The Love Challenge!

I've been reading about "slacktivism" and the ice bucket challenge, which I'm sure you already know about, so I'm not going to bother explaining. I guess, though, my take on it is that surely anything anyone does that is positive, rather than negative, is a good thing? I was thinking about that on the drive home today from Sydney. I was also thinking about an elderly man I do work with. He is such a beautiful person, and today I saw him sitting on the toilet. I'm a volunteer, not a carer, so I don't have to do any of the bathroom stuff. But today I had to hold a roll of toilet paper while a carer ran off to get an absorbent liner thingy. The carer indicated that the man wouldn't mind if I saw him on the toilet. Thankfully he didn't notice me, because I minded on his behalf! Ageing really does suck.

But that's not my point! I was driving home thinking of how damn lucky I am to have privacy in the toilet! When I remember to lock the door, that is, and the kids don't bust in. Working with elderly clients has made me so appreciative of so many things. Mobility, freedom, privacy! Wow, these are all things I really have taken for granted. I am trying not to. I am trying to remember how important every second, of every minute, of every day is.

So, here's my point. I've come up with my own challenge! And perhaps it comes under the heading of "slacktivism", but I don't care. And I know that no-one actually reads this blog, but I don't care about that either! I am "putting it out in the universe", and that's all that matters. This is a personal challenge. I am sharing it because I hope other people might decide to take it on as well. There's no money involved, no-one to sponsor, and no cure! But I think this is really important.

Here's the challenge!! I challenge myself, and anyone else out there who reads this, to let go of the silly negative thoughts, to stop complaining at work, at the grocery store, at school pickup, at book club, at restaurants, at yoga, at home, at airports, at kids' birthday parties and on and on and on! I will try to think of my elderly friends and all that they represent, and all they have lost, and all they will continue to lose. I will try to be grateful for privacy and mobility and freedom, for being able to drive myself home, to make myself a cup of tea! Life is so simple, but we make it complicated. I don't want to complain anymore. I don't want to be part of the bad news I read and hear about. One of my heroes, Alice Herz-Sommer, who died recently, said this: "I am looking for the nice things in life. I know about the bad things, but I look only for the good things."

I have a choice! We all have a choice. And I want to chose the good. I want to see the good, talk about the good, sing about the good, read about the good. The bad will come! It always does, and I'm not afraid of that. But I refuse to seek it out by complaining unnecessarily! Join me in this challenge. It's easy. Smile at people, be friendly, be joyful, be positive! Find something good about work, school, friends, family. Count your blessings, sing someone's praises. Say please and thank you. Ask people how they are. Hug someone. Slow down! Look around. Get off Facebook for a while. Look up from your phone. There is a beautiful piece of graffiti on a building in Newtown. I have it on my phone. It says: Love is the answer. When I spend a day with elderly people who are grateful for a smile and someone who notices them, I know this to be true.

My challenge is free and it's easy. I know that this isn't an original challenge, but when I was driving home, I had this thought of how great it would be if people complained just a tiny bit less. Of how nice it would be to walk into a grocery store where people were smiling and not looking sad or angry. Of newspapers that report positive stories as "news", rather than features for the lifestyle section. Of trains where people aren't afraid of making eye contact for fear of being abused. Of workplaces where people aren't complaining endlessly of being tired or caught up in the myriad of dramas that seem so important. Of family get-togethers where people aren't comparing houses, or jobs, or children, or achievements. Imagine that!

In the end, none of it matters. We are all subject to the same wheel of fortune, turning ceaselessly. So, choose happiness, choose love. Love is the answer! I will leave you with one more thought. This from Victor Frankl:

Everything can be taken from man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms ... to choose one's attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one's own way.

Let me know how you go!

Do You Know Where You're Going To?

“Not all those who wander are lost.” 

― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring

I am on a train heading into Sydney with a group of people from various other countries. They are being familiarised with taking the train to Sydney. The irony is not lost on me. I am, in some ways, probably more scared than they are!

I don't know them. I am not part of their group, but I am part of their journey—as they are now part of mine. Why should I be scared, you might ask? I have been in this country for many years. I am, for all intents and purposes, a privileged English-speaking white woman.

The lady across from me is outlining future excursions: a cooking workshop, a day spent decorating boomerangs and learning about Aboriginal culture, a bicycle trip. I am a bit envious. They all seem so eager and fresh and young! 

It brings back memories of my arrival in this country, of being plagued by a terror and a loneliness that threatened never to abate. Of course, I had the huge advantage of speaking the language, of understanding most (but not all!) of the customs, and the culture. With that, however, came assumptions. It was "understood" that I would fit in, that I needed no introduction, no explanation or assistance. And I felt obliged to hide my fears—to deny (even to myself) the depth of my insecurities, my isolation. 

