Genergy

Unspoken

How much do you sense that can’t be expressed in words? What are those things you pick up on, without realising, that are the real truth of the situations you witness? Last week, I had to find words to describe the unspoken. It was an interesting environment. The context was spies and spying.

Many years ago, I wrote a thesis about elements of the history of secret intelligence. Studying this was a fascinating experience. For decades, many had speculated about the relationships of MI6 and Austria from World War 2 to the early Cold War. So a number of years ago, I stepped away from my career to find out the truths sitting underneath all the speculation. As part of my investigative research, I examined evidence in various languages and interviewed Austria’s academic experts as well as the head of Austria’s military intelligence service.

Thing is, I’m not a spy and I never have been. But my career since completing this has taken some smile-inducingly interesting turns. And two weeks ago, I was contacted by a clever man to ask me to go and deliver a talk at his university. He asked me to talk about the transferability of the skills that studying intelligence and security unlocks, and to discuss what difference these skills can make in the academic and professional world once these studies are complete.

I thought it would be a lovely opportunity. Something relaxed and informal. But 2 days before the conference was to take place, I received the programme for the day. There were to be 2 further speakers. And I started to sense something. It felt like there was something to this day that wasn’t being spoken. I didn’t know what it was, but I could feel it. It was something I’d frequently felt many years ago while researching secret intelligence history. So I trusted my intuition and decided to welcome whatever it was that was coming.

On arrival, you quickly sensed the real decency of the postgraduate students at this university. They were genuinely interested in intelligence and security, and those involved were from a wide range of countries. English wasn’t the first language of many, yet there was a powerful energy of desire and commitment all around the room. The event was to be videoed, and when my fellow speakers took their seats either side of me, it was clear why. The gentleman to my left had been involved in the efforts of a European Government to prevent Muslim radicalisation and stop terrorist recruitment. The other speaker to my right communicated in a way that told you he held a universe of knowledge about something very specific. From both men, you knew something was coming. And as we were introduced to each other, it was clear that my intuition had indeed been clear.

This day was important. And having sensed this in the days before, I’d decided to do something I haven’t ever done before.

One man asked for the video to be turned off while he spoke. The other described himself as a speaker “about things”.  In fact, we were told, this man advises governments. He also advises secret services on how to handle new things. Both men were truly worth listening to. And as one of them spoke his experiences handling problems in society, you listened. And as the other spoke of what he expects to happen in Syria then across Africa and the Middle East given the increasing Islamist leadership, you listened. Not just to the words, not just to the impact, but to the unspoken in their voices. I was fascinated by the unspoken of both men. There was a rare power to this day.

And as I stood up to speak, I connected with the students. I connected with the energies of their challenges.

Young people everywhere are facing serious challenges in their hunt for work, never mind a rewarding career. And for those paying good money to study and educate themselves, the need for employment at the end is clear.

So as I spoke, I addressed the challenges they’re already confronting as part of their studies. Studying secrets is not easy. It’s an ocean of unknowns often involving different languages,  in which you have to make progress despite the real truths of what you’re studying being concealed. You have to interrogate, analyse and challenge every thought, every assumption, every element of every perspective. You start with the information you’re able to find – assuming you’re able to find anything at all - and you then begin to understand the wealth of contexts of all the different phenomena involved. At all times, you need to hold the context of what is known and what is unknown. You then have to present the conclusion of your findings whereby every word counts. Every word. And yet you have to present your thesis/dissertation as succinctly as possible.

And as I gave the students examples of how this had made a powerful difference to my professional career, I then did something I’ve never done before. The skills the students were developing were indispensable. But the skills alone weren’t the truly powerful key. To show them the key, I decided to openly be the full truth of what i've learned.

I told them that all these skills mean that their brains will in the future function on a truly different level, without them even needing to try. But the key is in letting go of the thinking. I told them they will before long have a deepened, exceptionally accurate sense of intuition. I concluded with a smile by telling them that their sense of intuition will help them sense the unspoken in people and situations that even the cleverest will never find the words to describe. I told them to enjoy and trust what they sense for the rest of their lives.

At the end of the day, one student after another came to me and shared. They shared their unique beauties. As one of them put it, they felt ‘seen’. Many really started to open up with me, this man they’d never met before. And they were sharing their personal truth. Whether working for Governments, doing PhDs or becoming managers in the world of business, these people are going to do special things. And witnessing them even just for one day was one of the most stunning privileges of my professional career.

The energy of truth inside each of us is stunning. As tempting as it can be, let’s not waste too much time trying to put words to it. When people feel seen and truly sensed, they create change with ease. And when we don’t focus on the spoken words, but instead trust our intuition about the energy of the unspoken of the people and situations around us, life flows.

So this week, try something. With at least one situation or person, switch off the brain, and just sense the unspokens. They’ll leave you speechless.

:-) Jonathan

Tinker, Tailor, Soldier... NOW!

How much of you goes unspoken? And how should we handle the unspoken things we sense in others? What should we do when we sense something really powerful happening to a friend or someone we work with? Ever had an intuition about someone but kept quiet, only to find out later that you were right? It’s just happened with 2 of my closest friends. And already-beautiful lives have blossomed as a result.

A person’s unspoken is their unique, powerful and beautiful truth.

Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy is an outstanding novel by John le Carré. He wrote it following his time in MI6. The story is about a Soviet mole that had penetrated British Intelligence at the very highest level. Though a senior, leading member of British Intelligence, the mole is a man secretly betraying MI6 to Britain’s enemy - the Soviet Union. It’s a story based on truth – something like this really did happen. And as the story unfolds, one man at the very top of MI6 – ‘our man’ - realises that one of his trusted colleagues must actually be a Soviet spy. He can sense it. But he can’t put his finger on who it is. Which trusted colleague is it? How would our man identify this Soviet mole? Our man boils it down – it must be one of four men.  Of course, this double-agent would never admit it, so what could our man sense in each of his colleagues? Asking good questions wouldn’t identify the mole. They’d lie and deceive. Understanding each of the four’s emotions and feelings wouldn’t help either – they’d be an expert at covering things up. The answer lay in each of the four men’s ‘unspoken’. Le Carré’s work was about what goes on inside people that never gets put into words.

The following isn’t about spies, it’s about you and me. Each and every one of us is naturally unique. And each and every day, we ‘say’ things and ‘hear’ things – we use ‘words’. And each day, we interact with the emotions and feelings of those around us – all very human. But each day, we’re also constantly bombarded with signals from those around us – signals that we rarely articulate or talk about. We’re also constantly giving off energetic signals ourselves. These signals are people’s ‘unspoken’. How much of what goes on inside you stays unspoken? And how powerful is your ‘unspoken’?

The unspoken of two friends of mine recently made life more beautiful than they thought it could be.

I first got to know one friend’s true unspoken after falling 10,000 feet in 15 minutes. Let me take you to a mountain back in 2001. It was a big one in Switzerland – it was steep, scary as heck, and my friend and I jumped off it and screamed toward the ground for a minute or two before opening our parachutes. My friend had been my friend for a number of years. We’d met at University, and like all my closest friends, he is a ‘person’ first, and ‘male’ second. He’s as bright as a button, communicates with heart and never speaks ill of anyone. He smiles more than most people I’ve ever met. And it’s a beautifully natural smile. He doesn’t know it, but he’s also handsome. Women have always adored him, but he never notices, he’d never exploit this… he’s too busy living life. This man has no ego, just love for those around him. But when he landed that sunny morning in 2001, something was different. He was quietly different. Something didn’t want to speak.  

It was only 2 hours later that his sentences grew. And while sitting with a beer while the adrenalin washed away, he said it. We’d both been single for a while. And jumping off the mountain together brought his unspoken to the surface…

“Mate, I’m never going to get married. I’m not here for that. Lots of people get married – and I’m pleased for them. But if she’s the sort of woman I’d love to share my life with, then I want her to enjoy the most amazing love and happiness forever without feeling she needs to stick with me.” My friend and I later shared a house. And single he remained. I could never quite work out why. But he focused on his job, not girls.  Then one evening, he told me… “Mate, I’m leaving for New Zealand in a month.” And he was gone. He came back briefly 3 years ago. His job over there was going really well. He was happy. He was fulfilled. New Zealand was amazing. And there was this girl he’d met…

Last year, my friend and this lovely girl had a beautiful daughter. And last week, my friend, his girlfriend and their daughter were with us for an evening – just 2 days before they were due to leave England to head home. He’d become a father at the same time as me; he loved his gorgeous girlfriend and she adored him, and his career was going brilliantly. So what was it I was picking up on? What was it? What was that deafening noise I could hear that no-one else was commenting on?

