Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Advertising, Agency Culture, America, Anniversary, Attitude & Aptitude, Authenticity, Comment, Creativity, Culture, Cynic, Dad, Daddyhood, Deutsch, Differentiation, Emotion, Empathy, End of Year, England, Family, Fatherhood, Friendship, Goodbye America, Goodbye China, Grand announcements, Happiness, Hello America, Holiday, Home, Innocence, Insight, Jill, LaLaLand, London, Love, Martin Weigel, Mum, Mum & Dad, My Fatherhood, Otis, Parents, Paul, Planners, Planning, R/GA, Relationships, Rosie, Sentimentality, WeigelCampbell, Wieden+Kennedy
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So this is the final post of the year.
It’s been a big year for me and the family.
Then again, it was a big year for the family last year too.
However, whereas 2017 saw us leave Shanghai and Wieden+Kennedy – something that was truly emotional for all of us – 2018 has seen us go from sunny LA, working at Deutsch, living in a house by the beach and driving a custom made Audi to being citizens of cold and rainy London, living in a much smaller house in Fulham, working at R/GA [with some sprinkles of Metallica madness in-between] and traveling by tube to and from everywhere.
And we haven’t been this happy in ages.
Don’t get me wrong, there are things we definitely miss from our life in the US – people, the weather, Otis’ school, free soda refills and bacon mainly – but this move was right for us for a whole host of reasons, personal and professional, and we enter 2019 with the full expectation we’ll still be here when 2020 comes around.
I hope.
It’s funny, when I read the final post I wrote for last year, it is apparent that change was in our minds. We didn’t think that openly, but it seems it was there.
Of course, moving to a country and then leaving in just over a year is not the best thing.
It’s financial stupidity for one.
But these things happen and we are very happy for the amazing experience, though I must admit I’m even happier my wife, son and cat are still talking to me.
Fools.
But while our environment has changed, some things have stayed exactly the same.
Your ability to trash everything I write on here, for one.
And to you all, I say a huge thank you.
Sure, being told I’m a bad dressing, musically ignorant, gadget tosser every-single-day can get a bit tiring, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Because amongst the insults, there’s often pearls of gold in there.
Stuff that makes me think about things a different way.
Stuff that influences how I think about things I never thought about.
Stuff that just keeps me on my toes and interested about stuff.
And I love it.
I love that people come here and share a bit of their time and opinion with me.
Yes, I appreciate moving to the UK and still posting at 6am is screwing up the flow of the comments given the East Coast of America is asleep and can’t insult/join-in until much later … but the fact so many people still write makes me feel very fortunate.
While I have loved the ability to move countries and cultures so many times – and hope to continue doing it, just not for a bit – the reality is that is makes your friendship network difficult.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m very fortunate we have technology to keep me in touch with the wonderful people I’ve met in every country we’ve lived [whether they like it or not] and this year I got to catch up with people I’ve not seen in years – from Freddie to Paula – but there is something about having a level of constancy that makes you feel settled.
Bizarrely, this blog has provided me with a bit of that.
Even with people I have still yet to meet.
[Though I met Marcus and Neil Perkin this year and that made me so happy]
While I would never suggest I am your friend, you have been to me – in many ways and at many times, both at moments of darkness and happiness – and I want to take this opportunity to say thank you.
To all of you.
Even you Andy.
When I started this blog way back in May 2006, I never expected anyone to read it, let alone comment so the fact some of you still are – regardless that many Police officers would call it abuse – I’m grateful.
I’m excited about next year.
It will be big.
Not because we’ll be moving … or I’ll changing job … but new things will be entering my life.
From my beloved Otis starting proper school – which literally is screwing with my head – to the much-talked-about-but-not-much-actually-done Weigel/Campbell officially doing its thing in addition to the exciting adventures and exploits my wonderfully beautiful family, my bloody amazing friends and fantastic new planning team will get up to that will make me feel even luckier than I do already.
Being back in England has had a much bigger effect on me than I ever imagined it would.
I am grateful for it.
I am grateful for all I have.
I hope this holiday season and 2019 is one that is wonderful for you all too.
