The year was 1998, two years before the Millennium bug* was due to hit computers worldwide.
Back in sunny South Africa, letter upon letter poured through my letterbox with job offers in Canada, Europe, Australia, the United Kingdom and the United States. Companies were desperately recruiting talent to fix the Y2K* problem.
‘Can you do any of these?’ my son, seventeen, wanted to know.
Flicking through the pile, I’d comment, ‘Yes! This one, this one, this one. Not this one. This one.’
‘Why don’t you go for any of them, then?’
‘Boring. Y2K jobs. Besides, you’re both at school. And I don’t want to move to another country.’
‘It’ll be an adventure!’ he persisted.
I lost count of the number of times we had this conversation.
Ambitious and keen to excel in my Information Technology career, I came across a comment in an industry newspaper one day: “two year’s overseas experience would be a great asset on your CV”.
Really?
Such a move can be temporary? No need to emigrate. Only two years. That is do-able. VERY do-able!
Where would I go? Australia, Canada, United Kingdom?
The United Kingdom. Obviously.
I had the paperwork to say that I was a British Citizen. Swore allegiance to the Queen, I did! I knew people in the UK. My best friend Jan was from the UK. Through her, I knew about her brother Dave and sister-in-law Sue. Another friend, Pam, had recently moved back to the UK. So had her daughter Sally. There was Brian from Manchester who visited his daughter in South Africa every year. We had become very friendly. And there was my ex-husband. He had moved back after our divorce.
Suddenly it became imperative to find the paper that proclaimed my right of abode in the UK! With only a vague idea of where it might be, I went looking for it and found it straight away! A sign from the Universe or what?!
I was so excited I called a friend!
Swiftly, it all snowballed. The more I thought about it, the more feasible a temporary move to the UK became.
My son was excited that at last, I was ‘getting a life.’ My daughter, well, I guess I talked her into it.
Friends and family were generous in their encouragement, advice, questions and misgivings:
Stay in the south. It is brighter and warmer. Up north is wetter. Colder. Darker.
Layers. Wear layers.
You’ll need a good coat.
If you’re going to regret not going, you had better do it.
Make a list of at least eight reasons why you’re going, to remind you when things get tough.
Don’t come back for at least two years, or you’ll never go back to England.
How will you manage without your family?
How will you cope with the weather?
What about your dad? He is not getting any younger.
Eventually, all the paperwork was in order. South African and British passports for all of us. One-way flight tickets for my daughter and I. CV submitted to an agency in the UK. My son was going to stay with a friend and complete his training in computer programming.
And then we were off.
Pam and her husband Brian met us at Heathrow, took us under their wing in Hertfordshire and introduced us to life in the UK. Brian helped me open a bank account, ran me to and from the station for job hunting in London and educated me on the Highway Code.
One day he picked me from the station brimming with excitement. He and my daughter had found a car for me. Kris was SO thrilled at the prospect! Slowly the penny dropped. It was vitally important to her that we had something of our own. And what better than a red Ford Escort MK4?!
My first priority was to find work. Conscious of the advice ‘stay in the south’, I declined all opportunities north of London. It was laughable. There I was, 6,000 miles from home and refused to budge another 300!
Work, a school for my daughter and a place to live, all came together in about six weeks. Sue and Dave were a godsend. They found various bits of furniture in their loft, introduced us to Ikea, and helped us make a home. Between them in Surrey, Pam, Brian and Sally in Hertfordshire and Brian in Manchester, we had a ready-made family and were invited for meals, weekends, family gatherings and even Christmases.
Small things baffled me. Where to get clothes hangers? Stationary for school? Clothes for my daughter who was almost 6 feet tall at age 14? Food tasted bland. For the life of me, I could not cook rice! Fortunately, we discovered Delia Smith.
My hair, fine and lank at the best of times, turned mousy and stayed plastered to my skull no matter what. Clothes and shoes were unsuitable and had to be replaced. The result was not pretty. In the words of another South African friend in the UK, ‘my glamour days were over.’
At work, I was very pleased that they used similar technology to what I was accustomed to in South Africa. Something familiar at last! It was not to be however… the technology was so differently deployed and the Global Banking System so complex and integrated, my ten years of IT experience counted for nothing.
Still, I was not daunted. My first IT job had taught me that it can take at least six months for things to start making sense. All I had to do was trust the process.
Those first six months were exciting. Everything was new and novel. It was a time of new experiences, new challenges, new rules, new learning, new ways to dress and a different hairstyle for the English weather, even a new way of communicating. No kidding; I had to learn to speak differently.
The constant novelty was exhausting.
We were not on holiday. We were making a life. That’s when it hit me. The enormity of what I had done leaving our life in South Africa. Friends, family, a way of life and ease of being in an environment we knew.
So began the self-attack, accusations and blame: ‘What have you done?!’ ‘What were you thinking?’ ‘How could you be so stupid?’
Night after night, incessant thoughts of throwing my life and that of my children away, how irresponsible I was coming to the UK, what a mess I made, blah, blah and more blah, kept me awake. Out of desperation, I got out of bed one night in search of something, anything that would stop the pain. In the lounge, Anthony Robbin’s book ‘Awaken the Giant Within’ caught my eye. I opened it randomly and started reading. Slowly my breathing eased and the tension in my body abated. I went back to bed and continued reading until I was calm enough to fall asleep.
That book became my crutch, my source of wisdom, the bedrock of my life.
Work remained a challenge.
One day as I got off the bus to go to work, I was thinking ‘I can’t do this anymore’ when a voice in my head said loud and clear: ‘Dig deeper’.
I remembered the work of Louise Hay and the mirror work in her book ‘You Can Heal Your Life’. Back home, I went to the bathroom and stared at myself in the mirror. It felt odd. Strange. But then, so did my life. Every day was like wading through treacle. If this was going to help, who was I to say no? I stood in front of that mirror, looked myself deep in the eyes and said, ‘I love you.’ It felt reassuring, comforting. I repeated it. It was a turning point.
Things began to change.
Numerous ways and opportunities in which I could help myself started showing up in my life. For example, The School of Practical Philosophy, which is about exploring Mindful Living, Wisdom, and Happiness. And the Tony Robbin’s event, Unleash the Power Within, which is about personal development and overcoming your fears.
After that, there was no stopping me. I discovered coaching, a modality that focuses on helping individuals unlock their own potential, and promptly signed up for both the Personal Performance and Corporate & Executive Coaching Diploma.
More discoveries followed, the most notable being A Course in Miracles, Crucial Conversations and the community that became known as Collaboration Global.
Looking back, I can see how my drive to help myself became a blueprint for my current work. I understand how my compassion, empathy and wisdom are sourced from my own experiences. I am deeply grateful that I can hold my clients in such a space.
Two decades later, we, my son, daughter and I, are still in the UK. They are both married now. We’ve stopped surviving and started thriving long ago. I visit my dad when I can. We often speak on the phone. Life itself has taught me a precious lesson:
Life is an adventure. Embrace it!
* The millennium bug, a.k.a., Y2K problem, had to do with the formatting and storage of calendar data for dates from the year 2000 and beyond.
Originally written for Collaboration Global.