Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Attitude & Aptitude, Birkenstocks, Colleagues, Confidence, Culture, Daddyhood, Death, Doctor, Effectiveness, Emotion, Empathy, Family, Fear, Happiness, Health, Jill, Love, Mum & Dad, My Fatherhood, Otis, Perspective, Socks
Back in November of last year, I wrote about how I was eating healthy.
It was quite a big thing for me to talk about – which is weird, given I have absolutely no problem writing about death, unemployment or the size of my best friends appendage, to name but a few of the subjects I’ve waxed lyrical about that many smarter people would rather shut-up than share.
But since then, more things have happened and while I genuinely feel uncomfortable to write it, I am also quite proud of myself, so here we go.
You see what happened was back in August, my doctor asked me to spend 3 months focusing on my health. To try and retrain my habits. To make different choices about my diet. To see what might happen by doing it.
And while I’ve been a helpless – and willing – slave to the seductive powers of pasta and sugar for basically my whole life … I decided this was the time I was going to go all in.
So I did.
65g of carbs a day. 25g of sugar a day. 1700 calories a day.
Every day.
And while it was hard at first, once I knew what I could do – and eat – it was satisfying. Well … more satisfying than I imagined. And that only grew when the results of those first 3 months came in.
I’d lost 22kg.
I’d dropped 4 sizes in clothes.
I saw every one of my health measures hit ‘healthy’.
My doctor called to ask if I was OK as the results were so extreme, he thought either the original results were inaccurate or I was doing a different sort of damage to myself.
[For the record, he was wrong on both counts – I was just in a very intimate relationship with chicken and spinach]
And as good as all that was – and it was very good – the biggest change was that I have started to like myself for the first time in a long time.
Yes, I appreciate that sounds tone deaf and dramatic given there are people who face real challenges and problems, whereas I have an amazing family, a wonderful life and lifestyle and a rewarding and fulfilling job … but it’s true.
In my defence, I didn’t really realise it until I started coming out the other side. Mainly because I think the impact was over time … slowly but surely, bit by bit … until at some point, it found a way to settle permenantly just under my surface.
And while it only popped up to mess with me at certain times and moments – and I suspected what may be behind it all – it is only recently that I was able to confirm my concerns about my health, maybe more than my actual health, was the cause of it.
Or should I say, the concerns about my sub-optimal health.
Just to be clear, what I’m talking about is self-esteem.
God it’s a weird thing.
It’s in your power and yet you’re also powerless to it and I felt I was in its grip.Putting me in a corner that I didn’t think I could get out of so I adapted my ways and choices to try and counteract it, without realising I was just giving it more power over me in more ways.
Which is why as I have got more in control of my health, I have felt a bit of a rebirth.
A bit more confidence about what I can do.
A bit more happiness about who I am.
From the superficial to the deeply, deeply personal.
Part of this is because I’m now wearing smaller sized clothes than I have in literally decades and I’m almost ashamed at how much that has affected me. Of course, it’s also bankrupting me as I have to basically buy new t-shirts that no longer look like I’m wearing a man tent dress … but it has changed more than just the size, but what I choose. Because frankly, more things are now available to me and so I’m experimenting with clothes like I’m a 10 year old kid. Well, I say experimenting, but it really has come down to a few t-shirts in colours that aren’t black and some socks [which is, let’s be honest, already a shock given my Birkenstock obsession] in a range of ridiculous colours. Fuck, I even colour coded my t-shirt and socks once … something never ever done in my life. And – to be honest – never to be done again.
But it is in terms of my family that I am the most indebted.
Because I’ve likely increased the time I’ll be here for my wife and son.
OK, so there wasn’t a identified risk that was going to cut it short … but health is always going to make it last longer and that means everything to me.
Because I love my family.
Love every little thing about them.
Of course they can annoy the fuck out of me, but I am sure I am far worse to them – even though this shocks me as I’m obviously a saint.
But as my son is just 9, I want to be around for as long as I can. I want to see the life he builds, I want to be there for the choices he wants to make. I want to just be in his life and have him in mine for as long as possible. With my wonderful wife by my side. Building new adventures and sharing them. Together.
Now I appreciate that all sounds very Hallmark card … but I do, that’s maybe all I want in some ways … and I’d be denying the truth if I said I hadn’t wondered if this was going to be as possible as I hoped it would be.
