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Dancing with Fear

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There’s a particular kind of thrill that only fear can give you—the pure, electric jolt that cuts through everything else and reminds you you’re alive. It’s not the anxious kind that creeps in during the 9-to-5 grind. It’s ancient. Primal. The kind that once kept our ancestors alive when the dark was full of eyes. In today’s cushioned world, that fear is rare. But I go looking for it. Not because I want to be scared, but because I want to feel where the edges are.

For some of us, fear is addictive. That delicious, squirming feeling in your gut. Heart pounding, lungs tight, eyes wide, every sense sharpened by adrenaline and cortisol. The possibilities—bodily harm, disaster, death—stretch out in front of you. And yet, you keep going. Because that edge is where life becomes electric.

I chase fear. I hunt it down. Whether it’s walking through alleyways at night, jumping off buildings, plummeting from the sky strapped to a parachute, or racing at 100 mph with death one bad decision away—I seek it out. Why? Because fear is a mirror. It shows you who you are and resets the limits you thought were fixed. When you confront fear—and beat it—you get a rush no drug can match. After a race, sometimes I’m high on life, buzzing with joy and fire. It’s not just adrenaline. It’s survival.

My biggest fear? Sharks. And in 2027, when I turn 60, I’m going face to face with Great Whites in Mexico, cage diving with my daughter. It will be one of the most important moments of my life. I already feel the ice in my veins just thinking about it—and I can’t wait.

But fear hasn’t always been on my terms.

Years ago, in London, after a long night at the rugby club, I was wandering home through unfamiliar streets. I stopped at a skip, desperate for a piss. That’s when I heard the voice. A massive, shirtless man with a shaved head sat in a first-floor window above me, mumbling to himself. When he spotted me, he roared and disappeared from view. Seconds later, he exploded through his front door wielding a baseball bat, charging straight at me like a freight train. I barely had time to zip up before I was sprinting for my life. He chased me a full block—ten paces behind me, maybe less. I ran like I never had before. When I finally lost him, the mix of relief, fear, and euphoria hit like a bomb. My whole body shook. It was terrifying. And exhilarating.

I returned to that street the next day. He was there again, muttering to himself. I later heard there’d been a murder nearby. I don’t know if it was him, but it wouldn’t surprise me.

In Auckland, years earlier, I came face to face with something equally unsettling. Late one night, heading to my car in a shadowy multi-storey car park, I turned a stairwell corner and found a man just sitting there, halfway up the flight. Motionless. Silent. Waiting. For what? No one knows. He looked me dead in the eye, then slowly shifted aside to let me pass. My whole body was humming, like a wire pulled too tight. I climbed the rest of the way with my ears straining, every step echoing, waiting for him to follow. He never did. But my heart didn’t stop pounding until I was in my car, doors locked, letting out a whoop like I’d won a war.

More recently, I was walking home through a park at 1:15 a.m. after the last train. It’s pitch dark, just a handful of lights. Halfway through, I spotted two teenagers on a bench. One of them, a heavy-set lad, fell silent as I passed. Just as I walked by, I heard him say, “Not this one.” Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was something. But fear had already flared in my chest.

The thing I’ve learned about moments like these: fear is a language, and your body speaks it before your brain catches up. Your posture, your walk, your eyes—they say more than your words ever could. Show fear, and you might invite danger. But show too much defiance, and you risk provoking it. So I keep my shoulders back, my head high, my stride steady. I make brief eye contact—just enough to say “I see you,” but not enough to challenge. That tightrope walk is its own form of dance.

But no moment tested me like the man in the mask.

One night, walking home from the football club around 11 p.m., I found myself alone on a long, empty road. No people. No cars. Until one slowly pulled up ahead of me and stopped. As I approached, every hair on my neck stood up. I sensed something wrong. My peripheral vision confirmed it: the driver, turned fully toward me, was wearing a white hockey mask—the same as the killer from Friday the 13th. He didn’t move. Just stared.

My mind split. One half raged—Who does this freak think he is, trying to scare me? The other half whispered—Don’t react. Don’t show fear. Just keep walking. That voice won. I stayed calm, turned into a stranger’s driveway, and disappeared around the side of their house. The sensor light clicked on. He saw me. I waited. He waited. Five minutes passed before he finally drove off, in the same direction I’d been heading. I turned back and called a cab.

That was fear. Raw. Real. And it was delicious.

Not all fear comes from strangers in the dark. Some comes from the unknown.

In another story from Willerton’s World, ‘Hitchhiking and other life lessons’ I recount hitchhiking through New Zealand. I was picked up by a man in the grip of a manic episode— chattering some weird and disgusting things, shifting moods, and slowing at turn offs on a remote road and scrabbling under his dash for something. I sat there, trapped in the passenger seat, calculating my options. Every minute felt like a gamble. He could have snapped, veered off the road, or worse. I played it calm. Kind. Non-threatening. Eventually, I got out, heart racing, wondering just how close I’d come to not making it out.

On the Camino de Santiago, I encountered something… primal. In Casper and Other Ghosts, I tell the story of being ambushed—stalked, maybe—by some kind of predator in the Spanish wilderness. I never saw what it was. But I felt it. Heard it. A presence moving out of sight which made a sudden very loud noise up and behind me, but close. I was walking alone, and the world felt charged—like something was hunting me. Fear filled every breath as I turned and stared it down. Every moment slowed down and I entered a different world that day. But I survived. And something about surviving that unknown made me stronger.

The older we get, the more we shrink away from fear. We nest in comfort. Our worlds contract. We tell ourselves it’s wisdom, caution, common sense. But it’s also surrender. I see people in their 30s and 40s already retreating from the unknown, even though they were bold once. Fear has its place. It keeps us alive. But it also reminds us that we are alive.

