TEDxNHS

On Saturday 28th September, I attended TEDxNHS, a series of 12 medically-relevant talks held in the Royal Institution. Unusually, I was not there as a spectator, rather this was the culmination of many months of work from a team of 40+ people, which included myself.

It’s been a while since I’ve been part of an event. Back at school, I was unfailingly part of the annual theatre performance, usually playing a character actor or on the second violin desk. Being on the narrow performance side of the production, the technical elements and logistics of bringing hundreds of people together for a three-hour show were a mystery to me. TEDxNHS was my first taste of this on a professional scale and it was impressive.

In the same lecture theatre where Faraday demonstrated his theory of electromagnetism, the twelve speakers captivated the 400-strong audience with topics ranging from deep brain stimulation to intergenerational trauma. Faraday’s legacy was still felt as under the warm lighting, there were standing ovations, cheers and the odd shiver of awe.

There were standing ovations, cheers, and the odd shiver of awe

The execution was faultless, with not a technical or logistical hitch the whole day. But this doesn’t happen by chance, I realised. Having been involved in a tiny bit of the preparation, I realised just how much work is needed to pull something like this off. With communications teams and logistics arms, suddenly I saw a lot of corporate terms in action. Everyone had a day job already and yet, through their voluntary work, a concept became reality last weekend.

As part of the coaching team, I had the pleasure of developing one of the talks with a speaker. When I first signed up to the role, I shrugged at the prospect, thinking a weekly meet-up was a small commitment compared to the rigours of work and childcare. But with months and then weeks to go, I realised how highly invested I was. The Saturday morning coaching sessions became an integral part of my weekend routine, and towards the end, I happily dialled on for calls at 9.30pm to rehearse with my speaker. Instead of being exhausted, I was energised.

Of course, seeing someone you’ve trained flourish is a delight, but my joy ran deeper than a perfect 10 performance. My experience was so rich because I had been there throughout.

So much of my adult life has been spent doing things out of self-interest or obligation. Be that a week of A&E night shifts or two-hourly wake-ups to feed a newborn, I didn’t see the point in doing voluntary activity on top of all the things I had to do. But what I didn’t appreciate was how much pleasure there is from helping someone else succeed. There is such reward from contributing to something bigger, for example, an immaculately run production or a tear-jerking speech.

It’s been almost 20 years since I left school, but I finally realise the true value in putting on an event. I used to think it was simply about the performance, the superficial aspects like how many prompts were needed or if the orchestra sounded in tune, but now I know it is more than that. Regardless of how smoothly the production runs, the real success lies in the preparation, the hours of hard-work and dedication from a team of disparate individuals. There is something to be said for being part of such a collaborative effort.

Shakespeare was right, the play really is the thing.

TEDxNHS was held at the Royal Institution on 28th September 2024 (https://www.tedxnhs.com/tedxnhs-2024/)

The dream team: my fellow coach and wonderful tedxnhs speaker

Five Things I Learnt from Taylor Swift

It’s been a month since I donned a red silk jumpsuit and packed myself into a Jubilee line train bound for Wembley along with 700 000 bejewelled Swifties. Compared to my last Taylor Swift concert back in 2014 (ah! the beloved Red tour!), Eras was in another league altogether.

The stats are well known: the Eras tour is the highest grossing tour of all time and Swift has broken ticket sales and attendance records left, right and centre. Over the last two decades, Taylor Swift’s popularity has exponentiated, and she is now one of the most recognised people on the planet. And yet the Taylor Swift shimmying her way through the 3-hour Eras setlist still seems as approachable as the singer I saw ten years ago. It’s an incredible feat to retain the common touch, even as your star rises and goes totally stratospheric.

In the month following the concert, I’ve realised that Taylor Swift’s extraordinary example holds important lessons.

Here are 5 Things I’ve Learnt from Taylor Swift…

1.Stick at it

20 years later, Taylor Swift commands a global audience of millions but her early career resembled that of many other artists. She too had to hustle, building a following by playing small venues and scaling up with each success. By producing regular new material (Swift’s output is remarkable with a new album roughly every two years), she stayed in the zeitgeist. With each new release she had occasion to tour, raise her profile and induct a new cohort into her fandom.

