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The Urban Homestead

Perhaps I watched too many episodes of Little House on the Prairie or The Good Life* in my youth, but I have always been in love with the idea of self-sufficiency. Growing up in an urban environment, I was not deterred from my desire to live mainly in nature. I spent my time running around the local woods with my friend Jennifer; creating snail hotels in the garden and making rose water on summer afternoons.

Not much, it seems has changed. I’ve swapped the woods for a garden with a decent sized vegetable patch; snail hotels for a dog and fruit vinegar for ‘eau de rose’. (Of course, the rose water never worked. It was just pile of slushy petals festering in a jam jar – but one has to begin somewhere!)

Fruits of our labours Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

Now I have my own home with its little patch of land, I wish to use it to create an ‘urban homestead’ where I can learn at least a little self-sufficiency. No doubt that seems perverse when everything we need is just a click away. But that is the point. When things come too easily, they lose their value and their magic. And in handing over the responsibility to others to feed and clothe and meet our every need, we also hand over a little of our independence.

Going green

One of the reasons I am embarking on this quest is an attempt, small though it is, to reduce my carbon footprint and heal the tiny piece of earth under my control.

Our garden is fully organic, which means we do have to deal with a fair amount of loss due to insects and our fruit is seldom free of ‘little friends’. Yet, sharing benefits us all in the end. Even snails, I discovered, are as likely to be pollinators as pests and if they eat my perfect young cucumbers plants to the nubbins, I will not starve.

I would gladly sacrifice a few leaves for this beauty! Image: Harald Arlander on Unsplash

Our garden is significantly enhanced by our wildlife. Pollinators like wasps swarm the rocket flowers and then our own ornamental ones. The caterpillars who nibbled our broccoli plants have now returned as beautiful cabbage white butterflies. And this abundance of insects ensures that the wide variety of garden birds are fed.

And what we eat comes without any travel miles at all.

From seed to plate

I have started trying to be a real gardener – and that means growing from seed rather than picking up plants from the nursery. It can be a very hit and miss affair, with some little seeds never making it to seedlings and others growing like Triffids.

Yet, when it works, it is truly miraculous. The minute seeds I planted in propagators and kept on the window sill are now three feet high broccoli plants. The £2 packet of summer squash seeds have yielded many, many pounds of patty pan, gem squash and courgettes.

A good day’s harvest Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

My husband is especially proud of his purple beans. They are currently plentiful and the flavour of a just picked bean is hard to surpass. We try to eat our vegetables and fruit as soon as they are ready and sometimes, of course, you have a glut. Yet, abundance provides the joy of giving. In pre-Corona days, I would invite friends over, give them a carrier bag and tell them to help themselves. Now I drop bags off on their doorsteps.

Preserving

When there is more produce ready than we can eat, I have turned to preserving. It is laborious and time-consuming, but laying the results away brings me infinite joy. These last few months, I have learned all sorts of ways to successfully preserve – largely thanks to YouTube and foodie websites. The easiest way is to freeze and my freezer drawers are now crammed with apples, squash and rainbow chard.

I’ve also attempted pickling for the first time. My cute rainbow beets are now preserved in spiced vinegar. I feel I ought to try some chutneys too. We certainly have enough apples!

Drying has proven to be an excellent method for storing items long term. I routinely dry my lavender and herbs and this year tried rose petals. You don’t need any fancy equipment or even much space for drying. Either tie in bunches and hang upside down in paper bags in a dark place or lay out on sheets of paper (this works best for flowers like rose petals and elderflowers.) Leafy items such as kale and parsley do well in a very cool oven over a long time. For tiny bunches of parsley, lay them on a cooling tray over a baking one to increase air flow. This method also works very well for apple rings.

When the children were young, I often took them to the local fruit farm to pick strawberries and then I made jam. This year, I had just enough blackcurrants to make my husband a jar and I’m planning in the next few days to make apple berry jams with our garden apples and wonky frozen fruits.

