Insight-driven growth for business and lifestyle

It was a decent game between the Springboks and the Georgian team on 19 July 2025. I watched it at a public venue with a large screen and an even larger crowd—some in green and gold, others just there for the atmosphere (or the pizza).

Now, it’s not that I’m an eavesdropper. Truly. But I couldn’t help noticing her.

Seated right at the head of the big table—not just metaphorically, but literally, like a matriarch presiding over her clan—was a woman who became increasingly fascinating to me as the match wore on. It became obvious after a while that she was a grandmother. Before kickoff, she was busy entertaining her grandchildren, feeding them, fussing over them, handing out juice boxes and whatnot.

But once the game started… she didn’t look at the screen. Not once.

Now, you might ask: how could I possibly know this? Well, she was directly in my line of sight to the screen, so if she had looked up, I’d have seen it. She didn’t. Ever. While the Georgians mounted some very decent early defence against the Boks, she was scrolling on her phone. A committed scroll. Thumb flicking like it was trying to earn a varsity scholarship.

She occasionally made comments to others at the table—who, I assumed (always a dangerous sport) were her family. Perhaps the younger woman was the mother of the grandchildren. Perhaps not. These were strangers, after all. I’d never seen them before in my life.

Then came the pizzas—giant slabs of them. Our rugby-ambivalent granny tucked in with gusto. Still no glance at the screen, even as the Boks finally broke through with some beautiful play. I was starting to get genuinely intrigued. Why had she come out to watch the game? Or had she? Maybe this was a hostage situation, rugby fan edition.

Meanwhile, the Georgians gave a surprisingly solid performance for much of the first half. I’d read earlier in the week that they learnt rugby from the French during the 1950s, back when Georgia was still under Soviet rule. Back then, rugby training was frowned upon, if not banned outright. But you know the French—subversive and persistent. If there’s one thing they’ll teach you despite the odds, it’s how to make a good sauce or a decent rugby tackle.

Today, Georgian fans are wild for the sport, complete with traditional cheering chants. Their national team now sits around 11th in world rankings—no small feat.

By the second half, the Springboks were in full control, racking up points, eventually thumping Georgia 55–10. And still, Granny munched her way through more pizza, chatted here and there, tapped on her phone, and never once so much as pretended to care what was happening on that giant screen in front of her.

I wasn’t the only one distracted. There was also a young woman wearing low-slung Wrangler jeans and Calvin Klein underwear peeking out just enough to draw the attention of several guys nearby, who tried valiantly to keep their comments to the jeans rather than what was in them. She held a baby for most of the game and looked equally unimpressed with the sport. I asked a nearby woman if she was the baby’s mother. “Nope,” she said. “Babysitting.” In Wranglers and Calvin Kleins. Style matters, even when you’re not watching rugby.

At the end of the game, I turned to someone at my table and asked, “Did you notice that granny never watched a single minute of the game?”

She chuckled. “Maybe she should’ve stayed home and watched it in her lounge.”

I replied, “With all the eating she was doing, she might’ve been better off in the kitchen—with the grandkids.”

We laughed, but I must say: in a room full of rowdy Springbok fans, one woman sat unbothered, undistracted, and absolutely, gloriously disinterested.

Truly, the world’s greatest rugby fan.

The good news? Radio talk show hosts are dying out. And not a moment too soon.

The very good news? Their decline is rapid and irreversible.

The bad news? These sicko creatures—these self-anointed oracles of nothingness—are slithering onto TikTok and other digital sewer pipes to reinvent themselves. They will not go quietly.

Let’s be absolutely clear: radio talk show hosts are the most despicable people on the airwaves. How they rose to prominence between the 1980s and early 2000s is one of modern media’s greatest shames. People with microphones, over-inflated egos, and under-inflated intellects somehow came to wield vast influence over public discourse, politics, and personal belief systems.

I won’t name names—because that would give them oxygen—but you know who they are. And it is with joy, not glee (because glee is too mild a word), that I mark their departure from the airwaves. May they never return. Ever.