Maybe one day I’ll stop chasing fear. Maybe I won’t need that buzz anymore, or maybe my body just won’t cope with it the same way. But for now, I still crave those moments where the world sharpens, and everything feels real—where instinct takes over and the noise of everyday life fades into the background. Fear reminds me I’m alive. It keeps the edges of my world from going dull. And as long as I’ve got the legs to run, the nerve to walk into the dark, and a heartbeat that still races when the stakes are high, fear isn’t something to avoid. It’s something to dance with. And I’ve still got a few songs left in me.

#ChasingFear, #AdrenalineJunkie, #FearAndSurvival, #FaceYourFears, #LivingOnTheEdge,

Hitchhiking Encounters: Thrills and Chills

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In my early twenties, I hitchhiked around New Zealand. I used this method to get from city to city as it was the cheapest way of getting around. The late eighties and early nineties were an interesting time in the country. A relatively slow, traditional country started to open up to more sophisticated, mature attitudes and behaviours. But, the same old values and beliefs were pretty ingrained. Some of them great, some of them appalling, especially by today’s standards.

When you hitch hike, you jump in a car with an absolute stranger who is either good enough to help you out, or opportunistic enough to see a young man hitching solo and stop to see whether they could take advantage of that opportunity.

I have experienced both. Some were great times and some were terrifying.

I had one memorable trip from Auckland to Wellington for a mate’s 21st birthday party. During the trip, I got stuck on an onramp on the southern motorway. I waited for around 40 minutes. There wasn’t much traffic. When an orange Mitsubishi Celeste coupe stopped, I jumped in with the middle-aged guy. It was just the two of us in the car, and he asked me where I was headed. Alarm bells started to ring. I asked him where he was going. He replied, ‘I’m just driving around heading nowhere in particular.’

When you are hitching, you always try to work out a travel plan in your head. You want to make sure you get out where there is a strong chance to get your next lift. It’s better than being dropped in the middle of nowhere, which had happened a few times. So for this guy to say he wasn’t heading to a destination was weird. He went quiet, and then asked me out of the blue whether I had a girlfriend. I told him I didn’t. In hindsight, that was the wrong thing to do. After he had changed gear, he put his hand on my knee and started to move it up my thigh. This was the first time a guy had hit on me like this and I was shocked. I grabbed his hand and said ‘Whoaaaa! You are barking up the wrong tree there pal, I’m not gay.’ To which he said, ‘Are you sure? You are giving me gay vibes and I think you’d like it.’ At that point I said, ‘No mate, I’m not. You need to stop the car and let me out. That is where this is going.’ He did exactly that. He stopped on State Highway 1 in the middle of nowhere. When I got out, he still wouldn’t let it go. He said ‘Are you sure? We could go somewhere quiet and maybe have some wine?’ At that point the temptation to tell him to eff off was strong. However, I was conscious of being alone on the side of the road. It had no footpath, and I was at risk if this guy took offence and got aggressive. So I just said; ‘Very sure mate. Thank you for the lift. All the best for the rest of the day.’

On another memorable trip, I was picked up by a Mum and her livewire 9 year old daughter. I sat in the backseat with the daughter. Mum was driving. The girl asked me if I wanted to play cards. Thinking a game of snap or last card was on the menu I said ‘Sure, lets play.’ But it wasn’t either game, she wanted to play poker. That little girl took $20 off me which was all the cash I had! She was delighted and kept banging my pack which we were using as a card table. She banged it particularly hard one time and set off my beard trimmer which instantly started buzzing quite loudly. I recall very distinctly. The Mum looked at me in the rear view mirror. She had a raised eyebrow and a quizzical smile on her lips. I realized she thought it was a vibrator. I quickly told her it was my beard trimmer. She just said ‘Sure. Whatever.’ It wasn’t until I reached into my pack and pulled it out, that she actually believed me!

When you’ve done hitching, you are more inclined to pick up hitch hikers yourself. I have had some interesting experiences picking people up. I picked up a guy from Wellington one day when I was heading back to Auckland from Wellington. It was early one morning. At the head of the motorway on Vivian Street, I stopped. I picked up an English guy in his late twenties. Strapped to his pack he had a large water gun. Before he got in I asked him where he was going. He said ‘Auckland.’ I said ‘This is your lucky day mate, get in.’ That trip was the fastest, most fun filled trip to Auckland I ever had. Every time we passed a car, he would hang out the window and shoot them with the water gun. We devised a points system, where if he hit the windscreen it was 50 points and a side window less. Crazy, as we passed a lot of cars and did an 8 hour trip in around 7 hours.

A memorable pair of hitch hikers I picked up were two women. I picked them up just out of Hamilton, heading to Auckland early one morning. One jumped in the front seat and one in the back, and I asked them why they were in Hamilton. They told me they were hookers from Howick who had had come down to work in Hamilton for the night. What followed was a fascinating discussion about the life of a hooker. They shared how they got into it and what sort of men were their clients. We discussed how much they made and where they worked out of. I learned details about STDs and violence. These were gritty realities I didn’t really want to know. At the end of the trip, they took $20 from the tray between the seats. Today, I still think it was the best $20 I have spent. It was worth it for the sheer uniqueness of the information. It also challenged my understanding of life on the ‘other side’ for some people.

The most infamous hitch hikers I picked up were 4 American girls who were all blond and pretty. We got on pretty well, so I invited them back to the flat in Hamilton to stay. I was pretty interested in my now wife Sharon at that stage. She did have a boyfriend. So, it was a non starter for me to even think about trying it on. But word spread rapidly. Every guy I knew in Hamilton turned up, and a party broke out. Brilliant for my street cred to have pulled not one, not two, not even three but four pretty blondes. I received a post card from them later. That was nice. There was a little bit of ‘what might of been’ in there from the young lady who sent the card. Nevertheless, it’s probably a great decision on my behalf as I’ve now been married 31 years!

