Deep inside I knew the old would never do.

Local pottery studios always seem messy places. Maybe that’s the nature of it…

This story may or may not be for you. Or maybe it is. You decide, or just take from it what is important for you for today and take the rest out in a doggy bag for tomorrow.  Here it is anyway:

Ever watched a potter at work? Or had a go at spinning a pot yourself? It’s not so easy, but an expert makes it look like it is!

When I was a teenager I read a simple short story about a notoriously miserable man who was told to go down to the local potter’s house and watch him at work. As instructed the man went down and watched the village potter at his everyday activity, making vessels to sell to his community. (It was an old story, but happens every day in some parts of the world.) Imagine both of us, you and me joining him down in that pottery, watching…

The potter ‘throws’ the clay onto his wheel and centres it. The clay is soft and pliable, yet as he raises it into a vessel, something happens and it loses its shape. (No one’s fault. Its just life. It happens to the best of us.) It isn’t quite right, so he presses it back and starts over. It takes less than five minutes; using his professional skill this artisan craftsman simply makes it again at his wheel. Same clay, different vessel. All part of a normal day’s work. No big deal. No song and dance. He hardly notices. He was a lifelong expert in pot-making so he just remade it, another one. If it wasn’t going easily into one shape, well, he needed a wide selection of different pots and this one would be as unique as the others, handmade, with it’s own individual character, interest and purpose. Great. Who knows how much more useful, refined or beautiful – or all three – this one would be?

The story was beautifully told in 17th century English, and included the line “and the vessel was spoiled in the hands of the potter, so he made it again, a different vessel as it seemed good unto him.” Quaint, isn’t it?  Biblical language. I like this ancient tale because it’s message is as reassuring to me now as it was to the observer then.

Today many people are living lives they feel have been spoilt and they’re scared that “that’s it. I’m stuck here. There’s nothing I can do.” But life is actually more hopeful than that. When you feel spoilt in some way, bear this in mind: for the clay that is flexible there is always the possibility that a fresh new design is on its way. “… he made it again… different.”

In 1997 I was the clay on the wheel of life myself when I needed to resign from a job that I thought would be my life’s work. Within that context I had learned to feel secure behind a safety fence of professionalism I had carefully constructed, and I’d become snared in it.

I was good at what I did… and that was part of the problem. I was becoming imprisoned, sort of under house arrest, yet not daring to accept my position for fear that there may be no way out. In an environment of significant misunderstanding, I jumped before I was pushed and went into free fall.

Amid the shock of having three late-teens children, a lovely wife, no savings and no family income, I was to find out in practice what I knew in theory that life is about being moulded and as long as I stayed flexible there was hope for a new and better future.

Yet that wasn’t quite so easy. I didn’t realise how all-knowing and un-curious I had become. I had come to depend on my 47 years of experience and professional competence for my emotional and practical needs. I knew what I knew and that had become enough. I was about to find out how much I needed to relearn the joy of being flexible and allow myself to be “made again, a different vessel.”

That’s when I met up with a fellow coach who asked me the question that changed my life – and the question that was the beginning of me being ‘made again’:

“Andrew,” he asked, “What would it take for you to move from a position of ‘knowing‘ to a position of ‘enquiry‘?”

Naively I replied, “I am in a position of enquiry.”

He said, “that’s a position of knowing.”

After a very very long pause I quietly said, “Ok, help me”.

He said, “That’s a position of enquiry.”

In that moment of enlightenment something happened. My coach became the hands of the artisan potter for me. I’d got messed up through no fault of my own, and in that instant I started being made again.

That evening I let go of the need for me to have all the cards to play the game of power, promotion and a pension, or whatever, and began developing a more useful focus: to become truly happy and content without those things, and to let them go.

Looking back, that evening redefined my life and my definition of success, and enabled me to enjoy each day for what it is. It enabled me in fact to be far more productive, far more influential for good, and far more hopeful – and it was the beginning of me being free enough inside to help others redefine theirs. I discovered the joy of being curious, of being enquiring, playful and less afraid. I found myself evolving into a different vessel, made with the same clay. I cannot describe how utterly refreshing – and ‘nice scary’  – that was.

So here’s a thought…

Maybe like I had, you have become trapped by the belief that you’ve reached your peak and there isn’t anything more worth going for – or you wouldn’t know what was if you were staring at it.

Or maybe like I was, you’re facing the insecurity of an uncertain future and despite a brave face, are struggling under the pressure. Or are apprehensive that you won’t have the resources to handle it for very long.

Or maybe like I had, you’ve become imprisoned by the need to be right.

Perhaps like I had, you’ve decided its too late in the day for you, or that there simply is no way out.