They made fortunes spouting bile and banalities. Sponsored rants. Ghostwritten books. Corporate gigs. Endless grift. Grubby little hands, reaching into every pocket. Well, guess what? The pockets are empty now. The sponsors are bailing. The stations are cutting staff. The audiences are leaving. And so they’ve been resigned, retired, or better yet: booted.

But don’t start celebrating just yet.

Talk radio is not quite dead.
Its dying embers smoulder in the amateur-hour nonsense of community radio. That’s where the leftovers go. Untrained, unfunny, uninformed. Presenters who know nothing about music, running blues shows. Or spinning ‘60s nostalgia as if anyone needs to hear “Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da” one more time before dying of boredom.

Yes, I’ve listened. That’s how I know.
And thank heavens—I can switch it off.

Spotify, podcasts, and curated playlists are the antidote to the idiot parade. These modern marvels have saved us from the drivel. No more sycophantic, shouty, arrogant, faux-wisecracking “personalities” wasting hours of your life with pathetic observations and rehashed clichés.

Back in the day, Joe Queenan—razor-sharp movie satirist—hit the nail on the head in a review of Talk Radio:

“Talk Radio marks the first public expression of the growing conviction among ordinary Americans that talk radio hosts, having miserably failed in their anointed function as amateur psychologists, surrogate clergymen, and shamans, deserve to die.”

Harsh? Maybe. But he was right.

Because these hosts didn’t just hog the mic. They declared themselves moral authorities. Experts on everything. The all-knowing, all-yelling, all-blathering gods of the air. Arrogant, aggressive, conceited—the worst traits humanity has to offer, squeezed into one studio booth.

Let me be clear:
Radio itself is not the enemy.
There are still a few—precious few—worthwhile programs. Some talented presenters. You just have to hunt them down like rare birds. I know which time slots to target, which voices to avoid. But casual listening? That’s dead. Turn on a random station and you’re likely to get 15 minutes of incoherent rambling from someone who shouldn’t be trusted with a paper route, let alone a live audience.

Technology is our only hope.

I dream of a day—soon—when we can program radio like we do music: custom feeds, AI-curated schedules, one-tap access to what we actually want to hear. The same way I’ve done with newspapers. I don’t browse 12 sites anymore—I get a clean feed of only the content I choose.

Let radio die the same way. Let these sickos shrivel in the cold vacuum of irrelevance, their blathering lost in the infinite scroll.

Yes, they’re mutating, appearing on YouTube, lurking on Instagram, spamming your TikTok feed.
But they know it.
They know their time is up.

And that’s why they’re scrambling.

Because there is no place for them in the world that’s coming.

Let it come faster.

The first business book I ever read was On a Clear Day You Can See General Motors by John DeLorean. I was very young—my father handed it to me. I’m glad he did, though not for the usual reasons. It wasn’t a blueprint for business success; it was a front-row seat to ego, dysfunction, and corporate decay. It opened my eyes early.

DeLorean, the famed car innovator behind the iconic DMC-12 (yes, the Back to the Future car), wrote a scathing exposé after walking away from GM. The book laid bare the mediocrity and mismanagement at one of America’s biggest corporations. Later, of course, DeLorean’s own venture would collapse in spectacular fashion—burdened by poor decisions, financial troubles, and a notorious brush with cocaine trafficking charges. A cautionary tale, all around.

In other words, even my first business book was about a broken system.

So: how do you diagnose a sick business?

If you want a dry, clinical answer, speak to your accountant or lawyer. They’ll talk numbers, contracts, obligations. And fair enough—those are important. But let’s try something a bit different. Let’s borrow from another system we all understand: the human body.

The Business as a Body

Think about it. When your body is sick, you know. Maybe not at first, but eventually the signs show up—fatigue, pain, dysfunction. You start spending time, money, and energy trying to fix it. You go to doctors. You look for causes. You search for cures.

A business is no different.

At a basic level, a human body needs food and water. A business needs cash flow and capable people. Without those, it withers.

