When Otis was young, we bought him a book called The Invisible String.
It’s a delightful book about family … love … and connection … and helps kids understand the idea of being together even when their parents aren’t around. Whether that’s because they’re at work or have sadly passed.
I write this because 6 years ago today, my wonderful, beautiful Mum died.
It seems so long ago and yet I can remember every second of that day.
From waking up early to see her before her operation … to the rise of worry as she was in theatre for longer than the person before her … to the relief when she came out and I could sit by her side … to the confusion I felt when the nurse asked me to sit somewhere else as an alarm started to sound … to the horrible, painful moment the doctor and nurse told me the worst thing that could happen, had happened.
And like when my Dad died, the memories of her are consumed by the moments of this day.
However, also like my Dad, I know that will eventually pass to be replaced by the moments of love, happiness and wonder I shared with her.
She was an amazing woman.
Her capacity for compassion knew no bounds.
I felt – like with Dad – loved and supported, even at my most ‘difficult’ times …
Her loss was – and still is – a huge hole in my life.
She never got to meet Otis.
She never got to know we had moved to America … then England … and now NZ.
She never got to see the beautiful garden at our house in Herefordshire or the mad treehouse in Auckland.
But I know she would be happy about it all.
And that makes me happy for very different reasons.
Because while for her, it would be that her only son was enjoying his life, for me it would be that I am making my Mum proud.
That’s all I want to do.
Always.
I miss you Mum.
I can still feel our string.
I hope you’re holding hands with Dad and laughing at my jetlag.
Love you.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Advertising, Agency Culture, Attitude & Aptitude, Authenticity, Colenso, Comment, Confidence, Creativity, Culture, Dad, England, Family, Fatherhood, Friendship, Goodbye England, Home, Jill, London, Love, Mum, Mum & Dad, My Fatherhood, New Zealand, Otis, Paul, Perspective, Planning, R/GA, Shelly
So even though we are not leaving for NZ for a month, this is my last post for at least a month.
Moving countries always requires a bunch of things to be done, and despite us being old hands at it, doing it during a pandemic means we have a bunch more stuff to do – hence the blog post rest.
Being back in England has been a special time.
Part of it is because I never thought I would have lived here again.
Part of it is because I have been able to catch up with old friends once more.
Part of it is because I love big cities and always wanted to live in London.
Part of it is because despite its bullshit, it’s still my home and I’ve loved being in a place where so much of it just felt natural.
And part of it is because of the new friends I have met along the way.
To think I didn’t know people like Tanter, Nils, the beautifully irresponsible – in the most responsible way – Mike and Sam, the entire planning gang at R/GA [though Lachlan did remind me when I started that we had once met in Australia … when he was a student, hahahaha], Michael Roberts, Ben Major, Tarik at Onroad, Sam Clohesy, Ian Preston, Trudie, the inspirational [whether he accepts that or not] Murray Calder, Keerti, Munraj, Larissa Vince – who is a better Nottingham Forest than I could ever be, John, Nana at POCC, Asheru, Louise Jack, Eduardo, Sara Tate, Holly Day, Ally and everyone at Brixton Finishing School, Dorcas, Abi, the incredible Kay Adekunle Rufai from the S-M-I-L-E-ing Boys project, Nick Hirst, Tom Roach and countless other people from work or – shock, horror – Twitter [including one of my ad-icons, Trevor Beattie] … is astounding.
And while I am thrilled to be going to New Zealand for our next adventure, leaving England is much harder than I thought it would.
Without doubt, a big part of that is because as much as I’ve been away, it still feels like home.
Not just because we bought our beautiful house here, but because my beloved Paul and Shelly are here.
And while the pandemic meant we didn’t see each other as much as we would have liked, it’s more than I’d had in quarter of a century and I will treasure that as much as I treasure the fact Paul and I are still as stupid together, as we were when we were kids.
England is where I was raised.
And while I have sold the family home to buy our new family home … it doesn’t take away from the fact, so many of the things that made me who I am, were made here.
Of course I wish my Mum and Dad were still alive.
How I would have loved to have made them happy to be ‘home again’.
How I would have loved to have spent so much time chatting and remembering together.
But maybe it they were still alive we wouldn’t have gone to NZ and so it appears they are still encouraging me to explore, even without them here anymore.
Though I would happily swap it all for another day together, even though I am also happy they have not had to endure the hardship that COVID has placed on the country. I can’t imagine what it would be like for them to have to deal with it and I have nothing but admiration for any person trying to manage/balance that situation with their own family.
But we’re off … and frankly, the idea of going to New Zealand feels like one of the greatest gift in the World.
That we will soon be in a country where WE CAN GO OUT TO DINNER IN A RESTAURANT seems almost impossible.
That we will soon be in a country where Otis CAN PLAY OUTSIDE WITH HIS [NEW] FRIENDS WHENEVER HE WANTS is a dream.
That we will soon be able to go visit Jill’s Mum IN A MATTER OF HOURS is madness, given it’s been 17 years since she could do that.
And that I get to do this while working at one of my favourite companies in the World – the brilliant Colenso – is, frankly, insane.
I’m so excited for the adventures we’ll have.
The experiences we will discover and learn from.
Not to mention the work I will able to be a part of creating.
That said, I cannot thank all the brilliant people who have made my return to England so special, enough.
