Happiness Matters

November 14, 2019

To leave this writing jaunt behind

, , , 6 Comments

To leave this writing jaunt behind

One morning recently, before I rose for the day, I said aloud, “I really want to leave this writing jaunt behind now. It’s been twelve hard years and I’ve had enough….”

Sincerely putting the matter out in the open and wondering what would happen, I waited, explaining, “It’s been good, but I’ve had to work so hard, and I don’t think I can weather any more disappointments. I feel beleaguered.”

And I swear that at the back, someone was smiling as they answered me, “You want to give up the one thing – the one thing, mark you! – that belongs to you entirely and that still offers you hope and something interesting and valuable to think about? We totally get how fed up you are and tired and all that. But it’s not the writing that’s making you tired, it’s everything else you do on a normal day. It is the daily routines and the shopping and the thinking about meals and superglue and recycling that has you exhausted, not your writing.”

“Not for nothing did we ensure you would loathe housework,” the advice continued, “We knew that if you could find any more enjoyment in it than you do, you would cheerfully give up this writing lark and spend the rest of your days cooking, wiping and cleaning. Which is not what we want for you. We want you to be happy.”

I could not help smiling with relief when I then remembered a time before all the daily tasks became oppressive when I truly did enjoy writing and find it engrossing. So why would I give that up?

The obvious answer, is instead, to give less energy and thought to the other daily tasks I bend my mind to, and simply write when I feel like it. For now, that will have to be enough. But I’m glad I’ve finally decided I won’t be leaving it behind.

Thanks for listening. 

Please share:

FacebooktwitterpinterestlinkedintumblrFacebooktwitterpinterestlinkedintumblr

November 11, 2019

When I Let Go

, , , , 8 Comments

When I let go

When I let go of all the needs, wants, plans and expectations, one thing remains still to be acknowledged and resolved. In all this “working for myself” gig, there has been – there is – one obsession that pushes at me, and that at the same time almost guarantees that I shall either feel unhappy or as if I have failed.

It is the feeling – the belief – that there is something that I should or could be doing that I am not doing. Some path that I have not walked, some obvious answer I have not found, some way forward that I have overlooked. Only glimpsed until now, this is the belief that makes me anxious or fretful: that I have been given a job to do in which I am failing.

I can notice where this fear comes from – perfectionism, the fear of not being good enough, and also of trying to keep up with others. To give an example, “they” might go to a book fair for three days of networking and mutual back slapping as they meet, walk and talk up and down the escalators. I assume I want to do that too, not for the anxious busyness or the caffeine drive, but for the sense of belonging. That old feeling of yearning transmutes into a feeling that, if I really wanted something enough, I could work for it. So, if I don’t get what I dream for, that’s because I’m slow, lazy, not good enough…

And then I remember that Life – which has brought me this far and which continues to care for me – will, in its way, bring me naturally to what comes next. I can – ok, I must – stop running to catch up. I can invite what comes next by being first peaceful, and then by choosing a path – any path – and walking it.

Finally, I remember that it matters little which path I choose. Like the plastic duck that never drowns and that travels thousands of miles without trying, life still has a way of righting itself, as long as I can stay optimistic and happy.

Thanks for listening.

Please share:

FacebooktwitterpinterestlinkedintumblrFacebooktwitterpinterestlinkedintumblr

October 31, 2019

I can do many things

, , 2 Comments

I can do many things.

I can do many things. I can drive a car, I can prepare meals – I’m what might be called a good plain cook – I can sing. Glancing through the remains of what might have once passed as a body of work, it dawns on me that I also produce visual art, some of which has, surprisingly, stood the test of time, despite the absence of any formal recognition or schooling. The test being, after twenty or thirty years, do I still like this? And yes, to a surprising number of things I draw, that is still my answer.

Which does demonstrate to my cynical self that indeed I can do many things and reasonably well. Unexpectedly, I procure from some part of my depths, strange, colourful works that hit the mark, often enough to give the whole idea of me as a visual artist more than passing credibility.

