In The End The Small Things Become The Big

It occurred to me recently that I have forgotten to appreciate life's simple pleasures.  Like the tomato and basil salad above for instance  - that I made and got to share with a dear friend in a beautiful grand house we were sitting.  When you let the balance out of your life you are basically wishing your life away because when you let the balance out it's usually because you've on some level decided to let fear in.  When you make decisions from a seat of fear, they are usually bad. Very bad.  At best they are wishful thinking and at worst they are just destructive in the long term.  I've spent far too much time cogitating about what I don't have then on what I do. It's an alien position for me to take as I'm naturally positively-minded. I do know how lucky I am all things considered.  Instead, I've allowed myself to become distracted by thoughts of what could be instead of keeping a steely eye on what is.  I know better than that.  I really do.  As a trained yoga teacher it is the very foundation of that philosophy. An attitude of gratitude; conscious living.   The fact is other than those in war-torn countries or living with true poverty - we. live. in. paradise.

We all have the ability to harness our thoughts and use them for good of self and/or others.  But I'd lost patience with myself - naughty, naughty.  And perhaps I'd just let myself become bored.  How silly of me.  I live in one of the most interesting countries in the whole wide world.

It's time to relax! and remember that we cannot control what others choose to do - nor should we want to.  Our responsibility is to ourselves in the first instance.  To be accountable for our own feelings and responsible for our own actions.  Ours is to respond, not react.  We all have free -will after all.  

So next time I 'forget' to count my blessings, I'd do worse than to remember that I got to look after a house like this:

And walk beautiful creatures like this on beautiful beaches:

With wonderful friends like this:

Now get a grip girl, be thankful and live well!

Closure is over-rated - choose LIFE!

I can't (I can) believe it has been over a year and a half since I warbled a bitter sweet song of love or fear to my little hidden away space on t'internet.  I have come to regard this place as a true non-judgemental and loyal confidante.  I neglect it, don't call it, never visit and yet there it still is for me when I need it.  And a jolly good thing too.  In having this outlet where I can act with total arrogance and self- entitlement, I spare all (most) of my real life confidantes from the same treatment - at least I hope I do. My friends are shaking their heads,eyebrows halfway up their foreheads...wondering if I'm perhaps writing this from within a parallel universe.    

Today's musings are more a loose catch-up with myself.  So much has happened of an intense nature that the experiences, as is always the case, can really only yield value in hindsight.  Had I written up those thoughts at the time, well, this would have been little more than the confused babbling of a disturbed mind.  Much better to have ploughed destructively through the gut-wrenching experiences first, extract the lessons and then impart the deliciously satisfying tiding that (drum-roll): There is life after loss. In my case the loss took the form of the painful end of a marriage in the savage jaws of betrayal.  I'm not the first person or last that will experience the shock-inducing, stupefying effects of this and I want to tell anyone going through this that closure will come when you least expect it and in the most extraordinarily understated way. So don't live your life for closure.  It's satisfying when it comes but ultimately an underwhelming event.  In the meantime, it really is important that you keep putting one foot in front of the other as mindfully as you can.

You will find along the way, life happens.

I will tell you that when I left the central court knowing that Decree Absolut was a fait accompli, I sat in a small courtyard round the back of the building as if anaesthetised.  The tears came of course as did the soothing acknowledgement that the rollercoaster years were over.  The fret inducing terror of the unknown had come to an end. A true fresh start ready for me to green light had appeared.

But don't get yourself all tangled up in the existential part of this.  Let me get to the storytelling part. One of the reasons behind this epiphany that life really does go on has to do of course with a man.  A new man.  I met him under the most unexpected circumstances just 6 months after my separation and while I was in the deepest, clammiest of emotional holes.  The details of  how we connected are actually not that interesting.  The point is that I ended up accepting a blind date which meant nothing more to me than something to do on a Saturday afternoon.  It was a welcome change to the agony of mediation and divorce paperwork.  It was not love at first sight - at all.  I wasn't really expecting that but I'm an 80s child and I can't help thinking in John Hughes movie metaphors.  Pretty in Pink it wasn't.

It seemingly got worse in that it appeared zero thought had gone into the date as we ended up in the pub across from the tube station. This was most definitely an interview for the potential position of girlfriend.  The woo-ing would possibly come after - IF I passed muster.