Cash, like hydration, is essential and constantly needed. And just as we search high and low for the right doctors or health specialists, a business owner is always hunting for reliable people—employees, suppliers, advisors. But those are scarce. And sometimes the people involved in a business don’t help; they hurt.

Internal Saboteurs

Some of the most damaging forces inside a business come from within. Conceit. Arrogance. Greed. I’ve seen it: people sabotaging companies to satisfy their egos, embezzling funds, or steering the whole thing into the ground just to prove a point or settle a score.

A sick business, like a sick body, is often betrayed by those who should be protecting it.

The Circle of Support

No human thrives in isolation. We rely on people around us—friends, family, community. A business is the same. It needs its customers most of all. Without customers, there is no business.

As business theorist Theodore Levitt put it: the purpose of a business is to create and serve a customer. Simple. Profound. Often forgotten.

A Two-Way Dependence

We tend to think about what businesses need to survive. But the reverse is true too. People need businesses—to earn a living, to realise ideas, to build futures. When a business gets sick or dies, the impact ripples far beyond the owner’s balance sheet.

So the metaphor holds: the human body and the business entity are deeply alike. Both need attention, care, and honest diagnosis when things start going wrong.

And both can bounce back—if you catch the illness early enough.

“You’re being paranoid,” people will tell you with a sneer. But being paranoid is good.

I saw the other day somebody promoting Andy Grove—the previous CEO of Intel—his book and attitude of Only the Paranoid Survive. I still remember the Fortune magazine article where I first saw him talk about his book. I never spoke to anybody about that. It seemed so distant and far away—America in those days—and the high-tech industry of chips seemed so high-tech.

But I realized that Grove was making a very important statement. I think a lot of businesses in the country at that time had no clue of the changes they would be facing, and how many of them would soon go out of business. But for those of us who have worked in very large industrial companies, there is so much arrogance—from the top to the bottom—that if you spoke about things like this, they’d laugh at you.

All of them are trying to be clever and creeping up each other’s arses. There’s so much brown-nosing going on that in the mornings you see brown faces filled with it.

But anyway—the point is—I read that magazine article over and over and realized that I had to be paranoid. Paranoid in my life, paranoid in my job, which was a very high-pressure job requiring a lot of crucial decision-making and creativity. Now, not everybody’s got creativity, and I had to use my own creativity and tap into networks that I cultivated to develop that creativity to survive.

Did I survive? Well, some of the major things, yes—but I don’t think I was paranoid enough. I knew that the government would collapse many businesses. Many businesses, 30 years ago, already started leaving the country—shutting up their factories and leaving. They knew the writing was on the wall. These were the smart ones. These were the paranoid that would survive and go on and invest elsewhere.

But then I wasn’t paranoid enough and didn’t have enough insight into the Johannesburg property market. You might say no one knew, but I say I should have seen the signs. I should have realized that the Johannesburg property market was going to crumble. I got burned. Anyway, it’s a salutary lesson.

Now, today, you have all of these academics that are rushing to talk about “horizon scanning,” and they’re coming up with dumb little papers. But that’s not what business is made of. Business is made of guts. Life is made of guts. It requires guts, determination, questioning, not taking the obvious—being what other people would seem to think is angry and cynical. But that’s what it takes. Even belligerent.

That’s why Grove said vice presidents who didn’t challenge him and didn’t argue with him were useless.

Everybody wants to be nice. But nice doesn’t get you anywhere, really. It doesn’t.

Anyway—only the paranoid survive. Examine your life and business and see where you are not being paranoid enough.

It’s a crude question, but it’s the one that counts.

Some people are making money hand over fist. Take the estate agent renting out holiday homes for R10,000 a day on the Atlantic Seaboard. Estate agents are coining it—it’s become so lucrative that grandmothers are boasting about how many granddaughters and grandsons have gone into the trade. Some agents already have pensions and other income, and they’re using the property game to fund lavish lifestyles. It’s a very specific kind of hustle.

