Filed under: America, China, Dad, Death, Emotion, Empathy, England, Family, Home, Hong Kong, Jill, Love, Loyalty, Mum, Mum & Dad, New Zealand, Otis, Parents, Rosie, Shanghai, Singapore
So tomorrow marks the 2nd month since Rosie passed … and I am still struggling with it.
I appreciate how pathetic that may sound, but it’s how I feel.
In many ways, the loss of Rosie feels very, very similar to the loss of my parents.
I don’t say that lightly.
I also don’t say that because my parents weren’t wonderful.
Frankly, they were amazing and gave me a childhood where I can honestly say I never wanted for love, support or encouragement. And while I didn’t really appreciate how special that was until I was much older and realised not everyone got to experience that, I definitely understand how blessed I was for what they gave me and left me.
However, while Mum and Dad were my physical and emotional constant throughout my first 20+ years of my life … as I went through my key adult ’life stage’ years – such as marriage, moving countries [a lot] and starting a family – they weren’t. Part of this is because by then I was living far, far away from them – so only connected to them by phone, albeit on a daily basis, as well as my annual visit home – and part of this is because sadly, both of them died over this period of time. Which means from 2007, Rosie – along with Jill – were my physical and emotional constants.
Wherever I was … whatever I was going through … they were the ones who I went back to each and every day.
Who were there for me, each and every day.
In essence, they were on the other side of the bridge that took me between childhood to adulthood, which I hope helps explain Rosie’s significance and importance in my life.
But there is another reason I feel such loss and that is because I can’t help but feel I had something to do with it.
At the end of the day – while it was out of love to ensure she didn’t suffer given her kidneys had stopped working – I/we made the decision when her life would end. And for all the compassion, care, gentleness and tears we shed, it is something I still feel guilty about.
Of course it is full of irrationality …
Somehow, I am of the belief that we could have nursed her back to health. That … had we not taken her to the vet that Saturday morning for a routine injection, she’d still be with us.
And maybe she would … except the likelihood is she would have ended up suffering far more as we wouldn’t have had the time to get her the specialist care that ensured she didn’t suffer more than she had to.
But that Saturday is burned into my mind.
That morning she was almost back to her old self.
Jumping on our bed in the morning. Wanting food. Doing her loud ‘surprise happy scream’ every time she saw us. We even said, “she’s back to her old self”.
The injection at the vets was just to help with her arthritis – nothing more – and yet a quick blood test set off a chain of events that led to us saying goodbye to her 48 hours later.
And while I know the reality of the situation is her kidneys had started to properly fail … in fact, her readings had more than doubled within the month – from an already terrible score of 400, which represents ‘stage 4’ out of 4 possible levels for a cat’s kidney health to just under 1000 – I still find the image of leaving our house looking well and returning ready for goodbye hard to reconcile. Hard to let go of my complicity in creating this situation – even though every vet we spoke to had already warned us of the severity of her situation and, if truth be known, we were aware that her previous illness a month earlier signified a major shift in her wellbeing. As I wrote in the post announcing her death, that shift felt similar to the final stages I saw my Dad go through before he passed.
Doesn’t make it any easier.
Doesn’t make being home any less challenging.
Because everything screams she is not there.
It’s all so heartbreaking. I keep wanting to ring the vet who helped her sleep to give her an injection to make her come back alive. To erase the decision we made, even though it was absolutely the right decision … a decision that I think even Rosie wanted. Especially as kidney failure gives a cat about 30 days before it all ends in tragedy and we were close to that timeline being hit and yet I want to ignore all that as I just want her back.
Hell, I keep finding myself saying, “come on Rozzie” when we go to bed … expecting to hear her feet make a little sound as she jumps off wherever she was to follow us down the stairs. But the hardest thing … the thing that absolutely reinforces she’s not longer with us is that I no longer have to check the front door when I leave in the morning or get in at night.
Each day, as I was heading out to work, Rosie would come upstairs with me. While this was because she hoped for extra Friskies – despite I had just given them to her downstairs – I would end up giving her a couple more because I couldn’t resist her face and it was the best way to ensure she didn’t sneakily follow me out of the front door where she felt a compulsion to explore, even though she knew she wasn’t allowed to. And at night, when she heard my car come down the drive, she’d be waiting at the glass next to the front door where I would see her silently meow to me through the glass as a way of saying hello, before trying to get through my legs when I walked in.
