There are so many blogs out there. This is mine. I don't expect it to be particularly good, but it is my life and my thoughts on life and the world as I see it.
It has happened that I, during a conversation, fall into thoughts about what it is we really speak about. It's a lot like:
- Do we speak? I mean; really speak to one another?
- Yes, of course! What is it you want to say?
- I know we hear eachother talking, but do we really listen? Do we answer to the questions we are afraid to address? Or do we dismiss them as insignificant, because it is more comfortable?
In all the relationships we keep, and claim we nurture, there has to be trust that the other one will never intetionally hurt us, or expose our weak moments.
It's a lot like marriage; both partners have that need for security: the undisputable guarantee of time set aside, acceptance, of love…especially from one another.
Psychological abuse is just that: exposure of our weak moments... whether it's feelings we thought we once had, or traits, and then taking advantage of them to break the other person into dysfunctional dependency. It's just plain cruel.
We
need to know we have worth as individuals; that our lives as a man or as a woman count for something, that there is a purpose for our
existence, that we are significant and a pillar for our relationship. Not just our role or function, but that we count and are important to eachother.
And to have that, you need to listen. You need to take an interest in your partner or friend.
I have heard men and women explain the failure in fidelity by saying: "It didn't mean anything!"
I don't think people who say that fathom the second betrayal they commit the instant those words are uttered. By admitting to breaking the trust, for something they discard that easily; as not important, is really harsh.
(Unless the agreement of an open relationship is settled, of course). Fidelity is the core in a couple's synergy. Which means you break out by doing something insignificant, when it is obvious to everybody you should have known that to the other person it means everything. You just didn't listen and understand.
I have heard people say that it wasn't the cheating itself, in the physical sense, which was the worst. What really bothered them, to the extent of breakdown, was the thought of the pillowtalk. The risk they have been exposed. You know... the conversation that happens after, or before, being intimate. It's infinitely better than normal conversation because there's touching involved. There is presence. And what lies in the nature of pillowtalk is the life-support system of the strong and unshakable relationship we desire to a partner.
But how do we affirm true connection to one another?
I would say the sure confirmation is when you bother talking to eachother. By listening.
By caring enough to communicate.
After all we communicate in so many different
ways. Sometimes with a look and other times with a touch. Yet in our
relationships, there need to be words. We need to hear each other’s voice,
what the other is thinking, feeling, dealing with, dreaming of.
True connection also include disagreement and arguing, not fighting, but to feel safe when you speak up and state your mind. To feel it is ok to have different opinions.
I told a friend that I tell the people I love I love them. He just looked at me with a blank gaze, then shook his head and said "the people I love know, without me saying". I'm not convinced we do.
The way we communicate with one another can make a difference. Relationships differ; Some are strong, some weak, some have joy and others have pain, some are blessed with good health and wholeness, some bear nothing than destruction.
The thing is: communication can ease hurt, and enforce happiness.
It is all in the art of
communication, and it literally permeates every aspect of a relationship.
Maybe one of us loves to talk, while the other is quieter. However, because
healthy communication is critical to our relationship, we need to do
whatever it takes to learn to communicate in an effective way. Nothing
else shows more clearly that we truly care for and value our loved one
above ourselves. It doesn't cost a lot to say hello and smile. It is easy to just stroke an arm or a back as you pass by. Easy to do and important signs you care and know the other person is there.
We need to learn to listen to one another: to allow and
encourage honesty, openness, vulnerability. To exchange thoughts, ideas,
hopes, dreams, fears, and failures with one another in such a way that
we break even and share life without fear of rejection and judgment. Then you can truly claim you have a true and healthy relationship.
Lately I have found myself trying really hard not to remember my days as a student, from middle school through high school. I didn't mind my teachers, but I can't remember I, at any given time, was given extra attention, either. I did well in school, and the extra exercises just kept coming my way. I remember both my teachers and the extra work very well.
I thought I had friends, not many, but I thought at least a few liked me. Now that I am an adult I fully understand how mean the other kids were. Never in an obvious or physical manner,
even though I did get into a fist fight with a boy I thought was my best friend.
I remember being tough and calling him a silly name trying to punch him in his stomach, but when he couldn't see me anymore I cried.
Somehow I think the teachers knew, they just didn't know what to do. I never got into any trouble for standing up for myself, even in desperate ways.
One time we had a party at school for 5th and 6th grade. We were 18 students in total. Only two of us were an audience when the other 16 gave a performance miming with playback, to one BoneyM hit after another.
I remember middle school being confusing, and hard. My life was challenging to begin with, the talking behind my back, their planning parties in secret and then let me know in detail after, the grown ups' indiscressions... it was all more convenient to ignore.
Some time in my late teens I tried to go see the worst rumormonger as much as possible, hoping it would limit her. It didn't. It got worse. On New Years Eve, she invited a lot of friends for dinner, and I was supposed to show up after they had finished eating. Unfortunately dinner wasn't finished on time, and I arrived in the middle of their dessert.I remember being blamed for ruining their meal. I just didn't know I wasn't really invited for the party.
There was this understanding between them to operate on the fine line between friendship and excluding me from the special events.
One time the conductor for the tensing choir introduced a new song. He played the song "Love of another kind" by Amy Grant, then asked who was brave enough to be lead singer. I was pushed forward, and I heard them giggle. So I decided not to make a scene, but to prove them wrong. And I did.
I have recordings, and know I am right when I say I did a good job.
Every day I am grateful we moved away and let our children grow up surrounded by nontoxic people. Even though it was work situation which caused the move, it was a blessing. I was so nervous thinking about my oldest son maybe should go to the same school I did, I often felt trapped, just like I did when growing up.
