Walking doesn’t have to be purposeful.
Walking could just be about noticing how the ground feels, how we notice the way our bodies move and how we respond to what we can see, hear and smell. And, of course, how with each step we literally have a different viewpoint on the world.
Whether we are walking purposefully or not, whether we are walking mindfully or not, whether we like it or not, we are always walking away from something, and at the same time we are always walking towards something else.
Right now, I don’t know where I am walking to, it hasn’t yet come into view, but I do know what I am walking away from.
One of the hardest things we will ever do is to change direction when we don’t have to change or when people around us do not expect us to want to change. We all know every well-intended cautionary phrase about unnecessary change; the words almost sound like our own and they speak to us in our own voice – “the grass isn’t always greener”, “be careful what you wish for”, “better the devil you know”. This is despite the fact that as human beings we are hardwired to wander, to wonder and to explore.
In contrast, if disrupting change arrives unannounced, perhaps in the form of redundancy, bereavement, or sudden illness, then our coping mechanisms kick in automatically, because we are also hardwired to survive.
But, when we are the proposer of the change, things can get scrambled; even those who care about us the most – our parents, teachers, friends, colleagues, bosses, partners and even our children – can lovingly side with our inner critic’s familiar commentary to amplify our own doubts and dampen our hopes for the change we would like to make.
In my book “The Mentor” I talked a lot about how precious and important the LBCambridge programmes have been for me. These are the residential events that my long-time collaborator, fellow director and dear friend, Lawrence Smith, helped to create with me. To us, they were always far more than just training events; they were part of our identity – and the incubator for our hopes and cares, and of our ambition for every delegate to find a little more of their undiscovered potential, to help them make their difference.
Before he retired, Lawrence and I had worked together for nearly twenty-five years. We spoke nearly every day and most days there would be something to discuss about one of the programmes – what could we tweak, what should we now include, who could we invite, and how could we share more, or make any small thing a little bit better. It was close to an obsession. Lawrence had created a legendary spreadsheet that guided all our event preparations and nothing was ever left to chance. His genius was to think around corners and have solutions for the problems we had not yet encountered. I relied on him a lot, but more than this, his resourcefulness, kindness and planning, made him the beating heart of our work and the epitome of what can happen when soulfulness, insight and experience are brought together. Indeed, he was a role-model for absolutely everything that we tried to convey in our work.
When Lawrence retired from our business at the end of 2023, the question left unanswered for me was whether the events that we had imagined, created and delivered would now continue. This has been a reflection that has sat with me for months.
I have been surrounded by love and kindness and so many people have suggested ways for the events to continue. Whatever happens in the future, I will never forget how thoughtful and generous friends and strangers have been.
The decision for me however has not been whether the events could continue, but whether I wanted to continue without Lawrence working with me. In the period since he retired, as you might imagine, Lawrence has been as generous, supportive and selfless as ever; his words, “just make sure you do what’s best for you Bud” have been his constant encouragement.
As the weeks and months have gone by, I have reflected on how the events might continue. I am confident, indeed I am very confident, that they will continue, not least because there is so much love tied up in what they mean for others. But I am also certain that I should step away from them.
I have come to realise, even more than I knew before, that working with Lawrence was so much more than a business partnership. I have always known that what we did together was never just a job, but without him, I have been worried that it might turn into being just a job. It would make me feel so sad if even one person ever thought I was turning an old familiar handle just to make a buck.
Sometimes to carry on doing what we have always done, if the most precious people around us are no longer there, neither honours their contribution nor values our own. When the soul of something has gone, we are never really “carrying on”.
I am therefore walking away from the LBCambridge programmes. If you have been to one of them, or supported one, thank you from the bottom of my heart. They were special, precious and kind, and generous almost to a fault because of people like you. They made a difference to how we could feel about our work, our value and our opportunity; and behind the scenes one man ensured we were more thoughtful, more human and more courageous about what we tried to do than I could ever have been on my own.
The Faculty, who present and mentor at every event, and who give all the events their energy and character, will continue to make a wonderful difference and they will always have my love, respect and support. I know plans are taking shape to continue their brilliant work together, and I can therefore walk away slightly more at ease with myself knowing that this is the case.
I am sometimes told that I am overly modest, but I have a lot to be modest about. For someone like me, a bang average GC, who stepped away from a career nearly twenty-five years ago to follow a dream of helping other people to be themselves and to find their way to make their difference, I have been luckier than I could have dared to hope.
For someone like me – a shy introvert, terrified before each and every presentation, the fact that I have worked all over the world, presented to thousands of lawyers and personally encouraged some of the most talented people in our extraordinary profession, is a blessing that I will carry with me forever.
When I was a boy growing up in small town Warminster, the only lawyer I knew was Petrocelli off the telly, and I suspect the only reason I could relate to him was that he seemed to spend more time living in a caravan on a building site, than being in court.
Now it is time for me to walk towards new and even more vital adventures; and it is why I need you so much to keep me company every step of the way. I may be 62 years old, but I do not yet feel that I have made the difference I would like to make.
It is funny what comes to mind when great uncertainty envelopes our lives, but recently I could vividly recall how my mum’s mum encouraged me to be kind before anything else. She used to worry about all the study; and I remember her telling mum, “It’ll be no good him having his head in all those books if he isn’t kind”.
We all need to hold that thought a little more firmly. The legal profession is not always kind to minorities. It can crush careers before they begin for those who haven’t been to the right schools. It can WIP junior colleagues into physical and mental exhaustion. It can turn good people into arrogant fools, lost in their own status wars. It has tragically lost its moral authority, too often turning ethics from an inviolable code of selfless integrity, into a weaponised tactical device cloaked in commercial expediency. Most shamefully of all, the legal profession has too often walked away from obvious injustices and instead preferred to cosy-up to power and greed.
Kindness doesn’t solve any of these things on its own, but my Nan also knew that it would be so much harder for someone to be an insufferable arse if they practiced being kind every day.
We need to fix things. We need to love our potential to make our difference in our way. We need to be vulnerable, open and kind. We need to listen like our careers depend on it and we should feel a duty to walk into important new adventures because the world needs us not to settle until we have made it better.
We have much to do, and no time to waste.
Let’s walk.
Take care. Paul xx
“The Mentor” is now available to buy from this site (or from you know where). I would be thrilled if you would like a copy.