Your life, reviewed and redesigned. Then running. In ninety days.
You cannot change the past. You can change the present — and with it, the future. For people who have more than they can hold and no one who sees the whole picture: in ninety days, your life is designed, decided and running.
Over-served on advice. Under-served on integration.
You have a lawyer, a banker, a doctor, perhaps a therapist or a coach. Each sees their slice. Nobody holds the whole, and nobody has the standing to say: stop — this is the priority.
So the big decisions wait. Sell or keep, stay or move, which venture, which relationship. Health and the people closest to you get what is left after the noise. And somewhere underneath, a quiet question: what is all this for?
Coaches work on the inner life, never the logistics. Chiefs of staff run the logistics, never the direction. Family offices manage the assets, not the life. What is missing is one person, for a limited time, who does all of it.
Three movements, always in this order.
The same framework for everyone; the weight shifts with the life. I call it The Integration.
Vision
Where do you want to be in five years, in every angle of your life? A full audit, then a written picture you will recognise as your own life, clearly set down for the first time.
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What happens. It begins with the diagnostic: the whole life mapped in the first two weeks. Then long conversations, in person where possible, angle by angle. I ask the questions your advisors are not paid to ask and your friends are too polite to.
What you leave with. A written five-year vision: ten angles, one page each, in your words and mine. People keep it in a drawer and read it more than they expect to.
For example. A founder might arrive asking which venture comes next, and leave knowing the real question is where to live and how much of the year to be reachable. Everything else follows from that.
Decisions
The handful of moves that actually get you there. What to stop, what to start, what to sell, what to delegate, who stays, where to live. Each one written, dated and owned.
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What happens. From the vision we draw out the five to ten decisions that actually change the next five years. We sequence them, name the hard conversations, and prepare for them. Where it helps, I am in the room.
What you leave with. A one-page decision sheet: each decision, its date, who owns it, and what it unblocks. Nothing vague survives this stage.
For example. Sell the second house, hand the family company to the sibling who wants it, stop a venture that only runs on pride, move the health work from "someday" to a date.
Operating system
The structure that keeps the vision alive after I leave. Priorities, routines, one place where everything lives, the right people, automation, a quarterly review. A life that runs.
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What happens. We build the structure around the decisions: priorities, routines, one place where the whole life lives, the right people in the right roles, the admin automated, a quarterly review you will actually hold.
What you leave with. A personal operating system that works without me, and a handover manual for whoever runs the day to day. Specialists briefed and introduced where needed.
For example. One dashboard in place of eleven apps and three assistants' inboxes; a Thursday that belongs to the family by design, not by accident.
Ninety days, with a defined end.
Not a yearly relationship. One intense engagement, priced as a project, that leaves you with a vision, a set of decisions and a life that runs without me.
The whole life, mapped. What exists, what is broken, what is noise.
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I do. Interviews with you and, with your permission, two or three people who see your life from the inside. A review of calendar, obligations, places, ventures, health and money at summary level.
You do. Three to four hours of conversation. Nothing to prepare.
Output. The life map: what exists, what is broken, what is noise, what is missing.
Ten angles, worked through. The five-year document, yours.
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I do. Working sessions on each of the ten angles, then the drafting. I write; you correct until it reads as yours.
You do. Five to six sessions over three weeks, and honesty.
Output. The five-year vision, written and signed off.
The list, sequenced and signed off. Hard conversations prepared.
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I do. Draw the decisions out of the vision, sequence them, challenge the ones that are avoidance in disguise, and prepare the conversations they require.
You do. Decide. This is the part nobody can do for you.
Output. The decision sheet: dated, owned, unblocked.
The operating system installed. Specialists briefed and introduced.
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I do. Design and install the operating system: priorities, routines, the hub, delegation, automation. Brief and introduce the specialists and fold their work into the whole.
You do. Show up for the handover and start using it.
Output. A life that runs; a handover manual; a diary that looks like the vision.
A half-day each quarter, if you want it. The vision kept alive.
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I do. A half-day each quarter: what moved, what slipped, what new decision life has put on the table.
You do. Keep the appointment.
Output. Four reviews a year. Optional, and recommended.
Where a specialist is needed — an integrative doctor for a full assessment, a wealth advisor, a lawyer, a systems builder — I introduce, brief and integrate. You contract them directly. I never bill for their work.
Different lives, the same need: someone to see the whole.
Everything done right, and still not the life you wanted. Time eaten by work; the questions about partner and family on someone else's clock.
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Where it goes wrong. Work gets the first ninety per cent of every day and the personal life is run on what is left. The important questions are deferred because they are not urgent.
