I wanted to propose a toast at my sister's wedding, but I hadn't told anyone about it, and I decided I couldn't quite trust myself after a couple of glasses of wine. I very frequently have issues in placing a filter between my thoughts and my mouth, so I have been known to make a complete tit of myself. The last thing I wanted to do was to make a tit of myself and to embarrass anyone else by giving, ultimately, an impromtu speech in front of two dozen people. But if I had stood up and spoken, these were some things that I would have wanted to say.
I would have wanted to recall how R and I spent afternoons teasingly giggling about how we were "already planning L and A's wedding" when they had only been together a few months. Because the thing is, we weren't just blindly giggling and being teenager-ish (though, admittedly, in hindsight, that too). Rather, sometimes, when two people know, it is so obvious that such giggling and planning is not uncalled for, because it is simply exciting.
I would have said how A.A. Milne's 'Us Two' always makes me think of them, probably because of something L said to me early on in their relationship: "I wasn't afraid," said Pooh, said he, "I'm never afraid with you." L is entirely confident and incredible when she is not with A. With him, she becomes even more so; so it is delightful to see how much they complement one another.
I would have remembered how early on in their relationship, L failed a test, and was rather upset. R and I tried to cheer her up with Starbucks and 10 Things I Hate About You and more cups of tea, to little avail. And then A simply said, "Look, I know - we all know - you are the most intelligent person in the room" with a hug. And that was enough. This would not be a criticism of tea in moments of need, but rather that the right person at the right time can make anything okay. And that A has always been so, so proud of her.
I'd have wanted to say how happy I am to see how happy they make one another; how nice of a relationship they have. How relaxed they are with each other and with others. How lovely it is to see them go off on adventures together; and how happy I hope that they will keep being. I would have told them that I am so pleased that A can put up with mum and me, when we are our delightfully loopy selves; and embrace them because they are just part of L's life, and do so with enthusiasm and good spirit. And I would have wished them a mountain of happiness and a lifetime of laughter.
Here's to their next adventure and their lifetime together.
Monday, July 29, 2013
Sunday, June 16, 2013
Lessons from my dad.
Dear Pinou,
For weeks now, I've been receiving emails from East Coast, Megabus and BritishAirways (how telling of my life that the emails I have subscribed to receive are all transport-related...) telling me to "treat my dad this Father's Day!" And so, I gather it is Father's Day here in England.
I have written about you in various places many times in the past 10 months; probably because I've been missing you more than I had before, so telling you all those things again seems repetitive. But I wanted to acknowledge today as a day of being thankful for being the daughter of a father. So I thought I would share some of the wisdom I learned from you; because they are only a few of the things that made you incredible. And I thought it would maybe make you proud to know I'd picked up on them.
Try harder, and when it doesn't work, try again. - It was 5th grade when you were called in to talk to my maths teacher. I was getting between 0.75 and 2 out of 5 in these tests we had every few days, and you knew it wasn't because my brain couldn't cope with it. You knew it was because I wasn't trying. To be fair, the teacher did too. And when you told me as much, it wasn't with disappointment or anger; just misunderstanding. "You are smart, Ana. You just seem to live through the law of minimum effort." And for once, that approach wasn't enough; so you told me to try a bit harder. You sat with me and explained theorems and logic to me. Thales, Pythagoras. How to measure the side of a building from its shadow. How to understand exponents and pi. You sat with me and were patient with me, and when you didn't know how to explain, you encouraged me to look things up. The following year I started getting A's in maths: I'd tried.
When you were ill and told you'd have only a few months to live, you pretty much laughed at them. "Screw that," you said, "I'm going to try to beat this." They tried a few treatments, and when they didn't work, you said "try something else." When they said, "no, sorry, we've run out of options." you still said "screw that, I'm going home." I may or may not have given you a stern talking-to in hospital to help with that, but you did. You came home. You tried.
So always try. And if you fail, try harder. Relatedly -
Do yourself proud. - When we started running track in PE, I told you I couldn't keep up. I remember you telling me you'd never been sporty, that I shouldn't worry; but that I should make myself proud by trying. And I did. I plugged in headphones, listened to music, and repeated to myself, "What would Buffy do?" and kept running. And when I realised I'd done it, I was proud. As were you.
I know your biggest fear was that in leaving, you'd be letting us down. I hope you know that you never, ever, not even for one second, did that. You made us so, so proud to call you Dad. Or, Pinou, because of course.
You taught me many other things; like how being cheerful will brighten other people's day. You taught me to be assertive and tell people when they are talking nonsense. From you, I have been learning, slowly but surely, to trust my voice.
"Trust your voice." - You told me that when you were ill; when I was ill; when we weren't talking properly anymore. When I was afraid of telling you how I felt. When I was afraid of loving you strongly because I thought I might break if you died. When I tried to take back the fact I was gay. "Trust your voice. Speak your truth." I've been finding my truth, dad; I've been finding who I am. And it is in those moments that I feel closest to you. In those moments where I catch glimpses of who I am becoming, and recognise you in me. From my appalling sense of direction - you should see me attempting to navigate my way around Leeds! - to my fierce love for those in my life. From my enthusiasm for science and my attraction to smart, intelligent, assertive people. From my inability to sing in tune, to the way I love the smell of coffee. From the number of books I seem to have acquired, to the way I apparently drive more confidently when I'm blasting Dire Straits from the stereo. From the way I ask sixty thousand questions, to the way I mess up - fabulously. From the way I interact with people I'm not related to, to the way I love our family.
Daddy, you taught me to love fiercely, unapologetically and enthusiastically. You taught me to trust who I was, who I would become. You taught me to be kind, to be gentle. You taught me to speak up. You taught me to ask questions, and suggest answers. You taught your eldest daughter to look out for her little sister, and boy, did she ever. You taught us to be patient, to get angry, to be ambitious. You taught us to be curious, to be inquisitive, to not fear doctors. You taught us the value of speaking up and the value of sitting back. You taught us to walk in the rain, and sing out of tune. You taught us to laugh hard and enjoy friendships. And, in the end, you taught us how to hold on tight to see what we must, and then, when the time comes, to let go.
Daddy, I learned so much from you, from watching you, from spending time with you. And in the same way as I hope you know that you made me - us - so proud to call you Daddy; I hope we make you proud too.
I'm pretty sure we do.
Happy Father's Day, Daddy. Pinou. You.
Thank you for the lessons. And thank you for loving us. It was an honour to call you Dad.
Love always,
Ana
For weeks now, I've been receiving emails from East Coast, Megabus and BritishAirways (how telling of my life that the emails I have subscribed to receive are all transport-related...) telling me to "treat my dad this Father's Day!" And so, I gather it is Father's Day here in England.
I have written about you in various places many times in the past 10 months; probably because I've been missing you more than I had before, so telling you all those things again seems repetitive. But I wanted to acknowledge today as a day of being thankful for being the daughter of a father. So I thought I would share some of the wisdom I learned from you; because they are only a few of the things that made you incredible. And I thought it would maybe make you proud to know I'd picked up on them.
