Hey, I’m Adam…

I grew up in Glasgow, Scotland. I was the typical high-achiever throughout school and university; captain of sports teams, academic prizes, a well-behaved good boy with a bit of a naughty streak.

Later, I travelled widely and lived in several different countries. I said yes to a lot of experiences. Some because they genuinely excited me, others because they made for a good story.

I ran a marathon, cycled across Europe, and bungee jumped. I let a tarantula crawl across my face. I became fluent in Spanish and moved to Bogotá to teach English. I’m glad I had those experiences — they shaped me — but I pushed myself hard. I ran the marathon through a double hernia and needed surgery afterwards, unable to stop because failing wasn’t an option.

I was the friend in the group who was constantly on the move, who came back home after months away with tales to tell and stories to impress with. Being that friend - the "guest star" - became part of my identity.

I became a lawyer and got licensed in the UK and California, working in global law firms in London, Mexico City and San Francisco.

There were achievements, adrenaline, and plenty of movement. There were also addictions along the way—some obvious, some more socially acceptable.

Much of it was fun. Some of it was impressive. From the outside, it looked like a full and interesting life.

What I didn’t know how to do was slow down. Or rest. Or stay in one place long enough to feel what was actually going on underneath it all.

For a long time, I didn’t feel very much at all. I lived mostly in my head. I had no relationship with my body. Emotions were something to analyse, manage, or bypass, not something to experience directly. When feelings did break through—sadness, anger, fear—I didn’t know what to do with them, so I kept numbing.

That showed up most clearly in my relationships. I found myself in dynamics that were intense, unstable, or quietly damaging. Like being on a rollercoaster. I stayed too long. Left too abruptly. Tried to fix, control, or rescue. I didn’t yet know how to be present, boundaried, and emotionally available at the same time. Quite frankly, I didn't know what any of those words meant.

Beneath the activity, there was a steady sense of inner pressure. A restlessness that didn’t go away just because something exciting was happening. When things got quiet, discomfort showed up. So I kept myself busy. Changed locations. Took on new challenges. Worked all the hours. Added another experience to the list.

For a while, that worked. Until it didn’t. Eventually, the cost of living that way became impossible to ignore.

My reckoning began during a marriage that I cared about deeply but was slowly killing me. After the marriage ended, I could begin the process of waking up to the fact that I was repeating myself.

I was shooting myself in the foot through the choices I made — a form of self-sabotage I couldn’t yet see clearly.

What followed wasn’t a breakthrough so much as a long process. I go into much more detail about this process in my Manifesto.

Learning to stay with myself and notice patterns rather than outrun them. Learning to feel emotions in the body rather than explain them away. Learning to take responsibility for my inner world—and my role in my dysfunctional relationships.

As I continued becoming aware of my patterns, my relationships began to change too. Not necessarily because I’d found the right technique or partner - although both of those helped - but because I was showing up differently. More present. More honest. More capable of repair. Less trying to be perfect. What I’m in now looks nothing like what I tolerated before.

I began working with the body, with attention, and with relationship. I learned—slowly—what it meant to live with more honesty and less effort. Less striving. Fewer escapes. To use everyday life as a way of learning and growing.

This page, and this site, come from that process. It's not about having answers or presenting a finished version of anything. It's about sharing what I’ve learned so far, why it was necessary, and how I approach life and work now.

If something here resonates, it may be because you’ve noticed similar patterns in your own life. You don’t need to know exactly what to do next. Sometimes noticing that something isn’t working the way it used to is enough to begin.

And if any part of this feels familiar, you’re welcome to reach out—sometimes it’s simply meaningful to know you’re not alone in it. I read every message.

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