Life’s Lessons Unpacked: Stories of Resilience & Growth

What does leadership really look like when life knocks you sideways?In this episode of Life’s Lessons Unpacked, I sit down with Sara Bailey, Senior Partner at Trowers & Hamlins, one of the most capable leaders I’ve known since we first met back in the 1990s.But this isn’t a conversation about legal strategy or titles. It’s about resilience, managing grief, and what happens when the pressure of leadership collides with real life - and how you keep going through it.Sara opens up about the emotional cost of carrying responsibility at the top, and the profound impact of suddenly losing her brother while leading in a high-stakes role.What follows is a powerful and human reflection on what leadership really demands - and what it looks like when we lead with empathy, not ego.Sara shares:💡 What no one tells you about the emotional weight of leadership💡 How she navigated imposter syndrome - even at the top💡 Grieving while holding it all together at work💡 The role of empathy, self-awareness, and a strong support networkThis episode isn’t just for lawyers or senior professionals - it’s for anyone who’s carried grief, juggled responsibility, or struggled with work-life balance while trying to stay strong.It’s about boundaries, burnout, and becoming the leader you needed - when everything was fine, and when everything was not.If you’ve ever:🎯 Struggled with leadership or self-doubt❓ Faced grief while still showing up for others🤷🏼‍♀️ Wondered how to lead without losing yourself➡️ This is an episode you really need to hear ⬅️💬 What resonated with you in this episode? Drop your thoughts in the comments!📩 Enjoying the podcast? Hit subscribe so you never miss an episode.👍 Like, share, and spread the word - because leadership is never a solo journey.Thanks for reading Life's Lessons Unpacked! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit msmallwood.substack.com

From Abandoned to Unstoppable: Conrad Empson on the Hidden Power of ResilienceHave you ever wondered if your toughest childhood moments hold the secret to your future success?You might recognise Conrad Empson from Below Deck Mediterranean, but his real story started long before the cameras rolled. From being abruptly abandoned by his birth father at eight years old, to navigating fame, failure, and finding his true calling, Conrad knows a thing or two about resilience.In this raw and honest and entertaining conversation, we unpack:✅ How childhood setbacks fuel entrepreneurial grit✅ Why real resilience isn’t about never falling - it's about what happens next✅ The crucial lessons Conrad learned from public exposure and personal pain✅ The transformative journey from broken family dynamics to successful entrepreneur and devoted fatherNow leading CrewPass, a pioneering platform that’s revolutionising safety in the maritime industry, Conrad shares valuable insights about turning personal adversity into professional strength.If you’ve ever felt defined by past trauma, wondered how to rewrite your own story, or simply want to learn what true resilience looks like - this episode is a must-listen.🎧 Tune in now.👉 Want more from Conrad?Check out CrewPass and follow his journey beyond reality TV on Instagram.💬 What resonated with you most? Let us know your thoughts in the comments!📩 Enjoying the podcast? Hit subscribe and never miss an episode.👍 Like, share, and spread the word - because resilience is a story we build together.Thanks for listening to Life's Lessons Unpacked! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit msmallwood.substack.com

The Pink Letter That Should’ve Been a Red Flag(STOP if you haven’t yet read the first two chapters of this story, the links are here: - Read Part One Here or Read Part Two Here )I wish I could say I opened her letter with greater trepidation, that some deep instinct warned me I was holding a masterpiece of emotional manipulation.But no.I opened it with curiosity, skimmed the first few lines - then laughed.Not cruelly.Not dismissively. Just… incredulously.Four pages of undying love Four pages of a woman declaring that I was, beyond a shadow of a doubt, ‘The One.’ The man she had searched for her entire life. The man who had healed her heart, restored her faith, and - if her effusive prose was to be believed - ‘ruined her for all other men.I sat back, the letter resting on my lap, and let out a slow breath.It was ridiculous. Over the top. Something you’d expect from the fevered imagination of a romance novelist - not a grown woman with a child, a job, and a supposed history of tragedy.And yet.And yet, I read it again.Because even as my logical brain dismissed it, some part of me - the part shaped by a childhood of conditional affection and a single-sex boarding school education that left me woefully unprepared for women - started to second-guess itself.Could this be real?Was I simply too jaded, too cynical, to recognise genuine devotion when it landed on my doormat… in a pink envelope?All men like to think we’re good in bed - exceptional, even. But this? This was next level. The way she’d pursued me all weekend, the sheer force-of-nature intensity - was it possible I’d over-delivered? Had I, against all odds, accidentally ruined this woman for all other men?(I can hear you rolling your eyes - don’t worry !)I wanted to dismiss it too!Instead, I found myself evaluating, dissecting, trying to determine if there was some glimmer of truth woven into the absurdity.Because surely, surely, no one would go to this much effort if they didn’t mean it.Would they?I needed a second opinion.I reached for my phone to call P. Then saw the time - far too late.It would have to wait until morning.And so, I went to bed, leaving the letter on my living room table - its weight pressing lightly against the wood, but with far more pressure against something in my mind, something I wasn’t quite ready to name.I woke the next morning feeling slightly ridiculous.The letter had been absurd, overblown, and dripping with a level of devotion that should have set off alarm bells - but somehow, instead, it had merely left me… confused.And now, with dawn’s light making itself visible through the curtains, it all seemed even more surreal.I was overthinking. As usual.Yes, she was intense. Yes, she was a little much. But was that really a crime? Had I really reached the stage in life where an attractive woman declaring her undying love for me was something to be suspicious of?I was still putting away my breakfast things when the doorbell rang.Too early for a delivery and I hadn’t ordered anything.I was wrong - it was a courier with a large package!I took it inside, tore it open, and found myself staring at…. towels. Towels?Not just any towels.Two massive, heavy, Egyptian cotton, ridiculously high-thread-count bath towels, the kind you’d find in a five-star hotel. Along with two matching hand towels and a note …❤️ … to my Love.. ❤️ What an unusual gift. Completely unexpected. Random.And yet, the moment I ran my hand over the fabric, something inside me softened.This was thoughtful. Generous. Practical, even.The weight of the towels, the sheer feel of them, made my lingering concerns about the letter seem almost… absurd.Later that day I met P for coffeeWe were fresh from the gym and still buzzing with endorphins. P, my long-suffering best female friend. The one who had, from the very beginning, regarded my Russian romance with suspicion. Her face had the same look we all wear upon stepping into a lift immediately after someone has let rip - pinched, vaguely nauseous, wishing to be anywhere else. I had barely sat down before she clocked my expression. "Jesus Christ," she said. "What now?" I sighed, stirring my coffee."She sent me towels."P blinked. "Towels?"I nodded. "Big ones - the sort you’d probably steal from an expensive hotel."She stared at me. "Seriously? She sent you a fucking love letter after one weekend. Now she’s redecorating your bathroom. Jesus - you must be much better in the sack than you are at burpees!"I laughed so hard I snorted."You’re already in too deep," she said. "Anyone else would run a mile, but you’re treating it like a flaming science experiment."I opened my mouth to argue - then shut it again.She wasn’t wrong.Instead, I reached into my bag and slid the pink envelope across the table.P raised an eyebrow. "Oh, this should be good."She pulled out the letter, unfolded it, and cleared her throat dramatically."Mark, Since I left, I feel your absence like pain. Every touch, every word, every moment - still on my skin."P barked a laugh. "Jesus. Did you give her some kind of religious experience?"I opened my mouth, thought better of it and simply shrugged.She skimmed further."I see you, Mark. You are strong, kind, serious. A real man. A serious man."Her eyes flicked up, unimpressed. "Oh, well, if you’re a serious man, I guess you’d better marry her immediately."She turned the page. Then the next. Her smirk faded slightly."I did not think I could love again. And yet here you are. I do not know what to do with these feelings. I was not ready. But now? I cannot imagine my life without you."P set the letter down, exhaling slowlyMy leg bounced unconsciously, heel drumming against the floor..She stared at it for a moment. I caught her gaze and forced myself to stop."Mate.""It’s a lot," I admitted."It’s a lot!" she agreed."But then… I mean, surely no one would go to this much effort if they didn’t mean it?"She closed her eyes briefly, then fixed me with the look of a woman resisting the urge to shake a toddler. With a sharp sigh, she set down her coffee."I know you’re clever," she said, levelling me with a look. "But here? You’re being a complete knobhead - just watch yourself, alright!"Half joking I said, "I don’t think I like your tone."She rolled her eyes. "Uh-huh - well don’t expect me to save you when this goes tits-up."I assured her that wouldn’t be necessary - little realising how prophetic her throwaway line was to prove to be.The weekend arrived and I hopped into the car Despite my best intentions - and without fully buying into the ‘undying love’ narrative- my body had apparently noticed my new girlfriend’s absence. And so, in a state of mild but persistent ‘discomfort’ in the trouser department, drove to London.After several hours, the Cromwell Road stretched ahead, the grand façade of the Natural History Museum rising on my left like an old acquaintance.Then onto Brompton Road, the traffic thickening, the pace slowing to a crawl. I knew these streets well from my early twenties - I'd worked here, walked these very pavements. The layout hadn’t changed, but the endless traffic-calming measures and aggressively cheerful cycle lanes were new.I cut through the backstreets of Knightsbridge, weaving into Belgravia until finally, I pulled up outside her address. I rang the intercom and she came to the door smiling in that way she did - warm, welcoming, like I was the only person in the world. I opened my mouth to speak, but she grabbed my lapel and yanked me forward, her tongue pushing into my mouth.Bloody Hell, I thought, as my ‘discomfort’ became far more pronounced!I pulled back, and she looked at me, teasingly. I was about to meet her daughter, and the last thing I needed was that problem.So far, I’d only seen a photo of her, a video of her playing the piano, and, of course, the top of her head on my very first visit. We entered the apartment and there, in the living room, was her daughter. She was a thin, polite, serious-looking girl with long, dark hair. She stood and - somewhat formally - greeted me by name, then reached out to shake my hand! I responded, with equal formality, I may even have clicked my heels together for effect. Both mother and daughter laughed and the ice was broken.We headed out and had a lovely day. We drove to Battersea park and wandered around for a few hours, then stopped for lunch and an ice cream. Her mother went to the loo, and I turned to her daughter with what I thought was a safe, easy question."So, are you happy here in the UK?"She looked me straight in the eye. No hesitation. No flicker of doubt. Just cold, flat certainty."I hate my mother."I blinked. Whatever answer I’d been expecting, it wasn’t that.A beat of silence stretched between us.Our eyes were locked. I wasn’t sure how to respond. A nervous chuckle? A concerned frown? I had a sudden and overwhelming desire to be literally anywhere else!Before I could decide on a response, she turned her attention back to her ice cream, as if she’d merely commented on the weather.And I - idiot that I am - didn’t press further.Her mother returned from the loo, smiling warmly, as if her daughter hadn’t just casually dropped an emotional hand grenade into my lap.We made our way back to the apartment, the conversation light, easy - completely at odds with the thoughts tumbling through my head.As we stepped inside, she turned to me.“She’s going to a friend’s house for the night,” she said, reaching for her daughter’s overnight bag. “I’m just taking her over.”I hesitated. “Alright. I’ll pop to the shops and grab something for supper while you do that.”She tilted her head. “You don’t have to.”“I want to.”I needed time to thinkShe studied me for a beat, then smiled. “Meet you back here in an hour.”We parted ways, and I wandered the supermarket in a daze, tossing random ingredients into a basket while my mind replayed the conversation from earlier."I hate my mother."What 12-year-old says that so bluntly to a near stranger?And what exactly had she seen, or li

What does it really take to turn life’s challenges into opportunities? In this episode of Life’s Lessons Unpacked, I sit down with Freddie Fforde, founder and CEO of Patch Works, a pioneering company redefining how and where we work.But our conversation goes much deeper than flexible workspaces - it’s about the mindset and life experiences that shape true success.Growing up in a single-parent household, Freddie saw first-hand how traditional work structures could limit opportunities, especially for those juggling personal responsibilities. This experience ignited a deep commitment to making work more accessible, balanced, and community-driven - values that drive his company and personal mission today.Freddie opens up about:💡 How his upbringing shaped his worldview and entrepreneurial drive💡 The struggles and self-doubt behind building something new💡 Lessons in resilience, leadership, and staying true to your purpose💡 The future of work - and why it’s about more than just productivityThis episode isn’t just for founders or business leaders; it’s for anyone who’s faced adversity, struggled with balance, or wondered if there’s a different way forward. It's a conversation about courage, vision, and the power of questioning the rules we’ve been given.If you’ve ever: 🎯 Faced a setback with all the challenges that brings❓ Questioned your direction, or…🤷🏼‍♂️ Wondered how personal experiences shape success➡️ This is an episode you don’t want to miss ⬅️💬 What resonated with you in this episode? Drop your thoughts in the comments!📩 Enjoying the podcast? Hit subscribe so you never miss an episode.👍 Like, share, and spread the word - because resilience is a journey best shared.Thanks for listening to Life's Lessons Unpacked! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit msmallwood.substack.com

