With the amount of work that needed doing when I was growing up, we needed a maid. Even two would have found enough to do. We changed them often. My mother was…picky; and prone to anger. The record was four in four days. A friend of mine came over every day for this period and saw four different maids. He couldn’t believe it. I didn’t even know the name of the last one.

At times like this, my mum would flip into the “You boys are spoilt and need to learn how to work” mode and refuse to employ any extra hand. This was complete nonsense. We didn’t need to learn how to work. We already knew how. A reminder wasn’t necessary either. Sadly, my mum disagreed. Sadly, my mum was in charge. Mutiny was not an option. Her word was law. Thus, we suffered this injustice numerous times when I was a teenager. We once lasted two months with no maid. It sucked beyond anything I can describe. The work was bad enough; but the real issue was that someone always had to be at home. We hardly ever left the house empty, for security reasons. That meant my evening drive about town became a luxury. I loved that drive. I needed that drive.

My little brother was usually home; but, being a weirdo, he always locked himself in his room. This was no good when you needed someone to answer the gate. At least he worked. He fed the chickens. I hated doing that more than anything else; and he did it without moaning. I always thought he felt a kinship with them; stuck in those cages, laying eggs for ungrateful masters who would butcher and eat you when you couldn’t do the laying anymore. I have mentioned he was strange.

It was in one of these cases that I saw first hand what could happen when one’s back is pushed against the wall. There was no maid. The poultry was at full capacity and we had an extremely vicious dog to contend with. I had to remember to buy chicken feed, because they wouldn’t lay eggs if they hadn’t eaten properly. We sold some of the eggs that were laid. My mother would be ticked off if there weren’t enough eggs, especially if it was my fault. Needless to say, I made sure they were fed.

The turkeys were a different matter. All they did was stuff their faces and stroll around leisurely. I think I just envied them. At any rate, the alpha male type character was quite antagonistic. He thought he was a king. No, really. I nicknamed him Big Poppa because of this fact. He led the entire troupe around like they were gods or something. He even attacked me a couple of times. They didn’t serve any purpose at that stage. Yes, I knew they would make for a tasty meal somewhere down the line, but in the meantime they were a pain. So, I forgot to buy their feed. I was going to, but I kept putting it off. So, it ran out. The turkeys were starving. It so happened that someone made some beans that didn’t turn out so good at that time. I thought it might be an idea to feed this to the turkeys, so I did. They ignored it. I thought, fine…you’re obviously not really hungry. Cruel, perhaps; but I was still nursing a bruise on my leg where Big Poppa had drop-kicked me. I felt justified.

I wandered outside later on and, lo and behold, the bean cocktail was gone; all of it; and all the dirt around where it had been put. So I didn’t bother buying feed that day either. The next day, I put the dog’s meal out for it. Rex (the dog) was so aggressive that I couldn’t go near him while he was dining. He would actually try to attack me. He forgot that I was the boss, and that sometime later on that day we would play tag, a game which I would let him win. The point was that he had to be restrained. You put out the food and took cover before he went into mad mode. Well, on this day, after the food was put out, Big Poppa arrived on the scene with his henchmen. They were scared silly by that dog. There had been one or two incidents when Rex had managed to get free when the turkeys were out for their daily stroll. It never killed any, but there was still chaos.

Imagine how this leader felt; his family was starving; there was food right there, within reach. The only problem was the vile creature with sharp teeth that laid claim to the grub. Something had to be done. No guts, no glory. It happened fast. All fourteen turkeys made their move at the same time. Rex never stood a chance. At first he tried to grab one with his teeth (ever the nice guy, he didn’t want to kill it, just to hold on to it and scare it off or something). The bird flapped its wings so hard that the he was dazed. I tried to help, but the crazy dog lunged at me in its food-fuelled madness. He was playing nice to the turkeys but thought nothing of ripping me to bits. I left him to his fate. It was over in about ten seconds. They each pecked at the dish about twice each, or something like that. All the food was gone. Then they took off…into the sunset, as it were. That marked a major change in their relationship with Rex. I might be wrong, but I believe in my heart that all further attempts he made to free himself were solely so he could have another one-on-one with Big Poppa and the rest of the crew. Thankfully for them, he never succeeded.

