He's gone, so how do I get through this slump?

As I spooned the remainder of my Thai meal into the to-go boxes, I was reminded of the ritual Zach and I underwent after our regular dinners at the LA Times' restaurant critic Jonathan Gold lauded Indian restaurant, Mayura, in Culver City.

We'd inevitably over order and while greedily eating hearty proportions from copious dishes, there was usually leftovers. The waiter would bring the takeout boxes and Zach and I would proceed to fill them as I had done at the Thai restaurant. And yet at the Thai restaurant I was performing the custom alone - without Zach - because there is no more Zach. He self-eradicated himself from this earthly existence. 

In my memory he looms large. He's the last person I think of before lights out and the first on my mind as I wake. Zach and my mother. My mother has always been a daily thought, however the regularity of thinking about her throughout the day, has been ever amplified now that Zach is dead. Because of course, she is dead too. And now these two great loves of mine are together in the ether, out of reach, and yet still very much top of mind.

As the days, weeks and months since Zach's passing move along, I begin to feel there was never going to be another way. And yet terrible guilt persists that I could have done more. Guilt around a loved one's suicide is a common theme, in fact I would say, guilt is a non-negotiable by product for those left behind.

Zach expressed his overwhelm concerning his life situation. In the final weeks he would say and text, "doom, doom, doom" and lament about times gone by, happier times that he was convinced could not be repeated due to his filial responsibilities. Alternatively, some days he would enter my room and declare (paraphrasing), "Today I see light at the end of the tunnel, I don't see it all as doom. There might just be a chance I'll get through this."

His negativity befuddled me. Sure I saw real factors for his woes (most readers know he lost his dad to Parkinson's complications in 2022 and thereafter filled the shoes as primary care taker for his mother, also with Parkinson's, and dementia), but I mostly put the extremity of his distress down to the final months of having a mis-medicated mental illness. He had definitive life stressors, but during this particularly troubling period, he saw mountains in issues and problems where I saw molehills.

On one hand he fessed up to having suicidal thoughts, something I only really learned in February (he died in March) and on the other hand he said, "I've come to realize, suicide is not an option," which gave me hope that we would both be spared that grisly outcome. 

However, towards the end, he was spiraling so fast into paranoias that were devastating and profound, it had us all spinning. He'd dug himself deep in a ditch. I shared in his fear that he might not be able to turn his life around especially as he was reluctant to take drastic intervention towards recovery. 

We know the final outcome. I've lost my lover and best friend. So how do I get through this slump?

--

To quote W. H. Auden, an author Zach admired and had on his bookshelf, and people of my generation will be familiar with these words as the poem Funeral Blues was read in the '90s film, Four Weddings and a Funeral:

He was my North, my South, my East and West, 
My working week and my Sunday rest, 
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song; 
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong. 

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one; 
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun; 
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood; 
For nothing now can ever come to any good. 

A milestone approaches but now it comes to nothing

 

Zach would have turned 35 on Thursday (13 June). As a couple we had quite a bit staked on this year – 35 signalled D-Day for his marriage proposal. Not necessarily the actual day, but the two of us had agreed a few years earlier that by 35 he would have lived enough life, enjoyed enough bachelorhood, to make that commitment to me. I wanted to be married. Heck, I’d finally found a man I could spend a lifetime with -- the appeal of wedded bliss. No more searching for a compatible partner, I’d found him, and with Zachary I could rest. 

Two weeks before Zach died he made the observation while sitting on my couch that “we’re strangers in the face of the law.” Unfortunately despite six years of mutual devotion, he did nothing to rectify this situation (I have a will and he was listed as my primary beneficiary) and thus I’ve been denied the privileges that come with holding that legal certificate. 

Michael, a close friend in LA, tells me the riches come not from material possession, but from having known him. Zach led from the heart. We spent almost every moment together on weekends. The quality time we had. The love. I’m grateful for Michael’s wisdom and sense. I carry the truth of it close and draw on its strength in moments of emotional torture. Any person who’s experienced grief will tell you it’s complicated. The days, weeks and months in the aftermath of Zach’s suicide have been no less than gruelling.

I rage at the fact he’s no longer here. We melded so well together - he was my ultimate 'yes' person. I wanted to go to Dear John’s for their gin martini - yes, to have Italian for dinner - yes, watch this old movie - yes, travel to this place - yes. Yes, yes, yes. And not in a doormat kind of way -- in a way that he genuinely wanted to do those things with me. We took pleasure in our being together. Now I think of things to do, but I’ve lost my favourite person to do them with. Instead I still venture out - but alone. A glass of wine at the local bar after work / alone, a Hollywood Bowl concert / alone, to church on Sundays / alone – each time his absence is acutely felt. 

