Father’s Day approaches, and with it the need to recognise his role in my upbringing. Given the fact I write of my awkward relationship with my father in What’s Stopping You? I more than most need to pay my dues. Yet I’ll do so tangentially if I’m allowed – via a strong fatherly example I came across in my PR work.
At Moorgate, we have recently started working with a video production company based near us in Spitalfields. In fact, I met the CEO in the gym and we got chatting about the fact many of our clients are becoming keen on converting articles into videos. We’ve since kept his company gainfully employed. Our clients appreciate his professionalism – turning around projects on time, within budget and with flair and thought for the content.
From my dealings with this particular CEO, he’ll not mind me labelling him a High-AM – someone with high achievement motivation (as I write in What’s Stopping You?). He approaches meetings and projects expecting success, in fact is somewhat surprised when that’s not the outcome – although is certain that it will be, perhaps with a small adjustment (usually in the price!).
Yet there’s nothing in this man’s background suggesting the inevitability of this approach. He was brought up in a tough part of south London and mixed with childhood friends that became drug dealers and even violent criminals. He had to watch many of his peers adopt the swagger of youthful criminal success, as well as watch them later being arrested, banged up and, on several occasions murdered – putting my own rough-edged youth in exurban Essex somewhat into perspective. Yet he never strayed from the certainty of his route – despite being aware of the potential prejudices he faced as a black entrepreneur selling services to the privileged elite of the City.
As I have discussed previously, immigrants – and their children – are proportionally more likely to start businesses, making this unremarkable. Yet it would be doing him a disservice to assume this man’s cultural background fitted comfortably into the professional financial/City landscape I occupy and he was successfully selling into. Sure, I’d defend the City as a meritocratic place – far more so than other industries I’ve worked in such as media (despite its protestations). But he undoubtedly had to overcome preconceived ideas about him and his background in order to win over this particular audience. Certainly, I did as an Essex lad with a state-education. So it would have been doubly so for him. Yet, boy was he winning them over: with diligence, with service and with strong results.
Eventually, I could no longer resist my curiosity. I wanted to know his story. It was then he told me of his tough Peckham childhood and his determination to “get on”. Aware of the hurdles, he used them to his advantage – offering corporations the sharp eye for the cool look while offering good service and prompt attention.
“But I was lucky,” he concluded. “My father was a strict disciplinarian. He was very old fashioned and made sure I stayed on the straight and narrow.”
This got me thinking about my own dad – now sadly suffering from Alzheimer’s. As What’s Stopping You? explores I had a far from easy relationship with my father as a child – in fact his treatment of me is one of the root causes of my own insecurities (for which, as an adult, I now take full responsibility). Yet my video production CEO’s instant and unambiguous recognition of his father’s contribution to his undoubted success shamed me. With my book now published – and with my childhood traumas outlined as an example of the early-years development of adult insecurities – I need to acknowledge the positive influences of my father.
1) Academic drive. As stated previously, I was an academic disaster – leaving school at 15 with one O’ level (geography, taught by the school’s only enthusiastic teacher). But my father was a structural engineer and this acted as a powerful benchmark. I was certain I was capable of a university degree, which I achieved via nightschool A’ levels and hard graft. Only from this distance do I appreciate that my conviction was influenced by his example.
2) Bookish. My dad was always reading – mainly books on the Second World War. This made me very aware of the power of books and the world they opened up (although one mainly restricted to theatres of war between 1939-45 in our house). This may seem obvious to middle-class readers. Yet, believe me, I entered many Essex households in my childhood and youth that contained no other book bar the telephone directory.
3) History. In fact I exaggerate – dad loved all of history. And I too love history – being made aware of the fantastic perspective it offers. Whenever I hear arguments I consider ignorant or simply wrong-headed (from left, right and centre) it’s nearly always due to a total and utter ignorance of history. To know history is to understand the bus ride you take, the street you cross, the building you live and work in and even the person you buy your coffee from. What else gives you that perspective?
4) Work ethic. “No one owes you a living,” dad would often say – perhaps when I preferred the duvet to getting up and doing something constructive. He was by no means a disciplinarian – being far too busy working most evenings and half the weekend. But his example of hard work – and his “no pain, no gain” philosophising – had an undoubted impact.
5) London. Although, we lived in the boring exurbs beyond the city limits I’ve always loved London and consider myself a Londoner – eventually rejecting its only serious rival (New York) because I missed it so. My father was also a proud Londoner and instilled both my love – as well as my knowledge – of this great city.
6) West Ham. In fact, I’m not that grateful for this one. He was brought up off Green Street in Upton Park so I guess he had no choice. But his insistence that no son of his follow an alternative team – and that, once “chosen”, I could never change my football team (with even changing my gender allowable prior to this crime, in his view) – has provided me with miserable footballing fare for too long. I recently ordered my eldest son’s first replica kit for his sixth birthday. It was Arsenal (the boy’s choice after I steered him away from Chelsea or Tottenham). Sorry dad – but thanks for the other values.
