Foundations

I have spent the last couple of days thinking about my foundations, the things that shape our formative years and make us the people we are today.

I spent my teenage years and perhaps the first ten years or so after I left secondary school in a voracious quest for experiences, travel and following passions for racing cars and seeing some obscure corners of the world. I had some adventures, made a lot of mistakes and I think learned something from both the experiences and the people they brought into my life. Some made brief appearances, others I worked alongside for a year or two and a few are still there.

I am still on something of a quest for experiences. Certainly not as focused as I once was, more sure of what I want and the compromises I am willing to make to get what I’m after.

Growing up I was a rather clumsy child, any athletic or academic success came because something (or more often) someone engaged me. I think every report card that came home from school had “Could try harder” written against more than one subject.

There were exceptions, geography, geology, physics and playing rugby were about it. I had some exceptional teachers in people like Mick Shehan, Jane Croker and Mike Dearsley, all motivated and taught me lessons that have never left me.

At 16 I left school, apprenticed myself to the Ministry of Defence, occasionally wore a uniform discovered motor racing, independent travel and never really looked back. I know I could never afford to see the world on my terms so I found a career that allowed me to travel on the company credit card. I got to see some far corners of the world, had some incredible experiences that I’d never had got any other way and have never regretted the choices I made.

After 10 years or so of working I found myself at the end of one of life’s cul-de-sacs, I had gone about as far as my talent and enthusiasm for late nights and continual jetlag could take me in the world of professional motorsport and was clearly getting burnt out on the travel and hours.

At this point I was not sure what was my next step was, to give me a bit of time I went to college and became what we’ll euphemistically call a “mature student”. I think it meant I had a better developed alcohol tolerance when I arrived.

A 26-year-old Dave walked through the gates of coventry university and thought he had an identity. In reality I can see it was more a series of masks that I was trying on for size. The word “person” unsurprisingly comes from “persona”, this is Greek for “mask”. I’m at that point in life where I’m done with the masks, for good or bad.

Going to university was a big deal for me, growing up college was never seriously an option. The expectation was that I would leave school at 16, go out and learn a trade and make my way in the world. No one from my family went to college and besides my parents could not have afforded it. Truthfully, I’m not sure I would have had the motivation to complete my degree had I started at 18.

I finished my degree and through a strange set of circumstances ended up in Seattle and had myself one of those career thingies. Don’t get me wrong I work for an exceptional an exceptional employer, I’ve had a lot of fun leaned a lot about engineering, aeroplanes and made some great friends, but I kinda lost some of the passions I’d had 15 years earlier.

I’ve never been one for the self help books that seem to be on many nightstands and claim to help you find that ever elusive passion. I know what my passions are, racing cars, adrenalin and genuine connections.

I know that individual perfection I once strived for is impossible. I’m starting to understand my foundations and where they come from. They have to be accepted and lived with, and that alone has come as something of a relief.

This is all part of what I’m still trying to work out and that I’m not making bold statements that “I know who I am”. I’m saying that I think I’ve a more realistic view of my identity and myself.

I’ve been been shy about a lot of the last couple of years. The loss of my mother after a three year battle with cancer was huge, coming soon after the loss of my grandfather in 2008. I really lost the plot for a while, I’m pretty sure was not a great person to be around at times, and I’m truly sorry for that.

Today is another tough day, Dad is undergoing surgery and I’m sitting here in Starbucks on Guildford High Street reflecting and waiting for the call to say he’s out of surgery. I understand what I’ve lost, that was fairly easy, but getting back there, that’s the hard part.

Sorry if this does not make total sense, it’s been that kind of a day.