Not one for being engrossed in the conspiracies of the every
day, or the serendipitous loveliness that pours from Hollywood, or the auspicious
moments that seem to be dictated by ‘fate’ or some form or another of the
pre-destined, I am however quietly charmed by the sequence of eventualities
that happen after a slight twitch in decision making, that at the time bare no
significance, but now seem to have caused a significantly larger shift into
where I might have a pint, and say my name.
Currently stumbling through a potential career in architecture,
or some form of, I’m pretending to be someone of some knowledge when it comes
to knowing what I am doing with myself. In my current workplace there is an
acute sense that everyone ‘knows’ what they are about, what they have done, and
where they’re going, and with that comes a standard set of three questions that
are engrained in the everyone when first meeting each other (perhaps, but if I
didn’t say that then I couldn’t follow up with this rest of this).
1: What’s you name
2: Where did you study?
And…
3: How come you have ended up in architecture?
The first question is already an issue for me. Now I know my
name, I’ve been relatively confident with it for a number of years, and you’ll
think you’ll know my name once you’ve heard it, but put pen to paper, or search
it in the intranet, and you’ll be curious as to why an English fellow is either
eastern European, or so dyslexic (of which I am) that he can’t spell his own
name. Alas, in the pub, over a pint, Petr is fine…
The second of where I studied isn’t too problematic.
Ravensbourne, relatively shy in the world of league tables, relatively not shy
in its appearance.
It’s the third where I stumble, or have no credence to suggest
that I am a person knowing what this [architecture] is about, or that I dreamt
as a sprog to build the world, to be the architect of architects, to be a hero
of the designed world, because I didn’t, so I can’t. Alas the question is asked,
and as I search for reason, I go further back into the story to pin point just
this one moment of why, and I’m left with when Ben Maidment said ‘no’, which
meant that I’m in the pub, having a pint, saying my name, and explaining who
the hell Ben Maidment is.
Ben is an old student who went to school with me, I don’t
speak to him, wasn’t friends with him, and it would be of no consequence to him
to learn of what I was doing now, and ten years ago in he was asked by the head
of the year to go on a RAF work experience course. Oh, and he was tall. That’s
Ben.
If Ben had said yes, then I wouldn’t have gone on RAFVEP, and
I wouldn’t have been invited to join the air cadets. I wouldn’t have spent all
my time going to camps like the good little cadet I was, forgetting the need to
do college-y things.
Neither would have I become obsessed with the military, met
the like minded people that your promised, been convinced that the only career
for me was to fly some plans, come home for tea and medals, and pretend to know
that I had the whole possibly killing someone thing sorted in my head. I wouldn’t
have gone to Cranwell, failed the selection panel, been told to go travelling
around Asia, do it, and go back to Cranwell only to fail again. I wouldn’t have
known that Nasal Polyps really are irritating on both the day to day breathing
sniffs and a danger to national security. I wouldn’t have cried my eyes out in
the middle of the OASC with the panic that my career aspirations had reduced to
nothing. I wouldn’t have had my family search for options. I wouldn’t have had
my brother call his old tutor to arrange an interview that turned into a place
at university. I wouldn’t have gone to Ravensbourne to study the same design
course as he had. I wouldn’t have had the support structure that was the only
way that I was going to do well. I wouldn’t have met the industry people that I
needed to. I wouldn’t have been gifted job opportunities. I wouldn’t have gone
to free range to show work, and I wouldn’t have been given an interview for my
current job that resulted in me working there for a while to build up enough confidence
to go out for a social drink to order a pint of Stella, sit opposite this
person that I haven’t met before, say my name, and talk about who the hell Ben
Maidment is.
But he said No. And I was the second choice.
So I had my pint, I said my name, and I get to pretend that I
know what I’m doing.
