...but I can see it makes no sense at all.
Do we set about our own chain reactions?
Do we instigate butterfly effects each day,
noticing a few,
but oblivious to
the million more ripples we're causing?
Or does the great grandfather clock of time
always know what it will bring
with each pendulum swing
and leave us to ride the momentum?
I don't quite know what to do with it all. Negotiating my now appendix-less darling husband down a steep downhill slope yesterday, a friend told me that it's actually really hard to tip someone out of a wheelchair. Are we all tentatively pushing our own metaphorical wheelchairs, careful not to upset the balance of the universe, when in fact our influence on cosmic events is tantamount to a whisper in a whirlwind?
No, I can't quite believe that. Individuals can change the world. Individuals should change the world.
I've had my own world views shifted this year (and I don't just mean that I flew round the back of the map - turns out you don't fall off the right-hand side, folks), and while it's terribly unfamiliar and therefore highly uncomfortable, it would be wrong to reverse it. As I've said elsewhere, change is great so long as you're the one causing it. But sometimes it leads us down awkward paths. Sometimes it completely challenges our life philosophies, as Hamlet sought to warn Horatio. Sometimes it even makes our friends attempt to write poetry. :)
So where are we landing today, dear reader? I truly don't know. Mostly my endings practically type themselves, but not this time. Earlier this month, I declared on Facebook that I was feeling at one with the stormy Sydney weather, stating that things just didn't feel right. There was something rotten in the state of Denmark, indeed. Quite literally. New Year, new start? Quite possibly.
But for now, I'm off to sleep. Perchance to dream...
Sunday, 13 November 2011
Monday, 7 November 2011
Learning to fail
"I'm keen to learn new things," I confidently said in the interviews. "Take on new challenges", "add to my skillset" - no doubt you've proffered similar sentiments yourself at various times, dear reader. Like attracts like, so they say (sociologically speaking, that is - let this one go, all you physicists) - so I write this post knowing my loyal readers are fellow questioners, debaters, and lifelong learners.
"I'd like to fail please," is, however, the unfortunate translation. Last week I tried a couple of new "challenges", and found myself confronted smack bang with my own inexperience not once but twice - and it hurt (both times).
My instinct, I'm quite ashamed to say, was to walk away. I have enough hobbies that fall within my comfort zone - why on earth was I stumbling around on unsure footing, driving feelings of inadequacy, and ultimately going home disappointed in myself (and vocally so, much to the delight of my poor ear-sore husband)?
Now, afore-mentioned husband countered that I couldn't really expect to be able to stand on one leg for a full 10 seconds in my first ever bikram yoga class, and that did make me feel a little better. :)
But in all seriousness: the other failing wasn't quite so easily dismissed. When it was pointed out (ever so kindly) where I hadn't met the mark on a personal (non-physical) exercise, I could only marvel at how easily I'd got it wrong. My first attempt at a second version too fell slightly short, so, like the repeated balancing acts in the yoga session, I had to demonstrate my weakness several times before I finally got it right.
I didn't like the feeling at all. It was embarrassing; I felt that I could see my mentor's view of me diminish a little, and the normal spring in my step was that little bit less carefree. But the story ends well, dear reader: fortunately I successfully gaffa-taped up the little defeatist voice in my head, and completed my piece to full satisfaction in the end.
Now, of course, I am grateful. My embarrassment was minimal; I've learned from my mistakes, and I've now most definitely "add[ed] to my skillset". Right up there (and my message, to those of you who ever so kindly believe there might lurk a message in these random witterings of mine), is this latest top tip: always keep plenty of internal gaffa tape.
And as a final note: I won't agree with the X-factor mentality that "my journey" was the best bit of this whole experience - how ridiculous. I'll stay right here, thank you very much - basking in the smug satisfaction of knowing that next time I'll get this kind of homework right the first time. And that I was able to write this whole post standing on one leg.*
* Some facts in this post may not be 100% accurate. :)
"I'd like to fail please," is, however, the unfortunate translation. Last week I tried a couple of new "challenges", and found myself confronted smack bang with my own inexperience not once but twice - and it hurt (both times).
My instinct, I'm quite ashamed to say, was to walk away. I have enough hobbies that fall within my comfort zone - why on earth was I stumbling around on unsure footing, driving feelings of inadequacy, and ultimately going home disappointed in myself (and vocally so, much to the delight of my poor ear-sore husband)?
