Keith Lightfoot Blogosphere

“How long since you visited the Tower of London?” I asked my workmates during my youthful and tumultuous UK overseas-experience.

It turned out that only “one” of my UK born and London based colleagues had actually been to the Tower, it was just too convenient and too familiar to bother, and there was always more important things to do in the weekend (garden, DIY, kids, work).

As Southlanders it is easy to ignore one of the world’s most beautiful resources, located only a few kilometres away. Yet thousands of tourists travel halfway around the world to experience and photograph our rugged coastline, our extraordinary sunsets, our native birds and other unique wildlife.

Even the often-maligned seagull looks majestic in its natural environment, compared to being covered in city smog and hovering over our barbecue, scrapping for any leftovers we throw their way.

The highlight of our *Catlins adventure came when we discovered two huge Sea Lions involved in a playful mating ritual. Fortunately we remembered and adhered to the warning notice “always stay at least twenty metres from Sea Lions” and stood in awe as the only witnesses to such a unique event. They tolerated our presence for quite a while, but when mummy-lion decided it was time for us to leave, and headed in our direction, we ran away like frightened children.

After a day at the Catlins, the drive home seemed quicker, the world seemed a little more peaceful and the car was definitely in need of a serious sand-vacuum. We smiled and chatted about our day, and we laughed at how quickly we scampered away. The DIY chores were still there when we arrived home, but perhaps those particular Sea Lions will never visit the Catlins again.

There will always be “things you should do around your house/business” and “programs you really want to watch on television”. The Catlins provides you with no shopping malls, no cell phone coverage and a rare opportunity for you to switch-off for one day, to slow the pace down a little and to explore one of the world’s most beautiful locations, just a few minutes from your home.

*The Catlins (sometimes referred to as The Catlins Coast) comprises an area in the south eastern corner of the South Island of New Zealand. The area lies between Balclutha and Invercargill, straddling the boundary between the Otago and Southland regions. It includes the South Island’s southernmost point, Slope Point.

The Catlins, a rugged, sparsely populated area, features a scenic coastal landscape and dense temperate rainforest, both of which harbour many endangered species of birds. Its exposed location leads to its frequently wild weather and heavy ocean swells, which are an attraction to big-wave surfers.  Source Wikipedia

People often stand with the fridge or pantry door open (think “teenagers”) vacantly staring at the multi coloured array of products, with no real clue what they want to eat, and no real appreciation for the choice laid out before them.

Yet despite this bounty of food and beverages just a few steps from our comfortable designer dining room suite, and despite all the expensive toys and trinkets we surround ourselves with, we somehow allow ourselves to focus on what we don’t have and complain, rather than be grateful for what we do have and rejoice.

Millions of people would shake their head in disbelief if they saw our homes, cars, motorbikes, boats, clothes, home theatre, dishwasher, cameras, washing machine, portable music players, video technology, laptops and holiday destinations.

They would also be overwhelmed by our democratic rights, our fortuitous circumstances to live, love and laugh in a culture so rich in opportunities and personal freedom.

How did we become so ungrateful?

The media has a lot to answer for in creating this feeling of personal dissatisfaction and although the message to the masses is working at present, I sense a long term danger in the current mental programming methodology.

One of the classic lines used by someone who has been successfully programmed by the media, upon discovering that you are reading autobiographies, studying success oriented books, listening to motivational audio and attending personal development conferences is “You are being brain washed with all that positive stuff and you have lost your grip on reality”.

Their argument is based on the observation that:

-you no longer watch the news on a daily basis

-you no longer read the newspaper every day

-you no longer listen to the radio all day

-you no longer wish to discuss the important things in life, such as how many people died in the overseas earthquake last week, or that the world economy is threatening to collapse any moment, or that the new flu virus may travel to this country and wipe out an entire population, or that the likelihood of an aircraft disaster has just increased by five percent since the latest series of horrific disasters.

Nobody is suggesting that these things are not important, but they do not have to be your only source of input, focus and discussion.

The same people who constantly moan about how bad life is, especially for all those people in the news, are the same people who find themselves bored, unhappy and ungrateful (think “There is nothing to do!”). One of the media prescribed cures is to engage in retail-therapy to make you feel a little better for a few hours.

Take that extra money that you don’t actually have and instead of replacing a perfectly good item in your home, use it to pay off an existing debt, invest in your family’s future, donate it to a worthwhile charity, find a way to help some of the people you moan about, or find a way to help yourself grow and become all that you were purposed to become.

It was Saturday, a little rain, a little sunshine, lots of plans for the day, feeling good!

I intended to drive into town, pick up a few things, then get back onto writing my book. Yet by the time the day ended, the book had not moved forward, my inspirational thoughts were still trapped in my head and I was feeling frustrated with myself.

How had I let another day slip by without spending time on the book? What happened to time management, setting priorities and focus?

More importantly, how is it possible that I let myself feel frustrated? The very thing that I preach against from stage had crept into my spirit. I was having an “attitude attack”.

