It’s two weeks before my operation.  The weight and enormity of my cancer diagnosis is behind me.  I’m focused on the practical.  All I have to do, prepare for, organise lies ahead.  There are lists in every notebook, on every large magnetic surface. I am a whirlwind of efficiency, able to project risks, variabilities, possibilities and solutions.  More loquacious than I’ve been for a long time, I ask for and receive help, love, support, kindness.  In amongst this maelstrom, I open an email.  Would I like to participate in  IC Fight Night?  An industry event where four executives postulate on various topics and be red or green carded by the audience.  Immediate feedback.  Immediate discussion.  Immediate interaction and debate.  Four leading industry executives. One winner.  It’s in April next year.  Months away.  I  think about it for less than  a minute before typing “I’d be delighted” and pressing send.

At the same time, my work colleagues  are having to dig deep.  Bigger change than envisaged before is upon them.  The largest corporate takeover in the UK for the  past 15 years is underway.  It’s bound by international regulations and resolution is at least 10 months away. Uncertainty abounds. So much ambiguity, so many choices.  Stay.  Go. Wait. Help!

I watch, frustratingly near, yet from afar.  The ironic parallels are noted.  Living with my own ambiguity, health and future uncertain,  I am unable to do any more than empathise.  Once at the heart of all people changes, I am relegated to being on the sidelines, not on the pitch.  My choices are focused on family, health, friends.  For the first time in a long time, work comes a distant fourth.    It’s a liberation.  A chance for unfettered learning and curiousity.  I become my own change experiment.

I slowly learn to live in the now. This happens gradually.  A focus on small stuff – an organised cupboard, a fridge full of green stuff, a wall of past photographic memories, notebooks full of future hopes and dreams.  Little inconsequential decisions, irrelevant by themselves but all together making a larger unseen picture, the ramifications of which are felt by the future choices they enable. I start to become stronger again.   My perspective shifts. I’m living the cure for cancer, not seeking it.   Nothing I do is more important than getting well.

Invariably, time heals; my body and, gradually, my mind.  And before I recognise the change, the snowdrops are peeking out from the grey green foliage, the yellow gold of the daffodils brighten up our country lane and the light of the night begins to lengthen and stretch.  April is here.

And with it comes my past promise. Fight Night.

The week running up to the event, I have all these excuses in my head.  All of the reasons I cannot participate.  Then Craig has to go to Baku in Azerbaijan for work.  It’s like an omen.  I cannot go, I have to look after my son.    But an understanding girlfriend removes the obstacle and once more I am clear to attend.  The only thing stopping me is me.  This is my test.  Can I function in a work environment again?  Can I offer any value?  Do I have anything worthwhile to share?

Walking into the room is an inner strength test, almost comparable to being told about potential side effects the night before my operation. All around me are political election slogans and campaign posters.  This is the home of Bell Pottinger,  the advertising agency, whose ability to tap into the Zeitgeist of the day helped bring  Margaret Thatcher to power. In fact, our “fight” is located in the very room where she learned she was the next Prime Minister of the UK.  Thankfully all of this masculine posturing is negated by the warm greeting of a fellow panellist.  She and I joke about what we’re doing before the room starts to fill up.

Formats explained, everyone settled down, Fight Night begins.  A lively debate ensues on the value of having an organisation purpose, which segues into a heated conversation on the validity of resilience and if it’s something which can/should be trained.  I am in the thick of it.  Out of the window goes any reservation that my brain might not be working, that I’m better observing and participating with pithy one liners.  Oh no, I am passionate about purpose and resilience – two areas where I have personally invested these past nine months.  I’m up to my welly boots, and beyond, in debate.
In flow, I share that a purpose is required for attraction, recruitment and engagement – particularly of millennials; that resilience needs to be learned, not taught.  But this is greatly aided by providing a framework and tools for people to explore.  I talk about the value of peer group storytelling and experiences, about holding the conversation and listening.  I talk about brand purpose being so closely aligned to strategy deployment there is no chink between them.  I listen to the discussion on the differences and sameness of brand expression externally and the internal employer brand.  I offer a view on a more transient employee base – made up of knowledge workers, contractors, consultants affecting the employment proposition – challenging participants to stop just thinking about engaging employees. I get carried away talking about operating models and governance and the impact these have on change communications. And I listen to  others and learn much about channel strategy and the changing role of communicators and get involved in discussions on authenticity and leaders.   In summary, I have heaps of  fun.  And somehow, I “win” Fight Night.

But my real win is recognising I have no fear in sharing my truth.  And that, in this freedom, I connect with “flow”.  People may agree or disagree.  Red or Green card.  And I can bend, listen, laugh, be persuaded or stick to my thoughts and beliefs.

But always I am real.

Power Full.

Me.