Implicit questions when asking for advice

Yesterday I put together a business equity structure for the business that I am working on which has two other cofounders. I think the model is really solid and fair, and puts reward and incentives where they need to be.

Before I took my cofounders through the structure I wanted to get some external reassurance that the structure was as fair as I thought it was. So I rang two close friends to see what they thought.

Both thought that the model was good - they gave me some valid things for me to consider when presenting it to my cofounders, and reflected back to me how the model may play out over the first year of operation.

And while the feedback was pretty good, my feeling at the end of both conversations was not what I expected or wanted it to be. I started by feeling very good about the model, but ended feeling a bit hollow about it.

This got me thinking about what I was really asking from my two friends. I actually don't think I really wanted them to feedback or critique the model I had put together. What I wanted was for them to reflect back to me how brilliant it was, and how brilliant therefore I was. Not exactly that useful for anything except my ego.

I thank my friends for giving me the feedback that was actually useful and will help to set the business up for long term success, not the feedback I was implicitly asking for.

The dark, sleepless night of the soul

Last night was my third dark night of the soul. It could be that you are only suppose to have one of these in your lifetime, but I have distinct memories of three occasions where my world was rocked to its core, and my body needed time to process what was going on, and did not have what sleep needed.

I have 'woken' up in pretty good shape considering a night without sleep. The night itself was long and painful. My heart rate was high. My mind raced. I felt too hot to sleep. I was running through every single scenario of what this piece of news would mean for me over the coming days and years.

This morning I spoke with my dad, such a source of stability in the times of deep crisis in my life. I grieved. And then I followed my usual morning routine. After shedding some tears, I managed to look myself in the mirror and realise that I loved myself. That I would be okay. That while this was incredibly painful, it was actually good.

Today my intention is to talk and write about how I feel, without any expectations of getting anything else done. I allow myself to feel and process in the way my being is indicating it needs to. 

Right now it is saying it needs a coffee. 

Days of wondering and wandering

It is a lightness and weightlessness in my chest. A feeling of vulnerability; a feeling that I am not sure what to do next.

It has been great to stop what I am doing, to take stock and allow new ideas to bubble up. Days like today though are difficult. Like I am waiting for something new to happen which I cannot do any more to progress right now.

And more than anything it is the feeling of being unplugged from a network I was once so easily part of. I am in the early stages of creating new networks and finding a new tribe, and in the mean time there are long periods where I am by myself and thinking of ways to make my life work for me given the new constraints and context I find myself in. 

When I had a partner I always had somebody to talk with and bounce ideas off. I am struggling to find an alternative for this, and it sometimes means sitting wondering what to do and who I could talk with. Friends have been great for this, but it is not the same. I don't have somebody I call everyday - it just does not seem the way of my guy friends. The girl friends I have found seem to make this easier, but there are complications with girls that I am not quite ready to confront, and I am certainly not yet ready for anything resembling a relationship.

So in the interim I will write, and sit with the discomfort, and remind myself that one day I will have others who will sit with me and allow me the space and time I need with my discomfort.

I see some of me in him

There is something about my eldest. It is like I somehow grieve my childhood when I think about his. And it is like I can sense his pain and confusion, as if I am seeing my own at his age.

I don't fully understand it yet, but I think it is more about me than him. I think that he is probably doing okay, going through the normal childhood stuff, with a little extra (like having to navigate two homes) thrown in. There is nothing in his behaviour that I am overly concerned about.

It is in the moments when we part ways that I feel this grief most acutely. Perhaps I am feeling the grief of my own recent loss of intimacy and connection when we part ways. Perhaps I am feeling the lack of deep connection I felt with my own parents as a kid. Perhaps I am grieving that he is eventually going to feel his own deep pain and loss, as is the course of life.

The part I do know is that it hurts, and gets me pondering how much I long for, and how difficult it seems, to have intimate connection with another human being.

A Future Christmas Letter to My Son

Son,

I am writing this to you for you to read one day when you are older. When you have the ability to process what a six year struggles to comprehend, when his dad can't spend the entire day of Christmas with him.

It maybe when you are 12, 16 or 30. I am not sure. I write it to you now, on Christmas day 2015, while the feelings are still fresh with me.