Occasionally she’d succeed and then proceed to sit under mine – or Jill’s – car until finally getting bored [or tempted with treats of falling in reach of one of our arms] but it was a daily ritual and now I can keep the door wide open and it literally fucks with my head.
I miss it. I miss all the things she did.
Even the stuff that annoyed me … like coming into the lounge at night – when Jill and Otis were asleep – and literally screaming at me, telling me it was time to come downstairs to bed with her.
She did a lot of screaming, but over the years she ‘educated us’ to what each one meant.
One was that she wanted to sleep under our sheets in bed and needed us to lift them up for her to go underneath. One was that she was hungry and wanted us to hand deliver treats rather than eat the food in her bowl. One was for us to open the lounge doors so she could go and sit out on her special bean bag cat bed on the deck so she could look out on the trees and feel the sun on her fur. In fact, the only time she didn’t scream was when we were actively looking for her, fearing she had got out when we came home and didn’t realise.
She did do that a couple of times, but never went far. Or for long.
She knew where home was.
She knew how well she was cared for.
She was definitely not a stupid cat.
And that’s why I can’t think about getting another. At least not yet.
I did look for cats who needed adopting very soon after Rosie had gone, but then I realised I wasn’t doing it to replace her, but to replicate her and that is both impossible and unfair to whoever we adopted.
So we need time. And while this may all sound dramatic for a cat, I point you to the post I wrote about Denise – the woman that I need to apologise to. Who gave me a very early warning as to what this would feel like. Because a pet is not just for life, a pet adds to your life and Rosie was – and will forever be – my first animal family member and I’d do anything, as I would for Mum and Dad, to have her back. Even for one day.
So regardless who you are or what you’re doing, don’t take the good shit for granted.
Because as annoying as it can be, it is better than it not being there.
And that is why – despite having experienced death throughout my life – Mum, Dad and Rosie’s passing has been the most significant.
What is interesting is that at my age – which I recently heard described as ‘the youngest of the old bunch’ – I am heading towards more of that. Including, my own one day … albeit hopefully a long time away. But it does make you re-evaluate what is important and who is important, which is leading to a lot of discussions and considerations about the future we want to have rather than the future we will get given.
But while there is a lot of sadness in this post, I want you to know I’m not in a bad way.
I was, but not now.
Part of that is because we have Rosie’s ashes with us and weirdly, it feels like she’s home.
Not exactly as we would like.
But exactly where she belongs.
And that, I’m increasingly learning, is the real definition of happiness, fulfillment and success.
______________________________________________________________________________________________
This is the last post I’ll be writing for 2 weeks as I’m off on a ridiculous trip for work.
Across Canada. Across America. And a quick visit to Australia. Quite bonkers.
But I am eternally grateful for it. Not just because of the air miles, but because it is being organised by a client who wants me – and 3 colleagues – to really understand who they are.
The details. The nuances. The values. The realities.
At a time where so many clients want simple, superficial and easy, they’re going out of their way to make it difficult for all of us … but in the most brilliant, rewarding and valuable way ever.
And for that we’re all eternally grateful.
Not because it’s rare, but because it means they give a fuck about what who they are, what they do and what they want us to create together.
They’re invested in making something great, rather than just expecting excellence without contributing anything to it beyond deadlines, mandatories and distain.
And you know what this ‘in it together’ approach achieves?
A team very, very motivated to do something extraordinary for them.
That’s contrary to what many companies think is the way to work with agencies or partners these days. Believing that if they treat people like disposable commodities, they’ll get them to work even harder for them. Which means they value you nothing other than the price they pay for something.
And while I appreciate what we do costs a lot of money and so being on top of things is important, I’ll tell you what ends up costing a whole lot more: treating partners like shit. Not because they’ll stop caring about what they do, but because they know you don’t even care about who you are.
Which is why we’re thrilled to be going on this trip … because nothing shows commitment like inconvenience.
