Edwin's Corner

  Part One: Observations from a Men’s Group debate session on the making of a man and what it means to think for oneself They came from everywhere. And I mean that literally — not in the poetic way we reach for when we're trying to make something sound significant. From different estates. Different schedules. Different lives that did not easily make room for a Saturday morning gathering of men. One had traveled the night before. You could see it in his eyes — not exhaustion, exactly, but that quiet heaviness of a man who chose something over sleep. Another walked in still mentally tethered to a project he had just delegated. You know that look: body present, mind running silent calculations in the background, just in case things fell apart without him. A third came on crutches. The pain was visible. His eyes were not. They were here. That alone told me something. Men don't gather like this for nothing — not anymore, not in a world where time is constantly negotiated, ...

  Let me start with something slightly uncomfortable. You already know what to do. Eat better. Wake up earlier. Call that person. Repair that relationship. Break that habit. Start that thing. You know. In fact, if knowledge were the problem, you would be unstoppable by now. You’ve read the books and watched the videos. Listened to the podcasts. Saved the tweets. Even sent some to your friends, like, “This is deep.” But here’s the strange part. When the moment comes to act, you freeze. Or you delay. Or you negotiate with yourself like a seasoned politician. “Let me start next week.” “Today has been hectic.” “I need to be in the right mindset.” And just like that, nothing changes. What exactly is going on? This is not a discipline problem. No, no. This one is deeper. 1. Solomon Was Rich, Powerful and Still Confused (Just Like You) I want you to imagine Solomon. Not the Instagram version. Not the “wisest man who ever lived” highlight reel. I mean the real situation. ...

  Liu Xiaodong inspired sketch drawing I remember the Monday clearly. You know the one. The “new life” Monday. The kind where you wake up with unusual levels of conviction. You don’t just want change. You want transformation. You open your notebook—or your Notes app if you’ve evolved—and you write: Wake up at 5:00am Exercise for 1 hour Read 30 pages Eat clean Work with focus Journal at night You even underline it. This is not a normal Monday. This is the Monday that changes everything. I was ready. And for two days. I executed like a machine. Tuesday, I was unstoppable. Wednesday morning was still strong. Wednesday evening, a little tired. Thursday, I started negotiating. Friday, I said, “Let me rest and come back stronger next week.” By Sunday, I had fully emotionally recovered from the trauma of trying to change my life. And by next Monday? New plan. New energy. Same cycle. Mary Took It Further (She Even Bought the Outfit) ...

  Charcoal sketch inspired by Liu Xiaodong I remember a conversation clearly. Not because it happened, but because it didn’t. And if you’re honest, you have one too. The one that sat in your chest longer than it should have. The one you rehearsed in your head—perfectly, eloquently, courageously, but never actually said. The one that, if you had it earlier, would have changed everything. I could feel it building. Something was off. No argument had occurred. No major disagreement. No visible breakdown. Yet something had shifted. Words had gone unsaid. Tone had shifted—slightly. Energy had shifted just enough to feel it. You know that feeling. Everything looks normal. But nothing feels normal. Instead of leaning into it, I did what many intelligent, ‘self-aware’, emotionally “mature” people do. I justified my silence. “This is not the right time.” “I don’t want to create tension.” “It’s not that serious.” “Let me think about it first.” Let me say this: Most relationship dam...

  Charcoal sketch inspired by  Liu Xiaodong There is a kind of honesty that only shows up when the noise dies. Not when you’re busy. Not when you’re productive. Not when life is moving. But when everything slows down. And it’s just you. For me, it was late—the kind of late when even your excuses are tired. The house is quiet. The world has gone to sleep, and you are left alone with your patterns. I was sitting there. Phone in hand. Scrolling. Nothing engaging. I wasn’t learning, and I wasn’t even enjoying it. Just scrolling. Unable to shift from this action. Five minutes became fifteen. Fifteen became forty-five. And then that dangerous sentence showed up: “Just one more video.” You know that one. It has destroyed more dreams than failure ever has. By the time I looked up, an hour had passed. Gone. Evaporated. And then something in me paused. Like a frozen moment in time. Not dramatically. Not like a lightning bolt. But deeply. I asked myself a question that felt uncom...

  The Quiet Breaks That Shatter Us One of the hardest things to face in life isn’t failure, rejection, or loss—it’s when something inside you cracks. When your sense of worth fractures. At that moment, the ground gives way beneath your feet. You doubt everything—your worth, your identity, your direction. Sometimes it happens early, in childhood, before you even realize what’s happening. Sometimes it comes later, disguised as burnout, betrayal, or loss. I’ve seen it in my coaching work and have lived parts of it, too. But nothing captures this invisible collapse quite like Mary’s story—a woman who fell apart and then rebuilt herself, piece by piece, through structure, purpose, and the brutal grace of self-honesty. Part One: The Fall — When the Self Splinters Mary grew up in love and safety. Her father adored her, and her mother nurtured her dreams. Then, in a single moment, everything shattered—her parents died in a car accident, and her life changed overnight. Thr...

  There is a lie we tell ourselves. Not once. Not occasionally. But repeatedly, quietly, and consistently. It does not announce itself when you wake up in the morning. It does not sit across from you and say, “Today, let’s pretend.” No. It is far more subtle than that. It whispers, and because it whispers, we trust it. Over time, that lie becomes so familiar that we no longer recognize it as a lie. It becomes the truth. At the core of this lie lies something deeply human. A need so primal, so ancient, that it has shaped civilizations, religions, and relationships. The need to belong. To be seen. To be heard. To be appreciated. And when that need feels threatened, we do something fascinating. We bend reality with all our mental faculties—our logic, our reasoning, our intelligence—to keep that lie alive. Not outwardly—most of us are not bold enough to lie to the world. But inwardly? We become master storytellers. We craft narratives. We edit the truth. We suppress di...