Or maybe (unlike me!) you’re facing the prospect of a nice final salary pension and 40 years of life to fill in a worthwhile way. There are dangers there too.

For me, as I looked at the next stage of my life, I knew the old would never do. There would be no excuses good enough to have kept me where I was. I knew I wanted a different, more fulfilled and happy future. It was time to be “made again” and I was curious to know how it would happen.

It has happened, and thankfully is continuing to happen. Today I see things very differently.

“What would it take for you to move from a position of knowing to a position of enquiry?”

That question really did change my life for ever.  (Let me know what happens to you.)

As always you can contact me via the Powerchange website.  Worth exploring in any case!

The Parable of the Two New Toys.

I’ve got two new toys parked outside.  Yes, I suspect that if you know me you’ll assume that they have two wheels, and … OK, you’re right. I bet they’re not quite what you expect though.

“One upon a time a man had two new toys.  One was huge and brand spanking new. It had lots of posh gadgets, was sprayed a smart silver, went very fast and cost £20,000. The other had no gadgets at all, was a bit ‘used’, went very slow and cost £320. Oh, and it was yellow.

But the big, expensive toy didn’t belong to the man.  It was loaned to him for the night by a local motorcycle dealer, and the man would only be able to play with it for a few hours, then back it would go.

The other toy, the little gadget-less one, the one that cost so little and went slow? It wasn’t on loan.  It belonged.  The man had paid his own money for it. He had already had it for a week and used it lots of times.  It knew that it would serve an important purpose and had nothing to fear from the big posh expensive toy. Had not the man already lavished time and love on Saturday morning cleaning the grime and old oil of it’s chain?  Had he not already made his bottom sore riding it up hill and down dale?  Had he not taken his car to Wiltshire to find it, rescue it from the dark and crowded garage of his nephew, fold it up neatly, bring it home, and give it new life? And had he not spent hours on the internet to find the very best saddle? Had the man not already, even today, ridden it down to Waitrose and back to collect a slice of salmon for lunch? 

Tonight it sat folded up contentedly in the shed, listening to the rain outside, knowing that already it was treasured – and would be able to reward the man for many years to come. Today it had rewarded the man with aching limbs, and the important knowledge that he wasn’t as fit as he pretended. Perhaps in a few months time the man would look back with deep affection and gratitude, with the knowledge that he was now fit and healthy, and that his bum no longer noticed every bump in the road.

Brompton enjoying its first trip to Chichester.

The big posh brand-new 1600 BMW motorcycle listened to the rain too – and felt it bouncing on its bodywork.  It was too big for the shed and would never ever fold up and go in the boot of the car. And it had a drink problem the other little Brompton would never suffer from. It liked petrol. Lots of it. And tomorrow it would be stuck once more in the showroom with a “For Sale” sign attached, waiting to belong.

As the man prepared for bed that evening, he remenisced, thinking about the two bikes. It was ironic that the bike he desired most was not the posh big one. It’s size and complicated electronics were no longer his desire, however fast it went with its fly-by-wire throttle, and clever engine management system. He loved the little Brompton with its rusty pedal and worn pannier bag. He knew it had already snuggled into a place in his heart – regardless of its ‘bracing’ demands on his energies, its unpretentious presence on the road, its honest revealing of his lack of fitness, and his tender…,  er… yes, that too. But the new saddle will soon wear in, and his fitness improve.

The truth was, and is, that the Brompton was his. It was adaptable, convenient, and demanded nothing but his energy and a little care. It could accompany him all over the world if he so wished. Folded neatly it would fit in a car boot, on a train rack, and on a plane without complaint or protest – even from the check-in staff.

And it would teach him that time can be used in different ways, that beauty can be expressed in simplicity, that there are different ways to travel in life.”

(And that riding a push-bike is fun.)

Shrapnel. Unexploded bombs. What’s your story?

Working with a company this week or so I have spent seven days coaching just twenty two people. They came from ten different nationalities. Thankfully the company has a very enlightened approach to performance coaching, accepting that lives are not compartmentalised and that what happens on the inside profoundly affect the outside. We’re working on both of course because performance matters in these straitened times, but inside comes first.

Time revealed truth, as it eventually seems to do. Just three of them, maybe four, had a reasonably secure happy past. Most were doing their very best to live well despite the past, yet had jumped to unhelpful conclusions about life in general and their lives in particular – conclusions that were affecting and reflected in their day to day perceptions of the world, their company, their performance and their relationships. All of them were sincere thoughtful genuine people.