I can't remember anybody ever asking me if I was ok, if I felt sad, or if I needed anything. They never encouraged me... they weren't up front and told me not to bother them again, either. Guess they needed me to blame, perhaps. Or for conversation material.
As we all grew older and called ourselves adults, one should think the story would end. It didn't.
I was chairman of the board in a kindergarden, and had to tell one of the staff (who happened to own the facility) she could not arrange a party in the kindergarden serving alcohol, but she could arrange a party in her private basement (yes, same location) after working hours.
I felt like such an idiot after, when I was told I was petty and jealous, just because I was the only woman between 20 and 30 in the village not invited.
Eventually I stopped trying and just accepted they didn't want me there. I did both them and myself a huge favour getting out of there. Moving to a place with true people, who accept you are what you are, and you do what you do, and you are still worth getting to know.
I have a lot of issues, but I realize more and more how I am not the only one.
My friend (yes, I have a friend I trust) says it is funny we became such good friends, because during the first three years of our friendship I never shared anything personal
with her. She didn't know anything significant about me, and that is
what she took to in me, because that is what she is like too.
We both have issues from decades back.
So, getting older, mature and work for years and years in your field of profession as teacher, nurse, AD, secretary or.... or.... whatever profession you may think of, one should think the story ends, right?
It doesn't.
When I go to see my parents in the village where I grew up, nobody greets me or stop to chat or catch up. It's like the notion of exaggerated rumors and talking behind my back hovers over me like a dark cloud of guilty silence.
A couple of months ago, my husband received a message on messenger. The message was (translated): "Could you tell her we are having a reunion? 30 years since we completed secondary school. (The name of a different classmate) is arranging the event."
I thought I had forgiven and forgotten. But getting this message from my husband made it all come back to me. I have forgiven. Nobody asked my forgiveness, but to me it was important not to let hurt feelings run my life... and yet they do. The insecurity and hurt I remember from back then, rushed over me before he had even read the message through.
I can't say I felt invited. I felt as if he was told to inform me they were having a reunion.
He replied by sending her a message giving my contact information.
A few weeks ago, my husband received another message saying: "The reunion will be September 24. Enlist ASAP."
No information on to whom or how to give notice.
I still don't feel invited... perhaps even less now that I know they have my contact information.
There is no attempt to get in touch with me. There is no hint I will be welcome if I go.
If anything, it feels worse now, because this time they know what they do. This time there is no question about the deliberate thought behind their way of conduct: They chose to not contact me or really invite me, in spite they have no clue who I am, how I am or what I am today.
I will never know the extent of the stories and characteristics given of me. I can only speculate, but I know some, and that some is more than enough.
It's like a snowball impossible to slow down or crush, because it feeds off how words and stories catch the next even more scandalous one.
Then again: remember this is my side to the story. This is how my memory brings back thoughts on my past.
Maybe I was the terrible one, the one impossible to talk to or go on trips with.
Regardless my flaws: feelings can not be argued, because they are real. Your hurt and misery can not be disputed.
The nights I stayed awake, or cried myself to sleep, they happened.
And some day, maybe, I will be as strong about this as I am about everything else in life. I will do what I today do on behalf of others and confront them. Ask them what I did wrong.
But not this reunion.
This time I was caught off guard. I forgive, but won't forget. And I will be prepared and ready.
Maybe it turns out silence is the best defence and payback after all.
Or maybe I should just write about it.
When all is said and done, and the ring has come completed; we are ready for a new school year.
Grades have been set, we got the results of a long season's hard work and the only thing we look forward to is the vacation we get, knowing no long list of handed in files will have to be graded during nights and weekends.
This is when we fall apart, regain composure and slowly find the excitement to get started anew.
We have exams every year, sometimes it is more draining to us, than it is to the students.
Hope, nerves, excitement and disappointment, all at the same time, do take its toll.
To celebrate all of this, and to celebrate those of our coworkers who leave, for whatever reason, and those who have had an anniversary, we have one last gathering and then a big lunch.
The fun, unexpected twist this year, was a concert by the artist Tommy Fredvang. We knew he had been entertaining at the graduation ceremonies, and rumor had it he was ever so cheeky about our principal's red pants. Which we love!, by the way, but which we understand can catch anybody off guard. (I love that even more!) To me, those pants represent us as a school and staff. We are teachers.
Anyway, we understood fairly early on that this was going to be a concert with the theme "love lost".
Which could have become a mushy seance, but added a healthy portion of irony, sarcasm and jokes became a rather enjoyable time.
I just couldn't stop myself from thinking how young he is. Quite pleasant to look at, and fairly well dressed always helps. He appeared not too flamboyant, and not too sincere... just a healthy combination of the two. But to me he was first and foremost just very young. And funny.
Love takes many forms. Some times we mistake other affections and excitements for a romantic kind of love.
This summer I have been married for 24 years, to the same man. (Maybe he being away so much has something to do with that. Maybe it is all his credit, but we are still a couple.)
Back then I was young, and perhaps funny. And I thought that love would stay young, and new, as well. I thought that as long as I chased for forever living in delightful bliss, our sensation of being in love would be kept alive.
It doesn't.
I was fortunate to fall in love with my future husband in spite of a lot of things: it was 1986 and the cool guys had long hair with perm... among other strange fashion features. His hair was down to his waist, and yes: he, unlike me, had hair which took to perm very well! Today he has no hair at all... it is safe to say he has nothing but improved with age.
Through time, changes, weight and sickness he loves me. Some days in the quiet way, which holds no other joy than the assurance he accepts I have major flaws. Other days he is proud to be at my side.
Anyway, Tommy (I find that someone trigging that kind of soulsearching pondering must accept being called by his first name) sang and played one cheesy, sad lovesong after another. Very sentimental, and as it turned out fit for food for thoughts.
