There’s this highlife track that is a banger, and so ubiquitous, it’s practically the biggest hit in Africa that somehow, somehow, ended up in every corner of this continent, every dance floor, every living room. Sweet Mother. An anthem that Prince Nico Mbarga made in 1976, exactly fifty years ago.

You know…Sweet Mother haunted the hell out of me as a kid. For a child with an off-the-charts imagination like mine, the story of this woman, this mother, that weaved itself around the flow and beats of the music had me shook.

When I dey cry my mother go carry me
She go say my pikin wetin you dey cry yo yo
Stop stop! stop stop! stop stop!
Make you no cry again oo

When i wan sleep my mother go help me
She go lie me well well for bed
She cover me cloth say make you sleep
Sleep sleep my pikin oooo

Listening to these lyrics, I would sit in stunned silence. What? Like…this human being is amazing. How is it that she can uncry her child so easily, or get him to sleep so comfortably? And the “Stop stop!" part of the song, when the band would hit each stop by stopping? Eish! Every time…my heart would stop.

But that’s nothing o. It was this part of the song that for a long time stalked my child soul, as I was always at a loss as to who on earth this person was, this guy was singing her praises to. Who is she? Where?:

When i dey hungry my mother go run up and down
She dey find me something we i go chop
Sweet mother, sweet mother oooo

When i dey sick my mother go cry cry cry
She go say instead wey i go die make she die
She go beg God, God help me, God help me, my pikin oo

If i no sleep, my mother no go sleep
If i no chop, my mother no go chop
She no dey tire ooo
Sweet mother i no go forget dey suffer wey you suffer for me yeh yeh

Hmm! She won’t sleep? She won’t eat? Why would she do that? If the bobo doesn’t want to eat or sleep, why would anyone sacrifice their own sanity just because this useless child was acting like ijaguda?

Of course, the answers to those questions hit me like a twenty-foot tsunami when I slowly and finally figured out who this Nico Mbarga dude was talking about. You know how the big reveal happens in the M. Night Shyamalan movies…think Sixth Sense? Or the Kaiser Soze in the Usual Suspects. That’s how, at some point in my late teens, it occurred to me that this person was right there in front of me.

Mama. All this time, I was digging, looking for this mythical figure out there in the multiverse, doing all these things for her child…and it was my Mama, the constant presence in my life, doing it 5x, or maybe more like x to the fifth (x⁵) with five kids. Carol…she was the powerhouse, the gangster, the force of nature.

And then I was seeing all the Mamas around me. The Sweet Mothers handling their business. My friend’s Mamas. The Mamas teaching me at school. And then my older cousins became Mamas. And then my friends became Mamas. Then my other half became a Mama. And then my sister became a Mama. My younger cousins became Mamas. I was surrounded by Mamas. Mamas in and outside of my universe.

The Powerhouses. The Gangsters. The Forces of Nature.

Happy Mother’s Day, Sweet Mother.

We no go forget una.

“Just wakin’ up in the mornin’, gotta thank God,

I don’t know, but today seems kinda odd.”

Ice Cube had this vibe to the way he opened up with these lyrics for his mega hit, “It Was A Good Day”. Like, nna men…here we go again. And that is the MO for me…get up, gear up, and plan to have what I call a “net positive day”. As in, when everything is added up, tabulated, calibrated for outliers and edge cases…the ups outweigh the downs. More entries in the positive column than the negative column. Even when the positives are small positives, no wahala, then I go for volume. Let’s rack them up, Oga Chidi. Micro positives, mini positives, regular positives. Beat the Big Boss in the video game, walk for an hour, speak to someone I haven’t spoken to in a while, enjoy a nice bowl of ice cream, write a Fashi…whatever.

Shoot, if the day is threatening to be a net negative, I get gangster. I try to close out the day with good stuff. Read my carbs (no veggies at night, that’s for the morning)…a delicious chapter from whatever fiction book I’m into at the moment. Put on some music (”hey Google, play my Net Positive playlist on Spotify”), see if I can crank out a two-minute plank without cracking my waist, being a grey gold has its joys. This is not one of them. Most times I write in my journal…arguing with myself, downloading, uploading, and sideloading with my favorite .5 mm HB Kuru Toga in tow. Whatever it takes to push the day over the line into the positive arena. That way I can claim, “Yes, net, net…it was a good day.”

When you ask me, “Chidi…how body?”, and I say “I dey…I’m good”, it is true. Not that there were no negatives, they just got outscored by the positives.

Listen…this is self-preservation for me o. For real. Because some days, the negatives pile up and they come for you with a vengeance. With extreme prejudice, walahi. You want peace? They DO NOT WANT PEACE!! THEY WANT PROBLEMS. ALWAYS. (I’ve been waiting to use that line for a long time, lol). They just want to set up shop in your shop and take over your entire operation. They want the keys to your inner fortress. So you have to arm yourself and fight, sisters and brothers. As in, serious fight. Gear up, gather your weapons, and gladiate in the arena of life. Every day, my friend.

Ok, so for instance…net net, 2025 was not a good year for this bobo. And yet, my recollection of 2025 was that most of my days were net positives.

Wait…Oga Chidi, how? The math is not mathing. Don’t worry, it’s ok…I studied Complex Variables (the world where i² = -1, I know, I know…I’m a nerd), so let me math it out for you.

Ok, so it was because I was focused on being present every day, doing everything I could to tip the ledger toward the positive column.

“But if you had more positive days, how could the year be negative?”

Well, a few events rocked the ledger so heavily that they outweighed weeks of daily wins. That’s the thing about big negatives. They don’t play o. It’s like I had record revenue, but negative profit. Research & Development aka hard lessons ate up the budget. One big negative can swallow thirty good days whole and still be looking for more. So…the daily focus kept me in the fight. Simple. When you zoom out, yes ma, 2025 was a net negative. On the ground, where life was lifing…many of the days were wins. Both of those things are true.

And yes, the big positives did their thing too. They hit just as hard from the other direction. You know, those moments that rewrite your whole week. A win that makes the negatives step back and process. And so it goes beyond just stacking mini positives to stay afloat. It is laying down the conkri aka concrete for the runway, so when the big positives come, they land smoothly, and like Naija passengers after the plane lands, I unbuckle my seat belt, jump up and clap and shout “Alleluia. Thank you, Jesus!”

(If you haven’t experienced a Nigerian plane landing, you haven’t lived. It is like going to a revival.)

In today’s lingua franca aka parlance aka language…this is like Claude CoWork in the ChidiOS. It is how I keep that inner fortress fortified and standing. One day at a time, one task at a time, one skill at a time, one micro, mini, or regular positive at a time. Because the big negatives will come. With their own micros, minis, and regulars. They will come heavy o. Like a Big Boss. When they do, the moat b.w you and the madness is the stack of net positive days you built one by one, racking them up, building out your stash of positive deposits.

So when someone asks how I’m doing, and I say I’m good, I mean it. Net net? Like my man Ice Cube…”I gotta say, today was a good day.”

Na wa o.

Prof passed in May 2025. The burial was in September. And last week, the Okwukwu and Ikwa-ozu were just completed, the full Igbo ritual cycle of farewell that ensures the full passage of the dearly departed.

You know, when we were burying my dad last year, I didn’t shed a tear. It wasn’t the man being a man nonsense, the strong first son standing tall and firm during tough times. I just didn’t. When Ugo and I had to go identify him before he was transported to our compound, I was cool. When I had to open the casket for his viewing, I was cool. I was the last one to see him physically, as I had to close the casket for the last time. Steady as Chidi. When he was put into the ground, I was clear-eyed.

And now...for the past couple of months, there is not a day when Oga Chidi is not in tears, at a loss as to what the hell happened. Shoot, the triggers are scattered all over the place. When Chimamanda Adichie lost her son last December, I was caught off guard as to how emotional I got as her son’s fatal encounter with the Nigerian medical infrastructure was basically the same for my dad.

Bruh.

They’ve been silent. Often by myself. Some movies and TV shows are the culprits in this too. And they come out of nowhere, sometimes quiet and calm, others like a sudden storm, heaving and breathing with a vengeance. Like what the hell?

Here we go…excuse me. Give me a minute.

And so more and more, I’ve been going back to this mantra, a phrase that I often deploy when I need to keep moving, to not freeze or wallow in the moment.

Feet, abeg, don’t fail me now o. I love that term, and was introduced to it like pretty much everyone I know now, via the humongous Funkadelic track, “One Nation Under A Groove”. It wasn’t always a positive one. It was a racially loaded term used in early 20th-century Black minstrel performance, a comedic expression of urgency and fear. The joke was basically that the Black sidekick would be trembling and fleeing, begging his feet to carry him away from danger. Just hardcore racial caricature.

Now, of course, leave it to Black people to make something good out of a negative. In New Orleans, the people took that phrase and flipped it one-eighty. In the jazz funeral tradition, which is rooted in West African ceremonial practice, “Feet Don’t Fail Me Now” became the song of the second line. So, after the burial, after the body is laid to rest, the crowd turns from mourning to movement. If you know anything about New Orleans culture, you’ll know that the band kicks into gear and the streets fill up, and they boogie and march. And they sing Feet Don’t Fail Me Now in celebration, moving through death not away from it, moving past it, choosing to move forward. The words are written and said in English. The sentiment, as Alan Lomax put it, is African. African like the Okwukwu and Ikwa-ozu.

I love it. Because that’s exactly how it is done, how it was done for Prof.

For us youngins, George Clinton and Funkadelic took it one step further in 1978 on “One Nation Under A Groove,” where the phrase becomes a declaration of liberation: nothing can stop us now. So now that phrase has morphed from fear, to funeral celebration to full-on defiant joy. Full on Okwukwu and Ikwa-ozu moves.

That’s why I am asking my feet to behave o. Abeg, as I navigate this emotional arc of my life, this is Chidi saying to himself: brother, be where your feet are. Stay on mission. And Feet? Don’t fail me now. Because I am struggling for real, we’re getting through it, but I got work to do. I have family to take care of. Momsie is still here, Chidi, and losing Dad makes it even more critical to appreciate her and the rest of the important people who are close to me.

“It is better to conquer grief, than to deceive it” - Seneca.

You hear that, Feet? Let’s go.

I don't like being busy. I know that sounds like a crazy thing to say for someone who is always in motion, always on a flight, always coaching, always building. Like, Chidi...you are literally the definition of busy, this man. Now, when I am in my flow, taking care of the stuff that needs to be done, that’s fine. But being busy just because?

No. Mba nu.

Hear me out.

Busyness just to be busy gives me bad vibes and physical wahala. My shoulders get tight, my jaw clenches up, and I get cranky for no reason. The body is begging, 'Oga Chidi, chill out o!' And when you ignore that call, that’s when the real wahala hits.

There’s this cool story that I read way back in the day (as in pre-COVID) that codified this for me. The best part was this allegory about an old crocodile floating at the river’s edge when a younger crocodile swam up to him.

“I’ve heard you’re the fiercest hunter in all of the river bottoms. Teach me your ways.”

The old crocodile glanced at him with one reptilian eye, said nothing, and fell back asleep.

Frustrated, the young crocodile swam off to chase catfish. Came back bragging. “I caught two meaty catfish. What have you caught? Nothing? Perhaps you’re not so fierce after all.”

The old crocodile said nothing and continued to float.

The young crocodile swam off again, thrashed about for hours, caught a small crane. Swam back with the bird in his jaws, ready to show the elder who the real hunter was.

As he rounded the bend, the old crocodile was still in the same spot. Only now, a large wildebeest was drinking just inches from his head.

One movement. Lightning fast. The old crocodile bolted out of the water, wrapped his jaws around the wildebeest, and pulled him under.

The young crocodile floated there with his tiny bird, watching the elder enjoy a 500-pound meal.

“Please…how did you do that?”

Through mouthfuls of wildebeest, the old crocodile finally responded:

“I did nothing.”

Eish. That is quite violent, honestly, now that I read that again. Na wa o.

