We all have our breaking point.

The moment when those four known forces which bind the tiny subatomic particles that hold us together, start to fall apart. The chains of molecules sticking to each other as the electromagnetic force that fastens the positively charged protons weaken, the messenger particles unable to mediate and boom, our protons repel each other, polarity reverses, particles randomise, gravity lets go, structure collapses.

We are strong forces, harnessed. Science and nature exerting its special forces upon us and binding us within the universe; propelling, repelling, charging, pulling… The force of will, force of gravity, force of electromagnetic fields around us, pushing us. Shaping our lives, our bodies, our brains. Mass and energy holding us in orbits influenced by the moon and sun, the constancy of gravity. And yet, we all have our breaking point.

Meteors that gather energy and force as they plummet on random pathways, gathering matter, exploding matter, bringing chaos, destruction. 

If everything from people to planets is made of tiny subatomic particles, why don't they fall apart and crumble into piles of particles? What holds all this stuff together?

Particles "stick" together by interacting with one another in complex ways. More specifically, they exert what we call forces on each other.

Electromagnetic force is what holds atoms and molecules together and to each other. The EM force is one of four fundamental forces of nature that we know of. These four forces are the causes of ALL interactions between ALL objects. The other three forces are: Gravity, Strong Force (Also known as the Colour Force) and Weak Force Gravitation (Gravity). The Strong Force is what holds certain subatomic particles together. For example, the nucleus of every atom is full of positively charged protons. Since electric charges repel other electric charges of the same polarity, there must be some force holding them all together. Since there can be over 100 protons in a single nucleus, this force must be VERY strong in order to keep them together. This is why it's named the "Strong" force!

Molecules are made up of atoms, which are made up of subatomic particles. Your body is made up of molecules chained together in many different ways. However, many of these molecules are used in different places

Reference: https://www.physicsforums.com/threads/what-keeps-an-object-together.660247/

Reference: https://www.physicsforums.com/threads/what-keeps-an-object-together.660247/

The tiny particles that make up matter, such as atoms and subatomic particles, also exert forces on one another. These forces are not gravity, but special forces that only these particles use.

There are several kinds of forces that particles can exert on one another. These forces can cause one particle to attract, repel, or even destroy another particle. For example, one kind of subatomic force, known as the strong force, binds quarks together to make protons, neutrons, and other particles.

https://www.exploratorium.edu/origins/cern/ideas/standard2.html

Each force is described on the basis of the following characteristics: (1) the property of matter on which each force acts; (2) the particles of matter that experience the force; (3) the nature of the messenger particle (gauge boson) that mediates the force; and (4) the relative strength and range of the force.

The weakest, and yet the most pervasive, of the four basic forces is gravity. It acts on all forms of mass and energy and thus acts on all subatomic particles, including the gauge bosons that carry the forces. The 17th-century English scientist Isaac Newton was the first to develop a quantitative description of the force of gravity. He argued that the force that binds the Moon in orbit around Earth is the same force that makes apples and other objects fall to the ground, and he proposed a universal law of gravitation.

Consider how Isaac Newton's discovery of gravity led to a better understanding of planetary motion Britannica.com

According to Newton’s law, all bodies are attracted to each other by a force that depends directly on the mass of each body and inversely on the square of the distance between them. For a pair of masses, m₁ and m₂, a distance r apart, the strength of the force F is given by

F = Gm₁m₂/r².

G is called the constant of gravitation and is equal to 6.67 × 10⁻¹¹ newton-metre²-kilogram⁻².

The constant G gives a measure of the strength of the gravitational force, and its smallness indicates that gravity is weak.

I love writing, and I love taking photographs. I’ve done both quite well from time to time, but I’m parking the photographs for the purposes of this telling, and hopefully you’ll follow this thread with me.

A good book or play can unlock a moment of pure personal epiphany; it can provide answers to long, tangled and gnarly questions. A good piece of writing can transport you away from the grey, rainy reality of a difficult day, or week, or experience. A great piece of writing can uplift you, transform your thinking, take you on a heart-racing, roller-coaster of adventure. As my children grew up, I had high hopes of sharing my passion with them and their friends but of course, they had their own ideas about that. My eldest studied Journalism but my youngest was not helped by some of the school reading schemes that made their way into the new millennium era of UK primary education. 

