Command and Control

Photo by Oladimeji Ajegbile from Pexels

I've just been to the pharmacy to collect my heart drugs. I wore a face mask in the shop for the first time since Covid19 struck. On my walk home, I was pondering why.

It's not to protect me, it's to protect others from me (in case I've got it and don't know it). 

Having exercised pretty strict social and physical distancing from everyone except Mandy, including our grown-up children, I'm fairly sure that I'm not infectious. But I felt the need to reassure the hard-working - and similarly masked - pharmacy staff, that I was being careful on their behalf; that it mattered to me.

Because it does. In the face of what I see as an unseemly and ill-judged race to lift restrictions, I am genuinely concerned that we will soon experience a second wave of the pandemic in the UK.

And I am fearful (that word again) that many others think that it's worth taking the risk of that possibility, to regain some semblance of 'normal' life and freedom of movement and association. To take back control. 

Sound familiar? I'm not judging (well, I'm trying not to).

In the early days of Lockdown, the Government instruction was unambiguous: Stay Home - Protect the NHS - Save Lives. Who wouldn't want to get behind that? It mattered to everyone. So the instruction was pretty universally followed. And the numbers started to go down.

Now it's all gone a bit wooly, a bit less directive, a bit more discretionary. It's introduced an optional element into how we can behave. And we're seeing people respond according to what matters more to them now than it did initially - social interaction, being physically closer, shopping. Their own needs have superseded their willingness to recognise the continuing greater risks of taking the brakes off.

So I'm sticking with it. I'm continuing to maintain 2 metres distancing, to cross the road when someone comes towards me, to use click and collect for the weekly shop rather than go into the store, to wear a facemask if and when I absolutely have to be in a 'confined' environment, to sanitise and/or wash my hands, to work from home.

In my small way, I'm trying to keep you safe from me, just in case.

Footnote: There's a training analogy that could be made here about one of the reasons why people do or don't buy into different kinds of learning - whether it matters to them, whether there's a benefit for them or for others. Compliance training springs to mind. But that feels a bit contrived, so I won't go there. You could probably write that bit yourself anyway.

Totes Emosh

Image by MasterTux from Pixabay 

I've been very much living in the moment for the last 10 weeks of the Covid-19 pandemic lockdown. Like most people, I've taken it on the chin that lockdown was for the best, for me, for my family, our friends and society, and that this was the best available way to do my bit for 'flattening the curve'.

In that respect, no different from millions of others in the UK and across the world.

To be able to manage that, I've tried to stay positive and count my blessings. I have work I can do from home, we live in a lovely part of the world, which is not too busy, we have a small garden, our grown-up children are living their own lives elsewhere, are safe and either have work or are furloughed. My wife and I have both been working from home for a few years now and both have the space to be able to do that and have established a way of living and working around and with each other lovingly and effectively.

Throughout all this, I have tried to be conscious of just how lucky I am/we are, and that millions of others are dealing with very different and incredibly difficult living and work situations.

I've put my emotions on the back-burner. I've tried not to get too wrapped up in the pain of physical separation from family, from our friends, from my professional colleagues and wider network.

But recently, I have found myself emotionally triggered, by events and by people. I have been surprised at the depth and passion of the emotions which have arisen in me - principally anger and fear.

I have been fearful of contact with other people since lockdown started. The experience of unavoidable supermarket shopping and failure of some people to maintain physical distancing; even walking at the local seafront, trying to second guess where others were going to walk, having to constantly zig-zag or step aside, even to have to be looking over one's shoulder constantly, was stressful. So we stopped doing those things. It was necessary to maintain distance from others, but I was - and remain - uncharacteristically fearful of the proximity of others now. This is not normal. And I resent it as much as I need to do it.

Those with whom I interact in social media may be aware of my anger and disgust, about which I posted loudly, with the revealed behaviour of a government advisor, close to our Prime Minister, who unrepentantly broke the lockdown rules, and the craven apoligistia of the rest of the Cabinet. We have never been so disregarded, so taken for fools, and I have never felt less respected, less seen, or my opinions less considered than now. I wrote to our MP, who replied in a thoughtful and carefully considered reply. But he wasn't for demanding sackings or resignations, or making any gestures himself in that direction. So far, so normal, eh? 

Up until a couple of weeks ago, the Government messaging was crystal clear. Since then, it's got progressively more muddled and confusing. It feels as though we are being rushed into an early and uninformed easing of restrictions (Why now, I wonder). If we're being led by the science, why are so many scientists warning that it's too soon? 

