When we first met more than fifteen years ago, my friend Pierre was enjoying life at the top of one of Europe’s largest law firms. For years, he’d been the global managing partner. His clients included important families and some of the world’s largest multinationals.

He then moved to London to take over the firm’s booming mergers and acquisitions practice. Pierre and his wife lived in a gracious apartment beside Royal Albert Hall with views over Hyde Park, enjoying all London had to offer. In his profession, it could not get any better.

But in 2005 the dream came to an end. Pierre was asked to move back to the Netherlands.

This was definitely not part of the plan. He and his wife loved cosmopolitan London, and had been planning eventually to retire to the US to be near their three children.

From a career point of view, he’d reached a dead end. Pierre was being pushed aside to make way for younger blood.

He agreed to return home and face the supposedly inevitable decline of a senior lawyer thought to be past his prime. To his credit, he was ‘committed to not being grumpy’ and decided to go out on a high note.

At the time, I was supporting Pierre as his coach. I thought the best way for him to prepare for an uncertain future was to get clear about his strengths. Neither of us realised how much this would change the direction of his career.

“Before I left London,” he said at the time. “We worked quite a bit on my strengths. Just doing the questionnaire was fun in itself*. It laid them out for me on paper. That was important. Then I was able to see I could live from my strengths. I didn’t do anything differently. But I was more comfortable doing the things I had to do, in my own way.

“For example, I used to be very transactional, totally focused on getting the job done. When I learned have all these strengths in relationship building, I began to put more attention on my co-workers. Not surprisingly when I became more relational I got so much more done! I started conversations. I became a better lawyer.

“In particular, I saw an opportunity to get closer to younger lawyers. I always knew I had a talent for mentoring people. It came naturally but only when I identified it as a strength did I begin to use it. Being more conscious of what I’m good at allowed me to be that way more consciously.

“It was important to concentrate on these strengths at that point in my career. I ’institutionalised’ them in myself.”

When I caught up with Pierre again, almost ten years later, he recalled the importance of this transition period.

“Looking back, I can honestly say I returned to the Netherlands wholeheartedly,” he said. “I began coaching younger professionals. I became the father of my juniors. The firm did not recognise the value of what I was doing initially but I did it anyway. The young people started challenging me too. I grew a lot in the process.

“Over time people recognised this was valuable. We developed a proper, firm wide, mentoring programme. Now there are around two hundred young lawyers taking part. Each one has a senior person looking after them. It is institutionalised.”

I was really proud of Pierre. Without any initial support, he’d created a wonderful legacy for future young lawyers coming through the system.

Instead of fading away as expected, he is now working out of the firm’s New York office. He and wife are delighted to be nearer their children. He told me about the results of his support for young people at work.

“It’s the first time any of them have seen their strengths laid out in a systematic way. They are amazed. It’s wonderful because it’s not about anyone’s weaknesses, only encouragement.

“I believe this generation, the Millennials, don’t want it to be all about business. They need more attention, someone to talk to. I used to get it from my partner in the car on our way to a meeting but now it must be systematic.

“Many need encouragement to go for a partner position, or be directed away if that’s not right for them. I’m able to be sincere with them in a way I never could before because we’re talking about an individual’s strengths.

“To be honest many of the young men don’t know who they are. They think everything must be perfect because this is the law! They can become very insincere as a result, pretending everything is fine. In reality they are all worried.

“Unfortunately, there aren’t enough female partners for the young women to look up to. But that gives them a lot of focus. The young women lawyers feel a sense of responsibility to be role models for those who come after.

“Recently I experienced one of my most satisfying moments at a dinner. An associate came up to me and said, ‘You always took the time to speak to your children when they called you. I will remember that when I have a family.’

“Identifying my values and being challenged on them was also important. The values were not new, but by framing them and putting them on the wall, my values became my constitution. Being a good lawyer I comply with them. In the dead of the night I could look at them and think, ‘Wow they’re not bad.’ My wife thinks they reflect who I am.

“I am now focused more than ever on living my strengths. This can be done in an arrogant way, but I just keep saying to myself that’s how I want to work.”


*Gallups Strengths Access

Disclaimer: I receive no payment from Gallup for recommending their strengths inventory. I just think it’s so good everyone would benefit!

My friend Joe is different from your typical mining executive. Like his colleagues, he is dedicated to keeping the plant working 24/7. But Joe is equally curious about the inner workings of human beings, starting with himself.

“A few years ago I went on a personal development journey to get a deeper understanding of who I am and what makes me tick. I wanted to be a more authentic ‘me’ unbridled by either real or perceived organisational or social barriers. I was fortunate to have a coach*, who as a first step encouraged me to get a better understanding of my strengths**.

“There are thirty-four strengths in total. We are all unique so for each person some are more dominant than others.

“This way of thinking is very different to the typical organisational approach which is largely to ignore strengths and focus almost entirely on weaknesses.