We did get to spend so much time together today, and last night, even though it was your mum's week to have you. It has been so good to unwrap presents with you, build lego, and see what Santa left you at mumma's house.

You asked me as we were packing up to leave Christmas lunch if I could come back to mumma's house and build some more lego. I know you can't understand why I can't come over, and I really don't have a good way of explaining it to you. It made you so sad when I said no. You cried and I could see I was breaking your heart.

What I do want you to know though is that I miss you so much. That I am crying as I type this. That I will be spending Christmas night alone and lonely, wishing I could be building lego with you. My heart is breaking too.

It may not seem like it when we part. I try to put on a brave face. But it tears me apart when we leave each other. It feels like something is being torn away from my guts.

I love you. So much. Our family in two parts is not your fault, and yet it impacts you daily. You are tender hearted. And funny. And beautiful. Although I am away from you sometimes, you are always close to my thoughts and in my heart.

Through all this I am doing my best to be your dad; present with you through all the moments; helping you learn and be curious about this strange thing called existence. Sometimes it can hurt more than you can imagine. And sometimes there is uncontainable joy.

Appetite for change

Sometimes the best option overall is not the best option for this moment. One scenario I have become aware of recently where this holds true is when there is an incumbent option, and there is effort and change required to move from the not so ideal incumbent option, to the better alternative.

If the resources required to make the change between the two options are significant, including emotional, social, logistical, and financial resources, and the resources available in these areas are depleted, then the status quo is probably the best option for this moment.

I recently had to go through this process in terms of schools for my kids. There is a school which I think would be better suited for them and is more aligned with my values. However there has been a large amount of change in my own life over the past 12 months, as well as in the kids' lives. This has depleted our resources for social, emotional and logistical change, meaning we have decided that the not so ideal school is the ideal choice for the next period of time. Until our reserves for change are renewed again. 

Ending well or unwell

My first project manager was the type of man I got along with, but in no way wanted to be like. I got along with him because in same ways he had integrity. He knew what he was, knew what he wanted, and went after it. He did not dress up his desire to earn as much as possible, in any way that worked, as anything more than what it was. He had even written a book about how the types of consulting firms we worked for sucked young people in and worked them over, but decided that in the end he was okay with that.

On this project I was disillusioned in the truest sense of the word. I had glamorise consulting firms in my mind, and in understanding the reality of it I wanted out fast, any way I could. After giving me the book he had written as a young man my project manager counselled me that it was important to end things well, and that endings are often what people remember most.

I took his advise and stuck it out and ended the project well. In some ways it was good for me - I maintained many relationships that I could have burned, and I ended up having a second go at a career with many of these people. However, I ended up having a second go at a career with many of those people. That is, I didn't do a good enough job the first time of getting out of something I knew wasn't for me.

I wonder if ending a situation in an unwell way is sometimes okay, even though it can be abrupt and painful at the time. I may have saved myself some time and long-term pain, even while causing myself and others some short-term pain.

Either way, ending well or unwell, I am happy with where I am now because I have got to a place of understanding what I want and I am prepared to act on it. I think that the key to ending things well and in a timely fashion is knowing myself, why it is time for me to end something, and then communicating it well and with compassion with those who will be impacted.

Wanting to run, but managing to stay

There comes a moment at an event or gathering with a group of people whom I do not know that well where I want to leave. I start to feel some social fatigue, I feel like I am starting to be boring and have nothing to say, and I want to run and get out of there as fast as I can. 

Yesterday and last night I had a number of those moments. I am participating at Purpose conference with a bunch of people who are my tribe, and whom I am still getting to know. After spending the day with them, and eating with them, I began to get that quickening that I wanted out, and I wanted out now. 

Somehow I managed to sit in that feeling instead of running from it, and what unfolded was pretty amazing. I met my brother from another mother in Sydney, a man who could also be the grown up version of my son, and potentially somebody I could work with this year. Sitting in the social unrest for a short period of time led to an fantastic social moment.  

I don't think that every time I get the sense I want to leave that I need to stay. Sometimes my being needs rest, and sometimes the place is not right for me. I am starting to pick up on my own subtleties and nuanced feelings about when it is time to leave, and when it is time to lean in.  

Thinking in extremes

A model I use for decide if something sits well with me or not so well, is to think of the extreme case of the scenario.

