On a new year

I know I should probably apologise for not writing in ages (to who? I don’t know. You probably don’t care all that much. Maybe myself? *shrugs*), but I can’t quite muster the words. I haven’t written because I haven’t had the time, or I haven’t needed to. I can’t resolve to write more in this new year either, as Lord knows whether I’ll stick to it. So let’s just see where the next few months take us and leave it at that.

As we dip our toes into a new year, however, it feels like a good time to dust off my quill (read: keyboard) and parchment (read: screen) and proffer a few musings on the year that must not be named. 2016 was a lot of things to a lot of people (mostly rubbish to all), but it would be a shame to tar my personal experience of it with the brush of collective experience. Yes, a lot of people died. Yes, the world appears to be going to hell in a hand basket. But it’s easy for the overall awfulness of 2016 to overwhelm any individual, personal memories. And, to be honest, on a personal level 2015 was far and away more rubbish for me than 2016. 2015 saw me get my heart broken (mostly through my own stubbornness), a lot of general uncertainty and unhappiness, and my Dad getting ill which (obviously) cast a dark shadow over the latter half of the year. By contrast, 2016 actually saw a reversal of fortune for me in a lot of ways.

At the start of the year, something kind of unexpected happened: I met a Nathan. (Having written that in such odd phrasing has made me stop and consider the fact that there have actually been very few Nathans in my life up until this point…maybe 3 in total? That doesn’t seem like many over the course of 29 years, does it?) I had resolved over Christmas 2015 to stop moping about my broken heart and put myself out there a bit more, and astonishingly – as I might argue on a day when I have somewhat less self-esteem – it worked out for the best. In less than a week, we will be celebrating our one-year anniversary, and I couldn’t be happier about it. Against all odds, I have found someone who compliments me perfectly, and brings me hulking great chunks of happiness whenever we’re together. I owe a lot of my happiness in 2016 to him, and though I think he knows that I certainly don’t think that means it’s not worth saying. (Sappy though that may well be). Oh, and he’s tall. So…you know…that helps.

Around the middle of the year, something else great started to happen: Dad’s health started to improve. Though we didn’t get there without a lot of pain and frustration (and more than one unexpected set-back), thanks to the wonders of modern medicine we did start to get there. Come the autumn of 2016, my Dad was looking like my Dad again. He was walking with less pain and less effort. He was smiling and laughing more. And – most importantly – he was spending a hell of a lot less time in and out of hospitals. Though the road we’re on is an ongoing one, we left 2016 feeling a lot lighter and brighter than we did leaving 2015. And God, isn’t that something?

A lot of other moments of greatness dotted through my 2016 to generally lift my spirits and distract from the global and local gloom. Though the prospect of searching for new housemates was a daunting one, in the middle of the year I managed to luck out and find two particularly excellent individuals to share my flat with me. Alice and Olivia have – counter to the horror stories you hear about finding flatmates online – turned out to be sociable, fun flatmates and generally excellent company. I also saw one of my oldest friends get happily married (and one not so old friend too), and embraced the certainty that I am now entering the “all weddings, all the time” phase of my life with a smile. Over the course of the year I made some new friends, reconnected with some old ones, and was reminded of just how many wonderful and interesting people I know.

I don’t exactly know what 2017 will hold. Putting to one side the inevitable passing of the 30 year milestone that will happen at the tail end of it, I’m mostly hoping it will hold change – but good change. I’m hoping the grey clouds that are gathering politically and internationally won’t turn into a storm of irreversible proportions. And I’m hoping there will be enough small bright lights in my personal life that – as with 2016 – even the darkest bits of the year won’t seem so bad.

So cross fingers and toes with me folks. We may be in for a bumpy ride, but even the most terrifying of rollercoasters have ups as well as downs, eh? Breathe in deeply as the ride begins…and try not to throw up when it gets rough, I suppose. 

On reminders

“Everything reminds me of you.”

When a big part of your life has revolved around the same person for – well, for what feels like as long as you can remember, really – being without them isn’t just hard for all the obvious reasons. It’s also bafflingly difficult because you have to re-educate yourself on how to get through everything in your life without constantly associating it with that person.

Everything reminds you of me, hmm? Well snap, buddy.

