The “ah-ha” moment…

This week I want to talk about two really important parts of who I am and the ah-ha moment that followed…(oh no, not a deep philosophical rant) :-)  Hardly, but its important to get inside the guy’s head who writes his annoyingly addictive weekly blog don’t you think?  

I guess I’ve always been a passionate guy….   My passion is centered on doing the best I can no matter what the situation, whether it is my personal life with Zach and Sami, perhaps playing sport and particularly at work.  Some might say that I’m just “wired” that way.   Sometimes its confused with being overly competitive and “pushy”, but I like to think of myself as just someone who cares a whole lot!

EQ - Emotional Intelligence

No matter how advantageous you think this might be, the pitfalls are many!   This week was a prime example – working with a new team at work, and my focus and drive seemed to either intimidate or piss off the people around me.   Not everybody is going to see things from your point of view, but seriously it can be a minefield working in a corporate environment.   So what do you do?   You can take the easy way out by succumbing to the mind numbing everyday drone which you may have become or you can stand strong and push on and be your genuine self.    Any thoughts on which way I went?   

Clearly you have to pick you battles and sometimes “play the game” but to survive and thrive your EQ (emotional intelligence) needs to be well established and switched on at all times.   

The other biggie for me is my personal values.   Its strange but I think about my personal values probably a lot more than most people, and in the course of any given day they will somehow pop into my psyche either through some experience or moment.   More often than not it is because they are being directly challenged in a way that is making me feel off balance or uncomfortable.  

Some might call me over sensitive (which I am by the way and proud of it), but feeling aligned to my values is extremely important to me, watch out when they don’t align is all I’m saying.

Take a look...do you like what you see?

I’m not sure when the last time you reflected on these two things or perhaps the things that “center” you like these two do for me but I got to tell you I find it immensely rewarding on so many levels that I both reflect on them and follow their lead.   I guess I’m not your everyday corporate guy, this sort of thinking has gotten me into my fair share of scrapes over the years but the “acid test” for me is when you look in the mirror each day who do you want to see – the passionate guy with strong values starring back at you or the other guy who doesn’t look beyond the surface?  

Following my passions and aligning my values seem to be my “north star” by which I navigate this crazy life of mine….  

Now for the “ah ha” moment….drum roll please!   

Recently I’ve been asked on a number of occasions whether I’m a motivational speaker.   When the first person asked I quickly brushed it aside and blushed profusely, but as I reflected and was again asked it hit me that perhaps I am in a way.   Not so much in the Anthony Robbins type mold but more in the day to day getting you jazzed up and fueling you for the journey ahead type of guy – perhaps more of a coach…

It brought back long forgotten memories of my days as a teacher when I coached our High school football team (Australian Rules) at the state football championships.  That first year we actually won the Division II state football championship – the first time for our school and my first real coaching experience.  I can only take a small amount of credit for that as the young players I had were talented beyond their years but it gave me a taste and inkling of what I could do to motivate those individual players and get them playing as a single unit. 

My secret sauce if you will was - getting them to truly believe in their talents and abilities and that if they really trusted those things that all the rest would fall into place – but they had to believe in themselves and those around them more than anything else for every moment of every game over the Championship series.  

It worked amazingly well and coming from out of nowhere our school beat all the football giants to take the coveted Division II championship in fine style!  In those days I was ecstatic but didn’t think too much of it.

After moving to Canada I help found the Canadian Australian Football Association (now the AFL Canada) and coached a couple of teams over the ensuing years.   I was also fortunate enough to be the playing coach for team Canada in a number of international matches including the Canada vs. Great Britain international which we played in London in front of 3000+ people and won.   Not bad for an underdog country with no real track record of international success!   

TW in his playing days...circa 1996

As I think back to those halcyon days what did I do differently that brought the team together to “gel” so perfectly in that moment to win the big game?   I just did what came naturally to me – I worked with each player to understand what motivated them on a personal level first, before bringing together and harnessing their collective emotions and abilities to perform.  After retiring from competitive football I honestly thought my coaching days were well and truly behind me, but each time I get asked that question it drives it home to me that I’m always going to be a coach of sorts whether I like it or not – my destiny if you will.   :-))

So what are you thinking about right now?   Are you thinking – “this is the last time I’m reading this guys crap?” or perhaps “wow, I’ve never really thought about it like that before and I’m feeling like I could take on the world right about now?”

