Melancholia on Ice - Day 6

Day 6 (Thursday 6th December 2018)

Six (James Six) - the name of the man who invented the maximum/minimum
thermometer in 1780. He was from a refugee family that moved to England
in the 15th century to escape religious persecution. They were silk weavers for a
few generations but, by the time Six stepped into the family concern, silk weaving
was in decline due to cheap imports from Persia and India. So he became a
meteorologist and Natural Philosopher. He studied temperature in Canterbury.

We are nearing the end of the first week of Advent and I must confess that it has been a delight sharing some of the wonderful blogs that people have written over the past five years  - we have read about love, loss, legacies and lessons. Today's post maintains the high standard that has been set before. It is written by my friend, the ever-insightful Simon Heath. Simon describes himself as a "pragmatic idealist". He took advantage of a redundancy opportunity to leave conventional corporate life, having been Head of Operations and Global Workplace Strategy for a global commercial real estate business, and having earned his spurs in financial services. He is now a consulting artist. Using his considerable artistic talents, combined with his genuine understanding of business and the world of work, he produces illustrations that help communicate and make messages stick.

In addition to being able to make people and organisations see things in a different way and to draw inspiration, Simon is a devoted family man. He lives with his wife and two children close to Henry VIII's former palace to the west of London. He is well-read and interested in and knowledgeable about films. He cares about the world and the environment. I suppose he can best be described as a wonderful polymath who remains observant and curious. He and I both share an interest in polar exploration. If you want to know more about him and his thoughts, I urge you read his infrequent blog: Murmuration or else follow him on Twitter, his handle is @SimonHeath1.

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Melancholia on Ice 

The 6^th of August 1987 was the day before my 16^th birthday. I had spent the previous night in a small 2-man tent on a patch of fine white sand at the bottom of a tumble of moraine at the side of an as-yet unnamed glacier. 

Glacier at Raudfjorden

From the entrance to my tent I could look out across the ice-flecked waters of Raudfjorden and to the left the open Arctic Ocean and over the horizon, some 500 miles away, the Pole. After a hurried breakfast we climbed the glacier to the ice-field beyond. Our destination, a previous unclimbed peak, lay off in the distance. This early in the morning the ice was still firm and we made swift progress. As we prepared for the final push our team leader turned to me and offered me the chance to lead. And so I did. A first ascent. Heart-pounding, I turned full circle. At that height, the ice-fields of north-western Svalbard stretched as far as the eye could see. 


From that height the only way was down. 

From the highs of polar exploration the only way was down. Down to the more prosaic concerns of teenage life. I didn’t bring my heart back with me. I’d left it in the Arctic.

I went back to the Arctic again three years later. And there, among the wolves, 

wolves chasing muck-oxen

the hares and the musk oxen, 

Arctic hare

I found my heart on the tundra. 

But, returning south once more, a piece of it stayed behind. I swore I’d return. But I never did. Ever since, I’ve felt the hollow sensation of its absence. I had dreamed about the Arctic since I read about the exploits of the early explorers as a wee boy. 

Shackleton (left) at Ocean Camp 1915

I never dreamt it would claim a part of me so profoundly. So profoundly that many experiences since have felt a trifle hollow. This missing part of me isn’t filled by the whisky of which I’m so fond. Or by going up mountains to ski. It’s where I am when I’m not here. On a train, but not here. In an office, but not here. In the canyons of the city, I’m most often there and not here.

The Arctic I saw is long gone. Cruise ships now visit the fjord where I first lost my heart. The tourists return more reliably than the sea ice. And gone with the ice are the seals. And with them, the bears. 

Svalbard polar bear photo by Mike Reyfman 

The boy is gone too and I don’t know how to go back.

Simon in the Arctic

In the spirit of sharing our younger selves, here is a picture of me at a similar age to Simon above:

Melancholia on Ice

Day 9 (Friday 9th December 2016)

9 months after being appointed Manager of Leicester City
(the UK football club, who were seen as underdogs, having narrowly avoided relegation
the previous season), Claudio Ranieri led the Foxes (as the club are known) to win the Premier League title.
The win has been described by football experts as the most improbable win in sporting history.
The Foxes were at odds of 5,000/1 at the start of last season
(worse odds than Elvis being found alive, which were 2,000/1)

We have reached the end of the week and I am sure you will agree with me that the blogs so far have been stunning - we have read about love, loss, legacies and lessons. Today's post maintains the high standard that has been set before. It is written by my friend, the ever-insightful Simon Heath. Simon describes himself as a "pragmatic idealist". He took advantage of a redundancy opportunity to leave conventional corporate life, having been Head of Operations and Global Workplace Strategy for a global commercial real estate business, and having earned his spurs in financial services. He is now a consulting artist. Using his considerable artistic talents, combined with his genuine understanding of business and the world of work, he produces illustrations that help communicate and make messages stick.

