Beat Them To It

Welcome to The Brighter Side of Everything.

This newsletter serves a simple purpose → To help you build optimism, resilience and a solution-focused perspective.

Each week, I’ll share actionable insights that not only brighten your day but position you to be a leader within your own life and seize life’s opportunities.

Read time: 20-30 minutes.

Hello, Brighter Side readers! ☀️

Thanks for making room for a dose of optimism inside your busy week.

We've all had a moment we'd rather forget, but some seem to carry those moments around for days.

Others, they crack a joke about themselves and have moved on before anyone else gets the chance.

This week is all about the second group, and the surprising amount of power they hold.

Being the first to laugh at yourself can shift the mood of everyone around you, and it does even more for the one telling the joke.

Few have displayed this better than Michael J. Fox, and he joins us this week too.

Throw in one of the greatest albums of all time, and we’ve got a fun ride ahead of us.

Strap in, let’s go.

See you on the Brighter Side,

Chris

P.S. Please feel free to send me feedback on how I can improve. I respond to every email.

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Back when I was running a travel agency in Vancouver, I had one of those mornings.

It’d already gone way off the tracks well before I left the house.

I can’t recall the specific hold-up, just that it put me over an hour behind and I was missing a meeting I’d scheduled myself.

Then, somewhere between parking the car and the office door, the skies opened up.

Not your Vancouver drizzle either.

Drenching, comical rain, and of course I had no umbrella.

I walked through the door looking like I'd swum there.

Colleagues already at their desks looked up, and I've never forgotten the expression on their faces.

Somewhere between concern and bracing themselves, because everyone knows the mood that tends to arrive on a morning like that.

"Well," I said.

“I guess that's two showers today."

And the whole room cracked up.

I dried myself off, thinking to myself it’s only water as I did.

We got on with the morning, caught up on what was missed and the day turned out fine.

That morning could easily have gone the other way.

I could have barged in complaining, listing everything that had gone wrong since I rolled out of bed, and the mood I brought through the door would have lingered over that room for an hour.

One simple throwaway line gave everybody their morning back, including me.

And it cost me nothing.

I'm not talking about pretending to be fine here.

I was soaked, I was late and I was annoyed about both.

But there's a switch you can flick in a moment like that, and I've come to believe that it’s more a skill than a personality trait.

I grew up surrounded by people who did this without thinking.

Nobody in Australia lets you get above yourself.

Taking the mickey is a standard unit of affection, and your closest friends are the ones who give you the hardest time.

If your mates ever stop taking the piss out of you, something has gone wrong in the friendship and you'd be wise to find out what.

So the key strategy we learn early is to get in first.

Beat everybody to the joke about yourself.

Say something self deprecating before anyone else gets a chance, and just like that.

You’ve taken the weapon out of their hands before they've even reached for it.

From the outside it all looks like humility.

I'd be lying if I said it wasn’t at least partly social insurance.

Interestingly, a linguist has done the work to measure this, which delights me more than it probably should.

Cliff Goddard published a paper in Intercultural Pragmatics back in 2009 on the phrase "not taking yourself too seriously," and found it turns up far more often in Australian English than in British or American.

He traced it to two cultural scripts that are running at once.

A broad English-speaking one that says you ought to see the funny side of things.

And a specifically Australian one, that says it's bad to go round thinking you're superior to others, separating yourself from other people.

It's sitting right within the language itself, not only in the people speaking it.

But it also comes with a cost.

That same instinct that keeps everybody at the same level will happily cut a person down for doing well.

Tall poppy syndrome is real and the damage it does is also real.

Australians tend to hide their ambition and will often downplay things that are actually worth celebrating.

Two things can be true at once.

The same culture that educated me on how to laugh at myself also taught a lot of good people to apologise for succeeding.

Moving to Canada revealed the other edge of the blade.

A joke about the weather here travels anywhere.

While a joke about yourself often doesn't.

Say "yeah, I'm hopeless at that" and people take you at your word.

It’s rare to have anything fired back.

They either look mildly concerned or they agree with you, and you're left standing in the wreckage of a joke that didn't land.

My eighteen years here have required me to recalibrate my approach.

Updating my understanding of ‘when’ to use it has been worth just as much as the reflex I arrived with.

