.SOMETIMES RAW.

Who am I to offer life advice, but here goes. In a fun way, because humor and smiling wins. Enjoy!

How do I live longer?
Stress is a leading cause of early death. Avoid stress by spending every single day thinking about what you need to do to not die. If that doesn’t work, try meditation. Close your eyes, take deep breaths, and remember that each second of meditation is a battle in the war on Father Time. Good luck, soldier.

How important is sleep?
Nothing is more important than a good night’s sleep. So-called “friends” will invite you out for long nights of drinks, dancing, and “companionship.” Recognize this danger and return to your bed or couch.

So what’s a good sleep schedule?
Wake up at 4:30 a.m., no exceptions. The smug satisfaction of telling everyone you wake up at 4:30 a.m. will power you for at least one hundred years.

What’s your best tip?
Research shows nasal breathing is healthier than mouth breathing. Duct tape your mouth shut and only breathe through your nose. When someone asks if you’re being held hostage, blink twice to let them know you heard about this on a podcast.

What should my diet look like?
Meat would be healthy, but it’s full of microplastics. Fruits and vegetables would be healthy, but they’re doused in pesticides. Play it safe with a diet of powders, potions, shakes, and sludge. The healthiest foods come from cardboard boxes you can order on your phone. Keep in mind, strong muscles need protein. Chug protein like your life depends on it, because it literally does. Consume so much protein your kidneys can’t process it, then when your doctor tells you to stop, say, “I bet that’s exactly what Big Pharma wants me to do, isn’t it?” And of course, never consume seed oils. Don’t even google “seed oils.” If you don’t actually know what seed oils are, they can’t hurt you.

Can modern medicine be trusted?
Doctors make money by keeping you sick. Beat the system and get all your medical advice from the Internet. Take as many supplements as humanly possible. Bonus points if those supplements are illegal in your country.

Any advice for long-term brain health?
Keep your mind young and nimble by reading widely. Read books about history, self-sufficiency, how to grow things, how to be at peace with yourself, and how not to kill your kid(s). Solve The New York Times crossword puzzle daily.

Do you recommend skincare? I want to look younger too.
If you look good, you feel good. Get a skincare regimen to prevent signs of aging. Dry skin? Moisturize. Gray hair? Dye it. Sagging skin? Botox and Filler up as much as possible. Don’t worry about side effects. Don’t appreciate the way you look.

Is sun exposure okay?
The sun is poisonous. It will give you cancer, or worse, wrinkles. Avoid sun exposure at all costs. Drown yourself in sunscreen. Live underground. Find a pack of moles and slowly embed yourself in their society. Teach the moles about the benefits of intermittent fasting.

What about exercise?
For a long, healthy life, lift weights. Model your health on strong men who are built like commercial freezers and top looking models with zero flaws. Obviously, they are never photoshopped, and they ALL look exactly like in the picture in those dumb beauty magazines you read. Look for the classic markers of good health: taut skin, bloodshot eyes, and hair growing out of places you didn’t know existed.

What if I am in a toxic relationship?
Get out and stay single. Also, have no kids. Like zero. No marriage, and no kids.

Just give me your last piece of advice.
Death is a prison. To live forever is to break free. We must escape and fly high, like Icarus. Icarus escaped prison. Icarus flew high. He challenged the gods. I haven’t read the whole story, but that sounds like a pretty cool guy to base my life around. You should too.

It’s 9:45 p.m. You put in an extra, late spurt – for supper, you had a toasted sandwich at your desk, brushing the occasional crumb from the keyboard while you kept at it. It was difficult. But now it’s done. You have made the progress you had hoped to. Probably, it will all start again in the morning, but you will be working off a solid base – it won’t be the familiar scramble to catch up.

You are worn out. You had to make yourself stick at it – but now you are glad you did. There is a gentle ache in the middle of your back. You yawn and turn your neck from side to side; you stretch around and try to massage an awkward spot below your left shoulder blade. In a while, you will need to head off to bed – but not just yet. It is nice to linger and spin out the moment of repletion. It is lovely to saunter about and make a cup of tea. You might flick indifferently through the newspaper. You can’t get engaged: your brain has done its work and shies away from any further efforts.

The pleasure we feel after a good but hard day’s work is linked to a positive experience of willpower. It was tempting to break off; you could have put it off until tomorrow (you have often done that in the past); you could have become distracted (which is achingly familiar); you could have stayed physically at your desk but actually been fantasising about trips to in New York and Japan next year or finding out what your favorite author is up to at the moment. But you didn’t. You stuck with the big thing.

It’s also to do with a sense of mastery: in anticipation, we slightly feared the task. But we got on top of this tricky thing, and we tamed it. There were points when it felt we might not: it was too difficult; a solution seemed elusive; there were too many things we were trying to get right at the same time; a mass of details needed to be reduced to a simple, coherent shape – though it wasn’t at all obvious what this could be. An awkward email needed a tactful but firm response; a refusal had to be delivered without a sting; a criticism needed to be put forward delicately but very clearly. A hunch had to be turned into a proposal – and there is always a difficult point at which what had, from a distance, seemed like a good idea starts to look much less impressive close up, yet it was onto something …. only what exactly? Maybe you had to revise a report, and you dreaded unpicking work you had already done and facing the same old issues once again. We have been labouring against the normal forces of disintegration. Things that were scattered and messy have been brought together, harmonised, tidied up, elucidated. We have done something fundamental. We have held back the tide of chaos.

