Cry Baby

I walked over to the printer and picked up the wedge of paper. The final version. Done. Thank God.

It was 8am on a nondescript day in the early 2000s and I’d been at the office for 24 hours straight trying to finish this presentation.

The main stumbling block was a 50 page Excel spreadsheet that I’d built to “model” out the future cash flows of some shit company that we were never going to buy. But my boss wanted it done. So I did it.

I was exhausted. Knowing that it was all a complete waste of time, didn’t do much for my mood.

I left the deck on my boss’s desk and went out to get a coffee.

When I walked back into the office, I saw my boss. His face like thunder. Uh oh...

He saw me come in and walked over to me. He threw the presentation at me. And I don’t mean he gently lobbed it in my direction. He literally threw it at my chest with the aim of causing pain.

“What the FUCK is this? Do you expect me to use this? The model is wrong. There are errors all over the place.”

I stood there. Stock still. Heart pounding.

I was pretty sure there weren’t any errors. I’d been through it a million times.

But as he walked back to his office, he turned around and yelled, “You’re fired. Get out of here.”

I turned around, got back in the lift and headed home.

It was the fourth time he’d fired me since I’d joined the firm. Four times in four years. How much more should I put up with? How much more could I?

Tears Before Bed

I was sat in my living room last night hugging my 12 year old son whilst watching Good Will Hunting. It was an unremarkable, cold and rainy Tuesday night. But I was in floods of tears.

I never used to cry at anything. But now, I can feel myself welling up all the time. Adverts. Posters on the tube. A sad song.

My 12 year old, of course, was completely unmoved.

There are loads of good bits of the film, but the moment that really gets me is when Ben Affleck’s character turns to Matt Damon and says:

“If you’re still here in 20 years’ time, I’ll shoot you myself. I’m not even joking. You have the winning lottery ticket and you’re too scared to cash it in. The best part of my day is the 10 second walk from my car to your front door. I’m hoping that I knock on your door and you ain’t there. No goodbyes. No big farewell. You’re just gone.”

I can feel myself getting emotional just writing this down. That feeling of potential. Of possibilities. Of being on the brink of a journey. I love it.

It’s hard to recognise those moments as they're happening, so we rarely do.

But if we could, we’d have those Good Will Hunting moments scattered throughout our lives.

Looking back on these turning points, of course, we know how they turn out. So it’s like watching a movie you’ve already seen. It’s just not the same.

But what if we could recognise those turning points in the moment and savour them?

The Big Fuck You

17 years ago, I was walking around a swimming pool on holiday with the sunlight dancing on the water, when I made a phone call that changed my life.

I knew this was a big decision.

I was about to throw away my career and start again. My daughter was only 6 months old. The timing couldn’t be worse.

But I was buzzing. I was so excited. I put the phone down and I couldn’t stop smiling. My heart was pounding.

This was a Good Willing Hunting moment and I knew it.

Back in London, in a Costa Coffee near the office, I was sat with my two fellow conspirators, whispering ideas and drawing up plans.

The next 6 months were fun. We had all decided to do this. But we were sensible enough to take our time making a plan.

The days involved treading water doing our ‘job’, interspersed with clandestine meetings in coffee shops across London. The secrecy was intoxicating.

Once I’d decided to leave and start my own business, the downsides of my current job became more and more clear to me. The bullying, the misogyny, the fragile egos. Financial reward the only sticking plaster. I could barely make it through the days.

Then the glorious day came to rip off that plaster and tell my boss. I walked into his office, legs shaking, resignation letter in my hand.

“I quit,” I said.

He didn’t say a thing, so I left the letter on his desk, turned around and walked out into the street.

The fresh air hit my lungs like a cold shower. Never had it felt so good. Things may go to shit from here but boy was that a good moment. A moment to savour.

Nobody had EVER resigned before. The money was so good that he couldn’t understand why anyone would leave. But I did.

Financially, it was an awful decision. And the next few years were very tough. No salary. Thousands of miles of travelling. Endless meetings. Long hours, 7 days a week. More or less constant rejection from potential backers of our new firm.

And all with a young family back at home. “I’m doing this for them”, I’d think. Easy to say when you’re never around.

But it was the start of a story. And I had no idea how the story would turn out.

Build Something Real

3 years later, I was sat at my desk in our open plan office. I looked around at the team we’d built. Full of youth and energy.

I was in control. Doing what I wanted to be doing. Creating something new. Something special. On my own terms. It felt so good.

We were creating a culture. A beacon of light in the dark, murky world of private equity. A place where family mattered. Where desk time didn’t. Where it didn’t matter what school you went to, or what sex you were, or who you loved. The team was everything.

I pictured Ben Affleck walking up to knock on my old office door.

There’s no answer.

There’s no one there.

He smiles, turns around and walks away.

Start your own story. Write your own script. And create your own Good Will Hunting moment.

Jon "in tears" Kaye

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