Purpose is easy to find —
if you're willing to get lost.

I didn't plan my career. It just seemed to happen.

As I become ever more focused on what I want my life and career to look like by the time I'm forty — a North Star, something I work on with my clients — it's useful to look back.

Someone told me that if you're living in the past you're depressed, in the future you're anxious, and in the present — well, just like Goldilocks — just right. But without a level of introspection we can't understand where we've come from, and that's quite useful when making a plan for where we're going.

If I had tried to plan the last ten years of my life it wouldn't have been possible. An ongoing lesson in releasing control and seeing where the world brings you. A lot of hard work, grit, and determination. Throw in some ceramics, time in an ashram, time spent living on an island — leaving friends and family behind to move through this one wild and wondrous life. Has it been easy? No.

I planned to be a successful headhunter, and for a decade I was — 10,000+ hours of interviewing executives across the life science industry. I was good at it. Still am. I earned well. And somewhere inside all of that performance, I started to feel the thing I now help other people prevent.

Not a breakdown. Something quieter. A hollowing out.

I ignored them because I didn't have a framework for listening to them. Most high-achievers don't. Being a high achiever requires either a supporting team or a myopic focus that means you're somewhat siloed.

What changed things wasn't a retreat, or a therapist, or a particularly good book. (Those things didn't hurt.)

It was ceramics.

I started making things with my hands. Badly at first. And then less badly, over the years. I followed that pull (ceramic pun — yes) — through London, through Berlin, through a residency in the Himalayas, Goa, and Chandigarh. Following ceramics through museums, books, and friendships, and somewhere along the way I started to understand what I'd been missing.

Making something with your hands forces you back into your body. You can't "think" your way through clay. You have to feel it. You have to be present to it — or it collapses, dries, cracks, explodes. I could go on.

That, it turned out, was exactly the kind of intelligence I'd been coaching out of executives for years.

The tightening in the chest before a bad decision. The lightness that arrives with a good one. The dread that gathers on a Sunday evening and tells you something needs to change before it changes you.

I built the Kennedy Wiggle to give people access to that intelligence. Not as a mystical practice — as a practical one. Backed by research from Van der Kolk, Brackett's Yale Emotional Intelligence work, and Loehr and Schwartz's research on sustainable high performance.

The Burnout Prevention Programme came out of that. Nine weeks. One client at a time. We use the Kennedy Wiggle, body-based decision-making, colour mapping, and daily creative practice to rebuild your relationship with your own signals — before you're forced to stop.

It's not therapy. It's not your usual coaching. It's for people who are already performing well and want to keep doing so — sustainably, with clarity, with something left in the tank at the end of the day.

My philosophy is simple. Three things a day: make something, move your body, see a friend. It sounds small — it is. And yet in practice, it's the difference between grinding and living.

The robin I saw on my walk this morning reminded me why.

In the UK, robins are famously unbothered by humans. They'll land beside you, bob along with you, follow you through the garden. Why? Because generations of humans have treated them with kindness and curiosity. They show up because the world has been safe for them.

If any of this resonates — I have a free 30-minute discovery call. No pitch, no script. Just a real conversation about where you are.