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Good or Bad, It’s Hard to Say

There are things we become very good at without ever deciding that we wanted them.

This is an awkward discovery to make.

Nobody had forced me, exactly. There had been no sinister figure standing behind me, moving the pieces of my life across some enormous board. No Matrix. Nothing so dramatic.

It was much quieter than that.

People had simply been talking.

When I was young, they told me what a good life looked like. Do well at school. Get a proper job. Make sensible choices. Find someone nice. Buy a house. Have children. Work hard.

The instructions were not unreasonable.

That was the difficulty.

They were good instructions, mostly. Respectable ones. The kind that made adults nod approvingly.

And so I followed them.

I became good at things.

I became useful.

I became independent.

I became, in the eyes of the world, an adult.

And then, somewhere along the way, I discovered something nobody had mentioned.

Everyone was improvising.

Some people were simply improvising with better stationery.

I found this strangely comforting.

Because I had spent years imagining that adulthood was the point at which you finally knew what you were doing. You arrived at a certain age and the fog lifted. You understood money and marriage and work and children and yourself.

But the fog doesn't lift.

You just learn to walk through it while carrying a handbag.

And lately I have been wondering about the things I call ambition.

How much of it belongs to me?

Ambition does not appear from nowhere. It has a history. Someone praised you for something. Someone else told you what was realistic. Someone laughed at an idea. Someone you loved believed something about the world, and because you loved them, you carried it with you.

Eventually you forget who said what.

You simply call it me.

I have begun to wonder about that.

Who decided what was respectable for me?

Who decided what was possible?

Who decided what sort of woman I was supposed to become?

And, more importantly, which of those decisions did I actually make?

I think this is partly why I became interested in coaching.

Not because I have discovered the answers.

Quite the opposite.

I like giving people room to discover their own questions.

Someone might say, “I want a promotion.”

Fine.

But what does the promotion mean?

Money?

Security?

Recognition?

Escape?

Perhaps they are frightened about money. Perhaps they have spent years feeling that they are one unexpected bill away from vulnerability. Perhaps what they call ambition is actually a desire to feel safe.

The promotion is only the door.

There is something behind it.

A good question opens the door.

And once you begin asking these questions, identities become less solid.

Manager.

Mother.

Creative.

Entrepreneur.

Good daughter.

Successful woman.

The person who always copes.

You begin to wonder who made these categories, and when you entered them, and whether you remember agreeing to stay.

There is something dangerous about this kind of thinking.

It can change your life.

Not dramatically, necessarily.

Sometimes it is much quieter.

You stop explaining yourself.

You make the thing.

You take yourself seriously.

You admit, perhaps for the first time:

I actually want this.

Or the more frightening sentence:

I actually don't want this.

That second one can be harder.

Because what happens when nobody is watching?

If nobody saw the house, would you still want it?

If nobody knew about the holiday, would you still go?

If nobody congratulated you on the money, would the money still matter?

If nobody thought you were impressive, what would remain?

I don't think we should become suspicious of every desire we have. That would be exhausting. There are a million thoughts passing through a human mind, and sometimes you just like the shoes.

You buy the shoes.

You wear them.

Life continues.

But there are some desires worth sitting beside for a while.

Not judging them.

Not deciding whether they are good or bad.

Just looking at them.

Turning them over.

Peeling them back, layer by layer.

Perhaps you discover that what you really want is freedom.

Then another question appears.

What else could give me freedom?

Perhaps you discover that you are exhausted.

Perhaps the thing you thought you wanted was simply the thing you thought would finally make the exhaustion stop.

Perhaps you don't know yet.

And perhaps I don't know yet is a perfectly respectable answer.

I think about the things I believed at twenty.

Some were unfair.

Some were inherited.

Some belonged to people I loved.

Some were based on what I had actually experienced.

And some, strangely enough, were mine.

I am interested in knowing the difference.