His memory looms large, his person is still adored. I miss him terribly. He was my great love. That he no longer exists is a pain that sticks on my skin 24/7. Most mornings I wake up like I’ve been hit by a bus, to meet another day with the stark realness of his loss. I rail against it - wish it weren’t so, and chastise him aloud for doing it. But it is how it is. Lady Macbeth, “what’s done cannot be undone.”

***

Happy birthday to you my darling. We had so much riding on this one. 

Photo: a typical weekend - stopping by Gjusta for a bite before heading across to work out at Gold's Gym in Venice, California.

The Table

This Mother’s Day will be 27 Mother’s Days without my mum. It’s a widely celebrated day of love and happiness but the occasion stirs up mixed emotions for Motherless daughters. Over the years, my mother’s death has hit me hard in varying ways and I think about her everyday. Things frequently pop up that remind me of her and the strong emotional bond we shared. 

The following is a true tale about an incident that recently happened to me involving my mother. Surprising to involve her because she’s been dead since 1996. Time has marched on, we’re a new millennium (!), and the nuclear family that was has gone its separate ways. My father, brother and I live in different cities and for me, countries. Mum was the glue that kept our family together; without her, we are now seldom in touch. This is the indelible truth that can happen to a family when its pivotal figure dies. And on days like Mother’s Day - when I think of the last Mother’s Day I had with her, which was also spent with my father and brother, I can’t help but feel a pang of sadness and nostalgia for the times that have passed along with her.

Sometimes though, I still feel her presence because it was not that long ago that Mum and I ‘reconnected’. One could speculate that she was sending me a sign from the beyond to remind me of an item that had belonged to her, bringing it to my attention because she wanted me to have it, and she wanted to remind my Dad that I should have it.

Discovering the letter

Usually when I return to Melbourne (Australia) from Los Angeles, I’ll make a stop at the Taxibox storage facility to inspect the belongings I’ve been storing there for the past 10 years. Last September, while combing through the storage unit, I dug into an old copper pot that contained letters my mum had sent me when I was a teenager at boarding school. I didn’t have time to re-read them then, so I put them in my handbag for safekeeping to take back to America with me.

A few weeks later, when I was home in Los Angeles, I retrieved one of the letters. Mum had written it in 1988 when I was only 13. In the letter, Mum told me she had bought a dining table with her own money. This was significant because my mother had never worked full time, so saving money required a lot of time and effort. Mum described the table’s uniqueness. She explained that a local steak restaurant in Alice Springs was closing down and had several tables to sell. These tables had been made out of the jarrah wood from the sleepers of The Ghan, a train that runs an epic 2,797 kilometres (1,846 miles) from Adelaide to Darwin in Australia. She had loved the table’s connection to Alice Springs, a small town in Central Australia where my parents had been temporarily based for my father’s work. Mum said she’d paid $3,000 for it but suspected it could be worth as much as $20,000, since the restaurant might have underpriced its value to make a quick sale. The fact she’d included this detail made me smile. Mum was thrifty and I could feel her delight spring from the page in the happy belief that she’d scored herself a deal.

I instantly knew the table Mum described. When my parents moved from Alice Springs to Melbourne in 1990, I left boarding school in Adelaide to join them and start Year 11 as a ‘day girl’. We bought an old Edwardian family home and the table took pride of place in our dining room. It was the room’s centrepiece. 

More than just a table - it was a haven

Mum was a talented cook and my parents would often entertain. Mum would make her signature dinner party dishes: salmon roulade for main course and store-bought brandy snaps filled with brandy whipped cream for dessert. She would prepare the meals in the kitchen and ferry them down the hallway to excitable oohs and aahs from the guests as she placed food on the table. There were many gatherings around the table in the six years we had Mum with us in that home. I celebrated my 18th birthday around the table – school friends sang happy birthday as I blew out 18 candles on the cake Mum had made. There were also quieter, relaxed times that I remember well; Mum and I chatting at the table, with her German Shepherd dog sitting nearby soaking up the warmth from the fireplace, flames and firewood cracking and popping. Occasionally I did my homework there, including a year 12 art project about the musical, The Phantom of the Opera, which I received full marks. When Mum passed away, the table became a makeshift florist display, as we placed the sympathy flowers people had sent on it. 

So while this table has strong connections to my mum and our family, I wonder if it will remain that way? 

