I hope I don't die before I've had a chance to live

The Simon Pegg character says something along those lines in the film Hector and the Search For Happiness+. 

About a month ago, I became acquainted with a young blogger on Twitter who had ditched it all to travel around the world. I've been vicariously enjoying his adventure through a tiny 5.5 inch screen. He's been telling me a little about the places he's been, the people he's met and the things he's done. He's a great photographer too -- his pictures have been awe-inspiring.

The nature of my marriage meant that I couldn't travel as much as I wanted and if I were to be brutally honest, it was my own relationship with money that caused much of that. But we did have some adventures: we'd canoed down the River Severn, then taken a steam train back up. I loved the canoeing bit best. Being on the water was wonderful. We'd gone to Sonisphere the year I found out I was pregnant. I felt Little Monster move for the first time while Iron Maiden was on.

We'd also been on a couple of boating holidays on the Broads, camping and theme parks. We love rollercoasters; my favourite moment was hanging at the top of a ride called the Mega Drop at Pleasurewood Hills on the Norfolk coast. I could see the shining sea over the treetops and the silence was almost divine.

I'd never been skiing, or jumped off a waterfall, nor been in a hot air balloon. But I am aiming to do so. Little Monster and I have been talking about all the places we hear about and like to see: she wants to go to Rabbit Island in Japan (and be mobbed by rabbits!) and of course, she wants to go to Singapore. I too would like to return to Japan, and revisit the amazing places I'd been as a teen. But I'd also like to go to the ones I'd never been: Vietnam. Korea, Australia, New Zealand, Africa, China and for some reason, Canada has been on my mind a lot. I would love to see the Northern Lights.

My godparents*, who should be retired, are still seeing the world. They are my inspiration. When my life shattered the first time round in 2000, one of my old friends from university went off on a round the world trip with his wife. The stories he told were marvellous and inspiring, and made me wish I was doing that. 

Well, I'm not certain I could do what my intrepid Tweeter is doing. or what my godparents continue to do, but I am going to give it a damn good shot. Our first stop will be Singapore of course.

+ Irritatingly, it seemed to say that happiness is having a partner and that a family completes you. Gah.
*The bestest, most awesomest grown-ups I have the privilege of knowing. 

You, me and Santa

It's Boxing Day 2015 and I've just spent my first Christmas as a single person in 21 years. It's also the first without family around me, not even my Little Monster. But I wasn't alone.

Bubs and me spent Christmas Eve with a friend and a young family we used to live next to. Yo cooked up a traditional Polish meal for us and there were even presents under a tree! Bubs had a great time helping -- she asked us to guess what dessert was and tricked us into believing it was cake. Much fun was had. And for Christmas Day itself, my lovely friends shared their dinner with me while bubs was at her grandparents' with her father.

So, Santa.

As an unrepentant atheist parent, I am conflicted about the whole Father Christmas thing. I've always told bubs that all her presents were from people who loved her. But of course, everywhere we turn, the inevitable "So what have you asked Santa for this Christmas?" question is asked, and he appears in every place we go. Understandably, bubs is confused too. She knows I don't believe in Santa. But feedback from everyone else indicates otherwise. I could see her mulling over this conundrum in the run up.

On the way home in the taxi, the driver asked if bubs had been good for Santa. The answer was a very firm, "Santa doesn't exist!" and she scrambled out of the cab (the driver was startled and I think a little horrified that someone so young was already so cynical). Minutes later, she scribbled a note to Santa on her sketch pad asking him for a bike and propped it up on the window for him to see. I tried to explain it was too late but she was adamant. Of course, Christmas Day dawned and no bike. Well, she said, that means Santa doesn't exist. I think she'd already decided that and it was a last ditch attempt to prove herself wrong. She's a little sad, and angry I think, but seems to accept that it is so. I suspect that she'd asked Santa for her parents to be together at Christmas and that is what led to the realisation that he isn't real.

But we shared a good Christmas morning together -- she loved her Space Putty and toy Tribble -- and I loved watching her play while I did last minute wrapping. Her father came to collect her and I got the cold shoulder for, I suspect, sending her away. I was a bit saddened, but I know it was the best thing for her. At least for today.

She's not home yet from her grandparents'; I wonder how it went. But when she comes home, I will tell her that I missed her and that I wasn't sending her away. I will tell her that other people love her too and I can't keep her all to myself. She makes so many people happy, it would be too selfish of me not to share.

I have said many times, and as recently as yesterday, that I am not cut out to be a mother. I think I have been looking at this wrong. The shape that I am is not that of a mother as I believe should be, But if I turn my head just so, I can may be see a glimmer of one. And of course, I have the tools and a willing helper to re-shape me. Customised and everything. 

Stretched, compressed, distracted

This past week has really tested my equanimity and I'm afraid by Saturday morning, I was pretty much combusting.

I once wrote that I was not made for motherhood, and I stand by that. I don't love it, not like my amazing friend Celia*, who very clearly does and thrives on it.

For reasons of her own, Little Monster insisted that I pick her up from school every day instead of her father. Seven days of this, and not once did she ask for him or ask about him. She would say things like "You and me and daddy" when telling me a story, but that was rarely. She seems happy enough but by god, by day eight (Saturday) I was in shreds.

In between hustling her up in the mornings for school, picking up from school, playing with her and all the usual day-to-day stuff, I was also looking for work, applying for jobs, and thinking of ways to make money, all of which I had to compress into the few hours that Little Monster was at school. Once we were together, well, it was just all her. There was no room for me.

And as usual, when I get pushed into a corner like that, I start looking for distractions. Or allowing distractions to divert me because that's better than enduring what appears to be endless GAAAH!

I'm glad I'd arranged for her to go to her grandparents' that day. But once she'd gone, the pressure that had been brewing in my head just took over the rest of me and all I could do was curl up under the duvet. A day's productivity lost.

But I am grateful for two old friends (M and M oddly enough!) who have not yet given up on me, even though I had been recalcitrant on the work and money front and not moving as fast as I should.

I'm also utterly grateful for the generosity of others. I can't even begin to tell you how that makes me feel.

