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: 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.
Filed under: Comment, Dad, Death, Emotion, Empathy, Family, Love, Loyalty, Mum, Mum & Dad
I know, I know … I said I was away for a week – and I am – but I couldn’t let today pass without me acknowledging it, because today is the 10th anniversary of my Mum passing.
I’ve written a lot about this over the bast decade.
From what happened … to how it messed with me … right thought to how it changed how I do things and look at things.
And while all those things are still there … a decade later the feelings are far less connected to darkness and far more about the light.
I have to say, I am so relieved.
Mum was a wonderful human.
Full of compassion and curiosity.
Driven by a real sense of respect and justice for all.
For a very gentle, quiet woman, she was a force that you felt through her actions, her choices, her emotions and – when necessary – her words.
But most of all, I think of Mum as an incredibly dignified person and nothing reflects this more than how she prepared for what she feared most.
You see Mum was going into hospital for a heart valve operation.
It was a pretty common procedure, but at 83, she was aware things could happen.
She’d already delayed the operation by a few months to ensure I could be with Jill when Otis was born – another example of her selflessness – but even though things had initially gone well, sadly the condition of her heart was far worse than expected and within an hour of coming out of theatre, it ruptured and Mum died.
I’m so, so grateful I was with her and that she knew that.
She’d told me a few months before that her greatest fear was that she may die alone – like her sister-in-law had tragically experienced.
And while I would give anything to have her back, knowing I was there – as I was with Dad – has definitely helped me deal with the loss.
But it’s what happened after she passed that reaffirmed one of her greatest traits.
Her dignity.
Something she valued very much. Even in death.
You see, when she had died, we were going through some draws back at her house. In there, I found a book she’d been compiling featuring all the account numbers associated with her, all the contact information of her friends, and a compilation of stories and articles that she wanted me to see or know if the worst happened.
To do that both blows me away and breaks my heart …
Blows me away for the incredible generosity of wanting to ensure in my darkest hour, I am not being further impacted by the complication of trying to find or access information.
Breaks my heart because not only did it represent her acknowledging the potential of her death, but that she did it alone.
I don’t know how she felt doing this, I just hope that any emotional struggle she felt was softened by knowing she was doing something that was important to her. Important because I – as her only son – was her world.
She never left me in doubt of that. Ever. Even when we had little disagreements over the years …
Because the undeniable fact was she loved me and I loved her.
And I still do.
I’m so grateful and honoured she was my Mum.
Which is why, as much as today is a connected to something deeply sad in my life – she’d be very happy to know, the feelings I have today are far more associated with love than tragedy.
For all she did.
For all she was.
For all she continues to be in my life.
I love and miss you so much Mum.
Give Dad a big kiss from me.
Rx
Filed under: Birthday, Dad, Daddyhood, Emotion, Family, Jill, Love, Mum & Dad, Otis
Following the sadness of yesterday, today is pure joy.
I think Lisa would have absolutely loved that.
You see today, my brilliant boy – Otis – reaches a milestone …
He turns 10.
TEN!!!
Even though it seems only a few years ago he came into our life, he’s packed a hell-of-a-lot into his first decade.
Born in China.
Moved to LA.
Touched down in London.
And – it’s safe to say – thrived/thriving in Auckland, New Zealand.
But on top of all that change, he’s also dealt with a whole lot of challenges along the way.
Saying goodbye to his buddies …
Watching his Dad fall apart at the loss of his Mum …
Watching his beloved Rosie leave us …
Watching his Mum have a pretty big operation …
Go through his own operations.
Deal with a global pandemic and all the impact that had in terms of education, isolation and trepidation.
Then there’s been the new schools, new friends and – let’s not forget – the daily challenge of dealing with dysgraphia.
And while there’s definitely been some hard days, he approaches life with a level of kindness, compassion, curiousity, cheekiness and love that takes my breath away.
It’s all his Mum’s work and influence, but still … it’s incredible.
That doesn’t mean he’s naïve to the impact all these challenges have had – and continue to have – on him.
In fact, one of the things I’m proudest of is his emotional intelligence.
His ability to not just identify when he’s having a tough time, but to express it to others.
Of course it’s not easy hearing your kid tell you he’s feeling down, but I don’t take it for granted how fortunate I am that he does and that he feels he can.
It’s why I’m in awe of how his crew of mates are so supportive to each other and any challenge they’re facing or dealing with. That certainly wouldn’t have been the case back in my day – where it would have been used to taunt and tease mercilessly, even if not meant maliciousously – which is another reason why I hold more faith in Otis’ generation to make a positive difference to how we all live, than mine.
As you can probably tell by now, I could not be more proud of being Otis’ Dad.
Not just because he’s a great kid … not just because he’s my kid … but because he has made me a better person than I’d otherwise be.
They’re not empty words, I mean it.
OK, I wasn’t a total nightmare prior to him [I think], but he has definitely inspired me to be a better person.
More calm. More understanding. More compassionate. More open.
I appreciate some of my colleagues may raise their eyebrows in surprise reading this – or they would, if they read my rubbish – but as much as I may be a short-fused, temperamental, call-a-spade-a-fucking-shovel, challenging, confronting, emotional prick … I was a whole lot worse before, haha. That’s why I know if Mum and Dad had got to meet him, they wouldn’t just adore him from tip to toe for being their first grandchild, but because they’d see how he has been able to inspire me to be better in ways they never quite pulled off. [Sorry Mum and Dad]
Now kids ‘growing up so fast’ is nothing new.
