Personality Reality Check

 

Do you ever catch yourself reacting instead of responding?   Snapping out a sharp answer to a perfectly innocuous question?   Or stop, stunned by a random flash of ill temper and wonder... "where did THAT come from?"   Or maybe you find yourself embroiled in the same old arguments that seem to seep out of the depths of your subconscious over depressingly familiar issues, even as your inner sane sibling is counselling calm.  There's no denying it because i KNOW you do.   How do i know? ....  because you are a damaged human being, interacting with other damaged humans beings, who have been damaged, in turn, by further damaged humans beings, and i come to this conclusion as the epitome of  damaged humanity.  It's a wonder the peoples of the entire globe aren't at war with each other if you think of it that way.

Back in the olden days when dinosaurs roamed the earth and i was a teenager, a very wise lady loaned me a book by John Bowlby...  

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Bowlby

... i was captivated, as entranced as any bunny in the headlights of a mega-ton truck.   For  not only was he writing about my life with it's abandonments, hospitalisation  and pain, he explained my dysfunctional responses to that life in perfect detail.  There was a theory... and that theory had a NAME... and it explained damaged me... i was responding normally to an abnormal situation. In stereotypical human fashion i assumed that was that... problems solved... enlightenment is the precursor to change.... yeah right !!! 

  

It was the beginning of understanding the NEED for change but the change itself, as i'm sure you know, is a perpetual process that only ends when we say goodbye to this battle called life.    We may be given the tools we need to become whole  but learning how to wield them is a life span's lesson and our ability to absorb that lesson ebbs and flows through our experiences.

But it did create in me a fascination into why people respond differently to similar situations. A recent conversation  about sleeplessness is a perfect example.   It was suggested that a radio or CD player playing quietly by the bed helps lull back to sleep and if it fails at  least there's entertainment through the long, dark night.    

Friend A thought it a brilliant idea, moved her CD/radio clock that same day and reported back positive results..
    
Friend B agreed it could help pass the hours but took no action.   

Friend C found myriad reasons why it wouldn't work... no table by the bed... socket too far away... radios belong in living not sleeping area... wouldn't look good in the bedroom and on and on and on and took no action.  

Friend D whined and whinged  and blamed everyone and everything for keeping her awake and couldn't see why she had  to change her routine when sleep was her inalienable right, it wasn't "fair" that she couldn't sleep, woe, woe and thrice woe.   She would rather moan and complain than take action.


Do you recognise yourself?   Which personality are you?   Do you like what you see?   Which friend would you rather spend time with?   I've been all of them at different stages of life and i know who is the easiest to live with 24/7.   

The Two Faces Of Janus

Did you know that January is named after the Roman god of gates and doorways?   that's right... Janus... he with the physiognomy that faces two ways, backwards and forwards, to the past and to the future.   he symbolised home, family, civilisation.  the doors of his temple were closed in times of peace but wide open during war to show he was no longer in residence... let's face it, a huffy deity doesn't have to hang around when neighbours start squabbling, he can just up and off at the first whiff of animosity, no mortgage or rent for him to worry about like us mere mortals.

We can blame the Romans for the tyranny of New Year's Resolutions too. their officials would publicly vow to stay loyal to the Emperor on the first day of the year then have a knees up, toasting the hob nobs and throwing the hoi-polloi to the lions... those Italians and their superstitions... i think it's their retaliation for all those years patrolling up and down old Hadrian's separation barrier in the bitter North East winters.   mind you, i totally see their point... vineyards, baths, underfloor heating or... sheep, wind, more sheep, more wind, sheep with triple layer fleece to cope with triple strength wind...  i'd be cranky and impose impossible habits on the natives too.   yeah yeah, i know all about it having abutted the border for nine years, i learnt all about sheep, wind, more sheep, more etc. etc. etc. 

After one particularly difficult year when my children were young we created a Happiness Jar.   the idea was to think of one good thing every day, no matter how mundane or simple, such as a nice lunch or an answered prayer, write it on a slip of paper and pop it into the jar.   the plan being to empty it at the end of the year and look back.   well... it was overflowing by Easter !!  it seems thankfulness and optimism are like a muscle, if you don't consciously exercise them they atrophy, wither and become pathetic examples of their original glory.   knowing "The Jar" was waiting for it's offering each evening stimulated us to search out or create examples to tell each other and  we discovered  the universe is full of little wonders waiting to be found and enjoyed, shared and celebrated.   

My resolution for 2016 will delight those of you who read this blog regularly... i intend to invest in a copy of English Grammar for Dummies and work to overcome the shortcomings in my early education. understanding WHY my punctuation is non existent and grammar occasionally metamorphoses into gobbledygook should only be the beginning of revelation.  it's a reason, NOT an excuse and there's nothing except apathy stopping me from addressing it. these areas of lack only define us if we don't strive to overcome them, it's never too late and we are never too old to learn or change.   perhaps you will be kind and leave a comment if you perceive improvement so i can take the next step and start on maths ???