The great news is I should be gainfully employed by the end of the week, and my access to delightful diversions will be seriously curtailed. Those who know me now will know this is the thing I will miss the most.

Question is, will I actually give it up? Someone observed that I was hooked on the attention I get from people like him. And he's quite right. Come on, who doesn't love being desired, especially if the person doing it is young and beautiful?


*If it weren't for her and her generous family, I don't know if Little Monster would be safe from me.

Things I am grateful for - notes from a Single Mum

What a weekend!

I am grateful for PTAs, without whom there wouldn't have been a school film, Christmas Fayre and dozens of excellent events. Little Monster had a brilliant time despite falling off her chair (well-deserved bump on the caboose since she was tilting her chair backwards, had a bit of a cheeky grin on when she told me).

A strange thing happened to me at the fair - I had a slight panic attack, elevated heart-rate, hyperventilation, desperate desire to flee. I had to move to less crowded corner to breathe properly. I don't think I'd ever been that uncomfortable in a crowd before. I guess it must have been the enclosed space. It only lasted a couple of minutes, but I was wound tight as a spindle, and had to grit my teeth for Little Monster's sake. Fortunately, we then found friends and just like magic, the tension evaporated. It's amazing what a friendly smile and a welcoming greeting can do. And mulled wine. That took the edge off too.

When we got home, I had to have a bit of a "lie down". Damn, was I was tired. And continued to be so all the way through our dear friends' party. Ah! What a lovely, cosy evening! Our first Canadian tree-trimming party.

Apparently, in Canada, you went outside, chopped your own tree down, brought it in-doors and trimmed it to fit the space. And it's a tradition to invite friends and family to help decorate it and the house while consuming much food and alcohol.

Little Monster and I had the best time - there was gorgeous food, such amazing cakes! and great company, stories, songs and colouring in! Everyone was invited to draw and colour in themed pictures to hang on the walls. Of course, Little Monster was in her element. Although, I think her favourite bit was actually doing the tree (our contribution was home-made baubles from pine cones which we painted silver and covered in glitter.)

Sunday we went a little stir crazy at home but a little wrestling, and careful chopping up of a Romanesco broccoli for dinner sorted us out. 

I am, once again, down to my last few pounds but you know what? My life is incredibly rich. Yes, there are moments of sadness, slices of despair, but I can't help but be thankful that I have had the privilege of experiencing the wonderful gifts that life has offered.

Womanning up

These past few days have been a little revelatory*.  It seems my "This Is A Bad Idea" alert has malfunctioned.

I wonder at my unthinking capacity to be used. A couple of incidents over the last few weeks have made me wonder if I am such a people-pleaser that I don't even notice when I am being ill-treated until the damage is felt. And even then, the discomfort only surfaces hours or even days later. It's almost as if I go into shock.

I don't really know why I don't care for myself as well as I should. I believe I do value myself -- removing myself from a situation that was extinguishing me is an indicator -- and yet, I find myself doing things just to please someone I barely know. Or rather, so that they would, god help me, like me.

So, I am saying to myself, "What are you? A child? Woman up for fuck's sake!" This is a perpetual tussle within me. But I have a new frame. She comes in size 12 shoes, and wants only for me to be with her, to be present for her. I am her world and right now, who and what I am, she sees and learns from. If I don't love myself, and show her that I do, only bad things can ensue. Sure, she'll learn from them, but I'd rather she have a role model that she can be proud of.

And I'd rather be a role model I'd be proud of too.

*Then again, since I left my old life, every other day seems to throw up something new about myself. It's like I had been shattered into millions of little pieces, then scattered all over the place. Each day, as I journey, I uncover a different piece, so shaped by its environs that it no longer fits into its old spot. So I have to study it anew, and make a new place for it within the new me. 

"Apologies for the delay to your service..."

It's been eight weeks since my corporate job ended and I launched myself into the great unknown.

I've signed up with various recruitment agents, created a profile on Freelancer.com and finally uploaded my work on Vimeo.

But...

I've been hesitating about actually producing my creative CV. Stalling about contacting those great companies I would love to do work for. When I actually sit down and start, I become paralysed.

I met a personal trainer this week - not as a client, but on a date - and he certainly had interesting things to say about fear and failure. I don't think I've ever met anyone with such indomitable belief in himself* -- it was almost breathtaking. He's right of course.

Google "procastination" and its causes, and fear is the number one answer. So the question is, what am I afraid of precisely? That the people I contact will look at what I have to offer and go pfft. That I'm not actually as good as I think I am. That I'm kidding myself. Round and round, ad infinitum.

I know what I need to do, but I am struggling to move, even though the prospect of impending poverty is making me slightly sick.

But I am moving, even though it feels like I'm moving through peanut butter.

*It also helps that he's not yet 30. The date itself was lovely -- he made me laugh, cry(!) and feel wonderful. It was a much needed lift to a grey day.

"Our past does not have to dictate our future happiness"

ten things I’ve learned as a single mom

A poignant post from Rachel, the mum behind "Finding Joy".

This week has been a real mix of highs and lows. Although I am happy, there is an undercurrent of loneliness and self-doubt.

The self-doubt isn't about being a good mother: I've nixed that one* - my daughter is an irrepressible, raucous ball of positivity - it takes quite a lot to get her down. And even when she is, she bounces back up within minutes. She's healthy, she has clean clothes (mostly), she still has good teeth, she can write her own name, read simple words, say complex ones (scary) and much much more. OK, sometimes she makes me despair ("Don't play with the glasses! Don't play with the glasses! Don't play with the---*smash! tinkle, tinkle* Oh, for the love of...") and I find myself hiding from her demands. And we are often late for school, she still doesn't have a school cardigan, and meals have been three different types of crisps and dinner has been whatever happens to be in the fridge. I am grateful that she has five solid meals a week when she's at school.

But I can see that she's doing well and I've learned not to judge myself harshly for doing the best I can. Sure I can do better, but I'm learning that I'm also enough.

The self-doubt has been bubbling these few days -- might be due to hormones in flux, might be depression making itself felt -- has been about me as a potential mate.

