Oh, the ghosts of sadness

Recently in conversation with others I’m reminded of how large the ghosts of difficult early family events or other sad and frightening occasions can loom. In fact, it’s fair to say they never quite leave us. It’s not surprising that some (not all) mature aged men and women still play out in their relationships, early conditioning from childhood and traumatic life events. Even when they have their own grown family and grand-children, some people struggle to understand, let alone deal with the sometimes destructive and difficult patterns of behaviour that have been part of their lives for so long. And, so why do some, competent, sensible  adults not recognise the basic pitfalls of their own way in the world?

It’s my view that often others (spouses, family members) make amends for them, that’s why. They protect them from the real consequences of the behaviour that has become tricky, unsettling and often very unpleasant. Having a caring spouse and a loving family can allow bad behaviour to extend beyond its use by date. The rest of the family fall into dysfunctional protective patterns in order for the habitual poor behaviour by one person to continue. It’s only when the protective family members experience their own fall-out due to life change or other difficulties, do they realise the heavy burden they have been carrying for the needy and misbehaving person in the family. Sometimes when family members or the main support person experiences their own exhaustion or feel they are at the end of their tether, a crisis is born, sometimes paving the way for change.

Back to the hurt person whose behaviour can be seen as difficult and needy. Blinded by the emotions of loss, abuse and for some perhaps trauma, the hurt of earlier experiences can run parallel alongside maturity. For some people they intuitively know they carry angst and sadness but have developed incredibly well honed skills to cover up and deny the disenfranchised part of their lives, I call it emotional survival. Some adults who carry early distress are vaguely aware of it most of the time. Wiser and maybe braver (more about this soon) adults, probably know they are fooling others but not themselves and sometimes reluctantly, seek professional help and support. This is never an easy decision and requires a journey in its own right. Ultimately it’s the only way forward, externalise instead of internalising is a great start but it’s brave…

Now I’m not suggesting that people with troubled backgrounds should necessarily be leaping into therapy and necessarily trawling over original traumas and hurts. However, being able to recognise when the hurt, sad, ugly, resentful, difficult, shameful, embarrassing, angry, demeaning, frightening, lonely, and a range of other feelings and emotions are present is the first step. It’s mostly because of the surfacing of these emotions that the unpleasant and tricky behaviour is triggered. It’s only when we learn to recognise these feelings and learn to tolerate the pain by self soothing and self caring techniques that we start to be in control of reactive (and often difficult) behaviour. We have to be able to manage our own behaviour by acknowledging certain feelings and emotions, owning them and dealing with them ourselves. Behaving in ways that put other people in charge of our own behaviour is full of unfortunate pitfalls for all.

And now to the brave. It’s never easy to recognise that we are carrying a burden and that it sometimes overflows and gets in the way. When the overflowing happens and poor behaviour results from it, such as avoiding others, blaming others, expecting our spouse to agree with our negative views about friends or family members, becoming verbally abusive and demanding and on it goes…isn’t it time to take a good look at why?

It’s easy to blame others. It’s easy to feel self persecuted. It’s easy to think others have it easier. It’s easy to feel that others have had more opportunities and on it continues…but mostly it’s all about self-pity. Self-pity, I believe, is a negative reinforcing thought process that allows someone to believe that they are perfectly entitled to feel and behave the way they do because life has dealt them blows, circumstances that they are not  happy with. Self pity, it seems, gets in the way of a person making any positive change and can become a negative but familiar and addictive friend.

To really want to get on top of our tricky life bits we have to be brave. I think we have to  admit (externalise) that we are sad, worried, unhappy, angry, disappointed and then maybe even courageously seek help. It’s not easy but it’s often the biggest most positive step we make in counteracting the ghosts of our troubled being…

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New Years Day 2015 and ‘The Originals’ march out

On New Years Day in 2011 I watched a group of older women, I don’t think they will mind being called that because after all they are in their sixties and seventies, march together as mature women decades after they last performed. They proudly stepped it out that day, just like today and miraculously they didn’t miss a beat. The group of Maryborough, Victoria marching girls competed together as young women way back in the sixties. The re-forming of this group has been a delight to all, but today, New Years Day 2015 was their last performance.