Most were experiencing significant emotional pain with bits (sometimes seriously debilitating chunks) of life’s shrapnel still lodged in hard-to-get-at places in their thoughts. Some were tiptoeing round ‘unexploded bombs’ in their lives. With each, and with the tenderest of touches, together we collaborated in that ‘access and removal’ process. With the shrapnel now dealt with and the bombs defused – and the associated emotional infection being treated – those amazing, hard-working and committed people will be able to achieve a better version of ‘best’ for themselves and the company, and build their entire futures differently, on a much safer and more trustworthy foundation.

The glad-or-sad thing about this is that for most (some will definitely need more time) it took just a two hour or so session to achieve this.  Glad we could do it so efficiently, with little pain and only a few tears. Sad that we weren’t together to do it ten years ago. At least their futures now look less trapped by the past and will require less determination and inner fight. From this week they will be able to live more kind to themselves and each other.

There is already a different atmosphere emerging, with more open (and lighter) faces. What a difference that will make to the fortunes of this passionate and award-winning company full of such treasure-able and highly intelligent people!

And then there’s your story. I’m waiting to find out what the next chapter holds.

Max Winchester Visits Bethlehem

Max hadn’t intended to visit Bethlehem. The truth is, geography never has been his strong point, and satellite technology isn’t either. When the word ‘Stable’ had come up on his TomTom, he’s assumed that it meant something completely different. He’d hit the ‘Go’ button – with a degree of his normal trepidation – and driven off into the night. Mrs Winchester, knowing the limits of her beloved husband’s technological skills, and aware that he’d left his trusty AA map at home, went to bed a little worried. In the morning, when his side of the bed had remained unslept in, she phoned the police.

No, they hadn’t had any reports of accidents, but thanked her for leaving her details. She heard the Community Support Officer on the other end of the phone snigger as she mentioned his satnav skills. As Mrs W. returned the old phone to its rest, she noticed his mobile on the chair. The battery was flat. Her faith in angelic beings looking after her beloved husband of forty years would be tested over the next few days – and it was. She slept not a wink that night, lying in bed imagining the worst. Or even worse.

If she had only checked with his credit card company in the ensuing week she would have found a series of petrol purchases across Germany, Austria, Croatia and Greece. (Greece was worrying.) And a huge cash withdrawal at Athens. Little did she know that as she lay in bed on the fourth night, their little Ford Fiesta was on board a ferry in the Med, headed for Haifa.

Max Winchester arrived at Haifa and continued to follow TomTom diligently. The man at the border had asked him for his passport, and he was relieved to realise he had on the same jacket he’d been wearing when they’d done their last international trip – Newhaven to Dieppe in the summer. The passport was in his inside pocket. What a stroke of luck! He still remained a little confused about how he had managed to travel so far when he’d only planned to go Christmas shopping at Bluewater. The Med had indeed appeared to be the only blue water he had been in close contact with since he’d left home. However, during his drive through Albania he had noticed a particularly bright star in the night sky. He’d found it strangely comforting – not least in the absence of Mrs W’s reassuring night-time warmth that he had snuggled up to for so many years. This shopping trip had not been quite what he’d imagined, and he knew there was no way he could do anything other than follow the satnav. He’d be lost without it.

He drove out of Haifa with his spirits high, and it was one in the morning when, having had a bit of a kip in the back seat, he checked the satnav again. Only ten miles to go!

The next city looked very unattractive. “Unemployment high here” he told himself as he surveyed the unkempt streets with their high walls covered with graffiti. Very down market. Poor. Not a very safe place to stay. He kept an eye open for a place where he could get a room for what was left of the night – with secure parking. Mrs W. would be very disappointed if he came home without the car.

So it was that a few minutes later a little inn attracted his attention, and he pulled over. This place really was the pits. The gum-chewing girl on reception was chatting up a bunch of locals who smelt of, well, the countryside, and through a doorway he could see there was clearly a lot of activity going on under the light in an old stable. He could hear a girl crying in distress. What on earth…

Max never forgot that out-of-this-world moment. It wasn’t the teenager giving birth, or the scruffiness of it all. It was as if a shaft of burning light like lightning pierced his heart on that December night.

And back in her warm bed, Mrs W. switched off the light, closed her eyes and slept like a baby.

The Big Trip. Week Two: The Significance of Insignificance

The ferry docked in Tallinn, I filled up with fuel and headed into town to find some accommodation. A young English-speaking businessman pointed me in the direction of a ‘value’ hotel. Just for the record, it is easy to misunderstand the no-entry signs in Estonia. I went down several roads the wrong way and found myself in pedestrian-only streets. No one seemed to care.