I've started dating again, or at least I am out there. It's been heady and delightful... but an incident has made me question my motives for seeking companionship.

My friend Wise Light asked why am I always running from myself. Months ago, I started researching how to be alone, that is, how to enjoy my own company. As usual, I soon got distracted and that got put aside. The issue has returned and I am now wondering again.

I think I need to perhaps try meditating and running again. I don't know why, but the coolest-headed people I know are all runners. Time to take a leaf out of their book.


*For now. For three nights now, she has been refusing to go to sleep at a reasonable hour and I feel horrible because I am horrible to her as I am so frustrated.

"Does the walker choose the path, or the path, the walker?"

~ Garth Nix, Sabriel, and all his books of The Old Kingdom*.

 

Today, I turned 42.

I'm learning that one needs the bounce-backability of a child to weather the storms of a fresh start. And I've had two pretty big ones in the last 12 months.

A year ago, I was stumbling amid the burning debris of my broken home. But I wasn't alone. My family and friends held me up and showed me how much they cared. On this day, I was treated with such kindness, and I felt so loved. And today -- this week -- has been no different.

Two months ago, I left a secure (-ish) job because I found myself in a constant state of rage. As someone who had suffered with depression twice, I knew this state would inevitably lead to a deep, dark hole. And drugs would only camouflage the journey. If I didn't change my situation, I would lose myself and my daughter will know someone she called 'mum' but it wouldn't be me.

So I quit with nothing to go to. I've been looking for work and set up a small shop but for some reason I still haven't got my site up and my creative consultant pitch remains unformed.

The last few weeks have been particularly trying - I ran out of money and had to ask for help.

This year, too, I faced my daughter's entry to big school. I worried about her settling into that society; I worried that she would hate it and refuse to go. After initially being cross most of the time (her teacher's description) she's settled in. And I am so proud that she's now able to demonstrate care for others. It was my greatest fear that she would be incapable of empathy.

In the last week, I've also been distractingly preoccupied by things I can't have. Or more precisely, people I can't have. I have no idea what is up with me. It's damned unhelpful.

On the other hand, my alter ego won me a writing gig. No cash, but opened up a personal avenue that I hadn't realised I craved. I also sold a short story, a voice over and a bedtime story. Just a couple of days ago, I made a new connection and a possible new venture has unfolded. It's terribly ENFP of me, all these little projects here and there, but it's also grin-inducingly exciting.

My dear friend, Irish, took me out for lunch the other day and observed that I was really happy.
And you know what, despite the lack of money, companionship, despite the distractions and the worries? I find that, yes, I really am. Truly, deeply so.


*Henry Rollins once derided a date for reading the Harry Potter books because she was a grown woman and shouldn't be reading children's books. Much as I love Henry, he's an idiot in this. Just because you're a grown up, doesn't mean you have to abandon the child in you, doesn't mean you should dismiss childish things.

Mix Tape: An Expression of Love

Since I bought my first music tape from a door to door salesperson in an HDB high-rise in Toa Payoh, I've always enjoyed making my own mixes. The 80s were especially challenging since I only had a single deck tape recorder and my pocket money wasn't enough to buy me a tape-to-tape. I used to record the top 40 tracks I loved off a TV programme called Skytrax (Running Up That Hill by Kate Bush just wasn't getting any radio air play at the time for some reason!) and TV theme tunes (anyone remember MASK?).

Inevitably, I graduated from tapes to CDs, and started mixing them up with spoken word tracks and comedy excerpts. Eddie Izzard, Bob Newhart and Henry Rollins made frequent appearances, as did the inimitable Tom Leher. I sought out readings -- Neil Gaiman is wonderful to listen to as well as read - interesting cover versions, and just cool sound. I suppose it's a habit I picked up as a promo producer - picking out the kicker lines or that intriguing clip. (I never went on to do mini-discs but I did learn how to edit reel-to-reel with a scalpel and a chinagraph pencil!)

The thing I liked best about making them, was writing out the tracks. I sort of wish I'd made images of all the covers and designs I'd done. This is the only one I took a copy of as I wanted to make a print for the case. I never planned them, I just let the pen take its own path. Well, I say never, I usually have a theme or an image at the back of my mind, but I didn't do a draft before I put ink to disc or paper, so each one was unique. (It had never occurred to me that I would make a mistake until one recipient pointed it out. Hasn't changed the way I make these things though!)

As to why I made them - lots of reasons, but mainly because I wanted to share the small pleasures I got from listening to these tracks. I once did a mix to be played at someone's work. At the time, this was someone I loved to my near destruction. I didn't actually make conscious choices about the tracks - only that they would have a timeless quality, so old classics. The mix... well, what came out elicited this lovely observation: "Wow, your wife must really love you."

Looking back at my choices in all my mixes, yes, they really were expressions of love, of my regard for the recipients. They had all been chosen with care and often, the subconscious me would add her own, much more meaningful, selection.

If you have images of a mix tape you'd made or CD or even a link to a YouTube playlist, I'd love to see/hear them. Pop them in the comments.

In the meantime, keep sharing the love.

Project Guess the Dinosaur Game!

My Little Monster came up with a gem of an idea for a birthday gift tonight: a Guess the Dinosaur Game! The birthday person will be five and a dino lover. Ooh! I have less than a week to do it so no time for procrastination. Five dinosaurs, one of which will be a mystery dino :-) Can't wait!

"Someday, my prince will come..."

I have been trying to get this post out for about a week but life kept getting in the way -- I'd started writing it following a conversation with my dear friend Wise Light.

Wise had just started seeing an amazing woman who not only was a great match for her but had the capacity to spoil her. And as we talked I tried to remember when I had been spoiled, I mean properly spoiled - a meal in a posh restaurant, a luxurious piece of clothing or jewellery, a trip to the theatre! Shoes!

I came up with zip. This from nearly two decades of marriage.

In that relationship, I was always the one who did the spoiling -- I bought the flowers and gifts, planned the Valentine's dates, organised those adventures just for two, booked the fancy(ish) restuarants. At the time that I did all those things, I didn't mind, but as time wore on, a small part of me wished wistfully that things were otherwise. I buried that voice, tamped down the disappointment, because it was just impossible.