Not because I want to dismantle my entire life.

I don't.

I simply want to know which parts of it I chose.

What do I say I want?

And why?

There is something liberating about not knowing the answer immediately.

Because perhaps the point was never to have the perfect life.

Perhaps the point is to notice, while you are living it, whose life it is.

Contents

00:00 | Walking Is Not Fitness I challenge the modern obsession with walking as exercise, arguing that walking is less about fitness and more about presence.

01:10 | When Everything Becomes a Performance From runs to gym sessions to daily walks, we’ve turned ordinary human activities into metrics, targets and achievements.

02:15 | The Problem with 10,000 Steps A humorous look at how arbitrary numbers have transformed simple movement into a daily box-ticking exercise.

03:10 | The Lost Art of Noticing Walking allows us to reconnect with our surroundings, seeing the details, characters and quirks of everyday life that would otherwise go unnoticed.

04:20 | Walking Is Life Walking is not something humans invented for health benefits. It’s simply what humans do. We walk to think, connect, travel, process and live.

05:00 | The 4,000 Angry Steps Walking as emotional regulation. The universal experience of pacing, stomping and striding through frustration rather than saying something you’ll regret.

05:50 | It’s Never Too Late A reflection on ageing, movement and the misconception that if fitness wasn’t prioritised earlier in life, there’s little point starting now.

07:10 | The Anti-Fitness Walk No pace. No targets. No guilt. No optimisation. Just permission to walk in whatever way feels right.

08:15 | The Wellness Culture Trap How the self-improvement industry can leave us feeling perpetually unfinished and constantly in need of fixing.

09:05 | Maybe You Don’t Need Fixing A powerful reminder that sometimes the answer isn’t another programme, challenge or productivity hack. Sometimes it’s a walk and some fresh air.

10:00 | Presence Is Enough The achievement is not the step count. The achievement is that you showed up, experienced something and were present.

10:35 | Final Thoughts Walking doesn’t need justification. Sometimes walking is simply walking, and that’s enough.

The Idea

We’ve mistaken walking for exercise.

Not because walking can’t improve health.

But because we’ve become so obsessed with measuring outcomes that we’ve forgotten how to experience the act itself.

This episode argues that walking isn’t primarily about burning calories, tracking progress or reaching a target.

It’s about being present.

What’s Really Going On?

Modern culture struggles with things that don’t produce measurable results.

If we run, we want the pace.

If we train, we want the numbers.

If we walk, we want the steps.

What was once a natural part of being human has become another performance metric.

The irony?

The more we focus on measuring the walk, the less likely we are to experience it.

Three Ideas Worth Thinking About

1. Presence Cannot Be Measured

The most valuable part of a walk might not be the distance covered.

It’s noticing.

The neighbour’s eccentric garden ornament.

The smell of dinner from an open window.

The dog enthusiastically dragging its owner down the street.

These small moments remind us that we’re participating in life rather than rushing through it.

2. Movement Doesn’t Need a Justification

Not every walk has to improve something.

You don’t have to earn your walk.

You don’t need a fitness goal.

You don’t need to optimise the experience.

Sometimes movement is enough.

3. You Can Start Where You Are

Many people believe they missed their chance to be active.

I challenge this idea directly.

Whether you’re 30, 50, 70 or older, movement continues to matter.

The best time to start may have passed.

The second-best time is now.

The Anti-Fitness Walk Manifesto

* Walk slowly.

* Walk quickly.

* Stop for coffee.

* Get distracted.

* Take the long route.

* Turn around halfway.

* Look at things.

* Think about nothing.

Most importantly:

Don’t turn it into another thing to succeed or fail at.

Memorable Quotes

“Walking is not fitness. It’s presence.”

“You don’t need fixing. Just some fresh air.”

“Walking is life.”

“Sometimes walking is just walking.”

What This Episode Is Really About

On the surface, this episode is about walking.

Underneath, it’s about permission.