You see, my mother left “all remaining possessions” in her will to my dad. As he has since remarried, the table, being “joint-property”, will belong to my dad’s second wife when he passes. Dad says the table will eventually come back to us (my brother, me or my brother’s children) when his wife dies, but Dad’s wife is closer in age to me, than she is to him. I see time bringing its distance, and quite frankly given recent developments, the table will go to anyone other than me. 

After re-reading the letter Mum wrote to 13-year-old me, I asked my father if I could have the table left to me in his will. Dad’s response was he and his wife had already discussed and made his will and the table would be going to her. As far as they are both concerned the case is closed and the decision is just; his wife will get the table and I should be accepting of it. 

I don’t begrudge my dad for having a relationship after my mother, but I do begrudge him for his attitude to this latest turn of events. In my opinion, the table belonged to my mother. It is a family heirloom, and should not be conveniently listed among the “joint-property” that my father and his wife have bought together during their marriage. I believe my mum would have wanted me to have the table once my father passed and it is reasonable for me to be asking for it. Could that be why my mother’s letter showed up after 35 years? Could it be that in the ethereal world she knew what was in place and was nudging me towards a different outcome?

As a result of this incident, my father and I haven’t had any meaningful contact in more than six months. Very sad considering months are like dog years when one is 80. Obviously there are strong emotions on both sides of this issue and I’ve had to face the reality that in this scenario, Dad will have his way. Everyone grieves differently and I accept that my response to Mum’s decades-long absence will be different from others in my family. Unfortunately, our divergent approaches to grieving and ways in which we honour my mother, has frequently put us at odds and led to periods of estrangement, and that brings a whole other layer of grief to deal with. 

In closing, let me return to the supernatural. Over the years my mother has appeared in my dreams. A few years ago, I dreamt the two of us were talking. I was conveying my frustration over an episode of my father’s treatment of me. In my dream, I shared with Mum that Dad had changed dramatically after meeting his wife and this greatly impacted the way he was with me. Only months before Dad met his new partner he had spent a fortune renovating our family home after he and I made a pact to take on the project. Let’s bring the house to its full glory, just as Mum would have wanted was his position. We were doing it as a tribute to her, both united in the project’s undertaking and committed to living in the beautifully renovated house together for years to come. But with his new relationship redirecting his priorities, I was out of the family home within six months and Dad sold the house shortly after.

In dreamform Mum showed little reaction to my comments. (On the contrary, alive Mum would have had an opinion!) Instead, in my dream Mum was apathetic of the situation. She may have even shrugged her shoulders in resignation. This passive response infuriated me, but underneath it my subconscious was sensing a message. There is nothing we can do. We can’t control the situation. Acceptance. There was her answer. Mum had made peace with how my Dad was moving on and urged me to find peace with it too. 

Postscript – Mum said (while she was alive) that if she could come back after death and visit us she would. There have been a few times where I’ve particularly felt her show up and the latest letter incident felt like more than just a rediscovery of the letter. This is the type of thing (in my opinion) she (like me) would get riled up about. She took pride in her belongings and put her family first. Sure, she didn’t leave the table to me in her will, but after my father, she would have wanted me or my brother to have it. She was a feisty person and if nothing else - in exhausting my efforts to have it belong to me - I’ve honoured Mum’s spirit. 

A stormy King Lear read true off the page

 

Wanting came with understanding, he said, but I knew straight away I would want him. I knew it the moment he walked into that San Francisco wine bar. He was tall and lithe, a little disheveled in appearance with tousled brown hair, the makings of a beard, and cheekbones that could carve butter.

“Hi!” I called. 

The handsome stranger was a little startled by my attention. He had buried his face in his phone, but looked up to respond. “Hello,” he said.

“What do you do?” I asked, sizing up his worn tweed jacket with leather patches on the elbows.

“I’m an academic,” he said.

He looked far too young to describe himself as an “academic,” but I was intrigued. “Really? What discipline?” I asked.  

“Literature and Philosophy,” he answered.

I was excited. “You know, for a long time I have wanted to read Shakespeare with someone who knows their stuff,” I said with a brazen smile.

The academic grinned and dug into his backpack to retrieve a copy of Romeo and Juliet. He laid it on the counter so I could see it clearly. It was a teasing gesture, but I have to admit I found it romantic. He was issuing an intellectual challenge that I was eager to take up. He fetched a pen and piece of paper and wrote down his name and number. Then, as quickly as he had arrived, he was out the door. “Off to meet friends,” he said.

