Category Archives: Life change

Change stories, ideas and experiences created by new circumstances

General Musings, Insights, Life change, Snippets

Limbo

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Here in Port Louis, Mauritius, I sit in a hotel room waiting for tropical cyclone Eleanor.  The downstairs bar is emptied of its glasses, bottles and furniture, tiny birds fly unchecked in the indoor breakfast room, grateful to be indoors where the crumbs are plentiful; guests gather at the buffet, filling their plates, unsure of when the next meal will be served.  Storm tracking apps are traded like stocks with much chatter on Eleanor’s projectory and strength; reception lies quiet, its glass front doors locked.  Hotel staff who have not gone home bustle around, calmly helping guests with their queries and needs.

Caucan Waterfront, Port Louis, Mauritius

Bellies full, we stagger back to the room where the food coma hits and I pass out, missing the blustery gusts, the driving rain and the Palm trees bent double in the gales.  I wake up to silence.  No bird song but no perceptible damage either.  The anti-climax hangs in the air between us, like a missed opportunity for a story yet to be told.  In gratitude, Craig completes his expenses and cleans up his emails while I sit with my book, trying to concentrate and quieten the busy mind.

For me the last 24 hours are the analogy for the last six months – a promise of something which turns out not quite as expected.

For South Africa is a beautifully cruel country offering contrasting experiences and incredible highs and lows.   Learning to trade in trust has been hard, I’m having to go inward to come out again.  While we remain physically safe, I have lost psychological safety having trusted people who have stolen thousands of pounds worth of irreplaceable family heirlooms and jewellery from our home.  When coupled by a serious physical assault by a medical professional, who was (wrongly) trusted on the basis he was a British High Commission approved Doctor, I find myself unmoored, bobbing along in a questioning sea; What is my skill set?  What is my cultural awareness?  How do I show up?

Male Lion in Madikwe National Reserve

By contrast, placed in wide-open spaces of endless sky and a far horizon glinting in the sunlight, with elephant breath through the window and a reverberating lion roar in the ear drum, the country of South Africa delivers a truth perspective; I am but a mere speck of breath in the universe.

And so, in this ying and yang of experience and expectation, disappointment and joy, fear and excitement, I sit in stasis.  I have to work first on self before enjoying the fruits of future work.

While this cannot be rushed, I also recognise my fortune; a now comfortable home and a life-partner gainfully employed, I have the luxury of taking the time needed to heal and explore.  My South African counsellor, used to dealing with victims of violent assault, murder and rape does not indulge willy-nilly, self-reflective wallowing.  Let’s call the spade a shovel and we will dig in to the past to understand the present.  In reality this means I am swallowing medicine I have tried to avoid for 30 years.

You can’t lie to liars without becoming a liar. We can’t cheat a cheater without becoming a cheater. Fighting fire with fire doesn’t protect trust it merely leaves you with the ashes of your integrity. Michael Josephson

I don’t know where this will lead.  For the first-time, in a long time, there is no clear outcome.  To learn to trust again, I must first trust in time and instinct.

Sit in limbo.

The storm may hit;

It may also swerve past.

Tropical Cyclone Balal 2024
Insights, Life change, Snippets

Here we go again

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  Culture shock. Part 1

In the past 6 months, I’ve experienced two international moves, a short-term rental in the homeland where my task was to support the boy to pass his IB diploma; Surrendering a role I loved; A close family member’s death and funeral; Bed hopping in England; Tenants moving out of our property ; Putting the house on the market; Dealing with incompetent estate-agents; Taking the house off the market; Removing/throwing out items and repacking a storeroom after a rat party-infestation; Refreshing, repainting, cleaning and sorting the house; Finding and supporting new tenants; Packing away a life; repacking for a new life. All the while being accompanied in all endeavors by our family dog, Monty.

Monty the Golden dog

Part of my Intercultural Communications Masters degree meant studying both culture shock and reverse culture shock but there is no textbook in the world that prepares you for this level of change.

We were in Barbados for five and a half years. Known for being a “great place to go on holiday” on arriving, I wasn’t prepared for all the classic stages of culture shock; the newness and novel nature of being somewhere different but similar, followed quickly by the need to sleep for long hours of day and night; the growing anger and disgust at some of the attitudinal and behavioural differences, much unexpected on an island so reliant on tourism; the futile attempts to make changes to improve the community; the gradual acceptance of societal norms; grief and reluctance to say goodbye.

But it was so much more than this – the island was a place of security and sanctuary during the pandemic. Led by a communicative and charismatic Prime Minister, Mia Mottley, inhabitants were kept well informed of the context of decisions, even when such decisions were unpopular. Once airspace was closed down – the repatriation effort on this is a blog post on its own – the people who were left had chosen to be there, or belonged on island, and the shift towards connectedness became palpable. Almost, without exception, compliance was close to 100% whether it be mask wearing, specific days and times to go to the supermarket (based on the initial of your last name) and not leaving your home cartilage (for an initial 6 weeks). Although somewhat claustrophobic, as adherence was so high, there was a strong moral tolerance borne by all. This temporary burst of community-spirited socialism and kindness enabled resilience, positive mental health and survival so I’m truly grateful that we lived through this period on ‘De Rock’ as a family.

Ariel view of Barbados

Of course, it’s the people who make the place and we become close to a wildly diverse group of billionaires, millionaires, musicians, golfers, dog lovers and fun folks. Barbados brings out our not-so- latent hedonism. Rum runs through the veins as much as blood and we are never far away from the next gathering or party or bonding chats and conversation. I have mixed feelings for the actual place but I cry for the people I leave behind.

