Vitality.Guru

11/04/2025

29/03/2025

Ever said “yes” when you meant “not really”?

We’ve all done it. I have.
Agreed to something out of guilt, habit, or fear of letting someone down.

A friend invites you to something you don’t want to attend.
A colleague asks for help at the weekend.
A parent expects your time—again.

You smile and say “yes”…
But inside, there’s a quiet “ugh.”

In The Devil Wears Prada, Andy says yes to everything in the name of success—until she realises she’s lost herself.

Here’s the problem with that kind of yes:
It’s not a choice. It’s a coping mechanism.

And when your yes is weak, no one really wins.

You show up half-hearted, slightly resentful, not fully present.

You tell yourself you’re doing it for them—but you’re also making them responsible for your mood.

(And let’s be honest, you’re not exactly great company in that state.)

Here’s what I suggest instead:

✅ Either say “no”—clearly, kindly, without guilt.

✅ Or say “yes”—but really mean it. Commit. Decide to show up fully, as your best self.

Because a clean “no” is always kinder than a reluctant “yes.”

Who or what in your life are you saying yes to—when you’d be better off saying no?

Maybe today’s the day to choose.

28/03/2025

26/03/2025

In the boardrooms of British television—where egos and voices clashed—I found a different kind of power.

I spent years thinking I wasn’t confident—because I wasn’t loud or hyper masculine.

In the early 2000s, ours was an industry where confidence was performed—loudly.

Meetings often felt like contests: whoever interrupted most, projected the most certainty, or simply took up the most space tended to win.
It was a world where power was largely held by men. Around most tables, it was men talking to men. Straight, white, middle-aged, privately educated men.

And some would argue, not much has changed.

As a gay man who’d grown up hyper-aware of other people’s moods and expectations—someone who learned early to read the room before I entered it—I didn’t have that built-in entitlement.

So instead, I focused on being creative. I came up with ideas. And I poured my energy into pleasing the people who seemed “more important than me.”

But even as I delivered, stayed creative, and made things happen, I wasn’t self-expressed, I wasn’t growing—I was accommodating.

What changed everything was noticing that not all power had to be loud.

I started paying attention to a different kind of leadership in the people I worked with:

Peter Bazalgette then Chairman of Endemol UK, didn’t dominate rooms—he steered them. Thoughtfully, gently, often playfully,and with purpose.

Patrick Younge, former Chief Creative Officer at BBC Studios, is someone I’ve long admired. Although I never worked directly with him, I’ve watched how he leads with composure, intelligence and strength—never needing to posture to make an impact.

Michael Grade, during his time as Chairman of ITV, brought a disarmingly friendly, approachable energy to every interaction. His confidence wasn’t performative—it was deeply rooted.

22/03/2025

What if one text could bring an old friend back into your life?

Who’s the first person that just popped into your head?

You miss them. They probably miss you too. So what’s stopping you?

There are people I used to see all the time—old school friends, former colleagues—who I haven’t reached out to in years, since the Pandemic.

And of course, they haven’t reached out to me either.

I see this pattern with many of my clients too, particularly men.

They miss their friends, but they don’t reach out. And when I ask why, the answers are always the same:

🔹 “It’s been too long.”

🔹 “I wouldn’t even know what to say.”

🔹 “If they wanted to be in touch, they would have reached out by now.”

A recent study published in Communications Psychology shows this is very common .

Researchers found that while 90% of people have lost touch with a friend they still care about, 70% hesitate to reconnect.

Even when they believe their friend would appreciate hearing from them, fewer than one-third actually send the message.

And yet, when people do reach out, the response is overwhelmingly positive.

What if they’re waiting for you to make the first move?

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So if there’s someone you’ve been meaning to reach out to, someone you miss, here’s what I know helps:

✅ Keep it simple. A short text, a voice note, or even a funny meme can go a long way.

✅ Don’t overthink it. You don’t need to explain why it’s been a while. Just say hi.

✅ Trust they’ll be glad to hear from you. Because chances are, they will.

Who’s someone you’ve been meaning to reconnect with?

Maybe today’s the day.

Some of you will be getting a text from me. And I hope to see you very soon.

PS the picture below is of three friends. I am thankfully in touch with, taken last September.

