I had intended to write the following in the previous post:
I'm tired of 'heavy' posts and talking about 'important' things, so I'm going to talk about beans on toast.
However, I appear to have accidentally pressed 'publish.' As such, instead of writing the rest of my intended blog post, I'm going to leave you to think about the subject of BEANS ON TOAST all on your own. Only the nice things, mind...or if you have to think of the unpleasant side effects, I encourage you to also think about easy ways of alleviating any negativity e.g. throwing open your windows to let in the nice fresh air.
It's positivity and the so-called unimportant that we're focusing on for today.
PS For those that are unhappy with my suggestion, you are perfectly at liberty to substitute the beans for peanut butter and the bread for gluten-free bread or rice cakes. Do whatever you want, but don't give me obstacles. We're not doing obstacles today. We're doing solutions.
the random ponderings of an ordinary person
Thursday 27 October 2011
Tuesday 25 October 2011
From prison to haven
I covered the lower portion of our windows with opaque privacy sheets today. It looks fine, but it feels a little like I am hidden away, like Rapunzel in her tower. I can't see out without standing, but also no-one else can see in, which is, I guess, the whole point.
I am sitting at home, working (except for the few minutes it takes to write this), and it is dark outside now. My blinds are closed, but behind them my window is slightly open and I can hear the rain falling outside. A moment ago thunder cracked above me and the fog of my mind lifted slightly.
The deliciousness of being indoors, working late, cosy and warm, while the rain falls in torrents outside and the thunder cracks overhead, has changed my perception of my Rapunzel tower. It's funny how the day and the night cast such different lights on so many events. Now I am happy for my opaque privacy sheets, knowing that I am safe and that no-one outside can see me without me knowing of their existence.
I am sitting at home, working (except for the few minutes it takes to write this), and it is dark outside now. My blinds are closed, but behind them my window is slightly open and I can hear the rain falling outside. A moment ago thunder cracked above me and the fog of my mind lifted slightly.
The deliciousness of being indoors, working late, cosy and warm, while the rain falls in torrents outside and the thunder cracks overhead, has changed my perception of my Rapunzel tower. It's funny how the day and the night cast such different lights on so many events. Now I am happy for my opaque privacy sheets, knowing that I am safe and that no-one outside can see me without me knowing of their existence.
Monday 24 October 2011
Changing your reality
Reality A: I've been thinking that if we'd been home, we'd not have been burgled. If only we'd not been shopping, we'd have been home and he wouldn't have broken our door down. If our neighbours had been home, he couldn't have got in, because he'd have made too much noise. If only I'd left my laptop somewhere safer, it wouldn't have been taken. If my friend hadn't been here, she'd not have lost some of her things too. If only the police had come sooner. If only he'd put his bike in the garage.
Reality B: If we'd come home earlier, it could have been so much worse. If I'd not backed up my laptop, I'd have lost so much. If my friend hadn't been here, I'd have been alone. If my man didn't have such good friends, I'd have been sitting in an unsecured home for longer; afraid and vulnerable. If our neighbours weren't so lovely, we'd have been cold and gone hungry that night, until the police finally arrived gone midnight. If the police had come sooner, maybe someone else would have been left out in the cold, alone, afraid or hurt. He will get a new bike. I will get a new laptop to replace the old one I had, lighter, sleeker, less likely to give me pain in my shoulders through its weight. She will get an improved version of what she lost. We will get a new door, making our home even safer. I lose two days of my work, but I also lose pain and I gain greater safety.
Why do we get so attached to belongings? They don't love us and hold us when we feel afraid or alone. They don't listen when we need to talk. They don't pick us up when our hearts and bodies are weary. They don't celebrate with us when we achieve something we've worked hard for.
It's easy to focus on the pain, the hurt and the anxiety in our lives; but it makes for a happier life to focus on the whole picture and to think of how much worse things could have been. It's about showing gratitude for what we have, rather than lamenting what we don't have. I don't know why all this happened, but I don't have to know. I can only trust that whatever happens, happens for a reason; and you can't change the facts anyway. The thing you can change is your reality.
Life teaches us good lessons in all sorts of bizarre and unexpected ways.
Reality B: If we'd come home earlier, it could have been so much worse. If I'd not backed up my laptop, I'd have lost so much. If my friend hadn't been here, I'd have been alone. If my man didn't have such good friends, I'd have been sitting in an unsecured home for longer; afraid and vulnerable. If our neighbours weren't so lovely, we'd have been cold and gone hungry that night, until the police finally arrived gone midnight. If the police had come sooner, maybe someone else would have been left out in the cold, alone, afraid or hurt. He will get a new bike. I will get a new laptop to replace the old one I had, lighter, sleeker, less likely to give me pain in my shoulders through its weight. She will get an improved version of what she lost. We will get a new door, making our home even safer. I lose two days of my work, but I also lose pain and I gain greater safety.
Why do we get so attached to belongings? They don't love us and hold us when we feel afraid or alone. They don't listen when we need to talk. They don't pick us up when our hearts and bodies are weary. They don't celebrate with us when we achieve something we've worked hard for.
