Author: maddieisoutoftheoffice

​One of the questions we all face is what we want to leave behind, what we want to look back on, or more realistically what we want those who live past us to continue to see of us.  Our body and our self long gone, snippets from social media may remain, but our ability to add something new is limited to those with the imagination and ability of Hari Seldon.

Therefore, what do I want to leave behind?  And how is this connected with the last year?  I loved my role in investment banking, an ex colleague commented recently (over a Vina Sol; a visitor!) how rare and lucky that is, and yet I still felt that after eleven years in the City, forming a very solid foundation, I needed more.  I wanted something I could actually see building and growing due my attention (aside, I am pretty good with orchids).  I wanted a job that I could grasp, and feel success as something tangible.  I won’t ever be able to point at a pyramid and say I built THAT, but if all goes to plan here I should be able to see that I’ve affected people for the better and inspired and taught something.

Plus small goals, I’ve adopted a stray cat which would have otherwise been released back into the wild because she was so antisocial.  I look at her and know I’ve done a good thing; she’s scared of the world, but trusts me, I will give her a home, love and keep her healthy.  And is there truly more that we want from this life?

I wrote a will back when my marriage was ending, because it suddenly made sense to decide where I wanted my treasures to end up.  However, when it comes to it, it is hard to explain in a formal document what you consider valuable and why certain people should have to take ownership of said.  The cats for instance, how do I sign someone else up for such a commitment?  Jewellery is more obvious; the handmade clock from my grandfather; inherited family paintings; property…..

But as a single girl at what age do you cease to put your Daddy down as your next of kin? 

Wild cat is trusting me to do the right thing.

​Those baby steps milestone cards… where are the grownup ones?

– Today I forgot my own name when shaking hands with someone.
– Today I said “like” or “um” so often I started to hate myself.
– Today I forgot how to write when impromptu asked to take notes in a meeting.
– Today I said sorry when someone else bumped into me.
– Today I said thank you when I held the door open for someone.
– Today I got the giggles during a moment of silence.
– Today I lied about loving a haircut.
– Today I ate an entire block of cheese.
– Today I silently tutted at someone for standing on the wrong side of the escalator.
– Today I got the lift to the wrong floor and had to get the fire steps back again.
– Today I missed my bus stop and walked in the same wrong direction until the bus was out of sight.
– Today I had an imaginary race with a stranger.
– Today I fixed the printer and had the worship of my entire open plan area: doughnuts were presented.
– Today I acquired a roadsign as a beer trophy. 
– Today I found, and drank, a sad cold forgotten cup of tea.
– Today I realised ten minutes through a new book/movie that I’d read/seen it before.
– Today I inappropriately had a Christmas tune in my head in summertime.
– Today I ongifted something I know is going to come back and haunt me.
– Today I waited for confirmation I’d given the right change.
– Today I had to wiggle dance dry because there were no towels in the shower room.
– Today I found myself running in time with someone at the gym and spent 40mins trying to alter my step.
– Today I was that person who stood up for a lady with a BOB badge.
– Today I accidentally bought two left shoes.
– Today I had to use my LinkedIn profile to prove my age and buy prosecco.
– Today I found a parcel which had already been replaced by Amazon.
– Today I waved back awkwardly at a stranger.

​Are people who they portray online?  It’s a big question and I want to say the answer is yes.  But most of the time the answer is no.

I am sure you’ve heard of the documentary and/or the tv series Catfish; the scenario where someone isn’t who they claim to be online pervades.  The background to the name as described in the documentary is due to the transportation of cod across North America and the cod lying flaccid and dull during this time, arriving at their destination inedible.  By adding some catfish to their tank they were shocked into action and meaty at their destination.  The idea that these catfish live among us, inspire us, to keep us on our toes, was almost added as a positive takeaway at the end of the documentary, but the moral of the story was that you need to be careful because nothing is as it seems online.

In today’s world is there anyone single after the year 2000 who hasn’t dated online at one point?

Is there anyone who has who doesn’t have a story to tell?

Here’s mine:

After my university boyfriend broke up with me I gave myself the period it took to watch all seasons of Dawson’s Creek to mourn the relationship, and resolved I would then get back out in the world and be happy, and possibly even date again.  I signed up to a dating site, and almost immediately connected with someone.  I now know I have none of the appropriate eptitude for online dating, my natural inclination to focus on one person at a time for instance, but I persisted.  This guy and I chatted online for nine months.  We watched movies together, we read books together, he taught me to lucid dream.  And then eventually we met up, for approximately six perfect hours; and I never saw or heard from him again.

I’ll never know whether he felt I wasn’t the person I’d portrayed online.  Or whether indeed he was someone else but acted the role in order to complete our story.  Either way I feel that this was an important chapter for me, and of course I think fondly of him when I wake myself from nightmares; after all, I still know how to lucid dream.