I smiled as I surveyed his neat handwriting, sipping my wine. After a few minutes, I reached for my phone to send him a text: Shakespeare, I just met you at the bar. Should we start reading Hamlet or King Lear?

And so it began with King Lear.

We became Facebook friends soon after. I saw from his profile page that he had studied at Harvard and Stanford. He was no small fry academic.

Our first 'read' together – where we both sat with the text and took turns reading passages aloud – was magic. I also learned the academic was 37, straight, and single. I was only two years older than him and ready to fall in love. Immediately, I felt like meeting him had opened up a whole world of unexpected possibility. Nonetheless, I was still clearing away the residue from my last romantic rejection. I was in no mood for a short-term fling at this point, and the next guy I went for would have to be all in. I was tired of non-committal men.

I was delighted when the academic took the initiative to arrange all of our reads. He was also in daily contact on text or Facebook messenger. His command of the English language was an aphrodisiac and I would share snippets of his musings with my friends back in Australia. All of us kept having to reach for the dictionary to look up the meaning of his words.

During our first meeting, he peppered the conversation with quotes from Hamlet. I was precisely the right audience for that kind of move. I  would openly swoon and he’d coyly say, “Why don’t American girls fall for that?” I said a man who quoted Shakespeare would always have my heart, that American women must be crazy. He fixed me with an intense gaze then broke into a wide smile. As we read together - we played rock, paper and scissors to decide who would go first - our legs brushed under the table. His hand would touch mine as he leaned across to point out a word or verse on my page.

During our second reading, after a couple of dry martinis in a downtown hotel lobby bar, he asked if I wanted him to kiss me. Of course I wanted to be kissed, but I was also hesitant. Was this man up for what I needed romantically? Our reading and the experience had been so enjoyable, but I didn’t want to escalate our relationship unless he was ready for something serious. 

Nonetheless, our tipsy giddiness took over. He kissed me vigorously a couple of doors down from the hotel on the street. I was startled by his sexual energy but it also enthralled me. This was no thin-blooded bookworm – my academic had Romeo raging inside him. 

We continued our readings, and our kisses. He paid meticulous attention to Shakespeare’s meter, word pronunciation and took pause often to recap scenes and examine their meaning. “The Quarto says this, but the Folio version has taken this direction,” he’d explain. It was nerdy, but I was captivated by his focus and attention to detail. His sharp intelligence intimidated me but it also made me feel alive.

He continued to initiate our readings and kiss me passionately after each one until it reached a point where I decided I needed to clarify things. I’d had my fair share of boyish men with devilish good looks play with me because all they had wanted was a casual fling. “Does it bother you that I’m two years older?” I asked. We were having dinner before going to a King Lear film screening in Berkeley. 

“I don’t know,” he replied. “I haven’t decided yet. If you looked your age, maybe it would, because I look much younger than what I am. It’s a visceral thing,” he said. “It can’t be explained.”

He talked about younger women and how he had never had a problem attracting them. This was my first gut feel that this guy is nowhere near where you need him to be, I thought. As the night wore on, my composure started to crumble. I grew pale. The academic sensed my alarm and sweetly asked whether everything was ok. It was not, I replied, but was not yet ready to tell him why. The younger women conversation had thrown me, triggering my insecurities about being a single, childless woman in my late 30s.

He held my hand and stroked my leg throughout the epic three hour film and continued to hold my hand as he walked me to my car. Seeming to sense my growing unease, he turned to look at me, concern in his eyes. Predictably, my heart melted. Once again we found ourselves kissing desperately in the middle of the sidewalk.

I grew a little more distant after that evening and deliberately brushed off his suggestion of another reading that weekend. He said my response was cold and dismissive and was confused by it. We spoke on the phone that night to clarify. It was during this call that I realized my intuition about him not being ready for me was right. The academic, it turned out, was still grappling with lost love. 

He’d been in a relationship that had ended badly ‘not so long ago.’ He described it as perfect (something, even with our connection, I knew we weren’t), but for whatever reason, what he'd had with her was over.  I listened as he suggested perhaps given this, it would be wiser to revert to reading alone without all the physical stuff.

The academic said he’d use impulse control next time we read. Inevitably, our ‘powerful physical attraction’ as he called it, got the better of us. As much as I wanted more from him, I came to realize it was foolish of me to think intimacy would shift his readiness or desire for a relationship.

We thrashed out our relationship over Facebook messenger. I told him what I firmly knew – I wanted a boyfriend. He was at pains for me to clarify, “Ok, can you define that? Is it more than what we are doing together at present, in terms of reading?” His words didn’t inspire much confidence and further clarified that I was fighting an uphill battle with him. 