Supposedly, we can travel, visit, interact with more people. Some schooling will re-start. But look at the parks, beaches, car parks and motorways already this weekend. Social distancing has already ceased to be a thing we do. R will rise again.

I can't be too angry about people wanting social contact, wanting to be out and about, wanting to be visit lovely places. I'd like to do that myself.

I've spent my anger elsewhere (see above). But I'm still scared. 

And I know that sometimes, that makes Niall a very dull boy.

Heartfelt

Just over a month ago I had a triple coronary bypass operation and am currently signed off work for several more weeks as I recover. This all happened very quickly, as a result of experiencing some chest pain in April and attending the doctor to discuss.
 

An initial diagnosis of angina, followed by an ECG and blood tests, quickly led to a consultation with a cardiologist, an exploratory angiograph (x-ray of my heart) and revelation of the fact that not only had I had a heart attack late last year (whilst Mandy and I were in the throes of a very stressful house move) resulting in a completely blocked coronary artery, but also that two other arteries were in the process of closing up due to coronary heart disease and my heart was now struggling to function adequately, hence the chest pain. 
 

Needless to say, and on the advice of my cardiologist that I was otherwise sufficiently healthy and 'an ideal candidate', two days later I was under the knife in Southampton, blocked arteries bypassed with re-directed chest arteries and veins 'harvested' from my legs and, within the week, was despatched home for a three month recovery period.

This was a huge shock, not only to me, but to Mandy, recently started a new job, and to my children, both of whom were in the final stages of their University year work - Tash completing her Finals and Sam completing his Year 1 work. With very little time for reflection or for debate, my life was turned upside down and inside out. All my attention was now focussed on 'getting better', a slow process initially whilst my body was effectively in post-traumatic shock from very invasive surgery and it's only in the time that I have been given at home, as my body heals, that I have slowly started to reflect on the emotional and psychological impacts.

I'm fortunate that I experienced angina symptoms sufficiently noticeable to discuss with Mandy and, on her insistence, seek immediate medical advice. I'm equally fortunate that things moved swiftly thereafter (within two weeks, I had the procedure) and that - apparently - everything has gone well. I'm healing physically. My chest scar and my leg scars are healing and easing and my mobility and stamina is increasing.

But my sense of self has been fundamentally challenged. What I thought was normal, may not have been normal. I have been living and operating in my family, social, work and virtual lives with a ticking bomb in my chest. That may have been having far more profound psychological, emotional and physical impacts - and for longer - than I, my family, friends, acquaintances and colleagues may have realised.  It's only now, a month later, that I am starting to 'allow' myself to consider these things and to reflect on what they mean for us now and in the future.  Much reflection and possibly some talking therapy to come. What's important? What's not so important? What does the 25 years that I've been given by this operation look like? How shall I/we spend that time? What does work and retirement look like now? 

We have much to be joyful about. I'm still here! Tash achieved a 2:1 BA in Interior Architecture & Design and graduates in late July, before starting her new job in August. Sam got straight B's throughout his Foundation Year and is guaranteed a place on the BA Film Production course at UCA in Farnham. Mandy is enjoying her new job in Brighton. Both Mandy and I turn 60 this year and it is also our 30th Wedding Anniversary in August. 

Previous readers may remember I blogged nearly four years ago about turning 56 and outliving my Father who died just after his 56th Birthday ("Age - Appropriate"). I said then that I had been gifted the time he never got and that I was going to make the most of it. Now, three years and one coronary bypass later, I have been given another gift. I do not intend to squander it.

PS: I could not have got through the last 5 weeks, nor will I get through the months to come, without the love, support, friendship and good wishes of many, many people, not least my darling wife Mandy and my two fantastic children, Natasha and Samuel. I love them and owe them everything, but my heartfelt thanks go out to you all.

Struggling with Statelessness

It was Burns Night on Friday.  Having recently reconnected with my ex-drama college friends prior to us all meeting up in September for a 40 year reunion in Edinburgh, I was party to a lot of facebook status updates and conversations about this culturally significant annual event in Scotland. That got me thinking about how disconnected I feel at times like this from my Scottish culture and heritage, and for the first time, I found myself unaccountably sad.  This blog is my reflection on why that might have been.

Although I was born, brought up and educated in the West of Scotland (Paisley, if that means anything to anyone), my parents were aspiring middle-class, both being the only children of working class parents.  Dad had been taken out of school at 15 to be put to a trade, and became a master carpenter.  When I first became aware of what my father 'did', he was working in the Drawing Office at the local Ordnance Factory in Bishopton.  So, although 'handy around the house', he had moved on from earning a living as a carpenter.  As a child growing up, I remember him studying in the evenings and going to 'night school' (whatever that was).  And then one day, he was a teacher, having qualified with various HNDs that entitled him to start lecturing at Technical College, which he promptly did.