The pleasure of a long, productive project hints at a bigger theme. It is not simply about this moment and the particular tasks we have polished off. It is a promise that other problems can be faced as well. We are reminded of a capacity within ourselves to deal with difficulties, to get on top of challenges and to keep going until they are under control. We are seeing in ourselves an antidote to the fear of drifting. We naturally worry we will be swamped by demands; we know our own unfortunate tendency to let things fester. But right now, we are conscious of something else. We are capable of rousing ourselves, of focus and of sustained efforts. We can stick with something difficult and keep going through the temptations to break off and seek distraction. We have been just a little bit heroic, and we know it, and it feels nice.

Exhaustion is – all too often – a reason to have to give up because one’s strength has failed too soon. The brain starts to melt when really we should be getting on with a big task; the mind is worn out, while the problem remains unsolved. Instead, now, we are experiencing honourable or worthy tiredness. Instead of getting annoyed with ourselves for lacking energy, our pleasant tiredness feels like the natural and just reward for our labours. It’s setting us up for a good night’s sleep.

With this being said, my new book has been born.

Order it from any bookstore or on Amazon.

https://www.buchschmiede.at/app/book/263072-Daniela-Henry-The-Average-of-All-Possible-Things;bookType=PB

Thank you so much for reading my stuff.

I told the cleaning ladies to clean all the mirrors first. They really don’t listen, do they.

Some people seem to have it all. Money, fame, mansions, you name it. I always wonder how the super-rich live on a daily basis. But are they truly happy? When money is no issue, when you can do whatever you want. Maybe, maybe not. But it would be fun to live this kind of life for one day. Now, it’s unlikely for wealth to make one miserable. My point here isn’t that money is unimportant; it’s that if we have money without love, freedom, and a well-understood life, we will never be truly happy. And if we have them, but are missing the fortune, we can never be truly unhappy. It’s nice to have an expensive watch, but the watch will never be enough — feel enough — without having someone who will make you lose track of time. But real luxury in life to me is more time, health, financial peace, peace of mind, sense of purpose, restorative sleep, time in nature, meaningful connections and of course travel and time for fun. Here in Riyadh, it seems, ones is surrounded by money. The air smells like money and the abundance of things is enormous. So, to live like the super rich do, here in Riyadh, this is how I imagine it looks.

I play hide-and-seek in my 6000 square meter mansion with my son, both of us dressed in silk loungewear made out of gold. Sometimes, we don’t see each other for day because it is so big. We switch to silk Bisht (a formal, often gold-trimmed, outer cloak) and eat tons of dates and baclava for breakfast, prepared by our kitchen staff.

Later, I wear my new black Chanel dress to the opening of the latest camel and Arabian horse performance in a new overdimensional skyscraper that had been built overnight, enjoying the best and most expensive seats, actually on stage with the horses while they perform. Yeah, that kind of rich.

I own a silk Dior bathrobe exclusively for wafting silently from room to room when I’m home alone.

I celebrate the life of my best friend’s recently departed dog, who was run over by my Rolls-Royce. I am dressed again in black Chanel from head to toe out of respect for Monsieur Le Pooch.

My pilot was five minutes late for pickup, but I still arrived on time at my silent retreat at a Cistercian monastery in the Bahamas, carrying my Louis Vuitton yoga mat. I prepared for the occasion by getting Botox shots in my armpits to ensure that the sound of dripping sweat will not disturb me during scorpion pose.

My butler is contractually obligated to say everything sotto voce (a quiet voice, in case you don’t know. We use big words and terms only because we are fancy!) 

I take a therapist-mandated time-out, during which I must remove my Manolo Blahnik stiletto heels, sit in the corner of my therapist’s office (facing the wall), and remain silent for fifty-five minutes. My therapist is one of the leading proponents of Laconism, a school of psychiatry based on the belief that the best way to treat mental illness is not to speak about it.

I wear my Versace leather jumpsuit at a dinner invitation for diplomatic VIPs only. The US president will be present. Also, all the kings of all kingdoms.

I have a Bottega Veneta toiletry kit full of calming supplements and remedies. It is getting a little chilly outside while I am putting on my Prada wool scarf.

I hold in a fart in the ground-floor bathroom of the Ritz Carlton Hotel.

I bring a suitcase stuffed with Armani cashmere scarves to my lover’s castle. I do this so I can scatter them on the floor and sneak out without waking him the next morning. That’s how much I care about his work as the president of Kingdom INC. 

Now that I’ve created a foundation dedicated to making dates in all variations with real gold sprinkles, I always take care to wear my Valentino wrap coat for the dates headquarters’ annual active-shooter drill and mass casualties drill. 

I take a break from my busy day and read a book at the rooftop cafe of Ritz Carlton Hotel after having indulged in a lunch with too much lobster and caviar. 

When my Kingdom INC lover dumps me at charity date headquarters, I don’t make a scene. I save my screaming and sobbing for the soundproofed space our charity likes to call the “Date-Baclava-Chicken-Rice Room.” 

During my voluntary stay at the Psychiatric Hospital for the super rich, I am confined to a leather-padded cell, wearing a vintage, studded straitjacket designed by Karl Lagerfeld. 

I never talk about money. Only poor people do that.