This is enough for now

I want to be happy, and right now, for the most part I am.

When I think of happiness, I do think of laughter, or joy, but mostly I think of contentment. I don't need to be joyous to appreciate what I have, and to be grateful for living my life well (I haven't always). Life, as we all know, is messy and complicated. Somewhere within all the difficult bits, and the moments that shine contentment has emerged.

After a week of music, friends, debate, being on the receiving end of a painful drunken rant, and some small achievements I can say that right here, right now on the cusp of a new week that I am content with the one that's passing. If that's happiness, it'll do for me. Simple pleasures, truthfulness and good company.

PS this is now a highly edited version of last night's witterings. I had a lovely evening at an exhibition launch and then an accoustic session accompanied by a generous helping of red wine. Noone should be allowed to be (mildly) drunk in charge of a blog!

Happy ever after?

Last night I received a marriage proposal.....

It's just a pity it came from an old friend/ex fling whose logic was thus;

We are attracted to one another, we know that that side of things would be fun

We are friends, and can laugh and talk and trust each other

There's not enough frisson for us to have been anything more than lovers in the past (we did try some dating earlier this year). However, if things don't work out with his current girlfriend, he reckons I'd do......he was being earnest.

Unsurprisingly, I declined.

Unsurprisingly, he was drunk. And this whole conversation was carried out by telephone while he ate pizza. Clearly romance isn't dead!

Today we laughed about it.

And again....

That red and purple was beginning to be a bit over-powering, so it's back to something calmer but still a little bleak. Perhaps my blog's appearance will follow my moods like some virtual chameleon?

I will try to continue to learn to tweak and add and all the rest. I love colours and stumbled on this site a while ago. There is a huge range of down loadable palettes, patterns - easy to use with hex and rgb codes, various down load options - but mostly I love love it because it's beautiful.

http://www.colourlovers.com/

Trick or treat?

Last night an email hit my in-box that made me cringe.

An old friend is having a Halloween party. It'll be a fun evening with good people; no bullshit, no agendas, just simple straightforward giggling, conversation and so on. No pressure.

So, what's the problem? Fancy dress.

The last fancy dress party I went to was an ex's 40th. The location, format and company for the weekend were perfect. Problem was that the more he looked forward to the idea of dressing up, the more I felt awful. The Elvis costume was booked for him with much glee.

I was already nervous about the weekend as it would be the first time I would meet his family and many of his friends who live in different parts of the country. I offered to do the catering, which I enjoy, as a birthday present. Added worry, but also fun and something I could do for him.

The closer we got to it the more hideous I began to feel.

I wear clothes because I have to. I have a completely neutral view towards them and my body. They serve a function, and I do my best to look reasonable, but they hold no joy for me. I wear simple things and quirky jewellery (I love vintage beads more than anything). I'm not glamorous, but can be elegant. I never wear anything that makes me stand out from the crowd.

Fancy dress makes me feel awkward and shy and clumsy and fat and ugly and self conscious. It is not fun. I understand that some people think it is.

I tried not to say too much about as I didn't want to spoil his excitement and any minor comments were brushed off with 'you'll be fine' kind and conciliatory responses. I didn't tell him how sick I felt about it all.

When it came to it, I had a friend help me do my hair and I reluctantly got organised. I was running later than everyone else as the food took first priority. I wanted to run away. I delayed going into the hall. Got into ticked off for being slow and eventually emerged. I refused to be made a fuss of in thank you speeches, and luked in a corner. I didn't want anyone looking at me. Of course they were - 'Who's the girlfriend?' 'what's she like?'....

Horrible. I felt like an incompetent child and didn't behave as socially as usual. Typically I'm a great hostess, and I let myself down that night.

So, I have to face these demons all over again on the 31st or will I just make an excuse and not go? Will I go and not dress up – disrespectful and fun-spoiling? Will I put on a brave face, drink too much, smoke too much, hate every second?

These people are friends, they love me and accept me for who I am. Why can't I do the same?

Why can't I bring to bear the confident, creative, clever girl I am in my professional life to a world of devils tails and witches hats and cross dressing?

I will paint on a smile and endure.