Permission to stop optimising.

Permission to stop measuring.

Permission to stop treating yourself like a project.

And permission to remember that being human doesn’t always require an improvement plan.

Reflection Question

What would change if, for one walk this week, you left the targets behind and simply paid attention to where your feet were taking you?

The value of a walk isn’t found in the distance you cover, but in your willingness to be fully present while taking it.

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If you think differently, you’re welcom

I’m out walking.

There is something about a morning walk that makes the world less complicated. You put on your shoes. You open the door. One foot goes before the other. For a while, there is nothing else to solve.

Perhaps that is why I like it.

Walking is exercise, certainly. But that is not really what I mean when I say be walking. I mean movement. I mean changing your position, even if only by a few streets. I mean allowing yourself to see something you did not intend to see.

A bird crossing the pavement.

Three birds lifting suddenly from a tree.

Someone cooking curry at ten in the morning.

A woman whose clothes make the pavement briefly into a catwalk.

A rose.

The sky.

Water catching the light.

Things we ordinarily pass without seeing.

We are strange creatures. We can carry a thousand thoughts into a single morning and still fail to notice the tree beside us.

Yet every leaf is different.

Think about that.

Someone, somewhere, once decided that a tree should be like this. And then, somehow, no two leaves quite managed to agree.

I like that.

Perhaps because I have spent a great deal of my life noticing difference.

Some people want things to remain as they are. They call this stability. They call it sense. Change arrives and they look at it as though somebody has moved the furniture while they were asleep.

But change is part of the design.

It is what keeps us looking.

You cannot have the same morning twice.

You cannot walk the same road in exactly the same way. You are different. The weather is different. The light is different. Something has happened to you since yesterday, even if you cannot yet say what it is.

And so you walk.

Sometimes quickly. Sometimes slowly.

I like both.

I like being able to suddenly break into a run, just because I can. And I like stopping because something has caught my attention.

That, too, feels important.

Knowing when to move.

Knowing when to stop.

Knowing when to look.

Knowing when something does not feel right and changing direction.

There is a kind of intelligence in that which we rarely talk about.

We talk about intelligence as though it lives in books and qualifications and people who have the confidence to give answers.

But sometimes intelligence is simply noticing.

Noticing the car before it reaches you.

Noticing the change in someone's voice.

Noticing the pattern because you have seen it before.

Noticing the mistake before somebody else makes it.

And this is where difference becomes useful.

The person who asks too many questions may not be trying to be difficult.

Perhaps they have noticed something you haven't.

The person who says, I've seen this before, may not be trying to control the conversation.

Perhaps they remember what happened last time.

We don't always recognise experience when it arrives in another person.

Sometimes we call it annoying.

Sometimes we call it overthinking.

Sometimes we tell people to stop asking questions.

And then, much later, we discover they were looking further down the road.

I think about this when I walk.

My brain is busy taking in everything. The tree. The water. The dog. The woman in the coat. The sound of somebody opening a door.

We see thousands of things and remember almost none of them.

Perhaps the brain knows what it is doing.

Perhaps it takes what it needs and lets the rest go.

There was a lesson at school once about leaves falling from trees.

We had all seen it happen.

Thousands of times.

But could any of us remember the particular leaf?

Of course not.

Memory isn't interested in keeping everything.

It keeps the lesson.

Perhaps that is what a walk does too.

You leave carrying one thing you didn't have when you started.

Sometimes you don't even know what it is.

I have my favourite walks, particularly in the morning.

They reset something in me.

They give me a second wind.

They remind me that I don't have to rush towards the next thing simply because everyone else appears to be rushing.

I can walk.

I can look.

I can breathe.

I can notice.

And perhaps that is enough for now.

I don't want this podcast always to be about teaching you something.

Sometimes I want to think out loud.

Sometimes I'll bring somebody with me.

Sometimes I'll bring my family.