Whenever I’m out on a trip I deliberately make myself available – even vulnerable – not just to the rewarding opportunities and interactions with the people and the places, but to my own inner heart and mind. I’m a firm believer in a God who is not just ‘out there’ but also ‘in here’, so I listen naively (or wisely, depending on your own perspective) to the thoughts I’m having.
Enjoying a warm shower and washing my clothes in the back-street ‘€16 Hostel‘ in Tallinn where I’d booked a night at the cheapest rate (of €38!), and wandering round the cobbled streets of this typically ‘Central European’ old town, chatting to the waiters and waitresses, the leaflet distributors and the students I mused on the phrase that had first made its gentle presence felt in Finland:

“The significance of insignificance”

It seemed a very weak phrase to base my thinking on for this trip, so I logged it, and thought some more. “The significance of insignificance.” You’ve got to be joking. Insignificance by its very definition cannot be significant. More thought required.
Yet this phrase would not be so easily dismissed. Like many life-changing thoughts, it would not be denied. It demanded my serious attention – and may infiltrate into your thoughts too as you read this, so beware! The significance of insignificance.

Here I was a tiny speck of humanity on the earth. A grain of sand on the beach. A single traveller exploring the world. a two-metre bike on a 230 miles-a-day journey. So insignificant. Yet, as I mused, I realised I had missed a trick. Each grain of sand is not ON the beach, it IS the beach. If I were to remove each grain of sand from the earth on the basis of it being insignificant, there would be no earth, for the earth is made up of such tiny insignificances. The grain of sand of itself may be removed with little apparent effect, but the surrounding grains would notice, and were I to get into the habit of declaring each grain insignificant and removing it, I would be wreaking a destruction of very significant proportions, one grain at a time.

With that thought in mind I went to bed, and woke to a new day. My first in the Baltic States and back in mainland Europe. I loaded the bike and left Tallinn, heading due south, determined to find a beach and paddle in the Bay of Riga. I hadn’t gone ten metres before a van tooted at me. I turned to see that I had left both panniers outside the hotel by mistake. It would have been a long way back.
Riding out of town I headed due south towards my ‘farthest point’ destination a thousand or so miles away – the Black Sea. The thought of seeing with my own eyes this huge ‘inland’ sea mattered to me. But when I’m riding I can easily be so focussed on my destination that I miss the pleasure of what is immediately in my view, so I drew my attention in to the more immediate: the long roads through forest and agricultural land.

The road I’d chose took me near the coast of Estonia and on into Latvia as I’d decided a paddle in the Gulf of Riga was called for. I’m not a swimmer (though I can swim a short distance) but I love paddling, strolling for miles along the shore with the sea lapping over my bare feet. Brilliant. And on the way… perfect, a ‘service area’. Well, a little hut with a couple of tables on a veranda planted to the side of a rough pull-in from the road. Perfect. I parked my bike so it could be clearly seen from the road, and ordered a coffee and burger. At least the coffee tasted good.

And then the sound of a slowing fellow motorcycle traveller. I love these chance meetings. He had seen my bike and wanted some company. We chatted freely and decided to find a beach.
I remember a solo traveller telling me one day that, when you travel with a friend, you have a friend. When you travel alone, all the world is your friend. So here was a new friend, and we shared our lives for a morning. Great. We also found the beach, just off the A1 near Saulkrasti, brewed up filter coffee in my ‘kitchen’ sunbathed for an hour and finally got on our respective ways.

Riding through the Baltic States in August is a bit like riding through the UK countryside in the 1960s. Hardworking farmers doing their best to bring in the crops. The occasional horse and cart. Tended wooden homesteads, with logs dumped in the front gardens awaiting storage for the winter. Old tractors pulling old farm equipment, little old combine harvesters with no cabs or air conditioning. The people too concerned about this week’s grocery budget to be distracted by the West’s fixation with pollution.

I thought up a dubious joke as I rode along the comparatively narrow roads: Where does UK farming equipment go when it dies? To Latvia and Lithuania,it seems. (I was later to decide that if it is really naughty it probably goes to Romania.) I took many photos of this stretch of the road, touched by the leftovers of a shattered communism-based economy – rusting deserted factories, cold characterless buildings, old 80′s cars, poverty breathing its chill breath over the village communities – but I lost my camera in Bulgaria, so you only get secondhand ones on this part of the blog.

Yet each one of the people I met in these central european countries (they hate to be called Eastern Europe) matters to the people they feed – their families and other loved ones. And I mattered to them too. My ‘insignificant’ custom of food, fuel, bottles of water, and the occasional ice-cream was a part of their essential income.

