July 2011 | One April Morning

Sunday, July 31, 2011

Writing a manuscript

One of the things I wanted to do this year was to write a manuscript for a novel.

I haven't gotten very far.

Oh, I have written quite a lot. But it's not up to par. And it's not well thought-out. It's not insightful or original. Yet.

I love my blog. It has helped me to churn ideas, find my own style, play with words and connect with an audience. But I think it has made me accustomed to jumping from topic to topic, riding inspiration in fleeting waves, and writing in short bursts. Quite clearly, there is a distinction between putting together a blog and a long-term project like a novel.

To write a novel, you need to focus. To go to a deep place, with only yourself for company, and stay there long stretches of time. You need to maintain a steady flow of inspiration. Most importantly, you have to hole up inside that inspiration, creating a bubble around you, not allowing the outside world burst it with interruptions or distractions. The bubble is built with dedication. And love. Haruki Murakami explains the process far more eloquently than I:

I have to pound the rock with a chisel and dig a deep hole before I can locate the source of creativity... The whole process – sitting at your desk, focusing your mind like a laser beam, imagining something out of a blank horizon, creating a story, selecting the right words, one by one, keeping the whole flow of the story on track – requires far more energy, over a long period, than most people ever imagine.

Additionally, I love the advice Louisa Deasey, author of the delightful memoir Love and Other U-Turns, gave Sarah Wilson:

Write the book that pulls you out of bed every night like a secret friend, waiting to be met.

Isn't that lovely?

This photograph was taken by Amy F. Hughes. You can find her photostream here.

Saturday, July 30, 2011

Which world do we want to live in?

Here is Jonathan Safran Foer again, on vegetarianism, again. (Isn't he cute?)

He says...

[Vegetarianism is] a way of decision-making that grows on one, or that one grows into...

Vegetarianism isn't a black or white, all or nothing proposition. Unfortunately, a lot of people think of it that way. That, if I'm not going to stop eating meat, stop eating dairy, stop wearing leather, if I can't go all the way then I just won't do anything, because you're a fraud, if you have only some and not the rest.

But in fact, it's not a hypothetical situation, it's a very real situation. When we eat meat we're contributing to a certain kind of world. When we refrain from eating meat, we contribute to a different kind of world. We decide, which world do we want to live in? How would we like the world to look for our children and our grandchildren and our great-great grandchildren? What do we think is going to promote the most well-being not only for animals but for humans, for our culture?

Tolstoy once said that if everyone were vegetarian ,there wouldn't be war anymore. It sounds like a very silly statement on the surface, because what does one have to do with the other? But I thought about it a lot and I believe in it. Not because the meat industry itself is causing wars but because if we became the kind of people who were regularly choosing our reason over our hungers, being more deliberate, more willful, about our sense of what's right, we would live in a very different kind of world.

As I have mentioned before, I am not a vegetarian. But when I read about vegetarianism, when I hear convincing arguments about why vegetarianism is a worthy lifestyle choice, I think to myself... that's it! From Monday, no more meat. Ever. For the rest of my life. Capiche? Of course, I am usually eating steak for dinner by Wednesday.

The same goes for exercise. And diets. And writing. And Bikram Yoga. And everything! Unless it's all or nothing, unless it's commitment from the get-go, it's unworthy of my time and effort. So I move onto the next thing, which, inevitably, doesn't work out either.

Jonathan's wisdom is comforting. We don't have to be perfect, right away. We are allowed to take small steps, take things slow. Any major lifestyle change will take persistence.

At the root of that persistence is mindfulness. We have to ask ourselves Jonathan's question: which world do we want to live in? Envision it. Then act upon it, create it, little by little, as we nurture our awareness of the world we are contributing to, and make changes where it's necessary. It can be as simple as meat-free Mondays. Or mindfully following the chain, from our mouths to our fork to our plates to our fridges and pantries to our local supermarket to the trucks to the factory farms to the hormones to the cruelty to the mothers and their offspring to the eggs.

The mindfulness can be a burden... or it can be the path to creating a kinder, smarter, more caring world.

This photograph was published in Brooklyn-based magazine Diner Journal. I found it on Miss Moss.

Friday, July 29, 2011

The infinite abyss

This post was originally published at Life.Beauty.Laughter. on October 29, 2010.