Showing posts with label values. Show all posts
Showing posts with label values. Show all posts
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
We the people: discover your true values, and the goals become obvious
One aspect of What’s Stopping You? generating troubling feedback is goal setting. I state that goals must reflect out true values – not those of others (such as parents, siblings, peers or rivals). Only then will we pursue them with enough energy and willpower to overcome the inevitable setbacks.
But of the goals we set, how do we know which ones are our goals – based on our values – and which are based on the values of others? And by others, I don’t mean just those around us. Values are thrown at us every day: from lifestyle advertising; from celebrity behaviour; even from the “worthy” statements of politically-motivated associates. Cutting our way through this lot requires thought and planning, which in the book I tried to encapsulate in the concept of generating “Our Constitution”.
I named it Our Constitution after the US Constitution, which is a document I have admired since studying it at university. It is brief, succinct, flexible and was a strong indication of the values of the new republic. Whenever the USA has veered from the path set by the Constitution – even with its original sin of slavery – the Constitution has eventually made it abundantly clear where it has erred. Such is the strength of the document that, when living in the US, I couldn’t help noticing that demonstrations of all political persuasion marched waving the stars and stripes flag and made references to the true American values they were fighting for – as enshrined in the Constitution. That’s one powerful document.
So we need our own constitution – a document far stronger than a mission statement that can end up being no more than a one-line goal-setting statement. This involves recording our most important values, which then directs our goal setting. Meanwhile, mission statements can still send us down the wrong path, which may simply line us up for a terrible reckoning once – perhaps a long way down the line – we realize we’ve been following goals not in tune with our values. Certainly, Our Constitution is a document that must remain valid no matter what. Our goals can change, and must. But Our Constitution is our mental totem – hence the need to make it strong enough, but also flexible enough, to carry us through both the triumphs (helping us retain judgement) and the setbacks. Indeed, only once driven by our true values are we able to cope with the setbacks – no longer seeing them as a reflection of our unworthiness but as simply a step towards our value-based goals, albeit one that, this time, failed to provide the optimum result.
Before any goal-setting exercise, therefore, we need to fully understand what motivates us, and this means taking a long hard look at our values and principles. Yet these maybe difficult to find – not least because they may be barely formed, which makes the exercise all the more important.
Perhaps my own story can help. As a schoolchild, I was fascinated by the wider world. While unable to focus on formal studies (taught by unenthusiastic teachers in a broken comprehensive) I was well versed in the geography and history of even the most obscure countries. And I had a strong handle on even local politics – knowing the issues that divided the parties and even the nuances of policy (none of which was taught in the school). Much of this initially supported fantasy game playing (seen as a little odd to outside observers such as my parents). Overtime, however, it also gelled into strong creative writing skills that took me way beyond any curricular activities (in which I struggled because of my poor spelling and grammar). My mother spotted this and encouraged me towards journalism. Yet my father dismissed such thoughts as irrelevant, unstructured and unprofessional. He was a structural engineer with letters after his name and that was his benchmark.
Of course, my father was the dominant character in the family so I pursued his values, yet never with passion. I left school with only one O’ Level (geography, unsurprisingly) and worked at a friend of my father’s as a trainee building surveyor. This mainly involved holding stripy poles in the muddy fields of east Essex but he also enrolled me – generously – on a day-a-week diploma course in order to help me along the tortured path towards qualification.
Yet I bunked the course in favour of days spent wandering the streets of London – a city that I was determined to know intricately. It was exciting, vibrant, historical, complex, cosmopolitan, and in the early 1980s a political powder keg: it had everything my true values cried out for. But the imposed values kicked in and I used the days searching for a trainee building surveying job in London, which I eventually found, and initially enjoyed. I was looking after the housing stock of the London region gas board and this took me to enough peculiar nooks and crannies and led me to enough personal drama to satisfy my own unformed values.
But time was marching on and my father wanted a plan. I shared the office with many young professionals – all of whom were graduates and none of whom seemed any more intelligent than me. Their encouragement convinced me that – despite my own disastrous academic progress – I was capable of a university career. So I enrolled on some evening A’ Level courses. One was history – and from the first lecture, my real passions were alight.
Finally, the scales fell from my eyes with respect to education. The depth of historical research and analysis required for an A’ Level history course at last tapped into my latent educational abilities. Finally I was pursuing something I truly valued. I was fascinated by the world and how we got here. I went to every lecture and soaked it up – staying late for the post lesson debate and avidly reading more deeply into the subjects than I needed to. I eagerly pursued sections of the curriculum the teacher warned against as too complex – such as the history of Ireland – and my essays, for the first time in my life, were winning top marks. I fell in love with learning. I needed no motivation, no focus on reward, no efforts at generating willpower: I had the lot because I was pursuing a goal in line with my true values.
Ultimately, I achieved an A and later won a high 2:1 from the University of Manchester. My values – to intellectually explore the world – were being pursued with vigour and love. From here the goals were obvious, desirable and achievable – and resulted in the journalistic career my mother suggested and which took me all over the world, meeting economists, politicians and bankers.
