Stories we tell

In the spirit of writing at what I usually call my 'prime time/weekend/late night/it's been a sunny day and I've been at yoga' blog post, I am doing just that. I don't like doing those posts, as it couldn't misrepresent my life more if I tried! But what will be will be - these are the stories I tell and these are the times I find I can write. It makes sense; when I am working I cannot focus on much more. It has indeed been a beautiful day, it is indeed late night and the weekend, but I didn't actually make it to yoga this morning because I was captivated by the book I am reading and lost track of time so missed class. Again, misrepresentative as I haven't read a book for myself and seen it through to the end since last simmer... Anyway, book aside, I decided that this afternoon was as good a time as any to get my running shoes on and go for a run. There was a time when I was running very regularly and very much enjoying it. But over these past 6 months I have had to sacrifice a few things, my sanity, and my running to name a couple. However, it must feel like I have a little breathing space now the course has 'finished' otherwise I would not have driven over to the reservoir to run. (I say finished, but not really since we have a mountain of work still left...)

Just an aside... The book I have been reading and have of course been captivated by is Yalom's 'Staring at the Sun', which is a book about facing the dread of death. But ironically his writing is so much about life and the living that the fact that it is fundamentally about death is something I keep having to remind myself of when I end up posing certain questions to myself. I suppose there is a message in there somewhere...

I also came across a wonderful writer named Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, who has done a very powerful and articulate TED talk on the 'dangers of the single story' which similarly captured my attention for the full 18 minutes she speaks. Here are a few of her words:

'It is impossible to engage fully with one place or one person without engaging with all of the stories of that place or that person... Stories can be used to empower and to humanise.'

She speaks about the stories that we tell and the stories that we live by, and subsequently the stories we hear about others who may not come from the same place as we do. She speaks about power and equality and that despite the one thing that brings us together, despite the fact that we are each human and have capacity to love and hurt and to feel all emotion inbetween, there are still things that make us different too. That is the fabric of life, but the moment we begin to assume we know another based on the one single story we know of them, is the moment we disconnect. I have not only been reminded of how this fits with my work and my jobs, but also for myself. My assumptions about different cultures and how I may or may not inadvertently create barriers between 'them' and 'me', and the paradox of trying not to build a barrier and creating one through the very act of trying not to. You can probably tell I could rant about this for days on end. My point is, and I think Chimamanda's point is, that stories, although they can set us apart, they can also build something, build a person, and they can connect us too.

One of my students said something last week that has stayed with me, and I think it fits quite well here; he suggested that we make a spectacle out of things or that we might judge them because it would be uncomfortable to accept them as the 'norm'. We see a transgender story hit the media and there is a big social media frenzy about what this means, but is it just that we are really uncomfortable with the concept that there are human beings out there who exist that are different to us? If we begin to accept our differences, I think we may be a little more accepting of ourselves too. Perhaps the two go hand in hand... But as the talk reminded me, it is important not to turn a blind eye to the stories that we don't want to hear, and it is important to make sure that we try to hear as many as we can . There is a marked difference between the love of power and the power of love, as I probably keep writing in one form or another, and it is important to keep reminding ourselves of what that means. It can make a real difference.

The day before the last day

It is June, approaching midnight, and I am at home with the curtains drawn and all I hear is howling rain outside my window, and I am certain there was a flash of lightening earlier. It is June... I know where I would rather be. On the balcony in Barcelona to be exact. But I am not there just yet, and I do have a few more things to get through before I can take some time for myself. But instead I am posting a blog - I wanted to post about last week but it turns out that what I'm going to write is really a flow of consciousness which may or may not make sense at the end. It usually works out, so here goes...

June is the month my students take their final exams and I finish my course, and I go back to Spain to take my 'writing break'. This break in which I plan to write my final assignment and begin my research (and to think about the grand purpose of my life) has now expanded it's purpose naturally. Now it has turned into an adventure of potential mountain retreats, mountain trecks, exploring more beaches, and visits from some wonderful human beings. But this is ahead - I must not while time away when what I have is right now is not something I want to wish away; the rain and sounds and the fact that tomorrow I will be waking up to the end of a quite spectacular era.

This past weekend has gone in a blur of pain killers and many attempts at 'feeling better'... yoga, walking, juices, wine, tea, coffee, sleep, friends, isolation... Not much has worked, so today I have chosen the alternative which was just to attempt to 'crack on'. I have completed an essay in record timing - a grand total of three days (really only today) have been spent on this assignment and now it is all printed and ready to be submitted tomorrow (the penultimate assignment of my course). I have to say, I felt a huge wave of emotion when it was finally printed and I realised that what acted as a buffer was no longer there - tomorrow is indeed the day. There is now nothing standing in my way between this evening and tomorrow morning apart from a few hours of sleep.

