Mister Magorium. Life is an occasion

photo c/o FICG.mx

Over the Christmas break I reacquainted myself with Mister Magorium’s Wonder Emporium. I didn’t go looking for the movie, truth be told it found me half way through a box of chocolates and three glasses of Cote du Rhone. It’s an OK film with one scene in particular that knocks me for six. Mister Magorium (played by Dustin Hoffman) is talking with his assistant Molly Mahoney (played by Natalie Portman) about death. I hope you enjoy this excerpt from the script – see you at the other end of it.

Molly Mahoney: Are you dying?

Mr. Edward Magorium: Light bulbs die, my sweet. I will depart.

Mr. Edward Magorium: [to Molly] When King Lear dies in Act V, do you know what Shakespeare has written? He’s written “He dies.” That’s all, nothing more. No fanfare, no metaphor, no brilliant final words. The culmination of the most influential work of dramatic literature is “He dies.” It takes Shakespeare, a genius, to come up with “He dies.” And yet every time I read those two words, I find myself overwhelmed with dysphoria. And I know it’s only natural to be sad, but not because of the words “He dies.” but because of the life we saw prior to the words.

[pause, walks over to Molly]

Mr. Edward Magorium: I’ve lived all five of my acts, Mahoney, and I am not asking you to be happy that I must go. I’m only asking that you turn the page, continue reading… and let the next story begin. And if anyone asks what became of me, you relate my life in all its wonder, and end it with a simple and modest “He died.”

Molly Mahoney: [starting to sob] I love you.

Mr. Edward Magorium: I love you, too. [picks Molly up, sighs heavily]

Mr. Edward Magorium: Your life is an occasion. Rise to it.

I love two things about this scene. First there is the observation on death. Described with beautiful simplicity, and the sadness it evokes. Not for death itself, but for the life that goes before. Second there is the observation on life. We are familiar with the term rise to the occasion, and I think linking that phrase with life itself is a master stroke.

Doing great work makes for a great life. Doing it because you love it, because it makes you want to rise to the occasion. Having already decided that 2012 is gonna be great, I am now seeing some clarity around how this will be so. More to follow, and you can bet that rising to the occasion of life will drive a great year. I hope it drives you too.

A letter to you

Dear you

It’s 10.30 am and we’ve only just finished breakfast. Coughs and colds abound and the mood is light and playful. A few work tasks need completing, I’ll get to those in a minute. For now I just wanted to share two things. The first is a silly game Keira has just played with us. It looks like this:

Doug. Dumb. Octopus like. Understanding. Great.

Carole. Crazy. Arty. Right. Observant. Loveful. Exciting.

Keira. Kangaroo like. Epic. Incredible. Reasonable. Adorable.

Shaw. Smart. Hugging. Arts. Wacky.

You might like to have ago yourself, feel free to post the results here if you do.

The second thing I’d like to share is a thank you. Over the past few days I’ve been amazed by how many people are in my thoughts. How much support and greatness and kindness you’ve shared. With me. With each other. These are of course tears of joy, not sadness.

Thank you. Merry Christmas. See you in 2012.

Love from Doug

Heroes – In my eyes

This latest post in the Heroes series is by the wonderful Queen of UK HR blogging, Alison Chisnell. I just gave her that title, hope she doesn’t mind. As many of you know Alison started blogging after attending the inaugural ConnectingHR unconference and she’s inspired many people with her writing since. This guest post is very touching, take it away Alison:

“When Doug first tweeted about guest bloggers to write about their heroes, I thought carefully about it and drew a bit of a blank. Not because I haven’t been inspired by people, more that it’s often those that are closest to me who influence me most. Then a trip to the optician with my children prompted me to think some more about someone who is a bit of hero to me – my Grandad.

Sight is something we’ve never taken for granted in my family. My great grandmother was born blind and several of my Grandad’s seven siblings were blind from birth or had serious sight problems. Growing up in a Peabody slum, as the youngest of eight children, life can’t have been easy and my Grandad left school to start work at 14. He married at 20, with my 18 year old Nanny defying her mother’s prophetic warning that she would end up married to a blind man. Two daughters followed in the next two years and my Nan always said that she grew up with her children, rather than before having them. The third child was born some eight years later. The family shared my Nan’s Aunt’s council house for many years, until the eldest two children were grown up.

Always short-sighted, my Grandad’s eyesight started to fail him in his late twenties. A detached retina compounded his poor sight and in his thirties we he developed Best’s disease, which clouded his vision still further. He cycled to work every day, until the time in his early thirties that he knocked a little girl over, because he simply hadn’t seen her. He never rode his bike again. In later life, he had cataracts and for most of my living memory he was, to all intents and purposes, completely blind.

And yet, somehow his sight was the last thing you ever noticed about my Grandad. An alert, intelligent and engaging conversationalist, he would never reveal that he could not see and he made a huge effort to look directly at whoever was speaking to him. Intelligent, driven, proud and resourceful he was enormously inspiring in his refusal to be cowed or defined by his lack of sight. After he was made redundant in his early forties, my Grandad set up his own successful business that he ran with my Nan acting as his eyes until they finally sold it when they were in their mid-seventies. It was this business that enabled them finally to move out of the area of London where they had grown up and buy their own bungalow in the countryside. Most remarkably, when my Nan died, at the age of 80 my Grandad managed to live on his own in the bungalow for nearly a year, before he moved to a home because of his worsening Alzheimers.

My Grandad was hugely proud of his children and his grandchildren. In his early seventies he underwent an operation on his cataracts, which temporarily restored his sight. His delight at seeing our faces, his incredulity at seeing his own face in the mirror, was a truly special moment. During his lifetime, he saw one of his grandchildren suffer a detached retina and medical advances ensure that it did not ruin his sight. As the most short-sighted of his grandchildren, he was thrilled that I was able to see enough with contact lenses and an additional pair of glasses to pass my driving test. That he died before any of us knew that my cousin, his grandson, has been diagnosed with Best’s disease in his late thirties and is rapidly losing his sight, is a blessing.

So, to me, my Grandad is a hero. For overcoming a difficulty that he never considered a handicap, for refusing to be limited by other people’s expectations of him, for his sheer determination, drive and ambition. His qualities of putting people at their ease, excellent conversation and his unfailing interest in others made him very special indeed.

This post was prompted by a trip to the opticians with my children. That they have near-perfect sight and can recite the entire set of letters, that I would struggle to read many steps closer and with my contact lenses, amazes and delights me. My Grandad would have been chuffed too.”

Thanks Alison – a lovely story, it rocketed me back to my childhood playing football with my blind grandfather in our back garden. He would go in goal and we would try, with little success, to score against him. His hearing was phenomenal and he could hear where the ball was, stopping all but our very best placed shots. The fact that I’ve gone on to do interesting work with sight loss charities helps give me purpose and I think would make my Grandad chuffed too.

And that’s it. For now at least. I have no more Heroes any more (see what I did there?). I hesitate to say the book is closed because I’m always open to guest bloggers, whether it be Heroes they want to write about or anything else for that matter. This is a fun experiment, I’ve edited nothing and aside from the Heroes tag made no suggestions as to what folks should send in. I’ve published every single contribution received in chronological order, and from the feedback that’s come in I know this series has motivated and touched many people.

I’m truly grateful to every guest blogger and every commenter and every reader for helping make this so successful.