Tag: blog

FLYING SOLO

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Travelling alone is something everyone is encouraged to do – at least once in our lives. We are constantly bombarded by motivational Pinterest quotes or Tumblr posts to “wake up in cities you don’t know and have conversations in languages you cannot entirely understand” but travelling alone is fraught with challenges, some that I feel we are reluctant to address on account of us being concerned about giving the impression that our solitary adventures were all completely substantial and enriching. Not to mention we’re so eager to seize these formative, international experiences for all they’re worth that we’re filled with a striking anxiety that the whole time we’ve been wasting our time at the wrong places, doing the wrong things, with no one.
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I like understanding things. And understanding is more challenging in new environments. The difficulty is only highlighted when one travels alone because we are forced to work things out on our own. Basic things, that are usually automatic back at home, like knowing what food you’ve ordered or getting around on public transport, suddenly become complicated and fraught with error.  I had a brief heart attack when 20min after leaving a bar I realised I had walked out and not paid for any of my drinks, and almost crawled up into a ball when I ordered food from the deli and had no idea when or where I was supposed to pay for it.
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Loneliness is also more pervasive as connectivity to your usual circles is dependent on wifi availability, and any stranger who talks to you is viewed cautiously, either out for something, or keen to prattle endlessly at you about some vague understanding they have of your “foreign” culture. I’m often keen to call up a friend to come meet me at a place where a great band is playing or invite my sisters out to try this amazing French toast I discovered, but they are all sadly unavailable to traverse the globe at my instant behest to check out a cool gig or try a well-seasoned breakfast.
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(Please don’t get the impression I’m lamenting my privilege of having the time and financial freedom to take an indulgent vacation. I’m merely examining what it is to do it alone and perhaps realign expectation with – at least, my – reality.)
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My partner and I often discuss the validity of experiences and memories that aren’t shared with anyone else, or people we will probably never see again. Sometimes tiny moments dissolve and are quickly buried in the trifling detritus of everyday life. This makes me worried that the memories are lost forever; evaporated in the ether, transparent and essentially worthless. But my boyfriend insists they are somehow silently etched into your identity, informing your character and being every bit as essential to enriching your future self as the fondness of an unforgettable memory.
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Almost ten years ago, in a hostel in Hiroshima, my friends and I traded some cheap vodka for internet usage from a young, French backpacker. Next month, one of my friends is marrying that backpacker.
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So sometimes those moments we thought were meaningless, turn out to be the ones to shape our lives forever.

YOU’RE THE CHOICE (TRY AND UNDERSTAND IT)

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Have you ever felt completely trapped inside your skin. Like there is this intrinsic, inescapable and essential “you” that you’re stuck dealing with until your dead? I’ve always found this a rather frightening concept. We’re born, we grow up and bit by bit we reveal this “us-ness”, carved into us like a chunk of marble being sculpted, according to our genetic make up (nature) and our upbringing and environment (nurture), into what is essentially a person we, as individuals, have had very little control over. It can be an easy and understandable explanation for our characters; if it’s something good (something that we like about ourselves), it feels comforting to know that it is a genuine and accurate aspect of who we are. If it’s something crappy (that we don’t like about ourselves), it can be dismissively attributed to outside factors.
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I was always happy to explain away my character in this fashion. “Oh, I behave this way because I was “born this way” or I at least had a predilection to be this way and eventually just ended up here.” It’s all well and good until you find yourself dealing with the likes of stress, anxiety and depression, and once these conditions dig in and take hold (as they unfortunately so often do) you reach the point where you begin to think “Oh well, I guess this is just who I am. A horribly stressed/anxious/depressed mess. Looks like I’m stuck like this forever.”
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It’s a sad and frighteningly common feeling, that notion of “doing life” with an inescapable cell mate who is essentially you, and so it often takes a great deal of courage and strength to break out of that mentality and recognise that you, right here, right now, can be responsible for shaping who you are/will be – and unlike anything that happened to you as a child, or that you got lumped with from your biological parents, you finally have some say in it. And it all starts with choice.
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Every day, in everything we do, we’re making choices. Big ones, small ones, ones that we’re making for the first time, and ones that we made for the first time a long time ago, and now we make without even thinking. These constant, and often subconscious choices we make according to reason and deliberation or feeling and instinct slowly but surely make their imprint upon us until “we form ourselves to respond predictably, build up a class of responses, an ever widening array of things and states we approach or avoid.”
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Have you ever dropped something on the floor that’s kinda made a mess and found yourself entertaining two thoughts – “I dropped that. I should really clean that up” and “No one has seen me drop that, so it could’ve been anyone. I’ll leave it and someone else will clean it up.” I know, not exactly the moral conundrum that makes a riveting GoT episode, but something significant nonetheless. Because it is in these seemingly innocuous decision-making moments that we set precedents for our future choices and then in turn, our future character.
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Many of histories great thinkers, including Aristotle and Sir Thomas Aquinas “place these depositions at the heart of morality, vice and virtue” and so essentially “at the heart of character”. Instead of deeming us trapped for a lifetime with an immovable identity, they instead assure us that “character is not just innate disposition but also an accretion of choices, a mixing of impulse and reason played out over time until it hardens into all how we are, and how we got there.” What they want to tell us is, “Be careful: as we begin, so we will become.”
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It can be a somewhat difficult notion to face, as it lumps us with the very unromantic and effortful task of responsibility, but it also liberates us by offering us the ability to change. And, although change is often difficult, the idea that it is at least possible can help us manage and alter those less-than-pleasant parts of ourselves that we once may have considered to be set in stone. But from little things, big things grow, and so it is with making changes in ourselves. Large and life changing choices come around only every so often (unless you’re Buffy or Jack Bauer) but we make small choices every day. And entertaining the consideration of these choices, realising that they are indeed choices we can make, can start us down the road of who we want to be. But it takes time and repeated effort. Just like you’re not going to look like Miranda Kerr after eating a few quinoa salads and having one session of reformer pilates, you’re not going to change yourself by choosing to pick up that mess “that one time” – you’ve gotta commit, and pick up that mess every damn time.
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“A deed, once done, creates tendency for its repetition and reactivation of the tendency gives it greater force. Eventually, these tendencies can harden into all we’ve got and become our character.”
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(All quotes taken from Vincent Deary’s HOW WE ARE. If you’re into thinking about all this stuff, go read it. It’s awesome.)