He was different. And looking back, it’s now easy to analyse. His eyes were a bit different. He spoke differently. He adored his girl, and he just looked at her that bit differently. But there was something else. I could sense it. You could feel it. His smiles had something different. His voice was different. He was earthed. He was somewhere I’d never known him to be. What was it? That evening, in our kitchen, he suddenly turned to me and smiled. He was holding something. It was an engagement ring. He’d always told her he wouldn’t. But his life with her was beyond life. He loved her beyond words and beyond emotions. The energy of their love had changed all his certainties without even trying. He looked at the ring and smiled. “NOW is the time!” He’d be asking her on the beach next morning. She had no idea it was coming. And next day, we said goodbye. 3 hours later, I received a text. It read “She said ‘Yes’!!!”.

I’d sensed it - but not known what it was. His unspoken was the true beauty of letting go of his past. He was choosing the future. He adored his family, and without even trying, this amazing woman had brought words to his most beautiful unspoken. Their excitement now buzzes out in the open.

My other close friend told me in black and white. He told me in Hong Kong. He’s a man of few words, and he said it very clearly. We were over there working, and he was flying back to the UK next day. He was so clear…

“Mate, I’m never getting married.” He’d been with his partner for many, many years. They really loved each other. And you sensed that she was ready, but not he. Then that night in Hong Kong, he came out with it. “I love her so much. But I look around at other men who are married, and I couldn’t ever be that great a husband. I’ve got loads of faults, I forget stuff all the time, and I’d be a nightmare of a husband.” He meant it. He truly adored his girl. But his assumptions of yesterday were still in control of his living of today. It sometimes felt like his views on things were a little bit like ‘I love her so much that I want better for her than I could ever be’.

So when my phone rang in late October, I listened. Something was different. The pauses in his speaking were beautifully deafening. I wasn’t listening to his words, I was listening to the slightly-too-long silences. He sounded different even when silent. He was somewhere new. You could hear the excitement in the silence. And there was something he wasn’t saying. This unspoken was yearning to shout out loud. “Mate, I’ve asked her. She’s said ‘Yes!”. And at his wedding 3 weeks ago, this man’s unspoken spoke for the very first time. He was his truest unspoken beauty. His words held more than love, they held life. And he and his wife now expect a beautiful little baby.

How much of you remains unspoken? Never mind how clever you are – or how articulate you think you are – how often do you seize upon the opportunity of your unspoken? How do you listen to your own unspoken? And how long do you wait before responding to the unspoken of others?

People’s unspoken is the most stunning root cause of everything they do. So this week, with someone you know, enjoy listening to their unspoken. Challenge yourself to listen to them on a new level. And enjoy it, for what it does to your relationship will leave you speechless.

How long will you wait?

Tinker…                               Tailor…                                Soldier…                             NOW!

:-) Jonathan

Woof!

What happens to us when we suddenly realise we’re more than we thought? What happens when we realise we’re not quite the person we’ve always thought we were? These last 2 months have been an eye-opener. It’s been a big eye. A furry one.  An eye with an unbelievably loud bark.

Christmas and New Year were bliss. Remember all those weeks ago? Remember when you took time to sit down, have some you-time and eat those chocolates? Mmmmm….  My wife Lisa and I were in heaven. Our daughter Ella had just been born and she’d started sleeping through the night. 11 hours a night. And blimey, was she loving breastfeeding? Every last drop.

And one evening, with my wife Lisa and Ella together, enjoying each other, unaware of anything else around them, I thought I’d leave them be and headed off to clean the kitchen. Life was bliss. My wife was happy, our daughter was healthy and happy, we had an interesting 2012 lined up doing precisely the work we’re passionate about, we were eating food we love and we had everything we could wish for.

If only that itch would go away. No, not that kind. The other kind. That little itch that starts to kick in just when you least expect it. That itch that hides at the back of your mind and from time to time whispers quietly to you… “Come on, aren’t you capable of more?”.  It had been itching for a few years to be honest. Lisa often jokes that I love ‘impossibles’. She has a point. For many years, I’ve been passionate about foreign languages and trying my damnedest to speak them to the standard of mother-tongue speakers. The words, the phrases, the sounds, the logics, the differences in ‘common sense’ across different languages, the facial expressions, the reflective mannerisms… the lot. Another passion of mine is investigative research of the significance of Austria for MI6 secret intelligence. They said researching it couldn’t be done. So I had a go, I grew, and it changed my life. I’ve just loved having passions with massive, scary think-challenge. I love thinking. So what was this itch all about?

And that evening in early January, as I wiped the last surface in the kitchen, someone on the radio suddenly just came out with it. “Sometimes, when I’ve got everything I’ve ever dreamed of, I just get a moment of feeling like a dog that desperately needs walking”. Woof. That was it. I needed to be walked through a new kind of forest. I didn’t feel trapped or constrained – I love my life, wife and family – but there was something under the surface about who I am that I was itching to go and enjoy. As much as I thought about it and analysed it, I just couldn’t work out what it was.

Those of us passionate about People-development often use a really useful tool called ‘Insights Discovery’. Insights sheds light on lots of sides of you that you might not even know are there. And when you’ve completed your profile, you receive an excellent report about who you truly are. In this, they speak of your ‘Conscious persona’ and ‘Less-conscious persona’.  In other words, our ‘Conscious persona’ refers to how we ‘act’ and ‘try’ to behave. Our ‘Less-conscious persona’ refers to who we instinctively ‘are’, so how we ‘react’.  I’m too young to be going through a mid-life crisis, so was this itch about who I ‘am’ or simply who I’m ‘trying’ to be?

As we went to bed with the idea of a dog-walk floating around my head and with me thinking about it constantly, there wasn’t the slightest hint of what was coming. It came 3 days later.

My wife Lisa is never ill. Ever. But in early January, she woke up white. She was ill. Sick. Bent over double. It had come out of nowhere and she was in incredible pain. She was in tears at not being able to pick up our daughter. And as the day went on, it got worse and worse. With our daughter in my arms and my wife in agony, the doctor sent us to A & E. And after hours of tests and examinations, at 1:30 in the morning, they sat us down. Something in her blood that should be reading ‘5’ was reading ‘470’. They didn’t know what was causing it. But it was serious. Lisa would have to stay in hospital. Our daughter Ella could stay with her.

The hospital was quite far away from where we live, and when I reached the hospital first thing next morning, they told us Ella wouldn’t be able to stay there anymore. She was 9 weeks old and Lisa’s surgical ward had too many potential germs. Ella had breastfed since the moment she’d been born, but given Lisa’s treatment and the fact that Ella couldn’t stay overnight in the hospital, Ella needed to start bottle-feeding. Straight away. Without her mummy. At home. On her own. Far away from mummy. At home with daddy. And still, they didn’t know what was wrong with Lisa. And it wasn’t getting better. I was worried sick about Lisa. And having to deal with it alone, in a hospital far away. With her newborn baby wrenched from her.

I drove Ella home that evening with 600 thoughts in my head. She needed feeding. She needed changing. She needed a bath. Her clothes needed washing. But more than that, she needed the love that tells her everything is OK and that mummy is safe. And so I just got on with it. I didn’t think. I just got on with it. Ella and I became ‘one’.

My mother was the first to spot it a few days later. My mother smiled as the tears rolled down her face. She’d never known her son to be like this. She didn’t know I even had it in me. Apparently, I was constantly singing to Ella. I was singing made-up rhymes to her all day, every day. Ella and I were constantly dancing around the kitchen singing good morning to the oven and sink. We were laughing together as I held her and we kissed the photos of mummy. And as the nappies were changed, we’d smile, cuddle and talk about how much we loved mummy.  And daddy loved how Ella laughed for the first time ever when daddy was a moo cow. Then he was an oink oink. She’d giggle. Then he was a cockadoodle-doo!!!! Then he was a quack quack. And all the time, Ella knew mummy was ok and that mummy and daddy adored her. And as each day, I sang her the songs of love I made up in the moment from one moment to the next, she took the bottled milk down for the first time in her short life. She’d drink it. She’d smile. And she’d sleep for 11 hours, smiling again when she awoke next morning. Each time I held her or even just looked at her, without realising, I was singing her the songs of the eternal love of mummy and daddy.