But Canada also gave me something that Australia didn't.

There's a patience and kindness here that I didn't arrive with.

An instinct for reading the room before opening my mouth, and for noticing when the kindest path available to me is to say nothing at all.

Australia taught me how to create the jokes.

Canada taught me when to keep them in the holster.

Eighteen years in, I believe the right answer lives somewhere between the two.

Which leaves an important question that I’ve had to work through myself.

If half of it is acting as armour, is any of it worth having?

Why?

Because there's a version of it that isn't healthy at all.

Psychologists have spent the better part of twenty years attempting to separate it from the version that is.

Rod Martin's Humour Styles Questionnaire, published in 2003, identified four different ways people use humour.

Two of them point outward at other people, and two of them point inward at yourself.

What intrigued me was the two inward-facing ones.

It turned out they had almost nothing in common.

Ryota Tsukawaki and Tomoya Imura made this split more explicit in 2020 with something they called the Dual Self-Directed Humour Scale.

It was tested across three studies and almost a thousand participants.

The first dimension they labelled deleterious, which is making yourself the punchline in order to win approval.

Undermining your own abilities in front of others in the hope that someone will jump in and disagree with you.

This approach aligns with decreased self-esteem, heightened anxiety, and increased loneliness.

The second, which they referred to as benign, is using self-deprecating humour to step back and take a look at your own situation from a bit of distance.

This version tracks in the complete opposite direction.

As an outside observer it can be challenging to tell them apart.

Two people making much the same joke, in much the same tone.

Behind it though, lies something entirely different.

And each one is left standing in a unique position after the laughter fades.

One question separates them.

Do you need the room to rescue you afterwards?

A person who can confidently laugh at themselves isn't asking to be reassured.

They've discovered that their dignity will never rest on looking flawless in front of people.

And they've experienced the impact of how much energy it frees up.

That approach embodies humility.

The kind you can actually hear.

Australia provided the instinct but it took a university degree to fully comprehend what was happening underneath it all.

Having studied psychology and behavioural science, I've continued to read and stay informed in the field in the 20+ years since.

Partly because I find it fascinating but more so because I’ve never once stopped finding it useful.

Understanding the way our mind and body and behaviour all influence each other changes what you believe is possible for yourself.

You stop treating your own reactions as fixed entities and start treating them as something you get to have a say in.

For any life that sees real difficulty within it?

I'd go as far as calling it necessary.

What the education gave me was a greater understanding of what all that laughing had been doing.

Psychologists call it cognitive reappraisal, which means altering your perception of a situation rather than suppressing your emotions and waiting for them to fade.

James Gross and Oliver John studied nearly 1,500 people in 2003, comparing the reappraisers with the suppressors.

The reappraisers felt more positive emotion, had closer relationships and showed fewer depressive symptoms.

The suppressors came out worse on every measure, and their memory of what was taking place around them suffered too.

Because suppressing our emotions consumes resources that reappraisal leaves untouched.

That's the difference between a throwaway line about having two showers and simply swallowing a bad mood.

I wasn't pretending to be dry.

Rather deciding what being wet was going to mean to me for the next eight hours.

Those are two different options entirely, and they leave you in two very different places.

Humour, when you look at it that way, is reappraisal you can perform out loud.

That's why it works on a whole room and not only on the person telling the joke.

Everybody who’s present receives the updated reading at the same moment, and nobody needs it explained.

It can also be taught.

Which is the part I really wish more people knew.

Sara Wellenzohn and Willibald Ruch's team at the University of Zurich gave 632 adults a week of short humour exercises.

They asked them to write down three funny things that happened to them that day.

Then, take a stressful situation and reimagine how it might’ve gone had they found the comedy in it.

Three of the five that were tested produced measurable improvements in wellbeing or reductions in depressive symptoms, and they beat a placebo group who'd been handed a pointless exercise instead.

Six months after the week was finished, those effects were still holding.

Remarkable.

Now, this approach is obviously not a fix for something more serious on its own.

But it does dismantle the idea that some people arrive built for hard times, while the rest of us don't.

You see the far end of it too.

There are people who cannot be the joke under any circumstances, and up close it's almost never arrogance.

It's fear.

A sense of self held so tightly that letting anybody laugh at it, themselves included, feels like everything might give way underneath them.