Oh how my soul bled when having volunteered to help read with children in my youngest daughter’s class, I encountered the horrifically designed, cartoonesque set of books that were known as the Oxford Reading Tree, about Biff, Chip and the Magic Key. 

According to Amazon, “the Oxford Reading Tree remains the nation's favourite reading scheme.” It seems the books have undergone a design make-over with new artwork and covers, which, they hope will heighten children’s pleasure in reading the stories.  Well Lah! I truly hope so but try as I might, I can’t agree it’s the nation’s favourite. It certainly wasn’t mine.

Books are not neutral objects. What we offer children as literature inevitably tells them something about the world, themselves and where they might belong in it. I grew up learning to read with the Ladybird Books, beautifully illustrated, fiction and non-fiction books that fuelled my imagination, drove my desire to learn and nourished my soul. Ladybird’s Janet and John series inevitably began to lose relevance to children living in big cities, and in a much changed, faster paced, far more multicultural society.

Like me, I think there is a point where many people need permission to write, and then to share their work. I went to drama school and before that I both worked in, and was a member of a local theatre’s youth theatre. Amongst the many inspirational people I met during that wonderful time, some encouraged me to ‘Do! Explore! Pursue!’ everything that I felt a passion for. 

So, I entered the Royal Court Playwriting competition with, as it turned out, a fantastic piece almost entirely written in the style of Tennessee Williams, a point made quite well by the kind person who fed back that ‘on this occasion I had not been successfully selected to go forward’. 

Those years gave me a lifetime of skills I couldn’t have hoped to develop in another environment. It gave me enduring friendships, it gave me permission to write and it fed my voracious literary appetite which has dimmed somewhat as it rubbed up against the rough edges of life. 

I once had a theatre colleague who ran his eye over my bookcase and with a sardonic air, asked me if I had actually read all the books on my shelves. I replied I had read most, some with more attention than others but I always had books I had yet to read, a treat for a ‘rainy day’ yet to come. I am not alone in being a bibliophile. An avid bookworm is an interesting person in my world. Recently, my daughter and her friend were packing up some books for me, bribed with pizza and a bottle of wine. I was delighted to hear what a great time her friend had discovering some of the gems on my bookshelves. She’s a film graduate, I wonder if the dog-eared first edition without a back cover she found will inspire her work in the future?

And now, dear reader, we have reached the other end of my thread. It was pulled this morning by a post from Eliza Skelton, the sister of a friend from drama school who died two years ago. Eliza is a singer and songwriter in her own right. She had written about finding a place for the writing her sister Sam left behind.

Eliza wrote this:

“Today is my sister Sam’s birthday. She would have been 61. Before she died she began work on a website to host her writing which I’ve had the great privilege to complete.  Sam wrote down narrative ideas, short plays and stories, but often spoke about how the writing felt unanchored somehow - a little will-o-the-wisp floating above the earth, transparent and without solid form. 

‘A tidgy thin voice in a big noisy world’  is how she might have put it. 

When she moved to her beloved little house on the hill in Wales, she took year away from work to complete a masters in creative writing to help focus her ideas. She gathered seeds from her chosen solitude, from the Welsh hills which live in our family bones, from her walks with Charlie dog and Tubbs through ancient woodland and from the truth of her wildly lived experience perceived from oblique angles. 

Will-o-the-wisp took form, grew limbs which in turn grew roots that planted deep in earth and soared into an infinite universe to fuel a howling voice. 

Gritty and honest and hilarious, she wrote from an undefended heart that said this is who I am and if you dont like it, I will give no fucks, not even one.

To celebrate her 61st birthday, I’m very proud to announce the publication of her website where you can read her stories, poetry, academic writing, narrative memoir and plays and watch her performing her slam poetry.”

And so, we tie the ends of these several threads that have run across the years and lay them across the page of a book. One day, someone will pick up that book and open it to this page. Who knows what might happen? Perhaps they will pick up a pen and write?

www.samskelton.org

I’ve been seduced by the TV series ‘The Diplomat’ it’s been a stimulating watch and deeply thought-provoking against the real-life back drop of the blustering balaclava brigade at coastal ports, and the fiery bravado of French students. From the outside it can make us uncomfortable, uncertain, on edge. And so, I want to share with you something that has the ability to take you away from those difficult feelings and offers a respite -‘reading’. 

