How to Bounce Forward (eBook)

There are pivotal, game-changing moments in every person’s life — the Greeks called them ‘kairos moments’. For some those moments are so significant that they immediately fracture that life, ripping it forever into two parts — everything before that moment, and everything that came after.

My kairos moment occurred just after 3 pm on 3 October 2006. The day had started normally enough. I woke up early as usual, assisted by my eldest daughter Emelia, who was three and a half at the time. As the house stirred into life Milly (as we affectionately call her) left my wife, Kate, and me and went to wake up her little sister, Ebony, who was just 15 months old. The girls watched some cartoons as Kate prepared their breakfast and I got ready for work. It has been a Cawthorn family tradition that we all sit down at the table together, eat our breakfast and discuss our plans for the day. After breakfast the girls and I put on some loud music and danced around the living room. I would throw each one up in the air and catch her as she squealed and giggled with delight. I thought to myself how lucky I was and what a great way it was to start the day.

At the time I was working as an industry adviser to young people’s trends and careers, like a youth futurist, an initiative funded by the Australian Federal Government. I’d been in the job only a few months but I loved it. I was 26 years old; I had a big job, good salary and great company car, plus I had a huge amount of freedom to work how I pleased. Essentially, my job was to follow cultural and economic trends so I could help predict how those trends would affect 13- to 19-year-olds entering the workforce. I would then liaise with employers and government to make sure young people were encouraged to move into industries and professions where there were job opportunities. I also watched for signs of market saturation so I could pass information back to the government, which would alert them to any likely reduction in new jobs in a particular industry or field.

I had a young family and a full-time job that sometimes required that I drive up to 1500 kilometres a week. I was also involved in my local community, running a youth group, and owned my own music studio where I taught hip-hop and singing. Life was definitely hectic.

As I climbed into my car — a white Holden V8 Statesman — Kate and the girls stood at the door to wave me off. There was a little L-shaped dent on the roof of the Statesman just above the driver’s seat and Milly always thought it looked like a love heart. We felt it was a good omen of love and protection as I set off to work each day.

I had a couple of meetings and a lunch appointment in Burnie, about 150 kilometres from our home in Launceston in Tasmania, which is where I grew up and have spent most of my life. It was a little after three in the afternoon when I said goodbye to my lunch companions. I remember shaking hands, little knowing that this was the last right-handed handshake I would ever share. I began the journey home on the Bass Highway and about 10 minutes out of Devonport, a city half an hour from Burnie, near Parramatta Creek, I fell asleep at the wheel.

In a semi-conscious state I drifted across the road into the oncoming traffic. The driver of the truck I collided with thought I was trying to commit suicide. I wasn’t. I was just exhausted from trying to keep so many balls in the air, and something had to give. What gave was the side of my Holden V8 Statesman sedan.

The first driver had successfully swerved out of the way, but the driver of the semi-trailer behind was not so lucky. Police estimated that upon impact, the truck driver and I were travelling at a combined speed of around 206 kilometres per hour. The first impact spun me around several times and ripped open the entire right side panel of the car. Within a fraction of a second another car, which had been travelling behind the truck, ploughed straight into me — and I mean straight into me. Without the side panel there was no protection whatsoever. I can still hear the terrible impact of that final collision.

That moment changed my life forever.

When the roaring of twisted metal finally came to a stop, there was absolute silence — at least I couldn’t hear anything. I could see the damage but somehow it didn’t register in my mind as being real. Smoke billowed from the carnage and I remember looking down at myself; I was a mess. I could see my bones and flesh exposed and there was blood everywhere. My right arm had been obliterated, the elbow was completely gone and my hand was attached to my arm by a thin thread, my right leg was completely shattered, and the pain was like nothing I’ve ever experienced!

Despite the late afternoon sun, I was very cold. ‘HELP!’ I yelled. ‘GOD SAVE ME!’ Every ounce of energy within me was trying to coordinate my breathing and my yelling. ‘HELP, GOD, GOD, PLEEEEASE HELP ME, DON’T LET ME DIE TODAY. PLEASE TELL MY WIFE I LOVE HER.’

When Kate was told of the accident a friend rushed her to the hospital. Unfortunately there was only one way to get there and it meant driving past the scene of the accident. One of the worst moments of her life was recognising the little L-shaped love heart on the roof of the mangled Holden, and wondering how anyone could have escaped alive.

In truth, it was initially thought I didn’t escape alive. Six months after the accident I was in a wheelchair having dinner at a restaurant and I was approached by a guy who wanted to know if I was the man from the Parramatta Creek accident. It turned out he was a coroner’s taxi driver. He was informed that there had been a really bad accident on the Bass Highway and he was probably going to be needed to collect a body — mine! Thankfully the paramedics successfully resuscitated me when they arrived on the scene.

My right arm was destroyed, I broke six ribs, lacerated my liver, punctured my kidney and both lungs collapsed. I dislocated my hip; my entire quad muscle was ripped from the bone on my right leg. My cruciate ligaments had torn and I shattered my femur, knee cap, fibula and ankle and lost the nail on my right big toe. I was devastated at having lost my big toenail!

Yet as far as I am concerned I was incredibly lucky. First, no-one else was badly injured. Second, I was alive. My accident certainly changed my life, but as the Greek philosopher Epictetus once said, ‘It’s not what happens to you, but how you react to it that matters.’

So often people talk about ‘bouncing back’ after disaster, crisis, tough times or difficulty, but my body was broken. There was no way I could ever bounce back to the old Sam Cawthorn. It wasn’t physically possible. I began to obsess about this idea and started to research resilience and how others had overcome incredible obstacles to pull off amazing comebacks. In countless cases individuals and businesses used great challenges to forge ahead and create a better life or create even greater success.

Nothing in life stays the same for long. Change and challenge are constant, although the speed and complexity of change now means we can expect upheaval every few years. World economies are still reeling from the global financial crisis that began in 2007–08. Business is getting tougher and tougher and yet there are still success stories everywhere you look. Clearly some people have already instinctively tapped into the power of bounce and learned how to use the inevitable difficulties of life as a springboard to something better.

No-one is immune to the challenges of life. Bad stuff happens to everyone regardless of wealth, background or education. For some their crisis will be professional — losing a major client, being made redundant or having to adapt to a changing market during an economic downturn. For others their crisis may be personal — the breakdown of a relationship, serious illness or, like me, physical injury. Pain is inevitable; it is part of being alive. But misery is optional. I knew I had a choice: I could give up, listen to the doctors who told me I’d never walk again, and wallow in misery and bitterness. Or I could accept that things had changed and use the crisis to reinvent myself and get better. I chose the latter. The challenges we face in life are not meant to be some sort of punishment; rather, they are an invitation to change — and an opportunity to create something even better than before.

Since my accident I have experienced excruciating pain but I have also become stronger, happier and more determined because of it. I have come to understand the transformational power of acceptance and have developed a process to help businesses, organisations, teams and individuals to go far beyond ‘recovery’ or ‘bouncing back’ to create revolutionary change by bouncing forward into greater joy and success.

Too often, when crisis knocks on our door — whether professional or personal — either we ignore it, or we use all our energy and resources to try to go back to the way things were. We scramble to fix the problem so either it goes away or life somehow goes back to the way it used to be.

I believe that the reason crisis sometimes destroys people or breaks their spirit is that they are fixated on what used to be. All their efforts are directed toward trying to recapture that experience or way of life. But sometimes there really is no going back. There is, however,...