Final evening at La Cabane

We say goodbye to the Caribbean at the end of February and fly first to England, for 10 days. I’m unclear if this is reverse culture shock, sadness about parting with dear friends, or the clear division, politically, morally, economically or socially created by 13 years of economic mismanagement, avarice, lies, corruption and greed, but this place no longer feels like home. I become wary of engaging in deeper conversation beyond pleasantries- every day brings a new political scandal, a new division created and stoked by all kinds of media, in particular the rabid press owned by billionaires who neither live nor pay tax in this country. It feels like the stuffing has been kicked out of England, it’s certainly much changed and it doesn’t take much to see individuals and their thin-skinned lack of tolerance emerging. Of numerous examples I’ll cite one – at a petrol station in Southampton, I fill my car and pay. I don’t have sat-nav in the hire car so pull out my phone to confirm my onward journey. Given my destination is already pre-programmed, this takes less than a minute. During this time, a large Ford Ranger truck reverses in front of me, blocking me in. I beep my horn and a large, bald man tears out of the truck and using the most foul and colourful language tells me in his own inimitable way to be quiet and that as I was obviously using my phone I deserve to wait. I show him my sat-nav screen and he hurls yet more verbal abuse, in particular sharing his thoughts about my gender. He scares me into silence and as I depart he uses threatening, abusive gestures towards me. No one intervenes.

So we head northwards to Scotland, to my own kind, and I spend 4 months eating all the chocolates and sweeties, baked goods, pies, bread, black puddings, haggis and meats of my childhood. Despite all the walking, I gain yet more weight but the tasty morsels are doing more than satisfying my appetite, they are feeding my soul. And this isn’t talked about in the academic books – the coping mechanisms of dealing with reverse culture shock. Familiar food, re-purchasing familiar knick-knacks, drinking childhood drinks ( hello ‘Cremola Foam’), listening to traditional music, going to places you would avoid if you lived in country. Chasing nostalgia and connection as if it’s a drug. It’s all normal.

The suitcases get packed, unpacked, repacked once more, the traveling with a dog stress cranks up again, the short temper re-emerges as the adrenaline-fueled, organising stress, seeps, drips and pours into all waking and sleeping time. This is not the time for partners or husbands to disappear but invariably he finds some excuse or some way of becoming invisible, indisposed, busy doing  ‘important’ other (away-from) activity.

The conveyor belt of travel takes over and total submission is required. Landing 11 hours later and going through all the normal palaver of immigration and customs, luggage collection and finding the driver, and I’m launched back into the newness and discovery of a familiar, yet different, place; the Mother country of the Mother continent: South Africa.

South Africa

So my plan as I hunt for my next role, is to become the experiment – to observe the shifts in emotions, observations, instances and experiences and to recount these here as a record of one individuals response to culture shock. Let’s see what happens…

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Insights, Life change

Why

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Although employed by the UK Department of Trade, I’m locally engaged. This means when Craig moves roles and I go with him ( there are some days when this is more of a consideration than an absolute…hah), I will need to leave my role and stop leading my fantastic Caribbean DIT team.

The thought of this day has me almost coming out in hives. Having invested so much into my current role, there is much still to do and still so much more to learn. I’m just getting started.

But public service people-change is structured and planned. Particularly in relation to overseas roles. So it’s inevitable we will move on; even though, at this time, we have no clue as to where and when.

Dealing as a “trailing spouse” with this level of ambiguity, where I have no control nor influence, and where I have to give up my own hard-won job, is turning out to be harder than I thought. I’m driving my mentor batty with my over-thinking and frustrated drive for action.

I need to create and package a portable career; a transferable kitbag of skills, knowledge and experience, which can be deployed wherever we end up. I comfort myself that I knew only a little about international trade and investment two and a half years ago and yet here I am today, regularly speaking publicly, leading the most productive team in LATAC and directing the work of the Caribbean Trade Envoy. And all the while managing degrees of complexity, a vast array of wide ranging challenges and a suite of stakeholder engagement that makes my corporate career seem like a whimsical breeze.

Yet I remain uncertain and nervous. I’m wired for work and the fear of future unproductive, unstructured days fills me with horror to such an extent that I’m over-engineering from the get go. So my mentor sets me the task of updating my CV and forming the stories I will share of my experiences and achievements. Writing is a passion so this doesn’t seem like too much of a chore until I sit down at my keyboard.

What do I want and much more importantly, why?

Prompted by conversations with my sis-in-law, I sign up for Simon Sinek’s foundation course on finding my why. I’m only part way through and loving it but have found today’s exercise to be mentally challenging. The task is to write at least 6 stories on my life’s peaks and valley’s, stories which elicit emotional highs and lows which I can tell with passion and authenticity. In the beginning this seems similar to the work done on the True North leadership journey but as my depth of self awareness and emotion has increased since my cancer, I’m much more prepared to be open, honest, vulnerable and raw.

And it stinks.

I discover, as I write the headings and shape over forty story bones, that my desire to spin gold out of horse manure, has disappeared. I can see patterns and themes emerging as if the theatre curtain has swept open while I stand on stage; undressed, alone and vulnerable. I’m untethered.

So here I am unburdening on this blog. Trying to create distance from the jotter of notes and timelines and memories. Sitting with more whys than Simon Sinek has ever dreamed of in his entire puff.

I know the ‘what’ of my stories and in most cases I know the ‘how’ but the why??? There is so much I can’t answer particularly in those stories languishing in the valleys of life. I can’t take responsibility for others actions and decisions, I’m only responsible for choosing and accepting my reaction and action to these circumstances. In many stories patterns emerge of white knuckle survival, the outsider’s desire to belong and a dogged determination to not show reaction or weakness, even when crumbling inside. But the why? The purpose, motivation and intended outcomes of others… well I’ll never know. My fear of being a victim means I spend little time pondering on why others have acted as they’ve done; it’s a senseless enquiry as it doesn’t change the past and increases the chances of poor behaviours based on deep seated fears. It has the potential to become a never ending perpetual cycle of introspection and conjecture.

I’ve come to realise that my why, my purpose, needs to be based on sunshine experiences so I’m not reacting to negative forces. It’s a real Star Wars insight. I choose to be Luke and reject thoughts of Anakin.

So whether it’s the 5 why’s (going back to my total quality management days here) or the NLP clean questioning guidance when ‘Why’ can never be part of the interactive dialogue enquiry; this 3 letter word has the potential to elicit powerful emotions and reactions.

I will step through the rest of this course with more caution, consideration and care.