It was a great concert, regardless his theme.
Maybe it was his ongoing comments about our principal's pink pants. Maybe it was his honest sound with vocals and acoustic guitar, no room for hiding any notes out of key(... he had very few).
Perhaps it was his cover version of Ed Sheeran's Thinking out loud, maybe it was "Vampyrane", "Love is running low" or maybe it was my slight disappointment he didn't perform any Justin Bieber song... I mean, anyone who can bring Wham's old hit "Careless whisper" into a new and enjoyable era, can make decent music worth listening to, of anything musical, which has been wrecked before.
I would rather enjoy that, I think.
There is a good chance he thought we would be square and boring. Well, for anyone who hasn't encountered a crowd of teachers outside the classroom, I tell you a secret:
Square and boring just doesn't cut it. If you want to be a good teacher you need to be a bit of everything and everybody.
We were so happy it's last day at work we laughed just he asked how we were doing.
But on any everyday we are updated, easy going, good... no: great! at what we do and how we perform our work. We are firm, yes, yet we listen, show respect and show lenience. Our best feature is variety, and down the list of character treats you should have as a teacher you will find: remember variety is spice of life.
We deal with both hard working, serious students who strive to get good results and achieve both understanding and knowhow, and we deal with rascals who have spent years of their life to learn how to appear careless.
No day is boring, even though some days are hard.
(Some days, I admit, I hope one or two don't show up, just because I am tired... but they always show. And I love that about them.)
At one point Tommy wondered what we did to our students, who chose to stay behind, talking for hours, after the graduation.
We put on a show every day, and in that respect we are much like artists. The core is: We care. We show them that it matters to us they do well. And by doing well, I don't mean they should get top grades; I want them to become the best version possible of themselves. That is a form of love as well.
And we are not afraid to dress accordingly our job. With flamboyant sincerity.
My story this time of year is end of term, end of schoolyear, exams and lovely weather.
It never fails: when it is time for exams, the weather is at its best. This is the season for lovely, hot weather and sunshine from blue, blue sky. Not a cloud in sight, and barely any breeze.
Exam really means sweat and tears around here. In buckets!
It is time to sum up everything done, everything left out, everything missed and everything we never got time to get done.
This is the season for the feeling of shortcomings. There are no good hairdays.
For my part, it's not only true for work, even though I may feel it more, as I am a teacher, but I have kids in school as well. And to be a parent these days means you need to be forever young, otherwise you have lost on behalf of your kid.
My 15-year old has finished junior high school, and now is on the threshold of making the choice which to a large extent will decide which occupation he will have for the rest of his life.
Well, it's not really carved in stone, but very few take the extra burden it is to start anew to get the education they discovered they actually really wanted.
Although... my oldest son is unsure of his choice and is playing with the thought of continuing school and get a higher education. He has an education, and is very good at it too, but he struggles to face doing it for the rest of his life.
I can only ensure him he will get my entire support, whatever his decision will be.
Apart from all of these lifechanges my kids are facing, which takes a lot of time and conversation, every activity they participate in has some kind of summer celebration, marking end of season.
Barbeques, games, hikes, sleep overs... and at work it is the same. All the teams and departments I am a member of, as well as the entire staff combined, invite me to pubs for a beer or a glass of wine, barbeques, boat trips... lovely, adult unwinding. I never get to go to any of them.
Through out the year I used to rush home from work to get dinner finished in time for whatever was on today's schedule.
This time of year I rush home to avoid those last minute's tempting invites, put on my running shoes and play with kids, engaging in water fights, throwing darts at ballons and treasure hunts.
And then the obligatory barbeque, which involves hotdogs, buns, ketchup, mustard (for those a bit daring) and crisp fried onion.
Kids are not very adventurous when it comes to barbeques, or maybe they are just not patient enough to wait for that perfect, marinated steak with baked potatoe.
Anyway, by the time the schoolyear is over, the end of season gatherings are as well.
My 9-year old's soccer team announced a game between the boys and the mothers.
I had every intention to participate, but... my body ached, my head was spinning, my feet felt like soar concrete... I didn't have a crumble of energy in me, and all I could think about was the neglected mountain of laundry at home.
So the mums played a heroic match with me on the sideline. And they won. Mums 5- Sons 4.
My son asked me why I didn't play.
I didn't know how or what to answer him, and that's when I lost.
Only for a brief second, though; He was generous enough to give me a second chance, and his reply was swift and obviously prepared:
"That's ok, you'll be on the team when season starts, and the mums play against the dads".
Israel is the only country in the world where patients visiting physicians end up giving the doctor advice.
Israel is the only country in the world where no one has a foreign accent because everyone has a foreign accent.
Israel is the only country in the world where the leading writers in the country take buses.
Israel is the only country in the world where people cuss using dirty words in Russian or Arabic because Hebrew has never developed them.
Israel is the only country in the world where the graffiti is in Hebrew.
Israel is the only country in the world that has a National Book Week, during which almost everyone attends a book fair and buys books.
Israel is the only country in the world with bus drivers and taxi drivers who read Spinoza and Maimonides.
Israel is the only country in the world where no one cares what rules say when an important goal can be achieved by bending them.
Israel is the only country in the world where reservists are bossed around and commanded by officers, male and female, younger than their own children.
Israel is the only country in the world where "small talk" consists of loud, angry debate over politics and religion.
Israel is the only country in the world where the ultra-Orthodox Jews beat up the police and not the other way around.
Israel is the only country in the world where bank robbers kiss the mezuzah as they leave with their loot.
Israel is one of the few countries in the world that truly likes and admires the United States.