Everything felt similar yet different. I was painfully aware that the onus was squarely on my shoulders to fit in, to belong. There was no interest in where I was from. It was as though my life had begun upon arrival in this country. My homesickness seemed inappropriate—ungrateful even! I felt the unspoken truth of what wasn't said out loud but rather implied: This is your life now. You are lucky to be here. Remember, though, because you weren't born here, you're not really one of us!

I survived the homesickness, the loneliness, the fear. I found a job, made new friends, had children, bought a house. I am lucky to be here! I have a truly wonderful life. And yet, that fear of arrival in a strange place has never left me. I am eternally the stranger, the visitor, the foreigner. I can't quite settle and relax completely. Everything still, after all these years, feels tentative. I have to "work" at feeling like I'm a part of things. I can't (I don't) take it for granted. I still get lost easily. I have just learned, after all this time, to drive to the outskirts of Sydney. I'm not yet ready to drive in the city. I'm running out of time though. I dare not leave it too late!

I am still scared of many things: being alone, homesickness, sadness, getting lost. The people on this trip are young. They are brave. And they have much greater barriers to overcome. I am glad they have a guide! I am glad they have each other. I am hopeful they will find their way, that they will have wonderful lives. I am inspired by their joy, their curiosity, their willingness to explore. Perhaps, I will never really feel as though I "belong" here, but being the witness, the observer, the stranger, gives me an awareness that I wouldn't otherwise have. I notice things others take for granted. It has made me more tolerant, more sensitive, more empathetic, more understanding. In short, it has made me a better person!

I don't know you ... I love you!

I haven't posted for a long time. There is plenty I could have written about, but I just couldn't seem to write it! I spoke it, though. I do like to talk!

I have a constant battle with myself about whether I should be writing at all. The ever-present crisis of confidence. The crisis I have about every aspect of my life. Am I a good mother ... am I a good editor ... am I a good friend ... am I a good [fill in the blank]??

There is one day of the week, however, where my inner critic takes a break, where I don't have time for the usual self-analysis. On this day, I spend time with people who have dementia. When I first started doing this, I felt all the usual trepidation, the usual doubt. Will I be good at this? Can I even handle being around people who are suffering such a cruel disease? I had some idea of what it would be like. My mum had dementia. It wasn't pretty. She had a slow agonising decline.

There is no doubt that dementia is a horrible illness. There is no doubt that watching someone you love slowly dying is heart-wrenching. I wasn't sure I had the "right stuff" to be around people with dementia.

I will admit, it's been a steep learning curve! It's not that I really "do" much. I sit with people, serve morning tea, do puzzles, serve lunch, chat. But you have to be completely "present" in what you do. It's the most important aspect of the job. Here's the amazing part. I love being there. It's a joy in so many unexpected ways. I don't know much about the past history of the people I'm with. I know very little of who they were before the disease took hold. This gives me an important advantage. Unlike their loved ones, I don't grieve for who they were. I can enjoy them for who they are now. I can be with them in the present. We sing, we dance, we laugh, we play with balloons, we talk, we comfort each other, sometimes we cry. They never fail to surprise me with their insight, their kindness, their gratitude. We take each day as it comes. Sometimes they remember me, usually they don't, but it doesn't matter. The only prerequisite is that I am "open" to whatever happens. I accept them for who they are now, and they accept me in the same way. There may not be a tomorrow.

A couple of weeks ago I was greeted with this by one of the dementia patients: "I don't know you ... I love you". If only we could all express that sentiment.

Today was Remembrance Day, and ironically I spent the day with people who are losing their memory. But it was the perfect place to be. One of the carers saw this quote on the way to work, and she wrote it on the board: "If the power of love could overcome the love of power, the world would be at peace"!

Remembrance Day, indeed.

Peace.

Giving Good Blog!

So, I noticed a rather sizeable spike in my blog readership! Obviously, the strong, silent type readers, because they certainly haven't commented on anything I've written.

I am rather inclined to look for the cloud in any silver lining, so I was dubious about my new fan base. I decided to do a search on the domain that was providing my newfound popularity. According to other bloggers, it's a porn website! Imagine my surprise ... NOT!

I was trying to re-create the scenario. Joe Reader is online looking for his daily porn fix. He comes across one of my blogs entitled "Hooking in the Suburbs". "Ah," he thinks "this could be interesting. Perhaps a blog revealing the real secrets of desperate housewives!"

Instead, however, he discovers that the blog is talking about anxiety and the fine art of rug-hooking! Disappointed (and more than a little restless) Joe reads on, convinced at some point he will find what he's looking for. Then, an amazing thing happens, he becomes "hooked"! Yes, he was hoping for enormous boobs and shameless acts of debauchery, but instead he is drawn in by the subtle wit and stunning beauty of the prose he is reading. He is a convert!