Yet everyone has that spark in them, whether formal education has brought it out or not. We just need to find it.
But of the goals we set, how do we know which ones are our goals – based on our values – and which are based on the values of others? And by others, I don’t mean just those around us. Values are thrown at us every day: from lifestyle advertising; from celebrity behaviour; even from the “worthy” statements of politically-motivated associates. Cutting our way through this lot requires thought and planning, which in the book I tried to encapsulate in the concept of generating “Our Constitution”.
I named it Our Constitution after the US Constitution, which is a document I have admired since studying it at university. It is brief, succinct, flexible and was a strong indication of the values of the new republic. Whenever the USA has veered from the path set by the Constitution – even with its original sin of slavery – the Constitution has eventually made it abundantly clear where it has erred. Such is the strength of the document that, when living in the US, I couldn’t help noticing that demonstrations of all political persuasion marched waving the stars and stripes flag and made references to the true American values they were fighting for – as enshrined in the Constitution. That’s one powerful document.
So we need our own constitution – a document far stronger than a mission statement that can end up being no more than a one-line goal-setting statement. This involves recording our most important values, which then directs our goal setting. Meanwhile, mission statements can still send us down the wrong path, which may simply line us up for a terrible reckoning once – perhaps a long way down the line – we realize we’ve been following goals not in tune with our values. Certainly, Our Constitution is a document that must remain valid no matter what. Our goals can change, and must. But Our Constitution is our mental totem – hence the need to make it strong enough, but also flexible enough, to carry us through both the triumphs (helping us retain judgement) and the setbacks. Indeed, only once driven by our true values are we able to cope with the setbacks – no longer seeing them as a reflection of our unworthiness but as simply a step towards our value-based goals, albeit one that, this time, failed to provide the optimum result.
Before any goal-setting exercise, therefore, we need to fully understand what motivates us, and this means taking a long hard look at our values and principles. Yet these maybe difficult to find – not least because they may be barely formed, which makes the exercise all the more important.
Perhaps my own story can help. As a schoolchild, I was fascinated by the wider world. While unable to focus on formal studies (taught by unenthusiastic teachers in a broken comprehensive) I was well versed in the geography and history of even the most obscure countries. And I had a strong handle on even local politics – knowing the issues that divided the parties and even the nuances of policy (none of which was taught in the school). Much of this initially supported fantasy game playing (seen as a little odd to outside observers such as my parents). Overtime, however, it also gelled into strong creative writing skills that took me way beyond any curricular activities (in which I struggled because of my poor spelling and grammar). My mother spotted this and encouraged me towards journalism. Yet my father dismissed such thoughts as irrelevant, unstructured and unprofessional. He was a structural engineer with letters after his name and that was his benchmark.
Of course, my father was the dominant character in the family so I pursued his values, yet never with passion. I left school with only one O’ Level (geography, unsurprisingly) and worked at a friend of my father’s as a trainee building surveyor. This mainly involved holding stripy poles in the muddy fields of east Essex but he also enrolled me – generously – on a day-a-week diploma course in order to help me along the tortured path towards qualification.
Yet I bunked the course in favour of days spent wandering the streets of London – a city that I was determined to know intricately. It was exciting, vibrant, historical, complex, cosmopolitan, and in the early 1980s a political powder keg: it had everything my true values cried out for. But the imposed values kicked in and I used the days searching for a trainee building surveying job in London, which I eventually found, and initially enjoyed. I was looking after the housing stock of the London region gas board and this took me to enough peculiar nooks and crannies and led me to enough personal drama to satisfy my own unformed values.
But time was marching on and my father wanted a plan. I shared the office with many young professionals – all of whom were graduates and none of whom seemed any more intelligent than me. Their encouragement convinced me that – despite my own disastrous academic progress – I was capable of a university career. So I enrolled on some evening A’ Level courses. One was history – and from the first lecture, my real passions were alight.
Finally, the scales fell from my eyes with respect to education. The depth of historical research and analysis required for an A’ Level history course at last tapped into my latent educational abilities. Finally I was pursuing something I truly valued. I was fascinated by the world and how we got here. I went to every lecture and soaked it up – staying late for the post lesson debate and avidly reading more deeply into the subjects than I needed to. I eagerly pursued sections of the curriculum the teacher warned against as too complex – such as the history of Ireland – and my essays, for the first time in my life, were winning top marks. I fell in love with learning. I needed no motivation, no focus on reward, no efforts at generating willpower: I had the lot because I was pursuing a goal in line with my true values.
Ultimately, I achieved an A and later won a high 2:1 from the University of Manchester. My values – to intellectually explore the world – were being pursued with vigour and love. From here the goals were obvious, desirable and achievable – and resulted in the journalistic career my mother suggested and which took me all over the world, meeting economists, politicians and bankers.
Yet everyone has that spark in them, whether formal education has brought it out or not. We just need to find it.
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