Lisa was supposed to be staying in for a day, then 3 days, then a week, then at least another 2 weeks. They simply couldn’t work out what it was. Like an episode of ‘House’, the hospital’s cleverest would discuss it each morning with the results of the previous day’s scans and tests. Each morning, I would drive Ella down to the hospital to be with her loving, fantastic mummy, we’d sit in the 1½ hour queue for the car park each morning, me singing to her, and each morning, we’d wait for the consultants’ differing conclusions. Only one day, when Lisa was just 3 hours away from surgery did they find out what it was. It was exceptionally rare, but they now knew what it was. So they treated it. Lisa did brilliantly. And she was out and home a just few days later.

And with mummy and daddy home together, Ella’s smiles grew and grew. We were now all one. One day after the next, our home is now full of singing, dancing, mooing and quacks… and young giggles. I have never been happier. And I don’t even have to think about it.

How many of us think we know who we are? How often do we choose certain words to describe ourselves? What if we’re wrong? What difference can being wrong make? If I may, I’d like to put something in your head...

You are more beautiful than you could ever, possibly imagine. There’s no-one quite like you. For the rest of your life, enjoy each and every moment of discovering something new about yourself for the very first time.

Woof!

Jonathan x

 

Resolve-free resolutions :-)

How much effort should we put into our New Year’s resolutions? In other words, how much resolve should resolutions need?

January 4^th and another New Year begins. Always a time of reflection and new starts. How many people are starting their new year’s resolutions feeling over-full in every way from the festive season? Everyone full of enthusiasm, gym memberships going through the roof, chocolate sales going down!!! And yet, by February, often these resolutions have fallen by the wayside. Eating healthily feels boring, you realise that your gym membership is costing you about £50 a time, old habits start to creep back in and you feel that sense of disappointment in yourself. A familiar cycle for us all?

So, as I sit her on the first day back to focusing on Genergy after the New Year I am asking myself if I can create something new this year. Something different and sustainable and even fun! There is something about the energy of New Year’s resolutions which is about deprivation, stopping doing things or doing more things which are ‘good for us’. Even writing that phrase I can feel the hard work behind it. Why are things that are good for us never as much fun as the naughty stuff?! And why do the two things have to be in different boxes? Jonathan has been asking me what I want to be different this year or if I want to set any resolutions, and I’ve been reluctant to really say anything concrete. It was only this morning that I realised that I don’t want my intentions this year to be in a box or to feel restrictive. I want them to feel free and expansive and like they will really positively add to my life rather than take away from it.

So, as you read this, tune into the resolutions or intentions you have set. Notice without judgement how they feel. Do they add to your energy or deplete it? Do they feel exciting or like a ‘should do’? Do they feel heavy or light? Do you really want to do them and do they feel exciting… and like you can’t wait to get going? If they don’t then the chances are that they will have fallen by the wayside come the cold days of February!

For myself, this year is about creating life in a different, more integrated way. And, I notice as I write this that I am struggling to find the right words. Even the word ‘integrated’ feels like it has an old energy about it and takes conscious effort and work. However, what I am intending is that I can let all the pieces of my life flow easily and effortlessly together and that the energy of one piece sustains and grows the rest. The Cattells are a family for the first time this year with the arrival of our beautiful daughter, Ella Rae, and our gorgeous Labrador, Rosie. Jonathan and I also run Genergy and have our own interests and needs as individuals. If you looked at it on paper, you’d think that we have a lot on our plates! And yet, when I spend time with Ella I feel a true sense of expansion, creativity and connection to the world that then expands me as an individual and enhances my work. And my work adds to my energy and sense of what I am about in the world which I then bring back to my family. A virtuous circle.

I first noticed this when I was pregnant last year. At first, I was nervous about coaching clients when I could feel the baby moving inside me. Would I be distracted? Would it bother them? How much could I allow the baby to impact on my work? Would I have the energy I needed? And, the wonderful thing I discovered was that when I allowed the baby to be part of my energy and the work I was doing, I was a more powerful coach than I have ever been. She became part of a greater energy in the interaction and encouraged me to be less attached, more creative and more connected to the bigger potential of my clients than I could have been without her. On one level, what I was doing was less important because the baby was the most important thing happening in my life (whereas my work had previously always been my baby!) and yet, in other way, because I was unattached and connected to this bigger piece of creation my clients made bigger shifts! It was quite an amazing experience and a big lesson for me. I was more me than ever before and it was wonderful.

Coming back to my intentions for this year….. To be in flow. To be brave. To be fit and strong and healthy so that I have maximum energy for the year. To be truly present in- and enjoy every moment with my daughter who changes so fast every day. To love my work and to allow the fullest expression of me – wife, mother, passionate people-developer, business owner, lover of people – into everything I do. To be more successful and fulfilled than I have ever been. And, when I feel into this, the individual pieces have more energy. Yes, I want to get back into exercise and get fit but I’ll do it an easy way. I’ll eat healthily so I have energy but I won’t deprive myself of the odd piece of chocolate either. And I’ll celebrate all that I achieve.

So, tune into what you really want this year as your biggest, most creative, most expansive self. What would you really love to be true at the end of the year? What really expands you and your energy? What is going to be FUN and bring you joy every day? And, then see what feels right to commit to. Not from a sense of responsibility but from a feeling of developing you and becoming even more of the person you want to be. If it feels like hard work, reframe it or ditch it. Let’s get over the ‘shoulds’ of a traditional January and enjoy this new beginning for what it is. A time of fresh starts, new energy and renewal.

I can’t be put in a box or divide myself into pieces of home and work life and neither can you if you really want to be you. Enjoy every facet of who you are and allow it to flow. I can’t wait to hear your adventures - check in with me so we can see how we’re doing!

Here’s to a magical 2012. May you surpass your biggest dreams.

Love.

Lisa

Your secret bits

Have you ever wondered what your best sides are? Ever taken a moment to quietly ask which of those things about you actually get the best out of others? The things you can ‘do’ can be useful. But more important and infinitely more powerful are the things you actually ‘are’. What are they? And how can we spot them? One dark night 10 years ago, a very interesting man started to explain.  He was worth listening to. He was one of the most mysterious and interesting men I’ve ever met. I’m not allowed to say his name.

About 10 years ago, I decided to do something I’d always wanted to do. I decided to go back to university and conduct some postgraduate investigative research of secret intelligence (e.g. spies). And after a couple of months, I one day received a phone call. My academic supervisor (a Professor) was telling me I’d been invited to ‘an evening’. A guest speaker would present something and then we’d discuss it as a group. He couldn’t tell me any more, but would I fancy going and playing along with this? Errr…. Yes please.

The bells should have started ringing, but they didn’t. I was too busy working my socks off to listen to my intuition.

A few days before this ‘evening’, I was told I didn’t need to where a suit, I was told which town we were going to, I was told overnight accommodation had been booked for me.  I was told the theme for the evening’s discussion, and I was told that there would be a small group of people who ‘shared my interests’.

As the Professor and I arrived at this special building, a man in smart clothes greeted and addressed us as ‘sir’ and took us to a special room. It was a lovely room. A small room. Around it, there were 6 men, with 2 spare seats for me and the professor. We were shown to our seats. And as I was led, I noticed that I was not only the only one NOT wearing a very smart suit, but I was also at least 20 years younger than anyone else present.

And as I sat down, I looked around at our small, intimate table of 8.

Ever have one of those moments when you wonder whether everything’s real?

Opposite me was one of the most famous people in the global history of sport. Next to me was a very successful man whose sons are credible and famous in the English-speaking media world. At the other end of the table was the leader of a very warm country’s intelligence service, and next to him a smiling man who never looked up, but whose crisp and polished appearance gave the impression that he was quite high up in something British. It was just the man to my left that I didn’t know anything about. Unlike everyone else, he didn’t have a title on his name card.

