Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Anniversary, Attitude & Aptitude, Birthday, Comment, Love, My Childhood, Nottingham
This week has been a week of – of me – serious posts.
So maybe it’s because I can’t keep that up for 5 days straight …
Or because Colenso won ‘Agency Of The Year’ last night in NZ …
Or that today would have been my Mum and Dad’s 61st wedding anniversary …
Or – also today – it is my friend, Heleen’s, birthday …
… but I thought I’d end the post on something else entirely.
When I was growing up in Nottingham, there was a busker affectionately known as ‘Xylophone Man’.
Part of the reason for this name was because he actually played a xylophone. The other part was he played it absolutely terribly. But with unbelievable enthusiasm.
If truth be known, all he did was run his mallet the entire length of the notes and then – at the end – he would flamboyantly raise his hand in the air as if he had just performed a concerto to a stadium of adoring fans. He’d do this over and over again … sometimes up the xylophone, sometimes down … but always with his big, toothless smile on his face.
I’d see him every Saturday in town [AKA, Nottingham City Centre], outside C&A … always playing, always happy, rain or shine.
But what is amazing is he was adored by all.
Rich, humble, famous, infamous, families, teens, drunks …
No one gave him any trouble because everyone was captivated by the enthusiasm and happiness he had for what he did and the sound he made.
His name was Frank, and when he died in 2004, the city got together to honor him … not just paying for his funeral, but also contributing to a plaque to commemorate who he was, what he did and where he did it.
Because what he gave us was far more than some xylophone ‘tunes’.
He gave the people of the city a common connection …
A way for us to step out of our lives and into our community …
A moment to bond, to smile, to laugh, to clap, to cheer. Both at the beauty of life and the absurdity of it.
And I think that’s what Frank liked the most. Being seen for who he was rather than being ignored because of who he wasn’t.
There’s a million different sort of Frank’s in this world.
Some may be in your office.
Some may even be part of your family.
But basically, they’re individuals who are happy with who they are and don’t aspire to be anything more than that.
And the funny thing is, while a lot of society often regard these people as lacking drive, value or ambition, I am increasingly of the opinion they’re the one’s who have got life worked out the best.
Because they appreciate what they have.
They enjoy and value what they do.
And they never waste their time, energy or emotions chasing things that only matter to those who spend too most of their life hiding who they are.
Writing this post, I found an old interview with Frank – and I have to say, he sounds exactly the same way as he played.
Eccentric.
Endearing.
Amusing.
The Frank’s of this world matter.
They remind us of what’s important.
They connect us to where we’re from.
The help define who we are.
At a time where we are surrounded – and as a byproduct, encouraged – to engage in ‘professional bravado’, the Frank’s of this World have, arguably, never been so important.
To remind us experience, trumps popularity.
That fulfillment, beats job titles.
And substance, smokes speed.
And while many may discount or ignore them the Frank’s of this world, it’s worth remembering he got a city commemorating him, whereas most of us are lucky if an ex-collegaue occasionally emails us.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Advertising, Age, Agency Culture, Ambition, America, Aspiration, Attitude & Aptitude, Brands, Colenso, Colleagues, Creative Development, Creativity, Culture, Curiosity, Cynic, Distinction, Emotion, Empathy, Environment, Experience, Fulfillment, Individuality, Innovation, LaLaLand, Love, Luck, Metallica, Miley, Mr Ji, Mum & Dad, Music, My Childhood, Nottingham, Parents, Perspective, Play, Relationships, Relevance, Resonance, Respect, Rick Rubin, Rockstar Games, Standards, Talent
A few weeks ago, I found myself wandering around Marina Del Ray, in LA.
It’s an area I know well given I both worked and lived relatively near the place a few years ago.
Anyway, as I was strolling around, I was looking at the boats moored along the marina. Be under no illusion, you need a bunch of cash to own a boat in LA and even more to be able to afford to keep it in a shared dock – but that’s the thing about Los Angeles, it’s a place of financial extremes.
There were all manner of boats in all manner of shapes and sizes … but the thing that grabbed my attention was their choice of names.
I love hearing what people call things.
Years ago, with cynic, we did a project with a video rental company [told you it was years ago] which included us exploring the ‘passwords’ people had on their account.
We didn’t know whose account it was – or the details of the recipient – it was just a list of random passwords. Anyway, it was pretty fascinating.
No random letters or numbers.
In fact, nothing approaching any level of security protocol whatsoever.
Instead, it seemed to be words that reflected a family ‘trait’, an individual’s alter-ego or something mischievous that the creator forgot would have to be said out loud to the store assistant every time they rented a film.
I say this because as I looked at the boats, there seemed to be a similar approach to its naming protocol.
Of course a boat name is very different to a password, but for all the choices you have, many seemed to fall into certain groups.
+ Reference to life on ‘the high seas’.
+ An individual persons name.
+ A sea-reference pun.
+ Or a mark of achievement …
… of which, none was better than this.