Like I said, it beat filling out financial statement forms.  But then the most extraordinary thing happened.  This man, who was not at all my type, lived a life worlds apart from mine in a lovely little shire-based village to my zone 2 compact-living mania, was really easy to talk to.  I took the whole of him in as we talked and talked and talked.  No spark and yet...a kindness, a comfort.  There was nothing flashy about him and I in retrospect I loved that. A year and a half later, we were to all extent and purposes together.

It was an amazing, enriching, sensual time.  No-one really bought us as a couple - including ourselves to be fair.  We were polar opposites in everything from appearance to interests.  Eventually, of course it had to end...we were travelling at different speeds.  I was simultaneously navigating the shipwrecking winds of divorce which meant I kept slamming the breaks on.  I don't regret that, I do regret the times when I was not kind - but that is what pressure and stress does.  Meanwhile he had long ridden away from the shackles of his past and was more than a few relationships into his "life after X".  He was an old hand.

When my divorce finally came through, I found myself wondering in that courtyard, through the tears why I hadn't met this man then...I could have saved us a few stupid arguments borne out of nothing more than fear and stress, but lessons are not truly assimilated if they come too easy.  I know that much.  I admitted to myself that I had been a blowtorch to be with at times - but cut me some slack - I was after all going through the Dog Days.   I thought about this unlikely suitor who had stuck for the most part with me the past year and a bit.  I only wish that he could have seen that moment for himself, perhaps he would have been a little less insecure about us and a little more understanding about me.  Still I acknowledge, I've purged and I've pledged and that is more than many would manage.  I forgive myself - if only he would too.

True love makes allowances. True love waits.  So this was not it - but it sure was incredible and it taught me that I'm still all woman.  And for that I'm extremely grateful.

I have learnt then that it stands us all in good stead to embrace the inescapable fact that life is but a series of ups and downs.  We would be wise to enjoy those ups without trying to second-guess the downs.  But then without the downs ...ah you get my drift.  It's a Catch 22 - what can I tell ya?  You can no more prevent this cycle than you can prevent the effects of ageing,

Just don't waste your time looking or waiting for closure - life sure as hell doesn't.  Accept, forgive and move on.

The First Cut is the Deepest

I took The Lish to her first ever gig.  It was to see Ariana Grande – a Nickleodeon star with a voice that betrays her diminutive frame.  Not Aretha Franklin by any stretch of the imagination but certainly a rich and full bodied R&B sound.  Actually she is quite typical fare for a young female artist coming out of the US right now.  Her sound is not to my taste but I appreciate that she has talent.  I just wish she’d put some clothes on over the talent.  It is the age old dilemma for women: how to make friends and impress people.  I hope my Lishy realises that without the voice, she’d just be a lap dancer.

While this is my place to purge, today is not about that.  Today is about celebrating this very special “first”.  I’m fully aware that it’s likely more special to me than it will be to Lishy, at least until my time comes and the event takes on the premium only afforded by death.  I may be wrong, she may yet grow up to love music to the degree I do and think back on how cool her first time was…or not.

It was at the O2 Arena – a large venue made all the more gigantic by being  9 years old.  I got her into the VIP lounge – a gesture lost on her where she asked for a glass of tap water (long may her simple tastes last).  I think she may have been feeling a little overwhelmed as indicated by the tight grip on my hand as we took our seats.

Then the lights dimmed and a roar went up from the crowd.  This caused her to grip even harder to the point where the tips of my fingers turned a deep plum in colour.  And then finally out prances Ariana having apparently forgotten to get dressed.  Anyhoo…..

It wasn’t long before Lish Losh was bouncing around with her hands in the air, like she just didn’t care.  It was something else to be there with her for this. 

My first gig was at the Hammersmith Apollo to see The Time (Morris Day’s band – he was the band in Prince’s film Purple Rain).  I must have been about 14 and I went with a friend and her older sister.  I remember vividly the feeling of awe at seeing the drum kit on a pedestal, the keyboards and all the mikes set up around the stage and the blackness.  It marked the beginning of my fascination with drumming for instance.  It was surreal to me that I would finally be seeing a musician in the flesh and interestingly I really was there for the music unlike if it had been say Duran Duran where I would have been there just for John Taylor.  I am quite proud of that. 

Don’t’ get me wrong  I have since gone to see many bands for the male tottie but none of those experiences compare with seeing a truly talented musician do his or her thing.    And so if Ariana Grande’s thing (even if her trademark is a pair of cat ears) does it for Lishy, then it’s A-ok with me.

