Life Is Not A Rehearsal
Updated: 4 days ago
My father, Henry Fowkes, died last week - a remarkable man in many ways. Intelligent, hardworking, endlessly curious about people and capable of being tremendous fun.
He loved a good conversation, and it really didn't matter who with. You might find him chatting to a homeless person while queuing for the theatre, as interested in their story as he would be in that of a company chairman. And he was also an exceptional host. My mother (bless her soul too while we’re here) was a fabulous cook and together they could put on quite an evening. I remember one occasion, an anniversary perhaps, when they invited fifty people for dinner. Dinner at our house. Every room became a dining room. People were sitting and eating all over. And after each course, all the men had to get up and move to another room, ensuring no one got stuck too long with anyone else. New conversations, new company, more fab food to break the ice. Quite exceptional.
It was wonderful. And Dad was in his element. And of course, he made a wicked bowl of punch!
Yet for much of his life, my dad was stressed. He worked long hours. He didn’t spend enough time with us, his children, or my mother, his devoted partner. He worried about things he couldn't always control. And he often allowed the frustrations of everyday life to occupy rather more of his attention than they deserved, which could put relationships with loved ones under incredible strain. Case in point, for around half of my life we were best friends, but for the other half we hardly spoke, and that wasn’t for want of tying on my part.
He knew how to enjoy himself. I just wish he'd done it more often.
The great deception of tomorrow
People are particularly good at postponing enjoyment. And entrepreneurs are possibly guilty of this more than most, often never even celebrating their achievements (We even found ourselves discussing this exact challenge this week on TableTalk). We say we'll take that holiday when the business is more stable. Spend more time with friends when we've recruited the right people. Take Friday afternoon off once we've finished that project. Relax when we've reached the next financial milestone.
There's always something.
The curious thing about running a business, and about the human condition in general, is that problems don't disappear when you become successful. They simply change shape, and they might acquire additional zeros as they do so.
The entrepreneur turning over £500,000 worries about making payroll. The one turning over £5 million worries about managing the team, protecting margins and financing growth. Neither necessarily sleeps any better, or has the time to take a break.
We convince ourselves that we're working towards a point at which life will become easier, when we'll finally have the time and money to enjoy ourselves.
That point, where there is time, is remarkably elusive. While we're busy preparing for the life we intend to live, the one we actually have is passing by. And I think it’s worth noting at this point, that if people had historically waited until they could afford it to have children, the human race would have died out a long time ago.
The serious business of being ridiculous
Last week we released our Halloween episode of TableTalk.
Four men of differing ages, sitting around a table, having conversations about life, business and some of the more extraordinary things people get up to.
Between us, there were stories involving hundreds of thousands of pounds being withdrawn from a bank in cash, encounters with the police, and adventures that even seemed stupid at the time.
Andrew Hulbert, Michael Kritharis and Michael Burgess were great company. We laughed a great deal, wandered into some fascinating territory and eventually produced an ending that is probably best described as goriously ridiculous.
You can definitely argue that filming a Halloween special is a sensible commercial exercise. It creates content, builds an audience, develops a brand and potentially attracts sponsors. Pretty please 🙏 ?
Perfectly valid right? But we didn't need to do it. And we certainly didn't need to go so extreme.
We did it…
…just because it was fun.
Find the episode here, and don't forget to subscribe!
Somewhere along the way, haven’t we developed a rather strange attitude towards fun? Adults, particularly those of us responsible for businesses, seem to feel that enjoyment needs a justification.
Where do we get off thinking that it's acceptable to spend an afternoon doing something ridiculous only if it serves a commercial purpose, and if not we should be doing something more productive?
It is an extraordinary way to think about being alive. I recall thinking, while living in Mexico, how wonderful it was that locals would put so much time and effort into their festivals (community parties). They were devoted to giving themselves and those around them happy experiences. What a lesson for life.