2. Innovate

Now the stuff of legend, it’s well known that Taylor Swift’s jumping of musical genres e.g. Red’s transition from country to pop, was met with concern and opposition. It’s easy to imagine experienced industry executives advising the then 23-year old singer, to stick to the path she knew. Thank heavens she didn’t. At each turn Swift has followed her own intuition, not merely to follow a trend, but out of her own interest. It’s a lesson to us all, that innovation, especially when done out of curiosity and interest, can be the key to success.

3. Have faith in yourself

Looking at the triumphant figure she cuts in photos, you’d be forgiven for thinking Taylor Swift was born to this. However, it takes a lot of self-belief to weather twenty years of celebrity. Her humiliations are well known, including the 2016 public shaming, which saw her reviled by the press and prompted a temporary retreat. Many would not have recovered but Swift built on the painful experience to become bigger than ever. In what must be one of her most admirable qualities, Swift’s enduring conviction in her music, her vision and herself, is an example to every person pursuing a dream.

4. Be nice

Much is made of Taylor Swift’s ‘good girl’ persona. Throughout her career Swift has projected a sweet affability, which many have questioned. Is it an act? Surely she can’t be that sweet when she’s so successful? But being consistent in her image and erring on the side of likeability, she has won over more people than she has alienated. Cynics may say it’s part of a carefully crafted persona designed to endear and entrap, but after twenty years of being nice, she deserves every compliment she receives.

5. Find your calling

Now regarded as one of the greatest singer-songwriters of today, Taylor Swift is undeniably talented. However, I imagine she would continue to write songs and perform even if her fame vanished. When you have a vocation, it will always be what you return to. That’s not to say carving out new musical territory is always fun, but by knowing this is what you have to do, it’s easier to make progress. I have no doubt in twenty years time, Taylor Swift will still be writing songs and celebrating forty years of a successful career.

For aspiring artists, Taylor Swift is an extreme example of what is means to build and be successful. Nonetheless, every life holds lessons and for me personally, I can see at least five good reasons to be a bit more Taylor Swift.

Humanity Goals: The Olympics

Growing up, I was not a fan of sports. In school there were a great many things I was not good at: chess and woodwork spring to mind, but I didn’t hate those subjects. Sports, however, I detested.

I don’t think it was simply the fact that I was bad at sports. Being the literal proverbial ‘last picked’ for the sports team is unfortunate, but I was never bullied or made to feel bad about this by others. But I hated being let down by my body and not being able to succeed in the way I wanted due to something out of my control.

As I did not enjoy playing sports, this extended into loathing sports TV. I did not see the point of it. As the great sporting events (Wimbledon, the football cups etc) usually coincided with the summer holidays, I would resent the few channels of terrestrial TV being taken over by unappealling sports broadcasting. Why were the filler Westerns of daytime TV being shunted over in favour of 5 days of test match cricket, I would ask myself?

But the Olympics was different.

Every four years our household would tune in on Opening night to see the latest spectacle and reach pinnacle excitement when the small band of Sri Lankan athletes would appear in the line-up. We would wait hours for the fleeting twenty second spotlight, yelling to whoever happened to be on an unfortunately timed loo-break, ‘you’re missing it!.’

And then for two weeks we would intermittently tune in, fair weather friends who would prioritise the classics events: the swimming, the gymnastics and of course, the athletics. The more I watched, the more I wanted to watch and the more point I saw to it.

A few decades later and it’s Olympics time again. A lot has changed in the intervening years, not least the fact that I see increasing meaning to sports and value exercise in my own life. During this time I have run a half-marathon, become a Zumba aficionado and had my life changed by attending a Millwall game. But there is something special about the Olympics that reminds me of that excitement from my childhood.

