Better. Faster. Brighter. Bigger. Happier. Sparklier.

Day 18 (Friday 18th December 2015)

18 - the number of, arguably, Shakespeare's best loved poem, Sonnet 18

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? 
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date: 
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd; 
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimm'd;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st; 
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

Today's post is by the ever inspirational Helen Amery. Helen runs her own consultancy, Wild Fig Solutions and is an accomplished executive coach and leadership development specialist. Helen encourages people to dig deep and understand their own drivers and areas for growth. You can follow her on Twitter, her handle is @wildfigsolns. She is an excellent blogger - read her own posts at People-ology on Wordpress or else catch her in HRD Magazine. Helen commenced life as a scientist - studying Chemistry at Edinburgh, before switching career to specialise in people. She spent 10 years in HR roles with Boots (The UK Chemist and retail chain), culminating in leading the group's strategic organisational development programme, before deciding to found her own business. Helen lives with her family in Leicestershire.

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We chase a perfect life, with perfect ‘stuff’ and perfect relationships.  The Hollywood dream, the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, the comet tails that are seen but can’t be caught.

And you will always be chasing.  Because life isn’t perfect.  

Sometimes while you’re running after those things, you’ll be knocked off course.

Loss of a loved one.  A flooded home.  Arguments.  Burglary.  Divorce.  Illness. Injury.

Peter Clarkson 72, swimming in his kitchen after recent flooding in Cumbria, UK
Photo: Dave Nelson

Coal dust flurries up and distorts your view of the beautiful comet.  Because life isn’t perfect.  

John Constable, "Seascape Study with Cloud" (c. 1824)

And that would be OK if you knew it would pass, or become easier.  If you knew it wasn’t forever and the dust would blow over.  You might even find a way to clean the coal dust away for yourself.  If you knew that this is just what happens and that by surviving the coal dust you’ll once again see the comet.

What would that change for you?  

When you find this place, you can quieten your judgement of the bad times. They are just what happen.  And when you see the comet again, it will look all the brighter and more precious to you than it was before.

 

Comet over Rotterdam, 1680 by Liev Verschuier

So as this year ends and the next begins, resist the belief or the hope for a perfect 2016.  Because life isn’t perfect.  Make peace with the knowledge that there will be good times and bad, happy times and sad and that both are valuable in making us who we are and taking us to where we need to be next.  

Down in the Dirt

Day 16 (Wednesday 16th December 2015)

16 of this year's "Forbes Celebrity 100: The World's Highest-Paid Superstars of 2015" were women. 
The boxers, Floyd Mayweather and Manny Pacquiao, topped the list - Mayweather made $300 million 
(the highest annual amount ever earned by an athlete), 
$250 million of his earnings were winnings from his fight against Pacquiao in May. 
Katy Perry was #3, due to income related to her world tour.
According to the World Economic Forum the gender pay gap may take 
another 118 years to close.

It gives me great pleasure to introduce you to Paul Clarke, the author of today's piece - given the time of year and prevalence of office parties, the publication is timely. Paul had a high flying career in management consulting (advising public sector organisations on their IT strategies), prior to seeing the light and following his passion to become, in the space of less than 5 years, one of the UK's most respected "real time image creation" and event photographers. In 2013 he was listed, by Professional Photographer magazine, as one of the Top 100 Photography Heroes; in 2014 he won the Professional category in the Event Photography Awards and judged the event this year. Paul is inspirational on many levels - perceptive, creative, fiercely bright (he studied Engineering, Economic and Management, Information Management at Oriel College, Oxford), aware of his own weaknesses and always prepared to question and challenge. I first met Paul via Twitter, and have subsequently become a client - he took some brilliant photos of family and friends at my eldest son's 21st - and he is also a friend. He introduced one of our new blogging voices via the Adnet Blogs series last year and I am delighted to have him with us in 2015. Chatting with Paul is always a pleasure, so long as you don't mind surprises and debate. He is a fine wordsmith - try out his photography blog - or else enjoy his company on Twitter (his handle is @paul_clarke).

NB Paul had no involvement in the photographs used to illustrate his post.

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It's just after midnight, on a train outside Purley. Not quite the last train – now that would be a special hell – but pretty rough all the same. It's mid-December; most of the people around me have been hitting it hard today. The signs are everywhere. 

The grey-haired guy in the camel coat slumped down over his bag, drool running from the corner of his mouth on to the crumpled Standard beneath. The pale, sweaty woman by the door, fingers playing nervously with her big handbag. The puker-to-be.

It's not overt violence that hangs in the air so much as sadness. Ten big lads have taken over First Class and are noisily stuffing down burgers and beers. Anyone mug enough even to approach the door will be washed back on a wave of Stella Bantois. A young woman is asleep in the space by the doors – everyone who passes her looks nervous, then guilty, as they're not sure whether to wake her and tell her which stop it is. But you know, these days, can't be too careful...

