Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Attitude & Aptitude, Childhood, Comment, Corona Virus, Daddyhood, Emotion, Empathy, Family, Fatherhood, Jill, London, Love, Otis
I found this photo recently.
It’s a few years old, when we lived in London … but there’s something about it that just warms my heart.
Not just because it features my son – though that helps – but because it in a period of pandemic chaos, it shows how love can make everything OK.
Covid had just taken hold.
We were all confined to home.
No one was offering any clarity.
People were dying at unprecedented numbers.
And Otis desperately needed his hair washing.
However …
… he was also playing a video game he absolutely didn’t want to stop playing so – because his world had been turned completely upside down – his wonderful, kind, considerate Mum found a way for him to keep playing while she could do some hair washing.
Obviously it is an utterly ridiculous way to do things, but it’s my ridiculous.
A moment of twisted normality at a time where nothing felt normal whatsoever.
And while I appreciate this is an utterly indulgent photograph, I love the way he seems oblivious to his surroundings. His little legs stretched out to the tip of his toes. And a kitchen that has been rapidly turned into a school, a playroom and a hairdressers all at the same time.
While we were painfully aware of the privileged position we were in – from having an income to having a teeny garden to escape in – the fear of COVID was starting to take a hold which is why, as I look at that photo today, I realise how much my ridiculously beautifully family let me feel we were strong together at a point where everything was feeling like it was falling apart.
Filed under: America, China, Comment, Dad, Daddyhood, Emotion, Empathy, England, Family, Fatherhood, Jill, LaLaLand, London, Love, Mum & Dad, My Fatherhood, Otis, Parents
In many ways, this was a big year for Otis.
While he had moved from Shanghai to Los Angeles, he was so young that he probably didn’t take it all in.
But by the time we left Los Angeles for London, he had made some deep connections.
His friend Jack.
His love Elodie.
His school mates and adventurous life in the sun.
And yet he took it all in his stride.
Sad to say goodbye, but happy to explore somewhere new, boosted by the fact he would get to see his ‘Oddparents’ – Paul and Shelly – a lot more often.
And within days, he was a Londoner.
Sure he had a strange American accent.
Sure he kept talk about dollars rather than pounds.
But for all the upheaval he was going through, he embraced it all.
New home.
New school.
New friends.
New way of living.
It was here he started to identify what he loved.
We wanted him to experience a range of things so he could discover what he liked.
And while he liked being a ‘ninja’, he didn’t want to do martial arts.
And while he enjoyed watching football with his dad, he didn’t like organised sport.
Instead he loved acting.
LOVED IT.
Watching him practice his lines was a bloody delight … the focus, the commitment.
And while he would get a bit shy at the point of performance, you could see how much his whole being lit up when he was doing it.
I have no idea if he will continue to love acting or performance.
Right now, he’s into video games in a big way.
But whatever path he chooses in the future … as much as I don’t want him to have a life of struggle, the thing I want most for him is fulfilment.
Not comfort.
Not content.
But fulfilment … as my parents always drilled into me.
To be honest, I didn’t really understood the difference between fulfilment and contentment till I was in my 30’s. But now I realise it has a totally different imputes when you go from the ‘receiver’ of that intent to the ‘giver’.
I hope I can help Otis understand it.
But more than that, I hope I can witness Otis embracing it.
Filed under: Attitude & Aptitude, Colenso, Comment, Dad, Daddyhood, Emotion, Empathy, Family, Fatherhood, Friendship, Home, Jill, Jillyism, Love, Mum & Dad, My Fatherhood, Paul
I can’t believe that tomorrow, we will be in the last month of the year.
Given we have basically all been confined to working in our homes, doing the same thing over and over and over again … it’s amazing how quickly this year has seemingly gone.
Of course, while our lives have been in arrested development, everything around us has been changing at a rapid rate.
From a personal perspective, in addition to the constant stream of dramas revolving around COVID-19 and the US elections, I experienced being made redundant, buying a new house, moving into the new house, seeing Otis go to a new school he adores, being asked to work on some of the most weird and wonderful creative projects I’ve ever had the opportunity to work on [for ‘clients’ I never dreamt I would get to work with], set up the adventure that is Uncorporated, mess about with the minds of procurement departments and enjoy the joy of being offered a job at one of my absolutely favourite agencies in the whole wide World, Colenso … which all combined to ensured life felt it was still rushing forward even though so much of my physical life stayed exactly the same.
