23/06/16

I've emptied my head whilst I've been here.

And that's the best thing I could have done.

It's made me a little calmer.

At peace.

At peace with what has, will and is happening.

I'm humbled. And that's the most I could have asked for.

❊

22/06/16

Yesterday I didn't:

/ buy wine - I bought beer

/ find a bottle opener - I used a knife

/ eat the fruit I picked up

/ type up everything I said I would

❊

21/06/16

Today I will:

/ buy wine

/ find a bottle opener

/ pick up some fruit

/ and finally type up all my thoughts

❊

10/06/16

You seemed brighter that day.

Liked you'd slept more than four hours and hadn't been drunk the night before.

And this rare sight filled me with a little of the good stuff.

I've stepped back, and I now see you can do it alone.

As can I.

I realise now this a movement to be celebrated.

Not mourned.

We can both manage without the familiar. We can both flourish.

We're separate entities and often - in equal measures - I think we forgot this and became so consumed by our own little bubble that we stopped living.

It's taken a few thousand miles, too many cigarettes and the occasional "let me know when you're home" message to let go.

But the hour's arrived at the right time, for once.

I think, after all this, it's now easier to come together when we wish.

And when we do wish it, I hope you chose the bar, as always.

❊

09/06/16

Saner heads prevailed this morning.

I've eaten more than a banana

and filled my lungs with fresher air.

❊

07/06/16

It's a funny feeling being a little squiffy, in a big city, entirely on your own.

There are worse cities to feel like this in, that I know.

Scarier. Riskier, not as safe.

Mostly, it feels fine here. Like home.

I reckon it feels safer than where I was before.

I know there are weirder feelings to expect when I am teetering on the edge - like longer for my usual companions, my (previously) normal air, the better known.

This insanity usually lasts about 30 seconds.

At the 31st second, I remember where I am and what's in front of me.

❊

A Stumble In The Right Direction

My brain wasn't feeling notably creative or alert that day. Nor was I feeling particularly strong, and the door was somewhat heavy. I couldn't tell you what made me walk in to that little place, but I'm glad I did. 

Before me were a small collection of pretty swell people.

Like-minded. Big beliefs. Radical characters.

They held their own.

Their art was miraculous, and it glowed.

Their presence was strong, but oh so gentle.

They were the kind of people you put your phone away for.

As I enjoyed the company (and too many coffees), a wave of complete calm washed over me. Without warning I had become overwhelmingly mindful and steady.

Believe me, it was a mighty wave.

Nothing felt like it really mattered any more.

The nonsense and empty conversations that were surely waiting for me at home began to seem so much more manageable.

Every word uttered was soft. It felt easy.

Breathe in no and breathe out yes.

I became so acutely aware of every word. Every pronunciation. Every prolonged 'S' and every missed 'T'.

Any one of them could have declared the world was on its last legs and I wouldn't have winced - I was sure no one else would make it sound so sweet.

The more they spoke and the more I listened, I began to realise they were much like many others I already knew. This didn't destroy anything, not the awe, wonder or the admiration that had grown. It shattered no illusions, I still felt safe.

It was all the more powerful. All the more spectacular.

They were average people, with above average ideas.

When my time came to leave, highly caffeinated with a mind well fed, the door was even harder to open. 

Except this time, it was for all the right reasons.

❊

On Stress, Abandon & Everything In Between

That's the thing no one really braces you for. Or maybe they do, but it doesn't really make sense until you're neck-deep in shit, is that stress is not just one layer thick.

Excuse the Shrek reference, but it's like an onion.

It goes on and on, yes in slow succession, still, don't doubt its strength.

Sounds agonising, doesn't it?

That's another thing, it's not, entirely.

Don't declare me a fool just yet. I know, it can be remarkably uncomfortable. And I would always advise that you don't make it home.

The more I grow, the more I believe that it's important, as human beings, to acknowledge that discomfort, and sit with it, comfortably.

And stress?