In addition to being able to make people and organisations see things in a different way and to draw inspiration, Simon is a devoted family man. He lives with his wife and two children close to Henry VIII's former palace to the west of London. He is well-read and interested in and knowledgable about films. He cares about the world and the environment. I suppose he can best be described as a wonderful polymath who remains observant and curious. He and I both share an interest in polar exploration. If you want to know more about him and his thoughts, I urge you read his blog: Murmuration or else follow him on Twitter, his handle is @SimonHeath1.

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Melancholia on Ice 

The 6^th of August 1987 was the day before my 16^th birthday. I had spent the previous night in a small 2-man tent on a patch of fine white sand at the bottom of a tumble of moraine at the side of an as-yet unnamed glacier. 

Glacier at Raudfjorden

From the entrance to my tent I could look out across the ice-flecked waters of Raudfjorden and to the left the open Arctic Ocean and over the horizon, some 500 miles away, the Pole. After a hurried breakfast we climbed the glacier to the ice-field beyond. Our destination, a previous unclimbed peak, lay off in the distance. This early in the morning the ice was still firm and we made swift progress. As we prepared for the final push our team leader turned to me and offered me the chance to lead. And so I did. A first ascent. Heart-pounding, I turned full circle. At that height, the ice-fields of north-western Svalbard stretched as far as the eye could see. 


From that height the only way was down. 

From the highs of polar exploration the only way was down. Down to the more prosaic concerns of teenage life. I didn’t bring my heart back with me. I’d left it in the Arctic.

I went back to the Arctic again three years later. And there, among the wolves, 

wolves chasing muck-oxen

the hares and the musk oxen, 

Arctic hare

I found my heart on the tundra. 

But, returning south once more, a piece of it stayed behind. I swore I’d return. But I never did. Ever since, I’ve felt the hollow sensation of its absence. I had dreamed about the Arctic since I read about the exploits of the early explorers as a wee boy. 

Shackleton (left) at Ocean Camp 1915

I never dreamt it would claim a part of me so profoundly. So profoundly that many experiences since have felt a trifle hollow. This missing part of me isn’t filled by the whisky of which I’m so fond. Or by going up mountains to ski. It’s where I am when I’m not here. On a train, but not here. In an office, but not here. In the canyons of the city, I’m most often there and not here.

The Arctic I saw is long gone. Cruise ships now visit the fjord where I first lost my heart. The tourists return more reliably than the sea ice. And gone with the ice are the seals. And with them, the bears. 

Svalbard polar bear photo by Mike Reyfman 

The boy is gone too and I don’t know how to go back.

Simon in the Arctic

The Welcome Path of Years - Day 57

Day 57 (26th January 2015)

57 - the number made famous by Henry Heinz (although at the time his company 
already had 60 products and it now sells over 5,700). He saw an advert for shoe styles 
whilst riding a train in New York in 1896 and liked the concept - 57 was chosen as it was his lucky number. 
 Heinz sells 11 billion single-serve packets of ketchup per annum (that is 2 for every person on Earth) 
Illustration - Heinz advertisement circa 1910

On realising how popular the series was becoming I planned to let the Advent Bogs cover no more than a 56 day period (the original period of Advent, which, like Lent, was a time of intermittent fasting and contemplation stretching from St Martin's Day (11th November) until Epiphany - the focus on the days of Christmas is quite recent). However, a rush of excellent late posts came in at the eleventh hour and so we are running on for a couple of extra days. What a bonus!

Today's post is by Jayne Cox who has, from almost my first days on Twitter, been a voice in my life - we often wish each other good morning and comment on one another's posts and lives. You can follow her on Twitter, her handle is @JayneMCox, or read more about her on her website where she also blogs. Jayne is a coach, she specialises in encouraging people, particularly women, to love life, to feel comfortable with who they are and to change their outlook in order to achieve their dreams. Jayne herself has overcome many hurdles (she suffered from eating disorders when younger and has coped with loss). She is an expert in supporting others with similar issues to become successful and "mind fit" people, like she herself has become. She lives with her husband Michael and a menagerie of animals including Daisie their boxer, Holly their pug and a collection cats, ducks and hens.