Contractors are another story. Roofers, for example, don’t get out of bed for less than R20,000 a job. What’s actually in that R20k? Nobody really knows. But what we do know is that it’s enough for some of them to develop habits… expensive habits. One guy I heard of got so deep into things he ended up a full-blown addict. That’s one way of living the high life. Not one I recommend.

(There are better things to spend your money on than becoming a cautionary tale. Though judging by how much wine some agents consume, caution is relative.)

Let’s not moralise too much though.

There are, broadly speaking, two kinds of people in the world:

Those who are in the money. And those who are out of it.

What makes the difference?

It’s not always what you think. Sure, on the healthy side, it’s about vision, timing, and ambition. On the less wholesome side, it’s about appetite—greed, if you want to be blunt. Some people are so rapacious they invent entire schemes, industries even, to justify what they charge.

Look at the so-called “medical aid” sector. You’re not getting aid—you’re buying into a highly profitable private risk pool with fancy branding. Or think of website hosting. You’re paying a fee—month after month—for a service that runs on autopilot. It’s pure passive income… for them.

That’s the thing: it’s always better being on the other side. The side where you charge what you want, you set the terms, and the market comes to you.

But you’ve got to figure out what works.

And here’s the part nobody tells you:

The smart ones aren’t looking for business ideas online.

They’re not asking AI to cough up some side hustle.

They’re meeting quietly, having private conversations with smart advisors, investors, friends.

They make plans. They plot.

And then, out of nowhere, they launch.

Suddenly, they’re in the money. Just like that.

You can do it too—but the ideas aren’t floating around in plain sight.

You’ve got to know where to look, who to speak to, and when to act.

Whatever you do, find a way to make money that suits you.

Do it smartly. Do it easily.

Then enjoy the fruits of your cleverness—and the sweat you put in to make it real.

When a business fails, it’s more than just numbers turning red on a spreadsheet. It’s often catastrophic for the owners, devastating for employees, and disruptive for suppliers. There’s no sugar-coating it—business failure hurts.

And yet, it happens all the time.

Nothing lasts forever. Markets evolve. Consumer tastes shift. External shocks—economic downturns, global pandemics, local policy changes—can wipe out even the most promising ventures. But there’s another sting in the tale: seeing others succeed while you’re struggling.

It’s especially hard for someone who’s lost a business to look around and see others pulling in big money—like rental agencies on the Atlantic Seaboard making R10,000 a day from high-end tourist accommodation. When the money flows that easily, it feels effortless. From the outside, it looks like they’ve cracked the code. Meanwhile, you’re left wondering what went wrong with your venture.

The truth is, small businesses aren’t the magic solution to South Africa’s job crisis, no matter how often social media “experts” and newspaper columnists say otherwise. Of course, we know there aren’t enough corporate jobs to go around. So self-employment and entrepreneurship have become a default option. But starting a business is tough. Restarting one after failure? That’s even tougher.

We don’t need to rehash every reason businesses fail—most business owners already know the signs. They feel the tension when cash flow slows, when invoices go unpaid, when customers vanish, and when creditors stop calling and start acting. When the money runs out, it’s game over.

What’s more useful is to look at the common traits of the businesses that don’t fail. The ones that generate income no matter what. Like the aforementioned rental agencies serving foreign tourists—they’re often built on strong, steady demand, high margins, and operational simplicity. No matter how the broader economy is doing, there’s always a market for luxury, for convenience, for reliability.

That doesn’t mean every business can copy that model. But it does mean entrepreneurs need to get serious about researching what actually works. Not just what sounds good in a business plan or on LinkedIn. No amount of “pivoting” can save a business that doesn’t have a market, a margin, or a solid operational backbone.

And yes, there are always buzzwords flying around—“agility,” “disruption,” “resilience.” But when your business hits a wall, the decision is very real and very personal: do you reposition and try again, or do you start fresh?

It’s not easy. But it’s possible.