So I’ve been thinking about, instead of being a busybody, what it means to be a Nothing Body. We all know the busybody, right? Or, wait…, is it that wo(man) in the mirror? Busying with a vengeance, always in motion, always performing productivity, always chasing catfish. And there must be proof…the WhatsApp and LinkedIn updates showing you busyfying and killing it because what else is life.

Nothing Body. Being big on taking time to chill. Being at peace with not having to do stuff all the time, and proving you are doing stuff. In this day and age, that is hard. I get it. And we have to be able to make a living, which demands we do the work. The question is, are you doing busy work, or are you doing real work?

Oya, let me provide some unsolicited and unnecessary advice that you still need or you will not make it.

Float like the crocodile: That grey gold croc was positioned from experience, not lazy, as the young croc was getting all riled up about. He was already where the opportunity was going to show up. I have seen folks busy themselves out of opportunities. All the time. Impatience galore. You can’t be in position if you are always in motion chasing catfish. Stillness is the accumulation of power. Park well o, my friend. The wildebeest will come.

Audit your fake nothing: If you are doing nothing, what does your nothing actually look like? When you decide to take it down by scrolling the toks and grams or binge watching a show on Youflix, you know in the back of your head that is bad calories nothing. Is your brain still on the clock, processing someone else's content, someone else's drama? I check myself on this regularly, run the diagnostic on what I call "chilling." If a screen is involved, chances are I am still consuming, still working my mind, still on somebody else's frequency. That is not nothing.

Take the digital sabbath: If you've been rocking with Fashi Mindset for a while, you've heard me on this one. Pick a day, Saturday or Sunday. Maybe even just a section of the day, 7pm to bedtime. No phone. No laptop. No iPad. Hide them if you have to, give them to your spouse or partner, find somewhere that makes you think twice about reaching for the device. That urge to pick it up will be relentless in the first hour or so because we are addicted to this stuff, walahi. Sit with that discomfort. I said sit with it. Pick up a book, take a walk (not at 7pm), write something, listen to music, and actually pay attention to the lyrics. Or the beats and production, for recovering producers like me.

Go to the village: My father lived at a pace in the village that many of his peers and even younger ones envied him for. The village is where time does not perform for anybody. Now that he is recently gone, I realize that pace was a gift, deliberate and unhurried and full of presence. I miss the dude, man. So find your village, your alternate universe where time moves differently. I am not talking about a vacation in the Maldives. Your village might be your grandma's porch, your uncle's farm, a cabin somewhere with no wifi. Somewhere that reminds you what life felt like before you started filling every minute of it.

Use transit as your nothing lab: Hey, I know…I fly a lot, and that is plenty of hours in the sky. What do I do with that time? Movies. iPad. Podcasts. What if I just...didn't? In the air…you are suspended at 30,000 feet, the people and routines that normally define your daily life are miles away, and there is nowhere to rush to. That is prime nothing time. There’s a reason it is the last place where phone calls are banned. Sketch something. Journal. Write a letter to someone you've been meaning to reach out to. Stare out the window and let your mind wander without a destination.

Schedule nothing like you schedule everything else: I book nothing time on my calendar. Explicitly and purposefully. When I travel to other cities, I will add a full day of nothing if possible. No friends, no tours, no dinners, nothing. It is on the calendar, it has a name, and I protect it. Because if nothing is not on the calendar, something will eat it. Every single time. Take that time, eh? And block it. Name it. Guard it the way you guard your most important commitment. Because this one is to yourself.

Stop performing rest: Listen…this is the one that folks need to really chill on. Nobody really needs to see your hammock photo or your “self-care Sunday” post. You know the post where we catch you waking up on vacation, or just relaxing on your balcony? Real nothing has no audience, no documentation, no content strategy, abeg. The moment you are curating your rest for public consumption, you are being a busybody again…influencing to perform and impress. Just sharrap and rest. For real.

Unbusy your body: I said it already. Your body knows before your brain does when you are overdoing it. All the pains and aches and blurry vision and seeing phantoms in the parking lot? That is data. That is your body running diagnostics and throwing up red flags. A Nothing Body learns to obey that signal. When the tension shows up, your body is telling you to pull over. So pull over. Get up from the desk. Take a walk around the block. Stretch. Lie on the floor for ten minutes doing absolutely nothing. Check yourself before you wreck yourself o.

Practice the crocodile’s silence: Not every WhatsApp message needs a reply right now. My sister Udo is rolling her eyes 360 degrees with that one. But it is true. Not every email needs a response today. Not every opportunity needs a "yes" this minute. Let things float. Use silence as your weapon. Listen and silent…same letters, for a reason. The wildebeest came to the crocodile. The crocodile did not go looking for it.

Trust the nothing: This is the hardest one, for real. Especially for the gangsters like us who build things for a living. We are wired to produce. I even feed this with my own mantra, “we keep pushing”. When nothing is happening, the mind starts to do that amapiano dance. I need something to do. Something needs to be done. Let me check the phone. Let me open the laptop. That itch is the busybody in you starting its wahala. The clarity, the big play, the next Oga Boss move...we think all of that comes from the pushing. Some of my strongest thinking and breakthroughs have come from periods when life forced me to be still, when I had no choice but to sit down and sharrap. Things are not moving? Ok. Folks are not responding? Ok. I took the time to chill, and not chase. And stuff showed up when it showed up. The Nothing works, I swear. Trust it.

Find you some nothing this week, and wallow in it o.

First Movement: See

<Graphic illustration>

“The owl is the wisest of birds because the more it sees, the less it talks.” — African proverb

The owl sits in the tree and watches. It takes in the whole scene before it moves. By the time it acts, it knows exactly what it is looking at.

Before you can transform your view, you have to see it. Clearly. As it actually is right now, without the weight of judgment or the rush to fix it.

Most people nod at this and then skip it entirely. They react before they see. They defend positions they have never clearly articulated, hold views they have never examined, and argue for ideas they could not write down in a single sentence if asked. The owl watches. Most people are already talking and doing.

But when you actually see your view before you act on it, something shifts. You stop being dragged around by impressions you never examined. You stop defending positions you fell into by accident. You get to choose what you actually think, instead of discovering it only after the damage is done.

See is the discipline of pausing long enough to recognize your current view for what it is. This is where reflection and affirmation do their best work. Reflection helps you examine the view. Affirmation helps you hold it without shame. Together, they prepare you for what comes next.

Four practices:

Pause. Stop the automatic reaction before it takes over.

Name It. Articulate what you actually think in clear and specific terms.

Own It. Claim the view as yours without defensiveness.

Question It. Ask what might be incomplete or limited about what you currently believe.

Refraction starts with the pause. That moment before you react, when you can still catch yourself. That is where we begin.

Chapter 1: Pause

Abraham Lincoln wrote a lot of letters he never sent. Historians call them “hot letters.” When someone did him wrong, when a general fumbled, or a politician played games, Lincoln sat down and unleashed with loaded words, sharp sentences, and devastating precision.

During the American Civil War, General George Meade allowed the Confederate army to escape after the Battle of Gettysburg. Lincoln was furious, his blood boiling. He wrote Meade a scathing letter, full of pepper. Lee “was within your easy grasp,” and failing to close upon him would “prolong the war indefinitely.” Lincoln laid into Meade, and made it clear that the President of the United States was deeply displeased with his general’s performance.

The letter was found in Lincoln’s desk after his death. Marked “Never Sent. Never Signed.”

Lincoln used writing as catharsis. He got the anger out of his system and onto the page, where he could see it with clarity. In the pause between writing and sending, he could see things a bit better, without all the drama. Meade was an exhausted general who had just won a major victory against a formidable enemy. A presidential rebuke might crush morale and do more damage to the Union than Lee’s escape. The pause saved Lincoln from additional chaos and preserved the command structure of the army.

Historians found many of these peppery hot letters after Lincoln’s death, still in his desk drawers, addressed to people who never knew how close they came to receiving the President’s full wrath.

Today, hot letters are emails drafted at midnight, thumbs flying across phone screens while the anger is still hot. They are DMs sent with zero review. They are Slack attacks in the debrief, stream-of-consciousness with pepper. The tools have changed. The speed has changed. It is FAFO galore out here. Folks will learn who they are messing with. What took Lincoln an evening with pen and paper now takes thirty seconds.

The pause matters more now than ever. People skip it more now than ever.

Lincoln understood something most people learn too late, or never learn at all. The moment between what happens to you and what you do about it is where the real wahala gets unleashed or contained. Fire back instantly, and you have reacted. Now the situation spirals, and it is on like Gladiator. But hold that space open, let it breathe even for a few hours, and you get to look at your own response before it leaves your hands. You get to see it and ask whether this is really what you want to send into the world.

The Stoics built entire philosophical concepts around the pause. Epictetus taught that it is not things that disturb us, but our judgments about things. The judgment happens fast, almost before we know it. The discipline is catching it before it crashes out and goes off seeking heads and scalps.

In my house, we call it the red haze. It’s like in the video game God of War when you activate Spartan Rage, everything goes red, and all the enemies in your immediate vicinity get rocked. Savagely.

The Yoruba have a saying: suuru ni baba iwa. Patience is the father of character. No patience, no character. No pause, no choice. Just reflex, again and again, wondering why nothing ever changes.

Lincoln’s pause was the beginning of seeing clearly. And this practice of holding space before reacting runs deeper than one president’s habit. It shows up across centuries and continents, in ancient philosophy and modern product thinking, in African wisdom traditions and cognitive science. The principle is the same everywhere it appears: what happens in that space between stimulus and response determines everything that follows.

This ability to hold the pause, to stay in that space before reacting, separates the person who keeps playing the main character in a soapy drama from the person who sees the drama for what it is and what it is not. Many read pausing as weakness, passivity, slow reflexes, or getting owned. But being on point, and on alert enough to catch yourself before the red haze takes over? That is the level up. Awake enough to ask what is really happening here before you decide what to do about it. Pausing and seeing the impression for what it is.

In the movie Searching for Bobby Fischer, the mentor Bruce Pandolfini gives a clean instruction for the contemplative pause: “Don’t move until you see it.” When the young prodigy Josh Waitzkin complains that he cannot “see” the board without moving the pieces, Pandolfini wipes the pieces off the board, forcing Josh to visualize the entire reality of the game in his mind. Pandolfini teaches him to see before he moves.

The same discipline shows up in boardrooms. Amazon has a ritual that turns the standard corporate meeting into a sanctuary of silence. Rather than starting with a PowerPoint presentation, which Jeff Bezos considered a tool that hides sloppy thinking, major meetings begin with a six-page narrative memo. For the first 20-30 minutes, no one speaks. The room sits in a study-hall atmosphere where executives read in silence, taking notes in the margins. Bezos realized people rarely read in advance. They skim, then react with bluffing and college-style arguments. The forced pause gets everyone on the same page before a single word of reaction hits the air.

To fully understand the value of the pause, look at what happens when it fails.

In the 2006 World Cup final, Zinedine Zidane headbutted Marco Materazzi in the chest. Zidane was known for majestic composure, for dictating play while everyone else scrambled. But in the 110th minute, with the world watching, he lost his pause. Materazzi said something to him, and instead of letting it breathe, instead of seeing it for what it was, Zidane charged and drove his head into Materazzi’s chest. Red card. Exit. France lost the shootout minutes later.

It was the shameful finale to a brilliant career. Zidane spent decades mastering the game, reading the board, staying three moves ahead. And in the moment that mattered most, the red haze won. The pause is fragile. Even the greats lose it when the stimulus hits hard enough and they let it bridge straight into reaction.

When was the last time you fired off a response you wish you could take back? Recently, right? You might still be stuck in the aftermath as you read this paragraph. What made you go off like that? Why did you accept the first impression as truth and then build a series of events on top of it? Sit with that. It grounds “seeing” in your personal reality.

First impressions move fast because they are designed to. They show up fully formed, urgent, demanding a response right now. The Yoruba call purposeful rest isinmi, a deliberate cessation that prepares you for action. Isinmi is the recognition that what comes next matters too much to rush. The space between the impression arriving and you doing something about it is where you decide what kind of response this situation deserves.

Without the pause, you may eff around and find out.

