Author: admin

The French have this saying…

C’est la vie.

More aptly put;

“That’s life.”

Those two words carry the weight of centuries of human experience, wrapped in what I’d call a linguistic shrug, that somehow manages to be both profound and casual at the same time.

You’re not resigning nor giving up. It’s something much more sophisticated at a deeper look.

It’s a soft sigh of acceptance that acknowledges life doesn’t give a damn about your carefully crafted plans. You know that feeling when everything you’ve mapped out gets completely derailed?

When the job falls through, the relationship implodes, the project you poured your heart into gets rejected, the pandemic cancels your entire year, the diagnosis changes everything?

We’ve all been there and got the t-shirt.

Most of us respond to these moments by losing our absolute shit. We rage against the unfairness, demand explanations from a universe that doesn’t owe us any, exhaust ourselves trying to force square pegs into round holes.

The French just say c’est la vie and pour another glass of wine.

There’s wisdom in that response that goes deeper than it appears.

It might even come across as being passive or fatalistic. Now I’m sure we understand that life is fundamentally unpredictable, and fighting that reality is like screaming at the ocean for being cold, wet and deadly.

Your plans were beautiful. Your timeline made perfect sense. Your vision of how things should unfold was logical and well-thought-out. And life laughed in the face of all of it, because life doesn’t read your fucking calendar.

C’est la vie.

There will be detours. The mess isn’t interrupting your life; it is your life. The unexpected turns, the sudden stops, the routes you never planned to take…

That’s where the actual story happens even if the story feels like an absolute shit show on the surface.

Every person you admire has a biography full of detours that seemed like disasters at the time. The failed business that led to the breakthrough idea. The rejection that forced them to try something better. The crisis that revealed strengths they didn’t know they had.

None of it was part of their original plan. All of it was essential to who they became.

There’s beauty in accepting that you’re not the director of this movie.

You’re just the protagonist stumbling through scenes you didn’t write, with dialogue you’re making up as you go along. Sometimes the lighting is perfect and your lines are brilliant. Sometimes you trip over the furniture and forget what you were supposed to say.

C’est la vie.

This doesn’t mean becoming a doormat or abandoning your ambitions. It means holding your planTwitter has been insufferable today.

The Litterati? (Literature nazis or whatever) were up in arms on Elon’s hellsite…

They were screaming from their high horses about how piracy is terrible and you’re an evil monster if you don’t care about piracy, especially if you’re an indie author trying to make it in this cut throat world of self pub and ink slinging…

But now it’s my time to get on my soap box and tell a different tune about piracy.

Hark Ye!

So back in 2020 I was working on a project with a fellow writer and marketing nerd.

We wrote a couple of guides, posted it to Gumroad and had a few big twitter accounts promote it and before we knew it. They were posted all over those blackhat web forums and discord servers.

Luckily we didn’t take anything too seriously cause hey, it’s not like we were out to stop world hunger or anything…

Originally my first instinct was to fire off angry emails and DMCA takedown notices like some kind of copyright vigilante.

Then I remembered something.

I used to be that person downloading shit I couldn’t afford.

Now most artists and creatives don’t want to admit this.

Sometimes it’s the only way people can access work that might change their lives.

I know, I know. We need to eat. We need to pay rent. The written word is already undervalued and we’re all fighting for scraps in an attention economy that treats books like disposable content. Every download that doesn’t generate revenue feels like money stolen directly from our grocery budget.

But let’s talk about the bigger picture for a minute.

You know what’s really fucked up?

There are brilliant people in countries where books cost a month’s salary. Students in places where Amazon doesn’t ship. Kids in regions where accessing “Western” literature is actively discouraged by governments who prefer to control information flow.

What if someone in Africa desperately needs to read that book about overcoming creative blocks, but it costs more than they make in a week? What if a writer in rural China stumbles across your work about breaking generational trauma, but there’s no legal way for them to access it?

Are we really going to stand on principle while someone who could benefit from our work suffers because they can’t afford the entry fee to our wisdom?

It’s purely some twisted form of capitalism prancing around with a half shattered mask of artistic integrity…

Look, I’m not saying we should all just give our work away for free. I’m not suggesting piracy is morally neutral or that creators don’t deserve compensation. But the scarcity mindset that makes us treat every unauthorised download like a personal attack? That’s what’s really holding us back.

