
Cheers to 2025
Every New Year holds promise, as though it is any different from the turn of
I have experienced the most liberating times since I re-discovered my passion for writing”
I must confess that 2022 is speeding away much faster than I had anticipated. In one breath we are already in March!
One of the most frequently asked question I get about my blog is;
“How do you get to write every week despite your very hectic schedule?”
Sometimes I struggle to find a suitable answer. Other times I realize truly that it probably doesn’t make much sense how I get to write every week and explaining it would not do enough to assuage their curiosity.
It is absolutely true that my schedule can be better termed as “horrendous“.
Perhaps even self-inflicted because I abhor idleness!
During most week days, I am either an Engineer managing multiple projects on the road around the country with steep delivery timelines or an HR trainer passing and impacting knowledge to junior executives at a corporate office in Victoria Island or a virtual life coach listening in during a 45minute coaching sessions with young employees of a successful IT firm.
That leaves my weekends for pretty much every other thing. Which would mean that I juggle being a great father to three hyper active kids and a respectable and romantic husband to my very amiable wife, with writing fiction stories, memoirs and lending a voice to tropical issues that would benefit young minds and professionals alike. By being young, I mean you are presumably less than 50years old. No offense intended to our elders.
Many times during these short weekends, I manage to fit a family meet-up with my parents and siblings or occasionally enjoy the noisy company of old friends at an “Owambe” party dressed to the nines.
Despite my weekly schedule looking like that of most young professionals in Lagos who are desirous of making the most of the opportunities around them, I still manage to etch out at least 6hours to write!
To answer that question properly once and for all. I will elucidate further on how I manage to carve out 6 hours every weekend for my passion!
On most Saturday mornings, I am up at 6am. I get set to leave the house within 30minutes armed with a well rested brain, my HP laptop and a writing pad while dressed in a casual sporting gear heading to one of the fancy hotels in the heart of Lagos.
It’s like a ritual and perhaps the best part of my writing experience. My choice of which hotel lounge or lobby to use depends on my experience while at the selected venue. I have a strong preference for locations in close proximity to the sound of constantly running or gushing water as found near swimming pools. In its absence, I settle easily for the low hum of the central air condition unit and the occasional gentle pattering of waiters’ foot on the soft linoleum as they hurried quietly about their business.
At that hour, quietness is like a robe I adorn as I tap into my laptop to churn out a new post.
I also get to try out new and different breakfast from the hotel’s elaborate menu. Particularly the ones with French names. I love to nibble on something as I think through blank spaces in search of lost words to complement my stories.
This probably explains my increasing waistline.
I have met countless individuals during my writing expeditions too. I think sometimes they are just fascinated with the idea of someone waking up on Saturday morning to write. Other times I think they fancy the devotion and concentration that I give to the laptop screen as I tap away.
I often leave by noon and could repeat the cycle on a Sunday if the need arose.
Yes! Sometimes I am unable to get out of bed on Saturday mornings. I blame half of that time on hangovers. Other times, I would have no choice but to join in the house chores for the weekend and miss the ambience and the quiet solitude that the hotel offers. In its place, I will settle for the comfort of my dinning table, the loud screams of competing kids, the steady whiff of a lovely breakfast from the kitchen, the ferocious bark of my Caucasian -Max and the noisy rattle of generators of all sizes in the neighborhood.
Despite the work and family demand I still managed to churn out 111 blog post in all last year!
A good many of these post came from active contributors like Jolade, Dupe Bobadoye, Dr. Kbaba, Abidemi and a few other literary enthusiast. They made the journey worth the while.
There are probably about half a dozen post or a little more that I haven’t quite started or completed during the period, but I will get to them in good time.
This year alone, we have notched 27 post (January – March) and still counting.
The global count for blog post since inception (November 2019) is just about 280 posts!
Let’s drill down to 2021(Last year) to get a sense of the blog post that got the most views, the most page visits and was extensively shared. In short, the post that went viral!
The data for this is taken from google analytics and AFS analytics tools. Both are the primary source for monitoring the trend of visits to my website and the behavior of viewers.
Here we go;
1; Be audacious, take that blind leap – My interview story

You can read the post here
2; You have been ghosted – How to deal

You can read the post here
3; Come, lets do ponzi – if it sounds too good to be true, it probably is.

You can read this post here.
4; Unlocking hidden Potential

You can read the story here
5; 26 phone call etiquette tips – Know more

You can read the illuminating post here
6; What do women really want.

You may read the post here
7; Are you a paycheck away? – from abject despair

You can read the post here.
There you have it, I hope this was a good read.
Thank you for following!


