Defining moments

Day 12 (Monday 12th December 2016)

12 literary awards and numerous accolades, including a commendation

in relation to the Nobel Prize for Literature, are a reflection of the talents of

William Trevor, the Irish writer, playwright and short story specialist

(he is widely considered to be the finest short story writer in the English

language for the past half century). He died on 20th November 2016.

We have reached the start of a new week and I am sure you will agree with me that the blogs so far have been stunning; today's, by Tony Jackson, is no exception. It is a very personal reflection on a defining moment, not just for him in 2016 but in his life as a whole. Tony is the founder and managing director of Chelsham Consulting Limited, a firm that specialises in executive, leadership and transition coaching, facilitation and people consulting. Tony is active on social media (his business Twitter handle is @ChelshamConsult or you can contact him direct via @JacksonT0ny) - he writes an excellent coaching blog, "Silos, boundary-spanners & hot spots" and publishes posts on LinkedIn. Tony is both emotionally and intellectually intelligent and is swift to get to the heart of an issue. Resilient, perspicacious and empathetic - he is a great person to bounce ideas off or to discuss an issue with, to determine a solution.

As an added treat to his post, the beautiful pictures (excluding the one of David Bowie and the final one of the Fylde coast) are all photographs taken by Tony himself.

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Defining moments


There are some moments which define you.

If ever there was a bad year personally it was 2015.  And if ever there was a bad year for the world it has been 2016 – although  remarkably it turned into a much more positive one on the personal front.

(As an aside: I genuinely felt David Bowie’s death in January as if it was that of a beloved & close family member – and somehow it seems that since that awful day it has just been one thing after another on this blue planet of ours. As if David was the one who held things together for us.)

I had a complex, difficult relationship with my father. And then he went and died in October 2015 – leaving me without parents. My dear Mum died way back in 1990. His death incited so many memories of her and so many mixed emotions. 

Genuinely complicated.

My hollow came a year later. A surreal day.

My brother was much closer to him than I ever was – and given their geographical proximity (I escaped to London at the first opportunity as a young man) had managed the estate and the house for many months. My step-mother – his second wife - had moved out and into a home near her daughter as she gradually slid into the parallel world of vascular dementia. 

So it had been a trying year as we navigated new territories in a variety of ways. And none of us had ventured anywhere near my father’s wardrobes & cupboards to do the necessary clearing. Quite a hard task.

And the time had come. I’d decided that I could probably choose to be more dispassionate about matters. Nevertheless I needed to brace myself so I did, then sped up the motorways to the Fylde, popped into the village shop to buy some bin-liners and in I went.

For reasons I will not go into, it is not a place filled with exclusively happy memories. And the village is a place about which I have blogged before so let’s not go there either.

I kid you not…the lock collapsed as I opened the front door.  As if the house was saying either do not enter or ‘I have you again – you may not leave’.

I started in the loft. Pausing on the old 78s and 45s which I remembered from my early childhood. Finding…well…finding little really.

And then in the bathroom cabinet more than one unopened Christmas aftershave which I had given him many years before. Oh so he didn’t like it after all.

And then those wardrobes. With each new door a memory was provoked. Still some things which belonged to my mother. Clothes of his which hadn’t been worn for decades. Multiple packs of new shirts (his recent habit had been hilariously over-ordering on the internet). Medical paraphernalia. Now I’m feeling wistful. The overnight bag he’d taken with him on that final admission into hospital. Still packed. Now I’m feeling hollow.

Hollow with the realisation  that something profound has happened.

A generational shift.

There’s no longer anyone ahead of me.

I am the responsible one. 

Fylde coast

Dear Dad

Day 10 (Saturday 10th December 2016)

10 years old - the age that Prince danced on stage with his show 

business idol, James Brown. Prince credited Brown with having had 

a big influence on his own style. Prince died unexpectedly on 21April 

2016 at the age of 57 of an accidental drug overdose.

Welcome to the weekend, often a time for reflection. I suspect today's post by Mathew (Mat) Davies will provide you with an opportunity to do just that.  Mat is a much respected, passionate HR Director, with proven experience up to Board level in international and world-class organisations, who is active on social media (you can follow him on Twitter, his handle is @RafaDavies). He is also renown for being a proud Welshman (especially when rugby is involved) and a keen music aficionado. He is the Senior Editor at Ghost Cult Magazine. In addition to music, Mat is well-read, enjoying many genres from classic to comics. He is also an active cyclist (but I suspect most are). Mat enjoys learning (both for himself and supporting others), he is a straight talker and he writes an excellent blog: thedustjacketsite.wordpress.com. 