Here’s what I did instead of sending lawyer threats (Which honestly is so fucking exhausting anyways) I started to put a simple message in all my ebooks.

Something like, “Hey, if you got this book through unofficial channels, no judgment. I’ve been broke too. If it helped you and you’re ever in a position to support the work, here’s my newsletter link. I’d love to hear your story.”

You know what happened? People started reaching out. Not all of them, but enough. Some just wanted to say thanks for not being a dick about it. Others shared how they found my work and why it mattered to them. A few even sent small donations when they could afford it later.

One person told me they’d downloaded my book while unemployed and depressed, used the techniques to turn their life around, got a better job, and paid for my time via a Zoom call.

That reader is now worth more to me than ten people who bought the book once and forgot about it.

We’re not Stephen King. We don’t have the luxury of not caring when our work gets shared without permission. But we also don’t have his name recognition or marketing budget. Sometimes a “stolen” book is the best marketing we’re going to get.

Every person who discovers your work, regardless of how they found it, is a potential ambassador for everything you create next.

They might recommend you to friends who do pay. They might hire you for bigger projects. They might become lifelong supporters once their circumstances change.

The scarcity mindset says every pirated copy is a lost sale.

The abundance mindset recognises that most pirates were never going to buy your work anyway, but some of them might become your biggest fans. On top of that. When you haven’t paid for anything (Skin in the game) you’re less likely to do anything with it anyways so does it really matter?

I’m not saying don’t protect your work or that artists should embrace being exploited. I’m saying maybe we should consider the difference between organised piracy operations profiting off our labour and individuals who genuinely can’t access our work any other way.

There’s enough to go around. Your words reaching someone who needs them, even if they can’t pay for the privilege, shouldn’t be considered theft.

I’d liken it some sort of hidden impact or whatever.

If someone reads some of my words and impacts their life in a positive way, well that to me is a job well done.

And if they so happen to still be on this email list, they can happily click this super long and obnoxious link and buy me a coffee or whatever…

Stephen Walker.

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Stephen Walker, Unit 146317, PO Box 7169, Poole, BH15 9EL, United Kingdoms lightly enough that you can do that little jiggle wiggle thing? (Pivot lol), especially when reality demands it.

It means finding grace in the gap between what you expected and what actually happened.

The French understand something about living that other cultures seem to miss…

You can’t control the story, but you can control how you respond to it. You can rage against every plot twist, or you can trust that even the detours have something to teach you.

There’s gonna be mess. But there’s also going to be beauty.

In the way you adapt when everything falls apart. In the strength you discover when you’re forced to improvise. In the stories you’ll tell years later about the time when nothing went according to plan and somehow everything worked out anyway.

C’est la vie doesn’t make you give up on your dreams.

It’s more about giving you a little slap and letting you know that there’s no way you can dictate exactly how those dreams come true.

Sometimes the most profound wisdom comes wrapped in the simplest phrases. Sometimes the French really do have it figured out.

C’est la vie.

Stephen Walker.

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Stephen Walker, Unit 146317, PO Box 7169, Poole, BH15 9EL, United Kingdom

The French have this saying…

C’est la vie.

More aptly put;

“That’s life.”

Those two words carry the weight of centuries of human experience, wrapped in what I’d call a linguistic shrug, that somehow manages to be both profound and casual at the same time.

You’re not resigning nor giving up. It’s something much more sophisticated at a deeper look.

It’s a soft sigh of acceptance that acknowledges life doesn’t give a damn about your carefully crafted plans. You know that feeling when everything you’ve mapped out gets completely derailed?

When the job falls through, the relationship implodes, the project you poured your heart into gets rejected, the pandemic cancels your entire year, the diagnosis changes everything?

We’ve all been there and got the t-shirt.

Most of us respond to these moments by losing our absolute shit. We rage against the unfairness, demand explanations from a universe that doesn’t owe us any, exhaust ourselves trying to force square pegs into round holes.

The French just say c’est la vie and pour another glass of wine.

There’s wisdom in that response that goes deeper than it appears.