We stayed together for three days at a San Francisco apartment I rented not long after. There were the usual teething problems that accompany two people staying together at length for the first time, but for the most part, it was comfortable and nice. By night three however I was tired and emotional. The four wines I’d drunk over the course of the evening didn’t help. I told him I wanted us to be closer. Why couldn’t he give me that?  He said I was being pushy, and that our “understanding” was eroding. He told me I was being disrespectful of where he was at. He had tried to be open and honest with me about “still carrying feelings” from his last relationship. The academic wanted to keep seeing me but said my feelings were unrealistic. He and I were in very different places. “I think reading Shakespeare might have tricked us into feeling we knew each other better than we did,” he offered. 

“That I want more from you?” I asked. “Yes, more than I can give, at this point,” he said. I suggested perhaps I should date other men, even though I didn’t really want to. My theory was that dating around would relieve some pressure from him, and maybe help me find someone who was more ready for something long-term. Secretly, though, I hoped the academic would say no and that he would commit to a relationship with me in time. My heart sunk when he agreed that dating other men sounded like a good idea. He was pulling back.    

We stumbled on for a brief time after that, hovering somewhere between dating and friendship, but the seed of insecurity had been planted and our union was about to implode. He told me he was planning to leave San Francisco in a few months and go back to New York where he had lived eight years before.  Maybe London or Paris after that. Apparently, he felt the people in those cities would understand him better.  It became obvious that he had no intention of ‘developing’ further with me. My whole body retched physically with rejection.

I had to let go. My heart had no other option but to grieve and move on. In a final text to him, I chose a language we could both understand. I quoted from King Lear, the play we never finished reading because our romantic tussles had intruded. I was finishing the play on my own one evening and the words from the end verse felt like Shakespeare himself was reading them to me as I typed them into my phone:

 

The weight of this sad time, we must obey

 

Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say.

 

I knew he would recognize it.  Shakespeare had given me permission, I said. 

Ushering in a New Year

The following is a facebook post I shared with my facebook community on New Year's Eve from West Hollywood, California:

My Aussie brethren have already rung in the New Year, but we’re still on the steady march to midnight in the city of angels. Approx 6.5 hours to go. I have the Pol Roger and Billecart packed and making a Samin Nosrat chicken pot pie — simmering away on the stove. Will make my way to Zach’s apartment in the Westside suburb of Mar Vista early evening for an intimate send off to a rather memorable year!

I joined a virtual Buddhist meditation on Monday night and we were encouraged to reflect on the year that was. It was so useful that I’m putting on the same recording tonight so Zach can experience it too. He and I will then, with a glass of champagne in hand, reflect back on the highs and lows of 2020.

For a long time, I sought a life partner who matched me - and while I’ve had a somewhat colorful love life with characters in it who will always be endearing, Zach is my best suitor to date! (Let’s hope he sticks around.)

I was always very anti dating much younger men (naturally skeptical that they would soon seek out younger women) but it was in my 40s that I felt liberated enough to throw caution to the wind and see where the tide took me with the 28 year old intellect who just happened to share my love of Shakespeare. He’s been the most solid companion going on three years now. We are peas in a pod, helpful that he likes peas, and quite frankly - beyond the warm weather and my penchant for celebrity spotting, my anchor to LA.

I do miss Oz, and like Peter Allen, “I still call Australia home.” I’m thankful for those back in my homeland for keeping up their connection and buoying me on. My Aussie friend Justine likes to say “you’re like a cat, always land on your feet,” and I must admit, it’s been a slippery road in 2020 - but I’m incredibly grateful to my American PR community for throwing me a freelance bone when I’ve needed one. That hasn’t meant I’ve not had to hustle. Oh hustle hard I have. I have PR mates the world over and despite the industry’s changes along with “digital disruption,” their encouragement and support has helped me to hang on.

My oftentimes pesky personality and stubborn traits has seen me estranged from a few - I haven’t seen or spoken to my older brother and his two kids in three years and people I would have liked to hold as good friends have let go. My good old dad and I have had a tumultuous road since he met his wife 20 years ago, but I’m pleased to say we’re in a good place now. I cherish our history, familial bond, and our great love of my late mother!

So, it’s to the tried and true, that I raise my Winston Churchill favorite tipple (Pol Roger) to you all - as we sing, “should auld acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind?”

Happy New Year!

