Day 9: Your feelings on ageism
Well, this is going to be tough one as I thought I'd already done today but apparently not and really I'm just ready to go to bed and sleep. But. But I have promised myself that I'll do this so here it is all in a rush before I pass out for the night!!
My feelings on ageism are pretty simple really. Surely we can measure a person's worth, their character, their suitability for a job or as a friend or partner by getting to know them. By finding out about them. By meeting them as a person and not as a number.
People vary so much in their indefinable qualities such as intelligence, adaptability, tact, enthusiasm, willingness to learn, empathy, commitment, integrity, imagination, empathy, originality, common sense, warmth, honesty, assertiveness, openness, creativity and energy. These qualities can be found in people of all ages.
Ageism is to discriminate or be prejudiced against someone simply because of their age. I suppose it is most prevalent in the employment sector where many are considered too old to employ. Their wealth of experience is often overlooked in favour of youthful enthusiasm. Both of course have their place in the workforce and in the world at large. If I was an employer I'd be most interested in creating a team of people who would be respectful of each other. Age ought not come into that at all really. I would be keen to have some older people to bring some stability and wisdom (not to say that these qualities are not possible in younger people) and some younger people to bring enthusiasm and freshness (not to say that these qualities are not possible in older people).
I wonder if ageism has come about as a result of the tradition of schooling people from a young age in groups designated by age alone. Perhaps that instills a certain attitude that excludes others from the group simply on the basis of age. It's a little bit crazy in my opinion. I have so many different people in my life, from tinies to oldies and they all have something wonderful to offer other human beings.
I'd love to see the ages mixing more. I'd love to see more young people involving themselves in community movements that seem to have become the realm of older folk. I'd love to see more of the older folk bringing their patience and kindness to help support the younger ones as they work out who they are in the world.
Smile at everyone you meet. Every old person has once been young. They understand way more than you might think. Listen to their stories and give them the gift of your time. You will be well rewarded with wrinkled smiles and twinkling eyes. Some of our young ones may never make it to old age. Have empathy for them as they journey through a world that might be very different to the one you grew up in. They really are just trying to find their way. Give them the gift of your time and understanding. Most of us need someone to tell us that everything is going to be alright. Things get tough sometimes but we are strong and with some support we can get through most challenges.
Try to be more forgiving and allow people to show you who they are. Each one of us deserves way more than being judged or excluded on the grounds of our age. Maybe we need a few changes in our culture to allow us to be more inclusive and to learn to enjoy being together in mixed age groups. We might need some changes in our culture in order to honour both the old and the young rather than the middle years being seen as the 'prime of life' and the early years and the late years as times of being somewhat useless.
My challenge for you today - spend some time listening and talking with someone you wouldn't normally socialise with because they are too old or too young to be of interest to you. You just might make a new friend in the process. You will almost certainly learn something new and you will probably feel pretty good for having done something for someone else.
Cheers to all young and old.
We are all human beings. We don't have room for isms.
Kerry x
Thursday, 29 October 2015
Wednesday, 28 October 2015
30DWC - a book you love and one you didn't
Day 8: A book you love and one you didn't
A book. A book. I adore books! I love them! I read them and then pop them on the shelf for a while thinking I'll probably read them again...but mostly I don't get back to them. One, however, that has warranted a second reading is Change Your Questions Change Your Life by Marilee Adams PhD. It was a bit of a life changer in that it gave me a new approach when things didn't seem to be working out in life. It's given me a new perspective on how to work with myself and with other people.
The book is based on the premise that we operate out of one of two different modes - Judger or Learner. When we are in Judger mode we tend to do things like apportion blame for things not working right or find fault in ourselves or others. We can be really stuck in a pit of self-pity and asking "Why me?". In Learner mode we will ask questions like "How else can I look at this?" "What can I learn from this situation?" "What assumptions am I making?" and "What is the other person thinking, feeling, wanting?" I have found that if I am feeling down, grumpy, lacking energy, that I am likely to be in Judger mode. Once I am aware I can switch my thinking and find new answers that change my position and get me moving again. It's pretty cool. Judger is not bad. Judger is useful in lots of different ways but can also trap us if we're not careful. Learner sets us free. That's how it feels to me anyway. So yes, this book has a permanent place on my bookshelf as the title itself serves as a reminder to be aware of the mode I'm in.
Trying to think of a book I didn't like. I'm not really one of those people that will persevere with a book until the bitter end. If I'm not enjoying it or at the very least getting some new knowledge from it then I ditch it and move on. So I guess I'm trying to think of one I started and didn't complete. That's hard because they don't really earn a space in my memory bank with that kind of lack lustre performance. That doesn't mean they're not good books. It just means they didn't connect with me at that time in my life. Still, they don't hang around on my bookshelf unless I got something out of them or I really think I'm the one at fault and it's a classic so I might go back and try again later...when I've grown up a bit more! No, alas, none are coming to mind right now. I might come back and add one if I come up with one through the day.
I'd love to hear about books you've loved or hated. Maybe I'll find a new one to put on my must read list.
Cheers for now
Kerry x
A book. A book. I adore books! I love them! I read them and then pop them on the shelf for a while thinking I'll probably read them again...but mostly I don't get back to them. One, however, that has warranted a second reading is Change Your Questions Change Your Life by Marilee Adams PhD. It was a bit of a life changer in that it gave me a new approach when things didn't seem to be working out in life. It's given me a new perspective on how to work with myself and with other people.
The book is based on the premise that we operate out of one of two different modes - Judger or Learner. When we are in Judger mode we tend to do things like apportion blame for things not working right or find fault in ourselves or others. We can be really stuck in a pit of self-pity and asking "Why me?". In Learner mode we will ask questions like "How else can I look at this?" "What can I learn from this situation?" "What assumptions am I making?" and "What is the other person thinking, feeling, wanting?" I have found that if I am feeling down, grumpy, lacking energy, that I am likely to be in Judger mode. Once I am aware I can switch my thinking and find new answers that change my position and get me moving again. It's pretty cool. Judger is not bad. Judger is useful in lots of different ways but can also trap us if we're not careful. Learner sets us free. That's how it feels to me anyway. So yes, this book has a permanent place on my bookshelf as the title itself serves as a reminder to be aware of the mode I'm in.
Trying to think of a book I didn't like. I'm not really one of those people that will persevere with a book until the bitter end. If I'm not enjoying it or at the very least getting some new knowledge from it then I ditch it and move on. So I guess I'm trying to think of one I started and didn't complete. That's hard because they don't really earn a space in my memory bank with that kind of lack lustre performance. That doesn't mean they're not good books. It just means they didn't connect with me at that time in my life. Still, they don't hang around on my bookshelf unless I got something out of them or I really think I'm the one at fault and it's a classic so I might go back and try again later...when I've grown up a bit more! No, alas, none are coming to mind right now. I might come back and add one if I come up with one through the day.