What we do first. Put the personal angles — partner, family, health — at the top of the vision instead of the bottom, and rebuild the allocation of time around them.
Ninety days later. A calendar that reflects what you actually want, and the big personal decisions taken on your own timeline, not on fear.
More than you need, and no structure or purpose attached to it. Surrounded by people who want something. Feeling terrible and unable to say so.
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Where it goes wrong. Money arrived without a purpose attached, and everyone around you has an opinion on what it is for. Guilt and drift do the rest.
What we do first. Separate three things that have been fused: who you are, what the money is, and what your family expects. Then build your own vision, not theirs.
Ninety days later. A purpose of your own, a structure for the money that is yours, and a small circle of advisors you chose.
A surname that arrives before you do. Constant comparison, borrowed identity, difficulty trusting anyone new. A life story that is finally yours.
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Where it goes wrong. Comparison, constant and silent. Every new person is a question mark. Boundaries with the family and its machinery are unclear, so they are never held.
What we do first. The vision is written entirely in the first person — no family name in it. Then the boundaries: what you owe, what you do not, and how to say so.
Ninety days later. A life that is recognisably yours, a small trusted team, and discretion built into everything.
The company is sold; the identity went with it. Too many options, a family that barely saw you for a decade, and a day with no shape.
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Where it goes wrong. The company was the structure. Without it the days are formless, the options are endless, and the family that waited a decade is still waiting.
What we do first. Decide what the next decade is for before deciding what to do next week. Reconnect with partner and children as part of the vision, not an afterthought.
Ninety days later. A daily structure that is not a company, and a purpose you can describe in one sentence.
Businesses, properties, obligations — and you are the only integrator. Overwhelmed, with no single place where your life lives.
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Where it goes wrong. You are the only integrator. Every thread runs through you, nothing has a home, and prioritising feels like betrayal.
What we do first. The operating system: one hub, ruthless prioritisation, delegation to people with real authority, automation of everything recurring.
Ninety days later. A life you can see on one screen, run by a structure rather than by your memory.
Parallel lives, children leaving, the big joint decisions avoided. A shared vision, two operating systems, and a third person in the room.
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Where it goes wrong. Parallel lives: the joint decisions — where to live, how to spend, what next — are avoided because every conversation about them becomes an argument.
What we do first. One shared vision, written together, with the hard conversations held with me in the room. Then two operating systems, one each.
Ninety days later. The joint decisions taken, and a way of taking the next ones.
Not for you if you want therapy, a permanent assistant, or someone to agree with you.
The person people call.
I have been the person my friends call for as long as I can remember — long before I had any right to be. From my teens, people older than me brought me their tangled situations: a relationship, a job, a family decision, a practical mess nobody wanted to look at. I would listen, ask the questions nobody had asked, and lay the thing out until it was simple enough to decide.
I grew up in a large, traditional family with two parents who could not have been more different from each other — and who were, for exactly that reason, complementary. I learned early that most situations have more than one true reading, and that the best answer usually takes something from both.
Professionally I went the other way: a management degree, Deloitte, then real-estate investment in Portugal and the investment team of an international hotel group in London. Investment teaches you to look at a complex whole, decide what matters, allocate what is scarce and follow through. It turns out that is also what a life needs.
I am now completing Columbia University's coaching certification and bringing the two halves together. I am empathetic, but I am also direct, honest and pragmatic. I am not a therapist and do not pretend to be one. What I do is help people who have more than they can hold see their life whole, decide where it is going, and set it running.
Before you write.
Is this coaching?
No. Coaching works on you; this works on your life. I use coaching skills — I am completing Columbia's coaching certification — but you leave with a vision, decisions and a running system, not a habit of weekly sessions.
Is it therapy?
No, and I will say so if what you need is a therapist. I am not one, and I know several good ones.
What does it cost?
It is priced as a project, not by the hour, and quoted after the first conversation once I understand the scope. It is not cheap. It is considerably cheaper than one more year of deferred decisions.
How much of my time?
Roughly thirty hours across ninety days, front-loaded in the first five weeks. Most of it is conversation.
Is it confidential?
Absolutely. No client is ever named, no case is told in a way that could identify a person, and anyone I bring in signs the same terms.
Can we do it as a couple?
Yes. The couples edition builds one shared vision and two operating systems, with the hard conversations held with me in the room.
Where?
London and Lisbon in person; anywhere by video. The diagnostic and the vision are better in person.
I already have a chief of staff.
Good — keep them. A chief of staff runs the logistics; I set the direction and the structure they will run.
A conversation, not a form.
Write to me. We will talk for an hour about where your life is and whether this is the right thing for it. I take a small number of clients at a time, in London, Lisbon or wherever you are.