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I’d like to thank Kate for giving me an opportunity to be part of the Advent series of blogs and what wonderful company I’ve found myself in.

We have followed some wonderful paths in the Advent Blogs series

I often write and tweet about living life to the full and appreciating the smallest of things and I do genuinely mean it. I see life as a gift and age is testimony to the time spent living and learning. 

As I approach my 49th Birthday I did a virtual crumple of 3 previous ideas and decided to take this new path, encouraged by a twitter conversation with Hope and Sam this morning. Thanks to you both and here’s the blog I promised, fresh off the press.

The path to this age and these almost 49 years is one I feel proud to be taking, I’m eternally grateful that in my 20’s I had the opportunity to begin my recovery from anorexia nervosa. Misunderstood then and now it’s been in life since the moment of diagnosis, now it’s part of my life professionally. A troubled child and young woman, the paths I’ve taken bring me to now and I can’t help loving my years.

At times a difficult path

Society seems to fight against age, anti-ageing and fearful that age is some kind of illness, a reflection of less. I find this odd when I see it as so much more. When your life was once looking limited, I suppose it really does take on new meaning.  

Unhappy memories of abuse in my past seem far behind me, as the years have been generous and given me resilience, courage, hope and a voice once stifled. Age has given me not only a voice but a choice. In my youth I would have given my last breath just to be liked. Today I understand that I need to choose my company wisely and with me in mind. Yes making sometimes tough decisions to stay or walk away.

So 2015 also finds me taking a new path with not just me running my own business but supporting my husband Michael to do the same. An illness that rocked our world in 2013 prompted us both to take stock and look at what we were putting off until tomorrow. We realised that our tomorrow could actually become our today and our life experiences made us take action.

"Never put off till tomorrow the fun you can have today." Aldous Huxley

No we don’t believe age has to be grey, dull and unexciting. Age is now, vibrant and a time of great opportunity. Imagine believing that the best was yet to come?

If you like the idea of enjoying your numbers rather than fighting them, join us on Twitter with #LovingOURYears and share your words of encouragement and celebration.

My warmest wishes for a happy and healthy 2015

Jayne

Jayne Cox

In celebration of us older ladies

"Older Ladies" by Donnalou Stevens

Reach for a New Day - Day 42

Day 42 (11th January 2015)

42 per cent of London's Underground is actually underground.
The above map was created by James Wannerton - he has the neurological condition Synaesthesia, which
means that he tastes words when he reads or hears them. Aged 4 he noticed that tube stations had specific tastes
whilst travelled to school with his mother. He now lives in Blackpool,
so it  took him 49 years to create this map, by visiting each station.
To see a larger version click here

For many years the author of today's post was only known by his nom de plume - Flip Chart Rick. He was one of the earliest bloggers, starting in 2007, and at that stage a degree of anonymity was desirable - he writes excellent, informative posts, full of data and facts and, despite his references to "business bullshit" and "corporate crap" he is respected by people within and outside the establishment. His name is Steve Toft. His roots lie in HR, culminating in becoming a respected Senior Manager at PwC, before setting up his own consultancy. Steve is the co-founder of Crucible Consulting, which specialises in aligning performance management processes, structures and systems to enable businesses and the people within them succeed. He is a driving force within the CIPD West London community. Steve is also an expert on real ales and craft beers - and is a great fellow to spend an evening with.

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Advent is the midnight of the year. It's a time when the sun sets at its earliest. I am fortunate to live in a house that faces west and overlooks a park, so I can watch the sun move through the seasons. I know that when it sets behind the row of poplars it has reached its nadir. It then starts to move back towards the copse behind the pub until, after about the end of April, the sunset is too far round for me to see from our window.

Avenue of Poplars at Sunset, 1884
Vincent van Gogh, Rijksmuseum

This year, the earliest sunsets in London are between the 10th and 15th of December and the shortest day is on the 21st. After that, the sun will start to move back the other way, towards the north and to a new spring. The days will lengthen, slowly at first, then eventually the warmth will return.

Winter Solstice - gouache painting by Wendy Wilkerson

Advent, then, is a time of darkness but also of hope. Long before Christianity, our ancestors celebrated at this time of year. Sometime in the 4th century, the church appropriated the existing festivals for a celebration of the birth of Jesus. What better time to mark the coming of a man who would symbolise the death of the old and the hope of the new.