See you on the 29th … as there’s a holiday in Auckland on the 28th, hahaha.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Advertising, Agency Culture, Apathy, Attitude & Aptitude, Craft, Creativity, Culture, Mum, Mum & Dad, My Childhood, Nottingham
As I am away till next Wednesday on a work trip and I wrote about Dad yesterday to celebrate what would be his 86th birthday … I thought I’d leave you with a post about Mum, to even it all up, haha.
So Mum loved the arts.
Actually, it was more than just love, but curiosity.
Not in a suspicious or judgmental way … but from the perspective of wanting to understand more of it.
Not academically, but more about how the artist approached the work and why.
And it is because of this attitude, Mum was as keen to explore the stuff she didn’t know as much as the stuff she did.
One day she saw an ad for an orchestra coming to Nottingham.
Their name was intriguing – suggesting a new approach or experience of music – so she, along with her neighbours, bought tickets to go and see them at the Royal Concert Hall.
So a few months later, three 80 year olds caught the bus into the city and walked into the venue, only to be a little surprised at what they saw.
Because rather than a stage full of orchestral instruments, they were met with huge amplifiers and a massive lighting rig.
It didn’t take them long to discover why …
Because the orchestra they were seeing was the Electric Light Orchestra.
Also known as ELO, the rock band.
And they loved every single second of it,.
The music, the volume, the musicianship, the drama, the lighting, the whole extravaganza.
I still remember the excitement – and laughter – in Mum’s voice as she told me all about it. But there was one thing above all that stood out – and that was her happiness at discovering, experiencing and exploring a new artistic expression.
Because while she liked – and knew – some of the songs, her biggest joy was the surprise of the unexpected.
Where many would be disappointed to not have what they thought they were getting, Mum was elated.
She understood it was a gift.
A way to see more, feel more, experience more and know more than she did before.
Leaving with more than she went in with … musically, creatively and how people interpret and interact with the World.
But that was her …
A human who not loved to learn for the sheer joy of learning, but had a deep interest in what others are interested in. Even if she didn’t particularly like it, understand it or connect to it.
Because to her, knowledge wasn’t power, appreciation was.
Appreciation earned through listening, learning, experiencing and engaging.
An openness to expression and experience …
It’s why that even in her 80’s she was curious to the new.
Not so she could pretend she was young, but to protect her from becoming old.
By that, I mean in terms of her attitude to life rather than reversing her age.
And as I get older, I realise what an amazing role model she was to me.
To be comfortable with the uncomfortable and curious to the new.
Because while Mum was a person of high standards, morals and values … she never let these become barriers to exploring or welcoming the people and subjects that lived outside of them. Not so she could judge, but so she could grow.
We could do with more people like my Mum these days.
Across all areas of life. From politics to advertising.
Because we see so many people aggressively trying to live in the bubble of their making.
Actively standing in the way of new ideas and ideals … fighting hard to defend what they have or control what they don’t.
Believing they know enough and are enough so stay within the walls of their blinkered, privileged, superficial echo chamber.
Seeing anything different or new as – at best – hard work or, at worst, the enemy.
Living by headlines, not experience, curiosity and understanding.
So while Mum most definitely had her quirks, I’m increasingly grateful that she – and Dad – taught me variety isn’t the spice of life, it’s makes sense of it.
Thank you my dear, wonderful Mum.
Filed under: Attitude & Aptitude, Dad, Death, Emotion, Empathy, Family, Love, Loyalty, Mum, Mum & Dad, My Childhood, Otis, Parents
Today would have been Dad’s 86th birthday.
That means he’s been gone 26 years.
What’s bizarre is I remember the last birthday he had – his 60th – so clearly.
The photo above is from that day.
Part of my reasons for remembering it is because I flew back from Sydney for it. Part of it is because we had bought him a special armchair that allowed him to get in and out of it with ease. And part of it is because he hardly had time to use it, because within months, he was back in hospital – except this time, it would be his final time.
And yet I look back on that day with love.
Sitting next to him.
Looking at his beloved garden.
