It’s Tuesday, the week is still young and already it’s emerging as one of these times where change seems to happen almost every minute.
Craig took off again today on yet another work jaunt. This time he is off to Ukraine.
For the first time, Roscoe pays attention to his destination and is full of questions – is it still at war? Is it safe? What is he doing there? Trying to have an informed discussion at breakfast is challenging, I’m not a ‘morning person’ and I don’t have satisfactory answers to any of his questions. But I also notice I’m quietly trying to define the word ‘safe’. What is safe? To what extent is safety a good thing or does safety lead to complacency and indifference?
I look up the definition of “safe” in the Oxford dictionary;
“Protected from or not exposed to danger or risk; not likely to be harmed or lost: Not likely to cause or lead to harm or injury; not involving danger or risk: Uninjured; with no harm done”.
This makes me think about work. In the oil and gas industry staying vigilant, being safe, is a culture, a mantra, a creed and way of being that is drummed into you from day one. It’s a strongly held belief that if you can engender a safety mindset, it will permeate into your social and home life and so acting safe becomes second nature no matter where you are or what you’re doing.
It’s so true. Some personal examples include holding the handrail, rarely walking up and down escalators, looking for a lid for my hot coffee, never walking and looking at my phone and intervening when I feel safe to do so. I’m more conscious when I’m doing naughty things, recognising the potential consequences and making my decisions based on risk and probability.
We know from recent attacks in Paris, Belgium and today, once more in Turkey, that staying safe, being safe, is often not an option if you want to live life. That by unfortunate quirk or circumstance, you may fall victim to events which cause life changing situations for you or your loved ones. But staying small, indoors, hidden, fearful isn’t being safe, it’s allowing terrorists to infiltrate our thoughts and well being.
All of this uncertainty and insecurity affects confidence. Sterling is dropping in value. Investors are spooked. The markets are reacting to the pollsters predictions. Yes, the EU referendum is dominating every news bulletin in the UK. 
At dinner with some girlfriends it’s a lively topic of discussion. We agree that the politics of fear from both sides; dire economic consequences/too much immigration, don’t work for us. I share my view that it is fundamentally a vote about belief and values. The best way for me to decide is by being guided by my beliefs; on what I hold to be true formed by my history and experiences and my values and hopes for myself and future generations. To make a decision based on any of the arguments being postulated in the news items, by people who have obvious personal motivations, is potentially foolish, particularly when some of what is being said has so many holes we could evoke the curds of the Swiss! 
Our discussion winds its way onto groups who are most likely to vote in, or out, and our conversation focuses on older voters, those who have lived though war and bloodshed, who have a strong sense of cultural identity, are those more likely to vote out. When safety wasn’t an option in this country, when bombs were going off, rationing was in (both in the 40’s and again in the 70’s under the Heath government) there was a strong sense of national identity, created though fear and loss and a greater sense of togetherness. Erosion of this identity, the desire for greater cultural homogeneity motivates the older voter.
Those of us who have never experienced, or only been lightly touched, by the impact of war, or rationing, have less fear of losing our national identity . What does being British mean these days? Are we not now the sum of our parts rather than the whole? And true, when I asked around the table, “what nationality are you?” the answer is “I’m English”, or “I’m Irish” or in my case, “I’m Scots”. To the question “where do you belong?” there was a more interesting response “Europe, but not continental Europe”. Are we proud to be British anymore? Or are we so impassioned by our smaller parts of the United Kingdom? Perhaps we would rather associate ourselves with the much larger EU? Maybe Gordon Brown was onto something when he spoke in 2007 about our national identity. The full text of this speech is worth a read given our current political context.
Perhaps if we view the in/out debate through the prism of history, of safety, of identity and beliefs, it generates a more systemic perspective. Perhaps if we adapt to greater uncertainty, we will let go of the politics of fear and division.
One thing for sure, we are lucky that this is what we are focused on. It’s a big decision for us and for future generations. But if I was Ukrainian, peeking into UK right now, I’d be thinking “These people are so fortunate, they have nothing to complain about”.
Let’s not be complacent. Let’s not get confused by the rhetoric, scallywagging and scaremongering. Whatever we believe, we know our mark counts, British democracy works and, no matter what the outcome, we will still sleep safely in our beds.
through the door barrier. To wear it requires a mindset of curiousity “how can I make this better today?” I am aware that my enthusiasm is not for all. In some ways I am lucky to have missed the steady slow demise of these past few months; lucky to have learned new coping techniques for dealing with change outside of my control; lucky to know what’s important, what’s transient and what’s downright trivial in comparison.