Mum was a clerk/typist and worked in places like local council offices.  During the war, she had been in REME (the Royal Electrical and Mechanical Engineering corp) - History of REME - and as a child, I was under the fond misapprehension - and told everyone - that my mother repaired tanks during the war!  She stopped working when my brother Malcolm and I were young, but returned to part time work when we were considered old enough to get to and from school and eat something by ourselves.

Both observant Presbyterians, Mum and Dad ensured that we attended church every week; Malcolm and I went through the obligatory 'Sunday School' route into the youth club, without ever managing to develop any kind of faith and I remain firmly non-religious to this day (more on that later).  

Mum sang in choirs and with other soloists at Womens Guild meetings, old folks homes and the like.  My exposure to Scottish folk culture at home therefore was firmly in the what I now perceive as the safe, middle-class, non-threatening Scottish folk culture represented by artists like Kenneth McKellar - http://www.last.fm/music/Kenneth+McKellar - and Moira Anderson - http://www.last.fm/music/Moira+Anderson . Andy Stewart was just about OK, but we considered the Alexander Brothers a bit common.  And real 'folk music' was for hippies and the hairy sweater brigade.

When I went to drama college in Edinburgh in 1973, it was just before the end of the era when having a regional accent was considered a hindrance to making progress as an actor - unless one wanted to remain just within the 'Scottish' theatre scene.  So learning to speak Southern British Standard (SBS) was de rigeur Phonetics.  With hindsight again, this now seems to have been another brick in the wall separating me from my Scottishness.  

Nowadays of course, regional accents are the norm in all forms of entertainment and, frankly, it never did Sean Connery any harm!  And although I did some of my best work as an actor later at Dundee Repertory Theatre, I was already London-based by then, with a hybrid accent, essentially SBS with a Scottish lilt, which confused and still confuses people, and never fitted the mould of what being a Scottish actor seemed to be; never really belonged there.

Jump forward to living in Brighton, married to a London girl - and Jewish to boot - and with no large extended family of my own, my sense of my own cultural heritage and background was gradually becoming more and more diluted.  Once the children came long, I found myself becoming more and more aware of and involved in the ritual and observance of my wife's rich Jewish family, cultural and religious heritage, although I remain personally non-religious.  We have brought both Natasha and Samuel up with a strong sense of themselves as secular Jews in a modern world - they have both had Bat and Bar Mitzvahs and later Cabalat Torah experiences and have been on summer camps and foreign visits with their Jewish peers.  They have no issues or misapprehensions about who they are, what their cultural and religious heritage really is and are both very grounded and comfortable in where it fits into their modern daily lives.

If you have read my previous blogs you may know my Father died when I was only 27 and my Mother passed away in a nursing home in Ayrshire five years ago.  My Brother and his family live in Lincolnshire, so with no extended family still in the country, I have had no reason to visit Scotland - other than for work - since then.

 

Now, if my own journey thus far sounds as though I've been a little passive, an assimilated passenger, if you like, in this story, I would not necessarily disagree with you. I have always thought of - and frequently described myself - as an  'Anglicised Scot', or more realistically, 'British'. On reflection, that's kind of a cop-out.  For years, I've been denying the niggling suspicion that I felt culturally and socially stateless, but that that was OK.  In truth, I have been suppressing real underlying feelings of disconnect, loneliness and - yes - guilt. I think that's what Burns Night this year has surfaced for me, why I felt sad and why I felt the need to write this blog.

So what to do about it?  Acknowledging the fact is in itself a good start. Having reconnected with my Edinburgh college pals is another step forward. Time perhaps to connect with and talk to some of those people on a more personal, 1-to-1 level, explore what being Scottish means to them; do some historical research; take the opportunity to do more work in one of our Scottish offices, in Glasgow or Aberdeen - and spend more time there around those visits.  Sounds like the start of a plan...

Anyone else similarly culturally challenged, stateless and/or disconnected out there? What's been your experience and what, if anything, have you done about it?

 

Thanks for reading; feel free to comment.

What I FELT on my Holidays

We've just come back from a week's break in North Yorkshire and are now on the second week of our staycation at home. I'm reflecting on the whole experience here, not from a learning blog perspective, but from a FEELING perspective and have focussed on five moments, each different, but all significant in their own way...