But where does this talent come from? With no concrete idea it existed, I’ve certainly never talked about it. Reminding me yet again, that in getting through life and discovering how I can achieve things, I travel an unusual path. I do not, and cannot, seemingly, arrive at outcomes along the same tried and tested routes that others take. If I can accept that I needn’t match more general expectations to get to desired outcomes along the usual paths, life seems to work out better for me.

I have been characterised as not listening to advice, being contrary and defensive. But perhaps a part of my reaction has come from knowing that what everyone else was telling me was “so obvious”, I knew would not work for me. Did I recognise, even as a child, that I would have to do things my own way? Possibly. Kids are not stupid.

I can’t keep up. And my sanity makes a welcome return when I remember that life is not one long battle to match “How things are done around here” with the way I do things. Things seem to work better when I keep faith and keep going, in my own way.

Thanks for listening.

Please share:

FacebooktwitterpinterestlinkedintumblrFacebooktwitterpinterestlinkedintumblr

September 18, 2019

Young people are taking action

0 Comments

There is so much going on, it’s amazing that the world keeps turning. Boris is doing his kamikaze best, I suppose, though I’m not convinced of either his methods or his mandate and he seems in his short time in office to have alienated more people than I’ve had hot dinners. The world needs to take action on climate change, environmental degradation, overfishing, the nuclear debate, the manufacture and supply of weaponry… And throughout a three-year fracas about our membership of the European block, many opportunities for action on our future priorities have passed us by.

Yet it becomes increasingly apparent to me that young adults, school leavers and college students are being looked to, to speak for the imperatives of future generations. Last night on the news, a piece about reconciliation in which young people from across an old, bitter divide were invited to meet. Looking exactly like my daughter having a conversation with one of her school buddies: young, hopeful, accepting. And baffled by the old, insisted-upon enmities maintained by their elders. In the same bulletin, mentions of climate change, marches, and Greta Thunberg are fairly routine.

Are young people increasingly seen as the moral voice of our nations? Of course, they are “the future” but as things stand, they currently have little investment in “the system”. Perhaps that’s the whole point: young people are freer, less hidebound by expectations that the “rest of us” take for granted. And “the system” currently appears to pay their views scant regard. A school teacher, when asked if her YA pupils may join a march for climate change says, “What’s more important? The environment, or your exams?” Greta has been mocked in mainstream media for having the courage of her convictions; 16 and 17 year olds don’t have the vote, nor do they have automatic rights to state support. Young people are often characterised as a nuisance, difficult, unfathomable. But do we listen to them?

I’m honoured that young people are taking action. For the rest of us, it seems to be largely a case of “business as usual”. Exploration for oil and gas – so essential for jobs and industry – continues, as does the sale of weaponry, for much the same reasons. I’ve yet to see a convincing argument that selling weaponry – in other words, facilitating the death of persons unknown – is good for any of us.

If we wish young people to advocate for us, we need to allow them full participation rights in our society. Not demonising their curiosity and energy, but allowing it expression, and learning – for the love of God – to listen. It is because young people have different perspectives that their views are so valuable. They need to be heard, accorded a full place in our democratic processes, and given the financial support to allow them some choices and active participation.

Those youngsters whom we designate our hope for the future are growing louder and more insistent. If the threats of climate change are real – and it seems wiser to assume they are than to pretend it’s all fiction – the momentum for change will continue to grow. While the old guard, so accustomed to rehearsing their entitlements and not listening to other points of view, will find itself increasingly isolated.

Please share:

FacebooktwitterpinterestlinkedintumblrFacebooktwitterpinterestlinkedintumblr

September 16, 2019

Back to riding

, 0 Comments

Back to Riding

I’ve had time off from riding, cutting short last term and starting late this term because my previous horse at The Drum – which hosts an RDA stables – told me he was simply too tired to carry on. I’ve been tired too, lately, so I sympathise, but because of a series of sad losses at the stables – horses working for the RDA tend to be older than average, they have to sedate and require a lot of careful training – there has until now been no suitable replacement horse available. But I have wanted to get back to riding.