Product people and entrepreneurs learn this the hard way. We get a eureka moment in the shower or while listening to a podcast in the car, and we have that idea. The one. The idea no one else ever thought of. The one that will change the game. We are about to get rich, biyatch. So we go off and get the wheels in motion. Then reality walks in and takes a seat and we realize the first idea usually isn’t the best one. It felt right in the moment, obvious even, and then you build it, ship it, and look up six months later wondering what flavor of delusion ganja you were smoking.

The same thing happens in life. The first impression of a situation, the first read on what someone meant, the first instinct about what you should do next. These are starting points, not conclusions. The pause gives you the chance to treat them as data points for further inspection.

You know that feeling when Waze tells you to take a left and your every instinct says no, that route is garbage, I know a better way? Most of us override the GPS at least once a trip because we “know better” and refuse to follow instructions blindly. But somehow, we let our first impressions drive us around all day without ever questioning the route. The impression arrives, and we follow it like it knows where it’s going.

Silicon Valley built a whole religion around skipping the pause. “Move fast and break things” was Facebook’s motto for years, Mark Zuckerberg’s prime directive to his developers. Unless you are breaking stuff, you are not moving fast enough. Then came the bugs, the scandals, the realization that when you break things, you have to stop and fix them. Zuckerberg retired the motto. The new version was “Move fast with stable infrastructure.” He admitted it did not have the same ring to it but he had learned his lesson: you need stability to get to the next level. The Swahili have said it for generations: “To run is not necessarily to arrive.” Speed without sight gets you nowhere worth going.

The pause is needed more often than our culture of fast movers gives it credit for, and your body usually knows before your mind does. Sometimes it is the red haze arriving, or the heat rising at the back of your neck. It may be your heart rate climbing, your visual focus narrowing until all you can see is the thing you are about to react to. Sometimes it’s subtler, like the fog of overwhelm, where everything feels urgent but clarity is nowhere in sight. These are signals, not commands. They tell you this moment deserves a closer look before you move.

The pause is not always something you have to manufacture. Sometimes it’s already there, waiting for you to notice.

I was wrapping up some consulting work at the World Health Organization headquarters in Geneva, saying goodbye to the Director General’s assistants at their desks. As I turned to leave, I caught the view outside the wall-to-wall windows. The Swiss mountains were in full view, standing majestic, the kind of scenery people travel thousands of miles to see.

“Holy mama,” I said. “Your view is amazing.”

The bespectacled lady with a chokehold on the DG’s comings and goings, who can block and tackle harder than a Barça defender, chuckled. “Yeah, well, we really don’t get to enjoy it. We are so busy.”

I was stunned. “Wait. You have a view like this at work, and you don’t wallow in it like mousse in chocolate?”

My head shook in disbelief as I stepped up to the window. “If I had this view,” I spread out my arms like Moses parting the Red Sea, “every day I will designate 30 minutes. Swivel my chair, kick my feet up, and just bask in the awe of it all. And get my stuff straight.”

They joined me at the window, and we all stood there for about five minutes, silently gazing out the window. It was like they were seeing that view for the first time again.

The means to calm the freak down is usually right there in front of us. The pause we need is not always something we have to create from scratch. Sometimes it just requires us to look up and take it in. Then we get back at it. We keep rolling.

So how do you really pause? Catch the trigger moment. Create distance. Then interrogate the impression—what are you actually looking at?

The trigger moment is when the impression first lands and you feel the pull to respond. Something happens, someone says something, a situation shifts, and your whole system leans toward action. The pause begins here, in the space before you do anything about it.

Creating distance is the practice itself. Lincoln did it with pen and paper, writing the hot letter and putting it in a drawer. Amazon does it with an extended period of silence before anyone speaks. You do it by putting the phone face down and walking around the block, or saving the draft and coming back tomorrow. The method matters less than the habit. You put space between the impression and your response.

Once you have that space, you ask what you are actually looking at. What am I about to do, and why? What impression am I acting on? Have I tested it, or am I assuming it’s true? The Zulu have a word for this state of calm examination: ukuthula, deep peace. It is where you stop reacting and start seeing.

In product land, we see this when urgency takes the wheel. A stakeholder ambushes you with a Defcon 1 request, or a competitor launches a feature and puts your team in the two-minute drill. The impulse is to code and ship in response. But shipping without seeing is expensive guessing. As product guru Christian Idiodi says, “The most expensive way of learning is by launching in the market without discovery.” The pause is your personal discovery phase. It gives you the chance to see the impression before it goes out into the world, to test it before you act on it. You check the depth of the water before you jump in with both feet.

Pause creates the space needed to reflect and take a chill. Step back and tune your lenses. Handle the impression before you spiral out of control and crash out.

That third step, where you ask what am I actually looking at, is where Pause hands off the work. You have created the space. You have caught the impression. Now you need to name what you are actually seeing.

That is Name It.

It is January 18th, 2026. It was December 24th just a couple of hours ago, and here we are in the middle of January 2026. That’s 1/24th of 2026 already. At this rate, Q1 is practically packing its bags. Start putting up your Christmas lights, o, because the holiday season is right around the corner.

Trust me.

How are those big, hairy, audacious goals coming along? BHAG. Sounds so aggressive. How SMART are you feeling right now? Is 2026 giving you smart, measurable, actionable vibes yet? Or are you WOOPing with a vengeance? You know: Wish, Outcome, Obstacle, Plan.

Your plans scattered like roaches the moment January’s light hit them, haven’t they? You’ve already crashed the thirty-day, 30-minutes-of-exercise-a-day shenanigans into a brick wall. The “everyday call someone you haven’t called in one year this month” goal has stalled at two calls so far, out of 18 days.

Ah, don’t mind me o, abeg. I shouldn’t even be talking. I’m the one who promised to share one chapter of Refr(action) every Sunday for four Sundays. Simple pact. Did I share it with you? For where. Well, at least half of the promise is intact. I have written a couple of chapters, but to share in public? Different conversation.

So. Should we be worried? Absolutely. Pay-attention worry, not panic worry.

Because when time moves like this, goal-setting isn’t the main wahala. Direction is. The way time moves these days makes it even more important to stop BSing around with structured goal planning and instead meet life as life is. I’ve always subscribed to the notion that rowing harder doesn’t help if the boat is headed in the wrong direction. What are you doing here? Why are you here? If your answer is something you mumble about your job title and ending climate hunger and taking care of you, then wahala dey. So yes, be worried that your wooping and smarting and bhagging is not quite goaling the way it should be goaling right now.

In her book, Tiny Experiments (quake book for me), Anne-Laure Le Cunff calls out the trap of linear goals. They are out of sync with the lives we live now. Half the time, the goals aren’t even ours. We borrow them from peers, celebrities, and whatever society is clapping for this week. Mimetic desire. I keep recommending another quake book, Wanting by Luke Burgis, if you want to understand that disease. And because we define success as outcomes, progress becomes nothing more than ticking boxes on big-ass goals.

So instead of big goals, what about doing something that levels up the experimental mindset? What about testing some of your assumptions about something you’re curious about? James Clear says being curious is better than being smart. What is catching your curiosity these days? Things outside your current realm, the things that make you go “hmm?” We should be in the throes of the joy of trying, seeking, unpacking. Solving puzzles with absolutely no guarantee of success, and still reveling in the process, which is juicier than the outcome.

Honestly, if you haven’t been around children lately, please do. Just watch them play. Watch them move with reckless abandon. You want to kickstart your curiosity, get back that magical feeling of discovery and wonder? Just chill with these beings that are not laden with to-do lists or plans, or tainted by the wahala of life. Watch them, try not to steal their joy or spirit, just observe and listen. Now, I know elementary school teachers are rolling their eyes and flipping me off right now, as they down their third shot after a day with a room full of these insurgents. But deep down, they know. It is the wonderful chaos of curiosity.

And quote “curiosity killed the cat” to me, and see thunder strike you three times.

Let me say this though: cultivating curiosity is easy to say, quite hard to do, and very valuable when you do it. Curiosity helps you get good at being lucky, according to Stanford’s Bill Burnett and Dave Evans. That’s what we should carry into every day.

Curiosity.

So, let’s go get good-lucky in 2026.

Oya, let me come and be going.

I wrote this piece in 2016, dropped it on LinkedIn. Nine years and change ago. Twelve years of leaving corporate and just pure indiluted wahala since then.

As I was doing some research work on my Refr(action) book project, I got to read it again, and realized this is hardcore Fashi Mindset material all the way. So, I am dropping it here verbatim, no edits, no remixes. All original text, absolutely no AI, TikTok, Matcha tea, or K-Pop references in the code.

Enjoy.

As you can tell, I watch a lot of visual entertainment. When it comes to genres, I don’t discriminate much, but my preferred go-to categories are thrillers, drama, suspense and of course, action.

I’m a man, come on.

It just also happens those movie genres accurately describe the life I started the day I was called into my SVP’s office about three years ago, and then the HR rep calmly read the precisely tuned legalese telling me my job had been eliminated. Actually my entire team was eliminated in a bloodless coup d’etat, but there’s no need for additional characters or storylines. A lot of stuff was said but all that translated through the red haze in my script of that dialogue was a gruff “Get the f* off my lawn!” a la Pixar’s “Up,” which was affirmed when I was walked right out of the company premises precisely fifteen minutes later.

“Gentleman, you had my curiosity. But now you have my attention.” — Django Unchained

The gentleman in this case as I idled my car outside of the Starbucks on 5th Street was Life, and yes, it had my attention. As I processed the abrupt pivot in the plot of my drama, it quickly dawned on me that something profound had happened here. No, it wasn’t the end result of a bloody takedown scene, or the sudden despair of the main character in a suspense movie about to do something drastic.

The truth is, I was faced with a hardcore dilemma — “Now, freaking what?”

“Carpe diem. Seize the day, boys. Make your lives extraordinary.” — Dead Poets Society

It has been almost three years since. It has been an action-packed timeline with many spectacular failures, depleted savings, near hits and mind-numbing disappointments as I made the decision not to go back into corporate and instead attack problems that were exciting and challenging from an entrepreneurial standpoint. I am now on startup #3, living (teetering) on the edge, and hustling my butt off like Jerry McGuire. It is not for everybody, shoot…I am still figuring out if it is for me, but at least the suspense is not a movie for me; it is my day-to-day. I have learned so much in the last three years about what my thresholds are, who my true friends and champions are (numero uno: my wife, Ngozi), what I am very good at (plus conversely, what I am not good at), and most importantly — decluttering the BS (chasing the big title, booking family lunches and coffee with friends via my exec admin, corner offices, Delta Diamond/Starwood Titanium privileges, corporate politics, cable TV, useless mentors, and many more) from my narrative.

My income has suffered terribly, but my sleep is so much better. The fancy restaurant visits have stalled, but I feel much healthier. I’ve lost my corporate big dog status, but my sphere of influence is much tighter and more potent. There is plenty of stress, but the kickboxing bag at X3 takes the brunt of it. It isn’t easy by any stretch of the imagination, but it’s getting done. If I do fail again, if I do go back to corporate, this time it is with eyes wide open. I am a much wiser man today than the plot device I embodied sitting in that office three years ago.

“Here’s looking at you, kid.” — Casablanca

I write this as a reference point for anyone who is interested, anyone putting together a screenplay that ebbs and flows nicely for their characters. Definitely not living the dream, but is there such a thing?

Please indulge me as I end with the awesome excerpt from “Most People Won’t” by VC Bryce Roberts:

Most people want to be fit, most people aren’t.

Most people want to build a successful business, most people won’t.

Most people want to be the best version of themselves, most people aren’t.

Most people have dreams they want to fulfill, most people won’t.

Everyone wants to quit something, build something, be something, do something. Most people won’t.

How many things have we wanted? How many opportunities have we craved? How many broken things have we wanted to fix? And how many of those have we shrunk from. Hid from. Or, excused away.

We’re not alone. Most people won’t.

But every once in a while someone puts themselves out there. Makes the leap. Faces rejection or failure or worse. And comes out the other side. Better. Changed. Bolder.

Most people won’t. Which means those that do change everything.

Just a quote. Not a prescription, not even advice. Just some food for thought.