What happens when everything you’ve built comes crashing down? When the confidence that once fuelled your success turns into the very thing that blinds you to failure? Lee Cooper knows this story all too well.Lee didn’t just climb the ladder of success - he sprinted up it. ✅ By 28, he’d built and sold a thriving business. 🎯 By 30, he was flying high again. 🤯 Then the financial collapse of 2008 happened and… it all came crashing down.In this brutally honest conversation, Lee opens up about the slow, painful unraveling of his business, and his personal life. The silent struggles behind resilience, and how his belief in his own invincibility left him unprepared for failure. We talk about:💡 The myths of resilience - and what real strength actually looks like💡 Why asking for help isn’t weakness - it’s survival💡 The long road from business collapse to personal redemptionAnd that’s just the beginning… Lee also shares his insights on neurodiversity in the workplace, the hard-won lessons of discipline and health, and how living with multiple sclerosis has reshaped his approach to ambition, balance, and life itself.If you’ve ever faced failure, questioned your resilience, or wondered how to rebuild after everything falls apart - this episode is for you.🎧 Tune in now.👉 Want more from Lee? Follow him on Extrology, or on substack to listen to over 200 fascinating episodes of his podcast series - exploring the extraordinary in people.💬 What resonated with you in this episode? Drop your thoughts in the comments!📩 Enjoying the podcast? Hit subscribe so you never miss an episode.👍 Like, share, and spread the word - because resilience is a journey best shared.Thanks for listening to Life's Lessons Unpacked! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit msmallwood.substack.com

Curiosity is a dangerous thing …(If you haven’t yet read Part 1 of this horror story - STOP - Read Part One Here)Like catching a whiff of smoke in the air but seeing no fire, I sensed something wasn’t quite right. I just wasn’t able to figure out where the problem lay.Naturally, rather than walking away, I did what any self-respecting over thinker would do - I leaned in, determined to solve the puzzle. And, armed with all the intellectual conceit that a public school education bestows upon a man, I was quite certain I was up to the task.Truly, hubris is a terrible thing!A week into our increasingly intense phone calls, driven by her compulsive need to communicate, she announced that she wanted to come and visit me. I agreed, somewhat flattered, somewhat apprehensive, and completely unaware of what I was about to unleash upon my otherwise peaceful existence.The plan was simple enough: she’d take the train down that Friday evening and stay for the weekend. I asked about her arrangements for her daughter and made it clear they were both welcome - (not my preference, but I felt I should offer).She told me her daughter was staying with a friend so she would come on her own. Everything seemed settled.The day before, I got a panicked call - her boss hadn’t paid her on time, and she’d have to cancel. She was sorry.Disappointed, I simply bought her a ticket and sent her the link to use it. Crisis averted.I told my friend “P” - she rolled her eyes and told me I was an idiot. I proved it by telling her I wanted to give my new GF the benefit of the doubt!Then, on the day of her arrival, another change of plans. She suddenly couldn’t make the earlier train because of work and would now be arriving closer to 9:00pm. Again, fine. These things happen.I received a fetching selfie of her, already seated on the train, looking effortlessly elegant as ever. All good. I thought I’d check the journey status - just to be sure. And that’s when my heart sank.The railway line between Southampton and my hometown was due to be closed from 8:00pm until 6:00am for engineering works. Of course it was - because why wouldn’t it be? Clearly, fate wasn’t just nudging me - it was all but grabbing me by the lapels and screaming, 'Call it off!'Still, I had a car. No problem. I’d drive to Southampton, pick her up, and bring her back. A 35-minute journey, so I gave myself an hour, just to be safe. Sorted.Except…About ten minutes into the drive, I saw the first set of flashing signs. Motorway closed. Repairs between 8:00pm and 6:00am.“Bollocks!” The words echoed around the car - I’d practically shouted them.At this point, the universe had moved beyond subtle hints and was now actively waving red flags in my face. And yet, for reasons not entirely linked to being horny (though, let’s be honest, not entirely unlinked either), I chose to ignore them.With my planned route now resembling the kind of drunken stagger home you attempt two hours and four drinks later than you should have, I had to think fast. Fortunately, I knew the New Forest well - I’d cycled its winding roads for years. I could take an alternative route, though it was far from ideal. Narrow country lanes, no street lighting, and a high probability of a deer launching itself suicidally into my path. Still, it was the only option remaining.I pulled over briefly to send a frantic text:And no response. Brilliant. There was nothing left to do but drive.And so began one of the most chaotic cross-country dashes of my life.Rain drizzled against the windscreen as I weaved through roads better suited to a daytime rally - ideally in a Subaru Impreza, not my sluggish, underpowered, two-wheel-drive automatic, which handled with all the grace of a shopping trolley with a wonky wheel and a death wish.Every shadow in the trees felt like it could be a deer. Every twist in the lane felt like a potential disaster. Meanwhile, the clock was ticking, and my date - who already seemed prone to bouts of mysterious irritation - would be waiting - in the dark at a deserted train station - hardly the ideal start to a romantic weekend in the country!By the time I finally pulled into Southampton station, I was twenty minutes late, slightly traumatised, and very relieved I hadn’t ended up in a ditch.She, however, did not seem anywhere near as relieved!The term ‘Russian widow’ leapt unbidden into my mind…I suddenly remembered our talk in Battersea Park - just a week previously, “No, I’m not divorced. I’m widowed. My husband was killed by the FSB.”Even though she didn’t seem to have much in the way of facial expressions or empathy in that moment - and yet, I still felt sorry for her.A revelation struggled at the edge of my consciousness - one I wasn’t quite ready to face. A difficult mother. Love that always felt conditional. The quiet, lifelong instinct to appease, to understand, to fix.And now, this Russian.Her hand placed without warning on my upper thigh, pulling me back into the present. The previous thoughts slipped away before I could fully grasp them.I looked up and met her gaze - her expression transformed. She was suddenly smiling.She held my gaze for a moment longer than felt natural, her smile lingering, eyes unreadable. Then, just as suddenly, she exhaled, relaxed into the seat, and her hand crept a little higher up my thigh."You came through for me," she murmured, squeezing her hand - like a cat kneading its paws into you while purring.I hesitated. There was something about the way she said it - like I’d just completed a test I hadn’t realised I was taking."Well," I said lightly, "of course I did! I’m just sorry I couldn’t be there before your train arrived."She tilted her head, amused, as if I were missing the point entirely.The tension from earlier dissolved. By the time we reached my place, she was laughing at my jokes, stroking my arm, and giving me the kind of lingering glances that suggested the night wasn’t over.She stepped inside, kicked off her trainers, and disappeared into the bathroom to shower. I busied myself in the kitchen, throwing together a light snack and mentally debriefing the absolute circus of the evening.Then she reappeared.Fresh from the shower, wrapped from the waist down in nothing but a towel - her chest was bare - because of course it was!All thought of a late supper evaporated from my mind.She padded across the room, almost on tip toe, with the kind of slow, deliberate grace that made it clear: this was a performance.It felt like an upmarket cabaret at the Moulin Rouge - except the stage, the spotlight, and the entire performance were for an audience of one.Before I could react, she was on me. The towel, as if obeying some unseen cue, slipped free in the movement.Here’s the thing - when I say she was enthusiastic, I don’t mean in the way new lovers sometimes are. This wasn’t passion - it was force of will.She moved with intent. Not seeking connection, not lost in the moment, but driving toward a very specific outcome.And that outcome, it seemed, was me losing control and arriving rapidly at a destination!Now, this is where we ran into a problem.Because, unbeknownst to her, I have ADHD. My brain rarely, if ever, switched off. It doesn’t melt into sensation or lose itself in some fevered, cinematic climax.It narrates. It observes. It critiques. It wonders if we need more milk in the morning, for breakfast.And if her strategy relied on overwhelming me into submission - on making me dissolve into the experience, compliant and adoring - it wasn’t working.Looking back, I realise now: she must have been used to manipulating men with her body.The problem? I’ve recognised over decades - I’m far from ‘typical’.So while she chased the moment, I remained stuck inside my own head - a detached spectator, quietly watching her cycle through what was, objectively speaking, an impressive sexual repertoire, all in the name of ensuring my seduction.And at some point - long past the hour of good decisions - she gave up out of sheer exhaustion, while I lay there in blessed relief that my appendage was still attached and not completely broken. We finally collapsed into sleep.She curled into me like a woman securing a prize, her body wrapped around mine, possessive.I lay awake for a while, staring at the ceiling, my mind still ticking over.Had I been able to quiet it - had I been able to step outside myself and really see - I might have realised this wasn’t about intimacy.It was about control.Instead, I was left marvelling at the sheer energy she’d put into ‘giving me a good time’ - as if pleasure could be achieved through sheer force of will.I know. Idiot, right?I woke to the distinct sensation of being observed.Not just glanced at. Not the drowsy, affectionate gaze of a lover waking beside you.No - full-on, unwavering, eyes-wide-open staring. And worse - her face was less than twelve inches from mine.Far too close. Way too intense.I’m sure the intention was to be passionate, intimate even.Instead, I found it unsettling.And as my brain clawed its way to consciousness, I became aware of something else.Her hand.Working me awake.Quite literally. Very insistently!It seemed that, after a brief intermission, we were set to repeat the entire performance - all before breakfast.Because, clearly, in her opinion, the night’s exertions hadn’t yet sealed the deal.The rest of the weekend followed a strange and relentless rhythm.Shoot. Shag. Eat. Repeat.Let me explain.I took her to my local shooting range - it’s a hobby I enjoy.Somehow this lesson in firing a rifle safely and effectively turned, as we were leaving, into an impromptu woodland tryst - because apparently, the thought of a sniper rifle in my hands had awakened something deeply primal in her.Later in the day, a trip to the beach seemed less about enjoying the sea air and more about seeing how much she could get away with under a towel before an elderly dog-walker called the police.Back home? Same story.By Sunday afternoon, I was thoroughly exhausted and

From Survival to Strength: What happens when childhood ends too soon? When the safety net of stability is replaced with the weight of responsibility?👉🏻 Amy Tanner didn’t grow up famous… 👉🏻 Nor did she set out to inspire others… 🎯 Yet her story is one that will resonate deeply! Growing up in a home shaped by a parent’s addiction and another’s serious illness, Amy learned early how to navigate chaos, find strength in uncertainty, and shoulder responsibilities far beyond her years.In this conversation, we unravel what resilience really looks like - not as a buzzword, but as a lived experience. We talk about the silent burdens carried through life, the power (and pitfalls) of self-reliance, and why so many who learn to endure - struggle to accept kindness in return. From childhood gymnastic disappointments (the twisties), to paramedic shifts that tested the limits of human endurance and personal battles with health and heartbreak, Amy’s insights go beyond inspiration - they offer a roadmap for anyone looking to turn their toughest moments into their greatest strengths.If you’ve ever wondered why some people break and others bend, this episode is for you.Tune in, reflect, and maybe even rethink your own definition of resilience.👉 "Want to hear more from Amy? Follow her on Instagram at @amytanner93 for more insights, humour, and everyday resilience in action! This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit msmallwood.substack.com