This morning at eleven o’clock ‘The Originals’ lead the traditional ‘Maryborough Highland Gathering’ march through High Street, Maryborough, finishing at Princes Park for the start of the sporting P1020920program. This historic event has been occurring since 1857.

To wonderful applause ‘The Originals’ marched their hearts out. Seeing these women marching to the beat of a highland drum and bagpipes was indeed inspiring if not a little sad that it was for the last time ever. But we all know good things have to end and I’m sure the achievement of the last few years has been well worth it.

I have to confess to a bit of an interest in this group because two of my cousins are part of ‘The Originals’. As teenagers they belonged to the marching fraternity and they and others in the group, I believe, travel from other parts of the state to take part in this fabulous adventure. Well done Robina and Margaret and congratulations to ‘The Originals’, a mighty group of women.

 Happy New Year!

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I had a dream of Christmas peace…

I had a dream that…

Men stopped fighting wars and started talking instead

The starving nations of the world had enough food forever

Wealthy people and communities shared their money with others

All sick people received the same health service regardless of how much money they had

Kids, all kids, had access to good universal education systems

People from all walks of  life, religion and race were treated as equal

…And then I awoke, you know the rest…

Have a peaceful Christmas and thank you for reading my blogs this year. Let’s hope 2015 is a year of opportunity for all.

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‘Once’…a word belonging to the past…

‘Once’, a word that points to things before,

gone, better, or not as relevant to now.

‘Once’ you were younger, thinner, happier, wealthier and fearless,

yet these thoughts come and go accompanied still by you.

Feelings, wants and expectations change but deep within the soul

your person waits for life to be revealed.

When ‘once’ turns slowly to now, congruity is ready to begin.                     Flower5

But you dodge, you weave, you search for ‘once’ too often, perhaps,

like an old friend, a familiar place.

And yet, the answer lies before you,

transparent for all who are brave enough to look.

As ‘once’ fades, the now illuminates your life.

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What happens to all those Christmas baubles?

Last year about this time I blogged about consumerism and Christmas. So here I go again. I don’t want to be a party dampener or a grouch but already I can feel the hype in the air,  the frantic emotional space that people gravitate toward and the purchasing frenzy that accompanies it. But, what actually has me nonplussed is the massive amount of spending on frivolous or excessive items.

For instance, yesterday in a large department store I watched people moving along the isles with their arms laden with festive items. You know the like, roles of wrapping paper, tinsel and Christmas tree decorations. Then I noticed that one doesn’t buy two or three Christmas tree baubles anymore, oh no, they come in plastic cylinders of at least twenty glittering, decorated beauties! Once again this made me think about how many decorations are bought and sold each year.

Why does someone require twenty plus large, albeit colourful and sparking baubles? How does one lone Christmas tree hold up this splendid and glitzy display of adornment? And, where on earth, after the big day ends, are these wonderful trimmings stored for the other eleven months of the year? I stopped myself from thinking that perhaps they are thrown out in the rubbish… No, that thought was far too extreme and mean. After all, who would throw out once used items only to buy them all over again next year?

Today I checked my own decoration box, it goes back at least forty years. The tree angel is a bit battered and her head wobbles but she is ever so sweet and familiar. I have to admit to adding a few coils of tinsel over the years and perhaps a quaint and unusual decoration but mainly the box if full of pieces collected along the way. In fact the older the decorations are the more precious they appear to me.

Each year about this time I hang out three special baubles (amongst other favourites) made by my sons and I. They are sequin covered styrene balls with ribbon loops. I remember, we sat for hours pushing pins through coloured sequins and small beads to cover those white balls. They have pride of place on the tree each year and I have a trip down memory lane. My sons are now forty and thirty-six, they were probably about eight and four years old when we made those special decorations…

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Being present…right now…in the moment…

Ever wondered how much time we spend thinking about things from the past? Regrets maybe or churning over matters that we can’t change. Many of us torture ourselves with thinking that distracts and stops us enjoying the now. My late Mum used a lovely old saying, ‘count your blessings’. How many of us stop long enough in our day or amongst troubled times to actually measure the fortunate bits in our life? Now I don’t want to sound like Pollyanna, but there is something to be gained from appreciating what we have instead of worrying about what we don’t have, or about things we can’t change from the past or now.