I’m not working towards a punchline here, simply offering you the chance to experience a piece of utterly beautiful writing from, what I am sure will be a writer to watch in the future.  With credit to author, Alice Kinsella for spotting this new talent, and her encouragement and support (both monetary and practically) that has allowed them the chance to further explore what is surely their craft. And this particular writer, Maya Ní Mhóráin is still at school. What an honour then, to have your work included in a published anthology of Irish writers’ and for the title of your poem to become the title of the anthology.

I read Maya’s ‘Those Who Listen’ and was immediately transported to the soft, spongy, textured landscape of Southern Ireland, I walked with Maya through the bog, saw the layers of cut peat and felt the history of that place, I lay down and listened to the brackish water burbling up through the ground, I smelt the earth and the air as it settled around me. I went home, looked up Mayo Books in County Mayo and ordered my own copy. 

And as the domestic news continues to bleakly unfold and conversations turn to what kind of water filter should one get for an emergency, and does oat milk outlast soya? I have turned to this wonderful anthology, and been reminded of the wider world, the wonder and glory of nature. I find that Irish writers and speakers often share a gift. It lies in a turn of phrase, that reads like the unexpected pause of a flamenco dancer; a fiercely held breath dressed in a flurry of frothy skirt, and in the seamless stitching of words, sometimes falling against you, like sweet Irish rain, and  then as the frenzied click of heels dancing hard on a worn wooden floor, as you absorb their weight in your mind and imagination. Now that the nights are drawing in and the cold gathers at our feet, I heartily recommend giving your eye to brain connection a spa retreat. Pick up a book and give yourself up to it for awhile, bathing in the richness of words as they weave their magic. 

’Those Who Listen’ edited by Alice Kinsella, is a wonderful collection of work. If you purchase a copy I’d love to know what you think but honestly any book that speaks to you, would do. Re-discover time away from the daily drama of the news. Do as the President’s husband suggested in ‘The Diplomat’ series, give your brain some much-needed downtime and take a book to bed, not a screen. Take time to step away, and seek life between the pages. Just as being by the sea and walking along the spine of ancient hills, or plunging through woodland following the distant call of birds brings me pleasure. In reading, in the words of another, in that still, isolated activity, I can walk through a door, and some time later emerge from a chapter, a page, with new perspective, refreshed. Finding myself both gentler and invigorated. Joyfulness in life can be found by simply imagining myself squelching across a peat bog following the words of a writer on a golden afternoon in late summer. Without even getting my wellies on.

https://mayobookspress.com/index.php/our-books/those-who-listen

I’ve been watching Stephen Bartlett interview author, journalist and thinker Graham Hancock on his podcast ‘Diary of a CEO’ about a lost episode of history and the evidence of a Lost Civilisation that could better explain where we are today, and what may be in store for us if we don’t ‘course-correct’.

I find the world is undergoing a phase of ‘unsettlement’, from individuals being displaced to a more general fear that things are not as they should be. Our leaders define everything in material terms, they display little positive consciousness, lack spirituality, and act unwholesomely. Our societies are less curious, less tolerant, more withdrawn, numbed by hardship—or perhaps greed. We behave differently, full of anger, hatred, and suspicion. As Graham Hancock puts it, “We’re not a mature species, we’re a childish species, and leading us are leaders who have the mentality of deranged teenagers.”

When a feeling of unrest or discomfort aches in our bones, troubles our thoughts, or catches us off guard in our dreams, we describe all these separate emotions as a sense of being ‘unsettled’. No matter how reflective that sense of the ground beneath our feet being unreliable can make us, collectively being unsettled is deeply isolating. It pushes people toward irrational behaviour, as if we’re all bracing for something we can’t quite see.

Here in the United Kingdom we have seen riots in response to a growing division between the government and those who feel victimised by rising immigration and acts of violence.

Hancock says we need to move away from nationalism and tribalism, and re-learn tolerance—learning to deal with difference without resorting to violence. Violence feeds ignorance. It bypasses the one thing we are all born with: a brain. A centre of consciousness with endless potential and the capability to achieve extraordinary things, such as the ancient civilisations he speaks of.

