So I’m back.
I won’t ask if you missed me as I don’t want to acknowledge reality.
Now you’d think having been away for 2 weeks I’d be back with all guns blazing. Bursting with inspiration and ready to drop some blog gold. Well, let me burst that bubble because I need to start this return to blogging with the news that this week features a series of posts that scrape the absolute bottom of the blog posting barrel. Yes, even by my standards. Things perk up a bit towards the end of the week, but the first couple of days a peak-low. To prove that [as if I needed to, haha] here’s a post about a chicken.
That said, I will be writing about the 2 weeks I’ve just had simply because they were one of the most magical, inspirational, provocative and challenging times I’ve had in my career and I feel extremely fortunate to have that – not just because at my age, that’s increasingly rare, but because in our optimised, efficiency-obsessed industry. it’s even rarer. But that’s to come down the line …
So a few weeks ago, our Ring cameras announced someone was at the door.
Off Jill went to see who it was, except when she opened the door, instead of a human she saw – you guessed it – this:
Now I get we live in New Zealand.
I get our house is a literal treehouse.
But a chicken???
Jill didn’t know what to do with it and as it wasn’t causing any damage – except pecking at the window – she let it roam and went to pick up Otis from school instead.
But when she returned, the chicken – named ‘Nugget’ by Otis – was still there.
So then they decided they had to try and help find its home, so after putting a message on the community Facebook page – where different people ‘claimed’ it was theirs – Jill decided to put Nugget in a box [with air vents, obvs] and see if she could find who owned it.
One neighbour pointed to a house that they said had chickens, so left it at their door with a note saying that the chicken had ‘escaped’.
An hour or so later, the owners wrote to Jill to say thank you as well as enquire where we lived as they wanted to see how far Nugget had travelled to which Jill replied – and I may never, ever forgive her for this – without once writing the immortal words, “now we know why the chicken crossed the road”.
Devastated.
Filed under: America, China, Dad, Death, Emotion, Empathy, England, Family, Home, Hong Kong, Jill, Love, Loyalty, Mum, Mum & Dad, New Zealand, Otis, Parents, Rosie, Shanghai, Singapore
So tomorrow marks the 2nd month since Rosie passed … and I am still struggling with it.
I appreciate how pathetic that may sound, but it’s how I feel.
In many ways, the loss of Rosie feels very, very similar to the loss of my parents.
I don’t say that lightly.
I also don’t say that because my parents weren’t wonderful.
Frankly, they were amazing and gave me a childhood where I can honestly say I never wanted for love, support or encouragement. And while I didn’t really appreciate how special that was until I was much older and realised not everyone got to experience that, I definitely understand how blessed I was for what they gave me and left me.
However, while Mum and Dad were my physical and emotional constant throughout my first 20+ years of my life … as I went through my key adult ’life stage’ years – such as marriage, moving countries [a lot] and starting a family – they weren’t. Part of this is because by then I was living far, far away from them – so only connected to them by phone, albeit on a daily basis, as well as my annual visit home – and part of this is because sadly, both of them died over this period of time. Which means from 2007, Rosie – along with Jill – were my physical and emotional constants.
Wherever I was … whatever I was going through … they were the ones who I went back to each and every day.
Who were there for me, each and every day.
In essence, they were on the other side of the bridge that took me between childhood to adulthood, which I hope helps explain Rosie’s significance and importance in my life.
But there is another reason I feel such loss and that is because I can’t help but feel I had something to do with it.
At the end of the day – while it was out of love to ensure she didn’t suffer given her kidneys had stopped working – I/we made the decision when her life would end. And for all the compassion, care, gentleness and tears we shed, it is something I still feel guilty about.
Of course it is full of irrationality …
Somehow, I am of the belief that we could have nursed her back to health. That … had we not taken her to the vet that Saturday morning for a routine injection, she’d still be with us.