It might even come across as being passive or fatalistic. Now I’m sure we understand that life is fundamentally unpredictable, and fighting that reality is like screaming at the ocean for being cold, wet and deadly.

Your plans were beautiful. Your timeline made perfect sense. Your vision of how things should unfold was logical and well-thought-out. And life laughed in the face of all of it, because life doesn’t read your fucking calendar.

C’est la vie.

There will be detours. The mess isn’t interrupting your life; it is your life. The unexpected turns, the sudden stops, the routes you never planned to take…

That’s where the actual story happens even if the story feels like an absolute shit show on the surface.

Every person you admire has a biography full of detours that seemed like disasters at the time. The failed business that led to the breakthrough idea. The rejection that forced them to try something better. The crisis that revealed strengths they didn’t know they had.

None of it was part of their original plan. All of it was essential to who they became.

There’s beauty in accepting that you’re not the director of this movie.

You’re just the protagonist stumbling through scenes you didn’t write, with dialogue you’re making up as you go along. Sometimes the lighting is perfect and your lines are brilliant. Sometimes you trip over the furniture and forget what you were supposed to say.

C’est la vie.

This doesn’t mean becoming a doormat or abandoning your ambitions. It means holding your plans lightly enough that you can do that little jiggle wiggle thing? (Pivot lol), especially when reality demands it.

It means finding grace in the gap between what you expected and what actually happened.

The French understand something about living that other cultures seem to miss…

You can’t control the story, but you can control how you respond to it. You can rage against every plot twist, or you can trust that even the detours have something to teach you.

There’s gonna be mess. But there’s also going to be beauty.

In the way you adapt when everything falls apart. In the strength you discover when you’re forced to improvise. In the stories you’ll tell years later about the time when nothing went according to plan and somehow everything worked out anyway.

C’est la vie doesn’t make you give up on your dreams.

It’s more about giving you a little slap and letting you know that there’s no way you can dictate exactly how those dreams come true.

Sometimes the most profound wisdom comes wrapped in the simplest phrases. Sometimes the French really do have it figured out.

C’est la vie.

Stephen Walker.

If you’re not diggin’ these tasty little emails anymore you can hit the unsubscribe button right here >>> unsubscribe

Stephen Walker, Unit 146317, PO Box 7169, Poole, BH15 9EL, United Kingdom

Put the phone down and pick up a book (After you’ve read this email obviously)

And no. Not an audiobook. Not a Kindle. An actual, physical book with pages you can turn and a spine that’ll look good on your shelf after you’re done being completely mindfucked by whatever’s inside…

I’m talking specifically about The Fog by James Herbert.

Also NO…

…not the movies.

John Carpenter’s 1980 version was… fine, I guess, if you enjoy watching people stumble around in what looks like someone’s vape clouds while dramatic music plays.

And don’t get me started on the 2005 remake, which somehow managed to take a perfectly good concept and turn it into a CGI nightmare that made the original look like Citizen Kane.

The book though? Chef’s kiss.

Herbert knew how to write horror that gets under your skin and stays there.

The Fog isn’t just some mysterious weather phenomenon that just so happened to be.

It was a living, breathing nightmare that drives people to acts of violence so brutal and random that you’ll find yourself double checking your door locks.

This is the kind of book that’ll make you cancel your Sunday plans because you physically cannot put it down. You’ll start reading after coffee and suddenly it’s dark outside and you haven’t moved from your chair and you’re questioning whether that sound outside is just the wind or something much worse.

Sundays were made for this kind of reading. Not the productive, self-improvement, optimise-your-life bullshit that clogs your weekdays.

I’m talking about reading for the pure, unadulterated pleasure of having your mind completely hijacked by someone else’s imagination.

When was the last time you disappeared into a story so completely that the real world ceased to exist?

When did you last feel that particular brand of exhaustion that comes from being emotionally wrung out by fictional characters?

Your phone can’t give you that. Social media can’t give you that. Netflix definitely can’t give you that…

But a good book can transport you somewhere else entirely. It can make you forget about your problems, your deadlines, your crushing sense of existential dread about the state of the world.

I mean if you look at the world right now. It’s a steaming hot dumpster fire of pure turd.

