When the Seasons Change

Welcome to issue #017 of Under the Surface. Each week, I share one thoughtful piece to help you grow, lead and thrive in the messy reality of project work. If something lands - or misses - I’d love to hear your thoughts. And if you’re exploring what’s next, you can join the Pathfinder waitlist to go deeper with others on the same journey.

Did someone forward this email? —> Become a subscriber here

It suddenly hit me. Outside in our overgrown field. The sadness and joy of being a father to boys who are no longer children.

The smell of freshly mown grass, where just yesterday I had cut some paths through the long grass of our field. Around the vegetable and fruit patches. Revealing the 25 baby spruce trees that were beginning to get overwhelmed by wild grasses, oak saplings, brambles and woodfall. Through the ‘orchard’ where once there were no fruit trees, but now we have several mature apple trees that needed cutting back earlier in the year, ready for this year’s crop.

Looking up at the tree house I built around the sycamore in the middle of our world all of those years ago, it dawned on me that I had not cleared the new branches or mowed around the base of the tree or carved a path to and from it. No need this year. Nobody plays there anymore.

They did, though, and I loved it. I miss it. The fun, the fights, the love and the laughter. It breaks my heart sometimes, thinking about those days.

My life was a lot simpler back then. The role was straightforward, as I understood it. I got on with it. Worked, rested, played. There for the boys. Not there for the boys. Picked them up when they fell. Dusted them off. Told them off. Dished out the stern words. Praised them. Supported them when they felt like a failure. Congratulated them on their success. All the normal stuff.

The field has had its seasons. Mown four or five times some years and kept neat and tidy. Some years were a little rougher and let go, before getting beaten back the following year with the almighty Stihl strimmer. Sweat pouring off my brow, grass, dirt, sticks and stones flying everywhere. I wanted it to be good enough for my boys. So they could play. Enjoy the outdoors. So we could all be outside on summer evenings. Having fun. Eating, drinking, smiling, laughing. It did happen, but not enough.

Then suddenly, it happens less.

Not just outside, but inside the house too. Less interaction between father and child, less play between siblings. More seriousness. Less fun. Pressures increase. Time moves on. Age increases and energy drops. Weariness creeps in and then… bang.

It’s a new season.

No need to keep the same path in the grass to the tree house. Nobody uses it anymore. And you find yourself staring, birds singing, sun falling, Father’s Day ending. And you miss those years. Those seasons when the sun shone and the faces beamed.

So, where’s the big learning in here for the project professional? Maybe an analogy that can slip across neatly into a business lesson? There is none. I’m not looking for one and I hope you’re not either.

This is about life. Being present. Enjoying the moment. Knowing what you stand for. Gratitude and fortune to have had the greatest responsibility, the greatest gift we get given, to have children. To bring them into the world.

To love them, watch them, guide them, support them as they become adults and to always be there.

To be a father.

Yours,

Gerwyn

PS – What we’re building at Coron Projects

I’m building something for project professionals who want more than just tasks and titles. Pathfinder is a new kind of membership built for people in engineering and construction who are ready to grow, lead and thrive on their terms. No corporate bullshit. No gatekeepers. Just the tools, support and mindset shifts that help you take ownership of your career.

It’s currently in development and if that sounds like something you might want in your corner, you can join the waitlist here and include “Pathfinder” in the message.