Andrea listened to my grumbling (think “mumbling, gnashing of teeth, silently beating yourself up and looking for sympathy”) and she smiled, raised her eyebrows and carried on preparing supper. Some homemade dessert, a fresh cup of coffee and an empathetic partner are wonderful assets during these fleeting moments of stupidity. We laughed about it, retired for the evening and allowed the next day to unfold.

This morning (Sunday) I asked myself, “How is it possible that a person who has, attended/given motivational seminars, read/written motivational books, listened to motivational audio, watched motivational movies and hung around motivational people, could actually have an attitude attack?”

There are good reasons for this:

-You are not perfect and neither am I

-Sometimes our emotions, past hurts, culture and personality “pop up” when we least expect it

During this event, I remembered an important lesson: “You will never feel frustrated unless you are trying to go somewhere”.

e.g. Imagine standing by the bank of a recently flooded river. Depending on your reason for being there, you will experience different emotions. If you were intending to cross the river you may feel frustration, if you came to witness the flood waters and take some photos, you will be delighted with the water level.

Tomorrow the river may have receded sufficiently for you to cross safely and for the newly arrived photographer to wish they had come earlier. Or instead of sulking on the river bank, you could walk upstream, discover a beautiful swing bridge and experience a whole new perspective that you would have missed had the river not been impassable.

So here I am, happily writing my book again, one day later than originally planned, but still making progress. Many people quit on their dreams when they encounter a setback and they allow their temporary bad attitude to become a permanent part of their personality and their outlook on life.

The longer I live, the more I realise the importance of attitude. We cannot change our past, or what people may think or say, but we can choose our attitude and in doing so, change our future.

“Excuse me” said the young bird,
“You are older than I, so can you tell me where to find the sky?”
“The sky”, said the older bird “Is the thing you are in now”.
“But this is just air?” exclaimed the young bird,
“What I am seeking is the sky!” and he flew away to search elsewhere for it.

Our house is old (think “well loved”) and needs some DIY when time and funds permit, but we love it, we feel it has a special kind of inner peace, we have made it our home and people that visit comment how “tranquil” it feels when they are here.

Sometimes late at night we stand on the decking and look into the silent sky. The stars are so much brighter without street lights, passing traffic or the city glow. I know it sounds romantic and foolish to speak like this, but we feel truly blessed in our little piece of tranquillity.

The last time I lived in Southland I was far too busy-being-busy to be looking at stars, or family, or thinking about finding a quiet spot to live (think “IT geek who looked like a young Bill Gates, working equally as hard, but without the money or lifestyle”).

Sadly I was like many young men, full of my own importance, overflowing with testosterone, pursuing a career like “a dog chasing an invisible rabbit” and instead of stopping and looking up into the night sky, I kept my head down and charged headlong into the darkness.

Becoming a celebrant has been a dream for many years. There are already many wonderful marriage celebrants in Gore and many Southland weddings are testimony to the care and professionalism of these dedicated people.

Our goal is to work alongside the established Gore marriage celebrants. It is time for me to give back to the community that cared for me during my wild youth.

A special thanks to those people who have believed in me and supported me.

GOD Bless
Keith Lightfoot

Ask, and you will be given what you ask for. Seek and you will find. Knock and the door will be opened. For everyone who asks, receives. Anyone who seeks, finds. If only you will knock, the door will be opened Matthew 7:7, 8

Raymond and Mary came to New Zealand via a government assisted immigration package to help colonise this far flung part of the new British Empire. Their two children John, aged four and Keith aged two, accompanied them on this long and sometimes painful voyage.

My mother always told the story of her arrival in this freshly birthed nation and how she wept on the railing of the boat as she saw the shanty towns and tin shacks that lined Wellington harbour as they sailed slowly into what was to become their new life.

For many years New Zealand trailed the world in some aspects of technology and television was only introduced to New Zealand in 1960 and finally arrived at our house in 1968. Because there was no TV to watch during much of our youth, our weekends consisted of spending time as a family, goofing off at home, fixing our old cars when we were older or watching dad constantly fix his car, hanging out with friends, heading off on picnics, kicking a ball on the beach, boiling the thermette on the side of the road and always-always drinking lots of hot tea.

When the weekend came, the idea of leaving our house to watch a live rugby game was unheard of, primarily because no one ever thought of the idea. Despite living and working in New Zealand, my parents were definitely still very English.

Surprisingly my brother John, played rugby quite well in his senior years at High School and even got a favourable mention in the local newspaper, I am not sure how he learnt the rules, maybe he spent time with his friends observing and discussing the game, maybe he just paid more attention at school than me.

When my turn came to play a “compulsory” High School sport, I naturally chose rugby, it seemed the logical selection given the success of my brother and that everybody else I knew was also in the team. Looking back I have come to realise that the first time I ever saw a whole game of rugby was when I was actually in it and it was certainly the first time I had worn shoes with prongs sticking out of the bottom of the sole.

You can imagine how bewildered I was on this paddock full of bristling young men, all running about in different directions, vigorously tackling each other, furiously kicking the ball, and generally leaping about, seemingly with no consistent pattern or intent.