Back to hitching myself, and one of the more terrifying episodes of my life. During another trip to Wellington, I made good progress to get to Taupo. It is in the middle of the North Island. I got there quite quickly. I was delighted when a white Austin Allegro or Morris 1300 stopped and another hitchhiker and the driver got out. I pride myself on using and trusting my gut instinct. To prove that I should never, ever ignore my gut, there were a few signals going off in my head. I put these to rest, thinking about how quickly this ride could get me to Palmerston North which is within an hour and a half of Wellington, which was my end destination. The driver insisted that I put my pack in the boot. In hindsight, this was one of the signals I should have considered. Usually, you would just keep it in the car so that you could grab it easily when you got out.

Crossing the Desert road was challenging. It is probably the most desolate length of road in the North Island. There are very few townships along its route. If you got dropped off, you might have to stay the night. My logical brain convinced me to get in.

The trip started well enough as we headed out of Taupo, but the conversation took a sinister turn when the township fell away in the rear view mirror. The large, unkempt white guy in his 50’s started to tell me that he had left Palmerston North as people were looking for him. I asked him why people were looking for him. He explained that he was bipolar. He also stated that the Police wanted to speak with him. This was alarming. Thinking on my feet, I asked him whether he had been taking his medication for his bipolar disorder. He said ‘No. I don’t like taking it. I like the stuff I do when I’m crazy.’ When he said this, he looked sideways at me. He wanted to see my reaction. He smiled when he saw that I was shocked.

Encouraged, he went on to tell me that the reason the Police were looking for him was that he had been accused of molesting old ladies in rest homes. Yes really. The problem in his mind wasn’t that he hadn’t done it, as he proceeded to tell me in graphic detail exactly how and what he would do to sexually abuse ladies in his care. The problem in his mind, was that he had been caught and had to leave.

When I told him to stop talking about these things, or tried to change the subject, he interpreted that as a sign. He thought that what he was telling me was having an effect. He believed that as a captive in his car on a desolate road, he could do whatever he wanted. Instead of stopping, he turned up the volume.

The conversation took a turn for the worse, if that was even possible. He said that his daughter wouldn’t let him see his granddaughter. Once again, it wasn’t that his daughter had reason to be concerned. Instead, she had taken action about it, which he thought was grossly unfair.

The most terrifying part was yet to come. Having done his best to disgust me, he decided to turn things up a notch. On a particularly desolate piece of road, where I don’t remember much traffic in either direction, he went quiet. The silence was somehow more menacing than the filth coming out of his mouth. The Desert Road is typified by small, sandy side roads. Army tanks and vehicles created them to access firing ranges from the nearby military base at Waiouru.

As we approached these side roads, no other cars were around. He was silent. He would slow down from around 60 miles an hour to around 20. When he did this, he would glance at me to see my reaction. By this stage, I was getting pretty freaked out. It must have been obvious. He would wait until we were just about past the turning before shaking his head and speeding up. He repeated this a few times, and I was thinking that he was either just trying to scare me or he was looking for the perfect spot to kill me, because a body may never be found out there.

As we approached a turning, again with no other cars around, he slowed down. He instantly started to fossick around in the under dash tray. The tray ran across the width of the passenger and drivers compartment. When he did this, we slowed right down to walking pace. He seemed to find what he was looking for. He kept his hand below the dash clearly gripping something. I couldn’t see what it was because it was hidden by the steering column. At that moment, I truly believed in my life’s purpose. I felt that I had guardian angels looking after me. I was literally in a car with a madman who was thinking about killing me.

Whatever happened to stop him going through with his plan or whatever he was thinking in that moment, he made a decision and sped up again and he didn’t slow for any more turn offs. We arrived at Waiouru and he demanded that I bought him a cup of tea. This was another blessing. It meant I could tell him my wallet was in my pack and that I needed to get it out to retrieve my pocket knife. He was very eager for me to retrieve my wallet to pay for the cup of tea, but he insisted that I put my pack back in the car and stood over me in a menacing way. I refused. I told him that I would buy him a cup of tea. but I would stop the night in Waiouru at a motel. He went absolutely nuts and threatened me with finding me and running me down, amongst a range of other things. I was aware that I was out on my own. I also knew that I had a long way to go on the second stretch of the Desert road so I agreed to his demands. I insisted that my pack was on my knees. Getting back in the car was probably not my best decision. Fear can cause you to make strange choices sometimes.

For the rest of the trip, he went back to trying to disgust me telling me all sorts of other things I didn’t want to know and I won’t repeat them here such is the level of depravity. We eventually arrived in Palmerston North and he returned to being a courteous and polite bloke. Such is the nature of bipolar as a condition I guess.

It is only when I retell this tale that I realise that I was face to face with evil. At the time, all I could think about was the relief from not being harmed. I had got away from him without being hunted down.

To end this collection of stories on a high note, I recall reaching Paraparaumu by the shopping centre. It was the middle of summer. As a young student, I spent a fair amount of time in the gym. I was in pretty good shape and tanned with long hair. Without a care in the world, I attracted my share of female attention.

Soon enough, a car stopped with two ladies in a Datsun 120Y coupe. I squeezed myself and my pack into the back seat. Instantly, the older of the pair in the passenger seat turned around and started chatting. Turns out they were a mother and daughter who had just been on a shopping trip and were heading back to Wellington. The daughter was a little older than me and quite attractive. The conversation flowed and in amongst that the mother asked if a ‘good looking lad like me had a girlfriend’. Being a somewhat slow learner, I again answered truthfully that I didn’t have a girlfriend. The mother glanced at the daughter. She then got straight to the point by saying ‘Oh wow, that’s a surprise. But, my daughter doesn’t have a boyfriend either.’ She just left that statement hanging in the air like a pregnant pause.

