Who Are You?
Dear readers, It’s not a question from the book of questions I shared in the post, Is This Just a Station on Your Soul’s Journey? However, I was asked this question during some leadership training through my work at Nuestros Pequeños Hermanos conducted by Perennial. I had a week to think about my answer, but it’s funny how a question containing just three words, so simple on the face of it, leaves us trembling in an existential crisis and choking on our thoughts. The irony is that millions of us around the world paint our lives on social media to show off our lifestyle, what we are doing and our experiences to demonstrate who we are, but we very rarely ask ourselves these questions to dig out who we truly are and get to know ourselves better. As mentioned in an earlier post, I have been asking myself questions like these over the past few months, which has helped me understand where I stand on a whole number of topics, but this one stumped me: Who am I? Nicholas Rogers aka Ajmaqventurer, I am male, 44 years old, a Scorpio, from Birmingham, a journalist, a writer, an artist, I live in Tegucigalpa, divorced, I know my family and friends (although I try to trim the list down year after year), Dave Chappelle on a bad day cheers me up. This is who I am, kind of, but they are only surface-type elements that describe me, which doesn’t really show my essence; who I am on a deeper level. This is more than just a check-in or personal weather report; this is finding out who I am for myself. But then I realised, “Shite, do I really know myself? And is it true that maybe other people know me better than I know myself?” It is a wonderful shadow question, to build a steady foundation beneath our feet and understand ourselves, rather than numbly show off to the world how we want to be perceived. For myself, I feel I’ve ignored who I am for far too long. And maybe it is true: friends and family have a better grasp of who I am, as I do of others through examining and judging them. Don’t judge me for judging others. The Bible tells us not to do it, but we all fall for the trap. It’s a human flaw we all have. But saying that, by judging someone doesn’t necessarily mean we know who they are. It is more the behaviour or character traits we admire or dislike, which can tell us a lot, but not really windows to the soul. Maybe I’m scared to answer it on some level. Maybe I won’t like who I am or I will just find a void. Then I realised, “Nah, I think I’m quite a decent chap. There’s enough within me to explore.” Then I went on a wild bender of booze and psychedelic introspection: joke! No, I sat down with my journal and tried to answer, but weirdly, I hit a form of writer’s block, because this seemingly simple question was so full of baggage and weight. Yes, some readers might feel I am second-guessing myself, overthinking this riddle completely, and they know themselves oh so well. (Well, f–k you, then!). Pen in hand, journal before me, and nada. “Where do I start?” Nothing came. So I thought, being that this is leadership training, I can begin by asking this question from the perspective of myself as a leader. So I began: “I never planned on being a leader in my professional field. I enjoyed working in a team, but I also enjoyed working independently doing my own thing. Through teaching, I learned various leadership abilities, such as how to motivate and lead students to succeed and learn, seeing them improve, and I found I enjoyed it. I then became Communications Manager and then Director of Communications, where I have learned to lead at executive and middle management level, learning through courses, reading, advice from friends and colleagues, podcasts, and trial and error. I always do my best for NPH, the health of the organisation and my colleagues, making difficult decisions using the skills and experiences to direct, create opportunities, bring people together and overcome challenges. I have enjoyed it more than I expected, more so that I am an introvert, and I have been forced to come out of my comfort zone on many occasions. I have harnessed interpersonal skills and learned to relate and find triggers to motivate people to work to one common goal. This is through trial and error, as mentioned before. I enjoy it, but it is tiring. People aren’t robots. You can’t rewire them or edit them using coding. You have to guide and support, but also know when to give them space and not micromanage, and also look after my own mental health to engage in activities outside the working environment, such as writing on my blog, Ajmaqventurer.” This was great. Therapeutic. But still, I was only skimming the edges without delving into who I am. I’m a leader at NPH. Does this define me? What about the rest of me? I’m more than my job. As part of the training, I was paired in a virtual breakout room with a good friend and colleague of mine, Daniel Zapata, who works for NPH Mexico. I started by mumbling something about how difficult it was to answer this question, and repeated a little of what I said above as a leader. Daniel then came out with something that, I will paraphrase below, was reminiscent of The Verve’s Bittersweet Symphony, but enveloped in something I found profound: “I am mortal. I live and die. In between, we have to take advantage of the moments of happiness we have. It’s impossible to be happy all the time. We know that. We make connections. It is what life is about: making connections. With friends and family, with our
The Game of Grief
