A puppy on the way

/ beaumontmichael

There is a dog on the way. We have been pet free for almost a decade and have enjoyed it immensely, but it is just not the same. Over the course of the next few months no doubt I will be writing about the way this hound has changed our lives. I hope I am writing about the joy and not the tears, but inevitably with pets there is a share of both.

It is not just any dog either. It is a fauve. The Basset fauve is an interesting breed that looks a little like a cocker spaniel and a little like a basset and a little like a lot of things but has its own distinct look. Hardly a succinct explanation but Im sure once you have seen a picture you will agree. When most people talk about fauves the first thing they say is “their ears are painted on” and that was the thing that instantly grabbed my interest. My poor long suffering teachers used to say the same thing to me in school. So instantly we have a fair bit in common.

Our pet free decade has included a few overseas trips and a few spontaneous weekends away, all of which will come to a screaming halt when the hound arrives. We have vaguely puppy proofed the house but not with any real zeal so no doubt he/she will find the most valuable item left at eye level to chew on. I say He/she because even though we have committed to owning the hound, the breeder is yet to allocate animals to buyers.

The litter consists of four girls and one boy. We initially said we were interested in a girl, but so is everyone else, so we have also said that we don’t want to miss out. Interestingly several people in the group have said the same thing. So this weekend we wait, holding our breath to discover if we are fishing around for a few suitable boy names or girl names. We have in the past had boy pets including Simpson the Labrador (famous for eating an entire worm farm, all three trays, in one sitting before requiring the local vet to pump his stomach). So perhaps it’s time for a girl but time will tell.

No doubt my witty son and even wittier bride have a long list of clever and beautiful names on a notepad somewhere waiting to be short listed. We have a six hour drive to meet the new family member and the same return so my first wish is that he/she travels well. I feel sure the name will settle almost instantly.

We have put our adult son in charge of training. As he continues to battle his way through the rigours of chemotherapy, his no nonsense approach to training everything (including me) will be put to perfect use. I am looking forward to the widening of our social circle as is the way with owning an animal in the inner city. Parks and routines become the catalyst for making new friends provided of course you do not own a killer.

I am also living in the hope that owning a dog will have an effect on my ever burgeoning waistline but I suspect the laziness that is clearly the root cause of the problem may be the very thing that causes the hound and I to cross swords. Im sure it wont be long before he/she looks up at me as we re-enter the house as the thought bubble hovers over his head saying “really that was not much of a walk bubble butt”.

I am genuinely excited about the new family member and look forward to sharing our adventures with you.

People are just so interesting

/ beaumontmichael

I grew up in a normal family, in a normal house surrounded by normal stuff. Probably just as you think you did. Though nothing about my upbringing was super sensational, in truth, it was definitely different to yours and about one million miles away from my kids upbringing.

That’s what I find when I interview people. They have all led the most interesting lives. Some of them have been singularly motivated by their lifelong battle with their anxieties. Others that I have met peaked in high school and have spent the rest of their lives trying to readjust. Some met the love of their life in primary school, and others are still searching.

Some people I have met have been moulded by events or in some cases a single cataclysmic event. Some have been cast by a life without event. Some people spend their life struggling while others march through without a glance to the left or right. Some are devout, which I find really interesting and others can’t spell the word.

While some people I have interviewed blame their parents, I have met plenty that realise they were given an unfair advantage by their folks. Obviously some of that is just perception and some of it is real. Some interviews make me feel sad and others are uplifting but they are always amazing because people are amazing.

Internationally renowned behavioural strategist (I think I just made that title up) and best-selling author Tony Robbins said “Life is not about weathering storms it’s about learning to dance in the rain.” The metaphor echoed in my head for days. At the risk of labouring it, it seems to me that some people spend their life planning for the rain, some spend their lives weighing up the cost of that last big wet and some others just want to buy the best all-weather gear.
There is an American sales icon by the name of Charles ‘Tremendous’ Jones that is attributed with one of my all time favourite quotes “wisdom comes from the people you meet and the books you read”. I might be a long way from distilling any wisdom, but I am reading as much and meeting as many people as I can.

The grumpy old man was me

/ beaumontmichael

A few years ago now, in the middle of what up to then had been a very ordinary day, my bride tugged at my shirt sleeve and asked me why I was always so negative. It was a complete game changer. In that moment I realised I had become the very thing I most passionately did not want to become. I was a grumpy old man.