See you in a few weeks. [Yeah, don’t think you get so lucky to not have me come back]
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Attitude & Aptitude, Comment, Dad, Daddyhood, Jill, Mum, Mum & Dad, My Fatherhood, Otis
It’s the last day of the first week of blog posts for the new year.Congratulations, you’ve survived.
So I thought I’d end the week on a positive.
No, a real one.
You see there was recently read a Linkedin article asking people what piece of advice they would give to their children.
Obviously this is a big, big question because ultimately, there’s so many things you could say and want to say.
But then I realized the advice I got from my parents is still probably the best advice I could give.
Advice that not only prepares you for the life ahead, but prepares you to get the most out of what is there and who you are – which, when you come to think of it, is probably the best advice of all.
So with that, I pass onto Otis what my beloved parents passed on to me.
+ A life of fulfillment is more enjoyable than a life of contentment.
+ Be interested in what others are interested in.
+ Make your own mistakes not someone else’s.
I might not have managed to do them all, all the time, but those pieces of advice have helped me enjoy a life that – let’s face it – I don’t deserve to have, which might be the one thing I’ve done that my parents would be the happiest about.
So to Mum and Dad – thank you – you might not realize it, but you’ve given your grandson one of the most valuable bits of advice he’ll ever have.
Have a great weekend.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, America, Attitude & Aptitude, Babies, Birkenstocks, Childhood, Comment, Culture, Dad, Daddyhood, Empathy, Equality, Experience, Family, Innocence, Jill, Love, Mum, Mum & Dad, My Fatherhood, Parents
So for the past 2 days I’ve been writing a lot about equality.
It’s a subject very close to my heart.
To be honest, it always has been but being a Father has raised it’s importance.
In some ways, having Otis grow up in China made things easier as it meant he was exposed to different cultures from day 1 but I didn’t want to take that for granted, so when we knew we were going to move to the US, I spoke to a friend of mine – a Brit, who is black and lives in the US – about the [thankfully small] issues his kids faced being in the US and what he thought parents should teach their kids to stop that happening.
His response was phenomenal.
In essence there were 2 parts.
The first was the obvious one – treat every person from every culture the same way – with respect, appreciation and consideration.
So far so good … but it was the next bit that really made an impact.
Don’t tell Otis different cultures are all the same.
Don’t ‘whitewash’ our differences, acknowledge them … enrich Otis with understanding about different cultures history, struggles and values.
Or said another way … celebrate the differences but treat everyone the same.
Brilliant.
Absolutely brilliant.
In a World where so much hate is built simply on ‘being different’, helping break down those walls through knowledge and understanding is even more powerful than just saying ‘don’t see the colour, see the person’.
Of course it’s vital to treat people the same, but understanding the background isn’t just a mark of respect – it’s a way to celebrate strengths and understand behaviours that you may otherwise judge for no other reason than your own in-built prejudices.
So among Otis’ books on animals and dinosaurs and Peppa fucking Pig, he has books that explore the cultures associated with Africa [‘Africa Is Not A Country’ & ‘Sundiata’], Mexico [‘Tequila Worm’] and the Middle East [‘My Fathers Shop’].
Now I appreciate some people may think we are going a bit over-the-top with this.
After all, Otis is only 2 and a half.
But, as I have written before, I’ve learnt not to care what others think.
I’ve learnt people often mistake being a parent with being an ‘expert’ on kids.
I’ve also learnt kids develop so many of their behaviours by being masters of mimicking how their parents behave.
[Jill hopes she can stop him fall victim to ironic t-shirts and Birkenstocks]
At the end of the day, we believe we have a responsibility to him – and society as a whole – to encourage the values and beliefs that can enable him to be a good human being … someone who doesn’t just contribute to society in terms of what he achieves, but in terms of what he helps others achieve.
Of course we know he will face challenges.
Peer pressure. Unexpected circumstances. The allure of mischief.
And while we can’t dictate how he handles those things, we hope we can prepare him to deal with them in a way where he can hold his head high … which is why on top of being loving, supporting parents, we will buy him books on understanding different cultures, give him dolls to play with and encourage him to play with his beloved pink kitchen.
Being a Father is one of the most amazing things that has happened in my life.