Even the most innocuous of things can transport you to a familiar and painful place. Innocently uttered phrases…particular film references…smells…songs…of course you'll associate everything with them when they were that important to you. And every time something twigs a memory, it becomes a conscious effort to turn your brain away from the first association – the unhelpful association. Because every time that happens, it’s like a little gremlin prodding at the ache in your chest. “Haha, thought you were OK, did you? Well let’s see how you feel about THIS then!”

…fucking gremlins.

Your brain and your memory become your worst enemies, constantly veering their ugly heads to remind you that you should be feeling terrible. Which I suppose is ironic, as they’ll end up being your friends in the long run – when you can remember things fondly, and sensibly reflect on the past without it being like a kick in the proverbial balls.

The process of getting through this seems to be a two-parter: first, learning to replace the gut reaction, the immediate association, with something else. With someone else. Or nothing at all, I suppose – but essentially anything but that person and that connection that you once had. Second, for the things that you just can’t avoid associating with that person (for instance, there’s still a particular aftershave that instantly transports me back to my first serious relationship – Proust would be proud), you have to learn to entertain that association in a way that doesn’t hurt. Notice it (because you can’t not), and then move on.

I am reassured by the certainty that this process will become easier, and in the future I will be able to go about life unhindered by reminders – or let them come, and smile fondly before getting on with my day. It may suck at the moment (believe me: it truly, truly does), but logic and reason tell me that it won’t be that way forever. Soon enough, I will be a functioning person again. I will not feel sad when someone mentions things that we spoke about, or places that we went to, or jokes that we shared.

For now though, I can but replay the words that were sent my way: everything reminds me of you, too.

On editing

This is a confession: I’ve got you all fooled. Not for the first time, a friend recently commented that something I’d written was very “articulate”. I think I give off the impression – in writing certainly, but also sometimes in conversation – that I am an eloquent and articulate person. Anyone who has known me for any reasonable stretch of time, however, must surely know that this isn’t the case.

In person, the reality is that I will always suffer from “slow reaction time” syndrome. You know that feeling when you’re having a conversation with someone, it gets a bit heated, and you just can’t find the words to properly best the other person – even though you know you could? And then, long after the fact - when you’re at work, or having dinner, or doing something completely mundane - the perfect comeback occurs to you? Words that would properly encapsulate the witty, intelligent person that you are? Yes – that. I suffer from that.

As a result, I am anything but articulate in person. I stumble over words, I phrase things the wrong way and get myself into hot water when I don’t mean to…I’m a little bit of a mess, verbally. So why have I managed to convince various people I know otherwise? The answer is quite simple, really: I edit.

There’s a reason I love to write as much as I do – a reason why a lot of my meaningful conversations are carried out over email, text or WhatsApp. It’s because it’s so much easier to edit there. I can take my time to write things out, review them, change my mind and rephrase until I’m comfortable that I have clearly and effectively expressed what I want to say. It’s normal to draft and redraft emails, I think. Perhaps less so with instant messages…but hey. Abnormality suits me.

I can sometimes get away with this in person as well as in writing. Sounds strange? Wait a second, hear me out. If I’ve ever struck you as being particularly good at communicating my thoughts or emotions in person – probably during a “big conversation” – it’s because I’ve edited and rehearsed the hell out of that conversation in my head. This happens with friends on occasion, but is far more frequent when it comes to relationships. I’m not saying I’m not emotionally intelligent – I think I probably am – but being able to succinctly and clearly translate my feelings into words isn’t something that comes quickly (or even that naturally) to me.

Look in the notes app on my phone, and you will find numerous one liners, paragraphs and diatribes that I have jotted down whilst rehearsing conversations in my head. I’ll go back to these time and again, tweaking them here and there until I’m really happy with them. This process cements them so thoroughly in my head that I have them ready to draw on in the heat of the moment. And whilst the conversation will never be exactly as I’ve rehearsed it (as I haven’t written lines for the other person), it helps me to feel more in control of the situation, and more comfortable that I’m not saying completely the wrong thing.

So there you have it. If I’ve ever convinced you that I’ve got it all together – that I’m calm and articulate and can think quickly on my feet – maybe take some comfort from the fact that it couldn’t be further from the truth. I’m just an obsessive compulsive editor, who probably thinks too much.