The daughter made a show of being horrified but looked at me in the rear view mirror to see my reaction. It’s one of the times in my life that I felt a little trapped. I was in the back seat of a two door car. I didn’t want to offend anyone. Nevertheless, I felt a little awkward with the attention from them both. Because I didn’t respond in the right way, the Mum decided that in line with her blitzkrieg approach, that she would give me her daughters number and arrange for me to call her after my party that night, to hook up with her daughter. The daughter seemed very happy with this approach and so I just took the number and promised to call. When I got out of the car in Wellington, Mum hugged me for just a little bit too long. The daughter, not to be outdone, got out of the car. She gave me an all of body hug and a snog goodbye. She said she looked ahead to seeing me that night.

Like mother, like daughter I guess? Pretty upfront approach, and for them to work in tandem like that, was something that I haven’t experienced again.

Hitch hiking back then was wild. I learnt a lot by being exposed to people I would never have usually connected with. At different times I was terrified, disgusted, fascinated, and had my ego stroked along with a few other things! But I learnt a lot and this added to my life perspective as travel stories often do.

The Powerful Impact of a Psychic Gift: Stories and Insights

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It started when I had a dream. There were crowds of people all out of control and police were marching in formation while windows were smashed and cars were burning. I awoke knowing that I had to tell someone that this was going to happen. I had to. If I didn’t, people would get hurt.

But I didn’t tell anyone. Instead I told myself that no one would believe me, that it was just a dream and to forget it. But I couldn’t forget it. The images stayed with me and intensified. My sister and I decided to go and see a film in Auckland city on a Friday night which was the same night a rock concert was on in Aotea square. A crowd, whipped up by a stoned rocker, went feral and starting looting, smashing windows, overturning cars, throwing bottles at police and rioting.

The cinema manager locked the front doors and came into the theatre at intermission saying that the police had shut the cinema and we had to leave.

When we were ushered out of the cinema, the images of a rioting crowd were exactly what I had seen in my dream. The same people, the same gestures towards the police, the same smashed windows, the same police in formation.

What the hell was happening to me? How did this image get into my head?

This was the start of my journey. I learnt that my grandmother had a gift and this had been passed on to me and my older sister who I have a wonderfully close connection with.

This would show itself when she left to go overseas and I woke up in a lather knowing that something had happened. As it turned out, she had a major breakup with the friends she and her boyfriend were travelling with, and we tracked it back to the same exact time when she called a little later.

Before that, when Jennifer had left the house before me and when I was travelling the same way, I knew that she had broken down and that I needed to stay in the left hand lane so I could stop and help her. Sure enough, there she was stopped on the side of the motorway.

Why? How did I know this?

It developed into an awareness of other people around me. When away on a holiday with my friends, we were in a convoy of cars travelling up a steep, and twisty hillside. In the lead car, in the back seat, I suddenly heard a siren go off. I said to the others in the car;

”Do you hear that?”.

”Hear what?” They asked.

”We have to go back. Something bad has happened.”

And something bad had happened, one of the cars had a crash and there were minor injuries all around and the car was damaged and not driveable.

It is difficult to predict when the gift will show itself. I find today that it can be dormant for a period of time, or rather buried because I am tired or stressed and my receptors don’t seem to work as much.

It can be difficult sometimes.

I have seen death. I know that death is coming and is present, but I’m not sure who for, or when. Concerned that it is for myself or my family, I exercise care in the decisions I take. But it may not be me.

A recent experience occurred when I knew that in travelling to London that I would come face to face with death. I thought it would be someone in the audience I was addressing, but actually it turned out to be someone who died on the tube I was going to catch.

Or, an event which I am still dealing with, where I saw a young man on the side of the road sitting on his bike and was told by the gift, that I had to go to him. But I didn’t. I justified my decision because it was cold and wet, traffic was bad, access to him was very difficult in my car, that I couldn’t do anything.

And he hung himself.

I have a gift for a reason and that reason is to help people. If I don’t use the gift when I am told too, bad stuff can happen.

The gift manifests itself in other ways too. Sometimes, I would freak out co-workers by telling them that someone was going to call in the morning or the next little while and that they would have an order. Sometimes it would be just as the phone rang and I would say ”That’s Client X and he wants to speak with you…” This would usually result in people being weirded out and a little spooked about what else I knew, particularly when I could tell something was up with them and would take them aside and check in to say ”I can tell something isn’t right, what can I do to help?”

Why does this happen? My grandmother was a deeply religious person, and she attributed her gift to being close to God.

I’m not sure where it has come from before Nana, or how other predecessors would have used the gift. Given that we come from a family of English commoners, perhaps my ancestors were Druids, Shamans, medicine men, healers or preachers.

My sister shares the gift and has visions. My niece sees dead people and ghosts so vividly that when she was a toddler walking along a wall, holding Jennifer’s hand, she walked around a space on the wall. When Jennifer asked her why she did that, Chelsea told her that she didn’t want to step on the lady that was sitting on the wall. She then went on to describe the lady in absolute detail. I think my son has it, and I am exploring this with him, and my Dad John, has had experiences where he has known that Jennifer was in trouble despite being thousands of miles away, just like I did.

Perhaps physiologically it is the result of an enlarged pineal gland, which can give the gift of insight. Perhaps I feel changes in energy and auras more acutely than others. But none of this explains why days before or in situations like with the young man on the bike, I can tell that something is not right and that I must act.