I feel embarrassed to admit I had no idea how good it would be … and while being a good parent is basically a matter of trying things with good intent, I want to say a big thank you to Karrelle Dixon … because he may not realise it, but he made a big difference to how my little boy will grow up. Not in terms of respect, but in terms of understanding … and when you think about it, that’s one of the most wonderful gifts you can give anyone.
I hope my parents would think we’re doing good with their grandson.
I think they would.
Filed under: Anniversary, Comment, Dad, Death, Emotion, Empathy, Fatherhood, Mum, Mum & Dad, My Fatherhood, Parents
Today is the 2nd anniversary of my wonderful Mum passing away.
If I’m being honest, I’m going through a strange time with it.
On one hand, it seems like yesterday.
The pain. The sadness. The despair.
When I stop and think about it, it re-awakens all the trauma from that day and the days that followed.
However, I am conscious that these thoughts only occur when I give them time to happen.
They are no longer just sitting in my mind, waiting to jump out … I have to open the door to let them in.
I think Mum would be happy about that.
She would never want me to still feel paralysed by the sadness of her loss.
All she would want is for me to think of her in happy terms … remembering the good times we had together.
And I do.
Almost every day.
But I have to admit, I feel a bit guilty about that.
It’s as if I’m not honouring her properly.
Part of it is because it took me 10 years to come to terms with my Dad dying.
Of course the circumstances between the two situations were entirely different, plus I now have Otis who ensures there is never enough time for darkness to fill my heart … but it still feels strange that only on her anniversary do I go back to ‘that day’.
I loved my Mum so much.
I still do.
I miss her every day.
I would do anything to talk to her one more time.
There is so much I want to tell her.
Of what has happened in the past 2 years.
Of what is about to happen.
I’d love to hear her opinion.
I’d love to hear her reaction.
I’d love to hear her questions.
I know this will sound ridiculous, but there are some days where I think I can.
No seriously.
It’s as if I’ve forgotten she has gone and all I have to do is ring her up.
I can’t tell you the amount of times I have stared at her Skype photo, just looking at her face.
I’ve talked to it. I’ve gently caressed it. I’ve even clicked on it a couple of times and let it ring … hoping she’ll pick up and everything will carry on as before.
But of course she doesn’t and she can’t … and yet there is something comforting that I still feel she is in my life.
By that I don’t mean it in terms of my memories – she’ll always be there – I mean the feeling that I’ve simply not spoken to her for a little while.
It means she lives in my present, not my past.
I know that sounds weird and I don’t want to make anyone feel uncomfortable – but while today represents 2 years since one of the worst days of my life – she, and Dad, would be happy to know I face this day looking forwards rather than being stuck in the past.
Love you Mum.
As you can see from the photos, we’re doing well, especially Otis, so don’t worry about us.
I hope you’re holding hands with Dad and laughing.
Rxxx
Filed under: Anniversary, Attitude & Aptitude, Comment, Dad, Daddyhood, Mum, Mum & Dad, Parents
So 20 years ago today, my wonderful Dad died.
That means 40+% of my life has been without him.
That’s mind-blowing … but it’s also testimony to his brilliance as a Dad, that I think of him every day.
The older I get, the more I understand what he – and Mum – taught me.
The way to look at life.
The things to encourage and believe in.
The need to always life a life of fulfillment rather than contentment.
Amazing, valuable, brilliant lessons that he was able to bake into me in such a way that they continue to grow in importance, even though he has been gone for 20 years.
The good news is that I have started to remember him when he was healthy rather than ill.
For so many years when I thought of Dad, I saw how he was over his final few years rather than the years before his stroke.
But even then he was an inspiration.
His ability to try and be positive even when his entire life was falling apart.
To stay strong for his son when he knew he was trapped in a prison of the mind.
I love my Dad so much.
I would give anything to see him again.
Talk. Ask questions. Introduce him to my family.
See his eyes glisten with mischief and love.
Dad was someone who ensured I can look at my childhood with the feelings of love and support – something, that as I get older, I realize was not something everyone can say – which is why 20 years later, I might miss him even more than when he first passed away.
Which – when you come to think of it – might be the best compliment I can give him.
I miss you Dad. Hope you and Mum are together and happy.