If nothing else perhaps you’ll take a moment to reflect on what makes you so good on your best day.   Is it passion…perhaps your values…perhaps your ability to help others, whatever it is find it cos’ once you do and understand how to use it (for good hopefully and not evil :-)) things just fall into place.

Good luck on your on finding your personal ingredients!

The Unit

I still remember when Brain Chase (Vice Principal) came to find me one muggy morning (aren’t they all in Darwin?) - I was teaching at Nightcliff High School in the early 1980's.   Brian was one of those people that you had a very hard time saying “no” to, he was chock full of energy and verve and more often than not he had a huge grin on his face – now you trying saying no to that!   

He found me with one of my classes and asked to see me in the corridor, not really thinking too much of it I got the class working on their next science experiment.   He leaned in closely and said that one of the teachers had called in sick and that he needed me to step in on a particular assignment that he had to deal with.  My initial response was “sure – no problem”.  He stared into my eyes and said that it wasn’t a conventional class but something special and that I should go to see him just before the end of lunch to discuss it further.  

Ariel photo of Nightcliff High almost
bordering the Arafura Sea

I had often had taken the kids who were thrown out of classes or kids who were in trouble and spent time with them, helping them blow off steam.  This consisted more often than not of playing full contact Gridiron (American football  but with no equipment – usually shirts and skins) on a grassy field out near the schools car-park, wherein the more scrapes you got and the harder you hit and were hit the better the kids loved in.  I always played along just to make it interesting…(remember these were the 80’s).   So I really didn’t think too much about it as I sauntered into his office toward the end of lunch, which was a situated just a few steps from the main staff room.

He asked me to close the door and take a seat, he had a worried look on his face and I started to get little uneasy about what he was about to tell me.  He started to talk slowly not really wanting to make eye contact; he explained that inside the school there was a special Aboriginal Unit.   Now that’s strange I thought to myself, I had taught at the school for more than two years and I hadn’t heard of any special Aboriginal unit.  

Apparently the unit had been around for many years, but was hidden within plain sight of everyone at the school.   So I asked where it was?   He said it would be better if he showed me, and that he expected that this conversation should be kept between him and me.   It was important that this didn’t become common knowledge, it seemed all very clandestine but agreed to go along with Brian’s request out of the respect I held for him. 

We walked to the main quadrangle of the school, by this time all the kids were either in class or about to head into class so the space was pretty deserted.   We walked to what I had always thought was the air conditioner compound for the school, and as we entered the depths of this space I realized that in fact there was a small building sitting inside the ring of air conditioner units humming quietly away. 

A recent photo of
Nightcliff High School students

It was eerily quiet as we approached the building, and still not really knowing what to expect I was stunned to see a class of more than 30 full-blooded aboriginal kids sitting in desks (I found out later from Brian that they all were staying with relatives or extended family near the school and that this program had been set up many years before as alternative to local settlement schools, but clearly still not integrated into the school proper). 

As we entered you could of heard a pin drop as their heads craned around almost in unison as we entered – still not a single sound punctuated this surreal place, their eyes following us as we moved to the front of the single room.   I remember watching the faces as I passed, hearing the sound of the overhead fans whirring away and the soft gusts of breeze being pushed around the room by the ever-rotating blades, but not a single sound.

Brian introduced me to the class saying that I would be the instructor for the afternoon and that we were going to work on some science.   As he was getting ready to leave he leaned into me and told to ensure that students left school 30 minutes earlier than all of the other students of the school and that this was also very important…

So feeling just a tad out of sorts as he made a hasty retreat I asked them to get out their books and pens…still complete silence and not a single student moved.   I looked enquiring at the faces and asked again, some of the braver students turned to look to the back of the room…what was going on here I thought?   Then without warning all the students began taking out their books and pens.  Perhaps they were still trying to get used to the way I spoke – “speak slower I thought to myself”.

Most classes in the regular school environment the noise levels were a controlled form of chaos, so pretty similar to the sound of an F15 fighter jet taking off.   To be honest I was feeling a little unnerved by the whole situation, after all just finding out about the unit to start with had been a shock, then that coupled with the complete and utter lack of noise had thrown me completely off.