Now, afore-mentioned husband countered that I couldn't really expect to be able to stand on one leg for a full 10 seconds in my first ever bikram yoga class, and that did make me feel a little better. :)
But in all seriousness: the other failing wasn't quite so easily dismissed. When it was pointed out (ever so kindly) where I hadn't met the mark on a personal (non-physical) exercise, I could only marvel at how easily I'd got it wrong. My first attempt at a second version too fell slightly short, so, like the repeated balancing acts in the yoga session, I had to demonstrate my weakness several times before I finally got it right.
I didn't like the feeling at all. It was embarrassing; I felt that I could see my mentor's view of me diminish a little, and the normal spring in my step was that little bit less carefree. But the story ends well, dear reader: fortunately I successfully gaffa-taped up the little defeatist voice in my head, and completed my piece to full satisfaction in the end.
Now, of course, I am grateful. My embarrassment was minimal; I've learned from my mistakes, and I've now most definitely "add[ed] to my skillset". Right up there (and my message, to those of you who ever so kindly believe there might lurk a message in these random witterings of mine), is this latest top tip: always keep plenty of internal gaffa tape.
And as a final note: I won't agree with the X-factor mentality that "my journey" was the best bit of this whole experience - how ridiculous. I'll stay right here, thank you very much - basking in the smug satisfaction of knowing that next time I'll get this kind of homework right the first time. And that I was able to write this whole post standing on one leg.*
* Some facts in this post may not be 100% accurate. :)
Sunday, 23 October 2011
"Have a great life."
And so she bade me farewell - this inspiring, full-of-life lady whom I met through fate's dealing hand (such are the risks when travelling in a party size not directly equal to train seating arrangements).
I don't know why it struck me as odd that she should assume our paths won't cross again. Hers wasn't the typical American, "Have a great day." Almost, but not quite. But was that small yet significant word change simply a realistic reading of how completely improbable the chances of our geographical similitude in future, or was it in fact an instruction?
As each day in Australia draws to a close, I'm always curiously conscious that in the UK that same day's just beginning. Now arguably, there's not a lot one can offer with 10 hours' hindsight, but here I was faced with a rather more feasible reverse observation: this positive, beaming lady had about 40 years on me. I panicked for a second: what had I gleaned in that 90-minute train journey that could possibly help me live up to her command? Why hadn't I used the time better, darn it?
I needn't have panicked. We don't need to actively "use" time; we just need to spend it - not fritter it. I could have buried my head in my phone, or craned my neck the whole time to continue conversing with my companions, but instead I had fortunately identified this smiling stranger as a kindred friendly spirit. And so as we watched the breathtaking scenery speed by, we spent a glorious 90 minutes learning about each others' lives, families and fortitude.
I stepped on to that train a weary woman, hot and dehydrated from a 1-hr trek along the Inca trail that leads to the astounding sight that is Machu Picchu. But I stepped off that train light as a feather, in awe of a 70 year-old lady who'd completed the full 10-day trek; a lady with 3 Iron Mans under her belt that summer alone, a visibly strong and devoted marriage, a peaceful satisfaction in her far-flung but happy brood, and a command which I left Peru determined to obey.
I hope I make her proud.
I don't know why it struck me as odd that she should assume our paths won't cross again. Hers wasn't the typical American, "Have a great day." Almost, but not quite. But was that small yet significant word change simply a realistic reading of how completely improbable the chances of our geographical similitude in future, or was it in fact an instruction?
As each day in Australia draws to a close, I'm always curiously conscious that in the UK that same day's just beginning. Now arguably, there's not a lot one can offer with 10 hours' hindsight, but here I was faced with a rather more feasible reverse observation: this positive, beaming lady had about 40 years on me. I panicked for a second: what had I gleaned in that 90-minute train journey that could possibly help me live up to her command? Why hadn't I used the time better, darn it?
I needn't have panicked. We don't need to actively "use" time; we just need to spend it - not fritter it. I could have buried my head in my phone, or craned my neck the whole time to continue conversing with my companions, but instead I had fortunately identified this smiling stranger as a kindred friendly spirit. And so as we watched the breathtaking scenery speed by, we spent a glorious 90 minutes learning about each others' lives, families and fortitude.
I stepped on to that train a weary woman, hot and dehydrated from a 1-hr trek along the Inca trail that leads to the astounding sight that is Machu Picchu. But I stepped off that train light as a feather, in awe of a 70 year-old lady who'd completed the full 10-day trek; a lady with 3 Iron Mans under her belt that summer alone, a visibly strong and devoted marriage, a peaceful satisfaction in her far-flung but happy brood, and a command which I left Peru determined to obey.
I hope I make her proud.