The Fog will do exactly that. Herbert had this gift for making ordinary English towns feel like the most dangerous places on earth. He understood that the best horror comes from taking normal people in normal situations and introducing one element that turns everything upside down.

Plus, there’s something deeply satisfying about reading physical horror fiction. The weight of the book in your hands, the ability to flip back and reread a particularly brutal passage, the satisfaction of watching your bookmark move through the pages as you get closer to whatever nightmare Herbert has waiting for you at the end.

So here’s your mission for today…

Find a copy of The Fog. Turn off your phone. Make some coffee or tea or whatever keeps you functional. Find a comfortable chair with good light.

And then let James Herbert ruin your peaceful Sunday in the most delicious way possible.

Your brain will thank you for the break from all of this always being on. Your imagination will thank you for the workout. And your future self will thank you for remembering what it feels like to be completely absorbed by a story again.

Trust me on this one. The fog is coming, and you want to be ready for it.

This is the 3rd time I’ve read The Fog and I was pretty stoked to have been able to pick up a 50th anniversary edition at the local Asda while grabbing a coffee.

And if you absolutely must get the kindle version. Well it’s free on kindle unlimited right now.

Stephen Walker.

P.S. After you finish The Fog, Herbert wrote a whole bunch of other books that’ll mess with your head in equally satisfying ways. Consider this your gateway drug into proper British horror fiction. You’re welcome.

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Stephen Walker, Unit 146317, PO Box 7169, Poole, BH15 9EL, United Kingdom

Sometimes I feel like I’m losing my fucking mind writing these emails.

Not because the ideas are bad.

I still believe everything I’m telling you. But because I’ve written about resistance seventeen times. I’ve explained the importance of daily practice in twelve different ways. I’ve dissected creative fear from every possible angle.

And I know I’ll write about all of it again next week.

Good ideas need repetition to sink in. Your brain doesn’t absorb life changing concepts on the first pass. It needs to hear them multiple times, in different contexts, with different examples, before something finally clicks.

I got off the phone today with my editor. It was only a short call but it’s the same message and concept splayed out in a different way.

Yes I get it, but holy hell, for the creator? This repetition feels insane.

I’m sitting here crafting another email about showing up consistently, and part of my brain is screaming, “You’ve already said this a trillion times, Move o… Find something new ffs.”

The boredom is real. The urge to chase shiny new topics instead of drilling down on fundamentals is overwhelming.

I’m even re-reading this tome of knowledge for probably the tenth time…

This is the hardest part of being creative that nobody talks about.

Getting past your own boredom with your message to serve the people who need to hear it.

While I’m over here feeling like a broken record, someone is reading about creative resistance for the first time. Someone else heard it before but wasn’t ready to act on it then. Another person needs to hear it exactly today, in exactly these words, to finally push through whatever’s been stopping them.

Such is the wheel of life or whatever. A lot of repetitions.

Plus I don’t think anyone ever consumes content chronologically. I don’t think I’d want to make things with that level of order. My brain just doesn’t work that way.

So I’ll keep writing about the same core truths in new ways. I’ll keep feeling mildly insane about it.

But it has to be said a few more times I reckon.

I trust my message/s…

Even if I want to lock myself in an insane asylum (sometimes)

Stephen Walker.

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Stephen Walker, Unit 146317, PO Box 7169, Poole, BH15 9EL, United Kingdom

You’re still reading my words.

We all know attention spans have been chopped up and fed to those robot overlords like some sort of sacrifice.

Yet you’re still here reading my sentences that take longer than seven seconds to process.

Engaging with ideas that can’t be compressed into a TikTok or summarised in a tweet thread.

That’s… honestly kind of fucking miraculous.

I mean nowadays. Your phone is buzzing with seventeen different notifications. Your inbox is screaming for attention. Netflix has new episodes of that show you’re binge watching. Instagram is serving up an endless scroll of carefully curated lives that make yours feel inadequate by comparison.

And yet you’re here, letting my thoughts about marketing psychology and social media shenanigans rent space in your brain.

I don’t take that lightly.

You’ll hear Gary V bang on about us still living the attention economy. Yes yes, we know…

Attention is the most valuable currency you possess. It’s finite. It’s precious. It’s constantly under assault by every platform, every brand, every content creator desperately trying to monetise your eyeballs.