And yet … I felt it was an impossible situation to change.
I wanted it.
I knew what could help it.
But I didn’t have the skills or the energy or the willpower. Always having an excuse why I couldn’t dedicate the time and energy to it. Which is mad given I have a fuck-ton of energy and willpower to do a bunch of other stuff … but I had convinced myself that I’d met my match and so that affected me deeply in my head. Loving my family but not knowing how to make sure that love could be around for longer.
I know, it sounds pathetic, but I bet I am not the only one who has faced this psychological prison. And just to be clear, it’s not that I hadn’t tried things to change it. I had. And failed … over and over again. Which not only made me feel a bit more shit about myself, but also convinced myself I was not going to win this battle.
Which is why the pride Otis has in what I’ve done that makes me almost cry with joy. And what breaks my heart is that he obviously had the same worries about how long I’d be around. Not overtly. Not daily. But he tells me how proud he is of me and how happy he is I’m ‘healthy’ … and so while no one knows when the ‘end day’ will come, removing some of the more blatant concerns that it could be sooner than you hope, is a psychological gift in itself.
Now I am not going to say if I can do it, anyone can.
I couldn’t do it for 53 years and you don’t have to be healthy to be happy.
I hate that attitude.
And I was happy … I’m just saying I’m happier now.
With myself.
Of course, that doesn’t mean I don’t have issues – I do, bloody loads of them – but it means I have less than I’ve been carrying, which is nice.
In fact, as of today, I have 30kg less problems I’m carrying – ha.
But let’s not ignore the reality that doing this is really fucking hard – especially at the start – and I needed a Doctor to basically scare me into it and needed to actively choose to not make excuses for not sticking with it. Which is why if anyone resonates with my story and wants to chat about their situation – or what I did to try and get out of it – then just get in touch and I’ll listen and share.
While there is a conscious mental decision to be made, at its heart it’s simply about food choices and portion choices. Oh, and investment … both in time and – sadly – money.
Because it’s a privilege to be able to do this, because – ironically – eating less costs more. Or it does if you want to make it easier.
But the good news is there’s choices that actually are good … and you’re talking to someone who thinks kebab and chips is fine dining. So if you want to know more, I’ll tell you what worked for me and how I did it and then you can decide what’s right for you.
Which leaves me to say a huge thanks to my family, doctor, clients, colleagues and whoever the fuck invented 99% sugar free buffalo sauce … because they made this happen. They made this possible,
And while I may fuck up occasionally, I now know I won’t fuck up every single mealtime and that’s a win in my book, because this journey has taught me things about myself and my habits that have been a revelation.
In fact the only thing I am disappointed about is I’ve still not used the overpriced bloody treadmill I bought. Though I’m glad I got the cool, foldable, wifi and bluetooth enabled one … which means there’s some things about me that will never change.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Attitude & Aptitude, Childhood, Comment, Context, Emotion, Friendship, Love, Mum, My Childhood, Parents, Paul, Television
I know, the title of this post must freak you out.
Frankly, it freaks me out as well.
Seriously … what is going on?
First I have lost a ton of weight.
Then I have started wearing shoes. AND SOCKS. COLOURFUL SOCKS.
And now I’m being positive? What the absolute fuck?!
The good news is all you have to do is look at the posts of last week and see that my default remains a sentimental, sarcastic, mischievous piece of shit.
Thank God.
But today is about being nice … and let’s face it, we all need it on a Monday.
So as a kid, I grew up watching the TV show, ‘Happy Days‘.
Many of you who read this blog – if there’s any of you – may be too young to know what the hell I’m talking about, but if you recognise the picture at the top of this post, or the name ‘The Fonz’, then that’s what I’m talking about.
While Happy Days was set in the 50’s, it was from America [which immediately made it cool in my eyes] and bridged the gap between kid and adult entertainment.
I used to watch it with my Mum and I still remember one episode where she laughed at a scene in the restaurant to the point tears were rolling from her eyes.
For that alone it would always have a place in my heart … but the reality is, like The Wonder Years that came along later, it was about relationships.
Relationships with family … friends … maturity … individuality … responsibility and life.
Sure, it did all this in a more light hearted, less poignant way than Wonder Years … but it was still there and I loved it.
The reason I am saying this is because of this …
That picture features one of the characters from Happy Days called, Potsie.
He was a funny character … good natured, enthusiastic but also undeniably naive.
