The Hames Report

A Proper Job

Given the number of books I still feel compelled to write it is indeed fortunate that longevity runs in the Hames family. My father passed away in his late 80’s and mum died at the grand old age of 97. In the end she was blind and a little bit grumpy but utterly alert to what was going on around her.

Mum had many friends to whom she would talk for hours at a time about almost anything that happened to attract her attention. A true scavenger of trivia, she would eagerly regale anyone within earshot, reciting obscure details about everything under the sun – from the best recipe for egg custard to the mating habits of the common cockroach! Mum was never short of an opinion (or three) and remained curious about life right up to her death.

Which is not that unusual, except for the fact that she was forced to leave school at the age of 12 and was taken into service. She subsequently worked as a maid and later as a cook-housekeeper in the south of England until she was well past 50. But although her education was virtually non-existent, she valued knowledge above everything else. She was a simple woman but a wise one.

In her later years the radio became an important link to the outside world. Each day she would listen to the evening news, often making quirky yet startlingly pertinent pronouncements on the state of things. Her view on terrorism was, quite simply, that the world had gone mad. She couldn’t abide Margaret Thatcher and the air would turn blue if she so much as heard her name mentioned. Just a third-rate teacher, she would snort in disgust.

Tony Blair became her pin-up boy. Quite literally as it happens. She had at least three framed prints on her wall. His mum must be terribly proud of him, she would mutter, just loud enough for me to hear. At least she knows what he does! The quick glance in my direction was subtle yet pointed. My mother, you see, had never really understood what I did to earn a crust. She was incredibly confused by the fact that I remained at University for so many years, refusing to acknowledge any distinction whatsoever between the teacher and the taught. So much study can’t be good for your health you know, she would half-seriously taunt. When are you going to get a proper job?

When I eventually started to lecture at Dartington College of Arts her entire demeanour changed. She understood that you see. Teaching was a proper job. My son’s a lecturer, had a lovely ring to it, especially in a village where status and achievement was so important. Years later, when I stopped teaching and writing music to focus entirely on consulting to business, she was totally baffled and not a little distraught. Her worst fears were once again confirmed. Her youngest son was a complete failure!

How often do we rely on preconceived ideas of what constitutes success? Our beliefs and values are shaped by cultural mindsets that resist any rational explanation. How else could I tell my mother what a CEO of a corporation did? How could I explain to her that he might earn many times more than the average worker yet be paid for performance that was mediocre by most standards? That he was no more intelligent than the average university graduate but would often use that intelligence to deceive, control and intimidate others? That his executive team could manage the business without his direct contribution yet the ideas he imposed would often be the cause of unecessary disruption and distress?

Mum would have stared at me as if I had been pulling her leg. Then she might have laughed out loud. But she would have had no hesitation in making an immediate judgement. You’d better tell them to get a proper job, she would have said.

 

Stepping Into Abundance - A letter to my children

On June 12^th 2011 at precisely 3.19pm in the afternoon at Bangkok’s Samitivej Hospital my tenth child (and your new brother) struggled into the world. After a gap of seventeen years I find myself a father once again.

This morning Nico clearly recognised Suna’s face for the first time and beamed directly at her. It was a moment to treasure - at once exhilarating and sobering. For it reminds me of the importance of purity, compassion and hope in a world littered with shards of despair.

Given the combination of modern health care, a nutritious diet and the elimination of many chronic diseases (and barring any unforseen accidents) this latest addition to our family can expect to live at least to the ripe old age of 100 years. This means he could well see in the year 2110, alongside his burgeoning stock of young uncles and aunts!

Yet this baby’s coming was not always so sure. He is a miracle child, not least for the fact that I am getting on in years and that his mother first fought cervical cancer and then endured an ectopic pregnancy before Nico finally made his presence known to us. Nevertheless he is a blessing - as each of you were in your own way and each of your own children continue to be.

Like any father I am immensely proud of you all. Yet I have also been saddened by the qualities I have observed in our family from time to time, traits that struck me as entirely self-serving yet somehow symbolic of the way the world crashes in on us rather than how it could ideally be.