Having some-sort of conversation about the plants … even though his strokes had robbed him of his ability to talk – bar individual words. In many ways, that was the cruelest thing of all given he was such a wonderful conversationalist. And yet he had – thanks to his tenacity, Mum’s care and speech therapy – found a way to pick out the most perfect word to express what he wanted to communicate. Including when you wish he hadn’t.
I remember when he was later in hospital and there was a male nurse.
Dad kept looking at him intensely and I asked if he wanted anything, to which he replied, “Hate him” very loudly. I don’t know why he felt so much distain towards this person, but he was not the sort to have such an emotional reaction towards anyone without merit.
Mind you, I also remember when another nurse asked him what night-time drink he wanted and he said, “gin” and then laughed proudly to himself for an age.
That is still one of the best memories from one of the worst times of our life.
But then that was Dad …
His ability to make people feel at ease regardless of the challenge they were experiencing.
I think I’ve written about the time he was driving a friend of mine back to their house and casually asked what his parents did for a living. My friend – we were about 15 at the time – replied that his Father had passed away to which Dad then asked what had happened.
I was fuming and embarrassed and told Dad that on the way home.
And while I knew he wouldn’t want to make anyone feel that way, I was angry he’d asked such a personal question to a friend of mine. And I felt that way right until Benny – my friend – told me a couple of days later how grateful he was my Dad had shown interest in him and his Dad because most people immediately changed the subject or just clammed up the moment they heard his Dad had passed.
This moment made a huge impact on me …
Challenging my perceptions and perspectives on how to communicate and interact with others … ultimately demonstrating the foundation of any relationship of worth – whether for life, work or a moment-in-time – is based on your ability to be conversationally intimate and honest.
Of course, to do that means you have to be authentic and considerate, but being interested in what other people are interested in – as opposed to wanting people to be interested in what you want them to be interested in – is the most powerful way to build understanding between people, even when you come from different worlds or perspectives.
That pretty much sums up my Dad and Mum.
The strength of character they had to be transparent and vulnerable
To enable others to feel at ease with their situation and themselves.
To be open to answers or perspectives that were different to theirs. Or even better, be open to their perspective to be changed because they see what works for someone else, doesn’t mean it has to work for them.
But you can only get to that place by creating the conditions for it.
To allow emotional safety.
It’s why I get so angry when people call emotions, a ‘weakness’.
The reality is, if it’s anything, it’s honesty.
A way to build bridges rather than walls.
Of course that doesn’t mean your view is the only right view. Nor does it mean you can act or react any way you want or choose. But it does mean you feel you can express your truth because you know it will be seen and heard by people who actually want to better understand who you are rather than judge what you do.
I got to experience that.
I got to experience that pretty much every day of my life.
And while I didn’t always get the outcome I hoped for. Or realise how amazing it was to be in a place where I was continually encouraged to express and connect. I now appreciate the power of listening to understand.
That should sound obvious, except it isn’t.
Too many people only listen to win. To find holes to poke, push and provoke.
And that’s led us to where we are … a world of division, arrogance, selfishness and blinkered, one-winner-must-take-all competition.
And yet the irony is, when you listen to understand … you still win.
It opens doors.
It creates relationships.
It allows good things to be born and shared.
I know that sounds hippy-like shit, but it’s true.
It’s the reason why Dad was such an amazing lawyer, because he fought for equality rather than one-sided victory.
Equality of rights … consideration … possibilities.
[And if anyone tried to stop that, he would make them pay. A lot. Haha]
Which explains why certain corporations/CEO’s hated him but their employees/families/unions were massive fans of him.
So even though today is Dad’s birthday, he – and Mum – gave me the greatest gift.
I don’t always live up to it, but I always will measure myself against it.
And I hope I can pass that on to Otis.
A gift from his grandparents … a way for them to be part of his life despite sadly never getting to be in his life.
Oh my god, they’d have absolutely loved to play that role and I’d have utterly adored seeing them live it. But alas, things don’t always go to plan … but they ensured their lessons and love remain and flourish.
And boy, do we ever need that right now.
Which is why, while it is Dad’s birthday, he – and Mum – gave me the greatest of gifts.
So Happy Birthday Dad, I love and miss you so much.
Give Mum a big kiss from me.