The turkeys explored this change in diet further over the next week. The next day, I noticed them moving with the same single-mindedness that they had when they attacked Rex’s food. It was a monitor lizard; a poor un-suspecting monitor lizard. These reptiles exist in large quantities around where I lived. They had no reason to expect to be attacked by turkeys; cats, maybe, but definitely not turkeys. It had never happened before. It was fundamentally wrong; unnatural even. Nevertheless, a couple of pecks later and he was gone. We didn’t have a lizard problem for months. Only the cats did a better job. The turkeys also tried corn-on-the-cob and some authentic African cuisine, including stewed chicken, before it was over. I eventually bought the feed, and things went back to normal. They kept attacking the lizards though. I guess they tasted good.

I learnt a valuable lesson from this. All it takes is motivation, and you can do anything.

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At age 5, Junior gets scolded by a stranger in a black hat (we’ll leave out the part where he nearly breaks the guy’s windscreen with his football – and I mean soccer). Perhaps the man has had a bad day, or maybe he’s just an angry, grumpy, fun-hating killjoy (which is well within his rights, you know). In any case, his reaction is overblown. That reference is stored. So JR instinctively dislikes his P.E. teacher at age 13, since the teacher looks similar to the other guy…and also wears a hat. JR doesn’t make the connection; he just knows that something about the guy bugs him. Added to this mix is the fact that this teacher also happens to be a bit of a disciplinarian. That just reinforces it. Soon, he finds that he “distrusts” men of that description who wear hats – uncommon, I know…work with me – because they are just…you know…dodgy. He carries this into adulthood, and it impacts the relationships he develops, and his attitude to his boss, perhaps negatively. All of this would be traceable back to that one incident when he was a child. This sort of thing happens…to all of us.

What’s a tad bit worrying is that, without looking closely, you have no control of the process. It’s automatic. The brain cannot afford to be finicky. It’s trying to protect you. Back in the old days (think cavemen) the brain worked to keep you alive so you wouldn’t become lunch for the sabre-toothed tiger that was lurking around. These days, there are many other things for the brain to protect you from; embarassment, sadness, unhappiness, worthlessness, loneliness…the list goes on and on, and depends on the sort of person you have “become”. These things are treated with the same disdain as death used to be (even more, in some cases. I can’t tell you how many times I wanted to die when I was in secondary school…usually in situations involving members of the opposite sex. I digress. Sorry…”bad” memories being stirred up). Usually, things that threaten your happiness, and I use that term loosely, are to be avoided. One would think therefore that the brain would disregard anything that would create such negative feelings. Alas, importance often trumps negativity. All this stuff is “extremely” important. Only being able to stutter and break out into full blush when a bunch of giggly girls call your name at school is important (never happened to me…really!). The brain reacts accordingly, perhaps with feelings of worthlessness or sadness, as the situation “demands”. Whatever lack of confidence you might feel in such a situation is only reinforced…that little “box” of sad things in your mind gets another entry.

Soon, these boxes start to determine your state of mind. Your control is limited. Your brain has it filed away that if your parents think you suck at something, then the greatest possibility is that you do suck. Nevermind how old you were or the objective situation at the time. This box of suckiness has all the appropriate reactions linked with it. When something happens that triggers it, the brain produces the related response…inadequacy (I am such a wuss), anger (why does she have to be such a ** anyway?!) etc. Heck, if it rains or is cloudy, that’s usually an item for the “Sad Things” box. It’s the darn box!

Your brain might be running you. Yes, you! It’s like the computer VICKI in Will Smith’s IRobot (decent movie, in my opinion…aside from Will Smith’s dodgy hat). It will do what it thinks is best to protect you, regardless of the damage it does. It will run your life, completely on auto-pilot. You wake up in the morning, go about your everyday activities, all according to the reactions your brain sets out for you. Almost every situation you encounter already has a pre-defined box and reaction in your memory. The ability to look at things anew is mostly lost.

The answer: Pay attention. Watch how you respond to events in life. You can be there to catch the conditioned action your brain throws out at you. You don’t have to accept it. You can try something different. You can examine the boxes. You can empty those that are detrimental to you, then start again. You can gradually take control of the ship again.