So I was delighted to receive a phone-call to let me know that we were hopeful of finding me a new horse. Mr Bob is currently the front-runner, the lucky winner of my seat, and actually, he is such a cute boy, with big eyes, long lashes, a dark, soft coat, and ears that whisk around like radar at the least murmur of approval. I imagine him picking up a signal from the worldwide web…. One of the helpers said, he is a sway back, and from certain angles he looks pregnant, but he has narrow enough shoulders for me to hitch a lift, and frankly, his perceived imperfections simply make him more loveable. None of us is perfect, and if he is happy to carry me then I shall be content. Tomorrow will be only my second ride on Mr Bob, so it’s early days.

The care that is taken to place horses with suitable riders was borne in on me two weeks ago, when I was riding another horse. The coaxing noises that I used to deploy for an old, patient soldier were distracting to a new, keen recruit, and it took real concentration for me to stop that automatic murmur. My leader carefully pointed out that my ride would be only ten minutes, because it is so important not to teach new horses bad habits.

I’m always asking, “Why?” and wanting reasons, but as soon as I understood the care that goes into training each horse with the RDA, I was more than willing to do as instructed. And I shall be biddable and content with whatever happens next.

Thanks for reading.

Please share:

FacebooktwitterpinterestlinkedintumblrFacebooktwitterpinterestlinkedintumblr

September 2, 2019

Cooking up a fantasy

, 2 Comments

Cooking up a fantasy

Instead of the purveyors of entertainment cooking up a fantasy, I would love to see real cookery shows. Not competitions timed against the clock, but everyone pitching in and doing things together, learning how hard it is to make a thing look effortless, without fancy camera work. It’s time for the single-super-person / super-mum role model to be dismantled in favour of a communal, inter-personal approach to cookery that acknowledges a more realistic perspective.

I know people who drink while they cook, but rarely at any other time. Might that suggest that the cooking – the expectation of it, its relentless necessity – is the trigger? Gregarious individuals who only want company and who, instead, are dragooned yet again into a solitary kitchen filled with labour saving mod cons and who would give anything for a night off?

If Nadiya and Mary and Delia really want to inspire us they can stop pedalling the impossible mythology of cooking with all its contradictions:- 

~ Though s/he is emancipated, s/he cooks, nay, enjoys cooking all the time, alone. 

~ Because s/he is pleasing other people, cook is therefore fulfilled and happy

~ This is the way it has always been and will always be.

~ By cooking, the cook encourages sociability in others, though cook is solitary and would really love to have some help. Not to have to ask for it, just to receive it as a matter of care and courtesy.

~ You may be cook alone, but if your food is delicious – and note, if you will, the implied threat in that – you will always attract friends. None of whom will venture into your kitchen to help. But admiration is reward enough.

All I can say is, how 1950s. Viva la revolucion!

Thank you so much for listening.

Please share:

FacebooktwitterpinterestlinkedintumblrFacebooktwitterpinterestlinkedintumblr

August 29, 2019

Cooking in fantasy land

, 0 Comments

Cooking in Fantasy Land

I can’t be the only jobbing cook who finds these weekday early evening cookery programmes increasingly irksome, surely? I have nothing against Fanny Craddock, Delia Smith, Nigella Lawson, Mary Berry and Nadiya Hussein. I admire them hugely. But I find the “it’s what sells” soft focus of early evening cooking as entertainment, and featuring a solitary female anchor, increasingly questionable. Cooking in fantasy land?

Two of the reasons I find the preparation and cooking of food so tiresome is that it takes up a lot of my time and, crucially, I do most of it alone. Traditionally preparing meals was a communal activity, and thus a chance to exchange news and have a laugh, all of which made enjoyment of a necessity. Now, that communal feature is, I feel, channelled by television production companies into “party/treat/summer/festive afterglow” themes, assisted with great mounds of whipped cream and slow mo scatterings of icing sugar so beloved of TV camera angles.

Almost all the boring stuff – the washing, rinsing, chopping and dicing is carried out by someone off-camera or conveniently fast-tracked using time-lapse photography. The fact so ably obscured behind a hundred colourful camera shots is that in the home, in our culture, cooking is not perceived as a sociable activity. Nadiya may be well paid for her talents, but, presumably because it’s what sells, she is almost falling over herself to make it look interesting, fun, exciting, sexy even – using lashings of cream, honey, nuts and fruit.