The orignal school buildings constructed
in the late 1960's

Trying to get back on track I started asking questions – rather simple ones, you see this class was a mixed class of ages so I was trying to keep it relatively easy so that I could gauge where to really dig in with the lesson.   My first question was met with complete silence.   My second I pointed to a girl in the front row asked her a question, she averted her eyes but knew I was asking her a question…still no response.   Now I was beginning to feel a little frustrated with the situation and felt like a new substitute that they were testing.

I followed up with a third question to boy in the second or third, but instead of looking at me he just turned again to the back of the room and looked besieging at someone or something, I couldn’t quite figure it out which.    All of a sudden an older boy stood up at the back of the room and in a thickly accented tribal English tried to answer the question.   Now I was totally confused…   I thanked him and asked him to take a seat.

So I tried again, asking another question of another student but with the same reaction – the same boy in the back stood and answered.   Feeling a tad frustrated with what was going on I asked him his name – “Freddie” he said, his eyes looking down.   Thanks Freddie but lets have someone else answer the question next time I remarked.   I felt like they were taking advantage of me, but I just didn’t know the complexities of what was going on in this class.

The class was a complete disaster, so instead of doing any form of science I reverted to reading a story to them, perching myself on the desk at the front of the class and reading to them for the remainder of the class.   So put their heads down, some yawned and looked disinterestedly around the room but a handful seemed genuinely interested and listened intently.   At 2:00 pm sharp I dismissed the class and went to find Brian.

I found him in his office, a rueful smile played on his lips as he asked me how it went?   I carefully explained to him the dynamics of the class and that it had been an unmitigated disaster.   He told me that the Unit as it was known was based on tribal customs.    So what does that mean I asked?   It means that only Freddie as the tribal elder can answer any question from a white man…(thanks – good information if he had given me that little tidbit before I went into the class, although it wouldn’t have made an iota of difference as I was oblivious to complexities of tribal customs in any event).

He was pleased that it had gone so well…    Gone so well I asked completely confused?   Mate didn’t you hear me?   All I could do was read them a story.   Brilliant he said – thank you.  He reminded me of our commitment not to tell anyone of this experience.

TW circa 1985

I was fortunate enough to have the privilege of going back to fill in on a number of occasions over the ensuing months now that I had been “initiated”, each time taking in just a little more time to observe the nuances and cadence of the customs within the class.

On these subsequent visits, Freddie and the others would smile brightly as I walked into the class, becoming just a little more at ease and friendly toward me, but now knowing the dynamics – I would direct the questions to class but look to Freddie for his answer.  Freddie wasn’t always able to offer me the answer I was looking for strictly speaking, but I was getting a whole lot richer for my experience with the kids from the Unit.  

This is one of my best memories from my early teaching career and by far the most memorable!

Serendipitous moments

Writing for the love of the written word had taken on a new meaning for me personally since I first sat down to write about my adventure trek in Papua New Guinea last year.  Your encouragement has been amazing, hearing from many of you in comments or emails especially when I’m late in publishing my weekly blog :-) yes, I know I usually publish Friday nights!

A young TW captured waiting for a train
at Myrdal - Norway - circa 1985

So I wish I could have been a better observer earlier in my life particularly during my year backpacking around the world, but at 26 you’re hardly able to look at much past the thing that’s directly in front of you, “if I see another bloody church or museum….seriously”.  I can’t tell you how many cathedrals, churches, museums or historic sites I saw and experienced in my year away, but after a while you become numb, as they’re so overwhelming in number and similarity.  Yeah sure they are stunning but after the first twenty or so they begin to blend into the same mental image.

What I do remember clearly are the serendipitous moments over the course of that year and on one such occasion….

I was standing at a bus stop in Oslo, Norway; snow was beginning to fall and night was fast approaching with the light turning to grey (although it was only about 4:00 pm).  I was headed for a youth hostel after my train journey from Bergen in western Norway and an afternoon of touring the Edvard Munch museum.   I stood transfixed by the large, fat, wet snowflakes that were falling and beginning to accumulate on my shoulders and around my feet – this sure was different to Northern Australia! 

This was about the size of the flag I had on my backpack

In the fading light I noticed an older couple-shuffling arm in arm toward me and as they got closer they were eyeing me with some trepidation, remember I was a backpacker with a mullet so no wonder they were perhaps a little apprehensive.   On the side of my backpack I had strategically placed an Australian flag a couple of inches in size, which was a pretty normal practice and still a common practice today.   I’m not sure why they slowed down as they approach me, perhaps because it was slippery or that perhaps they didn’t feel safe and so I turned my back to them and tried to ignore them as best as possible. 

