One April Morning

"Sometimes I wonder about my life. I lead a small life - well, valuable, but small - and sometimes I wonder, do I do it because I like it, or because I haven’t been brave? So much of what I see reminds me of something I read in a book, when shouldn’t it be the other way around? I don’t really want an answer. I just want to send this cosmic question out into the void."

Is it okay to dream small? Not to reach for the stars, but to confine them to within the ceiling of our childhood home? I mean, if it makes us happy?

Of course it is. But it doesn't always feel that way. The world seems to tell us: Dream bigger. Strive further. Be more successful. Make more money. 

It's not right. Firstly, because not everybody can be the best, at the top of the game. In fact, there are only a tiny proportion of people who are the best. The rest range from quite good, to mediocre, to not very good at all. And no matter where we sit on the scale, we are all worthy. Secondly, the lives of the "best" aren't necessarily better than the mediocre. People with small careers have more time for family and hobbies. People who choose not to travel the world have more money to invest in a comfortable home. People without big plans for the future can afford to live in the moment and appreciate the little things.

The fear that plagues us is the fear of regret. We are afraid that, sometime in the future, looking back on our lives, we will wish that we lived differently. Bronnie, a palliative care nurse, collated the most common regrets of the dying on her blog, Inspiration and Chai.


We can experience or avoid these regrets, regardless of whether we live a small or a big life. What they come down to is, I wish I had given the world more of myself. "The world" can traverse the globe or be limited to our own household. It's all about investing in love, doing what makes us happy, being true to ourselves, and remembering what is important to us, as beautiful, unique, free-thinking, irreplaceable individuals with, as Murakami says, the right to choose our own lives.

“Let yourself be open and life will be easier. A spoon of salt in a glass of water makes the water undrinkable. A spoon of salt in a lake is almost unnoticed."

— Buddha

I like this idea. And it ties in with a conversation with my friend Jayme over Twitter, who asked me: Philosophically, do you think you control your own life? To which I replied: Of course... to a degree! We control our thoughts, actions... but sometimes life gets in the way of where we want to go.

Roadblocks, diversions, unexpected setbacks... they are inevitable. Nobody gets a clean run to what they want, whether it's a job, love, marriage, kids, a publishing deal, an apartment in New York or a suburban house with a pool and a white picket fence. Sometimes we have to compromise, or divert our sights somewhere closer to home. And the disappointment can be overwhelming. Hence the importance of being open to new possibilities, always. Taking a deep breath and letting our heart guide us to new harbours when the wind changes course.

This list doesn't really feature my favourite people. My favourite people are people I know. These are just my favourite of the people I haven't met. They are people I admire, and feel as though I have an affinity with, according to what they have chosen to share of themselves with strangers like me. They all share certain qualities. They are gentle. Kind of weirdly intense. Humble, with high self-esteem. Talented. Hard-working. Thoughtful. And heartfelt.

Since this list could go on forever, I limited it to people who are still living (because there is still a chance we could cross paths and become best of friends).

My love for Cate was cemented during a Shakespeare play (The War of the Roses) she performed in Perth. I sat in the front row and she looked me right in the eye, I swear it.

Cate is a brilliant actress. Her best performance, I think, is Notes on a Scandal, where she plays a seemingly perfect wife and mother whose life unravels in a drastic fashion. She's also fantastic as Katharine Hepburn in The Aviator, and Brad Pitt's wife in Babel.

Acting prowess aside, I admire Cate for her grace, and her desire to do good.

Sometimes, when I am reading one of Haruki's novels or short stories, I come across a phrase or paragraph so beautiful and true that it takes my breath away.

I have always loved his writing but I knew for certain that he was my kind of person when I read his speech accepting the Jerusalem literary prize for the Freedom of the Individual in Society. Pro-Palestinian groups attempted to dissuade him from attending the ceremony, arguing that doing so would demonstrate his support for Israel's role in the Gaza conflict. Murakami considered their argument, but ultimately decided to accept his prize in person, using the opportunity to make a statement about peace and humanity. A condensed version of his speech is posted below; you can read the entire piece at Hareetz.

