Snapshots in Time...

Fascinating thing, Time.  The mechanism by which the universe grows – for as each moment goes by there is more History in it…

We spend our lives sandwiched between the unchangeable Past and the blank void of the Future.  Time rushes us along at the Interface where no-one knows what the future will hold until it is already past.  We are tumbled into the dark unknown like startled crustaceans on the crest of a tidal wave.

And it never stops.

We can fight against it, push against it, turn and face backward, submit to surgery, retreat into memories – all to no avail…

No wonder we invented a way of catching little snippets of the impossibly thin membrane we inhabit and call the Present.  Apt name really, since every moment we have as conscious beings is a gift...

Point a camera at the Present, push a button, and you have caught a little bit of it – like a child trapping flies in a bug catcher.

Time will drag me along until I can no longer keep up.  I will be consigned to the past.  Left behind.  No longer aware of what is happening in the Present.  That wonderful gift will be gone.

But…

Images I have snatched will carry on.  They'll keep up.  Someone still at the coal-face can look at them and see that once, long ago, my brother ate chocolate truffles sandwiched between ginger biscuits. They will see that somewhere Back There Madeline, my first love, was 19, beautiful and once looked coyly over her shoulder at me and smiled…

I have no idea why photo's are so comforting.  Maybe we just get tired of being swept along relentlessly at the edge of Everything – forced to let go of every moment the instant it is gained and powerless to stop it – and take refuge in the knowledge that at least some of those moments can be plucked from the stream and taken with us…

...or maybe they are just pretty and I think too much...

Idols and Mentors...

A friend of mine once said “Idols are for Dreamers and Mentors are for Achievers.”

She could be right.

I’ve never really had a Mentor.  I’ve had people assigned to me as Mentors at various places of work over the years, but they were “Mentoring” me in jobs I have never had much enthusiasm for.  Their advice assumed I really wanted to strive to be the better at what I was doing when the truth was I didn’t give a shit.

I have Idols though.

My main Idol is Richard Branson, for a number of reasons.  He is incredibly adventurous – with his money as well as himself.  He works hard, but for his dreams and passions, not in a job for a boss.  He takes risks.  He dreams big.  He has persisted through failure.  He is generous with his wealth in all sorts of ways.

He does it all with a sense of fun and positivity that is infectious.

He is unique though.  His accomplishments are so far above most people that I can look up to them without having to commit to emulating them.  They appear so unreachable that no-one would really blame me for admiring without reaching myself.  Hell, I’ve never even met the guy.

Safe. 

Having a Mentor is different.

A Mentor does not have to be some kind of super man or woman.  They only need to have experienced success in a field you want your own success in, and be prepared to help you along the way.

Having a Mentor will require action.  There is less safety than having an Idol.  There in front of you is a person who has done what you are dreaming about – living proof that it is achievable by mere mortals.

You are left with no excuses for not trying! 

Brrrr!  Scary...

I think you need both Idols and Mentors.  Richard Branson gives me an insight into how I can approach Life.  Even if I never get close to emulating his achievements, I can make it a goal to be more adventurous with myself, take a less fearful stance on failure and identify and pursue dreams, passions and loves.

A Mentor will help with specifics.

One friend of mine did act as a Mentor, for a short time almost 20 years ago, in a field I am interested in – Health and Fitness.  He is an ex-bodybuilder who knows an enormous amount about exercise and the body.  The advice he gave me back then still has a positive impact on how I exercise today.

If a few weeks of advice from a mate can have such a positive influence, for such a long time, on one aspect of my life then how advantageous will it be to find someone to encourage and guide me through others – like earning a living doing what I love rather than just doing what I can?

Time to find myself a good Mentor…

Blessing for a Little Girl...

Our dearest Madeline…

We are so glad it was you who popped out. We are already smitten by your beautiful blue eyes, your giggles and squeals, your day-dreamy stares, helpful nature and placidly stubborn ways.

May you grow into the beauty you have begun.

May joy outweigh sadness, laughter outweigh anger, health outweigh sickness and kindness outweigh indifference.

Our Dearest Madeline, may the Sun warm your skin and bleach your hair as you play.