For those who can’t read it properly, it’s called, ‘Dream Worked’.
I have to say, I bloody love it.
Of all the names I saw, this was arguably the most honest.
A statement that whether through hard work, luck or other means … their ambition to own a boat in LA had come off.
They’d done it.
Hit the goal.
I wanted to meet the owner. To hear their story. To understand their journey.
Was the boat the prize or a byproduct of it?
Maybe my interest in the boat was because we all like a good news story. Or because I like learning how – and why – people do stuff. Or maybe it’s simply because I’m approaching that point in life where you’re running out of time for dreams to work and so you’re questioning what you’ve done or still want to do.
This is not in any way trying to say I’ve suffered.
If I’m being honest, the life I live is beyond anything I could ever have imagined or hoped for. Probably more than my teachers imagined for me too.
But despite being 54, I still have a lot of ambitions.
Things I want to do.
Things I want to try.
Things I want to see.
Things I want to achieve.
However – as I’ve mentioned many times – the older you get, the more you realise not only will you not be able to do all of them, you won’t even be able to pursue all of them. You have to be more focused with your energy and time. You need to prioritize rather than chase down every rabbit hole.
Frankly, that part of growing older is shit especially as I’m someone whose entire bloody life has been chasing the intrigue, the possibility and the creative opportunity. But whether I like it or not, I’m slowly learning how important it is to be more measured in my choices if I want to keep moving forward rather than standing still.
Sure I’ve had to accept I’ll be working at a different pace than before.
Sure I’ve had to accept I’ll be working from a different place than before.
But it means I don’t have to accept what others expect me to do and frankly, that’s all the motivation I need.
However despite all this, growing older in your career does ask questions of you.
Uncomfortable questions.
You realise your relevance in the industry you work in is reducing.
Your abilities haven’t – quite the opposite – but their desire to hear or work with it has.
And it can feel like you’re being left behind when you’ve got so much still to give.
Like you’re screaming in a vacuum that no one gives a shit about, hahaha.
A while back I saw a quote from an ex-footballer than summed this up perfectly …
I get it. We all will at some point …
It really forces you to question who you are and what you’ve done.
And how you deal with it defines where you can go with it.
So while it was more luck than judgement, I consider myself very fucking lucky that I fell into a new chapter of my life … where I have got to learn, express and discover how my creativity can be used in new ways with incredibly talented new people … the best and most successful of the best and most successful … who, despite all they’ve achieved, value what you do and bring far more than who you are and what you have.
I’m under no illusion it could all end tomorrow, but it’s going great right now and the stuff I’m getting to do and be a part of is not just creatively exciting, it’s allowing my creative ambitions to flex and be pushed.
To be able to do that at any age is awesome, but to do it at 54 – alongside rockstars, fashion gods and creative legends – is fucking incredible.
Which is why I realized – as I walked around those boats in Marina Del Ray – that if I had a boat, I wouldn’t call it ‘Dream Worked’ … it would be ‘The Dreams Working’ … because to be at this point of life and still be able to look forward and see exciting possibilities rather than just look back at what you’ve done, feels like the greatest achievement of all.
___________________________________________________________________________
As an aside, today is the 3rd annual ‘Fuck Off And Pie’ Colenso Planner Bake-Off competition.
A time where, contrary to this post, I am reminded I’m the biggest failure of all time.
Or should I say the ‘silver medal’ biggest failure.
I’ll let you know if I maintain this standard or – god forbid – achieve gold loser status.
Given this years theme is ‘birthday cake’ I’m in with a shot and to be honest I like what I’ve done.
Not just in the fact it tastes pretty good – no, seriously – but because I’ve created a design and theme that will never be forgotten. Especially by our HR department. And probably by my colleagues and team mates who run the risk of spending Christmas with gastro. The gift that keeps on giving. Cue: Evil laugh.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Advertising, Agency Culture, Apathy, Attitude & Aptitude, Craft, Creativity, Culture, Mum, Mum & Dad, My Childhood, Nottingham
As I am away till next Wednesday on a work trip and I wrote about Dad yesterday to celebrate what would be his 86th birthday … I thought I’d leave you with a post about Mum, to even it all up, haha.
So Mum loved the arts.
Actually, it was more than just love, but curiosity.
Not in a suspicious or judgmental way … but from the perspective of wanting to understand more of it.
Not academically, but more about how the artist approached the work and why.
And it is because of this attitude, Mum was as keen to explore the stuff she didn’t know as much as the stuff she did.
One day she saw an ad for an orchestra coming to Nottingham.
Their name was intriguing – suggesting a new approach or experience of music – so she, along with her neighbours, bought tickets to go and see them at the Royal Concert Hall.
So a few months later, three 80 year olds caught the bus into the city and walked into the venue, only to be a little surprised at what they saw.
Because rather than a stage full of orchestral instruments, they were met with huge amplifiers and a massive lighting rig.