I will miss so much about here, but the memories will also last me through till our return.
And we will be back.
Don’t know where. Don’t know when.
But – not wishing to make it sound like a threat – I know we’ll meet again, some sunny day.
Take care of yourselves. Thank you for everything.
See you on the other side. Literally and metaphorically.
Filed under: Attitude & Aptitude, Dad, Daddyhood, Emotion, Empathy, Family, Mum, Mum & Dad, Otis, Parents
So if this blog being back wasn’t bad enough for you.
I’m ending the first week of posts with something sad.
At least for me.
You see, tomorrow will be the 22nd anniversary of my Dad passing away.
Over the years, I’ve used this anniversary to write both good and sad memories about dad.
From his last days to reminiscing about some of my favourite ones.
Recalling moments burned in my heart and mind.
Some big, some so small … it could easily have got lost in a corner.
Except to me, they are everything.
Despite him being gone 22 years, I still feel an urge to make him – and Mum – proud.
I am pretty sure they would be anyway – despite the odd ‘episode’, which only Dad ever knew about – but it still is a driving force within me.
But here’s the thing, he – and Mum – never put any pressure on me regarding what job I should do. None at all.
Of course they wanted me to do well, but it was about my life, not theirs.
OK, so they would have loved me to follow in the families footsteps of law, but while I adored the idea, I just couldn’t stand the idea of ending one period of education and then heading straight into another.
Hell, even when I told them I didn’t want to go to university, they backed me.
Of course they wanted to know why.
They also wanted me to apply just in case I changed my mind.
But they never guilt-tripped me into doing something I wasn’t interested in.
That doesn’t mean they were passively interested in what I did.
Nor does it mean they were going to pay for my life while I worked it out. [We all knew there simply wasn’t the cash for that, even if they wanted to]
It’s just their focus was ensuring I never settled.
I don’t mean that in terms of being arrogant or picky.
I mean it in terms of them viewing contentment as a terrible waste of a life.
What they wanted for me more than anything was to feel fulfilled.
That whatever I did made me feel better because of it.
Not because of what it enabled me to do, but because of what it was, how I did it and how it made me feel.
I don’t know if I really appreciated how huge that was until much later.
To give me the time, space and backing to work things out on my own.
Of course they were there for questions, worries, challenges and failures … but they were steadfast in wanting this to be about what I wanted for my life, not what they wanted for it.
Because at the end of the day, all they really cared about was me being happy.
Of course they knew there would be bad days … challenging days … days where I would want to give everything up. But they trusted me – and the lessons they’d taught me in terms of how to deal with life – to be able to work it out and keep moving forward.
It’s possibly the most wonderful, generous gift anyone could give their child.
It’s behind most of the things I’ve done in my life … from where I’ve worked, where I’ve lived and what I’ve done.
It’s also – contrary to popular belief – why I work bloody hard.
Because apart from the fact I deeply enjoy what I do [most of the time], it’s my way of repaying the faith my parents showed in me.
Showing them it wasn’t wasted or lost on me.
I’ll forever be grateful to them for it.
And hopefully so will Otis.
So thank you Dad. I miss you. I wish you were here for us to chat about the adventures.
Give Mum a kiss for me while holding her hand.
Rx
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Attitude & Aptitude, Confidence, Content, Context, Creativity, Culture, Distinction, Diversity, Family, Happiness, Imagination, Innocence, Innovation, Jill, Mum, Mum & Dad, My Fatherhood, Otis, Paul, Relevance, Resonance
Can you imagine what it must have been like growing up in the 1920’s and living in the 1960’s?
The things you have seen, endured, been challenged by?
The advances in technology, social mobility, medicine?
Wars, depression, liberation, love.
It must have been amazing …
Well, the reason I say this is because it’s exactly the same if you were a kid in the 80’s but are around today.
OK, it’s not identical … but the cultural shifts have been, in many ways, just as dramatic.
Wars. Economic highs and lows. Medical and transportation revolution. The internet.
Huge shifts in expressions of creativity – from music, art, film and TV to fashion, food, technology and sport.
An endless journey of exploration, discovery and adventure.
And while it can all feel daunting, the reality is the changes are rarely night and day.
More like a steady stream of progress, even if not always in a straight line or done with fairness or equality.
Throughout her life, my Mum was very much about embracing the present.
Not in the sense that she was trying to mimic Cher [though I also love Cher] … nor that she didn’t value the experience and lessons of the past … but because her view was that if you embrace the times, you live a more fulfilling life.
It’s why she was always interested in what others were interested in.
Music. Art. Film. Culture.
Because even if she didn’t always understand it or like it, she felt it was important to appreciate it. Though, you would be amazed how much she did like it. Love it even.
It amazes me how many people don’t seem to follow this view.
Who think that actually, you can turn back time.
Like Republican/Tory voters. Or Daily Mail readers.
Stubbornly trying to maintain or recreate a time where they felt more ‘in control’. More important or valuable.
And while I appreciate change can be scary, it can also be exhilarating and that’s why the idea of living in the equivilent of the 1920’s to 1960’s has never made me feel so old, it’s also never made me feel so lucky.
I hope with all my heart I get to experience the World when Otis has gone through the same period of time.
It’s unlikely, but I hope he embraces it.
Not just for his happiness, but for what it could inspire him to do.
To discover.
To learn.
Thank you Mum.
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