Sunday, 11 September 2011
Have you ever been mellow?
Have you ever tried?
Quite apart from a catchy little snippet straight out of a 90s dance remix [aside: what part of our brain decides to latch on to just two lines here and there, refusing to grace us with a full song's worth of aural pleasure (albeit a dubious phrase on this occasion) when we turn on our internal headphones? It's as if somehow we knew Google would soon replace our need for a comprehensive long term memory ("so long as I can remember enough to type into a search engine...")], this pithy two-part questionnaire almost dares us. What, you've never been in a state of blissful contentment? My good man, have you so much as attempted to put in the necessary effort?
But maybe there's some truth in it. While it might seem illogical at first that we can work ourselves into a state of tranquility, given that life is a constant quest to make ourselves feel good (my latest theory), surely peace is just another state that we can manufacture in our minds?
Australians have an interesting way of greeting each other. The phrase, "How you going?" is a small, but subtle shift on the standard, "How are you?" that we Brits tend to favour - a variation which focuses on the person's current state. Another deviation comes from that other English-speaking land: like the Aussies, our ever less formal American cousins also lean towards the future, but their typical, "How's it going?" removes the power from the responder as master of his own fate, and instead focuses on how the gods are moving him around the board.
So who's got it right? Each question has its merit, but for now I'm going to adopt the Australian way, encouraging my friends to view themselves as the driving forces in their lives, able to dictate their own happiness, develop their own futures (change is fabulous so long as you're the instigator), and, most importantly, control their own mellowness.
Quite apart from a catchy little snippet straight out of a 90s dance remix [aside: what part of our brain decides to latch on to just two lines here and there, refusing to grace us with a full song's worth of aural pleasure (albeit a dubious phrase on this occasion) when we turn on our internal headphones? It's as if somehow we knew Google would soon replace our need for a comprehensive long term memory ("so long as I can remember enough to type into a search engine...")], this pithy two-part questionnaire almost dares us. What, you've never been in a state of blissful contentment? My good man, have you so much as attempted to put in the necessary effort?
But maybe there's some truth in it. While it might seem illogical at first that we can work ourselves into a state of tranquility, given that life is a constant quest to make ourselves feel good (my latest theory), surely peace is just another state that we can manufacture in our minds?
Australians have an interesting way of greeting each other. The phrase, "How you going?" is a small, but subtle shift on the standard, "How are you?" that we Brits tend to favour - a variation which focuses on the person's current state. Another deviation comes from that other English-speaking land: like the Aussies, our ever less formal American cousins also lean towards the future, but their typical, "How's it going?" removes the power from the responder as master of his own fate, and instead focuses on how the gods are moving him around the board.
So who's got it right? Each question has its merit, but for now I'm going to adopt the Australian way, encouraging my friends to view themselves as the driving forces in their lives, able to dictate their own happiness, develop their own futures (change is fabulous so long as you're the instigator), and, most importantly, control their own mellowness.
Friday, 12 August 2011
It started with a tweet...
Well, a Twitter direct message actually. Then it was a LinkedIn note, an SMS and finally a good old-fashioned (already; I know) email.
Nowadays, we traverse the digital waters with ease. Conversations move seamlessly from one medium to another. Facebook have embraced this trend, and found an excellent trick to keep disengaged users from lazily ignoring their persistent friends: what starts as an IM quickly becomes a Facebook inbox message (which, incidentally, you get notified about in your email inbox. Possibly as part of a digest [aside: interesting approach. Are their open/delivery rates that low?]).
But do we really remain constant across the channels? We tolerate mindless nonsense from certain TV networks, whilst from others we demand high-quality entertainment. Do we, in turn, change our expectations when we find ourselves participating in digital channel surfing?
- Flick: Email is for keeps. Even the most fervent of archivers will find each most recent email most likely contains a lengthy chain of correspondence. As such, are we more careful about email content?
- Flick: Interactive messaging, on the other hand, is erased once we sign off (storing logs is of course possible but, I'd wager, uncommon). Are we less discerning? More abrupt? Do we stutter our way through, asking short-fire questions rather than exchanging detailed news (the very nature of IM is that it has to follow a Q&A approach, else it quickly stalls)?
- Flick: But king still is the SMS. It might as well stand for "See Me Soon", so incessant is its cry. We'll attend to a text before any other medium, I believe, simply because it's the demanding child in the room - and, luckily, the one that's easiest to appease. It's not the right framework for a lengthy reply; the little beep is always welcome as it explains to everyone around that we're really rather popular; and the social contract is such that a simple answer is perfectly acceptable. No further questions, your Honour.