Israel is the only country in the world where everyone on a flight gets to know one another before the plane lands. In many cases, they also get to know the pilot and all about his health or marital problems.
Israel is the only country in the world where people call an attaché case a "James Bond" and the "@" sign is called a "strudel".
Israel is the only country in the world where the coffee is already so good that Starbucks went bankrupt trying to break into the local market.
Israel is a country surrounded on all sides by enemies, but the people's headaches are caused by the neighbors upstairs.
Israel is the only country in the world where people read English, write Hebrew, and joke in Yiddish
I am sorry I don't know who wrote this, but it illustrates the arrogance and total lack of respect both public and private services have for their paying customers.
Below is an actual letter sent to a bank. The bank manager thought it amusing enough to have it published in the New York Times.
Dear Sir:
I am writing to thank you for bouncing my check with which I endeavored to pay my plumber last month. By my calculations, three nanoseconds must have elapsed between his presenting the check and the arrival in my account of the funds needed to honor it. I refer, of course, to the automatic monthly deposit of my entire salary, an arrangement which, I admit, has only been in place for eight years.
You are to be commended for seizing that brief window of opportunity, and also for debiting my account $50 by way of penalty for the inconvenience caused to your bank. My thankfulness springs from the manner in which this incident has caused me to rethink my errant financial ways.
I noticed that whereas I personally attend to your telephone calls and letters, when I try to contact you, I am confronted by the impersonal, overcharging, prerecorded faceless entity which your bank has become.
From now on, I, like you, choose only to deal with a flesh-and-blood person. My mortgage and loan repayments will, therefore and hereafter, no longer be automatic, but will arrive at your bank, by check, addressed personally and confidentially to an employee at your bank whom you must nominate.
Be aware that it is an offense under the Postal Act for any other person to open such an envelope. Please find attached an Application Contact Status which I require your chosen employee to complete.
I am sorry it runs to eight pages, but in order that I know as much about him or her as your bank knows about me, there is no alternative. Please note that all copies of his or her medical history must be countersigned by a Notary Public, and the mandatory details of his/her financial situation (income, debts, assets and liabilities) must be accompanied by documented proof.
In due course, I will issue your employee with a PIN number which he/she must quote in dealings with me. I regret that it cannot be shorter than 28 digits but, again, I have modeled it on the number of button presses required to access my account balance on your phone bank service. As they say, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.
Let me level the playing field even further. Press buttons as follows:
1.- To make an appointment to see me.
2.- To query a missing payment.
3.- To transfer the call to my living room in case I am there.
4.- To transfer the call to my bedroom in case I am sleeping.
5. -To transfer the call to my toilet in case I am attending to nature.
6.- To transfer the call to my mobile phone if I am not at home.
7.- To leave a message on my computer, a password to access my computer is required. Password will be communicated at a later date to the Authorized Contact.
8. To return to the main menu and to listen to options 1 through 7.
9. To make a general complaint or inquiry.
The contact will then be put on hold, pending the attention of my automated answering service. While on hold, pending the attention of my automated answering service. While this may, on occasion, involve a lengthy wait, uplifting music will play for the duration of the call.
Regrettably, but again following your example, I must also levy an establishment fee to cover the setting up of this new arrangement.
May I wish you a happy, if ever-so-slightly less prosperous New Year?
Last Monday, was one of those days when I just should have
stayed in bed. Not because I was tired or anything, but simply for the sake of
others.
I was in such a terrible mood, annoyed at everything and everyone,
and it's so easy to find defects in everything from the fruit basket in the
kitchen, to the boss at work.
And no, I couldn't blame it on "the time of month",
which funny clowns at work suggested. They won’t do that again, as I gave them
an excessively loud and lengthy discourse about gender discrimination, and modern
feminism; Fully deserved! (Oh, yes! did that ranting off feel good!)
It's just that some days everything’s just wrong. You just
know it before you uncoil from the sheets, and get up.
Mood, and state of mind, was close to depressed, my body felt exhausted, my hair looked like a haystack seriously neglected and I suspect I was wearing an uneven pair of socks. They were both white, but one reached a little farther up the leg. It's
possible it happened during laundry, but I think I just slipped up when I
sorted, paired and folded them.
Even the coffee on Statoil tasted wrong. The cup of coffee I refill at the gas station every morning, on my way to work, usually is pure elixir of life. Monday it was just like an acidic brew.
The only revigorating happening was that the car started.
My son's car didn't even though we started it on Sunday ...
with cables, and with the neighbor (a mechanic) as delighted spectator. He thinks that my great fear of being electrocuted is hilarious! I am happy to amuse him, but I must say it felt somewhat humiliating when he pulled out his cell
phone to film me putting one clamp on the battery and the other one on the chassis.
Anyway, I came to work in a terrible, lousy mood, and while
I was at work waiting for internet to work, so I could get some reviewing done,
unsuccessfully I may add, the notion came over me that there is a good chance the whole world is against me.
Sun made an appearance and showed off the winter dirty
windows and lit up a sparkling ray of dust that hung in the room.
I daydreamed about a walk in the woods.
It was like nothing got done, so I figured that to cheer myself
up, I should write a list of everything I have to be thankful for. Had I been
in a good mood, the list would have been long and creative, now there was only one statement: Weekend is coming up soon! And this optimistic and motivational phrase I wrote down a Monday!
There are many reasons why days sometimes feel off and louse, and strictly speaking it is quite normal to have bad days.
It doesn't have to be me there is something wrong with, sort of. Life is, after all, a
rollercoaster of impressions and feelings, so things goes a little up and then a little down. You know, like it should. You can't taste the sweet if you don't know the sour or bitter.
It's just that... sometimes the lows are just overwhelming and feels neverending, the bad days come around more often and last longer. Eventually I somehow don't hold any big expectations
that something good will happen.