The expression on our coach at my first practice still lingers in my mind after all these years, I sometimes wonder what he said to his wife when he got home after experiencing me! Part of his job was to decide what to do with this enthusiastic, scrawny blond haired, fair skinned nerd who seemed somehow fascinated by the simple act of walking up and down the sideline in his newly borrowed rugby boots.

It was finally agreed that I would play the position of Lock, maybe they thought it was the location where I could cause the least damage, and it certainly could not have been because of my size, speed or strength. We jogged about for a while at practice, then a scrum was called, some people disappeared and formed a line stretching across the paddock, others scrunched down and suddenly I was faced with the back side of seven pairs of shorts, all wriggling and squirming as the boys jostled one another for some advantageous position.

The coach looked at me, waited for a moment, and then said “Well! Get your head in there!”
I looked at the mass of jiggling young bums, looked back at the coach and said “Where?”
“In there!” he said, not quite so softly this time.
“Won’t they mind?” I asked timidly.

Eventually we managed to get my head in amongst all the other heads and the scrum began in earnest. People pushed, people grunted, swore, heaved, slipped, recovered, pushed again and scrambled for the ball with their feet. I just kept my head inside the excitement and watched with amazement. Then just as fast as the scrum was formed, it was gone!

Everybody scattered across the stud tattered grass, some running in groups, some seemingly running alone, people were yelling “Pass the ball”, “Go Bruce!”, “Come on!”, then the whistle sounded again and it was back to the scrum of many bums.

At one point in the game, or it might have been one point in the season, I was standing in the middle of the paddock, or recovering from a mad ten metre dash to absolutely nowhere, when the ball actually floated high in my direction, I glanced about, nobody seemed to be near, I vaguely heard the throb of approaching rugby boots and voices saying something about leaving the ball alone; this was to be my proudest moment!

Steadying myself and keeping my eye on the tumbling ball, I captured it cleanly in my arms like a true professional and simultaneously called at the top of my voice “Mark!” Then I waited with a suppressed smile for the accolades and respect of my team mates. The sound of the whistle blowing meant nothing to me until the referee yelled “Off Side!” very close to my ear, which was swiftly followed by my team captain scowling as he passed and saying ”Just leave the ball alone Lightfoot, don’t touch it!”

Bewildered and hurt I handed over my precious leather ball and went back to running needlessly and aimlessly about the paddock, always making sure I was far enough away from the action to avoid any damage.

Fate interjected during a future game and once again I found myself alone and in direct line with the cascading ball, the sound of thundering shorts were not far away, but it was time to make a swift decision. Using superb balance and poise, and remembering my past lesson, I stepped neatly away from the ball and watched as it bounced and rolled away, finally to be swept up by the heaving mass of hairy legs and overflowing testosterone.

When the whistle finally stopped play, my team captain sauntered over, his muddy face matching his clothing, scowled again and said very loudly “Why the heck didn’t you catch the ball?” Then walked back to the centre of play. The rugby season was one of the longest few months of my life. I felt lost and alone, never depressed, but certainly confused, mainly because I could not figure out how everybody else seemed to know what to do.

Looking back after all these years, I have come to realise that there are two very important lessons in all of this.

All of us are guilty at some point in not asking for more clarification when we know in our hearts that we should and also for not taking enough time to make sure the person we are coaching truly understands what we are saying. To ask for more explanation is seen as a weakness in many of us, so instead we bumble our way through our career, social and family life, only to recognise that things could have been very different “If only we had asked and asked and asked, until we understood!”

My coach and my captain had no possible way of knowing how little I knew, and nobody bothered to find out. They would have assumed that any boy growing up in New Zealand would at least know the fundamentals of rugby. It is worth remembering that there was no television, or computer games that a person could watch to even get a visual overview of the game. There was no blackboard or paper discussion with diagrams and explanations regarding the movement of the players.

When one is embroiled in the game, the only view you get is the people closest to you and the row of bums during each scrum formation. Whenever I watch Braveheart I am reminded of how little perspective the sword wielding warriors actually have of the bloody battle once it commences.

People use the expression “You can’t see the wood for the trees” and it is extremely important to step-back occasionally from your personal and business life and take a moment to really see where you are heading.

To this day I maintain (tongue in cheek) that “I could have been an All Black” if someone had taken the time to mentor and coach me.

Footnote:
I was fortunate enough to speak at a motivational seminar in Brisbane in 1997 and took the opportunity to invite my old school friend and “fellow Lock” to listen to the talk. The “school boy rugby” story was part of my presentation and I could see him laughing with the audience as I unveiled the truth about our time together on the paddock.

As we drank coffee afterwards I said to him “I bet you did not realise how bad at rugby I was until you heard my story tonight?”

He looked at his wife, smiled a wonderful smile and between bursts of laughter he said “Keith you should have heard what we said about you in the changing rooms!”

It is probably just as well I did not!
Authors Note:
This story is included in my book “Thank God it’s Friday” (www.thankgod.co.nz)
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