The sea is for thrill seekers
I've spent many cold mornings walking along abandoned beaches, searching for the remains of sand dollars and sea urchins, sea glass and skimming stones.
Over the years I've noticed the appearance of sand dollars and sea urchins becoming more infrequent. As a child I'd collect dozens of bleached sand dollars in an hour's walk. But as the years went by, there were fewer and fewer. Sometimes it would be days before I found the whitened husk of a sand dollar or urchin. Other years, I'd walk and every twenty metres I'd find one. I wonder if there are fewer remaining colonies, or is it the tides and waves that have become tougher adversaries?
So today I collect sea glass, pebbles and shells to nurture the child-like delight I feel each time I spot a frosty green mermaid's tear resting amidst pebbles. I find the cool smoothness of skimming stones satisfying, so easily slipped into pockets to be caressed throughout the day -- worry stones to carry around. And collected shells, well they become trumpets of the sea-- cupped over ears to revive me when weather or work conditions keep me far from gull-filled shores.
When I was little, I was quite mischievous(or so I thought!). I'd carry my discovered artefacts from one beach to another place - some undulating meadow or pine grove -- and deposit them there, hoping my actions would confuse future archaeologists who found piles of shells in forests miles and miles from any nearby ocean.
There were other times when I became a true eco-warrior. I remember one lavender morning, as my feet touched down on dry sand, I looked towards the water's edge and to my horror saw hundreds of stranded starfish - barely covered with sand and water. I spent the whole morning moving the starfish into waist deep water, hoping they'd be sheltered from the retreating tide and oscillating waves.
Life is so much like the sea - the vastness, the unpredictability, the beauty. We are all children (or starfish) in its midst. Each day brings some new adventure, dilemma or drama.
The bigness of the sea (or life) reminds us we are small; and in our smallness we throw ourselves at it, thrilled by chance and risk - of becoming drowned, of washing up somewhere exotic, of drifting aimlessly, of navigating with purpose, of doing it all at once.
I think we must all be thrill seekers- whether we choose to admire life in paintings or to be in amongst the waves, to collect its treasures or just simply watch it from a distance-- we are captivated.
That is why boys try to conquer it by throwing stones. And girls, well of course there is a duality in how we perceive it - one minute we are frightened by its power, and the next we are enthralled by its danger.
In the end, we become those small stones and bits of glass scattered on the beach, weathered by the water and wind that just keep coming, day after day, minute after minute. We are shaped by the ocean's path, the current, the storms and especially the surges.
It is a mystery where we will end up, what we will look like after the erosion. Hopefully somewhere beautiful, even if when we get there we're a bit smaller and worn down, less proud but more humble.
Wednesday, 17 December 2008
Tuesday, 11 November 2008
Remembrance Day, 11th November 2008 - words for the day
Remembrance Day, 11th November 2008 - words for the day
Elysium Fields
(Remembrance Valley Unwrapped)
Perfumed, purple-spired orchids beneath feet,
A thistle blanket scratching a chest, a chin.
Badgered-hills border a fine grass-textured sea.
You swim through silver birches,
Are swallowed in waves of ultra-violet bluebells, dog's mercury.
At night this moon-stained valley sleeps in ribbons of green.
Each Dawn awakens to find you scattered amongst untidy wrappings
As world-worn eyes gently reveal what lies within.
Can I lighten a crinkled, fret-strained brow,
Offer some well-deserved reprieve
To you who fumble to retrieve twice-lost spectacles,
Now forgotten atop a rain-spotted windowsill?
Stretched before you, a verdant path marks the way
Into an Elysian heaven
Where poppies fall from walls of a private gallery,
Absorbed by the belated softness of whimpering Fathers
Who press cherry-blossom kisses into gloved hands,
Held together in tribute to all who passed before you.
Look closely for the remains of sable-hair brush left behind.
Remember the thorn-ridden walk through Mother's hall of fame.
Hear this whispered plea:
Wait. Return Darwinian-scarred warrior.
Walk in this eternal bliss.
Follow the other laughing brook.
Most beloved friend, truant child,
heart of my heart, how can it be that time already?
Please, please let me usher you home again.
Reluctantly Fabulous, 2008
Sacrifice: the losing or surrender of something for the sake of a greater; to give up or lose something for the sake of an ideal or end.
Hero: a person admired for special courage, nobility or great achievements.
Honour: to regard with deep respect.
Remembrance: an act of recalling to mind.
Elysium Fields
(Remembrance Valley Unwrapped)
Perfumed, purple-spired orchids beneath feet,
A thistle blanket scratching a chest, a chin.
Badgered-hills border a fine grass-textured sea.
You swim through silver birches,
Are swallowed in waves of ultra-violet bluebells, dog's mercury.
At night this moon-stained valley sleeps in ribbons of green.
Each Dawn awakens to find you scattered amongst untidy wrappings
As world-worn eyes gently reveal what lies within.
Can I lighten a crinkled, fret-strained brow,
Offer some well-deserved reprieve
To you who fumble to retrieve twice-lost spectacles,
Now forgotten atop a rain-spotted windowsill?
Stretched before you, a verdant path marks the way
Into an Elysian heaven
Where poppies fall from walls of a private gallery,
Absorbed by the belated softness of whimpering Fathers
Who press cherry-blossom kisses into gloved hands,
Held together in tribute to all who passed before you.
Look closely for the remains of sable-hair brush left behind.
Remember the thorn-ridden walk through Mother's hall of fame.
Hear this whispered plea:
Wait. Return Darwinian-scarred warrior.
Walk in this eternal bliss.
Follow the other laughing brook.
Most beloved friend, truant child,
heart of my heart, how can it be that time already?
Please, please let me usher you home again.
Reluctantly Fabulous, 2008
Sacrifice: the losing or surrender of something for the sake of a greater; to give up or lose something for the sake of an ideal or end.
Hero: a person admired for special courage, nobility or great achievements.
Honour: to regard with deep respect.
Remembrance: an act of recalling to mind.
Sunday, 2 November 2008
Parental guidance
Families really do make strange dancing partners
As our kids struggle to become adults, we struggle to remain youthful. The closer they get to adulthood, the keener we are on slowing down the clock, refusing to admit we are heading towards our mid-life stages. Together we become an incongruent dancing team, each moving in different directions, each trying to throw down our individual mantle of responsibility (or inevitability). You can relax now - this post is not going to become a long list bemoaning assorted parental failings. It's more about observations.
First I'd like to add a bit of a disclaimer about the making of Reluctantly Fabulous. Let us start with the premise that not everything in this blog is personal. The ramblings scribed here are more of a collective consciousness representing the discovered kinship between assorted people. Maybe we can think of ourselves as a secret society of challenged parents, bemused friends, speckled teenagers and their siblings, a few work colleagues, various people I meet randomly at the gym, in the post office, and even in the check out queue at Waitrose, as well as a spattering of partners in various stages of attachment-- lovers, exes, comrades in arms, etc.
In this house, parental guidance is a loose term applied around here. No doubt I should be more strict, or is it less severe; perhaps we need more structure, or maybe less rigidity? Whatever it is, rest assured that at any given moment, what is needed at that point in time will not be what I am.
That said, as I sit here writing this blog entry, my daughter is looking at me and saying something like: 'Aren't you slumming it down a bit too much for the day. Your t-shirt is too long. I'm pretty sure you wouldn't let me leave the house wearing that."
Suddenly the conveyer belt of time has reversed itself and I find myself standing in front of my Mum as a teenager wearing a short denim skirt, striped tights and combat boots. My hair is not dyed black, I've no make-up on, but I am pulling a leather jacket on over a torn t-shirt.... There she stands with a wrinkled look on her brow, her lips are pursed, she is poised to pass judgement on my attire - ‘Are you really going out looking like that?' (Or some other censoring comment.) That's why I am sliding nearer to the door, preparing to escape.
Fast forward: 2008....
I'm sure we all have some such memory. For me, it is this kind of interaction which brought me to where I am today (LOL - it is indeed all my parents' fault!). Realistically, I never wanted the chasm between my children and me to be as wide as it was between my parents and me. I wanted to be their friend. I wanted to be a cool Mum.
That is why I am somewhat of a reluctant, incidental Mother. As the parent of two teenagers, of course I have to pull the parent card - we all do. And, yes, it often leaves me white-lipped and trembling. My role preference has always been to be the fun Aunt, the playful friend, even the co-conspirator. Even now I have a second niece who is threatening to visit us here in England for a year: she needs a break, wants to get away. And I am willing to give her the opportunity, provided it is done responsibly and she becomes an active, productive participant in our little tribe.
As this new drama is unfolding across broadband lines and continents, my kids want to know why they don't have a cool aunt like me! Humph - somehow they are missing the point. I skip over the obvious comment, however, and instead remind them that they do have a cool uncle - and he lives in NY (how much cooler could you get than the opportunity to spend months within 10 miles of NYC)!
Wrestling the reigns of control from our intentional loose-grip
Admittedly, the cool aunt, reluctant mother role only works to a certain point. Despite the constant speeches about independence, these teenagers (like us) want to be coddled. Teens, like their weary parents, really just want and need to be nurtured. They want to be loved when they are good and bad (don't we all?). Maybe that is why when they feel they are not being nurtured enough they find some fantastically dramatic way of telling us.
