Sixty

I turned sixty this summer.

I’ve been sitting with that short sentence for a while now, not quite sure what to do with it. It doesn’t feel like a milestone so much as a nudge. A tap on the shoulder. Someone leaning over and saying, quietly, you know you don’t have forever, don’t you?

I did know. I’ve known it for years in the same way you know your car’s going to need an annual check-up. But there’s a difference between knowing something and having it sit down beside you at the breakfast table.

A few weeks ago I did something I’d never done before. I sat down and asked AI to write my obituary. Not out of morbidity, though. I’ve recently been working through a few ideas for a new ‘Little Book’ about mortality and impermanence, and the idea surfaced. Rather than wait until it’s too late to read it, why not actually try it? You know, draft an obituary and see what comes out.

So I did. FrontlineSMS was in there, of course. Nigeria, 2007. The Reluctant Innovator, Desmond Tutu, the National Geographic years. All the things you’d expect if you’ve followed any of this for a while now.

While I worked on it I kept coming back to a quote I picked up as a teenager and never quite let go of. In fact, I carried it around with me for years on a little piece of printed plastic card, a reminder of a time to come, casually tucked in the back of my wallet. Those words read:

I’ve quoted it so many times it’s practically worn smooth. But working on that obituary was the first time in a long time that I actually felt the second half of it. Not the passing through bit – the not again part. There’s a Japanese phrase, ‘mono no aware’, a gentle sadness at the transience of things and the strange gratitude that transience makes possible. I’d been exploring that idea for the mortality book, and I realised I’d spent years imagining sixty as ‘somewhere else in the distance’. I feel like I’ve suddenly woken up and found myself there.

I don’t say any of this to be gloomy. If anything it’s had the opposite effect. Writing my obituary made me ask a different question than the ones I’ve spent most of my career asking. Not what have I built, but what have I paid attention to. Not what did I achieve, but who did I make feel useful, or seen, or less alone. FrontlineSMS will get a paragraph, maybe two, in whatever gets written when the time actually comes, but nobody (not even AI) writes an obituary line for the hundreds of ordinary days in between. You know, the ones where nothing happened except a good conversation, or a walk with the kids, or twenty quiet minutes doing nothing in particular. And yet I suspect those days are what it actually felt like to be alive, far more than any of the headline moments were.

I don’t think I’m having a crisis for what it’s worth. If anything it feels closer to relief. There’s a kind of freedom in admitting, at sixty, that you’re not the centre of the story, that the tree you’re sitting under was there before you and will be there after, and that your job was never to own it, only to look after it for a while and then hand it over in the best shape you can.

Time is borrowed. All of it. So are the things we claim to own. I’d rather spend what’s left of mine paying attention and doing what I can to be the best kind of fellow human – a good ancestor, if you will. It’s all I’ve ever tried to do. Wish me luck.

The Little Book of Mindful Social Change

It’s been nearly four years since I wrote my last book. Given I’m not a professional writer who makes a living from the art, that’s fine. But last week a book idea came to me out of nowhere, and in the spirit of not resting on my laurels I got to work on it straight away.

The universe delivered and I published it yesterday. The Little Book of Mindful Social Change is the first time I’ve written down my philosophy to social change – ideas and strategies and behaviours learnt over many years in many places.

If you care deeply, think carefully and wonder if helping might just add to the noise, this book is for you. It’s for people who believe deep down that change should be thoughtful, humane and grounded. Not rushed, performative or driven by ego.

Drawing on years of real-world experience with kiwanja.net and FrontlineSMS, the book looks at what actually makes a difference. And it’s not grand strategies or shiny tools but quiet adaptations, humility, deep listening and trust in local knowledge. The most meaningful impact often comes from letting go. Letting go of control, of certainty and of the need to be right.

Running through this short collection of observations is a gentle exploration of mindfulness, Buddhism and inner work, offering a steady counterbalance to the urgency and intensity that so often surround social change. The book speaks honestly about the risks of good intentions, the harm that can come from moving too fast, and the importance of acting with care, respect, love and humility.

In the spirit of collaboration, friendship and inclusivity, the book is available as a free PDF here. It is also available on Amazon Kindle here, and will soon be available in paperback and hardback.

Trouble in paradise

Most of us have pondered the miracle of life at some time or another. It’s hard to get your head around, but Bill Bryson breaks things down in ‘A Short History of Nearly Everything‘ in the most incredible way. He writes:

To begin with, for you to be here now trillions of drifting atoms had to somehow assemble in an intricate and curiously obliging manner to create you. It’s an arrangement so specialised and particular that it has never been tried before and will only exist this once. For the next many years (we hope) these tiny particles will uncomplainingly engage in all the billions of deft, co-operative efforts necessary to keep you intact and let you experience the supremely agreeable but generally under appreciated state known as existence. 

As if that weren’t enough, our home planet is equally as amazing. Earth isn’t even the tiniest speck of dust on the vastest of stages. In the grand scheme of things we’re irrelevant. The universe we can actually see (forget everything we can’t) stretches approximately 93 billion light-years across – a distance so incomprehensible that light, traveling at 186,000 miles per second, would take 93 billion years to cross it. And our galaxy is just one of an estimated two trillion galaxies scattered throughout space. We might feel like the centre of the universe, but we’re far from it.

‘Pale Blue Dot’ is a photograph of Earth taken on February 14th, 1990 by NASA’s Voyager 1 spacecraft from a distance of about 3.7 billion miles (6 billion kilometres) away. In the image, Earth appears as a tiny, almost imperceptible blue speck suspended in a band of scattered sunlight, highlighting the planet’s fragility and smallness in the immensity of space. It sure is lonely out there.