The office parties, the quick drink after work, the we-said-we-must-catch-up-and-it's-nearly-2016. The unwrapped Secret Santas, the soggy party-hat, the quarter-full bottle of Prosecco under the table. The champagne and the shame and the pain.

The train's been stopped for a while, and my thoughts travel back seven Christmases. That was me – guy slumped over the bag. Or sometimes the red-faced and shouty one. Or the one looking for cabs at Horley having slept right through my stop. Sad and sick. Drinking problem, you see. Call it what you will – call it alcoholism, call it wrong-life-wrong-job – the problem bit would always show up at that time of night in one particular way.

I could not – whatever had been happening earlier in the day or evening – I COULD NOT get past the Whistlestop at Victoria without dipping in for a quick bag of “travellers”. Four tins (at least) of the strongest beer they had. They didn't stock the super-strengths. (Pro-alkie-tip: neither do Waitrose, but they DO stock the Belgian Trippel stuff – it's pretty much the same, and the neighbours won't be shocked. Middle-Class-Special-Brew.)

So that was a drinking problem all right. The first would be empty by the time the train pulled out. The second not looking so healthy by Balham. And neither would I. Three was reserved for the delays around Selhurst, and four would be dispatched just before home. Wouldn't want to come in the door clutching booze, would I? Now how bad would THAT look?

I was down in the dirt. Covered in the grubby coal-dust of modern London life. Stuck down a mine of my own design. I remember one similar train journey, a few years ago, when someone had left a copy of The Sun on the table. The front page was some screaming headline about the Budget, and proposals for higher booze pricing. “CHANCELLOR TO PUT A TAX ON FUN” or something like that. Fun. All that fun. I've never seen that particular F-word in the same way since then, if I'm honest.

How could I cope without all that fun? I'd be ostracised, apart, ridiculed. “The Other” at all those parties. What if Secret Santa wasn't actually funny, sober? Imagine that. In time it turned out that none of those fears were real (apart from the Secret Santa one). But that's for another story.

Anyway, back to dust and dirt and darkness. Thing about even the most insignificant and blackest dust is that you can turn it around and see it in a new light, and it will show you glories unimagined.

Take the comet: thousands of years lost in space, dark, scared, alone – frankly a bit of a mess. If Carlsberg did alcoholic space objects… But put it in the right place, look at it in the right way, and that dust streams out into the most vivid and striking tail. All that darkness, let go, and reimagined. Even bright enough, I'm told, to be seen through the rain-streaked windows of a signal-limping commuter train in south London.

I was lucky. I found the sun, and set my face to it. The dust streams, and now I blaze.

Comet ISON, 2013

Good luck finding yours, wherever it may be hiding.

Comet Donati 1851

What is this life? - Day 49

Day 49 (18th January 2015)

49 - the number of days Siddhartha (the founder of Buddhism) sat under
the Bodhi tree before attaining enlightenment.
Above image - The Enlightenment (2nd Century BCE) - a fine example of 
Gandhāran carving - part of the Silk Road transmission of Buddhism.

Today's piece is by a wonderful lady, Katharine Bourke, who was a former colleague of mine over 20 years ago. I have very fond memories of our times together during the pioneering days of the recruitment industry. She stood out from the crowd for being ethical, honest, proactive and quick, without any hard-sell. She was very good at her job. We renewed contact through Twitter in 2014 (her handle is @katharinebourke). We met in London, but Katharine is a country girl at heart (she was born on a farm on Dartmoor). She now lives and works in Devon and Cornwall, looking after her family and helping local businesses thrive (she is a business growth specialist and takes delight in helping organisations and people to achieve their true potential).

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When Kate invited me to write for this blog, she mentioned the story I told earlier in the year about Pirate Joe. 'Pirate Joe' was my attempt to engage two typically boisterous children (aged 2 and 4) in spending a quiet moment sitting looking out to sea, so that we could catch our breaths during whole days spent together at the beach, when they were little. 

Rock Beach, Cornwall, UK

There were always stories to tell, often collaboratively, based around the little yacht with the red sails which was sailed by 'Pirate Joe'. It usually involved consideration of where the boat was going, what it was doing, and who was on board. To this day (they're both teenagers now) if I mention 'Pirate Joe' they still remember the story of Pirate Joe, even if they don’t remember all that much about those moments by the sea. Moments which I will always treasure and which made me first recognise the power of storytelling.

The picture above of that little boat with the red sails was taken on July 16th 2014, which would have been my father’s 88th birthday. Having booked the day off to spend it with my Mum, we took the opportunity to head across to Rock in Cornwall to visit St Enodoc’s Church and in particular Sir John Betjemen’s grave, somewhere she’s always wanted to visit. In the process we came across a beautiful poem which had been put there in Sir John’s memory and which read:

30th Anniversary 19th May 2014

If you can look for a silver lining,So that others around may see,And you show them the sun is shining,You’re the fellow for me
We shall arise from the times of sorrow, To a world as it ought to be,Lend a hand for the new tomorrow,And you’re the fellow for me.