Try harder, and when it doesn't work, try again. - It was 5th grade when you were called in to talk to my maths teacher. I was getting between 0.75 and 2 out of 5 in these tests we had every few days, and you knew it wasn't because my brain couldn't cope with it. You knew it was because I wasn't trying. To be fair, the teacher did too. And when you told me as much, it wasn't with disappointment or anger; just misunderstanding. "You are smart, Ana. You just seem to live through the law of minimum effort." And for once, that approach wasn't enough; so you told me to try a bit harder. You sat with me and explained theorems and logic to me. Thales, Pythagoras. How to measure the side of a building from its shadow. How to understand exponents and pi. You sat with me and were patient with me, and when you didn't know how to explain, you encouraged me to look things up. The following year I started getting A's in maths: I'd tried.
When you were ill and told you'd have only a few months to live, you pretty much laughed at them. "Screw that," you said, "I'm going to try to beat this." They tried a few treatments, and when they didn't work, you said "try something else." When they said, "no, sorry, we've run out of options." you still said "screw that, I'm going home." I may or may not have given you a stern talking-to in hospital to help with that, but you did. You came home. You tried.
So always try. And if you fail, try harder. Relatedly -
Do yourself proud. - When we started running track in PE, I told you I couldn't keep up. I remember you telling me you'd never been sporty, that I shouldn't worry; but that I should make myself proud by trying. And I did. I plugged in headphones, listened to music, and repeated to myself, "What would Buffy do?" and kept running. And when I realised I'd done it, I was proud. As were you.
I know your biggest fear was that in leaving, you'd be letting us down. I hope you know that you never, ever, not even for one second, did that. You made us so, so proud to call you Dad. Or, Pinou, because of course.
You taught me many other things; like how being cheerful will brighten other people's day. You taught me to be assertive and tell people when they are talking nonsense. From you, I have been learning, slowly but surely, to trust my voice.
"Trust your voice." - You told me that when you were ill; when I was ill; when we weren't talking properly anymore. When I was afraid of telling you how I felt. When I was afraid of loving you strongly because I thought I might break if you died. When I tried to take back the fact I was gay. "Trust your voice. Speak your truth." I've been finding my truth, dad; I've been finding who I am. And it is in those moments that I feel closest to you. In those moments where I catch glimpses of who I am becoming, and recognise you in me. From my appalling sense of direction - you should see me attempting to navigate my way around Leeds! - to my fierce love for those in my life. From my enthusiasm for science and my attraction to smart, intelligent, assertive people. From my inability to sing in tune, to the way I love the smell of coffee. From the number of books I seem to have acquired, to the way I apparently drive more confidently when I'm blasting Dire Straits from the stereo. From the way I ask sixty thousand questions, to the way I mess up - fabulously. From the way I interact with people I'm not related to, to the way I love our family.
Daddy, you taught me to love fiercely, unapologetically and enthusiastically. You taught me to trust who I was, who I would become. You taught me to be kind, to be gentle. You taught me to speak up. You taught me to ask questions, and suggest answers. You taught your eldest daughter to look out for her little sister, and boy, did she ever. You taught us to be patient, to get angry, to be ambitious. You taught us to be curious, to be inquisitive, to not fear doctors. You taught us the value of speaking up and the value of sitting back. You taught us to walk in the rain, and sing out of tune. You taught us to laugh hard and enjoy friendships. And, in the end, you taught us how to hold on tight to see what we must, and then, when the time comes, to let go.
Daddy, I learned so much from you, from watching you, from spending time with you. And in the same way as I hope you know that you made me - us - so proud to call you Daddy; I hope we make you proud too.
I'm pretty sure we do.
Happy Father's Day, Daddy. Pinou. You.
Thank you for the lessons. And thank you for loving us. It was an honour to call you Dad.
Love always,
Ana
Saturday, June 01, 2013
Thankful.
My friend Viv offered a homily for a service held at MCC in Boston a few weeks back; and part of what she wrote (the full text being here), included this:
"When it becomes apparent, obvious that there is nothing we can do, that we are clearly beaten, there will still be God, creator, redeemer, sustainer, who is lifting up the lowly, who is pulling the mighty down from their throws, who feeds the hungry and sends the rich away empty. It may be unlikely, but it will be done."
And it resonated with me so much.
Sometimes, things go wrong. Sometimes, they are small things; like walking into a coffee table repeatedly, thereby bruising your shin; or spilling coffee down your front on your way to the office. Sometimes, slightly bigger things go wrong: your parent's job is threatened and you can do nothing about it. Sometimes, even bigger things go wrong. Sometimes, even though nothing major is wrong, you have panic attacks that wake you up three times a night and leave you paralysed and unable to function properly the next day. And sometimes, things you are really excited about just don't work out; like the possibility of a new relationship.
It is in those times that I am learning to lean on God, and remain thankful in the breakdown; to "spin it into a good thing", if you want. Because in the end, "there will still be God."
Spill coffee on yourself? Be thankful you had coffee to spill. Walked into a coffee table? You're a dork with the ability to walk. Mother's job is in turmoil? It's a chance for her to finally look into doing what she wants to do with her life, and make positive changes. A potential relationship doesn't work out because of reasons beyond your control? Be thankful that you got to feel butterflies and excitement and ecstatic about the possibility of falling in love with someone again; because -
So I am trying so hard to be thankful; to give thanks. Because I have no reason to not be thankful of the life I have, of the life I have been building here. I know, still, that I am exactly where I am meant to be, even though I am not entirely sure why, yet. And so for that, I give thanks.
I am thankful for dates and kissing in train stations and excitement about people; even when it then doesn't work out. I am thankful for a job which allows me to talk to so many different people. I am thankful for work colleagues who offer me support when I need it. I am thankful for friendships made through work and out of work. I am thankful for my little flat, and sunny days, and rainy days, and friends who message me to invite me to their house when I'm having a rough time. I'm thankful for music and hugs. I am thankful for the ability to plot adventures to travel. I am thankful for school friends and university friends and friends I met online ten years ago who I am still friends with. I am thankful for my amazing family, who has gone through ups and downs and who is changing and growing.
I am thankful for growing up.
And it resonated with me so much.
Sometimes, things go wrong. Sometimes, they are small things; like walking into a coffee table repeatedly, thereby bruising your shin; or spilling coffee down your front on your way to the office. Sometimes, slightly bigger things go wrong: your parent's job is threatened and you can do nothing about it. Sometimes, even bigger things go wrong. Sometimes, even though nothing major is wrong, you have panic attacks that wake you up three times a night and leave you paralysed and unable to function properly the next day. And sometimes, things you are really excited about just don't work out; like the possibility of a new relationship.
It is in those times that I am learning to lean on God, and remain thankful in the breakdown; to "spin it into a good thing", if you want. Because in the end, "there will still be God."
Spill coffee on yourself? Be thankful you had coffee to spill. Walked into a coffee table? You're a dork with the ability to walk. Mother's job is in turmoil? It's a chance for her to finally look into doing what she wants to do with her life, and make positive changes. A potential relationship doesn't work out because of reasons beyond your control? Be thankful that you got to feel butterflies and excitement and ecstatic about the possibility of falling in love with someone again; because -
"Love arrives exactly when love is supposed to, and love leaves exactly when love must. When love arrives, say, “Welcome. Make yourself comfortable.” If love leaves, ask her to leave the door open behind her. Turn off the music, listen to the quiet, whisper, “Thank you. Thank you for stopping by.” (Sarah Kay, 'When Love Arrives')
So I am trying so hard to be thankful; to give thanks. Because I have no reason to not be thankful of the life I have, of the life I have been building here. I know, still, that I am exactly where I am meant to be, even though I am not entirely sure why, yet. And so for that, I give thanks.
