Tag Archives: Letting go

Why

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.

First love

The boy falls in love. Tumbling blinded into desire and pulsing need. His world obliterated by one gorgeous group of atoms molded into female form.

I watch. Powerful and powerless. A jealous enabler; part taxi driver, part cook, spare part. It is too soon for him to understand the love jumble of emotions: at fourteen he is still a child and she is older by 15 months or perhaps years. He has no chance of breath or choice while faced by such advanced feminine wiles. He cannot and does not listen to me. Why should he? What can I possibly know of young love in my “ancient” form? I persist, trying to keep connection, trying to be neutral, dropping suggestions and hints of how to spend time, where to spend time, gifts and ideas shrouded in wisdom and guidance.

I helplessly watch him make poor decisions on where to spend his time, grateful that the love of the game means he still goes to practice and still performs on the pitch. The difference is she now joins me to watch him play, even though she doesn’t like the sport. I think he likes having her there although the other players both tease him and revere him for this female slavish devotion.

We are bonded in our love of the bones of him and I gradually let her in as time shows this is not a fleeting first love but a deep felt connection fulfilling some primal calling.

She’s bright, well read and attractive. Her parents go from acquaintances to friends and we bond over concerns of the nature of their relationship, shared taxi duties and mutual values. This is hugely helped by their Scottish/Danish sensibilities, this similar cultural references making even the most delicate of conversations somewhat easier. The hardest of these being the “are they really ready” and the discussion and debate between blocks and facilitation. Of course the kids are steps ahead and I have the painful pleasure of listening to my boy explain his feelings and ask for my support. I sit on the sand, letting it run through my fingers as he confidently puts forward his thoughts and opinions; how can this be my child, my boy? But then again, how can this not be my son? We walk back along Bathesheba beach and the world has changed, the juggernaut of progress has found a different gear. He runs ahead to play with Monty dog and I realize the gold of the moment is not in the sand or the glistening Caribbean Sea, it’s not in the delight of watching boy v dog races and the joyful hoots of his laughter; rather it’s in the acknowledgment that this is the beginning of letting go. The start of my journey to learn to let my child grow into a man. It’s not easy.

Almost a year later I stand in the kitchen and say to her “You must finish this. You deserve better and are worth more than how he’s treating you now. Let him go. He does not have the courage to tell you it’s over for him. Instead he’s treating you badly and it’s breaking my heart as this is not how I have brought him up. No woman should be treated with such cavalier distain – never let this happen to you again. Have the courage to break your heart, you cannot change him, change yourself” She nods tearfully and goes downstairs to almost verbatim repeat what I have said back to him, I guess in the hope to make him change.

I stand battered by his hormonal rage when she leaves. He’s confused. My sisterly solidarity has trumped my Mothers love. He doesn’t understand my betrayal and is determined to prove me wrong. This lasts less than a week and she is cast off again. I rage silently wishing her courage.

Four weeks later, he tells me she’s done with him having sat him down during break-time to let him know her decision. I ask for his response and he shares that he sits with her , letting her talk, feeling responsible for her pain,  yet relief that she’s ended it. I give my female perspective and watch as his eyes cloud over.

There is much learning still to be had.

She will always be his first love, always be special.
He doesn’t realize this yet.

One day…