No, talking is not as easy at it looks. Communicating any need to any one else implies vulnerability. Who wants to wear their soft spot on their jacket? Why be a soft-shelled crab when you can be a barracuda? That is why discussions become prickly accusations, comments are construed as criticism, conversations change direction like the weather. It is all about protection, smoke and mirrors, or some similar ploy to make us appear tough when all we want to be is wobbly jelly.
I found my armour in a leather jacket and combat boots. Our sons are hiding behind fringe which is just too long. Our daughters are smoking, staying out much too late and don't call home as much. Our kids are pitching up with bulimia, anorexia, binge-drinking, promiscuity, and a raft of other things.
If you've ever felt like the reigns of your household are up for grabs, ask yourself these questions: Who is the parent in your family? Are you the Mum or Dad, or the child? How often? And with what attitude? Who nurture's who? When you or your kids walk through the door, who offers to make the other one a cup of tea? How long does the 'how was your day' conversation last? Is there even a conversation?
Whether we are the parent or the child (physically and mentally), maybe it is good to be a bit more tolerant of bad behaviour, to embrace our immaturity, to look forward to our mistakes. Maybe these things happen because we need the opportunity to discover ourselves, our children and our humanity.
As our kids struggle to become adults, we struggle to remain youthful. The closer they get to adulthood, the keener we are on slowing down the clock, refusing to admit we are heading towards our mid-life stages. Together we become an incongruent dancing team, each moving in different directions, each trying to throw down our individual mantle of responsibility (or inevitability). You can relax now - this post is not going to become a long list bemoaning assorted parental failings. It's more about observations.
First I'd like to add a bit of a disclaimer about the making of Reluctantly Fabulous. Let us start with the premise that not everything in this blog is personal. The ramblings scribed here are more of a collective consciousness representing the discovered kinship between assorted people. Maybe we can think of ourselves as a secret society of challenged parents, bemused friends, speckled teenagers and their siblings, a few work colleagues, various people I meet randomly at the gym, in the post office, and even in the check out queue at Waitrose, as well as a spattering of partners in various stages of attachment-- lovers, exes, comrades in arms, etc.
In this house, parental guidance is a loose term applied around here. No doubt I should be more strict, or is it less severe; perhaps we need more structure, or maybe less rigidity? Whatever it is, rest assured that at any given moment, what is needed at that point in time will not be what I am.
That said, as I sit here writing this blog entry, my daughter is looking at me and saying something like: 'Aren't you slumming it down a bit too much for the day. Your t-shirt is too long. I'm pretty sure you wouldn't let me leave the house wearing that."
Suddenly the conveyer belt of time has reversed itself and I find myself standing in front of my Mum as a teenager wearing a short denim skirt, striped tights and combat boots. My hair is not dyed black, I've no make-up on, but I am pulling a leather jacket on over a torn t-shirt.... There she stands with a wrinkled look on her brow, her lips are pursed, she is poised to pass judgement on my attire - ‘Are you really going out looking like that?' (Or some other censoring comment.) That's why I am sliding nearer to the door, preparing to escape.
Fast forward: 2008....
I'm sure we all have some such memory. For me, it is this kind of interaction which brought me to where I am today (LOL - it is indeed all my parents' fault!). Realistically, I never wanted the chasm between my children and me to be as wide as it was between my parents and me. I wanted to be their friend. I wanted to be a cool Mum.
That is why I am somewhat of a reluctant, incidental Mother. As the parent of two teenagers, of course I have to pull the parent card - we all do. And, yes, it often leaves me white-lipped and trembling. My role preference has always been to be the fun Aunt, the playful friend, even the co-conspirator. Even now I have a second niece who is threatening to visit us here in England for a year: she needs a break, wants to get away. And I am willing to give her the opportunity, provided it is done responsibly and she becomes an active, productive participant in our little tribe.
As this new drama is unfolding across broadband lines and continents, my kids want to know why they don't have a cool aunt like me! Humph - somehow they are missing the point. I skip over the obvious comment, however, and instead remind them that they do have a cool uncle - and he lives in NY (how much cooler could you get than the opportunity to spend months within 10 miles of NYC)!
Wrestling the reigns of control from our intentional loose-grip
Admittedly, the cool aunt, reluctant mother role only works to a certain point. Despite the constant speeches about independence, these teenagers (like us) want to be coddled. Teens, like their weary parents, really just want and need to be nurtured. They want to be loved when they are good and bad (don't we all?). Maybe that is why when they feel they are not being nurtured enough they find some fantastically dramatic way of telling us.
No, talking is not as easy at it looks. Communicating any need to any one else implies vulnerability. Who wants to wear their soft spot on their jacket? Why be a soft-shelled crab when you can be a barracuda? That is why discussions become prickly accusations, comments are construed as criticism, conversations change direction like the weather. It is all about protection, smoke and mirrors, or some similar ploy to make us appear tough when all we want to be is wobbly jelly.
I found my armour in a leather jacket and combat boots. Our sons are hiding behind fringe which is just too long. Our daughters are smoking, staying out much too late and don't call home as much. Our kids are pitching up with bulimia, anorexia, binge-drinking, promiscuity, and a raft of other things.
If you've ever felt like the reigns of your household are up for grabs, ask yourself these questions: Who is the parent in your family? Are you the Mum or Dad, or the child? How often? And with what attitude? Who nurture's who? When you or your kids walk through the door, who offers to make the other one a cup of tea? How long does the 'how was your day' conversation last? Is there even a conversation?
Whether we are the parent or the child (physically and mentally), maybe it is good to be a bit more tolerant of bad behaviour, to embrace our immaturity, to look forward to our mistakes. Maybe these things happen because we need the opportunity to discover ourselves, our children and our humanity.
Thursday, 30 October 2008
The Meaning of Happiness
THE GOOD LIFE—THE MEANING OF HAPPINESS
Over the course of the last week there's been a lot of discussion amongst various friends and family about happiness- what defines it, how does it define you, what is it exactly, why for some does it seem to be illusive, and for others everpresent? A few months ago, I found one of the Yahoo Question / Answer forums - and someone posted the question - Can anyone explain happiness?
And then coincidently, another article appeared about the impact of happiness
on longevity—based on the findings of a soon to be published study on
the subject. Here are some excerpts from the article: Happiness itself, according to the specialists, is generally accepted as "the overall appreciation of one's life as a whole", in other words a state of mind best defined by the person questioned. "Happiness does not heal, but happiness protects against falling ill," says Ruut Veenhoven of Rotterdam's Erasmus University in a study soon to be published. After reviewing 30 studies carried out worldwide over periods ranging from one to 60 years, the Dutch professor said the effects of happiness on longevity were "comparable to that of smoking or not".
ACHIEVING GOALS VERSUS APPRECIATING THE PROCESS
Let's face it, from the very early stages of our youth we are taught to be goal-oriented. As babies, our parents make note of all the firsts - first smile, first laugh, first time we sleep through the night, first steps, first words, first kiss, first job, first everything.
In school we are expected to get good grades - grades are what are used to gauge our progress, track our success, measure our value. We are compared to others. In sport, we are picked for teams based on performance- who can stop the most goals, who can run the furthest, who can swim the fastest, who can serve the toughest ball. If lucky you are picked first; but if you were like me, you were picked last, or over a coin toss because neither team captain wanted you on their bench.
Somewhere in all this quest to be the best, or to have the best, both parent and child lost sight of the bigger picture. And even if a parent, friend or teacher said, 'It doesn't matter what you get as long as you try your best,' did we really think that was any consolation? How many of us have actually enjoyed being slapped on the back and congratulated for just enjoying ourselves while being mediocre (or even failing)?
When you finally grow up and get a job, you are rewarded for excellence and productivity. You are promoted. You receive pay increases. You find a partner, you get a dog or cat, have a child, and repeat the cycle, over and over again- accumulate more stuff, drive a faster car, buy a bigger house. Did you lose yourself along the way? Are you floundering in the overwhelming tide of things to do? Are we just content to be hamsters, running on our treadmill, waiting for someone to throw us a treat for good behaviour (as defined by some external source that sits on the other side of our glass enclosure)? If we're lucky, maybe through some stroke of luck (usually bad luck), we are given a chance to wake up, to wonder out loud if we might have missed the point.
PROCESS VERSUS PRODUCT
We've all read a book or two in our lifetime. Sometimes our favourite books become films. We've devoured this book with zeal, and eagerly anticipate the premier. But surprisingly, when we walk out of the cinema, we're left with the feeling that perhaps the film missed the mark. As we wind our way home, we start comparing scenes from the movie with chapters we've read. Was the book better than the film, or, was what we imagined better? Somewhere in our minds, we built up the story, depicted the characters, filled in the blanks - and we did a great job of it - created an award winning script. Then this film comes along, and let's us down - what we imagined the heroine looked like was so much better, etc.