Business at 2,000 metres
Some years ago, I instigated a business skiing trip.
We hired a chalet and brought together the founders of the professional services businesses involved in a large property development project.
On paper, it was a networking opportunity. Part of a larger group in the resort that week, it was a chance to strengthen relationships between people working towards a common commercial objective.
In practice, it became something rather more interesting. We didn’t all ski together.
But we cooked together and then spent long evenings around the dinner table and around the fire. Conversations wandered from childhood memories to music, relationships, ambitions and all manner of things that had absolutely nothing to do with property development.
We laughed, occasionally drank too much and nursed our hangovers together the following morning.
It was an extraordinary week. And I'm still friends with all of them.
Relationships have commercial value. And when you've spent a week sharing a chalet with someone, you understand them rather better than you ever could after exchanging business cards at a networking breakfast. You discover how they respond to challenges, what makes them laugh, what matters to them and, rather importantly, whether you actually like them.
Trust develops rather naturally when people stop trying quite so hard to impress one another. But here's the thing…
Even if that week had produced no commercial benefit whatsoever, it would still have been worth doing. We enjoyed ourselves. We made memories. We built friendships that have lasted for years. Why should that require any further justification?
It's the reason we're taking TableSki to Chamonix in January. A week of skiing, conversation, good food and shared experiences, with business discussions arising naturally rather than being forced into an agenda. I’m not doing it for the business, but I suspect we'll accomplish more around the dinner table than we would in a conference room.
And we'll have considerably more fun doing it.
The return on enjoyment
There's an old tendency in business to measure everything.
Return on investment. Productivity. Utilisation. Revenue per employee. Profit per customer. KPIs galore.
Now, Keep Calm and Carry On Accounting! I am not going to suggest we abandon financial discipline and keep score by how often we can say “We had joy, we had fun!” (That was way too easy to be an easter egg.)
But we should recognise that some of the most valuable things in life resist measurement. What is the return on an evening spent laughing with friends? A wonderful meal? A day skiing in fresh snow? A conversation that changes how you see the world? It’s hard to exactly quantify isn’t it? We could try to attach a monetary value to these experiences, but doing so rather misses the point. They are not merely investments in some future outcome. They are the outcome.
Sometimes we get business fundamentally wrong.
We start companies to create opportunities, independence, prosperity and, ultimately, better lives. Yet somewhere along the way, the business sort of becomes the objective rather than the means of achieving it. And we sacrifice the very things we hoped success would give us.
I love building businesses, developing ideas, creating things and working with interesting people. I don’t think I'm advocating a life without ambition. But I see no reason why the journey shouldn't be enjoyable.
Why can we not build successful businesses while making time for friends, adventures, laughter and the occasional spectacularly silly idea?
Why must enjoyment always be deferred until the work is finished?
I mean, when exactly is the work finished?
Another chair around the table
My father's death has been the catalyst for me to specifically write about something I’ve been talking about for a while. Life is extraordinarily precious and we have rather less control over its duration than we'd like to believe. My Dad worked hard, worried too much and, I think, sometimes forgot just how good life could be. But I also remember a house filled with people, wonderful food, conversation flowing from room to room and a host who was having the time of his life.
That's the Henry Fowkes I’d like to remember. And there's a lesson in there. Don't wait until you've earned enough, achieved enough or solved every problem. There will always be another problem. Instead - Make the time. Take the trip. Invite your friends. Do something ridiculous.
Life isn't a rehearsal for something better that comes later. It's happening now.
Put another chair around the table.
For some more thoughts on who should be in that chair, check out The Art of Good Conversation.
Easter Eggs in this week’s article
“a remarkable man” – A Remarkable Man, by Audiomachine
“working like a dog” – A Hard Day’s Night, by The Beatles
“Relax” – Relax, by Frankie Goes To Hollywood
“more productive” – Fitter Happier, by Radiohead
P.S.
Are you connecting with others and putting fun first?
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