Some assume I emerged from the womb in full lotus with the discipline of a Shaolin monk. Not quite.
Overdoing it
In truth, my flair for discipline comes from its opposite: my flair for intensity and impulsivity. I was born holding a flamethrower with no ‘Off’ switch and no setting but maximum.
In my early days, this led to some success. And I won't pretend: I did have fun.
But it also caused problems.
Funnelling my energy into sport, I competed in international-level rugby and elite-level powerlifting. But I was riddled with chronic pain from injury, including a nasty jaw break.
Directing myself towards academic success, I got plenty of As and a nice first-class degree before landing a role at a Magic Circle law firm. But my soul felt drained from running on the hamster wheel.
I enjoyed hedonistic highs but discovered they were eventually outstripped by the lows.
Waking up
The hollowness became too much.
I could no longer ignore the question that had been pestering me for so long:
I did what any private-school English boy with first world problems would do: a soul-searching mission in Asia.
Spent a couple of weeks in tech-free silence, meditating for 12 hours per day in a Thai temple.
The first week was an inner tussle.
Then, I succumbed.
‘Ah, there I am.’
Inner smile and inner knowing returned. Quiet, yet electric. So alive. The fleeting highs of yesteryears were exposed as hollow. I'd been empty, but now something had reawakened.
The corporate dojo
As fate would have it, I was on the eve of stepping into a role at Clifford Chance, a top UK law firm.
The corporate world would be my crucible for learning to retain stillness amidst chaos.
I experimented relentlessly, earning the moniker ‘Plotter’ amongst friends because of the countless hours spent strategising on the intersection of performance and peace.
I read and applied self-help books. I became a personal trainer. I spent time on retreats. I gradually grew a daily practice across meditation, Qi Gong, Tai Chi and Kung Fu.
I even spent a year living in a Tibetan Buddhist centre while working on the trading floor at Goldman Sachs, where I helped run a meditation group.
It was when I met Chinese (Zen and Taoist) martial arts that I knew: this is The One.
All-in
In 2020 I packed in the corporate world to go all-in.
Since then, I've channelled my energy into martial and meditative arts, waking at 4am to practise for five hours a day — six, these days. I let go of social media, news, streaming, and other forms of conventional digital distraction.
Emotional turbulence and stress fell away.
Many invisible limitations fell away too, and I was able to create the life I had been fantasising about for years.
I live by Shaolin Temple, the birthplace of Zen, training in XinYiBa — an internal Shaolin kung fu — with Shifu Wu Nanfang. I practise for six hours a day while writing and coaching online.
After three years training intensively with Shifu Shi Heng Zuan in Europe, I moved to China, where I spent a year in Wudang, eventually becoming a teacher — and, briefly, turning up on People's Daily, China's state media.
Gulun Kung Fu
Something was lacking. I hadn't found the One.
In 2024, I went on a tour to meet three special masters I had in mind. I had big expectations. And yet, at the end, I still knew I hadn't found what I was looking for.
It was a dark moment. I felt lost. I really doubted this whole thing.
And then I stumbled across a video of Gulun Kung Fu.
I saw something different. A unique quality to this Shaolin style. It carried not only the elegance of Tai Chi but a quality of internal power arising from deep, spiralling movements. I was mesmerised.
I tracked down the school and shortly arrived.
Things moved quickly, and since September 2024 I have been practising one-on-one with Shifu himself. No plan to leave any time soon.
None of this came naturally
Not one of the stiffest. The stiffest. Years of rugby and powerlifting had made me strong and welded me shut, and none of it transferred. Strength was the problem, not the head start.
The specifics matter more than the destination, so let me be specific.
None of it arrived — except the fire, perhaps. It was assembled slowly, in unglamorous pieces. It was very messy at first, less so later.
There is no secret. Just the willingness to look at my dark spots and persist over a long time.
See it rather than read about it
Rather listen? Tea at Dusk, Episode 1 — an interview with me.