​I’m sure you all know the song I’m referring to.

Growing up, and from a very young age, this song used to make me cry.  I’d sit in my bedroom and cry, and still occasionally it comes to me when I’m running and I cry, because the eternal worry is you never have enough time to say what you really feel before your time here is done.  Partly because as a child you learn to be kind, and then as an adolescent to be spiteful, before being kind again as an adult – and then it might be too late.

Therefore, before I continue.  Thank you Mummy and Daddy, for everything.

Something I am very, very bad at is saying thank you.  Especially for gifts.  I take joy in being generous but being on the receiving end is not easy for me.  This is partly because I am not good at the unknown and any venture off piste is going to have to be registered before it can be accepted and feelings acclimatised.  So, and in some cases apologies for the immense delay, thank you.  Even if what I initially said was that it wasn’t what I would have chosen, please know I’ve grown to love and appreciate that a gift is in the giving and receiving.  And that I’m lucky to have the opportunity to say thank you.

A podcast I listen to asked the other day if any of us have a specific point in your life where you feel that you were at a momentous fork in the road, where you look back and wonder where it could have taken you.  For me there’s one such fork; exactly twelve months after September 11th I was working a summer internship at an electronic brokerage in New York, and at the end of the period they offered me a permanent job.  I turned it down because I wanted, really wanted, to continue my studies at Bristol University – and the rest is history as they say.

But what would be different if I’d stayed?  Subsequent to going back to Bristol I dropped maths and did a philosophy degree, yet bizarrely ended up working in investment banking regardless.  And working with electronic brokerages no less.  Would I still have ended up at the same desk back in London twelve years later?  Would I still have the same friends?  What would the experiences be which got me to this point if I’d said yes and embraced something a bit unexpected back then?  I am not someone who thinks it wise to just sit back and say that what will be will be, but it feels right to believe that there’s a place we’re each supposed to end up, and it’s the path we take which we make our own.

With that in mind, and the huge twists that I’ve experienced in the last three years, I’m interested to see what fate has in store for me.  And thankful for so much on my journey to date.

p.s. Yes, I know the song name, but the lyric made more sense for the post title.

​Given how frequently I am on Facebook, and the fact I have – and regularly post on – a blog it may seem unlikely to state that I am actually quite behind the times as far as social media goes.  I was a late starter on Facebook, and my brief forray on Twitter resulted in some weirdo pretending to be the police and harassing me to the extent that I got Google et al to delete me from all searches, years before this was actually a thing.  I briefly experimented with online dating, as I’m sure everyone has by the wise old age of 33, it didn’t end well.  I was taught how to lucid dream, so it was a well-spent nine months in that respect if nothing else.

Phonecalls terrify me; I am definitely the sort of person you should phone twice in an emergency, the first time I’ll have been pretending that I can’t find my phone.  See/hear no evil style. 

I’ve had to accept over time that the disaster which is video conferencing is a part of life in the City, but I have never embraced Skype etc.  The idea that someone can see you IN YOUR HOME and from a very terrible angle appalls me.  99% of the time I will be in my gymkit and it could well be the same gymkit third day in a row, even if it is many hours before or after running.  Yes, I’m gross.  Note: If I’m running to the pub I do try to wear fresh gymkit, so it only has 6-8km worth of sweat in it, but this cannot be guaranteed if pub is a surprise, bendyarm situation.

As far back as I can remember I’ve been a letter writer, I love a postcard, a Christmas card, a paper invitation, a letter just to say hello or thank you, notecards in class, letters underneath doors in boarding houses at school and bizarre ladies-only boarding houses off Broadway…  Then became the life invasion which was email.  So much email.  In the City it was hundreds a day; it’s so easy, especially if you type 69 words a minute with 99.9% accuracy (I used to work as an office temp and was tested) (thank you, Mavis Beacon circa 1997). 

For years almost all communication has been email; everything is on email, hours a day critiquing other people’s decisions, mistakes, and emails.  Emailing your parents where you’d probably otherwise and in a past life call them.  Emailing yourself when you need to remember to do something; and always that “oh” feeling when the new email in your inbox is from yourself……

And then there’s emails from old friends, or – as I’ve experienced since starting sharing my adventure – new friends from old situations, or friends of friends.  Penpals in the 2020 sense of the word.  People you would possibly struggle to talk to in person (tbh I’m still super awkward one on one with people I’ve known for a decade) but to whom it seems perfectly easy to chat to via email.  Who share your life vicariously and you look forward to hearing their perspectives, to whom it makes sense to open up your current struggles or share elations.  From whom you’ve also heard their past and current trials and how they can equate to what you’re doing now, provide ever valuable advice and encouragement.

The mediums of communication therefore have a perfect limit for me; I want to invite people into my life, my heart, and to share this wonderful experience.  I am delighted by letters and emails, kind words out of the blue, postcards from your wonderful travels – or just from home.