I am a bit of a nerd. A soul nerd. But also a story nerd. One of the things I do for fun is track down and read the original scripts of my favourite movies, trying to find the true heart behind the story, which is often hidden within the polish of the finished product. They are pretty easy to find (all you need is a little Google sleuthing) and it is fascinating to get an idea of how the draft was moulded and amended to create a profitable film. Plus, it's great practice for writing the Oscar-winning screenplay based upon my Man Booker Prize-winning novel. (Just kidding.)

I watched Garden State when it was first released. I loved it right away, and it has since been one of my favourite movies. There is something refreshingly awkward about it. I like that it's not a perfectly flowing film. I like the often jarring, messy dialogue, peppered with moments of hilarity. I think that has something to do with the writer taking the role of the director and the lead actor. The fact that Zach Braff's protagonist, Large, is not the cookie-cutter Hollywood heartthrob but, rather, a confused, floppy haired "soul nerd" with a dopey expression plastered onto his face, is endearing. And, of course, nobody can help but fall head over heels in love with the adorable pathological liar, Sam, beautifully played by Natalie Portman.

So little of what could happen...

As Salvador Dali says...

So little of what could happen does happen.

There are endless possibilities when we venture into the unknown. And by the unknown, I mean our whole lives. Everything is up in the air. Nothing is certain.

So how do we deal with the anxiety inherent in the uncertainty of our future? Do we expect the best, with optimism and tenacity? Or do we contemplate the worst, to soften the blow we will feel if things don't go our way?

I don't think there is a concrete answer. But it's a choice we all have to make, consciously or subconsciously, every day.

Of course, there is that old adage: hope for the best, expect the worst. The trouble is that it is really, really hard to strike that balance. Especially once we have been hurt; even hoping for the best can be fraught with the fear of disappointment.

I think the key is finding comfort in Dali's words. We are wavering at a particular point in any one moment during our lives; and from that point radiates limitless potential outcomes. The reality is that only one will eventuate. Sometimes we have control over which one that is; sometimes we don't.

I think it is best to be aware of the spectrum of possibilities. To know that there is a tiny possibility that the worst possible outcome will occur; just as there is also a tiny possibility that the best possible outcome will occur. (It is much more likely to be somewhere in the middle.)

All we can do is to strive as hard as we can to ride the wave we think will make us happiest, or more fulfilled, or more successful, whatever strikes our fancy. And if the current takes us somewhere else altogether... then we just have to take a deep breath and find the courage to keep swimming.

The journey will last a lifetime.

"The best way out is always through."

— Robert Frost

I found this image on Sarah Vuckovic's tumblr.

Wednesday, July 27, 2011

Unsayable

"Things aren't all so tangible and sayable as people would usually have us believe; most experiences are unsayable, they happen in a space that no word has ever entered, and more unsayable than all other things are works of art, those mysterious existences, whose life endures beside our own small, transitory life."

— Rainer Maria Rilke

How to write about the unsayable? Here goes...

In the early hours of the morning, a dear friend of mine lost her beloved baby. Words cannot express how devastated I am for her, and how deeply unfair it is.

What is unsayable is not what happened. It is the depth of her loss.

I have a stockpile of ideas for this blog, ready for fleshing out, perfecting and publishing. All of them explore ideas on happiness, sadness, dreams, simplicity, art, inspiration and finding meaning. What I forget, all too often, is that some things transgress all of these concepts. They can't be solved, or fixed, or rationalised. They can be overcome, but it takes time; there are no rules or steps to follow. And even when life, inevitably, goes on, the pain is still there, ebbing away under the skin, surfacing in memories and what could have been.

My friend has asked us to pray for her little family. And so tonight I pray that life will be kind to them; that she will eventually be able to forgive life (or God) for the tragedy that has so undeservedly befallen her; that she be a mother again, one day. And most of all I pray that she will not allow her loss to compromise her beautiful, gentle, loving heart, that has so, so much to give.

"We were together. I forget the rest."

— Walt Whitman

This photograph was taken by Melanie Rodriguez. You can find her photostream here.

The right thing to say

You may have noticed that I didn't write a post last night. I have an excuse: it involves cooking dinner, a sharp knife and lots of blood. Thankfully, not mine! So instead, here is a post from the archives of my previous blog Life.Beauty.Laughter., written on November 12, 2010.

