Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Agency Culture, Ambition, Attitude & Aptitude, Career, Creativity, Dad, Mum, Mum & Dad
What is success?
Is it the job title you have?
The salary you are paid?
The area you live in?
The company you work for. Or with?
The satisfaction you get from whatever it is you do?
The strength to leave a job that is hurting you, even though they are paying you?
The health and wellbeing of your family?
Your friendship circle?
The number of talks you’re invited to be a part of?
Of course, the reality is its different things for different people … made up of many elements, rather than just one … and yet when you look at Linkedin, it appears the only metric worthy of success is one that reaffirms your professional status.
I get it, Linkedin is ‘supposedly’ a professional network … but the myopic view of success is tiring and, arguably, unhealthy.
An obsession with being seen as a ‘thought leader’ … a person who is ‘changing the industry’ … a person who is in an endless stream of ‘leadership positions’.
Don’t get me wrong, it takes a lot of work to achieve that, but there’s 3 issues.
A lot of the ‘thought leadership’ or ‘changing the industry’ being spouted and promoted is – on closer inspection – simply reciting old rules with new terms.
A lot of what the industry calls success is about what is said, rather than what is created.
A lot of the focus is on celebrating an individual, rather than acknowledging the group.
While I fully appreciate that even with this, there’s a lot of effort and commitment people put into it, not to mention it is not their fault the industry chooses to focus on points 2 and 3, rather than them actively pushing it – though some do – my issue is it not only sets a weird definition for success, it also means anyone entering the industry is being told the secret to their progress is not about quality of work, but how popular they can become.
But arguably, it is even worse than that.
Because it also says that the only success worth caring about is professional achievement.
Forget personal fulfilment.
Forget professional development.
Forget health, happiness and family.
If you’re not getting the likes, you’re not living a successful life.
This doesn’t mean you can’t be proud of what you do.
Or who you do it for.
Or even what you get because of it.
But myopically defining success in terms of salary and status is about as toxic as you can get – especially when there are so many people doing so many amazing things across the industry but are universally ignored because they don’t court fame or don’t play the game that the industry increasingly demands you play.
Our industry is a special industry, that can do special things … but we’re in the shit right now, fighting for our relevance, value and impact … and if we’re not careful, we’re in danger of focusing so much on elevating false gods and prophets, while we sink without a trace.
Doesn’t have to be the case … but it will require us to value those who make change rather than are popular for talking about it.
Or as my old man use to say to anyone who joined his firm:
“Be aware of those who need to let others know how smart and successful they are. They’re rarely as good as they like to think they are and elevate themselves up by bringing others down. They pretend they’re saints but behave like devils.”.
There’s a lot of people out there like that these days.
Worse, they’re getting rewarded handsomely for it.
Which is why – whether you are an old hand in the industry or new – it’s worth remembering something my Mum once said to me:
“Money doesn’t define success, it just lets you buy better groceries”.
We all have aspirations and ambitions.
It’s important we don’t confuse them with doing OK in life.
Especially when you remember so much of what many in the industry define as success, is as much down to luck, as it is talent.
OK, enough sanctimonious Paula Abdul x Oprah talk from me today. Even I feel a bit queasy.
See you tomorrow.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Dad, Daddyhood, Death, Emotion, Empathy, England, Family, Fatherhood, Love, Loyalty, Mum, Mum & Dad, My Childhood, My Fatherhood, Nottingham
When I was in Nottingham recently, I walked a lot.
Not simply because that’s what I do these days, but because it had been 18 months since I was last there and I sensed it would be even longer till I’m next there.
I walked around the streets I grew up in, down the roads my friends grew up in … through parks, past shops, along roads I’d only ever driven past when I was older. It was quite an emotional thing and I was left realizing how lucky I was to grow up in West Bridgford.
I never properly understood that.
For me, it was simply where I grew up … but because I’ve now lived in many places, across many countries [and because it was very sunny when I was there – ha] I appreciated what a special place it was. It is.
Of course, a big part of that is how much it has developed over the years – filled with cafes and independent shops, where previously there was just a ‘hot potato’ cafe and a Boots Chemist – but still, it always felt a haven to me. And in many ways it still does.