Master and Muse

Ladies and gents, I'm back! I cry in a voice that hits the soprano C of righteous indignation.  I feel reborn and at the same time re-visited. It appears that 6 months of separation has brought me back to my 30 year old self - the girl that took off on a round the world trip, not to find herself but indeed to very much lose herself; a girl in complete control of her earthly affairs (if not her mental faculties) and one that would not step foot on European soil for  2 years - THAT'S how lost I got (in a good way).  All along and throughout my nomadic existence I made sure practical matters were all still very much under control.  Then I married The Silverback within a year of meeting him and turned into a vegetable (I speak retrospectively as I could  not see this at the time).  I take complete responsibility for this outcome. I was the one that handed over all my power. Tut tut. Silly girl. I know this is also why there could be no other outcome but the one that has come to pass.

But I have turned a corner, the sort that takes you to a really cool part of town you had not expected to find and then like quite as much.  Yes, I do not mind admitting the transition has been brutal; between mediation of the emotional, physical, material and spiritual - I have found at times it felt like walking through thick thigh-high mud as I slowly and reluctantly took back the reigns for all areas of my life (financial to sentimental and everything in between).  I admit too that I am happier, less stressed and more excited about a domain of future potentiality in every aspect of living that I last felt while planning that epic world tour all those years ago.

Here are some things that don't scare me any more: bills, being alone, having no plans, having plans, men and the idea of another relationship (in fact dating is back on the menu and has proven rather an acquired taste - mostly because in typical fashion I rushed in where angels fear to tread and have already been burned ; baby steps are needed  since I have forgotten what that is all about) and a real honest to goodness put-your-hours-in career.

I feel liberated, finally and I have managed to arrive at this place with little judgement - an unexpected result for sure and for which I have yoga to thank - well yoga and a towering inferno of self help books and articles.  All it took was to surrender which make no mistake has nothing to do with giving in.

Let's just say that I am happy with good enough; I myself alone will provide the Great.

So I stand on the precipice of the next phase.  What or who that entails, time will reveal though I know how the story ends as the cards have told me exactly what is coming.  While it looks like all my wishes will manifest, fulfilment will only come if I remember who the boss is.   That my friends is me.

Living With What I Know For Sure

I want to turn the tone around here.  Agreed - it’s been a difficult few months mostly filled with the potency of having to swallow bitter pill after bitter pill but with the help of Hare Krishna (no joke - it's a powerful mantra), yoga and really the very best of friends, I am slowly turning this freighter around and emptying it of its toxic contents.  All of this while navigating the emotionally super charged time of Christmas, uncertainties at work, the soul-sucking properties of winter (and an especially cold one at that) plus careful consideration of the feelings and emotional welfare of a truly amazing little cherub of a girl.  My girl.  

Of course the stress of it all gave me shingles.  I don’t recommend it.  But somehow here we are 5 months later having crossed all of that terrain more successfully than I could have hoped.  If I’d been given the above as a “to do” list on paper, I would most certainly have crumbled.  But the universe provides and God (I refer to the divine self not a fella with a white beard) truly works in mysterious ways.  Those ways have seen me put half a year between the demise of a 10 year relationship almost without noticing.  I’ve learnt then that life passes you by in the blink of an eye if you let it.  Sure shit stuff like break-ups are welcome to pass at the speed measure used in E=MC²  but that’s it.   

I am now committed to living in technicolour again – something I guess I haven’t done in a decade if I am totally and completely honest with myself.  And so onto another phase that I will call – living with what I know for sure…or trying to.  So for instance, what I know for sure today is that I woke up healthy, my Lishy is amazing, I have a job and roof over my head and I have the most incredible friends.  

What I also know for sure is that I deserved and deserve better than the mediocre man that turned out to be a liar, a cheat and a coward.  Still, he must have some deep rooted wounds too and I wish him well.  

To him and everyone living half heartedly I recommend Oprah's book:  What I Know for Sure.  May it help you as it has done me.  Love and Light.