I think we have the capacity to do this in everything we experience. For whatever reason, we weave a story and become so enamoured with that story that it takes on a life of its own. (Ok - I'm not talking delusional, just embellishment.) And before we know it, we've created a whole script that we really prefer, especially the ending.
DESIRE BREEDS DISCONTENT
If being goal-oriented is all we know, then in our nature I think we are prone to being discontent. If we attach ourselves to the story, rather than the reality, and we carry on down that road in anticipation of an end where everything works out just as we imagined, then we become disappointed when the script changes unexpectedly. Sometimes life turns out ok, sometimes there's a hairpin curve we didn't anticipate. Focusing on the outcome paves the way to disappointment. It is not the story we've invented or the end we envisioned which is important. What matters is how things unfold.
If we shifted our focus to the 'now' and enjoyed the process, no matter what it represents in the middle, I think the opportunity to achieve sustainable happiness is significantly higher. For example, if I decide I'd like to lose weight, there are things I will need to do to achieve this goal which could include any combination of dieting, exercise, lifestyle changes, etc. If I focus on losing the weight, rather than the process of losing the weight, then I am operating in the future, rather than focusing on today. By shifting my focus to the process- exploring different foods, choosing sport or walking activities that provide exercise, but also emotional nurturing, walking to the shop rather than driving, etc., then I probably will forget that the goal is to lose weight, and will enjoy the processes I have adopted as a result. So what started as the goal becomes a byproduct of a process, simply by shifting my focus from the outcome to the means.
SO WHAT IS THE MEANING OF HAPPINESS
That's why I try to focus on the process. If we think about the process, rather than the outcome, isn't that better? If we desire anything - to be the headboy, or a director, or a home-owner, we strive to achieve this goal. What happens when we attain it? Are we satisfied when we get it, or do we then look for the next big thing? I can't answer this definitively. But I can say this makes it harder than necessary to be good or happy. In the absence of any empirical evidence, I defer to a far deeper thinker - our good Greek friend Aristotle.
Aristotle defined the function of being human (i.e., human purpose) when he stated, "if we declare that the function of man is a certain form of life, and define that form of life as the exercise of the soul's faculties and activities in association with rational principle, and say that the function of a good man is to perform these activities well and rightly, and if a function is well performed when it is performed in accordance with its own proper excellence--from these premises it follows that the Good of man is the active exercise of his soul’s faculties in conformity with excellence or virtue, or if there be several human excellences or virtues, in conformity with the best and most perfect among them"- (Book I, Ch. 7 PP Nic+Eth.1098a 14-15).
In other words, the overall human function is the soul's activity which expresses or requires reason. The activity of reasoning is what makes you human. The essence of being human is having the ability to reason: all humans possess the essence, but not all function according to it (some have the ability, but do not use it). Furthermore, all human actions taken together comprise the good. Everything we do throughout our lives contributes to the overall function with its own individual quality. If we live well, i.e., according to the proper virtues, this will allow us to achieve what the Greeks called 'eudaimonia'.
WHAT IS EUDAIMONIA?
Most things are desired for the sake of something else (e.g., we desire food because we want to be healthy), but Aristotle argued that there must be something desired only for its own sake. This he identified as happiness, well-being or flourishing (Greek eudaimonia literally "having a good guardian spirit"). When asked "Why do you desire this?" and then "Well, why do you desire that?" in response to each answer, many people will eventually stop at "in order to be happy." Eudaimonia is not a means to an end, but an end in itself—in fact, Aristotle argued that it was commonly recognized as the ultimate goal of life (Book I, Ch. 4). Happiness thus understood is not a mood or temporary state, but a state achieved through a lifetime of virtuous action, accompanied by some measure of good fortune.
INTELLECTUAL AND MORAL VIRTUES
Aristotle divides the virtues into intellectual and moral virtues. Each of these virtues can be acquired through practice over time. A person becomes more courageous by continually choosing courageous acts over cowardly or foolhardy ones, for example.
THE HAPPY MEDIAN
Each virtue falls between two vices. Virtue is like the mean because it is the intermediate between two vices. On this model a triad is formed with one vice on either end (excess or deficiency) and the virtue as the intermediate. If one’s character is too near either vice, then the person will incur blame but if one’s character is near the intermediate, the person deserves praise. Proper participation in each of these three pillars is necessary for a person to lead a virtuous and therefore happy life.
UNDERSTANING VIRTUES
See if you can understand what the excess and the deficiency are for each virtue, and, whether the excess or the deficiency is the more "attractive" vice, and why.
Aritstotle’s Nichomachean Ethics
http://pages.interlog.com/~girbe/virtuesvices.html
WHAT IF THIS IS AS GOOD AS IT GETS?
Let me end this too-long entry with a few words from the movie 'As Good as it Gets.' In the film, Jack Nicholson's character 'Melvin Udall' – a cantankerous, acidic individual-- suffers from obsessive compulsive disorder. You couldn't find a more repulsive character to remind us of our own humanity.
As the film develops, through increased interaction between the different characters (even the dog), it becomes clear that it is harder to take the time to look at people and appreciate life as it is handed to us than to descend into our own fantasies, or obsessions. And that even though it might be easier to overlook (or indeed nearly impossible to see) the good side in people, in most cases, it really is there, if only we would stop to notice and explore it. In one compelling scene, Melvin walks out of his analyst's office into a waiting-room full of patients and says – "What if this is as good as it gets?"
In the last few months I have been so blown away by the quality of people with whom I've been interacting? Each day this sphere of brilliant people expands. In truth, everyday it seems as if some other amazing person comes across my path. And when I say amazing, I don't mean Einstein-like, or Nobel-prize winning types of people. I mean regular people, with their own dilemmas and quirks and strengths. Real people who have their own ways of coping with life using humour, patience, wit, work, exercise, sex, prayer, people, school, travel, money, shopping... you name it, in any and all combinations. And while not all coping mechanisms are created equal, it is interesting to see how and when individuals apply them.
In all, I think we see what we want to see– through our own lens, which is only a reflection of what we ourselves are thinking. So what if this is as good as it gets. I'm OK with that. How does it make you feel? I am grateful because most days I want to walk out the door and say thank you all the time. Does that mean I am happy? I'm not sure, but whatever it is, I wish I had a way of bottling it up like some Bach's Flower Remedy. Whatever it is I am feeling, I'd really like to share it. :-)
Over the course of the last week there's been a lot of discussion amongst various friends and family about happiness- what defines it, how does it define you, what is it exactly, why for some does it seem to be illusive, and for others everpresent? A few months ago, I found one of the Yahoo Question / Answer forums - and someone posted the question - Can anyone explain happiness?
And then coincidently, another article appeared about the impact of happiness
on longevity—based on the findings of a soon to be published study on
the subject. Here are some excerpts from the article: Happiness itself, according to the specialists, is generally accepted as "the overall appreciation of one's life as a whole", in other words a state of mind best defined by the person questioned. "Happiness does not heal, but happiness protects against falling ill," says Ruut Veenhoven of Rotterdam's Erasmus University in a study soon to be published. After reviewing 30 studies carried out worldwide over periods ranging from one to 60 years, the Dutch professor said the effects of happiness on longevity were "comparable to that of smoking or not".
ACHIEVING GOALS VERSUS APPRECIATING THE PROCESS
Let's face it, from the very early stages of our youth we are taught to be goal-oriented. As babies, our parents make note of all the firsts - first smile, first laugh, first time we sleep through the night, first steps, first words, first kiss, first job, first everything.
In school we are expected to get good grades - grades are what are used to gauge our progress, track our success, measure our value. We are compared to others. In sport, we are picked for teams based on performance- who can stop the most goals, who can run the furthest, who can swim the fastest, who can serve the toughest ball. If lucky you are picked first; but if you were like me, you were picked last, or over a coin toss because neither team captain wanted you on their bench.
Somewhere in all this quest to be the best, or to have the best, both parent and child lost sight of the bigger picture. And even if a parent, friend or teacher said, 'It doesn't matter what you get as long as you try your best,' did we really think that was any consolation? How many of us have actually enjoyed being slapped on the back and congratulated for just enjoying ourselves while being mediocre (or even failing)?
When you finally grow up and get a job, you are rewarded for excellence and productivity. You are promoted. You receive pay increases. You find a partner, you get a dog or cat, have a child, and repeat the cycle, over and over again- accumulate more stuff, drive a faster car, buy a bigger house. Did you lose yourself along the way? Are you floundering in the overwhelming tide of things to do? Are we just content to be hamsters, running on our treadmill, waiting for someone to throw us a treat for good behaviour (as defined by some external source that sits on the other side of our glass enclosure)? If we're lucky, maybe through some stroke of luck (usually bad luck), we are given a chance to wake up, to wonder out loud if we might have missed the point.
PROCESS VERSUS PRODUCT
We've all read a book or two in our lifetime. Sometimes our favourite books become films. We've devoured this book with zeal, and eagerly anticipate the premier. But surprisingly, when we walk out of the cinema, we're left with the feeling that perhaps the film missed the mark. As we wind our way home, we start comparing scenes from the movie with chapters we've read. Was the book better than the film, or, was what we imagined better? Somewhere in our minds, we built up the story, depicted the characters, filled in the blanks - and we did a great job of it - created an award winning script. Then this film comes along, and let's us down - what we imagined the heroine looked like was so much better, etc.