He also suggests that hatred is a kind of psychic force, and the way it is being generated and focused around the world has to be harmful—for us and for nature. I agree. In the aftermath of Brexit here in the UK, I watched politician Boris Johnson present himself as a likeable buffoon on the one hand, while publicly encouraging division on the other. It felt as though he was giving people permission to hate. He isn’t alone. It’s a familiar political tool: stir emotion, deflect attention, and push through weak ideas.

Hancock explores the idea that humans may have existed much earlier than we think, and that a lost civilisation may once have held a deeper kind of knowledge—something now overlooked and undervalued. If he is right, then perhaps what we are experiencing is not new at all, but an echo of an earlier history.

If our civilisation is once again descending from wisdom into noise, from curiosity into certainty, from deep connection into division, then perhaps the “lost civilisation” is not something buried beneath sand or sea, but something we are in the process of losing again: a way of thinking, of being, of relating to one another that requires more patience, more humility, more awareness than we currently seem willing to give.

The feeling of being unsettled may not just be fear of what is coming, but a dim recognition of what is slipping away. A subconscious awareness that something is out of alignment—not just politically or socially, but fundamentally, in how we choose to exist alongside one another. If that is true, then the question is not whether we are on the brink of collapse, but whether we are capable of recognising the pattern before it completes itself.

So if there is anything worth holding onto from the idea of a lost civilisation, maybe it isn’t what they built, but how they thought—or how they understood their place in the world, and with each other.

I don’t know if we are at the beginning of that kind of decline, or somewhere further along. But that sense of being unsettled feels like more than anxiety. It feels like a warning—or at the very least, a recognition that something important is shifting, whether we choose to see it or not.

I don't know about you, but I've been loving this year's Six Nations Rugby. Watching a game turn on its head from a single moment’s loss of concentration, and seeing seasoned players taught a thing or two by underdogs as they rise up and surprise everyone — probably themselves most of all, has helped swallow the bitter pill of watching our National team lose. I never used to think of sport as one of life’s best leadership classrooms, but as I get older — and as sports coaching becomes more thoughtful, more positive, and more attuned to equality and mental health — I can see there are countless lessons to be taken from team sports.

So it felt rather auspicious to bump into my youngest daughter’s old form tutor at the local rugby club and be reminded just how much a parent can learn from their children. This brave young woman had once spearheaded a school trip up Mount Toubkal, the highest peak in North Africa’s Atlas Mountains — a truly gruelling, Bear Grylls-style expedition. “What goes up the mountain must come down the mountain,” became a favourite mantra from that time, and I still remember how bone-tired everyone looked when they slumped off the minibus on their return.

The following year my daughter was made Head Girl, and I credit much of that success to how she tackled that Toubkal trip — a trip the school still offers to this day.

It was around the same time that her all-girls state school merged classes with the boys’ school next door. The transition was met with consternation by some girls and their parents, and reluctant acceptance by others (why fix what isn't broken?), but it transformed conversations around our dinner table, where our daughter would often deliver a running commentary on sociology, anthropology… and hair.

“Mum, I sit behind this boy with amazing hair in Science and I just want to run my hands through it.”

Fair.

Quite quickly the schools fully merged, and the observations improved. Her masterpiece was a dramatic reenactment of boys leaving a classroom:

“Miss, miss! I got this.”
Misses light switch.
“It’s okay miss, I got this.”
Misses again.
“I GOT THIS.”
Hits switch. Lights off. Triumph.
“See miss!”
Accidentally turns them back on.
“I got this miss!”
Misses…

Meanwhile, four boys remain jammed in the doorway because they all tried to exit at once.

But one moment in particular has always stayed with me.

My daughter was explaining to a horrified friend — appalled at the idea of even sharing space with boys — why she didn’t mind sitting on a sofa between two boys at prefect meetings.

“If you actually watch them,” she said, “although they can be loud and physically dominant in a room, they also think deeply and are really good at relating and responding to each other, as if they’re learning and operating like a team — which is sweet.”

I, attempting to retain my position as wise and all-knowing, replied,
“So boys are basically just like girls but with different body parts.”

She looked at me with pity.

“No. Boys separate into two types, mum: twats and lovable twats. Not like girls at all.”

Honestly? I think she’s onto something.

There’s a leadership lesson in there somewhere about intent, teamwork, and judging people by character rather than noise level. Leadership, it turns out, looks a lot like rugby, mountains… and teenage boys — though I suspect she’d say I’m overthinking it.

