When I was at school, an English teacher read us Ray Bradbury’s A Sound of Thunder. In it, a group of time travellers from 2055 returns to Prehistoric times. Just before they set off, a candidate with a manifesto akin to that of Hitler is defeated in the election. During the trip, one of the party inadvertently steps on a butterfly. They return to find the fascist is in power.
I’d never come across the butterfly effect before. It fascinated me that a tiny action such as the flapping of a butterfly’s wings could (in theory, at any rate) cause a typhoon. It got me thinking about how something similar happens in our interactions with each other. Someone says or does something pretty minor. And unintentionally sets off a chain of events. Metaphorically flaps their wings. And unwittingly causes anything from a pleasant breeze to a full-scale tornado in our lives.
Not that all tornados are a bad thing…
Not long after I moved to Ealing in 1998, I became friends with Ann-Marie, one of my neighbours. “Have you met Angela yet” she asked me one night. “No. Who's Angela?” “She’s been living in the flat below you for the last 6 months, Cathy”. Ann-Marie asked her round for a glass of wine. We became friends. Several weeks on, Angela invited me to a dinner party. I was to meet Vaughan. “He’s a writer,” she said. “I think you’ll get on.” We became friends. Some years later, Vaughan said “I must introduce you to my friend Giulia. You’ve got a lot in common”. He did. And we became friends. Today, they’re all an important part of my life, Ann-Marie, Angela, Vaughan and Giulia. All because Ann-Marie flapped her wings.
It was October 2000, a few weeks before I was due to be made redundant from Diageo. I was frantically applying for every marketing role I was remotely qualified for. And not having much success with any of them. One night, I was travelling back from central London with Una, a colleague who also lived in Ealing. “Do you still want to be a marketer when you retire in 25 years?” she asked, as we pulled into Northfields - having listened to my witterings about job hunting since Piccadilly Circus. “God, no”, I replied. “Then why are you applying for marketing jobs now?”. Within weeks, I’d become a freelance writer. And I’ve been one ever since. In part, because Una flapped her wings.
Life as a freelancer was tough to begin with. A few months in, a lady called Jane invited me to a business networking group. There, I met Chris who ran a creative design agency. We both left the group. But kept in touch. Chris wanted to bid for a big project for which he needed a writer. He won the contract. The company was IKEA. For over a decade, their projects have been the source of a large percentage of my income. But IKEA has given me a lot more than money. They've given me the sense of being part of a team. They've made me feel personally and professionally valued. I’ve met many kind and inspirational people. And I’ve learned a lot about what humanity means in practice. All because Jane flapped her wings.
A few days ago, I listened to a stained-glass artist called Cecilia being interviewed. She talked about getting up in the early hours and working when inspiration struck. I woke at 1am that night and had the idea for this blog. “I need to go back to sleep,” I thought immediately. But night-time ideas fade as fast as dreams. And I knew this one would be gone by morning. Then I remembered what the stained-glass artist had said. I grabbed a notebook and drafted an outline. Cecilia flapped her wings and this blog got written. Her words had no intended consequences. But there were some anyway. On me, the writer. And because of that, maybe on you, the reader.