Rx
Filed under: Birthday, Childhood, Friendship, Love, Loyalty, Mum & Dad, Nottingham, Paul
So today is the last post of the week.
A weird week – at least in terms of this blog – in so much that there’s been posts about love, gratitude, distain and judgement.
And while I could end the week with a post celebrating Jill’s birthday – which is tomorrow – fact is she hates being the focus of attention, especially on this blog, plus I basically wrote something for her on Monday. Haha.
Which means there is only one subject matter that I can write about today and that’s for Paul – who also turns 54 this Sunday.
As people who know me or have followed this blog for a while, you’ll know Paul is my oldest dearest friend.
He was born 4 days after me and we have been in each-others lives ever since.
Hell, given Mum and Dad have both passed away, he has known me longer than any other person on this planet.
Put simply, I love him … and yet, this past year has been the hardest for our relationship.
I’m not going to go into the details why except to say that sometimes life throws curveballs that are hard to comprehend, accept or deal with … but I don’t mind saying it has been incredibly challenging for both of us, even though the reasons behind it may be slightly different.
What I can say is no one wants or wanted to hurt each other.
Both people – I believe/hope – still care deeply for each other.
But shit happens and the result is we probably have both ended up hurting each other even though that would never be either of our intentions.
If truth be told, I might be the one who has made it worse because I have to admit I have found the situation particularly difficult to move past. There’s a whole host of reasons for that – but what has made it worse is the fact I now live on the other side of the planet, so it’s been much more difficult to find the time to spend the time together.
But what’s added to it is that we’ve never been in this situation before and I didn’t know how to handle it.
Sure we’ve had our highs and lows, ups and downs over the 5 decades we’ve been in each others lives … we even once had a falling out for a month or so around the time we were 15 … but this has been much more challenging.
Maybe it is down to our ages.
Maybe it is down to our geographies.
Maybe it is down to the implications of what happened.
Maybe it’s all of these things and more, but the result is I have been deeply affected by it and it has had a truly adverse effect on my health and wellbeing.
What is positive is we have spoken very openly and plainly about the situation. In many ways, it has been one of the most in-depth conversations we’ve ever had in our lives. However I can sense that if we don’t put in the effort to move past it and properly reconnect … it could manifest into a parting of the ways. Not in terms of us no longer being friends, but in terms of us no longer being an active part of eachothers lives.
In the movie Bend It Like Beckham, there’s a scene where the father – who had been against his daughter playing football – finally tells her he is OK with her passion. Happy even. Not just because she has convinced him of her true love of the game, but because he has realized being angry at her would be like cutting his nose to spite his face.
I should point out I was not angry at Paul. Disappointed maybe, but not angry.
But I have also realized there’s absolutely no benefit to me continuing to feel this way.
It solves nothing.
I know he didn’t want to hurt anyone.
I know he knows he wishes he had handled things better.
And I know I have 54 years of history with this person that doesn’t just encompasses my whole life, but is my life.
Why would I do that? Why would I walk away from someone I love … someone who so much of my life has been shared with … someone who – on top of everything else – is the very last connection I have to where I am from and the history of who I once was?
Why the fuck would I want to do that?
How stupid would I be to choose to do that?
The reality is Paul and I have gone through so much together … love, loss, good days and bad. We’ve weathered every storm because at the end of the day, we had each others backs and we knew we loved each other. Hell, even living away from England for quarter of a century didn’t affect us. It’s a bond that is in many ways, deeper than blood.
I miss my friend.
I miss who he is, what we are and what we have.
My life is lesser for him not being so in it and I want to change it.
And it starts with this post.
Now I appreciate Paul may never read it – he never reads this blog – but on this occasion I hope he does. Because I want to tell him I love him and miss him. That I’m happy he’s in a good place. That I want to be there for him and I want him to be there for me. That my life needs him in it. I want to talk stupid shit with him and tell him to stop seeing Forest because they always lose when he goes. I want to hear how the Frothy Coffee Man is going. I want to tell him he’s a beautiful idiot, but he’s my beautiful idiot. I want to tell him that I don’t want to grow older without him being there by my side. Literally or metaphorically. Or both. Spouting nonsense or being sentimental about the stupid shit we did and will no doubt do in the future.