This is fiction, of course. Joe and all of his friends came and went, or ... perhaps it was the other way around? Either way, you know what they say, what goes up must come down! And in my case it was the readership!

Fortunately, I'm not the least bit disappointed. Since starting this blog I have been discovering how much I like to write. How much I need to write. Sometimes, my inner critic tells me not to write. It is convinced that I have no business writing unless it's serious, unless it's important. But so much of my life is weighed down by seriousness. The thing that saves me is laughter. Funny things I read (like other people's blogs), funny friends, funny movies. I need laughter as much as I need writing! I like the serious stuff, too. In fact I've just finished reading the most beautiful, inspiring book, which I will share with you another time.

For now, though, I am just going to keep this one light. And to Joe, wherever you may be, thanks for the memories!

My Induction into the Hall of Shame!

On Tuesday, I went for a WH&S induction. I was told that WH&S replaces the old OH&S framework. Apparently, HSRs help to monitor contractors. Contractors must ensure that appropriate PPE is used. Contractors must also provide up-to-date SDSs for all chemicals used on site. Furthermore, a PCBU has an absolute duty to take all reasonable steps to ensure health and safety of workers.

I wasn't sure if I was being inducted or if I'd stumbled into an English As a Second Language class! One acronym came to my mind ... WTF?!

In case you are wondering why I was participating in this induction (and surely you are!), I have been doing some volunteer work at a hospital in an arts program! Me and my new best friends (three electricians, an air cooling expert, and two cleaners at a mental health facility) were being inducted! 

I was very nervous. The course started at 8.30am and was held at the local hospital. I barely slept the night before. I've worked on my own for so long that I've forgotten what it's like to do any kind of course with real people in a real place of employment! This feels way too grownup for me!

"Do you think there will be a test?" I asked my husband. He had done this kind of thing before.

"Nah, not for this. You're just being inducted."

"Phew," I thought. 

"So," said the lady running the course, "first I will go through the presentation, then there will be a short quiz."

"Fuck, Fuck, Fuck" (Me ... not her!)

"Now, don't worry," she assured us "no-one's failed it yet!"

"Fuck, Fuck, Fuck, I'm going to be the first person in history to fail." (me again!)

At least now I was alert and awake, despite my four hours of sleep. I then proceeded to annoy everyone by asking the teacher questions. I thought I'd better clarify things if there was going to be a quiz! Even she looked exasperated with me. I was slowing things down. People obviously had places to be. Finally, the moment of truth arrived. She handed out the quiz. 

"Now, I'm going to leave the room," she announced. "Feel free to discuss things, if necessary."

"Fuck, Fuck, Fuck, I came alone! People in front of me and behind me were whispering, comparing notes. Fuck, Fuck, Double Fuck!"

I read through the quiz. OK, I took a deep breath. I am an editor. The questions were multiple choice and seemed pretty obvious. Hesitantly, I answered the first few questions. So obvious!! What was I worried about. The cleaners behind me were agitated. The guys in front of me were crossing out answers. I was already done! 

The course instructor returned. She began marking the guys in front. Perfect score. The second guy (who looked to be the age of my eldest son) also got perfect! "Well done," praised the instructor. She must have had doubts about him! The next guy motioned for me to go. I knew he'd come with the others, so I let him go ahead. He looked pretty nervous. Perfect! 

Now, it was my turn. Correct, correct, correct ... and then a pause ... and then a big X! "Oh," she said, "looks like you've got one wrong!" 

I could feel my face getting hot. "Really?" I said.

She pointed to the question. It was a true or false answer: You are prohibited from consuming alcohol in the workplace.

I'd answered "False"!!!! 

"So, the correct answer would be?" she asked.

"Oh, yes, of course, the answer would be true!"

"It's OK, love," she said. "A lot of people get that one wrong. It's sort of a trick question."

I couldn't really see what was so tricky about it, other than the fact that you had to read the question carefully, which I obviously hadn't done ... unlike my friends, the electricians! Thankfully, I still passed the induction. I sheepishly accepted my card.

Something occurred to me later in the day. I work from home ... so, technically, I do allow alcohol in my workplace! 

I'm glad I didn't think of this at the time, however. I don't think the instructor would have appreciated my little joke! 

The Child That Got Away

It was my birthday last Saturday. Birthdays are a time of mixed emotions for me. I can't say I really look forward to the occasion! It's more than the fact that I'm getting old. I am getting old! I'm still trying to pinpoint when exactly that happened?!

Aside from the obvious issues related to getting older, I have other, more personal, issues! For many, birthdays are a reason to celebrate. I love my children's birthdays. I couldn't wait to meet them. Their births were painful, yes, but they arrived into a maelstrom of love!