And get on with the easier task of updating my CV.

Life change, Snippets

Digging deep

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In less than 90 minutes we are leaving this hotel, leaving St Andrews, leaving Scotland, leaving behind our boy.

I have no idea how other Mothers cope with the leaving. There is no manual and like other “women’s issues’ little discussion on how. And while I imagine every leaving is different dependent on the relationship and on practice; this is my first time. It hurts as if some magical being is reaching inside me and slowly extracting the organs which keep me breathing.

I promise Roscoe that I will not cry when we walk away from the boarding house. I remain dry-eyed all evening. The bright blue sky’d sunny yellowness of the following morning lifts my mood: the day beckons to get to know better the town where he’s going to be for the next few years. We are texting and he says that most of the boarding house boys are off to Edinburgh for the day so of course we pick him up and saunter into St Andrews for a large plate of celebratory oysters. Leaving the restaurant it’s apparent that this Barbados boy is inappropriately dressed for Scottish sunshine so we purchase a lightweight fleece to go on top of his thin T shirt as he is beginning to turn blue with the cold. Craig has to take him back to our hotel as he cannot get heat into his bones. His first lesson in dealing with our home climate; Layered dressing.

We walk the beach. The sky is glorious and the miles of cold hard golden sand are scattered with dog walkers, kite flyers, pram pushers, whole families out enjoying time together. We amble-walk, the wind at our backs, catching our words, our laughter and blowing all imminent future wrenching away. We argue how far Ben Cross, Nigel Havers, Ian Charleston ran for the opening sequence of Chariots of Fire; both boys have no faith that the actors ran far at all. My romantic notions of about a mile dashed by my husbands pragmatism as he points out the freeking freezingdom of the North Sea. Although we are surprised at the amount of hardy Scots with their trousers rolled up and their feet bare as they walk in icy waters this afternoon. It’s enough to make my bones ache just watching.

I know they ache for other reasons as I loop my arm into my son’s as we more purposely stride into the wind heading back towards St Andrews town. Turning into its cold embrace is a metaphor of momentousness: the leaving is marching towards us. 

We decide to have dinner at the hotel; Roscoe lured by the promise of escargot and being still of the age where the whiff of strong garlic is of no consequence. I watch him wrestle with the tongs and a few elusive snails and wonder how the boy who dislikes anything but pasta, loves the food we’ve eaten today: another quirk of his capricious contradiction.

All too soon it’s time. This time much harder as we all know this is the dreaded au revoir. I have to dig deep to maintain any semblance of composure, managing only by seeing my boy is matching me and I don’t want to make it any harder for either of us.

Now, I watch the rain battering against our window; it’s dreich grayness apt. How do other Mother’s do this? I have no blueprint, no plan. The packed cases mock me, silent tears run as I type. No words come. It’s just screaming emptiness inside, impossible to describe.

My challenging, gorgeous, contradiction of a boy is now being nurtured and grown by others.

I ache.

 

General Musings, Life change, Workplace change

Bias

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I wrote this over  a year ago and for some reason never posted it.  Given all that’s happening now with BLM and the ugliness of division wrought bare with UK and US politics, it seems apt to actually press “publish”

Last year, the Irish actor, Liam Neeson, opens his mouth and lets a genuine insight come out during a newspaper interview with a journalist, Clémence Michallon.   In this he admits to having combed the streets looking for any lone, random, aggressive, black-skinned man; to batter with a cosh in revenge for a close female friend being raped.  During this interview, Neeson was at pains to point out that he knew his feelings were wrong and this primal need for revenge could not be assuaged in a decent society.  And given he probably knows more than most, the reeking damage that revenge creates, having grown up in Ireland at the height of the troubles, I’m inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt.

FILE – This Saturday, Aug. 15, 1998 file photo shows Royal Ulster Constabulary Police officers as they stand on Market Street, the scene of a car bombing in the centre of Omagh, Co Tyrone, 72 miles west of Belfast, Northern Ireland. The Aug. 15, 1998, attack was the deadliest in four decades of conflict over Northern Ireland. None of the Irish Republican Army dissidents responsible for killing 29 people, mostly women and children, has been successfully prosecuted. (AP Photo / Paul McErlane, File)

Obviously I don’t know Neeson so cannot speak on his motives and how he thinks.  However,  he does make a fine point which has been lost in a lot of the more sensationalist press and TV coverage on this story;  primal revenge comes from a very different place than conscious or subconscious bias and the two should not be confused.

Even the associate professor of experimental psychology at University College London, Lasana Harris, struggles to make a conclusive link.  Although he says that incidents such as rape can shape the the way someone thinks about a specific community, he thinks that it may have something to do with existing or pre-existing biases.  To give credit where its due,  he acknowledges that there is an unjustifiable prejudice when it comes to black people being perceived as perpetrators of sexual assault. “You can control it if you’re aware of the stereotype, if you’re aware of the fact that you have these stereotypes and these biases,” he says.

It’s this acknowledgement which creates the distinction; primal revenge involves an action or behaviour which is not premeditated or thought out. Bias is often a conditioned choice which can be mitigated once someone is aware they are biased in some way.  Neeson became aware of this in the week after hearing of the rape and chose to change his attitude and behaviour.

This all starts with our brains which are complex systems which control much of what we do.  We can be exposed to 11 million pieces of information at any one time; however our brain only has capacity to functionally deal with about 40 information ‘bites’ at any moment.  Thankfully we  have the capacity to make unconscious decisions within 200 to 250 milliseconds after taking in a piece of stimuli,  so we  filter information and select what is important to us, to reduce the demand on our brains.

In addition, and I’m massively simplifying lots of neurological research here;  our brain is made up of 100 billion neurons. As we grow and develop, these neurons are ‘wired up’ to each other and  then communicate through thousands of connections  helping form our memories.  The part of the brain called the hippocampus is vital for forming new memories. We use our hippocampus and surrounding areas to bind our memories together and add information about context or location.  Given we start to form our memories as early as 3 days old,  we all have different memories based on our own experiences, backgrounds, cultures and attributes.  Even so our memories are not exact records of events; they are  reconstructed in many different ways after events happen, which means they can be distorted by several of our biases.