There was something quite freeing about writing this assignment once I got into the flow of it. I realised that I found the joy in it because my voice was in it. I hate having to tell my psychology students not to write 'I think...' at the end of their essays because 'the examiners don't want to know what you think'. I really hate having to say words of that nature because I question the integrity of our teaching and the integrity and philosophy of education as a whole. If we do not teach students to have a mind of their own, to use their own thoughts to create something wonderful and new, then what on earth are we teaching them at all? If we don't support the expression of that and create a space in which new perspectives and ideas are welcomed rather than shut out, I do truly wonder what the purpose of a classroom is at all... This was not intended to be a rant about the education system, but it does have a significant place in my life. I am a tutor and a mentor, both in full time and higher education. But I am also a student, at least for one more day! Part of the way I tutor is to encourage students to consider their own perspectives as I believe this is how they often learn best. Theory becomes meaningful then, and it becomes more than words on a piece of paper. Even studies of cognitive information processing and memory capacity and duration suggest that when a memory has a meaning attached, we are more likely to engage and recall that piece of information when needed. So I think it is a great shame - I think it is more than a great shame, that most students must go through an education process of never being told that their thoughts are worthy enough of being written on an examination paper because 'it's not what the examiners want to read'.

This does take me back to my own work; my enjoyment in writing it and the freedom I have found. It may well be rambling words, but at least I have a voice and it had a place on my sheet of paper that I can happily sign my name to. Soon I must get some rest if I have any hope of getting through tomorrow. Tomorrow has a lot of endings in store. It will begin in a civilised manner I suspect, and will gradually progress to the point in which the 'drinking game' will be well and truly raised. I am looking forward to the day with both excitement and sadness. It will be the end of something quite significant, but it will also be a celebration... It is not a secret by now, that I have a true love for Grey's Anatomy. Recently the concept that the 'carousel never stops turning' has been going round in my mind. I think it is true for this too; the carousel really never stops turning. I wish I could pause it just for a little while this evening. Just to take stock and pause time before tomorrow happens. I am not sure I am ready, but then nothing I do (really nothing I do) will stop the clock from turning. It must keep moving and we must move with it. Fighting against it only means we fall of and get left behind. So onwards I go - keeping on keeping on.

When you come out of the storm

'Once the storm is over you won't remember how you made it through,
how you managed to survive. You won't even be sure, in fact, whether the storm
is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm 
you won't be the same person who walked in.
That's what the storm is all about.'

Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore.


The third post in just as many days. Something is changing here; I have not posted this frequently for a good while now. I think I am remembering that writing is good again. I am missing writing my PD Journal for my course, and think I will continue writing this journal in the sound knowledge that it will not have to be evaluated, summarised, evidenced, and graded. How one can mark such a personal and subjective process is beyond me anyway... But I digress. My point is that I miss writing it and will pick it back up again when the time is right. Hopefully I will return to posting these blog posts more often too.

I have been reading Matt Haig's new book, 'Reasons to Stay Alive'. It is written quite beautifully; I found it more endearing and philosophically engaging towards the end, but a very humbling and truthful narrative of his journey to the depths of the ocean and back up again. It is a reminder of what it is to be human, in other words, nothing (really, nothing) in this world is perfect, nor would we wish for it to be. We are both mighty in strength and power yet gloriously insignificant in our size and capacity to initiate change. We are made of the same; dust and stars and skin and bones, yet we exist alone. Matt is an honest reminder of these human facts and the essence of our existence, but also that although we all exist in the same ocean, it looks very different to each one of us. The bottom of the ocean is deep, the top is shallow, and at the top we can float and it is easier to breathe. Maybe even others are there too. But the details are mightily different. Always the details of the waves are different and the same one will probably never come around twice. Even if it did we would most likely not recognise it because we are then better equipped to deal with it. We have developed the protection and armour we need, and it no longer looks the same as the first time it came towering above us.

It feels like I am writing in riddles about waves and the depths of the ocean, but I am trying to write about how I found, in the latter half of this book, a collection of words that were more than just words on a piece of paper. I also found some beautifully selected quotes, one of which I put at the top of the post. It is too beautiful not to. And in a strange way the 'storm' in some respects, could signify many things, perhaps one day, perhaps an entire existence, perhaps a period in time. Perhaps the storm that exists in the depths at the bottom of the ocean. I am not sure; perhaps there is a storm that exists in each of us, and I know there is a storm that exists out there. The point is, is that the storms or the oceans and the tidal waves, they change us. They change a part of who we are. Without going into detail about the the storms I have survived myself, it is worth saying that I see them, I feel them, I work with them, and I know they are out there. I know that for some, armour of steel is needed to survive. In some ways, today has been somewhat of a stormy day. It has been cushioned. But  assessments, presentations and the intensity of watching and waiting and trying to mind-read and decipher facial expressions and singular words, hoping that they mean 'you were more than wonderful' whilst thinking that they really mean 'I really thought you were better than that...'