I am not in the habit of lecturing you – nor of writing epistles of this kind. My preference has always been to give you the freedom for self-discovery while trying to shield you from the many traps and excesses that would otherwise besiege you. I tried. Mostly I failed. But that’s another story. I have been in the process of writing my autobiography for some years now. Because I was absent for much of the time you were growing up I want to tell you about issues and events that have been warped out of perspective - more by circumstances than by intent. But that, too, is another story.

People around the world constantly seek my advice about the things that matter to them. Occasionally huge deals and vital relationships hang on the reliability of my counsel. And if that counsel is so useful to governments, corporations and entrepreneurs perhaps it is equally useful to you. Perhaps there are a few scraps of wisdom I can pass on before I become too befuddled by age and senility sets in.

Next month I will be 66 years old. I still awake every morning with a sense of curiosity and joy for what the day has in store. But when entering the final stages of an abundant life it is also fitting to look back at the paths one has taken, reflecting on a journey shared with friends and those you have loved. My journey has been so rich, in large part due to each one of you. At the moment of my death, whenever that is, I will have few if any regrets. That is not to say my time on Earth could not have been easier. I have borne my fair share of hardships. There are always ups and downs to deal with but a sense of utter despondency has rocked me on only three occasions.

The first dealt me a blow from which, if I am really honest, I never fully recovered. The father I worshipped, the first to pick me up whenever I fell, the one person in the whole world who could do no wrong, suddenly vanished from my life. I was eight years old. There was no warning. I never saw him again. That incident shattered me. Invisible to others, the grief of that moment still resonates deeply within me.

I suppose you never really recover from such traumatic experiences. You learn to adjust to the pain. And time does heal to some extent. But what saddens me most is that I can never adequately explain to you how the shock of his sudden departure haunted every minute of every day during the time your mother and I made the agonising decision to live apart. Our relationship had eroded over several years such that there was no trust, no mutual respect left anymore. Our love, once so all-embracing, had simply run its course. There was to be no turning back.

Of course I never had any intention of leaving you. I loved you. You were my world. The legacy of my personal sorrow emanated from the growing realisation that my father had not loved me. This fact tore at my soul as I desperately tried to deal with the manner in which fate was to take hold.

Most of you are more familiar with the ensuing set of events as you were caught up in the tragic unravelling of what initially appeared to have given our family strength. After Valerie and I separated, longing for the life she had been denied by emigrating with me to Australia, your mum returned to England’s West Country at the first opportunity. I concurred with her wishes not fully realising at the time how impossible it would be for me to maintain a healthy, caring relationship with you all. For an otherwise intelligent person that degree of shortsightedness cannot be excused.

But that wasn’t the worst of it. On the rare occasion when it became possible for me to venture half way around the world to see you I was greeted with empty stares and open hostility from you, the people I loved most in the world. More times than I care to remember I made the return journey to Heathrow in floods of tears, stopping frequently lest I caused an accident from my uncontrollable sobbing and blurred vision. At least I did not leave you as my father had left me. A convenient rationalisation of course...

The third situation occurred much like the first. It struck cruelly, with no prior warning. Contrary to what you had been led to believe, I met Elizabeth a month or so after I left our family home in Orangeville and moved to Melbourne, where most of my work was located at the time. Our relationship was always very special which is why we remain good friends today. I was aware Elizabeth nursed concerns about being with a much older man, especially a driven workaholic with hypertension and dangerously high levels of cholesterol. At the time you all openly resented her which ripped into her generous and loving heart in a way you could not have known.

Seven years into our partnership Elizabeth had a brief affair while she was studying in Shanghai. At the time we tried to brush it off but decided to try and have a child as a way of resuscitating our relationship. It might have worked had not all Elizabeth’s anxieties re-emerged when she tragically miscarried our baby during a road trip in India. Just weeks later one of my closest friends died from a massive stroke. Rob was the same age as me. The foreboding was gathering and as I delivered the eulogy at Robb’s funeral my instinct warned me of some impending threat that would be beyond me to salvage. Sure enough that evening Elizabeth admitted she had fallen in love with someone she had met on one of her previous trips to China. He was her age. There was no contest. She left for Beijing two days later. I was devastated as were her family and all our friends. Unlike me they had had no inkling of the imminent change in our relationship.

I cannot recall receiving much sympathy from any of you. Even after nine years of seeing how happy I was with Elizabeth in my life some of you were probably elated by this outcome. It served me right for leaving our family. It was poetic justice after all.

