Looking at the holes where my mum's certificates hung

I realised I cannot take credit for anything

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MY MUM recently retired and she no longer needs to use her spare bedroom as her office. So we've been turning it into a bedroom for me and Corina when we stay.

I was sitting in there, reading a book about essay writing, when I noticed some holes left by the nails that my mum had used to hang up her professional certificates. An expert in Novell. Information Systems in Management. And the piece de resistance: her brushed gold Master of Science Degree with distinction. I could see the equidistant spacing of each hole and the care that had gone into measuring and levelling them. The nail holes looked so small and insignificant, barely visible unless you knew to look for them.

I thought about what a big deal it is for her to be taking these certificates down. I've always looked at them and understood what an important role they play for my mum in reminding her how far she's come. Now they're stacked in the corner, back-to-back, on a pine IKEA magazine stand, presumably ready to go into storage somewhere else in the flat. I shall have to speak to her about keeping them up on the wall where she can see them. Surely she’d want to?

Those nail holes in the wall are like the traces of the support that’s enabled my mum's highest achievements. I never saw the holes when the frames were up. It never occurred to me that there were any nails in the wall at all. But they got me to realising just how many hidden nails I have holding up my proudest achievements too.

For example, getting into Central Saint Martins to study Fine Art. First up, I couldn't have even gotten to London without my car—and my mum, step-dad David, and my dad all helped me pay for my driving lessons and driving tests (and by the way, I failed four driving tests!).

Then there's my wife's family letting me live in their house when me and Corina had only been dating for three months! I was able to live there rent-free, in Chelsea, less than ten minutes walk from the Royal College where I'd been offered a spot to study my masters. Do you know how many broke art students get to live for free in one of London's poshest neighbourhoods and walk to university every day? None. That's how many.

I cannot forget about the help I had with tuition fees either. Sure, the govt had a scheme that I tapped into. It wasn’t enough. But, sure, I showed a lot of imagination and agency in coming up with a plan to crowdfund my tuition fees. But come on! The fact that there even existed a crowdfunding platform where you could advertise your cause to millions of people around the world, AND that many of those people were able and willing to give you some of their money without even knowing you so that you could go to the best art school in the world—if that's not a whole handful of shiny, strong, strategically nailed-in nails giving me unprecedented support, I don't know what is.

Then there was my job that allowed me to live in London in the first place: being an electrician. I only had that job because my uncle Gary took me to one side one day and said he'd get me an apprenticeship.

There were the people who took a chance on me, like the woman who found me another college when I was kicked out of my first one. And the older electrician, Ian, who offered to buy my dinner for me because he could see I was a broke apprentice, all discombobulated to be working in London for the first time, on night shifts. But little did Ian know I came from a nice family in a nicer part of town than many, and had a mum, a step-dad and a dad who made sure I never experienced anything close to poverty. If my wages weren't enough to buy myself dinner, which they were, then my mum would always have given me whatever I needed.

These people were my nails that I could present my best self on when I went for that life-altering interview at art school.

Every person who’s ever said anything nice about me and given me incalculable confidence—they are my nails. Our old neighbour, Sue, telling my mum (in my ear shot) that my drawing ability was "years ahead of others my age.” My grandma, a brilliant artist, trusting me with her pencils, paints and pads. The man on the construction site who, after watching the others taking the piss out of me for bringing tinned mackerel, crackers and cucumber for my lunches (it was fucking strange), said to them, "Harrison does what he wants. That's why I like him". And the teasing stopped. They are all nails to me. My nails, that have hoisted me up and given me a more elevated view.

As I've gotten older, I’ve done more work on myself in terms of personal development and forgiveness, and I've often found myself saying to people, "If you think about it, it's not just our parents who shape us; it's everyone else in our family, our teachers, our neighbours, any person that played a role in our lives." And I think of the fact that we've each got hordes of people above us in our family trees to whom we owe a debt of gratitude and blame for how we turned out. They are all our nails. They have all been the silent sturdiness that has kept us up on the wall, able to show off our best selves, and attract the eyes of passers by.

I think that's one of the big omissions in today's world of solo-business-building and individual brand-building. Here I am, trying to present myself as the singular architect of my business and publication. That's fine. I mean, I have always wanted to do my own thing. And, honestly, I have spent time comparing the work I do now with all the other significant types of work I've done, and I can tell you without a doubt that this is the most rounded and fulfilling work of my life. But still, it's not a whole picture if I try to pretend like I've come up with everything myself and I'm solely responsible for it.

The way that this post is reaching you now? Someone else built the platform.

The professional tone that you see in my posts most of the time? Sure. But you don't see the ways in which I lean too heavily on my wife for so much moral support, encouragement-on-demand, and other types of self-indulgent neediness.

The ideas I write about? They're never my own. I get them all from the brilliant work of others. Even the idea for this essay came from the book I was reading when I noticed those holes in the wall.

Let's quickly talk about coaching. I'm now able to build a sustainable business helping other people in a direct, highly personal and extremely impactful way—not to mention doing it from anywhere in the world, protecting mine and Corina's dream of travelling—all because I'm good at coaching people. Yet the biggest reason why I've been able to love coaching and develop those skills is because I’ve been the beneficiary of powerful coaching in the past. And I was only able to afford it because of the salary I was able to pay myself because investors had given me half a million quid of other peoples' money, having gone to the effort of raising it and making it available for fledgling founders like me.

Investors, coaches, parents, teachers, everywhere I look I see nails, nails, nails.

And I cannot finish this piece without mentioning the nails that enable me and Corina to travel. First up, there's our parents who, through their own care and resourcefulness, frequently give us a base to crash-land at when we inevitably return home between long stints away. And have you heard about Airbnb? And CouchSurfing? And pet-sitting platforms that give you free accommodation in grand-designs-by-the-sea in exchange for cuddling with your favourite animals? And maybe you've heard of co-living houses—big beautiful baroque houses where you get to live among a bunch of interesting travellers, giving you the opportunity to make unforgettable connections, instead of just scratching the surface of cities in a break-neck touristy way? Our entire travelling lifestyle is dependent on all of these nails.

Pretty much everything I do, everything I am, everything I can be, and everything you see comes down to the special combination of foresight, inventiveness, planning, collaboration, commitment, bravery, perseverance, and creativity of human beings taking risks in spite of the odds.

And it's days like this when I feel I can't take credit for anything.

I don't mean that in a self-deprecating way, or a way that’s unfair to myself. I mean it in an entirely grateful, humbling, expansive sort of way. People say things like "Don't forget to stop to enjoy the view on your way up the mountain," and I get that—and that’s kind of what I'm saying here.

But I'm saying more than that. I'm saying that perhaps the most important development to happen in my lifetime is the internet, capitalism, and my growing prosperity merging to create the conditions where I can feasibly aim to build a 1-person business on my terms, and very probably succeed. I am already succeeding! And for someone like me who's only ever wanted to do his own thing generating an income with the work he feels called to do—that is about the most tremendous turn of events I could have imagined being lucky enough to be born into.

Yet, if I'm not careful, I will not stop to appreciate that none of it is possible without the many nails that were already hammered into place for me to hang my best suit on, the nails that sit there, silently, diligently, and reliably behind the scene.

I was planning to tell my mum that she ought to consider putting her certificates back on the wall. But I think I prefer seeing the holes.

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