I'd love to hear about books you've loved or hated. Maybe I'll find a new one to put on my must read list.
Cheers for now
Kerry x
Tuesday, 27 October 2015
30DWC Tattoos...
Day 7: What tattoos you have and if they have meaning
Tattoos are so common these days that I imagine I may well be in the minority group being a tattoo virgin! That is at least as far as needles and inking and visible results are concerned!
I have a kind of quiet admiration for those who do go and sit for hours enduring discomfort at best and nasty pain at worst (I'm guessing here...do put me right if I'm not getting it) in order to decorate their birthday suits. Some choose a tiny design to show membership of a group or club. Others choose to declare their love for another or others or to commemorate an event or achievement. Tattoos seem to be a mark of belonging in some way; perhaps also proof of tenacity and the power to overcome? Maybe they are a way to show strength and commitment.
I don't have the courage to commit to a design on my skin...I am far too subject to change and redesign. I cringe at the thought of myself adding a visible tattoo with each new love I was sure would last forever, for each belief I thought I would forever believe. I'm happy with my habit of journal writing. I hope it will prove a safer way for me to explore feelings and thoughts intense enough to warrant recording in some way. A journal I can burn if I want to relieve myself of evidence.
My tattoos are of the invisible kind. Images, sounds, scents, textures, tastes; experiences burned with similar permanence into my brain and my very being. Though not visible to be admired or abhorred, my tattoos are markers of life in much the same way as those that can be seen. My tattoos are personal and private and concealed; not be seen unless I choose to share them with those close to me. Sometimes I share a story of something long past but still able to raise tears in my eyes with merely a thought...if the time is right and the company too. In those moments my scars are as visible as any worn outwardly for the world to see.
I have no tattoos to show you today, but I have a life rich with experiences and meaning and memories of loss and gain, grief and merriment, embarrassment and celebration. I am grateful for my invisible tattoos as they are proof of attendance at the School of Life.
Thoughts and insights welcome.
Cheers
Kerry x
Tattoos are so common these days that I imagine I may well be in the minority group being a tattoo virgin! That is at least as far as needles and inking and visible results are concerned!
I have a kind of quiet admiration for those who do go and sit for hours enduring discomfort at best and nasty pain at worst (I'm guessing here...do put me right if I'm not getting it) in order to decorate their birthday suits. Some choose a tiny design to show membership of a group or club. Others choose to declare their love for another or others or to commemorate an event or achievement. Tattoos seem to be a mark of belonging in some way; perhaps also proof of tenacity and the power to overcome? Maybe they are a way to show strength and commitment.
I don't have the courage to commit to a design on my skin...I am far too subject to change and redesign. I cringe at the thought of myself adding a visible tattoo with each new love I was sure would last forever, for each belief I thought I would forever believe. I'm happy with my habit of journal writing. I hope it will prove a safer way for me to explore feelings and thoughts intense enough to warrant recording in some way. A journal I can burn if I want to relieve myself of evidence.
My tattoos are of the invisible kind. Images, sounds, scents, textures, tastes; experiences burned with similar permanence into my brain and my very being. Though not visible to be admired or abhorred, my tattoos are markers of life in much the same way as those that can be seen. My tattoos are personal and private and concealed; not be seen unless I choose to share them with those close to me. Sometimes I share a story of something long past but still able to raise tears in my eyes with merely a thought...if the time is right and the company too. In those moments my scars are as visible as any worn outwardly for the world to see.
I have no tattoos to show you today, but I have a life rich with experiences and meaning and memories of loss and gain, grief and merriment, embarrassment and celebration. I am grateful for my invisible tattoos as they are proof of attendance at the School of Life.
Thoughts and insights welcome.
Cheers
Kerry x
Monday, 26 October 2015
30DWC - Someone who fascinates me
Day 6: Someone who fascinates you and why
This one is a tough one for me because I find everyone fascinating. Every single living person has a story to tell and most of them have many stories to tell. To try and choose one person from all the people I know or know of is really a challenge. They didn't call this a challenge for nothing!
Going back to the topic and getting into it, around it and reading what it actually says...it is just someone who fascinates me. It needn't be the person who most fascinates me nor one that fascinates me more than the next person. As I've said I find everyone fascinating it doesn't really matter who I choose to write about. Perhaps I ought just to throw names into a hat and pull one out...or open a book and take a wild stab with my eyes closed. Instead I will choose someone you might know too. At least that way you might be willing to agree or disagree on my take. So, who is someone you might all know...or at least have heard of?
It needs to be someone I've paid some special attention to, in order to know enough about them to explain why I find them fascinating. I am drawing blank after blank here trying to think of someone to write about. There is one person but writing about them is fraught with danger. I will no doubt be accused of narcissism or unwarranted self-interest, even unabashed self promotion. But realistically, the person I've spent most time with in my life, and who is a constant source or surprise is indeed my self. Perhaps I could write about why I am fascinated by me. What do you think? Are you fascinated by yourself? And if you're not, why not I would ask.
Your self, or my self is a constant companion and one that if we are willing will be always learning, growing, changing, thinking, adapting, hoping, dreaming, trying new things, getting results, evaluating, changing approaches, looking to the past for direction, looking to the future with fear or excitement, anticipation. There is so much going on in one's own being, it can't help but be utterly fascinating, don't you agree? If you aren't feeling fascinated by being your self, perhaps it's time to start paying more attention to what that actually means. Being your self. How awesome is that. I'll admit to having read an interesting post by Elizabeth Gilbert only today that talks about this very idea from a different angle - more about being kind to one's self and forgiving in attitude towards the same. I'm looking more at just how damned interesting it is to just be alive and a thinking, feeling being. What a gift that is.
So here it is. I find myself fascinating because once I thought I just was...me. That was that. But as I've grown older I've realised that I can reinvent myself every single day - every single minute if I choose to. If I have the desire to change and the energy to do it, it can be done. Others might not even see the change, but I will know it is done. I might change my perspective by putting my self in another's shoes. I might change my mind simply because I have thought about something for one minute longer and have suddenly seen it in a new way. I will not remain rigid in my thinking because perhaps I'll be embarrassed or humiliated by changing. Don't people love to do that..."I thought you said you believed...". People are quick to pick you up if you change ideas. Mostly I think it's because they are afraid to be flexible and malleable. They see some strength in being immovable and unflinching regardless of information that might show their position to be flawed. Ah, humans, we are all so...fascinating!
In finding myself fascinating I find you fascinating too, because I'm sure we're all part of one big mix-up. We're connected by our humanness. We can meet each other with a glance and know each others' knowing. We can know at least some of each others' strengths and weaknesses. We know we are fragile yet powerful and mighty all at once. To be human is to travel in this world in a uniquely wonderful condition. How many of us and how often do we really appreciate how wonderfully amazing and fascinating it really is that we are even alive?