The last time I was a little spoiled was on my last birthday. The loveliest thing about that was that I didn't organise it, plan it, choose it, or pay for it. It was only two lovely meals over two occasions, but I felt cherished. He had also taken the time to restore something as a gift. And not just restore, but customise it. For me. It even came in a gift-wrapped box. He actually knew, not just what I needed, but also what I liked.

To feel that need to be wined and dined, bought expensive gifts and essentially be treated like a rich man's mistress -- I actually felt a bit ashamed. After all, in a perverse way, I was proud that I was the provider, that I could play that role. To then feel the need to coddled and wooed seemed a betrayal of my feminist self. But I think, this need to be shown how precious you are to someone, is universal, regardless of gender or role.

My fantasy spoilage would be this: I would like to be gifted with a customised corset, complete with skirt, accessories and shoes. Then a full make-over by my favourite make-up artist, Ashley Kay Gifford (http://www.primppowderpout.com/). After all that, I would like to be shown off. Preferably at a ball or red carpet event. Something ridiculously over the top. In amongst all this, there would be food. Glorious food. Lovingly sourced and prepared morsels to delight the senses. And to finish? Well, since I had been gift-wrapped so lovingly, it would only be fair to be just as lovingly undone.

PS: The title was inspired by "Once Upon A Time", that TV series which mystifyingly features Robert Carlyle. I am fascinated by it as they have really gone to town with the story of Snow White and Prince Charming. It's such a seductive proposition: that love will conquer all, that true lovers will always find each other, that everything will be alright because they are destined to be together. But underlying all this blind faith, there was one question they'd asked themselves - are we fated always to lose each other?  

I understand that culturally, the Chinese think falling madly in love should be avoided. I wonder if this is true since all the Chinese "love stories" I know are actually tragedies (classic is this one Butterfly Lovers and of course, Madame White Snake) which seem to be warnings. Are they right?

What makes you proud of your mummy? When she does something she's never done before.

This from a four year old. I was moved to speechlessness.

Today I was listening to Rebecca Adlington on Desert Island Discs, on how, at the age of three, not knowing how to swim, she just ran and jumped into a swimming pool, which is exactly what my daughter did at that age, too. And I think, I did as well. (Though I do recall jumping in a pool, not knowing how to swim and doggy-paddling for my life when I was a bit older.)

1970-something. Learning not to drown.

I feel as though I've just done it again - I've jumped into the self-employment pool with only a theoretical grasp of what I'm doing. Doggy-paddling like crazy. I hope I don't run out of juice before I am swimming!

I've just registered on Freelancer.co.uk as a Creative Consultant / Writer / Voice over artist, bid on a couple of jobs, and I've got a couple of meetings lined up with agencies. It's been an education seeing all these projects and seeing all the profiles of the freelances out there.

I am certainly doing something I've never done before, and I hope that my daughter will talk about me with pride. Preferably on Desert Island Discs.

"Allow yourself to accept the precariousness..."

...something more creative might come from it." -- H. Ferguson, writer, polyglot and friend.

It's been 5 days since I became self-employed.

I've been reading the stories of like-minded individuals - thank you Career Shifters - and watching talks about entrepreneurship. 

I've also seen that a fellow creative who was in the same boat as me has taken off! I am so pleased and at the same time slightly envious - that's the competitive side of me growling (down, girl!). 

I'm now registered with three temp agencies and hoping to hear from another I contacted today. The idea is to just keep money coming in while I work on the creative side.

I've been working on my "creative CV" (if sketching and doodling ideas count!), and getting my work online (well, so far, I've managed to rip the damned things off the DVD and in the right aspect ratios). The next step is to pull it altogether. This bit is the tough bit for me. Didn't used to be - the taking action bit. That's what made me an efficient promo producer when it was a job. I wonder if this is damage from crashing all those years ago.

Today, I had the most interesting conversation with two of my dearest friends* -- they've got me thinking about writing something else. It's an intriguing proposition and due to its adult and potentially explosive nature, I am mulling it over.

Dare I do it? And how far could/would/should I take it?

The idea is tantalising and certainly appealing to my inner wild child. Oh, it's not just erotica - that I already do, just not published.

Oooh... I think I will. I think I dare.

*Indispensable, wonderful, amazing and just awesome.

A year from now...

A year from now I hope
Some of these crazy ideas I've dreamed up
Have come to life

A year from now I hope
The connections I've made today
Have grown fabulous branches and entwined with others

A year from now I hope
My home is on the pulse of a city
Alive with urban magic

A year from now I hope
My daughter is full to her brain*
With discovery, adventure and sheer joy

A year from now I hope
My bruised and battered heart is singing
For the joy of new loves

A year from now
A year from now
Can't come soon enough.


* Her phrase!

"Some days it takes an effort to live."

Someone close said that to me the other day, and said it so casually, like it was no big thing. I've said it myself, right here on this blog. I felt alarm and a little anger, because it seemed to make light of the struggle some of face on a daily basis. I guess I was dismayed that something like this was being regarded with such persiflage.

Today, I've been dealing with turmoil within. I am tired, and worrying. Intellectually I know what I have to do, but my emotions are winning, pushing down motivation and stifling action. I feel so enervated and I don't really know why.

Some might consider this a laziness, a lack of character, leading to a dark spiral of hopelessness. Yes, some of us feel things more intensely than others, we're made that way. Being constantly told by everyone that we can control this just makes us feel even more useless, especially when we fail to do so. We're mercurial and often appear to be like overgrown teenagers, kings and queens of our own dramas. I use the plural because I know I am not alone in this.

Aside: I was contacted by someone who wanted a grand, wild romance and I instinctively recoiled from that idea. "What would you damage yourself for?" was one of the questions that he asked. Once upon a time, that would have appealed to me -- oh yes, that mind-blowing, flying close to the sun, almost divine romance would have been my ideal. Damaging myself for that would have been par for the course. He couldn't have known that I'd already been there, done that and nearly bought the farm because of it. I had believed that merging with another person was nirvana. Sounds insane, doesn't it? I've since learned that losing oneself is a kind of madness, a descent that can end in death.

