Rickety old staircase, smelly old dunny.
Far from fancy, yet they were the surroundings of one of the most magical moments of my life.
Ten minutes before I was in this space, my mobile rang at the table of the beachside restaurant where I was eating with my brother and his three mates. It was a Friday afternoon. I had been invited as a ‘special guest’ to their bi-annual luncheon.
The name Pat Howard lit up my phone. My heart missed a beat, but I ignored the call. Instead, I waited a few minutes, excused myself, and went up the creaking stairs and into the men’s room.
Closing the cubicle door, I dropped the plastic seat, took a very deep breath, and pressed the green phone symbol on my phone, returning the call to Pat.
“Hi Pat, sorry I missed your call, what have you got for me?”
In his straightforward and unmistakable style, Pat replied: “Well, JL, if you are willing to accept, we would like to offer you the role as Head Coach of the Australian men’s cricket team.”
Coach of the Australian cricket team. Who would have thought?
“Thanks, Pat, of course, I will accept, thank you.”
“Good, let’s chat tomorrow. Enjoy the moment telling your family and friends.”
Phone call over, I took another deep breath, closed my eyes, and smiled to myself.
When I opened the toilet door, I was shocked to see my brother standing before me. Sensing the moment, he had tip-toed up the stairs behind me after seeing the name that had come up on my phone moments before.
“Well?” he asked, holding up his arms.
“Well,” I replied. “Your brother is the new coach of the Australian cricket team.”
“You little bloody beauty!” he shouted.
He gave me a bear hug, and we laughed, high-fived and danced around like happy school kids. The celebrations continued downstairs, and a new chapter in my life had begun.
Last Saturday, I was at the same restaurant with the same group of people, and my mind instantly reverted to that afternoon eight years ago. An instant smile warmed my soul and reminded me of a line from the first self-help book I read.
Canadian writer Robin Sharma wrote a book called, ‘The Monk Who Sold His Ferrari’. I highly recommend it and have just given it to my youngest daughter Gracie as her first book of inspiration. In it, he said: “A great life is nothing more than a series of great memories woven together.”
Since the day I read that line, I have thought about it a lot, and it has encouraged me to create great memories in my personal and professional life.
This philosophy has not only allowed me to stay curious and adventurous, but it has also given me a sense of achievement and calm when times are challenging.
My brother’s involvement in that old beachside bathroom also reminds me how important my family and friends are when sharing the best memories of my life.
In my playing days, I hit a six off English spin bowler Richard Dawson at the MCG in December 2002. This wasn’t any ordinary six. From the millisecond the ball left the middle of my bat, I knew something no one in the world knew.
This was a freaky, surreal feeling. Instinctively, I raised my arms above my head. The ball sailed into the crowd, and I had scored a century in a Boxing Day Test against our arch-rival England. In my world, nothing gets better.
The moment was fleeting, yet in a way, it was glacial because it will live with me forever. On this occasion, I shared the triumph with 80,000 cricket fans and my batting partner at the time Ricky Ponting.
Such ecstasy is hard to reciprocate in life, but I feel so fortunate to have experienced such an accomplishment.
Similarly, Matthew Hayden and Andrew Symonds reminded me that your fondest memories don’t always have to have you as the leading actor.
During the 2006 Boxing Day Ashes Test match in Melbourne, our great-mate ‘Simmo’ scored his first Test hundred. His best friend was standing at the other end.
He also hit a six, and as the ball looped into the crowd, his reaction was identical to mine and any player lucky enough to have felt that supreme adrenaline rush.
After years of self-doubts, his first Test century was acknowledged with one of the more joyous celebrations I have seen on a cricket field.
His shared moment of jubilation with his ‘brother’ was undeniable. Seeing them standing together in the middle of the packed MCG was one of my happiest times in cricket.
Can you imagine how special it was for them? It was a frozen moment in time, made all the more special because of tragic fate when our teammate prematurely lost his life only six years later.
That moment, and ‘Simmo’s’ death, is a reminder that nothing in life should ever be taken for granted and that some of our most outstanding achievements are often shared with those you love the most.
Take childbirth, for example. Most people I know say the birth of their children is the most defining and memorable time of their lives. That is certainly my experience.
When the first of my four daughters was born, it was as though she took her tiny little hand and grabbed hold of my heart.
An encyclopedia of words could never describe unconditional love as clearly as the experience of meeting your newborn child for the first time does.
In a hospital room, there is you, your wife, your exquisite baby, and doctors and nurses who you are trusting their lives with.
It’s impossible to imitate that rush of love and relief, and yet every time I look back and remember the moment, I am filled with intense emotions drawn from my memory.
These days, every time I see my four girls, I can hardly believe the beautiful women they have grown into. My heart still bursts with pride, but our first meeting is unforgettable.
During the week, Western Australian cricketer Hilton Cartwright, retired from batting to rush to the birth of his second child.
There was a bit of brouhaha about his decision, but I would have done the same thing if it had been me.
I would encourage anyone to be there for the birth of their children if they can, no matter the circumstances, because it is one of the rare moments in time that will crystalize in your soul like a sacred tattoo.
Often, life’s defining moments aren’t always happy, but they still remain a piece of the puzzle.
When my grandfather was diagnosed with terminal cancer, my best mate Ben picked me up in his car, and we sat down at the local park. I was just 16, and it was the first time I tasted a capful of Jim Beam bourbon. Ben introduced me to U2’s song October, and we listened to it over and over.
To this day, it is still the saddest but most beautiful song I know.
Every time I hear it, I think of that night at the park. Ironically, I sang the song’s last two lines 30 years later when I gave Ben’s eulogy. Sad but true. Never take anything in life for granted.
Award-winning author, feminist, and social justice activist, L. R. Knost wrote: “Life is amazing. And then it’s awful. And then it’s amazing again. And between the amazing and awful, it’s ordinary, mundane, and routine.
“Breathe in the amazing, hold on through the awful, and relax and exhale during the ordinary. That’s just living a heartbreaking, soul-healing, amazing, awful, ordinary life. And it’s breathtakingly beautiful.”