It could stem from being tuned into other peoples emotions and behaviours so deeply that I notice the combination of the extremely subtle differences in their behaviour. The difference in their breathing, their posture, the way they speak or the tiniest change in their body language.

Maybe it’s something in my DNA or the way my brain works, with the neuroreceptors to certain areas in my brain being more connected than other people.

Maybe it is god given in the same way some people are naturally great singers, athletes or academics.

Perhaps I am just closer to a caveman than I realise!

It is special and unique, and I am built a little differently to other people.

The gift showing itself will vary according to how tired I am, how grounded I am, and how much I am looking inward instead of being receptive. But sometimes it is just so powerful that it can’t be ignored.

I don’t usually connect with dead people or spirits but I have had those experiences. When I was working late in the office one night, I jumped in the lift to head to the basement garage and was immediately aware of a presence in the lift. It wasn’t scary and I had no bad feelings at all, but I knew it was there. So much so that I spoke to it saying ”Hello, I know you are there but I can’t see you.” The spirit rode down in the lift with me, walked across a dark and deserted garage and got in the passenger seat of my car, shotgun style. We left the garage and drove up the street and around the block, before stopping by the central police station at which point, it got out.

When I was walking on my own on the Camino (see my Camino blog chapter ‘Casper and other ghosts’ for the full story), I came face to face with what I believe now to be a dark spirit or something from another place. Walking down a cutting with steep walls and thick brush on either side, about halfway down I was startled with a loud noise by a large creature behind me high on my right hand side. This wasn’t something small and it was clearly focussed on me.

Immediately my flight or fight reflex kicked in so I turned to face it and stared it down for 30 seconds or so, before I turned and walked slowly away. Immediately on turning I was surrounded by all the people who have died in my life. They were talking with me, they were beside me, inside me, all around me, and they filled me a white, warm and pure presence. At the end of the cutting they left.

I was uplifted and fulfilled by this. It was the strongest and most amazing experience I have had with my gift and it was no surprise that it happened when I was relaxed, super tuned in, and without the distractions of day to day life.

It also showed me that other spirits could connect with me, both good and potentially evil, and that I needed to be aware of this.

Having the feeling of being followed or being watched has happened on other occasions too. When out walking in the woods, I have turned and confronted unseen spirits or beings who I know are there, and who have been watching or following me, but soon stop when I confront them. Sometimes it takes two or three turns and a quick walk away, but it happens.

Am I paranoid? Is it just fear and I am reacting to situational threats? I don’t think so, as there is a clear difference between that feeling of being watched and my gift telling me to be aware, and the more general human reaction of being scared by being alone in the woods at twilight.

The gift can also tell me when something bad has happened in a certain area. I walk in one area of my local village and every time I have gone down a particular path, the gift tells me that there is something bad that has happened there. A murder or killing of some sort. I just know.

What to do with my gift is something that is on my mind. Do I try and develop it by finding other similar people? Do I actively work to recreate situations where I can connect with my gift in a deeper and more frequent way?

Having not told people about this other than those closest to me, for many years, I am now of the age where I am writing this blog both to help me make sense of my gift through the cathartic release of writing, and also to bring this out into the half light, safe in the knowledge that only a few people have access to this blog amongst the billions of web pages on the internet.

I know one thing. I will never, ever ignore it again. Doing that could lead to more death, or more unhappiness, not just for me, but for others I believe I am here to help.

#PsychicAwakening, #SpiritualJourney, #TrustYourInstincts, #PsychicAbilities, #SpiritualAwareness

The Power of Purpose

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There are many schools of thought about how best to navigate our way through the challenges raised as a result of Covid -19.

For me, I go back to what has worked for me in the past in multiple situations. Warring shareholders, start-ups, businesses on the brink of failure or companies and sporting organisations who have needed transformation to ready themselves for growth. I’ve used this approach with all of them to good effect.

Right now, we are in the midst of a chaotic and volatile time where no one really knows what the future holds, and we are having to adjust to an unprecedented amount of change.

How do we ensure that our companies and ourselves can adapt and thrive?

For me, that answer lies in Purpose.

It’s a brilliant word, purpose. It raises questions of existentialism. Why do we exist? What are we on the planet to do? Why does it matter? Who actually cares?

Of course, it’s also about focus and values and culture, but more of that in a later post.

First a story. I was lucky enough, together with a group of like-minded people, to run a football club in New Zealand. It was a great club with a real heart and many assets. But it hadn’t fulfilled its potential. It hadn’t won much, hadn’t grown and wasn’t wealthy. It was in Division I with a new young team full of promise.

Over the years the club got into the premier league, won 10 national titles including the NZ equivalent of the FA Cup – twice.

That was all achieved by the power of purpose.

In a football club context, that represented the collective power of a community coming together, unified, passionate and driven to achieve the same goals.

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Tapping into that in a company context is akin to adding rocket fuel to your business. In the time we are in right now, it is more important than ever to be unified. To be clear about why we exist. To guide decisions and stand for something in a chaotic and cluttered market.

If you are not sure about your purpose, my advice is to strip everything back. Start by asking yourself these 2 key questions.

1.      Why does your business exist?

2.      What does the business mean to;

a.      Staff?

b.      Clients?

c.      Suppliers?

d.      You as business owner or leader?

For the football club, that answer would originally probably have been ‘to win trophies’ or ‘to develop the best players’. All those aims are great and probably apply to 99% of football clubs on the planet.

The answer we came up with at Birkenhead United, was that the club existed to serve as the focal point for the community. To deliver aspirational messages, unity, connectivity, and equality.

From that platform, we had something that people believed in. Were passionate about. Felt they belonged too. Purpose guided the decisions we made. Our subsequent on-field success in winning trophies and tournaments and growing player numbers was down to purpose.