“I was sceptical when I first saw my print out. I read the descriptions of some of my top strengths and thought, ‘That isn’t me.’ For example, number two on my list is ‘Includer’, described as someone who spontaneously notices people’s good qualities, is accepting and inclusive of others and helps them fit in.

“I needed to validate them. I asked myself, ‘Are they true?’ and ‘Do they resonate?’
 
“I notice people’s good qualities some of the time, but definitely not all the time! So does that make me an Includer, or not?’

“Then my coach suggested I think about them as talents, which require a regular and constant investment of time, skill and knowledge from me to develop into strengths where my performance is consistent at a high level.”

What Joe was saying resonated for me. I am very good at thinking strategically and learning new things, and possess a strong drive to achieve results. But I don’t operate in these modes 100 per cent of the time. Hence, I find it helpful to think of strategy, achieving and learning as talents worth developing into strengths. I’m sure it will be a life-long project!  

I then asked Joe which talents or strengths were top of his list.

“The surprise was four of my top six all have to do with relating to people. It took me a while to accept I have this softer side but gradually I realised it’s true.”

Joe’s relationship building talents draw him to work with others to achieve a common goal, talk to people about their hopes and dreams, share what he knows with others and exchange ideas. He enjoys having deep, speculative conversations with interesting people and developing others, helping them figure out what they need to progress. He is a curious person, fascinated by the mysteries of life. He believes in the fundamental connectedness of the world.

“I also realised the way I get things done is primarily through solving problems. This means I seek to understand the facts to figure out what’s wrong in a situation and then work with others to resolve it. I appreciate the rewards of successfully resolving difficult issues together.

“I always think about the future. I need to be inspired about what is coming or life feels dead. I can go through hard times now if I’m looking forward to better times ahead.  

“Lastly, everything I do must be consistent with my core beliefs. Unless I stay true to my purpose in life and my values I lose direction.

“That had me explore the question: what is my purpose in life? I realised I am here to make a positive and lasting contribution to the people and the environments around me. I am willing to go to great lengths to improve people’s lives, helping them resolve problems affecting their quality of life.

“In terms of values, what is important to me is being the kind of person who respects others and does what he says. My priorities are family, community, environment and well-being.”

Joe sent me a four-page document bringing together his purpose (why he is here), values (what is important and how he makes decisions) and his talents and strengths (how he is going to get there).

“I’m really glad I did this work. I’m moving on from my job soon so it’s important to go after opportunities that play to what I’m good at.”

Joe has worked for big corporations most of his career earning a predictable salary with good benefits. But he is not worried about the uncertain future.

“Being futuristic has me be interested in what might lie ahead. I enjoy thinking about it and how to get there.”
He is not too concerned with who is next employer is going to be or how much he is going to get paid. Instead he is focusing on the big picture given by his talents, strengths, purpose and values.

“I’m really not sure what the specifics are. I want to work where friendships and team work are encouraged. I want to be around people interested in developing themselves and the organisation is interested in its people.

“I’ll seek roles that fit my values and organisations defining their purpose by their contribution to society. I need to work for a vision I can believe in.”  
 

* Deborah Protter of The Values Partnership

** The best strengths inventory I know of is the Gallup Strengths tool. Millions of people have used it:

Disclaimer: I receive no payments or benefits of any kind from Gallup for recommending their products. I just want everyone to discover their strengths!

I asked Greg, a good friend who has built up a thriving business, is a wonderful dad and husband and a contributor to his community, to tell me the story how he got to where he is today.

“It certainly wasn’t school,” he said. “I was one of those dumb kids. The teachers told me so. And my class mates. Everyone. 

“The truth was I had no academic ability,” he continued matter-of-factly. “I’d read something but try as I might I couldn’t get it. I never had the answer. They kept telling me I was dumb and I believed them.” 

My heart sank at the thought of it. 

“I was also small, weak and totally un-sporty,” he said. “My ego was broken. 

“I cared what people thought of me and wanted to compensate for my failures. Fortunately, I was good at communicating and made friends easily. I deliberately set out to get in with the smart, sporty, popular people. Especially the big, cool guys. They protected me.”

“How did you become the person you are today?” I asked again. 

“It’s only the past ten years I’ve thought about that. How did I become me? I didn’t used to think I was unique or special. Everyone seemed the same.

“Now at fifty I’m discovering all about myself. Strengths Access* put it in a box for me and wrapped it up. 

“It’s helped me identify the combination of strengths and talents unique to me. For example, I already knew I am good at relating to others but now I realise I have this ability to understand someone’s thought process. They feel comfortable with me because I get inside them. It is a gift few people have. 

“I’m also good at motivating people, building relationships and aligning teams. Only a small percentage of the population can do what I do. Now I know I am special. I feel more whole as a person.

“It’s also allowed me to accept my weaknesses. I’m now ok with my academic history. Being ‘dumb’ doesn’t matter anymore.”

I leaned back in wonder. Here is an accomplished man who for most of his life thought he was rubbish. But that was just a story, fabricated more than forty years ago by people in authority telling him a lot of crap about himself. Unfortunately, he believed it. 