Well, stress can be pretty useful. It helps us decide what is worth that treacherous discomfort, and what is not.

And some things really aren't worth it.

I spent eight months bracing myself for battle each morning. 8am, sharp.

And each morning, I felt my body tense with an arrogant fear. And that fear, that stress, well, there wasn't any damn value in it.

It didn't make me better.

It didn't make me stronger.

It was to be survived.

And while there was a speck of value in biding my time, there was a whole heap more in leaving.

And leave I did. I abandoned it.

I left because ultimately, I believed in greater things.

That's the other loop hole that's easy to miss.

The truly spectacular process of discovering what you believe in.

There are things I believe in.

Whole-heartedly, without question, without fear.

Beliefs that shake me.

They're mostly simple, but the beauty of simple is that often, it aligns with stress evolving.

That shiver becomes something quite magic.

For me, on occasion, sitting down to write is the scariest thing to face - in fact, I've spent the better part of the last few months avoiding it.

Equally, it is the most important thing I know to do.

It moves me forward, makes me better, stronger.

It is a belief I manifest.

It is worth every ounce of stress, fear and bone-shaking awe.

And that is entirely the point.

❊

Sweet Something

I was struck by a feeling at 4am.

That's usually the way it goes, a big epiphany when I should be dreaming of sweet nothings.

It hit me somewhere in my scatty head and punched me in the gut, all whilst attempting to manage a sleepy daze.

The feeling wasn't a romantic one, but it felt a little like love does.

Claustrophobic. Illuminating. Dangerous.

With a chance of all your dignity being burnt to a crisp.

I've built this up too much.

It ain't so dramatic.

I just want to write. For the first time in nearly a year.

I suppose that is fairly monumental. I know of at least one person that would pat me on the back for this small victory.

Two, if you count my Mum.

My hope is that it sticks. I've got things I want to say in a slightly poetic way again.

That's cool. 

Hey, it's a bloody revelation.

Now that this feeling, revelation, epiphany is potentially here to stay I want to make big plans.

Big plans.

Little plans.

Big little plans, for me.

Days and weeks and months of just me.

Me and my writing tools.

And maybe some wine. Just to massage the cliché a little more.

❊

An Air Of Mystery

I'd be lying if I said panic hadn't set in by the fifth day.

The fifth day of silence and discomfort.

The fifth day of the sun casting auburn highlights across the clouds.

The cold is setting in, with an uneasy breeze.

~

It's important I document this. Though it's slightly uncomfortable and my heart aches. It is important.

It's important because it's a lesson. And (I hope) I have learnt from it.

What a strange situation to arise at this time in my life.

By now, I am aware of the warning signs. 

A lack of creativity. A sense of abandonment. 

And becoming isolated in a little bubble. And often, I forget bubbles are fragile.

It's fantastic to shelter myself in metaphors. It's brilliant to hide in mysterious words and quiet thoughts.

It comes at a detriment, to the safety of my bubble.

To never specify saves me, my dignity and my sanity.

(Though I'm not too sure what's left of the three).

If you asked me how I knew, I'd say, "I'm lucky to see my neurotic side, even through the greyest of clouds. And I'm lucky to recognise the stabbing pain that sprints through my veins at the first sight of trouble."

And if you read this as I do, and am doing at this moment, you've most likely realised there is no conclusion.

There seems to be no middle or end either.

That's because it doesn't end.

My thoughts don't end. My small epiphanies (usually found whilst pursuing the supermarket) rarely cease.

And my learning, well, that will always run faster than I can.

❊

A Feared Entry

"I've learnt some important lessons this week.

- If you don't hold energy, be calm.

- Absorb before you react.

- Whisky and coke is not nice.

- Free ice cream tastes amazing.

- Letting go of people that damage your presence is a good thing.

- You won't always get 100% from everyone.

In truth, I realise they sound like fairly obvious life lessons. But this week, they took me by surprise.

By the middle of the week, I couldn't see past my own bubble.