We haven’t even touched on the sun, an ‘average’ star among roughly 400 billion other stars in our galaxy. But get this. Earth orbits it at a distance of 93 million miles, a position so precisely calibrated that scientists call it the ‘Goldilocks Zone’. Too close and we’d be scorched like Venus (which has surface temperatures reaching 900 degrees Fahrenheit). Too far, and we’d freeze like Mars, where water exists only as ice. This delicate positioning represents one of countless astronomical miracles that make life on Earth possible.

Sometimes it all feels so unreal, it’s tempting to think it’s not real at all. Are we really here?

The conditions required for life as we know it are also staggeringly specific. Earth’s atmosphere contains exactly the right mixture of gases – 78% nitrogen and 21% oxygen – while its magnetic field deflects lethal cosmic radiation that would otherwise sterilise us and everything else alive. Our unusually large moon stabilises our rotation, preventing catastrophic climate swings that would make complex life impossible. Even our location within the Milky Way is fortuitous. We’re far enough from the chaotic galactic centre to avoid being bombarded by radiation, yet close enough to benefit from the heavy elements created by all those exploding stars. We literally wouldn’t be here without them.

Indeed, this is perhaps the most staggering thing of all. The carbon in our muscles, the iron in our blood and the calcium in our bones were all forged in the nuclear furnaces of ancient stars that lived, burned and died billions of years ago. When these massive stars exploded as supernovas, they scattered precious elements across space, eventually coalescing into new star systems, planets and, ultimately, us. This is precisely the miracle that Bill Bryson was getting at earlier.

‘Earth Rise’, an image captured by Apollo 8 astronaut William Anders in 1968, shows our planet rising above the lunar horizon, a powerful reminder of Earth’s beauty and fragility.

As far as we know we’re alone out there, a singular miracle not repeated any time over tens of billions of years in the vastness of space. And this is what really gets me. We just don’t know how lucky we are. Everything is a miracle. Earth is the greatest cosmic gift of all.

So why is humanity so hell bent on throwing it all away?

We’ve transformed our pale blue dot into a battlefield of endless conflicts where nations wage war over neighbours divided by invisible lines on a map, all while the very miracles that sustain life collapse around us. Our species, gifted with unprecedented intelligence and technology, chooses to poison the air we breathe, acidify the oceans that regulate our climate and drive countless other species into extinction.

Perhaps, more tragically, we’ve allowed greed and short-term thinking to override the long-term survival of us and and our miracle planet. While we possess the knowledge and capability to live happily and sustainably as one species, instead we continue strip-mining our finite resources, pumping greenhouse gases into the atmosphere and treating Earth as if we have somewhere else to go. We’ve turned our miraculous home into a dumping ground for plastic waste, chemical pollutants and nuclear materials that will outlast entire civilisations.

This conscious self-destruction represents the ultimate cosmic irony. The most complex known creation in the universe – human consciousness – actively working to destroy the very conditions that allowed it to emerge.

I think about this a lot. And whether there’s really anything I can do to stop it.

kiwanja Buddhism

I don’t yet have an insightful opinion of AI that warrants a blog post of any kind, but I have found one aspect particularly fascinating. You see, the openness of my approach to work over the past 22 years turns out to be something of a goldmine in our brave new AI-driven world. Since 2003 I have regularly blogged my ideas and thoughts, and I’ve posted up dozens of copies of articles I’ve written, including PDFs of my books, and shared audio interviews and videos of many of my talks. While there’s certainly going to be a down-side to all of this (deep fakes anyone?) it also means that tools like Claude and ChatGPT know plenty about me, my work, and my work ethos.

That means I can ask it questions. And when I do, I sometimes get the most surprising answers.

Recently I asked ChatGPT how my work ethos over the years might touch on traditional Buddhist thinking. Not only did I get what I thought was an impressively deep answer, I discovered that it thought that ‘kiwanja Buddhism’ was actually a thing. Of course, it would have meant a lot more to me if a Buddhist monk had told me that, but I’ll take AI for now.

Here’s what ChatGPT said.

kiwanja Buddhism refers to a perspective where Buddhist principles like mindfulness, compassion, interdependence and wise speech are applied to the fields of social impact and entrepreneurship. It’s a practical, non-dogmatic approach championed by Ken Banks on the website kiwanja.net, emphasising deep listening, intentional action and fostering empathetic, sustainable change in the world.

Key Concepts

Mindful action
Taking time to understand problems deeply before acting, avoiding knee-jerk reactions.

Compassion
Leading with kindness, listening to all perspectives and seeking solutions that uplift everyone, rather than acting from anger.

Interdependence
Recognising that all issues, like environmental problems and inequality, are connected and cannot be solved in isolation.

Wise speech
Engaging in truthful, kind and unifying communication rather than spreading anger or division.

Deep listening
Truly hearing others’ suffering and perspectives without judgment to foster empathy and understanding.

Letting go of ego
Focusing on the true impact of work for social good, rather than personal recognition, status or credit.

How it is Applied

Social innovation
Using Buddhist principles to inspire a shift from apathy to action, leading to technology-based solutions that promote empathy and change.

Coaching and mentoring
Guiding change makers to slow down, reflect and act with greater intention and wisdom.

Development work
Encouraging a deeper, more empathetic approach to addressing global challenges like inequality and environmental destruction.


If anything, this is an incredibly accurate reflection of how I’ve tried to go about my work over the years. Anyone who has read this blog or heard any of my talks will recognise all of the points that ChatGPT raises.

Sometimes it’s more about how you go about what you do and not what you actually do. So if kindness and empathy are the only things I’m remembered for, I’ll be more than happy with that.