...

“If we really are a country that would rather kill potentially innocent people than accept the reality of doubt, I’m not sure we have much hope left."

I am in love with this song, by the infinitely lovely songstress Norah Jones. It makes me want to cry when I listen to it.

It's the longing for, just you and me. Sometimes love doesn't work out. It breaks down, or it doesn't eventuate at all. Not through a lack of love, but the reality and complexity of the outside world. If only it didn't exist, things would be perfect. We would be happy. We would be together.

 

You may have noticed that my "daily" blogging has hit a lull. It's not because I am not writing, or trying to write. It's just that I can't seem to get the flow going; my inspiration is lost and I can't put my thoughts into words as beautifully as I would like.

So it's comforting for me to know that Virginia experienced the same ebb and flow as I do.

My writing process is best described as bursts and splutters. My time is divided into 90% inspiration and 10% actually writing. 

It's not until my mind is ready (ripened) that I can write. Once it's brimming with ideas, weaving together a structure, recalling anecdotes and constructing analyses, the writing spews forth, flowing effortlessly from my fingers to the keyboard to the screen.

The difference between Virginia and I is that I don't know how to predict when my brains will ripen again. That must come with experience, practice and, frustratingly, time.

NB This post was written at the start of the year, and forgotten about. So please excuse the untimeliness!

The other day, I was sitting in my car, pulled over. Crying. For no apparent reason. 

Well, there was a reason. It just wasn't cry-worthy. You see, the payroll lady at work had told me that she would email me my payslips within half an hour, but it had been two hours and they still weren't in my inbox. So I wanted to call her to make sure she sent them because it was 2 o'clock, which is 5 o'clock in Melbourne, and I wanted to make sure she hadn't forgotten before she left for the night. But I had already called her twice that day! She would think that I was terribly annoying and that I thought she had nothing better to do than email me something I should already have, but didn't because I had never bothered to change my email address on the database. So I was torn and paralysed and crying in the car.

Of course, it wasn't really about the email. You see, my partner Andy and I have been looking for an apartment for over two months. It's really hard. Much harder than we had imagined. For one, there are not many rental properties in Perth. So the competition is fierce and there's not a lot to choose from. Secondly, we don't earn much money. We are students, so only work part-time. With no rental history. So we're not the most desirable of applicants. Thirdly, it is really difficult to agree on what we wanted. I am happy to live in a studio, but Andy is convinced that we needed something with at least two bedrooms, preferably three so our friends could sleep over if need be. I want something bright and airy, he would be happy in a hovel.

So, back to the car and the crying. The reason for that is that we had found the perfect apartment. Three bedrooms, less than a year old, balcony, adjacent to the freeway so I could get to work and uni, right near the main road that led to Andy's work and his uni campus. Lovely complex, space for two cars (unheard of!) and a pool. Within our price range. And especially for students, so families with high earning capacity weren't eligible to apply! We couldn't ask for anything better. We really, really wanted it.

And herein lies the problem. Because wanting something, really really badly, is lethal when acquiring that thing that you want is completely out of your control. I mean, we carefully filled in the application, trying to paint ourselves in the best light possible, but there wasn't much paint to paint with, if you know what I mean. So it's left up to fate. And luck. 

So what I want to know is, how do we cope with the long, drawn-out, excruciating waiting process? Without falling apart in the process? There seems to be two approaches. 

I have just finished collating the results of my survey. THANK YOU so much to all of you who participated. (It will be open indefinitely so just click here if you'd ever like to respond. Please do!) It has been lovely to get to know you better, learn more about what you love and steal your favourite things and ideas. (I mean borrow!) It has been a very helpful, inspiring exercise. And I am very grateful for your time and effort, and kindness and honesty. 