I am thankful for dates and kissing in train stations and excitement about people; even when it then doesn't work out. I am thankful for a job which allows me to talk to so many different people. I am thankful for work colleagues who offer me support when I need it. I am thankful for friendships made through work and out of work. I am thankful for my little flat, and sunny days, and rainy days, and friends who message me to invite me to their house when I'm having a rough time. I'm thankful for music and hugs. I am thankful for the ability to plot adventures to travel. I am thankful for school friends and university friends and friends I met online ten years ago who I am still friends with. I am thankful for my amazing family, who has gone through ups and downs and who is changing and growing.
I am thankful for growing up.
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
"When love arrives" - Sarah Kay
"Maybe love stays. Maybe love can't. Maybe love shouldn't."
That is all.
Monday, April 29, 2013
It's okay to not be okay.
It was around about 7 pm today, when I ended up in tears in the office that I realised I needed to write this post. Because I had started the day with a super cheerful dance to Grace Potter and The Nocturnals' "The Lion, The Beast and The Beat"; and yet it got to 7 pm, and I was doing Financial Reporting coursework, having finished work-work, and I started to cry.
Nothing had happened. In fact, the coursework was easier than the other half that I had done over the weekend had been; and I'd had a reasonably productive day, and the sun was still shining, and yet suddenly, I started crying.
And when you end up in tears at work when even one other person is there? (Especially if the someone is a manager you get along with well?) You end up having to use some words to say that actually, you're struggling a bit with being a grown-up; even if you don't know how to phrase that, or what it is about being a grown up that you're struggling with.
And that right there is the point of this.
Sometimes, you have days when you are not okay. Days at a time, full weekends, full weeks, even. Days when you wake up paralysed at the thought of doing things. Days when you feel you have so much to do, but cant't seem to get started; so you just lie there, your head willing you to move, and just not being able to. Days when, apparently, you make toast and forget about it, and only find the toast a whole week later when your sister comes to stay. (True story.) (There were tears upon finding the piece of toast.) Days when you have preemptively set your alarm about 2 hours earlier than it needed to be, because you knew you'd probably have to just lie there for 2 hours to talk yourself into getting up.
And the thing is: that is okay.
Because then you have days when you roll out of bed and you think, "HELL YEAH! I'VE GOT THIS." And those are the ones that mean you keep moving forwards.
You've got this.
Here is to remembering it is okay to sometimes not be okay. It is okay to ask for help. It is okay to cry in front of people you really don't want to cry in front of; because if they are half-decent human beings, they will ask how they can help.
You've got this.
Yes, you CAN.
Promise.
Nothing had happened. In fact, the coursework was easier than the other half that I had done over the weekend had been; and I'd had a reasonably productive day, and the sun was still shining, and yet suddenly, I started crying.
And when you end up in tears at work when even one other person is there? (Especially if the someone is a manager you get along with well?) You end up having to use some words to say that actually, you're struggling a bit with being a grown-up; even if you don't know how to phrase that, or what it is about being a grown up that you're struggling with.
And that right there is the point of this.
Sometimes, you have days when you are not okay. Days at a time, full weekends, full weeks, even. Days when you wake up paralysed at the thought of doing things. Days when you feel you have so much to do, but cant't seem to get started; so you just lie there, your head willing you to move, and just not being able to. Days when, apparently, you make toast and forget about it, and only find the toast a whole week later when your sister comes to stay. (True story.) (There were tears upon finding the piece of toast.) Days when you have preemptively set your alarm about 2 hours earlier than it needed to be, because you knew you'd probably have to just lie there for 2 hours to talk yourself into getting up.
And the thing is: that is okay.
Because then you have days when you roll out of bed and you think, "HELL YEAH! I'VE GOT THIS." And those are the ones that mean you keep moving forwards.
You've got this.
Here is to remembering it is okay to sometimes not be okay. It is okay to ask for help. It is okay to cry in front of people you really don't want to cry in front of; because if they are half-decent human beings, they will ask how they can help.
You've got this.
Yes, you CAN.
Promise.
Thursday, April 04, 2013
"NOTHING CHANGES IF NOTHING CHANGES"
Warning: this post will read rather cryptically to some, because part of it is not my story to tell. However, they are thoughts I need to get out on "paper", as it were; and so, here we are: cryptic blog posts which, if you know me in real life, are not that cryptic anyway.
I started writing this in November, after a sermon in church on 2 Kings 7:34: "3 Now there were four men with leprosy at the entrance of the city gate. They said to each other, “Why stay here until we die? 4 If we say, ‘We’ll go into the city’—the famine is there, and we will die. And if we stay here, we will die. So let’s go over to the camp of the Arameans and surrender. If they spare us, we live; if they kill us, then we die." But I was too afraid at the time to follow through with what I was going to say I was going to do, and put off this post.
Because, you see, until just over a year ago, I had been wondering what to do about a particular situation for a long time. I had been unhappy for a long time, but because I had felt that the moments of happiness - and various other feelings - which broke up the undercurrent of unhappiness were enough to outweigh it, I hadn't ever had the courage to do anything about it. Moreover, doing something about it would have meant admitting that I had been wrong to get into that particular situation start with; and that was something that my pride could not deal with.
However, just over a year ago, a series of events combined to push me into doing something about it. And so I tried to do something about it. It was painful and awkward and frustrating and wasn't able to happen in the way I had wanted it to happen, and I was never sure if what I did had been understood. But I was certain I had extracted myself from the situation.
Except that I hadn't. Not really. Immediately kept myself busy with other things: a wedding first, then being in Another Country, meeting friends, working a lot, and then suddenly... travel! friends! concerts! meeting new people! more travel! strange encounters with people! more travel! planning a New Life! moving to New City! new job! new people! kissing! friends! so much studying! exams! dates! more exams! more travel! running! church! ALL OF THE THINGS! I thought, hey look at me, being an adult and moving on with my life and moving forward and all of the things!
And because you are filled with courage, and they seem to have moved on too, you think, hey, maybe I'm finally ready to talk about things. Again.
Until one day you wake up and you realise that in spite of an attempt to make a Big Change and follow through with it and getting out of a situation which is absolutely not right for you and is killing you and is simply not making you happy, you haven't entirely let go of the past; but that you need to, because "Nothing changes if nothing changes" and you are miserable once again because you’ve fallen into a similar situation. Again.
My first entry on this blog was about lessons I had learned in 2012. They were all about moving forward, and not surrounding yourself with people who bring you down. I firmly believe, will all of my might, that that is what I should have been doing, and kept doing. Because when you try, after time apart, to communicate with someone, but you end up mis-communicating with them repeatedly, in a way which is reminiscent of the reasons you had for leaving that situation in the first place; you end up right back where you started.
And so you have a choice:
Either you stay in limbo, waiting, again, for something to change, while being continuously underlying-ly miserable - again.
Or you take charge, following inspiration from Kings, following the lessons of a God who doesn't let you go: "If we stay here, we die!" said the lepers from Kings. "If we go, we might die too!" "Oh well," they decide, "at least we'll have tried!"
And so you decide that you've had enough of it, and that you will try something new: change. And you give the other parties involved an ultimatum, and when they don’t meet it, you follow through with change. Because you decide that, in spite of how hard it is for now, and how drastic it may seem to the other parties involved, you will change. Because you are miserable as things stand. So you decide that you will plough through with option two; with all that it involves - including finding a way to let go of the past entirely - and change.