Anyway, the photo shows him – aged 73 – getting married.
If that wasn’t lovely enough, he had recently beaten cancer, so it was a double celebration.
But even those 2 pieces of brilliant news aren’t the reason I love this photo so much.
The reason is that the other man in the photo, is his best friend Don Most … who was also his best friend in Happy Days when he played the character Ralph.
This news made me happier than I ever imagined.
Sure, I’m a sentimental old fart … but I was quite emotional reading this.
Maybe it’s because I am about as far away as I have ever been from my best mate, Paul.
Maybe it’s because the conflict in every aspect of life is starting to get me down.
Maybe it’s because it connects me to the times I would watch that show sat next to Mum.
Or maybe it’s just because it’s lovely and reassuring to see that good, gentle and long-lasting things can still happen – but whatever the reason, seeing ‘Potsie’ happy in love, life and health has also made me very happy.
Especially for a Monday, when it’s needed most.
Now let’s hope tomorrow sees me getting back to my usual cynical-bastard-self … because I can’t deal with this sickening level of positivity either.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Context, Dad, Emotion, Empathy, Fatherhood, Honesty, Love, Mum, Mum & Dad, My Childhood, My Fatherhood, Otis
I’m back.
Kinda.
Hang in there, because this is going to be a longish post.
I should say the length is not just because I want to make up for the fact you had a whole week without being subjected to my rubbish … but because you’re getting another week.
No really.
You see by the time you read this, I’ll be in LA.
I know … I know … but it’s for work, honest.
OK, I admit I am looking forward to it because I not only get to see a bunch of mates, I get to do something with Mr Weigel as well. Which means it will be fun, regardless what happens. Certainly fun enough to miss my 16th Wedding anniversary on Friday, which – let’s be honest – is possibly the best present I could ever give Jill.
[Sorry my love, but we both know you will have forgotten, ha]
So as you get another week of peace, I thought I’d leave you with a big post.
But unlike my usual rubbish … this isn’t about strategy, Birkenstocks or Queen.
But it is about sentimentality and love. But not mine – for once.
You see a few weeks ago, I read an article in The Guardian by the author Katherine Heiny.
I don’t know why I read it.
I didn’t know Katherine or any of her work and the article was about her hard-of-hearing Dad … but despite all that, I did.
And I’m so glad.
It was wonderful.
A longish train ride that made stops at laughter, smiles and – at the very end – tears.
Because what Katherine had done so perfectly was capture the increasingly complex relationship we all have with our parents while also realising – hopefully before it’s too late – that for all their sometimes stubborn, stuck-in-their-way views and ways, we love them, admire them and respect them.
Maybe it was because I was reading it at 2 in the morning, but at the end, the tears flowed.
Great big dollops of them.
Not just because she’d captured the love she had for him in such a beautifully raw – yet gentle – way, but because it triggered how I hope Otis will one day think of me. Preferably without the frustrating bits in-between.
Anyway, the impact of the story compelled me to write to her.
I knew there was the risk I’d sound like a stalker … not to mention the high chance my email would be consigned to the junkmail bin either inadvertently or deliberately … but I wanted to let her know how much her writing meant to me.
Yes, I know she’s an author – an accomplished one as it turned out – but how she writes just connected with me more than many other authors I’ve read.
Which is why I was thrilled when, a few days later, I received this from Katherine:
Dear Rob,
Your email made my day (as did the fact that you think I have staff, or at least an assistant). It was the exact opposite of pointless and silly. It really touched me. I miss my parents too. My mother told me once that even after her mother died, my mother thought of things daily that she wanted to tell her. Now I do the same and it seems to me like a way to say “I hold you always in my thoughts.” Please friend me on FB if FB is something you do and thank you (x a million!) for writing.
Katherine x
That she wrote back at all was wonderful.
That she wrote such a lovely message and asked me to FB ‘friend’ her is unparalleled.
Don’t worry though. Because in an act I assume was designed to continue to help Mark Zuckerberg win back public sentiment – boosted massively by the stupidity of Elon Musk – Facebook stopped me ‘friending’ Katherine, as they correctly pointed out I did not know her.
My loss was surely her – and Mr Zuckerberg’s – gain.
Or it was, until Katherine persisted and found a way for us to connect.
What a brilliantly generous human with such an alarming lack of judgement.
