Letters from a Perfect Imperfectionist

When you choose to get angry OR EVEN with someone who doesn’t care, you are simply a dog barking at a lamppost.

A friend recently shared with me his rage, frustration and bitterness about his dealings with a group of faceless bureaucrats who had basically done the dirty on him financially and commercially.

He runs his own business.

They are employed by a monolithic and largely non-accountable organisation.

He became more and more animated as he shared his plans for revenge, which included refusing (on principle) a large and lucrative financial offer.

“I’ll show them – I’ll tell them where to shove their offer!”

Really?

Reality check please.

1. The lamppost can’t hear the dog barking;
2. The lamppost wouldn’t give a shit if it could hear;
3. If you arm-wrestle with the lamppost, the lamppost will never budge and you will eventually get tired;
4. Even if you bite or piss on the lamppost, it still doesn’t know or care;
5. On-lookers think the dog is barking – mad that is;
6. It isn’t an attractive leadership characteristic.

So my coaching advice was to focus on the bigger picture – the strategy of his business and personal development plans. Accept the offer and get on with things.

People spend far too much time barking up lampposts as well as barking at each other.

So – on the 17:43 from Colwyn Bay to Newport, arriving at 21:15 then hopefully a short cab ride to The Hilton for some kip before my first visit with a brand new member of my Top 20 Club tomorrow.

I know I keep harping on about the wonders of train travel but I firmly believe that selling my car last year and reverting to public transport was one of the best decisions I have made in recent years.

I have to admit that I miss the company of Jon Barrow, who valiantly drove me around the client base in 2012 but his job as marketing co-ordinator for 7connections has now reached such epic proportions that we simply cannot waste his time ferrying me, even though he was such a hit with the clients (and their teams).

I will have completed around 5 hours on trains today, following my first client visit of the year with my friend Trevor Ferguson and his team at West End Dental Clinic in Colwyn Bay – but I don’t mind because it allows me to keep on top of the emails, the content creation and the project work.

Really good to jump on a Go To Meeting with JB, Tim Caudrelier and Karl Taylor-Knight this morning (first time this year) and have a bit of a giggle as well as dealing with the serious stuff of a busy month ahead.

My own coaching practice within 7c is getting close to full (close to – so keep the enquiries coming in) and it will soon be time to look at how the other fee-earners in 7connections can do the same – as well as continuing our exploration of how we can help clients virtually, rather than Elvis having to be in the room (even though Elvis loves it).

I bumped into Chris Potts while out running early this morning (which I often do, walking his lovely labrador, Ben) and we exchanged New Year best wishes and quick catch up on each other’s progress.

I’m so glad to see Chris looking well and busy after being caught in the BKH apocalypse, for which I will always feel partially responsible.

Chris is one of the nicest people I have ever met, in or out of dentistry, and deserved better treatment then he received towards the end of our failed business venture. He has been gracious enough to continue as a friend and that speaks volumes for his character and integrity.

It was very strange to leave home for work this morning – after 2 glorious weeks where I have been able to work in The Bunker and share dog walking duty with Annie, as well as an occasional working coffee with Jon B and my eldest daughter Rachel who went back to Queen Mary’s a few days ago.

2013 was one of the best Christmas and New Year breaks I have enjoyed for years and, once the liver has recovered and the paleo nutrition has been fully restored, I expect to be feeling as fit as a fiddle by the end of January.

Do I enjoy all this business travel and 100+ nights in hotels every year?

I miss being away from home – of course i do – but this is who I have always been – a road warrior since my 40’s and accustomed to it.

It remind me of all the emails that begin with “I know you are busy but…..” and the social media posts that comment “I don’t know how you do it – at your age.”

Do what? This is normal – I’ve been busy since about 1970 and I get things done.

Although Annie doesn’t like me being away for more than a couple of nights – she does enjoy the first two – a chance to catch upon some of the TV favourites that wouldn’t float my boat and also (I bet) some long phone chats with friends. There may even be a odd soak in the bath by candlelight with the TV on her iPad Mini – it has been known – she is so decadent.

I’m deep in the throes of my dryathlon – so when i do finally get to my hotel room tonight, it will be straight to bed (too late to eat) – a bit of a read (working my way through Crime & Punishment at the moment) and up early for a run, social media and brekkers before my new client picks me up from reception.

I’m so looking forward to meeting a new team tomorrow – I have noticed that his PM has been checking me out on Linkedin – I wonder what she is expecting? 😉

One more observation – I’m working with an extra 25 or so clients this month on the Get Your Year in Gear programme. The first few days are about reflection – highs and lows of the previous years, strengths and weaknesses, tolerations.

I am privileged to read (very confidentially) these documents – and I have been humbled in the last few days by the honesty with which the members of this temporary community have opened up and shared their hopes and fears.

I truly wish there was a way I could share them all with each other – and with you – so that you could see how much we are all duplicating our experiences.

We all think we are on Planet Me – population one – and then I read the same stories over and over again:

• not enough hours in the day to get everything done
• not enough time at home
• not enough earnings in spite of long hours and risk
• not enough fresh air and fun
• not enough self care
• not enough control over money
• not enough appreciation from their team
• not enough self-confidence

So many of them are beating themselves up.

