What I learned from my friend Flick

Last month one of my dearest friends had a fatal heart attack while sitting at her computer at home. She was only 54.

Flick (whom I never once called by her actual name, Felicity Jones) was 12 years older than me and, although I never thought about it this way when she was alive, she was like the big sister I never had. I wanted to share some of the things I learned from my friend Flick because I miss her already.

Screen Shot 2013-03-15 at 10.01.37 AMAccept your failings, tell a story and laugh at them.

Flick would have been the first one to say she was terrible with money and didn’t really like cleaning the house. When she died she left behind a truly amazing number of unpaid parking fines. Her paperwork was a mess. Although she had drafted a will, she never got around to signing it. We all managed to have a laugh about this in the terrible week after she died because it was just so typical.

None of these omissions happened because she was stupid. Far from it – she’d gone back to school in the 1990s and earned a masters by research along with a couple of other degrees. Flick just had trouble paying attention to details. Terrible trouble. She tried all kinds of things to fix her attention problems, most of which didn’t work. When she was diagnosed with ADHD at age 50 she was relieved to finally have an explanation, but the treatment didn’t seem to make much difference.

While most of us hide our failings from the world, Flick would tell funny stories about her stuff ups, with great relish and a hearty belly laugh that invited you to laugh with her. Flick’s acceptance of her own failures went along with acceptance of other people’s failings. Everyone knew you could trust Flick not to judge and to keep secrets. I think this is the reason why so many people confided in her.

So much time in academia dedicated to the pursuit of perfection it can be easy to forget that stories of failure are often more interesting – and human. I’m pleased that stories of my own failure, such as “Academic Arrogance”, “Why you might be stuck” and “the stegosaurus strategy” have resonated so much with others. While working to accept your failings you may find solutions – or not – but laughter helps regardless.

There’s only actions and consequences

Flick was a great parent because she approached it with intelligence, care and diligence. Her adult daughters genuinely enjoyed spending time with her, which I think is a testament to her success. I used to ask Flick for parenting advice because I aspire to be a parent/friend when Thesis Whisperer Jnr grows up.

Flick often talked about how important it was to equip your kids for the world, but to never  fall into the trap of feeling sorry for them. The key, she claimed, was to not try to fix all their problems. If you swoop in to save your kids all the time, she said, it sends the message that you don’t have confidence in their ability to fix things for themselves. The job of a parent is to help build confidence, not undermine it.

In my view many research supervisors could take a leaf from Flick’s book of parenting.

I often encounter supervisors who think their primary job is to edit their student’s writing, but correcting is not helpful past a certain point because it disempowers people. It is far better to spend time teaching students how to avoid the mistakes in the first place, and then get out of their way. Standing back is not the same as being neglectful. Research students are highly capable adults. We need to respect their abilities and let them fix their own mistakes.

Be who you are

It was always easy tobuy presents for Flick; you knew what she liked. Her taste was eclectic and she was enthusiastic about all kinds of stuff. Someone  in the 18th century would have said Flick had ‘strong affections’.

She liked steampunk, celtic tattoos, spikey high heeled boots, Led Zepplin, Georgette Heyer novels, the history Wales, Nat King Cole, quilting, cable knitting, corsets, second life, Cafe del Mar, Jamie Oliver, purple hand luggage, Vince Jones, little big planet and cupcakes – just to name a few.

The thing I will remember most about Flick and her interests will be her enjoyment of them. No matter what anyone else thought, she was confident about what she liked was interesting and worthwhile. This was an attractive quality that drew people to her.

For instance, I’ll admit that I never understood her fascination with the online community Second Life. I’ll admit I was judgmental and thought Second Life was a waste of time, but I kept my thoughts to myself because Flick threw herself with enthusiasm into it and built relationships with many people there. After she died it was some measure of comfort for me to read about the SL community’s grief for her. SL was a creative outlet for Flick; a lot of the stuff she made in there was beautiful. I’ve included one of her SL avatar pics here because I think, in some ways, the self she made in SL was the most pure expression of her aesthetic interests.

What I take from this, for research practice, is the importance of curiosity – and following your interests with enthusiasm. I like to write academic papers about odd things: whingeing, food, hobbies. Sometimes I have a hard time getting these papers into the peer review process, perhaps because these topics don’t seem important to journal editors.

I write papers on more banal topics just to ‘get runs on the board’. While these kinds of papers are much easier to publish, my heart is not in them and they take an agonisingly long time to complete. I guess Flick would say sometimes we have to stick with the things that interest us in the face of indifference of others, gate keepers or not. Eventually, if you persist, such writings will find an audience who will appreciate them.

Thank you, dear reader, for staying with me this far and indulging my need to pay homage to my friend Flick. I found writing this helped me process the loss just a little bit. Now I’m wondering – have you had a friend pass who was precious to you? Did they teach you anything about life and work that you want to share?

Related Posts

Vale Professor Alison Lee

In memory of Maria Cugnetto

This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

17 thoughts on “What I learned from my friend Flick

  1. One upside of death is the opportunity to reflect and assess. Eulogies, wakes and anniversaries allow us to distill the essence of deceased family and friends. Perhaps it is their essence – remembered and used to adjust our own lives – which is their afterlife? Your post has introduced me to Flick and I am grateful for her vicarious lessons which I can include in my own life. Thank you for introducing us to Flick and her approach to life.

    • I agree, “thank you for introducing us to Flick and her approach to life” and for share your feelings about this gap, the gap…it could be a nice papers on a not so “banal topic”.

  2. Thank you for this post. I have just had a friend pass away last weekend, who meant the world to me too. She battled colon cancer at the age of 44yrs with no family history or symptoms prior to diagnosis. Her battle and her life were inspirational, she didn’t aspire to higher education as I have and continue to (doing an honours thesis in psych this year). I’m really struggling this week, your words have really helped me in respect to my friend and also my thesis. I’m going to be gentle with myself this week and the next few weeks and not panic too much about my studies. I’ve gotten this far, a few weeks off is not going to hurt me or my thesis.

    • My condolences :-( I’ve learned through this experience that loss of friends can be as hard as loss of family. Trying to get back to ‘normal’ is impossible because they leave a hole in your life. I guess it’s a case of learning to live with the hole, but not easy. Hang in there

  3. Lovely post, i am sure both of you were lucky to have each other as friends who understand and dont judge. Flick seems like a person who are gift in someones life. This hole in our life of loss of such a person is depriving and fulfilling with memories at the same time.

  4. My wonderful friend Nancy Foy Cameron, author of The Yin and Yang of Organisations and The Sun Never Sets on IBM, demon quilter, the Knitting Consultant who knitted through senior management meetings, died completely unexpectedly three years ago. She taught me — to quote Maya Angelou — to “seize life by the lapels and say: I’m with you, kid!”.
    She also taught me to edit the word ‘of’ out of my writing as much as possible – it clarifies, simplifies and makes the whole thing more elegant (and cuts down the word count tremendously!). She’s acknowledged in my thesis as having made a huge difference to my style, and to the fun of ‘Nancy-ing’ my prose.

  5. I stumbled over her after wordpress recommended your page, and my heart aches for you. So sorry for your loss- Flick sounds like she was an amazing person.

    I had a “second mother” figure die in December and I wrote this post as a tribute to her. Not quite as profound as your relationship with Flick, especially since we lost touch after I grew up, but it still struck me harder than I thought it would.

    Peace to you in your grief.

  6. A clever way to express your real-life experience and make it relevant to the mundane world of academe. Thank you for your thoughtful sharing.

  7. Pingback: Achy breaky heart: coping with academic rejection | The Thesis Whisperer

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s