Our fundamental way of looking at and encountering the world is driven by this “hard-wired” pattern of making decisions about others based on our memories and what feels safe, likeable, valuable, competent, etc. without us even realising it.  So we see certain things and miss certain things, depending on what the unconscious is focused on. It filters the evidence that we collect, generally supporting our already held points of view, and dis-proving a point of view that we disagree with.

Add to this mix, our culture, which comes to  life though the symbols and meanings, stories and myths, observations, values and assumptions we  start gathering from a very young age.  Symbiotically we absorb the generalisations and stereotypes that  our human groups holds and by human groups I mean family,  friends, colleagues that we spend time with;  they all influence our bias even when we don’t realise.  We all use stereotypes to some extent, as they help us to learn about people and other human groups as well as make quick decisions such as, is this situation safe or dangerous?  Our capacity for stereotyping also helps us look through a busy crowd and spot our friends.  So in summary our brains, cultural upbringing and life experiences influence our stereotypical thinking and our biases.  Its what makes us uniquely human.

I’ve hosted cultural subconscious bias awareness workshops and run coaching sessions on the impact of bias particularly on decision making and teamwork.  Invariably participants warm up by completing a number of the free bias tests offered online.   These are useful for me too as certain instances or situations on this island can affect my bias and I want to stay aware of my reactions and choices.

For I too experience deep seated racial bias here in Barbados.  White skins to black skins;  black skins to white skins and black skins to different shades of black skins.  I have lost count of the amount of times I have been standing in a queue, quite happily with all colours of skin, only to find when its my turn to be served for the black-skinned teller or server to walk off, or find another laborious task to do first,  before serving me.  Never was this more blatant than in a Wildey coffee shop next to Carters, the local hardware store, when after queuing to place my  coffee order, the local server walked off when I got to the front of the queue, forcing her colleague to eventually shout across the store for my order.  I watched the same woman do this twice over with other white- skinned customers as I sat drinking my coffee.  Another small example involves the local Cheapside market stall vendor who charges me $6 for a bag of lemons and then charges the customer standing next to me $2 for the same product.  When I ask about the price difference,  I’m aggressively informed “this is my price.  Do you want the lemons or not”?  You quickly learn not to argue, particularly when you feel the need for the accompanying gin!    Living here and experiencing this regularly I now have a small inkling of what racism must feel like for black skinned people living on my home island.

There are many training courses and workshops that recruiters and hiring managers can attend to make sure that their own biases do not affect the hiring process.  However,  its often difficult to find out the personal biases and attitude of the candidate without stepping into a minefield of employment law.  This is why I love this practical 5 minute article by Fletcher Winbush which gives an easy to follow  6 point guide for any hiring manager to uncover any underlying attitude issues held by a candidate.

More employers, particularly those in the service sectors;   need to hire for the right attitude and awareness of personal bias, than just relying on skills (which can be taught) or experience (which can be learned on the job).

Understanding our personal biases gives us choice; to look at any situation which gets our dander up and figure out why we think and feel this way.

Stay curious about difference.  Stay curious about yourself.

 

 

Engaging people, General Musings, Life change, Snippets

Legacy

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Between Christmas festivities and New Year celebrations we fly to the USA for a reminder of first world life.  3 nights and 4 days are plenty enough to gorge on Floridian excesses including Miami South Beach posing, head-turning car porn and excess bling; to Key West tourist-tat, determined displays of alternativeness (if you have to try this hard, then you’re not living authentically) and wish-washy sunsets; we are happy to get back on the plane laden with a fresh supply of magazines and bargain basement clothing.

Many of these magazines have articles focused on looking back; on a year in review, person of the year, etc. They provide interesting reading; some names and stories I was unaware of, others have been shared in mainstream media.

These articles bring to mind a charming animated Disney Pixar movie which I watched on a plane last year.

Coco, tells the story of the dead souls who annually reunite with their living relatives as long as they are remembered. When the last living soul who remembers them dies, they turn to dust.

I’m also reminded of a recent radio programme talking of when Bing Crosby met David Bowie and the recording of their duet “Peace on Earth/Little Drummer Boy” for Crosby’s popular TV special. By all accounts Crosby was not much enamoured of this young upstart, he being the much bigger star at the time. So it’s interesting to move forward 40 years to find Roscoe’s generation being inspired by Bowie and wondering who the old geezer wearing the Granddad jumper is in the video.

I ask Craig during our drive down to Key West, who he thinks will be remembered in 150 years time. When our generation and the next two generations have gone, and many of us will be dust. He responds almost immediately with a cynical reply,  “despots and tyrants are always remembered”.  We start to go back in history and I reluctantly see his point. We also talk about explorers and scientists and have a lively debate on if Stephen Hawking will be remembered years from now. Is his legacy strong enough or do his pronouncements on relativity (the nature of space and time), and quantum theory (how the smallest particles in the Universe behave) to explain the creation of the Universe and how it is governed, merely lay the foundation for others to make more startling discoveries? On British Royalty, we agree that Queen Elizabeth and Princess Diana are likely to be remembered for their actions and enacting change. Our jury is out on Prince Charles. Driving past the still half-mast American flag (we presume due to the recent death of 41, President Bush) we talk about those American Presidents still living and dead and mull on those who are memorable or not. We deduce that those who were firsts or created long-lasting change are remembered, those who served and chartered a steady course, less so. This is equally true of British Prime Ministers; Blair, Cameron, May will disappear into a historical timeline, Churchill, Pitt, George, possibly Thatcher, Atlee and even Chamberlain stand out. Of business leaders, I think Gates will be remembered for his philanthropy and determination to rid the world of polio, malaria and other curable diseases, much more than him co-founding Microsoft. Will future generations remember Buffett, Zuckerberg, Branson, Dyson or Jobs? Or the GE titan, Jack Welsh?