Great weekend, my people <winking emoji insert here>

Chidi

If you are an OG of the movies, you will know that line. Right? The Ten Commandments is basically a rite of passage for any young person who grew up in sub-Saharan Africa in the 70s, 80s, maybe 90s. I mean, no VCR collection was complete without The Ten Commandments side by side with The Sound of Music and at least two James Bond movies…the Sean Connery and/or Roger Moore editions.

So, when Yul Brynner aka Ramses, growls at Charlton Heston aka Moses, “SO LET IT BE WRITTEN, SO LET IT BE DONE”, that was an OG drop the mic play that folks .

<I know the GenZs are rolling their eyes right now like, “These old people…OMG!” Sharrapp and go and watch the movie. You’ll thank me later.>

Well, I am not dropping the mic, but stepping up to it here. I have toyed around with writing my debut book for way too long now, and a series of events has spurred me to stop effin around before I find out. First, the big man who had been waiting patiently to read it is no longer around to read it, which is still kicking me in the derriere. The second big one was when I was breaking bread with a young woman in Nairobi, whom I hadn’t seen in a long time, and she said to me, first thing after she sat down, “So, how’s your book going?”

I was stunned into silence. I had forgotten that two years ago we had made a pact to keep each other accountable on one thing, and The Book was my thing.

After getting back home, I took a couple of long walks and hikes by the Chattahoochee River in Atlanta, and just untangled the brain. And then I just locked in and started banging things out. What came out was a book proposal, the book layout, and an intro chapter for my book, Refr(action): The Action Alternative to Reflection.

Here it is.

Stuck.

The book is a framework for getting unstuck when reflection and affirmation aren't enough. You'll see what that means below. And I would love your feedback, for real. I thought it would be great to share the first four chapters with the Fashi Mindset fam over the next four weeks, and have you keep me on point, keep me accountable. Every Sunday, I’ll drop a chapter. I am not going to explain anything, justify this, or unpack that. Just take your time, however long that may be, and if you are down…just give me some thoughts.

The only thing I will say is this is probably the longest chapter in the book. My goal is for a sharp, fun, and insightful read. So, do your thing.

Oh, no grammar feedback abeg. The editors will take care of that.

So let it be written. So let it be done.

Enjoy.

Stuck.

So, you know how it is, right? That decision, thought, impression, kicking your ass, just nagging at you with a vengeance.

This is the one that wakes you at 3 am. The one that keeps you up at 3 am. The one you’ve turned over so many times it’s practically like a mortgage on your brain that just won’t let go and keeps collecting interest. The decision whether to finally have that tough convo with your business partner re the venture direction you disagree on. Or to make the call on whether to take the dream role you’ve been looking for, but the pay is not calling your name. The decision on whether to support or pivot the big financial play that your spouse is one hundred percent angling for.

The stuff that has you twirling in the wind.

You’ve put a lot of thought into it, even written copious entries into your journal. Your GenAI bot agent is working overtime on this wahala for you. This stuff is on the brain constantly, and you have reflected on the “what matters” and on the “whys and whys nots”. You have told yourself what you need to hear, spoken encouragement over the doubt, and even tried to will yourself toward clarity.

And yet, you are still here, stuck.

The TikTok sermons didn’t crack it. Neither did the YouTube gurus or the Instagram meditation sessions or the long walks that were supposed to bring clarity. You’ve prayed on it, and somehow, the engine is still in neutral or not shifting past the first gear. Reflection showed you where you are. Affirmation reminded you of what you’re capable of. Neither one told you what to do next or how to move.

You’re not alone, my people.

A few years ago, I turned off my Zoom and sat with a barrage of tough feedback I had just received from someone whose work had shaped my career. This was the guy. The Oga himself. I was lucky to have entered his orbit, lucky to have proximity to one of the individuals who had defined my industry. After spending time with him in person, he graciously offered to work with me, and I sought his professional counsel with excitement and anticipation, expecting guidance that would help me see my path more clearly.

Instead, I received an assessment that questioned my expertise and minimized my track record to something smaller than I thought I had built. He suggested I might be overestimating, maybe even deluding myself, on what I was capable of doing. This was coming from someone I respected deeply, someone whose opinion carried weight. It hit hard. And it carried an implicit conclusion: I would probably not be getting any endorsement from him, public or private, that could open doors or expand my work.

Let me tell you, I was rocked hard, and I carried his verdict for months.

During that time, I did what the self-help gurus tell you to do. I went into reflection mode. I examined my track record honestly. I looked at my losses alongside my wins. I asked myself the hard questions. Was there truth in what he said? Was I deluding myself about my influence, my expertise, my brand? Maybe this was why certain opportunities weren’t materializing. Maybe I was the one who couldn’t see clearly.

I also did the affirmation, reminded myself of the work I had done, all the people I had helped, and the tangible results and outcomes I had generated. I told myself my worth was real. I spoke confidence over the doubt. Chidi, you got this. You did this, man. You ARE the man.

And yet…I was still stuck. His words burned as hot as when I first heard them. After all of that mental work, and yet nothing had shifted.

As a product coach and advisor, one of the key principles I work on with the leaders and teams that ask for my help is testing their riskiest assumptions. As in the assumptions, if wrong and without evidence would be fatal or devastating. I push them to put those assumptions in contact and in combat with reality, and to validate them either way. The assumption is true, which makes it a fact. Or it is not, which requires a pivot. So I put his counsel to the test. I wasn’t just going to accept the big dog’s pronouncement; I was going to pass it through a different set of lenses that would reveal what was actually there. That would let me know if I had been operating on a fatal assumption.

I ran his feedback through different contexts and perspectives. It was critical to have deep conversations with people in my world who knew my work. I gathered honest feedback from current and former clients. I paid attention to the end-of-session remarks after my workshops and masterclasses, not the praise directed at me verbally, but the transformation people described in themselves and their teams. I browsed through the unsolicited messages I received from people who had worked with me, people who learned and jostled with me, people who kept me abreast of frameworks and skill sets they had acquired during their time with me. I actively sought out and took on engagements directly in line with the work he said I wasn’t ready for or did not have the requisite experience for. I examined the full picture of my impact across different environments. I even checked out the profiles of the people he spoke highly of, the ones whom he publicly called out for their expertise, to test his exact hypothesis.

What emerged was clarity.

The feedback had come from one perspective, one set of criteria, one way of measuring what mattered. When I passed it through multiple contexts and perspectives and tested it against reality, I found hard proof that I was a lot more than his data set provided him, and that I was just where I was supposed to be. I was helping define what excellence looked like in my space. My authority, which is constantly growing and being groomed, as an expert was evident and respected. The impact was real, even when there were challenges or losses. And, the people who were getting his endorsements, many were less experienced or impactful as I was. The gaps were in his lens, not in my capability.

I could move forward. Continue and expand the work that I was doing.

But here’s the most important part of this exercise: this process would have worked the same way if his feedback had been accurate. For real. If passing it through the different contexts and testing its validity had revealed consistent patterns aligned with his assessment, if my clients and partners had echoed the same concerns, if the evidence had pointed to real gaps rather than incomplete information, I would have arrived at that conclusion too. The process doesn’t protect you from hard truths. It reveals what’s actually there. Sometimes you confirm what you suspected. Sometimes you discover something completely different.

Either way, you move forward with clarity instead of circling in doubt.

Sibongile Sambo grew up in Bushbuckridge, South Africa, watching planes fly overhead. She would run outside whenever she heard one, waving as if the pilots could see her from thousands of feet up, dreaming of the day she would fly to different countries and meet new people. When she finished her education, she applied to South African Airways to become a flight attendant. They rejected her. She didn’t meet the minimum height requirement. That rejection could have been the end of the story.

Instead, Sibongile worked at some of South Africa’s biggest brands: Telkom, City Power, and De Beers. She gained business experience. She kept her aviation dream alive but shifted what the dream looked like.

When South Africa passed the Black Economic Empowerment Act in 2003, Sibongile saw an opening. She had no experience in aviation or the capital to buy aircraft. She pushed forward anyway. She sold her valuable assets, used her mother’s pension money, and in 2004 founded SRS Aviation. Her first contract came from the South African government for cargo transport. In 2006, the South African Civil Aviation Authority issued her an Air Operating Certificate.

SRS Aviation became the first Black woman-owned aviation company in South Africa.

The girl who was too short to meet the flight attendant requirements now owns the planes. SRS Aviation provides VIP charters, helicopters, cargo flights, medical evacuations, and tourist transfers. Heads of state pay $200,000 to fly with her company. And those women she helped earn their pilot licenses? Many of them work for her now.

Sibongile couldn’t get on the plane. So she went ahead and bought her own planes.

Come on, now.

The first impression was that she didn’t measure up. The transformation came when she passed that impression through a different context. What if the limitation wasn’t about her? What if there was another way into the sky?

Many times, reflection and affirmation aren’t enough; something else is needed. Building on reflection and affirmation. Something that takes what you see and transforms it into something you act on.

The ancient Stoics understood this. Epictetus taught his students:

“Be not swept off your feet by the vividness of the impression, but say, ‘Wait for me a little, impression; allow me to see who you are, and what you are an impression of; allow me to put you to the test.’”

An impression, to the Stoics, was any thought or perception that appears in your mind with force and immediacy. It could be your own assessment of a situation. It could be someone else coming at you with their judgment. The danger, Epictetus warned, was accepting these impressions at face value simply because they arrived with conviction. Just because something feels true, or someone says it is true, doesn’t make it true. Just because someone speaks with authority doesn’t mean their view is complete.

The Ethiopians have a saying that, ”No one tests the depth of a river with both feet.”

I would like to add that you don’t want to have your Nike Air Force Ones Special Editions on when testing the depth of the river lest you lose the sneakers, and your mind. The main thing is to pause, and examine. Test and validate the impression against reality before allowing it to drive your actions.

Listen, most times we just roll with the impression, and don’t test the impressions that matter most. Like the verdict someone hands down about your capability. Or the assessment a colleague makes about the feasibility of an idea. The consensus view amongst your family that something can’t be done. These impressions arrive with vividness and authority, and they feel true because they come from people who seem to know, people who are paid to know. People who tell you they know.

I spent years in product discovery learning to test assumptions before committing resources. You don’t build based on what you assume customers want. You talk to users, run experiments, and gather evidence. Skip this discipline, and nine times out of ten, you build the wrong thing. It took me a while to realize the same discipline applies to the impressions we carry and how we work through our situations.

So. An impression is not the same as truth. An impression is basically like light hitting a surface at a single angle. Truth emerges when you pass that light through something that reveals what else is there.

Like a prism.

Let’s talk some physics.

When light hits a mirror, it reflects. Bounces back at an equal angle, reversed but unchanged. The wavelengths stay the same, the composition stays the same. A mirror shows you what you brought to it, nothing more. This is reflection.

Now, when light hits a prism, something different happens. White light enters the prism as a single beam, traveling straight through air, simple and no drama. The moment it hits the glass, it crosses from one medium (air) into another (glass), and glass is denser than air. The light slows down inside the prism and bends.

Like Beckham.

Now, different wavelengths of light slow down at different rates. For instance, red light barely bends, while violet light bends sharply. The beam that looked unified splits apart into a spectrum: red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet. All of them were there from the beginning, packed into that single beam, invisible until the prism revealed it.

This is Physics 101. The prism reveals what was always present but hidden. Just like the light that creates rainbows when it passes through water droplets, or the light that makes a straw look bent in a glass of water. That one used to bug me when I was a kid.

Now, when that dispersed spectrum passes through a lens, those scattered colors converge and focus. They concentrate. What comes out on the other is no longer a diffused rainbow but a focused beam, all the energy of the full spectrum now directed into a single point. Remember the experiments we used to run as kids? Spread that light across a wide area, and it is sunlight that warms your skin. Focus it to a point, and that same sunlight burns through paper.

The light that exits is not the same as the light that entered. It has been transformed.

This entire process, light entering a prism, bending, dispersing, and then reconverging, is called refraction. The word comes from the Latin refringere, meaning “to break up.” Light breaks up into what it actually contains, then comes back together with focus.