"Nothing changes if nothing changes."
Here is a toast to facing fears and to jumping in with both feet.
Here is to freedom in change.
Here is to change.
Friday, March 29, 2013
"Mistakes are going to be made."
Earlier in the week, I received some constructive criticism over a piece of work I had done. It had been my first attempt at it, and though I hadn't been given much guidance, I didn't ask many questions, because I genuinely thought I knew what was expected of me. As it turned out, I wasn't entirely sure, and so when it was reviewed, parts of it had to be re-done; which, obviously, was not the most efficient use of my time.
To say I am unaccustomed to dealing with criticism would not be entirely accurate, but it is also true that until then, most of the feedback I had received had been positive. And it is also true that I have been known to be rather defensive when I am criticised; seeking to justify why I have done or said something, whatever that something is.
So I had to try to face things differently this time; and here are three things that helped:
one. having a lovely manager who knows how to interact with people helps enormously. She didn't start by listing out everything I'd done wrong, with no opening. She sat down next to me and asked if we could talk about the assignment. She started by praising another section of my work. And then she didn't say that what I had done was rubbish-no-good. Instead, she suggested I look up a couple of examples of how other people approach it, so as to understand what it was about. She explained where I'd gone wrong, and heard me out when I explained that part of why I'd done something one way was because I thought it made sense because X, Y and Z. She even engaged with that, acknowledging the logic in the thought process, but let me know that 'no, we can't do that, though I understand why you'd think that'.
two. The following quote from The West Wing kept going through my head: "Mistakes are going to be made. Minimize them, fix them... move on." (From the episode 'Mandatory Minimums' in season 1, in case anyone fancies watching it!) Instead of what I would have been tempted to do a while back (which is to think, at length, about what I'd done wrong and how I should have done it differently and so on and so forth), I thought, "Ok, I made a mistake. How can I fix it? How can I not make it next time?" Over an over, I kept reminding myself, "Minimise them. Fix them. Move on. Move on. Move on."
three. Today, I came across a sign: "Don't look back: you're not going that way." And I had to laugh. Because, yes. "FORWARD."
I looked over my work, bearing in mind the criticism. I recognised the mistakes that had been pointed out. I thought of how to correct them. I went on a course about how to do the task - which, admittedly, may have been useful before I attempted the task. I learned how to do it. Next time, I will ask more questions, I will try harder, and I will have learned.
"Minimize them. Fix them. Move on."
I'm moving on.
To say I am unaccustomed to dealing with criticism would not be entirely accurate, but it is also true that until then, most of the feedback I had received had been positive. And it is also true that I have been known to be rather defensive when I am criticised; seeking to justify why I have done or said something, whatever that something is.
So I had to try to face things differently this time; and here are three things that helped:
one. having a lovely manager who knows how to interact with people helps enormously. She didn't start by listing out everything I'd done wrong, with no opening. She sat down next to me and asked if we could talk about the assignment. She started by praising another section of my work. And then she didn't say that what I had done was rubbish-no-good. Instead, she suggested I look up a couple of examples of how other people approach it, so as to understand what it was about. She explained where I'd gone wrong, and heard me out when I explained that part of why I'd done something one way was because I thought it made sense because X, Y and Z. She even engaged with that, acknowledging the logic in the thought process, but let me know that 'no, we can't do that, though I understand why you'd think that'.
two. The following quote from The West Wing kept going through my head: "Mistakes are going to be made. Minimize them, fix them... move on." (From the episode 'Mandatory Minimums' in season 1, in case anyone fancies watching it!) Instead of what I would have been tempted to do a while back (which is to think, at length, about what I'd done wrong and how I should have done it differently and so on and so forth), I thought, "Ok, I made a mistake. How can I fix it? How can I not make it next time?" Over an over, I kept reminding myself, "Minimise them. Fix them. Move on. Move on. Move on."
three. Today, I came across a sign: "Don't look back: you're not going that way." And I had to laugh. Because, yes. "FORWARD."
I looked over my work, bearing in mind the criticism. I recognised the mistakes that had been pointed out. I thought of how to correct them. I went on a course about how to do the task - which, admittedly, may have been useful before I attempted the task. I learned how to do it. Next time, I will ask more questions, I will try harder, and I will have learned.
"Minimize them. Fix them. Move on."
I'm moving on.
Tuesday, March 19, 2013
Meet my dad.
A blogger I follow, Miss Zoot, recently posted an entry which was basically an open letter to her dad, who died several years ago. I have been feeling a little under the weather recently, and it's Father's Day in Spain today, and I have noticed that I have been missing my dad more than usual; and so I thought I would write to tell you about my dad.
*****
One of my earliest memories of my dad is of him trying to teach my sister and I to say the word for 'dog' in Spanish. We must still have been living in Paris, and based on my recollection of what the kitchen looked like, it must have been in the first year we lived there. I must have been two? That doesn't sound right. Perhaps it was the first year we were in Spain, which would have made my sister and I eight and six years old respectively, which seems more likely. Neither my sister nor I could roll our 'r's, so when we tried to say "perro", what actually happened was this:
Sister: "Pe-lo!"
Me: "Pe-jo!"
Sister: "Pe-ro!"
Me: "Pehhhh-o!"
Cue ecstatic small-child-giggles of hilarity, when, already in our in nighties, we should have been headed to bed.
And so my dad tried to teach us some Spanish before we moved to Barcelona - or in the first few years we were there. And when I started learning it at school, whilst my sister still spoke French with him, I switched to Spanish; and it felt like our little secret. I knew, of course, that both my sister and mum could perfectly understand what we were saying, but I still thought of it as "our little thing."
But then there are so many more things that make him him, that made my relationship with my dad be one that I miss enormously. Like how he always called me "pretty face". How he encouraged me to be part of the Castellers de San Andreu De La Barca even though it was crazy and at strange hours and he was afraid of heights. How he taught me some DIY - how he left me instructions on how to affix a cork board to the wall in my room, and how I did it, following those instructions, after he'd died. How we'd build IKEA furniture together while drinking cups of tea and listening to the Boss. How he'd help me with my maths homework. How he let me sit on his lap at the dinner table until I was surely too old for that, because I needed a cuddle. How he'd let me try any wine he was drinking - until I realised, around about my 12th birthday, that I wasn't sure I liked wine, and so stopped. How he let me make Tiramisú by myself when I was about eight years old, and I burned his stove-top coffee maker by omitting to place any water in it, and couldn't stop laughing about it. How he told me to "trust [my] voice" that he "[liked my voice]". How when I told my mum and him that "I... I think I don't like boys," he laughed, said he was proud of me for telling them, and offered me a glass of wine. I was thirteen. (Spain, eh!)
I miss sitting in the car driving back from town, listening to Melissa Etheridge or the Dire Straits, and signing - both of us signing delightfully out of tune. I miss being able to go to dad and say "I don't understand my homework!" I miss being able to dial his office number, and with pride in my voice, be able to ask to speak to "Dr E, please" - though I know the phone number by heart, still. I miss being able to talk to him, to ask him for advice, to tell him "I feel rubbish" or "I am happy."
I miss having this man around.