Please stop whatever else you might be doing (well, you're reading now but before you go back to whatever else it is that you plan to go on doing) and think about just how fascinating you are. You are an incredible sum of attributes and experiences that are uniquely you and uniquely yours. Please take the time to be fascinated by your self. Not self-centred. Not self-interested. Not self-ish. Just fascinated by your you-ness. Because if you're noticing that, it's going to make the rest of your life just so much more interesting.
Forgive me for not writing about David Bowie or Princess Diana or Chopper Read. You can Google to find out more about them and be fascinated by their lives, character and experiences. Just always remember that they are simply human beings. Just remember to be fascinated by the possibilities of your own existence.
Kerry x
This one is a tough one for me because I find everyone fascinating. Every single living person has a story to tell and most of them have many stories to tell. To try and choose one person from all the people I know or know of is really a challenge. They didn't call this a challenge for nothing!
Going back to the topic and getting into it, around it and reading what it actually says...it is just someone who fascinates me. It needn't be the person who most fascinates me nor one that fascinates me more than the next person. As I've said I find everyone fascinating it doesn't really matter who I choose to write about. Perhaps I ought just to throw names into a hat and pull one out...or open a book and take a wild stab with my eyes closed. Instead I will choose someone you might know too. At least that way you might be willing to agree or disagree on my take. So, who is someone you might all know...or at least have heard of?
It needs to be someone I've paid some special attention to, in order to know enough about them to explain why I find them fascinating. I am drawing blank after blank here trying to think of someone to write about. There is one person but writing about them is fraught with danger. I will no doubt be accused of narcissism or unwarranted self-interest, even unabashed self promotion. But realistically, the person I've spent most time with in my life, and who is a constant source or surprise is indeed my self. Perhaps I could write about why I am fascinated by me. What do you think? Are you fascinated by yourself? And if you're not, why not I would ask.
Your self, or my self is a constant companion and one that if we are willing will be always learning, growing, changing, thinking, adapting, hoping, dreaming, trying new things, getting results, evaluating, changing approaches, looking to the past for direction, looking to the future with fear or excitement, anticipation. There is so much going on in one's own being, it can't help but be utterly fascinating, don't you agree? If you aren't feeling fascinated by being your self, perhaps it's time to start paying more attention to what that actually means. Being your self. How awesome is that. I'll admit to having read an interesting post by Elizabeth Gilbert only today that talks about this very idea from a different angle - more about being kind to one's self and forgiving in attitude towards the same. I'm looking more at just how damned interesting it is to just be alive and a thinking, feeling being. What a gift that is.
So here it is. I find myself fascinating because once I thought I just was...me. That was that. But as I've grown older I've realised that I can reinvent myself every single day - every single minute if I choose to. If I have the desire to change and the energy to do it, it can be done. Others might not even see the change, but I will know it is done. I might change my perspective by putting my self in another's shoes. I might change my mind simply because I have thought about something for one minute longer and have suddenly seen it in a new way. I will not remain rigid in my thinking because perhaps I'll be embarrassed or humiliated by changing. Don't people love to do that..."I thought you said you believed...". People are quick to pick you up if you change ideas. Mostly I think it's because they are afraid to be flexible and malleable. They see some strength in being immovable and unflinching regardless of information that might show their position to be flawed. Ah, humans, we are all so...fascinating!
In finding myself fascinating I find you fascinating too, because I'm sure we're all part of one big mix-up. We're connected by our humanness. We can meet each other with a glance and know each others' knowing. We can know at least some of each others' strengths and weaknesses. We know we are fragile yet powerful and mighty all at once. To be human is to travel in this world in a uniquely wonderful condition. How many of us and how often do we really appreciate how wonderfully amazing and fascinating it really is that we are even alive?
Please stop whatever else you might be doing (well, you're reading now but before you go back to whatever else it is that you plan to go on doing) and think about just how fascinating you are. You are an incredible sum of attributes and experiences that are uniquely you and uniquely yours. Please take the time to be fascinated by your self. Not self-centred. Not self-interested. Not self-ish. Just fascinated by your you-ness. Because if you're noticing that, it's going to make the rest of your life just so much more interesting.
Forgive me for not writing about David Bowie or Princess Diana or Chopper Read. You can Google to find out more about them and be fascinated by their lives, character and experiences. Just always remember that they are simply human beings. Just remember to be fascinated by the possibilities of your own existence.
Kerry x
Sunday, 25 October 2015
30DWC A place you would live, but have never visited
Day 5: A place you would live, but have never visited
Being a bit of a gypsy at heart I think I would live almost anywhere for a short time...and probably many places for a longer time. I've lived on a cruising yacht and loved visiting different places. I'm not exactly a 'world traveller' but I did enjoy the excitement of moving from place to place. Travelling on a boat has the advantage that you take 'home' with you, so you always feel....'at home'. Not sure about doing that again, but perhaps I would if the right circumstances presented themselves. In the meantime I'm considering a caravan or a campervan both of which offer similar advantages.
I think I'd like to have a go at living in some of the countries in Europe - perhaps Spain or Portugal or Greece. Somewhere that is warm but not tooo hot. I like it not too hot and not too cold but just right. Just call me Goldilocks! I see delicious photos of such exotic places shared by friends on Facebook, and think about how much I would like to live somewhere with old buildings - historical buildings - and to wonder about the lives that went before, and how people lived in centuries past. In the same buildings but without luxuries like electricity and running water.
I'm pretty lucky I guess because I am good at making 'home' wherever I happen to be, so wherever I find myself I will soon settle in and adapt (allowing for the Goldilocks rule though, not sure I would do well in a super hot or super cold environment).
I expect wherever I went to live that I might soon feel restless and then be ready to move to the next place. I don't really have much more I can say on this subject for now. I like a slow pace of life and time to sit and chat with friend and acquaintances. I like warm sunshine and soft breezes. I like to be near the ocean. I like dry air rather than moist - avoid mould so no monsoonal areas. I like open fronted shops and al fresco eateries. I like islands and open fires and long twilight hours leading into starry nights. I like handsome men strumming guitars, haha! Perhaps you know of a place that might suit me well. Please make suggestions just in case I get itchy feet again soon!
I'm feeling a bit tired so won't go on too long today. We've had our 3rd Sunday Club today - a few of us meet up for a movie in town. It's always such a lovely day but it's a long drive in and out. How lucky I am to have such precious and beautiful friends. We all encourage one another and seriously, we're like a bunch of school girls with all of us talking at the same time!! It's such fun!
Cheers to you all out there. Where do you live? Or where would you like to live. It's hard to choose somewhere that you've not been before!