But no Skype. 

​I have been so looking forward to receiving this and publishing it on the blog, a Q&A with the skipper of the yacht I was on from Malta to Tenerife, end September through to November; if anyone has a true perspective on sailing with Maddie then it has to be the person who spent 34 consecutive days with me.  And – delightfully – he has been very kind!

Over to Gareth:

1) What did you expect from Maddie?

As with all crew we don’t expect too much and usually we assume that they don’t know a lot, this is the best approach rather than have high expectations.  Maddie had a few missing gaps in her knowledge and understanding of this type of trip but she learned very fast and adapted very nicely.  Today I would take Maddie anytime on any other long trip if she wanted to come.

2) Did she live up to reputation?

Did she have a reputation before the trip?  As I have sailed with her before I knew that the initial impression one gets is not the real Maddie.  I see a very bright, intelligent, beautiful lady with a heart of gold.

3) Was there enough wine on board?

There will never be enough wine onboard, especially as these are dry boats while sailing.

4) What were her strengths?

I would say her main strength is her willingness to learn and to take on board all that she learns and then mould it to her own unique way.  Also she put a lot of detail into her plans but she is ok when the plan has to change (strangely not many people are ok with that).

5) On a scale of 1-10 (10 being pathetic) how weak was her winching?

The winching got better as the trip went on, so I’m going to give her a 3 out of 10.

6) What should she work on before her next time on a yacht?

She should get on as many boats as she can and skipper different trips.

7) How did she cope sailing with strangers?

It took a week or so and then it seemed the penny dropped and she worked out how to fit in with each and every personality.  Except maybe one person, but everyone struggles with that one.

8) Did she follow instructions?

I would say she was very good at following instructions and even being able to work out when she could deviate from them.  Always a good trait in a good skipper.

9) Your highlight of the passage?

Catching the mega tuna was right up there, and the final overnight leg to Tenerife alone at sea with Salana and another very capable sailor, was pretty awesome.

10) Any final remarks?

Keep going Maddie you will be an amazing skipper.  Hopefully you will come and do some work with Anna and me one day.

​The exam week.

Saturday:
Safety brief by the candidates and then out to play.  A bit of tacking and back in, an early finish on day one to allow the other two candidates on the exam to do their passage plans; I have to go to the vet, obviously – it being the most inconvenient time, I have a sick cat.  Nothing drastic, just meds every twelve hours for the next week – not impractical at all given I don’t know when I’ll be in the marina, or if indeed we’ll be in the marina….

Sunday:
32knots of wind, rather unexpected!  And also a little worryingly the forestay appears to be loose – I have a couple of friends who have been demasted before, and on the whole the experience sounded decidedly unfun.  The instructor manages to winch away the genoa (something he had told us earlier one should never do, but we just could not furl the thing away by hand) and we turn tail; three hours later we’re safe in home marina for some parking practice, until the guardia civil decide to board us and verify all paperwork….

Monday:
8.30am, genoa replaced with a smaller one, and we’re off out to sail.  Many, many MOB practices and the theory is starting to make sense, unfortunately the wind is also building to 29knots which means it’s more theory than demonstration; at least we know what we would do if we could do it – whizzing past the fender at 4knots merrily shouting, “That would have been a pickup!!!”
 
Tuesday:
A foray in anchoring under sail (wind still 15knots in the anchorage) and some MOB under motor, then back in the marina to relax (questionable) before the examiner steps on at 7pm.  We are examined until 11pm, I made five silly (but not unsafe) mistakes in two hours as skipper, and rather significantly squished a fender.  I hope I haven’t already failed. 

As an aside, one of the candidates left at 7.30pm.  He decided he didn’t want to do the exam, nor did he wish to remain on as crew; he checked into a hotel and we’re continuing as a two.  It remains to be seen if we have crew tomorrow (borrowed a friendly yachtmaster instructor to act as crew this evening), but on the bright side the exam will be finished tomorrow rather than Thursday.

Wednesday:
Having volunteered to be skipper last night I was excused this morning, except a couple of parks and then a review of my passage plan (approx 8hrs of homework).  I would like to suggest an edit to the wording on TSS in the nav book; you strictly do not adjust course for wind and tide when crossing, BUT you must use both to calculate an EP on exit.  Also when receiving the book on chart symbols and abbreviations I wish I’d been told to read it for a Q&A session….

It is a 24hr exam for two people, ours shall be 26hrs due to necessary night hours.  Without anyone else on the boat she and I have to do everything crew wise whilst our colleague is skipper, it is exhausting physically and draining mentally.  You find yourself losing sense of direction and stuff you know is stuck behind cotton wool.  By 4pm we are both pretty sure we’ve failed, yet we still have to carry on until the bitter end as the examiner cannot provide feedback midway.  Chin up, force a smile, and when asked if we’d like a Q&A on weather say, “Yes, of course!”