Do you have plans to join Janus at midnight and look over your shoulder as one year passes into history and then peer into the unknown of the future with it's inevitable joy and despair, health and sickness, life and death?  or are you like me preferring to climb into bed with that good book you treated yourself to at Christmas and a mug of cocoa, making a conscious decision that living the moment is enough hard work for one year? 

Papuan Greetings

It doesn't feel very wintry in the North East.   No white stuff falling or drifting into crooks and nannies, no chilblain inducing minus degree temperatures, no icy puddles for kiddlies to crack, no frost, no freezing winds howling off the Siberian steppe.   yesterday it was 15*.  FIFTEEN DEGREES ... IN DECEMBER !   most disconcerting, too clement, no hoof-holds for reindeer, and definitely no sublime chocolate box Christmas scenes.    

I've been dithering for days over this blog-post as i find myself with a dichotomy.   you see, i LOVE everything about Christmas... the glitter and glitz, the giving and receiving, the carols and candles, Nutcracker and orchestra, the lights and liturgy, they all find a fit with my personality and, for me, the two thousand year old legend we ostensibly celebrate has meaning... its evolution in the telling doesn't negate the possibility of seeds of truth.   we don't hold all of Darwin's theories as gospel yet, with the knowledge of the time, he discerned a kernel of fact that we have built on as our knowledge has increased.

So... here i sit, surrounded by tinsel, fairy lights and extravagantly wrapped pressies contentedly feeling as though i must be one of the most blessed humans to inhabit this fragile lump of rock as it wobbles merrily around it's oblivious star... let me rephrase that, I AM one of the most privileged of humans, i know that and strive not to become complacent or feel entitled as i know how tenuous life can be.

Yet, i don't forget the many friends and family who endure rather than enjoy Christmas, who would prefer undergoing root canal dental treatment without anaesthetic to facing yet another rendition of Jingle Bell Rock jangling from every loudspeaker in town... actually i am in total agreement with you all on that and speak as a committed dentaphobe.

How hard it must be to wake in the morning broken hearted or downcast with grief or pain and know the world and it's mates are going to expect you to be merry and bright, the manager at work is going to command you to wish your customers "HAPPY CHRISTMAS" with a radiant smile, the bus driver wearing antlers will bluster "cheer up mate it may never happen", only "it" did happen, and "it" happened to you.   

And what of those who will be working this Christmas?  one million of us Brits will be putting in a shift on Christmas Day (see link below) and many million more will be expected to work on Boxing Day.   a lady i love can't go home Christmas Eve until she's cleared the seasonal stuff and has to be in early on the 26th to start the sale... she's had to do that every year i've known her... just so we can shop !!!   

http://www.standard.co.uk/news/uk/nearly-1m-uk-workers-will-have-to-book-in-for-a-shift-on-christmas-day-a3142496.html

So my dear friends, you who are the bereaved, the hurt, the lonely, the working, the homeless, the agoraphobics, the alienated, know that while i'm revelling in the season i'm also with you in spirit, feeling for you, thinking of you, remembering what it is to be you...that's the dichotomy.

May i leave you with two greetings?

To those who, like me, are privileged and enjoy this season... Happy Christmas.

To you who are struggling... Dabal Bagarap ... as they say in Papua New Guinea Pidgin English.   It loosely means to find yourself in a bad situation and is pronounced

                                 !!   DOUBLE  BUGGER  UP  !!


Hope that raises a smile through the pain.     Jeni

                             

Help For The Helpless

Well, Hexham has recovered from Storm Desmond....just !! at it's height the river ALMOST reached the top of the bridge, the royal mail sorting office was under 3 foot of water and 17 of their vans were thought to be a write off.   homes have been flooded, roofs lost, roads closed.    the beck at the back of my flat coped magnificently, though it was surreal to be woken in the early hours by flashing lights and loud voices.  four hazard jacketed men, waist deep in the water, wrestled with tree branches and random debris as the rain hammered down and the torrent roared.

As i snuggled back into the warmth and comfort of my duvet i offered a prayer for those who didn't have a roof to lose, or a home to flood, or a bed to retreat to...and then i remembered...

a barn, rats rustling in the dark, condensation dripping off a corrugated iron roof, prickly points of hay poking through a sleeping bag...

a camp site, cold wind, hard ground, the outside of a tent against my back...

a shop doorway, smell of pee, rain, footsteps, fear...

a beach in Cornwall, cold damp sand, the sound of waves, incoming tide lapping at feet, black velvet sky, diamond bright stars...

Oh yes...i remembered...i will never forget...it's impossible to forget.