Every Story Has To Start Somewhere …You know those classic old films that start so smoothly - lulling you into a sense of security, where nothing could possibly go wrong? So does this story. It begins with a fetching blonde in her 40s, living in London. She had that Slavic bone structure - you know the one - model looks. Effortlessly glamorous and gliding through life, as if perpetually lit by soft focus.But it wasn’t just her looks.She had this knack for pulling you into her orbit - sharp, funny, intriguing. The kind of woman who makes you momentarily forget all your well-rehearsed cynicism about the “Munted Shitshow” that is online dating in your middle years.And then came the musicFor the first time since my teenage years, someone sent me a track to listen to. The band had a complex, unpronounceable name I won’t pretend to remember. But it wasn’t really about the song.The whole thing felt like a time machine, flinging me back to the days when relationships began with awkward mixtapes and overanalysed lyrics. Back then, every cassette track was a declaration of something or other!Include too much of The Smiths, and you’d be pegged as a tragic manic depressive. Add more than one upbeat Bronski Beat track, and it was assumed you were gay. The stakes always felt sky-high.Her sending me music felt like a deliberate callback to those simpler, more earnest teenage days of courtship, and I’ll admit - it was delightfully charming.That said, there was one odd note in our conversations.Twice, she asked me if I was a “serious man.”I had no idea what this meant. Was I being auditioned for the starring role in some Jane Austen-inspired romance? A brooding, rain-soaked Mr Darcy, perhaps? Or maybe a dependable Colonel Brandon - steady, considerate, quietly heroic.Either way, I wasn’t sure what she was after, but I’m British and unfailingly polite, so I answered “yes” both times and hoped for the best.Killed by the FSBA week or so passed and we agreed we’d like to meet in person.I drove up to London, both nervous and quietly optimistic. She’d told me she was staying in a Knightsbridge apartment owned by her employer. Swanky, I thought. I imagined sleek, minimalist interiors and sweeping city views.When I arrived, the flat was nice enough, but something caught my attention: the faint presence of a child. I didn’t see her daughter, but I spotted the tip of a head peeking over the far side of a bed. There was an awkward moment where I debated whether to acknowledge this, but she seemed unbothered, so I followed suit.After a few minutes of pleasantries, we headed out for a walk in Battersea Park.It was a warm day, and the conversation flowed easily, ranging from the mundane to the personal. I started thinking I might have actually found someone with depth.Then, halfway through, I asked, innocently enough, “What brought you to the UK? And had you been divorced for long?”She turned to me, calm as you like, and said, “No, I’m not divorced. I’m widowed. My husband was killed by the FSB.”That caught my attention.My immediate thought was: What the fuck, hell does one do to earn assassination by the Russian state?Then I remembered - they’re homicidal maniacs, operating like some demented mafia hit squad. Had I stumbled into a tragic story of wrongful death? Or was I inadvertently courting the widow of a Bond villain?Of course, I kept these thoughts to myself. One does not like to call a woman a liar - especially not on a first date. Instead, I nodded solemnly and muttered, “That sounds... difficult.”The Naked TruthWhen we returned to her flat, her daughter was gone. I asked, but she said she’d gone to a friend’s house.I told her how much I’d enjoyed our time together and asked if I could use the loo before starting the two-hour drive home. She waved me toward the bathroom.Simple enough, right?But when I stepped out a few minutes later, something unexpected awaited me.She was standing at the bedroom door. Stark naked.And let me clarify: this wasn’t subtle naked. There was no artful draping of a sheet or strategically placed houseplant. It was full-on, confident, unapologetic ‘Bumps and Bush’ on display nudity.To her credit, she looked incredible.She walked up to me, planted a rather forceful kiss on my lips, and started pulling me toward the bedroom.Now, I know what you’re thinking - dream scenario, right?Well, here’s the thing: I’d already decided I didn’t want a casual bunk-up on the first date. I actually liked her. I thought there might be something real here, and I didn’t want to muck it up by diving into bed too soon.To ensure I wouldn’t be led astray, I’d, erm, taken matters into my own hands that morning. Twice, actually… Just to be safe!As I soon discovered, this had left me with a rather unfortunate issue.While my mind and body were mostly on board, a very specific part of me had absolutely no inclination to cooperate.She noticed. With a raised brow and a hint of irritation, she asked, “Don’t you find me attractive?”I considered making something up, but nothing believable came to mind. So I came clean (No pun intended).“It’s not that,” I blurted. “It’s just... I, uh, had a couple of solo moments earlier. I didn’t want to... rush things.”To her credit, she didn’t burst out laughing. Instead, there was a flicker of surprise, followed by what I can only describe as a very British sense of awkward amusement - like we’d both realised we were in the middle of a moment too absurd to address directly, so politeness would have to prevail.“Well,” she said, with the kind of casual bluntness that only a Russian could deliver, “that’s... Unusual!”Her directness hung in the air, stark and unapologetic, while I scrambled for some semblance of dignity. Decades of British conditioning - public school in the 70s and 80s, stiff upper lips, and all that - had not prepared me for this. In my world, awkward silences were filled with small talk or, at the very least, an apology for the weather. Hers, it seemed, were filled with unvarnished truths, delivered with the precision of a sniper.I got dressed as quickly as I could, muttered a few apologies that were probably more embarrassing than the situation itself, and made my exit.The drive home passed without incident, and the next morning, I texted my best female friend, “P.” I gave her a sanitised version of events - leaving out the personal precautions I’d taken to ensure my ardour didn’t run amok. (We’re great mates, but even the best of friends need to have limits when it comes to TMI.)P’s response was blunt: “She sounds completely nuts. Run the other way.”The logical and grown up part of my brain recognised this for what it was - sage advice from a good friend.But, like a hapless teenager in every horror film ever made, I ignored it. Instead, I blithely wandered toward the homicidal maniac clutching a 12-inch knife tucked into their waistband.Shortly after this, my delightful Russian girlfriend and I began our daily calls.At first, they were charming - a welcome addition to my otherwise unremarkable evenings. She had a knack for making you feel needed, weaving anecdotes about her life into conversations that stretched well past midnight. I found myself looking forward to her calls, even if I occasionally wondered how she managed to have so much free time while raising a child.But there was a rhythm to these calls, a peculiar insistence. I wasn’t just a person she was getting to know; I was her lifeline.Having been raised by a woman who mastered the art of offering conditional love, I’ll admit - I liked feeling needed. It felt good.Still, there was a niggling doubt hovering just beneath the surface of conscious thought. I pride myself on my wit, my sharp mind, and my finely tuned antenna for skulduggery. But when it comes to women I’m romantically entwined with, that antenna doesn’t just fail - it switches off entirely.By the end of the first week, though, I couldn’t help but wonder: had my newly minted “serious man” status come with contractual obligations buried deep in the small print?Little did I know, the fine print was about to be written in bold.It All Seemed So PromisingI thought I’d walked away from this date with nothing more than a bizarre story and a few red flags to mull over. But this wasn’t the end - it was just the beginning.There were late-night calls filled with tales so surreal they demanded belief. There was her visit - a whirlwind of intensity, charm, and an insatiable energy that left me questioning whether I’d stumbled into a romance or a fever dream.She had a way of drawing you in, her gaze almost hypnotic, her stories so captivating you forgot how absurd they truly were. By the time I realised just how deep this rabbit hole went, it was already too late.Stay tuned for the next episode of From Russia with Love (Bomb): My Dating Disaster with a Narcissist Part 2. (of 6)The strangest chapters are yet to come.Special thanks to Francis F for cajoling me into sharing this one - life’s been so busy I nearly didn’t bother!What’s Your Worst Online Dating Disaster?Have you ever had a date so disastrous that you immediately wanted to delete every app on your phone?Or maybe an encounter so awkward, it still makes you cringe?Share your stories - or your hard-earned advice - in the comments!Let’s swap tales from the frontlines of modern dating and see if anyone can top this James Bond-meets-Fleabag-style misadventure.(If you’ve enjoyed this read, click the ❤️ button or drop a comment - it really helps keep me motivated to keep sharing my disasters!)Life’s Lessons Unpacked is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and to support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit msmallwood.substack.com

Chaos, ADHD, Motorbike Therapy and Finding BalanceHey folks,Sitting down with Maggie Jon for this conversation felt like two worlds colliding in the best possible way. Maggie is sharp, funny, and refreshingly honest about life’s twists and turns.As someone who also lives with ADHD, I found our discussion on how it shapes and sometimes enhances our lives deeply relatable. From moments of hyperfocus that lead to creative breakthroughs to the chaos that sometimes comes along for the ride, Maggie’s take is as insightful as it is encouraging.We talked about so much more too - how she finds her grounding when life feels unsteady, the moments that have shaped her most, and what vulnerability means to her. (Spoiler: it’s not always pretty, but it’s real.)Maggie’s already shared her side of the story over on her Substack, complete with a video version if you’re curious - or a transcript if, like me, you sometimes need less visual input to focus. You can find it here: Maggie’s SubstackThanks for reading Life's Lessons Unpacked! This post is public so feel free to share it.For my part, I’ve uploaded the audio of our chat right here. And if you’re as blessed as we are with ADHD, maybe you’ll appreciate the video version too - because sometimes watching two people’s energy bounce off each other is half the fun.Click on the image 👇🏼👇🏼👇🏼 to go to the video - (we’ve just started the YouTube channel and will be rapidly expanding our content - please subscribe).Lastly, a word on Maggie: she can’t get paid via Substack because of where she lives (thanks, bureaucracy), so if you find her words as valuable as I do, consider supporting her via Buy Maggie A Coffee. She’s doing incredible work that deserves to be seen - and supported.Thanks for tuning in, and let me know what you think of the episode!Thanks for reading Life's Lessons Unpacked! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit msmallwood.substack.com

It was Joseph Campbell who said,It is by going down into the abyss that we recover the treasures of life. Where you stumble, there lies your treasure.And, God damn it, he was right.Life can be really hard, so we may as well find purpose in the pain.In the autumn of 2019, a year after my divorce, I found myself in an emotional wilderness, adrift and seeking meaning in a life I barely recognised.The end of my marriage was, without question, for the best. Yet internally, I remained torn, caught between relief and a yearning for clarity that felt beyond reach.Some grounding force was needed to make sense of this turmoil, and I could think of no better guide than my step-grandfather, Cyril “Charlie” Roan, the man who’d when I was a boy, had treated me with kindness and patience that seemed boundless.Cyril, an amateur football coach and self-employed window cleaner, had fought with the British Airborne during WWII. Although he wasn’t obliged to take an interest in my well-being, he did so without fail.This man, who leapt out of a Douglas C-47 Dakota into one of the war’s fiercest battles, had never hesitated to answer my questions about his experiences. His honesty and humour softened his memories of war, making the history feel vivid and strangely accessible.To better understand the resilience I needed, I decided to retrace Cyril’s path at Arnhem, hoping his strength might guide me through my own tribulations. Not wanting to travel alone, I invited my two half-brothers.Though we’d spent maybe 40 days together in as many years, this trip offered us a chance to reconnect - not only with our family’s story but with each other.The Journey Begins: Riding into HistoryFrom the moment we crossed the Channel, racing through France and Belgium and into the Netherlands, we were immersed in Cyril’s legacy.After a gruelling eight hour ride, with sore bodies we arrived at the outskirts of Wolfheze, the landing zone where he and countless others descended into the fray.As I stood on that quiet heath, picturing the man who had once leapt from the skies, I felt closer to him than ever. Cyril often joked about joining the paratroopers because “they got paid more,” and if he was to be shot, he might as well be well-compensated. His lightheartedness belied a toughness that resonated deeply.At almost every building, we saw Pegasus flags flying, symbols of the British 1st Airborne Division. The respect of the Dutch for these liberators ran deeper than I could have imagined, embodied by communities still honouring men like Cyril, tending graves and sharing stories across generations.That evening, our host at a small Airbnb in Wolfheze greeted us with a bottle of home-brewed beer and, amusingly, a small bag of weed. (Don’t worry, like several US presidents before me, I didn’t inhale).The gesture, though casual, lifted the mood. Yet, as we drank in the woodlands, the shadow of why we were here - to follow Cyril’s journey - anchored us.Sometimes, it’s all too easy to lose sight of the bigger picture, getting caught up in our own pain and forgetting there's more beyond the immediate suffering. That’s where I found myself - trapped in a cycle of self-pity, disconnected from any narrative larger than my own.Oosterbeek and a Glimpse into the Past: The Airborne MuseumAfter an uncomfortable night, we climbed back onto the bikes and drove to the Airborne Museum in Oosterbeek. Walking through the displays of uniforms, letters, and photographs, the weight of history pressed upon us. And then, there he was - our grandfather, unmistakably captured in a black-and-white photo, leaning against a Bren Gun Carrier, his gaze fixed on the unseen.Seeing his face transported me back to those boyhood days when I peppered him with questions about the war.I remembered asking, in my childish curiosity, if he had ever killed anyone. “Well,” he replied with his usual dry humour, “I shot a lot of bullets, be embarrassing to think I missed with all of them.”The levity in his response revealed his deep humility, deflecting the horrors he had witnessed with a smile that, somehow, softened the past.A Bridge Too Far: The Gravity of John Frost BridgeFrom Oosterbeek, we rode to John Frost Bridge, where British paratroopers fought desperately to hold their ground.Standing there, the scale of the bridge and the intensity of the battle became starkly real. The structure seemed to loom over us, its silent arches bearing witness to the fierce struggle that had unfolded there in 1944.Here was the site of the “bridge too far,” where Montgomery’s ambition had met the brutal limits of reality, and the cost was paid in the lives and blood of thousands of men like my grandfather.Queen Elizabeth Hospital: Echoes of Pain and ResilienceOur final stop was the Queen Elizabeth Hospital, where Cyril was taken after being wounded in battle. Now a set of modern apartments, the building still bore its original facade. I imagined the chaos of the wartime hospital, the frenzied work of medics, and Cyril’s own journey from here to capture and eventual imprisonment.Cyril’s tales of his P.O.W. experience - of multiple escape attempts and harsh conditions - had always amazed me. He spoke of those dark days with a strange levity, his humour as strong as his resolve. I saw now that his survival, both physical and emotional, had demanded a resilience I was only just beginning to grasp.An Extract From Grandfather’s Post-Combat ReportHere, written in our grandfather’s own words as a 22-year-old, is an extract from his post-combat report, dated 15 November 1945, just after his return to the UK:"I was taken prisoner at Arnhem on the 5th October 1944 from the St Elizabeth’s hospital where I was taken after being wounded. From the hospital we were taken to the town of Appeldoorn in N.E. Holland to a Red Cross P.O.W. hospital where we stayed one night. From there we were taken to the railway sidings at the far end of the town and put in box cars.We moved off from the railway sidings at approximately 19:30hrs, by then it was almost sunset, so I decided that this was the best time for an escape. I knew approximately where I was as we had only been an hour coming from Arnhem. I waited until the train was climbing a hill at about 15 to 20 mph and then climbed out of the small window on the far side of the box car. I swung out onto a hand-rail and from there to the bumpers of the cars.The guards were placed in every other box car, there not being one in my own box car. I thought I had pretty good chances of making the bumpers, which I did. I dropped in between the two cars and waited until the train and cars passed over me then proceeded in the direction of Arnhem hoping to meet up with some of our forward troops.I travelled across country for 5 days without seeing anyone but German patrols, I then realised I must be some way out of my course. I had no map or compass so I decided to try a Dutch farm house to get my bearings, they told me I was at a small village called St Edé some 40 miles from Arnhem and told me the Germans were only ten minutes from the village, rather than endanger the people I decided to move on.After travelling a further two days I came to a forest which took me 3 days to get through, whilst travelling through this forest I had no food whatsoever so I decided to stop at the next farm house and try and get some food from the people. On arriving at the next farm house I found that it had been evacuated by the tenants so I pushed on to the next village where I obtained food from the schoolmaster of the village.He told me the nearest way to Arnhem, so I travelled by night until I came to some barbed wire fences. I crossed these and found a small hut about 5 miles from the previous village. I stayed there two and a half days and was sleeping in the hut when I was aroused by a Luftwaffe Patrol.They took me to the H.Q. of the local Luftwaffe. I was put in confined cells until being transported to a town on the borders of Holland and Germany. There I was put into a guarded warehouse for three days.I decided to try and escape from this building. I forced a fanlight protruding inside the warehouse and found a fire escape leading down to the ground. On reaching the ground floor of the warehouse I found the barbed wire too high and wide to cross.I was taken back into the warehouse and transported to Dulag Luft in the Rhine Valley."Closing Reflections: Honouring the Legacy of ResilienceReading my grandfather’s words, unfiltered and raw, gave us all pause. His stark account of escape attempts, capture, and survival painted a picture more vivid than any retelling could. Here, preserved in ink, was a testament to his resilience - a quiet but enduring statement that even under the harshest conditions, the human spirit has a way of holding firm.This journey wasn’t just about tracing the steps of a man we deeply admired. Standing on the fields where he once fought, where others fought alongside him, felt like stepping into a history that lived on, its echoes as strong as the day they sounded. This history was a reminder: resilience is not only for those we deem heroic, but also for those seeking purpose in a world that too often feels chaotic and fragile.The Dutch people’s unwavering respect for the men who fought to liberate them is a testament to a shared resilience -of both the liberators and the liberated. Walking through the towns still flying the Pegasus flag, watching schoolchildren tend the Commonwealth graves, the reverence was palpable. We were humbled, reminded of the profound courage that defined our grandfather’s life.At this point, I thought we’d experienced the trip’s emotional peaks…I was wrong…For years, I’d wanted to visit Auschwitz - a journey inspired by reading Edith Eger’s The Choice, which opened my eyes to resilience in the face of unspeakable hardship.So, after Oosterbeek, we set out again, heading south to Eindhoven, where a flight to Kraków awaited.What lay ahead would test our unders

