circumstances

by

Island Blog – To Head for the Stars

As I move forward, always forward, even if it feels like I’m moving back, I know that we all are. When someone says ‘I am going back to work, back home, back to school, back to the ordinary’ I will gently question. How can you be going back when you have experienced so much since last you were in those places? I believe you are going forward to them all, or to whichever one applies. Think on it. You possibly made a new friend, learned a new thing, experienced a change, noticed something you hadn’t noticed before. We are always moving forward, always, even, and I repeat myself here, if it feels like we are moving ‘back’.

We may, agreed, be returning to familiar circumstances, be it a job we hate, a relationship that no longer works, or a a school that doesn’t respect us in the way we need. There are many such scenarios. But we have, even if only in our minds, left those places in our understanding. So what do we need right now? Will we continue on the old and comfortably uncomfortable treadmill, or will we find the courage to say No. Enough. In other words to speak out our own truth. And that is a tough ask, I know it, but if we don’t, then nothing, nothing, nothing changes and everyone thinks we are ok about the totally not ok of our lives. We always know when we are unhappy or unfulfilled. The feeling has grown for weeks, months, years, but we seem unable to rise up and shout, unwilling to cause a stir, to rock the boat, to make a ghastly mess. And Life trudges on without us, when what she really wants is to spread her wings, to hunker down for us to climb aboard and thence to lift us both into a sky of hope, adventure and stars.

The reasons for staying stuck lie, mostly, in the old voices, the old judges, the ones we have held on to for years, even when those voices are stilled in death. We take them on like clothing, wear them, quote them, live by their rulings, even though those rulings confined and defined us, squashing us into shapes we could never, ever, sustain, because we are not they, or is it them? We are absolute and unique and there is no copy, not even in a twin. When we are caught up in appearances, we will always be a shadow of what we can be, always, because we are an I. A single I, and this I is not part of a We, not in design, not in mind, nor body, nor experience. I am unique, and if my uniqueness bothers you then it may, respectfully, be your problem, and not mine.

The past and our present are separated by a divide. It is, initially, once we choose to work on discovering our own self,a narrow one, like a slight tectonic shift. The crack is not threatening, as yet, but because of this weakness revealed in the earth’s structure, we know it will widen. And, in the story of our past and our present, this is a good thing. Initially, we can easily leap from present to past, for reassurance, perhaps, validation, if we’re lucky, but it will widen, leaving us one day orphaned and feeling very alone. We are I now, aren’t we? I know that can be scary if the scared ‘I’ has been a significant part of We for longtime, but take courage, and really take notice of your gut, your inner voice of wisdom, because there lies the truth. What any of us were required to be as children, teens, partners or in the workplace does not define the I in any of us. I stands tall and alone. It begins a sentence. It takes back the power from We. And, as you probably all know, someone inside the We is just the one who is determined to retain the status quo and therefore to control.

I have no idea where all that came from, or maybe I do. I watch too many talented beautiful people remain inside the We for safety, protection and appearances, including myself. But I know, now, as I head for 71 as a determined I, that Life is still waiting for that chance to hunker down, to lift you on her back and thence to head for the stars.

by

Island Blog – The Dance Ahead.

That’s the Lonely banished. It took a while. I had to wrestle this demon to the ground and, although my spirit is willing, my teeth and claws still in situ, my body is a bit wonky-chops at times. I managed it, nonetheless, holding down the limbs of it, all flailing whack and kick, its big mouth wide open and full of unhelpful words such as Fail, Stuck, The End, Best You Can Hope For, etcetera. Phooey, said I, blasting breath into its face, because I plan to have fun from now on, no matter my age or situation, circumstances be damned! The Lonely finally gave in, I felt it soften in defeat, lifting myself off its grabby little body to watch it slink, yes slink, out of the door, last seen heading towards the village. I did give it the bus fare to Faraway, however. I’m not a mean woman, after all.

Since its departure I have dived into a whole lot of exciting things, such as hoovering my floors in a dance of feet and nozzle, made hummus, walked miles and sat myself sitting on a stone bridge that affords me sight of the old days. This inlet of water led out to years of exciting sea-ventures in search of whales, puffins, shags, guillemots, kittiwakes, porpoise, dolphin and gannets, to name but a few. This inlet kept our boats safe from the mighty, and bullying, blast of Atlantic fury. I remember the boats bucking like broncos on their tethering, my hair, when I had any, flying in the wind, my ears ringing from the cold. I remember the trees bending in obrigation, root strong, the hazels as bow-backed old women, saving everything that grew inside their motherly protection from a spectacular crash-bang. No greater love……….