I loved the entrepreneurial spirit that was around me too. Some of these people had become very successful. No 80′s cars for them. New Skoda Octavias and posh 4x4s would occasionally whip past me as I journeyed on.

The significance of insignificance.

The Big Trip: Week One

So here I am in Sweden.  I left on Monday and it is now Wednesday.  I have ridden over a thousand miles in seven countries so far. I popped in to a BMW dealer on my way through Germany to check an odd noise on the bike, but he said it was ok. I’m now just 100 or so miles outside Stockholm at Timmen-nabben, just about to splash out on a tantalising fish dish, and am looking forward to it.

My first night camping was in Germany, close to Puttegarden, in a farmer’s garden (650 miles) and then another 320 miles yesterday. I saw a farmer in a field turning hay, and rode over to him. He was great, we chatted and he came over for a drink and an hour’s chat last night.  

Today I want to get near the ferry, so I can spend the morning in Stockholm and head out in the afternoon. Turku – it was once the capital of Finland, and is, By all accounts, a beautiful city. We’ll see. 

One treat today has been the four mile bridge to Öland. I love bridges, so the more I go across the better!  Three great one’s so far. 

I love Sweden too, the large spaces, the way the flatter landscape hides the houses in the trees, the painted farms, and the quality of everything. I love the way the drivers pull over to let motorbikes through on the roads. This is high summer and yet there is little traffic – though Lars the farmer said he thought the roads were very busy!

It is highly therapeutic to be out on the road, watching the countryside go by. Such rich colours, and peace. The sun is very hot, it is 27 degrees today, yet it is not oppressive. A cool breeze off the sea makes it idyllic. Gorgeous. 

I have met lots of bikers, some in groups, some couples, few like me. It is a real fraternity, with everyone acknowledging each other on the road with a wave. Always a few odd ones, though some would say we all are!

Time for coffee and then on my way again. 

3rd August. 2011
I came up through Kalmar, (well, visited it.  All these little coastal towns are off the main Stockholm route, the E20 by about 10 km.) a lovely waterside town with a posh harbour on the side of which I rested and slept and read. A big waterspout hosing up from the sea gave atmosphere, along with the local market stalls.
On my hunt for the perfect spot, I set up camp on another farmer’s front lawn. Cherry and apple trees abound. The sun is as hot as ever, with ‘big sky’ all around.  Brilliant. An old man has invited me in for coffee in one of the nearby houses. All the buildings round hear seem to me coated in red cedar paint and look beautiful, prettied up and the gardens trimmed.
Ingmar and Barbara are lovely and have invited me for breakfast in the morning. Although the lady whose garden I’m camped on is a bit suspicious, it is because they get a lot of hawkers round here, just off the road.
After lots of laughs and fun as we struggle for language, them remembering English and me finding ways to explain as simply as possible,  and getting both wrong, I go to bed.

4th August.
Breakfast.  Home made bread, two fried eggs and a sliced tomato, fruit juice,  strong coffee and friendship. More hilarity as we tease and play.  These folk are around 80 and full of joy.  Wonderful people.  I packed up my things and got on my way with a friendly toot of the horn.

Stockholm was ok, but a bit of a disappointment.  Although it is pretty with lots of grass and walking areas, and plenty of space, it still has that sense of constant disturbance, the restlessness of the city. I love the calm of countryside, the gentle landscape.  It soothes me. The city jarred me. It is of course a place for commerce and sales and I am happy for that.

I spent an hour or so in the museum looking round the exhibits.  It was an excellent overview of the Swedish culture.  It had a special pesentation of the Sampni(?) tribe in the north of Sweden and a self-castigation of the way the people were treated – measured, examined as animals.  Like the American Indians and Inuits, they were pushed out of their lands and persecuted.  

I left Stockholm after a few hours and headed for the port of Kapellskār further up the coast, having typed Turku, Finland, into my satnav. I met two Germans who I chatted to re 10/10 and coached. They were riding Heinkel Tourist scooters to Nordcap, which you can get to from Finland. Lunch was two sausages and chips.  I was tempted by a sauna but the place looked a bit seedy and I only had a credit card. 

Arriving at the port it became clear that the ferry was full, and that if I went in the morning I would pay £50 less with no berth and two free meals! I love ferries generally, so I put the tent up right outside the customs building and settled for the night.

I  discovered my iPhone App  was accepted today! Brilliant. (type Powerchange into the App Store search) One more step on the road to helping people find their true worth and support them as they enjoy and make their contribution to the world community.  

5th August 2011.

