September, a month often characterised by new beginnings, here is my round-up, as a coach, writer, and human being.
The Mirror and the Light
I had half-wondered if the title of the final book in Hilary Mantel’s Cromwell trilogy came from the quote by Edith Wharton:
There are two ways of spreading light: to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it.
I can’t help but think of this as I see, like, promote and celebrate the achievements of the community of coaches @DECD, of which I am proud to be a member.
But I digress, as it seems that Hilary Mantel chose the title from a phrase Thomas Cromwell used in a letter to Thomas Wyatt to describe Henry VIII as an exemplary ruler. Quite how Cromwell didn’t see the writing on the wall is still a mystery to me.
I am wandering again, because today I want to remember Hilary Mantel and the countless hours I have spent reading and rereading her trilogy, each time gaining a new perspective and insight into Tudor life.
I can’t believe it’s already been three years since she died, and so I am resharing a short story I wrote that is my attempt to get into the mind of Thomas Cromwell as he awaits execution.
A strange comfort
It is July 27th, 1540, and Thomas Cromwell is in the Tower of London, where he has been since his arrest by a gleeful Duke of Norfolk on June 10th. There was no trial since Cromwell’s enemies used his laws and inventions to hold him, and no doubt they will use the same to execute him tomorrow.
In the early weeks, Cromwell had been industrious, meticulously writing to the King every day. He had hoped to win the King around to spare his life. But gradually, he had grown to accept that his efforts were futile – because without his staying hand, who else would incline Henry to mercy.
But on this final evening, Cromwell sits head bowed in silence with his books and papers spread before him on the table.
It is the prickle at the nape of his neck that alerts him.
You can read the rest here.
Standing by your colleagues
In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends – Dr Martin Luther King Jr.
Reflecting on this after the marches in Central London at the weekend and the appearance of Union Jack and St George flags around our neighbourhoods, streets and motorways.
And I can see that some people do not understand how triggering these flags might be to those of us from racialised communities who grew up in the 1970s and 80s. And I’m not going to lie, I am staggered by the silence of our political leaders. Where is their outrage, their condemnation, their reassurance that we all have a place in this society, that we all belong on this so-called Island of Strangers?
Perhaps it is easier for them to show moral courage and leadership around racial inequality during October?
So, for those leaders, CEOs, and managers who have yet to check in with their staff members from the Global Majority, I invite you to start a conversation so you can begin to see the world through their eyes.
And I am including a snippet from a blog post I first published in October 2014. It just might help:
Jackie Robinson was the first black player in the US to play major league baseball. While breaking baseball’s colour barrier, he faced jeering crowds in every stadium. Playing one day in his home stadium in Brooklyn, he made an error, and his own fans began to boo him. As he stood humiliated at second base, ‘Pee Wee’ Reese came over and stood next to him, put his arm around Robinson, and they faced the crowd together. ‘
Source: – UCB July 2014
You can read the rest here.
Home sweet home
Both a place and the people you’re with.
It’s great to be home, even after just a few days away, and as I grow older, I am even more appreciative of the value of having a warm, safe space to call home.
I cannot fully imagine what it must be like to be without one, but I wonder how close we came to it when we were small, when Mum was moving from room to room with two small children, both under five. My memories are hazy, but I recall attending three different primary schools. It was during my time at the final school that my inability to read was uncovered. How different my life might have been if this hadn’t been picked up and dealt with swiftly. Thank you, Ms Shaw.
Reflecting on what home means also reminds me of my days as a recent graduate in the early 1980s – I lived at three different addresses over a period of eighteen months before I finally settled in Walthamstow, E17. And I will always be grateful to the friend who suggested I try this area of London and then helped me move there once I’d found a new place.
This was the first place where I felt at home, and not surprisingly, it coincided with my starting to flourish both professionally and personally.
My point is that having a home is a fundamental human right, one that provides a foundation for people to thrive and flourish.
Why are we not doing better at this?
Until next time