childhood trauma – formula 1 – crash site

hi there rockstar,

how’s your week been? hopefully you had a great long weekend if you’re in the uk, as our monday was what is known as a ‘bank holiday’ which is a public holiday.

i had enrolled on a three day business master class with my mentor darren hardy, who is based in the us, and it ran monday to wednesday, and started at 3pm gmt until midnight, so it was interesting trying to stay awake, and fully focused at a time i would have normally been in the land of nod for hours.

but the aforementioned mr hardy never failed to keep my attention, and i learnt so much from this course, it felt like i was drinking from a fire hydrant of knowledge, there were just so many takeaways.

i love learning.

and i always encourage anyone that listens, to get a mentor, darren hardy has been my north star for over a decade, and influenced my life so much, and has literally changed bigmoose for good.

it was his ‘darren daily’ video talking very simply about how “every day we are writing our own eulogies” that inspired me to decide we needed to raise one million pounds to really ramp up bigmoose, and he taught me to dream big, and i often use him as a litmus test when faced with a challenge prompting me to ask myself “what would darren hardy do”.

and i guess we all need a mentor or someone to guide us through lifes twists and turns, and he fits that bill for me.

i have just pondered for two minutes whether to share this next story with you, but it’s very honest, but feels like a one sided therapy session, but here we go.

where darren hardy guides me, growing up my grandad was that influence, calm, extremely intelligent, kind and patient, and a real positive person in my life.

the reason for mentioning this was that on bank holiday, before my first day of my course, the sun shone brightly, warming my world, and the birds filled the air with chatter, and it was time.

to mow the lawn.

i love mowing the lawn.

there i’ve said it.

judge away.

i love the whole process, i love the smell, i love the end result, it literally touches my senses.

i just had this vision of me being at a group session held in a cold village hall smelling of wee, like an alcoholics anonymous meeting, with me announcing to the group.

“i’m jeff, and i love mowing my lawn”

and i hear the group all in unison sigh, and a guy opposite wearing a faded john deere tee shirt, tap his fist gently against his heart, mouthing the words “we’ve got you”.

so the first cut of summer.

i fuelled up,

the lawnmower not me.

turned the key.

and the engined roared that magnificent sound, and i knew even though i couldn’t see, john my neighbour was smiling as the sound wafted over our fence to his sensory system.

i drove to the place i needed to engage the cutter mechanism, and sat, like a formula 1 driver on the grid at silverstone, waiting for the lights. to go green.

go.

john beamed a toothy grin.

30 seconds later i turned the wheel, and inspected our work.

man and machine.

a straight cut, it was my turn to smile, the summery fragrance had reached my nostrils.

i was, just in case i haven’t communicated it correctly, in my happy place.

we mowed.

and we mowed.

 until, like in all good stories, disaster struck.

a drain, that i had mowed around many times before safely, just clipped my front left tyre, causing it to to deflate immediately.

now, when i was a boy, my dad traumatised me by shouting at me in these kinds of situations, and for therapists among you, yes i am aware this explains a lot, but i am a big boy now, i compartmentalise this trauma, and i manage it.

i needed a jack.

so i reached out to my pit crew (tania) who drove to halfords, and returned, jack in hand. (the lifting device, not the sales assistant)

“can i help?” my pit crew asked.

and the spectre of ’trauma dad’ peered over her shoulder, trying to see the crash site.

“i should be ok thanks” i replied, “thanks though.”

minutes later, jd and me saddled up, and continued on our journey, tyres fully inflated.

i was proud of myself, for solving the problem, but also for suppressing the anguish childhood experiences had written in my operating system, they’re still there, but they don’t have control.

so the moral of my story is, don’t shout at kids, be patient, be kind, be tolerant, and watch out for drains. (yes i meant that as a metaphor)

i’ll be seeing you,

blue skies,

jeff