I mean, is it really the end of the world if some people made fun of me at school? Does that make me worthless? Do I need to hunt them down and make them pay for destroying my self-esteem? Arrgh!! No. I don’t. I’ll simply re-examine that box and change my reaction. I’ll try to choose my own perspective. I’ll decide my response. I’ll fail at first, but then I’ll keep going until I get it right.

In the meantime though, it might be better if those people stay out of my way…just in case. I’m trying here.

Till next time.

Managing weight is a big deal (no pun intended) for a lot of people, including yours truly. I’ll admit though, it has only become as a big concern in the last year or so, as I am fast approaching the big 3-0. Confronting it as I have done (well…”I am doing” would be more appropriate) has been an elightening experience. Elightenment is often the epitome of simplicity…so much so that those who achieve it look back at the roundabout, maze-like path they have taken to get there, and laugh at themselves and the long way they took (at least that’s what people say). Well, that’s the way it has turned out for me with the weight thingy.

Views on weight tend to evolve as one goes through various stages in life. People go from not really worrying about it, to worrying just a little, to worrying a lot, to outright panic, to ignoring it (cycle through the these in an infinite loop). All of these are affected by the place you are in life mentally, emotionally, financially etc.

I think the evolution of my own attitude is fairly typical. I was quite skinny when I was growing up in Africa. In my mid-to-late teens, gaining weight – or more precisely, muscle – was a major concern. I wanted it. You could say I was in the “worry just a little” phase. Here, losing (or gaining) weight might positively affect some part of your life, but it’s not a huge deal. In my case, the desired effect was straight-forward. I didn’t think I was particularly pretty, so I had to work on the other departments. Hot girls dig manly guys. So, me + muscles = mucho hot women. Simple. Putting on the weight to turn into muscle was hard though. I ate a lot, but I couldn’t seem to gain much. Those were innocent times. I eventually gained the weight (even a little bit of muscle…bonus!) before I turned twenty. Then I hit the peak. Once that happens, it’s all downhill from there. As you can imagine, putting on the pounds is no trouble these days.

Fulltime employment is the real killer though. Working as a consultant, like I do, can wreak havoc on your diet and all-round health if you’re not careful. In this line or work, I began to eat and drink out more often, and spent even more time at a desk on a computer. Every now and then I would look in the mirror and notice the bulge slowly forming. At times like these, I would spend a week or so trying to do some sit-ups when I awoke in the morning. That was the scope of my efforts to control my diet. It actually worked as well. So, it could be a mild inconvenience after a period of sustained eating, but wasn’t so bad in general.

All of that went to hell once I hit the States. My first 4 months in the US were spent in Kansas City. Meat and Beer rule in Kansas City. My “Consultant’s Belly” became a permanent fixture. I was now firmly in the “Worrying a lot” stage. I went to the gym at the hotel once to look around, then never went back. It was just too much trouble. Plus it was next to the hotel bar, a much more welcoming place. Instead, I began skip meals. So, I would skip breakfast, have a decent lunch, then only have starters for dinner (never mind the fact that the starters would often be a bunch of chicken wings). The next day I would have breakfast and dinner and miss lunch. Needless to say, this tactic wasn’t sustainable. and I fell back into my standard habits. I later conquered my phobia of hotel gyms (peer pressure can be good sometimes), but it didn’t do much good back then.

I have never made it to the “Panic” stage. That might be when the weight is now starting to cause serious issues in your life, health or otherwise. I really don’t want to get there. However, I didn’t make much progress either in my attempts to lose weight as the problem increased; not until I began to take measurements. Yes, my friends. Discovering the magic of Counting Calories is like…well…magic.

You see, if you have to walk 50,000 steps on a particular bearing to get to your destination, it is perfectly fine to just hit the road and head in the general direction of your target. However, if it is really important to make it there at a certain time, then you take some tools, like a compass and a pedometer. With the compass, you can check the direction; with the pedometer, you can check how many steps you have walked so far. This also means you can check your progress each day, and work out exactly how many steps you take each day on average. If that average isn’t enough to get you there in the time you have left, then you can work on increasing the number of steps. Many people take a compass on their weight-loss challenge, but most leave the pedometers at home.

This is the way success works. You have to be able to measure progress towards your goal, unless it’s something abstract that can’t necessarily be quantified…like love. I digress. You have to be able to calculate the results of your actions. The more precise, the better. That’s what test-runs are for; that’s what schools do with quizzes; that’s what organizations do with annual reviews (as painful as they can be). All are attempts to allow one to see where one is, see where one needs to be and, hopefully, identify what needs to be done to get there. If you are having trouble with weight, then you could benefit from counting.