Which leaves me to say this …
Thank you so much Katherine.
Not for writing back – though I’m grateful for that – but for celebrating the emotion that comes from honesty, even when it can be the most uncomfortable journey of all.
You can read the story that started this journey, by clicking here.
I’m back next Monday. That should be enough time to have stopped laughing, crying and telling your parents you love them …
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Advertising, Attitude & Aptitude, Authenticity, China, Colleagues, Communication Strategy, Content, Context, Craft, Creative Development, Creativity, Culture, Customer Service, Differentiation, Emotion, Empathy, Experience, Food, Happiness, Honesty, Imagination, Innovation, Italy, Leadership, Love, Loyalty, Management, Marketing, Mischief, Packaging, Resonance, Singapore, Social Divide, Standards, Strategy, Viz, Wieden+Kennedy
In the UK there was an adult comic called Viz.
It was filthy, hilarious and – for a long time – very successful.
And while they had many ‘star’ characters … from Sid the Sexist to errrrm, The Fat Slags … my favourite part of the magazine were the publishing company details.
Tucked at the bottom of a page, in extra small font, were a list of the people behind the magazine. Most people wouldn’t even see it, let alone read it … but if you did, you found magic in that small print.
Mischief. Personality. Information.
Nothing told you how much this was a labour of love for the people behind the magazine than their dedication to instilling their personality into every nook and cranny they could find … whether people would see it or not.
Brilliant stuff.
I say this because I saw a label a friend had put on a product they were selling at their shop.
Ai Ming was a planner in my team at Wieden+Kennedy.
She was very good … but decided one day, it was time for a change and so she went back to Singapore to open a Cheese Shop.
I know … sounds a bit random … but wait, it get’s better.
You see Ai Ming had an idea.
A way to combine her love of cheese and travel and be paid for it.
So she started The Cheese Ark … a cheese shop in Singapore, dedicated to selling cheeses from small, independent makers across Europe.
Oh but that’s nowhere near the end of the story …
So when she left Wieden – and before she returned to Singapore – Ai Ming went to work on a small farm in Italy for a few months. [I think]
While there, she discovered how amazing cheese tasted when it was made by people who loved and nurtured their product.
To her, it was a whole new world of taste and made every other cheese she had tried, feel unworthy of being labelled as such.
But she also learned something else …
You see she discovered many of these small, independent cheese makers were in danger of going under, because they didn’t have a way to compete with the big boys.
Said another way … this incredible tasting cheese could become obsolete.
So rather be sad, she decided to do something about it.
Enter The Cheese Ark … a shop that only sells cheese that originates from these small independent farms. A shop that is one of the only places in the World where you can get your hands on this incredible produce. A shop that charges enormous amounts of money to own a piece of their incredible cheese … not simply so you can have your taste buds tingled in ways you could never imagine … not simply because it allows you to show off to your friends about your good taste and status … not simply because it pays for Ai Ming’s travel, shop, employees and profit … but because by buying so much from each of these small farms across Europe, she can ensure that these small, independent cheese farms not only survive, but thrive.
Hence it’s called ‘The Cheese Ark’ … because its literally saving the lives of cheese.
How fucking incredible is that?
But Ai Ming is not just a creative business thinker, she’s full of personality and passion … which leads me to the point of this post.
You see I recently saw something that reminded me of those Viz publishing details I loved.
Something that communicated more than just the necessary details.
It was this …
How good is that?
I bloody love it.
A notice on a packet of cheese that’s more interesting, engaging, compelling and charming than 99% of ads – or any marketing material – out there.
Sure, not many people will see it.
Most may actively choose to ignore it.
But for those who do, they’re not just rewarded with the thrill of discovering something as enjoyable as the product inside it, they know they’re dealing with someone who really cares about what they do.
And they do. Because what Ai Ming has created is the Noah’s Ark of Cheese.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, America, Attitude & Aptitude, Cats, China, Culture, Emotion, EvilGenius, Family, Fatherhood, Happiness, Hong Kong, Jill, LaLaLand, London, Love, Loyalty, New Zealand, Nottingham, Otis, Parents, Relationships, Rosie, Shanghai, Singapore, Stubborness
So on Saturday, it will be our cat – Rosie’s – 16th birthday.
Sixteen. For a street cat from Singapore, that’s amazing.
What’s also amazing is that she’s still in pretty good nick.