I think we have the capacity to do this in everything we experience. For whatever reason, we weave a story and become so enamoured with that story that it takes on a life of its own. (Ok - I'm not talking delusional, just embellishment.) And before we know it, we've created a whole script that we really prefer, especially the ending.
DESIRE BREEDS DISCONTENT
If being goal-oriented is all we know, then in our nature I think we are prone to being discontent. If we attach ourselves to the story, rather than the reality, and we carry on down that road in anticipation of an end where everything works out just as we imagined, then we become disappointed when the script changes unexpectedly. Sometimes life turns out ok, sometimes there's a hairpin curve we didn't anticipate. Focusing on the outcome paves the way to disappointment. It is not the story we've invented or the end we envisioned which is important. What matters is how things unfold.
If we shifted our focus to the 'now' and enjoyed the process, no matter what it represents in the middle, I think the opportunity to achieve sustainable happiness is significantly higher. For example, if I decide I'd like to lose weight, there are things I will need to do to achieve this goal which could include any combination of dieting, exercise, lifestyle changes, etc. If I focus on losing the weight, rather than the process of losing the weight, then I am operating in the future, rather than focusing on today. By shifting my focus to the process- exploring different foods, choosing sport or walking activities that provide exercise, but also emotional nurturing, walking to the shop rather than driving, etc., then I probably will forget that the goal is to lose weight, and will enjoy the processes I have adopted as a result. So what started as the goal becomes a byproduct of a process, simply by shifting my focus from the outcome to the means.
SO WHAT IS THE MEANING OF HAPPINESS
That's why I try to focus on the process. If we think about the process, rather than the outcome, isn't that better? If we desire anything - to be the headboy, or a director, or a home-owner, we strive to achieve this goal. What happens when we attain it? Are we satisfied when we get it, or do we then look for the next big thing? I can't answer this definitively. But I can say this makes it harder than necessary to be good or happy. In the absence of any empirical evidence, I defer to a far deeper thinker - our good Greek friend Aristotle.
Aristotle defined the function of being human (i.e., human purpose) when he stated, "if we declare that the function of man is a certain form of life, and define that form of life as the exercise of the soul's faculties and activities in association with rational principle, and say that the function of a good man is to perform these activities well and rightly, and if a function is well performed when it is performed in accordance with its own proper excellence--from these premises it follows that the Good of man is the active exercise of his soul’s faculties in conformity with excellence or virtue, or if there be several human excellences or virtues, in conformity with the best and most perfect among them"- (Book I, Ch. 7 PP Nic+Eth.1098a 14-15).
In other words, the overall human function is the soul's activity which expresses or requires reason. The activity of reasoning is what makes you human. The essence of being human is having the ability to reason: all humans possess the essence, but not all function according to it (some have the ability, but do not use it). Furthermore, all human actions taken together comprise the good. Everything we do throughout our lives contributes to the overall function with its own individual quality. If we live well, i.e., according to the proper virtues, this will allow us to achieve what the Greeks called 'eudaimonia'.
WHAT IS EUDAIMONIA?
Most things are desired for the sake of something else (e.g., we desire food because we want to be healthy), but Aristotle argued that there must be something desired only for its own sake. This he identified as happiness, well-being or flourishing (Greek eudaimonia literally "having a good guardian spirit"). When asked "Why do you desire this?" and then "Well, why do you desire that?" in response to each answer, many people will eventually stop at "in order to be happy." Eudaimonia is not a means to an end, but an end in itself—in fact, Aristotle argued that it was commonly recognized as the ultimate goal of life (Book I, Ch. 4). Happiness thus understood is not a mood or temporary state, but a state achieved through a lifetime of virtuous action, accompanied by some measure of good fortune.
INTELLECTUAL AND MORAL VIRTUES
Aristotle divides the virtues into intellectual and moral virtues. Each of these virtues can be acquired through practice over time. A person becomes more courageous by continually choosing courageous acts over cowardly or foolhardy ones, for example.
THE HAPPY MEDIAN
Each virtue falls between two vices. Virtue is like the mean because it is the intermediate between two vices. On this model a triad is formed with one vice on either end (excess or deficiency) and the virtue as the intermediate. If one’s character is too near either vice, then the person will incur blame but if one’s character is near the intermediate, the person deserves praise. Proper participation in each of these three pillars is necessary for a person to lead a virtuous and therefore happy life.
UNDERSTANING VIRTUES
See if you can understand what the excess and the deficiency are for each virtue, and, whether the excess or the deficiency is the more "attractive" vice, and why.
Aritstotle’s Nichomachean Ethics
http://pages.interlog.com/~girbe/virtuesvices.html
WHAT IF THIS IS AS GOOD AS IT GETS?
Let me end this too-long entry with a few words from the movie 'As Good as it Gets.' In the film, Jack Nicholson's character 'Melvin Udall' – a cantankerous, acidic individual-- suffers from obsessive compulsive disorder. You couldn't find a more repulsive character to remind us of our own humanity.
As the film develops, through increased interaction between the different characters (even the dog), it becomes clear that it is harder to take the time to look at people and appreciate life as it is handed to us than to descend into our own fantasies, or obsessions. And that even though it might be easier to overlook (or indeed nearly impossible to see) the good side in people, in most cases, it really is there, if only we would stop to notice and explore it. In one compelling scene, Melvin walks out of his analyst's office into a waiting-room full of patients and says – "What if this is as good as it gets?"
In the last few months I have been so blown away by the quality of people with whom I've been interacting? Each day this sphere of brilliant people expands. In truth, everyday it seems as if some other amazing person comes across my path. And when I say amazing, I don't mean Einstein-like, or Nobel-prize winning types of people. I mean regular people, with their own dilemmas and quirks and strengths. Real people who have their own ways of coping with life using humour, patience, wit, work, exercise, sex, prayer, people, school, travel, money, shopping... you name it, in any and all combinations. And while not all coping mechanisms are created equal, it is interesting to see how and when individuals apply them.
In all, I think we see what we want to see– through our own lens, which is only a reflection of what we ourselves are thinking. So what if this is as good as it gets. I'm OK with that. How does it make you feel? I am grateful because most days I want to walk out the door and say thank you all the time. Does that mean I am happy? I'm not sure, but whatever it is, I wish I had a way of bottling it up like some Bach's Flower Remedy. Whatever it is I am feeling, I'd really like to share it. :-)
Monday, 20 October 2008
Moving day bloopers
Round 2 - Moving day bloopers
Hello - I thought I'd send this out to you while I still had some connectivity....and sanity, and a marginal sense of humour....
First, a special thanks to all of you who came to my aid, sending jokes via text message and email. All greatly appreciated.
Special mentions to my brother who responded to my email saying - "I'd send a joke, but if I just put my name on this email and send it back to you, you'll have a good laugh."
Another friend sent me Dharma comics and a very appropriate quote about the ability to laugh at one's own foolishness... very funny, ha, ha!
Conversely, I rec'd one with assorted pictures of when it is OK to use the F word (highly appropriate); a vomiting pumpkin; a couple of text jokes that I cannot repeat (but will admit that I laughed at them); some corrections to my grammar; response to what a parky is (some very British word used as an adjective meaning COLD); and various other things.
The volume joke prize has to go to Sarah, who sent me 14 jokes via email, as well as her own account of carpet cleaning adventures 101 - highly amusing. Made me feel much better actually.
So, yes, the movers are finally here today and tomorrow. Bizarrely, one of the movers is deathly allergic to all animals - he might be in the wrong business.... So he's in the truck - much to the chagrin of the other two movers who are doing all the heavy lifting. Subsequently, this means I need to stay in one end of the house with the dogs, while the movers are picking everything up - I might never find anything again in the new house!
Status:
Found: mobile phone charger, as well as daughter's lost mobile; digital camera charger and digital camera.
Exhumed: one whole case of champagne!!! Ex's spare BMW key (lost since 2004!) - however, that might get lost again - I'll try to keep track of it though and when you're back from Indonesia, please remember to ask me for it!
Lost: spare VW key.... um, also misplaced the address of garage where VW is actually being repaired (it is somewhere in the paperwork boxes, I hope).
Nearly lost: Two dogs, as they disappeared round the corner, heading for the park, flying past the allergic moving man. I can't tell who was moving faster, him or the dogs.
Charitable contributions: The charity swear box is filling up slowly today (how cool is that). Although it hit the jackpot last week,- the VW incident was particularly lucrative. That said, I can't afford to say the F word anymore - OK, I know that's the goal, but sometimes nothing else will really cover it quite the same.
Like when I dropped the 18th-century painting by John Wilson - in its original, nearly pristine frame. The painting survived, but the frame is a bit smaller now. As I was outside the new house, I managed to contain myself, and didn't even swear - all I said was - 'What an idiot' - (it was me that dropped it). My son stared at me in disbelief as I attempted to pick up all the fragments from the street. It's very hard to distinguish smashed gilded frame bits from autumnal leaves - but I did manage to collect most of the bits. Anyone know a good restoration person?