Those people have a much harder time when life turns on them, because they're carrying two things at once.

The event itself, along with the image they're protecting while it happens.

Being able to laugh at yourself is a decision to put the second one down and leave it behind.

Watch the first thing you say: Walk into a room after a bad morning and the opening sentence out of your mouth sets the tone for everyone in it. You get one chance, spend it wisely.

Aim it at what you did, not at what you are: "I completely butchered that" travels well and everyone can laugh along with it. "I'm useless" asks those present to stop what they’re doing and look after you. The first one reads as humility, while the second is a request.

Stop rescuing yourself: Make the joke, then let it sit there and do its thing. Don't wait around for reassurance, and definitely don't go fishing for it when it doesn't arrive on its own.

Practise on the small stuff: Terrible parallel park? “Wow, I should have just driven straight at the curb and it would have been better.” That's where the habit is built, so it's ready for you when something real surfaces.

I’m eternally grateful to have grown up in Australia.

A country full of people who taught me to work hard, play hard, and the value of never taking myself too seriously.

I’m also grateful for the last eighteen years, in a country that taught me when to keep the jokes in my pocket.

Not everybody receives these lessons.

Many never even understand they’re available to them.

Charging through some of the hardest stretches of life believing the way they handle things is simply who they are.

Full stop, period.

That's the notion I struggle to let go of.

There are countless people right now white-knuckling their way through something difficult.

Set on maintaining an image and letting none of it show, leaving themselves with no room to breathe.

If any of that sounds like you?

Acknowledging and understanding this is a crucial first step.

Then, start small.

Laugh at something you got wrong this week, out loud, in front of others.

Notice that the world doesn't end.

Then enjoy the extra space it provides you.

And maybe even that the person across from you relaxes a little when you do it.

I asked earlier whether the armour was worth having, and I think that's my answer.

The joke stops acting as armour the moment you no longer need it to protect you.

What's left over is just you.

Out in the open, not minding very much at all.

And I can't think of a better place to be standing when life comes looking for you.

Want to see someone do this brilliantly? Comedian Maysoon Zayid arrives first at every joke that might be made about her. Watch how quickly the tension leaves the room at the beginning:

🪸 Coral Was Given a Dose of Probiotics Before a Heatwave. It Worked. - When Red Sea temperatures climbed to nearly 32°C, researchers at KAUST fed wild Acropora valida colonies a cocktail of helpful microbes, and over fifteen days the treated coral held its photosynthetic performance steady while the untreated colonies beside it declined sharply. Read more →(Anthropocene Magazine)

🪞 The Parts of Yourself That Everyone Else Can See - Counselling psychologist Jennifer Farrell walks through the Johari Window, a model from 1955 that maps the quadrant of you that others notice and you don’t, and offers the questions worth asking the people who know you best, along with a caution about whose opinion actually deserves the weight. Read more → (Psyche)

🎨 A Visual Tour of the Most Extraordinary Painting and Illustration on the Internet - Alexa Meade paints directly onto real people so the photograph reads as a canvas, Saype works on hillsides at a scale that needs a drone to take in, Helena Minginowicz paints portraits on paper towels, and Jonathan Calugi fills whole scenes without lifting the pen. Read more → (Moss and Fog)

🌬️ Eight Things a Psychologist Wants Anxious People to Try - Christian Jarrett sets out the short-term tools, including box breathing and the five-four-three-two-one grounding exercise, alongside the longer-term ones, among them scheduling a daily “worry window” so the churning has somewhere to go instead of following you around all day. Read more → (BBC Science Focus)

🪁 Seventy-Five Thousand Paper Kites Are Hanging From a Museum Ceiling in San Francisco - Jacob Hashimoto spent years assembling Giant Arc from nearly 75,000 hand-made bamboo and Japanese paper kites, suspended as a single drifting canopy in SFMOMA’s ground floor gallery, where it changes character hour by hour as daylight crosses the windows. Read more → (Colossal)

Michael J. Fox hadn't been to the Emmys in thirteen years.

When his name was read out last Monday night, the room was on its feet before he reached the microphone.

Then they stayed there.

He was present to accept the Bob Hope Humanitarian Award, thirty-five years after a doctor told him he had Parkinson's disease.