On coping mechanisms

An upfront apology: what follows is a bit of a meandering mess. But it's the weekend, and I don't quite have the patience to self-edit today.

People are ridiculously complicated creatures. Try to untangle what makes us tick, and you could drive yourself crazy. And never are we more complicated, or more messy, than when we are trying to process something - when all sorts of unexpected or unusual emotions move in and squat in our subconscious, making us behave like strangers.

For example, when we lose someone (and, full disclosure, I have recently had to part company with someone I loved very much), our brains do very odd things to help us process what has happened. With the benefit of reflection or hindsight, I find those reactions - often erratic and irrational - utterly fascinating. They seem to be different from person to person, and follow no logical pattern that I can fathom.

Some people shut down completely, withdrawing into themselves and taking the burden of their grief onto their shoulders alone. Others lash out, interpreting sadness as anger - perhaps finding that emotion easier to express. Still more will put on a brave face, and throw themselves into distraction to push the feelings down and ignore them. I imagine a lot of people would pick d) all of the above.

Because feelings of loss, in whatever form it comes and they come, are big and scary and overwhelming, we all understandably develop coping mechanisms to get through. And I am left wondering what an individual's coping mechanisms say about that person.

In the past week, I have: sought comfort from close friends and people who love me; distracted myself with trips to the theatre, a country fair, and my favourite coffee shop; thrown myself into work as much as possible; written and discarded several overly personal blog posts before sitting down to write this one; and, today (because it felt necessary), consumed almost an entire tub of Ben & Jerry's ice cream before crawling inside my duvet cover with my laptop and listening to Amy Winehouse songs. That I have crammed all of that into less than a week is unusual behaviour for me, to say the least.

I guess my brain can't quite understand what I've done to it, and seems to be directing me to try anything I can think of to return it to normal. I genuinely have no idea whether my coping mechanisms are any stranger than anyone else's. It does, however, strike me that this messiness is the perfect evidence for the human condition. And by that, I mean the thing that sits somewhere above biology and how we're physically put together to make us all unique - all a bit crazy - and all a sodding mess.

As an atheist who doesn't really buy into an afterlife or a spirit, as such, I can't unscramble in my head what I think this human condition is - how it happens, and why we're all so different. But although it makes us complicated, and difficult, and perplexing...I also think it makes us kind of wonderful. Thank God we're more than just our biology, even if it does make me question my sanity when I'm hiding in a duvet-sheet-nest and experiencing one hell of a sugar crash.

On honesty

Over the course of my 26-odd years, I have come across honesty (and its polar opposite: dishonesty) in various guises. It's always a contentious issue, and I have yet to find two people who have exactly the same opinion on honesty and how best to employ it. Personally, I think this is because there is no simple, one-size-fits-all approach to honesty that can apply to any given situation. Most people I've met that do have a very strict policy on honesty do so because of a particular life experience or set of circumstances they've had to navigate around.

At one end of the spectrum, I spent a lot of my formative years with someone who preached the gospel of "brutal honesty". It served him well - I think it made him feel justified in speaking his mind, and not having to worry too much about the consequences because he claimed it was always better to be honest above all else. I'm sure many of us have had teachers or guardians who have espoused a little of this particular brand of honesty as well: the kind of honesty that is served up "for your own good", and which will probably make you cry or curl up into a ball of self-pity. It can be a pretty harsh philosophy to live your life by, but I do think it serves its purpose on occasion. Sometimes people need to be shaken out of a black hole or funk with a hard truth or two, and only then can you switch to more kindly helping them to move forwards. Everything in moderation though. If one clings to brutal honesty as a kind of code to live your life by, you'll probably find yourself losing friends left, right and centre.

Somewhere in the middle is the kind of honesty that most people are comfortable with. The gentle kind. Telling people the truth because it will benefit them to know it, but shielding them from any unpleasantness that they probably don't need to hear. This level of honesty generally comes hand in hand with "little white lies", which - though not entirely truthful - can help to avoid uncomfortable situations where people get hurt. Was a particular friend's drunken rendition of "Killing me softly" the best thing you've ever heard? Was it heck. But given that they're not pursuing a career as a singer-songwriter, there doesn't seem to be much harm in giving them a warm and fuzzy pat on the back.