A few nights ago, I cycled down to the Royal Naval College with husband and toddler in tow and parked up in front of the public viewing screens. It was a balmy night and with an Aperol Spritz in hand, I sat down to see the Parisian take on an Olympic opening ceremony. Despite the rain lashing the other side of the Channel, it was still completely magical.

What impresses me is that every Olympic host tries to put on an amazing ceremony in their own style. Be it Beijing’s mind-boggling coordinated dances or London’s ‘Best of British’ showcase, every event has its own take and its own impact. And when it came to Paris’ city-wide extravaganza, I felt like a child at the circus, marvelling at the varied spectacle performed against the most incredible backdrops.

And amidst the opera singers, the acrobats and parkour, boat after boat of athletes sailed down the Seine (a Parisian take on the usual march into the stadium). How simple and yet how lovely to see the nations of the world, represented by beaming faces, all with an equal opportunity and value in the competition. For me, this was humanity at its best, everyone showing up and taking part in good spirit, like an exaggerated school sports day.

It seems hard to imagine that in a world as conflicted as ours is today, humanity has a chance at peace and stability. But then I think about the Olympics opening ceremony, about the parade of hopeful faces, all mingling in the same vicinity before the mother of all parties, and I think maybe we’re not too far off.

My own little bit of humanity watching the opening ceremony outside the naval college

And the days are not full enough...

I sometimes think my personal motto should be ‘feast or famine.’ As someone who cannot have a packet of chocolate digestives in the house (they’ll be gone within the day), this bipolar approach affects many aspects of my life. Recently it’s manifested in my reading habits. Reading is my go-to activity, as routine as brushing my teeth, but lately things have stalled. Stuck at 10 books this year (I try to average one a week), I’m finding it hard to commit to any one novel. But that doesn’t stop me getting more books.

My bookshelves are packed with library loans and impulse buys. I know I’m not going to get around to the original Jungle Book anytime soon (not when there’s Stephen King next to it), but I still want it there, just in case. I dip in and out of plots, losing the momentum of the story and then when I come back to it, my brain protests as I try and enter the action of two months ago. Reading this way doesn’t work for me but I can’t break the cycle at the moment.

Other areas of my life are following this pattern. After a concentrated career drive in the first quarter, I’ve taken my foot off the pedal. As a result I’ve fallen off the algorithms that promote my medical writing and it’s hard to get back to where I was. With so many different careers strands open (writing, med tech, alternate job searching and GP), like my books, I seem to be trouble making headway in any one.

Some might say this is a consequence of diversification, of having too many things to work on, but I dispute this. Yes, focus can only be directed at any one subject at any one time, but I’ve worked on multiple projects before, prioritising one after the other in short succession to make sure all are kept on track.

But at the moment none of these projects are moving on despite significant chunks of time passing. Luckily, I understand what’s going on. I have been here before and recognise this feeling. An interval of frustrating inaction is part of a process I go through. Previously, I thought it was a failing of mine but now I recognise this downtime as being essential to making progress. This is the fallow period before the new shoots rise and the next chapter begins.

It has taken some time to understand this about myself, but I now realise that I am not a person who can always be ‘on.’ I have tried to be single-minded in achieving my goals, trying to work in a culture of unwavering positive progression but this is not me. Inevitably, I need a time where nothing really gets done, because that allows me to come back with vigour.

And in the meantime the books stack up and opportunities pass me by. But that’s ok. There will always be far more books than I can read and far more things I could be doing. Making peace with this incongruence between personality and productivity culture has made my life much better. As long as there is a crumb of enjoyment in the day (and with the baby there are more than crumbs, I get full days of cake), then it is a life well lived.

Essential reading: Four Thousand Weeks: Time Management for Mortals by Oliver Burkeman

The infinite pleasure of a full bookshelf

Texas Hold 'Em

I’m not a good card player. Our tatty free deck, inherited from my first longhaul flight in the days of Air Lanka, was missing a few crucial cards, which would always scupper solitaire, the only game I knew how to play. As card-playing was not a tradition in our family, the pleasures and probabilities of games like poker were lost on me and it’s something I still can’t figure out today.