Not that I have any intention of moving back there. Maybe once I did … but no more.
The place, as much as I like it, is one filled with ghosts and memories – and while there is a lot to be said for that, I don’t know if I would ever be able to look past that if I moved back.
But it will always be important to me … it will always be a part of me … because it holds the house I grew up in. A house filled with love, memories, laughter and pain. A house where my parents ashes are scattered around their beloved garden.
I drove past the house a few times when I was there.
And I looked at it, feeling it was calling out to me.
A lot has changed since I lived there, but it still has the garden planting pot attached to the house that my Dad built and still has the note we left in the garage when we sold it. That last bit was added to the terms of the sale. That they couldn’t remove it for 20 years … which, having visited it 18 months ago, they have thankfully respected.
I loved that house.
I loved that street.
And while everything is the same, everything is different.
Which is why I was so happy when I went to pay a visit to the cemetery where my parents funerals were held.
Neither were religious and neither had their ashes there, but it was obviously a significant place for me – even if associated with deep sadness – which is why I had ensured I honored their life by having plaques made to be placed on display.
One for Dad in a beautiful rose bush.
One for Mum in a bright sunflower bed.
And then, for both of them, this …
A bench in the grounds of the cemetery, looking out onto the gardens.
It was very emotional finding it.
It felt very personal being with it.
A reconnection to my parents, my childhood, my home.
I’d looked for it – and the rose/sunflowers – last time I was there but couldn’t find it.
The cemetery is vast and would take days to walk everywhere, so was sad when I went away empty handed. But this time, I was determined and while I still couldn’t find the flower plaques, I somehow stumbled on the bench and it made me so happy.
Suddenly my parents were in the present. We were all together again.
And given so much has happened since my Dad passed in 1999, it was a moment for me to bring them up to date and introduce them to the life their beloved son has managed to pull-off. I say ‘pull off’, but the fact is, they gave me the lessons and encouragement that helped so much of it happen.
I miss my parents.
I miss West Bridgford.
But what this visit reinforced to me is you can take the boy away from his roots, but you can’t take the roots away from the boy.
And I’m so, so grateful for that fact.
Filed under: Australia, Emotion, England, Family, Love, Loyalty, Mum & Dad, Music, My Childhood
Someone recently asked me what I was proud of.
Specifically, what I had done in my life, that had made me proud.
I took a long time thinking about it.
Not because I had to run through a cavalcade of possible answers, but because when I took away the things that made me proud by association rather than personal involvement – like family and friends – there wasn’t a lot left.
After what seemed about an hour, I said 3 things.
That I had got healthy.
That I had managed to have a career.
That I had stayed true to who I was in pretty much all I did and do.
Take away the fact I only got heathy in the last 2 years and maybe that’s not a lot to be proud of for almost 55 years of life. But then, how many things should there be? What are the sort of things that can even be considered?
If the question was, ‘who are YOU proud of’ … I’d be here all week, rattling away names of people directly in my life or in my consciousness. But when it’s about what am I proud of doing … there’s not much.
It made me wonder if this means I’m hard on myself, down on myself or just a bit thick?
I’m sure if I was to ask Jill or my parents, they’d highlight a bunch of things I should be considering. But I must admit, I quite like that there’s not much that springs to mind. Not because I’m a sadist, but hopefully because it means I’m a realist.
You see over the years, I’ve met countless people who told me – with full sincerity – that they ‘knew’ they were going to be rich/successful/famous. And when I’d ask why – or how – they’d just reply with, “I just know”.
I always looked at them with a sense of awe.
I found their confidence of conviction amazing.
Because while I loved the idea that maybe one day, I may be successful at something, I never for once thought it was preordained. Shit like that didn’t happen to kids from Nottingham – oh no. If I wanted to stand a chance of achieving anything – however small – it would need me to graft for it.
And yet I distinctly remember my parents once worrying I didn’t have a good work ethic.
To be fair, I did go through a phase where I liked to stay in my bed. A lot.
On the other hand, I was about 14 years old, so did it really matter?
