“Enjoy the little things, for one day you may look back and realise they were the big things.” – Robert Brault

It’s funny, isn’t it?
 
You can do the same thing every week and barely notice it. You walk into the same meeting rooms, read the same reports, respond to the same emails, and for the most part, your brain glides on autopilot.
 
It is only when you know it is the last time you will do something that your attention sharpens. Suddenly familiar routines register in a way they never did before. The human brain is a funny thing.
 
I walked into a board meeting the other day, fully aware that it would be the last time I would do so as CEO of ASEL. I felt a strange mix of nostalgia and incredulity – a little like stepping into a film set I had known for years, only to realise I had never really noticed the scenery. At least, not properly.
 
Had the chairs always been arranged like that? Were the blinds always that colour? Presumably they were, but I had never paid attention. Clearly, I’d been going through life with my eyes half-shut. Or perhaps the more likely explanation is that I was usually so busy chasing my own tail that I rarely paused to take in the small details around me.
 
I have found that every “last time” moment of late carries its own quiet sense of nostalgia, even in the simplest rituals – like making my morning coffee, for instance.
 
Standing in the kitchen at ASEL Towers, waiting for the coffee to brew, I felt like a child counting down the sleeps until Christmas. In my head, I was ticking off the mornings left – only five more days to enjoy my favourite mug, I realised.
 
Is it just me, or does everyone in the office have a preferred mug? I certainly do. It must not be so big that it aches your arm, but not so small that it barely fills the hand. Perhaps it could even be my leaving present; I’ve grown rather fond of it over the past two years.
 
Fresh coffee in hand, I made my way back to my desk, and only then did I notice it: the faint squeak of my chair as I sat down. Admittedly I am probably not at my most alert at that time of day (hence the coffee), but how had I spent two years sitting in the same chair without ever hearing it?
 
Given my own apparent inattentiveness, it is perhaps no surprise that there’s a growing trend toward integrating mindfulness into the modern workplace. It might still seem a little “hipster” to some, and I’m not sure I would have had the patience or discipline to embrace it fully while juggling endless priorities, but this week I began to understand the value of pausing and taking the time to really notice my surroundings.
 
It’s important, I realise, because sometimes the smallest and most seemingly inconsequential details are the ones you’ll miss most when they’re gone (meeting rooms, coffee cups, and squeaky chairs being prime examples).
 
It goes without saying that I’ll miss the bigger things too, like my amazing colleagues, those brilliant meetings that somehow produced the ideas we didn’t even know we were looking for, and, of course, the legendary ASEL customer events.
 
But with every “last time” there are so many “first” times to look forward to. Like the first morning that I don’t have to set the alarm for 4:30am and scramble around in the dark trying to locate my shoes, all the while holding my breath in fear of waking my wife!
 
Or the first time I head out to coach my U13 ladies without having to worry about rushing back from a meeting and praying to the traffic gods that there isn’t an incident on the motorway.
 
And I am quite looking forward to the first leisurely evening dog walk where I don’t have to cut short Izzy and Badger’s fun because I have an 8:30pm Teams call with the States or an urgent report that needs to be filed.
 
That doesn’t mean come April you will find me twiddling my thumbs or sipping Château Margaux every lunch time. I should be so lucky! But life will hopefully afford me the opportunity to do things at a slightly more considered, leisurely pace.
 
So whilst next week will see me sign off my last email as Dan Hardy, CEO, it also marks the start of a new chapter in the life and times of Mr. Hardy.
 
And if you thought you’d heard the last of my musings, you’ll be pleased to know that I fully intend to keep you up-to-date with the occasional insight, observation, and wry reflection…  yer lucky lot!