And maybe she would … except the likelihood is she would have ended up suffering far more as we wouldn’t have had the time to get her the specialist care that ensured she didn’t suffer more than she had to.
But that Saturday is burned into my mind.
That morning she was almost back to her old self.
Jumping on our bed in the morning. Wanting food. Doing her loud ‘surprise happy scream’ every time she saw us. We even said, “she’s back to her old self”.
The injection at the vets was just to help with her arthritis – nothing more – and yet a quick blood test set off a chain of events that led to us saying goodbye to her 48 hours later.
And while I know the reality of the situation is her kidneys had started to properly fail … in fact, her readings had more than doubled within the month – from an already terrible score of 400, which represents ‘stage 4’ out of 4 possible levels for a cat’s kidney health to just under 1000 – I still find the image of leaving our house looking well and returning ready for goodbye hard to reconcile. Hard to let go of my complicity in creating this situation – even though every vet we spoke to had already warned us of the severity of her situation and, if truth be known, we were aware that her previous illness a month earlier signified a major shift in her wellbeing. As I wrote in the post announcing her death, that shift felt similar to the final stages I saw my Dad go through before he passed.
Doesn’t make it any easier.
Doesn’t make being home any less challenging.
Because everything screams she is not there.
It’s all so heartbreaking. I keep wanting to ring the vet who helped her sleep to give her an injection to make her come back alive. To erase the decision we made, even though it was absolutely the right decision … a decision that I think even Rosie wanted. Especially as kidney failure gives a cat about 30 days before it all ends in tragedy and we were close to that timeline being hit and yet I want to ignore all that as I just want her back.
Hell, I keep finding myself saying, “come on Rozzie” when we go to bed … expecting to hear her feet make a little sound as she jumps off wherever she was to follow us down the stairs. But the hardest thing … the thing that absolutely reinforces she’s not longer with us is that I no longer have to check the front door when I leave in the morning or get in at night.
Each day, as I was heading out to work, Rosie would come upstairs with me. While this was because she hoped for extra Friskies – despite I had just given them to her downstairs – I would end up giving her a couple more because I couldn’t resist her face and it was the best way to ensure she didn’t sneakily follow me out of the front door where she felt a compulsion to explore, even though she knew she wasn’t allowed to. And at night, when she heard my car come down the drive, she’d be waiting at the glass next to the front door where I would see her silently meow to me through the glass as a way of saying hello, before trying to get through my legs when I walked in.
Occasionally she’d succeed and then proceed to sit under mine – or Jill’s – car until finally getting bored [or tempted with treats of falling in reach of one of our arms] but it was a daily ritual and now I can keep the door wide open and it literally fucks with my head.
I miss it. I miss all the things she did.
Even the stuff that annoyed me … like coming into the lounge at night – when Jill and Otis were asleep – and literally screaming at me, telling me it was time to come downstairs to bed with her.
She did a lot of screaming, but over the years she ‘educated us’ to what each one meant.
One was that she wanted to sleep under our sheets in bed and needed us to lift them up for her to go underneath. One was that she was hungry and wanted us to hand deliver treats rather than eat the food in her bowl. One was for us to open the lounge doors so she could go and sit out on her special bean bag cat bed on the deck so she could look out on the trees and feel the sun on her fur. In fact, the only time she didn’t scream was when we were actively looking for her, fearing she had got out when we came home and didn’t realise.
She did do that a couple of times, but never went far. Or for long.
She knew where home was.
She knew how well she was cared for.
She was definitely not a stupid cat.
And that’s why I can’t think about getting another. At least not yet.
I did look for cats who needed adopting very soon after Rosie had gone, but then I realised I wasn’t doing it to replace her, but to replicate her and that is both impossible and unfair to whoever we adopted.
So we need time. And while this may all sound dramatic for a cat, I point you to the post I wrote about Denise – the woman that I need to apologise to. Who gave me a very early warning as to what this would feel like. Because a pet is not just for life, a pet adds to your life and Rosie was – and will forever be – my first animal family member and I’d do anything, as I would for Mum and Dad, to have her back. Even for one day.