Well to my parents it did and while they didn’t give me chores around the home, they did have expectations of how I would behave.
That I’d go after the things that were important to me.
That I’d work hard to learn and experience all I could.
That I’d give my all in all I explored.
That I’d chase fulfillment over easy contentment.
The older I get, the more I realise how brilliant they were in how they raised me … because while they placed these expectations on my behaviour, they did it without ever making me feel pressure to ‘achieve’. In fact they were perfectly fine if I failed … the main focus was that I never phoned it in.
To them, laziness was an act of disrespect.
Not just to those who were giving you the opportunity, but to yourself.
I get why that was the case … because they had to work for every little thing they got.
Like, proper work for it.
In every part and period of their life, they faced trials and tribulations … which explains why it was so important to them I went into the things that mattered 100%. And when they sensed I was doing that, they would back me 100% … even if they didn’t really like what I was doing.
It’s why Dad backed me to become a musician, even though he wished I’d become a lawyer. It’s why Mum encouraged me to still move to Australia, even though Dad just had a terrible stroke. It’s why they supported me when I told them I didn’t want to go to university, even though it had been a dream of theirs.
For them, graft was a demonstration of taking something seriously … so maybe that’s another thing I can feel proud of because I never took the opportunities Mum and Dad created or sacrificed for me, for granted. I loved them far too much for that.
Thanks Mum. Thanks Dad.
Filed under: 2025, Birthday, Childhood, Dad, Death, Immaturity, Mum, Mum & Dad, My Childhood, My Fatherhood, Old, Parents
So it’s June.
That means we’re 6 months into the year already – WHATTHEACTUAL?!
It’s going to be a big month for me …
I’ve got a bunch of big meetings, a bunch of big travel, the small matter of giving a talk – with Paula – at Cannes and turning FIFTYFUCKINGFIVE.
Jesus Christ … I am now, proper old.
I appreciate the difference between 54 and 55 doesn’t seem massive, but let me tell you it is.
You see over the past few weeks, I’ve been receiving letters from the UK about my pension.
I’d never really received these before so it seemed a bit strange … strange enough for me to call them to find out what the hell was going on. And that’s where 2 things happened that shook me to my core.
The first was that they were letting me know that I was approaching a time where I could either ‘cash them in’ or move them into a different scheme. Given I’ve not lived in the UK for most of my adult life, there’s not much in there so I’ve never really paid attention to it.
It was at this point I asked how could I cash it in if I chose to … to which the very kind woman on the end of the line said:
“You just contact us 6 weeks before you turn 55 and we make it happen for you”.
I paused for a moment before replying,
“We are 6 weeks before I turn 55”.
And let me tell you, she was as shocked as me with that news – albeit her shock was because she hadn’t checked my date-of-birth whereas my shock was I could cash in – should I choose – my fucking pension.
How was this possible?
Pensions are for when people are ancient.
A 1000 years into the future. How the hell am I eligible for mine now?
But I guess I am … because I am ancient.
So ancient, I’m only 5 years off when my Dad died – which is terrifying for a whole host of obvious and less obvious reasons.
Except I don’t feel 55.
In fact, I feel younger than I have in decades. I am healthier too.
But despite that – and the fact my maturity level still resides around 14 years of age – you can’t stop getting older however hard you may try, so no doubt I am on the path to playing bowls each afternoon, complaining about the kids in the neighborhood ‘for making too much noise’ and smelling of wee. Or something.
And just remember before you all take the piss out of me.
You’ve got all this coming … so don’t be too cocky, because the one good thing about getting old, is you don’t give a fuck about keeping your mouth shut.
Not that I’ve ever had a problem with that – which I’ve literally just realized why Rupert Howell used to say I was the youngest old person he had ever met.
Oh God, as Monday’s go, this one sucks balls.
Happy fucking June.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Attitude & Aptitude, Childhood, Comment, Dad, Daddyhood, Death, Family, Home, Love, Loyalty, Mum & Dad, My Childhood, Nottingham
I watched something recently that made me happy, jealous and sad all at the same time.