Maybe it’s the glamorous casino association with James Bond but I like the idea of card games. I like the metaphor of them and feel they hold insights for everyday life. How do you play your hand? When will you take a risk? What is your tell? I wish I knew cards better such that I could play more intuitively and therefore, know myself better.

Which is why I feel I’ve been lacking the perfect analogy for this current phase of my life. Having qualified as a GP I can now pursue other avenues as I am out of the rigid structures of training. Different career possibilities have opened up before me and I can now work towards something different, if I want to.

But what? What do I work towards? And am I playing the hand I’ve been dealt in the best way? Should I stick or twist?

As a GP, I already have a defined career, which I could commit to and never have to change roles again. However, this option has become less appealing considering how challenging General Practice is at the moment. I hope that this is the nadir and things will improve over the next few years, but there is no guarantee of that. In fact, I have been holding on to this hope for the past decade and each time the bottom has dropped further.

But with a general election around the corner, maybe this really is the darkness before dawn and by changing trajectories I may miss out on a fulfilling career in a field I have worked so hard in. But if General Practice remains as it is, I will lose yet more years in demoralising circumstances and lose out on time in which I could have been pursuing something more suited to me.

At times like these, I wish I knew poker better. How do you make something of a seemingly bad hand? How do you turn a ‘high card’ into a full house? Raise or fold? Throughout my career I have had times where I’ve felt very much like I was not in control of my own fate, whereas now, confronted by numerous possibilities, I find it difficult to know how to steer my direction.

And what of trends? I thought that by choosing a career as a doctor all those years ago, I’d be in safe, sane territory with a ‘good job’ at the end of it. Little did I know that there would be years of erosion of services and salaries. But if I choose another exciting field now e.g. medtech, would I be pursuing another fata morgana? And what about my driving passion - writing? With that being superseded by AI generated content, am I honing my craft in a soon-to-be obsolete field?

The uncertainty is paralysing.

I have no idea what is the right way forward for me but nonetheless I know I must try it. The solid choices I have made thus far have not led to greater contentment, so I may as well try something new. It’s not too late and at least it’s exciting.

At times like these I find myself coming back to the lodestar poem, The Summer Day by Mary Oliver.

“Tell me, what else should I have done?

Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?

Tell me, what is it you plan to do

With your one wild and precious life?”

What should I do with my ‘one precious life?’ I don’t suppose it matters, as long as I am trying for better.

Utopia for Pessimists

And the dark days draw on. Despite the winter solstice, despite the new year, this month has felt inexorably dark. And rainy. Bad news and wet weather are a dismal combination, the perfect fodder for black dogs and demons. Spring seems a laughable idea in the midst of one of the wettest Februarys on record (1).

But it’s not just February. Heaviness has set in over the last few years starting (in my opinion) with the descent of austerity after the financial crisis of 2008. Austerity touched everyday life in a way the preceding wars fought on foreign soil did not. Public services, particularly relevant to my work, were pared away to leave the mere skeleton framework underneath. We have suffered ever since.

And then came a pandemic. And then came an economic downturn. And then came the largest attack on a European country since World War 2.

So, yes, darkness may well be the word of the current decade.

However, a conversation with an old friend recently reminded me that such conditions have often sparked a flowering of positive change. He used the example of the expansion of the welfare state in the strained years after the Second World War and then the youthful countercultural optimism of the 1960s, where norms were challenged, often for the better.

‘‘The only way to get out of this gloom is to imagine better. And there are people doing that.’’

However, what optimism now? For my peers, who are working full-time but still struggling to pay bills and student loans despite a yuppie’s salary, I feel exhaustion overrides any positivity. How can you think to change the system when all energy is spent keeping yourself afloat?

And what about the next generation? Those in their twenties with the world at their feet? Surely there is more hope there? But they too feel the squeeze of a rigged economic system (rigged against them I hasten to add - the average student loan in £45000 (2)) and the psychological toll of a life spent online on social media.

So, are we doomed? Destined to find the bottom dropping from one low to another? No. I don’t believe so. I choose not to believe so. In fact, I think that is the only way to get out of this gloom - to imagine better. And there are people doing that.