As I sat there, I decided this evening was a privilege. Nerves were inappropriate. So I took part as fully as I possibly could. And when the presentation of the theme of the evening and subsequent group discussion had ended, I relaxed in my seat.

And the man to my left turned to me and smiled. We spoke in English and it was quickly clear that this man had a million experiences he could never discuss. He was just so friendly, warm and smiley. It was a glass of red later that we started discussing our lives. And then his truth flowed.

“Jonathan, I belonged to an organisation which had 2 roles. One was our official cover. The other was the important bit. Our organisation was required to constantly travel through another country and pretend we weren’t doing anything wrong. But all the time, we were up to stuff.”

(There are times when listening says more than asking questions. This was one of them.)

“Jonathan, my role had 2 main responsibilities. I had to steal things in other countries for my Government. For example, I frequently had to break in to military bases and remove radar- and weapon parts from the military aircraft I found. Then I had to run. I did this for years and it kept me fit.

But the really interesting – other - part of my job was looking at people’s bits.”

(There are times when listening is better than saying the first thing that goes through your head.)

And he explained. His role during the Cold War had been to help the organisation and Government he worked for prepare for the possibility of future World War. And to do this, he travelled from one place to the next in a specific European country looking for people whose behaviours shouted leadership. Sometimes, he’d notice them in cafés and restaurants. Sometimes, it’d be walking down the street. Sometimes, he’d notice good leaders purely by the way they looked at people. I thought he must be joking. But he meant it. He explained:

“If my country needed to secretly make friends here fast, we’d need to know the people in the community who are natural leaders. Not those who are simply high up due to their age and experience. True Leaders are those whose personalities and inner behaviours influence those around them without even trying. I used to look for those bits in people that make others simply enjoy being human and natural with each other. People who listened properly and treated others with kindness were often worth looking into. They made those around them function better. They were often great leaders. But I had to look carefully. And I had to look for their bits without them even knowing I was there.”

And as the evening continued, this man shared more and more and more about what he’d looked for in future leaders. Listening and learning to all this was a fascinating couple of hours. I don't expect to witness an evening like this ever again.

So, what are our leadership ‘bits’? How good are we at getting the best out of others without even trying?

How well do we listen to other people? When someone’s talking, which part of them do our eyes focus on? How often do we smile in the company of others? Do we like to listen, or do we prefer to be listened to? When we walk into a room, how does the atmosphere of the room change and what happens to the voices of others when we’re near them? Do small children enjoy our company? Do we notice the truth inside people’s intentions? How much energy is there in our facial expressions when we’re with others? How well do we let those around us know that we truly see them? Not the surface, not the image, not the perception, but the beauty of who they truly are?  

Not many of us are spies. But take a moment this week to notice the secret bits of others' characters. They’re beautifully endless. Our impact on the lives of others also has the most stunning potential. So take a moment this week to nourish the life or career of at least one other person. But shhh… keep it a secret.

X Jonathan

 

Failfilment

Success is good. Success feels right. Success can be what we crave. It achieves results and creates smiles, pride and a wealth of stories. But what happens when we don’t succeed… and instead fail? Failures can unlock a determination more beautifully potent than is often understood. Life and leadership are about more than just low-level successes, they're’ also about spotting the potential and energy in any disappointment. So what happens when we fail, what does failure unlock in us… and how much more fulfilled can it make us? Buckle up... we're off to Vienna for the answer.

Success is a potion of many things. It’s a way of using our past to manage our present to influence our future. And success can be a healthy way of living. As a recipe, it works. A dash of ‘reason’, a spoonful of ‘why bother’, a sprinkling of ‘this is what will happen if we don’t succeed’, a flake of ‘needs of others’ and then chuck in a handful of ‘healthy-ego’ to keep things motivated. Stir them all up, and you have the promise of achievement. Our daily lives can contain more success-seeking than we’re often aware. But how did you react the last time you failed something important?

In October 1989, I went for some tests. They were military tests. I wanted to be a fighter pilot in the Royal Air Force and I hoped the RAF would agree to pay me money to improve my education – do my A-levels - until I was old enough to start flying. The tests were reputedly very difficult, and most people failed. I found the tests difficult. And when I got home, I found out I’d failed, but only sort of. They wanted me to be an Officer, but my flying skills weren’t good enough to be a pilot. However, they informed me that If I accepted a scholarship to become the kind of Officer who works on the ground, they’d let me have one final go at the pilot tests a year later. Yes please. I accepted. Signed. Bring it on! Then I received a letter telling me how nobody passes the tests a second time round. Well perhaps sometimes, but only exceptionally rarely. I should prepare for a life on the ground.

And 12 months after failing the tests the first time, I was sat in front of Wing Commander M. I’d just had my final go at the tests. And he looked stern. Wing Commander M was an older man, perhaps about to retire. He looked at the file with my test-results and documents, then closed it. Pushed it aside.

His face was an experienced military face that held a thousand secrets. I’ll never forget it. He stared into me for a moment, then he asked me a strange question. He asked me, 12 months on, what was most important… becoming a fighter pilot or replacing the previous failure with success. I knew what I felt, but the words weren’t there.  I bumbled something then he smiled. Before I left the room, he gave me my pilot-test results. I’d passed. I was going to be a military pilot.

But his words stuck with me. Some things, you hold close as you quietly grow. The unspoken answer to his question had been something to do with my ‘best’. One day, I’d have to help someone else who’d failed. But when would that day come?

Years later, I took a job teaching British English at Vienna’s Federal Teacher Training Academy. It was a fascinating place with truly exceptional professors and teachers. They had a policy of only teaching ‘British’ English.  And the students mostly loved it. All Austrian, they all wanted to teach English to very young children in Austrian Primary schools. They were encouraged to get involved as much as possible. In their early twenties, they were excited. Mostly.

It was only after a while that I noticed in one of the groups the woman at the back on the left. She never did anything wrong, she just seemed a bit different. And she was a little older. Totally committed to what she was doing, just not as vibrant, not as ‘connecty’, not as much ‘fun’ as the others. And the day before her final oral English exam at the end of her final year, my boss spoke to me about her.

She’d been here before. And she’d failed. In a big way. In fact, she was a ‘failure-story’. They wondered whether she should be there at all. She wasn’t going to make it in English. As a result, she wouldn’t make it as a teacher. The way her results had gone over the last 3 years, everything now hinged on the result of her oral exam the following day. Apparently, after her initial 2 years of study, this student had failed English really badly then suddenly taken a year off without warning. She wasn’t one of their success stories. She needed at least a ‘D’ the next day to pass and become a teacher. The only mark she’d ever previously had in English was an ‘E’.

Given the circumstances, and as I was the only Mother-tongue English speaker, they asked me to conduct her final oral exam set for the following day.

When she arrived next day, she was twisted with nerves. As the oral exam began, I did my best to smile and keep things relaxed for her. She was doing her very best posh English (which the academy preferred), but it wasn’t good at all and the language wasn’t coming. She was so nervous she could hardly speak. She wasn’t going to pass and it was all falling apart. She burst into tears and ran out of the room. Something told me to stay there. About 25 minutes later, there was a knock at the door. I let her back in. With a red face and tear-blotched skin, she sat down. She was so sorry. She said she just found the posh English so false and unnatural. So I told her to speak the English that felt most natural to her.

“Really???” She then explained in German that she’d always been terrified that her English would let her down as a teacher, so 2 years ago when she’d failed, she’d decided overnight to take herself out of her comfort zone, give up her Viennese home and spend a year in England to truly learn English. She’d gone to a place called Essex and worked as a Nanny for a year. She found the people of Essex fun, honest, warm, and life-changing. While there, she’d asked herself why she was putting herself through all this. Why? And the English there was a bit different from posh English. Would it be OK to speak that instead of posh English? I asked her to do whatever she enjoyed the most, using whatever flavour of English tasted best. And then it came. She started to talk and it was simply unbelievable.

She looked and sounded every bit Essex English. Her language flowed, her smiles, her shrugs, her eye-rolling, her pleasure of life, her everything. It was unbelievably fluent British-English. Just the Viennese-Essex way. And for 30 minutes it continued. At the end, I thanked her for her time, shook her hand and she left the room. I knew which mark to give her. She’d done amazingly. I told my boss. He was speechless, but he understood. I gave her a B+. This meant she was now a qualified primary school teacher. About a week later, she saw me in Vienna, walked over the road and gave me the biggest hug. She then started crying and we sat down, as she had something to explain.

