on the roof just before the sunrise. The dogs went bonkers, and it was an all-out war. Then it was over just as quickly as it started. The monkeys scampered back into the bush with the dogs in hot pursuit. Some of the dogs barked so hard that their front legs bounced off the ground.

After the monkey alarm sounded, the bush went quiet again as the sun rose, and the smells and sounds of the hot morning kicked in.

Just another day in Africa.

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The older I get, the more sense this makes to me.

“To laugh often and much; to win the respect of the intelligent people and the affection of children; to earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends; to appreciate beauty; to find the beauty in others; to leave the world a bit better whether by a healthy child, a garden patch, or a redeemed social condition; to know that one life has breathed easier because you lived here. This is to have succeeded.” – Ralph Waldo Emerson

This Charlie Munger quote, which was sent to me via @Maven_Insights, also helps and, in some way, says the same thing to me.

“You’ll be happier if you reduce your expectations than if you try and satisfy them. It sounds silly, but it’s so obvious. Many of us are fairly content with pretty moderate success. That is worth knowing, because that’s what most of us are going to get.” – Charlie Munger

Here’s the last one from Richard Branson.

In the end, I’ve realized that legacy is not important except to your children and family and friends. When I am on my deathbed, I just want to feel as if I have loved and been loved, done some good in the world, and made a difference here and there. – Richard Branson

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Our favorite coffee shop closed its doors for the last time earlier this month. It was owner-managed. The owner was there every day. He was barista, baker, and menu editor-in-chief. He had a couple of rules:

• No decaf coffee. If you want coffee, then you get it how it was grown.
• The chocolate mochas were made from melted chocolate he sourced in France
• The almond milk was made fresh every day in the cafe
• No wifi
• No garbage bins in the shop
• Small batches of banana bread and croissants were freshly baked in-house
• When it was super busy, I’d see his wife and son pitching in. It was a family affair
• Small talk wasn’t a requirement for ordering your coffee. There was no time for chit chat

He paid attention to the details and quality mattered. Every cup of coffee he made was an extension of himself. When he made chocolate mochas, he stirred in the melted chocolate and made sure it dissolved just right. It was all about quality over quantity.

He wanted to be there until he didn’t. We were sad to see him go but were grateful we got to taste his passion.

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