Kate Raworth’s ‘Donut Economics’ envisions another, more sensible way to guide our economic direction. The refusal to accept that as it has been, so shall it ever be, is key in breaking the learned helplessness of decades of entrenched policies. And Rutger Bregman’s call to think of positive futures in his book ‘Utopia for Realists’ (from which I’ve borrowed the title of this piece), is essential if we want to imagine something better in the longrun. How do you build the future you want to see, if you don’t have a vision of it first?

I am constantly impressed by how many initiatives there are out there, envisioning a better future and going after it. From organisations like ‘Youth for Change’ advocating for Gender Equality, to my son’s nursery holding a Breast Cancer Awareness bake sale, there is so much good being actively done in the world, it’s there once you start to look for it.

So whilst the overall mood of the age may seem dark, brightening so many small corners, is the good of the world. I pray this is the turning point, the nadir before the hockey stick swings back on the upward track, but even if that’s not the case, I know there is still hope as long as there is a vision for the future. As long as we believe we can do better, we will.

1. https://www.theguardian.com/uk-news/2024/mar/01/february-was-warmest-on-record-in-england-and-wales-met-office-says

2. https://commonslibrary.parliament.uk/research-briefings/sn01079/

Brighter days to come… margate in a rare break from the rain

The Waiting Game

January, for me, is the month of waiting. Despite its resolutions and virgin diaries, too much of the old year carries into the new for it to really feel different. The weather is still hostile and the daylight hours too short to feel like winter has turned a corner. In fact, with most of the coldest months still to come (with their associated eye-watering energy bills), January can feel like the first stop in a descent into further darkness.

I’ve now stopped bullying myself into relentless optimism at the thought of a new year. In the past, my ‘fake it til you make it’ attitude has ground against the heaviness of this first month and I have found the incongruence difficult to deal with. My body urges me to shun the dark, to stay in bed where it is warm and the reading lamp glows golden, but my mind chastises me for not going out for a run in the 4C cold.

“Our lives aren’t always in spring and I find the imposition of the seasons a useful reminder of that.”

This year, I scrapped the self-flagellation. So what if the resolution to exercise three times a week is broken straight away? There’s always the following week to try again.

It’s one thing to be forgiving to oneself, but society seems less understanding. Instead of a gentle return, post-Christmas, it feels as though there is an assumption that people are rested and revitalised after their ‘holidays.’ Forgetting, that for many, Christmas is a dismal time of anti-climax, familial tensions and heightened SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder). The return to work can be jarring for those who don’t feel ready to go, go, go as their companies start the first quarter.

So, how do you manage it? How do you ease back in, when it feels like you’re expected to dive head-first? Insight is probably the first step. Acknowledging that there is a difference between what is felt and what is expected will at least identify that there is an issue. Adjustments can then be made accordingly. For me, that means early bedtimes, nourishing meals and staying away from my phone. Making sure that all other variables are optimised sometimes compensates for the midwinter lethargy.

But sometimes, there’s nothing for it but to wait it out. This may be difficult to accept when so much of our lives now are geared towards instant gratification. Having to wait for warmer weather and the associated uptick in mood? But I want to feel better now! And of course, the impatient child in me will hate the next thing I’m about to write but yes, there is beauty and enjoyment to be found in every season. Just like convenience, gratitude journalling has become the vogue, so why not use that to find the joy in interminable rain and wet socks?

I’m being facetious. January is a hard, trying month and I speak that as a January enthusiast (it is, after all, my birth month). I’ve learned to live with its slow, heavy days by adapting my behaviour to suit it, rather than pretending I can be as lively and spirited in the bleak midwinter as I am in the summer months. Our lives aren’t always in spring and I find the imposition of the seasons a useful reminder of that.

And yet even as I write this, a mild frost thawing off the soil outside, I see precious green spears pointing up through amidst the ice. They promise daffodils and crocuses and tulips in mere weeks. It may take a little time, but even in the heaviest winter, time ticks on and soon it will be light again.