When I coach senior leaders and CEOs I ask the legacy question as a way to get them to think beyond the quarterly or half-yearly results; to look beyond their tenure and out into the horizon. Focusing on this helps them align with the broader purpose of the organisation and these two elements tend to be much more engaging for employees than the traditional mission, strategy and vision. An organisation led by a leader who knows where they fit in the bigger picture, who they are, why they are there and why they want to achieve their goals is much more likely to succeed in the longer term than those solely looking for enhanced Total Shareholder Earnings and quarterly profit growth. The sustainable long-term health and viability of an organisation and the success of its Leader should never be measured on financial performance and metrics alone.

While using this question is instructive for those in positions of power and authority, I’m not sure how helpful it is to others. For focusing on legacy feeds the human ego, leads to craven angst on meaning and satisfies our craving to be noticed.

It’s true that considering our legacy is a way of making sense of why we are here. But why are we focused on creating meaning and measuring success on a time-bound, out of our control construct?

Surely it is enough that our contribution to life and living is honored and celebrated by those who we love and who love us in return? Being our version of a legend in our own lifetime helps focus our energy. It doesn’t matter how big or small our achievements are, it matters than we care and we count. That our lives are meaningful to one person or many. It matters that we absorb, learn from and accept life change while remaining true and constant to who we are.  It matters that we stay open to, and flexible about, our ever-changing knowledge and beliefs. That we take positive action when we can.

At this time of year, we can get caught in big hopes and aspirations, in setting goals and maybe making changes. In making ourselves better, living our lives differently, being more. Many start to think of legacy as the years quickly move on. This time of year, encouraging change is good business for those of us in the business of change. You will find your inbox and social media accounts littered by offers of helping you shift your mindset, your waistline and some of your bank balance.

Before you swipe up for more information or click the reply button, or get lost in Pinterest or Twitter while worrying about what’s missing, your negative voice chattering about inadequacies and comparisons, just stop.

Take a moment for reflection.

Shift focus, acknowledge you are human, fallible, contradictory and unique. That you are enough as you are. That you matter, irrespective and sometimes because of, all the choices and decisions you make and the people you love and care about; who love you, as you are now, in return.

By all means keep improving, growing, learning, developing, thriving. But start from the premise that you already count. That you are already a legend, for someone, somewhere.

Now what’s possible?

Changes created by the cancer adventure, General Musings, Life change

Time flies

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This time, three years ago, I was alone in a hospital room, watching the night slip away and the transformational, slow-creeping dawn of a new day.  

I was not scared that day. I lived in the moment knowing this would pass. I understood I needed to let go; to trust in the skills of others; to rely on the love that surrounded me; to be free of any pre-conceived thinking.  It was a unique time, a special and privileged space to walk into and hold. Eyes wide open, this day was the beginning of the most profound, personal change and learning programme which I’m lucky enough to continue.

On this anniversary, I’m sharing some of these learnings. Some of these are deep and meaningful. Others are not.

1. We are the product of our thoughts. What we think will be. But as our thoughts constantly change, we have the opportunity to change what will be.

Nothing is set in stone. Changing our thinking, changes our outcomes.

2.Our feelings are attached to our thoughts and our thoughts are attached to our feelings.

If I think my recovery will be painful then guess what? My recovery is going to be painful. However, if I think my recovery will be bearable, then I stand a better chance of dealing with all the little niggles and set-backs that occur (like them taking my morphine button away a day early). Conversely this can work the other way too. For example,  ripping out my feeding tube “accidentally” in the shower (I hated that feeding tube and they kept saying, “One more day”). It hurt beyond blazes, I still remember the searing agony. But I told myself before I did it, it was going to be painless. I was wrong.

3.People love to help. Help them by asking for specific help.

For example, “I can’t drive for a few weeks and Craig needs to go away for work, can you come and be my driver on these dates”? My lovely friend Karen, did not hesitate, despite living a busy life 200 miles away. It took mouth cancer surgery to not comment on her driving my car; if I’d had a tongue to bite, it would have been an even bigger mess than my new, surgically created, tongue.

4.After big, life-changing, surgery, emotions are heightened.

This is normal and it continues for many weeks; maybe months and sometimes years. The ability to ‘feel more’ intensifies; the air you breathe is sweeter, more rarefied, more precious. I cry far more easily now; my friends know I love and cherish them because I tell them; I won’t waste time doing meaningless, unproductive work for organisations with no purpose and no soul; I choose carefully the people I want to spend time with. The consequence of this hubris is that I am blessed with some incredibly strong friendships while being much less financially robust. However, I now live with ethics, principles and morals and luckily a husband who still works.

5.Your scars will not be as bad as you think they will be.

Three years on, mine are visible but are now an essential part of who I am and frankly I don’t give an XXX what others may think. Three years ago, I never would have believed that I would be so comfortable in my own skin.  My wise girlfriend Haydee, shared ” scars are tattoos with better stories”.  These days I am an avid storyteller.

6.It’s tougher on your support team than it is on you.

You have to get on with the business of living, surviving or dying. You’re the lucky one, it’s happening to you and you alone choose how you deal with your diagnosis. The loved ones around you are plunged into seas of uncertainty, fear, stress and worry. They can only look on knowing that community and society judges their reactions and behaviours to your diagnosis. Be kind to them. Worst case scenario, they could choose not to see you.  In my experience, they only get away with this, if they live far away and their local community has no idea that they have not seen you since prior to your diagnosis. The ones who live close by, are the ones who will be judged. Be nice.

7.It’s BS when they say children are resilient.

Roscoe has had his moments of resilience just as he’s had his moments of sheer fright and panic. They are humans, they process emotions slightly differently to adults but they still feel. And never lie to a child about your diagnosis. I thought I was protecting him when I lied that people get better from this cancer and it was nothing to worry about. 15 months later I had to tell him that Charlie had died, leaving his mate, Tyler, without a Mummy. I will always remember his reaction and his face on hearing this news. Now he’s a teenager, I know I disappoint him on a more regular basis but unlike other parents, I know when disappointing my child began.