Therefore, I have compiled some great tips online about what
one can do when one is in a bad mood, to get in a better mood:
to socialize > meet friends
Excellent tip! If you have friends who are patient enough to bother try cheering you up at all hours. I have such friends! but I get
so guilty knowing they are wasting a whole lot of time and energy thinking about me
and my petty issues, I just crumble up inside.
So I spend the last two hours we are together apologizing I am such a bad friend. And then I feel even worse because the longer I listen to my own voice, the more excruciating I know my friends' night gets.
They're going to have a lot to talk about tomorrow
... and thinking about that doesn't make things better ... I know they will text each
other, and others, with sighs and groans and the lamentable story of my puny person.
think through why you are in a bad mood / rectify the
situation which causes a bad mood
If I knew why I'm in a bad mood, it wouldn't be a problem. Then I could have dismissed the whole thing as not important. In many ways I'm lucky
to have my priorities in order. I know what's important in my life, and
strictly speaking it's certainly not often important people in my life
makes me crabby.
Things and situations, the yearning for a dream or
memories I never got to experience; Those things can make me despondent and yes, straight out sulky.
training / go for a hike
Of course I know that you have to eat right and stay fit in
order to be a healthy person. It's of crucial importance for state of mind and mood to get out and
exercise; however, time is an issue here.
That said, I'll be honest. Last Saturday there was glorious
weather. The sun was shining and the temperature outside was not pleasant, but
quite nice. There was no wind and the whole atmosphere was like a touch of
spring. Marvelous!
I did not go for a hike.
I could and should have gone for a ride on my bicycle with my son, I
should have gone for a long walk with the dog, I missed the opportunity to post
gorgeous pictures, like most of my facebook friends did.
But I didn't.
Instead I charged the scary, enormous pile of dirty clothes,
towels and sheets with purposefully stifled; clothes were sorted, washed,
tumbled, hung, folded and put in place, gradually, throughout the day
and evening. I made a great Sunday dinner and cleaned the kitchen. I sat
nestled in the new, yellow IKEA chair and read a book, and then it was suddenly
evening and dark and the glorious day was over.
There was time to exercise, I had the opportunity too, but
it was just that other stuff was given priority. Chores that otherwise in a
week is not done as systematically and thoroughly as I would like. I just needed to get rid of that dark
cloud of guilt which hovers over every day. Reading fiction I take almost no time for, even
if it is pure mental hygiene.
At work, even if
I depend on being present in the present with the students, my working day is so
full of moments that go snowballed, that much of the time my mode is on autopilot.
There are always new classes, rooms and time. Here the classes have their own classroom, and teachers move between classes. I wish I had my own classroom.
Some days just flies by, with the help of nice and funny
teenagers. Other days, like today, there is only negativity. Everything is
"crap" and analysis of the short story is a true ... well, nothing good anyway.
It takes so
much energy and effort to not be angry and mad at the wrong person.
It's not their fault that I'm not in a good mood, but their unwillingness to work in class on the tasks given does
not exactly help my mood. Maybe it was me who ruined their
day. I can never know, but no, it does not help to be officious today. It
only adds reasons for my bad mood.
Listen to music
Later. On my way home I listen to the radiostation P4 and the show "King Of
Pop" and laugh at the participant who fails the three artists. I will go shopping for groceries, and
go home and make another 20-minute dinner while playing music full blast. Then I
think I'll be happy again, maybe.
Music tends to help with anything that is not in order. The
best therapy in the world is to lie on the floor while the music is pounding,
and feel the rhythm, tones, words and mood wash over me.
cry
I rarely cry. Most often it is when I see or hear something
that moves me. It has almost never happened that I've cried because I have hurt
or feel sorry for myself. Guess I have
a good life.
Oh, now I think about what a good life I have, and how difficult
many others got it, and it makes me feel unreasonable for not being
satisfied. You know, happy and satisfied because life has actually given me
gifts like a good man, fine children, a good home, love, laughter, arranged finances
... everything just adds to the favorable feeling of having accomplished something.
Gratitude gives happiness and better handling of stress,
they say.
comfort food
I belong to the club who believe that chocolate helps heal everything! Absolutely everything! But after eating lots of chocolate I feel so
guilty that I put unrealistic plans on how to jog down the sidewalk
with a happy dog ...
And then I remember that I do not exercise ... and then I
think about how the scales never really has been my friend, and I turn both
untrained and friendless with a guilty conscience ... inside my head, mind you, but that's where I feel the mood best, after all.
... And then days passedby, and every time I opened my
blog to complete this post, I was totally disheartened and uninspired, for whom bear
to just focus on the negative all the time?
To just see problems instead of challenges is not really me!
Actually, I'm the one who has realized and
live by the rule: Wherever you are in life, thatit is the right place to start
the continuation. It may be something better, different, new or something you
put aside, and planned to pick up again later, sometime long ago.
Sometimes it just requires a little more planning, or
willingness to implement even though you really do not have the energy. That's
actually when you really need the satisfaction you feel afterwards, when you took that 40-minutes walk around the block.
Okay, so the sun shines out there today, and things
got a little brighter (apart from my windows, I honestly am really
disgusted by them!).
It's Sunday, and I'm thinking that Monday morning is quite
OK, after all.
And now I'm humming as well. Guess internet was right: music did do the trick!
I have become who I definitely would never be. It is so annoying. Not only have I turned out to be someone I dislike, I also failed to mould myself into a perfect triumph. You know, maybe not perfect, but perfect for.... well, me.
There was this plan, in my head I would be different from what I was forced by circumstances to be when I was young.
As an adult I would be bold, wild, vast and free, and because I had the choice to be all that, I would be happy with where I at all times were.
