Ordinary Magic

We stand in London’s rain. I clutch our tickets, while my wife clutches me. We are held in the moment as the Chariots of Fire theme tune sounds intermittently. The PA system has hiccups. 

“Can’t we just go in? It’s dry inside” I suggest to my wife. But she stands, resolute. Waiting for something.

After nearly 10 years of marriage I’ve learned to respect my wife’s stubbornness. Overcoming meningitis, losing a baby, being hit by a car, running her first marathon in under 4 hours, all this in the past three years. She’s had more difficulty than she expected but she has what renowned Professor of Child Psychology Ann Masten once described as ‘That Ordinary Magic’. The everyday ability to bounce back. Don’t let life squash you, let it shape you.

She’s not the only one. We all walk past people with this everyday. Perhaps we see them in the mirror too.

Silver Cars and Slow Motion Runners

We linger yards from a soggy Red Carpet where Duncan Goodhew and Daley Thompson pace from camera to camera. Men who lit up my Olympics as a kid. Celebrity after celebrity unfolds themselves from sleek silver cars, here for the film premiere 31 years after it’s original release. A film famous for slow motion running and that spine tingling Vangelis theme tune.

My wife won our tickets just a few days ago and has moved heaven and earth to make sure we make it. It’s not easy finding a babysitter for three kids at short notice. Not even when The Empire cinema is calling.

That’s when it happens. The Taxi Cab that changes everything. I can see a familiar face in the shadows. As Dame Kelly Holmes emerges with those legs of strength escaping first, a man starts yelling.

“Out the way, hey move it!” His camera is as big as his head. Click click snap. Something for the morning papers perhaps. 

“Hey, do you want a photo” says Dame Kelly. But it seems she is talking to my wife. She is. Mr. TeleFotoLens is going mad, lurching from side to side like a car out of control, attempting to clear the road.  

My wife steps out of the crowd and into her Moment.

I point and shoot. It’s a perfect picture first time. Dame Kelly and my wife, heads touching, smiles radiating, like sisters, arms wrapped around each other. It’s a black, white and double golden moment. On the long train ride home, the image becomes my wife’s Phone Home Screen, triggering smiles as she re-tells the story to me. Her Bounce Back moment, as if by winning tickets and totally by chance meeting her running icon Life has finally woken up and taken notice. Boy, should Life take notice of my Wife.

“C’mon move it”. Click Click Snap. Snapsnapsnap. The photo frenzy resumes. Umbrellas and elbows compete for pavement. We follow the Dame onto the Red Carpet where she looks at home, while we just loiter, really badly. I never realised just how bad I am at loitering. Anyone would think I have practised to be this conspicuous. The only red carpet in our house is where I spilt the wine.

Seizing The Moment

“Ask if she’ll sign our tickets” my wife says. It’s an instruction, not an enquiry. But then I can’t work out whether to start with ‘Kelly’ or ‘Dame Kelly’ or ‘Mrs.Holmes’. I’m really not in to the celebrity thing but athletes - well, they’re different. They have moved heaven and earth to achieve what they have. “What would my mum have said to her?” I muse. Losing my mum to cancer was why I started running silly distances that have at times meant getting out the door at 5am and arriving back at 11am, thirty-something miles on the watch. I began by running away from the Grief, but slowly found I was running towards something else. Exploring my own Greatness, perhaps. 

Hidden Talents

I start on first name terms. I know I look star struck and I’m really trying not to but it appears looking stunned is another hidden talent I have. What I really want is to be sat in Caffe Nero with my wife and Kelly, having a mocha and chinwagging about running strategies, and inspiring young people to find their Greatness - which is all a bit like my job really. It’s why I left my job as a teacher and set up what our charity does, mentoring young people.

Before I know it, she’s signing her name and chatting to me like I’m an ordinary bloke. No, that’s not right. No, she’s chatting to me like she’s an Ordinary woman. Happy in her own skin, a bundle of genuineness and fire and curiosity.

Signs of Greatness

The Silver Mercs shunned for the Taxi Cab. 

Personal photo-space generously shared with a random girl, my wife. 

Asking questions in her Kentish-twang, not striving to become the centre of attention. 