I think many of us, including me, have had similar experiences.

This story helped Greg survive in some ways but soon became limiting. Anything positive he did, like creating friendships, he dismissed as a mere tactic to escape the burden of being ‘dumb’. 

By discovering his natural strengths and talents, however, he has been given an entirely new story about himself. He realises he is an effective communicator. He has the gift of winning others over. He can lead teams of people. Ultimately Greg knows who he is and what gives him joy in life. He is at peace about the past and can now concentrate on making his unique contribution to the world. 

“I’m very clear what I will and will not do. It’s a small thing but I used to write job descriptions for people we wanted to hire. I thought that was what the boss supposed to do. I am the one paying the money so I should be clear who I want to hire, right? But I’m  no good at that sort of thing. It’s bad for me, bad for the business and bad for the people we’re interviewing. It wastes so much of my time doing something I’m no good at. I’ve given someone else the job.

“I also hate cold calling. I found a great guy in the Philippines who sounds completely American. He is bright as anything. He makes initial contact with potential clients, finds out if there is any interest and if so, I’m handed a warm lead! I end up closing a lot more business than before. 

“Now I’m spending most of my time with clients. They’re the ones paying the big money for our people. I need to understand what their needs are and get my organisation to deliver. Everyone wins.” 

Watch for more articles about people developing their strengths. Please get in touch to talk about strengths based mentoring. 


*The best strengths inventory I know of is the Gallup Strengths Access. Millions of people have used it: https://www.gallupstrengthscenter.com/Purchase/en-US/Index 

Disclaimer: I receive no payments or benefits of any kind from Gallup for recommending their products. I want everyone to discover their strengths!

I was travelling to Melbourne with mixed emotions, excited about my daughter Lily’s twenty-first birthday party that evening, but also worried I had no idea what to say in my father’s speech.
 
The risk of getting it wrong was high. I’d heard Lily and friends groan regularly about cringe worthy ‘Dad jokes’ at birthday party speeches. Humour had to be avoided.
 
Even worse were some of the awful fathers’ speeches I’d witnessed. These men told embarrassing stories about their children, ironic and sometimes clever, but lacking warmth, acknowledgement and appreciation.
 
I’d hoped these dads were just trying to be funny. Or wanting to counterbalance the gushing emotional tributes sure to come from friends and family. Or maybe I was being too sensitive.
 
Yet I could not help feeling these birthday boys and girls had been profoundly let down by their dads.
 
I wanted to do better in my father’s speech. But high up over the Nullarbor with only ninety minutes to landing, I was drawing a blank.
 
I flicked through my e-mails, my standard delaying tactic for avoiding challenging tasks. I noticed an unopened message from Lily sent the previous day containing an ‘interesting article’. As I read on I knew Divine Inspiration had come at just the right time. I had all I needed for the speech and hastily scribbled some notes before the plane landed.
 
Here is what I said:
 
“Good evening all and welcome to Lily’s twenty-first celebration!
 
Just yesterday she sent me an article called Why Gen Y Yuppies Are So Unhappy maybe some of you read it. If the article is accurate there are a lot of unhappy people in this room!
 
If you have not read it here is a quick summary. We are introduced to Lucy, a typical Gen Y who has been told her whole life she is special. But when faced with the reality of working life she soon realises she is not special at all. In fact, she is like most everyone else, and well behind some massive high achievers. All those medals she’d received for finishing ninth in the dressage competition count for little now in the Deloitte Graduate Programme. So the message to Lucy is something like get over yourself and get to work.
 
At the end of the article, the author fails in his attempt to shift from relentless negativity to something positive. His final message to Lucy is ‘Ignore how other people are doing, keep dreaming big but stop thinking you’re special.’
 
I wonder how poor Lucy feels after all that. If I was her I’d be confused and discouraged. She’s been raised in a culture comprising social media, friends, school, university, colleagues and her employer who all constantly compare her to everyone else more publicly than any time in history. Furthermore, since she was small her ambitious parents have told her she’s special because of her achievements great and small.
 
Lucy is trapped in this world view.”
 
I paused, feeling time slow down. Confident smiles on the faces around me faded, revealing an aching vulnerability. Beneath their poise was uncertainty about themselves and their futures. They were hungry for encouragement. I kept going.
 
“So I want to propose a radically different view: I think you Gen Ys are special! Each and every one of you. Not only for your grades, sporting achievements and  career prospects, as important as those are. It’s really about who you are as human beings. No one who has ever lived or will live is like you. Each one of you has a unique gift to offer the world.
 
Please take time to find out who you really are. Not just the superficial stuff we can all see. Ask people you love to tell you what they see in you. And hold on to it for all your life.
 
I cannot wait to see who each one of you becomes as you blossom into your full selves.
 