A question

There are a millon sentimental quotations out there on the subject of regret (better to regret the things you have done than the things you haven't, better to have loved and lost etc.....). I wonder if people believe them, or if it's what we tell ourselves to dull the pain of loss or stupidity or moments of weakness?

I'm not sure I believe people who tell me they have no regrets.Who are they trying to convince, me or themselves?

Is there anybody out there?

I kind of underestimated the importance of spirituality to me in connecting with other people, and writing last night has reminded of its impact for me in relationships and attraction.


Of the encounters below, I've had two conversations on the subject – from completely different perspectives. One with a man who, in his early forties, has decided that after all he does believe in God, and hasn't quite decided what that means for him yet. He is open to exploration and acknowledges his views will grow and change.

The other was an adamant atheist. An atheist who was scornful about those who do hold religious views, have a faith or any kind of spirituality or curiosity. He's made his judgement, and believes himself to be correct and all others wrong. This was a huge turn off.

Until my parents became ill about five years ago, and caring responsibilities kicked in with full force, I did believe in God. I haven't ever rejected God, but instead found myself abandoned. That sense I had of a dialogue disappeared. I was upset by this, and sad that when I needed someone, something, anything to bring relief to my life that that solace and refuge had gone.

I'm not a great fan of religious dogma and I've always struggled with the church as a formal institution (although I do appreciate the community that it offers). Over the years I've explored my faith (or lack thereof), read and discussed the issue with many. I've engaged with it. I've listened and I've challenged my views. I respect the choices and beliefs of others. It is not for me to judge, which is why the staunch atheist's dismissals irritated me. It told me more about him as a person and his limited degree of empathy than many conversations might have.

The uncertain believer was open to listening, sharing, acknowledging and not judging, which in itself surprised me. I've known him for many years, ordinarily he's man of very strong views - politically and otherwise.

So, where do I stand on all this now? I would loosely describe myself as Christian Humanist.....it's the closest I can get to something that makes sense. But, labels are only labels.

A sense of spirituality exits for me, in that I do think about these things and I'm overawed by moments in life that go beyond and by beauty in its many shapes. These moments, however, are often very ordinary.

If spirituality is a journey of understanding, seeking wisdom, value and hope, looking harder and deeper and acknowledging that there is more than the individual, then it is important to me and the connections that I make.

The 'Christian' simply acknowledges the faith that I once had and the cultural paradigm I grew up in. I also think Jesus seems like he was a good guy, divine or otherwise. As a friend puts it 'Jesus was a social worker'. I like that.

Humanism makes sense to me, although I'm agnostic rather than atheist. It is postive and inclusive, seeking out meaning, purpose and takes responsibility for the common good. Weirdly, I quite like going to church. I like the quiet meditative moments, beautiful buildings and the singing.

So, I guess I'm open to sharing my life with people of all views,as long they respect mine, but not those who belittle. Bigots – it seems atheists can be as closed as any religious fundamentalist - are not welcome in my life. That particular atheist would be shocked to learn that's how he appears.

Anagrams and physics

Attraction is like magnets, not like glue. It can't stick people together, it draws us in and can be pulled apart. Without it there is only friendship. This states that the obvious, but sometimes I need to remind myself.

There have been men in my life where lust has led us to one another, but has been insufficient to make some greater intimacy grow. Horse before cart. Over the years I've experienced lust, and tried naively to create the desire to know someone better where intimacy couldn't exist, hoping lust would become more than than sex. I've given in to it also, acknowledging that is all it is, and enjoying its fruits without guilt or expectation.

It amuses me that 'lust' is an anagram of 'slut'....

For me, lust is not attraction. It is the cheap substitute which often blinds and confuses, unless taken at face value.

However, this year has seen me face the opposite problem. I've been back on the dating scene again, enduring awkward coffees and fun times.

There are three men worth noting, weirdly beginning on the first of January and setting the scene for a different kind of year.

They have been creative, intelligent, amusing and intense encounters. A scientist, photographer and a musician. Each of them I have wanted to be more than they became. On paper, wonderful men who should have captured my heart, mind and body. But, that spark hasn't been there. That sense that even though you're not sure what is, you want to know more. That undefinable thing that makes you crave knowledge of another human being, physically and mentally. I have wished, and wished and wished for it to appear and all I have found is companionship or sex.