Everyone wants a piece of your mental real estate. Everyone’s competing for those neurons. Everyone’s optimising for engagement, for clicks, for that dopamine hit that keeps you coming back like a lab rat pressing a lever for cocaine pellets.

But you chose to stick around here instead.

Through my rants about why most marketing is psychological manipulation dressed up as helpfulness.

Through my breakdowns of how social media platforms are designed to make you feel inadequate while harvesting your data.

Through my probably-too-honest thoughts about sales tactics that work because they exploit human psychology in ways that make me feel slightly dirty for understanding them.

You’ve weathered my tangents about…

Why most “growth hacking” is just old school manipulation with a tech makeover.

How the attention economy is literally rewiring our brains for anxiety and distraction.

Why authenticity has become a marketing buzzword that lost all meaning.

The dark psychology behind social proof and FOMO tactics.

How we’re all complicit in creating the digital shitshow we complain about.

And somehow, you’re still here.

Maybe it’s because you recognise that understanding these systems is the first step toward not being completely controlled by them. Maybe you appreciate having someone explain why your social media feeds make you feel like shit without telling you to just “practice gratitude” or “be more positive.”

Maybe you’re tired of surface level marketing advice that treats you like a walking wallet instead of a complex human being with actual thoughts and feelings.

(Imagine having actual thoughts and feelings in 2025? lol…)

Or maybe you just enjoy watching someone dissect the machinery of modern persuasion like a psychological autopsy, revealing all the ugly gears and levers hidden beneath the pretty user interface.

Whatever the reason.

Thank you.

This isn’t easy stuff to think about. It’s simpler to just consume content without questioning why it makes you feel certain ways. It’s more comfortable to use social media without understanding how the algorithm decides what you see. It’s easier to buy things without recognising the psychological triggers being pulled.

But you’re here anyway.

I’m grateful you’re willing to think about this stuff with me, even when it gets weird or uncomfortable or darker than a Tuesday night Netflix binge. I’m grateful you see value in understanding how the game is played, even if or especially if, you don’t always like the rules.

Thank you for sticking around. Thank you for reading. Thank you for caring enough about your own psychological sovereignty to understand how these systems work.

That’s not something I take for granted.

Now here’s some more good vibes going into the night…

Stephen Walker.

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Stephen Walker, Unit 146317, PO Box 7169, Poole, BH15 9EL, United Kingdom

You know that phrase, right?

Sure. Absolutely. I’m totally on board with that universe wisdom type shit.

…except for the part where the reason is apparently that the universe has the sense of humour of a drunk toddler with a YouTube channel and access to your credit card.

Let me paint you a picture here.

You’re running late for work.

(because of course you are, the alarm clock decided it wasn’t gonna be doing any alarming at all…)

You spill coffee on your last clean shirt. The shirt that makes you look like you have your life together instead of like a feral raccoon.

But wait! There’s more. (RIP Billy Mays)

Your car. That beautiful, reliable piece of German engineering that you definitely can’t afford, decides today is the perfect day to make a sound like a dying whale.

Everything happens for a reason, you think, as you stand there in your coffee stained shirt, listening to your car’s death rattle, watching the bus you needed pull away from the stop like it’s personally offended by your existence.

And what’s the reason?

The universe is that friend who sets you up on blind dates. You know the one. They swear this person is “perfect for you” and then introduce you to someone whose primary hobby is collecting vintage dental equipment and whose idea of stimulating conversation is a forty minute monologue about the superiority of manual toothbrushes.

The universe looked at your Monday morning and thought, “You know what would be hilarious? If I made this person question every life choice they’ve ever made before they’ve even had their second cup of coffee.”

Because that’s the thing about reasons.

They’re like that relative who shows up at a Christmas reunion, eats all your food, criticises your life choices, and then leaves you with the dishes. Technically they served a purpose (reminding you why you moved a whole country away), but you’re still standing there wondering what fresh hell just descended upon your kitchen.

Maybe the reason you’re stuck in traffic behind someone who apparently learned to drive by watching The Fast and the Furious through a kaleidoscope is so you’ll be exactly seven minutes late to that meeting where your boss announces layoffs.

