Welcome to The Second Act

by Sandy Burgham     I may have been the only one scribbling notes while listening to — namedrop alert — President Obama at that fancy schmancy dinner recently. While his observations on leadership were insightful, the one that has stuck with me is about when to give up power, when to stand aside to let younger, more relevant voices

by Sandy Burgham 1928/29 Hiroshima. My mother Michiko Burgham (nee Sado) with my uncles – Chikao and Nobuo – on either side of the Buddhist Priest, and a family friend to the left. Not pictured is my Uncle Muneo who just recently passed, he would have just been born at this point.   When I am in Hiroshima, my heart

by Sandy Burgham Hurrying my husband along recently as he avoided going to the DIY store, I grabbed my keys and iPhone and shouted out, “Oookayyy, let’s go!”   While he remained stubbornly silent, a clipped British voice responded, somewhat eager to please: “I’m ok if you’re ok”! Turns out, I had inadvertently activated Siri, the iPhone personal assistant.  

by Sandy Burgham I was both intrigued and a little saddened to hear that the most popular course, ever, at Yale is a recent addition to their curriculum. “Psychology and the Good Life” is a basic happiness course that teaches young ones how to be happy and flourish. Around a quarter of the student body has enrolled in it. It

by Sandy Burgham I am half Asian, half Pākehā. But this is a fairly recent thing. I was born to a Japanese mother, and until say, 10 years or so ago, I had always thought of myself as half-Japanese. When kids at school found out Mum was Japanese — a fact of which I was, and am, extremely proud —

by Sandy Burgham For this issue I really wanted to write about my favourite subject, feminism after 50. But as it’s the Christmas issue, I felt a moral obligation to join in the festivities, so to speak, with something a little more cheery. And as I’d recently become aware that some are still pondering that age-old pearler of “what do

by Sandy Burgham I recently came face to face with my own mortality, and so, my age. With a firm — yet perhaps misguided — belief that mid-life, fit and healthy people like me “don’t get sick,” I ended up travelling to Auckland Hospital by ambulance after a particularly bad chest infection morphed with asthma, leaving me gasping for air.

by Sandy Burgham I have always been loathe to call myself a life coach as it sounds lightweight and fluffy and strangely indulgent like having a personal aromatherapist.  But because I work in the area of leadership development, it is important to consider that the leader cannot help bring their whole self, their beliefs and values, hopes and dreams to

by Sandy Burgham Every year my Dad, now 90 years old, books several tickets to the NZ International Film Festival, the mid-winter Auckland delight that stops some escaping to Fiji in July. This year, my sisters and I press-ganged him into agreeing with our executive decision that he was no longer allowed to attend the movies alone; we insisted a

By Sandy Burgham My friend told me recently that she was going grey. The poor thing. It must be terrible for her, ageing and all that. She’s 51 and has decided to stop colouring her hair and hence is going through a rapid ageing process, as if leaving Shangri-La by the back entrance. We’re treating her as a case study