Stephen Gilmour on the Importance of Always Getting Back in the Saddle

Stephen Gilmour is director of sales and marketing for Agency Source.

He applies his nearly 15 years of sales expertise – and longtime multimedia marketing partnership with Agency Source founder Ross MacRae – to Agency Source’s US market, connecting agency creatives and production company sales teams with creative partners and future clients, all in one place.

He manages an international team responsible for scaling its global sales distribution.

"It's only a bit of water" and "It's only a bit of wood" are the two phrases I've carried with me my whole career. Things break, plans go awry, and accidents happen, but it's how you process it and carry on that matters. When shit really hits the fan, those end up being the days you remember, so, "Up you go, kiddo".

It was the summer of 2000, I had just finished school at 18, and wasn't sure where life would take me next. Rather than sit around waiting to decide on a college course, I took a job at my uncle Alex's wacky new project: a waterbus service on the River Clyde in Glasgow!

There are two particular incidents from this adventure that I remember as if they were yesterday. The feelings at the time, and lessons learned, have stuck with me.

The first occurred shortly after refuelling with diesel at the King George V Dock. I was at the wheel, as it had quickly become apparent that my uncle wasn't cut out for the controls. He was waiting, rope in hand, to jump off and get a quick knot in to secure us at the berth behind the Clyde Maritime Museum.

I pulled in, slowly reducing the power for a smooth entrance. I waited for the reassuring feeling of the boat being pulled to a stop... but instead, all I heard was SPLASH. He had slipped on some spilled diesel and down he went. I couldn't see him in the side mirror and had visions of me squishing him by the dock. I let the boat drift back out into the river, almost shaving the stern of the Kyles as I passed, before turning to see my uncle pulling himself out of the water onto the dock. The relief that I hadn't killed him was short-lived, replaced by the feeling of dread, now being alone on the 60-foot, 30-tonne boat in the middle of the River Clyde. We'd never trained for this. Two 180-degree turns and the slowest berthing manoeuvre later, and I cut the engine.

I was drenched in sweat, but he was obviously soaked head to toe. I was borderline traumatised, but he just laughed it off and said, "It's only a bit of water".

The second incident occurred on a stormy July morning. In retrospect, we shouldn't have been operating in those conditions, and boy was I glad I wasn't at the wheel as the water chopped and the wind battered us. There were only three of us on the boat, all staff, as even the hardy people of Glasgow have their limits, I guess.

When departing from our berth under the Broomielaw Bridge, the tide dragged the boat aft and to port. The stern battered off the bridge, and then the plastic life raft casing began to scrape the underside of the curved stone. Alex screamed at me to "push", so, with my feet on the underside of the bridge, and my back on the boat, I pushed… to no avail. The boat then twisted further; the wheelhouse itself was now scraping the underside. Finally, the glass panels shattered as the wheelhouse was ripped to pieces. Alex jumped out just in time and managed to wrestle control back as we drifted out. I drove home straight after – as the boat was now in no condition to sail – traumatised again, though much worse than before.

I proclaimed to my poor mother that it was too much responsibility for me and that I'd never do it again. But, 48 hours later, Alex laughed when I said the same to him. He pointed to the rebuilt wheelhouse and said, "It's only a bit of wood. Up you go, kiddo".

I've really looked up to my uncle Alex ever since. He had quit his job, remortgaged his house, and put it all on the line in a risky venture, all with the aim of being able to spend more time at home with his disabled daughter. Now, much older and with two daughters myself, I really admire his positive "get back in the saddle" outlook in the face of such an uphill struggle.

I think it struck such a chord because the incidents that rattled me and kept me awake at night seemed to just bounce right off him. If he was worried, there was no hint of it at the time, and he seemed to be able to operate as if everything was perfectly normal.

It made me realise that, most of the time, nothing is ever quite as bad as it seems in the moment. Getting back in the saddle and confronting the thing that's keeping you awake at night is the best way forward.

I've had many bad days at work (as we all have), but nothing will ever quite compare to having my feet on the underside of a bridge, trying to push a 30-tonne boat as the wheelhouse comes crashing down. Everything else seems tame and completely manageable in comparison.

I try (and usually fail) to pass this advice off to my daughters when they have something that is worrying them: to confront it head on rather than letting it consume you.