So regardless who you are or what you’re doing, don’t take the good shit for granted.
Because as annoying as it can be, it is better than it not being there.
And that is why – despite having experienced death throughout my life – Mum, Dad and Rosie’s passing has been the most significant.
What is interesting is that at my age – which I recently heard described as ‘the youngest of the old bunch’ – I am heading towards more of that. Including, my own one day … albeit hopefully a long time away. But it does make you re-evaluate what is important and who is important, which is leading to a lot of discussions and considerations about the future we want to have rather than the future we will get given.
But while there is a lot of sadness in this post, I want you to know I’m not in a bad way.
I was, but not now.
Part of that is because we have Rosie’s ashes with us and weirdly, it feels like she’s home.
Not exactly as we would like.
But exactly where she belongs.
And that, I’m increasingly learning, is the real definition of happiness, fulfillment and success.
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This is the last post I’ll be writing for 2 weeks as I’m off on a ridiculous trip for work.
Across Canada. Across America. And a quick visit to Australia. Quite bonkers.
But I am eternally grateful for it. Not just because of the air miles, but because it is being organised by a client who wants me – and 3 colleagues – to really understand who they are.
The details. The nuances. The values. The realities.
At a time where so many clients want simple, superficial and easy, they’re going out of their way to make it difficult for all of us … but in the most brilliant, rewarding and valuable way ever.
And for that we’re all eternally grateful.
Not because it’s rare, but because it means they give a fuck about what who they are, what they do and what they want us to create together.
They’re invested in making something great, rather than just expecting excellence without contributing anything to it beyond deadlines, mandatories and distain.
And you know what this ‘in it together’ approach achieves?
A team very, very motivated to do something extraordinary for them.
That’s contrary to what many companies think is the way to work with agencies or partners these days. Believing that if they treat people like disposable commodities, they’ll get them to work even harder for them. Which means they value you nothing other than the price they pay for something.
And while I appreciate what we do costs a lot of money and so being on top of things is important, I’ll tell you what ends up costing a whole lot more: treating partners like shit. Not because they’ll stop caring about what they do, but because they know you don’t even care about who you are.
Which is why we’re thrilled to be going on this trip … because nothing shows commitment like inconvenience.
See you on the 29th … as there’s a holiday in Auckland on the 28th, hahaha.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Advertising, Attitude & Aptitude, Auckland, Communication Strategy, Context, Creative Development, Creativity, Culture, New Zealand, Perspective
A few weeks ago, while going for my daily walk, I saw this:
I know there’s nothing new in this concept.
Let’s face it …
+ Solving problems are more powerful than communicating problems.
+ Talking to someone is always more effective than talking to everyone.
+ Changing contexts and perspectives helps change contexts and perspectives.
+ Being self-awareness opens up possibilities for who you can become.
… is well established and been practiced for years – such as this iconic piece from London’s V&A years back – but I still like it. A lot.
I know it won’t change the world, but it’s an idea that may change somebody’s … because to paraphrase Ferdinand Porsche, ‘its better to be everything to someone than try to be anything to anyone’
So to the Auckland Museum and the people behind it, well done.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Advertising, Attitude & Aptitude, Comment, Communication Strategy, Content, Context, Creative Development, Creativity, Culture, Effectiveness, Marketing, Marketing Fail, New Zealand, Nike
There’s been a lot written and said about brand assets over the years.
A lot of claims and over-promises.
Hell, careers have been made from being a cheerleader of it … even though it has also been responsible for a whole lot of terrible advertising.
Contrived, complicit and confused advertising.
That doesn’t mean it doesn’t have a value – or a role – but as I wrote here, the thing rarely talked about is that brand assets don’t happen by themselves. You can’t buy them off the shelf or make them happen by simply repeating their use ad-nauseum.