It's easy to focus on the pain, the hurt and the anxiety in our lives; but it makes for a happier life to focus on the whole picture and to think of how much worse things could have been. It's about showing gratitude for what we have, rather than lamenting what we don't have. I don't know why all this happened, but I don't have to know. I can only trust that whatever happens, happens for a reason; and you can't change the facts anyway. The thing you can change is your reality.
Life teaches us good lessons in all sorts of bizarre and unexpected ways.
Friday 7 October 2011
Endings
Some people don't deal well with endings. Some people prefer to be sullen because they didn't get everything their own way. Some people get aggressive and throw a tantrum, like a child throwing its toys out of the pram. Some people take everything personally and assume that everyone else is strategic in their behaviour, to ensure the best possible outcome for themselves at the expense of others. Some people like to hit out and hurt others, because they cannot tolerate things not going their own way.
Some people don't realise that they are not seeing the truth of others, merely a reflection of themselves in others. Some people cannot accept that the reflection they see in front of them is truly their own reflection. Some people cannot see how they try to damage everyone else around them - they can only believe that others set out deliberately to damage them and their dreams.
Some people make it very easy for me to walk away from them.
Some people don't realise that they are not seeing the truth of others, merely a reflection of themselves in others. Some people cannot accept that the reflection they see in front of them is truly their own reflection. Some people cannot see how they try to damage everyone else around them - they can only believe that others set out deliberately to damage them and their dreams.
Some people make it very easy for me to walk away from them.
Monday 3 October 2011
Me and my nose
I used to hate my nose. Its funny shape and size, and the way it wiggled when I talked. I've always found it unnecessary to point out to people the things about them that are odd, worrying that maybe it might be something they were ashamed of, yet no-one seemed to consider that when around my nose.
The thing is, I didn't always hate my nose. I never used to think about it - any more than my fingers or my toes. It's only when someone said to me (on many occasions) that I had a big nose, that I began to feel ashamed of it. Whatever the reason, it made me very self-conscious of the (relatively speaking) little pointy thing in the middle of my face. It was also compared often with my mother's nose, and it cannot be denied that my beloved mother does have quite a big nose. However, when I look at my mother, I don't hate her nose. It's quite cute. She is beautiful. It doesn't mar her face.
This weekend, during an exercise of observation as part of my counselling CPD (continuing professional development), my partner made a comment about my nose being unusual. She had previously censored this comment, worrying it may hurt me, because she didn't like her own nose (which I thought was a perfectly normal and very nice nose). The thing is, her comment did hurt me, at first, when I heard 'unusual' as 'horrible'. I spent some time during the rest of that day peering at my nose from different angles. I thought about changing it and I felt quite protective over it.
I woke up this morning and realised something. I love my nose.
I love the way it wiggles when I laugh or talk - it's telling everyone more about how I feel. I love the cuteness of it from the front - a round buttony kind of thing. It is fine in size. I also thought about the fact that me and my nose have always got me what I have wanted and needed - jobs, homes, friendship, my love, adventures, fun, kindness and laughter. It has never been just me. It has always been me and my nose. I also love the fact that the funny shape of the tip of my nose is what connects me to my mother and to my sister - the only thing I have in common with my twin.
So, I am finally at peace with my nose, and all because someone finally acknowledged, unprompted, that it was indeed odd, but that odd did not mean horrid.
The thing is, I didn't always hate my nose. I never used to think about it - any more than my fingers or my toes. It's only when someone said to me (on many occasions) that I had a big nose, that I began to feel ashamed of it. Whatever the reason, it made me very self-conscious of the (relatively speaking) little pointy thing in the middle of my face. It was also compared often with my mother's nose, and it cannot be denied that my beloved mother does have quite a big nose. However, when I look at my mother, I don't hate her nose. It's quite cute. She is beautiful. It doesn't mar her face.
This weekend, during an exercise of observation as part of my counselling CPD (continuing professional development), my partner made a comment about my nose being unusual. She had previously censored this comment, worrying it may hurt me, because she didn't like her own nose (which I thought was a perfectly normal and very nice nose). The thing is, her comment did hurt me, at first, when I heard 'unusual' as 'horrible'. I spent some time during the rest of that day peering at my nose from different angles. I thought about changing it and I felt quite protective over it.
I woke up this morning and realised something. I love my nose.
I love the way it wiggles when I laugh or talk - it's telling everyone more about how I feel. I love the cuteness of it from the front - a round buttony kind of thing. It is fine in size. I also thought about the fact that me and my nose have always got me what I have wanted and needed - jobs, homes, friendship, my love, adventures, fun, kindness and laughter. It has never been just me. It has always been me and my nose. I also love the fact that the funny shape of the tip of my nose is what connects me to my mother and to my sister - the only thing I have in common with my twin.
So, I am finally at peace with my nose, and all because someone finally acknowledged, unprompted, that it was indeed odd, but that odd did not mean horrid.