Why Read On?Dating in your middle years can be a minefield, and if you’re looking for a smooth, effortless experience - well, brace yourself, things are about to get weird. (And for regular readers, consider this your next challenge.)What you’ll get instead is a heady mix of surreal encounters, awkward bombshells, and laugh-out-loud moments that make you wonder if you’ve accidentally wandered onto the set of Meet the Millers.Let me take you on a journey to yet another one of my misadventures - where a seemingly perfect date took a sharp left turn into the twilight zone of career opportunities I never saw coming. In this age of online dating, it’s not just matters of the heart you need to be prepared for; sometimes, your professional CV may need a dust-off as well.The Night it All Seemed Too GoodLaura (not her real name) and I had been chatting online for a while, and everything about her seemed spot on. Witty, attractive, full of energy - she ticked all the right boxes. She hadn’t sent me any unsolicited pictures of her private areas, so I gathered my courage and arranged to meet at a charming country pub.For once, I was feeling oddly optimistic, a rather pleasant feeling in the swampy terrain of midlife dating. The pub itself was postcard-perfect, complete with low wooden beams and a fire crackling away in the hearth. And when she arrived, I was pleasantly surprised to find that I could recognise her from her photos - she hadn’t lied. I’m underselling it, she was stunning.We hit it off immediately - easy conversation, plenty of laughs, even a bit of shared sarcasm about the perils of modern dating. So far, so perfect.But if my dating history has taught me anything, it’s this: If something seems too good to be true, it probably is. Dessert was on the way, and it was about this point where the universe decided it was time to stick its foot out! The Bombshell MomentShe leaned in a little closer, a serious look on her face. The atmosphere shifted, and I braced myself for whatever was coming. "Mark," she said, in that hushed tone people use when they’re about to drop something life-changing, "I like you, so I want to be honest."Immediately, alarm bells rang in my head. I flashed back to that scene in the Crocodile Dundee movie, where Mick realises the beautiful woman he’s eyeing up in the bar is, in fact, a chap in drag - what the hell was she going to say?!Her eyes held mine as she shared her bombshell."I'm a… lady of the night," she said, her voice lowering even further, as if she was telling me she worked for MI6. There it was - a euphemism so carefully wrapped in silk it could have slipped past any listener not paying close attention.Now, I have a long history in fixing my facial features into a mask, no matter what someone drops into the conversation.Before I could even process that information fully, she smiled at me, clearly believing we were still on solid ground. Then she asked, "Have you ever considered… partnering up?"“Partnering up?” I repeated in a tone I hoped made me sound more worldly than I was feeling.I felt my stomach do a strange flip. I wasn’t sure if she was joking, but her smile suggested otherwise. She leaned in even closer, her breath tickling my ear and said, “You’d make a great gigolo.”Wait… What…? Holy Mother of God!One minute, I’m enjoying spotted dick and custard; the next, I’m mentally drafting a resignation letter for my entire life.From Date to Job Interview in One Intake of BreathI could feel my brain trying to catch up, slowly putting the pieces together. She wasn’t just offering me honesty - she was offering me a bloody career pivot!Somehow, I’d gone from an idyllic date in a country pub to being recruited for a whole new line of work. Not exactly the career path I had in mind - before I knew it, I slipped into my trusty dissociation mode.What followed was a blur of polite conversation. At one point, she casually shrugged and said, "Never mind, we can still date if you like. I keep my professional and private life separate."This was about as appealing as a well-worn armchair in a dentist's waiting room - familiar, a bit too used, and certainly not inviting. I nodded where I thought appropriate, mumbled something about being flattered (why, Mark, why?), and eventually declined both of her offers as tactfully as I could.You set out looking for a meaningful connection and end up being offered roles you didn’t even know existed. A date that had started with promise had turned into the strangest career pitch I’ve ever encountered.Lesson Learned?So, what’s the takeaway from this tale of unexpected turns? When you’re back in the dating pool at this age, you never quite know what you’re stepping into. Sure, there’s a chance for romance, but there’s also a chance someone might think you’re the ideal candidate for their side hustle. As for me, next time I sit down for supper on a date, I’ll be sure to clarify early on what kind of partnership we’re talking about. Next time, I'll steer clear of dessert and job offers alike.For those still out there swiping right, take heed: the first date might just be the interview you didn’t see coming.END SCENE.Here are three more strategies for avoiding first-date blunders - the first three can be found here:1. Keep Expectations in Check - It’s Not a Job Interview* Why: Going into a date with a checklist of must-haves can make the whole experience feel more like a job interview than a potential connection. High expectations and rigid standards will suck the spontaneity out of the date, leaving no room for genuine chemistry to unfold.* Tip: Stay open-minded and approach the date with curiosity rather than a mental scorecard. Allow the conversation to flow naturally, and avoid immediately dismissing someone because they don’t tick every box. Connection often develops in unexpected ways.2. Avoid Oversharing - Less Is More* Why: It’s tempting to spill your entire life story in one sitting, especially if nerves kick in, but oversharing can overwhelm your date and make things awkward. Revealing too much personal information too soon can also put pressure on the other person to reciprocate.* Tip: Stick to light, general topics on a first date and keep some of the more personal details for future conversations. Instead of unloading everything at once, focus on sharing bits of your life that invite more questions and curiosity without feeling like a free therapy session!3. Don’t Over-plan - Leave Room for Spontaneity* Why: Trying to micromanage every detail of the date - down to the talking points - can make the experience feel stiff and unnatural. Over planning often leads to disappointment when things inevitably don’t go according to your preconceived ideas.* Tip: Have a general idea of what you’d like to do but stay flexible. Sometimes, the best dates happen when you’re willing to let go of the script and embrace the moment. If something unexpected comes up, lean into it - it could make for a memorable experience!These suggestions aim to foster better connections and more enjoyable first dates by encouraging thoughtful conversation, mutual respect, and considerate honesty.If you’ve enjoyed this story, make sure to subscribe for more updates. Next week, I’ll share another example of 'Mid-life Dating' where, even by my standards, I was shocked by the behaviour! Click here to follow along with my previous misadventures.Have your own bombshell moments from the dating battlefield? I’d love to hear them - share your stories below!Because dating at this age is just the start of the misadventure!(If you’ve enjoyed this read, click the ❤️ button, share with a friend - it really helps me stay motivated to keep sharing these lessons!)Life’s Lessons Unpacked is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and to support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit msmallwood.substack.com