He was accompanied by his wife Tracy and their kids who sat front and centre.

He began by acknowledging Bob Hope, a man who spent decades giving back and entertaining troops while overseas.

"When it starts to get tough, he'd show up, he'd help.” Fox said.

He then shared with the room a question that had kept him quiet for seven long years:

"Would they laugh if they knew I was sick?"

Fox was an army kid.

His family moving around the country before settling in Burnaby, British Columbia.

At eighteen he left school and headed for Los Angeles with little to his name.

Money ran so thin that he sold half of his sectional couch to a neighbour to cover his groceries.

Then came his break.

In 1982 he was cast as Alex P. Keaton in Family Ties, a role that cast him into millions of living rooms, and saw him win him three Emmys in a row.

Then, in 1985 he became Marty McFly.

He would shoot Back to the Future through the night after spending full days on the sitcom set.

At just twenty-four, the kid from suburban B.C. had become one of the most famous faces on the planet.

More successful projects followed, resulting in more hits and greater global exposure.

Then, in 1991, while on the set of Doc Hollywood, he noticed his left little finger had begun to twitch.

The trip to the doctor led to a life changing diagnosis.

Young-onset Parkinson's disease.

He was twenty-nine.

That's a lot to carry at any age, let alone that young.

So he hid it.

At work, he chose to keep his hands busy with props and often leaned against desks and walls to steady himself.

He’d also time his medication perfectly so the tremors wouldn't show in front of others.

He would drink to cope, too.

He’s been quite open about that, and also about giving it up entirely soon after.

Then, in 1998, he shared his secret with the world.

Twenty-eight years later, at last weeks Emmys, he said:

"I was stunned by the support I got."

The response revitalised him.

Showing he hadn’t lost his abilities, and more importantly, that no one could take that away from him.

In 2000, he stepped back from his role at the time in Spin City, and started The Michael J. Fox Foundation for Parkinson's Research.

Six years later, he appeared in campaign ads for candidates that supported stem cell research, his body swaying as he spoke.

Rush Limbaugh, the most listened-to radio host in America at the time, told his audience that Fox was "either off his medication or acting", openly mocking Fox’s movements on air.

He had it completely backwards.

The swaying is called dyskinesia, and it results from Parkinson's medication rather than the disease itself.

Fox explained as much, using the moment to educate.

Pointing out that nobody could time it for effect, then proceeded to carry on.

In 2018, he required surgery on his spine, then soon after fell badly in his kitchen, shattering his arm.

He later admitted that this was the first time his optimism cracked.

He wrote his way back in his 2020 book, No Time Like the Future, his 2020 book.

A moving account of resilience, hope, fear and mortality, and how these things resonate in our lives.

His fix was gratitude.

The foundation has since grown into the world's largest nonprofit funder of Parkinson's research, with more than $3 billion behind it.

In 2023, scientists backed by the foundation unveiled a test that picks up the disease's biological fingerprint, a feat researchers had chased for decades.

And a quarter of a century on, he's still at it with progress and breakthroughs becoming a regular occurrence.

15 years ago, I attended Flight Centre Travel Group Global Awards in Paris.

It’s the event that everyone in the company chases all year.

Over three thousand of the top people from offices across the globe, wined, dined and celebrated, always with a great mucial act and a big-name keynote as a reward.

That year, the Canadian delegation were assigned seats right at the front of the stage.

The best view in the house.

No prize for guessing why.

The lights dropped and a video rolled.

The DeLorean.

The flux capacitor.

The engine firing up.

Cue Huey Lewis & the News.

And out walked Michael J.Fox himself.

I'll never forget the roar that went up from the Canadians around me.

Pride, and plenty of it, for one of our own.

As he shared his story, the room was completely quiet.

He was honest, open and laid it all out in front of us.

He didn't dress anything up.

He told us plainly and simply what life with Parkinson's was like.

I looked to my left, then to my right.

Friends and colleagues with tears streaming down their faces, not a dry eye in the house.

Sixteen years on, I can't recall his exact words.

I can easily recall the feeling though, that has never left me.

Secrets become heavy: Fox spent seven years hiding his diagnosis, braced for people to laugh. When he finally told them, they rallied around him instead. Most generally expect a harsher reaction than we ever actually receive.