19/03/2025

The day the axe fell on me at ITV Studios

📅 July 7, 2010—I opened The Hollywood Reporter and saw my name.

“Blumenfeld to leave ITV Studios.”

I had been told the day before, but the headline made it official.

Two years earlier, ITV Studios had hired me to build their first-ever global formats team—a major step in my career.

I had always been an entrepreneur, having built and sold two independent production companies, but I found I loved the structure and security of a large organisation.

For the first time, I wasn’t steering a small boat in rough seas—I was part of a massive ocean liner that felt like it could weather any storm.

Until suddenly, I was the one walking the gangplank.
I had spent two years building and leading a team that:

✅ Increased international production revenues by 41% to £138 million.
✅ Launched new divisions in Germany, France, Spain and Sweden
✅ Created a fund which spawned The Chase
✅ Sold Four Weddings to 23 territories, including the US.
✅ Expanded global productions of I’m a Celebrity… Get Me Out of Here and Come Dine With Me, securing their place as enduring global formats.

And yet, seemingly overnight, I was out.

Chairman Michael Grade exited. A new management team came in.

And with them? A wave of redundancies.

Because I was one of the first to go, it felt personal.

Every single member of the 12-strong global formats team who I had hired was kept on. And while I was relieved for them, it was confusing.

I told myself I wasn’t good enough. That I wasn’t wanted.

And when your identity is wrapped up in what you do, losing your job feels like losing a part of yourself.

It took time to realise:

🔹 Layoffs aren’t personal.
But they always feel personal.

🔹 Your work is not your worth. No title, role, or company defines you.

🔹 Even the biggest, most secure ships can change course overnight.

ITV was my safety net.
Losing it forced me to step back onto the high wire of reinventing myself.

And in doing so, I found my true calling—helping founders, creatives, and leaders navigate their own career reinventions.

15/03/2025

Stuck in a rut? Like life’s lost its shine? What if the fix is simpler than you think?

I’ve felt it myself—that slow drag where days blur into one gray loop, with nothing to pull me forward.

I’ve seen it in my clients too, that quiet slump where they’re not just tired or bored—they’re missing anticipation.

When life feels heavy or just plain dull, it’s tempting to think something’s broken inside us. But it’s not. You’re not.

Anticipation is more than a fleeting thrill—it’s a lifeline. It’s that flicker of what’s next, the version of you waiting around the corner, the moments that haven’t happened yet but already make you smile.

It’s what keeps us going when the now feels like too much—or not enough.

Here’s the game-changer I stumbled on:
always have three things to look forward to—
something in your work life,
something in your personal life,
and a holiday.

It’s so simple, but it’s shifted everything for me. Suddenly, even the hardest days had a spark, a reason to keep pushing.

So if you’re feeling stuck or uninspired, maybe it’s not just “stress” or “exhaustion.” Maybe you’re craving something to look forward to. And that’s okay.

12/03/2025

The first time I got feedback, I didn’t just reject it—I took it as proof that I wasn’t good enough.

I was six years old, sitting at the kitchen table, proudly holding a letter I’d written to my cousins.

Then my father handed it back.

Spelling mistakes. Grammar issues. Messy handwriting.

So I rewrote it.

And then rewrote it again.

And again.

Until, finally, he said it was good enough to send.

I don’t remember the exact corrections he made. But I do remember how it felt. Like proof that I’d failed at something I didn’t even know I could fail at.

That was my first experience of feedback. And it shaped the way I received it for years.

The picture here is of me age 6 playing the violin, because I don’t have one of me writing a letter.

For most of us, feedback never feels neutral.

Even when it’s framed constructively, we often hear:

🔹 Criticism, not information.

🔹 A judgment on who we are, not just what we do.

🔹 Something to resist, not embrace.

But what if we could hear feedback differently?

Think about it like this: Imagine someone saying to you…

➡️ More chocolate biscuits.
➡️ Fewer chocolate biscuits.
➡️ You never offer me chocolate biscuits, and I’d love it if you did.

It’s not emotional. It’s not an attack. It’s just information.

That’s exactly how I now try to receive feedback—without attaching meaning to it.

I don’t have to take every piece of feedback on board.

But I do need to listen, so resentment doesn’t build up in the background.

A simple way to start? Instead of waiting for feedback to come to you (often when something has gone wrong), ask for it—but in a way that makes it easier to hear. Try this:

1️⃣ What are you getting from me that you’d like more of?