9pm, we get back to our marina and find someone has parked in our berth…..  As a pair of desperate wannabe yachtmasters we prise our 36ft Bavaria between a 40ft Hanse and a 45ft Beneteau, it isn’t my night entry so I’m crouched on the pushpit as we creep in, with much admiration for the patience of the lady at the helm; the last 24hrs has brought a bond between us, but by this point we just want to get off the yacht and have a drink.  It’s time for feedback.

My strengths:
– safety
– boat handling and sailing (the examiner told me the practical side of things was my biggest plus, especially under pressure)
– meteorology 
– general fantasticness as someone to spend time with on a yacht.

I fracking passed.  And breathe.

I have recently found myself contemplating the temporary friendships we forge, as we go about our individual ways we are inevitably thrown into the lives of those around us.  This musing is prompted particularly with respect to planes; proximity forces us to bypass the traditional British “see nothing, hear nothing, maintain silence”.  When my kitten died two months ago I cried for much of my flight to London that day, and only when I was ready to talk about it the lady next to me confessed she’d been wondering, but would never ask.

Today it is so easy to just have a small insight into what an old colleague or schoolfriend is up to – via the blessed curse of social media – and you feel connected in some way.  You would like to think you would have an idea of the reason for their tears or joy if you bumped into them.  A brief acquaintance, albeit a forced closeness (sharing an armrest, toilet queues, frustrating fellow fliers) starts slowly from the single fact that this stranger wants to travel the same a to b, and ends abruptly on landing.  There may be a silent smile goodbye in the passport queue, but that’s it.  Gone to continue the route they traverse in this world.

I occasionally think about people I’ve met in the past and where their path led.  My seating companion on a flight back to the Canaries just before New Year wrote the name of one of my favourite books on the back inner cover of her novel, with the intention of reading it as soon as she could: I wonder if she will, and if she in turn will think of me.  I would like to think that it becomes an important book to her; a novel of friendship and love that can be sustained across decades and different countries, when you know that you could just walk back into someone’s life and nothing will have changed between you.  Perhaps she will suggest it to someone else in turn.  It is a strange thing to touch someone’s path and not ever know of the outcome.

Which connects to my new sailing life; if I succeed in this little mission I’ve set myself, within two months I should be eligible to teach.  I remember all the instructors I’ve had since I first came into this world in 2009 – albeit just for fun back then, who knew that it could become such a big part of my life now, some of those same instructors I can call close friends – and I’m sure we each have some memory or another of all of our school teachers once we’re of a certain age.  For me anyway, these are mostly positive; moments when something has finally come clear, or when they have gone out of their way to explain or make a tough lesson an interesting one.  My teachers from college particularly, that point when you’re about to go off into the world, with just enough knowledge behind you, but very little actual experience and an almost absolute guarantee that you will make mistakes.

And I think that’s it, I’ll be trying to empower people enough to make sure that their mistakes will be few and fairly harmless, whilst the same ladder connects me to those who have got me this far: perhaps they too think of me occasionally, and wonder.

Six months in and I am noticing the differences in me, some subtle, all curious.  For instance, I saw a dog loose in China Town the other day and thought to myself “Un perro?”, and I’ve all but replaced mayonnaise with green mojo (pronounced moho) (Canarian sauce flavoured of green pepper and coriander) – indeed there hasn’t been Hellmann’s in my apartment for weeks!  I’m eating between three and seven eggs a day though, is this a Hellmann’s withdrawal symptom?  Should I email them and ask?

And then there’s my inability to cope with cold weather; if it drops to 13 degrees of an evening I’m in jeans and wearing a scarf and contemplating earmuffs.  I used to go out in short shorts in Bristol in the winter; in this aspect, living in Tenerife has broken me.

I’ve started talking to myself about clouds and wind, the RYA books are not only making sense, but I’m enjoying applying them to life.  When I’m out running I’m not paying attention to Britney or Pink shouting in my ear, I’m estimating the percentage cloud cover and distance between land and cloud versus cloud depth to predict rain.  I have also caught myself starting conversations with people about whether the wind is changing direction significantly enough such that planes will be landing in the other direction at the airport.  And then I’m chuffed when I see I’m correct.

I think we can safely say my Credit Derivatives geekiness has found a new home.

I’ve also adopted a wild cat, she lives in my chimney and occasionally comes down to spy on me from atop my kitchen cupboards.  I leave food for her and clean her tray, and she hisses at me when I get too close; I assume she knows all the bad Spanish words from her time on the streets and will teach them to my pedigree lady cat.  But it’s a brave new world, and I’m embracing the change.

p.s. Fear not, wine friends, I have located somewhere near me which sells prosecco, I’m not a convert to cava.  Yet.