Pick your DNA. Before DNA picks you.

What’s going to happen to the world the day after you’re gone?

Whoa. Back up.

Do you care what happens to the world the day after you’re gone?

I meet a lot of people who are just drifting through life. Trying to stay out of trouble. Avoiding any kind of impact, good or bad, on anyone. Marking time at their jobs until they can retire, put their feet up, and “finally start living”.

One chap last year told me he had one year left to work.

“What will you do then?” I asked. “As little as possible” came the reply.

My prediction? He won’t last long.

Or, he’ll find himself henpecked and harried by those around him, who will happily use the time that he won’t.

He’ll be wondering how he ever found the time to work before. Almost every retiree I meet says that.

A car without an engine is a rusting hulk. The scrapyard beckons.

The only reason for the car, in fact, is to allow the engine, and you, to get around.

Human beings are not a true lifeform.

DNA is the lifeform. We’re all just carriers for our DNA.

Every human being is just another experiment being run by DNA. What, that person crashed and burned. Whoops, I guess that experiment was a failure. Let’s not repeat that one.

But there’s a twist.

A gold nugget that most people never learn:

You get to change your DNA.

Disclaimer: I’m not sure how true this is physically. I’m no geneticist. Although I am reading an increasing amount about how you apparently can switch certain of your genes on/off by your behaviour.

But mentally? You can alter, choose, change, adapt, tweak your mental and psychological DNA.

Most people never do.

Their DNA is, Survive. Stay alive. This life is a crock. Survive until tomorrow. Hang on until I retire. Life sucks, then you die.

They’re really just acting as carriers for other people’s DNA. Their own DNA forfeited the match and left town.

Last month, while in Toronto, I had an encounter I won’t forget in a hurry.

Pastor G, as he’s always been labelled, is Gerald Griffiths. Good old Welshman. With a name like that, what else could he be.

He inherited the label from his wife, Mrs G, the storyteller.

He a career clergyman, she a great storyteller. So great, in fact, that she started recording them and shipping them around the world to pastors and teachers in far-flung places where education was hard to come by. It turned into a tidy little business called A Visit with Mrs G.

Mrs G is gone now, but Pastor G was one day shy of ninety-six, and he stood and talked with me at the back of the church for twenty minutes.

Stood.

For twenty minutes.

If he was in any pain or discomfort, he showed none. Seen many 96-year-olds stand for more than 60 seconds?

He’s a bit hard of hearing, and slightly stooped, but that’s it. His eyes are unchanged. Dark. Focused.

His eyes lock on you, and you realize very quickly: He’s on you. You have his full attention. He is listening.

And his mind? Razor-sharp.

I had not seen him since he officiated at my wedding 27 years ago. That had been his last official act as church pastor before retiring.

Retiring. Yeah, right.

He hasn’t retired.

“I’ve got five projects on the go. You know about the church in China? It’s an adult church, because the authorities make it difficult to teach the Bible to childen. But that’s changing. So we have to equip the people to be Sunday school teachers. We’re translating Mrs G recordings into e-books and podcasts and sending them over via the net. That’s just the biggest project, but there are four besides. What’s your email address? Here, jot it down for me. You used to work in wind engineering, didn’t you? How are those chaps that you used to room with? Are they still in the faith? Where in the UK are you? What do you make of Theresa May? I wish she’d do away with Boris Johnson, he’s a loose cannon.”

And with that, he walked away. Unaided. No cane, no wheelchair.

Ninety-freakin-six.

Met many 96-year-olds with an email address? Who know what an e-book is? A podcast?

That, folks, is great DNA. My mind was blown.

Note to self: Be like this when I’m 96. When I’m 106.

This engine is waaaaaay oversized. Well maintained, purring like a cat. It will eventually blow the body and chassis apart, but he doesn’t care. He’s tied up with the engine. He isn’t him, he’s the DNA.

What’s your DNA?

In the 1960’s, a young man, just graduated from Cambridge law school, returned to his island home and found it in political turmoil. The federal government resented the islanders, and declared them all persona non grata.

They didn’t want independence, it was forced on them.

The island had loads of disadvantages. Mostly uneducated peasants. A history of ethnic conflict. High population density. No natural resources. Hot, humid climate.

Only three advantages.

(1) Strategic location for trading.

(2) Human brains. Lots of ‘em. Uneducated, undeveloped, but loads of potential.

(3) One local bloke with a decent education, vision, optimism, natural leadership, and loads of pluck.

Go check the place out today.

Lee Kuan Yew had great DNA. Singapore punches waaaaaay above its weight.

When the Boxing Day tsunami hit Aceh and Phuket, the Singapore navy and air force scrambled. Ships sailed and aircraft flew in aid.

The tsunami-affected governments had two reactions:

(1) Gratitude. Obviously. They needed the help.

(2) Shock and fear. Who are these guys? Where did Singapore get this military capacity? The puny little flyweight we cut adrift fifty years ago is a potential threat. Living next door. Damn.

Lee Kuan Yew saw it all in his mind long before it happened. He had a vision for what his little island home could be. Even after he was gone.

Have you picked your DNA yet?

If you don’t pick your DNA, someone else’s DNA will pick you.

What your mind can imagine, you can create. What you do not imagine, never happens.

Want to change the world? Fix yourself.

You should be a student of history.