2️⃣ What are you getting from me that you’d like less of?

3️⃣ What are you not getting from me that you’d like?

No drama. No defensiveness. Just information.

You don’t have to act on every piece of feedback. But you do have to listen.

What’s the best (or worst) feedback you’ve ever received? How did you handle it?

08/03/2025

Do you celebrate as much as you complain?

If you’re like me, you don’t hesitate to mark the difficult moments.

When a colleague takes credit for your work, you tell someone about it.

When a friend lets you down, you replay the conversation in your head.

When life feels unfair, you feel it—deeply, vocally, unmistakably.

We share our struggles. We externalize them. We make them real through our words, our tone, our energy.

And we’re not wrong to do this—frustration, anger, and sadness create connection. They say, I’m struggling. Are you struggling too?

But I’ve noticed something.

When things go right—when a problem resolves, when we get the break we were waiting for, when we finally feel better—we don’t always mark it with the same intensity.

And maybe that matters.

The world we see is the world we speak

The news cycle works the same way.

Fear and outrage spread fast. The algorithm prioritizes what gets the biggest reaction. If something is terrible, we will hear about it.

But joy, progress, repair? They don’t travel as quickly. They don’t dominate the narrative.

It’s not that good things aren’t happening. It’s that we don’t talk about them as much.

And in our personal lives, we do the same.

We bond through hardship, but when things go well? We move on. We don’t stop to feel it fully.

And that’s a loss.

Noticing, marking, keeping

We celebrate the big milestones—weddings, birthdays, promotions. But what about the smaller ones?

The day a painful memory lost its power.
The moment you responded differently than you would have a year ago.
The quiet shift when something finally felt different.

Do you stop? Do you acknowledge it?

Not necessarily with champagne and fireworks (though why not, if that’s your thing?).

Maybe with a deep breath and a this mattered.
Maybe with a call to a friend—not to vent, but to share joy.
Maybe with a toast, a song, a walk, a moment of stillness—something to let it land. What in your life—big or small, quiet or loud—deserves to be honored today?

20/09/2024

In June 2021, I woke up nearly blind.

My vision had deteriorated overnight, and I was rushed to intensive care with no clear diagnosis.

The doctors were unsure if it was multiple sclerosis, a genetic disorder, or something else.

Alone in the hospital, my confidence plummeted.

I questioned whether I could continue my work, fearing my clients would see me as weak if they knew what I was facing.

I hesitated to share what I was going through, thinking vulnerability might make me appear less capable. But then I realized if one of my clients were in my situation, I’d encourage them to open up.
So, I posted about my experience, sharing my fear and uncertainty.

The response was overwhelming. People I knew—friends, colleagues, even clients—began opening up about their own struggles. I realized that by showing vulnerability, I wasn’t weakening myself; I was strengthening my connection with others.

Vulnerability isn’t a weakness. It’s a bridge to deeper, more authentic relationships.

Being vulnerable reminds us that no one is perfect, and perfection isn’t what brings people together.

What connects us is our shared humanity, our fears, and the courage to show up despite them. That experience taught me that, even in my darkest moments, vulnerability is my greatest strength.

16/09/2024

Have you outgrown your mentor? Maybe even surpassed them?

You don’t want to cut ties, but now you’re stuck in an awkward space between former mentee and professional equal.

In my latest Dear Remy column for The Hollywood Reporter *

One of my readers asked how I would tackle this tricky situation:

“Steve has been my mentor for 30 years… but I’ve surpassed him. He still calls my landline, offering his ‘Words of Wisdom,’ and refers to me as his ‘protégée’ at industry parties.”

If you’ve found yourself in a similar position…

Here are 3 tips on how to navigate this delicate situation:

1) Pivot the relationship

Instead of “dumping” your mentor, could it become more of a nostalgic check-in?

2) Communicate your needs

Be honest. “I’ve appreciated your advice, but I’m in a different place now, focusing on new challenges.”

3) Don’t burn bridges

You never know when their skillset or perspective might be valuable again.

I also explore challenges around typecasting and a prop master’s moral dilemma in this week’s column. 🎭

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🖋️ Are you ready for support accomplishing your next big career milestone?

I help creatives navigate tough career choices every day.