Something is a Little Off

I'd been looking forward to this one for months.

Echo and the Bunnymen. My wife, some of my closest friends, and a band I've loved for the best part of 35 years. I'd spent weeks listening to them on loop beforehand - reacquainting myself with the back catalogue, making sure I could sing the bangers with the best of them on the night.

It was a good evening. Being there with great mates, hearing songs I've known since my teens - that bit delivered. But Ian McCulloch, brilliant as he is (was?), didn't quite connect with the room.

And when the frontman isn't really in it, something about the whole experience sits just slightly off. Not a disaster. Just not quite the gig I'd imagined.

I went home happy enough. But also mildly deflated.

What on Earth Is He Singing About?

Somewhere in the weeks of pre-gig listening, something mildly absurd happened.

I'd had "Seven Seas" on repeat - one of my favourite tracks - and mid-sing-along I suddenly caught myself. What was that lyric? Something about... kissing a tortoise shell?

I had to laugh. I'd been singing that line for years without once registering how genuinely strange it is. So I did what I usually do when something catches my curiosity - I asked Ferris, my AI thinking partner, what it actually meant.

The answer was unexpected.

"Seven Seas" isn't pinned down to one meaning, but the recurring sense of distance, drifting, and something unattainable can be read as a push to let go of what's behind you and keep moving forward. It's less a clear "message" and more a mood - restlessness, transition, and that slightly uncomfortable feeling that you can't stay where you are.

Oh. That's interesting.

Not life-changing. Not a thunderbolt. Just a quiet "well, that's relevant" moment from an unexpected corner.

Restlessness Isn't a Problem to Solve

Restlessness. Transition. The uncomfortable feeling that you can't stay where you are.

That combination turns up in my coaching work more than almost anything else. Not always named that clearly - often it arrives as "I'm not sure what's next" or "something feels off but I can't put my finger on it." Sometimes it's just a general sense of having outgrown something without knowing what to grow into.

And the thing most people get wrong about that feeling is assuming it means something has gone wrong. That they've peaked, or failed, or run out of road.

It doesn't mean any of that. More often, it's a signal. The beginning of something, not the end of it.

The Conversation Is Where It Starts

The mistake is sitting with that restlessness alone and hoping it clarifies on its own.

It rarely does.

Most of the transitions I've worked alongside didn't begin with a plan. They began with a conversation - with a coach, a trusted friend, a partner. Someone who could hold the space for an honest answer to the question: what do I actually want next?

That's where momentum comes from. Not from having it all figured out - from being willing to start talking about it.

You don't need to be a post-punk icon to have something worth saying about where you are. You just need someone to listen.

If any of this resonates, I'd love to have that conversation. Get in touch and let's talk about what's next.

(And if you were also at that gig and felt the same slight disconnect - I'd genuinely love to know it wasn't just me!)