A hilarious online dating misadventure, from misunderstood picnics to surreal bedroom antics and Twilight Zone-style twists. Packed with humour and dating advice!Why Read On?If you’ve ever ventured into the strange world of online dating, you’ll know how quickly a simple first meeting can turn into a confusing misadventure.This tale of misunderstood picnics, unexpected bedroom antics, and even a bizarre "Fatal Attraction"-style twist will have you laughing, cringing, and maybe even questioning your own dating history.Packed with humour, cautionary advice, and the oddities of post-lockdown dating, this is a story that proves – no matter how strange your own experiences, someone’s probably got you beat!From Thought to Deed: Reality Bites (Literally)After months of lockdown-induced solitude, trapped in the four walls of my home, with only the company of Netflix, Disney, Apple TV, Prime Video and several hundred books, the idea of human interaction became oddly compelling.So, in a moment of weakness (and boredom), I reactivated a dating app that rhymes with Cinder.You know the one.As luck would have it, I connected with someone who seemed promising – decent photos, decent chat, and a shared fondness for the beach.We agreed to meet for a socially-distanced stroll by the sea.Perfect, right?Except, as someone whose brain is wired a little differently (apparently I’m neurodiverse, I like to think that makes me normal), I realised the time we’d set to meet clashed horribly with when I would need to eat!Not wanting to become that ‘H-ANGRY GUY’, I packed a few M&S goodies in a cold bag.Problem solved.When we met, it started smoothly enough. We perched on a deserted lifeguard tower and made small talk about the usual – lockdown, toilet paper shortages, and whether Dominic Cummings really could see that optician from his driveway (That’s a 🇬🇧 cultural reference for my international readers - sorry 🤷🏼‍♂️).Feeling the rumble of hunger, I whipped out my snacks.Unbeknownst to me, this impromptu picnic – meant purely for survival – was taken as a gesture of great intent.You’d think I was proposing right there on the seafront. In hindsight, maybe the carrot sticks and hummus was a step too far?As the sun began to dip, we agreed we’d had a lovely time and ambled back to our cars, which by some odd quirk of happenstance were parked next to each other.We lingered over saying goodbye and she suggested we continue the conversation in her car, which seemed innocent enough and suited the mood.Somehow, as these things do, I ended up inviting her back for coffee.Well, to be fair, I didn’t intend to…It was more of an automatic social reflex – I say things out of habit, not intention.What I hadn’t expected was for her to say “Sure!”So, having had my bluff called, she followed me home.From Beach Bliss to Bedroom ShockAs she sat on the sofa, I offered her a glass of wine, and as I handed it over, she casually placed her hand on my crotch.Not in a vague, accidental way (is there such a thing) – no, this was an “IMMEDIATE ACTION REQUIRED” situation.Picture a ferret digging furiously in a bag of crisps.I tried to ignore it, but with the sheer insistency, that proved impossible.One thing led to another, and soon enough, we were in my bedroom, where things took a rather surprising turn.Without getting into too much graphic detail, let’s use an analogy: have you ever seen that episode of ‘All Creatures Great And Small?’ - the one where the vet has to manually deliver a calf?Yes?Well, it was ‘THAT’ kind of involvement.I wasn’t exactly thrilled, but as they say, “In for a penny, in for a pound.”Before I knew it, she had, shall we say, arrived at her destination. This was quickly followed by what I can only assume was an unfortunate accident on my bedding!To my horror, it appeared she’d, well there is no easy way to say this … wet herself.I sat there in shock as she nonchalantly went for a shower, leaving me staring at the wet patch like it was about to jump up and attack me!As soon as she’d left and the door closed behind her, I moved faster than I thought possible, stripping the bed with an urgency usually reserved for emergencies.Every sheet, every pillowcase and the duvet - into the wash they went, as if this could somehow erase what had just happened.The lingering smell didn’t help. As I scrubbed furiously, I couldn’t but wonder how I’d gone from a pleasant beach chat to cleaning bedding in the dark, trying to erase the night from both my sheets and my mind.One moment, we’re strolling by the sea; the next, I’m doing the laundry like my life depends on it.By now, regular readers won’t be surprised to hear that, despite the chaos, I still thought another date was a good idea.Get over it – I really am that unattuned to the nuances of dating communication!So, despite this horrific notorious ‘memorable’ evening, I went ahead and made plans to meet again…However, things took an odd turn when I called her a couple of days later.She answered the video call and, within 10 seconds… handed the phone to her 12-year-old daughter.Yes, she really did that – mid-conversation.I immediately did what any self-respecting adult would do: I hung up.Then, because I’m me, I texted to apologise – as if I somehow had to take responsibility for the awkwardness.I didn’t call…Instead, I spent a sleepless night wondering who would willingly put their child on a video call with a practical stranger – regardless of the unexpected intimacy between us a few days earlier!By the next day, I couldn’t shake the weirdness.I decided to call it off, explaining that I just couldn’t get past the child-on-the-phone incident, but I tried to be polite, saying it was my issue, not hers.She seemed to take it well enough – or so I thought…!That evening, watching TV while sitting quietly in my darkened living room, with the curtains firmly shut, my phone rang.It was her. Not in the mood to deal with more awkwardness, I ignored it.Ten minutes later, a text came through:The image of Glenn Close’s bunny stew from Fatal Attraction popped into my head - 1987 might have been a long time ago, but it left a lasting impression!I sat in horrified silence for over an hour, too scared to check (or even twitch the curtains) what that ‘SOMETHING’ might be.Eventually, summoning some courage, I carefully ‘ninja’d’ myself outside - expecting to find a 🪓🐰🩸.To be fair it turned out to be a bunch of flowers and a bottle of alcohol!Not at all as threatening, but still … decidedly odd.Not knowing what to do with the flowers, I knocked on the door of my neighbours house and passed them off.As for the whiskey, well, I suddenly realised my cupboard was looking a little bare so … it got opened to help me get through the rest of the evening!No happy ending (no pun intended)After that rather surreal first date – the next chapter of this dating disaster, wasn’t any improvement.So, after a picnic, the unexpected bedroom antics, and the mysterious gifts on my doorstep – I decided to take a step back.I texted her, thanking her for her gifts but mentioned I was visiting family over the weekend but would call on Monday.Basically, I had no idea what to say.When Monday arrived, I steeled myself and called her as promised.The conversation was polite enough, but my mind hadn’t changed.We hung up, and I felt that uneasy relief you get after navigating something awkward.Thank Heavens that was over … I poured a whiskey and raised the glass to her.I relaxed.But just ten minutes later, my phone buzzed with the first of several Twilight Zone-style texts.I froze. That sounded like a threat!However, it was as nothing to what arrived next:What - The - Actual - F**k!Panic shot through me.My stomach dropped. Suddenly, I was back in Alice in Wonderland territory.In desperation, I rang my solicitor friend, who, after hearing my tale, promptly erupted into laughter (he’s always been supportive, obviously).“It’s no laughing matter!” I protested, as visions of police knocking at my door began dancing through my head.Once he’d stopped chuckling, he advised me to screenshot all our previous messages – the normal ones and the crazy ones – and send them to him. Which I did, every… last …embarrassing… suggestive … word.About 20 minutes later, he called back, still amused.“You’ve got nothing to worry about, Mark,” he assured me. “If anything, she’d get arrested for wasting police time. Her messages were more forward than a high-speed train.”That was cold comfort in the middle of this mad experience, but it did help calm my nerves a bit.Still, I couldn’t shake the sense of unease that lingered.Time crawled past and nothing else happened - I began to relax.Then, about four weeks later, the final surprise arrived in the form of an 18-page handwritten letter.An apology, apparently.She’d been ‘under pressure at work’ and ‘wasn’t in the right headspace during our date’.I made it through two pages before the sheer absurdity of it all hit me. Whatever pressures she’d been under, they didn’t excuse her threatening behaviour.The whole thing felt as hollow as a chocolate Easter egg.Another attempt at dating, another strikeout. And while I’d love to say it didn’t faze me, the truth is, it left me a bit shaken. Still, if there’s one thing I took away from this bizarre experience, it’s that I’ll think twice before packing a picnic next time.At least I walked away with some valuable lessons...Three Takeaways for the Cautious Dater:* Set Boundaries Early: If something doesn’t feel right – whether it’s a date’s behaviour or the general vibe – listen to your gut. You’re allowed to say no, walk away, and protect your space, especially when someone’s behaviour crosses a line.* Just Because Things Heat Up… it doesn’t mean you have to follow through: It’s easy to get caught up in the moment, especially if you’re naturally polite (like me). But always remember, you’re in control - if something doesn’t feel right, you can (and should) hit pause.* Know When to Walk Away: Dates

Feeling disconnected or overwhelmed?Discover how writing helped me rebuild emotional resilience after divorce and caregiving, and learn how you can apply these strategies to your own life.Facing Emotional Disconnection After DivorceIn 2018, my second marriage formally ended, though in reality, it had been dying a slow death for years.My daughter was 12 at the time, and like many parents going through divorce, I was left feeling unmoored - emotionally adrift in ways I hadn’t anticipated.Though I had always been a present father—protecting, providing, coaching—the divorce created an air gap between us, a distance that wasn’t just physical but deeply emotional.I was left with a deep sense of disconnection, both from my own feelings and the life I had known.Disassociation had been part of my survival toolkit for as long as I could remember. Growing up, it helped me navigate life’s difficulties by keeping me emotionally removed, safe, allowing me to function in high-pressure situations. But now, that same disconnection became a hindrance, holding me back from fully processing what I was going through.I ventured into dating after the divorce, but each experience felt more like a series of small disasters than genuine connections. In hindsight, these experiences were not just dating misadventures - they were symptoms of deeper emotional detachment, a reflection of how unready I was to connect while still feeling lost within myself.Reconnecting Through Fatherhood and CaregivingBy 2020, two years after the divorce, my then 14-year-old daughter came to live with me full time. It was a pivotal moment, one that gave me immense joy but also brought new responsibilities. The emotional gap created by the divorce still lingered, and now, as I took on the primary role of raising her, I knew I had to find a way to reconnect - not only with her but with myself.Though I wasn’t raising her alone - her mother remained involved, and we each brought our different strengths to her upbringing - the challenge for me was mainly emotional. I had to rebuild our relationship from the ground up, but the emotional distance I had cultivated in every other area of my life, for decades, was now getting in the way.At the same time, my son - then 21 and out in the world, carving his own path - was navigating adulthood. While my role as a father to him has changed as he became a man, the lessons of connection, presence, and emotional resilience remained just as important. Being a father to both my children has taught me that every stage of parenting brings its own challenges and opportunities for growth.Meanwhile, my mother’s Alzheimer's was worsening. What started as a manageable caregiving commitment of a few hours a week, grew until it took up over 30 hours a week. Balancing these responsibilities made me feel as though I was constantly on the verge of burnout, and my ability to maintain the coaching practice I had built over two decades started slipping through my fingers.Occasionally, I tried stepping back into the dating pool, but each time, it felt like a pointless exercise - something I couldn’t afford emotionally or time-wise. I was spread too thin.Writing as a Lifeline and Tool for GrowthAmid this whirlwind of responsibility, writing became my lifeline. What started as a way to process the weight of caregiving, parenthood, and the demands of life quickly turned into something more. Writing allowed me to explore my own emotional resilience and begin reconnecting with the feelings I had kept at a distance for so long.I also found humour in the absurdity of my dating disasters, which became a way to reflect on my emotional detachment. Each experience offered lessons - not only about dating but about how to navigate emotional growth and the challenges of rebuilding meaningful connections. Writing became a bridge, helping me both laugh at my missteps and learn from them.Life Lessons for Emotional GrowthThrough LIFE’S LESSONS UNPACKED, I share the insights I’ve gained from my journey through parenthood, personal disconnection, and emotional resilience. Whether you’re facing major life transitions or struggling with your own emotional distance, I aim to help others find clarity and meaning through writing, reflection, and humour.You’ll find:* Personal stories: of navigating emotional detachment, the complexities of being a parent, and the challenges of reconnection after divorce.* Humorous reflections: on dating misadventures and how they helped me explore emotional growth.* Practical insights: from my 20 years as a coach, offering strategies for building emotional resilience and strengthening relationships—both with others and with yourself.Whether you’re seeking guidance on how to reconnect with your emotions, looking for ways to build emotional resilience, or simply need a moment of humour as you navigate your own journey, this newsletter offers thoughtful, honest reflections on life’s lessons.Authority as a Coach, Father, and Fledgling AuthorWith more than 20 years of coaching experience, I’ve guided over a 1,000 individuals through their own challenges, helping them build resilience, reconnect with their emotions, and navigate life’s transitions.I’m not just a coach; I’m someone who has lived through these experiences - childhood trauma, two divorces, fatherhood, caregiving, and the emotional complexities that come with them all.I’m also about to launch my first book:Empower Her: Strategies for Fathers to Help Raise Strong, Independent Narcissist Proof Daughters In which, I share practical strategies for empowering young women (and young men) in a world filled with challenges. My coaching, writing, and personal journey have all converged to help others navigate their own paths with strength and emotional clarity.Join a Community of Growth and ConnectionThis newsletter is for anyone who, like me, has navigated emotional disconnection, being a fully present parent, and life’s unexpected challenges.Whether you’re balancing personal and professional responsibilities, working to rebuild relationships, or simply trying to reconnect with yourself, Life’s Lessons Unpacked offers a space to explore those challenges through stories, insights, and reflections.By subscribing, you’ll join a community of people seeking emotional resilience, personal growth, and clarity in the face of life’s transitions. We’ll learn, reflect, and grow together.Subscribe for Free and Start Building Your Emotional ResilienceI invite you to join me on this journey of emotional growth, reflection, and humour. When you subscribe to Life’s Lessons Unpacked, you’ll gain insights that will help you navigate life’s complexities - whether you’re rebuilding after a major life change, working through disconnection, or seeking to find clarity and purpose amid the chaos.By subscribing, you’ll receive:* Practical strategies for developing emotional resilience and reconnecting with yourself.* Real-life stories and humorous reflections that explore the ups and downs of navigating relationships, parenthood, and personal growth.* Actionable insights from my 20 years of coaching experience, designed to help you thrive during life’s most challenging moments.3 Actionable Strategies to Get You Started:Here are three real-world strategies that helped me navigate emotional disconnection and regain control over my life.Try them out and see what they open up for you:.* JOURNAL FOR CLARITY:Don’t disappear up your own arse overthink it.Grab a notebook, set a timer for 10 minutes, and jot down whatever’s on your mind - no filters, no edits! Clear the clutter from your head. As you review, you’ll start noticing patterns and emotions you didn’t realise were there. Clarity comes when you stop striving for perfection.* CHECK IN WITH YOURSELF:Every day, take two minutes to ask, “What am I really feeling right now?” Acknowledge feelings like frustration or stress early to prevent emotional overload. Stay in tune with yourself before life takes over.* ACTION BEATS OVERTHINKING:Thinking is useful, but action solves most problems. Don’t wait for the perfect moment - dive in and get moving. Whether it’s tackling a task or having a tough conversation, the first step is usually the hardest. Get in motion, and the rest will follow.Take the first step in transforming how you navigate life’s challenges. What strategies have you used to build emotional resilience? How do you stay grounded in difficult times? I’d love to hear your thoughts - share your experiences in the comments below.Subscribe now for free and start receiving weekly reflections and strategies that will empower you to live with more clarity, resilience, and emotional strength.Start your journey today(If you’ve enjoyed this read, click the ❤️ button, share with a friend, or share your experiences - it really helps me stay motivated to keep scribing these lessons!)Life’s Lessons Unpacked is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and to support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit msmallwood.substack.com