Come July, I'll have spent a third of my life without him. That is all of my adult life. He died before I finished school, before I moved across the world, before I got into university, before my first serious relationship, before my first paid job, before I graduated from my degree, from my MA, before I learned to drive. Before I moved to a city where I knew no one, before I got my own apartment. There's so much I'd have wanted to tell him.
I just -
I just miss my dad.
If yours is still around, please call him? Just say hi. Ask him for his thoughts on something. Tell him you love him. One more time.
*****
One of my earliest memories of my dad is of him trying to teach my sister and I to say the word for 'dog' in Spanish. We must still have been living in Paris, and based on my recollection of what the kitchen looked like, it must have been in the first year we lived there. I must have been two? That doesn't sound right. Perhaps it was the first year we were in Spain, which would have made my sister and I eight and six years old respectively, which seems more likely. Neither my sister nor I could roll our 'r's, so when we tried to say "perro", what actually happened was this:
Sister: "Pe-lo!"
Me: "Pe-jo!"
Sister: "Pe-ro!"
Me: "Pehhhh-o!"
Cue ecstatic small-child-giggles of hilarity, when, already in our in nighties, we should have been headed to bed.
And so my dad tried to teach us some Spanish before we moved to Barcelona - or in the first few years we were there. And when I started learning it at school, whilst my sister still spoke French with him, I switched to Spanish; and it felt like our little secret. I knew, of course, that both my sister and mum could perfectly understand what we were saying, but I still thought of it as "our little thing."
But then there are so many more things that make him him, that made my relationship with my dad be one that I miss enormously. Like how he always called me "pretty face". How he encouraged me to be part of the Castellers de San Andreu De La Barca even though it was crazy and at strange hours and he was afraid of heights. How he taught me some DIY - how he left me instructions on how to affix a cork board to the wall in my room, and how I did it, following those instructions, after he'd died. How we'd build IKEA furniture together while drinking cups of tea and listening to the Boss. How he'd help me with my maths homework. How he let me sit on his lap at the dinner table until I was surely too old for that, because I needed a cuddle. How he'd let me try any wine he was drinking - until I realised, around about my 12th birthday, that I wasn't sure I liked wine, and so stopped. How he let me make Tiramisú by myself when I was about eight years old, and I burned his stove-top coffee maker by omitting to place any water in it, and couldn't stop laughing about it. How he told me to "trust [my] voice" that he "[liked my voice]". How when I told my mum and him that "I... I think I don't like boys," he laughed, said he was proud of me for telling them, and offered me a glass of wine. I was thirteen. (Spain, eh!)
I miss sitting in the car driving back from town, listening to Melissa Etheridge or the Dire Straits, and signing - both of us signing delightfully out of tune. I miss being able to go to dad and say "I don't understand my homework!" I miss being able to dial his office number, and with pride in my voice, be able to ask to speak to "Dr E, please" - though I know the phone number by heart, still. I miss being able to talk to him, to ask him for advice, to tell him "I feel rubbish" or "I am happy."
I miss having this man around.
Come July, I'll have spent a third of my life without him. That is all of my adult life. He died before I finished school, before I moved across the world, before I got into university, before my first serious relationship, before my first paid job, before I graduated from my degree, from my MA, before I learned to drive. Before I moved to a city where I knew no one, before I got my own apartment. There's so much I'd have wanted to tell him.
I just -
I just miss my dad.
If yours is still around, please call him? Just say hi. Ask him for his thoughts on something. Tell him you love him. One more time.
Tuesday, February 12, 2013
Living purposefully, and thoughts on Lent.
"Have you ever thought much about time?", asked the pastor leading the service on Sunday. Throughout the service, some thoughts I've been having for a little while became a lot clearer, to the point I felt better able to articulate them. Whilst the sermon was encouraging us, among a number of other things, to make a continuous choice to live for God; I realised that my goal - what I would like - is this: to live with purpose.
The way I am saying this, I do not mean "to live as though I have a role to play on this earth" - though I am happy to admit that I firmly believe I am here for a reason - but rather, to continuously decide to live in a manner consistent with individual goals. What does this mean?
It means I can talk about wanting to run a half marathon by the end of 2013; but to do so I need to accept that it will mean that I will need to set time aside to train for a marathon. For instance, in the short run (no pun intended), it means that I need to spend less time messing around online and watching TV shows, and more time running, stretching, exercising, training.
It means that it is fine for me to say that "speaking French feels foreign and weird when I try to speak it now" even though I am technically fluent in it; but that if I want to keep up the fluency, I need to be willing to spend 15 minutes a day reading out loud in French, or speaking French with my sister.
It means that I can say all I like about wanting to pass all the exams I have to sit this year to be part qualified by the end of 2013; but that will involve spending evenings and weekends studying, rather than travelling up and down the country, rather than watching TV shows.
However, in order to apply this to my life, being aware that even a life lived with purpose will have its time constraints, I have had to narrow down the things that are most important to me, to happiness and my more immediate life goals.
For this year, in broad strokes, the things are:
1. Making time for God - which means more time in the week focused on church, more time reading; which means less time messing around online or watching TV shows on Sundays.
2. Running - which means a) SIGNING UP FOR RACES, and b) TRAINING - which means more time training and stretching and doing my physio exercises for my knee, which in turn, again, means less time messing around.
3. Passing my exams and keeping my job - which is deeply intertwined with "keeping healthy" and therefore with "taking time out" and also "cooking"; but which means keeping alert in courses, doing homework, and being consistent.
4. Maintaining strong friendships - I have incredible friends, and I am deeply blessed by how fabulous they are; and maintaining friendships involves making time for them, which means taking time and money which may be spent on other things ("messing around", usually - are we sensing a theme yet?) to focus on them.
Four is a lovely manageable number; and therefore, I resolve to tailor my life towards those things and less towards others.
Furthermore, in the spirit of living purposefully, I am generally aiming to live in a more internally consistent way, which includes living a more morally consistent life. I can say I am deeply affected by the spread of homelessness and then do nothing, or I can do something about it: donate time or money or both, for instance. Similarly, I can say that I do not like the thought of eating animals who will have suffered as they have been slaughtered for food, that I do not like an industry that promotes fear and suffering, that I have problems with the environmental impact of rearing animals for food, and then still go an eat a chicken sandwich; or I can act in a way consistent with the way I feel about it.
And so, in the spirit of living with purpose, and living an internally consistent life, I arrive at the following thoughts for Lent.
For Lent, I will be giving up animal products* - in order to make morally consistent choices; and I will be avoiding social media (Facebook and Twitter) - in order to allow to spend more time focused a) on God, but also b) on those other things which matter.
For Lent, I resolve to begin to live purposefully.
What are you doing over Lent?
*Those of you who have known me for long enough know that this is not the first time I have tried this; and also know the reasons I had for stopping those times. The same caveat applies to this attempt: if my mental health suffers because of it, my internal moral consistency still says that my own health matters more than animal ethics, and therefore I would stop.
The way I am saying this, I do not mean "to live as though I have a role to play on this earth" - though I am happy to admit that I firmly believe I am here for a reason - but rather, to continuously decide to live in a manner consistent with individual goals. What does this mean?
It means I can talk about wanting to run a half marathon by the end of 2013; but to do so I need to accept that it will mean that I will need to set time aside to train for a marathon. For instance, in the short run (no pun intended), it means that I need to spend less time messing around online and watching TV shows, and more time running, stretching, exercising, training.