May the Moon shine on your dreams and the Earth show you all the wonders She has to see.

May your friends be gloriously loyal and loving and just a little bit wicked.

May trees allow you to climb them and the oceans welcome you for a swim.

Live life long and full, our beautiful girl. May your warmth attract others to your side and your dreams inspire you and lead you.

As you grow old may you gaze at the stars and know that from them you were born and to them you will one day return.

But until that day, may your life be a feast, may you eat with your fingers and remember to taste everything!

All our Love,
Mum and Dad

The Golden Child...

My siblings had long called me the Golden Child but I never believed them – until I noticed something a little odd…

Due to bad wrists, our Mum has only ever knitted 4 jumpers.  She has 4 children.  All 4 jumpers were knitted for me.

Hmmmmm…

I told the others all they needed to do was, at about 18 months old, accidentally scald yourself with boiling water in front of Mum, almost die a day later (but don’t ACTUALLY die – that is important) and survive with permanent scarring as a lifelong reminder.

You will then have both parents in your back pocket.  Easy…

So, that is what happened and I have to accept that I have been treated somewhat indulgently – with a mix of guilt, relief and fear – by my parents for much of my life.

I’ve been protected.  If anything was ever too hard I was all too quickly wrapped back into the warm, safe bosom of Mum or Dad’s embrace.  For the longest time, as a toddler, I can imagine my every breath was cherished – with massive scars splashed over my chest, shoulder and back to remind them if ever they should be even tempted to take me for granted.

All very understandable – especially now I have my own little girl at a similar age and can get some inkling of the pure horror Mum (especially) and Dad must have undergone.

…but all that has left its legacy.

I realised recently that I have had a strong tendency to sook and whinge under load.  My partner wholeheartedly seconded this realisation.  I wondered where it came from.  Surely I was not simply born a sooking, whining, Big Girl’s Blouse. 

Surely. 

I hope…

It turns out I wasn’t just born that way – but from a very young age I was cherished simply for breathing and hardly ever criticised or corrected.  If I found anything too hard I had a parent to take over.  If I tried something and couldn’t do it the first time I was told “That’s alright darling.  At least you tried.  Come and have a hug and a biscuit…” – and was never pressured to push myself or persist.

In competitions at school, like Bike Decoration or the annual Flower Show, Mum or Dad would do all the work and I would simply take the finished article to the competition and win the prize.

It was all done out of love but it meant I never learned to persist and developed an expectation of being First without knowing anything about the work that needed to go into it.

Eventually I hit the big bad world of adulthood and struggled mightily.  I couldn’t cope with constructive criticism, couldn’t apply myself well to any job and was unable to stick at any sort of exercise regime.  I grew fat, unhappy and resentful.

I learned a few things on the fly and adjusted to a degree but always had, in my heart of hearts, an expectant yearning for Mum or Dad (or near equivalent – like God or a Tattslotto win) to step in and fix everything for me so I didn’t have to try.  It produced a sort of sad, whingy laziness.  Sooky Lethargy.

Only a couple of weeks ago a penny dropped and a light went on in my head, revealing much of this.  I finally accepted that this was no way to live a good, successful, happy life and have the respect of myself or anyone else.  I had known all along, but fought it tooth and nail.

Life is hard to do.  The things you want require work to achieve them.  Do it, achieve your dreams and don’t complain.  Don’t make excuses.  Don’t try to blame people around you for your own inaction.

It is a better way to live – for me and anyone close to me.  It really, really is.  In some ways it is actually easier to accept the work that must be done and go do it than it is to search out excuses or some magical parent to do it for me.

The achievements produce satisfaction and confidence to achieve again.  Doing this over and over will bring a habit of achieving and that will bring strength of character and benefits all round.

So. 

To Mum and Dad I say “Hell, I don’t blame you for one second!” but now I must be my own disciplinarian.  I will do the work necessary to have the life I want and support the people depending on me.  I won’t sook, whine and cry for Mummy to do it for me.

If anyone catches me having a self-indulgent sook, feel free to prod me and remind me of all the above… ;-)

The Reluctant Parent...

My partner keeps saying “I can’t believe you never wanted Madeline.”