Learn to laugh at yourself: Fox regualrly jokes about the shaking, the falls, even about not making eighty years old. That humour allows everyone around him to breathe. Making others comfortable while you're the one having the hard day is humility in its purest form.

Acceptance gives you something to push against: Fox accepted the disease, then spent twenty-six years funding the fight against it. Being honest about where you stand is how you find your footing.

I sat excitedly in that Parisian conference room expecting Marty McFly but I walked out having heard from someone far braver, and far more impressive.

Fox has never pretended any of this is easy.

None of it, despite keeping it to himself for many years.

Since then he’s been blunt, almost to the point of discomfort.

In 2023 he said out loud what most in his position keep behind closed doors:

"I'm not gonna lie, it's gettin' harder. It's gettin' tougher. Every day it's tougher."

Yet, he still shows up with jokes at the ready.

"It's a gift that keeps on taking," he says, "but it's a gift."

In his recent speech, Fox described Parkinson's as the role life handed him that he wasn't looking for.

I can confidently say he’s played this role with more grace than anything he ever did on screen.

Because this is real.

The kid in the DeLorean made a career out of going back and fixing things.

The man on that stage though, he can't go back at all.

He knows exactly where this ends.

So he's spent thirty-five years pushing the other way instead.

Funding the science, taking the hits and still cracking the jokes.

Not to save himself from Parkinson’s but save those coming along behind him.

That's a better story than any film he ever made.

The 2023 documentary “Still” covers all of this in Fox’s own words and it’s as funny as it is hard to watch. Check out the following trailer if you want to see more:

Last week my wife and I headed to the Danforth Music Hall in Toronto to see an Australian Pink Floyd cover band.

Partly because I wish I’d been lucky enough to witness the real thing in person, but also because it was happening 10 minutes up the road, so, why not?

The performance was outstanding from start to finish.

Their musicianship was superb and they managed to pay great respect to the original band while adding their own unique flair.

A super impressive light show was something else on top of it all.

Towards the end, a giant inflatable kangaroo came bouncing across the stage.

A cheeky nod to the pig that floated above the crowds on Pink Floyd's Animals tour back in the seventies.

I laughed and felt an odd sense of pride.

Then, on the drive home, I kept returning to the quality of the songs.

How a band could take on life's biggest questions so beautifully and in a way that still lands with fans fifty years later.

Every seat in that music hall was filled, proof of Pink Floyd’s staying power.

So this week, I'm recommending an album that needs no introduction.

The Dark Side of the Moon was released in March 1973 and sat on the Billboard 200 for more than 14 years straight.

It has now spent close to 1,000 weeks on that chart.

No album in history has spent longer.

Albums with a few catchy singles just don't have that level of staying power.

This one lasts because it explores the darker corners of life.

Time slipping away.

Money. Religion. Politics. Madness. Death.

And underneath all of it, growing up and leaving the innocence of childhood behind.

Sooner or later, all of this comes at us.

Pink Floyd looked every bit of it right in the eye, then created a remarkable piece of art.

The Dark Side of the Moon opens with a heartbeat and also closes with one.

In between, the ten tracks flow into each other so seamlessly that it's always best heard as one 43-minute ride.

"Time" is the song that has always spoken to me most.

It starts with a clatter of ringing clocks and becomes one of the most honest songs ever written about how quickly the years get away from us.

The end of the second verse explores time slipping by while we wait for someone to tell us when to run, only to discover the starting gun went off long ago:

Tired of lying in the sunshine, staying home to watch the rain
And you are young and life is long, and there is time to kill today
And then one day you find ten years have got behind you
No one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun

Everyone of us meets that moment eventually.

We look up and realise how much time has already passed.

I first heard that line when I was much younger, and it stuck.

For me, it's a warning about the chances we don't take and the risks we talk ourselves out of.

The trip we keep putting off.

The person we never quite allow in.

That's where regret forms, and regret ain’t a fun place to live.

Listen with headphones, in high quality: So much of this album lives in the details and you miss so much of it through a phone or while driving.

Play it on vinyl, if you can: This record was made to be heard from start to finish, with a pause to flip it over. That pause changes how you listen.

Listen to it once a year: Where you are in life changes which song reaches you, and how deeply. At twenty, it might be "Money." At forty, it might be "Time."