That is not at all how I turned out to be. Maybe I was before, maybe I'll be again, but right now I am just discontent and ungrateful. Oh, I felt my eyes twitching right now.
I sulk over whatever I find unpleasant in my life. I accept being a pathetic shadow of who I deep down believe I am.
In spite of knowing this I don't deal with my present, I ignore my hidden resources. I don't ignore and raise above the trifle hickups which serve as pebbles in my shoes. I don't face up to, or do anything constructive to make me capable to gather enough energy to turn my grumpyness around.
The sad part of it all is that to blame everything and everybody other than myself is like an instinct in me when I am frustrated. My best defence and excuse is to acquit myself.
Of course I know that at the end of the day my discontent is nobody else's fault but my own, but I don't like to recognize my own failures. Maybe I have too many, maybe I would be overwhelmed by my shortcomings, maybe I just happen to like living in a bubble of artificial selfconfidence: "It's not me, it's you!"
I would have to do some admissions and introspections to change my mood and point of view, which I'm not ready to do, yet.
Instead of admitting to I should show more engagement, initiative and interest, I wrap myself in self pity and rest my case in blaming uncontrolled circumstances.
That's really not who I am. I know what made me like this, and yet I avoid taking grip of my life.
Steve Harvey has repeatedly stated that to be successful you need to jump.
When you jump, you take a leap of faith, and place yourself into that insecure state of "the unknown".
It's been too long since I acted or placed myself out of my comfort zone. I used to be good at it when I was younger.
Now I have too many good reasons to stay where I am at.
I am aware of the fact that inside the comfort zone nothing happens; we deal with same old because we know what we have, but not what we might have.
The minute you do something out of normal, something extra ordinary will happen. Funny thing about extra ordinary: it's usually very good! Extra ordinary brings something new and by that also the possibility to adjust to a better situation. Yet, I (like most others) still try to avoid it.
I used to think that each their own forger of a good life. To be honest: I still believe that is true, but back then my strongest characteristic was to be creative.
My life was veiled in colours, sounds, actions and design. Hah, as induvidual and free I would like to call my past self, I was the typical, average creative person. Such an oxymoron, isn't it; to put creativity traits in a box.
Today, after pondering on my own discontent, I realized something important: I gave in a while back. Some time along the way I settled for good enough, rather than chasing my dreams. I suppressed a lot of my creativity blaming the stress mess I was caught in.
I am a quiet, calm person. It doesn't mean I'm not opinionated. I used to be a champ at achieving my goals.
By that I mean I thought I was chasing and achieving my goals.
What I was really doing was getting an education, a lot of it! I took so many degrees nobody will hire me now. I am too qualified, with tons of formal qualifications, tons and tons of prior learning experience, but no formal leader experience documented on paper. Still, I have the skills, habits and conduct of a leader.
I am too educated to be employed as a teacher in a new school now; I am too expencive. I am stuck where I work today. How pathetic is that?
The minute I got a family of my own, my goal was to create a happy and safe home for my family.
I went to the extremes and even planned what to do to maintain my kids' lifestyle and standard if my husband died. And I planned how my passing away will not affect their way of life too much.
Growing up I learned nobody must know. Some secrets you keep, so that others can have dignity and pride. If I was on top of things, I could prevent bad things to happen to others.
I did the expected thing and created a solid home for my family, while covering every possible outcome of disaster.
Now a lot of people are no longer part of, or even in, my life. In addition my young ones are more independent than they were. I have been a toddler's mom for 19 years. Getting used to I am not needed as much anymore, is hard to do.
A silent major change has taken place, and I didn't pay attention. Instead of becoming a freer person, I find myself in a position where I confuse opportunities lost with opportunities found.
The funny thing is: everybody else in my circle are really content. They really appreciate having the opportunity to choose freely what they want to make of themselves, and what to do.
So why am I stuck in the habit of limiting myself? Why do I feel my interests, wants and needs are not important enough to pursue?
My pondering made me realize that it's not reality which keeps me in a state of thinking how my actions will affect others in bad ways. There are no reasons why me changing focus should in any way give other people a hard time.
In my mind I create discussions on weather or not I should do something; if it is safe or not to change something because it would feel, look or perhaps work better. Often it's a matter of improving things, not repair them because they need fixing.
It's in many ways the same procedure I go through when it comes to throw something away; I deal with each item and detail as if it is of major importance, even though I deep down it isn't. The urge to keep, just in case I maybe need it some time in the future, is strong and inherited from my mother. (Yes, I blame her. She grew up during the war, and knows how to make use of what you have, and then recycle.) I know this, and yet it is so hard to ignore the voices telling me to keep it, keep it!
One of my all time wants, is to travel. I don't feel I get to travel and explore new places the way I want. Our family vacations tend to be a lot about amusement parks, water parks and beaches. Not my favourite cup of tea.
I would rather walk through an unknown village, discovering their ways and style. I would like to walk through a museum in my own pace and noone to call my name or tug my sleeve. I want to not eat at McDonald's. I want to sip to a glass of white wine, while watching people and reading a book.
By the time I have thought through my reasons why I should go for a long weekend by myself, and the importunate, more pressing reasons why I shouldn't, my kids have picked up on my intensions and tell me they want to go too, because there is a football match they really want to see live. And I feel awful about letting them down, leaving them or for some other reason start to doubt it is a good idea for me to go on a sole journey.
I know I think all this, and I know I am wrong. I am certain my family would really understand and condone my modest weekend of self fulfillment.
It's hard to be a loser. You get to the point when you expect to face another failure. I think maybe it's time I stop letting myself down.
Then, being a grumpy, old woman would be something I was in the past, and I would be the happy woman, in the best of ages, I truly am.