I wonder if Facebook's new fluid treatment of chats / messages will make a difference to how we "chat", knowing that it's no longer just a throwaway line. "Oi, are you there?" isn't quite such a friendly welcome in an inbox, so will we start crafting our introductions? Or possibly not bother with those long-lost friends who deserve a proper first paragraph if we're pretty certain we're not going to catch them there and then?
I'd love to see the stats. I'd love to see if messaging has increased as a result of false-start "chats" being transported into the inbox, or if the fleeting greetings are in fact ignored as being pithy and temporal - and consequently, deletable.
I'm a big fan of email, but believe Facebook chat windows will remain just that: real-time conversation openers that quite simply aren't designed to be conducted with lengthy delays. If I'm going to email someone, it'll be because that's the approach I've chosen beforehand. The method will dictate the medium - not the other way round.
Anyway; it's just gone 9am in the UK. I'm off to see who's on Facebook...
Nowadays, we traverse the digital waters with ease. Conversations move seamlessly from one medium to another. Facebook have embraced this trend, and found an excellent trick to keep disengaged users from lazily ignoring their persistent friends: what starts as an IM quickly becomes a Facebook inbox message (which, incidentally, you get notified about in your email inbox. Possibly as part of a digest [aside: interesting approach. Are their open/delivery rates that low?]).
But do we really remain constant across the channels? We tolerate mindless nonsense from certain TV networks, whilst from others we demand high-quality entertainment. Do we, in turn, change our expectations when we find ourselves participating in digital channel surfing?
- Flick: Email is for keeps. Even the most fervent of archivers will find each most recent email most likely contains a lengthy chain of correspondence. As such, are we more careful about email content?
- Flick: Interactive messaging, on the other hand, is erased once we sign off (storing logs is of course possible but, I'd wager, uncommon). Are we less discerning? More abrupt? Do we stutter our way through, asking short-fire questions rather than exchanging detailed news (the very nature of IM is that it has to follow a Q&A approach, else it quickly stalls)?
- Flick: But king still is the SMS. It might as well stand for "See Me Soon", so incessant is its cry. We'll attend to a text before any other medium, I believe, simply because it's the demanding child in the room - and, luckily, the one that's easiest to appease. It's not the right framework for a lengthy reply; the little beep is always welcome as it explains to everyone around that we're really rather popular; and the social contract is such that a simple answer is perfectly acceptable. No further questions, your Honour.
I wonder if Facebook's new fluid treatment of chats / messages will make a difference to how we "chat", knowing that it's no longer just a throwaway line. "Oi, are you there?" isn't quite such a friendly welcome in an inbox, so will we start crafting our introductions? Or possibly not bother with those long-lost friends who deserve a proper first paragraph if we're pretty certain we're not going to catch them there and then?
I'd love to see the stats. I'd love to see if messaging has increased as a result of false-start "chats" being transported into the inbox, or if the fleeting greetings are in fact ignored as being pithy and temporal - and consequently, deletable.
I'm a big fan of email, but believe Facebook chat windows will remain just that: real-time conversation openers that quite simply aren't designed to be conducted with lengthy delays. If I'm going to email someone, it'll be because that's the approach I've chosen beforehand. The method will dictate the medium - not the other way round.
Anyway; it's just gone 9am in the UK. I'm off to see who's on Facebook...
Monday, 1 August 2011
The girl in the turquoise top
She took some photos, then headed back down the 494 steps to the beach. I saw her later buying a coffee as we entered the pretty waterside cafe, and then passed her again retracing her steps by the shore.
Meanwhile, we scampered back down the steps, pausing to catch our breath as we snapped the landscape; laughing as I instigated a futile game of tig. We talked, we pondered, we counted through our friends (old and new), excited about when we could bring them to this beautiful spot.
But what about her? Who shared the glorious scenery with this girl, the one with the small smile, the empty coffee cup, and the cosy cardi now draped over her shoulders? Who helped put it there?
Of course, maybe she enjoyed it more for the solitary stroll. Maybe she got to spend some much-needed "alone time", the rest of her life crowded with people and the furious art of being busy.
I didn't quite believe the excuse I found myself making for her, however. A few yards behind strolled what looked like an elderly mother and her daughter, hand in hand, both positively beaming. And over the course of the walk we'd passed proud grandparents, dog-walking chums, young lovers and valiant walking groups, all of whom seemed simply buoyed at being able to share the beauty with their companions. "Look at that!" they could hardly stop themselves exclaiming - such is the human desire to share the good and the wonderful with one's fellows on this earth.