It instantly gave me heart palpitations and a general sense of unease that quite quickly turned into anxiety bordering on panic. What have I done? What have I become? It instantly dragged me back to the same feeling I had, when as a fifteen year old I saw the girl of my dreams kissing my friend. Completely gut wrenching. A stock take was needed instantly.

It only took a few minutes to realise that in the last week, just about everything I had said about the outside world was a criticism. I held up everything to my judgement. The news, politicians, journos, drug traffickers, teachers, bosses, world leaders, neighbours, pop stars and pretty much anything that came into my view. While there may not be too much wrong with that per se, I was only seeing the bad, the imperfect, the fault, the weakness or frailty in them all. Worse than that though I was saying it out loud.

It was time I had a good long look at myself.

It took months of self-examination and introspection to realise that it was a defence mechanism. Not a good one mind you. Because of the work I was doing back then, I was constantly required to stand up and take a position on things, say things and write things from within a very small world that was full of negative, grumpy old men. As a result, I copped a fair bit of criticism for everything from my haircut to my politics. My way of dealing with that criticism was to belittle the source. Which quite quickly developed into a hair-trigger response to everything in the world. I had let that mechanism take me over like one of those jungle vines you see that slowly covers and eventually strangles the life out of a once solid tree.

Frankly, being negative is easy. The newspapers have been teaching that for as long as we have been able to read them. Particularly in Australia where the Tall Poppy syndrome is inculcated into our culture. We are taught to be suspicious, look at people with caution if not derision, question the status quo which only supports the negativity of course. I am not blaming anyone else here by the way, least of all journos that are only out there making a living, taking on that behaviour was all my own stupid doing.

Breaking that behaviour pattern is tough. Recovery is a rocky road. The good news is I had not always been like that. In fact many people through my other jobs had highlighted my positive can-do attitude as a signature ethos. So surely with a few hints, a bit of support and a bit of a game plan, I could undo the hair-trigger and get back to being a cheery nice guy.

My bride had already rung the alarm bells. It is simply not nice to be around negativity all the time and particularly not at such close quarters. I was pretty determined to change and pretty motivated to make the change a lasting one.

The first step was to take some action, not just thinking, but some physical action so I determined to go for a walk by myself each morning and fill that walk with good thinking. I discouraged my bride from coming along (as politely as I could) so that I could devote the walk to better, clearer more positive thinking. I promised myself I would not spend the time gritting my teeth with anxiety or letting negative thoughts into my head. It didn’t always work, but over time as I caught myself getting dark, I tried to work my way through the feeling in a bid to pop out the other side.

Walking really helps. I would get home and do a few quick weights as a way of signing off on that part of the day and I find that bit of exercise combined with good thinking makes a huge difference. On the walk I try to remind myself of things I am grateful about. My bride, my home, my friends, my lifestyle, my wonderful children, my music, my writing, all sorts of stuff that I was pretty happy with. Occasionally I would try to find solutions to things that were worrying me, but often I found that to be a gateway into doom and anger. I try to think of things I could build or people I could support rather than things that were not fair or people who had been cruel or rude.

My walks are still a source of therapy that I need to do. I don’t do it every morning but I know I should. Finding just 30 minutes to go for a walk and get my head straight makes such a big difference to the people around me that I should be thinking of it as a gift to myself. As you can see it is still a work in progress, Even at 55 I am still a work in progress and that’s fine by me.

Pump up that puppy

/ beaumontmichael

One of my favourite short business sayings comes not from an American business leader or a President or wartime Prime Minister but from a waitress in Denny’s in Hawaii. My bride and I were on holidays there and we had ordered something from the menu out of curiosity and when we tasted it we curled up our noses at the blandness of it. The waitress leaned on the counter next to us and in her wonderfully rich American accent, said ” you’ve got to pump up that puppy” meaning add taste, and pushed a rack of condiments across the counter to us.
That lovely expression has resonated with me for years. How many businesses do you walk into that need to “pump up that puppy”? Recently I was in country NSW at one of the regional hubs and had breakfast at a cafe chosen purely because it was the first one open. It called itself something green and fair and rootsy, perhaps even organic but upon entering, it looked more like an ex ice cream shop. Bad lighting, bad furniture, bad decorating. It had bags of garlic hanging under the front counter that looked more like chewing gum stuck under a desk than it did an homage to rootsy back to earthiness. The quote came instantly to mind. You’ve got to pump up that puppy!
The coffee was great, or at least one of them was, you see, in spite of me being the only person in the place, two different people made my two coffees. Who is the best coffee maker? They should be making the coffee! Pump up that puppy by having clear roles and playing to your strengths.
The paleo pancakes read much like the French toast on the menu so I asked barista No1. which was better. He said he preferred the pancakes so I went with that. Once I had eaten them, that was the perfect time to engage with me by asking if I had enjoyed them. Pump up that puppy by engaging with your clients. Pump up that puppy by seeking feedback.
I understand that there is an inherent risk in asking for feedback, it can be scary. But here is your only customer and he has asked for your personal advice, followed your recommendation and you fail to follow-up? That is just a wasted opportunity.
The breakfast btw was sensational. The plate looked like something from the nineties which was disappointing all swirls and wisps, but I could not fault the texture or taste. Here was a business that really needed to pump up the puppy.