This book is all about refraction. As in refracting your thinking, making it a practice, a habit, a way of moving.

This book is here to encourage you to refract the way you make decisions, and act on them. When you pass a decision, a belief, or a problem through new contexts and unfamiliar perspectives, it breaks up. What looked like a single solid truth reveals the spectrum of possibilities it actually contains. When you bring those possibilities together after testing and with clear intention, you emerge with focused direction that the original view neglects to give you.

refr(action) presents a framework built on four movements: See, Bend, Open, Lock.

See is recognizing your current view clearly before you try to change it. Light approaches the prism as a single beam. Before transformation can happen, you have to know what you’re bringing into the process. What do you actually believe right now? What impression are you carrying? Whose impression is it? This is where reflection lives, and it has value.

Bend is where the impression encounters something that changes its direction or trajectory. Reflection showed you what you’re carrying. Now it moves into the prism. Light crosses into the glass and shifts course. Ideas and thinking transform when they meet a different medium: a challenging context, an unfamiliar perspective, a voice that sees what you can’t. You deliberately expose your thinking to something outside your default frame and let it change shape.

Open is letting your thinking spread into possibilities. Light disperses into the full spectrum. What looked like a single path forward fans out into many. You resist collapsing back to a single answer too quickly. You hold space for options you would have dismissed before. The spectrum was always inside the light, and now the prism made it visible.

Lock is bringing the possibilities together into focused action. Dispersed light passes through a lens and reconverges into a concentrated beam. You weigh what emerged, synthesize the best of it, decide, and move. Without Lock, all that seeing and bending and opening is just interesting thinking. Lock is what creates action.

Instead of re(act)ing, you refr(act).

React: instant, unexamined, same angle in, same angle out. You stay stuck. Refract: deliberate, transformed, you move forward. That’s what happened with Sibongile and me.

The feedback I got from a respected mentor. Sibongile’s rejection letter from South African Airways. Both were impressions that arrived with authority and felt like final verdicts. Nope. Both transformed when passed through new contexts and tested against reality. The original verdict wasn’t the full picture. That’s refraction at work.

We didn’t react. We passed the impression through something that changed it. And we moved.

Notice the word. RefrACTION. RefrACTIVE thinking. The action is built into the name because this framework demands it. You think refractively, you act on what the refraction revealed.

Refr(action) draws on physics, African and Stoic philosophy, and product thinking. Simple enough to remember. Structured enough to practice. The kind of thing you reach for when you’re stuck.

That decision you’ve been carrying? It’s still there. But now you have a way through.

See it clearly. Bend it through something new. Open to what emerges. Lock into action.

Let’s get it.

Whew. Just returned from Owerri, the city I spent my most formative years in. I liken Owerri as a city in Nigeria similar to Atlanta in the US or Salvador da Bahia in Brazil. Not the center of attention like NYC, Lagos, or Rio, but unassailable in its place as a key part of the country’s fabric. However, the city is not the city I grew up in; so much has changed, and that flavor and vibe that raised me into what I am was missing. I wish I had gone under more relaxed or favorable circumstances, but it was still an experience that hit the right notes.

This may be a bit sombre as I decompress from the chaos of laying one of the prominent anchors in my life to rest, finally. And of course, my Fashi mind was in full observing and perceiving mode as events, people, and drama played out. Have you had a chance to watch “On Becoming A Guinea Fowl”? Absolutely fantastic movie by Zambian filmmaker Rungano Nyoni that I saw before going back home, and yo…talk about a preview of what we were going to deal with back home. You ask me how it went, I would tell you to watch the movie, and multiply everything 10X. Crazy.

The movie opened up the full menu of drama about family dynamics and how we process grief and loss. But experiencing it firsthand reminded me why staying grounded matters more than staying comfortable.

High Serenity + Low Happiness = Equanimity. Inner calm, even in pain or sadness. For example, Grieving with grace, meditating through loss.

Equanimity. How do you keep calm and stay in the moment during these heightened states of emotion and commotion? My stoic practice was front and center. Yes, having a toolkit of breathing techniques kept a brother even and keeled, not letting the vultures get to me and my people. And vultures aplenty.

Music was also a weapon of choice as a serenity tool, a necessary balm to the raw nerves that were ever present and ready to pop. Top of the list was Dr. Dre's "The Watcher":

Dre’s reflection on how things had changed, and his acknowledgment of the core of people who have his back, resonated with me and had me reflecting and chewing on some quotes and wisdom over the past day or two that I would love to share with you, with some Chidi thoughts to go with them.

1. “People like me don't have people. We are the people that people have.” As Dre says, I got people I know. But not that many, and as I’ve gotten older, and especially in the last months, this string of reality is no longer a surprise. I will advocate for others in rooms they are not in, get them on stages they deserve to be on, and I will continue to be there for people. I just don’t expect people to advocate for me or to be there for me. No malice or resentment, just the truth. Folks are so transactional these days, as Janet Jackson said in her 1986 TED Talk “What Have You Done For Me Lately”. This mindset is freeing, offers clarity, and I get to manage the hell out of my energy. No wastage. We move.

2. “I will never forget those who came with a lamp, when I was in the dark.” I really like this one. Self explanatory. We know who our lamp carriers are. Protect them, nurture them, and get your lamp ready to shine on them, too. Because darkness is inevitable for everyone. But your lamp should not be inevitable to just anyone.

3. The curse of the capable. This young woman dropped a gem, and it seems like it blew up like crazy on TikTok. And that’s because she hit the nail on the head for many. Her take is that strength becomes its own prison when others mistake your resilience for invincibility, leaving you to carry the weight alone. The penalty for “being unbreakable” is that nobody thinks you need saving. Take a watch of this short clip, and you can see why this one was top of mind for me last week.

4. You can see the entire piece on TikTok here:

   

   @kristen_rae_pucci @kristen_rae_pucci ♬ original sound - Kristen Rae Pucci

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5. Shout out to my people…The Afulezis. We did our thing. Prof will be proud.

6. “If things turn out as desired, be thankful. If not, be resilient.” I am both thankful and resilient right now, walahi.

7. “Okuko nyuo ahuru, ala a chuwa ya oso”. Translation—if a chicken farts (or poops) while running, the ground will chase and catch it. I love Igbo sayings, and I heard a whole bunch of them this trip. One of my older cousins said this to me, and I asked her to hold the thought while I wrote this down on my iPhone. She was just looking at me like, “Look at this mumu!”. LOL.

8. I guess she was trying to tell me something about no matter how fast you try to escape the consequences of your actions, they will eventually catch up with you. Not sure what I or my siblings or whoever did, but I guess we’ll find out.

9. Which brings me to this: “You cannot be taller than me and shorter than me at the same time.” Came back to the States on Friday, and it was cognitive dissonance madness gone nuclear. The hypocrisy out there is mind-numbing. And observing the reactions to events, especially from many parts of the continent, is…heartbreaking. It’s like there is an unwillingness to do the work to see and unpack the full picture of what is happening stateside.

10. No, I will not elaborate on this. I said what I said.

11. Instead, let me close with this derriere kicker from Saul Alinsky: “As an organizer, I start from where the world is, as it is, not as I would like it to be.” This hits with the challenging nature of where we are right now. The mantra is to stay grounded in reality, not ideals or fantasy. To change the world, we must see it as it actually is: the power dynamics, the constraints, current conditions, not as we wish it were. Acceptance is not endorsement. Recognizing and working within the present reality doesn't mean you approve of it or give up on changing it.

12. To make moves…we just have to face things as they are and meet them where they are now.

I know. As I said…a bit sombre today. I believe I am allowed one of these every now and then.

Enjoy.

August 10th and the year 2025 is running with the alacrity of someone who owes someone a lot of something. Ah-ah! Wasn’t it just three hours ago that we were reading (and not buying) the exploits of the Detty December crew in their January InstaToks? Next thing I know, we deposited the Numero 1A and 1B back at school for the fall semester, and Numero Tres is already in week two as an 11th grader, scattering my entire schedule and summer of peace.

Adulting is not for everyone. Adult at your peril.

So, how goes it on your end? I know I ask these questions, and then I get some answers, and then I say, “Wait, he actually wrote a response? What am I supposed to do now? Respond? Ah, I lost all my energy writing the Fashi!”. And then I get ghosted for not responding, and then I ghost the person for ghosting me, and then it’s ghosting all over the place. And then we don’t remember who or why we are ghosting in the first place.

Please, I appreciate the responses big time. Really. They mean a lot. And it’s on me if I didn’t respond back. At least you have that over me, so collect well well when you get the chance.

Today’s Fashi is just a collection of thought drops that I collected over the week, most of them came in the shower, so they may have some additional scrubbing to do, but hey, if they hit…then they hit. If not, then they didn’t. And we keep moving.

Let’s go!

1. I find myself receiving many requests to mentor young people, and I don’t take this trivially. If you ask me my mission, it is to activate and unleash people. And so teaching and coaching are my things. However, mentoring is tough. It is hard to just become a mentor. I feel it has to develop naturally…a convo here, a hardship there, a small win here, and…wait o, are you officially my mentee? Ok. But I will say only 99.98% of the mentor requests I have received have borne fruit. Because mentorship comes with a lot of truthing. And many can’t handle the truth. Reminds me of this quote by philosopher Robert Pirsig:

   1. “The truth knocks on the door and you say, ‘Go away, I’m looking for the truth,’ and so it goes away. Puzzling.”

2. Me? Not puzzled, please.

3. Speaking of small wins, what about small losses? We talk aplenty about small wins, but nobody wants to talk about the flip side. Small losses—the microaggressions, small hits, the slights, the non-wins that sneak up on you. Small losses are like jabs in boxing…they don’t knock you out, but they rock you one at a time…set you up for the big upper cut or wicked hook that does knock you out.

4. Small wins are a dominant routine in the ChidiOS. I stopped chasing the big epic wins long time ago, and instead focused on racking up the little gets. One little get here, one little get there. Small wins keep you present. Focused. Not in the clouds. Be where your feet are. The more you rack them up, the more they compound, and before you know it, boom. Small losses play by the same rules, different wahala though. They compound just like small wins do, except they're dragging you in the wrong direction. And if you're not careful, before you know it…BIG BOOM!

5. So, with small wins, chase them down and make them count. With small losses, you get into offensive defense mode. Mitigate, mitigate, mitigate…don’t let them compound. Flip them, neutralize them asapishly. It's your call on what you let on your W&L statement.

6. Don’t say I didn’t tell you. Hmm.

7. I’m in the middle of programming a major conference in Kigali for October, and I am shaking my head getting speakers on stage because how did things get so freaking transactional? You say you love doing something, it is “get paid at all costs” when you are approached to do that something. You love building the product community in Africa, yet you want a $7.5K honorarium (“Chidi, I discounted this 30% for you since this is near and dear to my heart”), business class travel (with the butler, not that riff-raff stuff), and the President’s suite at the Marriott. Ah, sorry ma…we just wanted you to do what you declare you love to do over and over on LinkedIn.

8. Not every minute of your life needs to be monetized, walahi. Your hobbies or things you love to do don’t always need to be making money for you. There should be opportunities for just doing, loving it, and not looking for that cha-ching to light up your bank account for every iota of your time.

9. That’s just me. Let me drink my tea-less tea abeg.

10. And when they have an agent or representative…story don end be dat. Do you know how many killer opportunities agents have ruined or neglected for their speaker clients, all for the sake of money? Me I don’t want agent…just talk to me on Whatsapp and I’ll be like Kevin De Bruyne and negotiate my $15K a minute fee.

11. “Do what you love and you'll never work a day in your life”. I call BS. Here's the Fashi version:

    • Do what you can. Work with your real circumstances and resources. Reality is reality.

    • Do what you like. Factor in your preferences, but don't make it everything. Like is doable. Love? As Aunty Tina said, what’s love got to do with it?

    • Do what you do. You have expertise…use and exploit the hell out of the routines and sub-routines you have mastered and honed into your superpower.

    • Do what works. You know what has gotten you results. Lather, rinse, and repeat.