Not that I didn’t love my physical life staying the same because it was basically the best bits of my life delivered in ways I had never really experienced them before,
Being with my family every single day.
Enjoying breakfasts, lunch and dinners with them.
Hanging out. Playing. Spending time just in each others life.
So while acknowledging the utter privilege I have in my life that let’s me be able say this – and acknowledging the fact that because my parents have sadly passed away, I did not have to deal with the emotional pressures and challenges of looking after elderly family members when you could not see them – I can say 2020 has been one of the best years of my life.
Seriously.
And while I look at 2021 with excitement, there is also a feeling of sadness this year is going to soon end because there’s been many things I have discovered, enjoyed and experienced that I either never knew, didn’t realise or just didn’t want to end.
I totally get I may be the only person who thinks this way – though my best friend Paul probably agrees – but that’s how I feel.
I know I am in a position of great fortune.
I know many are in very different situations.
But whatever your circumstances … I hope the final month of 2020 lets you feel either a hint of optimism for what could be ahead or grateful for the lessons this year has revealed to you. And if you can’t and are worried about it, then please get in touch – because while I can’t promise I can change this for you, I can promise I’ll listen and help you create the conditions that could increase the odds of making it so.
Have a great week.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Attitude & Aptitude, Childhood, Comment, Context, Dad, Daddyhood, Emotion, Empathy, England, Family, Friendship, Fulfillment, Happiness, Home, Jill, Love, Mum, Mum & Dad, Nottingham, Otis, Parents, Paul, Relationships, Rosie
When I was growing up, our back garden was a disaster.
Overgrown.
Tall grass.
Brambles.
Bushes.
Beautiful mayhem.
As a kid, I thought it was amazing.
Me and Paul would run in there and it felt like we were in the jungle.
From playing hide and seek to pretending we were soldiers, it could all happen there.
Then around the age of 5, Mum and Dad had an extension put onto the house and because the loan they took out for it was a bit more than they needed to have it built, they spent the rest on the garden.
Oh how they loved it.
They spent hours there.
Creating it. Cultivating it. Nurturing it. Admiring it.
My god, the way my dad treated his ‘sweet peas’ was enough to make me think he loved them more than me sometimes.
And while I still could play softball tennis with Mum on the patio, I always felt I had had something robbed from me – despite the fact there was a massive park down the road and huge fields of nothingness around the house.
So from there on in, while I could appreciate a nice garden, I always saw them as something that pushed me away rather than welcomed me in.
Until now.
I readily admit I had nothing to do with the garden we have in the home we have just bought.
I readily admit part of its appeal is that it’s mature, so feels natural rather than contrived.
And I readily admit I am still as shit and unenthusiastic about gardening as I ever was.
But my god, I am shocked at how much I love it.
I can stare at it for hours.
Sit in it for days.
Doing nothing but looking at it’s beautiful vibrancy and shades.
Seeing Rosie the cat stretch out on the deck like she has just hit ‘peak cat life’.
Watching Otis play on the swing hanging from the tree then looking at Jill picking up all the apples that have fallen from Otis’ adventure. Turning them into pies that we scoff or give to the neighbours in an blatant attempt to mitigate the mayhem we’ve caused in the first few months of living here with huge moving trucks blocking the road and electrical blackouts that we absolutely, definitely did not cause.
The idea of all this is about as foreign to me as you could get.
I’m a city person.
I like noise and bustle not nature and quiet.
Yet … yet … this is something very special.
Something I feel a real privilege to experience, which I acknowledge is only possible because of the privileged position I am in.
And while all these feelings could all be because of my age or because this house is our family home – regardless of the incoming NZ adventure – the impact of a simple garden has been far more than I ever imagined.
Which makes me think it could also have something to do with making me feel closer to Mum and Dad.
You see while our little garden at home was nothing like this, it was incredibly special to them.
Sure it was beautiful. Sure it was the fruits of their hard work and care. But it seemed to be a place that let them feel everything was going to be OK, regardless of the challenges.
And over the years, our wonderful little family faced many – but that garden always gave them comfort and joy.
A little piece of heaven.
Blossoming into radiant beauty and colour even after the harshest of winters.
Reminding them that the darkest times will always welcome a new spring.
And while as a kid I didn’t really like how that garden had robbed me of my jungle, I grew to appreciate it.