Every New Year holds promise, as though it is any different from the turn of

In an era that increasingly demands hyper-specialization, Akin Akingbogun stands out as a refreshing anomaly. He is a man who refuses to be confined to a single box.

There is a particular kind of silence that falls on a man when the phone stops ringing, the proposals go unanswered, and the diary that once groaned under the weight of appointments sits quietly — almost mockingly — open. If you have ever been there, you know it.

Let me tell you something uncomfortable: the most generous person you know — the one who volunteers every weekend, donates quietly, never asks for anything in return — is probably getting something out of it. Not money. Maybe not even recognition. But something.

Adaeze had been awake since 4 a.m.
Not because she was anxious — though she was — but because this trip felt different. After eighteen months of follow-ups, phone calls, and PowerPoint presentations polished to a mirror shine, the deal was finally ready to close. An investor meeting in Abuja. A partnership that would change the trajectory of her small but gutsy consulting firm. She had triple-checked her flight, her documents, her outfit. She had prayed. She was ready.

When he told his father, Dare’s first response was a sigh. Then: “I told you to practice more. I told you months ago. You don’t listen. You never listen.”
There was no “I’m sorry, son.” No pause to let the boy simply feel the loss of the thing he wanted. Just a swift, seamless pivot to what Temi had done wrong — and, by extension, how Temi’s failure was evidence of Temi’s failure to take his father’s wisdom seriously.

I want to tell you something that took me embarrassingly long to learn. Not because the idea is complicated — it is not. But because it cuts against something deeply wired in us, something we are rarely honest enough to admit.

You are somewhere between forty and fifty-five. You looked in the mirror recently and had a thought you immediately dismissed. Maybe you googled something at 2am that you would never say out loud. Maybe you bought something expensive and impractical and told everyone it was an investment. Or maybe you just feel — quietly, persistently — like the life you built was supposed to feel better than this by now.

Anton Chekhov was a Russian physician and playwright — a man trained in the discipline of diagnosis before he became one of the most precise storytellers in the history of world literature. That combination of sensibilities matters, because the principle he articulated in the late nineteenth century was not merely a rule of dramatic craft. It was an observation about the nature of significance itself. About what it means for something to be present. About the relationship between introduction and consequence.

There is a prison that has no concrete walls, no iron bars, no guards posted at the gate. Nobody built it for you. Nobody sentenced you to it. And yet, for many people, it is the place they spend the better part of their lives — circling its perimeter, brushing their fingers against its invisible boundaries, and quietly retreating each time they feel the edge of something that might require more of them than they believe they can give.

Picture a hand holding sand. The tighter the grip, the faster the grains escape between the fingers. Ease the grip — open the palm, allow the hand to become a vessel rather than a vice — and the sand stays. This is one of the oldest paradoxes of leadership, and one of the least learned: that control, pursued too aggressively, produces the very loss of control it was designed to prevent.

There is a version of ambition that builds. And there is a version of ambition that consumes. From a distance — and especially from inside it — they look almost identical. Both are energetic. Both are forward-moving. Both speak the language of vision and possibility. The difference only becomes visible later, usually at the point of fracture, when what was built begins to come apart under the weight of what was promised.

There is a particular kind of organisational absurdity that most people who have ever worked in a company will recognise immediately. It is the policy that was clearly designed by someone who has never had to implement it. The restructuring that looked elegant on a slide deck and chaotic on the ground. The customer-facing process that was overhauled by a committee that has not spoken to a customer in years. The directive that arrives from above, fully formed and non-negotiable, that causes the people closest to the work to exchange a look — the kind of look that says, without words: they have no idea what we actually do here.

We have built an entire mythology around exhaustion. In boardrooms and business culture — perhaps nowhere more so than in the high-pressure, always-on professional culture many of us inhabit — busyness has become a currency. To be tired is to be serious. To be overwhelmed is to be important. To be burning out, quietly, is somehow proof that you are fully committed.
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5 thoughts on “Most Popular blog Post of 2021”
You are actually a prolific writer with great talents. I appreciate you and what you do. More strength and abundant wisdom.
Creativity is a trait every good writer has. Good writers task themselves to bring out new ideas or present old or common things in new and exciting ways, well done .
Yea am one of those guys who is still amazed at your writing skills and how you’re able to make time to put in such great posts. Well done Akin
After reading this particular post its very clear to me now how you manage your time out to write and I must say its a huge sacrifice…. Well done Akin, I really appreciate your gift ..
Thanks for bringing this together Duke. Was able to read some other posts I missed .