Yesterday, one of my relatives discovered that he is dying.

I think all I can do is examine this situation from my perspective, as selfish as that may seem. I can try to imagine what he and his children and wife and father and brothers and sisters and friends are going through, but I will never know, no matter how hard I try. I have not experienced somebody close to me dying; even if I had, my experience would be different to theirs. I desperately want to be supportive and sympathetic, but I am paralysed by the fear of doing or saying the wrong thing; of making the situation worse, if that is even possible.

This paralysis is something I struggle with constantly, albeit on a much smaller scale. I have an acute and debilitating awareness of the effect my words or actions may have upon others. Before I say something, I practice in my head first, which means that I take too long to react to things. Sometimes I don't say anything at all, because the delay is so drawn out that the moment passes. It reaches the point where I have to ignore that warning voice in my head, in order to function. So I say the wrong thing, after all. To put it simply, I am awkward. I am not one of those people who seem to know, instinctively, how to comfort somebody in their time of need. I am drawn to those people; I think I have a subconscious desire to absorb some of their emotional intelligence. Unfortunately, it is not contagious.

I read an article by Christopher Hitchens today. It was timely. Christopher is one of my favourite authors, and he is dying of cancer. Stage four, metastatic, esophageal cancer. He writes a monthly column for Vanity Fair and his latest, "Miss Manners and the Big C", is the one I read today. Christopher writes:

I recently had to accept that I wasn’t going to be able to attend my niece’s wedding, in my old hometown and former university in Oxford. This depressed me for more than one reason, and an especially close friend inquired, “Is it that you’re afraid you’ll never see England again?” As it happens he was exactly right to ask, and it had been precisely that which had been bothering me, but I was unreasonably shocked by his bluntness. I’ll do the facing of hard facts, thanks. Don’t you be doing it, too. And yet I had absolutely invited the question. Telling someone else, with deliberate realism, that once I’d had a few more scans and treatments I might be told by the doctors that things from now on could be mainly a matter of “management,” I again had the wind knocked out of me when she said, “Yes, I suppose a time comes when you have to consider letting go.” How true, and how crisp a summary of what I had just said myself. But again there was the unreasonable urge to have a kind of monopoly on, or a sort of veto over, what was actually sayable.

When my grandmother died, two acquaintances' reactions were etched into my mother's memory. One was that of a work colleague who said, "but she was sick for a long time, wasn't she?" The other was a lady my mother knew briefly, whose son was in my brother's class at school. Although they were not close, she knew exactly what to do. She did not say anything; she simply hugged her. And that, my mother told me, was the most perfect thing anybody did for her.

So maybe it is not a matter of constructing the right thing to say, nor avoiding the wrong thing to say. It could just be enough to offer sympathy, in the most unselfish way possible. Not to attempt to understand how they are feeling or what they are thinking, but to show them that we care and that we are sorry that this awful thing has happened to them. To acknowledge that life is unfair. It is unkind. Terrible things happen to good people. We don't need to convey that sentiment with words. Most things - the most important things, at least - don't need to be said. Just a look, a hug or a clasping of hands can be enough. Or even pure presence. Just being there can express, in an unspoken language: We are on separate journeys, but you are not alone. I love you.

This photograph is a still from the newly released film Submarine.

Monday, July 25, 2011

Deindividuation and the WWW

"I suppose you can't be everybody's cup of tea, can you?"

— Wallace, Wallace and Gromit

I couldn't have said it better, Wallace.

It's a reality that I have had to accept as a blogger. I can't please everybody. Not everybody is going to like me, my writing and my ideas. Thankfully, I have come to that conclusion not as a result of criticism from others, but from myself. Shouldn't I be doing more? Shouldn't I be spreading myself further? Maybe I should start another blog on books? Or popular culture? Or writing? Or beauty? Am I being broad and inclusive enough? Look, this blog is writing about Egypt, should I write about Egypt? That blog is writing about Amy Winehouse, should I write about Amy Winehouse? Am I doing enough? Am I doing it right?

I am lucky. I've never had any nastiness directed at me at all. It's all in my head! Just a single non-complimentary comment in two years of blogging, but that was in reference to my views, not a personal attack, which is fine.

