"Nasty, brutish, and short"; three recent things I've learnt from my Mum

Document your thoughts; choose wisely; and be mindful.

"Life is nasty, brutish, and short". So said Thomas Hobbes in 1651. His pessimistic view of the human condition is well documented and a philosophy that I sympathised with, until my mother was diagnosed with pulmonary fibrosis and pleuroparenchymal fibroelastosis (or PPFE for short) about a year ago. Clinicians made the decision to withdraw treatment for my Mum’s lung conditions in early April, and sought to improve her quality of life.

When I heard that my mother had a sooner than expected date with destiny, I felt dreadful. Not because she developed these diseases despite a lifelong abstinence from smoking. Not because she would die sooner than anyone should (she is 65 in July). And not because of my Mum’s painful realisation that her retirement would no longer be of walks along the golden sands of sun-flooded Caribbean beaches, but instead increasingly be spent in the shadow of a wheelchair hooked up to oxygen canisters within the bounds of the British Isles.

My dread isn’t reserved for any of that. It is the helplessness, the pity, the everlasting incomprehension of having a life cut short by nothing more than being dealt a bad hand you never knew you held. But worst of all, worst of all by a country mile, I feel dreadful for not being there enough when the sun was shining. As it sets, one’s attempts to make up for it seem futile. Not to my mother (who has always reacted to seeing me since I properly flew the nest in 2006 like the public reacted to the Diamond Jubilee) but to me. Life is nasty, brutish and short.

But now having had time to accept what that means, I wanted to distil what I think I’ve learnt from the past 12 months. I think I’ve got three.

Learning One: Document your thoughts, no matter how barmy

The Harvard Business Review is something I buy every now and again. It costs twenty quid - not an inexpensive luxury (at the time of writing, GBP was still a major international currency) - so I take time to extract what I find interesting. I make often rushed judgments on the passages that will be examined in detail, guaranteeing a temporary mooring in the density of my mind. The magazine is deposited into my bathroom’s literature basket, nestled alongside other learned periodicals and ostentatious gems from the late Sir David Tang.

Some were funny, some were tragic, some were a source of inspiration (unsurprisingly some recollections have been accepted by us both as a complete waste of time). But they all meant something, to someone.

But why am I sharing this, other than wanting to show off my over-priced and under-utilised HBR collection? The editors of HBR often include some nattily trendy article on ‘future-proofing the workforce’, ‘avoiding phantom anchors’ or the like, and on reading the headline you quietly think to yourself: millennial bollocks. But you read on. And, by Jove, it’s useful. The 21st century problems that are right up in your face are answered by a few pages of scholarly prose…written in 1967. What? Where’s the millennial? This guy is probably in his 90s now! How the hell did he know about AI/digital disruption/responding to the Eurozone crisis back when spending a penny actually was only a penny?

I’ve been going back to see my Mum more frequently since her diagnosis, and we talk a lot more. And about original stuff I hadn’t ever realised she’s done, or been interested in. Some were funny, some were tragic, some were a source of inspiration (unsurprisingly some recollections have been accepted by us both as a complete waste of time). But they all meant something, to someone.

So write about your thoughts, share your insights and shout about them until you’re hoarse. You never know what people will find interesting, what they might turn into, or when you’ll be unable to make them again.

Learning Two: Be nice and choose wisely

I recently met -‘interacted with’ is probably more appropriate - with someone who instantly dismissed me out of hand, with no thought for how I might react. I was shocked. Despite my innumerate shortcomings, social agility generally isn’t one I’d recognise…but this conversation knocked me flat. I politely excused myself following five minutes of humiliation and got a coffee to clear my head. But it didn’t work. Anger rushed through my veins. Why did I tolerate it when I have always (professionally at least) sought to be polite and courteous? I made call after call asking for opinions from friends and colleagues: what does this mean? Is there something I should learn? The answer: “no, don’t worry, they just sound like a [Anglo-Saxon noun and/or verb]”.

A team has to be more than just the sum of its parts so if you do have to the power to choose, choose wisely.

I then thought back to a funeral from late 2018. The eulogy was read by my best and oldest friend, along with his brother, who lost both of their parents – two great, loving and exceptionally funny people – in the same year and only months apart. The oration was beautiful, made even more so because of the closeness my friend and his mother shared despite being separated by one of our great oceans. I knew that - safe in the knowledge of how unashamedly happy he is with his wife and the hopeful prospects of the future - his mother would have been proud of her legacy, and even prouder of her sons. Simply knowing someone is happy can, perhaps, be enough to make you happy too. This made the anger drain away.

The learning? Be pleasant, be open, and remember that although can choose your friends, everyone else is usually beyond your control. A team has to be more than just the sum of its parts so if you do have to the power to choose, choose wisely.

Learning Three: In times of crisis, be mindful of you

The effects of a personal dilemma will hit different people in different ways with different intensities. I won’t go into what other people experience as I’ve never experienced it. What I do know is that it impacts people beyond your family: your friends; your colleagues; the guy next to you on the tube who keeps elbowing into you; or the stranger who buys your coffee because they sense you’ve had a tough day (thanks, by the way, whoever you were). 

Stop what you’re doing. Take a day off. Listen to those that are closest you. Assess the change in yourself, and if it’s useful. If so, great. If not, sort it out.

You re-prioritise because you want to solve the crisis or mitigate its effects. My own experience has had noticeable effects. I haven’t been to the gym or eaten properly in six months and lost a whole load of weight (but gained the unintended concern of my mother who now worries for me); I’ve been more distant from my friends when I should have been closer (with their worry also now on my balance sheet); and my focus on work as a mechanism to forget has altered my sleep and invariably changes my mood from time to time. So much so that people I’ve never met before are either getting the stare I usually reserve for despots, or buying me my favourite hot milky beverage as I bounce from day to day.

I used to think mindfulness was a load of nonsense created by some idiot from the HBR. It’s really not.

Lesson? Stop what you’re doing. Take a day off. Listen to those that are closest you. Assess the change in yourself, and if it’s useful. If so, great. If not, sort it out because you're doing no one any favours.

I used to think mindfulness was a load of nonsense created by some idiot from the HBR. It’s really not. I’m only a beginner but I can already feel the difference in focusing on the ‘self’, and appreciating ‘the moment’. By investing time in yourself in this way, you are benefiting everyone in your orbit.

But if there’s one thing I’ve learnt over the past year, it’s this: whenever you get the chance to talk or see someone you normally take for granted, take it - and do so without reservation.

You’ll enjoy it, you’ll learn something, and you’ll never regret it.