And that felt lousy.

I was show that often I expect too much and become blind to my own efforts.

Without warning, I became lost in other's success and my own self-perceived inadequacy.

Towards Friday, I over shared my own stories after too much rum and felt a heavy pang of regret the next. I was encased in my own naivety and thus, sought consolidation in too many cups of coffee.  

It all became a little tragic.

However now, after much self-criticism, I'm letting this sea of crazy wash by. I'm watching as the tide rolls out.

Gracefully.

I'm currently en route to a close friend's new venture. A place he's finally thought highly of. He's doing better now, he's successful in his own right, and will continue to be.

And that, makes me more proud than anything.

I won't be scared of other's success. I'll embrace it.

And hope these successes bring me more free ice cream.

It feels good to write freely again."

❊

Where I Begin

It's Sunday. I'm sitting here on my sofa, after a strange and scary week.

The house is still sleeping, and I'm enjoying the gentle silence of the morning.

This is my favourite time of the day. Whenever possible I like to take the morning to myself. To ease in to the day. To feel some sort of calm just before the hustle and bustle begins.

And it's strange, my Mum does the same. She likes to give herself an hour before everyone else needs to be at work or school. She lets the dogs enjoy the morning air and sets the scent of coffee through the house.

So I sit. And I think of what brings me happiness. What makes my head stroll instead of sprint.

There have been seasons in my life where I haven't felt happy. Now, with a clearer head, I can see when it was hormones or a chemical imbalance. And I can now see when maybe it was a choice. I chose to do things or be around things and people that didn't add to the goodness of my life. Often, I would do the same things over and over, all the while saying "why isn't this working?" and expecting things to change.

I can be a little stubborn like that.

It makes me think of my cousin. When tears fell from her eyes and her crayons were laying broken on the floor, I asked "what would make you happy right now?"
"I want to play!"
And that's what we did, because it brought happiness.

That moment made me understand.

It's a long road this happiness thing. And life isn't so simple when you're really in it, but sometimes when you take a big enough step away, it can feel that way.

The birds outside are beginning to stir and my quiet morning is coming to an end.
But today, I will work on my wholeness and my happiness. Today I'll ask myself  'what would make you feel happy?'

And that's where I will begin.

❊

A Commonplace

Today, I feel the weight of my ambitions balance precariously on my shoulders and I'm not sure whether it's a good or a bad thing to be this acutely aware of yourself.

Jack Kerouc wrote in the Scripture of the Golden Eternity, that "Roaring dreams take place in a perfectly silent mind."

And though my mind is rarely silent it feels quieter recently.

Suddenly, Kerouc is pretty relevant.

❊

From My Notebook

I feel this to be a necessity. It's necessary to help my brain compute what's happening. To help me understand then and now. And that both are okay.

If this is what's right for you then I support it.

Entirely.

All I ask is that you recognise this will reshuffle my life and understanding.

Having two beds to sleep in isn't something I'd ever considered until now.

What if one is softer than the other? What if one gives me nightmares and I can't sleep?

Please don't consider it favouritism if one suits me better.

When I started this notebook, in June last year, I never imagined the last few pages would harbour such great change.

But it mirrors my journey. How we've all changed. How you've helped me grow and how I've grown myself.

--

I'm not angry. I'm yet to feel anything, if truth be told. That evening of change brought only numbness.  

So please, I haven't abandoned all feeling and I don't despise.

I ask that you give me time to absorb this new chapter.

Recently, when speaking to a friend, they asked me to see this as a new chapter. And I hope to.

That's what this will be. Something new.

I'll do things I may not have done otherwise.

I'm yet to need a helping hand. I'm yet to crave a firm hug when it all feels too much - though many have already been offered.

Nothing feels to be crashing around me, yet. But if it does, I'll call for you.

And when I do, please still be there. As a team. As one unit.

As one unit of support. As the one cohesive 'thing' I've grown up with.

