Filed under: 2025, Anniversary, Attitude & Aptitude, Content, Context, Creativity, Dad, Daddyhood, Death, Emotion, Empathy, Jill, Love, Loyalty, Mum & Dad, My Childhood, My Fatherhood, Otis, Parents
So today is the 26th year of Dad dying.
Given I’ve written this blog for almost 2 decades, you’d think I’d have said all that needed to be said about him – and in some ways, you’d be right – however, despite the fact that next year he’ll have been gone for over half my life [so far], he is arguably more a part of my day-to-day reality than ever.
I talk about him.
I think about him.
I reference his learnings and lessons in how I live my life and do my job.
He’d probably love that I do this, though I can’t help but feel he’d also ask “why?”.
Of course, part of it is because I love him and miss him – but more than that, the older I get, the more I appreciate how great he was.
As I’ve written before, my Mum and Dad blessed me with an epic childhood.
A life overflowing with the full force of their total love and support, even when I tested it to varying degrees and extremes.
They were compassionate, considerate and continually encouraged me to find and follow my own path … even when it went against what they wished I’d do.
And most of all, they ensured they sheltered me from many of the challenges and hardships we faced over the years, so that I could forge my life rather than be held back by theirs.
In terms of unconditional love, they were the posterchild for it.
But please don’t think they were walkovers …
While they were willing to let me explore, they wanted to ensure I’d really considered what I was doing or wanting to do.
Not so they could talk me out of it, but so they could understand it. Have a deeper appreciation of what was driving me so they could both encourage it and make sure my eyes were open to the realities of it.
It’s why they encouraged me to be a studio musician when they would have loved me to go into law. It’s why they pushed me to continue with my move to Australia when Dad had his stroke before I left. It’s why they taught me the importance of fulfilment when most parents were fixated on achievement. It’s why they let me follow Queen around Europe when I was 15 when most parents demanded their kids stay at home.
Incredible, eh?
But the thing is, I didn’t know that at the time.
If truth be told, there were times where I thought my parents were holding me back … cramping my style … oppressing my dreams.
And while I worked out I was being a bit of a fuckwit, I didn’t really realise how much of one I was being until I heard about other people’s parents and when I became one myself.
Because on top of all the advice and support they gave me, the big thing was they were always present.
In my life and by my side.
Be it for homework, parent/teacher evenings, birthday parties or just bad days … they were there. Standing in my corner … supporting me … encouraging me and being interested in me and my life.
What a fucking gift …
And yet, because it was part of my normality, I took it for granted … never realizing the effort and sacrifice it took for them to make sure they were always there.
And they made some major sacrifices.
Not just in terms of time … but also in terms of their choices, career, money and opportunity.
And I was immune to much of it because they didn’t want me to know – either because they knew I’d try and talk them out of it or because they feared it would add pressure on me to justify whatever I was doing instead.
Do I understand their reasons for doing that?
Yeah … I do.
But what I understand even more is how hard it must have been to keep doing it … and I say this as a Dad who loves his son but has still moved him to 4 radically different countries [so far] in just 10 years.
[And don’t get me started on how many times I’ve made my wife move]
Which hopefully all goes to help explain why my Dad plays so much in my present … more and more, I realise how fortunate I was.
How fortunate I am.
He – like Mum – created the space and time for me to fill on my terms, rather than expect me to fit in with whatever they had available.
They enabled me to be part of their life rather than an accessory to it.
Believing their role was to teach me how to make the best decisions for my life rather than telling me what to do.
That forging my own path would be the ultimate demonstration that they did good.
So, it’s a shame that for all their generosity, it’s kinda-backfired.
Because so much of what I’ve done and do is driven by my desire to make them metaphorically proud.
To let them know I didn’t take their lessons and sacrifices for granted.
It’s one of the reasons I have kept living around the world, because I feel it would be disrespectful to ‘go back’ when they sacrificed so much to let me go. It’s also why I keep running towards the exciting and unknown … because for me, it’s a way to demonstrate I value a life of fulfillment over a life of easy contentment.
Whether they would think agree with what I’ve done is anyone’s guess.
There would definitely be some stuff they’d be shaking their head at, but I hope overall, they’d be proud.
I hope overall they’d smile and see I’m trying to make as much out of what I’ve got.
It’s my way of honoring them.
Of ensuring that while they’ve gone – their impact is still here.
With me. With love.
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
Filed under: Attitude & Aptitude, Context, Dad, Jill, Love, Mum, Mum & Dad, My Childhood, Otis, Relationships, Resonance, Tattoo
So I’m back again.
Kinda.
I say that as by the time you read this, I’ll be off again.
On a plane, to a different country. But don’t get too excited because unlike the other recent trips, it’s only a few days so this blog – if anyone reads it – will be back on Thursday.
You’d think with all the time I’ve been away, I’d of had a chance to think up some new topics to write about. But quite frankly, the biggest news is the realization we’re now entering the last month of blogging for 2025.
How the hell did we get to this point of the year so quickly?