I saw what it did for my parents.
I still remember how my Dad stared in wonder at it after his stroke.
He’d been in hospital for months and was finally allowed home.
And while he needed a lot of care from Mum, that garden was like medicine for him. Helping him forget the pain he was in. Helping him forget the turmoil he was going through.
No longer able to talk.
No longer able to walk properly.
But here, facing the fruits of his love and labour, all was forgotten.
He was safe.
He felt nourished.
He was connected to something his body was not able to let him enjoy anymore.
He and Mum could transport themselves to a time and place where everything was OK.
And while I hope I never face the tragedy my Father suffered – and acknowledge this garden is from the toil of others hands – I feel I get what nature was able to do for Mum and Dad.
Because it isn’t just what grows in the garden, but what it helps blossom within yourself.
Filed under: Australia, Birthday, China, Comment, Emotion, Empathy, Family, Fatherhood, Hong Kong, Jill, Love, Mum, Mum & Dad, My Fatherhood, New Zealand, Otis, Singapore
Today would be my Mum’s 89th birthday.
EIGHTY NINE.
My god, that would have been something to celebrate.
I sometimes wonder if we’d have come to NZ if my Mum was still alive.
There’s a chance we would, but it would have been much harder to go, especially with COVID.
I just don’t know how I’d have been able to leave, given all she would have had to deal with in the last 18 months.
There were days – when we were in the UK – where I found myself being relieved she wasn’t here to experience the horror of COVID.
That’s incredibly hard for me to admit, but the idea of my dear Mum being on own and suffering ill health, without me – or anyone – being able to be near to protect, reassure or support her for over a year, literally ignites my anxiety.
Of course, millions of people had to go through just that, which is why I have nothing but admiration and compassion for all they went through. To not be able to see your family is unbelievably painful. To worry that if you do, you may kill them, is a burden that no one should have to deal with.
But if we were here in NZ … and if Mum was still alive … then today would be a day where not being with her would be one of the most painful of them all.
It certainly wouldn’t be for lack of trying, but the reality is if I did find a way to get back to the UK, then there would be no guarantee of when NZ would let me back in the country due to the quarantine situation.
I would feel torn in two.
And I know this because it almost happened in 2014.
Mum was going to have a major heart operation at around the same time Otis was due.
As in literally, a cross-over of time.
The idea I would have to decide whether to be at my son’s birth in China or be at my Mum’s side in England was something I was genuinely terrified of.
Fortunately, I found myself in England about 5 months before Mum’s operation and accompanied her to a meeting with her surgeon.
There she explaining the situation to him to which he said he felt Mum could wait another 3 or 4 months for the operation so she could be in ‘tip-top form’ to meet her grandson.
I am so grateful to him.
Not just for removing an obstacle that no one should have to deal with, but because it gave me 4 more months with my Mum – months that she got to see her grandson via Facetime – because sadly, she died of complications when she ended up having the op.
And as sad as that is, I smile at the thought of being with her today.
Not only can I imagine how it would go, I can even hear her voice.
She’d be saying how she can’t believe she’s 89.
She’d gently brush off my excited, “and next year you hit the big 90”, with a calm explanation that, “you never know what may happen in the future”.
My god I miss her voice.
Her kind, compassionate, warm, curious voice.
How I would love to hear her asking questions about Otis, Jill and Rosie the cat.
I remember the times I flew home to surprise her from Australia or Singapore or HK or China.
I’d knock on the door and then I’d hear her walking towards it – asking “who is it?” before she saw me.
She would look for a second in shock. Amazed her son … her beloved only child … was standing in front of her.
And she would say, “Oh Robert” before giving me a huge hug and then telling she was so surprised and happy.
Then before I knew it, she’d be asking if I’d eaten and say she had to make the bed up for me as there’s no sheets on it … hahaha.
Oh Mum, I wish I could be with you to celebrate.
I wish that day in March 2015 had turned out so differently.
But as I wrote over that week, at least everything had reached some beautiful finale … though you never got to see the new heating Angelo had put in for you, ha.
Mind you, with energy prices so high in the UK at the moment, you’d likely say, “I’ll just put on an extra jumper”.
Oh how I miss you Mum.
You were the best.
I hope Dad is looking after you.
Thank you for everything and happy, happy birthday.
The countdown to 90 now begins.
Love you.
Rx