My own birth was not a joyous occasion. My birth mother had decided to give me up for adoption. I get the impression that my birth father didn't want a baby, but left it to my birth mother to decide. They were living together, but weren't married. She was from a different country and had no family support. She had had a difficult relationship with her own mother, and questioned her ability as a mother. I can't help but acknowledge that my birth was painful on so many levels. When I was giving birth to my own children, I didn't know my birth mother yet. But, at the time, I remember wondering how she must have felt, how difficult it would have been going through the agony of labour, only to relinquish the baby. There was also the realisation that for months afterwards there would still be hormones and other reminders to deal with.

When I finally established a relationship with my birth mother, I anticipated that all my questions concerning my birth would be answered. I was wrong. My birth mother is still grappling with the guilt and pain of having given a baby up for adoption. We email each other, but that's it. She doesn't want to meet me, or even speak to me on the phone. After years of pleading, she finally sent me a family history. It answered the practical questions of heredity, but stopped short of giving me any real indication of her emotions, other than that the absence indicated to me just how painful it must have been. With respect to my birth, there was hardly any detail at all. She said she only held me once.

I love to recount to my children the story of their birth! They love to hear the details of what it was like when I was pregnant with them (so and so always had the hiccups, another decided to kick incessantly whenever I tried to sleep). They want to know what foods I craved, what names I had picked out, what they were like as newborns! I was wearing a George Thorogood T-shirt when I gave birth to my eldest, my daughter was born in the back of a four-wheel drive, my third child was born with his hand extended like some superhero emerging, and my last was induced and emerged so confidently I couldn't quite believe he was mine!

I don't like to make a big fuss of my birthday. It's not false modesty, which some presume! I don't have parties, or invite people to dinner. In fact, I usually don't even tell people. If they know, and want to acknowledge my birthday, I'm OK with that, but I won't seek it out! I don't have it on Facebook! I can't imagine that my feelings toward my birthday will ever change, but I won't say "never"! Regardless of the fact that my birth mother and I are still trying to define our relationship, she sent me an email for my birthday ... and I was happy to receive it. I also have a birth brother. My birth parents split up for a while after my birth, but then they got back together and eventually married. They had a son!!! He sent me an email too. At the end of it, he said he loved me!! Again, it's a difficult relationship. We don't really know each other and it's not easy to suddenly become close to someone, just because you're supposed to be. It's a start though.

I've been reading The Art of Happiness, the philosophy of the Dalai Lama. In it he talks of the importance of compassion. I think I am learning to apply that to my life ... starting with my birthday! Letting others celebrate your life is a form of compassion towards yourself! My birth may have caused pain and anguish, but I want my life to be about love and compassion.

What Lucy Said!

On the weekend, I attended a two-day yoga workshop. I am already imagining the eye-rolling!!!! If it's just too "peace, love and everything groovy" for you, feel free to go straight to Woogsworld! If, on the other hand, you can't sleep, or you are feeling guilty about something and would like to indulge in a little self-flagellation, then ... read on!

The yoga workshop was split into four sessions over the two days. The morning sessions focused on the physical practice, while the afternoon sessions explored meditation and philosophy. 

A woman by the name of Lucy Roberts ran the workshop. Right away, I liked her. She radiated a genuine warmth. Most importantly, she also had a sense of humour. I'm always a little afraid of "retreats" and "workshops"! I like to practise yoga, and I am interested in learning more about the spiritual side, but deep down I am more than a little cynical!

There was one thing that Lucy said, however, that really resonated with me. She was talking about meditation, a practice I have always struggled with! To say that I have an active mind is a huge understatement. My mind is the poster child for hyperactivity. My mind is the wise-cracking smartass who makes fun of everything, but, at the same time, desperately wants to embrace everything. I am terrified of my mind! I am terrified of looking inward!

Lucy described her meditation as a way for her to re-connect with herself. "Yes, yes," I thought. "I get the concept, but the trouble with me is I'm not sure I WANT to re-connect with myself! I haven't spent all these years running for nothing!" Then, Lucy said something that stopped me in my tracks.

She said that when she doesn't take time out to meditate, that she loses a connection with who she is, and sometimes that manifests itself in feelings of isolation. She explained that we sometimes attribute loneliness to not being around enough people, but that what we might be missing is ourselves!!! In that moment, it all made sense to me. 

It's true that I have lost myself somewhere in life. And it's also true that I have been imagining that if only I had the right job, or was surrounded by the right people, or living in the right place, that happiness would fall into my lap! But, I think, Lucy is right. I have lost the truth of who I am. Who am I? I said in my bio for this blog that I am looking for myself! But I think I have been looking in all the wrong places! I have been searching for myself out in the world. 

I need to stop looking outward and start confronting my own inner terror! I need to create more space and slow down. I need to quiet some of the noise in my head. I need to stop running and start sitting! 

Thanks Lucy!