"Stay on target..."

Four weeks to go and I will be done with this current employment. I am filled with trepidation but even as I write this, I can't help smiling. 

The last four have been jammed with activity, both job-seeking and socially, the latter being somewhat more successful thus far. 

I've been waking up in a slight panic the last few days, afraid of what might happen if I don't get anything lined up. It's causing little spurts of paralysis but I have hope. There are things I can do, I just have to have faith and keep going.

I've also been plagued by a past obsession that just won't go away. I know it will pass, I just have to let it run its course and let it fade on its own. But it's an annoying distraction that a part of me -- that part that feels so bereft -- welcomes and can't seem to stop. One of Little Monster's bedtime stories is "Hug Me" by Simona Ciraolo and this part is just like Felipe, the cactus.

"It sucks to be a frown-up."

Sometimes life just kicks you in the gut.

I am currently nursing an emotional bruise which is obviously when I write the most.

A combination of dealing with an old hurt and child wrangling (complete with screaming, kicking, hitting and just plain old wailing) is making me feel vulnerable.

To some, it would seem that I complicate my life unnecessarily. Hell, if I'd met me, I'd think so.

The loneliness has crept back in. Insidious thing loneliness. I think I'd been keeping it at bay but a few nights ago I crumbled. So, I'm on a low. But at least I can recognise it for what it is, and I'm sort of breathing through it I guess. Kind of like breathing through a contraction.

Some days it takes an effort to live. I read an article today about trying not to try. The Chinese Taoists call it 无为 (wu wei), or in the words of Yoda, "Do. There is no try." It's about flow. Some days, my flow says, stay in bed, curl up under the duvet and just cry. Luckily or unluckily, I have a small child who will not be ignored or denied. And luckily for her, I don't have it in me to do so. Yet.

I wish there wasn't so much real life... stuff... to do. I wonder why some of us are so ill-equipped to handle the day to day, and why for some it's... 无为.

"You do it to yourself, you do...just you and no one else."

I don't know how people manage, this living business.

Don't worry, I am not feeling suicidal. Just a little whelmed.

There is so much to do, just to get on. And that's just the day to day stuff. 

I used to be so organised and prided myself on that fact. But these days, I feel like there is too much to do and I get immobilised by the idea. 

But do I do the sensible thing and cut down on what needs to be done? Of course not. I go ahead and quit my job. Why? Because if you find yourself snapping at everyone and on the verge of tears most days, this is not where you should be. 

Yet, I feel lighter, buoyed by the notion that there is an end in sight. I am filled with ideas that I want to try out. 

A friend called me a one woman creative hurricane the other day - yes, I like that. I just need to take action and do some of these wonderful things I've dreamed up!

"Try your best to deal with life without medicating."

I have often wondered about the rhyme "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me." It's definitely an adult's way of helping a child cope with taunting - but will it really help? It seems to devalue the power of words. All of human civilisation is connected by words: there are words to inspire, words to kill, words to heal, words to love... even those of us who lack a physical voice or the capacity to hear, still use words to connect with another human being. Would it not be more useful to learn how to use the taunting? Turn it back on the user? And to cope with one's feelings? I think it would be more harmful to believe that words could never hurt us, when In fact, words can do the worst kind of injury: invisible, insidious and enduring.

I had believed the lie, because I was told it as a child. I was told repeatedly by well-meaning adults who could not conceive of emotional hurt. If you couldn't see the injury, of course it wasn't not real or was worth attention. I have learned, at great cost, otherwise.

This gentleman's words from Humans of New York - " that every feeling will pass if you give it time." - crystallised what I'd been learning intuitively recently. It will be something that I will try to teach my daughter, or rather something we will learn to do together. Ignoring or burying emotional pain is only prolonging its existence, and gives it impetus to grow. Just as we shouldn't draw back from happiness (because we're afraid of the cost should it suddenly disappear), we shouldn't turn away from pain, but see it through. 

This too will pass.

"All the best people are."

Last night I had a visit from the Past, and with it came an insight which I wasn't thrilled about since understanding doesn't automatically bring acceptance. I am feeling hurt, and the self-esteem has taken a little battering*, so I am finding it a little hard to use it.

I know I'll get over it eventually, but I was also a little surprised at my own reaction. I had thought that I was safe, that I no longer felt... I was going to say that I was wrong, but even as I type this, I feel it ebbing, when just minutes ago, I felt that ache in my chest, now an echo. So maybe I was right, after all. Perhaps, this is what a memory of feeling is.

Years ago, after the first break down, I learned that emotional pain never really goes away. It comes back when you least expect it, like a dark wave, breaking over the barriers you've so painstakingly built, stone by stone. I am learning to swim through it, but it's hard work and I'm not as robust as I was.

My visitor is one of those who finds me too emotionally driven. I'll say what a dear friend said to that, "All the best people are."

On a positive note, I believe I am now OK with being alone. The idea of dating is decidedly unappealing right now. I think I'd like more frequent company of an adult nature though. That would be most... satisfying.

* I wonder if I will ever meet someone whom I will click with sexually again. And by click, I mean we will find each other equally attractive. Lately, it seems to be either I fancy them but they don't fancy me or vice versa. Or worse, we sort of fancy each other. Sigh.

"Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out."

I find myself in a an almost perpetual state of frustration alternating with rage these past 10 days. But this morning I read one man's blog about being let go from a job he had held for a decade - and I found myself thinking, "I will NOT be like this." So I breathed the 4, 7, 8 sequence and calmed the fuck down, then promptly did a quick search on stress on work. 

Exercise seems to be the panacea of choice when it comes to alleviating turmoil. I've been a little slack in the exercise department lately, mainly because I've not made the time for it, being too engrossed in my outrage. Being so emotionally driven, I sometimes become lost in the drama* and forget to pay attention. So I shall take my medicine like a grown-up. First dose tomorrow - if my daughter will suffer it. Trying to do a workout when a five-year old insists on jumping on you or using your arms and legs as a crazy maze is quite the challenge.