I get it. Measurements are boring; especially when it comes to something like food. I mean do you really want to have to calculate the amount of calories in icing on that juicy chunk of cake? Well, yeah. I was mortified to find that I was consuming 250-300 calories per day in the sugar I was putting in my coffee alone. I suppose I knew I was taking too much, but having figures removes any illusions. It’s about honesty. When I go out to Steakhouse and get the 16 Ounce Ribeye, it is helpful to know that is might cost me way over 1000 calories that day.

So, back to the theme of simplicity. From what I have learned so far, an average man needs 2000-2500 calories a day to function correctly (more personalized numbers are available online). This is also influenced by the amount of activity you engage in each day. Do some running and you can add hundreds of calories to your daily allowance. If you consume more than you burn on average, you add on some weight, and vice versa. That’s it.

What to do? Be aware of what you eat. Take an honest look at your diet over the last month. In five minutes, you can find out what the general calorie content is for most of the meals and snacks you eat (the wonders of Google, eh?). I think most people who have trouble with weight will find that they are easily over their limits. When you “cut down” on what you eat without measuring, you might find that you have simply dropped within the range you should have been in anyway. To actually LOSE weight you will have to cut down more.

So start small. You don’t have to give up everything. Remember, this has to be sustainable. Go down to one egg instead of two; try getting a smaller steak; cut down the amount of sugar. For each step you take, note how much you are cutting from your diet. Down from 5 sugars to 1…that’s about 150 calories each day. Chicken Salad for lunch (watch the sauce!) instead of a burger…that’s another 200 calories cut. Stay at each stage until you are confident enough to add more to it. It took me 3 months to go from a full breakfast (eggs, bacon, sausages…the works) to two slices of toast with butter and a boiled egg. I did it in stages, cutting bits out until I didn’t feel bad about it anymore.

Gradually, you can build up good eating habits that will help your health, as well as cut down the pounds.

Here’s to your good health…

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I was lying in bed thinking out success. By success, I mean excellence in whatever field you are in. I mean being on top of your game. That applies to all things…whether you are a doctor, programmer, entrepreneur, house wife or professional drunk.

It struck me that, to a large extent, success is determined by what we focus on. This is not an unusual concept. We hear this all the time from Self-Help gurus and motivational folks. We all know it’s true in that abstract, distant way we know things. The point is, it’s not a radical thought. However, on this night (early morning really; it’s about a quarter to one as I write this…Lord, I hope this isn’t the onset of insomnia), I have been thinking about a project I am working on. I say “working on”, but what I really mean is that I have been “thinking about starting work” on it. I just realized that the reason I am not doing much is that the statistics say only a small percentage – think 5-10% – will succeed at such a task.

Well, that’s something, isn’t it? Such a small chance of success is daunting. When you factor in the sacrifices you might have to make to begin such a venture, you would be forgiven for wanting to wait and plan and wait some more…just to make sure everything is right before you plunge. You would be forgiven, in the face of such odds.

Hmmm…but are those really bad odds? Look around you. In every walk of life, in every field, there are those that do better than others. There are those who achieve reasonable results, and then there are those that excel. Check the other statistics…the ones that say that 20% of the world own 80% of the wealth (I am hacking the 80/20 rule by Pareto for my own benefit) and so on. If you have a job, can browse the internet and own a phone, then chances are that you are closer to the top 20% in those numbers. Basically, you are probably better off than you think, in the grand scheme of things.

It is life as we know it. Things are skewed that way. We need to see it for what it is. There’s no need to be afraid of action…measured, calculated action, of course. We do the research, we find out what it is that distinguishes those at the top end of our path from the rest, and we work towards that. That’s what I need to focus on…not the scary numbers. The achievement will always require me to get into the higher percentages, no matter what. Everyone else that got there (well, most of them anyway) navigated their way up the numbers as well.

So, I’ll go back to bed and get some rest now. Tomorrow, I’ll go past “thinking” about starting and actually “begin” the process of starting. No, really. I will. You’ll see. Okay, I might just go over my plans…just one more time, you know…?