Many other bloggers aren't so lucky. Many celebrities, politicians, journalists, social commentators and reality television show contestants aren't so lucky either (Anna Rose explains how women are particularly affected). It seems that if somebody has the courage to put themselves out there, to express their views and represent themselves in a public forum, trolls, ahem, certain people think that gives them some sort of license to be nasty. To ignore the fact that these people are human beings, and treat them like poorly-written fictional characters. One-dimensional, without feelings, who don't deserve the right to have faults and make mistakes. It's easy to think that way, because it means that their vitriol doesn't have repercussions.

The answers are always inside the problem

“The answers are always inside the problem, not outside.

— Marshall McLuhan

I have been watching a lot of Australian Story recently. It's just as the name suggests; a program that tells the stories of ordinary Australians, in their own words. Sometimes those stories are tragic, sometimes uplifting, often bittersweet. And they tend to take the side of the underdogs and the powerless, much to the chagrin of the powers-that-be (who are always invited to participate, but often decline).

A lot of the time, I have heard or read about the stories prior to watching the episode. And I'd easily accepted the popular line; that the guy was a murderer, or the DPP had a good reason for not convicting, or the police did their job as best they could. But most of the time, those lines and, consequently, me, were wrong. Because it's impossible to see the truth just from looking at a situation from the outside. Everybody has a story to tell, a reason for their actions, however reprehensible. And deep inside their manifold hearts is where the truth lies. It's hard to get to, calling for patience and an open mind, but it's worth it. If not to ensure that justice is served, then because people are endlessly interesting. And the truth always outshines its mask.

This is a photograph of Lake Luguhu in Yunnan, China. The photographer is an anonymous architect from Shenzhen, China. You can find his photostream here (poorbachelor89).

Saturday, July 23, 2011

The secret

"... there were things she believed while lying in bed at night, and there were choices made at the breakfast table the next morning. There was a gnawing (if only occasional and short-lived) dread that she was participating in something deeply wrong, and there was the acceptance of both the confounding complexity of the issue and the forgivable fallibility of being human. Like me, she had intuitions that were very strong, but apparently not strong enough."

— Jonathan Safran Foer, Eating Animals

Jonathan Safran Foer is talking about his and his wife's shared struggle with vegetarianism. I tried being vegan once, but it didn't work out. Like Jonathan, I feel as though it's wrong to eat animals (Alicia Silverstone's The Kind Diet makes a compelling argument) but acting upon that feeling is another matter. A much harder one.

I think that Jonathan's words extend further than vegetarianism. What he describes so eloquently is that oh-so-common disconnect between our intuition (what is the right thing to do?) and the lure of our desires. For me, it rings true for procrastination in general, unsuccessful dieting, not exercising, handing in assignments late, watching trashy reality television instead of reading great novels, ignoring phone calls on purpose... and endless other guilt-inducing behaviours. I'm sure there are many different examples for different people, depending on our particular vices and weaknesses.

So what is the solution? Is there one? Is there a secret to it all? To living the life we want to live, without the seemingly inevitable likelihood of getting sidetracked and defeated? Brene Brown and Sarah Wilson agree that it's all about being committed. Serious and deliberate.

You can talk about it, think about it, half do it…

but if it really matters to you, you have to fire up and hone your actions

and bunker down and BE IT. Live it.

Okay. That sounds easy. Only it's not. Simple, yes. Easy, no.

The reality is that we have to let go of the expectation that it will be easy. It is damn hard to be the best person you can be. What is easy is lapsing into bad habits, giving into temptation. Persevering requires strength and self-motivation. A clear vision. And the deep-seated desire to carry it out.

Me? I have been writing every day, just like I promised. I didn't know if I could do it. Some days, I've almost given up. Today, I am running 14 minutes (and counting) past my midnight deadline. But that's okay, as long as it is published in the end. Perfection isn't the end goal, it's the accomplishment of fulfilling my own expectations. I was deliberate and committed. It worked. And I'll keep on going.

Next, I'm going to commit to giving up sugar. Be deliberate about devouring the novels piling up on my bookshelves. Start working on getting seriously fit. And more! But one step at a time...

How about you? What do you need to get deliberate about?