Family: We spent an evening at my Brother's home in Sleaford on our way up North, with my Brother Malcolm, my Sister-in-Law Diane and my Nephew, Daniel.  Always good to meet up with them, but there was added significance in the turn of conversation.  I blogged back in December about passing the age my Father was when he died, and the realisation for me that I had been gifted the time that he never had.  At one point in the evening, over coffee, Malcolm said, "Not sure whether to raise this or not, but sitting here looking at you, Niall, is like sitting here looking at Dad. You look exactly now as I remember him before he died."  My Sister-in-Law chipped in, "I only knew him for a short time, but he was the age you are now when I did, and it's spooky how much you look like I remember him".  I was profoundly moved by this, as it resonated with my feelings when I wrote my blog on that topic in December Age - Appropriate.  It's nearly 30 years since we lost our Father, and Malcolm and I haven't really talked about him since then.  This evening, we all spoke of our memories of him and our regrets at what he missed in our family growth.  For me, this was also a healing experience, as things were difficult between my Brother and his then fiance and our Mum and Dad at the time he took ill and died.  I felt that we had finally put that time and those feelings to bed and had collectively honoured my Father during our visit.

I FEEL closer and better connected to my family.

Theatre: When Mandy and I were in Scarborough, we went to the theatre to see Alan Ayckbourn's new play "Surprises".  Scarborough is the home of the Stephen Joseph Theatre, the cradle of his play writing and directing for many years now. I was totally caught up in the drama and humour of the piece, totally engaged with the characters and thoroughly enjoyed the faultless performances of the ensemble cast. The three acts flew past.  At the end of the piece, as the cast took their bows, I found myself applauding enthusiastically, but with tears streaming down my cheeks. I was moved and sad at the same time.  Why?  Because - if you didn't know this already - I used to be a professional actor.  I went to Drama College and graduated with the intention of becoming a Drama Teacher.  However, I elected to follow the theatrical path and became an actor, a career I pursued for some 12 years, until other priorities (like earning a decent wage, being able to pay the rent, save for a house, start a family - you know, that stuff), became more important and I stepped away and moved into training.  But I remember the feeling of performing, being part of an ensemble, interacting emotionally, exercising and developing my first choice craft, and, yes, soaking up the applause at the end.  I still miss it.  I need to find that passion and inspiration again in my work life.

I FELT torn - enthralled and energised by the play, but sad that my first choice career never worked out.

Trains: We spent a day on the North Yorkshire Moors Railway, travelling from Goathland to Grosmont, then all the way to Pickering and back. This is without a doubt the best working 'heritage' railway I have ever visited.  Mainline steam trains travelling through stunning scenery for up to an hour-long journey.  The trainspotter geek, the inner free child and the nostalgia fan in me were all fully immersed and satisfied in the joy of a day with steam trains.  Mandy said that half of her enjoyment of the day was the pleasure of seeing me enjoying myself so much, and in fact, she tweeted a photo of me expressing my excitement, which I reproduce here, for your enjoyment/amusement.  You can see the pictures of the day, as well as the rest of our holiday, on my new Flickr site at http://www.flickr.com/photos/niallgavinuk/sets/72157630821521698/

I FELT unalloyed 'free child' joy and happiness.

Marriage: Throughout our holiday, Mandy and I are spending quality time together, without considering the day-to-day issues of work/life imbalance, financial worries, managing the household, etc.  We walk, we talk, we laugh, we dine out, we drink, we read, we argue, we smooch... 

I FEEL a deeper love for and connection with my wife.

Olympics:  During the home-based week of our UK staycation, I am watching a lot of the London 2012 Olympics, and am genuinely and pleasantly surprised at how much I am enjoying the experience.  I have watched so many different sports, and really got caught up in the excitement and the emotion of each and every one of them.  I am so impressed and inspired by the passion, commitment, strength and athleticism of these young people - and, having been a bit of an Olympics sceptic beforehand (impact on London commuters, G4S, ticket lottery and empty seats), have been completely won round by the logistics and the organisation of the whole event.  It's a pleasure to see the athletes and the public united in enjoying this unique event in London.

I FEEL proud to be British. 

(On further reflection, that Olympics paragraph ties in with the concluding contrary remarks of my last, rather downbeat, blog, "We're only little - and our time is short"- "I actually think that there is much to love about us humans; that we can do remarkable things and show astonishing creativity, compassion, generosity, mindfulness and tenacity.  That's why I'm in Learning and Development.")

So, why are all these experiences resonating?  Because in each case, I was/am caught up in the emotional, sensed moment - not intellectualising, not over-analysing, just being.  And that's a damn good reason for making sure that  we have a lot more holidays and tune-out time, in the gift I have been given of the time that my Dad never got to enjoy.  So, to conclude...

I FEEL GOOD!