I wrote to one of my clients the other day, who was bemoaning his shortcomings – and quoted to him the words of Tom Whittaker, who I was privileged to meet at Everest base camp in April 1998, during his third and successful attempt to become the first disabled person to summit the mountain.

After his safe descent he emailed a phrase that has stayed with me all my life – through all the ups and downs:

“I prefer to be defined by my abilities, rather than my disabilities.”

Something happened at yesterday’s funeral that got me thinking.

During the reception at The Axe and Cleaver in Dunham Massey, 2 photo-albums appeared, full of family shots dating back to the 1940’s.

If perused, an almost complete journal of Ethel’s life and that of the extended Broome and Barrow families at that time. 

We amused ourselves by putting adult names to baby faces and guessing locations.

In all, probably no more than a hundred photographs from a life well lived. Photographs painstakingly taken, developed and mounted.

Three points:

• since 2003 Annie and I have amassed a collection of over 9,000 photos which I constantly struggle to decide where to store (my hard drive is longer big enough). On a spare hard drive? On Dropbox? Via one or more of the on-line services such as Flickr, SmugMug, Picasa? The reality is I have used them all over time and there are various collections of the same photos scattered around the cloud.
• That’s 9,000 photos in 10 years and I suspect that the count for the average PC, tablet and smartphone user could easily be the same. All easily taken and stored with cameras and devices that do all of the work for us.
• Back at home I was prompted to open an old briefcase that contains photos accumulated by my late parents (see above). I’m a little embarrassed to say that said briefcase has remained unopened in a corner of The Bunker for 2 years – well in the “round to it” department. In here are memories of not just my parent’s lives but also some of their close family – and my own childhood. My father served in The Royal Navy in the early 50’s and I know that in there he has some astonishing photos of naval visits to the early Gulf States – before the oil.

My final thought was thus:

What will be doing in 70 years from now when a family member passes?

What will be the 2083 version of passing a battered photo album around at the pub?

Will the technology that we use now to store photos in the cloud be obsolete – and, if so, will my 9,000 photos have been lost in an unusable hard drive or a portion of the cloud that died along with a defunct server many years before?

What form will the domestic museums of the future take?

It has been a rare privilege today to re-connect with many of the Barrow family at the funeral of one of my Dad’s 4 siblings – Ethel Broome.

Her son-in-law Peter shared with those assembled a short history of her long and well-lived life, telling us of her early childhood, adventures as a singer with a dance band (we arrived to the sound of the Glen Miller Orchestra), hardships during WW2, life in working class Manchester, raising two daughters in Longsight, just a few streets away from my own parents – and a holiday trip to Australia in the early 70’s that turned into a 30-year residency in a Sydney suburb and the construction by husband Frank of a dream home by the beach.

After Frank’s passing in the late 90’s, Ethel returned home to live in our area and became a close friend and fellow traveller with her younger sister Brenda Nolan.

In the 60’s, the 5 adult Barrow siblings would regularly congregate on a Saturday evening at their parent’s (Joss and May) council house in Wythenshawe, South Manchester.

The living room would be blue with cigarette smoke, beer and Babycham would flow freely and marathon games of cribbage would take place – the evening usually ending with a sing-song (even a dance or two).

New Year’s Eve was always at Joss and May’s house and legendary.

I was one of 8 cousins who would be taken along – supplied with lemonade and crisps and despatched upstairs to play until we slept, to be eventually carried out to cars in the early hours.

Mavis, Catherine, Johnny, Audrey, Jean were the older cousins (teenagers), myself, Christine and Paul, the younger kids, frequently at the receiving end of some friendly victimisation by our elder cousins. David Nolan was not yet born.

Christine Nolan and I were born 2 weeks apart in 1953 and quickly became joined at the hip on our nocturnal adventures and Barrow family car outings on Bank Holidays to such far-flung and exotic places as Trentham Gardens, Blackpool and Lyme Park.

Although my father was a serving police officer at the time, I’m sure that he often drove us home in the early hours with a skinful inside him – not attractive but common in those days.

Today my Aunt Brenda told me today that she was at Ethel’s side when she passed on 5th December.

Ethel had been suffering from dementia in the latter months of her life and, in the final hours, Brenda sat at her side, holding hands and just being there.

As the final few minutes approached, she began to quietly sing some of the favourite family songs from those Saturday evening gatherings.

Ethel opened her eyes at the sound, looked at Brenda with clarity said just two words – “happy days” – before smiling, sleeping and passing peacefully within a few minutes.

Happy Days indeed.

Today I had the opportunity to take Annie and my son Jon to meet some of these family members for the first time.

Some of the old cousins were able to be together again for a few hours.

Audrey, Jean, David – it was lovely to see you (and your children!).

Christine – you are a soul-mate. Its 6 years since we last met (at my mother’s funeral) and we just picked up and carried on laughing from where we left off.

You would not believe some of the stories we shared about what family members have been up to – if I wrote a book it would be considered too far-fetched.

We were never a quiet family and today was no exception – I think some of the mourners at the reception may have considered us a bit too jovial?

I know Ethel would have been delighted.

She would have laughed along with us and occasionally replied to a request for a drink with “I’ll have a half.”

As my Mum used to say “you are a long time gone” and today was a timely reminder for me to re-connect with my extended family more often.