TIME TO BE TERRIBLE

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Like lots of people I know, I loathe the feeling of being terrible at something. It swarms me with a glittering array of feelings ranging from inferiority &  jealousy to stupidity and embarrassment and makes me less than inclined to face up to my ineptitude a second time around. We grown ups have all got so many talents and skills – many that have been developed and honed over years and years – that somewhere along the way we have forgotten what it’s like to start again from the very beginning.
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It’s a daunting task – especially in this challenging and competitive world where our levels of expertise and aptitude are directly responsible for gaining us employment, bringing us praise and acknowledgement and setting us apart from the legions of “basics” who try but cant do what we can do  nearly as well as us. We like to feel good at things – it’s flattering to our egos and it helps offer us a sense of identity and belonging to an exclusive community that is defined by a shared and relatable skill set (like musicians, accountants, pole dancers, etc). We like to be seen in the light of things that we’re good at as it helps us feel validated – our talents and skills, however right or wrong it may be, make us feel worthy – and there’s no greater proof of that than that warm, fuzzy (and slightly evil) feeling we get when we watch someone struggle with or fail at something that to us seems natural and effortless.
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For most of us, the majority of our new learning experiences occurred as children – back when being crappy at stuff was pretty much considered an inevitability. Now, a lot of that early learning has morphed into something that seems intrinsic to our nature – like walking or reading or killing it as Kirby in Super Smash Bros 64 – that we fail to acknowledge there was a time back when we couldn’t walk, couldn’t read, and didn’t automatically go for the Down + B attack (Rest in PIECES, SAMUS!)
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Now, in adultland,  being crappy whilst in the throes of learning something new isn’t considered as adorable and understandable as much as it is frustrating and time consuming (which I’m sure anyone stuck behind a learner driver or standing in the epic post office queue whilst the trainee serves can attest to (srsly, hurry the f up.) Not to mention that we usually have to pay more experienced people to suffer through our ineptitude in order to teach us the stuff we want to be able to do. That means PAYING MONEY to BE SHIT at something. Ummmmmm….no.
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But, as many reasons as there are to avoid the uncomfortable task of learning something new, it’s a hugely important part of our continuous mental/physical/social & spiritual development. Learning something new ignites the parts of our brains that have grown stale, lazy and complacent with assumed knowledge and repeated behaviours. It requires patience, perseverance and humility and reminds us what it is to be human – capable of falling, rising, growing and  appreciating what efforts are involved to do something new, unfamiliar and challenging.
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So today I ask you that trite and oft pinned quotation – when’s the last time you did something  for the first time? Something that you were really, truly terrible at? The worse, the better – as it takes you even further away from your particular, ingrained skill set. Go find something interesting, or uncomfortable or even scary to do and allow yourself to wallow in your incompetence. Your initial inability is not proof of your hopelessness as much as it is evidence that you’re brave enough to break out of your safe zone to grow, learn and, in my case, finally be capable of driving a manual. 

