Self Preservation is

instinctive.

It's the reason why we clutch at our possessions the minute we think someone is going to take them away (I have that reaction when anyone comes near me when I'm eating chocolate), and perhaps why despite all our endeavours to be wonderfully selfless human beings, we will kick someone else to the curb if it means our survival depends on it.

It's just the way nature works.

It's the reason I'm taking a deep breath, and letting go of a lot of things, people, memories, and mementos.

I have to.

In the long-run, it's either me, or them.

And really, I'd much rather choose me.

So, in apology, I'll steal a really corny line and say, "It's a self-preservation thing, you see..."

Work in Progress

You can fill up your days with inconsequentials. Shop till you drop and buy things you don't need.

You can work and work and work until you've stopped counting the hours you clock, driving your mind to places where exhaustion doesn't even begin to describe how you feel.

You can socialise and talk on the phone and rebuild friendships from the scraps left behind, knowing all the while that these new ties won't erase the old, no matter how hard you try.

Try everything. Stuff your days with everything you can.

Because when night comes, and your mind goes quiet, it all comes back.

Your memories emerge, wave after crushing wave.

Until the morning comes and you try again.

I am what I'd like to think of as a born-whiner. It's a natural talent and one I've steadily improved upon over the years.

So for us born-whiners (and I know there are more of you out there than you would care to admit!), it's especially hard to drum up the energy to be happy and grateful. Grateful about anything really. Even if life is one giant bed of roses, and one teeny, tiny thing goes wrong, the whiner tendencies bubble to the surface quicker than you can say "I can rise above it".

So it takes years of self-restraint and training, and perhaps a harsh word from a well-meaning friend about how no one likes a whiner, to focus on the good things. The things that you can be grateful for despite the annoying bits that are vying for your attention.

I'd like to think that I've now arrived at this place. It's been a long, hard road, and by no means is the struggle over. On an off-day, I go straight back to my natural inclinations and complain about everything in sight (and some out). But for now, life could really not be any better.

Well, perhaps if New York were a little closer... but that's another whine coming along.

Focus!

Life is good. Work is good. Friends and family are great. Almost no one I love and care about is getting sick(er) or dying (just yet).

I AM GRATEFUL!

Yay!

Brevity

I have ideas fleeting in and out of my head, but when it comes to putting it down in writing, I lose all interest and decide to look up random videos on YouTube. There; that explains why nothing has been posted here in a while (of course, this is assuming that someone has been wondering why. To my knowledge, there are only two such individuals.)

Anyway, a couple of days ago, I realised that I finally ‘got’ Wordsworth’s Daffodils. We did it in my sixth grade English class, complete with a page and a half worth of interpretation. This involved what had inspired the poet, his background, his family, what the author of the textbook thought the poet meant by each and every word in the poem, etc. If anyone had asked for my honest opinion regarding what I thought had inspired the poet, I would have replied, ‘Maybe he just liked daffodils.’ But of course, no one was looking for an honest opinion, least of all mine. So I dutifully replicated the textbook author’s thoughts and words and managed to get a fairly decent grade as well.

Now, thirteen years later and in England, I've seen the daffodils. Without a page and a half explaining why, what, where, and how, I feel the poem. Which makes me wish that every poet/author/composer/artist would add to their work a short paragraph or even a few sentences explaining what inspired them and what the poem ‘actually means.’ This would immediately eliminate all this presumptuousness on the part of textbook authors, and future generations of students will be infinitely happier. I may go even so far as to say a little original thought may emerge from not having to constantly reproduce someone else’s ideas. Case in point, Wordsworth on Daffodils could have been as follows; Good piece of work, quite proud of the rhyming. Enjoy it as just that. For those who want a deeper understanding, go look at a field of daffodils. Else, leave well enough alone.

Now all that's needed is for the millions of other poets/authors/composers/artists to follow suit. Easy as that.

As fun as job hunting is...

I now consider myself an expert at job hunting. I can write cover letters and tailor CVs to particular job profiles in my sleep. Then again, maybe that's why its taken me this long to find a job I want to have (you'll notice I didn't say I was an expert at finding a job, just the hunting part).

Anyway, the point is, I've applied to a LOT of jobs over the last few months. And while reading a job profile, I always have this little movie playing in my head. I can imagine the type of office I'd be in, the co-workers, the kind of tasks I'd be doing, and yes, I also imagine the work clothes wardrobe. This lasts all of six minutes and then I move on to another profile and a new movie.

But now that I've actually decided on a particular job, signed on the dotted line, and gotten comfy with the idea of being paid more than peanuts, it's a little sad to be saying goodbye to my movie series. As happy and relieved as I am to have found something I want to do, it also means it's the end of all the endless possibilities and what-ifs.

On the upside, solvency is a good antidote for my disappointment.

Everyone's got problems

This was brought to my attention during a conversation with a friend (one of the select few that is privy to the less frequent but still energetic whining that I must indulge in). So she was taken in by the woes and troubles of a colleague, a minor something that was made to seem like the Armageddon, and only later realised how piddly and downright silly these complaints were in comparison to the significantly larger and more serious problems in her own life.