The long wait

It's been five months into this unemployment/COVID-19 lockdown "journey" and as the weeks and months wear on, one gets used to the new routine, but also anxious about the realities that living an urban lifestyle in a city like Los Angeles costs money.

Although one's parents will (jokingly - but is it really jokingly?) urge you to marry a rich person, I dodged that bullet (his subsequent partner after me, he married, but 11 years on, they are divorced) and have mostly had to rely on myself financially since my father gave up that mantle of responsibility at my late age of 26. I was lucky - my dad was/is a generous man, but the real reason I hung around at home so long being the two of us were lost ships in a sea of storm after my mother passed when I was 21. Dad and I were holding on to each-other for the emotional support in our grief and living under the same roof until I was literally kicked out by the influence of his new love interest - now wife - five years later. She didn't want his adult daughter hanging around and she won that battle despite an epic war struggle.

On losing my job back in March, I am still somewhat in denial about spending. I have cut back on the designer clothing and expensive dinners and wines out, but I am still ordering "to go" $7 almond decaf lattes from Verve, buying matcha almond lattes, vegan cake, and strawberry almond milks at Erewhon, and have now started up somewhat of an addiction drinking the $13.5 smoothies at Kreation. Once the U.S. government's additional $600 to our unemployment allowance runs out, I guess I'll have to reassess again.

I would like to stay in LA, but it's a tough town to find work if you're not in entertainment and the movies. I found this when I first landed in the U.S. seven years ago. For three months I met with several PR people and set up "informational" meetings with PR agencies, but the efforts led to nothing. Well, I wouldn't say entirely nothing, as some solid relationships were made, and I still have some of those today. But no job.

It took moving to San Francisco to kick things off on the "making money" front - but after three years, I was able to relocate back to LA with my PR job at commercial real estate company, Cushman & Wakefield. When I lost that I was thrown back into the "LA is a tough job market" and it's been that way since.

Sure, great jobs come around but it's such a competitive space - PR, many, many people in it and all claiming to be experts. The competition can be enough to turn you to your own thing - I aim to build up (again) my own freelance PR business but also look into an entrepreneurial idea I have rattling around in my head after striking the idea watching a french film called, "Bright Days Ahead."

An older woman, the character played by Fanny Ardent, is given a free trial by her millennial daughters to an "activity house" called "Bright Days Ahead" for seniors. She goes along, gets involved in drama classes, wine tasting, pottery, computer classes, etc - and meets lots of like minded people. Rather than being fuddy duddy and depressive, the center and its offerings are friendly, adventurous and fun.

Well anyhow - there's a snippet of where my thinking is going and I'm still in exploration mode - I just think there's something to targeting the 45+ market and catering to them especially when so many of us feel like life has begun its age discrimination in our 40s (so young!) - how does it feel at 55, 65, 75, etc?

On that note, I have gotten back into my yoga because the studios have now opened back up - the lockdown and lay off sent my regular yoga practice down the drain - and I have an Iyengar yoga class to get to, so time to go. I have, perhaps temporarily, hung up my ashtanga yoga hat for now (it's a rigorous practice and well suited to younger people), and eased into the little less aerobically intense form of Iyengar.

Signing off from sunny California this Friday afternoon (argh, the unemployed still love Fridays...), adieu.

Bringing the professional to the personal

This blog has always focused on my personal life moreso than my professional, but right now these two areas have blurred. Currently, I am in a transition period. The company I was working for in LA experienced nation-wide lay off's as a means of "reduction in force" and my position (and many others in marketing and research across the country) was eliminated.

Less than two weeks later, the full sweep of COVID-19 government mandates clamped down around us worldwide. Today we are living as 'shelter in place' and the impact of this measure has inevitably slowed the economy and hampered employment prospects. In the hopes of speeding up a return to my industry, I wrote the following article, and thanks to my trusty boyfriend Zach, an English wunderkind, for his edits.

I first published the article to my Linkedin profile, that can be found here. Feel free to give it a 'like' as I believe this will help it to show up in more people's feeds. Thanks for the read.

How PR contributes to company sales

Author’s note:

It goes without saying that the mandated precautions against the COVID-19 pandemic, while necessary, have thrown our worlds into disarray. This is an unfamiliar and stressful situation for all of us, so the most important thing right now is to follow the guidance of medical experts and practice social distancing and good hygiene. If we work together and look out for one another, we can protect the well-being of our communities and prevent further spread of the virus.

This article is written in the spirit of sharing information that will be useful once we have made it through this crisis.

