Is it a Myth?

On reflection it is hard to believe that in October it will be six years since I left the corporate world.

In August of 2019 I had adjusted my work pattern and was taking my dad to oncology every Tuesday. To accommodate this my understanding Managing Director was allowing me to work a compressed working week. I was fitting my hours into four weekdays.

I was still sporadically teaching at Petersfield, but I was relying on my dojo colleagues to hold the reigns. Specifically, Keith, Jon, Wayne and Robin.

Growing up in the dojo my Sensei had always repeated the sentiment of his teacher Enoeda Sensei

‘Family first, then work to support your family, then karate’.

Since I was 21 years old, I have been trying to live to that guideline, but I have never found it easy. Somehow working to support the family has often replaced spending time with the ones I love the most. Especially when my children were very small and funds were sparse.

Somehow when karate becomes your work it is even more confusing!

When I left the ‘day-job’ I felt free and weightless. The same way I used to feel when I was at school at the beginning of the long summer holidays. We had enough savings to last several months, so financial pressures were parked, and I was able to press a psychological reset of sorts.

On Mondays I would visit my dad for an hour or so, then I’d Walk the dog. After that I would come home and put some classic Metallica on Spotify while I cleaned the bathroom and bedrooms.

It was quite the contrast from my Monday Sales briefings I had led previously.

Tuesdays would be a day at the hospital in Southampton, and the rest of the week was largely unplanned. In-fact, apart from dojo duties Wednesdays and Saturdays I am struggling to remember anything resembling a routine.

Once dad’s health began to deteriorate, I again relied on the others at the dojo and put family first. Those days were a time of managing life ‘one-day-at-a-time’ and navigating the worries and realities as they presented themselves. I put on weight, my personal karate stagnated, and the dojo coped without me.

I was doing the right things, specifically prioritising family, but I was out of balance. I felt ‘off’.

During lockdown when my immediate family were around me everything got simpler. I was in the fortunate position whereby I had built a home dojo some years before, so I was able to separate myself from life as Dad and train, explore and escape into karate at the bottom of the garden.

But I wasn’t really working! At least not in the traditional sense.

Family was balanced and I was present. Karate was developing and getting back on track. But I wasn’t working. I wasn’t earning. I became conscious of the lack of balance.

Some people when they consider balance visualise a weighing scale tipping one side or the other. But for a long time, I have pictured a three-legged stool or tripod.

At times in my life, it is as if one leg has grown or another has shortened. I have remained emotionally upright, but I have felt that I am ‘off’ and could topple if not careful.

During lockdown I read Mans search for meaning by Viktor Frankl the famous psychologist and I became aware of the importance of purpose.

I feel that my purpose has been defined since I read this book. It has been to live a balanced life. A life defined through my love for my family with karate as my work and opportunity to help others around me achieve their potential.

Like everything, it is a work in progress.

Except for competition reports I haven’t written a blog for a few months. That is an indicator that I am off balance. I have been focussing hard on our dojo work and consequently my subconscious has been pulling at my soul.

I have been feeling out of balance, and recently I sought advice from some of my closest karate friends and mentors.

The responses were contradictive, and I saw an online clip about exceptional performance that really hit hard. In essence the presenter explained that they felt that no elite performer leads a balanced life. Perhaps that is the cost of success or genius. Whether you are Steve Jobs or Usain Bolt and are truly exceptional, then you must make sacrifices!

But this was not the legacy advice I had received from Enoeda Sensei.

I was conflicted.

I wondered if a balanced life was a myth.

Strangely I found the answer under the sink!

Growing up we did not have much disposable income, but we were mostly happy. My Dad was an Electrician by trade but was capable of most building tasks and my Grandad is of the generation that can fix anything.

If my dad was not working, he would be rewiring someone’s house at the weekends or decorating our home. Consequently, I would either be watching him work or doing the same with my Grandad or Uncle. The men in my family were always fixing, building or changing something. Either for themselves or each other.

I bought my first house in 2004 and defaulted to the family example. Together we ripped it apart and completely changed it. That was quite simply ‘what you did’ as a grown-up male in our family.

That is who I was until 2020 when we lost Dad!

Since then, I have despised DIY but I hadn’t realised it.

One of my earliest memories of my dad is watching him rewiring our lounge in North End in Portsmouth. Dad had a green Gola sports bag that had become his tool bag, and it was what we now consider classically retro or vintage 1970’s style. Back then it was just a few years old.

The bag was a confused mass of everything dad needed to get the job done. All the specific tools, some spare fuses, wire, junction boxes and tape. It was all thrown in without any particular order, but everything was in there. As well as sawdust and mess collected accidentally from each job like a scar or war wound.

As dad got older, he outgrew the bag and needed various toolboxes and bags, but he was never a tidy worker. In fact, I used to enjoy tidying dads’ tools, vans and garages for him. At the end of a job dad would throw all his ‘stuff’ into his bags and often a few buckets to get offsite and go home.