My writing could last for pages. I am currently wondering why suddenly I am experiencing the onset of losing my voice and swollen painful glands, and also considering whether I should be happy or nervous about today. I then see the time and the papers around me and think it is time I moved them away and got some rest. Before the weekend I advised somebody to take stock and take care; somebody I know who rushes around juggling more balls than I can count but somebody I do care about. I think taking stock is never a bad idea - I have just done it myself and it has worked a treat. The tea helped too.. But tomorrow's storm can be tackled now.

An accidental siesta

Happy Bank Holiday Monday...

The day when us humans nurse our delicate heads, indulge in a lie in, perhaps have a BBQ in the garden if the sun is shining, and wish that every weekend was this blissful three day period of joy. That applies to all of us humans who are not studying, self-employed, working in the emergency services or health care or hospitality, the list goes on... I wonder who really does get these glorious weekends that I hear so much about.

It was not so terrible today really, and I am ending the day now the sun has set feeling quite content having just eaten my soup with my Spanish pants on and wrap around my shoulders. I had a few students booked in today; one in the morning, one mid-afternoon, and one this evening. So work was spread out. I do enjoy my job(s) and they serve me well, so it is just fine that I didn't take the entire day off. I find that most of the time my students give me more energy than I had when I walked in, which says something about where my energy levels have been this year (pretty much on the floor!) At the moment most of my students are sitting their final A Level exams, and one of the greatest feelings is hearing their confidence grow and watching as they learn more about themselves and their passions. It is hearing their hopes for the future and their fears that it may not work out. I find that although my job is to teach them, it often becomes to believe in them or to trust in their process when they may not trust in it themselves. So, really it is no surprise that I find myself seeing some of my students despite it being a Bank Holiday. I will miss this work over the summer months until I have a new bunch of students next academic year.

Although I have been working today I have also been wrapping up and finalising details for my presentation assessment tomorrow, and (ironically as I was teaching one of my students about the body's circadian rhythms this morning) I took an accidental siesta. An accidental siesta... It was not the full 90 minutes that is recommended though, so I perhaps should consider this next time I subconsciously decide that it is entirely appropriate to take a siesta.

I am now going to send a few emails, do some reading, maybe have a glass of wine, and allow that thing called relaxation. I have an assessment tomorrow; I took an accidental siesta today, I know that speaks volumes about how tired my brain and body are, but it also tells me that I am prepared...

It was not designed to be easy

Anyone who has spent time with me over the last couple of weeks will probably know that I am approaching the end of my course, which of course means deadline time and tied into that is my awfully ambivalent and tangible relationship with 'letting things go'. The unfortunate souls who have spent time with me will have most likely been witness/on the receiving end of my rants about transcript woes and process notes chaos. I have finally reached the glorious moment when all 38 pages of transcript are complete and printed ready for assessment day on Tuesday. The entire thing is printed 3 times - the equivalent of what feels like a mighty oak tree's worth of paper. Hope the Uni feel positive about doing their part for the environment... Nevertheless, I think for once I feel ready for this. I am looking forward to hearing other people's presentations and getting feedback on my own.

I have lifted my head up from the computer and I see the world. Well, to put it better, my week has truly been more than this. I have been working with my students as they sat their Unit 2 AS exam this week, I celebrated Bry's birthday, said goodbye to a couple more students, the list could very well go on... But I am really just taking in this moment - it is a rarity. A rare moment that I have done all I needed to do and can take stock even if it's just for the rest of this night.I don't think this task (for this assessment) has been easy at all, but then I don't think it was designed to be easy.

A few weeks and a little perspective

This is what I didn't want to let happen to this blog; it has been around three weeks and I have not even opened up my Blogger homepage, never mind thought about posting. I love writing this blog, but life is happening so quickly these days that I can barely keep up with my own diary and my to-do list and my work. Since the last time I wrote, it has been my birthday and I turned 26. I had a 5-day celebration, which was simply wonderful. I felt content, despite the impending work deadlines and those 'all-important' pressing things 'to do'. It turns out that life can still be pretty wonderful if you let those pressures ease a little. It also turns out that having good friends around to help you do that is helpful. Once those celebrations were over I then went to Barcelona and re-discovered a little piece of my soul there; the part of my soul that wears clashing patterns and knows it is OK not to set an alarm. it knows it is OK to turn up 5 minutes late and to wait until the next day before responding to an email. The trip was beyond wonderful (and hilariously entertaining) in many ways, from the tuneful fellow passengers on the flight, to the squad of Barcelona Bombers being called out to rescue us from a broken lift, to Chinese food and cheap Spanish wine (purchased illegally 'after selling hours') in the early hours of the morning on the apartment balcony. It was days of total lack of organisation but glorious sunshine and fun.