(Feature Image via Tumblr)

THE PROBLEM WITH BEING KIND

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When asked the question “Are you kind?” I think most of us would want to answer in the affirmative. We like to think of ourselves as essentially kind – not wishing ill will to others, wanting to help when we can by lending an ear, offering up a smile, a word of encouragement, a hug or a shoulder to cry on when somebody needs it.
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Being good feels good and according to studies, when we perform acts of kindness, we are being true to our own nature. Research conducted by Max Planck at the Max Planck Institute showed that people begin helping others at a crazy, young age. “…a 14-month old child seeing an adult experience difficulty, such as struggling to open a door because their hands are full, will automatically attempt to help.”
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But I can’t help but think, in spite of our in built tendency towards kindness, how rare it is to be truly kind without conditions. We often treat kindness as a transaction – do something kind, so we’ll get something in return. Whether it be; mowing the lawn for your lonely, elderly neighbour so they’ll leave you their vintage Bob Dylan records when they die, smiling at and tipping your bartender so they might overfill your scotch in the next round, or even holding a door open for someone and expecting a “thank you” for your efforts.
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Putting it like this makes us sound bloody selfish, but I’m definitely guilty of it. As much as it feels great to help people, to connect and be compassionate, it feels crappy to be taken for granted, and to have our time and efforts wasted. There seems to be a fine line between doing no harm and taking no shit. How often do you reach out to a friend or family member who shows no reciprocity to your acts of kindness and compassion? What’s the point of turning down your subwoofer at 11pm when your neighbour only ever speaks to you when they’re complaining about noise? And why bother giving that homeless lady your spare $2 if she’s just going straight to the Bottle-O?
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Being kind is hard work. It’s sometimes difficult understanding why some people even deserve it. But perhaps instead of assessing who is worthy of what level of kindness, and doling it out based on a potential reward system, we should make the act of kindness the goal in and of itself? And hey, be selfish. Do it because it makes you feel good. Because it helps you sleep better at night knowing you’ve made someone’s life a little brighter, richer or easier, even just for a moment.
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Like me, writing this blog, for you.
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(YOU’RE WELCOME.)

HEROES & VILLAINS (OF FACEBOOK)

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I’ve considered deleting Facebook. Many times. I find, particularly when I’m in a fragile emotional state, it can drum up feelings of worthlessness and inadequacy. Life’s-not a-competition-but-you’re-winning kinda thing.
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I’m not deleting Facebook, however, as it helps me keep in contact with my close friends and helps me get work, so I’ve basically tried to live with it instead of against it. One of the most helpful realisations I’ve made recently is that Facebook is a stage, and us (the donkey’s on it), merely players. Now I’m certainly not judging the validity of everyone on Facebook’s “realness”. Of course, you’re all the realest (ok, maybe second realest if we’re counting Iggy), but the image we present of ourselves across Facebook is a construction. Almost like a reality tv show, where we know we’re watching real people, but we also know we’re not getting the whole story.
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So, day in, day out we are confronted with a myriad of people that invite us into little, carefully crafted snippets of their lives. And soon enough, characters emerge. Depending on your world view, your personal tastes and your position in life, you notice that, as in any good stage show, there are goodies and baddies, people you root for and people you boo (maybe silently behind a Retina display monitor or loudly in a string of comments with accompanying angry gifs to convey your furious emotions. I, for the most part, prefer the fourth wall up for my dramas, so will rarely get directly involved (but it you prefer a pantomime, hey, go nuts).
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As with good characters too, we’re often encouraged to read between the lines. The way you are and the way you appear (on FB) are not always in sync (and are occasionally completely at odds), and obviously you don’t share every aspect of yourself with the Facebook community (although it seems like some people are trying to, amirite?) so there are a large number of conclusions being drawn here, about you, about what you’re like, what you do, who you are. People will use whatever colours they want to paint you into a hero or a villain (a hero in your eyes might appear as a villain in mine and vice versa). (Of course this only works for people who solely exist in your life as a cyber presence – IRL friends and family have established their multifaceted and complex human natures to you through a history of real life interactions.)
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The characters on my wall are endless, and I’m clapping for the girl who’s attended a slew of weddings but it still waiting on that proposal from her long time boyfriend. I’m cheering on the newly pregnant woman who doesn’t disguise her struggles and appears both genuinely thrilled and properly terrified by her impending sentence. Then there’s the less-than-heroic young, corporate dude who shares meninism posters, photos of Friday night piss-ups and memes featuring women with huge breasts, or the self righteous mother who deems everyone’s life achievements unworthy compared to the fact she’s popped a couple of blubs out of her uterus.
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You may think I’m the villain, for making these judgments. You might preach about supporting all my fellow FB frenz and that I should be speaking up for social justice and I should defriend/unfollow anyone I don’t agree with or think is a dick. But srsly dudes, I don’t want a Facebook feed full of people just like me, furiously agreeing with one another. I like the try hards, the braggers, the preachers and the jerks. They’re probably a punish in real life, but on Facebook, they keep things interesting (the baddies are always the most interesting).
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If you’re reading this, disgusted and horrified that I’m blithely suggesting I’m reducing you down to a pantomime cyber character, fine. Let me be the villain. Or defriend me, I don’t care. I think it’s a healthier approach to start seeing Facebook as the fabulous, constructed, masterpiece theatre it is, rather than a gripping insight into the real lives of others: where I for one, am a glamorous and successful, young artist with a thoughtful, inquisitive nature, a handsome boyfriend and an eternally happy family.
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Because nothing reeks of reality more than total and utter perfection. lol.