I wanted to give them feedback but I went to Facebook and couldn’t find them. Surely a new business is going to have a Facebook presence aren’t they? They should! Pump up that puppy by connecting with the local eaters and coffee drinkers, letting everyone know how early they open and what great food they serve.
I wonder if they will be there when I next return? Almost certainly not if they fail to pump up that puppy!

Poor Riley

/ beaumontmichael

We have had some rough weather on the east coast of Australia recently resulting in some flight delays, and combined with my desire to get to airports early, accumulated into 4 hours of unexpected reading time at Coolangatta Airport yesterday.

I sat by a big window to take advantage of the light and within minutes a family of four had a similar idea and plonked themselves next to me. Mum, dad and two 10-year-old boys (or thereabouts). Now, I would be the first to admit that parenting can be tricky and parents are not immune to poor moods, and airports, which sometimes signal the end of either a perfect holiday or a disaster, probably equate to a Petrie dish of emotions, and therefore may not be the best place to make judgements about parenting skills, but…

Poor Riley. In the hour they sat next to me, I counted dad being rude to young Riley on more than twenty occasions. Bearing in mind, I didn’t start counting until it became like a broken record so it could have been double that. I judge rude to mean, the father saying something that he would not say to a peer, or saying it in a way that he would not phrase it to a peer for fear of having his front teeth knocked out.

For instance you would not say to a peer, “don’t interrupt me I’m doing something here.” A polite considerate person might reframe that as “Hang on just one minute I need to concentrate for just a minute while I get this done and then I will be straight back to you” or how about this? “Riley, move away, give me some space, I hit you every time I type on this side of the keyboard” or “Leave me alone Riley”.

Poor Riley is going to grow up without any manners because dad doesn’t use any. Or worse Riley is going to work out that dad uses his manners with everyone but him. From my vantage point of 100cm away, all I could see was an eager, sweet kid that wanted to be close to his father. He asked sensible questions, none of which were answered because dad was way too busy uploading photos using the free wi-fi and every question was met with a response like “not now Riley” “leave me alone” “I’m doing something Riley.”

Kids learn so much from their parents, manners, consideration, caring, time management, prioritising, how to love and show appreciation and so much more. How do you think little Riley is fairing? As a spectator it isn’t up to me to point out that dad has no manners or is treating his son poorly, or is a twerp (a beautiful old-fashioned word) but that won’t stop me writing about it.

 

 

5 Books that changed my life

/ beaumontmichael

5 Books that changed my life
Books and I have had a strained relationship for as long as I can remember. My older sister was an avid reader as we were all growing up, and I laid the blame for all her wacky behaviour on books, and the effect they had on her by removing her from the real world. I was quite determined that I was not going to go down the same path, so studiously avoided reading for as long as I possibly could.

In fact it was not until I was married and well into my twenties that I read my first book, cover to cover. I had started many books of course, some of them compulsorily for school, but had lost interest pretty quickly, and almost always long before the section in my right hand was smaller than the bit in my left. I was able to reconcile that by repeating the mantra that “I was about living, not reading how someone else lived.” Which for the most part worked pretty effectively.

That all changed when at 26 I was given a book for Christmas by a family friend and as much to escape the misery of the recent death of my wonderful father in law, as any other good literary reason, opened it up with the intent of getting lost or being devoured.

I am sure Bryce Courtenay could not have imagined how that one book would change the course of a life so profoundly. It did take me an eternity to read it, as my reading skills were just appalling back then. Not quite the finger across the page but not far from it either. ‘The Power of One” screamed at me from every page. it felt like Mr Courtenay was writing just for me. It was quite magical and opened doors and lit pathways, I could never have imagined were possible.