Now I’m going to tell you about someone particularly special this evening – Lily – and the twenty-one things I love about her as a person, in no particular order:
 

1. I love your singing. It makes me happy.
2. You care so much about people and they love you for it.
3. You are a loyal friend.
4. You listen.
5. You’re a good Canadian - you love skiing and skating with me.
6. You love good stories.
7. You make the best brownies.
8. You’re a team player.
9. You have a good work ethic.
10. You’re courageous.
11. You’re honest and truthful.
12. You’re a leader.
13. You push yourself even when you don’t feel like it.
14. You’re cuddly.
15. You are emotionally intelligent.
16. You are guided by a clear set of values.
17. You have a heart for the poor and marginalised.
18. You are generous.
19. You are smart.
20. You are not materialistic.
21. You laugh at my jokes.”

 
The mood had lifted. When I finished many young people thanked me. They felt special! A few had private conversations with older people in the corners to voice their self-doubts and gain reassurance.
 
Soon, however, everyone was up having huge fun, dancing away like mad fools until the early hours. It was one of the best parties I’ve ever been to.
 
I was reminded how crucial are such milestones in life. Even more important is that men step into these opportunities to bestow blessings on young people, fill them with confidence, let them know we believe in who they are and stand with them.
 
Why are these moments so powerful? Unlike the love of a mother who bears and nurtures a child from inception, a father’s love is discretionary[1]. The indifference of many men toward their kids is in part reflected in lukewarm speeches at weddings and birthdays. Sadly, these guys seem to forget the immense power we men have to build up our children. Or worse, we shy away from it.
 
By naming a child’s strengths and gifts publicly, telling the whole community why this young person is a special human being, a man is announcing his full approval to the world and sending them forth.
 
If you are a father, or have a close relationship with a young person, please create occasions to speak into their lives both privately and publicly. Or if you know a father, please encourage him to do so.
 
And we need to recognise more than achievements and awards, the useful but ultimately external stuff that fades away. Instead we must keep reminding our children who they are as unique human beings. It is one of the most important jobs we have as men.
 


[1] Adam’s Return by Richard Rohr

 A lot of fathers assure me they do.
 
But what do the boys think? Do they feel they’re getting what they most need from their Dads?
 
I decided to find out. I approached a private boys’ school in my neighbourhood in Perth, Western Australia to conduct a survey. More than 250 boys from years seven, eight and nine participated, over 50% of the twelve to 14-year-old cohorts.
 
We asked the boys to respond to six questions, giving them a range of responses to choose from (maximum three) plus a free text option. Here is a brief summary of the survey results.

1. What would you like your dad to do more of? The most significant responses were: Let me do things for myself; give me confidence in the future; spend more time with me; teach me new things. Very few boys were concerned about Dad being more successful or a better provider.

1. What would you like your dad to do less of? Stop lecturing / pushing / nagging me; don’t get angry; don’t spend so much time away from home; don’t step in and take over.

1. What are you most looking forward to in the future? Being successful; having a family; travel and adventure; being independent.

1. What about the future most worries you? Leaving home; providing for my family; being independent and successful. In other words, boys are most concerned how they will fulfil on what they are looking forward to in life.

1. What would you like to talk to Dad about you don’t talk about now? The pressures I face; my worries about school; my and others’ expectations of me.

1. What would you really like Dad to say to you he isn’t saying now? I’m proud of you; you’re going to do well; I’m right behind you.

 
Our conclusion: Teenage boys need support from their fathers to face the future with confidence, not through telling, pushing or nagging but by dads being interested, encouraging and acknowledging, and giving boys space to learn.
 
We were eager to share these results so the school invited almost a thousand fathers of boys from years seven to twelve to come to a discussion evening.  
 
We were hoping for a couple of hundred but on the night forty men turned up.
 
It was disappointing. Over ninety-five percent of the fathers weren’t there.
 
I rationalised many must have been busy with other pressing priorities at home and work. They probably pushed the invitation to one side and soon forgot about it, like I often do when I’m under the pump. And then there’s ‘school fatigue’ from too many invitations throughout the year.
 
Maybe some fathers thought this survey wasn’t relevant or they already knew it all. Possibly some men felt they’d be criticised and stayed away.
 
But there was no way to find out. I had to let it go and switch my focus to the men sitting in front of me.
 
We had a lively discussion interpreting the results. Most of the fathers came to a similar conclusion as we did: They need to spend more time encouraging, building up and guiding their sons to fulfil their dreams for the future. But a light touch is needed, providing a supportive backstop whilst allowing their boys to figure life out for themselves.
 
But then suddenly, out of the blue, one man shouted out, “I have a real problem with all this. My son spends every waking minute on his bloody PlayStation. I don’t know what his problem is. When I was eleven my mates and I were camping on our own!”
 
You could hear a murmur of agreement coming from pockets around the room. Obviously this guy wasn’t alone in his concerns.
 
I did a quick fact check in my head. My first canoe trip as a boy back in Canada was led by two 17-year olds rigorously trained to lead wilderness experiences, backed up by adult staff back at camp. It would have been impossible on our own.
 