She’d always kept it quiet, but when she was 7, her mum and dad’s car was hit by another car. Her mother and father were killed immediately, and she was severely injured. Her injuries meant that when she grew up, she wouldn’t be able to have children. Yet she adored children. And becoming a teacher was life itself for her. As we said goodbye, there was a sparkle in her eye. “Jonathan, I failed then ended up in Essex for a reason. I’ve got the English now. But it was more than that. When I was there, I realised that my failure had shone a light on the very best I could one day be. Failing showed my how brilliant my future could become. I simply had to enjoy living my life to unlock it. And I’m going to do things very differently with children. I’ve got an idea. Just wait and see. Goodbye Jonathan”. With a kiss on the cheek, she was gone.

9 years later, I was in Vienna doing research. And one evening, the TV was on. I looked up from my papers and saw it. Austrian TV News was proud of something. A new primary school had opened for children who couldn’t speak properly. This primary-school was a world-first. Young children would learn language while playing funny games and pretending to be someone else. The school was achieving amazing things with these children. And its headmistress was suddenly shown. She was being asked how she’d managed to pioneer something so difficult for children. As she answered, she was holding two of the toddlers. "The route to every person's best is to let them enjoy everything they are." The headmistress was smiling while tears rolled down her face. Her tears were the same ones she’d tried to hide from me 9 years previously.

Success is great. But sometimes, it’s what happens when we don’t get it right first time that unlocks the truest power of who we are and what we’re capable of. Our disappointments brim with the scorching energy of our potential. We just have to ask what the biggest piece of learning is around what we’re experiencing. The greatest success people will ever enjoy comes from the truest power of their own life. Life’s constantly throwing challenges at us. So this week, let’s throw a few challenges back:

Life, you’ve been really good so far, but come on… are you capable of being even better?

:-) Jonathan

Wants and needs

How do 'wants' and 'needs' influence our lives? Human beings lead lives of fascinating invention and beauty, and our lives are a reservoir of the most beautiful moments. Sometimes, we make ourselves a bit too busy to enjoy these moments. But sometimes, moments that come out of the blue have a power that doesn’t stop resonating for the rest of our lives. Throughout each day, many of us are constantly busy deciding what we want to happen next; we identify our ‘wants’ and ‘needs’ from one moment to the next without even realising we’re doing it. Wants and needs are natural enough, but telling them apart can be tricky. So what’s the difference between a want and a need? Last Thursday morning, it took 37 minutes to find out. The answer is heaven. 

Wants and needs are easily confused. And it’s true that ‘want’ and ‘need’ are expressed differently in different languages. There are many philosophies about how ‘needs’ can be unhealthy and how ‘wants’ are selfish. But living life to its full is so much more important than finding the right words to describe life, so let’s do the philosophy another time.

My wife and I found out in February that we were expecting our first baby. When we found out, we were actually still engaged and looking forward to our April wedding. We got married and as the months passed, my wife has become bigger and ever more beautiful. Our little one was due on 21^st October. And we were told “with 80% probability” that our baby would be a girl.

My wife is unique. One of the things I enjoyed about her when we met was that unlike many, she quickly gets passionate about what she can do for others in the world rather than what others in the world should be doing for her. It’s beautiful. And as the years have passed, it’s become even stronger.  She doesn’t ‘want’ or ‘need’ from others very often. But she did dream of being a mother. I knew she’d be an incredible mother. She didn’t ‘want’ or ‘need’ to be a mum. It was something stronger.

21^st October came and went. No baby. Our home was made spotless for the 4^th time. No baby. 25^th October came. No baby. Lots of spicy curries, baths, raspberry tea, long walks etc. Just no baby.  Baby was fine.  Healthy, happy, right position, calm. Just not ready to come out yet. October reached its end. No baby. So last Wednesday, 2 November, I took my wife to our local hospital for our baby to be induced.

The people there were lovely and we expected to stay for a few days before our little one would be ready.  I helped my wife into the bath, got her some tea, and she relaxed. And as the afternoon then evening passed, it all seemed so gentile. My partner didn’t want chemical painkillers, and we just took our time and relaxed. We’d hoped for a homebirth but were ultimately advised against it, so we took our time and just wanted the smoothest, slowest, most trauma-free possible transition to parenthood. The birthing-pool had been requested and we smiled. No chemicals, no pollutants, just a healthy little one.

But…. no baby. Lots of monitoring and ensuring all was OK. Just no baby. The clock ticked, people came and went, blinks came and went.

Suddenly, everything changed. My wife went from almost asleep to screaming in less than 10 seconds.

Everything was suddenly about need and want.

I wanted her pain to leave.

She needed my support.

I wanted her contraction to end so she could breathe ok.

She didn’t know what she needed. The contractions didn’t stop. She needed air.

I wanted to understand what she needed.

She needed to understand why these sudden contractions weren’t ending.

The screams suddenly became constant and the nurses needed to evacuate the whole maternity ward.

The mothers and mothers-to-be wanted to get out quickly.

My wife needed some comfort but didn’t want chemicals.

I needed some answers.

She needed me.

The midwives wanted my wife to lie down. She couldn’t.

They needed her to stand still. She wouldn’t.

They wanted whatever would be easiest for her. She tried. She couldn’t.

She needed the midwives.

They suddenly looked very different. 1 had turned into 3 then 5. And they needed things to happen fast.

My wife needed peace-of-mind and I wanted her to have it.

It was wanting.

We were suddenly in a different room.

My wife wanted to know what was happening.

The midwives wanted to understand too. Their faces were shouting that something was very wrong. They needed others.

Something didn’t make sense for them and they needed a doctor quickly.

My wife needed leadership.

I needed to distract her, make her look me in the eye and breathe deeply.

She needed me. But she wanted me to shut up. As long as I kept talking to her.

The gas and air needed strengthening. I wanted the doctors now stood next to the midwives to stop frowning.

I needed to understand. My wife needed to know our little one was safe.

The doctors wanted me to understand how the situation wasn’t at all how they’d thought.

They needed me and my wife to prepare ourselves.

I needed someone to explain why all the staff suddenly looked so worried.

My wife needed extremely urgent exceptional measures.

They wanted, no, needed my consent.

I wanted my wife and baby to be safe.

I wanted not to understand what the monitors were telling me. But I did understand.

My wife needed reassurance, love, support, my hand and more reassurance.

I wanted my wife and baby to be safe.

The staff needed me to know how unusual and serious things were.

I needed to distract my wife from the terror everywhere.

She needed to look into my eyes.

I needed my wife and baby to be safe.

I needed my wife to have the life of happiness she’s always wanted and truly deserved.

My love for my wife needed me to sit down.

I looked up and there were 13 staff in the room. And it all went quiet.

They suddenly needed me to stand up with my camera.

I didn’t need a second glance.

She needed no more beauty.

Our baby had arrived and my wife was safe.

I wanted to preserve the moment forever. So I did.

I watched as our little one was taken to one side and then helped to breathe.

She didn’t need it. She wanted to be.

She needed to be wrapped up in towels.

She wanted hugs and cuddles from daddy. Daddy needed to give them.

And as I held, cuddled and stared, I sang to her. A song of love from mummy and daddy we’ve sung her every day while pregnant.

After what she’d been through, she needed it.

And then I gave her to mummy.

She needed mummy’s skin. Mummy needed her.

I had everything I wanted. They were both safe. Their needs were met. So were mine.

My wife was beyond beautiful. My daughter was beyond beautiful.

And all of a sudden, this brilliant life had just started all over again. It wanted for nothing.

Ella Rae Cattell was born at 01:01 last Thursday morning. She weighed 8lb 14.5 oz. Lisa and Ella are permanent beauty. They are safe, gorgeous and simply meant to be together.

Taking a moment to choose our wants and needs changes lives. Our wants and needs have a fluid relationship. Sometimes, they love swapping places with each other without warning just to confuse us. It’s also true that on occasion, we humans are tempted to waste time chasing what isn’t really that important. But there are moments. Moments which have an energy and power that never fade.  These moments provide us with a clarity. It’s clear that when we connect with the true, purest needs of others, we want for nothing. Once those who need us are safe, thriving and happy, we couldn’t want for anything else.