Oh - and the highlight this morning was the invitation I received to one Halloween party by neighbor: was in the middle of attempt to extract the last box from my truck (which I had left overnight, as I was just too knackered last night to move it after the 3rd trip). Of course, my rear-end was well exposed as I dragged the box out. That's when a man, who I think is my neighbor, jogs passed me, stops, introduces himself, and then invites me to a party.
I did thank him, said yes, saying 'Great, that's when I'll be in my natural state.'- He just looked at me and said, in a very British polite way - 'Well, yes, I'll just drop an invite through your door to remind you then, shall I?' -- Do you think he'll do it?
CORRECTION: Lastly, I think I hit the send button too soon the other day.... apparently BT's core business is changing.... that's all I can figure as there's really no other explanation for how they managed to so completely mess up a transfer and cancellation in terms of telephone lines and broadband service.
Now that I have another new number, it won't be active till tomorrow, even though the main house line has now been disconnected. That's why I have a back up.... but really.
Please continue to send jokes by text and email (though email might prove difficult from tonight onward!)
Previous plea for aid...
In dire need of humour ....
The movers are scheduled to be here on Monday and Tuesday. Next week my daughter has French Orals, her Extended Essay, and her Personal statement due. My son also has school he cannot miss. This weekend I am packing everything in boxes as the movers are not packing-- just lifting, driving, and lifting again.
Every room in the departure house is in upheaval: there are boxes and paper and bin bags throughout. Have now lost mobile phone charger, a mobile phone, I've run out of packing paper, the laundry soap has fallen out of the cupboard on the kitchen floor and the vacuum parts are scattered. I can no longer locate the iron (not that I've ever known how to use one anyway).
One teenager has spent the entire day trying to sift through the mountains of paper and magazines in his room. I asked him to put all the clothes he never wore into bin bags for the charity shop. When I went upstairs he had three bags in the hallway. I was amazed and said - 'Is all this for Oxfam?' He looked at me and said 'No, you told me to put all my clothes in bin bags.' So my son has selective hearing and the new old dog is as deaf as a door post.
Scooby (new old dog) thinks he's a tank. Yesterday he tried to walk through the rose garden. He hooked his ears on the thorns of one particularly prickly specimen, and carried on walking until he could walk no further, completely entangled in the rose bushes. After I managed to extract him from the thorns, Sirius felt so bad for him that he licked Scooby's ears. But then, Sirius threw up in the corner of the front hall.
Several nights ago the VW was towed to some garage in Yeovil (a town I've never been to in my life, and I'm sure it's not near either house) - something about a very expensive sump thing needing to be replaced. No, I didn't hug the RAC man when he finally put me into a cab (but I wanted to). On the way home, the cab driver felt so bad for me (because I had a little cry in the back of his car) that he pointed out the yoga healing centre in Queen Camel, suggesting that I book myself in!!!
What's worse (could it get worse?), not only is my head on fire from work, but I also managed to set my hair alight with a candle. An emergency appointment with my hair dresser fixed the damage, but my hair feels a lot shorter....
Please send me something funny in an email - so if I ever get the BT connection up and running in the new house, I'll be able to read my emails and at least have a laugh.
Hello - I thought I'd send this out to you while I still had some connectivity....and sanity, and a marginal sense of humour....
First, a special thanks to all of you who came to my aid, sending jokes via text message and email. All greatly appreciated.
Special mentions to my brother who responded to my email saying - "I'd send a joke, but if I just put my name on this email and send it back to you, you'll have a good laugh."
Another friend sent me Dharma comics and a very appropriate quote about the ability to laugh at one's own foolishness... very funny, ha, ha!
Conversely, I rec'd one with assorted pictures of when it is OK to use the F word (highly appropriate); a vomiting pumpkin; a couple of text jokes that I cannot repeat (but will admit that I laughed at them); some corrections to my grammar; response to what a parky is (some very British word used as an adjective meaning COLD); and various other things.
The volume joke prize has to go to Sarah, who sent me 14 jokes via email, as well as her own account of carpet cleaning adventures 101 - highly amusing. Made me feel much better actually.
So, yes, the movers are finally here today and tomorrow. Bizarrely, one of the movers is deathly allergic to all animals - he might be in the wrong business.... So he's in the truck - much to the chagrin of the other two movers who are doing all the heavy lifting. Subsequently, this means I need to stay in one end of the house with the dogs, while the movers are picking everything up - I might never find anything again in the new house!
Status:
Found: mobile phone charger, as well as daughter's lost mobile; digital camera charger and digital camera.
Exhumed: one whole case of champagne!!! Ex's spare BMW key (lost since 2004!) - however, that might get lost again - I'll try to keep track of it though and when you're back from Indonesia, please remember to ask me for it!
Lost: spare VW key.... um, also misplaced the address of garage where VW is actually being repaired (it is somewhere in the paperwork boxes, I hope).
Nearly lost: Two dogs, as they disappeared round the corner, heading for the park, flying past the allergic moving man. I can't tell who was moving faster, him or the dogs.
Charitable contributions: The charity swear box is filling up slowly today (how cool is that). Although it hit the jackpot last week,- the VW incident was particularly lucrative. That said, I can't afford to say the F word anymore - OK, I know that's the goal, but sometimes nothing else will really cover it quite the same.
Like when I dropped the 18th-century painting by John Wilson - in its original, nearly pristine frame. The painting survived, but the frame is a bit smaller now. As I was outside the new house, I managed to contain myself, and didn't even swear - all I said was - 'What an idiot' - (it was me that dropped it). My son stared at me in disbelief as I attempted to pick up all the fragments from the street. It's very hard to distinguish smashed gilded frame bits from autumnal leaves - but I did manage to collect most of the bits. Anyone know a good restoration person?
Oh - and the highlight this morning was the invitation I received to one Halloween party by neighbor: was in the middle of attempt to extract the last box from my truck (which I had left overnight, as I was just too knackered last night to move it after the 3rd trip). Of course, my rear-end was well exposed as I dragged the box out. That's when a man, who I think is my neighbor, jogs passed me, stops, introduces himself, and then invites me to a party.
I did thank him, said yes, saying 'Great, that's when I'll be in my natural state.'- He just looked at me and said, in a very British polite way - 'Well, yes, I'll just drop an invite through your door to remind you then, shall I?' -- Do you think he'll do it?
CORRECTION: Lastly, I think I hit the send button too soon the other day.... apparently BT's core business is changing.... that's all I can figure as there's really no other explanation for how they managed to so completely mess up a transfer and cancellation in terms of telephone lines and broadband service.
Now that I have another new number, it won't be active till tomorrow, even though the main house line has now been disconnected. That's why I have a back up.... but really.
Please continue to send jokes by text and email (though email might prove difficult from tonight onward!)
Previous plea for aid...
In dire need of humour ....
The movers are scheduled to be here on Monday and Tuesday. Next week my daughter has French Orals, her Extended Essay, and her Personal statement due. My son also has school he cannot miss. This weekend I am packing everything in boxes as the movers are not packing-- just lifting, driving, and lifting again.
Every room in the departure house is in upheaval: there are boxes and paper and bin bags throughout. Have now lost mobile phone charger, a mobile phone, I've run out of packing paper, the laundry soap has fallen out of the cupboard on the kitchen floor and the vacuum parts are scattered. I can no longer locate the iron (not that I've ever known how to use one anyway).
One teenager has spent the entire day trying to sift through the mountains of paper and magazines in his room. I asked him to put all the clothes he never wore into bin bags for the charity shop. When I went upstairs he had three bags in the hallway. I was amazed and said - 'Is all this for Oxfam?' He looked at me and said 'No, you told me to put all my clothes in bin bags.' So my son has selective hearing and the new old dog is as deaf as a door post.
Scooby (new old dog) thinks he's a tank. Yesterday he tried to walk through the rose garden. He hooked his ears on the thorns of one particularly prickly specimen, and carried on walking until he could walk no further, completely entangled in the rose bushes. After I managed to extract him from the thorns, Sirius felt so bad for him that he licked Scooby's ears. But then, Sirius threw up in the corner of the front hall.
Several nights ago the VW was towed to some garage in Yeovil (a town I've never been to in my life, and I'm sure it's not near either house) - something about a very expensive sump thing needing to be replaced. No, I didn't hug the RAC man when he finally put me into a cab (but I wanted to). On the way home, the cab driver felt so bad for me (because I had a little cry in the back of his car) that he pointed out the yoga healing centre in Queen Camel, suggesting that I book myself in!!!
What's worse (could it get worse?), not only is my head on fire from work, but I also managed to set my hair alight with a candle. An emergency appointment with my hair dresser fixed the damage, but my hair feels a lot shorter....
Please send me something funny in an email - so if I ever get the BT connection up and running in the new house, I'll be able to read my emails and at least have a laugh.
Thursday, 9 October 2008
Gurkha Justice Campaign update from Joanna
From: Joanna Lumley <joanna@gurkhajustice.org.uk>
Date: 9 Oct 2008 00:46
Subject: Gurkha Justice Campaign update from Joanna
Thank you so much for signing the Gurkha Justice petition, and joining ourcampaign.