Kerry x
Being a bit of a gypsy at heart I think I would live almost anywhere for a short time...and probably many places for a longer time. I've lived on a cruising yacht and loved visiting different places. I'm not exactly a 'world traveller' but I did enjoy the excitement of moving from place to place. Travelling on a boat has the advantage that you take 'home' with you, so you always feel....'at home'. Not sure about doing that again, but perhaps I would if the right circumstances presented themselves. In the meantime I'm considering a caravan or a campervan both of which offer similar advantages.
I think I'd like to have a go at living in some of the countries in Europe - perhaps Spain or Portugal or Greece. Somewhere that is warm but not tooo hot. I like it not too hot and not too cold but just right. Just call me Goldilocks! I see delicious photos of such exotic places shared by friends on Facebook, and think about how much I would like to live somewhere with old buildings - historical buildings - and to wonder about the lives that went before, and how people lived in centuries past. In the same buildings but without luxuries like electricity and running water.
I'm pretty lucky I guess because I am good at making 'home' wherever I happen to be, so wherever I find myself I will soon settle in and adapt (allowing for the Goldilocks rule though, not sure I would do well in a super hot or super cold environment).
I expect wherever I went to live that I might soon feel restless and then be ready to move to the next place. I don't really have much more I can say on this subject for now. I like a slow pace of life and time to sit and chat with friend and acquaintances. I like warm sunshine and soft breezes. I like to be near the ocean. I like dry air rather than moist - avoid mould so no monsoonal areas. I like open fronted shops and al fresco eateries. I like islands and open fires and long twilight hours leading into starry nights. I like handsome men strumming guitars, haha! Perhaps you know of a place that might suit me well. Please make suggestions just in case I get itchy feet again soon!
I'm feeling a bit tired so won't go on too long today. We've had our 3rd Sunday Club today - a few of us meet up for a movie in town. It's always such a lovely day but it's a long drive in and out. How lucky I am to have such precious and beautiful friends. We all encourage one another and seriously, we're like a bunch of school girls with all of us talking at the same time!! It's such fun!
Cheers to you all out there. Where do you live? Or where would you like to live. It's hard to choose somewhere that you've not been before!
Kerry x
Saturday, 24 October 2015
30DWC - Ten interesting facts about yourself
Day 4: Ten interesting facts about yourself
I can see why this is called a challenge! It's not just about getting something written every day, but about getting my mind to go to new places. I haven't really thought about myself as particularly interesting...there goes that comparison again...to all those people 'out there' that have done such incredibly amazing things that I can't possibly have anything about me to interest anyone. Off with the cloak of humility! Today is the day I tell you all about what is so fascinating about me (tongue firmly in cheek!). I suppose if I can drag up ten things to tell you that you don't already know about me, that might be interesting. I'm sure I can do that. Here goes!
1. Someone once gave me a banjo and I tried to teach myself to play using an Earl Scruggs book to guide me. I really loved it but gave it up before I really had a handle on it. Last night I met a new friend who has recently started to learn to play and it has made me think very seriously about buying a banjo again and getting some lessons. I cried when I let the other one go so...but I am not certain that now is the right time.
2. I loved Nana Mouskouri's singing when I was quite young. That was pretty square of me while my friends were into Pink Floyd and Deep Purple, but I found her voice entrancing. I have never owned any of her music but loved to watch her show on our old black and white tv. Maybe I should buy some one day and sing along with her in the car when I'm driving. I also loved her poise and elegance. Even though she wore glasses she also wore elegant gowns and had a striking presence. She didn't hide behind her specs. I always hated having to wear glasses, so I found it impressive that here was a woman on tv being beautiful and glamorous and elegant AND wearing glasses. Cool.
3. I recently discovered Lychee Sorbet. It's the best thing in the world next to love. As my daughter once said about home made Mango Sorbet...it has no bad side. Well maybe the Lychee one does as it's commercially made but this time I don't want to think about that. I just want to enjoy it now and then as a marvellous sensual pleasure.
4. I love getting rid of stuff (only not my banjo - that was sad). I love the feeling of loading boxes or bags of stuff into my car to take it to a charity shop. Each time I do it I think that I'll be more careful about what I buy next time. It's usually clothes that I've bought on impulse - always cheap and on the sales rack. It's surprising what a great burden stuff can be. It takes up a lot of time and weighs heavily when it is not serving its purpose in my life. Once I become aware of that feeling it's time to let things go.
5. I'm better at letting go of things than I am of emotional stuff. I've been working on that for a long time. I'm finding it much easier as I get older to just let go and not take things personally. I reckon it was a scrape-the-barrel-level of self-esteem when I was younger that made it so hard to ignore what other people said, did or even what I thought they were thinking!
6. I dream more when I go to bed early. I don't go to bed early very often.
7. I once did a Home Builder's course at TAFE. There was the intention to build a house but it was never built. Life happens.
8. I have started 3 courses that I didn't complete - one on herbs, one on environmental studies and one on childcare. I saw myself and others I'm sure saw me as a quitter. Reading Refuse to Choose by Barbara Sher has allowed me to see myself differently. I like to start new things. I get a rush from the new books and the first scanning of all that wonderful new information. Then I get tired of it. It becomes too much effort and something else takes my attention and away I go. I'm not a failure. It's how I roll. There is plenty of stuff I have finished - I just have to want to do it enough. Sometimes I find out that I didn't want to do it enough to finish it. That's okay.
9. I sleep on the left hand side of the bed. I don't know why. I just do.
10. There are lots of things that I'm sure you'd find much more interesting that these ones...but I'm not about to share my deepest, darkest secrets. Not here, not today. Maybe one day.
11. I know, there's not meant to be an 11. Because I am as I am, I worry about publishing this list because I'm sure it's not interesting at all and perhaps I should just save it and think about it and maybe change a couple of things to make it better but guess what?! I'm not going to do that because I want to be free of mulling it over and worrying about it so I'm going to press publish and let it go. That's how grown up and cool I am now. I'm just gonna do it and move on.
12. I might start thinking about tomorrow's post - a place I would love to live but have never visited.
It's Saturday and I'm off to enjoy it now.
I'll be back tomorrow.
Kerry x
ps 30 days is a lot.
I can see why this is called a challenge! It's not just about getting something written every day, but about getting my mind to go to new places. I haven't really thought about myself as particularly interesting...there goes that comparison again...to all those people 'out there' that have done such incredibly amazing things that I can't possibly have anything about me to interest anyone. Off with the cloak of humility! Today is the day I tell you all about what is so fascinating about me (tongue firmly in cheek!). I suppose if I can drag up ten things to tell you that you don't already know about me, that might be interesting. I'm sure I can do that. Here goes!