Once again an act was drawing to a close and a new one beginning. The following days were a nightmare. Wallowing in self-pity I seriously considered suicide. My life seemed so futile and such a failure on so many counts. It was as though any meaning had shrunk to a pinpoint that was rapidly receding into an infinite blackness.

Fortunately one of you was there to console me. I don’t think I have previously conceded how you brought me to my senses Rosie - simply by being there. But as the veil of sadness slowly lifted and I began to focus more lucidly on my life’s true purpose I made a solemn vow: instead of sacrificing my personal happiness to meet the expectations of others, I would now do everything in my power to ensure my own happiness first. I would never again allow circumstances to dictate my path. Nor would I tolerate my personal well-being to be hijacked, for whatever purpose, in the future. I felt I had earned this.

I had made a similar vow the day before my thirteenth birthday. Back then it was a naive pledge to live an extraordinary life; not to be dragged down by the parochial banality I saw surrounding me at the time.

Little did I realise that within weeks, in a country I had never had any desire to visit, I would meet an inspirational woman and that my priorities would instantly change in ways I could never have imagined possible. There is always a sliver of light at the end of the darkest tunnel.

In any family there will be those who choose not to read moralistic correspondence from their parents. Some of you may even wince at my transparency. But my preferred way to express deeply-held thoughts and emotions is through my writing. So why do I think what I have to say is important enough to lay bare my feelings and reveal my innermost thoughts to you at this time?

There are several reasons but mostly it is because of my love for you and a desire that you feel able (compelled even) to lead happy and fulfilling lives. I also want to share with you some lessons I have learned during the course of my life in the hope that you can each extract just a little bit of wisdom that might be helpful to you when times are tough and when it seems nobody understands or cares about your suffering. There are four lessons in particular that are worthy of reflection:

1. Become more than just you

While every atom of our individual life experience is intensely magnified for us and remains the filter through which we view literally every aspect of reality, our persona often remains vague, skewed and frankly inexplicable to others – even those closest to us. We assume we know who we are and that identity is as clear to others as it is to us. Ultimately, though, we are the only ones blessed with such enlightenment. In this regard I am reminded of some wonderful words by the Sicilian poet Salvatore Quasimodo. It is one of my favourite poems: 

                        Everyone is alone on the heart of the Earth

                        Pierced by a ray of sun

                        And suddenly its evening.

You will have your own interpretations of this poignant poem symbolising life’s brevity. For me it puts into awe-inspiring perspective how insignificant are our individual hubristic masks. The conclusion I draw is that only by letting go of our delusions of self-importance can we adopt true compassion towards others and thus see the world more distinctly. I have learned I am nothing as an individual. Transcending egocentric and narcissistic ways leads to the realisation that I only exist in communion with others. My voice only makes sense in relationship.

2. Focus on the future

We are all nostalgic for the past at some stage in our lives. This need is perfectly illustrated by the recent spate of photos from the Hames archives we have been frantically posting on Facebook these past few weeks. Photographs are beautiful artefacts describing who we once were. But the resulting memories can also be seductive lies. Recent scientific studies into the chemistry of the brain reveal an astonishing phenomenon: memories are not fixed but reconstructed each time we recall what happened. This is not simply a matter of perception although emotions clearly play a role in what we remember. The startling reality is that we continuously compose and play with alternative drafts (intricately embellished versions of the truth) to match our shifting assumptions, inclinations and circumstances.

As time passes favoured versions of what happened fuse and reify in our minds until they assume the status of incontrovertible truths. For each of us you understand. Your truth is not necessarily my truth. Another’s version will be different again. There are always multiple shades of grey and unaccountable discrepancies even when two objective witnesses recount a shared experience within seconds of the event. There is never a single immutable truth. It is multiple. To think otherwise is to be profoundly deceived.

Where does that leave us in terms of the past? Many people prefer to live in the past. They find comfort in that. For me the wiser course of action has been to accept the imperfections of memory and to live with future uncertainties rather than to fret about past ambiguities that are probably irreparable. It has always seemed to me one can put one’s energies into the crafting of better futures or remain haunted by the ghosts of resentment, regrets and lost opportunities.