Knowing this one thing can ensure your career longevity in public relations

The most important item on a business leader’s agenda is to make decisions that maximize profit. That’s an unsentimental truth, but it’s one you’ve got to understand to flourish in the world of public relations. PR professionals must speak a language that appeals to business decision makers and helps them understand how our jobs contribute to their bottom line.

Sadly, a lot of business people don’t value PR. Businesses sometimes overlook and misunderstand the role it plays in their success. For example, an IT person passing my desk the other day saw a sign I had posted on my computer: “I love PR.” He said, “You love what? Puerto Rico?” Misunderstandings like this are common and is probably because the value that PR produces can be abstract or intangible – it’s not always easy to measure in terms of dollars and cents. But underestimating the importance of PR isn’t just bad for those of us who make our living out of public relations – a failure to appreciate PR can hamstring an entire organization and cause a business to miss ripe opportunities for profit.

Therefore, it is part of our job to do “PR for PR.” By helping paint the picture of how our profession drives value we can shift the mindset of our business leaders to become more “PR Friendly.” Below are a few examples of how good PR translates into profit.

PR helps build brand awareness - and this leads to sales

I like to apply the logic of how I decide to buy products or services to the development of my own PR programs.

I recall a tidbit of wisdom from an ad man I once worked with. He told me you need to show something seven times before it sticks. This makes a lot of sense. Our minds can be resistant to new concepts or products, so repetition is key to making sure an unfamiliar product or brand really penetrates a customer’s consciousness.

Here’s a practical example. Imagine you’re driving the 101 and you see a billboard promoting a company. Later that day you’re chatting with a work colleague who happens to mention the company’s name. The next morning, you’re waiting in line at Philz and you notice a friend has posted about the company on Facebook. While drinking the coffee you read an article which cites the company’s founder as a source. The point is, if you encounter the company over and over throughout a period of time, it will eventually enter your mental landscape, both consciously and subconsciously. As PR people, part of our job is to maximize the opportunities for such encounters to happen. We can do that through social media, traditional media or, as I explain below, connecting with third parties and influencers. 

The proof is in the pudding - how do you make your own purchase decisions? PR without a doubt has played a part

I love to travel. Admittedly that has been stalled during the necessary precautions we are all taking during the COVID-19 pandemic. When I was traveling, I spent a lot of time wandering on my own, discovering new places and making international friends. It shouldn’t surprise you that this got expensive, mostly because of hotel costs. I wasn’t about to give up my wanderlust at the time, but I needed to change something if I wanted keep my finances intact. So, I turned to my Facebook network and asked, where do single people stay when they travel to XYZ?

Through this social media outreach I learned about Airbnb. Years ago – before the company had spread mainstream and back when the logo was still in blue letters -- my Facebook friend said I should consider the service as an affordable option. This is what is otherwise known as word of mouth (going viral) or “third party endorsement”. As PR people, we will regularly engage relevant third parties to support our brands. The same concept sparked the ‘influencer’ craze on Instagram in the millennial era. My friend who told me about Airbnb probably didn’t think of herself as an influencer, but in a way all of us are influencers when we speak to people we trust within our networks. It’s our job as PR people to connect with those influencers.

After my friend, whom I trust (trustworthiness is again, integral to business success), recommended Airbnb, I went to its website and was impressed by the friendly vibe, easy user interface, and abundance of stay options. I could also read reviews about each place, see the photos, and learn about the host in their own words and from others in the reviews. Plus, back in 2012, it was much cheaper to stay in an Airbnb than a hotel. I became a convert and used the service the world over for the next five years. I even made a few more good friends along the way. 

Airbnb was able to gain my loyalty as a customer. But it’s important to remember client loyalty can’t be assumed. If the product or service slips, so does brand loyalty. You mustn’t let decision makers think of PR as a short-term project that ends when you achieve first contact with the customer. PR is instead an ongoing process – it needs to be practiced continually and cultivated to keep customers engaged and loyal. 

As Airbnb grew in popularity over the years, the prices increased, in some cases exceeding hotel pricing. Some hosts got greedy, charging up to $100 for cleaning expenses and more than $80 per night to lodge in modest rooms in equally modest apartments or houses.

A service that began as a community was becoming less friendly and more transactional. People started renting out apartments for the sole purpose of Airbnb and not making these places first their homes. In my opinion, this has undermined the warm and integrated culture Airbnb had grown. A good PR response would be necessary to restore this culture, and win back my loyalty.

Eventually I gave up and went back to hotels – but I will still review Airbnb options if I’m planning a longer trip.