She’s nearly through uni now. Her advice column launches soon. Naturally, I’ll be first in line to subscribe.

Back in 2017 I wrote about  six ways to be the best, I'd been a big fan of GL Hoffman*** creator of the blog 'What Would Dad Say?' GL had invited me to write a guest post in 2010 and can be credited for me discovering the joys of blogging. When I wrote 'Six Ways to Be the Best', I was working in a large, linear organisation that behaved on the outside like a people-centred organisation but didn't feel like one from the inside. As I revisit articles from long, long ago I've been inspired to look again, from the perspective of branding, which continues to be the main focus of many companies public-facing activity. Is it really all about the brand?

Don’t Build a Brand. Build a Community.

You might be able to guess the originators of the quotes… “If you want to milk the cow, give it good grass.”

It’s a simple idea, almost agricultural in its honesty, yet it captures the essence of sustainable business better than most strategy decks ever will. Value does not come from extraction; it comes from care. Whether your “cow” is a customer, a team, or a flagship product, the same rule applies: nurture first, benefit later.

This is why great organisations don’t obsess over branding alone — they obsess over belonging.

Walk in the Right Shoes

“Take off your management shoes and regularly walk in your customers’ shoes.”
“Take off your management shoes and regularly walk in your staff’s shoes.”

Leadership from a distance is convenient, but it’s also dangerous. Dashboards, reports, KPIs, and feedback summaries are useful — but they are representations, not reality.

Do you know what it feels like to be your own customer this month?

Make time to find out. Stand in line. Use the product. Navigate the systems. Work the tills. Spend a shift alongside your staff. You can employ the best consultants and secret shoppers in the world, but none of them will ever equal the insight gained from experiencing your organisation firsthand.

You are never too important to let your feet touch the ground.

Never Say Goodbye

“Never say goodbye, always ‘see you again.’” If you aren’t aiming for repeat business, you shouldn’t be in business at all.

Customers who don’t return are a warning sign — of complacency, lack of ambition, or a failing experience. Eventually, organisations that don’t prioritise return relationships become inward-looking. They fossilise. Dinosaur thinking takes hold.

Growth isn’t always about scale, volume, or footprint. Sometimes growth is simply deepening relationships — even (and especially) in large organisations. If you believe in your organisation, make it possible for people outside it to believe too.

That belief doesn’t come from slogans. It comes from consistency, care, and connection.

Don’t build a brand. Build a community. A strong brand can attract buyers. A strong community turns people into advocates who voluntarily recommend, defend, and improve what you offer.

Mind the Cash Cow

If you have a major seller — a product, service, or outlet that carries the business — ask yourself an uncomfortable question:

Are your senior leaders spending enough time with it? Valuing it. Nurturing it. Keeping it healthy. If not, why not? No excuses.

The heart of your business is your cash cow. Everything flows from its centre. If leadership assumes it’s “running itself,” manages it from a distance, or stops giving it one-to-one attention, the fall isn’t a possibility — it’s a certainty.

Be the River, Not the Rock

“Flow. Be the river, not the rock.”

Being a solid, reliable organisation — a “rock” — is admirable. But time passes. Markets shift. People change. Technology reshapes behaviour. Rocks don’t adapt; they erode.

Rivers endure because they move.

Design your organisation with flow. Build processes that reflect how people actually behave — desire routes, not rigid corridors. When obstacles appear, they become visible. When challenges arise, fluid organisations move around them instead of being blocked by them.

Stagnation kills communities. Movement sustains them.

Brands are built on messages. Communities are built on experiences.

If you want loyalty, don’t chase attention — earn trust.
If you want longevity, don’t manage from above — engage from within.
If you want growth, don’t harden — flow.

Don’t build a brand. Build a community, because a brand is a promise you make.

A community is a promise people make to each other.

The second one is far more powerful.

The original article can be found here: https://juliet.posthaven.com/from-the-archives-six-ways-to-be-the-best

***GL Hoffman, is the creator of  JobDig, a career search and employment guide. He then created and launched the incredibly successful LinkUp, an American job search engine that search’s jobs from almost 22,000 company websites! I don't believe he is related to LinkedIn's co-founder, but just like LinkedIn -  LinkUp is still going ....