I know things are different and will be different … but that doesn’t mean we have to be different and so while it’s not the sort of gift he can hang on a wall or put on a shelf, I hope he sees this as my gift to him. A gift of love and hope … that we can get back to being who we have been for the past 54 years.
So to you Paul, I want to say this.
I love you.
I’m sorry I didn’t support you as I am sure you hoped I would.
I’m sorry I found it hard to get past certain aspects of the situation.
I’m sorry if I pushed you to do something you didn’t want to do.
I’m sorry I’ve been communicating via text rather than calls.
I know you didn’t intend to hurt me or anyone else for that matter.
I know you’re a good person.
I’m happy that you’re happy.
I hope this makes a difference.
I hope you have the happiest of birthdays.
I miss you with all I’ve got and hope we talk and see each other very soon.
And very often.
Even if it means you pelt me with more snowballs.
Big love and hugs my dearest friend.
Rx
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Age, Attitude & Aptitude, Birthday, Daddyhood, Jill, Love, Mum & Dad, My Childhood, My Fatherhood
So the emotional rollercoaster of posts for this week continues.
Yesterday was a hate-fest.
Monday was a love-fest.
And today?
Well, today is a sentimental-fest.
And the reason for that is simple … I turn 54 today.
FIFTYFUCKINGFOUR.
By any evaluation, that’s fucking old – especially for someone working in adland – and yet it’s because of adland that I don’t feel my age, as the photo below demonstrates. Kinda.
OK, so there’s times where I most definitely do – a 1000 years old to be precise – but for the vast majority of the time, advertising keeps me young.
I love being surrounded by talented and creative people of all ages and backgrounds.
I love being around the noise and wildness of culture in all its forms.
I love being exposed to ideas untainted by logic or conformity.
I feel lucky to still be doing this and to still be excited by it …
Now of course part of that is because of the people I work for and work with. Or should I say, how the people I work for and accept who I am and the ‘ways’ I approach stuff. I definitely realise not everyone experiences this, but bar a couple of times in my career [and a couple of written warnings] I have. Hell, Metallica’s management even told me I’d proved it wasn’t just Rockstars who were immune to maturity.
I think they probably meant it as an insult, but I said “thank you” which confuses them to this day, hahaha.
But the reality is, as I sit here turning 54, I increasingly appreciate how lucky I am.
Obviously not just in work, but in pretty much every aspect of my life.
Now, contrary to popular belief, I have – and do – work hard for it, but I also accept the benefits I’ve enjoyed are beyond anything I imagined and likely more than I deserve.
But this is where age plays her ‘karma’ card.
You see the older you get, the more aware you are of the time you have left.
I’m not saying I’m going to die tomorrow – in fact, given I’ve lost 40kg in the last 10 months, I’m probably going to live a lot longer than I was this time last year – however I’ve certainly got less years ahead of me than I’ve lived so far, which means I’m forced to accept there will be limits on what I will be able to do-and-try-and-mess-with in the future.
And that’s where aging sucks … because when you’re someone like me – a curious, emotional, excitable, immature, ambitious-as-all-fuck, only child – you find taking no for an answer almost impossible to accept.
But it gets worse [and I’m not talking about the photo below]
You see on top all this, I’m in this wonderfully ridiculous situation where – despite being in my 50’s – I’ve entered an entirely new phase of my creative journey … one where I’m playing in a completely different world of creative possibilities … one filled with a completely different world of creative talent who all have invited me to play with a completely different world of creative expression in a countlessly different and new ways.
Not just on my own, but with them and for them.
I still pinch myself that this is happening because it’s insane.
Fucking insane. But I absolutely love it.
And what is even more insane, is I work for a company – Colenso – who give me the space to go off and do it over and over again.
Who the fuck does that?
Ignoring that the reason why they probably let me do that is because it gets me out of their hair – it means I get to work with a bunch of brilliant people at Colenso creating stuff very few agencies in the World could ever pull off before travelling to different parts of the world to work with a bunch of brilliant artists on projects that every agency in the world wishes they had a chance to work on … let alone pull off.