It means that it is fine for me to say that "speaking French feels foreign and weird when I try to speak it now" even though I am technically fluent in it; but that if I want to keep up the fluency, I need to be willing to spend 15 minutes a day reading out loud in French, or speaking French with my sister.
It means that I can say all I like about wanting to pass all the exams I have to sit this year to be part qualified by the end of 2013; but that will involve spending evenings and weekends studying, rather than travelling up and down the country, rather than watching TV shows.
However, in order to apply this to my life, being aware that even a life lived with purpose will have its time constraints, I have had to narrow down the things that are most important to me, to happiness and my more immediate life goals.
For this year, in broad strokes, the things are:
1. Making time for God - which means more time in the week focused on church, more time reading; which means less time messing around online or watching TV shows on Sundays.
2. Running - which means a) SIGNING UP FOR RACES, and b) TRAINING - which means more time training and stretching and doing my physio exercises for my knee, which in turn, again, means less time messing around.
3. Passing my exams and keeping my job - which is deeply intertwined with "keeping healthy" and therefore with "taking time out" and also "cooking"; but which means keeping alert in courses, doing homework, and being consistent.
4. Maintaining strong friendships - I have incredible friends, and I am deeply blessed by how fabulous they are; and maintaining friendships involves making time for them, which means taking time and money which may be spent on other things ("messing around", usually - are we sensing a theme yet?) to focus on them.
Four is a lovely manageable number; and therefore, I resolve to tailor my life towards those things and less towards others.
Furthermore, in the spirit of living purposefully, I am generally aiming to live in a more internally consistent way, which includes living a more morally consistent life. I can say I am deeply affected by the spread of homelessness and then do nothing, or I can do something about it: donate time or money or both, for instance. Similarly, I can say that I do not like the thought of eating animals who will have suffered as they have been slaughtered for food, that I do not like an industry that promotes fear and suffering, that I have problems with the environmental impact of rearing animals for food, and then still go an eat a chicken sandwich; or I can act in a way consistent with the way I feel about it.
And so, in the spirit of living with purpose, and living an internally consistent life, I arrive at the following thoughts for Lent.
For Lent, I will be giving up animal products* - in order to make morally consistent choices; and I will be avoiding social media (Facebook and Twitter) - in order to allow to spend more time focused a) on God, but also b) on those other things which matter.
For Lent, I resolve to begin to live purposefully.
What are you doing over Lent?
*Those of you who have known me for long enough know that this is not the first time I have tried this; and also know the reasons I had for stopping those times. The same caveat applies to this attempt: if my mental health suffers because of it, my internal moral consistency still says that my own health matters more than animal ethics, and therefore I would stop.
Wednesday, January 09, 2013
On "taking the long way round" and "being cookie dough"
Or, "How it seems my posts will involve quotes from things."
I was walking to work the other morning listening to music on my mp3 player, "The Long Way Round" by The Dixie Chicks came on. (What can I say, I love them!) Every time I hear them - or at least that CD of theirs - I go back to summer of 2006, my sister, mum and I in a rented BMW in Germany, driving down from Munich airport into Austria for my second cousin's wedding.
"Six strong hands on a steering wheel"
It was the summer after. A year after dad died, a year after my sister had moved out.... and only a couple of months after I was so convinced I'd flunked my maths finals that I withdrew from my place at King's College in London, and decided to move to Cape Town for a year.
And as I walked towards the office on Monday morning, the song came on, and I just let myself laugh. Because yes. The lyrics? Yes.
"I've been a long time gone now,
Maybe someday, someday I'm going to settle down.
But I've always found my way somehow
By taking the long way round"
I had to move to the other end of the world from home at 17 to figure out I could decide what I wanted out of my life; and ended up not living in London but in a tiny town way up North, not studying maths and philosophy, but molecular biology and philosophy. Not a degree that would get me hired easily necessarily, but one I thought I wanted - and greatly enjoyed.
"Well I fought with a stranger and I met myself,
I opened my mouth and I heard myself"
One of the last bits of encouragement my dad gave me was "trust your voice: you have things to say," so of course I always think of him when I hear that line.
"It can get pretty lonely when you show yourself
Guess I could have made it easier on myself "
I could have made many things easier for myself I am sure, if I had stuck to a nice, cosy straight road. To the familiar, to the safety and comfort of what is familiar. And I did, for quite a while, in some aspects of my life.
But I have discovered that that is not who I am; and the truth is, I wouldn't have it any other way.
For instance, I could have ended up in my current career in a far more straightforward way, even straight out of high school. I would be qualified by now. Instead, I finished high school early, moved across the world where I met the most fabulous people and started asking more serious questions about God, moved Up North for university, did a strange degree, met more fabulous people, went completely bat-shit-crazy, took spontaneous trips back to the other side of the world, stood up in church for a God who loves me, feel in love with a boy, got better, met more amazing people, played around with chemicals in a lab for a while, realised a trained chimp could do so, decided to stay and do more philosophising, talked my way into a job in a book store, quit the job at the book store because I realised my family was more important to me, finished philosophising with no clue what I wanted to do next, thought I'd try out this whole accountancy business because being paid to dress pretty and be nosy and play with numbers and back up figures seemed fun, left the boy, took 8 months interning before I started this job, which allowed me to travel around like a crazy person, and started this training not as an 18-year-old, but as a 20-something with two degrees who is still 'taking the long way round' but feels like she is exactly where she is supposed to be.
Because that is the truth: I feel like I am exactly where I am meant to be, but I also have this sneaky feeling that it is still "the long way round" to wherever it is I am going. Incidentally, I do not know where that is; which leads us to the whole 'being cookie dough' thing.
I recently re-watched the whole of season 7 of Buffy - as you do - and I laughed, again, when Angel and Buffy have an exchange in the cemetery in which Buffy refers to herself as cookie dough. I loved that exchange when I watched it over 9 years ago when it first aired (sidenote: OH MY GOODNESS!), but it meant a lot more to me now that I am around (older!) than Buffy was meant to be at that point, because: "I'm cookie dough. I'm not done baking. I'm not finished becoming whoever the hell it is I'm going to turn out to be!"
For now, I am cookie dough, and that is just fine.
I was walking to work the other morning listening to music on my mp3 player, "The Long Way Round" by The Dixie Chicks came on. (What can I say, I love them!) Every time I hear them - or at least that CD of theirs - I go back to summer of 2006, my sister, mum and I in a rented BMW in Germany, driving down from Munich airport into Austria for my second cousin's wedding.
"Six strong hands on a steering wheel"
It was the summer after. A year after dad died, a year after my sister had moved out.... and only a couple of months after I was so convinced I'd flunked my maths finals that I withdrew from my place at King's College in London, and decided to move to Cape Town for a year.
And as I walked towards the office on Monday morning, the song came on, and I just let myself laugh. Because yes. The lyrics? Yes.
"I've been a long time gone now,
Maybe someday, someday I'm going to settle down.
But I've always found my way somehow
By taking the long way round"
I had to move to the other end of the world from home at 17 to figure out I could decide what I wanted out of my life; and ended up not living in London but in a tiny town way up North, not studying maths and philosophy, but molecular biology and philosophy. Not a degree that would get me hired easily necessarily, but one I thought I wanted - and greatly enjoyed.