No, the only way to turn an attribute into an asset is through creativity.
It’s creativity that gives it meaning.
It’s creativity that gives it a purpose and role.
It’s creativity that imbues it with financial value.
I appreciate that might not fit the narrative of certain people, but that’s the reality of the situation … or it is if you want to do it properly. Unfortunately, it appears more and more people don’t. Preferring to outsource their responsibility – which, let’s not forget, they are paid to do – to generalistic and simplistic solutions that are focused on recognition, not value.
Nothing brought this home more than this ad I saw for a new Nike store in Auckland.
Look at this …
What the fuck? Seriously, what the fuck is that?
While they have used a number of NIKE’s ‘brand assets’ – namely the font and swoosh – it’s pretty obvious whoever put this together has no understanding or appreciation of what they represent or how to use them.
Mind you, it also seems they also have no understanding or appreciation of sport, art direction or design.
It’s like they’ve just taken a few pieces and shoved them wherever they like – like a terrible jigsaw puzzle that doesn’t show the picture they need to create.
Which highlights another thing rarely talked about brand assets …
Just because you’ve earned them, doesn’t mean you can’t lose them.
Treat them with distain and you’ll find all that hard work will be for nothing.
Moving from a brand asset to an attribute to a warning sign to stay the fuck away.
Brand assets are made and built over time.
They need nurturing, crafting and supporting.
They’re not something that once earned, can be used any way you choose.
It’s why the people who use them need to understand them.
What they represent.
The context they play in.
Their creative meaning and expression.
How to actually fucking use them in the right way.
Without any of that you don’t just fail to unlock their inherent value and power, you’re killing their credibility and the brand they’re tied to.
That doesn’t mean you can evolve them. Or expand them. Or play with them in different ways. Nike – of all brands – is very good at doing that. But that only happens because generally they’re embraced by people who have a deep understanding of what they stand for and represent … rather than random ‘colours and logos’ that they treat as a range of stickers they believe they can put wherever they want and whenever they choose.
It’s why I get so frustrated with how certain people talk about them. Acting they’re like ‘parts’ that can be replaced, exchanged, adapted or used however someone chooses … which ultimately demonstrates many of the people who talk like this don’t actually understand what a brand is, what it takes to build one or the difference between post-rationalising and creating.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Attitude & Aptitude, Cars, Creative Development, Creativity, Culture, Imagination, New Zealand
I am not a DIY person.
Once, when I was at school, I literally sawed through my finger in a woodwork class and just last week, I stabbed my hand with a serrated knife while trying to cut through some plastic.
With this in mind, it’s fairly obvious that I don’t give a fuck about anything associated with DIY.
Well, I say that, but there have a couple of occasions where I’ve given a damn.
One was the first time I used a drill which – arguably for the first time – made me feel ‘a man’. The downside was I got so into using it, I put so many screws into the fuzzball table I was trying to fix, that the removal men couldn’t take it apart when we kept moving country.
The other was – bizarrely – a ladder, which we bought in the UK.
It was nothing special but like experiencing a smart TV after years of using an old school piece of shit, I thought I had entered a parallel universe given its ability to fold down to a fraction of its size. I know … I know …
But maybe that’s why I was so captivated when I saw this …
Yes, it’s a ladder – a very short ladder – built onto the back of a car.
And while NZ is a rugged land, there is absolutely no requirement whatsoever to ever get on your car roof when you live in Auckland. And yet I love it. It adds a dimension of ‘explorer’ that transcends even the biggest and most modern of SUV’s.
Of course, if that ladder was on its own, you’d think it was the most pointless, shit thing ever. But add it to the back of a car and suddenly you’re Indiana bloody Jones, climbing up on it for any old reason.
Which serves as a reminder that ideas are driven as much by context as need and the more we embrace that, the more we allow imagination to work it’s magic than purely logic.