The view from the Youth Hostel overlooking
the city of Bergen, west coast of Norway... are
those snow clouds on the horizon?

As I stood there I sensed that they had stopped about six feet or so away from me and were quietly conversing in Norwegian.  Perhaps they were waiting for the bus as well.  The gentleman asked me if I was from Australia, I turned and replied that I was.  With that they came closer and explained that Gunnar’s brother had immigrated to Adelaide in 1953 and wanted to know if I knew him...   I explained that Australia was a very large country and that I wasn’t from Adelaide so unfortunately I didn’t know Hans and his family.   They smiled non-the-less and asked where I was going.  I said that I was waiting for the bus to take me to the youth hostel, at which they said that they lived close by and wanted to know if I would have dinner with them.

My initial reaction was to politely refuse, but as a person traveling alone this was clearly one of those decision points, one that you trust your gut instinct and “go with the flow” so I said “that would be wonderful – thank you”.  They each took an arm and we all shuffled along toward their warm and inviting home not too far down the street.   I’m not sure if it was it because they were lonely or wanted to learn more about Australia but Gunnar and Ingeborg were the most gracious and welcoming hosts someone could imagine having in a foreign city.  As Ingeborg fussed over the dinner preparations I sat with Gunnar at the kitchen table, as we talked they asked me questions of Australia and my family.  After a delicious home cooked meal they got out their family photo albums and they showed me snap shot after snap shot of their families over the years, some even from Hans and his smiling family in Adelaide.  

As I stood to bid them goodnight and thank them for their generosity they said that it was too late to be looking for the hostel and wanted me to stay the night in their son’s old room.  What could I say but yes…    We talked late into the night, me telling stories of Australia and my days working on a farm (yes, even some of the stories I've written about :-) and they telling stories of their children, grandchildren and their lives in Norway.   After a fitful sleep and a beautiful breakfast they bid me farewell the next morning.  It was a truly unexpected and rewarding experience, hopefully for us all.  I left with a renewed appreciation for hospitality that I had never know, ready and eager to seek what lay before me and my next adventure.  

No question that times have changed radically since the 1980’s, but is it our exposure to an ever shrinking world (thank you to the internet) or are we just more cautious and less open and generous to doing something like that today?   Would I invite someone who I didn’t know into my home like Gunnar and Ingeborg?   I would like to think so, but when I reflect on that experience and I see young backpackers at a bus stop or on the subway I ask myself if I would be that brave.

Epilogue

This week I had some feedback on my blog from last week, which made me understand the power of images and words in a way that I could never have imagined (pardon my naivety) prior to beginning this journey of discovery.   I speak of the photo of the World Trade Centers and the plane about to hit it, and although I innocently put the photo in my blog to represent the dangers of airline travel.   I now realize that this photo brought back memories of personal loss for which I have no level of understanding and comprehension; clearly I wasn’t aware that this image was so devastating to many of my readers, I have replaced the specific photo but please accept my humblest apologies….  

The Weekly Commute

Let me tell you about my travel week - this week was a classic, first week back in the air and all I could muster was a middle seat - bulkhead (for those who fly regularly you know what I mean!)    To add insult to injury the flights was completely oversold, taking off late in the day for a four-hour return flight to Toronto and landing around midnight.    Aaahhh home at last I thought….

Actually arriving at midnight was not the worst part, oh no, not by a long shot!   Mother nature had to add a little salt to the wound – “hey, let’s add a couple of hours of thunderstorms to mess up the already overloaded air traffic control system”; why not park all the planes in the de-icing staging area of the airport and make them wait for an additional two more hours until we find a gate for them...   Hell, while we’re at it let’s turn down the air-conditioning to save fuel while we sit here – does the concept of a Turkish sauna mean anything to you?    It was ugly, ugly!   Did I say “ugly?”

Yes, there is an actual website for this...
www.airlinecomplaints.org/.

Yes, a great initiation back into the realms of flying as part of making a living – oi vay!!

I suppose I’m still a tad over-tired as I don’t usually look at the “glass half empty” (well not too often anyway) or get as grumpy but lately the airlines have really gotten under my skin.  