Oh yes, my weekdays now have a morning two hour slot for my Little Monster. Friday's activity shall be baking corn muffins if we have time: http://agirlcalledjack.com/2015/06/09/corn-bread-muffins-10p-each/. (Yes, I am trying to be a Parent.)


*To those of you who consider "Drama Queens" contemptible, I'll not gloat when you finally explode from throttling your emotional selves. Or turn into dry detached husks, wondering why you feel nothing but emptiness. Meh.

"I'm just not made for this, kid."

"This" being parenthood.

I know, I know -- lots of parents think they're not, that everyone feels this way sometimes. I have long despised the parents who gave the raising of their children to someone else (nanny, grandparents, boarding school) -- to my chagrin, if I could afford it, I would. Because I have found that I cannot be what my daughter needs me to be: 100% there all the time. All these people would care for her in ways that I never can.

This was further brought home to me when I visited the home of a childminder. Her home -- not her place of work, her home -- was a child's heaven. There was all manner of toys, games, costumes for dressing up, books, chickens, cats, a garden, a sandpit... my child belonged here, in this place made so lovingly for the purpose of childhood.

So why did I have a child? Not, as one might expect, because I wanted to be a parent. The reasons now seem naive, but despite what we believe ourselves capable of, predicting accurately how we would react to a situation two, three or five years down the line is not one of those things.

I am in awe of the power of our genes to convince us of the rightness of procreating. I had somehow gone from adamantly not wanting children to craving one in a space of 10 years. Even though, I knew that I would not enjoy parenthood, I'd somehow convinced myself that I would.

Alright, I concede that I did have moments of joy. But let's consider this: I was so angry and sad a few months after I gave birth, that I went back on antidepressants and stayed on them for nearly four years. It was the only way I could cope with my marriage and my child. And even then it was a bit touch and go for while. In that time, I believe I must have enjoyed some things - I have the pictures to show it - but I don't remember many of them. I see the smiles, the things we did, but I do not remember them. Post-meds... well, that's a different story. Take today for example, I ended up locking myself in the kitchen - I was hiding from my own child, because I just could not bear to be with her (the caterwauling, the flinging of cereal all over the bedroom floor and bed, the endless demands). Take a breath? Calm down? Don't shout? Medicate?

For those of you who are made for this, I salute you.

Void - Space - Emptiness - Vacuum

Tanya Davis wrote this beautiful poem about how to be alone: https://youtu.be/k7X7sZzSXYs

I've been pondering how to do this as I don't think I've ever been alone. Since the split, a part of me has been on the constant look out for a partner even though I know I really do not need one right now. Intellectually, I know I need to heal, to be happy with myself and my (mis)deeds, to be present for my child, and not to complicate my already complex life with another person's mosaic*.

But there is what seems to be quite a large void within me, that keeps signalling loudly that it needs to be filled. I know it should not be with another person but with... I struggle to fill this bit.

I read a lot about how one should find validation within oneself, but very little practical advice on how to do so or indeed what this actually means. And then there is the very definition of validation - seeking approval, is it? Is that it?

I wonder why I haven't instantly filled that space with my daughter - which seems, given my proclivities, to be the natural thing to do. I mean, when I was still tethered, I turned my attention to her much more. Perhaps it was a combination of the withdrawal of pharmaceutical aid and the re-birth of my identity+?

I often doubt my fitness to be a mother. I also sometimes doubt my fitness to be a friend, wife and colleague. I have a terrible suspicion that I am a lost cause and that people humour me out of pity.

It is at this point that I give myself a slap and go read a book, watch something inspiring or do some exercise. Distraction from the call of depression can be quite effective. It's whether or not you notice as it's quite insidious and can take you by surprise.

Frogs being boiled and all that.^

*Beautiful and fascinating as it may be. I love staring at mosaics, and following the patterns. I am astounded by the patience of the artists to place each tile.
+A very protracted process it seems. I suspect the answer to Who Am I will be constantly changing.
^ Not to be mistaken for frogs being dissected. That's for jokes.

Beauty is everywhere

As I lived through the birth and growth of digital music, a consistent lament has been for the death of the album cover. 

Sure, those large beautiful prints that you could cradle affectionately in your hands are a rarity now, but there is still a feast for the eyes out there. 

There is a certain sadness that we need a medium other than mere eyes and light to appreciate these, but they are there nonetheless. I love that we are still compelled to create visuals to complement the music. 

Oh, and today's doodle, done whilst on a phone call.

Wonder what my subconscious was processing here...

Meeting doodle

Are you normal?

Some days the imperative to write is quite impossible to ignore. Quite often it is simply to release the stream of consciousness that batters at the front of the mind.  I also have an inner film-maker who frequently throws up vivid fantasies behind my eyes. I have imaginary conversations in my head, and mini-dramas unfold as I go about my everyday. Of course, I am at the centre of all of these.

I question my sanity pretty much all the time*. Is this normal? But then, the question becomes 'Do I want to be normal?'. Most of my life has been lived with the fundamental belief that average is anathema, normal is for other people, that one should never be part of a flock: I will not be the same as all of you. I revelled in being the oddball, the rebel, the one who will always take the path less travelled. Damn, it gets tiring.

A good friend pointed out that normalcy is nothing to be ashamed of, and really, I could do with some of it right now. I believe she is right. What is normal, though? By what yardstick do I measure my mental health? I am certain that I can still be the weird and wonderful me without feeling like I'm losing my mind.

Let's go find out.

*At least three or more of my friends, and my sisters, have observed that I think too much, one of them has even dubbed me 'Girl Who Thinks (too much)'. It's a moniker I quite like, and relish even. Not exactly brimming with wit, but there is something appealing in its bare simplicity.

"Not everything that's broken, is meant to be fixed."

Today's doodle from my noodle... seems to be a repeating motif for me. 

I've been pondering the accumulation of things. 

When I first arrived here, all I had was a suitcase of clothes, a laptop, a passport and a folder of documents. Oh, I had possessions--books, art, tools, photo albums, letters, all the usual detritus of modern, privileged life--but I had left them all behind in my parents' apartment.