Recently, I’ve been trying to remind myself to live and appreciate the now. Sometimes I find myself settling into the worried space of background difficulties. One of the things I’m trying to do is catch myself out when I do this and move my focus back to the present. It might be working on my fitness. Yes, I said fitness…there are times when I go to the gymnasium and do the entire workout under the influence of thinking about issues related to family members or other concerns that I really haven’t got much control over. And, so my new method is to stay focused, in the now, allow myself to enjoy the exercise, the feeling of achievement and empowerment that good exercise provides. I’m not sure how much difference it’s made to my level of fitness but it sure contributes in a positive emotional way for the rest of the day.

Most of you by now will be saying…oh she’s talking about mindfulness, the therapeutic approach to self management. Well, yes I am I suppose but it’s also common sense and it works. For example, yesterday I made a Christmas cake and relished the hours in the kitchen, the chopping and mixing and the delight of making an old familiar recipe. There have been previous times when getting the cake made was pressure laden and felt like a chore.

Then, a little friend came over after school and my husband and I made snow flakes with her, you know the ones…snowflakes2squares of coloured paper, fold, cut and then unfold and behold. How can we not be present and in the moment with our little friend teaching us how to make snowflakes at the kitchen table with the aroma of a cooking Christmas cake wafting around us.  Kids are amazing ambassadors for being in the moment, they do it so well, adults are not so good, it seems.

Of course, I’m not suggesting we abandon our responsibilities by flipping through each day and ignoring the larger issues and concerns in our life. I am however, recognising the personal advantages of being able to enjoy aspects of life even if there are other parts of our lives that don’t always feel so good.

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New Dawn…

 

Brilliant, the evening landscape, its glow of colour against the blue of day

The sun in readiness to set,

glows bright orange, then falls into darkness

Night allows all to be considered and reconciled,

prepared for the next horizon…

In energy and hope the morning shines

And yet, a day is long, if built on yesterdays mistakes and successes

Courage to treat each day as  new

Opportunities not linked to things before

A new dawn…

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Let’s talk about writing…endlessly

I’m smiling as I write this because I actually think that talking is much easier than writing and of course I love to talk about writing. Today I met a writer friend for a chat and coffee, she has just submitted her manuscript to a publisher and so our discussion was delightful. So many of our past conversations in the past have been about drafting and drafting again until the time feels right, that is, if there is ever a right time for a manuscript to feel ready. Today marked a new milestone in our ongoing conversation.

So rewarding are conversations with others who write that I’m starting to feel as if it’s the process that I’m so attracted to rather than the end result of publishing a book, a short story or poetry. I have a bit of a confession to make here. I have a novel manuscript in full draft, well actually sixth draft. So what stops me from taking the plunge into the icy world of submitting to a publisher (that is, those publishers who still are accepting unsolicited manuscripts …) and being rejected?  I’m not really sure but I have a page of excuses that I trot out when someone inquires. The excuses are divided depending on the status of the inquirer and if they are a writer or a non-writer…the later goes something like this…

‘How’s your book coming along?’ (Is she really writing a book?)

‘Oh, not too bad, I’m in sixth draft, I just need a block of time… and …yep it’s going okay’. (Shut up about my ….. book!)

How long have you been at it now?’ (Can’t believe it)

‘Oh, five to six years, off and on…but you know, novels take a long time to write’ (Mine certainly ….. well does anyway!)

‘Oh well’ as long as you enjoy it, I guess (Pathetic)…

Then there is the response when another writer asks me about my writing, it’s more likely to follow this line…

‘How’s the drafting?’

‘Not too bad, a bit concerned about the middle chapters and need to change some of the timelines…but hopefully I’m ready to do one last edit.’