Maybe the reason your phone died right before that important call is because the universe knew you were about to agree to help your ex move their furniture (again), and somewhere in the space energy star filled filing system, there’s a sticky note that says “Save this dumbass from themselves.”

Or maybe…

And hear me out here.

Maybe the reason is that we’re all just lab rats in some interdimensional graduate student’s thesis project titled “How Much Weird Shit Can Humans Handle Before They Start Talking to Their Houseplants?”

It definitely does give me some Men In Black vibes occasionally when I get all think-y about it.

I’ve made peace with it. Sort of. In the same way you make peace with the fact that your body makes weird noises after thirty and that you now get genuinely excited about finding a good deal on toilet paper.

Because if everything happens for a reason, then maybe the reason for all this beautiful, chaotic, absolutely batshit insanity is simple…

Life is fucking hilarious when you’re not the punchline.

“Well played, universe. Well fucking played.”

Then you laugh. Because what else are you gonna do? Cry? Please. Save that for when you realise you’ve been wearing your shirt inside out this whole time.

Everything happens for a reason.

Yeah. And that reason is apparently that someone up there has a sense of humour, a twisted imagination, and access to the control panel of your life.

The real question isn’t “why me?”

It’s “what’s the punchline?”

Stephen Walker.

P.S. Fill your eyeballs with today’s The Good Vibes Document over here…

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Stephen Walker, Unit 146317, PO Box 7169, Poole, BH15 9EL, United Kingdom

or burn it to the ground, both outcomes beat slow death.

So you’ve got words stuck in your throat like broken glass.

The conversation you’re not having.

The one that makes your stomach do that thing. You know the thing… where it feels like you swallowed a nest of angry wasps and they’re all trying to escape through your oesophagus at once.

Maybe it’s telling your partner they handle money like a drunk teenager with their first credit card.

Maybe it’s explaining to your best friend that their constant negativity is turning them into a human black hole of joy sucking despair.

Maybe it’s having the “what the fuck are we doing here” talk with someone you’ve been pseudo dating for eight months while both of you pretend casual sex doesn’t come with emotional baggage.

Whatever it is…

You’re avoiding it because you know it might detonate everything.

Not having the conversation is already detonating everything. Just slower. Like cancer instead of a car crash.

And honestly? The car crash might be more merciful.

Every day you swallow those words, they rot inside you. Resentment builds like mould in a basement. Distance grows. The relationship becomes this performance art piece where both of you are actors who forgot their lines but keep pretending they know what they’re doing.

You think you’re protecting the relationship by keeping the peace.

You’re actually suffocating it with a pillow made of politeness and conflict avoidance.

Real relationships. The kind worth having, survive on truth, not comfort. They thrive because both people know where they fucking stand, not because they’re playing an elaborate game of emotional Twister while blindfolded.

When you consistently dodge difficult conversations, you’re not preserving the relationship. You’re preserving the ghost of a relationship. The hollow shell. The pretty corpse everyone’s too polite to bury.

Look, the fear makes sense. These conversations can absolutely torch everything you’ve built.

Sometimes they reveal incompatibilities that can’t be MacGyvered back together with good intentions and couples therapy. Sometimes they expose deal breakers that end things faster than you can say “it’s not you, it’s me” (which, by the way, is always bullshit…it’s totally you)

Sometimes they create temporary chaos that feels worse than the original problem.

But here’s what your avoidance loving brain isn’t telling you and it’s pretty damn big:

Relationships that can’t survive honest conversation aren’t worth preserving anyway.

If your relationship depends on both people pretending everything’s fine while the house burns down around you, you don’t have a relationship.

It’s more a mutual delusion society. If someone will ghost you for expressing legitimate needs and concerns, they were never truly invested in you anyway.

They were invested in the convenient version of you. The one that doesn’t have pesky things like feelings and boundaries.

I mean eeeew gross. Feelings and boundaries in this economy?

Anyways…

The difficult conversations are stress tests. They reveal who you’re really dealing with when the pretty mask slips off.

Some people will listen without immediately going into defence mode. They’ll acknowledge your perspective even when it’s uncomfortable. They’ll work with you to find solutions instead of just shooting down problems. Hell, they’ll even appreciate your honesty even when it stings.