8. It takes two years minimum for you to come back into yourself.

I went back to work, way, way, too early with a brain like a jellied eel and a memory bank of mush. I turned up to a meeting with my new Exec Director and found myself stuck in one of Dr Who’s time loops, repeating what I’d just said over and over again. I kept waiting for my synapses to fire up but they were away on extended holiday. This was neither good for my confidence, nor my soul. Give yourself time to heal; mentally, physically and emotionally. Otherwise you could end up back in another operating theatre 6 months later, like I did.

9.You will be skinny but it doesn’t last.

I walked out of hospital, the same weight I was in my twenties. Apart from the arm cast, the scars and the hollowed cheeks, I thought I looked great – I could fit into all those skirts and trousers I had held onto in the vain hope I’d be a size 6/8 again. But the joy of being able to eat roars loud and unfortunately I’m now heavier than I was prior to my diagnosis. Determined to not be ‘fat with scars’, I’m pushing myself through a fitness regime with menopausal zeal. I look back on those early days of recovery with a fondness beyond the obvious gratitude that I’m robust and well enough to attend my fitness classes today.

10.The desire to be a cancer missionary, raise money and awareness will burn bright.

I’ve given speeches, talks, opening addresses at conferences, appeared on TV and radio, been interviewed and started this blog. I wanted people to be aware, to know it could happen to them, even if, like me, they never lived with any of the so-called causal factors. “It could be you” became a mantra. I don’t know if any of this has made a difference to others but it’s made a massive difference to me. To be able to make people listen, to have them laugh and cry and feel and most importantly check their mouths, is an immense privilege. I have honed my speaking ability, my presentation skills, my writing platform and my ability to laugh at myself.

 

11.Why stop at 10?

That would be predictable and you know in your very soul that life can change on a dime. So embrace the learning, the ongoing curiosity about what’s happening to your heart, mind and body; stand up on the surfboard of change and love your life.

12.Attend all of your check up appointments. Don’t miss one.

Listen if I can get on a plane, fly 8 hours and drive 100 miles for a 10 minute check up appointment every 2 months, then you can make sure you show up too. Turning up to my first checkup without Craig was tough;  we had seen Mr Bater together for every appointment; we were the practised double act, always trying to raise a smile or a reaction from this taciturn cancer consultant. On my own was a much scarier, lonelier proposition, particularly the time when I had developed potentially serious symptoms many hundreds of miles away. The sense of distance and vulnerability created by leaving my support network in the UK has diminished over time, after all, I know what it takes to get back to Mr B if I need to.

13.Frame yourself as a cancer adventurer.

It takes five years to gain an ‘all clear’ diagnosis, in the meantime I’m not fighting cancer or surviving cancer, I’m on a life adventure with regular cancer-free checkups. And long may this continue. When I outsourced my cancer removal to Mr B and his medical colleagues, I kept my cancer recovery responsibilities. I’m not a victim of cancer, I’m not battling it. I’m getting on with stomping, stumbling and exhibition-dancing my way through life.

Our time here is fleeting; I’m a tiny atom of matter in multiple universes of atoms and matter. I’m connected and separate and time-bound and slowly disintegrating and dying (hopefully of old age).

After all, we’re all destined to not make it one day.

So let’s make this day, and each day, count.

General Musings, Life change

Bully

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I’m sitting in a girlfriends kitchen listening to Radio Four Woman’s Hour.  The rain is clearing up and the temperature is beginning to rise.  While she is away on holiday, we’re looking after  her two dogs who sit next to me forlornly hoping for an illicit snack before reluctantly giving up and heading back out to explore the garden again. It’s a normal Monday morning. Nothing unremarkable in its rhythm or pattern.

I tune into the radio conversation, this segment is talking about bullying and I stop to fully listen.  One of the guests is a psychotherapist and she is describing how she is struggling to manage a current bullying situation she is experiencing.  Her words are so simple and so heart rendering,  she is lost trying to work out, logically, rationally,  how to deal with the pain and confusion she feels.  I recognise her confusion and relate to her bewilderment.  In my experience, bullying comes from an emotional place.  The bully is trying to assuage an internal need for power, control, acceptance or  is driven by insecurity.  The bullied, when they realise they are being bullied, take flight, fight or are frozen in fear.

At 5 yrs old, I sit on the school bus trying to work out how to be first off when the bus grinds to its stop in our village.  I can then sprint home before James, that tubby, ginger-headed, bigger boy catches me and makes good on his taunts to “bash my face in”.  It takes about four months for the slow anger inside to build to a crescendo and one memorable moment when I get off the bus and turn to face him, shrugging my satchel off my shoulders and standing square up to him.  Children of all ages crowd around us chanting  “Fight! Fight”!  James lifts his fists, does a wee dance on his toes and bobs me squarely on the nose, upon which blood spurts out and I start to cry.  Everyone runs off and I wander home looking for comfort and care. But I make friends because of my courage and James leaves me alone after this.

In High school, I discover how evil and vindictive the female form can be; enduring 4 years of prolonged bullying, name calling and nastiness.  I don’t respond, I hang out with the non-cool girls who take comfort in the fact that they’re not the ones being picked on. Just as before, there is no sympathy at home, instead a mistaken belief that bullying toughens you up.  Ironically not having familial support, care or back up has a greater impact on my fortitude than the bullying does.

Many years later and as a senior professional in a FTSE10 organisation, I experience insidious, manipulative bullying from my Executive Director.  To begin with he starts ignoring my ideas and suggestions in meetings, occasionally belittling these when he can, then he starts to forget to ask me to attend meetings and when challenged makes some excuses before repeating this behaviour again.  I go on holiday and he reorganises my department and reduces my budget while I’m gone. When I return I ask to speak with him to resolve these difficulties and he questions my values not my skills or knowledge. He hires in another layer to stop me reporting into him. At this point other senior colleagues are starting to notice his behaviour.  I speak to the acting Executive HR Director, believing her to be a friend as well as colleague- she says all the right things but does nothing and the bullying continues.  Subsequently, I speak to the CEO’s senior aide yet still it continues. By this point I’m a shadow of myself, now too frightened to speak up, seeing plots and scenarios that don’t exist, second guessing potential situations, focusing everything through the narrow filter of ego; not being good enough, strong enough, clever enough, smart enough. My confidence is shot to pieces.  In addition I’m now dealing with a new, bumbling, inept boss, who needs me to help him navigate and interpret the political waters and the new business strategy. I dread getting up, showing up; hiding my strain from my team who need motivation and encouragement. I attempt to shrug off my worries that my, by now sub-standard, contributions make no difference.  I am frozen by fear.  A rabbit caught in headlights too blinding,  proving to all I’m worthless, useless, inept, unworthy.

