We are ultimately simply scared; scared of doing something and getting it wrong, of making a decision and realising that it didn’t improve anything. However, our inaction is also a form of choice, and not necessarily of the optimal kind.

The primary obstacle to good thinking is not a cramped desk or an uninteresting horizon. It is, first and foremost, anxiety.

It is a distinctive quirk of our minds that few of the emotions we carry in them are properly acknowledged, understood or truly felt.

A big worry in a competitive world is that we feel we can’t afford to be honest about how distressed or obsessed we are. Saying that one feels like a failure or a pervert could mean being dropped. The good listener signals that they don’t see us in these terms. Our vulnerability is something they warm to rather than being appalled by.

Life, properly felt, is an infinitely alarming process even in its apparently calmer stretches.

The core reason why we can’t hold onto our bigger, more essential ideas is because, even though they are frequently crucial to our development, they also tend to induce intense anxiety.

One part of us may want the butterfly thought to elude us so we won’t have to face up to a regret or loss. If we took a given new idea seriously, we might have to abandon a relationship, leave a job, ditch a friend, apologise to someone, rethink our sexuality or break a habit.

There is a fundamental distinction to be made between two kinds of thinking: figuring out what we would like to achieve, and working out how to achieve it. Put another way, there is a key difference between strategy on the one hand and execution on the other. Strategy is about determining our overall aims; execution comprises everything that

Moralistic thinking likes headlines; love thinking goes in search of stories.