Year: 2024

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Small Things Like These

Over the last few weeks I’ve noticed that I’m drawn to innocent things: toys, cartoons, Pixar movies – even the little lamp at the start hops its way into my weary heart. 

The world is not in a good place right now and many of us are simply tired. Tired of hoping that goodness is paramount, that nations will step back from war. Tired of being disappointed when another bully wins or gets away with bad behaviour. Didn’t our mothers always tell us that life was the other way round? When did this rule change?

If my brain goes down these roads (and I try to tell it to stop) I end up picturing apocalyptic scenes with democracy lying dead in a ditch and books being burned and heavy boots stomping over people. Oh, and that’s if the earth is still even here. It’s too much right now. So I’m retreating from the news cycles (full of conditional tense and uncertainty anyway, I remind myself) and focusing instead on small things.

One of my favourite books, Small Things Like These by Claire Keegan, has been made into the most beautiful film. It’s quietly devastating. Harsh realities in a difficult world will always exist, humans can be cruel. And yet. 

And yet, we are fundamentally good. The story is also a reminder that smallness is no such thing. There are moments of transcendence all around us and kindness often arrives from the most unexpected place. 

My small things include but are not limited to: the feel of the wind in my hair when I’m looking for the stars, crisp winter mornings when a robin sings from the shed roof, a cat purring contentedly on my knee when the day is done. 

It has meant a shift in the focus of my gaze but, little by little, the darkness is dissipating. We hold onto the things that matter, the things that will always prevail. 

My small corner is quite simply filled with light.

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Holding a Grudge

At the last count I hold about twenty seven grudges. Some of them are minor infractions of the ‘how dare they?’ variety, some of them are a lot bigger and some of them, let’s be honest, should no longer be on the list. But I’m happy to say that I’m in very good company.

’Tis the season for scary costumes but be careful if you’re wearing a creepy mask in the presence of a crow. These smart birds will not forgive you. A few years ago a zoologist in America learned that crows can recognise individual human faces, especially those they associate with bad experiences. (Same crow, same). But he also started to realise that the birds shared this new knowledge of dangerous humans with other crows.

John Marzluff and his research team at the University of Washington trapped, banded, and released eight American crows at different sites near Seattle. Before trapping the birds, the researchers donned different rubber masks (a caveman face, for example) and watched the reactions. While the birds were caged, nearby crows circled the site and sounded alarm calls, and when the masks were seen months later, the scolding continued.

Over a year later, John still couldn’t leave his office without being yelled at and pushed around by one particularly annoyed crow, even when he didn’t wear his mask. Families and fledglings and friends of the crow joined in, having decided they did not like this human. The grudge had begun.

Members of the Corvus family are funny and wise and smart. There’s something clever about holding a grudge – it keeps us on our toes, helps us to look out for bad behaviour and therefore stay safe. But it’s detrimental too.  Bitterness, like a poison, seeps. Psychologists suggest that rather than trying to focus only on forgiveness, we can find self-compassion, the very thing that was probably lacking at the time. If we can smooth the way to some kind of peace with what has happened, our minds and bodies will surely benefit. 

So far, so humanly interesting. But the crows in this Seattle experiment were right to scold – the researchers were dangerous. So keep hold of that grudge, clever crows, it’ll stand you in good stead for the future.

For my part, I’m letting go of some of my own collection. Not all of them, just yet, since self-compassion is a journey. I’ll walk the path and smile when a crow joins me. We’re in this together.

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A Dirty Word

I’ve just hit send on a stressful email. Something has been an issue for years and recently raised its head again to remind me that I really don’t know how to fix it (other than turning back time and making better decisions). The topic is one that we still don’t really talk about, or certainly not with any honesty. It makes the world go round, yet very few of us understand how it works, and in a capitalist society we are under its thrall. Yes, it’s that dirty word: money.

Here’s my story. Once upon a time I received a health insurance payout (following the diagnosis of multiple sclerosis) and wanted to put plans in place for the future. We bought our dream campervan and we started up a small business. Hans the Van eventually carted us off for the Big Trip in 2018 – 361 days visiting 17 countries – a dream indeed, and one I’ll never forget. The Wee Tram was adorable, challenging, fun, stressful, and even though we had to wind the company up after five years, I’m still glad we did it. 

Other than that, I followed professional financial advice and put a large chunk into storage pods, an investment that seemed simple and safe at the time. You’re probably gasping in shock, or at the very least raising your eyebrows at this point, since stories have been hitting the headlines in the last couple of years, often involving people who have lost their savings through investments like this (or even their pension pots, a definite yikes). As the years progressed, it became clear that this was Not A Good Thing, and slowly, very slowly, I started to admit that my money was possibly gone. 