Success comes down to three ingredients: knowing your market, having a bit of business savvy, and keeping a close eye on your cash flow. Sounds simple, but anyone who’s tried it knows how challenging it really is. Still, with the right insight, timing, and grit, you can turn the page.

Sometimes failure is the education you needed.

Some people are raking in money. Daily rental incomes of R10,000 or more on the Atlantic Seaboard. Others have ecommerce stores that seem to print cash while they sleep.

They’re in the money. They’ve cracked it.

And it stings, because you might not be.

Maybe you’ve gone days—weeks—without a sale. Maybe you’re doubting yourself. You’re working hard, doing the admin, posting on social media… but nothing is moving. The silence can be deafening.

So what’s wrong?

One common problem is this:

You’ve created something nice to have, not something people need right now.

No urgency. No high demand. No sales.

Step One: Diagnose the Problem Honestly

It’s tempting to blame the economy, the market, the algorithms. But what if the real issue is that your offering doesn’t solve a clear, burning problem for your customer?

Many entrepreneurs fall in love with their idea. That’s not a crime—it’s human. But falling in love with your product doesn’t mean customers will too.

In fact, they won’t even notice it unless it speaks directly to something they care about.

Step Two: Get Out of the Bubble

If your product or service isn’t selling, stop flogging the same dead horse. Go into research mode:

• Visit markets and malls in your area. See what people are lining up for. What’s moving? What’s not?

• Browse online stores and marketplaces—especially local ones. What’s trending? What are the bestsellers?

• Talk to potential customers. Ask what they’re struggling with or what they wish they had more of.

• Check the competition. What are they doing that you’re not? Pricing, packaging, wording?

This isn’t stealing. This is being smart. You’re gathering market intelligence.

Step Three: Be Willing to Pivot or Tweak

You don’t always need to scrap everything and start over. Sometimes it just takes a small pivot:

• Change the positioning. Maybe you’re marketing your product as a luxury when people want a necessity.

• Repackage or bundle. Offer a small starter pack or a value bundle.

• Simplify. Too much choice can overwhelm. Focus on one clear, easy-to-understand offer.

• Add urgency. Limited-time deals, local delivery, or value-adds can move people to act.

And if your current offering is truly not landing—be honest with yourself. Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is stop, regroup, and start fresh with what the market actually wants.

The Market Is Always Talking

If your product or service isn’t selling, don’t take it personally—but do take it seriously.

The market is always giving you feedback. Through silence, through low engagement, through poor conversion. Listen closely.

The winners in business aren’t always the ones with the best ideas—they’re the ones who adapt fast and serve real needs.

So don’t just keep slogging, hoping something magical happens.

Refocus. Rethink. Realign with the market.

It’s not a failure. It’s strategy.

She was sitting across from me, exhausted. Not just tired — done. Her eyes were red from crying, again. She clutched her phone like it was a grenade that might go off at any moment.

Her aunt had just died. Then her uncle. And now… her niece overdosed. She’s just divorced her husband. She’s moved to a new city. She has no work. She is staying with her brother. ?

Grief piles up. Trauma doesn’t give you time to breathe. Some people take on everyone’s pain — not just their own. They wrap themselves around the suffering of others like a second skin.

“I’m okay,” she insisted, voice cracking. “I’m just trying to hold it all together.”

But she wasn’t okay. She was collapsing under the weight of other people’s chaos — and it was becoming a way to avoid dealing with her own life.

That’s what I’ve noticed. When people are in crisis, they sometimes hide inside other people’s tragedies. It feels like empathy. But it can become an excuse — a real one — to delay healing, choices, responsibility.

Yes, have sympathy. Yes, show love. But if you don’t draw a line somewhere, you’ll sink too.

Crying daily, raising hands to the sky, saying “Why now?” — it feels cathartic, but it keeps you stuck. And stuck doesn’t pay bills, heal wounds, or build the future.

What we need in times like this is movement. Momentum. Something — anything — to start climbing out.

So, how do you make the right choices in life — and avoid a slow-motion collapse?