But if you’ve been paying attention to what’s been going on in social media land the last few days with all of the horrible shit happening.

Others will in general, turn every concern into an attack on their character. Make you feel guilty for having basic human needs. Gaslight you into thinking you’re being “too sensitive” or “dramatic” (Especially if you hold views and opinions that don’t align with theirs) and they’ll shut down communication entirely because feelings are scary.

Both responses give you invaluable data about whether this relationship can evolve or whether it’s already flatlined.

This all filters down to your real life relationships, work and business and you name it.

The right people will respect you for being direct instead of passive aggressive. They’ll see difficult conversations as opportunities to understand you better, to strengthen the bond, to build something real instead of something pretty.

The wrong people will punish you for bringing up problems. They’ll weaponise your vulnerability. They’ll make you regret being honest.

And that tells you everything you need to know about their character and the relationship’s future potential.

Either way, you win. Either you get a stronger, more authentic connection, or you get clarity about why this thing isn’t working. Both outcomes beat the slow death of unaddressed issues eating your relationship from the inside out like emotional termites.

But don’t forget. How you approach these conversations matters.

Don’t ambush people with grievances like you’re a prosecuting attorney cross examining a hostile witness. Don’t make it about character assassination or ultimatums. Focus on specific behaviours and their impact. Use “I” statements instead of “you always” accusations that make people’s defences shoot up faster than Iron Dome.

Come from curiosity, not judgment. Approach it like you’re both trying to solve a puzzle together, not like you’re declaring war.

Most importantly: Actually have the fucking conversation.

Choose a time when you’re both calm and focused (not during a Netflix binge or right before someone has to leave for work)

Start with something like: “There’s something important I’d like to talk about. When would be a good time for that conversation?”

Yes, it might be awkward. Yes, it might create temporary tension. Yes, it might change everything between you.

That’s the point.

Relationships that grow are the ones where both people are willing to be uncomfortable in service of being authentic. The conversations you’re avoiding are usually the ones that either forge stronger connections or reveal why the current connection needs to end.

Both outcomes are infinitely better than the emotional purgatory of avoiding reality while everything slowly rots.

Have the conversation. Deal with the consequences. Build relationships that can handle truth.

Your future self and your cortisol levels will thank you.

And for now I’m going to get off of my soap box.

I’ve had to have a few of these conversations over the last week and thought this little brain dump might be useful for anyone who might be stuck on the side of not wanting to have a difficult conversation.

On that note as well.

I made a day 2 of Good Vibes Document you can have a nice little scroll by clicking this obnoxiously long link…

I’ve also found if you have the google docs app on your phone the scroll experience is so much better.

Stephen Walker.

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Stephen Walker, Unit 146317, PO Box 7169, Poole, BH15 9EL, United Kingdom

The internet feels like a dumpster fire that someone keeps pouring gasoline on.

Every platform is optimised for outrage. Every algorithm rewards anger. Every comment section turns into a battlefield where nuance goes to die.

Your feed is probably 90% people screaming about things that make your cortisol levels spike before you’ve even finished your morning coffee.

(I know I felt that way this morning when I dared to peak at my phone)

We all know this isn’t by accident. Rage drives engagement. Fear keeps you scrolling. Controversy generates clicks. The platforms have figured out that your lizard brain can’t resist a good fight, even when that fight is slowly poisoning your ability to think clearly.

So I’m building an antidote.

A living document of good vibes. Literature quotes that remind you why language matters. Ideas that make you think instead of react. Aesthetics that feed your soul instead of depleting it. Creative work that proves humans are capable of making beautiful things instead of just tearing each other apart.

You know? Art stuff that makes us feel alive and a part of something.

Call it digital detox. Call it curated sanity. Call it whatever you want. But your brain needs this more than you realise. (Well mine does, so why not share it with you too, huh?)

On top of that here’s what constant exposure to negativity does to your thinking…

It rewires your neural pathways to expect the worst. It trains your attention to scan for threats. It makes cynicism feel like wisdom and optimism feel naive.