Whether its company takeovers, redundancies, ending relationships, reviewing education options or even the current interminable Brexit/Brexin debate in the UK, it all creates inevitable change. Our choice is how we choose to face this, how we move on, recognising that there are days when this is easier than others. Let’s face it, even the more perfect souls have down days too.
I avoid the phone. I don’t invite myself round for coffee or invite friends over for wine or gin and chat. I’m conscious of people having to ask me to repeat what I’ve said. The word ‘pardon’ or phrases like “excuse me”, “say again” or “I didn’t quite catch that” have taken on ridiculous proportions in my head. For someone who has much to say, it’s really frustrating that I can’t speak too long without jaw pain, tiredness and the inevitable slurring. On days where I’m being kind to myself and more mindful, I remember that I’m learning to improve my listening, to use my NLP to look at the structure of the conversation, not the content. But there are days where I beat myself hard, where I push to enunciate more, to exercise more, to say more, socialise more, be more ‘normal’. And the price is a lack of energy, increased levels of pain, a heightened sense of self-consciousness and greater irritability and tiredness.
My desire to take action, to get over this, to move on, burns fierce-bright. My good days tease my down days with possibilities that achingly remain just out of reach. I know I will get there, I just don’t know when.
Pretending that I am fine to stay dry but, inside, dealing with the mix of jealousy, self-loathing and anger.
Perched on the side of an old volcanic crater ridge, Ndali also has a private lake at the base of the crater. So when Craig suggests that we hire the (only) rowing boat, I agree. Perhaps this is the point, when it’s just we two in the middle of a crater lake, that friendship may turn to romance? Reality dawns when we are standing by the side of the murky water, the Colobus monkeys shaking the trees with laughter. We are going out on a sliver of a canoe, small enough for only two people and rackety enough to have been there since God was a boy. But I am in full show-off bravado mode and clutch my overly large camera bag for comfort as I gingerly sit down. 
We push-off, Craig seems to expertly wield the paddles and in no time at all we are away from shore heading like some Victorian steam boat towards the middle of the lake. Just as my anxiety is subsiding, I become aware that my feet are damp; err, they are definitely getting wet and I look down to see, to my horror, the swirling green of the lake comfortably filling the bottom of the canoe. Surely not?!! No. Its got to be my crazy imagination. It is coming in, it’s not the splash of canoe paddles. “Craig”, I practically shout, “water is coming into the boat” He glances down, and laughs, “Yes, we might have to swim for shore”. Even at this point, where I can feel the terror rise, I still don’t want to admit I cannot swim. “What about my camera, it will be ruined”. ” Haven’t you got insurance”? he responds calmly. Only now do I have to confront my reality. Only now do I confess. And I feel so ashamed. He responds by telling me to bail as fast as I can and, somehow, miraculously manages to get us back to the safety of shore. I am astounded that we did not see the hole at the bottom of the boat before we set off. And although I’m a bit shaken, I’m laughing as we trudge back up to the lodge while he regales “Learn to Swim” once again.
Roscoe is shrieking with delight and as the boat bobs up and down, I realise that I am going to miss out if I don’t sort out what is a completely irrational fear. But the years pass and I am relegated to the side once more as they jump into pools, career down water-slides, run into the sea. Roscoe barely hiding his irritation that I am unable to join in.
Then comes the side effects of my cancer. To take out my lymph nodes, the consultant surgeons have to cut into the nerves and muscle surrounding my neck and shoulder. Some damage is done and as it turns out I am having problems with raising my left arm as my rotator cuff has stopped working and my Levator scapulae is so knotted that it’s making my Trapezious do its job. I find myself in the warm waters of the hydrotherapy pool doing exercises to get the ball of nerves to loosen and these muscles back to work.
I talk about Scottish Morton rolls, close in texture and taste to French baguettes but in a high round crisp roll dusted with a light touch of flour, stuffed with butter and honey or spicy square sausage or bacon and runny egg. This recollection makes my taste buds tingle and my salivary glands work overtime. In this one discussion, my eyes are opened to how bread is a metaphor for home. And that home is very different for everyone in the room. 27 differing points of view, each one valid, each one connected and rooted to that taste-memory of comfort, safety, family.
We are all foreign to each other. Cast in our own small island, keen to be listened to, liked, loved, counted for and understood.
and decide that it is only our point of view which has validity and truth.