Every time I listen to this album, I come out the other side with new questions to ask and a few old ones answered.

Depending on where you're at in life, one of these songs will reach you in ways you won't see coming.

Some people find the record heavy, and fair enough, it goes to some hard places.

I've always believed you have to face those places head on.

The light in life comes from getting through loss, bouncing back from a setback, or surviving the seasons that test you.

When you come out the other side of these things, everything that comes after somehow feels richer.

If you expect life to be bright all the time, you're in for a lot of disappointment.

Hard things will happen to all of us.

It’s how we respond to them that sets the table for the rest of our lives.

Last week, the Hall was full of people from every generation singing along to songs about time, money and death.

None of them looked weighed down.

They looked like they were having the night of their lives.

So find a quiet evening, relax, put your headphones on and listen to the whole thing.

Just don't wait ten years to do it.

Please share; I'm always keen for great suggestions.

Some social media posts make us feel seen and seem to offer a comforting hand on the shoulder.

You know, the ones where the first line resonates deeply and the rest seems to mirror our own experience.

That feeling is instant.

The question of whether the information is true though?

That tends to come later, if it comes at all.

In 2005, on the first episode of The Colbert Report, Stephen Colbert gave that exact feeling a name.

Truthiness.

It’s the truth you know (and believe) in your gut, whatever the evidence says.

He meant it as a joke.

Just a year later, Merriam-Webster's readers voted it Word of the Year.

His joke has aged uncomfortably well.

A relatable post feels familiar before you've finished reading it to the end.

And to a busy brain, familiar often passes for true.

Psychologists also have a name for that shortcut.

The illusory truth effect.

When we hear a claim often enough, it can start to sound like common knowledge.

In 1977, Lynn Hasher and two colleagues asked university students to rate trivia statements as true or false.

They ran three rounds in total, two weeks apart, subtley slipping some of the same statements into each round.

Each time those statements were repeated?

The students rated them as more likely to be true.

It made no difference at all whether or not they were actually true.

In 2015, Lisa Fazio and her team at Duke tested whether knowing the truth keeps you safe from a repeated falsehood.

It doesn't.

At least, not reliably.

Even those surveyed who were fully aware that Scots traditionally wear kilts found the claim that Scots wear saris more credible as a group when they encountered it a second time.

It seems posts that come across as relatable get a bit of a head start, then the algorithm does the rest.

We see the same post again tomorrow.

A friend shares a slightly different version on the weekend.

And somewhere along the way, that nod hardens into a belief.

The cost of this process arrives later.

Our money, our health, the way we vote and the way we see our neighbour next door.

A decision based solely on something that ‘felt’ right will meet reality eventually.

And reality has no interest in how relatable a post was.

Notice when you nod: The moment a post makes you think "that's so me" is actually the moment to slow down.

Find the real claim: Strip away the story and the tone, and see what's left. Often it's a fact you could easily check in two minutes.

Question the familiar: If something feels true mostly because you've seen it everywhere, that's repetition talking rather than fact.

Be picky with the share button: Everything you share is a small vote. Give yours to posts that are both relatable AND factual.

I don't spend much time on social media, purposely.

Outside of this professional account, where I post and reply daily, I rarely scroll.

The nod itself doesn't need a social media feed to exist, though.

A claim that resonates with our own life slips past our filter just as easily via a news headline or even a chat over dinner.

Relatability does plenty of good, mind you.

It's how a lot of challenging concepts get heard at all.

The best teachers and educators manage both.

They get you nodding, then also hand you something solid to take home with you.

It goes wrong when the feeling itself is treated as the proof.

Reality maintains its own records.

That miracle diet.

The rumour about someone down the road that’s spreading at pace

Sooner or later, each claim will be measured against the reality of events.

So this week, keep the nod but add one question to every claim.

Is it true?

It takes a few seconds.

But what it saves you can be worth a lot more.

Transform your daily routine with my specially crafted gratitude journal.

Start (or end) each day with a moment of reflection and positivity.

As you develop daily your gratitude, you're also helping grant wishes to children facing critical illnesses.

It's a powerful cycle of hope and optimism.

🌟 What's Inside:

Ready to embrace the power of gratitude?

Click here to order a copy now!

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