I’m not sure if it’s the surly airline staff that “serve” you, seriously the thinly veiled contempt that they seem to exude each and every time you converse with one of them is a tad annoying, especially when you already feel like you’re getting fleeced to fly.  In North America, it’s the added costs that just pile up around once you buy the ticket that annoys the hell out of me.   Extra to check a bag, extra to get a pillow or blanket and even extra to get a flimsy set of earphones – where does the madness end?   Would it better if the airline staff gave a shit about you as a paying customer?   Great question – have we become too jaded and cynical?   Or is that just me J

A day of extreme tragedy

There is no question that the face of airline travel changed September 11^th, 2001.   That day of unprecedented terrorism erased a lifetime of enjoyment for generations who had been accustomed to seeing a plane trip as “fun”!   Overnight it became a much more scary proposition to fly (even though the statistics continue to point out that automobile travel is a much riskier), and one that became more painful as the shadow of 9/11 played its way out globally over the ensuing years.   Many would say “rightly so” given the global situation and the various terrorist groups/cells and the far-flung evidence of their handiwork ever present.  

In essence, it redefined our travel experience.   I feel a true sense of loss to think that my kids will never experience the freedom of traveling without barriers.  You see our kids have only ever known airline travel as a series of line ups, security screenings, random searches, biometric scans, a list of rules as long as your arm for what you can and can’t take on a plane – and so it goes.   It transformed a once exciting and fun life experience into a bothersome, annoying and frustrating one for 99% of the travellers.

You know it wasn’t always like this; prior to 9/11 flying held a certain mystic and old world charm for me personally.  I used to get genuinely excited about flying no matter how long the flight or where I was headed, as long as I was on a plane.   Now perhaps I had watched too many old movies, or seen too many travel logs but I genuinely loved to fly.   Now, not all my flying experiences have been bad, quite the contrary.   Let me tell you about my best experience:  

In fact a couple of years ago I was coming back from two weeks in India (had been out there on business). I remember getting to the airport in Mumbai for my flight back to Toronto, via Brussels and up until now I hadn’t paid any attention to the airline that I was flying back on.  I had flown on a mix of Lufthansa and BritishAirways to India and assumed that I was going with the same carriers on the way home.  Wow, was I in for a shock!  

In the past I had always booked my own flights and paid a great deal of attention to the airline I was flying on, its safety record, my points accumulations, my seat assignment etc.   Clearly I had gotten “out of the groove” and become lazy!   My assistant (yes, pretty fancy eh?) now booked all of business travel, I just gave her the dates and she handled the rest – no worries.

A wave of frustration flooded over me as I checked to see which airline I was taking back to Canada – “I’ve never heard of that airline….don’t tell me it’s a charter flight” said that little voice in my head….crap!

Jet Airways plan landing in Mumbai

So it was with a mixture of frustration and consternation that I boarded my Jet Airways flight from Mumbai to Brussels, having never heard of them before didn’t bode well and so to say I was concerned was an understatement of epic proportions!   That all changed as I board and was ushered into the Business class section where an attendant stood in the middle of the aisle ready to greet me.

I’ll always remember these words, he said, “Welcome Mr. Wallis we’ve been expecting you”.   That instant changed everything – my frustration dissipated completely away as he smiled warmly at me.  In fact his smile was so infectious that I was powerless to do anything except smile broadly in return.  All of a sudden I felt very important and almost like I was in a James Bond movie…. he actually knew who I was….wow!

In a very formal English accent he asked if I planning on sleeping on my overnight flight, and that if I was; was I ready to get into my pajamas.  I embarrassingly snorted that I didn’t have any pajamas to change into.   He then completely surprised me by holding out a neatly folded cloth package and said that if I’d like to change he would see that my clothes were pressed and hung for my journey to Brussels.   As I took the package and went to the toilet to change I quickly realized that the pajamas were made of the finest silk, in fact I had never worn silk pajamas before and they were extremely soft and comfortable.  As I emerged from changing he was there to take my clothes and the showed me to my seat or bed as it had now been converted.   In my absence he had quickly made up my bed complete with fitted sheets, pillow topped mattress cover and a large well fitting duvet (doona in Australian).   What type of champagne would you like Mr. Wallis?   Man I could get used to this type of air travel J

It highlights that not all airlines are created equal.  That experience was the best and most unexpected airline experience of my life, so just when I think it can’t get any worse that the cattle call commutes we generally endure each week I harken back to that time I was in India where they unveiled the long forgotten art and luxury of air travel to me.  

Thank you Jet Airways you’re by far my best airline experience - ever!