There’s a lesson for PR professionals in my experience with Airbnb. Business leaders, when they make decisions, must consider the importance of brand perception, company reputation, issues management, and social responsibility. A good PR person can help them do that better than anyone else.   

Know which media will resonate best with your leaders and company

An article in Forbes or Fortune is impressive on any level but probably means the most to the C-Suite of a Fortune 500 company, whereas an article in TechCrunch is considered the PR Holy Grail in the startup world. Why are mentions in these publications so coveted by savvy industry insiders?

In a word: perception. Insiders know that securing media coverage in a respected outlet is extremely hard due to the competitive nature of media relations. Therefore, if your PR person is lucky and talented enough to claim that prize, others in the industry will look on your company in awe and let’s not lie, envy.

Almost every major industry has its “paper of record,” although sometimes it’s a blog, a magazine, or, these days, a twitter account. Whatever the format, these publications have audiences made up of the very people that companies in the industry want to reach. A skilled PR person should know what the key outlets are, and know who reads them.

I think back to the days when I worked to promote actors and did PR for arts festivals. You score a feature article in the city’s major newspaper, promoting a play, or secure a good review of that play – the outcome is immediate: ticket sales. I myself have bought countless tickets to plays, gigs, and events after reading about them for the first time in the media. Good PR translated directly into revenue there.

That’s how it works in the corporate world too. A good article in a targeted media outlet or publication can drive sales and adds substantial value to the company in the eyes of existing and future customers.

Your company website is often the first point of call for a customer – PR contributes to this through content marketing, news sections, customer testimonials, and more

Think of your company website – is it in line with your brand, your company culture? Does it show (remember: show don’t tell) what your product or service can do? Are there pictures, infographics and videos? Is it user-friendly and easy to navigate? Finally, and maybe most importantly, does it have the functions in place in order to drive sales? I quite like the instant chat function that is found on several websites. It’s immediately interactive and draws the visitor in, increasing their likelihood to buy.

Work with developing a voice for your Founder/CEO/company spokesperson

Brands often have a “face” or a “voice” – a person whose image, words, and personality represent the brand and its values to the public. It’s the job of PR to make sure the face is one people are happy to see and the voice is one people listen to. If your founder or CEO has social media channels, it’s important that he or she use them frequently and effectively. That way, the public starts to become familiar with that person and their voice, to feel as if they trust the face and appreciate what they stand for. PR people train and guide business leaders in developing this voice and ensuring it is consistent with the company’s brand and values. A PR person will also keep that person on track and work with them on strategies to ensure they stick to their messages.

As consumers, we appreciate the chance to see and hear things about the company, product, or service we buy from. Therefore, wherever possible, it is advisable to ensure your founder is seen and heard.

This can be done through podcasts, video, and elsewhere in the media. The more we see and hear these people, and like what we see and hear, the more likely we will buy into them which, of course, will convert to sales.

Have a crisis plan – how quickly and aptly you respond in crisis mode can make or break your company’s reputation – and a trustworthy reputation drives sales

It would be remiss of me not to draw attention to the glaring need for companies to have a crisis management plan. PR people should always be part of this crisis team and play a pivotal role in the rollout of subsequent communication. Now more than ever, we are seeing multiple examples of how companies have responded to a crisis situation. Many are handling it exceptionally well, notifying their customers and relevant stakeholders of where they stand amidst the crisis and what they intend to do about it, others have been a little slower to get on board. But overall, we’re doing it right. Despite the obvious economic damage COVID-19 brings to businesses, the companies who have done crisis communications well will return with more goodwill than ever and their reputations intact.

In closing, I want to return to the message I opened with. And that is bottom line. In this cut throat world and economy, brand can be built on ‘image’ and hype, but it needs a solid foundation to sustain it and prosper. Customers aren’t stupid – your job as a PR person is not to manipulate them, but to communicate with them in the most effective and straightforward way possible.

Show your C-Suite and business leaders that your PR efforts and achievements are helping to drive sales and boost the bottom line. Some of the examples I’ve provided above should help. By highlighting the value of PR – and demonstrating that value with results -- you’ll ensure you continue to have a seat at the leadership table and have a satisfying career, knowing that your CEO or founder appreciates your value and the role you play in ensuring profitability.

Caroline James is a PR expert with more than 20 years of experience in the industry. Throughout her career she has worked for tech startups, PR agencies, international governments, and corporate firms. She is the founder of Forever Speaks PR, and is always open to new PR opportunities and challenges. For more information, or just to chat about our industry, contact her on LinkedIn here.