The second book is not a book at all, but rather a short story. Ray Bradbury is a prolific american writer, most famous for “Fahrenheit 451” and “The Martian Chronicles” but so much of the brilliant work he produced had nothing to do with Science Fiction at all. “Hail and farewell” is an astonishing short story that got me thinking for the first time in a voice other than the first person. In a few short pages he was able to turn my focus inside out and gave me the chance to see a whole new way of looking at the world.

The Little Prince is one of those classics that I come back to every few years when life gets confusing. It has some wonderful guiding principles that have consistently resonated with me.

The last two powerful books are both non fiction and they resonate with me for different reasons. “Any given Team” is a wonderful treatise on how to make teams work at their best. If you have never been a part of a team, either a work team or a sports team, you have my sympathy. Team environments are extraordinarily dynamic, exciting and powerful. The very nature of working closely with people means that the forces at work are more art than science and more craft than technology and I am perfectly comfortable with that.

For anyone that is confounded by teams and the people in them, Ray McLean has developed a really down to earth, incredibly simple way of making them work better. Like all the best ideas, simple doesn’t mean easy. In fact in this case, simple can be too hard for some people. Which is one of the reasons I love this book so much.

Finally, Bounce by Matthew Syed was one of the books that made sense of a lot of disparate information, trends, observations and statistics. One of my great loves is sport, and this book laid the pathway to my better understanding of the subject. I don’t expect it will change everyone’s life. In fact if I had not been working in the field at the time it may have simply interested me rather than send bells going off all around me for weeks.

I have never been a believer in the “You can do anything you set your mind to” philosophy or view of the world. For instance it was quite clear from my primary school years that I was never going to be an astronaut, or a world champion high jumper, or win Wimbledon. Nor have I subscribed to the “you were born to do this” theory. However, I have always thought that most of us are capable of much more than we think we are capable of. Many of us are limited by our understanding of our horizons. All five books back up that thinking by resolutely showing that extraordinary things are possible if you are prepared to put in the work and engage fully in the process.

These five entries are a good illustration of the importance of timing, when it comes to reading. The right piece at the right time. That is why I would encourage people to read widely.

People under pressure

/ beaumontmichael

Hospitals bring out the best and the worst in people it seems. The ward I have been visiting recently is a prime example. It provides temporary respite for an elderly fat fussy gentleman without a single manner to his name. He has a regular female visitor, a neighbour or helper, perhaps a housekeeper or carer. The relationship is not one of great friendship, and definitely includes some financial component as they spend a bit of time each visit working out what is going to come out of “the account.”
Neither of them was blessed with the “whisper” gene either. This communication method is particularly useful in places like hospitals when you want to talk about financial movements or bowel movements or your genitals. Apparently though, it is not for everyone. He is rude to the nurses, the doctors and his regular visitor. In the two days he shared the ward with my son, I didn’t hear a single thank you or please.
I know more about him than I care to know, and yes that includes all the movements and the other details mentioned above. His every malady seems to be someone else’s fault, or problem. He hates the ward, the hospital, the staff and you won’t believe it but even the food is not up to scratch.
Well, guess what chubster? I have news for you, no-one wants to be there and it’s called hospital food for a reason. The doctors and nursing staff are battling to save your life. They are not turning up to work just to listen to you bitch and grizzle about things that they can’t change. (Bless those wonderful staff)
It was a great reminder to me that if you surround yourself with misery, you get miserable. My son is a terrific cheery young guy, facing a pretty tough medical challenge and being forced to listen to this egocentric fat fool is just bringing him down. And it is so important to be able to whisper.

Where is Mr T when I need him?

I guess I’m just red-ist

/ beaumontmichael / 1 Comment

I can’t help it. It’s not that I don’t like them, in fact the opposite is probably closer to the truth. It’s just that every time I see one, I have the same reaction. It happens every time. I know it’s wrong. I can’t even trot out the old time-worn, “some of my best friends are red heads” because that just isn’t true. I had a quick look around at my nearest and dearest  drinking buddies and I reckon there is only one red-head in the group and I suspect she has selected her hue (which surely doesn’t count does it?).

Now that I start to give the matter some real thought, I think differently about red-headed women than I do about red-headed men, wow, I have only just realised that, that is truly nuts! This crazy rule doesn’t seem to apply to red-headed women at all.

Whenever I am walking through the city, which is pretty much every day, and I see a red-headed man in a business suit, he just looks like he is playing dress ups. There, I’ve said it. Take a look for yourself, see if it’s not a universal truth.