Sometimes I'll tell you a story.

Sometimes I'll start with a question and see where it takes us.

I like doing things differently.

I've always been rather good at that.

So this is a podcast about life, ideas, people, and the things we discover while we are moving through them.

Not necessarily the things we intended to discover.

The things that catch us on the way.

So, if you have been thinking differently, questioning things, or seeing the world from another angle, come walking with me.

And keep looking.

Keep noticing.

Keep walking.

Walk good.

Be Walking with Nicky

What I am tired of being able to do.

Come for a walk. Today, I want to talk about the things we’re tired of being good at. Available, agreeable, useful, and endlessly giving. We’re taught to listen to every voice asking something from us. But when generosity becomes an invitation to be emptied, maybe we need to be asking, who benefits from me never saying no?

There are some things you don’t realize you’re carrying until you put them down. I’ve spent a lot of my life listening to people at work, in friendships, in families, in rooms where people said one thing while their face was saying something completely different. And I’ve always been interested in that gap,

the space between what we say and what we actually mean. I think I’ve become slightly obsessed with the story we tell ourselves. Not because stories are bad. The problem is sometimes we forget they’re just stories. You can tell yourself, I’m just tired. I’m just busy. This is how relationships are. I’m not really ambitious.

I don’t really know what I want. It’s too late. I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine. And sometimes, I’m fine is the most complicated sentence in the room. I used to have a dog called Brutus. He was a part of my life in the ordinary ways animals become parts of our lives.

You don’t necessarily notice all the times when they’re living around them. The sitting on the feet, the lying around, the walking, the noise, the scratches, the ridiculous little routines, their presence, and then one day, they’re gone. And suddenly, the ordinary becomes so precious.

You miss that little tail wagging and the sound of the bark that comes only for you when you’re just coming through the door. There’s an empty space where he might have been. Grief has a way of editing your memory. And it takes things you thought were insignificant and puts them in bold.

Something you didn’t know you would miss until you did. I think people are a bit like that too. We don’t always notice ourselves while we’re living. Some of us become parents. Some of us have partners. We get promotions. Maybe we’re carers. Some of us Like to be reliable, while others prefer to be difficult. The strong one.

The one who can cope. And somewhere underneath all those different roles, still just a person. Sometimes that person starts asking questions. Questions you don’t necessarily say out loud. Like, what if I don’t want this anymore? I want more. I’m not actually happy. What if the version of me everyone knows isn’t the whole me? What if I’ve changed?

Who am I when nobody needs anything from me? Those questions can be uncomfortable. Because once you hear them, it’s difficult to pretend you didn’t. And that’s where my interest in coaching comes from. Not having all the answers. Actually quite the opposite. I don’t think most people need another person telling them what to do.

There’s loads of advice you can drown in. You’ve got books, podcasts, TikToks, Instagram, experts. Everybody seems to have an answer but you. Sometimes we just need somewhere to think. Somewhere to say the thing we haven’t been saying. And then ask, is that actually true? That’s what I mean when I talk about creating room. Not escaping your life.

Not becoming completely different from who you are. Just having enough space to hear yourself underneath all that noise. Sometimes you need to meet the person you’ve been leaving behind. I think there’s something interesting about this particular point in life that I’m in. This stage for me is about having enough history to know what certain choices cost.

Enough life left to make certain ones. And that’s what I’m interested in exploring. Identity. Work. Money. Creativity. The things we inherit. The things we repeat. And the things we finally decide to question. The strange, wasabi, beautiful business of becoming yourself. So that’s what this podcast is about. Not me telling you who to become.

Not me handling you or giving you a perfect five step life plan. I’m not about that life. I think you should be asking, what do I already know? The things we don’t say out loud. Maybe you don’t need to become better at anything. Maybe it’s what’s draining you. Maybe you need permission to stop. Take what you thought on your next walk and decide and notice which voice is yours and which ones you’ve been carrying.