Despite cooking being a solitary activity, tv chefs are always portrayed as having so many happy, glowing handsome friends who are all so appreciative. By cooking, the fantasy invites us to believe, a chef keeps aloft the hopes and aspirations of the wider family, and all their friends, who flock to delicious parties, drawn by the irresistible aroma and upbeat effortlessness of it all. We are invited to share the fantasy, where the grass is always green and the kids are always smiling, attempting handstands on the lawn. But never helping in the kitchen?  What a con trick. Why are we still being sold this staple as a family ideal?

(to be continued)

Thanks for listening.

Please share:

FacebooktwitterpinterestlinkedintumblrFacebooktwitterpinterestlinkedintumblr

August 23, 2019

Ableism and me

, , , 2 Comments

Ableism and me

Thanks to Emma Crees, Writer in a Wheelchair for giving me, over the years, occasion to think about ableism and me.

And in all honesty, I haven’t, much, except in relation to the obvious political footballs: austerity, poverty, dearth of ambition. But, in much the same way as our current social expectation is geared towards masculinity – football all weekend, failing which rugby, tennis, golf, or beach volleyball – for the women – and that contradiction, the blonde, female sports rapporteur – much able-ism goes under the radar, or is simply accepted, tolerated and excused.

But here’s the thing: Why?

In my faith community – to which, I regret, I am now a rare visitor – I have made two requests to help that have stood out in my mind. The first, to wash dishes, was very politely refused because, I was told, the kitchen would be very busy and they needed someone who could carry dishes from the washer and stack them, carry plates and so forth. The implication being that I would make more work for them instead of helping them, and therefore, it would be better if I did not get involved.

The second occasion was when I asked, “What I would have to do to qualify for an in-house shift at one of the larger Quaker centres?” The kind of shifts in which it is expected that members staying for a week to assist with the hospitality, will act in a welcoming, sharing capacity, helping visitors to feel at ease. It was suggested that, since the friend in residence would be expected to carry suitcases, perhaps it would not suit me. After I got home, I wrote to query this, and received no reply.

So, is “Health and Safety” now to be used to exclude persons who wish to participate? I fully recognise that, if I ask to “help” in areas where it is more usual for the able-bodied to do so, it is probable that someone else may need to help me to help them. So, am I therefore to be excluded from giving my ha’penny worth? That seems a trifle harsh.

It is hard – sometimes very hard – for a person with impairments to get up any enthusiasm for joining in. Not only is the able-bodied world peculiarly blind to the challenges faced by those with impairments – “It’s self-service, just fetch a plate and come along…” – but it can be difficult to leave the small comfort zone of passivity that those of us with impairments have marked out for ourselves. A comfort zone which, if I am typical, is made up of equal parts of consolation and despair: Not very life enhancing.

So, joining in, and feeling encouraged to join in, will be exceptionally life-enhancing to one whose usual world is four walls of a room, the bleak car-park or the limitations of a predictable, supermarket shop. Given the sheer appreciation and delight we feel when being encouraged to participate, do organisations that encourage volunteering not see the value in a buddying system that encourages that? Or is that hope of extra care deluded and unhelpful?

It does seem to me that “inclusion” must embrace all sorts and abilities, even if that means making an extra effort for that to be possible. If we are to have an accurate reflection of what “society” means we must encourage those of us who are reluctant to leave their living-rooms to get outside and live a little.

Thanks for listening.

Please share:

FacebooktwitterpinterestlinkedintumblrFacebooktwitterpinterestlinkedintumblr

August 19, 2019

I am over fifty

, 0 Comments

I am over fifty so… it’s all but over for me, is it?

Everywhere I look, in my daily newspaper, in magazines, leaflets and booklets that tumble through my letterbox, on bus adverts and these annoyingly persistent on-line ads that announce, “Over fifties’ health plan / life insurance / home equity release scheme/ travel insurance / no medicals/ Tenfor Ladies Always Discreet pads for the active “mature” lady”… I am reminded that I had better think of slowing down. I am over fifty so…?

