Bid for freedom

Over the last couple of weeks I've been interviewing dozens of people for the new book: 'Live Life. Love Work.' All,,without exception, have stated the need for space in their lives. However content and motivated with work, they still need gaps to refresh and re-generate in whatever form that takes.

Underneath the most succesful career, there's still a human being that craves personal freedom. Without that space to breathe, I believe that our lives are not sustainable.

Monday morning

When things are all darting around in my head, if I can take 30 minutes to walk in the woods, they shape up in new ways. How fortunate am I to have a small lake and woodland just around the corner from my home. So in minutes, I can shift from this tapping into my laptop to feeling the soft, peaty forest floor creeping into my walking shoes. There's a timeless quality at the lake which reminds me that I'll be long gone when others are striding out on those paths.

On Monday mornings, with things to do and places to go, it's easy to forget this. Now I go back to work from a contented place.

Reverting to type

It's been a few weeks since my standing and staring has arrived on the page. The hollyhocks I nurtured were once all shades of ruby and peachy pink. They've gone all white now, in strong contrast to the Stipa Gigantea.

Under pressure, I too revert to type. Once calm and collected, next anxious and snappy. Sorry folks. I like humans to join harmoniously, form connections and have fun - rather like my plants do.

Confidence tips from an Olympic Champion

Strawberries and Pimms. Boaters and blazers. The entertainment and gazebos on the banks of the River Thames at Henley this week mask the tough challenges of Olympic-level competition.

Over tea with Steve Williams, Captain of the world-renowned Leander Rowing Club and holder of gold medals in the coxless four from the Athens and Beijing Olympics, I learn Steve’s take on building self-confidence.

“The start line is the most powerful place to be. This is where you need to be in control of your confidence,” Steve tells me. Of all the skills to race at this level, he highlights mental resilience as number one.

“The moment when you’re drowning in your thoughts is when you need to make sense of the mess.”

Steve’s journey from school and university teams to the glory of the Olympic honours as part of Team GB is not for the faint-hearted. His graphic tales of the physical pain to all parts of the body, the daily 5.30am alarm calls to a cold boathouse, and just one day off a month from training demonstrate the tough regime.

As much as Steve always desperately wanted and trained extremely hard to become Olympic Champion, he now sees that, in the early years, self doubt was eating away at his confidence and holding him back from achieving his dream. "I could see how Steve Redgrave and Matt Pinsent, with long arms and legs and big heart and lungs were 'born winners' but I'm just a normal guy. Even though it was just tiny, that self doubt was there".

Steve's first Olympic experience was missing out on selection for the Sydney 2000 team and instead he had to go as only a 'travelling spare'. A very painful time even now; Steve's lowest point was also the turning point for his career. He spent the time on the sidelines watching and learning from those that were winning Olympic Golds. "The most important thing I took away from Sydney was that not all Olympic Champions had superhuman physiologies - some were even smaller than me!" Steve came home with the mantra "Even normal people win Gold Medals" and all the barriers were gone. Nothing could stop him now.

Steve’s first major lesson in building his mental resilience was to truly believe in himself. “You need to be able remind yourself of how good you are, your personal best, when it gets really tough.”

Fast forward a few years. Steve was picked and succeeded in Athens (the medal is beautiful). Yet a few years later he realised that self-belief is not enough to continue to win. In the run up to Beijing, the competitors were catching the British team up until by 2007 they were dropping to 4th place in the world. “We could easily have lost all confidence.”

The plan was good; the execution of the plan wasn’t paying enough attention to detail – a second learning in building confidence. So the team re-aligned itself to one big, shared purpose: everything they did was geared to ‘make the boat go faster’. Instead of focusing on the massive end goal of winning at the finish line, the team set smaller milestones and measures until it could consistently race to half-way mark in record time – achieving its personal best of 1000 metres in 2 minutes 47 seconds.

Another key change encouraged all in the team to give positive, critical feedback. “Anything could be said, so long as it focused on our shared purpose – to make the boat go faster.”

Steve says that you can’t afford to have good days and bad days; every day, you need to be ready to receive the medal. By now, the team had bullet-proof confidence at the start of every race. “We focused on our personal best and went out to perform it like any other regular day on the river, the only difference was that, in competition, the stakes were a mile higher.”

Steve’s top tips for building self-confidence that we can all apply are:

• Develop your mental resilience through believing in yourself, knowing that you are good enough.
• Have a strong plan to win, yet execute it with attention to the smallest details.
• Get regular, critical feedback.
• Start every day focusing on being the very best you can be.
  

The Thin Line

'Intruders Keep Out'. Every home could post a severe warning at its entrance. I'm weeding the front borders of this ancient farmhouse where wild Valerian spills onto the gravel and meshes with tough grass and bramble.

Wearing the owner's gardening gloves, wielding her secateurs, I hack back enthusiastically. Until I'm struck by a deep sense of intrusion. "Is this what she wants?" I ask myself and tread the fine line from helpful to intrusion.

Stepping back to her seat beneath the vine, I sense my job is to cut out damage while keeping the beauty of gentle leaves and deep pink flower heads that frame the doorway to the house.

As temporary custodian of the space, I take the gardener's Hippocratic oath, promising to leave the garden in good health, treat it with respect and encourage it to thrive for years to come.

The Tango Lesson

Any skill develops with practice; get out of practice and you feel uncomfortable. As your practice develops, you forget the time when it was new and difficult to learn.




The Argentinian tango night at Reading's Canoe Club creates a strange mix of pleasure and pain. Pleasure to see familiar faces and hear the music. Pleasure to be close to the River Thames on a Saturday night, taking the pulse of the river and admiring candlelight from the terrace.




Pain reflects my embarassment and lack of control. Memories of lessons past drift in and out as I pivot clumsily and accept invitations to dance with strangers. The negative voices rise in my head: "You can't remember the steps;" "You could have bought a new dress;" "You're out of your depth." Can I go home yet?



I stop. I turn around and notice the other dancers of all shapes, sizes and ages. Experts encourage newcomers to join the dance regardless of faltering steps and moments of indecision. I remind myself that I have chosen a difficult dance and allow myself to enjoy the learning right now. Skill grows with practice and encouraging teachers: the real tango lesson.

Switching to Plan B

Like a child let loose on the 'pick and mix' sweet counter, I'm back from the local home-grown plant nursery and the old Peugeot is stuffed with a chaotic array of plants. This time last year, I filled five large terracotta pots with deep red agyranthemums, lime green surfinia petunias, variegated nepeta and felicia. All happily co-existed on the patio through an unpredictable and damp summer.



I had a stylish, winning formula to repeat.

By March, the plan began to go awry: first, the frost-free greenhouse heater cut out and the strident agyranthemums died a black death. Lime green petunia plugs bloomed a lurid fuschia pink - not too tasteful. So I created a neat plant shopping list on Saturday to save the day, and the plan fell apart completely: I was beaten to the nursery by earlier plant hunters.

Instead I returned with blue/black salvias, juicy big begonias, ornamental millet, trailing indian mint and zig zag scaevola to live with the dark trailing geraniums and fushias I've been nuturing.

As I look out on the garden now, they're a happy bunch of companions with the moon shining down - chirpily random and just not what I'd planned. When work is challenging, I tell my clients to have the plan and be willing to adapt to circumstances. After all, the formula worked for Charles Darwin. Now I'm swallowing my medicine to see how it all grows.