I know … I know … they’re the sort of emotional extremes you’d normally associate with a psychopath – but hang in there.
I’ve written a lot about how much I loved my parents. How much I still do.
So many of the decisions and choices I’ve made in my life have been influenced by me wanting them to feel proud of me – even though they’re no longer here and I know very clearly that they were already.
But despite that, I still do stuff that is driven by a desire to thank them for being brilliant parents … to let them know that despite all the moments of ‘stupidity’ that I have embraced throughout my life, the lessons, encouragement and love they continually showed me, were never taken for granted.
Even more so because they never wanted anything from me.
Nor did they ever ask anything of me.
All they desired was that I choose a life of fulfillment over contentment.
It took me a long time to work out what that meant, but once I had worked it out – it fundamentally changed how I lived my life. Giving me clarity at times of confusion or complexity. Hell, it’s one of the main reasons I didn’t go back to the UK when I faced some truly challenging situations while living overseas … because even though I knew they’d love it if I’d gone back [and I’d have loved it too] – I felt I would be disrespecting the gift they’d given me by encouraging me go and explore the world when they were facing such personal hardship through Dad’s illness.
We talked a lot about this when Dad became ill.
I was due to go to Australia when Dad had his stroke. Suddenly I didn’t want to go … I wanted to stay with them and help, which was my new plan right until the moment I told my parents about it.
“NO!” they said.
This was not something they were willing to allow.
Of course they massively appreciated the consideration, but they wanted me to go and live my life rather than – as they saw it – be held back by their situation. Given how hard their situation was, it is fair to say that no one – least of all me – would have blamed them if they had asked me to stay, but they didn’t and I think part of that is because they knew that had I not gone then, I would never have left … and that was an outcome they were never going to allow.
That does not mean life wouldn’t have been good if I had stayed – I loved my parents and I loved Nottingham – but it is also fair to say the life I get to live and enjoy now is nothing like the one I would have experienced if I’d remained. As I’ve written many times before, everything I have in my life today, bar my relationship with my best friend Paul, is because I left the UK.
My family.
My career.
My lifestyle.
My experience.
My experiences.
Every single bit of it … which is why their actions are not only an incredible example of ‘unconditional love’, but also proof of how well my parents knew who I was and – with a bit of encouragement – who I could be.
What a gift.
What generosity.
Which may explain why I felt such a compulsion to repay their love. I don’t mean that just in terms of chasing a life of fulfillment, but in trying to help them make their life easier, happier and – dare I say it – more comfortable.
You see, whatever way you look at it, life wasn’t easy for them. In fact it never was.
Money was always very tight and now, with Dad’s health – and Mum caring for him 24/7 – it had now become even harder.
And while I did what I could, I was not earning the money that would allow me to do what I really wanted for them which was:
Pay off the house and buy Dad a yellow 1970’s, Rolls Royce with white-walled wheels.
In that order.
But hope and reality are separate beasts and even if I could have pulled it off, I know they would have lost their shit over it, because to them, they’d tell me I should be focusing on my future, not theirs.
Which leads me back to the beginning of this post and how I saw a clip that made me feel happy, jealous and sad all at the same time … because I got to watch a kid do this for his parents. Not the Rolls Royce bit, but the house.
I love it.
I love the reaction of the Father.
The slow realisation followed by the cavalcade of emotions …. pride, relief, gratitude and love.
I can only imagine how good the son felt to be able to do that for his folks.
And while my parents did – in the end – get to pay off the family home, it was not because of me but because of an insurance payout they received for a car accident they’d been involved in 5 years prior. And while I wish they hadn’t had to experience the accident to be able to pay off the home, I also know how happy it made my parents – especially my Dad, who knew he was nearing the end of life and so it reassured him Mum would be safe – but even then, I still wish I’d been able to do this for them.
Of course – as my career took off – I was able to repay/spoil/look after my Mum – but while I may still look at that clip with a mixture of emotions, I comfort myself knowing it has nothing really to do with buying your parents a home and everything to do with celebrating a loving, caring family and viewed through that lens … I know my parents knew how grateful I was for all they did and all they were.