For example, I am having a birthday part on the weekend, and I have been decided not to invite some people. As the party has got closer I have started to think that I would have like to have invited all of these people, but I am not convinced about it.

At this point I start to think of the extreme scenario. If I had invited all of the people who are on the fringes of my life, would I mind if there were a few at the party who I was not sure about? Or if I had excluded all of the people on the fringes of my life, would I mind if there were a few missing from the party?

The latter is more likely to cause me regret. I have never regretted having a few extra people at a party whom I am not particularly close to. But I have regretted not inviting people to a party who I have thought were on the fringes.

Thinking in extremes helps, but in this case I have applied it too late. Something to keep in mind for my 40th.

Anniversaries are felt in the body

Today is an anniversary of a traumatic event in my life. My wife moved out of our house today, one year ago. Compounding this trauma, over the next month are three events that were once happy annual events in my life: my birthday, my son's birthday, and Christmas. Thinking about them now brings up feelings of profound sadness and grief.

I have been doing some reading (Mayo, Tim Hill, and Theravive) about the triggers, length, and manifestations of grief. Yes, anniversaries are definitely a trigger, sometimes even unconscious anniversaries. No, nobody knows how long a person's particular grief process will take (but 2 years seems to be a minimum for the end of a marriage). Yes, allowing yourself to go with your body's unique way of processing grief is the way to go (tears, curling up in bed, talking to friends).

While today marks the end of something in my life, it also marks the start of something. I had a horrible night's sleep last night. I know I am going to need to hang out with some friends today. I have a ton of negative energy floating around and through my head, telling me that I should just go back to my old way of living. In spite of all this, I am going to start a new ritual to mark the occasion that I was given another chance to find and live my own life. 

The first part of the ritual is on the day itself - I will buy some new clothes on this day. Clothes that I love. Clothes that I look good in. Clothes that are me.

The second part of the ritual is later in the week - as this anniversary falls on the week of my birthday, I am going to celebrate my birthday each year with my friends. Because it is not just a birthday celebration any more. It is the celebration of a new life.

A 3 year old with 5 blocks of duplo

On Friday mornings I get some one on one time with my 3 year old son. This morning we went to a cafe, and he insisted on whittling down 12 blocks of duplo to five blocks as the toy he wanted to play with while we were there. 

After placing our orders he taught me the game he wanted to play with the blocks, which was simply to construct something recognisable using these five blocks. We proceeded to spend the next 45 mins taking it turns to build over 100 different objects.

Not only were both of us utterly enthralled and energised by the game, but I learnt so much about the nature of creation.

Many times I did not know what I was going to create. I had a hunch about how I wanted to arrange the blocks, and then only once it was complete could I see what I had made. We also feed off each other's effort, getting inspiration from what the other built. And the crazy thing is, my son came up with some really good stuff. A bird's nest in a tree and grass. A crocodile. A car.

What this got me pondering was the nature of constraints. It seems to me that it is only through constraints that we can find out what we are capable of. Without them we are without meaning, without form, and without purpose. It is because of gravity we can grow. It is because you cannot use your hands in soccer that Cristiano Ronaldo is so good with his feet.

I choose to constrain myself, and in so doing I will find out what I am actually capable of. Like building the propellor of a plane using five blocks of duplo.

It hits me sometime on Sunday evening

I have my two sons for one week out of every two. I drop them off to their mum's house on Sunday afternoon. Sometime between dropping them off and going to sleep it hits me. The realisation of how much I love them. How much I miss them. How I have let them down in the week preceding, not given them all that they could have had from me, not being as present as I want to be with them.

Sometimes I start to feel this as soon as I drop them off, if not before. Sometimes it hits me as I am washing their sheets later in the evening. Sometimes it is when I am picking up one of the paintings or drawings they have made while they have been here.

It is like I can feel their little hearts breaking. I see their faces, and I want them to know that I love them so much. That I want to be with them all the time. That I am sorry. It is not their fault.

Perhaps they are okay. Perhaps I see myself in them. A little boy whose heart is breaking. Who feels all alone every second Sunday evening. Lonely, and alone.