I also learned some interesting things about myself. I asked for feedback from you. 99.99% of the responses were complimentary. The other 0.01% were gently expressed constructive criticism. Of course, the criticism was all I could think about, playing over and over again in my mind, while all the praise and encouragement sailed over my head. I mulled and stewed for days. "But, but, but!" my conscience cried, needlessly justifying every single slightly unfavourable comment.

Of course, what brought about the hurt was my painful awareness of every one of the flaws that others had pointed out. I know my weaknesses, all too well. And I try to fill in my cracks in as best I can, crossing my fingers that nobody will notice. Yet the survey brought home that other people do notice the fissures, and they share the doubts I harbour about myself and my writing. I hadn't entirely gotten away with it, which means that the reassuring voice in my head saying "you're doing fine!" was wrong. And I didn't know if I could trust it anymore.

your life is your life

don’t let it be clubbed into dank submission.

be on the watch.

there are ways out.

there is a light somewhere.

it may not be much light but

it beats the darkness.

be on the watch.

the gods will offer you chances.

know them.

take them.

you can’t beat death but

you can beat death in life, sometimes.

and the more often you learn to do it,

the more light there will be.

your life is your life.

know it while you have it.

you are marvelous

the gods wait to delight

in you.

I know I say this all the time, but I honestly I think this is my favourite poem. It's so perfect that there's not much I can add. It's just so empowering, so real, so hopeful. Thank you, Mr Bukowski. 

"People fall so in love with their pain, they can’t leave it behind. The same as the stories they tell. We trap ourselves." 

I'll never forget a line Sarah Wilson once wrote, in a post about sadness*...

We say that we want to get away from our pain. We want to be happy and free. And we do, truly. But it's hard. Our pain is comfortable, like an old woolly cardigan. It's difficult to muster up the courage and the will to extricate ourselves from it, because it's part of who we are. It's what we are used to. Moving on, forgiving, is uncomfortable, like a new leather jacket, tight around the shoulders, unfamiliar and restricting.

Oprah says that forgiveness is letting go of the hope that the past could have been any different. It's the letting go of the future we had envisioned for ourselves before the pain changed us, irrevocably.

In her latest Sunday Life column, Sarah quotes Jonathan Haidt, author of The Happiness Hypothesis:

And so maybe breaking through the pain barrier is not about beating back our demons so we can return to where we were before, but rather dreaming up a whole new future for ourselves. Exploring the potential that life holds for us, leaning into joy wherever we find it, and reigniting our passion. Starting fresh. Falling out of love with our pain, and falling back in love with life.

Dear readers,

A little change of tune for today's post. A survey... for you! I would really love to get more of a feel for who is visiting One April Morning and what kind of things you like so I can make some decisions as to where to go from here, whether I should make any changes, etc. 

As much as I love blogging, I'm not so good at doing blogger-y stuff like marketing and networking and SEO. I just like to write about things I am thinking or feeling and put it out into the world without much fanfare. I don't want to become one of those people who retweet their own compliments (however lovely they are), or flood feeds with self-promotion. But I'd really like to get to know you all better, and maybe be inspired by some ideas and feedback you may have for me, and I thought that perhaps a survey wouldn't be too much of an imposition. I quite like filling out surveys, myself. So if you are willing, please read on!

Everybody's talking about Gotye. Me, not only am I hopelessly uncool but also completely out of touch with what is cool, so I had no idea. "What on earth is Gotye?" I wondered as I scrolled through my twitter feed. So I did what everybody does these days when they don't know something. I Googled it.

I think I like it. Actually, I really do like it. But I don't want that to be because everybody else does. It's hard, because things that are universally popular tend to be so because they are universally appealing. Yet the people who were first on the scene are annoyed by those of us who are late to the party and assume that we are mindless followers. I REALLY DO LIKE GOTYE, though. I may have had no idea who he was yesterday, and I don't know any of this other songs, besides the one below (which I assume is the famous one that everybody is talking about because it has had over four million views) but I really do like him. Promise.