That is not exactly right.  It was parenthood I wasn’t keen on.  Madeline didn't exist at the time.  I was deeply concerned about the loss of freedoms and travel plans, the commitment, the financial burdens, the commitment, the sheer amount of work…

The commitment… ;-)

…and then along came Madeline.  This crying, shitting, sleeping thing took from me my freedom, my money, my partner, my exercise and fitness, my sleep.  I could not even eat or take a dump without planning ahead, FFS! 

In return for what?

Nothing as far as I could see – except the chance to change crap filled nappies, be faced with endless chores and never sleep a solid 6 hours…

I was pretty depressed.  For the first few months I didn’t show photos of her unless people specifically asked.  Only took a few – the necessary ones for recording purposes.  It worried and upset her Mum.  Not happy times.

Some 4 to 5 months later it all changed rather quickly.  Madeline became more interactive.  She recognised me as someone of significance (up until then her world had been divided into Mum and Everyone Else).  She smiled when she saw me.

After that genetics kicked in and I rapidly became a proud, doting Dad.  In all honesty it came as an immense relief...

It is apparently a pretty common story among new fathers.  I have heard tales of men who wanted nothing to do with their children for a year or two.  One guy I spoke to said his kids only became interesting once they could talk.

I guess for the longest time men traditionally stayed out of the whole birthing and baby-rearing process – instead heading straight out to hunt down the next mammoth, fight the next Crusade or coordinate the next corporate takeover.  This whole business of getting intimately involved with nappies, breast-pumps and ironing is a bit new.  I’m sure we can adjust.

The things I lost are still gone, and I miss them – but one thing I was never prepared for was the absurd amount of joy a gorgeous, giggling little toddler can bring.   I love to be with her, watch her learn, protect her when we are out, fly her around the house in a washing basket and send her off to sleep with tales of adventures in faraway places.  I am quite prepared to wash more dishes, iron more clothes, clean up toys and food and vomits and so on in return.

Note I said "prepared", not "love to".  I'm not completely insane.

But there are myriad little joys to ease the pain of anything lost – and to be honest many of those losses are temporary anyway – I’ll get them back as my little girl gets older and more independent.

So to those of you who do not want children or who are not sure, don’t let anyone pressure you into it.  People may say “Oh you don’t know what you are missing!”- but that is exactly true.  You don’t know so you won’t miss it.  Most people have enough children among their families and friends to get dosed up on.  Fill your life with the multitude of alternatives out there and there will be no cause for regret, even in old age.

To those who think they might but are hesitating – or find yourself with no choice – don’t fear too much.  Yes, you will lose a lot of things and you had best be prepared for that.

...but little boys and girls have a way of changing you, and what they offer will easily make up for the loss if you let it.  My little Princess has given me a depth of joy I had not thought possible and is offering me the chance to become a better man.

Generous little tyke…

 

 

 

Dad. Flawed Hero.

Hi Dad,

You know you’ve always been my hero.  As a kid I looked at you with adoring eyes, hung off every word you said and followed every action you took.  You were my big, strong Dad who could do anything and everything.

But all people have flaws Dad, and it has become searingly obvious to me now that it is important to recognise those flaws and see them for what they are – even in heroes.

Especially in heroes.

You never took risks Dad.  You may have dreamed, but I don’t even know what they might have been.  You never chased them.  You plodded slowly along to work every morning, your sore back bent from labour, and watched rockets fly overhead. 

I know you wished you were on some of them because in rare moments you have told me.  Then you would tell me why you weren’t, in a weary voice I took to be wisdom but I now see as sad regret.

I’m sorry Dad.  Sorry I didn’t see through that and encourage you to back yourself.  I was only a little kid.  I didn’t know.

But Jesus Dad, I learned.

I learned to have a dream, then immediately list the reasons why it was silly, irresponsible and too risky to chase.  I learned that if people argue you don’t fight back.  You just suck it up in silence and keep washing the dishes.

 I learned that it is wiser, safer, better to plod carefully along through life, never stirring the pot and never taking a step without knowing where you will land first.

It is not wiser or better Dad.  It is just safer – but what the fuck does that matter when, no matter how fucking safe you stay all through your life, you still die at the end – with nothing done.