One of the best things about living in the UK is access to BBC documentaries. Excellently produced, very educational, a lack of overt bias (though not a lack of bias).

I’ve just finished watching Royal Cousins at War. Three first cousins, all Queen Victoria’s grandchildren, all on European thrones, utterly failed to prevent World War I. Three very flawed human beings.

How? Continue reading

What is the essence of Wisdom?

If you had to boil all the ancient bodies of wisdom literature down to its most basic fundamental idea . . . . . . what is that idea?

You may have heard the account the old Cherokee chief (or whoever it was) gave his grandson about the two wolves, one foolish and one wise, battling inside him, and one he feeds is the one that wins.

This story comes very close to the mark, and is defective in only one small (but critical) measure:

Which wolf wins if you feed neither? Or both?

Answer:

The foolish wolf.

You’ve got to feed the wise wolf. And starve the foolish one.

Every day.

Pick your fear. Make it a Smaug.

I’ve just come up with a cool business idea.

The Fear Store.

Buy your fears here. Learn how to be scared in new and more interesting ways. Then buy some fears to give to your loved ones for Christmas.

Think it’ll work?

Sigh. Well, it was fun dreaming.

Most of us don’t have a shortage of fear. It’s not a highly priced commodity. We won’t pay to get some when we run out, because, incredibly, it seems to reproduce itself with amazing consistency.

Every. Blasted. Day.

Continue reading

The joy of uncomfortable conversations

I made a cool discovery this year.

Or more accurately, made a cool re-discovery.

Success is a function of your willingness to have uncomfortable conversations.

Last week, I quit my contract job. Without another one to go to.

I had been working flat out for a year, with only a couple of short breaks. My mental health was suffering. I wasn’t enjoying the work at all. My weekends were spent recovering from the week, just in time to go back in for more punishment Monday morning.

A confluence of unexpected family circumstances meant that, if I quit before the end of the contract, I’d be able to recharge, do some much-needed DIY around the house, and enjoy a holiday with my youngest daughter before she shoots off to start university.

And I’d be able to rethink what I do, and why I do it. I’d have some time to write posts like this one.

I had to bid farewell to colleagues I’d been working with for a year. One or two of them, I’d grown quite fond of.

A voice in my head was saying, Are you nuts? Continue reading

UKIP will put British people first!

So says Paul Nuttall, leader of U.K. Independence Party.

Why?

Why should British people come first?

Remind me of that line in the Jason Bourne film. I want to save American lives. 

Why?

Why are American lives worth more than other lives, Mr Trump?

Charity begins at home, doncha know?

Really? Why?

Why is Here better than Over There?

Whoever wants to be great among you must be your servant, and whoever wants to be first must be your slave . . . . . 

The Dichotomy of Meaning

Meaningless! Meaningless! says the Teacher. Utterly meaningless! Everything is meaningless! – Ecclesiastes 1:1

My Inner Stand-up Comic responds, Yeah? So?

Step aside, Stand-up Comic. Here comes The Philosopher.

Why is meaning important?

Dunno.

And yet, it needs no justification. Would you challenge Mr Solomon on his assumption?

You just have to flip on the news to realise: After all the progress that has been made, the human race is no closer to figuring out what life is all about.

It’s an inner gutteral urge. Who the hell am I? Why am I here? What is the reason for me? Continue reading

“What the hell is going on?”

Ah. Remember that line? The Donald?

I have this desperate, innate desire to feel that everything is under control.

My control.

I desperately want to feel like I have my finger on the pulse of the world. Nobody’s going to come along and upset my apple cart. God’s in his heaven, all’s right with the world, yadda, yadda. (My world, at least.)

I desperately want to feel like I know what’s going on.

Desire is the wrong word. More like, a guttural, animalistic urge.

And when this urge is unsatisfied for long enough, when there’s too much change that I hadn’t foreseen, my instinctive reaction is, What the hell is going on?

You have this same urge.

The Idiot in you says, Somebody DO something. Continue reading

9 Ideas for Landing your First “Proper” Job

Got an email from my sister-in-law this morning:

“So Andrew graduated from university this spring, a B.Sc. in chemistry.  He has a summer job for now. Do you have any advice or suggestions for Andrew on how he should go about the process of job hunting for a chemistry job?”

Hmmmm.

(1) Don’t be desperate. For a job in chemistry. For a job. For anything. Desperate people make bad decisions. Desperate people aren’t thinking, they’re just reacting. Desperate people are trying to satisfy someone else’s expectations. Desperate people only think as far as scoring the next goal, then find they’ve scored on their own goalie.

(2) Don’t be desperate, but do be eager. To make a positive difference in the lives of the people right around you. The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation (Thoreau). If you can provide a comforting hand on the shoulder of those desperates around you, if you can keep your head while all those around you are losing theirs (Kipling) . . . your career will take off. Hang on for the ride. Continue reading

To live or die? Hmmmm.

Do you want to live or die?

Think carefully before you answer.

Don’t be silly. Of course I want to live.

Really?

Do you want to live in the real world? Or the one you think is real?

The two are rarely the same. (Though there might be a good measure of commonality.)

I just got off the phone with a recruiter. He wanted me to work full-time for a client of his, who was a long drive away. (I didn’t. I might if I was desperate, but I’m not.) Continue reading