Celtic Horned God of virility and renewal
is born at the Winter Solstice

I'm sure many of the people who read my blog think of me as a brooding pessimist. At a conference I spoke at recently, my presentation was rated as the most depressing session of the day. It's true that a lot of the things I write about are enough to make you want to run for cover. But I have long thought of myself as a short-term pessimist and a long-term optimist. Much of the work I have done over the years has required me to be both. When you are managing big change programmes you need to anticipate pitfalls and help people to understand them. Yet, at the same time, you need to have faith in your colleagues' ability to find ways of dealing with them, even if you are not yet sure what some of the solutions might look like.

It's the same with the things I discuss on my blog. Those of us in the developed economies have lived through a lucky half-century. The 60 years between the end of the Second World War and the start of the Great Recession saw our economies grow at an unprecedented rate. Big governments, big corporations and big trade unions, all deeply unfashionable these days, presided over an increase in living standards bigger and faster than anything seen before. Those of us born into this are among the most fortunate human beings ever to walk the planet. But we began to assume that our world was normal and would be the model for the future. We thought that economies would always grow, that children would be better off than their parents and that the proceeds of growth would, over time, be more evenly distributed. 

The signs are that this bonanza is over. The world's population is ageing at a fascinating rate.

Just as they industrialised at breakneck speed, the emerging economies will age at breakneck speed too. By the middle of this century, most countries outside India and sub-Saharan Africa will have a greater proportion of their population over 60 than Britain has now. Some countries, like Vietnam and Iran, will overtake us and have older populations by 2050.

We seem to be moving into a period of much slower economic growth than we have been used to. This is affecting the whole world but especially the developed economies. Not everyone is convinced that new leaps in technology can do much to mitigate this. Tomas Piketty believes that, left unchecked, the forces unleashed by these changes will lead to ever greater inequality and the concentration of wealth in the hands of the few.

I think he may well be right.

Whatever else happens, those of us who grew up in the post-war world will find the certainties of our youth disappearing with alarming speed.

Yet I remain a short-term pessimist and a long-term optimist. We are going through an upheaval and a period of change the like of which we have never seen before but I am convinced that the human race will find ways of dealing with it. It may not surprise you that I'm a fan of dystopian fiction but, while such stories are fun in a horror film sort of way, I don't believe the future of the world will be that bad. Technology may eventually take many of our jobs but it will also help us do new things. It may finally free us from drudgery to create all sorts of new and wonderful possibilities. The trick will be to make sure technology's benefits are well distributed and that it is used to free people, not to oppress and control them.

One day a paraplegic may be able to operate an exoskeleton
with his or her own mind. Brand X Pictures/Thinkstock

Another reason why I am hopeful is because I don't think people will stand for a dystopian future.

Just as, in the last century, the West's workers decided they wouldn't put up with exploitation and servitude, the poor in Asia, Africa and Latin America are kicking back against arbitrary autocracy, corruption and starvation wages too. In places that were once thought of as inevitably destitute and dictatorial, people are starting to protest. The human race won't tolerate a future in which the few trample all over everyone else.

Peaceful protests by thousands in Hong Kong, 2014

That might have been the pattern for much of our history but people have had enough of it now. The more people kick up about it, the more hopeful I am for the future.

So why do I write all that depressing stuff on my blog? Because I believe we need to understand the immense challenges to come. Without acknowledging these difficulties, optimism just becomes panglossian idiocy. To have real hope for the future, we have to face problems, not ignore them. That way we will, I'm sure, find ways of dealing with them. As ever, my pessimism about the short-term is balanced by optimism about the longer term.

There is light ahead

There's a 1970s song written by John David for his group Airwaves. My wife likes to play it at this time of year. For her, it represents the spirit of Advent. John David wrote it after a major blow in his personal life. The feeling of being in dark days but reaching for the light runs through the song. It's called New Day and it contains the following lines:

Thoughts that we as humans small

Could slow worlds and end it all

Lie around me where they fall

Before the new day

One more day when time is running out

for everyone

Like a breath I knew would come I reach for

the new day

Hope is my philosophy

Just needs days in which to be

Love of life means hope for me

Born on a new day

"You are the New Day" by Airwaves, 1977

I don't believe time will run out. We can choose our path and, perhaps after going down a few blind alleys, we and the generations to come will find one that makes a better world. We will stretch out our arms and, through the murky darkness, reach for a new day.

"Feelin' Good" by Nina Simone, 1965