Danny Brown

podcaster - author - creator

life

Everything Around You is an Idea

A little while back, my wife was talking to me about her blog. She?s an independent author and, as such, uses her blog a lot to talk about her books, her characters, events, etc.

One of the things she said was she found it hard to come up with ideas, given that there?s only so much you can talk about plot and print.

I asked her if she?d ever considered being more personal. Let readers get to know the real person behind the author.

What inspires her; what she?s afraid of; what her goals are beyond sales and recognition.

As a result, she started to publish more personal posts, with one, in particular, getting over 700 shares on Facebook and more than 30 comments.

From my own experience, even though I stopped writing directly about business on my blog in 2014, I still get business inquiries, along with emails and comments on how certain posts aren?t restricted to the personal topic I?ve written about.

Which makes sense ? because our whole lives are one big blog post idea.

  • The beauty of the sunset, and how that can inspire a new beginning in business when the next dawn rises;
  • The innocence of children, and how that can make us better business leaders without ego or ignorance fuelling us;
  • The friendly neighbour who?ll do anything for another human, and how that can make us more accountable as colleagues;
  • The love of our pets, and how that can instill the importance of loyalty and reward when it comes to our customers.

These are just some ways that everyday occurrences can result in a business lesson. Which can then be turned into a piece of content.

Because if there?s one thing I?ve found to be true, both in business and in life, it?s this ? people relate to real life.

If your people (your customers, your colleagues, your clients, your readers) can relate to your life and all you learn from it, it?s pretty much a guarantee that the goals you have will be easier to meet.

Try it ? you might just find out it?s all you needed to do to begin with.

This Borrowed Life

Today was a fairly big day for me and my wife. And, I guess, our two kids – but they seemed to be less perturbed about it than we did, so they don’t really count…

As of today, both our son Ewan and our daughter Salem are at school. The “big school”. No more daycare – these days are gone.

Instead, Ewan began grade one, having finished senior kindergarten before the summer break, and Salem started junior kindergarten (JK).

Two big steps in their ongoing evolution from our babies into young children into youth and beyond.

Kids at school

It was a very mixed emotions kind of day.

Pride that our babies are their own very distinctive people. Pride that they’re excited about this new chapter. Pride that they’re discovering more about who they are each day.

Sadness that the daycare years are over, as that’s something that tells us our babies are no longer that. Sadness that this is where perhaps they’ll start to grow a little apart from each other as they discover new friends and independence.

There’s also a feeling of awareness. That this life we have – my wife, our two kids, and me – is one that isn’t ours.

We can’t stop our kids from growing up. We can’t stop our lives from changing as they take the steps that, one day, will see them leave our home and begin to make their own elsewhere.

Neither should we try – or want – to stop them. After all, that’s how we got here.

But it made me realize that no matter what we do, or say, and how we love each other, and help each other grow, this life is still a borrowed one.

There’s no extended warranty. There’s no ownership. There’s no trading it in when we’re tired of it.

This life is all we have. Each part of it – love, sadness, pain, happiness, children, no children, future, past.

So. Enjoy the moment. Enjoy the lessons, the takeaways, the growing up.

Make good of what you have now.?One day, it’ll all be gone.

Until then, borrow well.

The Danger of Not Work

When we?re passionate about something, we never see it as something we have to do ? we see it as something we want to do.

Blogging; business; job; hobby; singing; drawing, anything. If we love it, we?ll spend time on it that we don?t even realize.

While it?s still work, we don?t see it as work. And there?s the danger.

[Read more…] about The Danger of Not Work

Maybe You’re Late For a Good Reason

The other night, I was commuting home on my usual train, and two cyclists got on, a man and a woman (although separately – they weren’t together).

As I sat down in my chair, the male cyclist noticed that the female one was looking a little agitated, and asked her if everything was okay.

“Oh, well, kinda, thanks for asking. I’m just late for a meeting with my friend, and I’m just trying to let her know I’ll be there soon.”

“Ah, that sucks,” replied the guy. “But you know, maybe you’re late for a good reason.”

The female cyclist looked at him and asked, “How come?”

“Well, you never know,” was the reply, “you might be late, your friend might leave, and you might meet the love of your life at your destination instead, or someone who’ll become an important part of your life.”

The female cyclist paused, smiled, and thanked her male counterpart for that.

The train started up, pulled out of the station, and away we went. Me, home. The two cyclists, wherever they were going – and, for one, perhaps to the start of a huge new chapter in her life.

The Paths We Divert To

As the train bobbed and weaved along the track, I couldn’t help but think of what the cyclist had said.

Maybe you’re late for a good reason.

Such a counterpoint to our usual stance on being late, that of it being a bad thing – sometimes a very bad thing.

And while being late can be bad – a job interview, the birth of your child, paying the rent, etc, – it can also be a very good thing. Something that young cyclist saw, and clearly lived by.

And it’s true.

If I think of the times I’ve been late for something, it’s resulted in some of the best parts of my life.

  • In my mid-twenties, I was late getting out of a meeting, so my evening that I had planned didn’t pan out. So, instead, I went to grab a quick beer at my local pub, and ended up meeting someone that would play a major part in my life.
  • In my early thirties, I was late for a train to travel from Scotland to England. I missed it, and that train ended up derailing and injuring over thirty passengers (thankfully, nothing serious).
  • In my late thirties, I was late for a night out, so decided to stay in and jump on a band’s message board to write about some Scottish punk music. My future wife read it, and the rest is history.
  • When my second child was born, I had to be out of the country on business, and so my wife delayed the birth (she should have had our daughter the week before), and I made it home the day before our little girl came into the world.

All different examples of being late, all major points in my life, and ones where my life would very much be less rich than it is today had I been on time.

The Clock is Ours to Choose

Try telling folks that being late can be good, and you might get an “Are you crazy?” stare, or a rebuttal, or a shake of the head.

And, as I mentioned earlier, that’s understandable. Some things can be very bad if we’re late for them.

But too often, we let that cloud our better judgement.

By being?late when it comes to leaving the office, we’re late for the family who’re waiting patiently at home for us.

By being late when it comes to telling someone how we feel, we’re too late to stop them from being with someone else.

By being late at making up with those we’ve drifted apart from, we’re too late to let them know we forgive them (or ask forgiveness) before they’re no longer around.

The truth is, we can decide what we’re late for and what import we put on it, instead of the other way round.

Every one of us has a clock we work by – we just need to choose the one we want to live our lives by.?Even if that means being late.

Because as a young stranger on a train showed me, maybe being late is for a good reason.