It’s all a sign of Greatness, surely. Greatness becomes all the more when it invites others in and shares itself. Even for a quick snap next to a London cabbie. It’s too easy in our modern lives to chill on the sofa and wait for Greatness to arrive. Greatness comes not to us.  Here is someone with two Olympic gold medals and a long list of awards who shows her Greatness oozing through her Humanness. Greatness discovered through sheer dedication and resolve. Greatness untapped through the power of Ordinary Magic. She went and found it for herself.

The Speech of a Lifetime

“I want to compare faith to running in a race” says Eric Liddel to the crowd gathered in the Scottish rain. Our necks ache from being so close to such a big screen. I peek round to see a thousand people sitting behind me, absorbing the scene. 

“It requires concentration of will, energy of soul” Eric continues. “You experience elation when the winner breaks the tape - especially if you've got a bet on it. But how long does that last? You go home. Maybe you're dinner's burnt. Maybe you haven't got a job.” We could all insert our own Personal Heartbreaks of recent years, it wouldn’t have been out of place. We all have our story, probably different to Eric’s story, whose life was to end from a brain tumour in 1945, stuck in a Japanese interment camp, away from his family. Gold medals are a mirror to an athlete’s immense conquests, not a shield from life’s tricky realities.

“So who am I to say, "Believe, have faith," in the face of life's realities?” Eric’s Scottish lilt is so easy on the ear. It’s the gentle sound of Ordinary Magic speaking.

“I would like to give you something more permanent, but I can only point the way. I have no formula for winning the race. Everyone runs in her own way, or his own way. And where does the power come from, to see the race to its end?”

The Question for us all

Good question, Eric. Where does power come from? From where does your Greatness arise? What is the starting place for Ordinary Magic?

“From within. Jesus said, "Behold, the Kingdom of God is within you.” 

The cinematic scene fades but the truth remains. What a treasure we all carry. You and I, whatever our hidden talents may be - whether running around a track or loitering on a sodden red carpet, badly. What Ordinary Magic we all have. It took a chance encounter with a lady with the best calf muscles this side of the Thames to remind me of that. 

Yes, Greatness can step out of a London taxi. But more importantly, it can remind me, you... us... of what we carry within ourselves, every Moment, of every Day.

Falling With Style

It's happened. Yet again, it's happened. This is the third time in our house, now.

Our newest child - one who comes with all the latest mod-cons - has taken his first steps. In fact, in motor vehicle terms he has gone from 0-60 in a matter of days. It's incredible to watch. Have you ever been in on the process? It's fascinating to analyse it.

First - there's the twinkle in the eye. Next comes the rolling over onto the tummy, and a giggle. Then within days, that rolling has turned into commando-crawling, elbows doing the work. SAS eat your heart out. Actually, don't. That would be gross.

Then the crawling turns into wild arm waving (picture the little one at a JLS concert) and then grabbing nearest furniture legs / human legs / dishwasher door* (*or all at the same time in a bid for an Octopus impression).

Then one day it happens.

It warrants a phone call from the wife and a whole album of pictures on the iPhone and accompanying commentary on Facebook. Then sit back and watch the world 'Like' 'Like' 'Like' 'Like'.... He takes his first Big Steps on his Own. And the accomplishment is known as a resounding success. Grade A* young lad. Superb effort.

But from thereon a mystifying shift takes place. Once those first steps are proven, it seems society at large starts measuring things by outcome, rather than process. All the time our dear little Toby is struggling, grabbing, falling with style, inconveniencing, reaching out, tumbling, failing, disturbing, trying, disrupting ...in a bid to show the world he can walk on his own two (cute) (small) (dinky) feet, it's okay. We expect that.

But flash forward in time and somehow once the First Steps and First Words are boxes ticked, and one reaches the 'teenage' years ('the in-between-agers') or even Big Grown Ups in the odd-world called Business - any behaviour that appears to warrant descriptions of 'Struggling' or 'Failing' is bang out of order. How dare you Struggle! Failing Is Shameful. Struggling Is For Wimps. I can see the t-shirt slogans now.

Bang Bang you're out.  As-if we should get it right first time? Or second time at least? 'Expectations are the greatest source of unhappiness' says Neale Donald Walsch. How come we expect to get everything right. All the time? When did we decide that? Who says that's how it must stay? We do it as parents. We do it in business. We do it in our own gorgeous heads. Berating, Blaming, Banging our heads against the fridge door. First Time or else.