1. Someone once gave me a banjo and I tried to teach myself to play using an Earl Scruggs book to guide me. I really loved it but gave it up before I really had a handle on it. Last night I met a new friend who has recently started to learn to play and it has made me think very seriously about buying a banjo again and getting some lessons. I cried when I let the other one go so...but I am not certain that now is the right time.
2. I loved Nana Mouskouri's singing when I was quite young. That was pretty square of me while my friends were into Pink Floyd and Deep Purple, but I found her voice entrancing. I have never owned any of her music but loved to watch her show on our old black and white tv. Maybe I should buy some one day and sing along with her in the car when I'm driving. I also loved her poise and elegance. Even though she wore glasses she also wore elegant gowns and had a striking presence. She didn't hide behind her specs. I always hated having to wear glasses, so I found it impressive that here was a woman on tv being beautiful and glamorous and elegant AND wearing glasses. Cool.
3. I recently discovered Lychee Sorbet. It's the best thing in the world next to love. As my daughter once said about home made Mango Sorbet...it has no bad side. Well maybe the Lychee one does as it's commercially made but this time I don't want to think about that. I just want to enjoy it now and then as a marvellous sensual pleasure.
4. I love getting rid of stuff (only not my banjo - that was sad). I love the feeling of loading boxes or bags of stuff into my car to take it to a charity shop. Each time I do it I think that I'll be more careful about what I buy next time. It's usually clothes that I've bought on impulse - always cheap and on the sales rack. It's surprising what a great burden stuff can be. It takes up a lot of time and weighs heavily when it is not serving its purpose in my life. Once I become aware of that feeling it's time to let things go.
5. I'm better at letting go of things than I am of emotional stuff. I've been working on that for a long time. I'm finding it much easier as I get older to just let go and not take things personally. I reckon it was a scrape-the-barrel-level of self-esteem when I was younger that made it so hard to ignore what other people said, did or even what I thought they were thinking!
6. I dream more when I go to bed early. I don't go to bed early very often.
7. I once did a Home Builder's course at TAFE. There was the intention to build a house but it was never built. Life happens.
8. I have started 3 courses that I didn't complete - one on herbs, one on environmental studies and one on childcare. I saw myself and others I'm sure saw me as a quitter. Reading Refuse to Choose by Barbara Sher has allowed me to see myself differently. I like to start new things. I get a rush from the new books and the first scanning of all that wonderful new information. Then I get tired of it. It becomes too much effort and something else takes my attention and away I go. I'm not a failure. It's how I roll. There is plenty of stuff I have finished - I just have to want to do it enough. Sometimes I find out that I didn't want to do it enough to finish it. That's okay.
9. I sleep on the left hand side of the bed. I don't know why. I just do.
10. There are lots of things that I'm sure you'd find much more interesting that these ones...but I'm not about to share my deepest, darkest secrets. Not here, not today. Maybe one day.
11. I know, there's not meant to be an 11. Because I am as I am, I worry about publishing this list because I'm sure it's not interesting at all and perhaps I should just save it and think about it and maybe change a couple of things to make it better but guess what?! I'm not going to do that because I want to be free of mulling it over and worrying about it so I'm going to press publish and let it go. That's how grown up and cool I am now. I'm just gonna do it and move on.
12. I might start thinking about tomorrow's post - a place I would love to live but have never visited.
It's Saturday and I'm off to enjoy it now.
I'll be back tomorrow.
Kerry x
ps 30 days is a lot.
Thursday, 22 October 2015
30DWC - Your first love and first kiss - eek!
Day 3: Your first love and first kiss; if separate, discuss both
Crikey! This is like sitting for an exam. Talk about feeling vulnerable. We're talking about things that happened a loooong time ago! Yesterday I wrote about my earliest memory and right now I'm thinking that perhaps I have real problems with my memory because I'm struggling to call up these distant memories too. Perhaps I should make something up! No, that wouldn't be fair...although, I am the author of this piece and that does afford me considerable power in terms of where the story goes.
What I do know is that I had a number of 'crushes' when I was in primary school and early high school, but I was far too self-conscious to let anyone know about them. At some point in my early high school years my friends discovered the unthinkable truth - that I'd never had a boyfriend. Yes, back in the 70s kids were in just as a big a hurry to 'grow up' as they are now. Not much has changed really although we like to say it has. Anyway, they decided I absolutely must have a boyfriend or my life wouldn't be worth living. So they paired me up with one of the 'unattached' boys in our friendship group and he agreed to be my beau (of sorts). I think we may have held hands rather awkwardly but I don't think we ever kissed. And he wasn't one of my crushes! The romance lasted only a day or two as I recall. Between us I think we nearly died of embarrassment but such is the weight of peer pressure. It was like a social experiment - but we didn't produce the right result!
I met my first love at a dance in the town hall a couple of years later. There was a band and the music was loud and I was gyrating with the best of them quite probably wearing my favourite red platform shoes and a bright yellow full length cheesecloth coat thing with mirrors all over the front -and yes, it was embroidered too (forgive me for this frightening image). Well, I'm not going to give names here because gosh, with Facebook and Twitter next thing he'd be reading this and then I probably would die of embarrassment and we couldn't have that because there are still 27 days to go in this challenge. So yes, he gyrated up to me and we gyrated together for most of the night. I'm pretty sure we would have headed outside for at least several cigarettes over the course of the evening, and exchanged a few getting to know you bits of data. My nan used to give me smokes back then - ah, they were the days! Oh, dear!
A few of us used to tidy and sweep the hall afterwards in exchange for getting into the dances free of charge, so he hung about and helped push the brooms up and down the hall. Anyway, to cut a short story even shorter, I'm pretty sure I got kissed that night. I imagine it was pretty exciting but I also imagine I was too charged on cheap and nasty Brandivino to really notice. I'm lying - it was fabulously exciting! Brandivino ($1.80 a bottle) was all most of us could afford unless we managed to pilfer something fancier from our parents' home bars - it was the 70s and they were very popular in those days. That's how things were back then. A tobacco and Brandivino flavoured smooch after a lot of suggestive gyrating to pounding rock music - then into the fogies (parents) car for a reluctant premature end to an otherwise promising night. The liaison formed that night did endure, on and off, for a number of years, so it was a kiss well spent I suppose. I learned a lot from that first real venture into 'relationship'. It was the 70s!! What else can I say?
Well, I think that's done. How sad that it was not more romantic, more beguiling, more mysterious or more exciting. Life is raw sometimes. Not the way they paint it in magazine stories and fairy tales. It can be impulsive and impetuous and ugly. Those awkward teenage years trying to work out who the hell we are and where the hell we fit into this crazy world we've landed in - they can feel like - hell. At least I've gained from them some understanding and compassion for young people today. You know, whoever coined the phrase that teenage years are the best years of your life - they were lying.