Friday, July 22, 2011

Some books I like... part two

"I think we ought to read only the kind of books that wound or stab us. If the book we're reading doesn't wake us up with a blow to the head, what are we reading for? So that it will make us happy, as you write? Good Lord, we would be happy precisely if we had no books, and the kind of books that make us happy are the kind we could write ourselves if we had to. But we need books that affect us like a disaster, that grieve us deeply, like the death of someone we loved more than ourselves, like being banished into forests far from everyone, like a suicide. A book must be the axe for the frozen sea within us. That is my belief."

— Franz Kafka

I wrote "Some books I like... part one" in March and promised a part two, but it's taken me this long to cull the list down to an appropriate few. Of course, there will have to be a part 3, and a part 4... et cetera! Please leave any book suggestions in the comments, I'd love to read them.

Fiction

Chain of Hearts by Maureen McCarthy

Chain of Hearts is an Australian novel. I think I found it in the young adults section of the bookstore (it's okay, I was 15) but it's as rich and mature as any adult novel I have read. I loaned it to a friend about five years ago and I haven't seen it since. But I still remember it. It is the story of troubled 17-year-old Sophie who, consumed by guilt and depression, is packed off to stay with her aunt Fran in the country. Maureen explores jealousy, racism, love, the politics of war, betrayal, family, loyalty and resentment through her intertwining tales of Sophie, Fran and their latent family secrets, bubbling under the surface.

The Woods at the End of Autumn Street by Lois Lowry

Also titled Autumn Street, this is a beautiful little novel about the experiences of a six-year-old girl, told by her adult self, inspired by Lois' own childhood. Set in suburban Pennsylvania during World War II, it innocently explores the intricacies and absurdity of an adult world through a child's eyes. Sad, joyful and real.

Non-Fiction

What I Talk About When I Talk About Running by Haruki Murakami

By all appearances, this memoir about running is not something that would interest me at all... yet, somehow, I love it. Murakami's commitment to long distance running embodies the link between discipline and talent, his physical strength and endurance enhancing his writing prowess. Each time I reread it, he inspires me to start training for a marathon. Maybe now is a good time to read it again...

The Family Law by Benjamin Law

Benjamin Law is one of my Australian favourite writers. (I discovered him via the lovely frankie magazine.).The Family Law is a collection of true stories about his eccentric immigrant family, growing up in Queensland in the 80s and 90s. He is poignant, funny, heartfelt and endlessly endearing. The story of his mum's best friend in Malaysia is particularly touching, for me.

The Diving Bell and the Butterfly by Jean-Dominique Bauby

Jean was living the good life as editor of Elle magazine in Paris when he suffered a massive stroke. Upon awaking, he found himself afflicted by "locked in" syndrome - his mind intact but his body paralysed, apart from one flickering eyelid. He narrated this memoir letter-by-letter, blinking his eye as an aide ran through the alphabet. It is a powerful story of the resilience of the human spirit and the humility of knowing that we are all fallible.

Poetry

A Book of Luminous Things edited by Czeslaw Milosz

This is a beautiful anthology of short poetry selected by a Nobel Prize laureate with impeccable taste. Czeslaw shares over 300 poems, spanning thousands of years and hundreds of thousands of miles, encompassing nature, travel, places, history, epiphanies and more. Every time I open it, I find something new. If I had to choose, it would be my favourite of favourite books.

“Books are the perfect entertainment: no commercials, no batteries, hours of enjoyment for each dollar spent. What I wonder is why everybody doesn’t carry a book around for those inevitable dead spots in life."

— Stephen King

Thursday, July 21, 2011

Beautiful people do not just happen

"The most beautiful people we have known are those who have known defeat, known suffering, known struggle, known loss, and have found their way out of the depths. These persons have an appreciation, a sensitivity, and an understanding of life that fills them with compassion, gentleness, and a deep loving concern. Beautiful people do not just happen."

— Elisabeth Kübler-Ross

Isn't it a comfort to think that whatever befalls us - loss, failure, sadness - makes us more beautiful people? And, furthermore, that hardship is a necessity, in order to better understand and appreciate our lives and the people in it?

I think so. If we think of struggle not as a hindrance but just another lesson learned, we can persevere with the knowledge that we will only emerge from the darkness stronger and more insightful. We can walk through life gracefully, not letting our self-worth dwindle because things aren't going our way. That's life. It's not how perfect our lives are that makes us good people; it's what we do with what we have. And how closely we hold onto those things that tend to wear away when things get too difficult, like love, compassion, hopefulness and the ability to see and feel beauty where others see nothing special. That is, I think, what makes a beautiful person.