But as I’ve written before, the reason parents can handle it is because at every stage of their kids ‘accelerated development’ they get introduced to a new trait they fall in love with … a trait so adorable that it helps them let go of the last trait they thought they could never live without.
Now some of these traits are ‘stereotypically cute’.
A smile.
A sound.
A reaction.
An evolutionary development. Or sometimes, something they just love to do … which in Otis’ case, was sweeping – be it the floors of home, cafes or even Shanghai streets. Which he has DEFINITELY grown out of. Unfortunately, ha.
But as they get older, these traits evolve in more ‘unique’ ways – and yet are still utterly adorable.
For example, right now Otis is in the ‘moments of cringe’ phase of his development. Or should I say, I am igniting that in him.
It could be because of a song I’m listening to … a program I’ve watched … a phrase I’ve said … but the result is him laughing his infectious, cheeky laugh and telling me how cringe that is.
And you know what? I love it and I think he loves it too because in a weird kinda way, it’s a bonding moment between us.
Something that’s ours and no one else.
But I also love it because it reveals his growing independence, evolution and frame of reference and surely, if there is any ‘marker’ for a parent to check if they’re doing their part OK, it’s that?
So to my wonderful, delightful, brilliant son, I say this.
Dear Otis.
Congratulations on hitting double digits – it’s a big moment in anyone’s life.
And while you may feel it’s taken you an age to get here, don’t wish things away too quick.
You’re a brilliant kid.
Not just in who you are, but how you are …
Stubborn on the right things, effervescent in everything else.
That’s about as perfect a combination as anyone could hope for …
It means you don’t spend so much of your time looking forwards you fail to see all you can squeeze out of the present.
The weird, the silly, the wonderful and the ridiculous.
That stuff matters.
Not just for enjoying now, but for getting the most out of the long life of double figures ahead.
So keep doing all you’re doing, because you’re playing it great.
The good, the bad, the happy and the hard.
Dealing with life with honesty and grace.
No arrogance or distain, just consideration and deliberation that belies your years.
A desire to do the right thing, even when you occasionally find yourself having done the wrong.
It’s an honourable way to live and we’re lucky to be witnesses to it.
So keep playing your own rhythm.
Don’t let others try and drown you out with their melodies and noise.
We’re so very proud of who you are and excited to see who you will become.
So enjoy those double digits, but don’t start acting quite like them yet.
There’s a lot for you to leave your mark on today, as well as tomorrow.
Happy birthday, dear Otis.
We love the hell out of you.
Mum and Dad
xxx
Filed under: Australia, Authenticity, Colenso, Colleagues, Comment, Creativity, Culture, Dad, Death, Emotion, Family, Fatherhood, Friendship, HSBC, Love, Loyalty, Management, Relationships, Relevance, Reputation, Resonance, Respect
As you read this, I am in Sydney for the memorial of Lisa – the wonderful client who tragically died recently.
It is believed there will be a lot of people attending.
I mean 4-figure levels of attendees … which is testimony to the impact she made on people.
While I didn’t know her long, we bonded pretty deeply and I saw first hand her ability to connect to people. It was in many ways, her superpower. Not in the sense it was some sort of manipulative trick, but in the sense she saw the good in others and wanted to help them realise it in ways they may not have seen was possible.
But she did it time and time again.
Different people.
Different cities.
Different jobs.
We need more people like that.
People who give rather than just take.
People who share rather than just keep.
People who view success as helping others achieve, not just elevating their own glory.
But what made her truly special was that she didn’t play down to populism, she lived up to a standard.
She wanted to do great, she wanted others to be great and she had the experience and taste to know what both were.
That’s the essential ingredient missing from so many people in the industry – especially the Linkedin guru’s – but she had it in her droves.
I’m still utterly distraught about her passing. We all are.
She didn’t just make the work better, she made you want to be better and as talents go, that’s a pretty amazing one.
Relationships are strange.
You can know some people for decades and not really be impacted by their presence and there’s some you can meet for what seems like a moment in time, and be impacted by them for years. Decades even.
Lisa was in the latter and that’s why, from a purely selfish level, I feel robbed.
Robbed of the time I was going to have with her.
Robbed of the conversations and lessons I’d have learned with her.
Robbed of the possibilities and opportunities I’d have created with her.
I appreciate it feels crass to say this when there are people who have lost so much more with her passing. My intention is not to offend and if I’ve done that, I apologies wholeheartedly. This is just my very clumsy attempt to say that if Lisa could make a relative stranger feel so strongly towards her – as a person and a professional – in just 4 short months, then I cannot imagine the sense of loss the people who knew her … worked with her … and loved her for much longer are feeling.
And to them, I offer my deepest and sincerest condolences.
She may be gone, but my god … she won’t be forgotten.
I’m back tomorrow to celebrate my dear Otis’ 10th birthday.
Death and birth …
A reminder the circle of life is real, even if it feels cruel.
And with that, I say goodbye and thank you to Lisa.
For everything you did and all that you were.
I feel very fortunate to have known you.
Rx