Striving for Success- What You Need to Know About the Hidden Costs of ExcellenceMark Smallwood shares insights into the hidden costs of perfectionism, drawing from his experience as a manager in the 1990s. He recalls a launch party where his relentless pursuit of perfection led his team to work for 14.5 hours, resulting in harsh feedback comparing him to a Nazi guard. Mark reflects on a pivotal lesson from his boss: relentless perfectionism can alienate your team and harm morale. He urges leaders to understand the context of their actions and the impact on others. Mark highlights the importance of balance in leadership and invites listeners to share their own experiences with perfectionism and its challenges.Transcripthttps://otter.ai/u/O82zKuRIgVRoUrckDQhKs-ItHDk?view=transcriptAction Items* Be mindful of how one's perfectionism may negatively impact others or cause burnout.* Consider people's need for breaks and balance when striving for excellence. Account for context and differing needs/perspectives.* Learn from mistakes like not discussing plans with the whole team or acknowledging others' limits. Prioritise communication and understanding different viewpoints.OutlineThe Drive for Perfection: A Personal Story* Mark Smallwood introduces the podcast episode, focusing on the hidden costs of seeking perfection, inspired by Maggie Jon's podcast - Why Your Obsessive Ass Needs Fake Trust.* Mark shares a personal story from the mid-1990s 😎 when he was working for a privately owned bar group and was appointed as an assistant manager of a flagship bar unit in SoHo, London.* The day of the launch party arrives, and the team spends the whole day preparing, with the party starting at 6 PM and ending around 11 PM.* After the party, Mark decides to clean down and set up for the next day, working for an extra two hours with his team, while the floor team chooses to rest.The Consequences of Perfectionism* The following day, there is a team meeting with the director of all the bars, where Mark expresses pride in the team's efforts and invites feedback.* A team member compares Mark to a Nazi guard at a ☠️ camp, which leads to laughter but also a reality check from Mark's boss.* Mark's boss explains that his relentless drive for perfection will make people hate him if he doesn't allow them to take breaks.* Mark reflects on the importance of understanding context and the consequences of his actions on others, emphasising the need to balance perfectionism with team well-being.Reflecting on the Lesson Learned* Mark acknowledges that his neurodiversity played a role in his drive for perfection and the difficulty in understanding others' needs for rest.* He shares that he initially saw the team's rest as laziness and felt justified in his approach, but learned that it was a mistake.* Mark emphasises the importance of considering others' feelings and needs in leadership roles.* He concludes by sharing his busy schedule, including writing his first book and working on multiple film plays and other books, and encourages listeners to share their own experiences and subscribe to the podcast. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit msmallwood.substack.com

Episode Title:How to Feel More Connected: Navigating Belonging and Cultural Differences in Today’s WorldEpisode Summary:In this episode of Life's Lessons Unpacked, we dive deep into the complex world of belonging and cultural differences. Join me as I share a personal story from my boarding school days, where a simple cultural misunderstanding taught me profound lessons about connection, personal space, and the importance of understanding the unspoken rules of different cultures.We’ll explore how these early experiences shaped my understanding of belonging and how you can apply these lessons to your own life. Whether you’re struggling to feel connected in a new environment or looking to deepen your relationships, this episode offers practical insights and strategies to help you navigate these challenges with confidence.Key Takeaways:Understanding Cultural Differences: Learn how cultural norms can shape our perceptions of personal space and connection, and how to navigate these differences in your relationships.The Importance of Belonging: Discover why feeling connected is essential for your well-being and how you can cultivate a sense of belonging without losing your individuality.Practical Strategies: Get actionable tips on how to build stronger connections, communicate more effectively, and foster a sense of community, even in diverse environments.Reflections on Digital Belonging: Consider how technology is reshaping our sense of connection and whether digital interactions can truly replace face-to-face relationships.Discussion Points:The cultural clash I experienced with a new student at boarding school and the lessons I learned about personal space and belonging.How our cultural backgrounds influence our comfort zones and interactions with others.Strategies for overcoming cultural differences and creating a sense of belonging in any environment.The impact of technology on our sense of connection and whether it helps or hinders our relationships.Questions to Ponder:Have you ever felt out of place due to cultural differences? How did you navigate that situation?What does belonging mean to you, and how do you cultivate it in your life?Do you think digital connections can replace real-life interactions? Why or why not?Call to Action:If this episode resonated with you, please subscribe to Life's Lessons Unpacked and leave a review. Your feedback helps us continue to explore the important lessons life has to offer. Don’t forget to share this episode with someone who might find it helpful, and join the conversation on social media—let’s unpack these lessons together!Thank you for listening to Life's Lessons Unpacked! I appreciate you taking the time to explore these important topics with me. Stay tuned for more episodes where we continue to unpack the lessons life has to offer. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit msmallwood.substack.com

The Absurdity of First Meetings: When Common Decency Takes a BackseatWhy Read On?Before we wade into the murky waters of midlife online dating, here’s a light-hearted warning: Abandon hope all ye who enter here! If you’re stepping into the realm of first dates expecting a smooth journey, prepare for a few bumps - and hopefully a few chuckles - along the way.This isn’t just a tale of romantic mishaps; it’s a reminder that, behind the algorithms and curated profiles, we’re dealing with real, imperfect people. And sometimes, in the rush to find "The One," basic social graces get tossed aside, turning first meetings into perplexing encounters that leave us questioning the whole process.Today, we’re diving into the bizarre world of first dates, especially those spawned by online dating.What is it about this digital approach that leads people to abandon the most basic social norms?In the frantic quest to find a connection, common courtesy often falls by the wayside, leading to encounters that are as - awkward - as they are memorable. I'll share three personal stories that highlight these absurdities and reflect on how this hurried approach can drive away anyone with a bit of self-respect.The Property Portfolio SurpriseHer profile was impressive - a radiant smile, witty text banter, and a confident aura that was impossible to resist. We arranged to meet at a busy chain coffee shop. As she walked in, I was relieved to see that she looked just like her profile - fantastic. We exchanged pleasantries, and after a brief moment of small talk, I went to order the coffees.As I returned to the table, she looked up and, with the casualness of discussing the weather, asked:"So, how many properties do you own?"For a moment, I was completely taken aback. ‘Did I mishear that?’ I thought, as my mind tried to catch up with the unexpected question. It felt like I’d suddenly been dropped into a speed-dating event where the next logical question would be about my credit score. I forced a smile, stalling for time. “I’m sorry, what?”She didn’t miss a beat. “How many properties do you own?” she repeated, as if this was the most natural way to kick off a first meeting.‘Is this really happening?’ I wondered, internally cringing at the abruptness. I managed to gather my thoughts and responded, “That’s an interesting question. Why do you ask?”She sighed, launching into a story about a past relationship with a violent freeloader who had taken advantage of her financially. As she talked, I nodded sympathetically at the appropriate moments, but my mind was racing. ‘This is where we’re starting?’ I couldn’t shake the discomfort. Once she finished, I gently asked, “Do you think it’s appropriate to start a conversation this way?”She looked genuinely puzzled. “Well, I just want to make sure I don’t end up in the same situation again.”I offered her a polite smile and said, “I’m sorry to hear you’ve been in that situation; it sounds difficult. But it wasn’t me who did that, and I can already tell we’re not suited, so I won’t waste your time. I wish you well.”The confusion in her eyes told me everything I needed to know. I got up, left her to her coffee and, presumably, her property portfolio checklist. As I walked away, I couldn’t help but reflect, When did common decency get replaced with such blunt pragmatism?The Marriage UltimatumAbout a month later, another striking profile caught my eye - beautiful, with a warm smile and a stated desire for "the big romance." The vague allure of her profile intrigued me, so we agreed to meet. We exchanged pleasantries, and as we stood in the queue, we chatted light-heartedly about favourite coffees and films. But as soon as we sat down, she leaned in, her expression turning serious, and asked, “Can I ask you a personal question?”Every man knows this is a minefield. With a sinking feeling, I nodded, bracing myself.“Do you see yourself getting married again?”The shock must have been evident on my face as I blurted out, “To you? We’ve just met!”Realising how blunt that sounded, I quickly tried to craft a more considered response. I stalled for a moment, then said, “I’m recently divorced, so I’m not really in the emotional place for marriage just yet. Maybe, with the right person, someday... but not now.”Her face fell instantly. “Oh,” she replied, her voice tinged with disappointment. “Well, I want to get married.”She spoke for a few minutes about love, but to my more sceptical ear, it sounded like she was more focused on financial security.The atmosphere shifted noticeably, the once-easy conversation now heavy with unmet expectations. I took a deep breath and said, “I can see you know what you want, and that’s admirable. But I don’t think we’re looking for the same thing right now. I wish you all the best.”Her expression softened slightly, but the disappointment lingered. As we parted ways, I couldn’t help but reflect on how the pressure to define our futures in the first moments of meeting can snuff out any potential for connection - like a firework that never quite ignites.The No-Filter ApproachThis last encounter still leaves me scratching my head. She was well-educated, well-travelled, and seemed to tick all the right boxes. We met for a drink, and after a few polite exchanges, she dropped a bombshell: “I don’t date men who earn less than six figures.”Her bluntness wasn’t the issue - it was the sheer lack of tact, the presumption that financial worth was the sole measure of a person’s value. She didn’t even know my last name, yet she felt it appropriate to inquire about my income bracket.I managed a faint smile before excusing myself from the date that never really began. As I walked away, I couldn’t help but ponder the state of modern dating, where such a materialistic mindset seems to have replaced the more subtle art of getting to know someone.Conclusion: The Rush to JudgmentThese anecdotes reveal a troubling trend in the online dating world, where the rush to filter out the 'wrong ones' often leads to a disregard for basic human decency.It’s understandable to want to avoid emotional exhaustion - online dating can be draining - but this rapid-fire approach almost guarantees you’ll sabotage any chance of genuine connection before it even begins.If you find yourself too drained to be civil, it’s crucial to recognise that and take a break, after all:* Pilots don’t fly tired* Drivers are advised to rest to avoid accidents.Dating should come with the same caveat - when our loneliness pushes us to rush, we dramatically increase the likelihood of things going wrong.Rather than shielding themselves, these women were unwittingly ensuring that anyone with a shred of intelligence and self-respect would walk away.This behaviour, driven by the efficiency-over-empathy nature of online dating, is ultimately self-defeating.It repels quality individuals who value more than just a checklist.If only we could revive the art of conversation - remembering that it isn’t dead, just neglected - perhaps first meetings would feel less like the job interview from hell.You show up hoping to meet someone likeable, with shared values and a spark of connection, but instead, you often find yourself sitting across from an interviewer armed with a list of rigid requirements.You’re grilled about your qualifications for a role you’re not even sure you want, with no idea if the company - your date - is a place you’d want to work for, let alone spend your future with.Of course, this isn’t a problem if you’re simply looking for a “casual distraction,” but if that’s your goal, at least be honest with yourself - and perhaps even the other party!But all is not lost. By applying a few simple strategies, you can avoid these common pitfalls and create a more fulfilling dating experience that prioritises genuine connection:Top 3 Tips to Avoid First Date Blunders for Midlife Singles1. Pace the Conversation—Don’t Rush to the Deep End* Why: Jumping into heavy topics like finances or marriage right at the start can be off-putting and will kill any potential connection before it even begins. A first date should be about getting to know each other in a relaxed and enjoyable way, not an interrogation.* Tip: Focus on light, engaging topics that allow for mutual discovery. Ask open-ended questions that encourage conversation rather than putting the other person on the spot. Save deeper, more personal questions for later dates when there’s a foundation of trust.2. Prioritise Respect and Courtesy* Why: The lack of basic social norms, such as tactfulness and empathy, can turn a promising date into a disaster. Remember, you’re dealing with another human being, not just a profile on a screen.* Tip: Treat your date with the same respect and courtesy you’d expect. Listen actively, show genuine interest in their answers, and avoid making the conversation solely about yourself or your needs. A little politeness goes a long way in leaving a positive impression.3. Be Honest but Tactful* Why: While honesty is crucial, the way you deliver your truth matters. Blunt statements about financial expectations or marital intentions can come across as harsh or transactional, rather than genuine.* Tip: Frame your honesty in a way that’s considerate of the other person’s feelings. For example, if financial stability is important to you, discuss it in the context of your long-term goals rather than as a dealbreaker. This way, your values are clear without making the other person feel judged.These suggestions aim to foster better connections and more enjoyable first dates by encouraging thoughtful conversation, mutual respect, and considerate honesty.If you’ve enjoyed this story, make sure to subscribe for more updates. Next week, I’ll share another example of 'Mid-life Dating' where, even by my standards, I was shocked by the behaviour! Click here to follow along with my previous misadventures.Have you experienced any midlife dating disasters? Or do you have your own tips to share? Drop