Social medias. I remember when I had my first encounter with social media, we just didn't know that was what it was. I came across an online chat, by chance, and got in touch with a shy and modest journalist in the USA, with a remarkable sense of telling a story, and a generous attitude towards my petty English.
One of the many exciting and thrilling things about social media is how we connect, how consistently we are in touch with friends, friends' friends, relatives we never met in real life, family and others we may have some sort of relationship with, or have mutual interests with.
We have such a strong bond to these online friends, that we tend to ignore those we talk to face to face once the phone beeps. If polite they say "Right, just a sec, I just have to check my phone". Most often they just don't bother to say, they just disconnect from the conversation to stay instantly updated with their online happenings.
It is common knowledge how protective we get about our social media life, and I know of many employers who would really like to make meetings mobile free zone. They just haven't built up enough courage to announce the demand... as of yet.
Once upon a time people were able to go to bed without their phones and tablets. Those days are long gone. And we complain about not getting enough sleep, while paying attention to the different sounds each notification will make as soon as another sleepless virtual, online friend posts another posting about the agony it causes that he or she just can't sleep.
Communicating with friends and family used to be a time consuming chore.
It is possible to do without social media at hand, but if there is a distance, you can hook up without getting expencive phone bills. Because it's free! At least to create a profile.
And the best part: you can respond or react to whatever approach they make, when it feels convenient.
I mean... come on, family and true friends will always be there, right? There is no reason to put them on the priority list as "Get-Back-To-ASAP!" You get back to them as soon as you have "liked" your neighbor's sister's new purse, which she posted a picture of 3 minutes ago, on snapchat, facebook, instagram, flickr and twitter.
·You can be updated on news in general from papers and other newsagents, but there's no need to cut down a tree to let me read the headlines in 9 different newspapers. There is no need to remember when radio or TV broadcast their news either. I get to see whatever news I like at any time; The latest news from Syriah, or the reality show currently the talk of the town.
You can easily send documents, pictures and video clips to friends…. Classmates even. Always online, and ready to open whatever shortcut to wisdom of life you sent their way. A quote, a picture or a spark to the inherent curiosity we have in people. When we are lucky, we receive a legal reason to spy and gossip. Some times scandals are revealed, other times we get to see happiness and beauty displayed, like only social media can.
Or, you can do what I do: reach out to people writing about your life, your opinions and how you see the world.
The only thing is: These days, writing from your heart, the original text, with your thoughts put into words is probably the most personal thing you can do.
No nude picture leaves you standing there exposed to the same degree as your version of the truth does.
At work we some times get the pleasure of listening to lectures, held by very competent people. They tell, update and demonstrate the art of telling a story.
We do have expectations to most things, and people, we relate to. The things we see, hear, feel and experience. Teachers can be a demanding audience, not many get away with their performance getting a heartfelt applauce.
Some time back we were given a lecture by a famous writer, artist, humorist, stand up comedian. He is also an actor and cabaret performer.
He was talking about classic literature and sense of humor.
Views were presented which introduced us to new and different perspectives on pulp literature, politicians, humorists, authors, culture and other so called high end cultural performances and publications.
It's funny how we really thought we had curriculum under control, and it turns out there is an important side to it all, the aspect which we discovered ourselves, but which we need to introduce to our students because that aspect is what makes culture entertaining. Some where along the way we forgot how outrageous, scandalous and still valid good literature is. And since we, who are experienced, skilled and fast readers take all of this for granted, we totally forgot it's not self evident to young teens.
Imagine to be so well-informed and reflected that you still remember what it was like to still be in the process of discovering the world and everything in it. How great it must be to be both conscious and confident about what you are saying, and then present it so effortlessly.
The way he read, in his tone, accent and stress was such an inspiration. And while he read, lectured, talked and made comments upon seriousness in a flourishing language, without belittleing it by using four-letter words, he awoke an understanding and associations I had long forgotten about.
At one point during his captivating loquaciousness it hit me how hard it must be to be a true humorist. I don't think humorists really want to be humorists. I think they would really like to be artists or authors.
True humorists master the art of Shakespearean insults: Insults disguised as poetic wordings, but with a solid core of harsh truth; When you can say anything without attacking people at a personal level, and yet there is a reprimand picked up by who ever the shoe fits.
It's the art the skalds and court jesters mastered. We tend to think about them as foolish and ridiculous, but the truth is they guided their chief or king in ways, and in matters, noone else dared.
I believe anything can be said, to just about anybody, as long as you say it the right way.
I am not good at talking. It doesn't come naturally to me to captivate an audience by the sole force of my storytelling skills.
However; being aware of this I can prepare to give good lectures and hold good meetings.
Funny how I am said to be an excellent people person in spite of this, but I think that is because I know the art of listening.
Change. It's a mighty word when you think about it; ever so easy to say but you need to put thoughts, effort and consistency into it to make it last.
Funny isn't it, to make change last; it's such an oxymoron just to say that, and yet it is true.
It's much like love, in that respect. We tend to love this and that all the time, and the bar is low; we love chocolate, we love the beach, we love potatoes, we love our family (most of the time)... At the end of the day it turns out that the minute we involve somebody else in our love circle, love becomes more complicated. Then love imply some sort of obligation, commitment and conditions.
To put it short: When you love somebody else, and no longer just yourself and your own likings, and you appreciate others, you need to make changes to maintain that love.
Anyway. We experience small changes and bigger changes, they all have in common that changes make things different.
The reason we want changes is, after all, we are not completely happy about the way things are, so different must be good then, right?
I am not quite convinced, because I myself have things I would like to change in my life, but... and there is a huge but: There is a reason why things are how they are. There is a reason why I don't find everything in my life perfect: after everything is said and done, after all my excuses for not having made things better, the reason why days go by the same manner they have is that I am stuck in a comfort zone. And that is a good, safe place to be.