To introduce purpose is a journey. There is no shortcut and no silver bullet to delivering it. You can’t fake purpose. It’s not simply a case of starting to talk about it. But within every business, purpose exists. It may be buried under layers of business process, hidden behind cultural walls, or obscured through lack of energy, but it will exist. After all, that is how businesses come into being. Because someone, somewhere, had a purpose.

Reconnect with that original belief or redefine your purpose. In this chaotic time we are in, and the volatile time we are heading into, purpose can deliver the competitive edge you need to thrive.

Dave Newick, Managing Director, www.arken.legal

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The Kingdom of Kingdale Rd

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It was the 70’s. I was a kid growing up in West Auckland, New Zealand, in a simpler time before cell phones or the internet, in a wonderful street full of kids my own age who entertained ourselves outdoors with bikes and balls and things we made ourselves, like bamboo bows and arrows, huts made out of old building materials, and by resolving the all important question of who was the toughest kid of them all.

Kingdale Road was surrounded on two sides by vineyards and wineries created by the large Yugoslavian community that had settled in West Auckland. It was a dead end street, which ran parallel to Longburn Road, home of the Longburn Crew, the rival group of kids from the street with who we would share Kingdale Park and have all sorts of running battles and scraps with.

Kingdale Road shaped who I am today. It was a multi cultural, melting pot of people from all walks of life. It taught me independence, resilience, the value of freedom, risk taking and decision making and to appreciate people for who they are, not what they are. It also taught me that decisions have consequences, that the ability to run fast and fight hard were important, as was the ability to use my verbal and mental skills to spot trouble, or escape from mischief I had caused.

The cast of characters on the street included ‘Big Dave’, who was a year older than me – ‘Little Dave’ which was a moniker applied to me throughout my formative years. Wayne, who lived next door with his ex Navy Dad John, who his friends called ‘Big Shady’, the Bender Family, the English family next to them, with one of the only two kids below me on the hierarchy – Little Scott.

Then there was the Hugglestones, with Mr Hugglestone a senior Policeman who would be picked up by police cars when a murder or something serious had happened, the Manu family with Sid Manu Big Dave’s age, coming from a tough, tough environment so was looking to cascade his violence onto little blokes like me, and the Jones who were celebrated communists, with Brody Marx Jones later being arrested for flour bombing Eden Park during the Springbok tour of ’81.

The Clarkes, with Paul my age and in many of my classes at school, the quiet and slightly scary Russian guy who we decided was a spy, the Rowe family with Michael my age and with a mental disability, and his two sisters Patricia and Nicola. The Edwards, with Greg a year younger than me, Mum Elaine and Dad John who was a drain layer and civil construction guy, with sister Joanne and little Brother Anthony who played rugby league for the Junior Kiwis, the Sterlings with Peter my age, Dad who drove a Chev Impala and looked like an extra from Happy Days, and the owner of the most frightening animal on the street, a Doberman called Spider.

Across the road from them was the Leeches with Mike and Stephen the two boys, Stephen making up the only other kid I could assert my toughness over. Next to them was the Hunia family with Shane my age, his sister Joanne and Fleur who were my younger brother and sisters age. Shane’s Dad owned a strawberry farm where as we got older we could find back breaking work. The Moimoi family with kids Ronnie and Angela, Ronnie was obsessed by being a soldier and with the Vietnam war raging and WWII finished just 25 years ago, there were plenty of comic books and movies about war heroes to feed off.

But it was the Simionas who were my extended family. Big Dave, Claire and Rochelle with Mum Sharon and Dad Peter who worked at a furniture manufacturer and who had an incredible knack for growing vegetables in a large garden at the rear of the property. We spent time at each others houses like they were our own, and the bonds forged there were like brother and sister. (That didn’t stop Claire kissing me when she was around 11, but I think she was actually more interested in kissing Wayne as that kiss went on for much longer).

In this melting pot of a street, Mums were always ‘Aunty Sharon or Aunty Elaine’ and Dads ‘Uncle Peter or Uncle John’, all kids were always welcome in each other houses and Mothers relaxed, blissfully unaware of the problems their kids were causing. Mealtimes or a call to come home and face the music were announced from the back door, with usually a Dad calling your name. Wayne’s Dad – Uncle John, could be heard from Kingdale Park as could my Dads sneezes which were the subject of much hilarity around the neighborhood.

One of our favorite past times was to go to Kingdale Park and play around, nicking grapes from the vineyard when we got hungry, looking for blackberries in summer for Mum to make Blackberry and Apple Pie or exploring the extensive drainage system and creek which fed it, or perhaps seeing who could do the longest wheelies or skids on our one speed bikes. Otherwise it would be a long bike ride in a group of kids less than 10 years old who would just disappear into the countryside, with no maps, no helmets, sometimes no shoes, just an idea of where home was and a curiosity of what adventures awaited us on the road.

Life was simple. Free. Fun. We were able to make our own decisions and work through important life shaping lessons in our own time, in our own way, with a minimum of parental involvement.

In between the endless stubbed toes, bike accidents and bloody noses, there were lessons being learnt. Respect everyone as people. Own your mistakes – like the time I ‘borrowed’ my sisters new Raleigh Twenty and in trying to jump a ditch, only managed the front wheel with the back wheel caved in like a half round. Or perhaps the many, many broken windows, which I would have to pay off by mowing the lawns for 10c a pop.

Or the lessons of sticking up for what was right. Never being scared of taking something or someone on if you thought it was the right and honorable thing to do. And if you got beat, live with it, but fight hard to try and make sure you gave it your best.