Already, over 33,000 people have signed: an extraordinary response insupport of an extraordinary group of people.
We've had great coveragefor the campaign in the media across the world, and with excellent support from our UK papers.
We must be clear. We're not looking for a Government "review" of cases ofex-Gurkhas. We're not looking at a slight amendment in the law, a way of getting around the High Court's terrific judgement last week. We demand the full, fundamental change in law that will allow all retired Gurkhas the right to live here.
In November, I plan to go to Downing Street and present the GurkhaJustice petition to the Government on your behalf. I want the petition to be so big, so huge, that they simply can't fail to listen.
To make the biggest possible impact, we really need more people tosign: lots more. I want this to be one of the biggest petitions everhanded to theGovernment, to show our support for the Gurkha cause.
Your support for the campaign is a fantastic boost: thank you so much. But, if possible, I need to ask you to help in two other ways, toencourage others to sign.
Firstly, ask all of your friends and colleagues to sign up to the GurkhaJustice Campaign at http://www.gurkhajustice.org.uk - please doforward them this email, or email or contact them directly yourself.
And secondly, you can now download a petition form for signing from http://www.gurkhajustice.org.uk/gurkha_campaign_petition_form.pdf.
Please download and print some copies, and ask friends and colleagueswho have not signed on line to sign up. Please do pass it round (somefriends of mine have run street stalls asking people for theirsignatures - I'm not asking you to go that far!) and return completed sheets to me at the address on the form by the end of October.
Finally - thank you again for your support. Together, we can finally rightthis wrong.
With warmest good wishes,
oanna Lumleyfor the Gurkha Justice Campaign
This message has been sent to people who have signed up to the GurkhaJustice Campaign at http://www.gurkhajustice.org.uk.
You can opt-out of further correspondence from the campaign at anytime by email to optout@gurkhajustice.org.uk.
Learn more:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk/7644649.stm
Date: 9 Oct 2008 00:46
Subject: Gurkha Justice Campaign update from Joanna
Thank you so much for signing the Gurkha Justice petition, and joining ourcampaign.
Already, over 33,000 people have signed: an extraordinary response insupport of an extraordinary group of people.
We've had great coveragefor the campaign in the media across the world, and with excellent support from our UK papers.
We must be clear. We're not looking for a Government "review" of cases ofex-Gurkhas. We're not looking at a slight amendment in the law, a way of getting around the High Court's terrific judgement last week. We demand the full, fundamental change in law that will allow all retired Gurkhas the right to live here.
In November, I plan to go to Downing Street and present the GurkhaJustice petition to the Government on your behalf. I want the petition to be so big, so huge, that they simply can't fail to listen.
To make the biggest possible impact, we really need more people tosign: lots more. I want this to be one of the biggest petitions everhanded to theGovernment, to show our support for the Gurkha cause.
Your support for the campaign is a fantastic boost: thank you so much. But, if possible, I need to ask you to help in two other ways, toencourage others to sign.
Firstly, ask all of your friends and colleagues to sign up to the GurkhaJustice Campaign at http://www.gurkhajustice.org.uk - please doforward them this email, or email or contact them directly yourself.
And secondly, you can now download a petition form for signing from http://www.gurkhajustice.org.uk/gurkha_campaign_petition_form.pdf.
Please download and print some copies, and ask friends and colleagueswho have not signed on line to sign up. Please do pass it round (somefriends of mine have run street stalls asking people for theirsignatures - I'm not asking you to go that far!) and return completed sheets to me at the address on the form by the end of October.
Finally - thank you again for your support. Together, we can finally rightthis wrong.
With warmest good wishes,
oanna Lumleyfor the Gurkha Justice Campaign
This message has been sent to people who have signed up to the GurkhaJustice Campaign at http://www.gurkhajustice.org.uk.
You can opt-out of further correspondence from the campaign at anytime by email to optout@gurkhajustice.org.uk.
Learn more:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk/7644649.stm
Tuesday, 29 July 2008
Making lists & counting out loud
Ok, so it’s been a while since I’ve gotten it together enough to post something here. I feel I should apologise for having been ‘away’ so long – after all, the promise of a blog is that it will not only be updated frequently, but that it will entertain, offer a bit of inspiration and perhaps even be poignant. Only you can decide once you’ve finished reading this entry if I’ve measured up to expectations (yours and mine).
So here goes…
Have you ever had one of those deeply meaningful conversations with someone you know really well, a kind of quiet discussion, one where you don’t even have to speak out loud? Well, that’s exactly the sort of ‘last’ conversation I had with my sister just over a year ago.
It happened after I thanked her for waiting for me, right after I told her how sorry I was for taking so long to come home. It was then that she looked right at me, put her hand in mine and gave me a knowing squeeze. In that moment it seemed like a lifetime of wisdom passed between us. In my heart, I knew she understood how sorry I was for having missed out on the last fifteen years of Christmas lunches, graduations, bon-fires, walks on beaches, weddings, birthdays… the list goes on and on: I was busy- caught up in the drama of my own life. But she understood.
You see, to help put things in perspective, this last weekend marked the one year anniversary of my sister’s death. I have been keenly aware of this date for months now. In fact, I’ve been counting down the days in the diary even though there was nothing there formally ticked.
That’s why I needed a bit of space to retreat. For those of you who were depending on me for various social or sport engagements, I’m sorry if I let you down. I just wasn’t feeling up to group anything. I needed the time off to rewind to those last few moments I spent with what was left of my sister because that was when I started my list, when I really began to count out loud.
Here it is – 26th July 2007 – 26th July 2008:
- Worked 117 late nights (a significant improvement)
- Got 100% on my Britishness test (honest)
- Became a permanent resident in the best country in the world (the UK)
- Slept under the stars 9 ½ times (far too few I know)
- Got lost in the clouds and admired at least one sunrise or sunset 365 times
- Purchased 6 new paintings
- Wrote 26 new poems
- Attended 4 operas, 3 ballets, 7 theatre productions, one panto, 2 concerts & one fancy dress party
- Learned a lot about helicopters and snipers (both extremely interesting)
- Started training to swim the English Channel (Sep 2008)
- Swam at least 264,000 metres to date (and still counting)
- Rode my bike approximately 437 miles and walked about 163 miles
- Lost 1.5 stone (21 pounds)
- Broke a toe (mermaids have trouble walking on real feet)
- Purchased 1,682 new songs from iTunes (and still counting)
- Lost 3 friends (verdict is still out on one of them, I remain optimistic)
- Re-established ties with 6 old friends
- Became friends with 17 new people (not virtual friends, real ones)
- Bought 7 iPod shuffles (it is remarkably easy to run them over when they unwittingly fall out of the car door)
- Made 6 wishes (so far I have a 50% success rate)
- Recited 14,640 Hail Marys (old habits)
- Navigated kids through another school year (2 different schools)
- Danced all night long once (not enough)
- Got very drunk 3 times (maybe enough)
- Read 37 new books (room for improvement)
- Raised almost £600 for AsthmaUK (a marginal performance, maybe you can help)
- Volunteered 253 hours of time to charitable activities (my dream job – to become a professional volunteer – see next bullet)
- Helped 8 people to realize a dream (it’s a feel good thing)
- Told someone I loved them at least once a day, every day
- Rescued one lamb (so cute, I might never eat lamb chops again)
All in all, I’d say I had a pretty good year. I think my sister would agree it was well worth it.
Kxxx
Tuesday, 15 July 2008
NC: November-Charlie
In the last few days, I've been researching a set of survival courses for my son. An outward bound experience that removes him from the artificial and virtual stimuli so prevalent in our lives today.
The 'survival' courses consist of a short stint in a 100-acre wood with a few ex-military survival experts who can teach you how to build a shelter, start a fire, read maps, use a compass and even track a man. Admittedly, my sixteen year old son is less than thrilled at the prospect of building anything in the woods. In fact, when I first broached the subject he said - 'Can I bring 500 metres of electrical cable into the woods so I can use the Playstation?' I'm sure he was joking...
Suddenly my son took this discussion to the next level of enthusiasm - first identifying in no uncertain terms exactly what his requirements were for such a would-be 'trek' into the woods. The list read something like: sausage rolls, Coke, a DVD player, electricity, the PlayStation and a few games, mints (I think to mix with the Coke in order to amuse oneself in the middle of the night with a Vesuvius-like eruption of carbonated beverage), the dog (that was a surprise), and a few other items of creature comfort. (When I suggested things like a sleeping bag or tent, he nodded in a 'well- duh, of course' way.)
Once that line of thinking was completed, my daughter joined in, moving into new heights of curiousity: when was this going to happen, and how much time do I have to find all the answers about how to do it. It wasn't as if this was some sort of exam with an accompanying preparatory study guide. Well actually, I thought, that's not a bad idea - might be useful to learn a few things before the shroud of darkness took over, or torrential rain, or whatever else could happen in the woods in Cornwall.