12. I saw this on my WhatsApp feed this morning:

    

    Mba o. No. Incomplete. Inaccurate. I do not concur. Does not compute. Payment not accepted.

13. How can hope be the only thing you carry your entire life? Don’t mind Barack Obama o, hope is not enough, as America is finding out very painfully these days. While the sentiment is uplifting, maybe even inspiring, hope in isolation can put you in static mode, you get comfortable with the status quo, and hope is most likely to spin you into analysis paralysis if you are not careful. Ok, come…let us add courage and fortitude into the stew, and then stir slowly but surely:

    1. Start with Hope as your north star— the vision, the belief that a better reality exists. That way you don’t surrender when the wahala is wahala’ing.

    2. Add a significant amount of Courage—now we cooking….we are action-oriented. There is motion, you are willing and able to step into uncertainty, risk, discomfort to chase down that vision. And make it real.

    3. Enh-heh. Ok, now garnish with Fortitude—as in endurance. Load up on the mental and emotional resilience that will keep you pushing thru the current wahala.

14. Oya, now taste it. See? Much better.

Have a wonderful Sunday. Until next time.

What’s happening, my people? It is Sunday, and August has grabbed the mic. Hope you are ready to dance o.

So, how has your LinkedIn been lately? Right? Man, that space is crazy. These days you open LinkedIn and gbam! Everyone seems to be crushing it. and letting you know. And the only one not crushing it is you. Making you pour out your soul to ChatGPT on how your uselessness is making you feel useless.

That's what is called mimetic desire. Mimesis, as Philosopher René Girard explained it simply: we want things because we see others wanting them. Someone you admire (the model) achieves something visible (the object), and suddenly you want that same thing too. Basically…mimicry. You should read the book Wanting; it will scatter your brain.

Essentially, LinkedIn is now a bona fide sophisticated comparison engine, a professional leaderboard. Causing wahala for those of us just minding our business.

The LI algorithm, which is clearly on a different frequency these days, shows you people like you talking about things you care about. That’s to be expected; that’s fundamentally why we’re on LI. Abi? However, that algorithm seems hell bent on creating what feels like more like an incessant and robotic real-time ranking system. I dey lie? All those blue Top Voice badges? The viral post metrics—likes, loves, celebrates, supports? Follower counts? Slowly but surely, our professional development has turned into a non-lethal (well, it depends on what lethal means to you) Squid Game with public scoreboards.

Wahala all over the place. You see someone get recognition for exploring AI tools on LinkedIn, so you start posting about AI. You watch someone build an audience around product leadership insights, so you start sharing product leadership content. Your genuine interests get hijacked by what performs well in the feed. Your genuine curiosity starts chasing the crowd instead of following your actual interests. The platform pushes you toward linear goals: hit X followers, get Y engagement, achieve Z recognition.

Pressure o.

And AI has changed the game. Like play, like play…Adamu is now dropping these serious thought pieces, and you are wondering since when did this twenty-something-year-old become an expert on building product teams that create billion-dollar businesses. And getting hits out the wazoo writing this stuff, meanwhile you that has serious depth and breadth and done the work is lucky if you can get three views, that’s if LinkedIn will even let you post the thing in the first place.

Now, you’re cranking out content that performs rather than ideas that genuinely intrigue you or the people that follow you. You avoid exploring topics that might not translate into viral posts. This constant comparison analysis, algorithm gaming, and applause chasing creates competition, head wahala, and isolation despite LinkedIn's claim to be the ultimate connection platform. And sadly, our natural curiosity gets replaced by productivity theater, which is the performance of learning rather than actual learning.

Have you noticed some of the real badasses that you used to enjoy reading are not posting as much, or not even showing up on your feed anymore? That’s happening especially for folks who didn’t have the humongous followings already.

So, what have I done to not become a performance artist? I have had to put some evasive maneuvers in place and activated “protect my sanity and curiosity from the performance” mode in the ChidiOS.

I love how Anne-Laure Le Cunff lays out her "tiny experiments" approach in the book that is named the same. First, I cranked down the number of interactions on the platform that are just transactional. I am increasingly reducing my what will get engagement or financial benefit interactions, and loading up more on what genuinely sparks my curiosity activity. Using her methodology, I run these small nyako nyako (little little) learning experiments that aren't designed for LinkedIn glory or short term dopamine hits—read stuff off platform that has limited or not bearing on my field of expertise or work. I learn new tools and skills that no one will ever hear me post about. I follow and jump down into intellectual rabbit holes just because they're interesting. Have serious conversations and workshop questions with people that will never become content.

Chidi Afulezi that likes my privacy to be extra private? Sounds like a freaking plan. Some of my coolest professional breakthroughs in the last year have come from these so-called irrelevant explorations. For real.

Honestly, the bet…the commitment should be to track what you discover, not what others see. Come on now…protect some of your learning from your LinkedIn. Not every insight needs to be transactional or shareable. Ah-ah!

Because why, Chidi? Because…here's the thing: the baddest pros I know aren't the ones with the most LinkedIn engagement. They're the ones whose curiosity outside of the theater led them somewhere unexpected. The gig isn't to just document every insight for your network…you have an epiphany in the bathroom, you order Perplexity to craft your LinkedIn post, and you fire off your latest deep insight. Nah, mba o…the job is to stay genuinely curious about the world around you, and let that curiosity surprise you even when no one's watching, as opposed to being anxious about nailing the performance.

Anyways, let me come and be going. Abeg, stay curious, protect your learning, and remember—not everything needs an audience. I trust you are well.

So, I am always around women. I mean, I am the only guy in my house. At aKoma (my last startup), I was usually the only dude on the team. The wonderful gathering event Rouse, that I put together with Zain Verjee, Isha Sesay, and Suneeta Olympio…the attendees were all women, and then just me. I did emerging opportunity sessions in the last month for two women organizations in Atlanta, I was the only bobo allowed in the rooms.

I am a man. And for me, I am keenly self-aware of my flaws (limitations if you ask certain Chidi senior stakeholders) as a guy, and my inherent instincts as a man. I am viscerally attracted to women, an attraction that I am clear about and make no apologies for. I fully acknowledge when I am around beautiful, confident, powerful, elegant, regal, accomplished, funny, driven, cool women.

But at all times that acknowledgment is predominantly an internal one, and it usually kicks off a heuristic (not an algorithm) that has allowed me to navigate well in environments where I am around a plurality of women. That heuristic is front loaded by one constant.

Respect.

It is of utmost importance to me to respect every single woman that I encounter. Even when that contact is fleeting, the heuristic does not allow me to pass Go until i am secured and layered with as much respect for the woman/women and their situation as I have for myself ad my situation, if not more.

This respect gives me the lenses to see the women for exactly who they are—my family, my friends, my champions, my colleagues, my bosses, my employees, my students, my teachers, my pilots, my partners, my competition, my enablers, my obstacles, and so on. It gives me the proper toolkit and context to interact and engage with these women as my fellow humans, not as objects. That respect ensures that whatever base instincts may arise in me are tempered and re-engineered immediately not because they are not present, but because my inherent respect for women reinforces that those instincts are ultimately of no benefit to them or to me, have the potential to be quite harmful and toxic, and thus are best managed and contained as far away from our interaction(s) as possible.

I don’t even have to like you, but I will respect you as a woman.

Again, I have plenty of flaws. God knows I have some mess ups, and faux pas in my portfolio. I know what I like as a man, the things that I enjoy seeing, the things that call to me. But, this respect heuristic is as important to me as the racket is to Serena, the mic to Beyonce, the pen to Chimamanda. It is my way of making sure that the women that I interact with are comfortable being around me without any concern for their mental or physical well-being.

That’s it o. I don talk be dat.

Eish.

Play those lyrics in your head as often as possible, o. When it gets easier, play them more than once a day. As needed.

Because truth.

A character said this on a show I watched on a long flight back from East Africa, and it rocked me. Nice and slow. This is definitely a thing for me.

There’s a lot of dumbassery out there. Especially from so-called smart people. On the internets. On the socials. So. I make it a point to avoid swimming with pigs. They can’t swim. And they’ll drag you under, drowning you in BS and dumbassery.

What makes me come alive? Verbal and mental jiu-jitsu with the curious. The witty. The sharp. The ones doing real work. Building. Challenging. Asking the questions others are afraid to. Getting knocked down and getting right back up. I’m here for those devastating exchanges—mind bombs that leave dents in lazy assumptions. And lazy assumptions aplenty.

Quiet, gritty sparring with ideas that need to be pummeled by reality. The patient yet strenuous group struggle to escape the chokehold of a viciously wicked problem. Battling the insurmountable obstacles of resistance—mine, and others.

That’s how you avoid being governed by the fear of dumb people. When you engage the engageable.

So, what makes you come alive?

PS: This is actually a copy-paste from the Fashi Mindset Whatsapp channel, where I do short gem drops every now and then. Just in case you need a shot here and there. https://whatsapp.com/channel/0029VajbgPP8F2pAfndzAH3H

PPS: I appreciate the notes and responses from my last piece “Wahala”. I wrote that 4 days before my siblings and I lost our father two weeks ago today. So I promise to respond, just need to deal with the mental and hurt of losing such a beast and force in our lives. Thank you.

Hey there. I know. It’s been a minute. You’re probably asking—Chidi, where’ve you been? Where did you go? Maybe you’ve wondered. Maybe you haven’t. Either way, you are likely just living your life.

Which you should o. Biko.

But here’s a fact—I would love to know how you are doing. How have you been? What’s happening? And can we connect soon? Can I help you with anything?

Let me know.

Me? Well, all things considered…we still dey here, right? Resilience? There’s been a lot of that.

And I can also attest that plenty of gratitude dey inside body too. I am sure if I took the stories of just five to ten of us and did a nice feature story on BBC Africa or YouTube, folks would be in awe of how people are managing, creating, handling, lifing, living, falling, get-upping, losing, winning.

Folks are doing what we do, making life happen. And that’s all we ask, right?

One of my Sunday routines is to watch a show called CBS Sunday Morning. It provides some of the most inspirational stories that give me jet fuel going into the week—it’s like a magazine collection of people, situations, visuals, and stories that show humanity doing what I listed out above—managing, losing, creating, handling, lifing, winning, living, falling, get-upping. Today’s show inspired me to share a couple of nuggets that I hope will provide some Akabanga sauce to this broth of life we are whipping and serving up.

The first inspiration is this guy they did a feature on named Barry Diller. Long story short…Oga Barry is one of the most powerful and successful media execs in the world. You have watched and used many of his products, shoot some might have even gotten married off of one (Match.com). But the thing he said on the show that kicked my ass was that as successful as he is, he gets bored with success once he achieves it. As in once he accomplished something, he moved on to the next adventure. I’ve been a Diller fan from back in the day, especially when I learned he is what they call an “infinite learner”.

Infinite learners. I can say without any vanity that I find myself somewhere within the spectrum of this rather quirky and esoteric class of doers. In fact, I feel that is what draws me to the kinds of people and work that I am drawn to, and these four gems below give some insight into the infinite learner’s mindset:

• Revel in your ignorance. Basically, start at zero, come in with a clean slate. In my world of product management, in entrepreneurship, this is what sets the big boys and girls apart from the also-rans. Doing discovery is starting at zero.

• Don’t copy anyone else’s success, study it, break down what worked, and then remix it. Make it yours. There’s no such thing as an original idea, it’s all remixes.

• Find the counterpoint to conventional wisdom. My goodness, I love this one. It is wearing trado pants with a tee and blazer in a room full of suits. Showing vulnerability when everyone is displaying the facade of strength. Being the one who is not jumping on AI just because everybody is AI’ing, but is already looking at how to effectively use it to stay unique and stay the difference maker you have always been. This mindset will cost you in many cases, but this is where the smoke resides. Walahi.

• Embody a beginner’s mindset. Stay curious. Adaptable. Nimble. Open to new ideas. The worst thing about experts is that they are not learning mode, they are pretty much know-it-alls. Stay learning. Even if you know, act like you don’t know. You may end up knowing something you didn’t know before.

Ok, so that was a cool story to chew on.