Growing up in a loving, Christian and teetotal household with three other siblings, older sister Jennifer, younger sister Michelle and little brother Andrew, Mum as a Nurse and Dad as a Real Estate agent, made us slightly different to the rest of the street and fed a fascination with how other people lived. Watching Ngaire Clarke coming home drunk from the bar at the Vineyard where she worked was pretty interesting, as was watching Brady Jones with a bunch of teenage girls and boys taking a skinny dip in their pool through a hole in the fence.

Talking my way out of and into trouble was standard fare for me. The time I had to collect my younger brother Andrew from the Benders, only to find an incandescent Mr Bender who was upset because for some unknown reason my little brother had decided to defecate on their front door step. That taught me diplomacy as I looked to shield my little brother and simultaneously try and explain his actions as being because he had a stomach condition which everyone was unaware of, including myself, until that instant.

I also learned about violence and abuse. Mum taking me aside to ask me whether I had ever been alone with a certain Father on the street and to tell me never to allow that to happen. ‘Just run away as fast as you can David’. That same man was later outed for abuse against his daughters. Or the Mother who was so badly beaten, that the other wives in the street did her housework and cooked her meals for the family for several weeks. Violence was at school where I would get Mr Manson taking his belt off to give me a whack, or Mrs Rider who would whack me across the head, knee me in the bum while holding my shoulders back or give me the strap weekly. Or violence could be in homes where getting the ruler or a smack was the normal punishment for me, but where a punch or a beating was normal for others.

Being part of a community like Kingdale was never better displayed than at Christmas. All of the kids would be out playing with their new toys, shrieking and excited as only kids on Christmas Day can be. The parents outside talking to each other, watching as kids swapped presents to have a go, or admire each others new toys.

Today, the world is a different place with limited trust, limited freedom, few immediate and direct consequences from individuals actions. But it doesn’t have to be. We decide how we live. We decide how to treat other people. We decide to respect and to be open to everyone regardless of who they appear to be. It is our choice to be as free as we want to be.

After all, your kingdom is what you make it.

The importance of learning our ABCD’s

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In a complex, ever changing world, seeking out and creating simplicity can help focus us on what is important, helping us to manage the mental clutter of so many messages coming at us every day, all with their own opinions and agendas.

Or in the words of Winston Churchill ”Out of intense complexities, intense simplicities emerge”

When coaching young football players, creating the same sort of simplicity is important – breaking down the complexity of a game scenario or lessons to be learnt, into easily absorbed simple messages which are then layered up. One of the toughest things for young players to learn, is the mental side of how to be a better player. How to make better decisions on the field by absorbing real time data and responding instinctively. The other and arguably more important part, is the mental side of how players can reach their goals and stay motivated. They need a framework which is simple and easily understood and can be used on field and off field.

This is where the nexus of business and football comes about. To succeed in business and in our personal lives, striving to be the best we can be is important. Pushing ourselves at times to levels well beyond what we thought we are capable of, through understanding that to be the best version of ourselves, that we need to remove doubt, to be strong and courageous, to seek out new challenges and never stop being better. Every day. Every decision. Every opportunity.

To create these messages in a simple way for football players and in my life, I use ABCD.

A is for average. The world wants to make you average. To be part of the pack, not to be different. Not to stand out by achieving or being disciplined. To be a victim, to focus on finding excuses and people to blame.  

The first simple message then is to choose not to be average. To choose not to be a victim or make excuses. We are here on this planet once. We are all special people who can achieve anything in life, as most barriers, are the ones put in place by ourselves. To realise our massive and unique potential, we must choose instead to be the best version of ourselves we can be.

B is for better. To be the best version of ourselves, we need to commit to being better. Each day, each training session. Each decision. The question to ask ourselves, players or people we coach, is to ask, ”Is this creating or destroying a better version of me?”

It is also important to think about what we are not doing to make ourselves better. If we need to be stretching, getting fitter or learning new things, are we doing that, or in the absence of a conscious decision, are we on a slide back to being average?

C is for Confidence and Courage. When you are a young person, it is hard to be confident. Peer groups have an ability to rob young people of confidence together with the usual teenage sources of angst. It is also harder to act with courage and be different. It is easy to step back and be part of the crowd, with the associated messages of ‘it’s safe in the pack’.

It is also hard for a young person and many adults to act with courage, for fear of getting it wrong. But courage is exactly what defines the most successful players and the best business people in the world. The courage to take that pass or decision, the wisdom to make it the right one. The courage to try things and do something different, perhaps to take on new challenges or to shake things up by moving positions, teams, or companies.

When ABCD is ingrained we will make conscious and habit-forming decisions to be confident, to be courageous. That when considered together with the messages of letters A and B, that we understand that this is part of the framework and confidence and courage is a vital ingredient to achieve our goals.

The most important lesson here is that we can do it. That we can achieve anything, anything at all with positive energy like confidence and courage.

D is for doubt. Doubt is a success cancer. Its tentacles slither their way into our lives and hold us back. Clever manipulators and even well-meaning people who have been hurt by being courageous will try and project doubt. We cannot listen to those people and must hit this head on. We must eliminate doubt in our purpose. We must choose to be positive and believe in ourselves. Day by day, decision by decision, training by training, game by game.

But often the source of doubt is our own self sabotage. For any of us to be the best version of ourselves we can be, we must stop the negative self-talk. The constant questioning of ourselves, the focus on the negatives. For young people this is exacerbated. They ask themselves self-doubt questions on a regular basis.

We can also help eliminate doubt by understanding that making mistakes is natural and that it is OK, as we are human and that is how we learn. We should look at it positively and embrace mistakes as something we have just learnt, not something we have just done wrong.

The lessons of ABCD are about more than football. They are about providing a simple framework that helps create better people, in sport and in life. They are about the beauty and power of simplicity in a complex and changeable world.

Or to quote Winston Churchill once again “A vocabulary of truth and simplicity will be of service throughout your life.”