Tomorrow I have to come up with ten interesting facts about myself...oh boy! Nah, I can do that.
Thanks for reading...and maybe I should have made it up, but I didn't.
Cheers
Kerry x
ps I'm posting this a teensy bit early but I have a very busy day coming up tomorrow and I don't want to miss a day!
Crikey! This is like sitting for an exam. Talk about feeling vulnerable. We're talking about things that happened a loooong time ago! Yesterday I wrote about my earliest memory and right now I'm thinking that perhaps I have real problems with my memory because I'm struggling to call up these distant memories too. Perhaps I should make something up! No, that wouldn't be fair...although, I am the author of this piece and that does afford me considerable power in terms of where the story goes.
What I do know is that I had a number of 'crushes' when I was in primary school and early high school, but I was far too self-conscious to let anyone know about them. At some point in my early high school years my friends discovered the unthinkable truth - that I'd never had a boyfriend. Yes, back in the 70s kids were in just as a big a hurry to 'grow up' as they are now. Not much has changed really although we like to say it has. Anyway, they decided I absolutely must have a boyfriend or my life wouldn't be worth living. So they paired me up with one of the 'unattached' boys in our friendship group and he agreed to be my beau (of sorts). I think we may have held hands rather awkwardly but I don't think we ever kissed. And he wasn't one of my crushes! The romance lasted only a day or two as I recall. Between us I think we nearly died of embarrassment but such is the weight of peer pressure. It was like a social experiment - but we didn't produce the right result!
I met my first love at a dance in the town hall a couple of years later. There was a band and the music was loud and I was gyrating with the best of them quite probably wearing my favourite red platform shoes and a bright yellow full length cheesecloth coat thing with mirrors all over the front -and yes, it was embroidered too (forgive me for this frightening image). Well, I'm not going to give names here because gosh, with Facebook and Twitter next thing he'd be reading this and then I probably would die of embarrassment and we couldn't have that because there are still 27 days to go in this challenge. So yes, he gyrated up to me and we gyrated together for most of the night. I'm pretty sure we would have headed outside for at least several cigarettes over the course of the evening, and exchanged a few getting to know you bits of data. My nan used to give me smokes back then - ah, they were the days! Oh, dear!
A few of us used to tidy and sweep the hall afterwards in exchange for getting into the dances free of charge, so he hung about and helped push the brooms up and down the hall. Anyway, to cut a short story even shorter, I'm pretty sure I got kissed that night. I imagine it was pretty exciting but I also imagine I was too charged on cheap and nasty Brandivino to really notice. I'm lying - it was fabulously exciting! Brandivino ($1.80 a bottle) was all most of us could afford unless we managed to pilfer something fancier from our parents' home bars - it was the 70s and they were very popular in those days. That's how things were back then. A tobacco and Brandivino flavoured smooch after a lot of suggestive gyrating to pounding rock music - then into the fogies (parents) car for a reluctant premature end to an otherwise promising night. The liaison formed that night did endure, on and off, for a number of years, so it was a kiss well spent I suppose. I learned a lot from that first real venture into 'relationship'. It was the 70s!! What else can I say?
Well, I think that's done. How sad that it was not more romantic, more beguiling, more mysterious or more exciting. Life is raw sometimes. Not the way they paint it in magazine stories and fairy tales. It can be impulsive and impetuous and ugly. Those awkward teenage years trying to work out who the hell we are and where the hell we fit into this crazy world we've landed in - they can feel like - hell. At least I've gained from them some understanding and compassion for young people today. You know, whoever coined the phrase that teenage years are the best years of your life - they were lying.
Tomorrow I have to come up with ten interesting facts about myself...oh boy! Nah, I can do that.
Thanks for reading...and maybe I should have made it up, but I didn't.
Cheers
Kerry x
ps I'm posting this a teensy bit early but I have a very busy day coming up tomorrow and I don't want to miss a day!
30DWC - earliest memory
Day 2: Your earliest memory.
This is an interesting topic for me to write about, because when I stop and think I realise that my earliest memory is from when I was six and a half years old, and I wonder what has happened to all the bits of life that happened to me before that time. It is a bit disturbing to think that there are so many stories I am told about things I did before six and a half and I have zero recollection of them. Do we really only remember stories about ourselves or do we have actual memories of events?
My earliest memory is of the airport in Bombay. How strange. We were en route to Australia as 'Ten Pound Poms'. I have no memory of good-byes at the airport, no recollection of the time on the plane. But I do remember glass cabinets displaying rare and exotic goods at Bombay airport. I remember the bright silks covering curly-toed slippers. I can see in my mind the sparkling beady jewels that bedecked them. I recall clearly the dolls on wooden stands that were dressed in saris and had plaited black hair and eyeliner painted on their tight white fabric faces. I had one of those dolls when I was a child. I can only think it was bought for me in Bombay airport. I wonder if I put on a turn to get it. I don't recall. I have no memory of people or faces or anything other than those bright silk slippers and the dolls.Not even the travel-strained faces of my young parents. So brave they were to travel half way around the world with two young children. So much I must have missed. These things I remember were obviously important in my six year old mind.
Sometimes I think I have a memory of visiting the Cutty Sark in England before we left. It is a vague knowing rather than a memory. Again it hinges on things for sale; some cream-tinged-with-brown pottery replicas of the ship and of sailors of yore wrestling with kegs perpetually petrified and waiting to grace the shelves of visitors' homes. I sense a memory of a dusky darkness and being in a tunnel or underground place. I should like to go there one day to see if my memory fits - to see if it's a real memory. Perhaps it would not be possible, simply because things would have changed too much to know.
Scents, smells, odours, fragrances, all can evoke a sense of a memory but I'm not sure if something so ethereal can really count either. I have the sense of knowing the sweet smell of the bedrooms upstairs at my grandparents house, also back in England before we left. But it is more a vague knowing than a memory somehow. I think I can remember the crisp whiteness of pillowcases filled with goodies on Christmas morning. There they were on the end of the beds; one for my brother and one for me. We were allowed to open the parcels inside because it bought mum and dad a bit of time before the day had to begin. But is that a story I've been told or a real memory? I don't know.
I've seen photos of myself with friends and in my school uniform back in the UK...but they evoke no memories. I know it is me in the pictures but there is no recall. Where are those memories now. Surely they must be sitting deeply buried in my brain...somewhere. Another almost memory is one of cooking bread dough in teacups...lots of them on a tray...so it must have happened at school...
The plane we travelled on from England had to stop overnight in Singapore for some sort of maintenance. I remember looking out of the window of the bus taking us to our accommodation and seeing shanties built of tin, haphazard along the side of the road, close by. And men carrying long knives or machetes. Then the colours of the hotel where we spent the night. Coral and spearmint green walls. I copied those colours onto a papier mache bowl I made at school here in Australia some years later. I remembered those colours so well. And I remember the swooping rattan ceiling fan as it pretended to cool us as we slept.