Yes, you can tell she’s getting old.
She’s slower … less mobile and definitely sleeps more.
But by the same token she remains cranky, vocal and remains as demanding as ever.
And if another cat comes anywhere near our house, she goes full gangster mode … hissing, growling and acting like she’s ready to fight despite the fact she’s behind a glass door.
Like those TikTok videos that show men loving family dogs they didn’t originally want their family to have … I was in a similar situation.
I didn’t really want us to have a pet.
Not because I’m a bastard, but because Jill and I were living in Singapore and I didn’t know how long we’d be there and I just was worried about the hassle of bringing it with us.
But Jill had always had pets and I wanted her to be happy, so while she originally wanted a dog, we settled on getting a cat.
She threw herself into the search.
It wasn’t just about getting any cat, she had to feel a connection to it … so after visiting various pet shops with their over-priced, pure-bred snooty moggies, she came across a little street cat that had been found by a family and was wondering if anyone wanted to adopt.
Jill went to see it and it is here that street cat did the best move of their life.
As Jill lifted her up to her face, Rosie moved her head forward so their noses touched.
Despite the fact Rosie would not show such love and tenderness for about 6 years, that ensured the deal was done and we were now a cat family.
I still remember sitting in a cab outside the apartment as Jill went to pick her up.
I was a bit anxious and nervous and eventually the door opened and there she was, in her little cat bag, where we both wondered what the fuck we had in store for each other.
And while there have been some annoying, painful and scary moments … it’s been generally nothing but joy.
Put it simply, I bloody love that cat.
There’s things I’ve done for her that I wouldn’t do for anyone. Literally anyone.
What things? Well how about some of this …
In HK we paid someone to pat her so she didn’t feel lonely. I did a project for an airline on the condition they flew her in the crew quarters rather than the cargo hold. We built ‘penthouses’ for her to hang out in. I gave an entire presentation about what a client can learn from her and her ways. I even got my office painted with her – and some of my colleagues moggies. And that’s just the tip of the sad-cat-bastard iceberg.
That said, every year I worry this is the year … the one where we have to say goodbye.
And while I know that will happen eventually, she’s doing OK.
Yes she needs some blood pressure medication, but apart from that, she’s in pretty good nick.
That said, I remember when we were moving to NZ I was worried that would be it.
Despite having flown from Singapore to HK … HK to Shanghai … Shanghai to LA and LA to London … London to Auckland is a whole different beast.
But bizarrely it wasn’t just the distance that worried me, it was that there was a stopover in Singapore – and given she was originally from there, my nihilistic side told me it was written in the stars that if there was any place she would reach the end, it would be where she started, like some fucked-up circle of life. Which – to be fair to me – is kinda what happened when Otis was born and my wonderful Mum died a few months later. Which – given I knew she was ill – was something my nihilistic side had also started to feed into my head.
Except with Rosie, it thankfully didn’t happen. [Fuck you, nihilism brain]
Better yet, we knew it hadn’t happened at the time because we had paid for a service that ensured at every stage she was checked and photographed.
Hell, even when we ended up in MIQ in NZ – where we spent longer in quarantine than she did – we got bombarded with pics of her and she looked to be having the time of her life.
Jetlagged … but happy, thanks to brushes and treats that I had already got sent to the quarantine place before our arrival.
But if you think this proves how much she means to me, you’re only partially right.
You see, at her age – which is 80 in human years – my attitude is she’s earned the right to do whatever she wants to do.
Which is why I’ll get up at 3am if she decides she wants a treat at 3am.
Which is why I’ll give her my chair if she decides she wants to be under the aircon.
Which is why I’ll buy her an extortionately expensive outdoor beanbag because she loves sitting outside in summer.
If we were her servants before, we’re her slaves now and I’m OK with that.
NZ is good for her.
She has a lovely, comfortable peaceful life.
Lots of places to go hang out, a big deck to sit and watch the birds and loads of food and water. And treats.
And where in the past you always felt she was disappointed in you, now you feel her gratefulness.
A cuddle here. A lick there. Meows, headrubs and sleeping on your hip.
Hell, she’s even totally chill that Sky – Otis’ budgie – is in the house.
It’s a lovely feeling.
A family feeling.
And while we give her so much, she’s given us – and me – more.
Happy Birthday my dear Rosie. Keep proving the critics wrong and us on our toes.