Today is our wedding anniversary, with Sue and I married 39 years.  I was up at 4.30am to be first in line for any tickets to the ferry. Having waited for 3 hours the ferry terminal’s computer terminals packed up!  Eventually i paid and was welcomed aboard.
I made friends with a lovely Finnish family with six children, and we talked for half the trip.  My celebratory ‘wedding feast’ smorgasbord was scrumptious (two meals are included in the ferry price) salmon steak, yummy curried sauce and fruit dessert, with cheese and biscuits to follow. Coffee, juice, all ad lib. Great.
I arrived in Finland, and booked into a campsite (€20 for a patch of grass and a shower!), did my washing and heard a dreadful noise from the sky as I was pegging out the washing on the bike.  An emergency helicopter landed 50 metres away on a car park to treat a fellow camper.
Finished my book , had a long chat with Sue on the phone ( it is a local call to me from the uk!) and  slept like a log.

6th August.
Awoke at 9.30 to the patter of rain on the tent and rushed out – just dressed enough to be decent – to rescue the now dry washing!  Back to recover from the shock and eventually left the site at about 11am. 

The treat of the day has been a wonderful little cafe on the motorway E18. The sweetest little motorway café ever, with coffee refills, a tiny breakfast bar and a kind older lady efficiently running the show. So special.  These people are a gift from God to the world.
Arrived through the endless rain in Helsinki and asked a couple of girls about the best place to visit – the Market.
I like Helsinki. Walking up and down the Esplanade was entertaining, not least the site of a woman having a reikki foot massage, lying on a table wrapped in polythene sheeting against the falling rain, another woman holding an umbrella over her head, and the therapist massaging her feet!  I took a photo.
Helsinki  has a lot of atmosphere. I liked it more than Stockholm, though I may not have given either of them a chance to show me their best as I whistle-stopped through.   I loved the market too, not huge but fun. And early supper was a reindeer meatball for a euro…  
I finally found the ferry by putting “Tallinn, Estonia” in my satnav, bought an expensive €61 ticket for the bike and me, and  boarded forthwith.
I wonder what Tallinn has in store? Estonia is an up and coming place, making a lot of effort to be thoroughly European. I’ll know in and hour or so.

As the ferry crosses the Baltic Sea, the last little islands of Scandinavia recede to the horizon and turn to grey.  Time for a coffee and there is wifi aboard, hence this blog upload! (This coffee was strong, double-creamy, and perfect. I bought a dark chocolate Toblerone to accompany it!)
The bike is out of fuel, so I’ll need to get some ASAP when we dock.

More later. Pics will follow eventually!

For the want of 5p

Today I went into the Body Shop in Chichester for some shaving cream. It was to cost £8.00 – not a small amount for a pot of creamy paste, but I’d enjoyed The last one I used and liked it. Last time it cost £5.99. The assistant instantly offered me a ‘free’ £4 ‘gift’ if I spent another £8. I didn’t want the gift or the extra expenditure. At the till I dipped into my pocket and found I had £7.95.

The assistant held her hand open and waited. I didn’t have the additional 5p and eventually found another way to pay. The assistant pointed out that they would ‘give’ me another £10 off if I spent a further £25 in the next two weeks. But I had needed 5 pence worth of grace 30 seconds ago and it wasn’t forthcoming. I left the shop, walked down the street and decided I didn’t want the thought of using a cream provided by a company that needed that 5p so badly so I returned to the shop and got my money back. The Body Shop? I won’t be shopping there for a while.

Compare that with next shop I went into: Rohan, also in Chichester. The manager phoned one branch after another to try and get me a raincoat the colour I wanted in my size – sadly to no avail – AND offered me a further 10% off if he could get one! It took him 20 minutes. Sadly the blue raincoat I’d waited to get in the sale is no more. I’ll have to wait for the next production run – or something. Needless to say, I buy Rohan products because they are committed to me, not mean.

Five pence. The credit card transaction costs more than that!

I’m sending an email to customer services of both Rohan and the Body Shop to see what they have to say about today, and I’ll let you know what happens. In today’s competitive world no one can afford to lose a customer for the cost of 5p.
Or maybe they can? I wonder if L’Oreal would regard me as ‘worth it’?

Update:22.7.11. Two things happened today. Brian at the Chichester Rohan shop phoned me. They have found a blue raincoat in my size and will be delighted to give me a further 15% (not 10%) off. It is the last one for sale in the country. Well done Brian. And Rohan head office replied to my invitation to view the site. They had, and wanted me to say which store so they could personally credit the staff with my appreciation. I told them and have updated this site. They also apologised for not being able to get me what I wanted on this occasion. (Now they have of course.)

Self-control and priorities

It is a big deal.  Here are three Top Tips from me  -  and read them ALL not just the first one.  They are all fresh and ready for human consumption.