I went back into work this week. Scheduled to meet a Shell senior executive, first, I found myself standing shoulder to shoulder with all my other colleagues in our canteen turned conference room, listening to the news that the decision has been made to close down our HQ campus and move all activity to London by the end of 2016. And that the voluntary redundancy process starts in May with the compulsory process to follow thereafter. None of this comes as a surprise to any of us in the room. Like other companies, operating in low dollar priced oil, Shell need to trim their costs. In addition, they also have the additional pressure of recouping some of the £45bn they have spent acquiring BG Group. And more broadly, the energy industry is undergoing another seismic shift, an urgent need for a lower and more productive cost base and more innovative thinking to secure cleaner and more easily replicable energy sources for all. Our Townhall meeting explained context and rationale, the leaders were open, engaged and responsive. The respect and care they demonstrated goes a long way to softening such difficult news. I feel proud to have belonged, to still belong. And my loyalty is shifting, away from the old and embracing the new.
Sometimes loyalty is not earned – “My parents always voted this way”. “My friends always go to this venue”. “We always go to the supermarket closest to home” etc. These are cases where loyalty is the default position, leading to complacency and sometimes malpractice.
Demonstrated by the extent that leaders will blindly and categorically refute wrong doing within their command structure and will actively seek to apportion blame elsewhere. A situation where right and wrong and the personal values which bind the 23 pages of
I don’t believe that all of these police officers blindly follow their leaders when untrue stories are being concocted and shared. I don’t believe that they all lack integrity and commitment. So what happens to force their silence, to bind them to their senior officers? How do you break the ingrained systemic behaviour and belief that if “I look out for you, you will look out for me”, no matter what it takes and the consequences it brings?
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.
Despite the people outcome – a loss of about 200 roles as the activity moved to our partner in India, the business case and benefits could not be argued. These included improved service, greater opportunity to learn from and streamline the work and data and eventually create a more integrated way of using information. And save a lost of cost. But our country managers fought tooth and nail to stop this from happening. Our Operating Model (the way we are organised to do our work and make decisions) was structured so that these country managers were kings of their own domains with little or no interference from the centre. They controlled their operation from end to end including their people and their activities. The role of the Centre was to provide guidance, expertise and solutions which the country manager could choose to implement or ignore. This made any global change very tricky! There was little room for tell and do, this was all about influence and persuasion, treating each country manager individually, recognising some are influenced by others, some need to see the change in action first, others need to see the intricate details of the cost savings, yet others needed to speak to and know companies who have implemented similar changes. Our stakeholder engagement plan was large and complex. This was not change implemented by ‘sheep -dip’. At the heart of it all was the fact that the operating model had changed, the centre was asserting control over the kings in country.
But I have great empathy with these country managers. My first role in Africa was as ICL’s Business Transformation Director, tasked with implementing our shift from hardware to software and services. When the Regional Director resigned in protest about this change, I found myself with my old job and my new – Regional Director for ICL East Africa and Malawi – poacher and gamekeeper! Getting under the skin of the new role gave me the insight that what we had planned back in the comfort of HQ in UK, would ruin our business across Africa. This was a continent that had no stable power supply, that needed layer upon layer of infrastructure long before we could talk about IT services. 
Our best sellers – cash machines to rival NCR, retail machines for the growing consumer goods market, laying network cables for business growth – had no room in the new strategy.
Throughout the negotiation and the development of the prototype, every document was poured over, debated, re-drafted and discussed by our legal and corporate strategy teams in the UK . On the morning of contract signature a call came from the UK. On reflection, they did not want us to provide the technology or service it. We were not to sign. It was the beginning of the end for ICL in the region. And the most difficult conversation to have personally with the President. This outcome and the reality of who really was in control was one of my big lessons in business.
While working for 
Fuelled by beyond-clever boffins used to being at the cutting edge of what was possible, the transformation potential was spine-tinglingly exciting. Tapping into our collective knowledge and skills and using our pioneer pride and sense of corporate history and culture, we embarked on a challenging business transformation campaign. 
Part of this was learning to adopt out of the box thinking to achieve non linear results. Results which would result in us jumping the normal trajectory of performance.
These are then modulated according to its software programme and played back to my tissues. Essentially, SCENAR uses my own internal body signals, scanning and re-transmitting these many times a second. It ‘evolves’ a new signal pattern for the disordered tissues, the machine literally entering into an information dialogue with my body. During the treatment, new frequencies and energy patterns are established, which in turn become fresh input signals, to be further modified. When it is combed over my skin the damaged tissue shows up as being sticky. So it rests on the sticky skin, beeping and communicating with me using frequencies beyond layman’s comprehension.
He decides to match my belief with his own. We agree I come off all meds and I rely solely on the SCENAR. A victory! Eastern belief over Western medicine.