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It was on the first of November 2012, nearly 10 years ago, when Margaret McCollum was on her regular journey home via the London Underground subway system. As usual, she stopped at embankment station. Standing on the platform, she was listening for something very specific. It didn’t come. She was shocked and later described the moment as being “horrifying and completely, utterly devastating.”
What about not hearing a particular sound had been so distressing?
Last September, I started an online course on “psychological research for practicing therapists.” It was supposed to take me no more than 20 hours and teach me “skills and abilities of the social science researcher” as part of my journey towards becoming a Psychotherapist.
I quickly worked through the course materials and passed the test. But then I had to write an essay. When I submitted my essay at the beginning of November, I’d probably spent 30 hours on the course. I thought I was done. But I was clearly not done, and a substantial lesson was to be learned.
The essay grader was happy about the first part, but did not pass the second. I had to provide further depth and added resources to my suggested mock-research project. I was diligent. I spent at least another 20 hours studying, rewriting, and upgrading my essay. I submitted it again at the beginning of January and I thought that was certainly the end of it. But within a few weeks I got the grader’s feedback. Not passed! There were “still some issues with this proposal.”
I’ll spare you the details, but I was frantic. I spent another 20 hours not only revising, but writing, a completely new research proposal. I shared it with my supervisor but his feedback was not very positive..
Now, I was really on edge. I’d spent more than 60 hours on a course which was supposed to take me only 20 hours, and I still did not have a proposal that would get a passing grade. I had enough! I rather angrily put the proposal to the side in complete despair.
It was a cold and rainy day in April, 1984, when 17-year-old Petr Svoboda made a life-changing decision. Together with his Czechoslovakian National U18 Ice hockey teammates, he had just beaten Sweden 4-2 in the final round of the European Championships. As teammates and coaches were celebrating the important win in the dressing room, he quietly took his few belongings, his umbrella, and walked out on his old life. He defected. He escaped to the West, as his biggest dream was to play in the National Hockey League (NHL) in America and Canada.
This step was not only courageous, it had severe consequences. The communist regime in Czechoslovakia took immediate revenge. Both his parents, who worked in good jobs, were fired and placed under substantial scrutiny by the authorities from that point on. With the Iron curtain firmly closed in the mid-eighties, there was literally zero clarity around whether Petr would ever see his parents again.
On November 16, 2019, I sent an email to family and friends inviting them to celebrate the “half-time of my life” at the end of May, 2020. I could have also called it the “31st anniversary of my 19th birthday,” or simply let them know I would be crossing half the half-century mark. Many had signed up, and in February 2020, the organisation of the event was done.
But sadly, we all know what happened after that. The world went into a stand-still for 2 years. It was impossible to even think about having a party and celebrating with friends. By the end of 2021, I started another attempt at organising the event, and with the world opening, it became more and more likely it could happen in June 2022.
As the big day drew closer, I was quite anxious about how it would go.
It was one of these days when everything seemed to go wrong.
I had helped a client prepare for an important meeting with one of their major customers. Just before the meeting, we realised there was a substantial flaw in the presentation. It was so bad the meeting had to be cancelled and moved to the next day. An embarrassing and tricky situation. I dropped everything, frantically trying to understand the issue in our calculations. It was highly complex, but, by all means, we had to have an answer by the evening. Stress! Pressure! Anxiety!
While I was scrambling for solutions, an email popped in. And it pushed me over the edge. I had planned a large personal event in June. Suddenly, the hotel provider “had to sadly cancel all 22 room-bookings due to a technical error.” All other hotels were full due to a major sporting event. This meant we had to cancel an event for which guests from all over the world had made travel plans. A complete disaster.
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