When I became a home owner... ah, that's when it began. I still didn't really have much in the way of furniture but when it came time to move, a van was required. Not just one load, but about 10 loads (I think). I suppose, that corresponds for every year I had lived in that house*.

I've since moved twice more and each time, the number of things have lessened. And I quite like that. I've come to the realisation that the fewer things I own, the better. You see, I am one of those who just can't seem to take care of things. Buttons that come off, tend to stay off. And almost anything that gets broken tends to stay broken+. And when you consider that my bedroom floor disappears regularly, and there is hardly anywhere to put down a mug without having to move something else, it would seem a sensible conclusion to come to.

Now, is there a correlation between my inability to maintain things, with maintaining relationships? I would argue that people are not things, and therefore there is none. But there is a small part of me arguing otherwise. And that part has small, extremely sharp teeth.

I've... removed quite a lot of stuff in the last six months. Many of those were gifts. I know some would say that getting rid of gifts is not the done thing. But why? They are just things -- not the people who gave them, not even representations of. In most cases, the giver probably won't even remember giving them. By throwing their gifts away, I'm not throwing them away. To me, the value of our relationship is not measured in material things, cannot be measured that way. I acknowledge that things can hold sentimental value - that they can remind us of the people we treasure, can become a symbol of someone dear, can be triggers for fond memories. But I think we only need one or two such emblems, not a box room full of them. Eventually, all they become are dust catchers.

I take comfort in the fact that an indoor plant that an ex-colleague had given me on his last day two years ago is still thriving on my desk. So a living thing is surviving my ministrations. A symbol that I can take care of things.

*Well, there were two of us, and it's debatable whether half of those loads were mine. I am inclined, now that we've split, to say that maybe a third, if that, did actually belong to me.
+Unless a kind-hearted friend takes pity on me.

"... when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall in mutual weirdness"

My doodle for today, our calendar for May.

I have a number of hopes this month and I hope they will all come to pass. 

A friend has a tattoo which roughly translates as "I hope for nothing". I looked it up and the writer, Nikos Kazantzakis (Zorba, the Greek; The Last Temptation of Christ) has it as his epitaph: "I hope for nothing. I fear nothing. I am free."* Philosophically, it could be he has accepted life as is and has achieved a state of non-desire, the Buddhist nirvana. But to have no desire -- which hope is an expression of -- the idea seems counter to life. To me, to be alive is also to strive. In order to strive, one must have desire to do so. So if you no longer hope, then you no longer strive. Ergo, you are not alive. At least emotionally so. My friend, I hope that this is not what you want. It can be very attractive to be emotionally void -- to feel no pain, no despair, no crushing disappointment -- but you will also no longer feel joy, delight, and crucially, love, because you cannot have one without the other. If there is a more positive interpretation of this, I'd like to hear it.

My mini project's D-day is 10 May: I hope I will see it through, and I hope it's a hit. I hope for many things, and yes, I will be disappointed when some of those hopes are crushed, but to stop hoping? I may as well just stop.

*Since he is dead, it just makes that statement a simple truth.

"Could it be this is all I am?"

Today, I think I will try to revive my inner doodler. I used to draw every day, so I'll try to post a drawing every other day, and see where we get with this.

Goodbyes

I had to say goodbye to someone a couple of days ago.

It wasn't a casual "See-you-later-we'll-catch-up-at-some-point" kind of goodbye - this felt a bit more permanent. I knew that it was extremely unlikely that we would ever see each other again, or even be in touch. We're not connected by social media and there would be no "Hi-how-are-you?" messages. It seemed that we were closing the door on our... I don't actually know what to call what we had. It wasn't a relationship in the couple sense (we weren't one) and friendship doesn't seem to quite cover it either.

I've asked myself why I felt so attached this person numerous times because quite frankly, he was infuriating, often and with great delight on his part. And to him, I was frequently too this, too that, too demanding, to the point of overwhelm. And yet, we kept keeping each other company.

In my quest for self-knowledge and self-control, I am learning the subtle art of letting go. I can be surprisingly and frighteningly persistent -- I know this isn't a bad thing but like all things, too much can be destructive. And so, I will let this go. It will be hard I know, but I have to.

I will miss our what-ifs conversations, our endless speculations. I will miss sharing our stories, dissecting frogs (our ideas of humour being so peculiarly different), winding each other up over ideas and beliefs. I will miss excitedly sharing our discoveries about Life, the Universe and Everything, knowing that the other will "totally get it". I will miss teasing you and being teased by you. Most of all, I will miss hearing your voice, an almost daily occurrence, now gone.

Here's to a new door opening, a fresh chapter starting. So long, and thanks for all the fish.

"Parting is all we know of heaven / And all we need of hell ~"

I am an emotional creature, and I refuse to be ashamed of it. Because, dammit, it means I am alive and that I'm human.

So, I hurt, I yearn, I mourn -- all those things and more. And a couple of times, I had felt like I was in a deep hole that I couldn't climb out of, the only lights, those of an oncoming truck. And I was there, with one foot on the road, in the bright light of day. I didn't take the second step that day, and as I didn't want to be there again, I medicated. Or rather, I increased the dose.

It helped me out of the hole for a while. But I started asking myself, if I could feel so awful while being emotionally flattened, how bad must I really be feeling? It was really time to treat the cause, and not the symptoms.

I took steps and here I am - all aflux with emotions, rolling and tumbling the highs and the lows. Getting hammered as well but also really enjoying the good stuff too, something I haven't felt in a long time.

I am learning self-control again, but I am also learning that I shouldn't hide my feelings too much either, a tough balancing act. Because I want to see you - all of you. And so I will let myself be seen, and be not afraid. Not a fair trade otherwise is it?

I am learning to not let the fear of being hurt again prevent me from being happy. A very good friend is worried that I am torturing myself over an unrequited love. No, I am learning to ride out the pain and trying to mend myself psychologically. I find it odd that we, as a society, have developed this attitude that emotional hurt is "all in the head" and therefore warrants less respect and care. Can you imagine telling someone with a broken leg, oh, just walk it off! It's all in your leg!+

Today, I read an article about getting over heartbreak (How to get over someone) which was reassuring and offered tips on dealing with the symptoms of love sickness* because you know, I need to. I don't agree with all of them but here are the ones I will try to do.