My friends in the Scouts went camping at eleven, but were always supervised by adults.
 
Another friend recently told me how at eleven years old he and a friend pitched a tent two hundred metres from the house on the family farm. But they were home in their beds by ten o’clock, terrified by the sounds of the night.
 
I concluded these grumbling men were idealising their own childhoods, exaggerating memories of independence and freedom. They were not curious what forces act on their sons to choose PlayStation over being outdoors.
 
I learned a lot that night, concluding fathers need to get to grips with three things.
 
First, we need to be aware of ourselves and the environment in which our kids are growing up. Men cannot allow the negative aspects of technology, consumerism and busyness to consume our children, and must actively intervene on their behalf.
 
Second, many men give more to their jobs than their families. I did for a long time, telling myself I was ‘providing’.
 
But I was also very ambitious and funding an unsustainable lifestyle. I had to learn be honest with myself and clarify what was most important.
 
Third, I realised a lot of fathers get stuck in short term behaviour management with their kids - homework, chores, punctuality, squabbling. Men must understand the big game is to prepare their sons to face the world, which requires learning how to encourage, affirm, listen to and empower their boys.
 
At the end of the night we announced a series of six seminars for fathers on how to address these challenges. Half a dozen men regularly turned up. They were humble guys, eager to share. No one had taught us the critical skills so we learned from each other.
 
We began by talking about our own Dads, both the positive and negative, to understand better a father’s role. We dug deeper into what boys need from their fathers. We learned how to identify and nurture a boy’s strengths. We explored the essentials of developing responsibility, discipline and collaboration. We discussed how to talk to boys about sex and pornography. And lastly we looked at rites of passage for boys.
 
I know most men want to give their boys what they need. The challenge for all of us is to invest the time and develop the skills to do it.
 
Miles and his colleagues run rites of passage events for fathers and sons. Please get in touch if you are interested.
​

‘Lesson from the Road’ is a series on the discoveries I made about myself both as a man and husband whilst walking almost 600 kms together with my wife Deborah.
 
Our journey followed The Way of St Francis, an ancient pilgrims’ route through central Italy. It was a beautiful and uplifting time for both of us. But along with the joy we also experienced tears. As we walked, issues came up I’d never fully addressed and could no longer push away.
 
I’m glad to say by the end of the pilgrimage, my twenty-five year relationship with Deborah was stronger. These stories from the road recount what I learned on the way. I hope they entertain, illuminate and even help in your relationships with the people you love.
 
Here is lesson six. Please share it with others who might want to read it.
 
 
Walking is a form of therapy. There are few distractions as you trudge down the road for hours on end. As the scenery slowly passes by in front of you, your life passes by inside in much the same way.
 
One thing I began to notice was how much I talk to myself. It’s as if there’s a conversation going on inside between two quite separate people: ‘me’ (whoever that is!) and a Gollum-like character I never see. He seems to sit just outside my peripheral vision, rendering judgement and opinions on just about everything. And I defend.
 
One day after a sharp disagreement with my wife, the little guy had the volume turned right up.
 
‘Nasty Deborah,’ said Gollum, seemingly on my side for a change. ‘Nasty, nasty, nasty. She was so mean to you!’
 
‘Yes, she was,’ I silently replied. ‘Totally unreasonable. She made me so angry!’
 
‘You were right,’ he continued. ‘She deserved to cry.’
 
He got me. I suddenly felt a surge of remorse. What a jerk I’d been!
 
Gollum then cunningly changed tack.
 
            ‘You are the nasty one!’ he cried. ‘Nasty, nasty, nasty. You made her cry!’
           
‘I know, I know,‘ I said. ‘Shut up about it will you?’
 
‘You’re cruel,’ he went on. ‘She is your wife. How can you live with yourself?’      
           
And so on it went for kilometres!
 
Am I crazy or is this normal for at least some people some of the time? To try to make sense of it all I visited Steve, a psychologist I’ve known for many years.
 
First, he reassured me I’m not crazy. He then had me look at my past to understand why I behave the way I do.
 
After the death of my mother I was thrust into a role of responsibility at the age of fifteen. I had to be strong for Dad and my three younger brothers. If I fell apart I feared the family might too.
 
I did such a good job looking composed I can’t recall any adult ever asking how I was doing. That was hard. I wish someone had the insight to realise it was all a pretence.
 
I just got tougher, concluding if I’m not going to get cared for then no one will.
 
We had no outlet for our grief at home so there was a lot of conflict amongst the siblings and with Dad. I felt compelled to act as disciplinarian and peace maker.
 
The end of school was on the horizon and I desperately wanted out the day it was finished. I became an achiever, pushing aside my feelings and the desires of my heart, and trying to looking competent and in control. Weakness and failure repelled me. Gentleness was a luxury. When the pressure was on no one got a break, especially me.
 
This way of operating did not change much over the ensuing forty years. My harder edges got a bit rounder here and there but looking back at my life this way, I can see why I still react the way I do.
 