We’ve all seen people go from stable to sinking. Bad choices build up. Then boom: broke, broken, and wondering how it all went wrong.

Some folks are lucky. A couch at Mom’s. A job from a sibling. A loan from an uncle.

But many? They’re on their own.

If you’ve ever worried you’re one bad decision away from a mess, here’s your practical guide to staying upright.

1. Make Smarter Decisions, Not Faster Ones

Don’t make big choices when you’re tired, hungry, or panicking. You’re not thinking straight.

Sleep on it. Talk it through. Pause.

If you’re trying to live better, set up your environment to match: no junk food if you want to eat clean. No late-night online shopping if you’re on a budget.

Small changes now can save you from big regrets later.

2. Don’t Absorb Everyone Else’s Pain

Let’s go back to that woman for a moment. She meant well. Her heart was massive. But she had nothing left for herself. That’s not healthy. It’s not heroic.

When people spiral, they often over-identify with family chaos. It gives them a reason not to face their own stuff.

Yes, have sympathy. Yes, support. But don’t drown in someone else’s ocean. Keep your head above water and deal with your own life too.

Growth needs space — not just tears.

3. Keep Work Relationships Professional

Friendly is fine. But blur the lines too much, and work starts to feel like a 24/7 emotional minefield.

That’s called relationship fatigue.

Set clear boundaries. Log off. Take weekends seriously.

And if you’re a boss, remember proximity bias — the unfair edge people in the office sometimes get. Value results, not just face-time.

4. Avoid Homelessness Before It’s a Reality

If you’re behind on rent or fearing eviction, act immediately. Don’t wait for the sheriff to knock.

There are support services and emergency programs that can help — but only if you reach out in time.

If you live with family, contribute. Don’t sponge. Clean up. Communicate clearly. Independence isn’t just financial — it’s emotional, too.

5. Protect Your Mental Health Like It’s Your Job

Stress creeps in quietly, then explodes.

Nip it early. Walk, rest, talk to someone. Sleep properly. Find a hobby. Get out in the sun.

If you’re starting to feel shaky, don’t wait for a collapse. See a therapist. Talk to a support group. Get ahead of the spiral.

6. Think Twice About Medication

Meds help. But they’re not the only answer.

If you’re using medication for stress, sleep, or mood, make sure it’s part of a bigger plan — not the whole plan.

Lifestyle changes, therapy, better boundaries — all of that matters too. And always talk to a professional before making changes.

Bottom line?

Life can flip in a flash. But you can dodge the worst outcomes by making thoughtful choices, setting boundaries, and knowing when to ask for help.

Don’t wait until you’re at rock bottom with no idea how you got there.

Take a breath. Zoom out. Ask: What’s one small move I can make today to get back on track?

Maybe it’s stepping back from a family drama. Maybe it’s applying for a job. Maybe it’s just getting a decent night’s sleep.

Small steps count.

Start there.

Let’s just say it straight:

Most people don’t give a damn about you.

They really don’t.

And if you think otherwise, you’re probably clinging to a lovely little illusion—one that’s comforting but completely disconnected from how things really are.

Sure, it sounds harsh. Maybe even mean. But take a second and look at it with clear eyes.

From the moment we wake up, life becomes a full-time job… of taking care of me.

It’s winter. You’re cold. You reach for your warmest clothes. You clean your body. Feed it. Expel fluids. Stretch it. Nurse it if it’s in pain. You do what’s needed to stay upright, functioning, reasonably sane. And if you’re dealing with illness or hardship? Then your whole day revolves around managing that personal storm.

And at night? You don’t switch off. You want entertainment. Comfort. Peace. Distraction. Your psyche demands soothing, or maybe stimulation, before you’ll rest.

It’s all about you. And that’s not a flaw. It’s just… survival.

So, where in that full-time schedule does interest in others squeeze in?

It’s not that people are heartless. It’s just that they’re busy being themselves.

You pour hours into making something—a painting, a piece of writing, a small business, a garden, a song—and you show it to someone.