Jonathan (aka ‘daddy’).

 

Wants and needs

How do wants and needs influence our lives? Human beings lead lives of fascinating invention and beauty. Our lives are a reservoir of the most beautiful moments. Sometimes, we make ourselves a bit too busy to enjoy these moments. But sometimes, moments that come out of the blue have a power that doesn’t stop resonating for the rest of our lives. Throughout each day, many of us are constantly busy deciding what we want to happen next; we identify our ‘wants’ and ‘needs’ from one moment to the next without even realising we’re doing it. Wants and needs are natural enough, but telling them apart can be tricky. So what’s the difference between a want and a need? Last Thursday morning, it took 37 minutes to find out. The answer is heaven.

Wants and needs are easily confused. And it’s true that ‘want’ and ‘need’ are expressed differently in different languages. There are many philosophies about how ‘needs’ can be unhealthy and how ‘wants’ are selfish. But living life to its full is so much more important than finding the right words to describe life, so let’s do the philosophy another time.

My wife and I found out in February that we were expecting our first baby. When we found out, we were actually still engaged and looking forward to our April wedding. We got married and as the months passed, my wife has become bigger and ever more beautiful. Our little one was due on 21^st October. And we were told “with 80% probability” that our baby would be a girl.

My wife is unique. One of the things I enjoyed about her when we met was that unlike many, she quickly gets passionate about what she can do for others in the world rather than what others in the world should be doing for her. It’s beautiful. And as the years have passed, it’s become even stronger.  She doesn’t ‘want’ or ‘need’ from others very often. But she did dream of being a mother. I knew she’d be an incredible mother. She didn’t ‘want’ or ‘need’ to be a mum. It was something stronger.

21^st October came and went. No baby. Our home was made spotless for the 4^th time. No baby. 25^th October came. No baby. Lots of spicy curries, baths, raspberry tea, long walks etc. Just no baby.  Baby was fine.  Healthy, happy, right position, calm. Just not ready to come out yet. October reached its end. No baby. So last Wednesday, 2 November, I took my wife to our local hospital for our baby to be induced.

The people there were lovely and we expected to stay for a few days before our little one would be ready.  I helped my wife into the bath, got her some tea, and she relaxed. And as the afternoon then evening passed, it all seemed so gentile. My partner didn’t want chemical painkillers, and we just took our time and relaxed. We’d hoped for a homebirth but were ultimately advised against it, so we took our time and just wanted the smoothest, slowest, most trauma-free possible transition to parenthood. The birthing-pool had been requested and we smiled. No chemicals, no pollutants, just a healthy little one.

But…. no baby. Lots of monitoring and ensuring all was OK. Just no baby. The clock ticked, people came and went, blinks came and went.

Suddenly, everything changed. My wife went from almost asleep to screaming in less than 10 seconds.

Everything was suddenly about need and want.

I wanted her pain to leave.

She needed my support.

I wanted her contraction to end so she could breathe ok.

She didn’t know what she needed. The contractions didn’t stop. She needed air.

I wanted to understand what she needed.

She needed to understand why these sudden contractions weren’t ending.

The screams suddenly became constant and the nurses needed to evacuate the whole maternity ward.

The mothers and mothers-to-be wanted to get out quickly.

My wife needed some comfort but didn’t want chemicals.

I needed some answers.

She needed me.

The midwives wanted my wife to lie down. She couldn’t.

They needed her to stand still. She wouldn’t.

They wanted whatever would be easiest for her. She tried. She couldn’t.

She needed the midwives.

They suddenly looked very different. 1 had turned into 3 then 5. And they needed things to happen fast.

My wife needed peace-of-mind and I wanted her to have it.

It was wanting.

We were suddenly in a different room.

My wife wanted to know what was happening.

The midwives wanted to understand too. Their faces were shouting that something was very wrong. They needed others.

Something didn’t make sense for them and they needed a doctor quickly.

My wife needed leadership.

I needed to distract her, make her look me in the eye and breathe deeply.

She needed me. But she wanted me to shut up. As long as I kept talking to her.

The gas and air needed strengthening. I wanted the doctors now stood next to the midwives to stop frowning.

I needed to understand. My wife needed to know our little one was safe.

The doctors wanted me to understand how the situation wasn’t at all how they’d thought.

They needed me and my wife to prepare ourselves.

I needed someone to explain why all the staff suddenly looked so worried.

My wife needed extremely urgent exceptional measures.

They wanted, no, needed my consent.

I wanted my wife and baby to be safe.

I wanted not to understand what the monitors were telling me. But I did understand.

My wife needed reassurance, love, support, my hand and more reassurance.

I wanted my wife and baby to be safe.

The staff needed me to know how unusual and serious things were.

I needed to distract my wife from the terror everywhere.

She needed to look into my eyes.

I needed my wife and baby to be safe.

I needed my wife to have the life of happiness she’s always wanted and truly deserved.

My love for my wife needed me to sit down.

I looked up and there were 13 staff in the room. And it all went quiet.

They suddenly needed me to stand up with my camera.

I didn’t need a second glance.

She needed no more beauty.

Our baby had arrived and my wife was safe.

I wanted to preserve the moment forever. So I did.

I watched as our little one was taken to one side and then helped to breathe.

She didn’t need it. She wanted to be.

She needed to be wrapped up in towels.

She wanted hugs and cuddles from daddy. Daddy needed to give them.

And as I held, cuddled and stared, I sang to her. A song of love from mummy and daddy we’ve sung her every day while pregnant.

After what she’d been through, she needed it.

And then I gave her to mummy.

She needed mummy’s skin. Mummy needed her.

I had everything I wanted. They were both safe. Their needs were met. So were mine.

My wife was beyond beautiful. My daughter was beyond beautiful.

And all of a sudden, this brilliant life had just started all over again. It wanted for nothing.

 

Ella Rae Cattell was born at 01:01 last Thursday morning. She weighed 8lb 14.5 oz. Lisa and Ella are permanent beauty. They are safe, gorgeous and simply meant to be together.

 

Our wants and needs have a fluid relationship. Sometimes, they love swapping places with each other without warning just to confuse us. It’s also true that on occasion, we humans are tempted to waste time chasing what isn’t really that important. But there are moments. Moments which have an energy and power that never fade.  These moments provide us with a clarity. It’s clear that when we connect with the true, purest needs of others, we want for nothing. Once those who need us are safe, thriving and happy, we couldn’t want for anything else.

 

Jonathan (aka ‘daddy’).

Best worst

Some days define life. They create smiles when least expected. You know those days… when only once things have gone ‘wrong’ that we realise that they couldn’t possibly have gone better? Those moments are precious for our learning… when you think you’ll only be satisfied if something goes a certain way. But then it doesn’t. Yet you’re even happier. What can be learned about how we human beings attach ourselves to a desired outcome? It’s a big question. The answer is… dog-poo bags.

How many days of your life have been spent hoping, really hoping, for a particular outcome with something?  Perhaps with a big project?  A deal you’ve been putting your heart and soul into? Putting an offer in for a house you’d love? Someone you’ve asked out on a date? A particular present for Christmas? Good news about the health of someone important to you?

On those many days, what happened to you while you hoped?  Tension, excitement, hope, desire, curiosity, expectation, impatience, aspiration, dependency, more hope? How much energy did this use? And what difference did it make?

Last week, our day went wrong in a huge way.  Nothing we wanted happened. Everything went wrong. We’ll never, ever forget the day. It was awful. It was simply perfect bliss.

Lisa and I are expecting our first baby. We’re just weeks away, and just recently, we’ve been busy. We’ve been attending ante-natal classes and NCT like there’s no tomorrow. We’ve met some very genuine people experiencing similar moments to us, and it’s all pretty exciting. And as many of you will know, when you’re only weeks away, you’ve just completed the decorating, nursery-furnishing, house-alterations and priority shifts. If you’re not careful, it’s easy to tire yourself out even before the baby arrives. So last week, we decided to have a day off.