Fixing that which looks happy and content

My sons go to a private school. Mostly because of the journey I have been on this year, I am starting to think that it may not be a school that is aligned with my values, and the values I want my kids brought up with.

The school is actually a great environment. They seem to be loved. They seem to be cared for. And they are definitely happy. At the moment.

My concern is that as they progress through the ranks of this school they will become more influenced by the values of achievement and competition rather than curiosity and self exploration and expression.

I want my kids to have the best opportunity of being pushed and taught. Most of all though I want them to have the ability to listen to themselves, to ponder what they hear, and then to have the courage to live out their truth and bring their light to the world.

I am not sure this will happen at their current school, and I think I have found a school nearby where they will be able to develop these skills. They have had so much change in their life recently though that I wonder, is it going to be good for them or harm them, to introduce more change and move schools? I am yet to know the answer.

The view of me on the stage

I am not really in the public eye. I don't get up on stage. I don't have thousands or even hundreds of followers or listeners. So I write this more in the hope that if I get to that point, I am still prepared to be authentic and congruent and vulnerable and aligned.

Because what I am writing here is a critique of those people who have that kind of position, but even in a subtle way give off a false impression of their life. Especially people who are talking about people having a good and vital and fulfilled life. If people see only the nice and polished parts of these people, they are left with the incorrect impression that this is what they are striving for.

This is an impossible reality. Everybody has their moments of frustration and pain and stuffing up. Things that may not fit with the good life talk. Things that may lose them some audience members. Lose them some money.

As I write this I realise that it is counter intuitive of me to point the finger at people on stage and with big audiences, and excuse myself from this critique. Because I have the opportunity to present myself authentically or polished and masqueraded in countless situations each day. After all, the whole world is a stage.

I don't think I need to reveal my deepest and darkest to every person I come across. But if I am in a relationship that is growing in intimacy; if I am in a relationship where someone is looking at me as somebody to emulate or be guided and influenced by; then it is my responsibility to show up as I am, to be truthful with my whole being. 

I am writing this because I value truth, and I want my behaviour to be aligned with this value. This means on those occasions when I do not live this way, coming around to being truthful about that, even if it takes a while.

The post I will look back on in years to come

I have put my first podcast out there to a few more trusted friends. I don't know if it is because I am quite sensitive about putting something new out into a small section of the world, or if its because I'm actually not that good. But I am not getting an overwhelming sense that people are having their socks blown off by my work!

I have a confidence though that I can do this. That I can get really good at interviewing people for a podcast. That I can learn and refine my craft over time.

What I think I need to hear from these first few people is something along these lines:

This is a great first podcast. I love the way you ask questions, and I really found it interesting. It is great that you are incorporating a sense of place into the recording, and you will find a way to get the balance with the right amount of noise. Keep working at it. Keep listening to yourself. And keep backing yourself in what you are creating why you are creating it.

Instead what I am getting (or perhaps what I am hearing) is more like this:

Its hard telling a story through audio alone, isn't it? Perhaps you need to edit it a bit. Perhaps your microphones are not that good. Perhaps a bit more polish would be good.

In years to come I will either look back at this post and think that I was quite delusional - podcasting was something I needed to do, but it was not really my thing. Or I will look back and think that this was the start of a great journey of learning, exploring, and creating.

I worked out why I used to hate 'networking'

Lately I have been finding 'networking' so easy that all the bad connotations I had associated with this exercise are disappearing.

And what I think about now when I think about networking is nothing like what I used to think about. I actually only consider it networking in retrospect, like, 'Oh yeah, showing up at that event and having awesome conversations with those people, I was like, networking with them'. Ha.

I used to hate networking, and I think this was because of two things. The first was that there was an unwritten purpose to my networking, which was to sell something through conversation. The second was that I actually did not want to talk with the people I was suppose to be networking with. I was not interested in the type of work they did, and I felt like a fraud because I was showing up at events that were not aligned with who I am.

It has taken me about a year, but I have started to tap into events that are full of my kind of people. Reflective, entrepreneurial, trying to create meaningful change through business, trying to get the product/maker fit right before they get the product/market fit right.

I enjoy hanging out with these people so much. I feel supported and accepted, and I am constantly fascinated by the things they are doing. It never crosses my mind to sell something to them. I am there to inspire and be inspired with the hope that we, and those we go on to interact with and influence, will all benefit.