“Oh, that’s nice,” they say.

Then without pause, they pivot: “You know what I’ve been working on?” And suddenly it’s their show, their story, their triumphs, their pain. You’re the audience again. Your role is to listen, not to be heard.

And deep down, we know this.

That’s why the myth of widespread altruism can feel so disappointing. People care about themselves. That’s the default setting. And honestly? It makes sense. If you can’t hold yourself together, how can you give anyone else your full attention?

But here’s the rub: If you’re waiting for others to be deeply invested in your inner world, your progress, your highs and lows—you may be waiting a long time.

So what do you do with that truth?

You grow up.

Maturity isn’t about becoming bitter—it’s about adjusting your expectations to reality. People will let you down. They’ll break promises. They’ll ghost you. They’ll say “let’s catch up soon!” and then vanish for weeks, months. That’s who they are. Lower the bar. Not out of cynicism, but out of compassion.

And then? Be gracious anyway.

Because maturity is also about showing up as the kind of person you wish others were.

Even when they’re self-absorbed. Even when they’re not paying attention.

We all have our blind spots and shortcomings. So maybe the game isn’t about fixing people or expecting reciprocity.

Maybe it’s about learning to live well despite it.

Yes, it’s possible to be interested in others. But the truth is—you have to survive yourself first.

We are bombarded by advice.

Social media. Newspapers. Friends. Acquaintances. So-called xspurts. Everyone puffs their chest and thinks they’re clever. Aren’t I smart? they tell themselves.

Some advice is helpful. Most isn’t.

Some we seek out. Most just shows up uninvited, like a badly timed voice note.

So let’s turn the question around.

What’s the best advice you’ve ever received?

Not read in a tweet. Not scribbled on a coffee shop chalkboard.

I mean actual advice from a real human, spoken or written, that stuck with you.

I had to dig into the memory vault to think of something someone told me directly, rather than wisdom I’ve scavenged from old books (some of which are packed with surprisingly solid life truths).

But let’s get real.

The best advice I can recall came from my mother. She used to say:

“Stay away from those boys. They’re bad.”

It wasn’t subtle. It wasn’t nuanced. But it was spot-on more than once.

Then there was my father, who used to sing a made-up ditty:

“Put your money in the bank, Frank — you’ve got to have money to start.”

It was silly, but it planted something lasting in my head.

I’ve been a lifelong saver because of it. Though, in hindsight, maybe what I really needed was a push toward investing and making money work, not just hoarding it.

Timeless Pieces of Advice from Remarkable Individuals

Here are a few gems I’ve collected — bits of advice that have stood the test of time, quoted by people from all walks of life:

1. “Be yourself; everyone else is already taken.”

– Oscar Wilde

Witty and evergreen. A reminder that authenticity wins, even when it feels uncomfortable.

2. “Whether you think you can, or you think you can’t — you’re right.”

– Henry Ford

Mindset matters. Belief fuels action. Doubt saps it.

3. “Do what you can, with what you have, where you are.”

– Theodore Roosevelt

This is not only practical — it’s powerful. Stop waiting. Start doing.

4. “The only way to do great work is to love what you do.”

– Steve Jobs

Over-quoted, yes. But still true. Passion creates endurance. And quality.

5. “You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take.”

– Wayne Gretzky

A sports metaphor for life. Take the risk. Ask the question. Try the thing.

6. “Comparison is the thief of joy.”

– Also Theodore Roosevelt

Apparently, Teddy Roosevelt moonlighted as a therapist. This one cuts deep in the age of social media.

Some advice lands. Some echoes. Some grows with us over time.

So — what’s the best advice you’ve ever received?

Was it from a parent, a teacher, a friend, a random stranger, or the back of a matchbox?

References:

• Oscar Wilde, widely attributed

• Henry Ford, quoted in Think and Grow Rich by Napoleon Hill

• Theodore Roosevelt, An Autobiography (1913)

• Steve Jobs, Stanford Commencement Address (2005)

• Wayne Gretzky, widely attributed