1. Control is a Verb not a Noun.

Self control is something you DO.  It is not something you HAVE.  It is an action, or maybe a non-action. You can’t keep self control in a cupboard and look at it every now and then. You may HAVE driving skills (or talking or eating skills!) but that is not at all the same as driving (and talking or eating). Self control is something you can do whenever you like, outside the realms of torture, a straight jacket, or someone holding a gun to your temple, of course. All of us can control ourselves, give or take.  You can raise your hands or your voice. Both are actions. In the same way NOT  raising your hands or your voice, or food to your mouth is the ABSENCE of an action a deliberate non-action. And NOT acting, doing nothing as an active choice, has consequences too. You decide.

Self control involves the process of putting your desires and longings into some sort of priority and deciding what outcomes you want the most, and acting towards those, and NOT other things.  I recently had a payout for a motorcycle injury and had to decide what my priorities were. It was a big (for me) chunk of money and I had to decide what my priorities were. I acted towards my priorities and phoned Santander to pay off my mortgage instead of Michael Hold to buy that Airstream Bambi! I still want one, but I had another priority. By the way, priority choices usually mean boundary choices. That’s what self-control is all about – living within chosen boundaries.  I can’t spend my money on clearing the mortgage AND get the Bambi right now (it wasn’t that much) though I guess there probably would be a way to do so!

You may want a quiet evening reading a book more than you want a stimulating conversation, so you switch off the phone and sit down with the book and a drink. You may want a fit body more than you want a flabby (or even average) body, so you go to the gym instead the chip-shop. It isn’t rocket science, and doesn’t need a gastric band – or a Bambi parking space.

2. Actions bring consequences.

ALL actions bring consequences – something that won’t happen otherwise. It is not possible to act without your actions resulting in outcomes.  Actions are a deliberate operation into the environment and will change it. It is simple: Act towards your goals and they get nearer. Gallop towards them and they get nearer. Saunter casually towards them and they get nearer. Crawl towards them and they get nearer, though much slower.  The outcome of acting towards what you want is that you get closer to what you want until, all things being equal, you arrive at it!

3. You’re free to choose. 

So what are you not controlling right now? What little contorted conversations do you have with yourself to explain how it is not your fault, there is nothing you can do and another person is to blame? Yes there are all sorts of different pressures on us, seeking to persuade you and me to hand over the control of our minds and bodies to another person. (It usually results in money coming out of our bank account and going into someone else’s) but it is worth remembering that those people have no more power than you – and much less power over you than you have. You really are free to choose. No need to surrender or fight. Just fill your screen (or your thinking) with what is important to you. What you want to be like as a person. What you want in your life. How you want to be in old age.

Then act towards it.

In the interests of self control I’m going to resist the temptation to write another paragraph and STOP.

Except to say … (tempting, isn’t it?)

Driving through a red light?

Here’s an interesting story for you!

Last Wednesday I drove through a red light on the outskirts of Storrington, here in West Sussex.  It was at a road works, and the lights had locked onto red in both directions and were not changing. A two mile traffic jam resulted.

When would YOU go past a red light?

Once I had understood the situation, I turned my bike around and rode back to the lights, parked the bike and proceeded to direct traffic, like the good citizen I am. Within half an hour or so, with my encouragement, 200 or more other people had done the same and the rush-hour traffic jam was no more. It was perfectly possible to see past the road works (the works themselves were only the size of a large car with the two light masts set 3 metres apart from each other!) so there was no need for the lights, and as the nervous lady Community Support Officer turned on her heels I told her that I would be turning the broken lights sideways so traffic could flow again without me.

However: how is it that the CSO would not help the hundreds of stuck motorists but dismissed the problem with a wave of her hand?

Here is the conversation:

Her: “Excuse me sir, you can’t do that (me waving traffic through in turn, with drivers in both directions thanking me as they go past).”

Me: “Isn’t this what YOU are supposed to be doing?”

Her: “I’m not allowed to.”

Me: “But there are hundreds of motorists trying to get home.  Everwhere in Storrington (a mile away) is blocked solid because of this broken system”

Her: “Yes I know. I saw the queue when I was in Tescos(!). It happens. I’ve phoned the traffic light company and the police. They could be another two hours.”

Me: “Well, it seems I’m not so restricted in what I can do to help these people as you are.  I’ll continue to do this until the queues go, then we can turn the lights round so they face sideways. Then people will drive past without a problem.”

Her: “I can’t advise that. I’m not allowed to touch the lights. It is up to you.  I’m just going to walk back to my Land Rover.”

And she walked away.  And I cleared the traffic queues, made the necessary adjustments on my own, and everyone used their common sense and drove in turn past the parked-car sized obstruction without the slightest problem.