"Do not assume that he who seeks to comfort you now, lives untroubled among the simple and quiet words that sometimes do you good. His life may also have much sadness and difficulty, that remains far beyond yours. Were it otherwise, he would never have been able to find these words."

— Rainer Maria Rilke

This photograph was taken by Flickr photographer Margaret Durow. You can see her lovely photostream here.

Wednesday, July 20, 2011

A pause... and some half-year intentions

It's halfway through July.

To celebrate and commemorate this year's midway-ish point, I decided to take pause to frame fresh "intentions" for the rest of the year (you can see my initial New Year intentions here). As always, I feel as though the beginning of the year has slipped away from me, uneventfully, without having achieved very much at all. (Of course, when I look back with some distance between now and then, there always seems to be some progress... I just need perspective.) So it seemed like a good idea to reflect and gently carve myself a fresh path.

1. Live wholeheartedly. (My mantra!)

2. Write everyday. Deeply and thoughtfully.

3. Be generous.

4. Live life on purpose.

5. Keep hope.

Simple, but not exactly easy. I just wrote these down on a little list to keep in my handbag. Also at the front of my notebook. And as a sticker below my laptop keypad. To keep me on track when I get tired and distracted, let time slip by... and waver.

How has your year been going so far? Do you feel as though you have progressed? What intentions do you have for the rest of the year?

Tuesday, July 19, 2011

Invent your world

"Invent your world. Surround yourself with people, color, sounds, and work that nourish you."

— Sark

Not long ago, I read a post on The Happiness Project about creating your own preference card, like a surgeon or a celebrity diva does to ensure that they are set to do their best work. Gretchen suggested that we mere mortals try it as well; figuring out the environment that makes us happy and productive, and creating it ourselves. It doesn't matter how frivolous or silly your preferences are. It's just you. What you like.

So what would my preference card say?

- Everything in its place.

- Pretty decor.

- Surrounded by books.

- A chair that doesn't swivel.

- Soft music with lyrics.

- Light.

- Filtered (alkaline) water.

- Fresh flowers in a vase.

It may seem a little materialistic but, as Gretchen observes, what it does is instigate 'mindfulness', the Buddhist practice of being aware. In this case, awareness of the kind of milieu that equips us to be at our most prolific, and intuitively crafting it, wherever we are. Maya Angelou says that when we know better, we do better. I think that the better we know ourselves, the more we shine.

You can find more photos of this lovely house at FresHome.

And you? What makes you flourish?

Monday, July 18, 2011

Where would you wish to wake up tomorrow?

Please watch the video below, if you haven't already. It's really beautiful.

As for me... like many of the people in the video, I would be happy to wake up exactly where I am now. But... I'd also really like to wake up in the midst of a bustling city, like Paris or London or New York, in a tiny apartment with nothing but a bed, books and flowers, a coffee machine and a fruit bowl, a Labrador sleeping at my feet and Andy beside me, the mid-morning sun and a gentle breeze filtering through our bedroom window. And maybe the scent of fresh baking bread wafting in from downstairs as the buzz of the city quietly hums beneath us.

I think that would be quite nice.

And you? Where would you wish to wake up tomorrow?

Sunday, July 17, 2011

Being unexpected... and choosing kindness

I recently recalled an incident that took place around five years ago, when I had just started driving. I did something really stupid. I was turning left at a roundabout, didn't take the time to see if anybody was coming and pulled out into the path of a taxi. He screeched to a stop and blasted his horn at me. I was terrified.

We both pulled up to a set of traffic lights further down the street, side-by-side. I was filled with dread at the prospect of turning to look at him; I could just imagine his angry curses and virile hand movements. When I did finally pluck up the courage to peek a glimpse, however, it was quite the opposite. The taxi driver smiled at me, and made a gesture as if to say, "It's okay. We all make mistakes. No harm done". Then the light turned green and he drove off, a gentle smile on his face.

