It is the time of year when I typically post a cheery picture of Queens’ College, Cambridge and mention that once again it is my good fortune to be back for our bi-annual LBCambridge programme. Sadly, not this time and the 30th iteration of the event will have to wait.
In September 2006 we ran the event for the first time. It was a bit clunky and some edges needed knocking off, but we knew it was going to be ok.
I often talk about the pleasure of working with the delegates and our faculty, and the joy of having our wise owls sharing experiences and wisdom so generously. I sometimes comment on the dedication and commitment of my team who, from the date a delegate registers to long after the event is over, look after and encourage every individual as if they were the most important delegate ever to come. However, I don’t often talk about how I feel about the event and what it means to me.
If you know me, you will know that I do not relish my role as a presenter. I feel the weight of responsibility to give the very best presentation I can, and it feels almost overwhelming to have so much trust placed on the things I might say. But I also know that if I share well, I show everyone that to give of our best is to honour the time we share in the company of others.
If you know me even a little bit, you will also know that I am not good with feedback. I pour my heart and soul into the work I do, and I feel incredibly vulnerable as a result. I am not arrogant enough to think I couldn’t be better or that we need to constantly evolve what we do, but I don’t want to hear feedback at the point I feel I have given everything and there is nothing more I can do.
I am conscious therefore of not always sounding like I love what the event has given me. If all you see is the scared presenter or the guy avoiding feedback, it is possible that you might miss how lucky I feel to be in the room at 7pm on Sunday evening, when my microphone is tuned up and I can say, “good evening and welcome”.
Despite what our website says, the event is not really about training skills or giving delegates tools or even about sharing experiences. We do all these things and we do them thoughtfully and well, but this is not what the event is about. The event is about creating moments for delegates where they may realise that the gifts they have are more extraordinary than they knew and are theirs to use. Gifts that will benefit their families and communities, as well as their colleagues and businesses. Gifts which can shape the world they influence; gifts that are to relish and explore.
We are not passengers in our life stories; we are the leading players and the reason there is a story at all. So let’s make sure we narrate a story where we use our gifts well.
When I stand on our stage on the Sunday evening at the start of every event, my heart is racing and my mind is almost blank with fear, so there has to be a compelling reason for me to be there. That reason is the hope we will loosen the ties on our potential so that we may shine our light in a sometimes darkening world. This feeling may not happen for everyone who comes, of course, but it is my hope.
Can you imagine the pride I have even knowing that this is a possibility and the overwhelming sense of joy I feel when delegates, sometimes years later, mention to me what the programme has meant to them?
Last week we took the hardest decision of all to cancel September’s event, but it was undoubtedly the right call. We wanted to respect our delegates’ conflicting needs and not to impose our selfish requirements on our caterers, cleaners, technicians and all the many behind-the-scenes contributors. We knew we could not go ahead and still deliver what the event is about. After losing events through Covid lockdowns, this is a big blow for us, but the sadness is not in lost revenue, it is in the lost opportunity to help others see in themselves what I know is waiting to be uncovered.
If I am honest, I am a little lost right now. I am still grieving for my mum, and I think I needed the event to give me a time with a different focus. As I have always found, there is no better way to recover from loss than to give the best of ourselves to others. I firmly believe that when love and kindness are shared it is always repaid somewhere else where it is needed even more.
So, until we can meet at LBCambridge again, and we will, please take care.
Paul xx
