The ‘Modern Executive’ bible tells us repeatedly how essential curiosity and continuous learning are for the aspiring leader. How we must seek out and build new sources of information to lead our contemporary teams and just stay relevant, let alone warding off the trio of evils of turning 50, being a straight male, and being white. In the Gospel according to McKinsey we get this clarified further:
“Radical and persistent reinvention can only be achieved by seeking constant feeds from many diverse and varied sources (mainly #McKinsey articles, newsletters and blog posts) so that we may maintain our right to humbly lead diverse teams of people who are constantly craving a refreshed and innovative leader to inspire them in a non threatening way to a brave bold equitable new dawn.” [McKinsey, 4,11]
Well, I have discovered one new source of infinite wisdom and I’m sticking with it to drive my future self development trajectory, and that is the UK TV program, Gone Fishing. Now I am no fan of fishing. Moby Dick as a novel passed me by and I even found Jaws a little bit too predictable. I had no excuse for not liking fishing. When I was aged 14 we lived in close proximity to a river, and, ever eager to get me interested in something other than locking myself in my room and playing records, my parents bought me a starter fishing rod kit one Christmas. I sensed some parental collusion when my neighbour and best friend Carl arrived on our doorstep in late December fully laden with his starter kit too. Sensing we had been duped we trudged off to the river to see what the fuss was all about. 6 hours, a bucket load of seaweed, one old boot and 4 cans of Shandy Bass later we concluded that fishing was not for us, but drinking quite possibly was. In a roundabout way my parents had achieved their goal as most future Friday and Saturday nights I was rarely in my room again. Although the closest I got to fishing was a Snakebite and black in The Dolphin.
Anyhow, I digress. Back to my new muse, the BBC’s Gone Fishing. If you haven’t stumbled across this gem, and frankly there’s no reason that you should (especially given most of my readership seems to be Chinese Bots), then I urge you to use the power of google and get hooked (geddit?). The premise for the show is that two ageing poor-health riddled former funny men, travel around seeking fun and serenity in equal portions on a variety of remote riverbanks. They occasionally catch fish (if only…), but more importantly they talk. Openly, honestly and humorously, about a whole range of life’s big questions, as well as some of the silly little ones. For those seeking ultimate answers then this show is probably not for you, but they sure as hell have a good and laid back handle on what makes life tick.
The specific gem from the show that has caused me to go to (virtual) print however, is the one that I stole for the title of the blog – Snipers Alley. The Christmas episode saw our two main protagonists joined by an equally “age challenged” guest one evening, where, once settled in front of a warm and glowing hearth, with whiskeys in hand, the seemingly un-staged conversation turned to mortality. A subject close to my heart as I rapidly approach the age that my dad had reached when he died in my arms, which also turns out to be the age range that saw off countless male relations from further up my nervously well researched family tree.
“Snipers alley”, according to the guest, has another meaning far away from the blood sweat and tears of armed combat. It is a very striking and apt description of the seeming randomness with which we shed our mortal coil between the ages of 55 to 65. If you get to 65 you’ll probably make old age is the premise. The vibrant description of the term resonated strongly with me, and given the genetics I’ve already clearly inherited, the idea of mortality being driven by randomness rather than genetics quite appeals. It was also bloody funny. As we age it sometimes seems harder to find those snippets and gems that cause full on belly laughs, but this did it for me, and to put the cherry on the cake, has had me thinking about it ever since.
Why is it that some people get to live to a ripe old age and some get cut down before they get a chance to draw a pension? I get tragic accidents. I get incurable diseases. I get war. Famine. And more and more climate related deaths. But “heart problems”? “Breathing difficulties”? “Infections”? And the mother of all bitches “The Big C”? Random. Random. Random.
Every other facet of our modern world is accelerating away from accepting randomness. Ii seems bizarre to me that in our increasingly data driven algorithm based world, where logic is king (or Queen), why does the randomness of mortality not raise more questions? We just accept it. Even call it “Gods will”, even as the churches empty more by the week. You can rest assured that when the AI bots do take over they will be challenging the hell out of mortality, let alone our acceptance of it. If we are lucky it may even fuse their hugely complex artificial brains and return the world to a more stable natural state.
Discussions about mortality figure quite regularly on Gone Fishing. It is a big part of the charm of the programme. Along with the mild and accepting humour with which they discuss it. At my age I suppose I should be thinking about it more rationally. Calm leader, calm team, as they say (Bain 12, 2). Plus of course I can hear my doctor (more about him in a future blog) preaching to me that “getting angry and frustrated only causes you stress which will kill you”. Not a subtle doctor.
Learning can be found in a whole array of places and the wider you seek it the more of a genuinely rounded person you become. But be a bit selfish too and keep your learning in check. The ultimate learning – how we can maintain our mortality – will always elude us, despite what the new breed of mental and physical health protagonists may tell us. Sure, we can live and learn a healthier life. Become better leaders. Become better people. But at the end of the day if you fall foul of snipers alley then you’re frankly buggered. To my fellow fifty somethings, good luck out there, move as fast as your ageing limbs will let you, keep your awareness up, and your head down.
strangefishbigpond 