The Only Way Out Is Through

I’m glad to say my difficult weekend is now in the past and I could dwell on how painful it was (and believe me I have) but that would defeat the benefit of it now being in the past.  My plan was to do something everyday to define each day with a presence rather than an absence. So I had all sorts of little activities in mind mostly revolving around wellbeing – the usual stuff like Yoga and meditation, talking to friends but that did not happen.  It all went ping pong before it even started.  I’d been invited out to an 80’s night at Floridita in Wardour St. on Thursday and I remembered it being totes amazebots the last time we went so I was there with knobs on.   The point being that I was determined to do something from Thursday to Sunday, with friends preferably to blot out or at least soften the blow of this first weekend I faced as a person who now has to share something very precious to her with someone who no longer is.  I’m being vague, I know, but I’m in disbelief that I am here, so indulge me a little until I am strong enough to say the words.  Long story short, I got drunkety drunk drunk that Thursday (so much for my high minded plan).  This for a person that has been either teetotal or taken the tiniest Posh Spice sips at people’s birthdays was the worst thing I could have done but I was caught up in the pain and the pleasure with good friends who all knew I was facing a demon filled weekend and wanted to help in the only way a bunch of PR girls know how.   The evidence of just how incredibly “helped” I had been was strewn around the house the following morning – not that I really got to see it properly until well into the afternoon as I simply could not stand up straight.  I think I was also ill with a type of throat infection – one of those 24 hour things.  Suffice to say Friday was a write-off.  Except for having to drag, and I mean drag, my repentant shell to deliver a Halloween costume, I did nothing all day but stare at the ceiling.  Small mercy then that Friday just slipped by in the way a yogi should never allow.  But then again, at the time, not that I had much of a choice, but even if I’d had any say in it, I would have chosen this emotionless abyss (if you don't count the daily sob).  That night was a lonely fade to black.  I was determined to do better the next day.  While I felt recovered, I was not yet strong enough to get back “on the mat” so to speak.  I let the hours slip by, staring ahead at the TV.  Again, the worst thing possible but sickness was a friend that day and I forgave myself for doing nothing two days in a row.  I had one appointment that evening, to meet a friend over from Ireland for dinner.  I am so glad for this.  That was one less evening of either watching TV at 90 degree angles or the cold sweats in bed.  So within the blink of an eye it was Sunday and that meant one more sleep away from a better week.  I did make it to yoga that last day and I made sure to be fully present.  Being present really does deliver in that it just feels like time well spent.  Nothing more, nothing less.  I also took my merry old time in Sainsburys – an activity I used to (and I’m sure will again) loathe.  Actually that will be my gauge that I’m starting to feel normal again.  The day I switch back to having groceries delivered, I’ll know I’m on the mend.  

Making Way for Life

Welcome back to me.  Summer delivered and now it's trying its best to leave the UK but feels bad, like a shitty husband who knows it's wrong to go so he does it in a long, lingery, painful sort of way - until one day he is gone but not before wreaking the most excruciating emotional destruction on his way out.  That is the winter I'm expecting because yesterday despite all the signs pointing to it being a wrap up day, I found myself having to slowly shed layers with each step, as trickles of back sweat began pooling around the elastic waistband of my nic nocs.

The big hard sun made a resplendent appearance instead, pretty much the whole day.  And it was wonderful. So much for Storm Gonzalo...where do they find these names?  

To say that a lot has happened since I last posted would be like saying Neville Chamberlain had a bit of an update from his meeting with Hitler in 1939.  But the gory details will need to wait until the dust has settled. Let's just say I find myself with a brand new status in life and have not yet felt the freedom or release that is meant to come with the end of something toxic.  The transition is proving more than a little difficult and I find myself relying more and more on the spirit side for peace of mind.  So much so that I dedicate an hour a night to meditating just to stay sane; to get through one more night. It does work.  I mean it helps, at least and I've received many insights in the clear abyss of a blank mind.  They are little things admittedly but they help to acknowledge either the pain or the ecstasy. Ideas come too and now I have the drive to see them through and for that in a perverse way I have to thank the situation I find myself in.  If some of these come to fruition, I will definitely be living "the dream" though much is to be said for the simple pleasure of sitting under a duvet with The Lish watching Edward Scissorhands.

This is not news but when shit goes down, you do really know who your mates are. I love the snot out of them for being there even in the smallest 2 line text once a fortnight sort of way.  Equally I would like to put the snot into a Boloni sandwich and serve it to those who have to all extent and purposes suddenly dropped off the earth. In the end however, it's up to me to make life work, not them or anyone really. To wish a snot sandwich on people that have in your eyes "let you down" is the action of a mediocre person and I've given my last minute to that type so I'm fairly keen to avoid become one myself.

This weekend will be huge for me - time to prove my mettle by doing the right thing and making way for life.  The glass is half full...with room for more of the good stuff.