1. Sleep well
2. Take plenty of exercise - fast walking for half an hour a day or at least five times a week
3. De-stress with soothing music (about 80 beats per minute, similar to my heart-rate)
4. Write 'never to be sent letters' to get things off my chest
5. Give myself permission to think about that person but for only 20 minutes a day.

~ Emily Dickinson "Life"
+ Why we all need to practice emotional first aid by Guy Winch
*Love Sick by Frank Tallis


Something else that has helped me think about how I was feeling was Dr Helen Fisher's illuminating TedTalk on "Your Brain in Love".

"Death cannot stop True Love. It can only delay it a little."

I can't believe it's been more than six months since I posted about Reawakening.

As you know, I've been exploring inner space--looking into what makes me tick, why I feel the way I do and think the way I do.

One of the biggest themes I was exploring was romantic love. The most profound thing I learned was that my entire notion of being in love is a purely biological/evolutionary imperative, that lasts about two years at most, just long enough to raise a child out of infancy.

I don't know about you but this is what I believed being in love was: You have a soul mate. And when you meet there will be that bolt of lightning. You will just know that this person is The One. You will not be able to get enough of each of other. You will always be madly in love with each other. Forever! And if anyone objects, screw them! It's us versus the world. Your love will conquer all, will survive all hardship, will overcome all obstacles. True Love is all.

This is what I really believed in my little girl's heart when I met my husband 20 years ago. And I think, still sort of believed up until about a year ago. The break up led to the questions: Where did the love go? When did it die? Was it ever there to begin with? Basically, wtf happened?

I found the answers in science and the answers were uncomfortable but true. These people had done their research and their evidence was compelling.

A New Beginning...

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away...

Sorry, I just had to do that!

Well, it's done. I am now out on my own with my Little One! And it's been incredible. I can't believe it's only been two months since the move

I've just embarked on an Ideas Adventure with Marianne Cantwell (www.freerangehumans.com) and Selina Barker (www.selinabarker.com). I've also taken the www.16personalities.com personality test (I'm an ENFP in case you're wondering), and just read "A Technique for Producing Ideas", "Love Sick" and "Daring Greatly". As you can tell, I am on a "Know Thyself" trip. But what I really, really wanted to share with you was this: my dream, head-in-the-clouds, totally out there dream life. It was part of an exercise on the Ideas Adventure course, and I love it so much, I felt that I needed to let it out and set it free... So here it is:

What is your life like and why is it so wonderful?

I’ll wake up in the morning, do some home school stuff with my daughter, send her off to a Self-Learning School. While she’s there, I’ll meet with my co-conspirators - our mailbox would be full of requests for projects. We’ll look through them and pick the ones we want to work on. Then we’ll look at the status of the ones we are currently working at, resolve any issues together, then go off and do our bits. Throughout the day we’ll talk about our various tasks/help each other out, at the same time throwing out ideas for the new stuff coming in on the Ideas Board, including ideas for projects we’d like to do that have no end client. We’ll have frequent breaks - there are no official lunch break. People are free to have a siesta if they wish, start late, start early, stay the night if they want. At the end of the day or the point when most people want to go home, we’ll have one last catch up on stuff and go. I’ll pick up my daughter, we’ll have dinner together, tell each other about the brilliant stuff we did that day, tell stories and go to bed, looking forward to tomorrow.

Describe what you are wearing and how you look

Relaxed, wearing whatever I felt like that day.

Where are you? What is your home like?

An office with creative spaces for thinking, putting up inspirational pics/quotes. Comfy sofas/armchairs for working at. A games area for letting off steam, a quiet corner for snoozing or concentration. Each person has their own desk and computer, a space they can customise. There is no dress code or “professional” behaviour code. There is a well-stocked fridge and small cooking area. If you want an alcoholic beverage, tis not a problem. The office is flooded with natural light. There is a rooftop area for “blue sky thinking”. The office is in a tall building somewhere near a park with a pond & wildlife, shops/pubs/eateries are just a minute away on foot. There is a “feel-good” wall - where we put up pics, notes, letters from happy clients, successful events.

My home has a creative space for getting messy, an admin space, a small library, a small kitchen with enough space to roll dough out in. We have an small lawn/garden that my daughter can run up and down in. We each have our own bedrooms with beds big enough for both of us to sleep in. A gardener and cleaner help to keep the place from going to ruin!

We share the house with another mother & child/children - possibly one other single mother with young children. Our home is full of love, laughter and creativity. The walls are covered with our own art, the furniture is eclectic. Everything is secondhand. We always have visitors - friends dropping in, lovers popping in, temporary housemates that shake up the dynamic, introduce new ideas, so we have a healthy mental state.

Who are you with?

People who are also my friends. I don’t think I’ve met them yet! I’d like for R and D to work with me. And SP, and PC, and AM, and C&JW, and... and... wait! I *have* met some them already.

Describe your lifestyle? (Where do you live? What do you enjoy?)

We live in a city, but not a metropolis. Cambridge is pretty good. Or Toronoto.

We enjoy meals out, art galleries, the theatre, quirky cinemas. We travel outside the city often to see friends and family. We enjoy cooking meals for friends and housemates, have many gatherings at ours. Lots of talking and sharing. I enjoy different lovers! Oh, and time to read. An inexhaustible supply of books - we live near a library!

What are your days like? Do they differ throughout the year? 

Filled with interesting conversation, discoveries, learning. No.

Describe what you are doing with your time 

Generating ideas for TV shows, producing some, throwing parties, writing and directing short pieces, mainly promotional stuff. Doing some voice acting, designing small graphic pieces, definitely art directing bigger stuff, like brand creation.

What is the best thing that has happened to you this (fantasy) year? 

An Oscar for SOMETHING - maybe opening titles! Winning an BAFTA for best new series.

From the place of this fantasy life, what advice would you give the real you?

Don’t give up on the dream!