The second piece that resonated deeply was about an entrepreneur who was doing well until the Trump tariffs were put in place. Beth Benike is running a flourishing business called Busy Baby, but the tariffs are now threatening her business, Existentially. An order of goods for her inventory is now stuck in China because the bill to bring them to the States is $245K. Eish! Almost 10x what she used to pay.

Of course, she is desperate. In trouble. Things are not looking good at all. Her little boy found her crying in frustration in her bedroom after the tariffs were announced. But. She decided to lean on a mantra she picked up from her days in the military on how to adjust to the enormity of the serious wahala in front of her. And I am taking this one to heart…hook, line, and sinker.

Three words: Improvise. Adapt. Overcome.

Simple.

• Improvise—use what you got. Make do with what you have

• Adapt—focus on the things within your control, obsess about your doables. Don’t even waste an iota of a second on stuff that is outside of your realm of control, the undoables.

• Overcome—get going. Push, keep pushing, stay pushing.

Of course, this was a note to self. And a note to all. Wahala will always be there. But so will we.

We keep pushing.

(and abeg, let me know how you are doing. please…I would love to hear from you. Almost for my own sake).

And that’s cool.

Watch the video below, which is fascinating. Denzel Washington does not audition. Hasn’t done an audition in forty years. Some of us have earned “no audition” status by virtue of our talent, experience, and credibility. They come to you, you don’t have to apply for anything. You get to choose, you’re not chosen. Denzel chooses. The choices are created for him to say yes or no to.

Djimon Hounsou, on the other hand, does not get to choose as you can tell in this conversation he has with Larry Madowo. A badass two-time Oscar nominee, been in a huge number of blockbusters and critically acclaimed movies, and yet he says he does not have the respect or financial stability that should come with his portfolio and experience.

He has to audition. He has to be chosen.

Na so e be sometimes.

Most of us will always have to “audition” in some form or fashion. Are you right for this role—the gig, the deal, the spotlight, the interview, the stage, the exclusive membership, the connection. Amid lots of new year career evaluations and affirmations, my coaching to myself and to my people has been to keep auditioning…keeps you on point, sharpens your edge, and it is how you may get to Denzel status. If that is what you want.

I don’t mind auditioning. I am in no way even close to anything like Denzel status. But some roles have been written for me, and in some instances I do get to choose, not be chosen. However, most times, I have to audition. And I am cool with that. That’s the wahala of this jiu-jitsu match we call life, and it is the constant reminder that “Bobo…you are not there yet o. You never reach. May not ever get there, but we dey here.” The difference is that I choose the auditions. I don’t need anyone’s freaking validation and I don’t seek it. And I have earned the ability to walk away from those auditions, and the right to say no, yes, or “how about we do it this way” to the outcomes of the auditions.

That is…if I am chosen, right?

Alright, thanks for coming to this audition…now show us what you got.

We dey here.

I know that is a Puffy reference. Too soon? Well, in 2024, there seemed to be a rash of “IDGAF” mindsets that resulted in some of the craziest outcomes all over the planet, folks basically voted to look out only for self, and overlook the obvious, and so I am one of those who has been like…oh, is that the game we are playing? Yes, sir…let me get three cases of the unfiltered version of IDGAF, with extra “either” and “FAFO”.

So. Yes, some songs will stay on the playlist. Hate the player. Don’t hate the game. Isn’t that what they say?

Speaking of what they say aka advice, I listened to a really powerful episode of the New York Time’s The Daily podcast, called “The Year In Wisdom”, and my people, abeg…listen to it. It collates and curates the best advice some of the NYT reporters and listeners received in 2024 and I thought it was so powerful and inspired me to make these notes to self, and to whomever else it may concern, in deference to the New Year. I’ll even start with a one from the podcast, in my own words.

Let’s go:

1. Listen. Listen more. Just listen. I mean, someone is talking to you, just listen. Abeg. Stop preparing to respond or ChatGPTing the right answer. In fact, the more you listen, the more likely it is that you don’t have to respond. I am learning this as I get older, wiser, and become a better coach and advisor.

2. The next two are from my Loaded Course—first, what would be stupid for you not to do in the next 90 days? Seriously o.

3. And then, what would be stupid for you to do in the next 90 days? This one is even more serious.

4. If your skills and services are top-level, then charge accordingly. “Chidi, whoa…you are expensive.” Yes. I am.

5. It's like the story of the carpenter who charged $1m to fix a leaking ship. He was asked why his service was so expensive and he replied, "$1 for the hammer, $999,999 for knowing where to hit."

6. Imagine if Michael Jackson went to some cheap producer to make Off The Wall and Thriller, after receiving Quincy Jones’ fee statement.

7. I didn’t say I am Quincy Jones. I am Chidi Afulezi.

8. From the NYT podcast—for those making resolutions, put more joy into them, not dread. Why should they be so self-punishing? “I’ll stop eating bread”, “I need to reduce my calories.” Why can’t it be about discovery, or fun? Instead of creating wahala that you will abandon by early next week?

9. Another one from the podcast—if you are feeling lonely, find a mentor or someone who really helped you in your past. Contact them and re-establish that connection. This one is golden, very relevant, loved it and I have already reached out to a woman who helped define my career as a product leader and connected me to one of my closest people today. We lost touch about eight years ago.

10. Walk. Take a walk. Outside. And don’t put the headphones on. Unless you live in Lagos. Ha.

11. Walk. When you are starting to get heated, or about to say some dumb stuff to someone close to you, or even if it is being said to you, take a walk. And some deep breaths. Hit pause.

12. You don’t always have to clap back. Notice how tired and rabid the best clap-backers seem to look and be?

13. You can choose to be the safe harbor, or you can choose to be the storm. But you can’t be both.

14. If I choose to be the storm for you, you done messed up, for real. But that’s definitely not the norm. The aftermath is messy. I’m too old for that s*.

15. I deleted WhatsApp from my phone for the past two weeks. Eish. I am trying to figure out how to not put it back on, because…peace. Peace, my friends. Kai!

16. “To know that even one life has breathed easier because you lived, this is to have succeeded.” This is more like it. Safe harbor. From Bessie Anderson Stanley.

17. Someone tried to tag me the other day based on their first impression of me—what I like, what I do, etc. I was quite polite but firm in responding. “Don’t put me in a box. I’m a big boy. I promise you I won’t fit.”

18. Don’t let them put you in a box. Whoever them is.

19. Another one from Loaded (aka another Load): The much-heralded cliché—stay in your lane—is much heralded for a reason. When you are driving, where are your eyes? In front. You check your mirrors—side, rearview—so you have proper context of what’s happening around you. But you do not have your eyes on the lanes beside you. You stay in your lane. When you need to make a lane change, that change is informed by all the signals and info you have from your mirrors, your dashboard, the sensors, and what’s in front of you. And then you signal, and you make the change. Others make way, let you in. That’s how you handle your career.

20. Not career jumping around like a kangaroo that underestimated the potency of Akabanga sauce.

21. As an African, I marvel at the capacity that we have for schooling. Degrees coming out of every orifice. Notice I said schooling. Not learning. My take—don’t let school interfere with your learning. Heard that on some TV show.

22. Have you seen the “this too shall pass” video with Tom Hanks? You should. Killer.

    Here’s the quote:

    I wish I had known that this too shall pass. You feel bad right now, you feel pissed off? This too shall pass. You feel angry? This too shall pass. You feel great, you feel like you know all the answers, you feel like everybody finally gets you? This too shall pass. Time is your ally, and if nothing else…just wait, just wait, just wait it out.”

23. Just wait it out. Chill with all the aggressing. Ah-ah, where are you running to!?

24. But, just wait it out doesn’t mean to chill o. When I used to do martial arts, there was this thing our sensei would do in between rigorous sets. Adrian would make us do fifteen pushups, or 10 jump squats, 25 jumping jacks, something. But no standing around. Called it active resting. Even though you are waiting it out, you are still on mission.

25. And finally, to tie things up nicely, is Zora Neale Hurston—"There are years that ask questions and years that answer." Here’s to 2025 being a full blown Q&A year for you. Stay the course.

Ok, let me go and finish my video game before this people start asking for me.

Happy New Year.

The strange thing about writing Fashi Mindset is that I actually have stuff to write about every Sunday. The wahala is actually sitting down in my spaceship pilot chair, stretching my arms, and banging the damn thing out. My last piece was almost seven weeks ago. Feels like two years ago. Well, I had to drop one more at least before the year ends.

So, how body?

I am just going to riff here, drop some of my patented unasked for rants and un-advice that the world never asked for and will always get. I’ll even pull from some of my Fashis on WhatsApp, so they don’t feel like no one wants to give them love as they just stand there looking around like “Ah, Chidi…where is everybody?”.

Oya, let’s go.

• First, there’s this podcaster that likes to say “Nothing is ever as good, or as bad as it seems”. Ok, we have heard you, sir.

• But, honestly, sometimes...it is.

• If you want to find some of the best quotes, go to TV shows and movies. I promise you some of them will have you hit pause and pour yourself a hard one and sit in silence for two hours. In the dark. By yourself.

• Here’s a good one from the spy show Slow Horses, when a character was accused of bickering, and his response—”I don’t bicker, I do judo with words.” Yes. YES!

  

• I am a Naija guy, and I practice a particular version of a skill Nigerians like to think we are known for—verbal jiujitsu. So it makes sense that there’s an abundance of question marks at the end of my sentences and comments when I am doing the dialogue thing. And it’s hard for someone to say something hardcore around me that won’t get serious query from me. For instance, with my teenage daughters, I prosecute “the case” with extreme prejudice when they are making an argument. Or share a hard opinion. It can be tough. The goal is not to shoot them down, or make them feel wrong. The goal is for them to be ready for push back, be able to make clear and unassailable points, defend their position, and better yet, concede when it is clear they are not on point.

• Because there are chaos monkeys and trolls waiting outside who are more prone to spoken violence than I am in the safe space of this cozy home. Be ready for the BS, señoritas.

• Coaching 101, ladies and gents.

• Of course, I have to drop a Denzel. Goes without saying. Today’s serving—“If they see you for free all week, they won’t pay to see you on the weekend. I don’t tweet. I don’t have Instagram. I embrace my inner analog.”

  

• My sister, my brother, forget posting…I barely even record videos or take pics these days. There could be drunk aliens in the club twerking to Amapiano…phone stays in the pocket. I mean, ask Baltasar how that phone camera recording thing worked out for him.

• But wait, it seems things are actually looking up for the guy o. This is 2024, ladies and gentlemen. We are in the upside down. Hm.

• If you don’t know who, what, or why Baltasar is…Merry Xmas.

• In all seriousness, maintaining an air of mystery for me is primarily about minding my own business. Staying in my lane, and doing what needs to be done. I’ve been accused of coming across as aloof, arrogant even, not picking up the phone and calling as much as I could. It’s not personal. That’s just Chidi minding his business.

• And…the best medicine for being ghosted is ghosting back. Fashi the pretenses with a vengeance.

• And…it’s not personal.

• Ok, maybe it is.

• It is.

• As you download the latest update to your PersonalOS, remember this key entry—you want everyone to know your name, but not your face. There’s just something that pops about your badass rep, more so than your fame. Make una take fame, i’ll take a kickass name.

• I had a Baltasar joke in there, but let me come and be going.

• Lots of folks reflecting on their work and their jobs at this time of the year. And all this attention you pay to your job…I don’t know. Remember this—your job is just a feature, like the Balenciegos on your feet. Your career is the product…as in the badass wearing the Balenciegos.

• Speaking of badassery…please if you deserve flowers, take them. I didn’t say get them. Take them. They’re yours.

• And when folks give you your flowers for stuff you did or do, please don’t give them wahala. And stop pretending like it’s nothing. Take a bow abeg, and show gratitude of course. As Damon Wayans says, “does a woman ever get tired of being told she's beautiful? Never, right?"

• Never. Take your damn flowers. And smell the hell out of them well well.

• Let me close out by sharing a thing I wrote called Chidi’s Prayer. Maybe it will resonate, maybe it won’t. No matter.

This morning I pray for the strength and fortitude to do the work, my work, to carry thru the day, and be effective, and efficient.