The Perils of Overconfidence: Why Read On…Have you ever found yourself in the middle of a presentation, realising with sinking dread that you've made a colossal mistake? If you’ve ever given a talk that spiralled into disaster, you’ll relate to what happened next in my tale of overconfidence.If you haven’t yet read about the events leading up to this moment, be sure to click here for Part 1, where I recount how, as a young military cadet at the Joint Services Mountain Training Centre in Tywyn, North Wales, I faced a public speaking challenge with nothing but overconfidence to rely on.Now, let me share how it all went spectacularly wrong.A Joke (Like The Bridge) Too Far…as I stepped out to one side of the podium, attempting to demonstrate a confidence I was no longer feeling. I glanced at the timer, took a deep breath… :"My chosen topic is the art of telling jokes, but today, rather than tell you how to tell jokes effectively, I'm going to show you..." I announced, brimming with as much unearned confidence I could muster.And so began my shaggy dog story - a painfully long joke about a boy who wakes up on his birthday, bursting with excitement about the day ahead."Dad, Dad, it's my birthday! What are you getting me, Dad? Please, Dad, tell me!" I mimicked the boy’s eager voice, setting the stage.The father, also played by me in a tone of weary patience, replied, "Well, son, as it's your birthday, I thought we'd take the bus as a treat."The boy, barely able to contain his excitement, responded, "Thank you, Dad, thank you! I'm so excited, thank you!And so it went on, the boy and his father embarked on a day of mundane activities:* A bus ride* A trip to the zoo* An ice cream, and eventually, * A visit to a stable.Each step was punctuated by the boy's relentless "Dad, Dad..." and the father's increasingly weary "Well, son..."The RealisationAs I continued, sneaking glances at the clock, I felt a wave of relief as the five-minute mark approached. My time was almost up and surely, I’d be stopped mid-flow!But no - my Colour Sergeant simply met my enquiring look with a roll of his wrist - in that universal gesture that means carry on..Panic set in.The flaw in my plan was glaringly obvious. ‘He's not going to stop me. Oh shit, what now?’ The image of a burning plane, plunging from the sky, appeared with crystal clarity in my mind.I could have stopped - endured the embarrassment of failure - but my lack of humility slammed that gate shut.There was no turning back. As beads of sweat ran down my back, I dragged the joke out, each word heavier than the last.* The six-minute mark passed* The seven-minute mark passed.I was deep into the joke, with no punchline in sight, and the audience's patience was wearing thin.Finally, with a sinking heart, I accepted my impending fate and raced on towards the precipice of doom!"Dad, Dad, can I name the horse, please Dad, please, it's my birthday?" I recited, echoing the boy's eager voice one last time.The father, played by me, now in a tone of utter resignation, responded, "Well, son... we've been on the bus, we went to the zoo, I've bought you an ice cream, we walked home, I've bought you some shoes, I've bought you this horse, and now you want to name him! Okay, as it's your birthday, what do you want to call him?"And then, the punchline - delivered like a bell tolling out my doom:"I'd like to call him WANKER, Dad."The FalloutThe moment the words escaped my lips, time seemed to slow. My sergeant, quick as a flash, leapt to his feet and bellowed: “TIME!”His voice sliced through the silence like an air-raid siren, abruptly ending my ill-fated performance. The Brigadier, who had been struggling to stay awake, now sat bolt upright, glaring at me with a look that could curdle milk.Feeling like a mouse who, in its final moments, catches sight of the hawk, I trudged back to my seat, the gravity of my mistake hitting me full force.My patrol mates looked horrified - two had their faces buried in their hands, another was drawing his finger across his throat in the universal signal for death, and the rest just stared at me, mouths agape in disbelief.Facing the ConsequencesAfter the presentations ended, the room emptied quickly, leaving just the Colour Sergeant and me in a silence that felt like the calm before a storm. The anticipation was unbearable, and every instinct told me to run, but I stood my ground, knowing there was no escape.He approached me slowly, his presence as intimidating as a dark cloud on the horizon, brewing with fury. He stopped so close that I could smell the stale mix of cigarettes and coffee on his breath, feel the heat radiating from him like a furnace. His eyes bored into mine, filled with a quiet, simmering rage that was far more terrifying than if he had started shouting immediately.For a moment, he just stared at me, letting the tension build, before finally unleashing a tirade that struck with the force of a whip. His voice, low and deadly, was filled with a controlled anger that was somehow worse than outright yelling."What the hell were you thinking, lad?" he hissed, every word laced with contempt."You think this is some sort of joke? You think it's funny to stand up there and make a complete arse of yourself—and your patrol?"He didn't give me a chance to respond. He just kept going, each word cutting deeper, a relentless reminder of how badly I had miscalculated. His voice, sharp and unforgiving, made his words hit even harder.He reminded me, in no uncertain terms, that I had not only humiliated myself but had also embarrassed the entire unit."You're going to regret this, sonny," he growled, his face now inches from mine. "You'll be wearing full kit and rucksack at all times on base. And to make sure you never forget how to keep your mouth shut, you'll be carrying two metal fire buckets filled with wet sand everywhere you go—double-timing, mind you."As if that wasn’t enough, he added with what felt like a cruel twist of the verbal knife, "And your patrol? They get to double-time with you. It's on them for tolerating a daft git like you."I felt a cold dread settle in the pit of my stomach. The realisation that my actions had condemned not just me but my entire patrol was a bitter pill to swallow. The Colour Sergeant didn’t need to raise his voice; the quiet fury in his tone was enough to convey that I had crossed a line, and there would be no easy way back.When he finally stepped away, dismissing me with a look of disdain, I knew my punishment had only just begun. The days ahead would be gruelling, not just physically but mentally, as I carried not only the literal weight of the buckets but the burden of my own reckless overconfidence.A Night of ReflectionThat night, lying in my bunk, the weight of the day's events pressed down on me. My adventure had taken a dark and unexpected turn. The camaraderie I'd begun to build with my patrol mates now felt distant, overshadowed by the consequences of my actions.As I drifted off to sleep, the lesson was clear: overconfidence and poor preparation lead to disaster. The next few weeks would be long and hard, but the experience would stay with me for the rest of my life.Subscribe to my Substack for more tales from my journey through leadership and personal growth. What’s your most memorable public speaking disaster? … share in the comments below!(If you’ve enjoyed this read, click the ❤️ button, drop me a comment or simply share with a friend - it really helps me remain motivated to keep Unpacking Life’s Lessons!)Life’s Lessons Unpacked is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and to support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit msmallwood.substack.com

Curious about what dating really looks like in your 40s or 50s?Buckle up for another round of my somewhat misguided journey through the highs, lows, and sheer absurdity of the modern dating landscape.I realise that at this stage, I may not be the best advertisement for the joys of midlife dating -more like a cautionary tale, really - but if nothing else, I’m committed to making you feel better about your own chances. 😎Some time had passed since my last ill-fated venture into the dating arena, and the memory of just how draining the whole experience can be had faded just enough to tempt me back into the pool.But, variety being the spice of life (whoever said that clearly wasn’t talking about dating apps!), I thought it might be time to switch things up a little. So, in a moment of either brave foolhardiness or foolish bravery, I switched from the dating app that rhymes with “Catch” to the one that rhymes with “Fumble.” (An ironic choice, as you’ll soon see.)After a month of exchanging messages with a perfectly pleasant woman who lived about 40 miles away, I decided it was time to meet in person. Our conversations had been enjoyable enough, although there was one peculiar moment when she asked if I had attended a certain school. Now, as a former pupil of a boys-only school, I couldn’t help but wonder where this line of questioning was heading. Warning Sign: When Your Date Knows Your SchoolImagine my surprise when she named it correctly. It turns out she was sitting with someone who had known me when I was 16 years old, though she took protracted delight in making me guess their identity… it turned out to be the daughter of one my old school’s teaching staff!The phone was handed over and I stumbled through the usual questions when one is surprised by a voice from the past.* How are you?* How’s your Dad? (code for: Is he still alive?)* What have you been up to … FOR THE LAST 3 DECADES!?I found this all a little odd but played along.In hindsight, I probably should have seen that as a sign. However, as any observer of my floundering attempts to date will be realising by now, I’m perfectly capable of missing almost every social queue! As many seasoned daters liked to tell me, a bit of mystery is exciting, but when it starts to feel like an episode of This Is Your Life, it’s usually a harbinger of less positive things to come.Notwithstanding all of this, the day of our date arrived, and I climbed onto the bike for the single hours journey to our rendezvous. We’d agreed to meet at a quaint eatery in some nondescript town not too far from Bath. My date appeared on time and, even better, was the person in the photos (here’s a previous episode where catfishing took place!)We chatted pleasantly enough, but I couldn’t help but notice the place she’d chosen was eerily quiet, save for us and a solitary young waitress hovering nearby.I sensed something was off but couldn’t quite put my finger on it. She was animated, almost overly so—like someone who’d had one too many espressos. There was a strident edge to her voice, a frenetic energy that was both exhausting and slightly unnerving.Despite her efforts to put me at ease with frequent touches on my arm, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t quite right. This wasn’t the calm, confident person I’d been chatting with online. Perhaps she was just nervous, I told myself. First dates can be intimidating, after all. But as the minutes ticked by and her monologue continued unabated, I began to wonder if it was more than just nerves.Finally, after 20 minutes of polite nodding and forced smiles, I couldn’t take it anymore. “May I ask you a question?” I said, bracing myself for her response.“Yes, of course,” she replied, her wide eyes a mix of curiosity and trepidation.“Are you okay? You seem on edge,” I asked, as gently as I could.I didn’t know it then, but those words would prove to be the trigger for an emotional deluge. Her face crumpled, and within seconds, she was weeping. Not just a delicate tear or two, but full-on, body-shaking sobs. In an instant, she latched onto my arm as though it were a lifeline, clinging to me in desperation as she cried her heart out.And there I sat, frozen in a nightmare of my own making, trying to process what had just happened.It’s one thing to make someone laugh until they cry on a date, but quite another to inadvertently unleash a torrent of pent-up emotions in a public setting.As I glanced around the room, I caught the waitress’s eye. She was glaring at me with such intensity that I half-expected her to march over and start walloping me with her order pad! No doubt she thought I’d said something horrible, not realising that my attempt at kindness had inadvertently opened a floodgate.Then, in the middle of this emotional whirlwind, the bombshell dropped. My date, in between sobs, managed to reveal that the young waitress glaring at me was her teenage daughter. To say I was shocked would be an understatement. The thought that this entire scene had been playing out in front of her daughter made the whole situation even more surreal and uncomfortable.The next ten minutes were a blur of me making soothing noises while she sobbed into my sleeve. I can only assume this poor woman had been carrying around a tremendous amount of sadness and that my attempt at honesty had somehow provided her with the release she needed. But as I sat there, trying to will myself invisible, I couldn’t help but reflect on the deeper issue at hand.How empty and isolated must our lives be when a small gesture of kindness from a stranger—a few words of concern—is enough to break us?It’s not that I blame her for crying.On the contrary, I felt a profound sense of sorrow for her and for so many others like us, stumbling through life, trying to find solace in the chaotic world of online dating. We all have our wounds, and sometimes, it only takes a gentle prod for them to bleed.Eventually, she released her grip on my arm, and we parted ways with a subdued farewell. As I walked back to my motorbike, I couldn’t shake the thought that so many of us are throwing ourselves into the dating pool in search of happiness, rather than first finding happiness within ourselves.It’s like trying to fill a bottomless pit with a teaspoon—futile and exhausting.So, here’s the lesson I learned on this particular date: you shouldn’t begin the process of dating until you’re truly content with yourself. Too many people jump into it, hoping that finding a partner will solve all their problems, but that’s not how it works. Happiness isn’t something that can be given to you by another person; it’s something you have to cultivate on your own.In the end, I rode home feeling a mix of emotions—sadness for her, frustration with myself, and a weary resignation to the fact that this, too, was just another fumble in my ongoing quest for companionship.And so, I prepare to dive back in, yet again, with the hope that maybe, just maybe, the next time will be different. Although, given my track record, I’m not holding my breath.If you’ve enjoyed this story, make sure to subscribe for more updates. Next week, I’ll share the tale of 'The Pillion Passenger,' where I was surprised by someone’s rather forward nature.Maybe the next time, I’ll manage to navigate the bumps without crashing so spectacularly. Click here to follow along with my previous misadventures.(If you’ve enjoyed this read, click the ❤️ button or drop me a comment - it really helps keep me motivated to keep sharing my disasters!)Life’s Lessons Unpacked is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and to support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit msmallwood.substack.com