Having been showered with such youthful perspective, I dutifully sent off an explanatory email to the owner of the survival school explaining the issues at hand-- the stroppy teenagers, the need to build confidence and skills, immersion in an environment that offered challenges, the constant need to be artificially stimulated by electronic games, the nocturnal schedules, the discrupted sleep patterns of the mother who is awakened at strange hours by the animated discussions occuring outside her door, the restlessness of the dog, the 24 x 7 nature of the house, the competitiveness, the lack of assistance in the chore department, blah, blah, blah. I'm sure you get the picture.
After firing off the missile, I waited expectantly for a response. Several days passed. Hmmm. Maybe the picture I painted was a bit too clear? Maybe they wouldn't be able to suggest anything. What if they too were going to pass on the challenge? That couldn't be possible, they came highly recommended to me. Wasn't this exactly the sort of thing they did, and did well. Couldn't they help me? I am not afterall a man - never was one, never will be, and don't want to be one. Weren't they supposed to be the experts at survival skills and ciphers?
OK, thinking it through rationally, I made excuses. Clearly, there are no 500-metre cables for electricity and these guys really don't bring a laptop into the woods, and even if they did, I'm sure there is no wireless signal that far out. Hmm, now I am wondering if mobile phones and Blackberries would work either? And then came the email from the owner of the survival technique company.
I am now wondering what I was initially thinking. Did I really need someone hiking into the woods with me and the kids, leaving us there for 3 days, and expecting someone to come out alive? And really, let's face it, I am not a natural camper. My idea of a holiday has always been somewhere pampering, or in the very least, several feet (if not storeys) from the ground.
Ok, I did camp for an extended period of time - but only twice. The first camping excursion (if you could call it that) was when I returned to the UK after living in Dubai. While waiting for the arrival of the shipping crate containing what was left of my first marriage (it took about 6 weeks for the shipment to arrive and clear customs), I 'camped' in a four bed townhouse in Kew. Pretty wimpy I know, but there was NO furniture, no blankets, no sleeping bags, no beds, no pots and pans, no plates, no cutlery, no napkins, not even towels. It was just me, two small children, a Nanny and about eight suit cases. With limited funds, I had to economise where I could - there were only so many things I was willing to buy... again.
That summer I learned that parquet floors can be very hard and cold; that suitcases can double as small beds; that you can really cook a three course meal with one pot; that it is OK to use paper napkins; that no matter what, I had to drink tea out of a tea cup, and coffee from a mug; that curtains can double as a blanket provided they are hung up again during the day to remove all the wrinkles; that a good Nanny is really worth her weight in gold; that small children are remarkably resilient; and that you can make a game out of just about anything in order to get your kids to regard adverse conditions as a holiday.... Despite the life-lessons, for us bigger campers, working a 12 hour a day after kipping night after night on a wooden floor with a curtain for a blanket became old pretty quickly.
The next real camping expedition occured in Maine. This time, however, I wasn't waiting for the furniture to be shipped. I was in between houses - as in, the lease on the house I was renting had expired, and the closing on the house I was hoping to purchase was taking longer than expected. It was summer afterall, in Maine - two miles from the sea- how bad could it be? In hindsight, the kids tell the story as if it was a six-month tenancy at the campsite, even though it really was only 6 weeks. To be fair, it was fun, despite the skunks and the fact that it was the wettest summer on record for more than 25 years..... Really, the worst bit of it was the $1000 dollar mobile phone bill I had to pay at the end of it. Yes, telecommuting to the Cambridge office proved to be quite a personal expense that summer. The absence of a land-line meant an overdependence on the mobile; it was shortly after that summer that I stopped using a mobile telephone for more than six years. I was certain I had given any potential brain tumour a head start and therefore wasn't going to take any chances!
Oh, and yes, there was one other near-miss third time camping opportunity- just in the last 6 months - when I was almost invited on a 'family' camping holiday. Had it materialised, I would have gone along gleefully, but it didn't, so this is one camping story which will never be recounted.
Let's rewind a bit - and return to the concept of survival tuition for my son. What went wrong here. Was I unclear in my email to the survival instructor? Had I miscommunicated my plight? What was so unclear? How did this end up as a family survival of the fittest exercise?
And now we finally get to the heart of the matter. To something I believe everyone should know, something that should be taught in school instead of French - universal distress signals.
Wouldn't it be great if everyone had the same internationally-recognised, universal communications system - like maritime flags, or morse code, or the lettering signals - something that no matter what the circumstances were, there could be no ambiguitiy in the meaning?
Think about it - you're on your way home from your own brutal day at the office: Knackered, beat, slighted, overworked, exploited, unappreciated, hungry. You pull up to the curb, in front of your house, and there are two GIANT letters on the pavement. It could be anything - something to let you know you're walking into a questionable situation.
Something that alerts you to the fact that you need to quickly drive off and get an Indian take-away and a bottle of wine. Or, take refuge at the gym, or something, anything.
Here are some examples of real distress signals.
The 'survival' courses consist of a short stint in a 100-acre wood with a few ex-military survival experts who can teach you how to build a shelter, start a fire, read maps, use a compass and even track a man. Admittedly, my sixteen year old son is less than thrilled at the prospect of building anything in the woods. In fact, when I first broached the subject he said - 'Can I bring 500 metres of electrical cable into the woods so I can use the Playstation?' I'm sure he was joking...
Suddenly my son took this discussion to the next level of enthusiasm - first identifying in no uncertain terms exactly what his requirements were for such a would-be 'trek' into the woods. The list read something like: sausage rolls, Coke, a DVD player, electricity, the PlayStation and a few games, mints (I think to mix with the Coke in order to amuse oneself in the middle of the night with a Vesuvius-like eruption of carbonated beverage), the dog (that was a surprise), and a few other items of creature comfort. (When I suggested things like a sleeping bag or tent, he nodded in a 'well- duh, of course' way.)
Once that line of thinking was completed, my daughter joined in, moving into new heights of curiousity: when was this going to happen, and how much time do I have to find all the answers about how to do it. It wasn't as if this was some sort of exam with an accompanying preparatory study guide. Well actually, I thought, that's not a bad idea - might be useful to learn a few things before the shroud of darkness took over, or torrential rain, or whatever else could happen in the woods in Cornwall.
Having been showered with such youthful perspective, I dutifully sent off an explanatory email to the owner of the survival school explaining the issues at hand-- the stroppy teenagers, the need to build confidence and skills, immersion in an environment that offered challenges, the constant need to be artificially stimulated by electronic games, the nocturnal schedules, the discrupted sleep patterns of the mother who is awakened at strange hours by the animated discussions occuring outside her door, the restlessness of the dog, the 24 x 7 nature of the house, the competitiveness, the lack of assistance in the chore department, blah, blah, blah. I'm sure you get the picture.
After firing off the missile, I waited expectantly for a response. Several days passed. Hmmm. Maybe the picture I painted was a bit too clear? Maybe they wouldn't be able to suggest anything. What if they too were going to pass on the challenge? That couldn't be possible, they came highly recommended to me. Wasn't this exactly the sort of thing they did, and did well. Couldn't they help me? I am not afterall a man - never was one, never will be, and don't want to be one. Weren't they supposed to be the experts at survival skills and ciphers?
OK, thinking it through rationally, I made excuses. Clearly, there are no 500-metre cables for electricity and these guys really don't bring a laptop into the woods, and even if they did, I'm sure there is no wireless signal that far out. Hmm, now I am wondering if mobile phones and Blackberries would work either? And then came the email from the owner of the survival technique company.
"Having looked at your situation (Holidays 7 -28 August, Channel swim, etc), I think your best bet is to go for the Families Course the first weekend of September. This would be run by the other director in the Company as I am out of the country. This would be ideal for you and your kids. Failing that, then with notice we may be able to lay on a bespoke event for you and your friends in October early November. Many thanks"
I am now wondering what I was initially thinking. Did I really need someone hiking into the woods with me and the kids, leaving us there for 3 days, and expecting someone to come out alive? And really, let's face it, I am not a natural camper. My idea of a holiday has always been somewhere pampering, or in the very least, several feet (if not storeys) from the ground.
Ok, I did camp for an extended period of time - but only twice. The first camping excursion (if you could call it that) was when I returned to the UK after living in Dubai. While waiting for the arrival of the shipping crate containing what was left of my first marriage (it took about 6 weeks for the shipment to arrive and clear customs), I 'camped' in a four bed townhouse in Kew. Pretty wimpy I know, but there was NO furniture, no blankets, no sleeping bags, no beds, no pots and pans, no plates, no cutlery, no napkins, not even towels. It was just me, two small children, a Nanny and about eight suit cases. With limited funds, I had to economise where I could - there were only so many things I was willing to buy... again.
That summer I learned that parquet floors can be very hard and cold; that suitcases can double as small beds; that you can really cook a three course meal with one pot; that it is OK to use paper napkins; that no matter what, I had to drink tea out of a tea cup, and coffee from a mug; that curtains can double as a blanket provided they are hung up again during the day to remove all the wrinkles; that a good Nanny is really worth her weight in gold; that small children are remarkably resilient; and that you can make a game out of just about anything in order to get your kids to regard adverse conditions as a holiday.... Despite the life-lessons, for us bigger campers, working a 12 hour a day after kipping night after night on a wooden floor with a curtain for a blanket became old pretty quickly.