When my wife Deborah gets sick, for example, I have little empathy. Instead I feel like an adolescent, protesting, ‘Who is going to look after me?’
 
If she makes a trivial error, I criticise her because people shouldn’t make mistakes. If she wants to sleep in on the weekend and walk around all morning in her pyjamas, I get anxious because I think there is too much to do. Sometimes I even make up ‘rules’ I impose on her without consent; for example, if I get up early to exercise so should she.
 
After each outburst I feel remorse for being so hard. I don’t want to be this way but I do not feel I have much choice. I always end up in an endless loop arguing with Gollum!
 
The powerful insight from Steve was to give myself a break. While it’s useful to take responsibility for my behaviour, self-condemnation leads nowhere.
 
So I’ve started some experiments. Like hanging around with Deborah doing nothing. No achieving, no results, no agenda, no schedule. Just chilling. Giving her a hug and getting some in return. Picking a rose from the garden and putting it in a little vase on her bedside table. Laughing at my mistakes. Encouraging her to walk around in pyjamas on the weekend. Maybe even having a nap after lunch.
 
And just because I can do something, I might even say ‘no’ and trust it will take care of itself.
 
Gollum seems to be a bit quieter lately.
 
Have you ever realised just how superior you are to other people? I do, sometimes even with my wife. It’s not a recipe for a success in a relationship! Look out for lesson seven.
 
I’d love to hear your story and maybe even publish it in an article! Write something, paste it into the Comment box on the Contact page and send it along.
 
 

‘Lesson from the Road’ is a series on the discoveries I made about myself both as a man and husband whilst walking almost 600 kms together with my wife Deborah.
 
Our journey followed The Way of St Francis, an ancient pilgrims’ route through central Italy. It was a beautiful and uplifting time for both of us. But along with the joy we also experienced tears. As we walked, issues came up I’d never fully addressed and could no longer push away.
 
I’m glad to say by the end of the pilgrimage, my twenty-five year relationship with Deborah was stronger. These stories from the road recount what I learned on the way. I hope they entertain, illuminate and even help in your relationships with the people you love.
 
Here is lesson five.
 
Two Hearts Are Better Than One
 
“… Once I spent my time playing tough guy scenes
But I was living in a world of childish dreams
Someday these childish dreams must end
To become a man and grow up to dream again
I believe in the end,
 
Two hearts are better than one
Two hearts, girl, get the job done
Two hearts are better than one…”  Bruce Springsteen
 
I’ve lived most of my life believing a man must be self-sufficient and all-knowing, or at least pretend he is. I got it from my father who modelled it to the extreme.
 
Sometimes it did not go so well for him. Once he took the family out into the open Atlantic in a rented sailboat with no idea how to sail it. He hadn’t asked because he thought he should know. Soon, however, the breeze picked up and the boat started heeling over. Dad hauled in the sail hard, thinking it would get us back on an even keel. But anybody with just one sailing lesson knows hauling in does the opposite, catching even more wind.
 
We kept heeling over and started shipping in water. Poor Mum was on the downward side, desperately trying to stop falling backwards into the ocean. ‘Pull the sail in!’ she screamed. Of course it made matters even worse.
 
Fortunately for all we were soon grounded on a sandbank and walked to shore safely.
 
Every other time, however, Dad somehow seemed to get away with it. On moving to Canada he set up a business building bridges, roads and later multi-storey buildings. He learned as he went along, all without formal training. A number of his projects were recognised as firsts in North America in terms of energy efficiency and creative construction methods. And none of them fell down! I was so proud of his ability to learn and turn it into something real.
 
But I also know he was often under great stress, which he always dealt with on his own. He would withdraw completely through these periods. It was hard to watch.
 
I carried similar behaviour into adulthood. I need to have all the answers and don’t naturally seek the input of others. It has frustrated my wife to no end.
 
Some of my best life decisions I resisted fiercely at the beginning, such as leaving a high flying investment banking job I hated (but could not admit it), or moving the family to Australia. It took Deborah months of negotiating, discussion and argument to drag me into heaven!
 
Another time, years ago, I’d started my own consultancy and was confident of instant success. Deborah did not share my optimism. She advocated we use my redundancy money to pay down some of the mortgage and reduce our monthly payments.
 
I disagreed. I had a graduate degree in Economics and fifteen-years’ experience in investment banking, so you’d think I knew what I was talking about.
 
But my perspective was based on a spreadsheet, whereas Deborah was looking from our values. She waged a long, hard campaign to get me onside. It turned out to be a great decision. I was grateful not to have the pressure of a mortgage.
 
It was not until years later when we were on the road in Italy, walking every day together, did I accept how hard I’ve made it for her to contribute to me.
 
And vice versa. I’ve also missed many opportunities to contribute to Deborah. I didn’t think she needed it. Right from the start of our relationship, for me she’s always been independent, strong and competent. Everyone loves her.
 
But as I’m discovering, ‘two hearts, girl, get the job done’.
 