❊

Wait

They say patience is a virtue. I have a little patience. Not an abundance. But a little.

Waiting makes me fidget and itch. Wait, wait wait - keep waiting. 

It's like being ill and waiting to feel okay again. It's like letting the waves calm before you swim.

It makes my skin crawl.

Wait. Wait. Wait.

It's a slap in the face to change. It's a "No, I need it now. I have to do it now. Let's go."

Keep waiting.

And yet, there are big waves and calmer shores. There and ill days, and I must ride them out.

I must wait.

Wait isn’t really "No". It’s "Not yet."

❊

Absence, Explained

It's been a while since I've sat down and written freely. There's been a few constraints recently and I'm still getting my head around the change.

About three weeks in to 'little writing, little photo taking' I became disgruntled.

"If I'm not writing, what's my thing?"

"How can I keep on top of it all?"

But it's okay. It's okay to have a break. It's okay to take one day off in the week if it sets you up for the other six.

It's okay.

Somewhere between tired and optimistic I found a little sense.

I am every story I play a part in, every story I've read and written too. I consume every ten mile drive in silence. Every song that makes me dance and every song that makes me cry. Every frustrating, inpatient moment. Every loud and laughing moment. I am all of these things.

And even if I can't write about it now or take photos of it now, I'll be able to soon. At some point soon. When I stop and feel calm. When I'm ready. When my fingers can't help but type rapidly. That's when I'll be ready.

For now, I will make the most of it.

❊

Ask, Then Ask Again

I'm an asker. The question master. I chat and natter, share the oldest stories from my locker and ask a lot of questions. 

I ask, and I ask again.

"Why?"

"Do we have to do it that way?"
"How many potatoes do you think you've eaten in your lifetime?"

"Can we take the scenic route home?"

"Would you rather be a bird or a fish?"

"How much trouble will I be in if I eat sweetcorn from the tin?"
"How many times have you fallen in love?"
"Who did you share your first bottle of wine with?"

Some of my questions are practical, some can be nosey (and a little annoying), but I'm interested.

I'm interested in how things work. Businesses, lives, minds, life. 

I want to know and absorb. 

I ask the questions because, yes, there are plenty of fears that I face, but one of the biggest is the fear of not asking. Not asking means not knowing, and I want to learn from the people that surround me. I want to know what they have to share and what they have to say, and I want to carry that with me.

I'm writing this because a recent stroll through the paths of the internet led me here; StoryCorps. It's a project that brings people together. They've collected and archived more than 50,000 interviews between parents, friends and teachers, partners, students and sometimes strangers.

It's about asking, listening, and then asking again.

Asking again, finding out more, absorbing more.

In a gentle way, I encourage you to do the same. Ask and ask again. 

You never know what enlightening, golden piece of wisdom will be tossed in your collection.

❊

This Week #20 | Out Of Sorts

I've been trying to write for the past month or so. I've lost it a bit. Writing wise that is.

Time hasn't really been on my side recently and with new things beginning my focus has been elsewhere.

After two weeks of little to no ideas I began to lose patience with myself. Staring at the screen for half an hour trying to muster anything of worth had grown tiring and I gave in. I rode the 'my brain is mush right now' wave (I still am a little bit) and attempted to focus my attention on other things.
That didn't go too smooth either.

I can feel myself losing concentration - and interest - in things I once thought were my own.
And to be frank, it's not a feeling I enjoy.

Alas, with only two minutes of brain power left this is all I could rally together.

I'm feeling numb and a little lost. I have some strength in me, but please, be gentle.

❊

Soon

The right words will come with time, but for now, the silence is golden.

❊

Bright Eyes

For a moment or two, each morning, my eyes see only a blur. Patchy sunlight wraps around the few things I own. It feels heavy for a while, often a little daunting. But the dust settles. My eyes see true and I feel light. This blur has become comforting. It reveals itself so often and so quickly, as if it is there, and not there, simultaneously. 

❊