The thought that in just over a couple of months we enter the 19th year of this rubbish is mindblowing … though maybe I should say mind numbing, hahaha.
Anyway, this post is about tattoos.
Hang in there, it’s quite a personal post.
I got my first tat when I was about 41 years old.
I’d always thought about them but either was worried about the pain or not sure what I would want on me.
Things changed when I found myself in a tattoo shop in LA while on holiday with Jill, Paul and Shelly … and suddenly the opportunity to ‘go for it’ was just a head-nod away.
So, I did and almost immediately it made more sense to me than I ever imagined.
You see, for a sentimental fool like me, tattoos are a way to commemorate and celebrate all that is – or has been – important to me.
More than a reminder, but a way to keep these things alive in my consciousness.
Maybe that’s why I find having them peaceful.
Proper peace.
To the point I sleep through them rather than wince because of them.
So, while some can have any old shit inked onto their body, for me each is deeply personal and that’s why my arms are covered in a hotchpotch of weird personal references and deeply emotional significance … from toast with the Superman logo burnt into it to a mooncake, an owl, an octopus, a black heart with flowers and Ms Piggy right through to things like my old Nottingham post code and phone number, Rosie’s face, paw and nose and Otis birth date to name but a few.
But recently I had 2 more added that had a bigger impact on me than I imagined.
While going through some old photos, I found my parents passports.
As I looked through the pages, I saw their signatures and it really got to me.
Part of it was I’d not seen them for a long time.
Part of it is knowing they won’t ever write them again.
Part of it is because they’d written them with their own hand, so I felt close to them again.
It was an emotional moment and decided there and then I wanted them tattooed on me.
Now I have tattoos for Mum and Dad already [the Owl and Ms Piggy] but this was different and so when I talked to an artist near our house about it, she readily agreed and created scans she could use as a template to ink.
And this is the result.
They’re perfect.
Both in terms of how they look and where they are.
But more than that, they’re perfect in what they mean and represent.
I was gobsmacked when I first saw them because it felt so surreal to see their signatures written new again.
Yes, I know I’d asked for them, but these were ‘fresh and new’ and given Dad has been gone 25 years – and Mum 9 – it felt like they were part of my present, not simply my past.
Being able to look at my wrist and not just see their names, but their actual signatures is very special to me as it means they are now living in my world … but more than that, I’m taking them with me. Showing and sharing with them how I live and what I do. Having them on the journey with me rather than just in my memory.
I appreciate not everyone will get this and some may think I have finally – or officially – cracked, but I hope some people get it, because the point of a tattoo, at least for me, isn’t about branding, but living.
Ensuring things of significance in life are not consigned to ‘memory status’, but liberated to be oxygen for where you go. Not because you can’t let go or are frightened to … but because the energy of what they are helps take you further. In the now. In the present. In the forever.
Filed under: Attitude & Aptitude, Dad, Emotion, Family, Fatherhood, Love, My Childhood, Paul
A few weeks ago, I wrote a post about my Dad on what would have been his 86th birthday.
Paul – my best – saw it and wrote this to me:
“I know a boy who’s 10 feet tall, sleeps in the kitchen with his head in the hall”.
Now you may think, reading that, Paul has lost his marbles – and I get why – but what Paul had actually done was give me a gift.
You see that silly, little poem was something my Dad used to say all the time.
ALL. THE. TIME.
And yet despite this, I’d forgotten it.
I don’t know why.
I don’t know how.
But I had … and that’s why when I heard it again, it felt like I was running into his arms again.
Getting a big hug. A squeeze. A massive kiss on my ‘bonce’, as he would say.
Dad was forever coming up with these little silly rhymes, poems and songs.
Another I remember was his ‘ghost story’.
I can’t remember it exactly, but it went something like this:
The moon is a ghostly galleon.
Tossed upon stormy seas.
He knocked upon the door a second time.
“Is anyone there?” he said.
But all was still and silent, for everyone was dead’.
I have no idea where it came from … or why … but rather than be scared shitless by it, we used to say it all the time. Especially around Halloween.
It became a special, private poem that connected and united us in the most daft of ways.
Now I admit it’s not that long ago that I’d be devastated that these things – fundamental moments of my childhood – had escaped my memory.
But now I’m good with it … because not only do I get to experience them all over again – where they flood my mind with wonderful feelings and memories – but I get to discover the impact they had on others.
Which is why I’m so grateful to Paul – and my cousin Neil – for being so impacted by some of the things my Dad did, even though they were a byproduct of who he was.
Dad was a brilliant man.
Kind, compassionate, loving, smart and silly.
He cared … he was interested, and he was interesting.
Death is obviously utterly, fucking shit … but it’s funny how those little interactions you could write off as a childish or silly quirk of a meaningful relationship end up being some of the things you emotionally connect to the most.
The incidental things that you discover have become everything.
And while I never actually knew a boy who was 10 feet tall and slept in the kitchen with his head in the hall … I am so grateful he existed in my Dads head.
Who now lives in my heart.