‘You sound a bit ambivalent’

‘Yep, having a crisis of confidence, can’t decide if it’s up to the mark or not? Structurally I know it’s fine, the plot is strong but at times I struggle with the main protagonist…there is  weakness that bothers me, hence the redrafting I suspect.’

‘Someone once said you have to brave to be a writer, to put yourself out there for everyone to critique…’

Yes, I suspect it’s a matter on engaging with the courageous self rather than the doubting cautious part.’

And on it goes… You see there is a fascinating process that unfolds around the efforts of writing. There are literally thousands of ideas, views, techniques, formulas and theories on writing practice. However the actual process that surrounds writing and what it means to the thousands of ordinary people like me who write, is often not talked about enough. Well, that’s my view anyway.

I’ve heard published writers say that when their work is accepted for publishing they experience a ‘funny’ sort of separation loss. Loss of the work and possibly the process that held them (nightmarish for some) for months and years. Hence most writers keep writing. Perhaps the engagement that is present in the process of writing is actually the essence of writing although I know for most writers the aim of publishing represents achievement if not ultimate success.

I suppose because writing is such a personal and individual activity, the need to discuss with others is simply seeking fuel and stimulation required to continue the journey. Also, I suspect there is a need for some sort of reasurance and common identification with others about an activity and process that is mostly an isolated pursuit.

Yep, talking about writing is enjoyable and necessary for me…even if the book reaches draft twenty five…I’m having fun talking about it.

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Sixty years is a long time…

A couple of months ago my aunt and uncle celebrated their diamond wedding anniversary, sixty years of marriage. Unfortunately my uncle hasn’t been so well and was hospitalised during the anniversary time but they still took heart in the special wishes that came their way. There was a letter from the Queen of England, the Prime Minister of Australia as well as local politicians and many other unexpected well wishers.

During that time I was privileged to spend time with my lovely aunt. Actually she is not really my aunt but is married to my late dad’s first cousin. However, for as long as I can remember my sister and I have always called them Aunty and Uncle. They have been in our lives forever.

Aunty is a special person whom I have looked up to all of my life. She is gentle, intelligent, sophisticated, caring and non-judgemental.  There are some women in the world who have substance, Aunty has more substance than I can ever hope to develop. When faced with difficulty she’s calm, thoughtful, selfless and giving.

Uncle loves to chat about old times, in fact he loves to recall his early days when he was a an accomplished cyclist and has followed the sport closely ever since. Always one to keep the family stories happening, he tells a of the time when he drove my father to the hospital to collect my mother and me after I was born. Recently, one afternoon during a long chat and the telling of the same tale, Uncle recalled the moment when he turned around from the front seat of his car (on this baby collecting mission) to catch the incredulous look on my father’s face as he was handed the baby. Uncle chuckled and said he would never forget that look…! My dad died young and has been gone for thirty-seven years so it was a wonderful story that my uncle generously shared with me.

Yes, there are many memories that cross the decades and there is no doubt that sixty years of marriage is a very long time…

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‘An Island at the Edge of the World’ Richard Flanagan

What a delight to see a fellow Australian win the Booker Prize for 2014. Only the fourth Australian to do so, Flanagan won the coveted literature prize with his novel ‘The Narrow Road to the Deep North’. A story set around the Burma Death Railway Camp during the Second World War. Flanagan describes the work as a story about love. It’s his sixth novel and the title is apparently named after the famous Japanese haiku poet Basho. It seems the novel took twelve years to write and according to Flanagan’s own admission he considered seeking a job in the mines to make a living during this time. Flanagan talks about writing being the ‘hardest gig in town’.

What interests me is the devotion to the lived experience of men like his father Archie who were prisoners of war in the Japanese war camp during that appalling time. ‘I had to find a way of seeking and writing the incommunicable’ he says. Flanagan was inspired to write the novel by his Dad who died, aged 98 years, on the very day the book was completed.

A moving story in many ways. Born in Tasmania in 1961, Flanagan in an interview tells of having illiterate grandparents and of not coming from a literary background. And yet, for me the most poignant and beautiful moment was when this humble and brilliant man described his home place.  ‘I came out of a tiny little mining town in the rain forest on an island at the edge of the  world’… 

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