I can hear him saying ‘bloody cheek’, but sorry dad, it’s true!

When I worked with my Grandad we would have a different dynamic. Grandad was teaching me how to do things, but in all honesty, I would often default to watching the master at work. Nobody could saw or dig like Maurice.

Grandad is now in his late eighties and has prioritised caring for my grandmother for the last ten years. Without Dad or Grandad to work with I haven’t wanted to approach any DIY, but I hadn’t even realised it. Instead, my wife has stepped up and has fuelled largely by Instagram and Pinterest has been tackling projects around the house.

A few weeks back I was in Nottingham training with some close friends. After training I was chatting to Phil Owen who is a joiner by trade. We shared stories of our dads and Phil told me about a special, Blue-handled chisel he had bought for his father. I explained that I had promised my Mum I would sort Dads tools, but I had found it too painful and had put it off. After the chat I resolved to getting it done.

When I returned, I spent some time at Mums and started what I had promised. It was painful. Sure-enough dads tools were in various states of ‘organisation’.

Initially I stared at a random bucket full of tools and bits. I had a moment and then two hours later the tools were sorted. The last person to touch those tools was dad and somehow his personality and essence was in the randomness of the bucket. As soon as I organised and put the tools away that would be lost. But ….. the tools would be easier to find. And that would help mum in an emergency.

I realised that in not touching the tools I had refused to fully accept my loss. By not attempting any DIY I had avoided the nudge towards acceptance. I was not fully me. I was out of balance!

Yesterday I was blasting through some work so I could free up some family time to enjoy the bank holiday. I had been up since 5am and was working away when my wife shouted out that the sink in the kitchen was leaking and she needed my help.

As recently as a month ago that would have filled me with dread. I would have wanted to hide from the reality like a turtle in its shell. I was refusing to face the final reality of life without dad.

A few years back we would have phoned pops, and he would have fixed the sink. If he was busy or unwell grandad would have driven down and helped me or fixed it for me. Then we would be back in balance.

But…. Now it’s my time to step up and get these things done. I have just not wanted to admit it.

My wife and I are very different. She is like a circus performer spinning plates. She seems to thrive on having multiple things to do. Why not sand a banister while cooking dinner?

I on the other hand like to have laser-like focus on a single task. If I am allowed time to consider the task at hand and I am left alone. I will get it done. This frustrates the hell out of Karyn. But I have realised that this is how I work best.

So, I asked Karyn to put a bowl under the sink and explained that I needed to finish my admin and then I would fix it. I also would not be able to go out with the family for a walk. I could see my wife’s face fill with frustration, but somehow, I knew this sink leak was a pivotal moment for me.

I finished the tasks I had to do, then looked at the sink. I noted what new seals I potentially needed and what tools I’d need to do the job. Tool wise, I knew where to find them…..I had tidied them recently.

After a quick trip to Wickes and Screwfix I popped to my Mums and borrowed the appropriate wrenches from Dad’s toolbox. I came home popped capital gold on the radio like we used to do and after taking the cupboard door off took the pipework apart section by section. I then cleaned it all meticulously and rodded the underground waste like dad taught me to do.

A section of the pipe was clearly blocking so I modified it and then replaced rubber seals and put everything back together in a slowly and considered way. Testing with a small amount of water at each key stage. The way I like to work.

Soon enough everything was back together and with great delight I filmed my non-leaking victory and sent the clip on whatsapp to my wife. (I am very insecure I need the glory😊).

Then came the pivotal moment. Tidying up after. Unlike dad I need order. I put each tool back where I found it. Ready for the next job or emergency. I then tidied up and waited for my family to get home from their bank holiday walk.

Somehow, I felt extremely balanced.

They say that the final stage of grief is acceptance. Wrongly I had felt that I was there with the loss of my dad. I now realise I had accepted the physical loss but not necessarily the change in role which that equates to in my life. I have been out of balance.

As I consider this, I am visualising the three-legged stool once again. If all legs are not the same length the stool may not fall, but it won’t be comfortable to sit on either. Perhaps discomfort is a great indicator of how balanced we all are or otherwise aren’t.

A dear friend of mine has had to resign recently due to ill health. I have watched them deal with the pain and acceptance of their situation. But they are prioritising family first so from my own experience I know they are on the right track.

The adage states that everything happens for a reason. If I hadn’t of finally sorted my dad’s tools I couldn’t have fixed our sink immediately. A conversation about a chisel helped me prepare and seek balance. I realised the relevance under the sink.

Moments of true balance are surely momentary, ephemeral and fleeting. But when they are there, they are a joy.

I wander if the irony is that to appreciate balance you must understand contrast and inevitably pain or discomfort?

Is balance a myth? No ….. it’s a non-leaking sink!

Dads tool bucket :-)