There is a prevailing attitude that associates homelessness with alcoholism or addiction, that it's self inflicted and those losers need to "get a grip" and "pull themselves up by the boot strings", that they "brought it on themselves".    it's a way of thinking that the tabloid media mines in self righteous indignation and it stifles compassion by encouraging the lie that it could never happen to you.

None of the homeless i've known, and i've known and given a bed to quite a few over the years, chose that life of unremitting precarity.   behind every vagrant is a story of rejection, abuse, domestic violence, mental  illness, emotional vulnerability, family breakdown, bankruptcy, sudden redundancy, eviction, maybe even un-insured flooding or fire.   oh yes...it COULD happen to you.

In the musical universe of the Mamas And The Papas "the darkest hour is just before dawn".  it's also the coldest and loneliest, the time where despair can lead to suicide, or the bottom of a bottle....what came first the depression or the drinking?   the fear or the self medication?   the vulnerability or the eviction?   does it even matter?   the original cause is often buried under layers of recrimination and justification or fogged by delusion.  if long standing, untreated mental health issues are present it may never be possible to put together a coherent history, as the past may be shrouded in psychosis.

Strong winds have returned, it's going to be a wild night in Hexham again and maybe where you are too.    Do you know where the homeless in your town will sleep?   Do you know if there are hostels where a bed and a shower and a hot meal can be found?   do you know how they are funded?   where the food comes from?   who runs them?

Perhaps this winter you could show you care by helping to provide a meal or shelter over Christmas for those out in the cold.   Crises At Christmas and The Salvation Army are just two of many charities who step in when the world steps out....will you step up ???

Go, Go Girls

When early retirement came knocking over a decade ago my bookshop was at the height of it's success.  popular with the young,  a good reputation, solvent and bizzy bizzy bizzy.   closure wasn't unexpected as the Metro Centre had always coveted our site for reconstruction along with higher rents, so it was no surprise when we received notice to quit.   nor was it totally unwelcome on my part so i was spared the trauma inflicted on my team who found it hard to let go.... if you are reading this all you 'The Ocracy' boys and girlies, you were brill, the best EVER !!! and i've  missed you every day since.

Bassett The Wheelchair hadn't put in an appearance at this point but anyone watching would have known it was inevitable as i was in constant pain and even walking beyond the end of the mall felt as daunting as Scott's trek to the Antarctic sans ponies.

As preparation for a life of leisure i  set myself Five Commandments Of Retirement.   shamefully the only one i remember came in at number four :

                   

              Thou shalt wear nice clothes daily, whether 

                                 going out or staying in.

A simple action that felt laden with significance ...

i may be retired but ...  i'm NOT  OLD

i may be retired but ...  i'm NOT LAZY

i may be retired but ...  i'm STILL  FEMALE

i may be retired but ...  i STILL CARE HOW I LOOK

When wheels became a necessity it felt as though all the above could no longer be taken for granted and i had to fight even harder to retain my individuality, my personhood.   in a wheelchair even the young-ish don a cloak of invisibility :

i am in a wheelchair therefore i am  ...  asexual

i am in a wheelchair therefore i am  ...  infantilised

i am in a wheelchair therefore i am  ...  non-sentient

i am in a wheelchair therefore i have ...  no style

So ... it was with great delight that i stumbled upon these wonderful young fashion bloggers on the BBC disability page who refuse to accept they can't be beautiful or fashionable or stylish or YOUNG just because they are paralysed or unseeing.   

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/disability-34899731

Go, go Gadget Girls, i'm proud of you ... 

For The Sake Of Alfredo

In 1981 in an Italian village a little boy called Alfredo Rampi fell into an artesian well.  it was the first day and i began to cry.......and cry.......and cry. 

For three days the attempted rescue was broadcast live around the world.  a parallel shaft was constructed as the well  was too narrow and deep to reach him directly.   a walkie talkie was lowered and he could be heard calling for his mother sobbing and whimpering, his voice growing weaker by the hour.   every tactic used to reach him sent him sliding deeper into the cold mud.    on the third day a tiny, experienced caver managed to touch his hand, it was lifeless and the rescue was abandoned.  

I woke at dawn on that last morning and knew deep inside that he had gone......it was over......i had cried for three days.

Throughout that time i was gripped by grief, it was as though i had become one with the villagers keeping vigil, inhabited the broken heart of his mother, strived alongside the putative rescuers, watched with the eyes of the world and, horrifically, was in that well, thirsty, alone in the dark, scrabbling in the mud, crying for my mother.......i WAS Alfredo.

This wasn't the first such experience nor was it the last, but it was the most powerful and i had no idea what it was all about.   