That spark has emerged with men who I haven't been sexually drawn to in the first instance, but something....something has made me seek out more. And that has grown into a physical desire that was invisible at first meeting. Not this year.

It has confused me. I was beginning to wonder if I wasn't seeing something, was there something about me that couldn't play this game? That, because of my past and its weakening hold over me, only dangerous or needy men would ever be attractive? Hearing my therapist's voice in my head, I have tried to be patient, give it/them a chance. I eventually realised I was leading two of them on out of a selfish want for something that could not be.

It has deepened my belief that I need to feel that spark of potential to desire wholly - physically, mentally, spiritually and in compromising, loving friendship – for me to work past the first tentative steps and roller-coaster early months.

The score sheet?

Lust 1
Friendship 1
History books 1
Spark 0

I'm turning into Bridget Jones again. Gag me if it gets worse. Really, do feel free....

Yoga isn't enough

It's Friday night and I'm home alone, well, apart from my mother's dog. I have a cold and a chest infection and this week has been a write off. All I want to do is hibernate. I'm not sick sick. Just not well.

I work from home and could so easily not leave my flat or see another human being from one day to the next. I make myself go out, do things, play fiddle in a pub session, have lunchtime coffees.
Today has been beautiful, bright and cold and the dog forces me to go out. We walk, I need this. I could so easily have gone nowhere, done nothing. At least being ill has given me an excuse this week not to feel guilty about wallowing.

I need to develop a better routine, or this could become all too tempting.

Fortunately, being ill has strengthened my conviction that I need to get back to gym. I'm not a sporty person but I fell in love it, much to my surprise when I started exercising seriously for the first time about five years ago.

Sweating out my frustration and stress was something I loved. I loved what it did to my body too. Now everything feels too soft. I need to get some of my power back. I want to be stronger, fitter, more able. I want that time to switch off my ever racing mind and sweat it all out. I want to cede control to a bossy instructor.

I am competitive enough that I will work hard.

I want to regain command of my physical self. I can do something about that.

Will I?

Humph!

I'm not a skilled template tweaker, and somehow, somewhere I managed to fuck up my other one in trying to move the site meter (it's saved somewhere, but where?). I liked the photo at the top, even if the rest left much to be desired. So, until I fix it or find an alternative, this passionate and somewhat violent red will have to suffice. To be avoided by those with hangovers I suspect.

One day I'm going to figure out all this techy stuff. Who needs Latin, when there's Html to be learned? I don't suppose the poetry's so good though!

Deaf Ears

I don't need to have the last word. I don't need to be right or wrong. I just want to be understood. I sometimes wonder if I'm speaking a different language. I am trying to stop editing my words so that I do not offend, or upset, or challenge losing my voice along the way. I am trying to be truthful.

My mother has spent my life telling me that 'if I say black is white, black is white'. Any attempt at putting across another opinion or asking her to see someone else's view met with that helpful remark. I learned that it was her way or no way at all.

I didn't shut up, I kept fighting, kept trying to be heard, kept getting shot down. I was relived when I left home. I was tired of trying. Tired of fighting. Tired of not being heard. I learned to save my energy for the battles I could fight and hid the rest.

In all those years, I don't know I ever told my mother about the name calling, and the like. I remember being told about sticks, and stones....' Perhaps I did try. I know I stopped telling her things. A recent conversation has shown she hasn't got any idea of quite how much I put up with, and probably never will.

Any argument or discussion where I feel I am not being understood still stirs up that urge to fight back and be acknowledged in some way. I am thirteen again.

If someone tells me 'there's nothing else to say' or 'let's leave it there' or 'let's agree to disagree' or, or, or.....

It lights an old touch paper. These words translate in my head as 'your views or feelings are unimportant, I don't care, I don't want to know what you think, I don't respect you, I don't love you'.

I fight back harder than I should because I am thirteen again, not thirty something, and I am trying to be heard. All I want is for someone to ask me 'what do you think?' or 'I don't understand, why don't you tell me?'. Is that so much to ask? Perhaps it my responsibility to be more eloquent.

But am I thirteen again, and hurt, and scared of everything slipping through my fingers. I fight back in a fit of unreasonable proportion. Or, I am silent. Choosing my battles. Or, I am silent. Scared of my vulnerability.

She still doesn't listen.