Dear readers, As you can guess from the title, this post is an alternative type of a jolly festive read. I’m sprinkling it all with a bit of jest and dark humour, which is the language I love best. That’s my first disclaimer. The second is that I’m not a qualified counsellor or psychologist, but God help my poor patients if I would ever decide to become one: their spiral might forever descend if their lives were put into my hands. The third disclaimer is that this post has no objective to obtain sympathy or empathy of any sort. I don’t need it. I write through personal experience, logging the journey and memories of mourning in order to support others who have also suffered a loss of some sort, whether it be a death or separation from a loved it, or anything that gives a sense of mourning or disappointment. It is also in dedication to my father, Stephen Arthur Rogers, who passed away on 9th October 2022. As romantic as it sounds, and I know he’s rolling his cynical eyes at me right now while I write these very words, but I feel he’s pushed me to write this. Or in any case, he’s certainly inspired it. Over a year has passed. I haven’t written much publicly about my father other than expressions of grief on social media. I guess it might be that I’ve had too much to say or on my mind, and I didn’t have a blog or the correct medium to express it. I’m not in the business of drama dumping the world with my thoughts. Fuck no, I save that for my nearest and dearest. If we talk about the different stages of grief; by Jaysus, there are anywhere between 5 to 7 to a zillion steps to pass through depending on what and where you read it. On some level, I guess this post is my own way of coming to terms with it: the Acceptance stage. But what I write in the below paragraphs may contradict the last sentence. Because the process of grief is more complex than a step-by-step process. I knew a little something about the grieving process. Just before my father’s death, I was going through separation from my former partner. From that experience alone, I was going through tremendous loss, and as a way to find relief and emotionally and mentally prepare for the pending divorce, I read up on the grieving process to gain insight on what to expect and when. It’s not as though I was walking into it blindly; I’d heard of the 5 or 7 or however many stages there are of grief beforehand, but it all seemed simplistic and unrealistic. We all know, emotions are wretched to grasp, comprehend and control at the best of times. When a big life event comes along, it’s an emotional boxing match: blows all over the body, especially the head. The majority of the websites and self-help guides on grief have their disclaimers before launching into the “5 steps of horrendous mental suffering”, by stating that grieving is never linear, which is very good of them, but also wholly accurate. Grief isn’t linear whatsoever. But still, I felt it was lacking that je ne sais pas quoi. As mentioned above, my father passed away on 9th October. He battled a short but intense fight against lung cancer. I remember in the weeks after the initial diagnosis in early August, I was learning all these terms and what they meant, like CT scans and the use of different dyes and colouring. I learned this-or-that scan may impact if Dad could receive chemotherapy, or that the effects of this-or-that treatment may make dad more poorly for a day or two. There were different types of diagnosis which I never knew existed, and then there was the dreaded term nobody wants to hear about themselves or a loved one: palliative care – end of life. There were different types of nurses and hospital units and treatments flowing through the conversations, and consequences and ifs-and-buts if this-or-that happens: it confused me more, as well as being the worst dictionary exercise ever. My brother and sister were grand, talking me through everything in layman’s terms. They are professional doctors and have witnessed some of this in their day-to-day jobs. It couldn’t have been easy for them having to regurgitate the spiralling bad news and information from the doctors’ technical jargon into words that the rest of the family could comprehend. That comes with its own traumas. Something I will always be grateful to them for. This was all happening during a British autumn. I was not used to the wind and drizzle and greyness, being that these days I am very much a tropical animal, thriving on vitamin D and rays del sol. Still today, in Honduras, on the rare day when temperatures drop and there’s a little drizzle, it evokes something of a melancholic trauma of those final weeks. The dampness and rain and clouds and sitting in cafes at the Royal Worcestershire Hospital drinking shitty coffee waiting for shitty news; I fucking hate those memories with a passion. It still sits in my system rather uncomfortably. I remember the first pangs of grief hit me some weeks before my dad even passed. I sat down for a pint with my best mate Stuart Harbourne in a bar in Birmingham, and he kind of confirmed what I already knew, “Lung cancer: it’s one of the bad ones”. It causes a little sense of guilt in my low moments, that I somehow premeditated or manifested the worst-case scenario. What might have happened if I’d used the power of positive thinking? Would things have turned out differently? Silly, really, I know. Very irrational and absurd. The devil’s work, procrastinating such things. I’m able to rationalise it; don’t worry. After all, I’m not sure how positive-thinking medically prevents the spread of aggressive cancerous