I hit the burnout wall like a fly sizzling in an electric flytrap. Flytrap

Recovery, without chemicals, is a long, slow, laborious slog. I tap, meditate, deep breathe, chant, star-jump, go on long walks, talk with my therapist and Craig and even decide this is the best time to do my NLP Masters certificate!  I swallow industrial quantities of brain sharp, fish-oil capsules, start a course of healing homeopathy and sob as the Reiki master works on my feet.  Over time my suicidal thoughts subside but the well of tears is deep and they flow unchecked, unwanted, unbidden, slowly providing healing and solace.  I journal furiously, pen barely touching the page as the words I’ve not been able to speak out in months, flow like a torrent that cannot be dammed.  I begin to come out of my cocoon, agree to go to Spain with some work based girlfriends so I can practice integration, care and support again and while there, allow myself to acknowledge that the persistent ulcer that’s been in my mouth for these past few months now needs specialist attention.

At this point I know that prolonged bullying has put a huge stress on my body.  Being chronically stressed because of the bullying triggers my inability to sleep which in turn fires my adrenaline. This is when a chain reaction is triggered releasing the stress hormone, cortisol, from my adrenal gland. Now my limbic system is shouting Fire, Fire! and the neurological response comes out to save the day. The limbic  system runs my emotions, memory and instinctual survival reactions. So my amygdala is constantly helping me to feel frightened and scared and is reinforcing my sense of danger while my hippocampus is reminding me of all those previous times and situations when I faced something similar and the reaction I chose which saved me.  Round and round this cycle goes, only my memories of bullying were when I was young and fighting or fleeing was the right decision.  Now, I’m a grown-up in a job I love/d and I’m frozen.

Faced with so much stress, fear, emotion, my body eventually reacts and shuts down. Ironically unable to speak out, to right the wrong, to fix the problem, the part of me that has been most stuck manifests itself in cancer of the mouth.

And I’m relieved.

Cancer gives me a societally acceptable excuse for my absence from work. Whereas before I’m ashamed of my burnout and my inability to stand up to the bullying, with a mouth cancer diagnosis, ironically I can talk again.

And an addendum to this story;  on Christmas Eve, 19 days after my cancer surgery, my new Executive Director sends me a letter telling me they are cutting my salary by 50%. The organisation does not recognise two consecutive illnesses.

Sometimes, it takes time to realise that no job, is ever worth it. Sometimes,  it’s just so blindingly obvious,  it hurts.

Changes created by the cancer adventure, Life change

Discomfort

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As humans we communicate using a myriad of tools and techniques. While we in the business talk about verbal or oral communications as well as non verbal, auditory and kinesthetic communications, in practical terms humans connect via reading and writing, body gestures, facial expressions, eye contact, touch, posture, sign language and actions and behaviors, including how close we stand next to one another. (Think about how you feel when someone stands closer than you would prefer, how much you feel uncomfortable and how you react).

This week I’ve had to rely a lot on my non verbal communications. Unlike my mouth cancer where I was able to produce a few guttural words after the operation; a profusion of ugly mouth ulcers on my lower gum, alongside the remainder of my tongue and down my throat have rendered me speechless.  And scared.

Its been over 2 years since my mouth cancer diagnosis and operation. I’ve frequent follow-up appointments with the maxfax consultant and all remains good. But the daily tussle with the mind continues. Any cancer remission patient will tell you that life becomes infinitely sweeter in the immediate recovery weeks after the end of their treatment.  It’s a warning and a blessing to still be here and to be able to hug, hold and communicate with friends and loved ones.  Over the passage of time, memories smooth out some of the trauma and daily gratitude often slips from the conscious to the subconscious, only popping to the fore when reminders snake up.  This is how it should be, it’s how the system helps repair the self.

However some of us carry a residual sense of deep impermanence. Where we know life is short and can end at any time. This cannot be described as fear but I’ve yet to make peace with this knowledge. I can get very short-tempered with the time wasting and downright laziness that is inherent here in Barbados. Where others think their time is more valuable that yours so yes they will just take this phone call and gossip with a friend while they stop serving you or they will download their mound of groceries on the cashiers belt in front of you and then saunter off for another 15 minutes to complete their shopping. The countless times I stand waiting for someone to finish chatting with their co-workers, or wait in for workmen to appear 5 hours late with no apology or watch traffic come to a halt so the bus drivers can have a chinwag. While others might put this down to Caribbean time, I want to yell “but not on my time, I don’t know how much I’ve got left and what I’ve got is precious”.  To be fair I don’t think my time is any more important than any one else’s, I just want the opportunity to spend it as I choose.

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This has really come to the fore these past few days. Rendered mute and in pain, I read as much as I can on dealing with ulcers or canker sores and how to help them heal.  Of course it doesn’t matter how many times I gargle with salt water and bicarbonate of soda or drink camomile and honey tea, or eat my body weight in ice cream to numb my mouth, it is only time that will heal.  I cannot push recovery to be faster, I cannot star jump or deep breathe my way to a better mouth, I just need to sleep lots, stay calm and let it go.

And this is the mind challenge, for try as I might, this week has brought back into technicolour focus what we all went through as a result of my cancer diagnosis.  I give myself a mental beating for some of my recent lifestyle choices and giving into my natural hedonistic tendencies ; unfortunately I’m not blessed with a deep desire to get up with the dawn chorus, chant “OM”, eat berries and contort my body into positions better suited to pre-pubescent gymnasts.  I know I should but when there is a great cocktail bar and a live band performing, guess where you’ll find me?