It didn’t take them long to discover why …
Because the orchestra they were seeing was the Electric Light Orchestra.
Also known as ELO, the rock band.
And they loved every single second of it,.
The music, the volume, the musicianship, the drama, the lighting, the whole extravaganza.
I still remember the excitement – and laughter – in Mum’s voice as she told me all about it. But there was one thing above all that stood out – and that was her happiness at discovering, experiencing and exploring a new artistic expression.
Because while she liked – and knew – some of the songs, her biggest joy was the surprise of the unexpected.
Where many would be disappointed to not have what they thought they were getting, Mum was elated.
She understood it was a gift.
A way to see more, feel more, experience more and know more than she did before.
Leaving with more than she went in with … musically, creatively and how people interpret and interact with the World.
But that was her …
A human who not loved to learn for the sheer joy of learning, but had a deep interest in what others are interested in. Even if she didn’t particularly like it, understand it or connect to it.
Because to her, knowledge wasn’t power, appreciation was.
Appreciation earned through listening, learning, experiencing and engaging.
An openness to expression and experience …
It’s why that even in her 80’s she was curious to the new.
Not so she could pretend she was young, but to protect her from becoming old.
By that, I mean in terms of her attitude to life rather than reversing her age.
And as I get older, I realise what an amazing role model she was to me.
To be comfortable with the uncomfortable and curious to the new.
Because while Mum was a person of high standards, morals and values … she never let these become barriers to exploring or welcoming the people and subjects that lived outside of them. Not so she could judge, but so she could grow.
We could do with more people like my Mum these days.
Across all areas of life. From politics to advertising.
Because we see so many people aggressively trying to live in the bubble of their making.
Actively standing in the way of new ideas and ideals … fighting hard to defend what they have or control what they don’t.
Believing they know enough and are enough so stay within the walls of their blinkered, privileged, superficial echo chamber.
Seeing anything different or new as – at best – hard work or, at worst, the enemy.
Living by headlines, not experience, curiosity and understanding.
So while Mum most definitely had her quirks, I’m increasingly grateful that she – and Dad – taught me variety isn’t the spice of life, it’s makes sense of it.
Thank you my dear, wonderful Mum.
Filed under: Attitude & Aptitude, Football, Nottingham, Nottingham Forest, Sport
By the time this comes out, I will know if Nottingham Forest have got relegated or not.
And while at the time of writing – April 26th – they’re [just] out the relegation places, I fear that will change.
Not simply because Everton are basically clear having beaten Liverpool last night.
Not simply because we’re playing Man City this weekend.
But because – if I’m being honest – we deserve to god down.
I hate saying that.
I pray for a miracle – or should I say, luck.
But it’s been a season that never seemed to get going … undermined by bad choices, petulant behaviour and – thanks to the Premier League and Referees Association – wrongful and unfair decisions.
What has made this worse is that for 2 years … it was wonderful being a Forest fan.
Magical even.
A togetherness between club and fans that I’d never felt.
Not even in the glory years of the late 70’s and 80’s.
It was a togetherness that basically willed them to glory.
Pushed them over the line to the supposed promised land.
And gave me one of the best days of my life in one of the worst periods of life.
And what did we find when we finally got there after those decades of pain and under-delivery?
Well, excitement … and disappointment.
Some of our making. A lot of where the game has gone.
And all of this was made worse by use and our cauldron of chaos.
No strategy. No plan. Just mayhem.
To be fair, some of this was to be expected given we got promoted with a load of loan players and no real expectation of ‘going up’ that season … hence we had to buy a squad in the blink of an eye. And some of it was because our owner has an incredible ambition and has backed that up with a level of investment we could never imagine. [Which, sadly, also was not allowed by the out-of-touch rules for promoted team spending]
But it seems we didn’t learn from those mistakes and mayhem this season and instead of letting our football do our talking, we allowed a side show of mess to get the spotlight and the headlines.
Some was justified. Most wasn’t.
It ended up being a distraction to the club and the fans … causing division, internal fighting and a label of being spoilt kids.
I want us to stay up, but if I’m honest – we shouldn’t.
Luton Town should, because they have shown the fight and togetherness we’ve sadly missed.
Not because we don’t have good players – we do, arguably the best we’ve ever had – but because we don’t have a common belief or philosophy.
Or should I say, not a consistent one.
Stubbornness. Arrogance. Misplaced expectations all added up to bad – or delayed – decisions that have cost us with the result being a team who took over 20+ years to get here, looking like a team who don’t deserve to stay here.
On one level, relegation will be a relief. The ability to let go of the angst and start again. But I don’t doubt the pain would then come back hard. The worry of not going back up. Of not learning our lessons. Of seeing good people and players being let go and replaced with imposters and imitations. Of being the poster child for failure. Again.
So I hope for a miracle almost as much as I hope for a reset.
To refocus.
Reconnect.
Reunite.
Fans. City. Team.
Because I love my club, but I don’t love what the Premiership turned us – and our fans – into.
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.