The marriage vows I took almost twenty-six years ago declared we had become ‘one flesh’. To someone with no religious background at the time it seemed just a quaint expression read from a service book by a dear old gentleman in a funny robe. Now I know he was pointing to something eternal and wise.
 
We need to get behind each other and intertwine, Deborah’s strengths bolstering me and mine hers. She wants my encouragement to face the world every day, no matter how strong and competent I think she is. I’m going to have to develop new habits and skills to do this well.
 
And I need her to help me, starting with little things like packing a suitcase and organising travel. Then there’s the big things I can’t do by myself, like feeling I’m a whole, complete man. I need her respect, desire and admiration.
 
The ‘old me’ does not want to depend on her generosity, but I need to surrender.
 
‘To become a man and grow up to dream again
I believe in the end…
Two hearts are better than one.’
 
 
 
Have you ever found some people intolerably judgmental? Me too. I couldn’t stand them. Then I realised how judgmental I am! Look out for lesson six.
 

‘Lesson from the Road’ is a series on the discoveries I made about myself both as a man and husband whilst walking 580 kms together with my wife Deborah.
 
Our journey followed The Way of St Francis, an ancient pilgrims’ route through central Italy. It was a beautiful and uplifting time for both of us. But along with the joy we also experienced tears. As we walked, issues came up I’d never fully addressed and could no longer push away.
 
I’m glad to say by the end of the pilgrimage, my twenty-five year relationship with Deborah was stronger. These stories from the road recount what I learned on the way. I hope they entertain, illuminate and even help in your relationships with the people you love.
 
Here is lesson four.
 
Within the space of a few days on the road three women we knew died. The first was the daughter of a friend, in the prime of her life travelling and studying abroad, who succumbed suddenly to an undetected infection. Another lost a tough battle with cancer after being in remission for years. Yet another passed away from the complications of early onset Alzheimer’s. Her husband had cared diligently for her at home for ten years.
 
Only just last week, a friend’s husband - a man totally dedicated to loving marginalised people - died after muggers beat him senseless. A few weeks ago a former colleague was ‘king hit’ from behind by a complete stranger whilst leaving a pub. He had to have parts of his face rebuilt. One morning recently another friend collapsed getting out of bed, suddenly paralysed from the waist down, and now faces months re-learning how to stand up and walk again.
 
All around me I see people suffering from illness and loss they did not expect. There is no pattern, just brutal randomness. One day it’s all good and the next you’re on a plane to pick up your husband’s body. Whilst I remain untouched others are stopped in their tracks by catastrophe. Major life change is forced upon them. How can anyone make sense of their fate?
 
Sometime my life will also be changed against my will. All the exercise, meditation and church attendance in the world cannot prevent it. At times it makes me wonder, ‘Why bother?’ Like why should I sort out a disagreement with someone I could simply unfriend? Or why apologise to my wife for something she could just sweep under the carpet?
 
‘These days, all I trust are the tears’*. From these tragedies emerge two essential truths I’m trying to accept:
 

1. I am not in control, and
2. I am going to die.

 
In other words, I cannot anticipate nor manage what is going to happen to me. I don’t know who will be afflicted or spared. I cannot guess when my turn will come or how.
 
Yet when I look back, I’ve put so much effort into trying to control life. Most of my focus has been on trivial things like stacking the dishwasher efficiently (i.e. my way) or ensuring we follow the ‘fastest route’ according to Google Maps. As if this is going to affect anything substantial!
 
A great spiritual commentator, Richard Rohr, observes that people obsessed with control cannot enjoy, or at least accept, what is inevitably going to happen to them no matter what they do. They resist almost everything at some level. They live with one foot on the brake and wonder why the accelerator is not working very well. I can see myself in all of this.
 
I know people who have let go of the need for certainty and control. They are wise and ‘holy’ sages in the old fashioned sense, as if in touch with the Divine. They are grateful to receive what they need, rather than clamour for what they want, expect or think they deserve. They know nothing they have has been earned but rather bestowed as a blessing.
 
Richard points out people like this get a lot more done, without getting tired, because they no longer struggle against the inner voices of resistance. They ooze compassion and energy. I feel safe around them.
 
How did they learn to let go? For most it’s the hard way. Like me they spent the first half of life trying to establish control over their lives – education, career, income, family, home. That’s all fine but then they experience some kind of kairos – an old Greek word used a lot in the Bible meaning ‘opportunity for change’ or ‘things coming to a head’. In a modern-day context, the best example is a mid-life crisis. If they surrender to it, the kairos shoves them into the second half of life, which then becomes about letting go of the need for control, accepting what happens and surrendering to the flow of life.
 
It has taken me a long time to understand there even is a second half of life, although chronologically I got there seventeen years ago and have had more than my share of kairos events.
 
The rules here are very different. The areas to control are not trivial ‘first-half of life’ concerns but difficult, on-going choices involving attitude and behaviour.
 