So, why read on …If you’ve ever had to give an important presentation in front of senior leaders with little to no preparation? The gut-wrenching anxiety, the fear that you're about to crash and burn - it’s a universal nightmare.Back in 1984, as a young military cadet at the Joint Services Mountain Training Centre (JSMTC) in Tywyn, North Wales, I faced this exact challenge. What followed was a harsh lesson in overconfidence that I’ll never forget.Facing an Unexpected Public Speaking ChallengeBack on the day of our arrival at the course, during our whirlwind of briefings and exhaustive instructions outlining everything we'd be tackling during the course, I vaguely remembered being told that every cadet would have to deliver a five-minute presentation in front of the Officer in Charge (OIC).Some of my cohort looked a little nauseous when they heard this. I guess public speaking wasn't high on their list of enjoyable activities. I'd always loved the 'buzz' I got from performing at school, and to me, this presentation didn't feel like it was going to be too stretching or even that big a deal.How wrong I was to be proven!I'd represented my school in public speaking, had played 'Count Almaviva' in the school production of ‘The Marriage of Figaro’, and even sung a treble solo at Guildford Cathedral, back before my voice broke. So, it was with all the confidence only a 16-year-old adolescent can muster, that I let our sergeant know that my presentation in a few days would be on:‘The Art of Telling Jokes’“Funny bloke, me,” I thought with an internalised grin.He asked if I would need any additional materials, and I blithely said, "No."At the point at which I made that decision, I hadn't realised quite how full our days would be and how little free time we'd have to prepare. Nor had I factored in how physically and mentally drained I'd be from our day-to-day slog.So, when the day of the presentations dawned, and in the single hour we were given for preparations.I realised I had nothing prepared.As I watched my patrol mates put their final touches to: * How to Use Naismith's Rule to Accurately Estimate Travel Time Across Difficult Terrain, and* The Most Effective Method to Shine Your Boots for Parade’, … it hit me that my confidence in my abilities might not be matched by the reality.* I was going to flunk* It was going to be a disaster.My life was over, and if there really was a God, he should probably do me a favour and strike me down with lightning now, I thought. I looked up and all around me, the others were scribbling notes and muttering to themselves in every quiet corner they could find."Please God, help me now. Come on mate, I've been to church six times a week for years, you bloody-well owe me!"My overconfidence looked disturbingly like it might be about to meet its destiny.In that moment, it came to me, "Halle-facking-lujah," saved!True to form, I instantly developed a swagger as a foolproof plan manifested itself in my head. I'd suddenly remembered a ridiculously funny shaggy dog story; a long joke that is tedious right up until the punchline when, hopefully, it becomes hilarious.I shut myself into a toilet cubicle, sat down, checked my watch, and told myself the joke in a whispered voice. (I didn't want the lads to hear the punchline in advance or it would be so funny when they heard it later). I did it again just to be sure, and the story took about eight minutes to recount. I only had to speak for five, so I was going to ace this!I figured that once my time was up, I'd be cut off mid-flow, leaving everyone hanging for the punchline, and I'd bask in the glory of my peers' applause. "What could go wrong?"Our NCO called in to us, and we formed up and marched to the briefing hall. One of my mates whispered across, "Ready?" I just smiled at him and nodded. As we all filed into the hall, my patrol was seated at the rear on the right-hand side.Without much ado, cadets were called up, and a series of mind-numbing presentations ensued. Some of the guys mumbled, and you could only hear every third word or so at the back of the hall.Note to self: "Project your voice so everyone can hear you clearly..."Boredom welled up within me and after enduring what felt like an eternity, my name was called, and I stepped out and marched smartly to the front. I remember having a momentary frisson of fear as I settled behind the podium, and my Colour Sergeant caught my eye. I glanced to the very front and centre of the room and saw the Brigadier doing his best to stay awake; I'd save him, now was my moment, I was going to be the hero.Standing there, the room fell silent. I stepped out to one side of the podium, attempting to demonstrate a confidence I was no longer feeling. I glanced at the timer, took a deep breath, and began…The Consequences of Overconfidence If you’ve ever had a presentation disaster or learned the hard way about the dangers of overconfidence, don’t miss part two of this story, next Wednesday.Subscribe to my Substack for more tales from my journey through leadership and personal growth. And share your own experiences with public speaking in the comments below!(If you’ve enjoyed this read, click the ❤️ button or drop me a comment - it really helps keep me motivated to keep sharing my disasters!)Life’s Lessons Unpacked is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and to support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit msmallwood.substack.com

Why read on …If you’re dipping your toes into the murky waters of middle-aged dating, you’re not alone. I’m here to share the trials and tribulations of finding romance after 50—because let’s face it, this isn’t as easy as they make it look in the movies.Whether you’re new to online dating or just enjoy a good laugh at someone else’s misfortune, this tale of a date gone F.U.B.A.R. (that’s ‘F*cked Up Beyond All Recognition’ for the uninitiated) should hit the spot.Several months into this whole ‘Online Dating Nightmare’, I caught up with a friend and may well have been bemoaning the realities. I’d bought into the idea that dating after 40 (or even 50) was going to be as easy as riding a bike.Like bollocks it was!There were a few similarities, but mainly a legion of differences:* The saddle digs into your soft parts* You seem to be forever cycling uphill* It is always much hotter than Hades* Every time you think you’ve found a rhythm, the chain falls off, so* You keep skinning your shins on the pedals, and* Finally, the finish line never, ever comes into sight!So basically, it was pure hell!After yet another disappointing date, I decided to give up the whole dating game for a while and focus on something more reliable - 🙈 excessive exercise 🙈.It seemed like a sensible plan, but as fate would have it, I ended up with a sore chest and shoulder from overdoing it. This led to a conversation with a friend, during which I asked if he knew of any decent physiotherapists. Here, he had no hesitation. “You need to see J. She’s awesome.”He said they did CrossFit together, and she was excellent.He also mentioned she was funny, stacked, took no prisoners, had some world championship titles under her belt (Holy Moley), and was an all-round legend.I had no idea what ‘stacked’ meant, so I asked."She's strong, mate," he clarified.Okay, I figured it would be good to have someone capable of alleviating my injury, so I took the number and gave her a call. After a quick hello, J asked what the problem was and then arranged to visit me the following day for a dig around.She arrived, lugging the table into my apartment, and I stripped down to my boxers. Having endured a public school education, being body-conscious wasn't really an issue. J whipped out a jar of coconut cooking oil (errr, okay) and began to gently work it into my chest and shoulder. So far, so good—not too painful, and her sharp wit was a great distraction.About ten minutes in, J mentioned she was going to dig a bit deeper into the knot. I was only partially paying attention but remember thinking, “I can hack it." I was wrong! Pulling my arm away from my body and, with it partially on the other side of her hips, she dug her fingers deep into the knot in my shoulder."Mother f****r," I exclaimed. "That smarts!"There was laughter and a polite suggestion, “Time to man up, Mark.”Zero empathy, clearly. I can't remember much else about the massage other than a clenched jaw, pain perspiration, and many sharp intakes of breath … all whilst apologising frequently for swearing and trying hard not to cry like a baby!Despite the pain and my string of expletives, J managed to keep the mood light with her sharp wit and easy conversation. By the time the session was wrapping up, I found myself feeling oddly comfortable with her. It was this unexpected ease that led me to blurt out, "Would it be inappropriate to ask you for a drink?" It wasn’t something I’d planned, but I couldn’t deny the curiosity that had been piqued during her visit.She said, “No,” so I did, and we fixed a time to go out that coming weekend.As she packed up her table and left, I felt a mix of apprehension and anticipation. I’d surprised myself by asking her out and was even more taken aback by her accepting!The next few days were a blur which kept me from overthinking everything … a pleasant change!We exchanged a few texts and perhaps a voice note, eventually settling on a Thai restaurant in town. J was more ballsy than many of the other women I knew, so when the weekend finally arrived, I felt more intrigued than nervous.Predictably, about an hour before we were due to meet, my nerves kicked in, accompanied by my usual overthinking. After discarding a small mountain of outfits, I settled on what I like to call a 'casual suit'—something that seems to be a concept exclusive to our generation. I hoped it struck the right balance of smart and relaxed, though I wasn’t entirely sure I’d pulled it off.J had insisted on making her own way to the restaurant, so I drove there myself, mentally rehearsing how I’d greet her. To my surprise, when we finally met, the conversation flowed naturally, and I found myself genuinely enjoying her company. She was more than just the no-nonsense physio who had inflicted pain on my shoulder - she was sharp, funny, and had the kind of life experience that made for intriguing conversation.I’d never sat down for a date with a double world champion before—well, there had been that teenage fantasy about the famous Romanian gymnast, Nadia Comăneci, but let’s leave that in the vault of embarrassing memories!Without thinking, I slipped into my hyper observant mode - a habit I’d picked up in childhood when trying to understand people who weren’t immediately readable. I like to think I’m subtle about it, but with J, who knew?We ordered food, and in a misguided attempt to impress, I opted for a dish I remembered fondly from a trip to Thailand years ago. It was เผ็ด or 'pet,' which translates to… well, let’s just say it was spicy. Very spicy.The moment I took my first bite, I realised my mistake.Nothing screams 'I’ve got this' quite like the sight of sweat pouring down your bald head, drenching your face in full view of your date. To make matters worse, my crisp white shirt only served to highlight the deep, embarrassing shade of puce my face had turned.I struggled to string together a coherent sentence as the fiery spices took hold. Grabbing my soda and lime in desperation, I tried to casually mop my brow, but there was nothing subtle about it.J’s steely gaze met mine, taking in the show, and then she howled with laughter.Ouch… she really didn’t take any prisoners!I joined in, because what else can you do? But while my laughter was genuine, it was tinged with a healthy dose of self-pity.I mentally ran through my pre-date checklist:* Look Cool - FAIL* Dazzle with my witty repartee - BARELY* Impress her with my culinary bravado - FAIL* Maintain any semblance of dignity - FAIL* Avoid making a spectacle of myself - UTTER FAILAfter about half an hour, the effects of the spices were dissipating, but I felt the damage had been done. The conversation had been entertaining, and J had proven to be fun company. On the flip side, I’d made a complete twerp of myself.We wrapped up the evening and went our separate ways. Once home, I immediately jumped in the shower to cool down from my fiery supper. As the water washed away the sweat and embarrassment, I reflected on the evening. Despite my mishaps, I’d had a great time and decided I’d like to hang out with J again.Over the next few days, we exchanged the odd text.Then came the call …J was talking when suddenly she dropped something into the conversation that I felt gave me an insight into her personality.Don’t ask me what it was because I can't remember for the life of me. For some reason, completely unbidden, I felt an overwhelming compulsion to share my thoughts. So, I said something like:"That's interesting, may I offer you some feedback?"I know, I know:* Useful in a coaching session; * Of value in a board meeting; * Frequently necessary on a leadership course…But about as welcome as a fart in a lift when trying to flirt; in my defence, I’m beginning to recognise I may well be terrible at flirting.“Go on,” something in J’s tone should have stopped me - yet it didn’t!I heard the shift, a bit like the way a sudden absence of noise subtly registers on your subconscious. Anyone who’s spent time in any wilderness will recognise it:It’s Nature holding its breath.As J’s tone hardened, I was momentarily caught off guard. I’d thought my comment was innocuous enough—something that might even deepen our connection. But the shift in her voice was unmistakable. She was irked, and I was suddenly acutely aware that I’d misjudged the situation.It wasn’t the first time I’d been blindsided by someone’s reaction, but it never got easier. I’d spent so much of my life in environments where feedback was a constant, often necessary tool—something valued in professional circles and even amongst friends. But here, in this budding personal connection, my well-meaning ‘insight’ had clearly crossed a line.J was firm, clear, and brutally honest as she made it known that we wouldn’t be seeing each other again. There was no room for negotiation or second chances. I could only sit there, listening to the line go dead, wondering how I’d managed to turn something so promising into yet another F.U.B.A.R. situation.ReflectionSitting there, staring at my phone, I couldn’t help but feel a mix of frustration and disappointment. How had I managed to turn a promising start into a complete disaster in just a few sentences? It was a humbling reminder that the skills that served me so well in one aspect of my life could be utterly useless - or worse, detrimental - in another.Reflecting on the evening, I realised just how much I still had to learn about this whole dating after 50 malarkey. It wasn’t just about finding someone you could connect with; it was about navigating a minefield of unspoken rules and expectations - something that was proving to be far more complex than I’d imagined.But despite the missteps and the painfully clear lesson that unsolicited insights are rarely welcome, I couldn’t deny that I’d enjoyed myself, right up until that last, ill-advised comment. The date, while ultimately a failure, had been fun, and that had to count for something.So, what did I take away from this?Well, I’