You start seeing problems everywhere and solutions nowhere. You begin to believe that everything is broken and nothing can be fixed. You lose the ability to appreciate small beautiful moments because you’re too busy bracing for the next catastrophe.

I want to feel better and think better too.

When you regularly consume well crafted writing, your own writing improves. When you expose yourself to thoughtful ideas, your own thinking becomes more nuanced. When you surround yourself with creativity, you become more creative.

Environment shapes cognition. If your information diet consists entirely of hot takes and outrage bait, your mind becomes a hot take generator. If you feed it beauty, complexity, and genuine insight, it starts producing those qualities in return.

This is why I need your help building this thing.

I’m looking for anything that makes you stop and think “huh, that’s interesting” instead of “what the hell is wrong with people.” Literature quotes that hit different. Creative projects that remind you humans can make gorgeous things. Ideas that challenge assumptions without attacking character.

If you come across something that feels like intellectual vitamins instead of digital junk food, send it my way. Reply to any email with “Good vibes” in the subject line and include a link or screenshot.

If you’ve created something that fits.

Writing, art, music, photography, whatever, include that too.

Think of it as a museum for functional beauty. A library of things worth your attention. A bookmark collection for your future self when you need reminding that not everything online is designed to make you angry.

The world doesn’t need more rage. It needs more thoughtfulness. More nuance. More evidence that humans are capable of creating instead of just consuming and complaining.

I don’t want to be part of the anger merchants forcing bullshit into our eye holes.

Stephen Walker.

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Stephen Walker, Unit 146317, PO Box 7169, Poole, BH15 9EL, United Kingdom

The world’s on fire. Again. Still. Forever, it seems like, and you’re sitting there scrolling through the ninth circle of social media hell wondering if maybe, just maybe, you should delete everything and go live in a cave somewhere. I get it. Christ, do I get it.

I spent most of the day offline and then come back to see a school shooting and a political figure shot and killed.

Like what the fuck is wrong with people?

I mean is it so hard to be a good human?

Come on. Being a good fucking human isn’t some Herculean task that requires a cape and superpowers. It’s not about grand gestures or viral moments or getting your name in digital lights sprawled across an area where thousands of people walk through every day.

It’s about the small shit. The daily grind of decency.

You know what being a good human looks like?

Not being a dick to the barista who’s clearly having the worst day of their life.

Letting people exist without commentary on their appearance, their choices, their goddamn right to breathe air.

Actually listening when someone talks instead of just waiting for your turn to perform.

The trolls are out there spewing hate like it’s going out of style. They’re scared little creatures hiding behind screens, mistaking cruelty for strength. And yeah, they’re loud. Louder than they deserve to be. But here’s what they don’t want you to know…

You outnumber them.

Every time you choose kindness over cruelty it’s like a tiny little act of rebellion. You’re saying “fuck you” to the machine that profits from our anger, our division, our despair.

Those people chanting encouragement for evil? They’re lost. Genuinely, deeply lost. And while that doesn’t excuse their actions (it absolutely fucking doesn’t), it should remind you that hatred like that comes from a place of profound emptiness. They’re trying to fill a void with other people’s pain, and that’s… that’s just sad, man.

You don’t have to save them. That’s not your job.

Your job is simpler and harder…

Be authentically, unapologetically, courageously yourself. Be kind without being a doormat. Be fierce without being cruel. Be angry at injustice without becoming consumed by rage.

Stand up for people who can’t stand up for themselves. Call out bullshit when you see it. Vote. Volunteer. Donate. Share resources. Amplify voices that need amplifying.

But also and this is crucial…

Take care of your own mental health. You can’t pour from an empty cup, and you can’t fight fascism if you’re having a nervous breakdown.

So be a good fucking human. Not because the world deserves it (though it does), but because you deserve to live in a world where good humans exist.

Be the person you needed when you were struggling. Be the light in someone else’s darkness. Be the reason someone doesn’t give up today.

The fire’s real. The hate’s real. The fear’s real.

But so are you. And you’re stronger than you think.

Now get out there and be magnificent.

R.I.P. to the poor souls lost the last few days. May the ones left behind to pick up the pieces find strength.

Stephen Walker.

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Stephen Walker, Unit 146317, PO Box 7169, Poole, BH15 9EL, United Kingdom