I need a few changes in my life. Funny I think that, because I have found people are less demanding than I think they are. But the changes I want are more about the fact that I feel I do what I think other people expect me to do, rather than doing what I want to do.
Women have this pressure they think they are supposed to want more, that they should want better and have higher standards. Just look at the magazines written for women: they are written to your future, perfect you.
"Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans" ~John Lennon~
Still true, I think. We plan for the future, and not for here and now, and what we did plan for now is forgotten in the chanse for what will be next, so we chase for the future and don't stop to think.
I made a few searches online, go get some inspiration on how to make changes happen. They write boldly about how it is you and how you are which is important, and then, by the flip of a coin they continue by telling you to change your looks, get fit, and eat healthy. Changing turns out to always become a quest for fitting into a norm. A standard set by strangers, who couldn't care less about you as an individual.
That's just it, isn't it? You should look at where you are, because where ever you are is where you are at. And if where you are at, is not where you want to be, then you need to think carefully and find out where you want to be in life.
Life brings you blessings, but it also hits hard. One blow after another makes you feel trapped in changes you had no saying in. And those changes are so very hard to deal with. It's like they put you off from taking part in the adventures which could have been. These changes are bad, because when we don't know what to do we tend to do the wrong thing. The urge to act then and there is so intrusive we see them as problems which have to be solved rather than opportunities to do the unexpected but right thing.
But then, on those rare occasions, you experience timing so perfect it's hard not to believe it was meant to be.
At the end of the comfort zone is where changes, and life, happen.
Another thing I found online is that as soon as somebody brings up changes, they talk about it as if you live in a bubble where only you exist. They make it all about you, your needs and you spending money to make things change.
Real life isn't like that. For most of us being that selfish is bad.
Most of us have people in our lives which we are accountable to. We can't just sign out and disregard people in our life. We all have people we care for, love and are responsible for.
They don't drop everything to watch you find yourself.
So, is it impossible to change? To make things, life, different?
No, but you have to find out where you are now, who is there with you, and then look at your goal and find those small twists worth the while, because they will give you the pleasure of stop feeling the pain from all the memories and emotions you were deprived of.
Maybe your twist is start drinking water instead of soft drinks. maybe it is writing job applications (the hardest part about that is preparing yourself to the possebility you might have to leave your coworkers and find your role at another workplace) and send them off. Maybe your twist is to walk or bicycle to work or school. maybe it is getting up an hour early and swim in the morning, or join cooking classes. Not just to get fit or anything, but more to break out and see new, friendly faces. Then you control the change in your life.
We should not fear changes. Those inflicted upon us are opportunities, those we make happen are spending the moment doing something now to move along.
Change should not be a lot of hard work. Better never is. It is the beginning of another wanted adventure.
I was walking my dog the other night, like I do every night. It was so freezing cold every step on the ground gave a loud creak. The snow we got two nights before, had frosen into this moonlit glittering duvet which seemed to have tucked in the entire world.
This very late, most windows had that warm glow they get, when it's cold outside and so very comfortably warm inside. Others had turned lights down, but I could see the blue flikkering lights from a TV. Some were asleep.
Like the eyes are the windows to one's soul, the windows are the spy holes into a home.
A home is so private. What we call home is where we feel we belong.
Looking at them, as I walked by, bringing a broken silence to the night, I found myself in soaring thoughts about how, in all of these houses and apartments, people have decided to live and nest. They have surrounded themselves with colours and things they love. Valuables, memorabilias, sensible and smart tools, device and equipment, rubbish and just... stuff.
They have all chosen their style and standard, or lack of thereof. Every home is where somebody returns to after going away. That is where they belong and create their life.
Like thoughts often do, they wandered. They wandered to my parents, who no longer can live in their own home. And I thought about how we all refuse to let them mourne their home.
We ignore the sadness, and keep telling them that where they are now is just brilliant, so easy to clean, so perfectly downsized, so bright and modern... It's all very convenient and efficient, but it's not home.
Some of their things they found space for, most are left behind, in a home they probably never get to visit again. They are sad that where they fought and made up, brought up their children and grandchildren, worked hard and played hard is now abandoned. Not counting much to anybody, except in the stories we tell. It has become a treasured memory.
And we forget how important we find our own home, how worthy of huge expences when we find it's time to reorganize and redecorate.
I know people who on regular basis throw all their accessories and ornaments out, and replace it with current modern style.
I know people who cherish everything they have brought into their house, and refuse to change anything, except for adding another piece of toiletpaperroll art, carefully created by a familymember at kindergarden or school.
I know people who keep their home a showroom, and I know people who live and let live in their home.
I thought about how I left my own home, as I rushed out the door to let the pacing dog do his thing: Starwars lego was carefully lined up at the coffee table, unfolded socks piled up at the dining table,,, I do hope they are all pairs this time, the cushions in the sofa scattered about and notebooks, belonging to subjects like science, French, English, maths, religion... carelessly left on where ever was a free spot at the time homework was done. I thought about my dreams of how I would furnish my house, and how it turned out. It doesn't refect my taste, but it does reflect my heritage and where we come from.
My home is lived in, I wish it was more of a showroom, but I have this solid belief there is a difference in untidyness: the kind we create by doing stuff, and the kind created because we don't care.
I care... I just don't have the capacity to nag all the time.
Instead I am going to appreciate more I have a home, and am allowed to live there.
Psychological abuse is just that: exposure of our weak moments... whether it's feelings we thought we once had, or traits, and then taking advantage of them to break the other person into dysfunctional dependency. It's just plain cruel.