Nothing you remember with any brightness anyway.

This outlook has ground against my natural instincts my whole life.  Sure I’ve ridden a few rockets, but they’ve all been small.  When faced with the BIG rides I stood at the departure gate, fretting and hesitating, until it was too late and they were gone.  Even if the destination was unknown when they took off, those rides have gone on to reach the moon, the sun and the stars.

…and I wasn’t on them.

…and now I have my own regrets, just like yours.  I watch those dream rockets soar overhead and wonder what life would be like if I had taken even just one and ridden it to wherever.

Please don’t think this means I don’t love you Dad.  You saved my life when I was burned, you read me stories and you woke me from every nightmare I had as a kid. 

You loved us all, you provided for us and hugged us and did the best you knew for us – I know that.

…but I’m sorry Dad, I’m going to have to start ignoring your advice and your example.  There are rides I need to take.  They scare me shitless and I have no idea where I will go – but that is the whole fucking point. 

Without them I am just a dead man waiting to lie down.

Love you Dad.

I am a snail

I am a snail. 

Not only do I take a stupid amount of time to make any progress on anything or do anything worthwhile or make decisions I need to make – but every time someone touches me, I withdraw.

If I think it might hurt, I withdraw.  If it does hurt, I withdraw.  If it makes me angry, I withdraw.  If it makes me sad, I withdraw.  Even if it makes me happy, I'll withdraw just in case someone stuffs the happy up.

I shut up.  I don’t speak my mind.  I don’t stand up.  I whisper arguments to myself where I always win, but they are irrelevant because no-one knows what goes on inside my head.

If people don’t understand me or get me or know what I’m feeling or going through it is because I withdraw.  I don’t tell them.

I don’t tell my partner things.  I withdraw.  I don’t stand up when she is angry – I withdraw.  I don’t tell her when she has gone too far, or is being hurtful, or has been inaccurate.  I withdraw.

I am a snail.

I don’t want to be a snail.  Who the fuck wants to be remembered for being a snail?  Who wants “Here lies a snail” on their tombstone?  Who really respects a snail?  How happy is a snail that dreams bigger but does not do?
I want to be a lion.  It is the first animal I think of so that is obviously it.  A male lion.  He is strong.  He fights for his family.  He makes decisions.  He does what is necessary.  He protects his family at the risk of his life. 

I want to be a lion, but I am a snail.

How do I change?
A lion doesn’t think “What if I’m not good enough?  What if I fail?  What if I disappoint?  What if someone starts an argument and I can’t fight so I have to run away?  What if I get hurt?”  They just do.

I lion doesn’t shift blame.  A lion makes no excuses.  They just do.

A lion man cooks on his BBQ.  He has a beer when he wants one.  He fixes the things in the house that his partner can’t fix.  He picks up on the stuff she is struggling with – to be stronger, more enduring, more patient and worthy of respect. 

He takes out the garbage.

He makes love to his partner.

He tells her what he wants.

He tells her what he is going to do.

Then he does it.

He fixes the lights, the walls, the swing, the security doors, the blinds.

He looks after the things he owns.

He washes his car, maintains his bike.

He doesn’t take shit.  He tells his partner when she is wrong, if she is wrong - especially if it concerns his little daughter.  He shows the required patience and endurance, then expects it of others.

He also appreciates all his partner does and all she has given him.  He gives appropriate thanks.  He values her and makes sure she knows it.

He keeps fit.  He has an idea how to fight – mentally, physically and verbally.  He will defend.  He will protect.  He will do anything that has to be done.  He will do the things he really wants to as well – regardless of what others think or say.

He takes criticism and wears what he has to but will not wear what he does not have to.  He does not shrink.  He does not withdraw.  He does not cry easily.  He does not take other people’s anger personally and shrink from it – especially when it is not directed at him anyway.

This is the man I will become.  I have to if I am to be proud of myself, respect myself and hold on to anything I value.  My daughter most of all, but everything else too – my fitness, my partner’s affection and respect.  Her trust.  My happiness and contentment.  My self-confidence.  My belief.

Any life I consider worth living...