The train hums beneath us, a surprisingly soothing vibration as we speed north, leaving London beneath the setting sun.

Across the table sits D. We’re alone in the carriage and between us lie trophies of a massive win - a slide deck amongst empty coffee cups and the signed contract that secures our startup’s future (for now).

But the adrenaline of victory is fading already, displaced by an unsettling, gnawing sensation.

Realisation hits like a Bas Rutten gut punch:

I’m utterly alone at the finish line.

No partner, no friends. A hollow existence defined by career trajectories stares back at me in the reflection of the window.

I look across the table and she smiles.

Of course - why wouldn’t she? The mood is jubilant. I’m CEO and her line manager.

Nonetheless it triggers feelings long buried.

Question: Is it possible for two singletons of compatible character and physique to enjoy growth and overcome serial adversity together, sharing big picture wins as well as the daily grind, without something developing on the emotional front for at least one of them?

I’m not so sure.

Every neuron of rationality screams that what I’m about to do is a catastrophic boundary violation. I ask her out anyway.

The silence is heavy. Unexpectedly loud.

She gracefully and firmly says no.

I was eventually glad that she did. But why did it fall on her - objectively the junior in nearly every way - to restore the professionalism that framed everything we’d achieved together?

Because I was lonely.

And whilst hardly unfamiliar ground, my resilience and vitality at this time were shaky, to say the least. You see, I’d spent the preceding 2+ years consciously decoupling from all that used to put a spring in my step:

Playing the piano, watching films in French, competitive squash, friendships… listening to a cherished album from beginning to end, on a kickass sound system or audiophile headphones with deep bass, all the while 100% focused on the music.

Anything not directly related to achieving EBITDA was deemed a distraction and closed off accordingly.

From the lofty position of two decades of hindsight (and additional life experience), the mistake is obvious. Back then, I’d yet to connect these seemingly mundane pursuits to my identity and inner peace.

Years already spent in the trenches and the boardroom meant the relentless pressure of daily ops and quarterly targets didn’t crush me outright. But the win in London exposed a foundational fragility that required action.

This I did. But not before pondering on root causes.

The drivers of my misguided approach can be traced to 1979 when I arrive in the UK as a four-year-old refugee. My family fled the aftermath of the Vietnam War on one of many crowded boats, beating deadly odds that killed millions.

Survival assured, my parents’ drivers are simple: that their 4 children are fed, sensibly clothed and educated. They help me through university by working hard and assiduously watching every penny.

Studies complete, I somehow land a coveted graduate trainee position with PZ Cussons (one of five that year), home to the iconic British staple Imperial Leather. This becomes a springboard for a decade of cutting my teeth with some of the most dynamic FMCG and retail blue chips on the planet.

The journey puts me at a dinner table with a high-net-worth investor. Our skillsets are complementary, our values in lock step. He appoints me CEO with carte blanche to deploy his six-figure personal investment into an emerging market worth £billions.

Quite the 3rd Act for an arc that begins with a timid 4 year old hiding under the tables at breaktime so he won’t have to face his tormentors in the playground. Unable to speak a word of English, he’s frustratingly unable to explain his predicament to well meaning teachers ushering him outside for some fresh air.

Is this not the stuff of fairytales?

I felt unbelievably, undeservedly Lucky.

Grateful, of course.

To give anything less than my all
would be to betray the universe

The answer seemed to write itself:

I cut out music - a distraction.
I stop seeing friends - another distraction.
I ignore my body's warning signs. Sleep is an annoyance.

has their own drivers for focus.

Their intricate backstory and smorgasbord of nuanced reasons for feeling lucky and the overpowering self imposed pressure to deliver.

It’s why Founder Origin Story is one of our most requested elements.

Everything is secondary to the goal.

But that’s the problem.

There’s always another goal, another destination.

It’s the Arrival Fallacy at its most destructive. We optimise the corporate engine to the millimeter while treating our own biological and psychological capital as an afterthought.

It’s unmanaged enterprise risk with potentially showstopping downside.

It’s your Operational Vitality.

Operational Vitality isn't self-care but the strategic optimisation of your executive engine.

It’s not one dimensional or a simple one off because neither are we.

There are at least nine dimensions that affect us all, albeit to varying degrees on a continuum:

You can’t measure this. Nor the ROI of your partner / mother / child - which isn’t to say they aren’t immeasurably valuable.

For each one, simply do this

You’ll already know whether this matters and if you need to improve or safeguard its Share of Attention.

We deepdive into lived experience and resources across all nine on The Continuum Brief.

Safeguarding your personal capacity should be seen for what it is - a fiduciary duty to your enterprise that cannot be left to chance.

"Accidental resilience" is not a strategy. A tailored system engineered to optimise for your drivers of vitality, is.

We deliver a comprehensive Operational Vitality Audit, followed by a high-intensity deployment sprint. Your Praxis concierge provides ongoing support for frictionless maintenance.

Stop running your primary corporate asset on empty.

Executive Reputation | Infrastructure | Vitality

Continuum