So my message to myself (and to you, dear reader, if you're looking for one) is to live life in the plural. Yes, a moment of individual contemplation may be good for the soul, but to put yourself in such a situation that this self same soul cannot help but enlighten - and be enlightened by - others, well, that'll be even better.
And as for that girl: if she ever fancies strolling some more shores, I do hope she gets in touch.
Meanwhile, we scampered back down the steps, pausing to catch our breath as we snapped the landscape; laughing as I instigated a futile game of tig. We talked, we pondered, we counted through our friends (old and new), excited about when we could bring them to this beautiful spot.
But what about her? Who shared the glorious scenery with this girl, the one with the small smile, the empty coffee cup, and the cosy cardi now draped over her shoulders? Who helped put it there?
Of course, maybe she enjoyed it more for the solitary stroll. Maybe she got to spend some much-needed "alone time", the rest of her life crowded with people and the furious art of being busy.
I didn't quite believe the excuse I found myself making for her, however. A few yards behind strolled what looked like an elderly mother and her daughter, hand in hand, both positively beaming. And over the course of the walk we'd passed proud grandparents, dog-walking chums, young lovers and valiant walking groups, all of whom seemed simply buoyed at being able to share the beauty with their companions. "Look at that!" they could hardly stop themselves exclaiming - such is the human desire to share the good and the wonderful with one's fellows on this earth.
So my message to myself (and to you, dear reader, if you're looking for one) is to live life in the plural. Yes, a moment of individual contemplation may be good for the soul, but to put yourself in such a situation that this self same soul cannot help but enlighten - and be enlightened by - others, well, that'll be even better.
And as for that girl: if she ever fancies strolling some more shores, I do hope she gets in touch.
Sunday, 31 July 2011
I wanna live like common people
For 72% of people, it all worked out rather nicely. After just two weeks, this majority did indeed report longer, fuller lashes.
It's been a month now, and I'm really quite miffed that I can't say the same.
But for 72% it worked! The laws of probability dictate that I should now be delighted with luscious eyelashes, but unfortunately it seems I'm in the unspoken stat: for 28%, the experiment wasn't quite so successful.
Now normally, I love being different:
- "Where's that accent from?" people will ask.
- "AB blood type? That's quite unusual" the blood nurses will say.
- "Oh, left-handed, are you?" remark some perceptive folks when they witness me demonstrating the dying art of handwriting (discuss?).
But sometimes, just sometimes, I really wouldn't mind being "normal". I'll be unique and special when I want to be, thank you very much - but for everything else, I'll happily huddle in with the crowd.
Unfortunately, we don't get to choose. As I continue my walk through life I find I'm proving to be more and more "exceptional" in areas that I didn't really imagine would be the case, and I find this increasingly difficult to deal with. But why should I get the easy ride? Why shouldn't I join the scores of friends I know who have to watch what they eat lest their body plays up disapprovingly? (I'm currently on a strict lactose- and gluten-free diet in an attempt to clear up my terribly dry skin). Why shouldn't I have to jobhunt for longer than the average person in order to land my next career opportunity?
And why shouldn't I make do with the reasonable-length lashes that mother nature saw fit to bestow upon me in the first place?
It's been a month now, and I'm really quite miffed that I can't say the same.
But for 72% it worked! The laws of probability dictate that I should now be delighted with luscious eyelashes, but unfortunately it seems I'm in the unspoken stat: for 28%, the experiment wasn't quite so successful.
Now normally, I love being different:
- "Where's that accent from?" people will ask.
- "AB blood type? That's quite unusual" the blood nurses will say.
- "Oh, left-handed, are you?" remark some perceptive folks when they witness me demonstrating the dying art of handwriting (discuss?).
But sometimes, just sometimes, I really wouldn't mind being "normal". I'll be unique and special when I want to be, thank you very much - but for everything else, I'll happily huddle in with the crowd.
Unfortunately, we don't get to choose. As I continue my walk through life I find I'm proving to be more and more "exceptional" in areas that I didn't really imagine would be the case, and I find this increasingly difficult to deal with. But why should I get the easy ride? Why shouldn't I join the scores of friends I know who have to watch what they eat lest their body plays up disapprovingly? (I'm currently on a strict lactose- and gluten-free diet in an attempt to clear up my terribly dry skin). Why shouldn't I have to jobhunt for longer than the average person in order to land my next career opportunity?
And why shouldn't I make do with the reasonable-length lashes that mother nature saw fit to bestow upon me in the first place?
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