The associated messages have been of immense help to me in my life and I hope in sharing them, they can be in yours, or in the lives of people around you.

Prologue: Background to the Camino trip and the Author

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Dave Newick is a senior executive by profession having successfully started up several businesses, worked for multinationals and sat on company boards. Today he manages business transformations, getting businesses to fulfill their potential through energising and focusing people and designing and executing strategies.

In 2012, Dave became the President of the most successful football (soccer) club in New Zealand, Birkenhead United, leading them to six national titles, one league title and growing the club by just under 100% in five years. This is a voluntary role delivered in excess of the day today demands of a professional career.

Football is a passion as is his family. and friends. Happily married to Sharon for 25 years in May 2017, David has two adult children, Bridget and Matthew.

Leading into the Camino trip, Dave had completed a significant business divestment and integration and had resigned to head to a new challenge. The gap of three months between employers while on full pay was an unusual opportunity which coincided with turning 50 years in March.

After seeing the movie ‘The Way’ starring Martin Sheen some years before, a seed had been planted to one day do the Camino.

At the urging of his wife to take the time and do something for himself, he left New Zealand with one weeks notice, a new pair of boots and a new pack to head to the Camino Portuguese.

THE MID LIFE CRISIS (MLC)

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Auckland, New Zealand

March 30th, 2017 

Well here I am. I’m 50. What does that mean? Is it any different to 49?

Are my best years behind me or ahead of me? Will I descend into a series of aches and pains and the general mental and physical flabbiness of middle age?

If my 30s & 40s were the summer of my life, am I now in autumn? What do I really want to spend the next tranche of my life doing? What is and what will be, my legacy?

To answer these questions and many more, at one weeks notice, I have come to a trail used by thousands of pilgrims over hundreds of years. The Camino de Santiago. This is the series of routes in Spain and Portugal used by pilgrims to reach Santiago de Compestela to reach the relics of St James.

The full journey is usually 800 kms but 100 kms is recognised as the minimum to be awarded a certificate de compestela showing completion of the pilgrims journey.

My journey is 270km in 14 walking days on the Camino de Portuguese, one of the nine Caminos in Spain. 

The smallest day walking is 17 kms and the largest 33kms, taking me from Oporto in Portugal to Santiago de Compestela in Spain and a pilgrims mass at the cathedral.

The destination is important but this trip for me is about the journey.

My good friend Graham Ryan asked me whether this was a pilgrimage. I answered “What is a pilgrimage?” Meaning what it is to one person, is not what it is to another.

Having time to be alone without the clutter of everyday life, is a special and unique opportunity. Working out along the way some MLC answers will make it a pilgrimage of sorts, I guess.

First, I am in Madrid from the 2nd to spend time honing my Spanish and checking out one of the worlds great footballing cities. From there I fly to Oporto on the 4th to start my walk on the 6th. This blog is written for me. It will collect my thoughts and chronicle my journey, some of the answers or questions I pose and the people I meet. If you are reading this, I’ve decided to share my MLC with you. 😀 Buen Camino!

Starting weight: 90.4k

London I have missed you

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London, United Kingdom. 

March 31st, 2017 

I arrived in London in pretty good shape considering the flight came straight through Dubai and took 29 hours.

My brother Andrew suggested I use some hydration anti-jetlag pills and they really worked although drinking 5 L of fluid over 29 hours meant I was up out of my seat a lot !

At the Auckland airport bar I met the first of the interesting people that I expect to meet on my journey.

Ben was an emergency doctor from England who had graduated from Oxford and was now working in emergency medicine on the Gold Coast of Australia. His partner Emma was a pharmacist and together we talked about life in the UK and how wankers always drive Porsches!

Ha ha I did tell him and his girlfriend really paid out on him.

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Early onset Mid Life Crisis

On the flight I was sitting next to the ex national team goalkeeper for Malaysia. I can’t remember his name now but he was off to London with his son who had just graduated, to watch Chelsea play at Stamford Bridge. It was his first long flight for some time and he was hurting even though he had only come from Malaysia.

Checking into the Tower Hotel to meet my friends Graham and Aly Ryan after they had been to a show, I spent the afternoon at the wonderful Tate modern.

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I have never been here despite living 3 1/2 years in London. It was fantastic to have time on my own to stop and look at whatever I wanted to and be alone in amongst what was hundreds of young people including children at the Museum.

Meeting Aly and Graham for a drink and then dinner, it was great to spend time discussing my plans with two great people who are very experienced walkers and travellers.

We had a blast at a lovely Italian restaurant and then followed it up with another couple of beers looking at the tower bridge at night.

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Waking early in the morning I decided to go for another walk to wear my boots in. I discovered a bit of a problem in that I started to get hotspots high on my ankle with my new boots. Uh Oh! Is this going to be a problem?

I went back and used my brother Andrews Guerny goo but it continued to give me problems all the way through the rest of the day.

Walking east from the tower hotel I went through Wapping and all of the new Docklands developments there and discovered an old canal path to return back to the hotel on a beautiful spring day.

Stopping in for a refuel of a flat white at a cafe in Wapping, I met an ex-professional footballer who had played for a year in Valencia, Spain. He had also played in the state leagues in Australia and was very interested to know about football in New Zealand.

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He was having a laugh at my accent and he will not be the first one to do that! I met Aly and Graham for breakfast before heading off on the tube to Heathrow airport to catch my British Airways flight out to Madrid. My journey really starts to become real now.

STEPS: 24,014 on the 1st & 16,091 on the 2nd

MID LIFE CRISIS THOUGHT OF THE DAY: Sharon & I could live anywhere really. How cool would it be to have a flat in Wapping?

WEIGHT: who knows after a few beers !