3. Cause no harm to others

Hurting people is the easiest thing in the world to do. Inflicting pain and distress on others can often be deliberate. Pure vindictiveness motivated by the basest of human values. At other times possibly just self-defence, thoughtlessness, or a temporary lapse in human decency.

Of course war, conflict and competition have been a part of our social fabric from time immemorial. Thus we can easily rationalise the damage we inflict on others. Over the course of my life I have tried to find reasons that might justify causing harm to others. I can think of none. Although the scriptures of all monotheistic traditions teach us otherwise, for me there can never be an excuse that justifies such brutality and pain. Of course we have become singularly adept at dredging up one reason after another to justify the most blatant of atrocities, whether it be the protection of freedom, democracy or human rights. In the end all conflict is driven by the politics of greed, power, envy and corruption. Hard as we might try we cannot escape that unpalatable fact.

Perhaps I am an idealist. I am undeniably a pacifist. I really do believe that our civilisation can not survive if we continue to wreak unrelenting destruction on each other and our environment. We must find alternative ways to resolve and transcend our differences. Humanity’s real need at this juncture is to step into abundance. We must nurture a far deeper appreciation of each other as a single human family rather than perpetuate a continued fracturing of community based upon trivial and cosmetic differences.

4. Forgive past transgressions

Finally we need to engender a capacity to forgive others without any expectation that our impulse to forgive will be reciprocated. After Nelson Mandela’s release from 27 years of detention as a terrorist his messages and actions were consistently true to this sentiment. His mere presence at events like the Convocation honouring him at Harvard, a university that had staunchly supported the apartheid regime, signalled a refusal to be bound by past wrongs. At that convocation Henry Lewis Gates spoke of Mandela as always being a free man. It was the man’s freedom from any need or desire to seek reprisals that shone through.

More recently after the massacre in Norway that killed 74 innocent citizens the mayor of Oslo, Fabian Stang, proclaimed to the crowd of 150,000: We will punish the guilty. The punishment will be more generosity, more tolerance, more democracy. Such magnanimity is overwhelming. But nothing expresses better what it means to be human.

If these four tenets or moral impulses are true for humanity why should they not also be true for our family? The great dilemma in all of these lessons is simply to point out the ephemeral nature of our existence, the great mystery of it all, and my desire to restore love, empathy and respect within our family.

For most of history human beings have based their actions on an hypothesis that scarcity pervades society. This is the creed that led to competitive behaviour. Why competition even underpins our health, welfare and education systems. Some of us win, others of us lose. This is a law of nature we are told. But it is nothing of the kind. It has been fabricated through self-interest and envy. I have watched it insinuate itself into the cracks that are even now splitting our family apart and I want it to stop. For whatever reasons, perhaps through collective amnesia, we seem to be missing a deeper appreciation and love of each other.

I have often been an absent and ineffective father. I readily concede that my work (to evolve society to a new consciousness) has frequently assumed priority over mere family matters. That was wrong and I hope you will find it in your heart to absolve me. My intentions were always virtuous. But to put the conscious evolution of humanity above that of caring for my own family was wrong.

My love for you is that of a father for any child. It is unconditional and will never falter. I had always naively assumed that I too would be loved unconditionally by you, my children. It was not to be. I am aware one or two of you believe I lack morals – although you are often slow to judge your own deeds. And a couple of you take me as a soft touch, assuming that I’m not quick-witted enough to comprehend the fact that I am being taken for a ride. That is no big deal. It is no doubt par for the course. But it pains me to think that the respect you should express for each other has taken a nose-dive in a family that was once so close.

My health is good and I expect to be around for many years yet. However it is important that you take note of what I have written here, even if you later choose to ignore it.

I have taken great care to be as open and as precise as I can be. So I would urge all of you to take responsibility for healing the wounds that have festered in our family for far too long. Try putting aside blame and half truths. And if it doesn’t work the first time keep trying.

At the very least I would hope we can all put the scars of the past behind us in order to focus on a future of mutual obligation and respect. Nothing would please me more than seeing each of you relate in ways that restore a strong sense of family unity. Equally I would love to see you repair ties with your mother - if only in a spirit of compassion. She sacrificed a lot for you. But she needs your love these days far more than ever before.

Above all I want you to embrace my youngest son and your new brother with all the love you can muster. He deserves to be held in our hearts as you all are held in mine.

With all my love

Dad