7 ‘course corrections’ after (another) near-death experience.

Pic: The Guardian

Note: On the eve of my returning to work, following emergency surgery and a two-month recuperation, it’s traditional to reflect upon how such experiences change the course of your life. Well, it is in our house……

Another near-death experience. Another determination to make it count. Another reversion to the norm?

Those of you who know me may know that I’ve experienced a few moments when doctors would tell my long-suffering wife to ‘gather the family’. Of course, when you’re the person waiting to check-out, you’re blissfully unaware of the impact it’s having upon other people. Many people talk about a determination to make drastic lifestyle changes as a result of seeing what REALLY matters. What they frequently gloss over, is that, in reality, it’s far too easy to go back to your previous life, and so all those plans to travel the world, spend more time in the garden, give up work, fade to black.

Six years ago, I had one such moment. After a surgeon’s sloppy work with the needle and thread, I had a severe septic shock, and my wife was told that I had less than a 50/50 chance of the massive amount of antibiotics being pumped into me preventing my critical organs from failing on me. My wife and I discussed how life should change as a result of that reprieve but, gradually, ‘normal’ working life resumed.

On June 17th 2022, partly as a result of the after-effects of that event six years ago, I experienced a strangulated gut caused by a parastomal hernia. If you’ve seen that scene in ‘Alien’, you’ll have an idea of what was happening to me in the emergency room. I’d had a 3 hour wait for an ambulance and was in so much pain that I have no reliable memory of what happened as my stoma inflated alarmingly, while a frantic search for a surgeon at 3.00 am in the morning was taking place. It’s like childbirth, I guess. Our brain has to find a way to block it out. I do remember telling my wife to let me die, such was the pain’s intensity, but she was having none of it. And I do remember the moment that the surgeon walked in, and her calm assurance, and reassurance that fixing up exploding abdomens was her speciality. I knew then that I wasn’t going to die.

During my two-month recovery period (it was pretty major surgery) I’ve had plenty of time to think about lifestyle-changing options. My wife knows me better than to expect that I’ll give up working, even though it won’t be too long before I’m 70. I actually love gardening, but we have at least 5 months when it’s too cold here to do much of that. I love landscape photography — and we’re blessed in North Yorkshire, with so many great landscapes to try and capture. But the reality is that I have always enjoyed working. Sometimes, it’s hard to find purpose in what we do. And my education work in the UK, after 12 years of a truly dreadful government, has not exactly felt fulfilling — it’s been much more a case of shoring up morale of badly demoralised teachers, than looking to do much in the way of challenge and innovation. In other countries, however, it’s been a different story, and I have really missed not working in Australia for the past three years.

My corporate work has primarily comprised short injections of ideas-giving — often for organisations that may not be acting with any malice, but nor are they always serious about doing the right thing, for their people or the planet. Additionally many of them lack the tools to do much in the way of analysis or positive change.

Outside of work, our domestic life has dramatically changed, and we now have two key responsibilities that we didn’t have before Covid struck: our Romanian Rescue dog, Ruby the Wonder Dog, and our lovely young Ukrainian student. For as long as they’re both with us, we’re committed to making their lives as happy and secure as possible. They’ve both been through a lot, so if that curtails our ability to see the world, so be it.

Above anything, I realise that my main motivation in life and work comes from people. Helping good people — especially, young, highly-motivated people — is what drives me. So, here are my post-crisis priorities:

1. Only work on projects that you can believe in 100%;
2. Only work with people that you personally like, and those that look after their people/students;
3. Only agree to speak to groups that want to change, even if they’re not sure how to do it;
4. Create digital tools that mean that people have something to support their desire for change, without me having to physically be in a room with them (this will be developed with my colleagues at The Power Of Us Agency — we’re about to release the first of those next month, with many more to come before the year is out);
5. Just say ‘no’ when people ask me to give an ‘inspirational’ talk. Inspiration is a fleeting thing, at best, and can’t be given, it has to be found, inside each of us;
6. Seek out longer, developmental, relationships with people and organisations that may not have the budget to bring in expensive consultants, but need help to become better. When I first set out on my own (22 years ago) this was my daily work, but gradually became overtaken by the writing/speaking work;
7. And yes — work a bit less, take more photos, and continue to help Ukrainian refugees who will need countries like ours, long after their plight has slipped off the news agenda.

So, if you’re interested in working with me, and your needs fall into one or more of those seven priorities, please get in touch.

I’m full of admiration for people who do make those ‘Road-to-Damascus’ conversions but, for most of us — and especially when a global recession is imminent — the best we can hope for is a course correction. If you’re feeling like your life doesn’t have the kind of balance you’d ideally want, I truly hope that you can correct its course without the need for the dramatic health interventions that keep happening to me. Your loved ones will thank you for it!