Honest to God, perhaps I should just give up and accept that I’m old. But I don’t feel old, and in more ways than I can enumerate I feel younger, more able, more positive and more alive than I did when my age was thirty-something. I’m not just saying that, either. I have a much better grasp of what my life is for, what I can do to feel more excited, more interested and more alive. And, I would like to be allowed to do that without being dogged by the constant, promoted assumption that because I am – ta da! – over fifty, I somehow need to slow down, take it easy, ease up a bit.

I resolutely refuse to slow down, even though, in many ways, I have slowed down. I no longer pelt along the street and slam into the pavements when I fall because I’m moving so fast. Instead, I saunter, and trip and fall in a more graceful pile but, I don’t seem to notice, even with my reduced speed and my care with each step, that I am much slower than I was before.

And what is this obsession with speed, anyway? I notice it at the leisure centre, where people in the fast lane of the pool seem to swim with an almost permanent grimace on their faces. If I was watching them, I would say they hate swimming and want to get it over with as soon as possible. Do I feel like that, always counting lengths and desperate to get to twenty so I can get out and leave? Actually, yes, I had to admit, I do, often. Which is stupid.

Being aware of something we dislike is the first step to stopping it. I dislike this notion that the over fifties are on the verge of obsolescence, decayed, faded and tired. What about kind and patient? What about character-filled and interesting? Are all such qualities to be brushed aside because we walk with a stagger or a stoop, and because we insist on writing, “The man with whom I was talking” instead of “The man that I was talking to”?  

Thanks for listening.

Please share:

FacebooktwitterpinterestlinkedintumblrFacebooktwitterpinterestlinkedintumblr

June 27, 2019

Having an impairment

, , , 8 Comments

Having an impairment

I hear from readers quite often, writing to me and talking about having read Trapped. Typically a message will begin, “Hi, I’m Andrea, I’m 27 and I have cp. I read your book and…”

Which makes me wonder. Some readers want to write, and ask for advice about that. And I would say, if the first thing you identify about yourself is that you have CP – or any kind of impairment – then yes, you do need to write, if only to get that narrative out of your system.

For decades, my intro line was, “Hi, I’m Fran, I’m X years old and I have CP.” But really, identifying what might be the main challenge in your life as essentially You, is a bit limiting. I have CP, yes, but it no longer defines me, or limits me. The sense of having limitations is odd, relying as much on other people’s ideas of what is possible, as my own. And, I choose not to see myself like that anymore, because to do so is unnecessary and unhelpful.

I’m Fran, I am fifty-four and I have blue eyes; dark blue, almost teal, with a ring of brown around the iris. I like singing, so much so that even at my age, I do so unselfconsciously only dimly aware that other people consider this eccentric. I sing along to music in the supermarkets, because there seems no reason not to: it’s the kind of thing that other people would do, if only they had the nerve.

I’m Fran, I’m fifty-four, and I’m a carer. I care for my family, and for my mother, and I care about the environment. At the moment, four large men – or is it five? – are trimming back the trees at the bottom of the hill at the back of our garden, and I have wept, because I love those trees, which, for me, are a precious glimpse of wildness in the city. I love those trees for being a refuge, for whistling when the wind blows, for being solid and optimistic, and for growing with branches extended wide. And for being taller and bigger than me. For being unfathomable and private to many creatures I will never see. For being faithful, for believing that growth is good and life is sacred.

As for having an impairment… What is that? Is it, as the social model of disability would have me believe, something that I really should be able to ignore? I’d like to, but actually, trying to ignore it is like trying to ignore the elephant in the room…

So instead, I try to make friends with the elephant and listen to what it might be trying to tell me. Often, I might chance a ride on its shoulders, from where I have the most amazing view of life. It’s a metaphor I prefer to play with, rather than push against. And, if we are playing with this particular metaphor, it might be an expensive thing, that hints at a grander life, needing a bigger space to play in. I love those trees because they were elephant sized, and expanded my sense of what I was. Looking up at them, I forgot about having an impairment.

Thank you for listening, and have a wonderful summer vacation.

Please share:

FacebooktwitterpinterestlinkedintumblrFacebooktwitterpinterestlinkedintumblr
«‹ 4 5 6 7›»