Edging towards the spikier end of the scale, we move from honesty to dishonesty. I have experienced plenty of instances where lies being passed off as "sins of omission" have come into play. Generally speaking, people choose to omit sharing critical information with others because they believe they're protecting them. Or - as is more likely to be the case - protecting themselves. The arguments "I didn't want to hurt you" and trusty old "ignorance is bliss" are often dusted off at this point, but I take issue with that line of reasoning. I believe that a short burst of pain in the short term is a lot better than finding out way down the line that you've been deceived - even if it has been with the best of intentions. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I’d always much rather know where I really stand with someone.

When sins of omission become larger and more insidious, the dishonesty becomes much less about protecting the recipient of the lie, and more about the liar getting away with questionable behaviour. There’s a big difference between, say, not telling someone about a rumour you’ve heard circulating about them, in an effort to protect their feelings…versus not telling them that you’ve betrayed their trust and done something hurtful behind their back. At that point, no matter what you tell yourself you’re doing, you are really only trying to save your own skin. And if you care about the person you’re lying to, you should fess up. They deserve to know the kind of person they’re dealing with, and if it’s something that won’t happen again – and the two of you have a strong enough bond to be worth saving – I would always argue that you come across better if you’re honest and admit the truth than if you leave it to fester.

We’ve all been on both sides of the honesty question. No-one can really claim to be 100% honest, and (hopefully) no-one is wholly dishonest or deceptive. Working out the right balance can be a complete nightmare, and – unfortunately – has to be reassessed for each different situation you find yourself in. But if we’re conscious of what we’re doing, I guess that’s a first step towards a more considerate and thoughtful attitude, at least.

On deserving more

Recently, I’ve been pondering a lot on the notion of anyone “deserving” something from another person. When I was told I “deserved more” by somebody, I rejected the argument out of hand, countering that no-one deserves anything from anyone. However, in musing on this further, I think that was too simplistic a viewpoint.

There are two sides to the coin here. There is an argument about deserving another person to be a certain way for you (“you deserve someone much better…they’re not good enough for you…” etc), and then the argument about deserving another person to act a certain way with you (“you don’t deserve to be treated like that”).

I still maintain that the concept of one person “deserving” certain characteristics in another is narrow-minded and unfair. Whether we’re talking about friends, significant others, or family members – what makes them “them”, and the decision to embrace or to change that, is something that belongs to them alone. Considerations about how those character traits and personality quirks affect the people around them are certainly important when it comes to negotiating how a relationship works, however it is not the responsibility of the person to be a certain way in order to fit in with the lives and expectations of those around them. We should not be outraged if someone doesn’t fit the bill of how we want them to be, and expect them to change because of it. We don’t have the right to ask that. Imagine if I turned to a friend and said “I don’t want to be friends with someone who isn’t confident and outgoing. I deserve better from you. Change.” Seems ridiculous when you put it that way.

However, when it comes to behaviour that is directed towards us – there I think we do deserve certain things from other people. We deserve basic decency. No, I’m not saying we should all tread on eggshells around each other: simply that we should remember that we are not the only person in the world, and not the only person whose life and happiness is impacted by any situation we find ourselves in. We deserve not to be made to feel small or unimportant by those we care about, and who claim to care about us. Once we have created that social contract with someone – where two people have implicitly or explicitly agreed that they care about each other – we deserve to be considerate of that other person, and have them be considerate of us.

All of that being said, there is still a question of responsibility. Just because we deserve a certain amount of human decency from someone else, that doesn’t mean we’ll get it. Sometimes it will be a straightforward and black & white – it will be so obvious that we’re being screwed over that we’ll run screaming in the other direction. Life isn’t generally that easy though. For the most part, we don’t accept that we’re not being treated as we’d like to be treated. Or we’ll look past it, because we’re convinced that things will get better, or that we might be able to influence and change the other person until they treat us more kindly. (Oh, what arrogant and naïve creatures we are).

In the end, you need to take responsibility for your own sanity and happiness. Yes, people who claim to care about you should be treating you with respect and consideration. But when they don’t, you can’t rely on them to make things better or fix the situation. You have to do that. Take a deep breath and realise that - above all else - if you feel like you deserve better, it’s down to you to change things. To borrow a real-life example here: remember to fit your own oxygen mask before you try to sort out anyone else’s.