The next real camping expedition occured in Maine. This time, however, I wasn't waiting for the furniture to be shipped. I was in between houses - as in, the lease on the house I was renting had expired, and the closing on the house I was hoping to purchase was taking longer than expected. It was summer afterall, in Maine - two miles from the sea- how bad could it be? In hindsight, the kids tell the story as if it was a six-month tenancy at the campsite, even though it really was only 6 weeks. To be fair, it was fun, despite the skunks and the fact that it was the wettest summer on record for more than 25 years..... Really, the worst bit of it was the $1000 dollar mobile phone bill I had to pay at the end of it. Yes, telecommuting to the Cambridge office proved to be quite a personal expense that summer. The absence of a land-line meant an overdependence on the mobile; it was shortly after that summer that I stopped using a mobile telephone for more than six years. I was certain I had given any potential brain tumour a head start and therefore wasn't going to take any chances!
Oh, and yes, there was one other near-miss third time camping opportunity- just in the last 6 months - when I was almost invited on a 'family' camping holiday. Had it materialised, I would have gone along gleefully, but it didn't, so this is one camping story which will never be recounted.
Let's rewind a bit - and return to the concept of survival tuition for my son. What went wrong here. Was I unclear in my email to the survival instructor? Had I miscommunicated my plight? What was so unclear? How did this end up as a family survival of the fittest exercise?
And now we finally get to the heart of the matter. To something I believe everyone should know, something that should be taught in school instead of French - universal distress signals.
Wouldn't it be great if everyone had the same internationally-recognised, universal communications system - like maritime flags, or morse code, or the lettering signals - something that no matter what the circumstances were, there could be no ambiguitiy in the meaning?
Think about it - you're on your way home from your own brutal day at the office: Knackered, beat, slighted, overworked, exploited, unappreciated, hungry. You pull up to the curb, in front of your house, and there are two GIANT letters on the pavement. It could be anything - something to let you know you're walking into a questionable situation.
US4: Nothing can be done until weather moderates.
Something that alerts you to the fact that you need to quickly drive off and get an Indian take-away and a bottle of wine. Or, take refuge at the gym, or something, anything.
Here are some examples of real distress signals.
- AC: I am abandoning my vessel.
- AD: I am abandoning my vessel which has suffered a nuclear accident and is a possible source of radiation danger.
- AN: I need a doctor.
- AN 1: I need a doctor; I have severe burns.
- AN 2: I need a doctor; I have radiation casualties.
- EL: Repeat the distress position.
- EL 1: What is the position of vessel in distress?
- GM: I cannot save my vessel.
- GN: You should take off persons.
- GN 1: I wish some persons taken off. Skeleton crew will remain on board.
- GN 2: I will take off persons.
- GN 3: Can you take off persons?
- IT: I am on fire.
- MAA: I request urgent medical advice.
- MAB: I request you to make rendezvous in position indicated.
- MAC: I request you to arrange hospital admission.
- MAD: I am . . . (indicate number) hours from the nearest port.
- VG: The coverage of low clouds is… (number of octants or eighths of sky covered).
- US 4: Nothing can be done until weather moderates.
Personally, I like AC, AD, GN, AN, IT and US4.
Imagine how different parenting a teenager would be if your kids were equipped with such distress signals. If you had some indication - before the shot across the bow - that there was something amiss in your child's life. Why couldn't they leave notes like this:
Dear Mummy,
AN: I need a doctor.
EL: Repeat the distress position.
GM: I cannot save my vessel.
I know we're supposed to see the signs. But we're busy - especially if we're a single-parent - there's never anyone else around for back up and therefore sometimes you just nod off on your watch. Or you're not paying attention because you're up to your elbows in laundry and dirty glasses.
That's when you get a phone call out of the blue, and of course, it's on your voicemail because you were on four hours of conference calls - couldn't answer the incessent ring of the mobile.... and when you pick the message up, your knees go weak and floppy because you suddenly realize that somehow, somewhere the signals didn't make it through to you. And you fall, metophorically, about twenty storeys into the whys and hows. And then you realize that anyone that is in any position to help you at all is already on holiday....
That's when you want to hang the flag upside down. When you have to say, "This country I call motherhood is in distress."
NC*: (November-Charlie)... Is anyone out there?
*NC is an international maritime distress signal depicted by two signal flags.
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Monday, 14 July 2008
Waking up at 5 am...
It has to be said, I used to enjoy getting up at 5 am. But that was when it wasn't a requirement. Today, after waking up at 5 am every week since September 4, 2007, well, let's just say the novelty has worn off. I know that because it took three snooze button attempts before I actually climbed out of the bed to wake up my daughter - who is also ready for a long 6 weeks of NOT waking up at 5 am.
The routine continues to be the same.
I wake up, find the coffee pot - still dirty from the day before. After emptying the sink of the dishes which have procreated mysteriously overnight, I wash it, trying not to drop it in my pre-coffee state.
The dog gets let out the back door. The coffee is ready by the time I let him back in to feed him his long awaited breakfast. By the time the dog licks the last bastion of Baker's chicken-flavoured nugget smell from the bowl, I am sitting in front of my laptop, trying not to burn my tongue. I check the emails that have flowed in from around the world at odd times.
My brother has arrived home safely from his drive up the eastern seaboard of America. Someone is looking for a lift from London to Dover. I'm being looked at by someone on Meet New People. Another ex-Loti has accepted my friendship on FaceBook.
I read my horoscope - LOL - today it says I am a great communicator. I quote -
I can't bear for it to be wrong - and therefore, I have decided to start this blog. Consider yourself on my waiting list - it did say you were all waiting....
By the time I am on my second cup of coffee, I can hear the shower door open and close. My daughter is now on her horse, getting ready for school. I relax into my work emails - scanning for any crisis that might have erupted on Friday evening after I logged out. A surprisingly slow weekend for the stateside workaholics. Brilliant. Delete, delete, delete (just the spammy bits, not the work emails!).
Hmm. My heart leaps into my throat. I read the name in the 'From' field again. I haven't imagined it. I look to the subject - FWD:... - Ok - so it's not personal, it is safe. I can open this email and still have a good day.
After reading the joke, sent to me by BCC - I reread his name - about 10 times actually. It is then that I realize how much I miss the 'good morning' kisses received around this time- in an email, or a few hours earlier- in person. I miss the text messages sent to me while he drove home at 5:30 am.
So once again, I really dread when my horoscope is eerily accurate. I admit it - I am VERY vulnerable. I hope the astrologist is extremely happy that this weakness is now exposed.
So, having just finished my second cup of coffee, I can now think a bit more deeply. And that is when I start to wonder - How long does it take to forget? Apparently - for me, it takes more than 3192 hours, which equals approximately 133 days.
I really should stop reading my horoscope.
The routine continues to be the same.
I wake up, find the coffee pot - still dirty from the day before. After emptying the sink of the dishes which have procreated mysteriously overnight, I wash it, trying not to drop it in my pre-coffee state.
The dog gets let out the back door. The coffee is ready by the time I let him back in to feed him his long awaited breakfast. By the time the dog licks the last bastion of Baker's chicken-flavoured nugget smell from the bowl, I am sitting in front of my laptop, trying not to burn my tongue. I check the emails that have flowed in from around the world at odd times.
My brother has arrived home safely from his drive up the eastern seaboard of America. Someone is looking for a lift from London to Dover. I'm being looked at by someone on Meet New People. Another ex-Loti has accepted my friendship on FaceBook.
I read my horoscope - LOL - today it says I am a great communicator. I quote -
"Be more expressive about your emotions than you typically are, today. Be vulnerable. You're a natural when it comes to communication and today brings the chance to put those skills to work. The people in your life are all waiting for information -- or permission -- before they can get to work."
I can't bear for it to be wrong - and therefore, I have decided to start this blog. Consider yourself on my waiting list - it did say you were all waiting....
By the time I am on my second cup of coffee, I can hear the shower door open and close. My daughter is now on her horse, getting ready for school. I relax into my work emails - scanning for any crisis that might have erupted on Friday evening after I logged out. A surprisingly slow weekend for the stateside workaholics. Brilliant. Delete, delete, delete (just the spammy bits, not the work emails!).
Hmm. My heart leaps into my throat. I read the name in the 'From' field again. I haven't imagined it. I look to the subject - FWD:... - Ok - so it's not personal, it is safe. I can open this email and still have a good day.
After reading the joke, sent to me by BCC - I reread his name - about 10 times actually. It is then that I realize how much I miss the 'good morning' kisses received around this time- in an email, or a few hours earlier- in person. I miss the text messages sent to me while he drove home at 5:30 am.
So once again, I really dread when my horoscope is eerily accurate. I admit it - I am VERY vulnerable. I hope the astrologist is extremely happy that this weakness is now exposed.
So, having just finished my second cup of coffee, I can now think a bit more deeply. And that is when I start to wonder - How long does it take to forget? Apparently - for me, it takes more than 3192 hours, which equals approximately 133 days.
I really should stop reading my horoscope.
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