Yes, hundreds of drivers drove through a red light on Wednesday, including a fireman in his red car. I saw them. A few stopped, and pointed at the red light. I merely beckoned them on more ‘forcefully’ and they started again and drove on. And I wasn’t even wearing a yellow jacket.

Human beings are all too susceptible to mindless obedience. The Milgram Experiments and many like them have demonstrated that all too clearly. Robert Cialdini in his excellent book, Influence, describes the nature of social obedience.

And the moral to this story?

You decide, and write your comments below.

Time.

I’m sitting in the showroom of ChandlersBMW of Brighton, waiting. My legendary 1200GS motorbike needs a little attention. (For the techies, its a steering head bearing.) It will take an hour according to Phil Banks, Chandler’s outstanding workshop manager. He is brilliant, a walking encyclopaedia.
But this blog isn’t about Phil. Its about Time.

Emmet, without helmet, leading a brilliant ride through the Brecon Beacons.

Will the time I spend waiting in reception pass slowly or quickly?

It depends on what I’m doing and how much I’m enjoying it. If I’m enjoying the wait, … oops, there we go. (The bike is done and the time went far too quickly for me to complete this blog. I’ll stay a while, get another coffee and finish it.)

Emmet Reidy, Chandlers excellent Motorrad Manager, has just come over and is asking me about time. He has to work at “time management” he says, and then lists the unpredictability of each day as the reason for his planning challenges. I laugh, and explain it is to do with how he perceives time, and nothing to do with all the interruptions he cites.

Emmet tends to process time as if he is on the inside of it, a bit like a hamster in one of those exercise balls rolling round the room. He is living in the moment, and is surprised by interruptions that he bumps into as he lives out his day. Classic ‘Inside Time’ processing. Life is an adventure for the hampster (and for Emmet!) When you’re in the moment, as Forrest Gump‘s mother always told him “life is like a box of chocolates.  You never know what you’re going to get.” Emmet’s immediate enthusiasm and spark will really ‘work’ for the GS riders like me who love a bit of adventure.

Phil is different from Emmet. He prefers to see time from outside – and runs the workshop accordingly! It’s great – efficient, predictable and thorough. As if he is watching himself from outside the hamster ball, about to roll down a step, he likes everything done very precisely. He sees what he thinks is the ‘future’ coming, and adjusts for it, preparing for those events that surprise Emmet. Phil tends towards ‘Outside Time’ processing. Phil will value safety. Emmet is likely to take some risk – though preferably on a bike that Phil has made sure is safe!

Flexibility – you can have both

The Powerchange GOLD Coach training – famous throughout the world (I wish!) for it’s amazing power, depth and breadth – focused on Time in our training last month. We showed the coaches how to move from Inside to Outside Time processing and back. The flexibility is great. We can enjoy the moment AND prepare for what lies ahead. We can also take a new perspective on the past – and change how we feel about it.

But is it that easy?

Each of us has developed our preferred default position for our own reason. It makes us feel good – either because we get a buzz out of surprises, or because we like the feeling of being prepared, being able to look forward to a good time. Or maybe some other reason. Moving from our default preference can be thought of as a not-so-good choice.

Time is odd. The past no longer exists, the future hasn’t arrived, and that leaves THIS moment. Now. As you read this. Do you prefer to be in the moment, or prefer to live life a little more detached? Are you an Emmet or a Phil?

Emmet may have more difficulty remembering and planning. He’ll need to reference a diary more often. Phil, on the other hand, may find the normal unpredictability of life less exciting than Emmet, and is likely to look forward to future events  and past good times with what he will regard as due caution. He is unlikely to get such an amazing emotional ‘high’ as Emmet. He will avoid the ‘lows’ too. Life will seem safer, and perhaps less interesting.

Human beings start life ‘inside time’. A baby has no understanding of hours days, past or future.  That concept is developing at a massive rate through childhood and into adolescence. However, by the time we’ve reached adulthood we will have experienced all sorts of traumas, some very minor, others highly significant, and know what it is like to wait in a queue and rush for an appointment. Those traumas affect our learning about time. Pain and pleasure affect the memories we have, ‘tagging’ them. If there are a lot of tags that are unpleasant (just one major one can do it) we will be much more cautious about ‘living in the moment’ as Inside Time people tend to, and want to take a more stepped back, Outside Time position. It gives us time to process and consider.  The upside is that we will be better prepared to handle/withstand negative experiences. The down side is we are unlikely to enjoy the pleasurable moments so much.

How do you process time?  If you’re after more flexibility, get in touch.