Anyway. I think the reason Gotye's song, Somebody That I Used To Know, is so well loved is because his lyrics are truthful and familiar. He sings about the break-up, and everything that follows, and came before. The sadness of feeling alone when you are with somebody you thought you may have loved. Realising that what you thought was love isn't, or isn't anymore. Drifting apart. Remembering when things were good. Trying to distance yourself from those memories. Realising that what you had together wasn't as happy as you sometimes think it was. Feeling forgotten. Abandoned. Lonelier than before. Yet better off. Possibly. Probably. (500) Days of Summer-esque. Someone Like You-esque. You know.

So here it is, for those of you who are as clueless as I am. You will like it. Even if everybody else does.

It's so nice

to wake up in the morning

all alone

and not have to tell somebody

you love them

when you don't love them

any more.

"There is something demoralising about watching two people get more and more crazy about each other, especially when you are the only extra person in the room. It’s like watching Paris from an express caboose heading in the opposite direction—every second the city gets smaller and smaller, only you feel it’s really you getting smaller and smaller and lonelier and lonelier, rushing away from all those lights and excitement at about a million miles an hour."
— Sylvia Plath

What I love most about Sylvia Plath's writing is her aching honesty. Her selfish tendencies are familiar, I'm sure, to all of us. Because she captures the universal truth that is so easily forgotten, when we are caught up with ourselves...

So although we often tell people how happy we are for them when they succeed or fall in love or experience a winning streak, there is always a tiny (or not so tiny) twinge of pain. Because it is not us. We are not the special one. But it could have been us. If only we were luckier, or more hard working, or more intelligent, or more beautiful. 

Of course, hurt is often not our most prevalent emotion. Other people's successes can also serve to inspire us, and make us pleased or proud on their behalf. But it helps, I think, to remember that although we are not the centre of the world itself, we are the centre of our own world, every one of us. And our experiences, our feats, our actions can have a profound effect upon those around us. Often, not the same effect that they have upon us. And visa versa.

"But everybody has exactly the same smiling frightened face, with the look that says: ‘I’m important. If you only get to know me you will see how important I am. Look into my eyes. Kiss me, and you will see how important I am.’" 

— Sylvia Plath

Today Sarah Wilson posted about Hunter S. Thompson's morning routine. Sarah and I are both fascinated by day-starting rituals, and she firmly believes that they are key to life.

My favourite thing about his routine is that it is utterly imperfect (cocaine and margaritas for breakfast!) But it is perfectly him. A little arrogant, a lot excessive, elegantly irreverent, and (tragically) self-destructive.

My morning routine? I wake up early-ish (while Andy sleeps in) after pressing snooze on my alarm exactly three times. I stumble into the living room, turn on the heater/ airconditioning, lay out all of my skincare and makeup products and carefully paint on my face. Sometimes I'll watch tv during (Community has been getting a lot of airtime lately) or else I'll prop whichever book I am in the midst of reading against the arm of the couch in front of me (presently Jasper Jones). By the time I am finished I am inevitably running late so I hurriedly get dressed, brush my teeth and pour coffee into a flask to sip on my way to work.

It's not perfect. But that doesn't really matter. What I want to do is to make it more me. More nourishing and joyful and heartening. I think I'll start using my mornings to get things balanced. To sort out my thoughts and indulge in simple pleasures. I'll visit the gym underneath my apartment, first thing. On my way home, I'll stop by the local corner deli to pick up the newspaper and then I'll sit down at my dining table, or (once the weather clears), on my balcony, in the sunshine. Like Mr Thompson, I'll spread out my newspaper, magazines, books, articles, notebooks, my iPad and laptop. Read. Write lists. Contemplate and plan my day, while drinking tea (or, more likely, hot chocolate), and eating whatever strikes my fancy. Once that's done, I can move onto the other things, like the makeup and the hair and the clothes. But I know is that mind food is what my soul really craves.

From there, my hope is that the rest of my day will unfurl gracefully, safe in the knowledge that if it doesn't, I'll be poised and grounded enough to cope with whatever happens to come my way.