After our bacon-and-eggs-in-luxury-bread-rolls start to the day, Lisa suddenly had an urgent beauty to her face. There’s a beach we’ve heard of on the south coast. Everyone raves about it. We’ve been raising a young Golden Labrador (“Rosie”) for just over a year, so we thought taking her for a walk along this hidden beach would be an experience to remember. Lisa just came out with it:

“Babe… shall we scrap the day? Shall we? Do you remember that beach everyone’s been on about? Once the baby’s born, it’ll be months before we can decide anything in the moment…. Sod it… Shall we?”

It was last week during the heat-wave. The sun was shining, the day was glorious and for the first time in my life, I ignored the alarm bells in the back of my head. Google told us the beach was only 75 minutes away by car. We packed our beautiful doggy into the car and off we went.  And as we set off, everything seemed ok.

It was only when we were 6 miles away that things started going wrong.

Our hour and a quarter journey turned into 3 and a quarter hours. Like us, everyone else in England wanted to go to the beach too. It’s a remote beach, so there were no cafés en route. How was our Labrador doing in the back of the car in this heat? Did she still have enough water? And my pregnant wife… how was she? Was her stomach OK? And her back? Did she still have enough snacks? Would she get stressed? And THAT question… might she start having contractions in the car in the middle of this traffic jam in the middle of nowhere???

But the more we waited, the more we talked. The more we talked, the more we connected. Talking about our baby. Smiling remembering our wedding, laughing at the moments we’ve shared since we’ve been together. Feeling those same moments we did as we walked along the beach together when we first met. And talking. Really, truly talking.

Half of Sussex awaited us at the beach. There were millions of people. I’ve not ever seen a British beach like it. Not a spare square-metre in sight. And while I rapidly scanned the miles of beach for somewhere for my pregnant wife to sit, the sun beat down. And every child in England wanted to stroke our dog. Our golden labrador isn’t used to that many people, and she’s a blatant flirt. So surrounded by children, with the energy of fun and excitement everywhere, she suddenly pulled with new force and her lead snapped. She was gone. Children were chasing her, so was I and as I looked back at the beach from the water, my pregnant wife was on her own, standing, in the extreme heat.  I had to get back to her. I had to save our little dog (could she swim?). And as I ran to my wife, she laughed and pulled out the camera. She was fine. She was smiling But where was the dog?

This was awful. Why hadn’t we just stayed at home and switched off for the day?

I found the dog. She was in the sea in the middle of 20 or so young children. They loved her. She loved that they loved her. She was loving their attention. And as the children stared, stroked and cooed, their parents surrounded their children, enjoying the beautiful, mad doggy in the middle. I needed to look after my wife, so I had to first get our dog back. I got to the middle of the group of admirers, and held our Rosie carefully. And just as the 30/40 people around us tried to tell me how lovely Rosie was, Rosie decided to squat and share her breakfast of earlier that day with everyone around her.

You can only imagine what kind of pandemonium followed. It was like something out of ‘Jaws’. And as the waves crashed, everyone ran. Children screaming, parents saving their little ones. Only I remained. Running through the water, with poo bags in hand. Trying to scoop up. Desperately trying to look in control. And as everyone stared from the shore, there was the most beautiful smile. It was part of the most beautiful laugh. It was my heavily pregnant wife… taking photos. And as the shame, horror and sweat engulfed me, I started laughing too.

The shame. We had to leave the beach. Our dog didn’t understand what she’d done wrong. My wife was thirsty. She was hot. Our dog wanted to give more love. Why wasn’t she allowed to? And once we’d reached the front of the 30 minute queue at the only cafeteria, a young lad doing his very best in English told us there was at least a 1 hour wait for any food. We decided to just go home. And it took us 45 minutes just to get out of the car park.

The journey home lasted 3 hours. The day had been one stressful disaster after another. That’s why it was brilliant.

Ever since leaving home, we’d been talking. There’d been constant giggles, smiles and laughter from my wife. We’d enriched even further our connection as a couple and as parents-to-be. Our Labrador Rosie had experienced love and attention she’d never dared dream of… and she’d learned to swim! My partner had had laughed and laughed and laughed. And all the way home, we knew we’d had the best worst day you could dream of.

Life is a privilege. It doesn’t last forever. Yet it gives us the opportunity to enjoy moments that feel purely eternal. We simply have to be real enough and switched on as people to notice these moments as they occur. When we appreciate what we have while we have it, days feel fuller. They feel like the very gift they are.  We human beings thrive on ideas, plans, and intentions. And they’re good to have. But knowing when to let go is crucial to our growth. No matter how amazing our initial ideas are, something better is always waiting for us. And when we’re big enough to let go of our initial thinking, the smiles, laughs, beauty and dog-poo bags change our life forever.

:-) Jonathan 

Spiders

Everything is here for at least one reason. Everything happens for at least one reason. Sometimes, the reason can take a while to show itself. And sometimes, we’re so busy focusing on other things - our ‘priorities’, that we can miss the subtle moments of learning that reveal themselves each day. Finally last week, after 38 years of torture, I overcame my biggest lifelong fear. And it took a woman to show me the way. She was an incredible woman. She had unforgettable legs. They went all the way up… all eight of them. 

Fear is a powerful thing. It brims with energy, it transforms us in a blink, it sets us alight and triggers our radar at full tilt. And few things ignite- and energise us more than our desire to run, hide, self-preserve and close ourselves down. So what if… instead of allowing fear to use our energy to shut us down, we used it to make us quickly grow? 

How many things have we been scared of over the years? The bogeyman… barking dogs… the monsters in Doctor Who… ‘Chuckie’-type dolls and clowns… heights… wasps… snakes… trigonometry? And what threat did any of these things actually pose? What harm could they ever really have done us? There’s an expression in English – irrational fear – this implies there isn’t a logical explanation for the fear. Threat is a question of perception, but fear is never irrational. We always have a logic behind our fears, but our logics are like our languages… each person’s functions differently, and we need to learn it to understand it. But what is the opportunity in fear? 

Imagine for a second. You’re three years old. You’re in bed, drifting off to sleep. When all of a sudden, this huge monster-thing you’ve never seen before comes out of nowhere and runs across your legs. You scream out loud, shout for your mum, she runs up the stairs, removes it, strokes your head and tells you not to worry - it was only a ‘spider’.

“Spider”… “Spider”… “Spider”. Even at an early age, some words, you couldn’t forget if you tried. I didn’t sleep that night. And during the childhood years, each and every time I saw a spider, my heart would race, my mind would accelerate, I’d run, scream and then I’d freeze. No matter what, the spider needed to go. I would do anything for the person who got rid of it. Spider-removal became like a black-market commodity, like a drug, some sort of addiction… something I’d do anything for.

Yet all the time, you knew it was ridiculous. Your head knew the spider didn’t mean any harm and couldn’t harm you if it tried. You knew that it was more terrified of you – at 3000 times its size – than you should ever be of it. But your head wasn’t in control… your fear-instinct was. You hated your fear, you knew it was holding you back, you knew it wasn’t right. But you also knew that in those moments, you are more alert, aware and responsive than at any other time. What if you could feel like this whenever you wanted, just for all the right reasons?

As the adult years arrived and began to move swiftly by, I loved having a go at the ‘fears’, ‘scary things’ and the ‘impossibles’. My career started in Officer Training with the British Military. I’d been awarded a few scholarships by the RAF while still at school and what had driven me to apply was the realisation that they would be impossible to get. But I got them. I accidentally destroyed (oops) a military aircraft one day then climbed aboard another the very next day to address any fear.  While a student and working at a luxury campsite in France, I one day had to calm down an elderly Dutch lady by catching a snake with my bare hands next to her caravan. I was terrified of snakes. But so was she.  And no sooner had I caught it that she told me she would only be able to sleep if I cut its head off with the lady’s own breadknife. How on earth would I handle this? It took me 25 minutes pretending to kill that snake before I disappeared with it in a bag, with me shaking and truly terrified.  Address the fear. When after university, I applied for jobs that wanted mother-tongue German speakers (I’m British), I knew they’d be impossible to get, so I applied. And I got them. And I gave up my early career to investigate MI6 and Austria. Everybody told me it was impossible. So I did my best. And it went well. Address the impossible. Address the fear.

‘Fears’ and ‘impossibles’ are something I’ve always loved. So what on earth was different about spiders?

It was last week that I found the answer.  It was a huge spider that showed me the way. And my wife who’s expecting our first child in the month ahead.