"Well I fought with a stranger and I met myself,
I opened my mouth and I heard myself"
One of the last bits of encouragement my dad gave me was "trust your voice: you have things to say," so of course I always think of him when I hear that line.
"It can get pretty lonely when you show yourself
Guess I could have made it easier on myself "
I could have made many things easier for myself I am sure, if I had stuck to a nice, cosy straight road. To the familiar, to the safety and comfort of what is familiar. And I did, for quite a while, in some aspects of my life.
But I have discovered that that is not who I am; and the truth is, I wouldn't have it any other way.
For instance, I could have ended up in my current career in a far more straightforward way, even straight out of high school. I would be qualified by now. Instead, I finished high school early, moved across the world where I met the most fabulous people and started asking more serious questions about God, moved Up North for university, did a strange degree, met more fabulous people, went completely bat-shit-crazy, took spontaneous trips back to the other side of the world, stood up in church for a God who loves me, feel in love with a boy, got better, met more amazing people, played around with chemicals in a lab for a while, realised a trained chimp could do so, decided to stay and do more philosophising, talked my way into a job in a book store, quit the job at the book store because I realised my family was more important to me, finished philosophising with no clue what I wanted to do next, thought I'd try out this whole accountancy business because being paid to dress pretty and be nosy and play with numbers and back up figures seemed fun, left the boy, took 8 months interning before I started this job, which allowed me to travel around like a crazy person, and started this training not as an 18-year-old, but as a 20-something with two degrees who is still 'taking the long way round' but feels like she is exactly where she is supposed to be.
Because that is the truth: I feel like I am exactly where I am meant to be, but I also have this sneaky feeling that it is still "the long way round" to wherever it is I am going. Incidentally, I do not know where that is; which leads us to the whole 'being cookie dough' thing.
I recently re-watched the whole of season 7 of Buffy - as you do - and I laughed, again, when Angel and Buffy have an exchange in the cemetery in which Buffy refers to herself as cookie dough. I loved that exchange when I watched it over 9 years ago when it first aired (sidenote: OH MY GOODNESS!), but it meant a lot more to me now that I am around (older!) than Buffy was meant to be at that point, because: "I'm cookie dough. I'm not done baking. I'm not finished becoming whoever the hell it is I'm going to turn out to be!"
For now, I am cookie dough, and that is just fine.
Tuesday, January 01, 2013
Lessons Learned.
Twenty twelve was a ridiculously eventful year for me; filled with adventures, exploring, love, loss, laughter, friends, work, a wedding, so many train journeys and planes and concerts and new people and photography, and family. I learned a lot about myself; about who I am, who I would like to be, and who I am becoming. It was a year in which I found out what my happiness looks like and feels like - which may be completely different to what yours does.
So here is a very short summary of the lessons I learned in 2012, complete with quotes from songs, poems, or, apparently, political campaigns.
ONE.
"i'll be there for you, [because] you're there for me too" - the rembrandts. (aka. "Surround yourself with people who lift you up, not those who bring you down.")
This one sounds obvious, but sometimes, it is not entirely clear when people are not in the category of those who "lift you up."
For reference, they are the people who you call and text and email with the same problems repeatedly, at strange times of the day or night, and instead of telling you you are being a pest simply repeat encouraging words. They are the ones who tell you "yes, you can!" when you tell them you want to run a marathon, even though they know you've not put on your running shoes in a couple of years. They are the ones who call you every so often to see how you're doing. They are the ones who make time to receive your call to catch up on life, even when you don't live in the same city. They are the ones who, when you tell them, "I don't know what is going on in my life" tell you "I have no idea either, but that's two of us in this boat, and here's the kettle and a teacup". They are the ones who, when you message being a little worried because you may miss your last train home, offer you tea and a sofa-bed at a minute's notice. They are the ones who, when you call them before exams or interviews or after a break up, stay on the phone even when they are extremely stressed themselves, just because they want you to be okay. They are the ones you know would let you in the door if you somehow unexpectedly ended up homeless.
I won't embarrass anyone by publicly naming any of these friends of mine, but suffice to say that I have learned, in 2012, that I have ridiculously amazing friends, who do all of the above and more for me. Who not only put up with incoherent phone calls at 3am, as well as the craziness of interviews, exams, driving anxiety, and so on... but would not have had it any other way.
So, step one to happiness? Surround yourself with people who lift you up, who make you more than you are without them, and get rid of the people who bring you down. If you have a relationship - romantic or otherwise - in which you doubt yourself, your self-worth, the state of your relationship; if you have a relationship that does not enhance who you are, but restricts you and brings you down, seriously consider whether it is worth sticking with.
TWO.
"this, is for saying yes" - andrea gibson.
(subtitled: "except for those times when there are good reasons for saying 'no'" - and 'good reasons' include 'not wanting to', and can sometimes also include avoiding a situation which you know will hurt and not have any benefits associated with it.)
I have done many new things this year, and I would not have done any of them if I had not started to say YES to opportunities that presented themselves to me. I said YES on a whim to visiting a friend working in the Middle East, which was not somewhere that had ever occurred to me to visit; and it was incredible. I said YES to going to a concert in Barcelona when I was already going to the Madrid version, and met lovely people. I said YES to moving myself up to Leeds, even though driving terrified me, and proved myself capable of it. I said YES and to meeting up with friends far more frequently than in the previous 3-4 years combined, and discovered how incredible my friends are. I said YES to meeting up with old school friends, and I am now closer to them than I was when we left school. I said YES when work asked me to spend some time working for another office, and I got to meet incredible people and work for great clients. On the other hand, I also learned to say 'no' to situations I needed to avoid - and to do so repeatedly when needed - and I'm learning to do so without guilt.
This is the second step to my happiness: say yes to new opportunities, but know when and dare to say 'no' as well.
THREE.
"Forward"
This is the part where I sound like Obama's 2012 campaign.
And yet, it is possibly the most important of the three steps: look ahead, and keep moving forward. Let go of things that have passed. A tutor of mine was trying to teach us the strategy we should adopt for a particular exam, and she summarised it thus: "If you don't know the answer or how to do it in the first 30 seconds, let it go and move on with your life." Now, I wouldn't only approach a dilemma or problem in life in 30 seconds, but the idea of "let it go and move on with your life" has been so incredibly useful to me in being happy as I move forward.
I could also have quoted The Lion King, having watched it only a week ago (why yes, I *am* an adult!), where Rafiki hits Simba on the head with his stick, leading Simba to react with a "Jeez! What was that for?!" and Rafiki wisely responds, "It doesn't matter! It's in the past!" Simba, very human-like, acknowledges, "Yeah, but it still hurts". Rafiki grants him that much, "Oh yes, the past can hurt... But the way I see it, you can either run for it, or... learn from it." Simba, this time, avoids Rafiki's stick. Learn from the past, but let it go and keep moving.
BASICALLY, The Lion King is awesome and so is letting go of the past and moving forwards.
FOUR.
"Do not be afraid. Only believe." (Mark 5:36) and "Trust in God that you are EXACTLY where you are meant to be" (St. Thérèse de Lisieux)
Finally, there have been so many moments this year where I have felt so absolutely certain that I am EXACTLY where I am meant to be. I can't explain this certainty, other than an incredible peace of mind that no matter how things work out, they will be okay. Because if 2012 was this incredibly amazing, in spite of the initial pain of ending a long-term relationship and being unsure of what the future held, if my life is this ridiculously great in spite of rubbish that has happened, how can things not be ok?