Much later, during a time of counselling, a personality test indicated the traits of an intuitive empath.   first i'd heard of it, hadn't asked for it and most definitely didn't want it.

empathy:  the action of understanding, being aware of, being sensitive to, and vicariously experiencing the feelings, thoughts, and experience of another of either the past or present without having the feelings, thoughts, and experience fully communicated in an objectively explicit manner; also :  the capacity for.

"Intuitive empath"........sounds noble doesn't it?   a touch of the Mother Teresa's perhaps?   blue always suited me.   but, sadly, not noble nor high minded, simply a quirk of brain function.   where some can see patterns in reams of random numbers or memorise the contents of entire books, occasionally my brain takes sympathy to the next level and it becomes an intense emotional identification with the other person.

As with all personality qualities it's both a curse and a blessing, a strength and a weakness, a joy and a sadness.   but what infuriates others most is that often it leads to holding two totally contradictory opinions at the same time as the head and the heart fail to converge.  at those times it's as though day is night and night is day, i would fight for black being white, wrong being right.  don't worry.......it confuses me too.

Feeling  the emotions of others doesn't come with an 'off' switch or the ability to change the channel, nor is it a moral imperative dictated by society's norms of acceptable behaviour.   Whilst sharing the fear and trauma of the mugged and rationally knowing all the blame lies with the mugger, i find it's also possible to equally empathise with the young, homeless youth facing the horror and panic of being lost in our brutal and brutalising prison system as punishment for the crime.  sometimes it's hard to differentiate between the victim and the victimised in empath land.   perhaps there's an element of both within every human transaction but we chose not to see it for fear of having our certainties shattered.

Sometimes too, it can seem as though i'm being wilfully provocative by supporting the demonised, but whereas the devil's advocate is merely stirring the pot to create discourse or discontent i find i can perceive innocence in the guilty and culpability in the assumed virtuous, but frustratingly lack the words to express this, thus putting myself in the line of fire of those who are blessedly free of such ambiguities.

So.......next time i speak up for the bad guy, suggest forgiveness in place of vengeance, seek to reconcile rather than revile, understand instead of judge, please know i'm not simply being difficult, it just might be that a little glimpse of another's pain has inched it's way into my soul and painted the universe a different colour......the colour of the intuitive empath world.

Yippeee For Blogs Mr. James

Do you think it's inevitable that intolerance and judgementalism accompany older age?   i'd like to think not,  but...........

I imagine we all have a vision of our future selves as adorable little granny/granddad figures radiating sweetness and light, distributing humbugs to children and wisdom to the "young'ns", sought out by our adult children in need of philosophical guidance or insight,  but.........  

........since writing the post "Grammatically Limited" i've read several articles and letters in the press commenting on the inability of the young to use the English language correctly, often written by the elder generation of our species.   

Clive James in a piece for the Guardian is particularly dismissive of those, like myself, who failed to learn the basics of grammar and have never managed to catch up.   now, i have great respect for Mr James's writing.......or should that be James' ?......and have enjoyed reading him for many years, but isn't it a mite arrogant for a man of such erudition to assume that a lack of commas, hyphens and apostrophes on the part of the messenger negates the message?   have a read of the link below and let me know what you think?

http://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2015/oct/24/clive-james-spring-poetry-methinks

Often the blame is dumped at the feet of modern teaching methods or lack of discipline in the home or the classroom.   having endured 60's schooling where minimal carrot and maximum stick......caned hands.....slapped legs.....thrown blackboard cleaners bulls-eyeing between  the eyes.....military style barracking.....were the norm, i can't say i was taught  much except   fear.
  
                Definition of BARRACK
                  chiefly British:   to shout at derisively or sarcastically 

It's hard to learn when mentally cowering in a dark corner of your mind, metaphorical eyes tight shut, imaginary hands over ears, frantically trying to transform into the smallest  creature nature ever created.

Sure, there have to be rules around the written word or we would veer off in so many directions we would eventually be unable to communicate with each other, but language is fluid, it evolves with each generation, would we be able to follow a conversation spoken in the manner of Mr. Shakespeare? doubtful.   increasingly employers are seeking those with conversational foreign language skills rather than that typically taught at exam level.....the lingo as spoken by the locals. a dynamic, idiosyncratic, personal speech form.   

Finding the balance will always be a matter for debate, disagreement, but perhaps we needn't worry too much about English's bastardisation since there's very little "anglo" left.  we are a mongrel nation after all, the offspring of countless invasions and social discord.   do you really think us mere mortals realise the varied foreign roots of the words that we assume are ours?

I wonder how many imaginations have been squelched, silenced for the sake of punctuation, how many valid voices with insights deserving an airing have been dismissed for using "there" rather than "their". I say.....Hurrah for Whatsapp and social media, yippeee for blogs and Twitter, word up for rappers and hip hoppers, preach on brothers and sisters of the interwebs, make your message heard and if your elders don't like the way you write it........well that's their loss....how sad that they might miss something rather precious.