“Jonathan!” came the shout. Was the baby coming? Was something wrong? When I got upstairs, everything was ok. But my wife was pointing and stressed. She’d found a spider. A huge one. Huge. She was terrified. And it was a seriously fast mover.

It was big. My stomach turned over the way it has for 38 years. But then I looked around. My wife was terrified. The spider was terrified. Would this be showing our baby how to be terrified too? Is that what we want? What do we want this energy to do for us? And as I looked, I wondered why so many of us would hit this little thing with a shoe. We human beings need to move away from destroying things we don’t like. And all of a sudden, without seeing it coming, I had immediate access to all the memories and moments throughout my life when a spider had suddenly arrived. The countries I’d lived in, the friends I’d known, the places where I’d belonged, the smells, the faces, the memories.

And then it dawned on me. This fear wasn’t about the spider. This fear I’d had my whole life was simply about me needing privacy.  To be able to remember and enjoy the moments of my own life in a special way from time to time by freezing out the present. Fear provided true privacy. And I’d simply been using the spider.

For the first time in my life, I picked up this terrified huge tiny thing, opened the window, let it out safely so that it didn’t get hurt, then I smiled. I wanted our baby to feel the energy created when her daddy protects tiny things that are scared. And I wanted to remove the assumption that fear is followed by destruction. And when fear arises in the future, where possible, I want to now immediately sense its opportunities, not its limiting assumptions.

Hungry lions hurt. So do cars that hit us at speed. And falling off a tall bridge hurts too. Some fears are understandable… threat is out there. But how many of our fears, nervousness and worries actually pose no threat whatsoever? How much of our worrying is actually attention-seeking? 

How many of the things we’re scared of or worried about create an energetic reaction that’s difficult to explain? When we choose to experience-  then use fear-energy differently, our life turns a corner.  When we choose to grow and be bigger, fear feels different. It fires us up with a sense of opportunity to behave beyond our past. When instead of thinking about it too much, instead of repeating the way we behaved when we were 3, we choose to challenge ourselves by not thinking anymore, not worrying anymore, not pausing anymore, but instead just doing it – picking up the huge spider – our roles change. We start to sense opportunity everywhere. And the ripple this creates flows across our whole life. So this week, take a moment to challenge yourself to enjoy some fear. Go and find something scary. If you're initially hesitant, connect with how you’ll feel once you’ve done it. Scare yourself. Then enjoy how much better life will permanently feel from then on knowing you've moved on.

(p.s. The spider world wanted to thank me for our newly-signed peace treaty. By way of thanks, the Ambassador below popped in to say hello just this morning. We shook hands and I measured him. 13cms. I'm serious. Thank GOD the fear has gone.)

:-) Jonathan

the 'C' word

Just recently, lots of people have started using a powerful word in a new way. Some people would say it’s a bad word. In fact, many people think it’s a vulgar word. It strikes disgust into the hearts of many professionals who hear it, and upon hearing it, some cower with revulsion. Inside businesses these last few years, life’s been especially challenging, and so this word’s recently started getting used much more. But is this word really as dreadful as people fear? The word is one you know… it’s the ‘C’ word…. Change.

What does ‘change’ mean? True, it depends on the context of its use. And true, the power of any word is in what you personally hear rather than what was said. But why do so many people have a silent negative reaction whenever they hear from their business that they need to change something about themselves? Isn’t change simply philosophical and dependent on perspectives? Or does it actually have a clear meaning?

This all started a short while ago during a meeting with a senior Director we know at a large business. His people have been working particularly hard recently. A few years ago, their leadership had reacted quickly to the financial downturn by trying to turn their business into a kind of ‘lean, mean, fighting machine’.  This made sense at the time. Their trading environment was changing, their competitors were adapting, and so it was logical to change the way the business met the needs of its existing and future customers. To ensure the business responded well – and quickly – to the changing business environment, ensuring people wouldn’t lose their jobs, their people needed to change too. They thought this seemed reasonable. It was logical, wasn’t it? And for a short while, the business responded well. Until, that is, a few things started happening.

First, their most promising people left to join other businesses. Sure, he said, businesses will always lose people, but they couldn’t work out why it was only the very best who were leaving. Then, the company’s performance weakened faster than the performance of its competitors. Why? Change was logical, wasn’t it? They’d done everything right, so why was it all going wrong? It was apparently only one morning when a long-serving manager spoke up that the company’s leadership began to understand – and listen. According to this manager, people there had always been ‘bubbly’. They’d always thanked each other, looked each other in the eye, smiled and asked how each other’s children were doing. But nowadays, no-one even said thank you anymore. They didn’t look like they enjoyed each other anymore. They didn’t even seem to enjoy being themselves anymore.  And they were scared and nervous all the time. They were nervous about what their bosses would demand of them next. She said it felt like they wanted to give their minimum but present it as their maximum. What she’d always loved about this business was that people were encouraged to be themselves. But that had gone. So had all the best people. So too had the great results the business had always achieved.

In summary, this Director asked us… how can you change the way people change as a result of change? He then asked… what is it about the need for change that closes good people down?

Last week, we were with another impressive business. It’s a business most people will have brought something from in the last month or so. During our conversation, the person we were with just happened to mention that developing their people properly is crucial, but there was a building, unspoken fear of ‘change’. We commented that in our experience, people respond best – and most effectively - to change when they don’t realise change is the objective.

So where does this fear of change come from? What hidden messages is the ‘C’ word sending us? Is ‘change’ really just a ‘work’ thing? When we hear ‘change’, are we actually hearing something else?

Let’s take the ‘C’ word away from work for a moment. Let’s look at it another way.

It’s late one evening. You’re lying in bed, next to your partner, reading. Suddenly, he/she closes their book, takes off their glasses, looks at you, then it comes out. “Darling, I love you. Thank you for all these years we’ve shared together. The thing is, the person you are is no longer good enough for me. You used to be good enough, but you’re not anymore. Everything you are simply isn’t what I need from now on. Even the dog doesn’t like you anymore. You’ve got a chance though - it’s up to you - if you change quickly into what I need you to be, we’ll stay together. Thanks babe. Good luck. Goodnight.” What kind of night’s sleep would this give you? And how would you feel the next night in bed before the lights go out? And how would you feel each and every time your partner started to speak from then on?

Hmmmm.

What if it were just done a little differently? Imagine the same scenario, then he/she speaks. “Darling, I love you.  Thank you for all these years we’ve shared together. Have you any idea how much of a difference you make to my life each and every day? There are so many things you do that you don’t even see anymore, but I notice them all. And each time you do them, it’s like the first day we met. I adore you. And I know we’ve been through some tough times recently. You’ve been incredible for me. You have made the most massive difference to what we’re achieving. I couldn’t have done any of this without you and I can’t thank you enough. There’s a special way in which I’d like to say thank you tomorrow. We haven’t done it before and I just wanted to surprise you with something we can have fun with tomorrow. Come here gorgeous, shall we have a laugh tomorrow and give it a go?”

Now (ahem), what happens next in this scenario once the light gets turned off is ENTIRELY your own business. But which scenario would get the best out of you the next day?

The word ‘Change’ sends people many messages.  People can hear ‘you’re not good enough’; they can hear ‘if you’re not completely different really soon, you’ll have to go’; they can hear ‘panic!’; they can hear ‘you’d better not fail’, and they can hear ‘you can never, ever again relax and you’ll never be able to guess what’s waiting for you around the corner’. So why not change ‘change’?

When people are buzzing, when they’re inspired, when they are recognised, when they are on fire, when they know they’re making a unique difference, when they pick up that their colleagues are feeling it too, and when there’s something new they’re unlocking in themselves and others, they don’t even see ‘change’. They’re so busy enjoying their connection with what they’re doing and what’s important to them, that it’ll only be later that they look back and realise something big has happened. And they’ll look back smiling. So let’s change the ‘C’ word. Let’s create something more electric into which we can slip the required change, so that people enjoy the difference. Make necessary change the powerful consequence of what people do, rather than the objective of what they’re doing. All people can quickly make the most extraordinary change happen if you observe some simple rules:  don’t use the ‘C’ word... always create buzz… and let them know that who they already are is more than people could wish for.

Now, let’s get that light out… and let’s have a cracking week.

Goodnight.

Jonathan