As you will be able to tell from Mat's post, 2016 has been a challenging year for him. In addition to a family bereavement, he has ceased working at CGI, where he had been for over 5 years. He is now actively seeking his next challenge and would be delighted to hear from you, especially if you are looking for an intelligent, creative, pragmatic, business-minded HR Director. 

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Dear Dad

The passing of my father on April 28^th shaped my 2016. He was 74. He had a terrific life and was a brilliant dad, husband, friend, teacher and advisor.

Hey Dad,

I thought I’d drop you a line so you could catch up on all the things you’ve missed. Perhaps you’re keeping a watch over us all anyway so this might be telling you things you know already. In case not, given you didn’t really get on with that mobile phone of yours and we haven’t worked out how to text each other where you are now, I thought this would help.

Since you left us for a better place, 2016 has been quite the year.

There’s been so much going on, it’s hard to know where to start. Perhaps we should start with the things that we used to talk about.

Leicester won the Premier League, just like you said they would. Gary Lineker did keep his promise to wear his underpants on Match of the Day, too.

In the rugby, the Welsh team needs some new ideas which I know you will have only been too happy to have given them from the vantage point of your chair in front of the window. Your second team, The All Blacks, seemed to want to beat everyone until Ireland reminded them that there were other teams who knew how to play the oval ball game so they are going great guns too. I know you won’t thank me for saying this but England look good too.

So we decided to leave Europe. I know you would have had your say about all of this but it pretty much changed everything in UK politics. Theresa is in charge now, Dad.

Corbyn is still there, being Corbyn.

Jeremy Corbyn debating with Owen Smith.
Photograph: Sky News via Getty Images

That Farage bloke is still trying to convince us that he’s a man of the people. He’s stopped being the leader of his party. For now, anyway. His new best friend is that American gameshow host with the big flat and the funny hair. Yeah, he did become President of the United States as well. It’s all been a bit surreal. You will have liked the intrigue I’m sure but I know you won’t have liked how nasty and divisive and tribal it has all felt. It feels like we have moved to a new place where lots of reconciliation and discussion needs to happen before wounds can really heal.

We’ve said our goodbyes but it’s also felt like we have been saying many goodbyes all year. David Bowie’s passing seems to have resonated across the year; likewise, Prince. There have been lots of other goodbyes to say too. I know how much you used to admire the skill and elan of Johann Cruyff, the artistry of Alan Rickman, the gentle humour of Victoria Wood, the warm bonhomie of Terry Wogan.

 

There have been lots of others. Many, many others. I missed being able to talk to you about them, and many others. I miss how you’d instinctively have the right words to say at times like this. The calm authority; the reflective insight.

I’ve missed that, Dad.

I’ve missed being able just to hear your voice; to reassure when things weren’t going so well. I’ve missed you telling your jokes.

I’ve missed the way that you’d shout at the telly even though no one could hear, berating poor refereeing decisions or poor marksmanship, or just saying goodnight to Huw Edwards on the 10 o’clock News.

I’ve missed telling you about the rock bands I’d been to see that you’d never heard of and never wanted to hear. I’ve missed how you’d wipe the imaginary dust off a new book that you’d received. I’ve missed that it didn’t matter whether we met often or not, it didn’t matter whether we spoke every day or not, what mattered was that you loved me a lot.

What I have learned is year is this.

Life is going to throw enormous challenges at you: bereavement and grief, job loss, political upheavals that you didn’t vote for, artists and heroes leaving this life for another one. I’ve learned it is easy to feel like you’re on a treadmill, not knowing how to get off, whether you should even think about getting off because you won’t know how to get back on again. I’ve learned it's possible to change who you are, what you do, what point of view you take, how you react to things. I’ve learned to stop thinking that this life can’t change.

It changes every day.

I’ve learned that each day gives us a chance to bring happiness and energy and drive and passion to do amazing, brilliant and joyful things.

An ordinary life is still an extraordinary one.

I’ve learned that I’m capable of more. More patience, more insight, more love.

And I learned that from you, Dad.

Merry Christmas, Dad.

M xx