I woke up on Saturday morning to find I couldn't lift my hand up with my when my palm was facing downwards. No pain, no numbness, just intermittent pins and needles or tingling and no power in the upper side of my wrist.

I can move my fingers and grip, though not as powerfully as usual. If I put my palm facing upwards I can lift my hand up. My coordination is not as good as normal, which isn't saying much.

I recently read three very different takes on the world as it is now and how it compares to the past. One was this article in the Guardian, "The age of anger", another Margaret Wheatley's new book, "Who Do We Choose To Be?: Facing Reality, Claiming Leadership, Restoring Sanity" and the third, a book by Magenta Pixie, "Masters of the Matrix: Becoming the Architect of Your Reality and Activating the Original Human Template".

All used very different lenses — political, historical, leadership, spiritual and more — but all had a similar theme. The world, at this time, is in a state of flux.

Last week I started taking anti-anxiety medication. After six years, starting with the neighbours in 2011-2012 and culminating in the car saga earlier this year, I decided I needed help. I was sick of feeling like shit most of time.

So I went to my GP last week and asked for help. He assessed me on the Kessler (K10) scale for depression and anxiety — I scored 30 out of 50, qualifying me for treatment with SRRIs (Selective Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitors) and psychological therapy.

On Sunday my PA was sick and didn't arrive at 9.30 as planned. I called and texted and finally received a reply at 10.45am. Meanwhile I texted a couple of my other PAs — one was in West Auckland and couldn't make it for an hour, another didn't reply and another was on a yoga retreat.

I eventually texted a friend who lives nearby. I began writing this while I waited for her, to help me put my shoes and socks on, take my pills and then go out to brunch.

When I began working for myself in 1998 I read a book — I can't remember which — that made an important distinction between hard work and difficult work. I've never forgotten it.

Hard work is about being persistent, disciplined, committed and, sometimes, working long hours (especially in the case of starting a business). Difficult work is complicated, confusing or highly technical — it takes a certain level of intellectual or specialist "grunt" to achieve the desired outcome.

Inclusion. Such a buzzword of our time. But, as I've written before, inclusion is but a whisper away from assimilation and colonisation. Currently, inclusion asks, "How can we include others in the mainstream? But, what if we asked, "How can we include the mainstream in others?" instead?

One of my clients, Be. Accessible, is achieving this inside-out version of inclusion admirably by referring to disabled people as access citizens and pointing out that, at some time in our lives (whether due to ageing, temporary or permanent injury or illness), everyone will be an access citizen. This disrupts the conversation about one in four people having 'special' needs (them) and the rest (us). It reframes the conversation — we're all in the same boat in regards to needing spaces and places to be accessible. This framing invites the mainstream into the access community.

In my last post I provocatively suggested using the word 'common' instead of 'similar', saying that, "Using 'common' removes the positive leaning of 'similar' and suggests a more ordinary, even boring connotation" (my emphasis).

My frolleague* in leadership, Lesley, reminded me that author Margaret Wheatley often writes about the importance of common interests in leadership and social change. A couple of quotes:

I often write and talk about my simple definition of diversity: the synergy of our uniqueness and commonality.

In other words, the combined effect or interaction based on our differences and similarities. And we're all both similar to and different from each other, all 7.508 billion of us.

When it comes to the future, we're pretty conditioned to expect certainty. Whether it's what we're going to say next, what's happening tomorrow, what the outcome of a project is going to be, or what life will be like in five years time, we want to know beforehand. We crave certainty.

Expectations are the outcome of this need to know what's going to happen before it does — and anxiety about things not going to plan.

Nearly two months after getting my new car, I'm still deeply uncomfortable about driving it. Partly this is because of the things that have gone wrong since I've had it — being unable to get out of it and, as recently as last Monday, not being able to get in.

However, I also feel nervous driving it. It's very different than my Mazda, which I've had for around 10 years. From memory I felt much more confident driving it when I first got it, but maybe I've just forgotten.