Does that sound smug?
Too fucking right it does, but do you blame me??? To have this situation at any age would mean you’re winning, but to have this at my age – where things keep getting more interesting and intriguing – is the sort of good news where you would want to smash that person right in the face.
But you don’t have to worry about that because life is doing it for you.
Because everything I’m doing right now, is opening doors to new things I also want to do.
It’s like I’m on a highway where there are endless side roads that all offer to take me to places where there are other new adventures and creative possibilities and frankly, I want to go down each and every one of them to see where they lead. But the reality is I can’t, because not only do I know each one would have their own side roads of opportunity for me to explore, I’M TOO FUCKING OLD TO BE ABLE TO EXPLORE ALL THE ROADS I’M CURRENTLY ON NOW.
Do you have any fucking idea how painful that is for me?
How frustrating that is for me?
It means I have to prioritize and sacrifice and I absolutely suck at that.
Recently I did a stage set design project for a famous musician. They had me work with a famous Broadway set designer and a famous video director.
It was one of the most thrilling, imaginative, informative, expressive and educational projects of my entire career … making me rethink how I saw creativity connecting and engaging people.
I absolutely, fundamentally loved it.
All of it … and want to explore more of it.
But can I? Not really, because I’m working on a bunch of other things I also find fascinating and I don’t want to miss out experiencing that by losing myself in something else.
Am I being greedy, selfish and a bit of a twat?
100%. This is the epitome of ‘first world problems’, but it’s my birthday today so I’ll whine if I want to and you’ll just have to accept it.
But while I know I’m being a spoilt little brat, it does cause me anxiety. I feel time is running out and I’ve finally been given the keys to the gadget shop. In fact the only thing that helps me get a grip is knowing how happy my parents would be knowing I’m in this position.
Not because they want me frustrated but because it means I’m living what they hoped for me:
A life of fulfilment rather than contentment.
I’ve written lot about this over the years but it basically translates to spending more of your time doing things that fill you up rather than empty you out.
To be honest, I didn’t really understand what it meant until I reached my mid 30’s, but now I realise what a gift they gave me in terms of living and evaluating the choices I had for my life. Because rather than defining success simply as salary, job title, possessions or even comfort … they wanted to make sure I knew it was about valuing and respecting the actions and activities that let you feel you’re growing and evolving.
Yes, I know that sounds flowery-as-fuck, but it’s what they believed and nothing proves this more than how my Dad answered this question from me when I asked him why he changed careers – not jobs – so much in his early years.
His response was:
“I love you and your Mum very much, so I better enjoy what I’m doing because nothing would be so disrespectful to you both than being away doing something I hate”
Can you imagine how amazing that made me feel?
How loved?
And while I know he and Mum weren’t able to always live this attitude – especially when the family were facing challenging times – they both fiercely advocated, protected and supported this way of living my life, even though they also wish I had gone into law rather than – at the time – music, followed by advertising, haha.
Which is why I know my parents would be so happy for how I am feeling at 54.
[Not to mention relieved I have somehow managed to have a career … or whatever it is I have]
And while luck has played a massive part in me being able to choose – and live – what my wife calls, ‘the bigger life’, I would be stupid to ignore the influence of my parents and the industry I work in, for helping let this happen.
In fact, in many ways, what my parents and adland [not to mention Jill and the countless bosses, clients and colleagues] have given me is the greatest gift you could ever receive. Even better than the Raleigh Grifter I got when I was 10 – where I fainted in excitement on seeing it – which previously I regarded as the single best present you could ever get.
So while I appreciate no one is going to be ecstatic that they’re turning 54, I can look back on where I’m at and say “I like where I am” and if there’s anything to feel good about being as ancient as I am today, it’s surely that.
The ultimate privilege in fact … one that I am both fully aware of and that I am very clear on how lucky I am to have it. Especially when there are many people – including friends – who can’t feel that way through absolutely no fucking fault of their own.
So with that in mind, I’ll end this post by saying happy birthday to me. It might all fall apart tomorrow, but if it does – I can say it lasted a hell of a lot longer than anyone expected or predicted. And that definitely includes me.