So, Co-Pilot and I were having a chat about life and the universe.
We’d been talking about the fact that I’ve now been a Civil Servant for five years, and I asked it to look at the sector (travel, as it happens) in which I used to work. Without a prompt or any request for a personality analysis, it said, and I quote:
“Over the years, your move into the Civil Service wasn’t just a career change — (I’ve kept the big hyphen so you can see it’s a real AI quote) it was a risk-management decision. You swapped supplier negotiations, cash-flow headaches and being squeezed by larger organisations for a salary, pension, and the chance to help people directly. Not a bad trade.”
I’ve overshared a bit, but I don’t remember telling the AI about the corporate bullying from big clients who squeezed us, or the increasing lack of literacy and loyalty among suppliers.
Anyhow, what really impressed me was the astuteness of the observation that what I made was a risk-management decision.
This blog began sixteen years ago. It was based on football because I’d written a book about it (https://www.amazon.co.uk/Beautiful-Mind-Game-Football-Thinking/dp/1781330662).
I’ve broadened my scope over the years but, funnily enough, football, probably because there’s a World Cup currently playing out, has come back to my mind.
One of my Walking Football buddies was shocked when I told him I wasn’t bothered about this World Cup. I explained that with my team, Italy, not competing, I had no emotional skin in the game and was happy to watch matches when it was convenient, without getting emotionally involved. He was surprised because he assumed that, as a once-upon-a-time writer about football, surely I’d still be deeply interested.
I explained that, weirdly, as I’ve grown older, I still follow the sport but get more stressed by it than I did when I was younger. So, I try to avoid it.
I recalled how, back in the 1990s, at around 2pm one Saturday afternoon, I turned on the TV to look at Teletext and check the line-up of my team (Arsenal, as it happens. I can admit this now we’re champions). I was shocked and delighted to discover the game had already finished and we’d won. I’d forgotten it was an early kick-off.
Just when I was gearing myself up for the usual ninety minutes of agony, I could instead relax in the knowledge that it was all done and dusted.
Result!
My friend was surprised that I didn’t relish the excitement and jeopardy.
I went on to tell him how I really dislike it when the Walking Football teams are published and I’m selected as a team captain.
He said:
“But didn’t you used to manage a travel company, deal with staff, negotiate with clients and suppliers and all that?”
I told him that was also true, but I’m so glad I don’t have any of that responsibility anymore.
I then asked my friend what he thought of my penalty-taking technique.
“To be frank,” he said, “I can’t recall you ever taking a penalty. I know you’ve got a good shot and you like to try your luck with powerful efforts from distance, but no, I can’t say I know your spot-kick style.”
“Exactly the point,” I told him. “I never step up to take penalties. I hate it.”
My friend was simultaneously surprised and amused. He’d finally got an idea of who I am: somebody who had changed, both in their career and inside.
The truth is I was never really a risk-taker. I was simply forced into taking risks because of what I did.
And perhaps that’s what the AI understood before I did.
When we’re young, we often confuse taking risks with liking risks. They aren’t the same thing. Many people spend years running businesses, building careers, raising families and dealing with unexpected setbacks not because they enjoy uncertainty, but because life presents them with little choice.
Over time, something interesting can happen. We stop admiring risk for its own sake and start asking whether it’s actually worth it. We become more selective about where we invest our time, energy and emotional output.
Perhaps that’s one of the less celebrated signs of maturity. Not becoming fearful or cautious but learning the difference between risks that help us grow and risks that merely drain us.
Maybe that’s why so many people eventually walk away from jobs, relationships, commitments or ambitions they once thought were essential. Not because they’ve become weaker, but because they’ve become wiser about what matters to them.
And perhaps wisdom is little more than recognising which risks are worth taking and which ones you’re perfectly happy to leave to somebody else.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, could someone else please take this penalty? ⚽