I didn't plan any of this

I grew up in a fairly traditional family. My dad was a quiet, stoic man who worked incredibly hard. His focus was simple: look after his family and provide for them.

Like so many sons will say about their dad, he was my hero.

Dad didn’t really have hobbies or spend much time doing things for himself. He worked hard, did what he needed to do and, I suppose, the idea was that he’d have his fun when he retired.

Perhaps without realising it, I followed his example. I worked from a young age and, without any great career plan, eventually found myself in financial services.

I wasn’t particularly academic at school. University wasn’t something people in our family really talked about, and I certainly didn’t leave school expecting to build a career around technical knowledge.

In fact, I initially started taking professional exams for a much simpler reason. The more I knew, the better my sales figures became.

I’d love to pretend there was some great intellectual motivation behind it. There wasn’t. Not initially.

I discovered that I actually loved learning.

My dad worked hard throughout his life and retired at 64.

I would never presume to say what he thought about the life he’d lived. We weren’t particularly good at having those sorts of conversations.

But I know what his experience did to me.

A few years later, life changed again. I married Juliet, someone I’d first met many years earlier and with whom I’d always shared a very special connection.

We had a wonderfully happy few years together. We bought a home, got married, travelled, spent time with family and friends and enjoyed the ordinary things that make life good.

Losing her changed me profoundly. Not overnight. There wasn’t some sudden revelation where everything made sense.

It took years to properly understand what those experiences had taught me. But gradually I began to think differently about success, happiness, money — and particularly time.

When I was younger, I spent far too much time measuring success against other people. Career. Money. Cars. Houses. Who was doing better than whom.

From the outside, I probably looked confident. I didn’t always feel it.

I think I spent quite a lot of those years living the life I thought I was supposed to live, rather than stopping to ask what actually made me happy.

For me, a great life isn’t about having the biggest house, the most expensive car or an enormous pension.

Being comfortable with who I am. Having people around me who matter. Doing things. Learning. Laughing. Being useful.

And hopefully making a difference to a few people along the way.

Before starting Blue Sky, I’d spent decades working within larger financial organisations. Over time, I became increasingly uncomfortable when conversations about people became conversations about numbers.

Employees became “headcount”. Clients became revenue. And I increasingly heard decisions discussed in terms of what could be justified, rather than simply asking:

Eventually I realised I had a choice. I could stay somewhere that increasingly frustrated me, or I could try to build something that reflected what I actually believed.

By then, I was fortunate enough to have the financial security to make that choice. It didn’t make leaving easy. Starting again was frightening and there were plenty of reasons to stay where I was.

But I didn’t have to stay simply because I needed the money.

Blue Sky Family Wealth Management was created around a simple idea:

Not just their portfolios or their tax position. Their lives.

I’m certainly not claiming I’ve cracked the secret to a great life. I’m still figuring it out.

These days I’m starting a new chapter in Chester with Eva and Oska. I ski, play golf rather badly and I’m returning to hockey after a break of around 35 years, which may prove interesting.

I love travelling, particularly when there isn’t too much of a plan. Some of my favourite experiences have come from simply turning up somewhere and seeing what happens.

And then there’s my 1971 Triumph Stag. It’s beautiful, sounds glorious and introduces an element of uncertainty into even the simplest journey. Especially with Eva beside me and Oska on the back seat with his ears flapping in the wind.

I like doing things. Meeting people. Learning things. Trying things.

That doesn’t mean I’m fearless. Far from it. I’ve been terrified travelling alone. Starting Blue Sky frightened me. Walking into a room full of strangers can still make me uncomfortable. Steep ski slopes still scare me.

I once agreed to learn to dance and perform in front of 200 people for charity. I was terrified, got some of the steps wrong and even managed to lose where I was supposed to be in the dance.

But we raised a lot of money and I wouldn’t swap the experience.

I’ll still get things wrong. I’ll still make mistakes. I’m human.

But I’m much more comfortable being me than I was when I was younger.

If you’ve read this far, you probably know rather more about me than you expected to when you clicked “Meet Gary”.

If you’d like to find out whether we’d get along, let’s have a chat.