I wonder if the experience (I am reluctant to call it trauma) of leaving the place I knew as home and the grandparents who doted on me...and the people I knew (I know there were friends because mum talked about them even after we left England) was the thing that trapped my memories in the 'before'. I wonder if the stark contrasts to home that I saw in Bombay and Singapore somehow flooded my mind with so much information that it pushed the old memories out, or squeezed them into a corner so tiny as to make them unreachable.
So many questions I have and I need to ask them soon while I still have people who can answer them for me, or at least give me their version of the memories I would be searching for. I wonder if other people have this experience too? I wonder about the memories my own children hold of their early years. How many of the things that gave me so much joy and on occasion despair...I wonder how many of those things are memories for them. I'm glad I took a lot of photos so that I can sit with them and talk with them about those early days, in case they don't remember. It's important to have stories of what went before. They help us connect to others, help us to learn and to grow. They show us how far we've come in the world.
What's your earliest memory? And is an earliest memory a sense of a smell or a feeling...or does it need to be an event or experience with more detail to make it a real memory? What do you think? What is your experience?
Cheers for now
Kerry x
This is an interesting topic for me to write about, because when I stop and think I realise that my earliest memory is from when I was six and a half years old, and I wonder what has happened to all the bits of life that happened to me before that time. It is a bit disturbing to think that there are so many stories I am told about things I did before six and a half and I have zero recollection of them. Do we really only remember stories about ourselves or do we have actual memories of events?
My earliest memory is of the airport in Bombay. How strange. We were en route to Australia as 'Ten Pound Poms'. I have no memory of good-byes at the airport, no recollection of the time on the plane. But I do remember glass cabinets displaying rare and exotic goods at Bombay airport. I remember the bright silks covering curly-toed slippers. I can see in my mind the sparkling beady jewels that bedecked them. I recall clearly the dolls on wooden stands that were dressed in saris and had plaited black hair and eyeliner painted on their tight white fabric faces. I had one of those dolls when I was a child. I can only think it was bought for me in Bombay airport. I wonder if I put on a turn to get it. I don't recall. I have no memory of people or faces or anything other than those bright silk slippers and the dolls.Not even the travel-strained faces of my young parents. So brave they were to travel half way around the world with two young children. So much I must have missed. These things I remember were obviously important in my six year old mind.
Sometimes I think I have a memory of visiting the Cutty Sark in England before we left. It is a vague knowing rather than a memory. Again it hinges on things for sale; some cream-tinged-with-brown pottery replicas of the ship and of sailors of yore wrestling with kegs perpetually petrified and waiting to grace the shelves of visitors' homes. I sense a memory of a dusky darkness and being in a tunnel or underground place. I should like to go there one day to see if my memory fits - to see if it's a real memory. Perhaps it would not be possible, simply because things would have changed too much to know.
Scents, smells, odours, fragrances, all can evoke a sense of a memory but I'm not sure if something so ethereal can really count either. I have the sense of knowing the sweet smell of the bedrooms upstairs at my grandparents house, also back in England before we left. But it is more a vague knowing than a memory somehow. I think I can remember the crisp whiteness of pillowcases filled with goodies on Christmas morning. There they were on the end of the beds; one for my brother and one for me. We were allowed to open the parcels inside because it bought mum and dad a bit of time before the day had to begin. But is that a story I've been told or a real memory? I don't know.
I've seen photos of myself with friends and in my school uniform back in the UK...but they evoke no memories. I know it is me in the pictures but there is no recall. Where are those memories now. Surely they must be sitting deeply buried in my brain...somewhere. Another almost memory is one of cooking bread dough in teacups...lots of them on a tray...so it must have happened at school...
The plane we travelled on from England had to stop overnight in Singapore for some sort of maintenance. I remember looking out of the window of the bus taking us to our accommodation and seeing shanties built of tin, haphazard along the side of the road, close by. And men carrying long knives or machetes. Then the colours of the hotel where we spent the night. Coral and spearmint green walls. I copied those colours onto a papier mache bowl I made at school here in Australia some years later. I remembered those colours so well. And I remember the swooping rattan ceiling fan as it pretended to cool us as we slept.
I wonder if the experience (I am reluctant to call it trauma) of leaving the place I knew as home and the grandparents who doted on me...and the people I knew (I know there were friends because mum talked about them even after we left England) was the thing that trapped my memories in the 'before'. I wonder if the stark contrasts to home that I saw in Bombay and Singapore somehow flooded my mind with so much information that it pushed the old memories out, or squeezed them into a corner so tiny as to make them unreachable.
So many questions I have and I need to ask them soon while I still have people who can answer them for me, or at least give me their version of the memories I would be searching for. I wonder if other people have this experience too? I wonder about the memories my own children hold of their early years. How many of the things that gave me so much joy and on occasion despair...I wonder how many of those things are memories for them. I'm glad I took a lot of photos so that I can sit with them and talk with them about those early days, in case they don't remember. It's important to have stories of what went before. They help us connect to others, help us to learn and to grow. They show us how far we've come in the world.
What's your earliest memory? And is an earliest memory a sense of a smell or a feeling...or does it need to be an event or experience with more detail to make it a real memory? What do you think? What is your experience?
Cheers for now
Kerry x
Wednesday, 21 October 2015
30 Day Writing Challenge
I've been struck by writer's block for the past while. Even my journal isn't happening, apart from a sporadic scribble or two. This is not good for me. I feel like my creativity meter is on ZERO. Today on Facebook, The Writer's Circle posted a simple 30 Day Writing Challenge and I decided perhaps having some set things to write about each day for a month might get my creative juices flowing again. You might like to do it along with me, but if not that's okay. Hope you'll enjoy reading.
Confession - this is hopefully going to clear the writer's block so that at the end the 30 days - that is on Friday 20th of November - I will be ready to launch my first ebook! I will tell you more about that along the way.
Day 1: Five problems with social media
Wow! Social media is so big in our lives now; how did we ever live without it? Every day - yes several times a day indeed - I pop online and spend an unmentionable amount of time scrolling through endless posts of friends, family and unknowns, special interest groups, advertisements and suggested pages I might be interested in. I follow links and read articles and generally have a whale of a time whilst neglecting life around me in the here and now. Problem number 1 is that even being in/on even one social media group can dissolve many hours a day that might be used for other activities.
Many of things I see and read on social media are somewhat depressing. I see family and friends displaying memes that indicate how very different our points of view are. Sometimes I can almost feel the distance growing between us as I wonder what is going on inside their heads. I wonder if they feel the same when they see the things I post. Quite likely I suppose. Problem number 2 is that I can easily assume that I understand or jump to conclusions about what someone else is thinking or feeling without actually speaking with them and listening to hear them talk about their ideas and beliefs.