I wondered why such a small gesture had remained imprinted in my memory all these years. I think it is because he had the right to be furious with me. I had driven recklessly; almost causing him to crash his car - which was his livelihood - and sustain serious injuries. Thankfully his quick thinking had prevented an accident but that didn't put me at any less in fault. Yet he chose to let go of whatever anger he had felt in that moment and not only not show it to me, but made the effort to make me feel better about it. So what could have ruined my day actually made my day. (Don't worry, I still learned my lesson!)

I don't know why that incident came to mind recently, but ever since, I have been thinking about the way I act. Or, rather, rethinking it. Because reflecting upon that interaction with the taxi driver made me realise that I probably would not have been as nice as him. I would have been fuming. Not rude and angry with road rage, but still dismissive and red-faced. Why? Because somebody had made a mistake. And I had to put my foot on the brake when I didn't expect it. Does that really deserve my energy? I don't think so.

So, in memory of the kind taxi driver, I have set a resolution. To think before I act. Or, to put it more succinctly, to rethink before I react, by pushing aside the response I believe I deserve to or am expected to give, and creating one from scratch. No more needless anger, passive-aggression, annoyance or resentment. Just acknowledging whatever negative energy I may feel and letting go of it, releasing it into oblivion. And choosing kindness instead.

"Be a rainbow in someone else’s cloud."

— “Letter To My Daughter” by Maya Angelou

I tried to find the photographer who took the adorable photograph above, but the furthest I could trace it back was this webpage, written in Russian... if you can translate, please let me know!

Saturday, July 16, 2011

Royal wedding

There was a bit of a divide in Australia regarding the royal wedding.

One party was incredulous that young Australians were so enrapt with such an archaic institution. Aren't we well on the way to becoming a republic? And yet we still revere the British monarchy?

The other party was saying... oh, so pretty!

Me? I was in the first party, during the lead-up. What a fuss, I thought, for an event that has no bearing on our lives. How ridiculous.

But when The Big Day came, I was just as excited and silly as all the rest. I flew home from work to get a glimpse of the dress; I sat through the religious sermons and the fanfare on the streets, spellbound.

That's when I realised: The worldwide commotion was not a result of the fact that it's a royal wedding. It's that it is a royal wedding. No matter whose it is, a wedding is beautiful. Two people publicly declaring love and commitment for each other is beautiful. Brides are always beautiful.

A wedding feeds our desires; for love, acceptance and attention. And the reason millions upon millions of people watched the betrothal of Kate and William, on television screens all over the world? Because we felt as though we were, in the smallest of ways, part of it. We know William's parents; we loved his mother, we grieved her death. We watched him grow up. We watched Kate blossom in the spotlight. So, naturally, we wanted to bear witness to one of the biggest, and most public, days of their lives.

There is a time and a place where politics are simply irrelevant. Not everything we do makes a statement. Sometimes we just follow our hearts. It doesn't mean that we have undying loyalty to the British "motherland", or that we approve of a hereditary monarch as our head of state. All it means is that we are romantics at heart. It's as simple as that!

Friday, July 15, 2011

The prayer

"Prayer is not asking. It is a longing of the soul. It is daily admission of one's weakness. It is better in prayer to have a heart without words than words without a heart."

— Mahatma Gandhi

I am not religious. I am an atheist, in fact.

I do, however, share desires with people who follow religions, those who don't, like me, and those who are somewhere in between. All of us want to make sense of things. We want to make our lives more meaningful. We want to experience love, joy and happiness. We want to make a difference. We try to be better people. For me, religion doesn't offer those things. For some people, it does, and that's wonderful.

I read on Sarah Wilson's blog that Brene Brown prays every day, as part of her commitment to embrace the gifts of imperfection. And since I have started to weave Brene's live wholeheartedly mantra throughout my life, I thought I'd try praying as well. Brene uses the serenity prayer, made famous by AA:

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,

Courage to change the things I can,

And wisdom to know the difference.

It's a beautiful prayer, but I don't think it's my prayer. Prayer is very personal. For some, a prayer is not a prayer without divinity or holiness embedded within it. But I'd like to create my own meaning, prayer-wise. I don't mean to offend anybody, for whom prayer is sacred. Yet I believe we all have the right to carve our own paths, to find fulfillment in our own way, according to our own way of thinking.

So I have been searching for my own prayer. I could write one myself, and I probably will, one day. But for now, I'll borrow from some of the great poets and writers, whose words touch upon my yen, and speak to my heart.