Written by the late Ralph Reader CBE (1907 – 1981)

So, in the spirit of storytelling and with 2015 upon us, I would like to share with you what was possibly the most profound experience of 2014 for me. And even thinking about it now brings me to tears – in a good way! 

I received some information about a Zen Leadership course being held at Sharpham House in Devon. The place and the subject resonated with me so powerfully I decided that I had to take time for it and booked myself a place.

To spend three days learning about Zen Leadership, including learning how to ‘sit’ Zazen style, in silence, eyes open and without moving was a powerful experience for me. I have enjoyed learning about mindfulness and have meditated off and on for many years, but never with my eyes open and never all that regularly. On the second day, as the first morning meditation started at 6am I found myself overwhelmed with emotion. 

Tears poured down my face, I wept, and amidst all the chaos going on in my head, I managed to keep it to myself. Seemingly no one noticed. I was silent, unmoving, not even raising a hand to wipe tears from my cheeks. Quietly observing the tears running down my face, keeping still, and focusing on my breathing. Counting 1, 2, 3 and on up to 10 with each breath. Then back to 1 again.

For 45 minutes I managed to keep that to myself, finding myself back in the room aware of my wet face, then observing so many thoughts flitting past and which the counting enabled me to dismiss so that I could return to that peaceful, quiet, place in my mind. The wooden blocks that signalled the end of the meditation brought me back into the room in more ways than one and I know I moved pretty fast out through the door beside me to wash my face before returning to the next session!

Before you ask, I do know what was behind that powerful surge of emotion, a part of which is to do with allowing my work life to take over my personal life, and constantly feeling frustrated at not having enough time and always feeling like I’m either wading through treacle or just running to stand still. I love my work but it is all consuming, I’d lost my enthusiasm for cooking, I was not exercising regularly, and I was definitely not taking any time for myself in the midst of being a working mother with a husband who works away a lot, teenage children, and an elderly Mum who is in need of support and who often takes priority over my children, not to mention my dear husband!

And it’s not that I’m unaware of my emotions. I’m one of the many people who will cry when there is a sad news story, I often shed a tear when I hear stories of personal sadness or tragedy, as well as stories that I find touching, heartwarming. I’m very comfortable with my emotions now, which I’ve realised quite probably goes back to the day when I was presenting my strategic plan to the directors of the company I used to work for in Oxford, and when challenged on something that I really cared passionately about, I burst into tears. The first time I’d done that in business. At the time I suggested that it was because I was 6 months pregnant and emotional, but on reflection I think there was more to it than that!

Since that weekend, things have changed. I made myself a promise, that I would keep an hour a day for myself. And surprising myself, I have kept to it much better than I’d expected. Mostly an hour at the beginning of the day, often a short (15 minute) Zazen meditation followed by a walk, or an hour spent on my ‘shenanigans’ – the only possible word to describe my version of a daily run which is more like 80s-style aerobics in a straight line, where it is all about the music!

Dawn Zazen, by artist, poet & potter Lawrence Barrow

Several of us on the course observed that we rarely keep the promises we make to ourselves. Since the course, I have found that I have been much more consistent with taking that time for myself in a day. It enables me to clear my head and focus on those things I need to do that day which are the most important. I certainly notice the days when I don’t make time to ‘sit’ at the start of my day and if the pace of the day gets too much (that feeling of having so much to do that you really don’t know where to start?), I will take a few minutes to reframe what is going on around me.  And those few minutes are usually the best possible investment I’ve found.

Sharpham view through the autumn leaves

I am so very grateful for the shared experience of the course at Sharpham. It has provided me with much needed head space to reflect on what it is that is important to me. The challenge I’m setting myself for 2015 is to harness the energy I have and the connections that I have been fortunate to make along this path to rebalance my life and enable me to support the businesses in my community that it is such a privilege to spend my working time with.

View from Sharpham window

With that thought I’d like to leave you with this poem which my wonderful grandmother introduced me to many years ago. Seems apt for my experiences in 2014, and will be a focus for my 2015.

Leisure by William Henry Davies (1871 – 1940)

What is this life if, full of care,

We have no time to stand and stare.

No time to stand beneath the boughs

And stare as long as sheep or cows.

No time to see, when woods we pass,

Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.

No time to see, in broad daylight,

Streams full of stars, like skies at night.

No time to turn at Beauty's glance,

And watch her feet, how they can dance.

No time to wait till her mouth can

Enrich that smile her eyes began.

A poor life this is if, full of care,

We have no time to stand and stare.

 Reflections at Devil's Point

Louis Armstrong singing What A Wonderful World