If Love is Patient, Love is Kind then - to quote that celebrity sage Will.I.Am and his Black Eyed Peas crew, Where is the Love? Is Love only for those two and under?

When did Process become a dirty word? It's all grades, results, performance, outcomes. Which is fine, really - I run marathons and the outcome always matters to me... And what about all the struggling, grabbing, reaching out, disturbing, failing that goes into getting the result? Marathon running taught me that process matters.

Last time I looked nobody was born with a magic wand in their hand. Not even Harry Potter.

"Success is going from failure to failure without losing hope" suggested Winston Churchill.

So to all those of us who are still carrying L-plates in our lives - as parents, partners, colleagues, leaders, friends. Keep On. If you're down, get back up again. If you failed, its just handy information about how not to do something. You're not a failure. You're a resilient learner. You may not remember your first steps, but that same resilience is within you. Always. Right now it's there.

And, well done Toby for a majestic effort. Effort is what we should praise more than Right Answers (thank you Dr.Carol Dweck for that reminder). For falling and getting back up again, even off the tarmac with your pink and grazed knees. Life, sadly, will have you grazing your knees again my littl'un, but I hope that at the wise young age of one you hold onto the truth you have earned that the Struggle is all part of the Journey. Ask any caterpillar.

An extra mile?

“Anybody can do what I’m doing but you’ve got to want it with all your heart.”

Pat Farmer is possibly not a name you’ve heard of, unless Australian Politics is your specialist Mastermind subject. And although Pat Farmer may not be a name you remember for long, his feat may be something you never forget. Perhaps his feet will also linger long in your memory.

Have you ever felt pushed to the limit? You know that gnawing sense of wanting to give up, when each day lasts 25 hours and each week is nine days long? I guess most of us have.

If this is the case right now, then remember Pat’s words. 

“Anybody can do what I’m doing but you’ve got to want it with all your heart.” 

Pat is a former car mechanic who on the 19th January this year - having been out for a run - finally arrived at his destination. His journey took him through snow blizzards and sweltering jungles; he faced armed bandits and polar bears; he narrowly avoided being killed by a crashing-truck and he ended up with two black feet that resembled mince meat. He’s not black, just his feet.

For 288 days, Pat ran. 

From the North Pole, to the South Pole, Pat ran. In one go, through 14 countries without a day off. As amazing as he is, he didn’t actually run across the seas in between, though.

Pat clocked up 13,000 miles, running equivalent to 500 marathons in a row without a break. Most days were 50-milers. 

But there was a reason. 

There is always a reason to keep going and not give up, you just have to find it and hold onto it. Hold onto it tightly with both hands and both feet if necessary.

“People think I’m some kind of superhuman. But I hurt all night. And in the morning I’m like a cripple until I get going and loosened up" says Pat.

None of us are super-human but we can all choose to keep going towards our horizon when we hold onto our reasons. 

What kept Pat going? “I endured a lot on the run but the people of South America, East Timor and Africa who have no clean water. Those victims of earthquakes and flood and famines. They have it tough too.” Pat was running for Red Cross and raising awareness of their work around the world. Even the Polar Bears know about them now.

Reading Pat’s story (1) has jolted my perception of what’s tough...again. For what it’s worth, here are three thoughts his story provokes in me:

1. Look out. We all need a cause beyond ourselves to help us through tough times. A picture bigger than our own portrait. “Who else is this goal / task for?”
2. Think long. While I’m not (yet) tempted to run 500 marathons on the bounce, I like that sense of a joined-up journey. Of making the horizon of dreams stretch out beyond the span of my own control. “Where - and to whom - does this goal lead me next?”
3. Start here. Even when your feet are mashed and your bones ache and you’ve hurt all night, just go another step.  All the steps join up. “I’ve come this far” can be an energy-giving thought while you loosen up.

So, whatever you and I face right now - however steep the climb, foggy the view, or puzzling the place we find ourselves - let's remember Pat Farmer. He believes. So can we.

“Anybody can do what I’m doing but you’ve got to want it with all your heart.”

(1) Men's Running magazine, April 2012, pp.23-24. Story by Jon Edwards.