Firstly, I sought thoughts on prayer.

On Prayer by Czeslaw Milosz

You ask me how to pray to someone who is not.

All I know is that prayer constructs a velvet bridge

And walking it we are aloft, as on a springboard,

Above landscapes the color of ripe gold

Transformed by a magic stopping of the sun.

That bridge leads to the shore of Reversal

Where everything is just the opposite and the word 'is'

Unveils a meaning we hardly envisioned.

Notice: I say we; there, every one, separately,

Feels compassion for others entangled in the flesh

And knows that if there is no other shore

We will walk that aerial bridge all the same.

"I found my God in music and the arts, with writers like Hermann Hesse, and musicians like Muddy Waters, Howlin' Wolf, and Little Walter. In some way, in some form, my God was always there, but now I have learned to talk to him."

— Eric Clapton

"Why must people kneel down to pray? If I really wanted to pray I'll tell you what I'd do. I'd go out into a great big field alone or into the deep, deep woods, and I'd look up into the sky - up - up - up- into that lovely blue sky that looks like there's no end to it's blueness. And then I'd just feel a prayer."

— L.M. Montgomery

"The function of prayer is not to influence God, but rather to change the nature of the one who prays."

— Søren Kierkegaard

"Prayer is the key of the morning and the bolt of the evening."

— Mahatma Gandhi

"Joy is the grace we say to God."

— Socrates

And so I concluded that prayer is not something exclusive to those who believe in a higher power, or subscribe to a particular religion or form of spirituality. It is enough, I think, to yearn for the faith to believe that life is as it should be, and the strength to emerge from whatever troubles befall us more loving and graceful than we were before. It is enough, also, to be thankful; to approach prayer as being a simple thanksgiving for our blessings. A God is not a requirement for prayer; we can talk to existence, to the birds and the trees, to the vast blue (or cloudy) sky. For what we are really doing is talking to ourselves, acknowledging what aches deep down inside, and gently instigating change within us.

So then began the search for a prayer of my own.

The Little Plans by Anushree Karnani

The little plans I tried to carry

Have failed

O' Dear God.

But, I will not sorrow

I will pause a little while

And try again tomorrow.

I thank God for most this

amazing

day; for the leaping greenly

spirits of trees

and a blue true dream of sky;

and for everything

which is natural, which is

infinite, which is yes.

e. e. cummings

A Prayer by Maya Angelou

Father, Mother, God

Thank you for your presence

during the hard and mean days.

For then we have you to lean upon.

Thank you for your presence

during the bright and sunny days,

for then we can share that which we have

with those who have less.

And thank you for your presence

during the Holy Days, for then we are able

to celebrate you and our families

and our friends.

For those who have no voice,

we ask you to speak.

For those who feel unworthy,

we ask you to pour your love out

in waterfalls of tenderness.

For those who live in pain,

we ask you to bathe them

in the river of your healing.

For those who are lonely, we ask

you to keep them company.

For those who are depressed,

we ask you to shower upon them

the light of hope.

Dear Creator, You, the borderless

sea of substance, we ask you to give to all the

world that which we need most--Peace.

Morning Prayer by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Let me to-day do something that shall take

A little sadness from the world’s vast store,

And may I be so favoured as to make

Of joy’s too scanty sum a little more.

Let me not hurt, by any selfish deed

Or thoughtless word, the heart of foe or friend;

Nor would I pass, unseeing, worthy need,

Or sin by silence when I should defend.

However meagre be my worldly wealth,

Let me give something that shall aid my kind –

A word of courage, or a thought of health,

Dropped as I pass for troubled hearts to find.

Let me to-night look back across the span

‘Twixt dawn and dark, and to my conscience say –

Because of some good act to beast or man –

“The world is better that I lived today.”

They are all lovely. But it wasn't until I read the following, which isn't part of a poem, or prose, or even a line of a song, but an ironic, offhand statement made during a fake interview, that I felt the tingle along my spine letting me know that this was "the one".

"I really just want to be warm, yellow light that pours over everyone I love."
— Conor Oberst

Short and sweet. Simple and succinct. A hope, a longing, an intention, articulated in just one beautiful sentence. A heartfelt desire that is attainable, but never attained, so something to strive towards, forevermore.

Do you pray? What do you pray for?

One April Morning

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