Month: July 2024

Road Sage: Self-Help Adventures

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Audiobooks keep me sane on the road. I am a kinder and somewhat slower driver when I listen to books. It means I arrive at my destination fuelled by dopamine rather than norepinephrine. In case you were wondering, norepinephrine is the neurotransmitter responsible for emotions such as anger. Just don’t ask me to pronounce it.  

I’m a self-confessed self-help junkie on the road. Luckily, breathalysers don’t register this drug yet, otherwise I could be in a bit of strife. Like people who assiduously follow their horoscopes yet don’t believe in it, I have the same relationship to self-help. Luckily for me, there are a couple of authors in this game who are equally sceptical, which makes it fun to listen to them.

Recently, I discovered Jon Acuff with titles such as ‘Finish’, ‘Soundtracks: the surprising solution to overthinking’ and ‘All it takes is a goal.’ Like all American authors writing in this genre, his books are padded with stories and every step is broken down into micro steps to reach the word count of the book. At the heart of each book, there is a good idea that’s explored which, if acted upon, has the potential of significant benefit. However, these authors know that good intentions rarely make it past the starting block and so they write a new book to motivate the reader to have another go. At least Jon Acuff sees his own flaws, makes dad jokes and puns, which keep me amused as I hurtle down the freeway. And there’s always a gem or two to hold on to.

One exercise in his book is to make a list of your best moments. There are a few reasons he suggests this. First, when you see all your best moments, you can’t help but be grateful for all the wonderful things you have had in your life. It also focuses your mind on what you value and what you would like your life to be like. He then asks the reader to categorise these best moments into experiences, accomplishments, relationships and objects. Whichever list is the longest will let you know where your values lie. For him it was achievements, for me, experiences. Rarely, if ever, do you find people whose best moments centre around objects. This makes sense intuitively, yet Western culture is predicated on convincing us to consume more.

Here are a few of my favourite moments in random order.

  • Laughing with friends
  • Writing
  • Walking the dog
  • Drinking a cup of hot tea
  • Helping others without them knowing
  • Playing board games with my family
  • Going on a retreat
  • Visiting good friends
  • Coming across cows at the bus stop in Switzerland
  • Listening to birds
  • Falling in love
  • Finishing my memoir
  • Smelling the pages of a book
  • Snow crunching beneath my boots

What would make your favourite moments list?

Moonlit reverie

Photo by Michael on Unsplash

The moon is pregnant with celestial fire.*  Her belly is full, round and luminous. I can’t stop looking up, admiring her ability to put on this heavenly show every twenty-nine days.

Yet the full moon messes with some people’s minds. Sleeplessness, sleepwalking, and feeling emotionally overwhelmed are some of the negative effects people can experience at this time of the month. It is no surprise that lunacy means madness; people believed the moon was its cause. As is often the case, there is a kernel of truth in this folklore. Recently, a link has been found between symptoms of bipolar disorder and the phases of the moon.

Luckily, I don’t suffer from any of these negative consequences. I am an unashamed Selenophile and could spend hours admiring the moon’s beauty. In ancient times, the Greeks venerated Selene as the moon Goddess. Her name means moon, light and brightness. Had I been born during the Antiquity, I would have worshipped her at every full moon, standing in a field with my hands raised to the heavens. Instead, I signal my adoration by tilting my head towards her belly and let awe course through my body with soothing calmness. I never tire of her beauty or mystique.

However, my fanciful flight into metaphor and personification only works in languages where nouns have no gender or where the moon per chance is considered feminine, such as in French. Had I been writing this piece in German, where the moon is masculine (der Mond), I would have imagined him as a lover, a sentinel or my nighttime companion who would inevitably leave me every twenty-nine days.

*  Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard by Thomas Gray

The gift of friendship

‘Come and stay whenever you like,’ I tell my friends. And this week, I had the pleasure of four friends at my doorstep, each having come a long way to see me. I know these women from different times of my life and and their loyalty is astounding. I have moved hundreds of kilometres away but we still stay in touch.

They are all outstanding educators of one kind or another, yet I’m not sure they’d have much in common other than their teaching careers. I guess if they met, they would talk shop. However, I have a much deeper connection to each of them. I find a different side of me emerges in their company, not because I am trying to impress them, but because they speak to a part of my personality that resonates with theirs.

Michelle and her friend Claire’s visit brought out my rambunctious side. We could speak without a filter, mercilessly tease each other, drink gin, and laugh through the night without a care. There is something to be said for letting your hair down without worrying about the consequences when you know your friends have your back. Spending a night with them was like stepping into my carefree early twenties. Years and cares melted away. Yet they too have their share of hard times, but we can forget these for a while when we get together.

Lizzie was the next to arrive. I have known her for over twenty years, and she has been a loyal friend through jubilation and sorrow. Thousands of cups of tea have infused our friendship. Although her children are older than my daughter, we have shared our struggles and joys of motherhood, marriage and work life. I have always admired her loyalty to friends far and wide and her ability to find time to produce quality teaching resources, which she freely shares. There is also a deep spiritual side to Lizzie, which connects heart to heart. Her friendship has buoyed me over the years, and I feel blessed to be counted among the people she loves.

The last friends to visit were Kath, her husband, and their gorgeous Labrador, who simply wanted to play zoomies with my standard poodle. We don’t see each other that often anymore, but whenever we do, we feel nourished and affirmed by each other’s company. I worked with Kath for two or three short years, and they were the best years of my working life. She is thoughtful and generous, always inclusive, and gives the best hugs. Kath works harder than anyone I know and has made many personal sacrifices to run a high school with its fair share of complexities an hour and a half from where she lives. I have so much respect and admiration for her resilience, and I count myself lucky that she finds time to see me.

Seeing this many friends in a week is very unusual. As an introvert, I can get quite overwhelmed when I see too many people in quick succession. I was quite surprised that I didn’t feel drained at all. In part, this is because I have been on holidays, so I don’t have to juggle other commitments whilst having visitors. However, the other reason is that my friends have been so nurturing and aware of my needs that it hasn’t felt like hosting visitors at all. Each, in their own way, has filled my cup to the brim and beyond with love and warmth. My hope is that we can keep enjoying these precious times for many more years.

A bubbly legacy

For 20 years, I didn’t drink a drop. Then, out for dinner with a man who would grace my life for four short years, I succumbed to a glass of red. It was delicious. Tart, intense and astringent, I enjoyed every mouthful.

I have never been a heavy drinker. Admittedly, I went through episodes of binge drinking in my early twenties, but that was mainly to overcome social anxiety. Once inebriated, I took advantage of my impaired control and began to enjoy parties, rather than be the wallflower hanging out in the kitchen counting tiles. But that was a long time ago.

When I began to drink again, I would only do so at dinner and never at every dinner. Then Roger introduced me to the glass of champers on a Friday evening to celebrate the passing of another week. His philosophy was simple – celebrate if you have had a good week and celebrate if you made it through a tough one. Either way, you are a winner.

When he ‘shuffled off this mortal coil’, as he liked to quote, I was left with an unusually large glass vase filled to the brim with champagne corks. It was years’ worth of good and not so good weeks he had lived through, with and without me. I neither wanted to keep them, nor throw them away. In the end, I reached a compromise, took a photo of the full vase and kept perhaps 30 of the corks. They remind me of a life well-lived.

Now I carry on the tradition, at least most weeks. I can’t drink a bottle of bubbly on my own, but I can enjoy a piccolo, which is 200mL or almost two standard glasses. It is a perfect amount. I raise my glass and salute Roger, and the passing of another week. Cheers!