To add recent injury to old insult, my lovely job reading with people in criminal justice settings might be coming to an end soon. This is (unsurprisingly) also about money – funding, tenders, you know the voluntary sector drill. Losing my regular income (and work that I loved) wasn’t in my plan, so perhaps it’s no surprise that today’s email about financial issues is hitting hard. 

Along with the fear and anxiety about the future, though, sits a heavy sense of shame. I’ve always worked hard for a living, always known that money is precious and that not everyone has what they need to survive, never mind thrive. Working class backgrounds instil in us various things, ranging from pride to anxiety to a distinct lack of capacity to dream of something better. But money is also something about which we do not speak: don’t hang your dirty laundry out in public. Hence the arrival of shame. And its bedfellow, guilt. I feel guilty that I wasted a gift, that I didn’t talk about it for a long time, that I’m no longer in contact with the old friend who gave me the advice. Therefore, I’m also feeling sad. 

But the end of the story is still to come. This is a bump in the road and there are paths ahead that could hide all sorts of possibilities. It’s okay to lie down for a while and lick my wounds.

I still feel like I don’t know anything about money and how it works (school taught me nothing) but I am rich indeed – love is all.

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What, This Old Thing?

I was on a packed train recently, trying (as you do) to block out the noise from the other passengers. At one stop, a bunch of older teenagers got on and, needless to say, the noise level stepped up a notch. The boys were throwing things at each other and the girls were talking non-stop about exams coming up. I also couldn’t help but overhear some cruel remarks about another friend, sitting further down the carriage, and noted the heartbreaking lift of the chin as she tried to laugh it off.

My stop was approaching so I got ready to fight my way past, aiming a small smile in the teens’ direction (don’t antagonise them, I reckon, they don’t like it). Young people today and all that. But as I made my way to the door, one of the girls shyly pointed at my skirt and said “I love your outfit!”

For a moment I was too stunned to reply (I mean, I was wearing my red author beret, but still). I managed to mumble “thank you,” as I got off the train. Walking home (in my lovely outfit) I realised that I really don’t know how to accept a compliment. I either laugh it off or minimise it or disbelieve it entirely. And it turns out, this is really common. 

Psychologists have pointed out that in response to a compliment we often deflect, reciprocate or discount. This helps us to cope with an unexpected focus on ourselves. Many of us tend to feel vulnerable in the spotlight so this makes sense. It’s easier to remove the compliment in some way, or place it elsewhere, and then get things back to normal (safely in the shadows, thank you very much).

But what if, in response, we simply said “thank you!” and got on with our day? It sounds tricky, I know, but accepting kind words says a lot about our feelings of self-worth. Maybe it’s true that some days your outfit looks good. Maybe it’s true that someone enjoyed the meal you just cooked. Maybe, just maybe, you’re someone who deserves praise.

Words have power. We can use them to uplift others (and ourselves). Who’d have thought?

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Breathe

Are you holding your breath while reading this? I mean, I do expect regular readers to be thus entranced when a new blog arrives, but otherwise is this the case? If so, you’re not alone. 

I was replying to an email recently (not a particularly tricky one I might add, though they can be in the mix) and realised that I wasn’t really breathing. I was taking small breaths, no doubt, (and was therefore, thankfully, alive) but I wasn’t doing it properly. It was as if I was holding my breath in fear or anxiety. This is a phenomenon called ‘email apnoea’ and it could be that up to 80% of us are doing it. This is not good news in our technologically-heavy world. If we spend up to five (or eight if you’re a teen) hours on our phones per day, it stands to reason that screen use is indeed the new smoking. Our lungs are not happy at all. These incredible organs can do so much but we no longer help them out.

Holding our breath contributes to stress-related diseases and disturbs the body’s balance of oxygen, carbon dioxide, and nitric oxide, which helps keep our immune system strong. Shallow breathing can also trigger our sympathetic nervous system ‘fight or flight’ response. If we stay in this state of emergency breathing and hyper-arousal for extended periods of time, it can not only impact sleep, memory, and learning, but also exacerbate anxiety and depression.

It now makes perfect sense that I feel anxious when I get a notification or attempt to write an email response (or blog). My body is trying to tell me something. We usually need outside forces to remind us though. When I was on my way to my brother’s funeral some years ago I got an amazing message from my best friend. Katy’s words were wise and simple: ‘all you have to do today is breathe’. And she was right. My lungs got my head and heart through that difficult day. 

Our bodies are constantly trying to keep us alive and well. Screen breaks, noticing our breath and even exhaling slightly longer than inhaling can all help. Deep breaths, everyone. Everything is going to be all right.