I had a moment sitting on the hill at the Washington Monument in the summer, watching the sun set over the Lincoln Memorial, where it was like everything just stopped, and my heart felt like it was about to burst with joy because of the opportunities I'd had, the people I'd met, the music I'd listened to, the places I'd been, the way things were looking up. I had smaller similar moments at other intervals - on the plane heading to Tel Aviv; in the crowd at Bruce Springsteen's concert in Barcelona; in Toronto on my Uncle and Aunt's back porch listening to Alison Krauss; in the car driving up to Leeds to move up here listening to Dire Straits; on trains early in the morning heading south for work; on trains to visit friends; in church on Sundays when I have ended up overwhelmed and in tears; walking to the office early in the morning, when the city's waking up and the sun is creeping through the clouds, and I feel like yes. I am exactly where I am meant to be.
I have absolutely no idea what 2013 will look like. I have thoughts about things I would like to see happen, and I have the knowledge that a whole lot of it is not currently entirely dependent on me. What I do know, however, is that I am loved. That you are loved, so much more than you possibly know. What I do know is that I am exactly where I am meant to be. I know that I have friends I trust with my life. And I know that however this year unfolds, things will be okay.
And that is something I am incredibly thankful for.
So here is a very short summary of the lessons I learned in 2012, complete with quotes from songs, poems, or, apparently, political campaigns.
ONE.
"i'll be there for you, [because] you're there for me too" - the rembrandts. (aka. "Surround yourself with people who lift you up, not those who bring you down.")
This one sounds obvious, but sometimes, it is not entirely clear when people are not in the category of those who "lift you up."
For reference, they are the people who you call and text and email with the same problems repeatedly, at strange times of the day or night, and instead of telling you you are being a pest simply repeat encouraging words. They are the ones who tell you "yes, you can!" when you tell them you want to run a marathon, even though they know you've not put on your running shoes in a couple of years. They are the ones who call you every so often to see how you're doing. They are the ones who make time to receive your call to catch up on life, even when you don't live in the same city. They are the ones who, when you tell them, "I don't know what is going on in my life" tell you "I have no idea either, but that's two of us in this boat, and here's the kettle and a teacup". They are the ones who, when you message being a little worried because you may miss your last train home, offer you tea and a sofa-bed at a minute's notice. They are the ones who, when you call them before exams or interviews or after a break up, stay on the phone even when they are extremely stressed themselves, just because they want you to be okay. They are the ones you know would let you in the door if you somehow unexpectedly ended up homeless.
I won't embarrass anyone by publicly naming any of these friends of mine, but suffice to say that I have learned, in 2012, that I have ridiculously amazing friends, who do all of the above and more for me. Who not only put up with incoherent phone calls at 3am, as well as the craziness of interviews, exams, driving anxiety, and so on... but would not have had it any other way.
So, step one to happiness? Surround yourself with people who lift you up, who make you more than you are without them, and get rid of the people who bring you down. If you have a relationship - romantic or otherwise - in which you doubt yourself, your self-worth, the state of your relationship; if you have a relationship that does not enhance who you are, but restricts you and brings you down, seriously consider whether it is worth sticking with.
TWO.
"this, is for saying yes" - andrea gibson.
(subtitled: "except for those times when there are good reasons for saying 'no'" - and 'good reasons' include 'not wanting to', and can sometimes also include avoiding a situation which you know will hurt and not have any benefits associated with it.)
I have done many new things this year, and I would not have done any of them if I had not started to say YES to opportunities that presented themselves to me. I said YES on a whim to visiting a friend working in the Middle East, which was not somewhere that had ever occurred to me to visit; and it was incredible. I said YES to going to a concert in Barcelona when I was already going to the Madrid version, and met lovely people. I said YES to moving myself up to Leeds, even though driving terrified me, and proved myself capable of it. I said YES and to meeting up with friends far more frequently than in the previous 3-4 years combined, and discovered how incredible my friends are. I said YES to meeting up with old school friends, and I am now closer to them than I was when we left school. I said YES when work asked me to spend some time working for another office, and I got to meet incredible people and work for great clients. On the other hand, I also learned to say 'no' to situations I needed to avoid - and to do so repeatedly when needed - and I'm learning to do so without guilt.
This is the second step to my happiness: say yes to new opportunities, but know when and dare to say 'no' as well.
THREE.
"Forward"
This is the part where I sound like Obama's 2012 campaign.
And yet, it is possibly the most important of the three steps: look ahead, and keep moving forward. Let go of things that have passed. A tutor of mine was trying to teach us the strategy we should adopt for a particular exam, and she summarised it thus: "If you don't know the answer or how to do it in the first 30 seconds, let it go and move on with your life." Now, I wouldn't only approach a dilemma or problem in life in 30 seconds, but the idea of "let it go and move on with your life" has been so incredibly useful to me in being happy as I move forward.
I could also have quoted The Lion King, having watched it only a week ago (why yes, I *am* an adult!), where Rafiki hits Simba on the head with his stick, leading Simba to react with a "Jeez! What was that for?!" and Rafiki wisely responds, "It doesn't matter! It's in the past!" Simba, very human-like, acknowledges, "Yeah, but it still hurts". Rafiki grants him that much, "Oh yes, the past can hurt... But the way I see it, you can either run for it, or... learn from it." Simba, this time, avoids Rafiki's stick. Learn from the past, but let it go and keep moving.
BASICALLY, The Lion King is awesome and so is letting go of the past and moving forwards.
FOUR.
"Do not be afraid. Only believe." (Mark 5:36) and "Trust in God that you are EXACTLY where you are meant to be" (St. Thérèse de Lisieux)
Finally, there have been so many moments this year where I have felt so absolutely certain that I am EXACTLY where I am meant to be. I can't explain this certainty, other than an incredible peace of mind that no matter how things work out, they will be okay. Because if 2012 was this incredibly amazing, in spite of the initial pain of ending a long-term relationship and being unsure of what the future held, if my life is this ridiculously great in spite of rubbish that has happened, how can things not be ok?
I had a moment sitting on the hill at the Washington Monument in the summer, watching the sun set over the Lincoln Memorial, where it was like everything just stopped, and my heart felt like it was about to burst with joy because of the opportunities I'd had, the people I'd met, the music I'd listened to, the places I'd been, the way things were looking up. I had smaller similar moments at other intervals - on the plane heading to Tel Aviv; in the crowd at Bruce Springsteen's concert in Barcelona; in Toronto on my Uncle and Aunt's back porch listening to Alison Krauss; in the car driving up to Leeds to move up here listening to Dire Straits; on trains early in the morning heading south for work; on trains to visit friends; in church on Sundays when I have ended up overwhelmed and in tears; walking to the office early in the morning, when the city's waking up and the sun is creeping through the clouds, and I feel like yes. I am exactly where I am meant to be.
I have absolutely no idea what 2013 will look like. I have thoughts about things I would like to see happen, and I have the knowledge that a whole lot of it is not currently entirely dependent on me. What I do know, however, is that I am loved. That you are loved, so much more than you possibly know. What I do know is that I am exactly where I am meant to be. I know that I have friends I trust with my life. And I know that however this year unfolds, things will be okay.
And that is something I am incredibly thankful for.
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