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Refocusing my mind away from what I see as fun versus what I think will make me dull and boring,  towards the goal of long-term health and strength  is something I need to work on.  Part of me thinks I haven’t survived my cancer to live my life as a scholastic monk but there are consequences as a result of my recent choices.  It’s time that I accept responsibility and make some necessary changes such as getting to the gym regularly, eating more organic fruit and vegetables and learning to stop stressing about the incompetent driving and bad manners that seem to be prevalent  on this island. And probably, (written reluctantly),  managing my desire for the evening G&T under the guise of it helps me de-stress! Changing life patterns may cause a bit of discomfort but the benefit of a healthy life  and the corresponding ability to fully communicate as well as spend time with friends and loved ones are the most compelling of incentives.

 

 

 

 

 

General Musings, Life change, Metaphors and Stories

Aveum Levis

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At 7.05 on Tuesday, Roscoe and I leave the house in a flurry of panic, raised voices and general chaos.  I don’t like being responsible this early in the morning; it’s against my better nature to nurture someone who is even more morning challenged than I am.  Normally this is Craig’s job but he’s in Grenada at some ‘highfalutin’ political  event.  So here I am, cortisol pumped and determined to get the child to the school bus on time. On the way,  I stop to help an elderly local lady who, it transpires, is thumbing a lift on behalf of her daughter and grandchildren.  After waiting for three generations to get into the car, we hurtle down the hill making the bus with a pipsqueak of a second to spare.

Sandra, the hitch-hiking grandma, discovers I am headed for the South Coast, necessitating a drive through Bridgetown, so she decides to ‘visit town’, and on the way we have a very lively discussion about the state of Barbados and the changes it’s going through.  I find out about her views on the upcoming elections and what she thinks about the sewage troubles and its impact on tourism on the South Coast.  She is very forthcoming about “the problems with the youth” and challenges of finding employment for older workers.  I am sorry to have her leave the car – she is a lively, informative and entertaining car companion.

I travel another 20 minutes through heavy traffic before thankfully finding a space in a rapidly filling car park.  It’s 7.45am and I’m opposite the offices of the Barbados Association of Retired Persons (BARP).  I’m here to apply for my BARP card.  To my dismay, the queue is already approximately 50 people long and I hustle to find my spot in the line. When the doors open at 0800 there is a surprising amount of queue jumping and tussle, with quite a few colourful words being ‘Bajaned’ about. It doesn’t take me too long to find myself in the blissful air-conditioned office where pandemonium and chaos ensue due to lack of signage, helpful staff and multiple confusing queuing lines.  It takes some time to find my place, conform to the process and pay my money. But in the intervening  4 hours and 37 minutes, the people watching and banter is priceless.

Older folks care less about conforming or holding back their opinions and they are clear about their sense of right and wrong, so if there is anyone daft enough to try and step out of line, they run the risk of an elderly lynch mob, sharp of tongue and elbow.  And to wile away the time they chat and gossip, not caring a jot about what others may think.  I bury my head in my book, my ears sharp and my mouth closed.  And just like my earlier conversation, I learn much of the elder perspective of Barbados.  Sadly, my conclusion is that there is little joy in the hearts of the elders.  Conversations are formed of complaints and injustices,  of things going wrong, not done right, criticisms, finger pointing, blame.  Not one person offers an opinion or thought focused on solving issues or making things better, not one seems grateful to be there, to be able to stand in line. This negativity is like a poison filled boil;  it’s toxic in its ability to swallow folks into the swamp of disapproval and distrust.  Since when does growing older mean growing grumpy?

If only this was an affliction solely attributable to the elders of Barbados.  But in my experience, this happens across many cultures, countries, organisations.  In the UK we used to have a well-known television character – Victor Meldrew – who made an entire comedy show out of his ability to whinge and whine.  It was very funny because it was so sharply drawn from reality.  But what causes this slide into the pit of complaint and distrust?  I think it’s about our ability, aptitude and attitude towards change.

 

We all know that the passing of time creates change – it’s an irrefutable fact.  Not one of us stands unmarked as we grow and age. Our individual and collective consciousness towards what’s gone before is a vast mine of knowledge and data, of what’s worked and what hasn’t and what patterns of actions and behaviour have subsequently been formed as a result.  The secret is to know when these hold us back, when they are merely interesting observations from the past or if they may have a bearing on what’s yet to come.  I have sat with senior executives who try to bend employee survey results to fit in with their view of the world and how the organisation used to be; and on one memorable occasion, when working with the CEO and his Executive  team on the culture and values of the organisation,  I listened to my Executive Director inform me of what these would be, based on his experience in the civil service, not on the evidence presented in front of him.

Here in Barbados many still  cling to their history of slavery and servitude as a cloak of context and rationale for all slights and ills. It’s been explained to me that this history justifies why women view other women not as sisters but as competition; and culturally why men don’t feel they have the same responsibilities for contributing to family life.  I don’t know if any of this is true but what is interesting is that when I ask about culture and patterns of behaviour – trying to understand why things work the way they do – quite often the response is to go back 200 years.  I even had one lady tell me she feels the pain of her slave ancestors every day.  If folks always live in the past, how can they bear responsibility for the here and now, for what’s going to go on in the future?

Listening to my BARP compatriots belly aching about the ills and wrongs wakes me up.  We all need to consciously move away from a tendency to complain or pass negative judgement or look back to the “good old days”.  If this becomes our default button, we need to button our mouths until something more constructive comes out.  We too were once young, making mistakes and hopefully learning from them.  Surely as upcoming elders of society we must role-model problem solving, constructive thinking, compassion, understanding,  curiousity and passion for life.  We are the life survivors.  It is our collective responsibility to seek out and support others looking for positive alternatives in a changing world.

And while I may be a card carrying BARP member, with multiple store discounts now available, I’ve no intention of retiring.  My knowledge and skills are helpful in shaping the world of tomorrow. I’m here to make a difference, and my age and cultural history have nothing to do with the value I offer and the change I create.