The point, as she told me, was this; whether you've got a broken toe nail or a terminal illness, your problem is great and all-consuming only because it's your problem. No one has problems bigger or smaller than anyone else. They're all big. And they're all terrible. And only because they're personal.

Now, this insight may be as old as time, but I've taken the little gem to make my own woes just a little bit better. So when I've got the broken toe nail, I think of those with terminal illnesses. And should I have a terminal illness... well, then I'll know that what's required to make me feel better is to think of someone out there who's hopping around with a broken nail and thinking that the world has come to an end.

Try it. I think it works!

100-114

That's the average IQ of the human race (give or take a few points depending on group statistics, etc).

When I was younger, I wanted to be the gifted child.

The genius who could do math without getting an instant headache, and remember all the formulas required for the chemistry exams.Even my doctor dream died because I didn't have the intellectual aptitude for it, never mind the mythical status of being an astrophysicist or engineer par excellence.

I had to face it - I was normal. Just regular, average, nothing special.

As far as academia went, I was nothing outstanding. I had no grades that would be legendary; I was just normal.

Now though, when I see the geniuses with limited (if any) social skills, or the eating disorders; the brainiacs who hate their parents for all the pressure; the heavy-duty achievers with all the accolades and not much else; I am more than grateful for my normalcy.

For every one genius that appears to be relatively well-balanced and still make it to the top, there seem to be about ten that are totally screwed up.

Lesson for today people, embrace the normal; it's sadly underrated.

The Party of a Lifetime

I'm not trying to be morbid, but I frequently think about my funeral.
I've planned it out like I would any birthday party. Given some thought to the food, the drink, the decor, dress code and of course, the entertainment; as with any other, the speeches should be kept to a minimum!

When my grandad died, one of my aunts knocked me on the head for laughing too loudly the next day. Someone had said something funny, and I'd reacted. But of course, this wasn't 'proper'. I didn't take into consideration that the fact that I could laugh made is seem like I was grieving less for someone I loved. When I thought about it later, it seemed to me that my grandfather would've wanted a whole lot more laughing and a whole lot less crying at his wake.

Anyway. Since then, I've planned my own funeral in elaborate detail.
There will be no wearing of black. I'd like colour to help brighten up a sad day with a little visual stimulation. People always talk about funerals as a celebration of the person's life but then dress in black and white as if going to an extremely boring business meeting. For me, bring out the blues, reds, greens and yellows, and look happy about it!

There will also be good singing. I've had this arranged before anything else - I told a friend he would sing either at my wedding or my funeral, whichever comes first. At this present stage in my life, it seems the former is nowhere in sight so the funeral it will have to be.

Then there is the waxing eloquent about how lovely and perfect the dead person was. Hardly any eulogy tells the truth. Again, no one wants to be disrespectful of those dearly departed, prefering instead to lie in church about his/her nonexistent virtues. I'd like whoever spoke for me to keep it short, and keep it honest. A ten minute talk perhaps, outlining the main points - I had a terrible temper, made some horribly impulsive or ill-judged decisions, had more friends than enemies, loved my family, my dog and my food - all in equal measure, and for the most part, was pretty darn happy.

And then on to the things I love best - food, drink and merrymaking in the company of fun people.
The party of a lifetime, to celebrate mine.

Everyday People

We have an extraordinary ability to adapt. I don't mean in the scientifically proven sense of evolution, but in the way that we get used to changes in our situations, possessions, people, etc.

Wherever we are, we build a network of everyday people. They are not necessarily soul mates or best friends, but they become such an ingrained part of our lives simply because at a point in time, we have a shared location.

And then you move, or they move, and you find new everyday people, as do they. You keep in touch and write long emails, chat for hours on the phone perhaps.

Or maybe not. Maybe these people who you saw everyday, ate every meal with, spent some of your best and happiest times with, maybe they just fade away into oblivion. A memory you call on occasionally, if at all, with no great emotion attached.

Here's to all my everyday people, who are still slipping away as I'm writing this.

Eureka

You know the people that have always known exactly what they wanted to do with their lives? The ones that had purpose and direction and unwavering belief that they were meant for a certain profession?

I'm not one of those people.

I was meant to be a doctor. Then a journalist. Then a social worker perhaps (insert laughter here), or a PR person... my career seemed to be assuming the direction of endless dabbling. And I was really okay with this, given the rationale that the more things I try my hand at and end up hating, the easier it would be to arrive at the thing I really wanted to do.

Simple process of elimination.

Which is why it was such an absolute joy to have worked at something that I enjoyed every minute of for the last three months. Now, it's true that I didn't get paid for it and that some of the work also involved drone stuff (read data inputting), but these are minor details. In the grand scheme of things, there is the possibility I have found the exact job profile that I would be happy to do for the rest of my life. And by that I mean the next five years at least!

Yay to me.