A different perspective can change everything, and I don't write that light-heartedly; a little perspective really does change a hell of a lot. I think without that trip I would not have gotten through these past few weeks. My students have been working towards their exams, they have been stressed, my client work has been tough, I have had decisions to make, and I have had deadlines and subsequent work returned to me. One of which I received the best mark in my five years at uni. I am still in disbelief.. But that was the confidence boost I needed in order for me to put my next research application in. That has been a big decision for me, and a big test of my trust in the universe (and in other people - probably most important trust in myself too). A lot is shifting in the right direction. The next year or so finally looks like it exists, after a long time of it looking like an empty void in time and space. It makes leaving the course feel less final, and like more of a transition. Providing nothing goes tits up, my research project should be full steam ahead. Providing these final deadlines don't go tits up, I should be a qualified practitioner and graduating, and providing I find a house, I should be moving as soon as possible. My new perspective has also shown me that I am not superhuman and my body will not keep me alive unless I make efforts to keep it healthy and alive too. So I have decided to take a 'writing break' for a month before my very final deadline, for my work, but also for my body mind and spirit. Who knows how it will be? All I know is where I am staying and that I know I love the place. The rest will unfold, and I trust that it will be the space and time I need to focus. As a friend wrote this morning in an email, this feels more like a test of resilience rather than a test of competency or skill. Pure resilience.

Perspective. I will remind myself of this word when I immerse myself back into writing my transcript tomorrow afternoon. Presentation day is looming and I need to keep this perspective...

Glorious Catastrophising

A quick post before the day begins. I am grabbing the odd hour or so here and there this week in attempts to re-ground myself during another week of madness,

I post again after another weekend of modelling in the wildnerness. This time, it was not three degrees, there were no hail stone storms, and I did not set my alarm for 4.30am. In fact, the sun was shining, I set my alarm at a rather sociable 8am, and it was quite a glorious day in the end. I needed a weekend off really, but I am well aware that there are far worse ways to spend the weekend. I wonder too, if it was better to keep busy. Advice I was given very recently during a conversation about my research plans was not to worry; if you worry then you stop and you have to keep going. I think this is really quite relevant, especially for my life at the moment. I am an over-worrier and an over-thinker. I was the child who wrote and thought up stories of dramatic 'worst-case-scenario' terrible disasters happening... I am the person who bumps their car and assumes they have broken the engine. If I were a CBT therapist I may well situate myself in the camp of 'Glorious Catastrophisors'. Because that is what I do best. I catastrophise and my imagination needs no creative licence. It knows no bounds and it can be pretty terrifying if I allow it to breathe.

Not all goes gloriously tits up though. In fact, some things run just perfectly - rarely happens, but it does happen! I am taking a half an hour to myself this morning to get myself back into planet-earth mode. Last night Brys treated me to an early birthday night at the theatre in Newcastle. We drove up when I finished work and went for wine and olives and then saw the West End tour production of To Kill a Mockingbird. Of course this was stunning and beautiful and so very well put together that it moved us to tears. The story is one of truth and hope, and the human race. But what was wonderful was re-connecting to a theatre environment. I spent a lot of my teenage years in theatres and being back in them always gives me a sense of nostalgia. There was a beautiful and rather inspirational Q&A session with some of the cast members after the performance, in which I was reminded not only of the truth in the story of Harper Lee's novel, but in the rawness and authenticity of human beings when they act as vessels of stories and narratives. They not only carry and tell their own stories, but they find their own stories in the lives of others, and that is quite an incredible thing to learn about. Despite what is a very tumultuous time for me at the moment, I found some sense of 'home' last night with my sister in a city that isn't our own watching a play that was breath-taking and turning emails off. Despite such a very late night drive back down the A1, . That is probably why I can sit and type and drink my coffee feeling somewhat more grounded than I have done all week.

Life is truly being lived in extremes at the moment; client work, holding exam stress for my students, modelling jobs, birthdays, research uncertainties... And I am facing that question of 'how do I say goodbye to the last 5 years of my life and trust that my plans and hopes for the next year will happen?' I suspect that this brings me back to the old 'trust in the process' phrase that I tend to refer back to so frequently it might as well be tattooed on my forehead.

OK, typically I now have about 20 minutes until I must jump back in my car and take myself over to York. Must face the day...