I get overwhelmed by posts about people being cruel to animals and cruel to each other. I get overwhelmed by posts that prick my conscience about not doing enough. I get overwhelmed by continuous pleas to sign petitions to save lives in countries where legal systems are less generous than our own. I get overwhelmed by the sadness and horror and misery out there in the world. I get overwhelmed by images that once seen cannot be blocked from my memory despite my use of the 'Hide' button. The imprint remains like the negative after staring at the sun...burned in. Yet still I persist in looking and scrolling every single day. Problem number 3 is the sense of overwhelm that comes from seeing too much and knowing too much and being so very small in the scope of things - how can I make a difference? Feeling helpless.
I connect with people on Facebook. People I see down the street when I pop into the shops or post office. People I see at work and at school. Sometimes people I don't know very well really. We've connected on Facebook and yes, we know each other but somehow never seem to make time to sit and have a cuppa together and really get to know each other in a more real way. It is a psuedo connection. I am an introvert and so find time alone to be restorative. I wonder if sitting here alone yet still being connected - making a comment here and there and reading those others have made - I wonder if that somehow robs me of that real time alone. I wonder if I am cheating myself of truly restorative actions like meditation, walking, quietly preparing healthy meals or reading and sewing, writing, creating something; designing a better way to live. I wonder if by robbing myself of this true alone time, I am less likely to truly connect with people face to face because I am STILL needing alone time. Problem number 4 is that social media can rob us both of real time connection because we have already 'seen and heard' each other online, and of real time alone which nurtures our creativity.
And then there are all those stories about people doing and achieving great things. They are travelling and growing businesses and going on grand adventures. They are raising money for charity and attending rallies to address the shortcomings in our world. They are caring for the sick and injured and writing books and winning song contests. They are 90 years old and dance like they're still 20. There is so much evidence of what can be done with a life. I can begin to feel guilty that I am not a great dancer or out there doing more somehow. I feel exhausted by the range of possibilities. I Google dance classes and find out that there are none closer than an hour and a half drive away. I click yes, going, to events and find I'm too tired to get there. I think about writing but feel empty and unable to inspire. If I can't inspire somehow, then what is the point? I fall into the trap of comparing myself with a thousand other people every day. How I look, feel, perform, live, am. Problem number 5 is that social media can suck the life out of us by giving us too many choices. Guilt can lead to anxiety, procrastination, inaction and a return to pointless scrolling and compounding guilt that we are not who or what we could be.
I'm sure there are loads more problems with social media, but those are five that I see and feel. It's been good to write them down. It will help me to think about how I am using social media and how I might serve myself better by limiting the time on Facebook and choosing to do some more satisfying things that nurture my creative soul. What are the problems you see with social media. I could write at least as much on the advantages, but that was not the mission for today.
Onwards and upwards,
Kerry x
Confession - this is hopefully going to clear the writer's block so that at the end the 30 days - that is on Friday 20th of November - I will be ready to launch my first ebook! I will tell you more about that along the way.
Day 1: Five problems with social media
Wow! Social media is so big in our lives now; how did we ever live without it? Every day - yes several times a day indeed - I pop online and spend an unmentionable amount of time scrolling through endless posts of friends, family and unknowns, special interest groups, advertisements and suggested pages I might be interested in. I follow links and read articles and generally have a whale of a time whilst neglecting life around me in the here and now. Problem number 1 is that even being in/on even one social media group can dissolve many hours a day that might be used for other activities.
Many of things I see and read on social media are somewhat depressing. I see family and friends displaying memes that indicate how very different our points of view are. Sometimes I can almost feel the distance growing between us as I wonder what is going on inside their heads. I wonder if they feel the same when they see the things I post. Quite likely I suppose. Problem number 2 is that I can easily assume that I understand or jump to conclusions about what someone else is thinking or feeling without actually speaking with them and listening to hear them talk about their ideas and beliefs.
I get overwhelmed by posts about people being cruel to animals and cruel to each other. I get overwhelmed by posts that prick my conscience about not doing enough. I get overwhelmed by continuous pleas to sign petitions to save lives in countries where legal systems are less generous than our own. I get overwhelmed by the sadness and horror and misery out there in the world. I get overwhelmed by images that once seen cannot be blocked from my memory despite my use of the 'Hide' button. The imprint remains like the negative after staring at the sun...burned in. Yet still I persist in looking and scrolling every single day. Problem number 3 is the sense of overwhelm that comes from seeing too much and knowing too much and being so very small in the scope of things - how can I make a difference? Feeling helpless.
I connect with people on Facebook. People I see down the street when I pop into the shops or post office. People I see at work and at school. Sometimes people I don't know very well really. We've connected on Facebook and yes, we know each other but somehow never seem to make time to sit and have a cuppa together and really get to know each other in a more real way. It is a psuedo connection. I am an introvert and so find time alone to be restorative. I wonder if sitting here alone yet still being connected - making a comment here and there and reading those others have made - I wonder if that somehow robs me of that real time alone. I wonder if I am cheating myself of truly restorative actions like meditation, walking, quietly preparing healthy meals or reading and sewing, writing, creating something; designing a better way to live. I wonder if by robbing myself of this true alone time, I am less likely to truly connect with people face to face because I am STILL needing alone time. Problem number 4 is that social media can rob us both of real time connection because we have already 'seen and heard' each other online, and of real time alone which nurtures our creativity.
And then there are all those stories about people doing and achieving great things. They are travelling and growing businesses and going on grand adventures. They are raising money for charity and attending rallies to address the shortcomings in our world. They are caring for the sick and injured and writing books and winning song contests. They are 90 years old and dance like they're still 20. There is so much evidence of what can be done with a life. I can begin to feel guilty that I am not a great dancer or out there doing more somehow. I feel exhausted by the range of possibilities. I Google dance classes and find out that there are none closer than an hour and a half drive away. I click yes, going, to events and find I'm too tired to get there. I think about writing but feel empty and unable to inspire. If I can't inspire somehow, then what is the point? I fall into the trap of comparing myself with a thousand other people every day. How I look, feel, perform, live, am. Problem number 5 is that social media can suck the life out of us by giving us too many choices. Guilt can lead to anxiety, procrastination, inaction and a return to pointless scrolling and compounding guilt that we are not who or what we could be.
I'm sure there are loads more problems with social media, but those are five that I see and feel. It's been good to write them down. It will help me to think about how I am using social media and how I might serve myself better by limiting the time on Facebook and choosing to do some more satisfying things that nurture my creative soul. What are the problems you see with social media. I could write at least as much on the advantages, but that was not the mission for today.
Onwards and upwards,
Kerry x
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