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.

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.