As I walk with my memories, the good ones finally rise to the surface, delighting me. I had forgot them, I confess, but I so wished for them to return. All I could see were the dementia years and the decline before that, for I know it is true that what began as wild love and unstoppable hope morphed from exciting plans such as ‘where shall we eat tonight?’ to ‘Did you put the bins out and if not WHY NOT?’ Or, ‘It’s YOUR turn to collect the kids, bath them, read the story, wash up, cook (arf), walk the dog, do the weekly shop.’ It comes to us all. Surviving such a disappointing change and remaining together is a sign of strength; learning how to dance it in a different way, to make it fun, to laugh together about the whole daft parabola of a shared life is genius. I like that word most of all when it applies to a shared and connected forward motion. It is a life changer for everyone involved, kids, outer-space family members, each other. Did we manage that, I wonder, just as a lone stag bursts from the trees. I was so caught up in my parabola/genius thingy that I gasped and stopped dead. We eyed each other, this young 6-pointer and I with no points at all. Those brown velvet eyes, the stand of its powerful fleet legs, the proud of its neck. It was only moments, but we shared those moments. Then it was gone, like the wind, becoming the wind.

Back home to hoovered and well-danced floors, I checked in all the rooms for the Lonely. No sign but a thought flitted about me like a butterfly, beautiful and fleeting. T’is this. What brings in the Lonely? It isn’t that I hate living alone, my life full of choices sans explanation, justification, apologies. I am loving all of that. And then it came to me, the answer. I am addicted to love and not in absentia, but in persona. In order for me to thrive and love life I need to love. Then a second thought breezed in. If there isn’t a person right beside me, that doesn’t mean I am deprived of the opportunity to find and to feel love. I just have to learn a new way to feel love. I can love the moments, noticing everything around me. I can love my children and their children actively through texts and calls. I can love a morning, a slow afternoon, the catch of light and the soft fall of the dark. I can love myself and that’s always the hardest thing. I can love the chance that I will encounter something wonderful just by believing that it is out there somewhere so that all I need to do is to build on that belief whilst keeping myself in trim for the dance ahead. And when the Lonely comes back, I will be ready.

by

Island Blog 34 – To Rise and Fall and Rise again.

Today I spent a happy time with 3 other women over lunch.  We talked of many things, and sometimes all at the same time, but the theme that wound its way through all our conversations, was the ‘how’ of living.  How we each manage it.

Some of us walk a steady, even path, although it wasn’t always so steady.  Another is young, and she will take many paths, mainly out of youthful curiosity.

Do we lose that curiosity I wonder?  Or have we found that it doesn’t only kill cats?

The way we germinate the seeds of our own personal existence, it seems to me, is decided by the choices we make as we live out our life.  But if we felt we had no choice, or if choice was made on our behalf, does that mean that those seeds never grow and bloom?

There is a theory that we make our own choices, whether it looks like it or not.  Actually, I do agree with that theory, but I also hate it at times.  It is so much more pleasant to present myself as a victim of circumstances, or of some overbearing ‘other’ in my life.  After all, I could have been this or that, had I been allowed to make my own choices.

Couldn’t I?

When you live like I do, on a daily roller coaster, you are allowed to cast envious glances to those marching steadily along their level path of choice.  It’s fine when I am riding on point break, towering over the world and shouting ‘Woohoo, Look at Me!’  but quite another as I sink into the troughs and nearly drown.  And I do it every single day.  It is, in a word, exhausting to be me, but I am me and that’s that.

So, Me, how are we to accept that we made this choice very early on in life?  Our sisters seem very sorted, our brother too, and we all came from the same nest.  What, or who decided that we would think too much about every flaming thing, lifting up the carpet of life over and over again until the tacks give up and ping off into the unknown, leaving a permanent curl for everyone else to trip over?

Enough questions.

I have found that my first important decision each day lies not in what I do, or where I go, but in how I see what I see.  This doesn’t mean I should spend all my time looking inward but quite the opposite. When I have heard that someone is off to find themselves, in India or some such place, I have to conceal an inner snigger. In order, it seems, to feel ok, no, better, good about being a volatile lunatic, like I am, is to look at the world of which I am an essential part.  I know that sounds a bit cocky, but to be honest, it works for me.  If I can tell myself that I am here for a specific purpose, just as I am, with my own seeds to nurture and grow, then my roller coaster begins to make some sense.  After all, I can see higher and lower than the ones on the steady path.  I can spin among the clouds and swim in the deeps and I can use those powers of observation to help another.  I can take what looks like a heavy load and call it a gift. And I need to do this exactly where I am, because to flip off to India would be fine, but only if I could leave me behind.

Which I cannot.

If I am the one who has to surf the biggest waves, then let me learn how to surf.  If it is I who must sink into those troughs, then I must learn to be a cork.

And then, let me have the presence, the absolute engagement with where and who I am, to find one who fears their own sinking, and to show them that they can do it too.