For example, in the video I talk about ‘keeping the toilet bowl clean’. I take this to mean I must: keep short accounts in my relationships; say sorry a lot; don’t let the sun go down on my anger; put myself out there when I’m called to do so; refuse to accept falsehoods like ‘I don’t have enough money’ or ‘There is not enough time’; focus on my own shortcomings rather than judging others; be true to my values rather than my wants or complaints.
 
Any one of these things is hard enough on its own, let alone taking them all on. But in the second half of life you can’t do anything else.
 
The sages put their faith in life for the big stuff (which in reality is outside of anyone’s control). If tragedy strikes, they trust in the love and support of others, and the spiritual strength within themselves, to deal with it.
 
So for now, I’m just going to keep trying to scrub the stains off the toilet.
 
Watch out for lesson five next, which tells how my wife’s strengths could help me in ways I never imagined.
 
*Someone famous said this but I don’t know who!

‘Lesson from the Road’ is a series on the discoveries I made about myself both as a man and husband whilst walking 580 kms together with my wife Deborah.
 
Our journey followed The Way of St Francis, an ancient pilgrims’ route through central Italy. It was a beautiful and uplifting time for both of us. But along with the joy we also experienced tears. As we walked, issues came up I’d never fully addressed and could no longer push away.
 
I’m glad to say by the end of the pilgrimage, my twenty-five year relationship with Deborah was stronger. These stories from the road recount what I learned on the way. I hope they entertain, illuminate and even help in your relationships with the people you love.
 
Here is lesson three.
​
Navigating is the most frequently visited conflict zone in our marriage. Other big ones include preparing dinner parties, getting ready to go on holiday, and infrequent tasks like erecting a tent or moving furniture. But driving is the clear number one.

A typical scenario:

“Shouldn’t you be going that way?” I ask as we whizz past the freeway entrance.

“I’ve chosen the route I want to take, thank you,” replies Deb.

“OK,” I say.

I fidget silently for a minute but can’t contain myself.

“Google maps says going on the freeway is much faster,” I blurt.

That’s when Deb starts to get annoyed.

“Fine, but I didn’t ask you to look at any maps,” she says. “I’m driving so please just let me do it my way.”

“But according to Google your route is six minutes slower!” I say waving my smart phone at her to prove I’m right. “That’s just irrational.”

Then it goes downhill from there.

Once we cool down, Deb and I sometimes ask ourselves why we have these unhealthy interactions. I know my behaviour has deep roots in the past. As the oldest of four boys who’d just lost their mother, I learned how to survive stress at home by getting everyone to do things the ‘right’ way, particularly around eating, homework and keeping the place tidy. If it looked like we were doing things the ‘wrong’ way, I’d panic and seize control to get things back on the ‘right’ track. I could end up being pretty bossy and harsh.  

I know now there is never one ‘right’ way to get anything done in life. Yet this behaviour became so hard-wired I can’t seem to stop myself.

Each time it happens I end up feeling terribly guilty. Denying Deb the freedom to do things her way makes her feel disempowered and undermined. Then she pushes back and I defend myself.  It’s a vicious cycle.

These conflicts are wounding. Sometimes it can take a day for us to recover our affinity for each other.

Fortunately, out of this bleakness we had a breakthrough on the road in Italy. I hope it will change everything going forward.

As I describe in the video, we’d just had an argument over directions and were trudging along in sullen silence. But we then did two things that were so smart and outside the norm I still cannot believe we thought of them.

“Can we just forget this argument?” I asked. “Like it never happened?”

Deb looked at me puzzled.

“Whenever we fight like this,” I continued. “We spend too much time afterwards going over what happened. You become upset. I can’t stop apologising and feeling guilty. So it never makes any difference. How about I simply say sorry, then we leave it and move on?”
​
Deb smiled and said, “Yes. Good idea. Let’s just leave it. And celebrate later with a drink.”
 
What a genius!
 
We walked in silence for a couple more hours. At this point I’d normally be wallowing in guilt. But because we’d let it go and wiped the slate clean all the negativity evaporated. I felt free, able to enjoy the beauty of the countryside. We even held hands.
 
Both of us had embraced the fact I can’t stop reacting the way I do, for now. From time to time it’s likely I’ll try to force the ‘right’ way of doing things on her. Perhaps in future I’ll be free but not now. Deb seems OK with that. She’s not taking it personally.
 
We also both realised too much discussion is counter-productive. It’s far better to starve the argument of oxygen.
 
A couple of hours later we arrived at our destination. It was time to celebrate! We found our little hotel, showered and headed out to a chic looking bar across the square. We ordered a couple of Aperol Spritzs, our new favourite drink (three parts Prosecco, one part Aperol - an Italian bitter aperitif - plus sparkling water and a slice of fresh orange). We helped ourselves to snacks from the bar and settled down to watch the locals taking their evening passagiatto. 
 
The drinks arrived and we toasted each other. Nothing needed to be said. Spritz was all that was required.
 
 
Our lives occasionally need a major clean out. Watch out for Lesson Four.