This is the new networking, for me and my tribe at least anyway.

Keep showing up...

Consistency seems to me to be one of the keys to success. I am thinking about my meditation practise. I am thinking about eating well. About exercise. About this blog.

Not that this blog is what many would call 'successful' at the moment. I am not sure that anybody else reads it. But as I write it (almost) everyday, I can feel something changing inside me. 

I was thinking about this as I start to hang out with a new group of people. These are the subtle disruptors of Melbourne, those who are starting to do meaningful, purposeful, mindful, disruptive things, often through business. I have managed to tap into a few gatherings that have been happening, and because I have been showing up consistently, people are starting to recognise me as part of that group. I am starting to build some genuine relationships, and who knows, maybe I have found my tribe.

Going hand in hand with consistency is building for the long term. I like the Slow School of Business's approach in this way. About building mindfully. Building well. At the start of a new journey, in health, in business, in relationships, I am keeping consistency and building for the long term front of mind.

Laundry List, Item 7: You can't have anything unless you let go of it.

The lyrics from U2's Dirty Day frequently sing through my thoughts at the moment:

You can hold onto something so tight, you've already lost it

This was the case for me with my marriage after the rough period started. Probably the only chance I had in enabling it to survive was to let go of it, radically and absolutely, as soon as the warning signs were there. Instead I fought, I begged, I clung, I debated. Eventually, after 3 months of grasping and 10 days of silence, I was able to come to terms with letting go.

By then it was too late for the marriage, but it was just in time for the rest of my life. I had a profound understanding that nothing lasts. That thinking that I can hold onto anything, onto something, is completely misguided. An illusion and a fallacy. 

Letting go of something does not guarantee that you will have it. However it is the only way to truly have anything. Because the things you end up having will be there because they choose to be there, and because there is an honest and integrity to them being there with you. 

I have less now, much less, than I did 12 months ago. I am in a partnership of 1. I earn less. My house has less things in it. I don't have a plan for the next 12 months. It seems in letting go of these things, I now have life. I can't remember ever being this happy.

Laundry List, Item 6: There is no way of getting all you want

The less money I earn, the less things I want. Doing Courtney Carver's A Simple Year has been a big help with this as well, enabling me to realise that many of the things I think I want to keep (forever) actually don't bring me any joy.

There is no way of getting all I want anyway. This is liberating to live. I can allow myself to want things without being attached to getting them. If they come my way, excellent. If they don't, so be it. I can be honest about what I want, and then allow life to take care of the rest.

There are things I need in order to keep living. Food. Air. A place to sleep. Something meaningful to do. Somebody to be close with. To understand how to be a good father. There are other things I consider needs as well. Over time perhaps these things will become less as I realise they are more wants than needs.

Despite all this, it hurts when I lose something I thought was good for me, something I thought I wanted to keep. Perhaps I will understand in time that I was not good for it, nor it for me.

The Niggle that is the Hint of Amazing

Through my personal crisis of the last year, one of the great benefits has been the way I have been able to reconnect with my friends. They have listened to me, supported me, offered wise council. In short, I am not sure I would have got through it without them. Sometimes the grief and pain has been so overwhelming that the only thing I could do was to call one of them and cry.

I had dinner with two of my best friends last night. We talked footy and I told stories about my latest adventures and experiments in being a part time single man/part time single dad.

At the end of the night one of my friends and I ended up at a bar for a night cap, and we finally got around to talking about him. Its funny, but in me being open hearted about my journey and pain, it has created space for some of my friends to do the same.

This particular friend is certainly not in a lot of pain at the moment, his life is actually pretty good. But he is stating to have a sense that something is not quite all it could be. A niggle. A niggle that is telling him he needs to take a moment to reflect; a day off work to ponder his life, by himself. He is starting to think about legacy, about his health, about how he is a great all-rounder but not excelling at anything, about not really knowing what he likes and what he cares about.

Before a moment of crisis forced me to take action, these were many of the same thoughts that went through my head. I needed a crisis to act on that niggle. The result of acting has been nothing short of amazing. I wake up every day not knowing what adventures will unfold. I wake up excited. I hope my friend can find a way to start acting on his niggle before a crisis forces him to.