I pray for thoughtfulness and clarity to make good decisions, to do the right things.

I pray for resilience that helps me power thru the inevitable little and big adversities.

And the wisdom and even-keel to weather thru the sought after big wins and prosperities.

I pray for guidance and courage as I navigate the inevitable and the unexpected.

Amen.

Have a wonderful Christmas.

This is a short one. I’m jet lagged and still absorbing the awesomeness of being around and communing and bonding with over a thousand African product people in one space, so my blown mind is still unblowing. Or for the old schoolers in here…still defragmenting.

I just saw a great piece on the comedian Damon Wayans this morning and he put some serious heat on me this morning. If you don’t know him, that tells me you are aging yourself…backwards. Look him up. Many of us grew up with him and his talented family of comedian brothers, sisters, children, nieces and nephews.

64 years old. Looks like he is in his mid to late 40s. Four kids, eight grandkids, one great-grandkid. Still doing what he loves.

Haba! Damon, wetin you dey smoke, this guy? Because we want to partake, abeg.

He articulated it one simple sentence which has stuck with me—"I am content.”

“Not happy?” asked the interviewer. Not happy, he said, because happiness is fleeting. Comes and goes. Hard to hold on to. He has abandoned the pursuit of happiness.

Instead, he has installed a premium quality CMS aka Content Management Systems. (aha…my media people’s eyes have lit up, if you know, you know).

I am in rooms and places and situations with a lot of so called successful people, and man…most folks are not happy o. Or content. Or tranquil. There’s a lot of angst, anxiety, suspicion, wariness and weariness.

Maka why, eh?

I wish I remembered who said this but the paraphrase is something like—your success in life depends on your ability to make good decisions. Your happiness depends on your ability to not care about the outcomes. Your peace (your contentment) depends on knowing the difference.

I am guessing Damon has figured out the difference.

I am not yet 64, but you and I are barreling towards that number and higher no matter what we do. Yes we are—some closer to that number than others—but remember this thing we are doing is a terminal diagnosis which I am not fighting o…that is an exercise in insanity, and me I want to reach 64, please abeg. However, I know that making it to 64 in one piece means the memory chugging content management system installed on the latest version of the ChidiOS has to be in full attack mode, managing this constant back and forth between the stack of decisions I make, the outcomes from those decisions, and my understanding that I can only directly control the former (decisions) and my reacts to the latter (outcomes). The suffering is when we think we can control the outcomes, then wallow and swim in the gap between trying to control every outcome and just letting life flow, causing unnecessary wahala and error messages on your PersonalOS.

So yes o…ah, me I want the soft life. I don’t like suffering. However, for me, the soft life is being content like my Oga Damon. If I am pursuing anything, I pursue to reduce my suffering, not to add to my katakata. Like I need more katakata?

Anyways, that’s it o. Let me come and be going.

Ok, yes…you don’t become a superstar if you are talentless, lazy, with the personality of a wooden block, and live a life of bad luck. If you know one, just send me a DM and your bank account info, and I’ll World Remit some serious cash your way.

What is inspiring this diatribe, my guy? Oga Chidi, who vex you?

Nobody vex me…I just had an epiphany while watching a piece on super-producer Jack Antonoff, who has won the Grammy for

Best Producer of The Year three years in a row.

We were told if you work hard, and have talent you will be successful. That is an incomplete statement at best. Could be a lie if I feel like arguing with you. There’s a singular reason why certain individuals have hit the rarefied air of superstardom in their professions—you need to be chosen. Chosen by a secret society to become a star, a superstar. Talent? Check. Hard work? Absolutely. Charisma? Yes. Luck…for sure. But without that one insider’s golden handshake, the magic wand revealing and waving open secret doors, shining light on the shadows, nah…I don’t think so, bros (the gender agnostic bros).

Let us be clear o…the self-made superstar is mythology. Pure, undiluted, mythology. No such thing, and once I came to terms with this, clarity slapped me silly. Of course, folks are out there selling us their fairy tales of being the lone genius conquering the world with grit and a dream. And we buy it wholesale, straight no chaser. Nah, bruh. Hold that thought, sister. We all know no one ascends to the stratosphere alone. There’s always a backstage pass, a lifted velvet rope, a hand pulling them into the VIP lounge of success.

The fantasy books we read back in the day called them fairy godmothers and godfathers. I call them the anointers, the whisperers, the revealers, and the blockers. These are the gatekeepers to greatness—the champions, the connectors, the ones who whisper your name in the right ears, bring up your work and brand in the right rooms. These folks are the executive producers and showrunners who put the spotlight just right where you are (need to be) when you step on stage.

Let’s get back to Jack Antonoff. If you don’t know him, he is the most heralded producer today. Hits upon hits, with the biggest names in the industry. But it took a bit for things to pop for him (Chidi…these puns, eish), even though he was a talented songwriter and producer. And then Taylor Swift decided she was going to work with him, and as he said, “She literally kicked down the door for me.” When she handed him the mic…no, handed him the megaphone, c’est finis. It was over. Okwe don finish be dat. Any miring in obscurity…gone. He may win his fourth Best Producer of the Year Grammy this year.

He was anointed.

Other examples?

• You should know about superagent Rich Paul who negotiates billion dollars and is engaged to Adele. Met Lebron at the airport where he was hustling t-shirts & Lebron who was in high school was digging the man’s game. Their friendship deepened, and Lebron goes into the NBA with Rich Paul in his inner circle. And then Paul goes from friend to Lebron’s agent, call the game right there. A superstar was born. Paul founded Klutch Sports, and they practically own the sports world today.

• As much as Serena Williams has accomplished, her sister Venus Williams was the blocker that carved the path to their collective glory. I don’t know that Serena would be the GOAT without Venus serving up wins and opening up eyes to a different type of tennis brilliance with her 120mph serve.

• Donald Trump is no Donald Trump today without the bulldozer and power layer, Roy Cohn. That guy crafted and honed the bobo you see today.

• There’s no Elon Musk without Peter Thiel. Thiel merged companies with Elon in their early days to form Paypal. And then after selling Paypal, Thiel was his benefactor and door basher, backing and validating Elon financially and socially.

• Another Thiel protege…Mark Zuckerberg. You think Mark refused a $1B buyout offer from Microsoft for Facebook because he was smart? Nah…he was Thiel smart, that’s what.

• Yes, Gayle King is a boss, but she is doing what she’s doing today because her best friend is the queen of media. That proximity to Oprah Winfrey did not open doors for Gayle, that proximity was a tsunami of influence that swung those doors wide open with velvet red carpets spun by the gods.

There are many others—Ed Sheeran & Jamie Foxx (bet you didn’t know, fascinating story), Rihanna & Jay-Z (once Jay-Z brought her under his Umbrella, nothing but rocket fuel from there).

Another good one. There’s this African entrepreneur, just killing it out there. I’m keeping this anonymous as I know this person and have no desire to put them on blast. Their grind is real—talent, vision, sleepless nights, charisma coming out of every orifice. Smart as hell. But their ascent into the global elite? Their iPhone contact list of benefactors and door-busters reads like a Forbes Global and Forbes Africa top-everything list. This is both in the business and the public sector worlds. And when your bestie is also a super-connector and player, as in Brad Pitt and George Clooney bestie levels, you’re not playing small ball anymore. The globe is now your ball…honestly, na real wa o.

Here’s the kicker for me…opportunity doesn’t knock, no it sneaks in through the back window while you’re busy perfecting your craft. The goal is to be the best-kept secret, grinding and doing the work, so when the spotlight finally swings your way, you’re not just ready—you’re undeniable.

Undeniable. As in not to be denied.

And be careful with the over-exposure, abeg. The brand builders. Fact—these folks don’t like attention hogs acting a fool in their world. Do just enough to get you on radars that these folks eyeball every now and then. And don’t let that stuff get to your head, either. They’ll be watching what you do with your annointment.

Ask Puffy.

You know the saying, “We know what we don’t know”, but the real play is in not knowing what we don’t know. My person…I’m telling you, there are rooms you don’t even know exist until someone hands you the key—and trust me, even if it is a little glimpse…SMH. That may be Luck, or maybe more about the stars aligning, you being in the right place because someone thought you deserved to be there.

I don’t care how you slice it, for real, the fact is…as much as talent and hard work light the fuse, it’s the hidden hands and magic wands that launch the rocket. Keep doing the work, keep doing your thing, build genuine relationships, and possibly, maybe—just maybe—you will be anointed as Another One.

We dey here o.

I don’t know what’s in the water these days, but 2024 clearly has somewhere to be, because the way this year is flying with serious alacrity, eh? Wasn’t it just thirty minutes ago we popped bottles to usher in the new year? And now it’s Oct 6th? Na wa o, time is not wasting time.

Time wey we no get.

Something that is much more abundant, and adds more pepper to the feeling of time not being on my side, is that innocuous and ubiquitous two-letter word…NO. It is a constant and nefarious part of my soundtrack, I like to say I am in the NO Hall of Fame, literally and pun-intentionally. My collection of NOs are jaw-dropping, anyone who goes to the NO Galleria of The Chidi will leave with serious contemplations about the meaning of life, and why are we even lifing like this.

🤣

Yes o…we had to emoji that one.

But here’s the thing though, if you are doing hard things, if you are chasing craziness, if you are taking it to the next level and staying there…the word NO is your able, willing, and ever-present companion. And don’t try to fight it o…that’s is a recipe for a spiral into the Abyss. A one-way trip to the Sunken Place. First class seats in the Upside Down (I like my movies and TV shows, leave me abeg). I read this thing about rejection being the chisel for perfection. Well, I’m not chasing perfection but my people, the chisel is chiseling with a mix of vengeance and Akabanga sauce.

So, of course…we have no choice but to go flip the script mode (only true hip-hop heads will detect what I did there). NO is not only the omnipresent companion, but also the ultimate clarifier. It keeps you honest, and deprives you of grand delusions of magnificence or entitlement, for your own good and mine. At the airport, I get a nice, deep chuckle when I see folks flip off and do the ugly dance when they are denied the upgrade or preferred seating. You can’t tell me NO, I expect a YES.

Ok, sah—YES, you can’t get an upgrade.

I’ve had no choice but to grab onto NO and hang on to it as a clarifier and also as a form of power, a level-up badge that I’ve earned from anticipating and surviving the inevitable NO hits, fueling the rejection-proof V12 engine that pushes the grind forward.

Because why not?

I own my NOs o. Every NO has had to be part of the Chidi refinement process. You get hit with the NO, and the extra excess BS (my English teacher, Mrs. Nwosu, will lay curses on me for writing such ugly phrases) gets chipped away, and there is clarity, sharpness, and definition about what is and what isn’t. Even more importantly, who is and who isn’t. There is zero interest in the soft life, more so a flexible, adaptable one. NO is the sculptor, the personal trainer, the massage therapist—abeg, me I embrace it.

Speaking of time and NO…the more NOs I encounter, the better I get at saying NO. Again, time is already scarce, time wey we no get, and the more you say YES, the less of your time you control. Listen…saying NO is not me fashi’ing you—it is me reclaiming my very precious and finite resource—time. The faster time moves, the more deliberate you have to be about what gets your attention. Saying NO is a superpower that lets you slow things down and focus on what matters.

If you know, you know.

So the more NOs get thrown at me, the better my NOs become. I love how Daniel Kahneman, the Nobel Prize-winning psychologist, has a rule where he never says YES to anything on the spot. As he said, people-pleasing had him in too many commitments, and it was rapidly depleting his finite well of time.

"Thanks for the invite. I don't say yes to anything on the spot, but I'll let you know if I'm interested."

Golden. Imagine the freedom. Turning NO into a personal policy, not just a reaction. If it’s a rule, no more pressure of decision-making on the spot. For real. The big epiphany for me amongst the insane insanity of all the NOs coming my way is that real control isn’t just about handling rejection from others—it’s also about mastering your own ability to say NO to what doesn’t serve you. Both are part of the game. The more you can manage both sides, the more you own your time and energy.

Energy. Another one wey we no too get.

We dey here.