Try as they might to look serious and sensible and grown up, they just can’t pull it off. They look like they have dressed in their dad’s suit, or slept over at their mates place and whipped on one of their suits to play pretends for the day. After all who doesn’t like a good role play?

They can’t help it of course, and I am pretty sure they are not all sleeping over at their mates place. Well, I mean they couldn’t could they? Equally I am darned sure they are not all doing it on purpose. I know it’s not right, I know I am probably being red-ist, but there you go, its instinctive. At least it brings a smile to my face as I stroll through the city.

To tattoo or not to tattoo

/ beaumontmichael / 2 Comments

I have never been a great fan of tattoos. For the same reasons I am not a fan of pierced ears. Body ornamentation that can’t be reversed has always seemed way too scary to me. I liken it to saying to someone, “the good news is you get to pick a nice looking medium priced car, the bad news is you will be driving this one for the rest of your life.” The appeal immediately vanishes.
To make matters even more complicated, there are good and bad inkers just like there are good and bad cars. See picture below of a sign in a tattoo shop window.

IMG_0423
Naturally enough, as soon as my sons were old enough they went out and got inked. I guess I should have seen that coming. They even have a tattoo that only makes sense when they stand together, which makes no sense to me. (Bless them)
Recently a young guy from our neighbourhood put out a call on Facebook asking for his friends to vote on which tattoo he should get as his first, either dice or rosemary beads (sic). So I can see him rolling into the tattoo shop above, and asking for rosemary beads, and who-the-hell would know what he would walk out with.

I know I am old and grey and way too conservative to be entering into the debate on tattoos, and frankly that is ok with me.

10 things you learn being a scooter rider

/ beaumontmichael

I am a scooter rider, albeit a big scooter, a 500cc beast that most car drivers think is a big touring motorcycle. I am also fortunate enough to live in an inner city suburb of beautiful Sydney, and ride my scooter throughout the state in the course of my job, but most often to and from the office in the heart of town. This is the third scooter I have owned and it has just clicked over 100,000 kms which is a lot of time spent on two wheels.

Scooter riders are so fortunate to be able to enjoy our commute to the office when for most travellers it is drudgery or even a necessary evil. However to stay alive, we need to be able to maintain focus, be quick learners and flexible thinkers, so it’s not for everyone. If scooter riders fade off and fail to maintain focus on the task at hand, even for a few seconds, we don’t stay scooter riders for very long.

Here are a few other lessons I have learned that resonate through everything I do

Lesson 1. Most people, most of the time, are doing the very best they can with the tools they have at their disposal. You can yell at them or curse at them or shake your fist or your head as much as you want, that wont help and they will never improve. Most of them think they are pretty good drivers, and the occasional lapse in concentration that has them swerve across lanes or fail to indicate, is no true indication of their ability. Like it or not there is a wide bandwidth of capabilities on the road at any one time.

Lesson 2. Some people are on drugs. That may be something recreational like a bit of weed, or something a bit more serious like steroids that will cause them to take outrageous risks and drive very aggressively. Action and consequence is not something that computes with them, better to just stay out of their way.

Lesson 3. No-one wants to get involved in an accident, but some people simply don’t understand how dangerous their actions are and how close they come to causing a problem. You don’t know what you don’t know. The guy on the scooter almost always finishes off the worst for wear.

Lesson 4. It’s not how you get into the shit that matters, it is how you get out of it, so you need to make sure you have a way out of it. Don’t put yourself or your scooter in a position where there is no way out.

Lesson 5, Even if it isn’t your fault, you are partly to blame. If you were not there in the first place it would not have happened (see lesson 4)

Lesson 6. There is no intelligence test to drive (or parent for that matter) Closely related to lesson 1. But a good reminder.

Lesson 7. Life is full of little beautiful moments, suck them up, live them, make the most of every single one of them.

Lesson 8. You will die. But then everyone else will too. The trick is not to die while riding. Two wheels are inherently less safe than four. Just because its more fun doesn’t mean you can sit and relax, you need to stay focussed.

Lesson 9. Car drivers (or at least many of them) genuinely believe that bikes should not be on the road. The roads belong to cars, therefore they are doing you a favour just letting you share it with them.

Lesson 10. It’s really nice to be right, it’s better to be alive.

Once upon a time I would get really really upset about the injustice of bad luck or circumstance. Scooter riding has taught me a lot about rolling with the punches, being pragmatic, separating function from emotion. It may not be for everyone, but I love every minute of it.