By approaching all this as a sort of science experiment/culinary adventure, the outcomes become less pressing. The process is interesting enough. If I succeed in making something delicious, that is a bonus. My favourite discovery this year is making fruit vinegars from scratch. They take about a month to mature, but the result is a sweet, milder vinegar that is perfect for salad dressings – or even as a probiotic when a teaspoon is added to water.

First batch of vinegars and preserves Image: Jeff Costello-McFeat

Lock-down has not been great for many things, but it has given me the perfect opportunity to pursue my ideal of self-sufficiency. Learning the skills needed takes oodles of time. These last months, I have been granted that.

Through all the learning and the waiting and the monotonous manual labour, I have discovered that working slowly and patiently brings its own rewards. Whatever we create from nothing – a vegetable from a seed; a meal from a newly picked squash – gives us an enormous amount of joy. Ask anyone what they are most proud of and I’m sure that 9 out of 10 times, it is something they have made.

I am endlessly grateful for the privilege of living in the modern world with its technology and comfort, but I also believe that we do well to sometimes remind ourselves that survival really is hard. When we practise self-sufficiency with all its frustrations and struggles and slowness, we remind ourselves to be grateful for all those things we take for granted. And gratitude is key to our well-being. And now, I need to stop typing and make some more apple sauce.

* The Good Life was a successful British sitcom where an idealistic middle-aged couple sought to live self-sufficiently in their home in Surbiton outside London.

What a Difference a Day Makes

For the past several years, I have been endeavouring to live in the moment. With the exception of prudent provision, I try to live without plans. I say try, because I am naturally a control freak – always second guessing and attempting to avoid difficulties; trying to bend the chaos into order. I have been attempting a Herculean task – but without the benefits of his muscles and a demi-god status.

Coupled with this intention was that of saying ‘Yes!’ to life. For a long time now, I have felt that life was always saying ‘No!’ to me. No you cannot be well; no you cannot visit your children; no you cannot pursue a career of your dreams. Perhaps it is cussedness, or delusion, but I have determined to say ‘Yes!’ all the same. Like a petulant toddler, I was not taking ‘No!’ for an answer.

This last weekend, these twin intentions collided. I indulged in spontaneity and I said yes. And I’m so glad I did.

A shaky start

Friday promised the discomfort of my Zumeta infusion. (A preventative one to help reduce the likelihood of bone cancer.) Let’s just say that cannulas and I are not very compatible, and this held true that afternoon.

Not the best way to spend a sunny afternoon Image: Dimitri Karastelev on Unsplash

Sweet and kind though the staff always are, it was Friday afternoon and everyone was hot and tired. The actual infusion only took fifteen minutes, but I was trapped in the chemo ward for an hour and a half. And when I was done, I wanted to weep with relief.

Discovering that my infusion was the final one was a joy. Discovering that my white blood cell count had barely recovered in two years was more than a little demoralising. I would have to continue to self isolate for the foreseeable future. I have been isolating quite happily through spring and summer, but autumn and winter are waiting like a pantomime villain in the wings.

Making the best of things

Regardless of that, a celebration was in order. We ordered a delicious take-away from our favourite Japanese restaurant, and put any fears for the future on hold.

My husband’s sushi – not quite as perfect, but just as delicious! Image: Karen Costello McFeat

Life is what happens…

I was exhausted and the next day, all I had scheduled was a sea swim in the morning; a very socially distanced hello with my niece who was celebrating her birthday and then the rest of the day swinging in the hammock.

At least, this is what I was anticipating. Unbeknownst to me, my husband had other plans.

On the Friday morning, I had mentioned rather casually, that we should perhaps consider having a dog again. We had gone back and forth on the issue for months, but for once we seemed to be in alignment. And my husband, who had secretly been looking for a dog, was ready to go.

So late on Saturday morning while I swung in the hammock, oblivious, he had been negotiating with a family for a new puppy. We had had so many disappointments in the process to date that I had asked him not to show or mention a dog until it was a done deal.

A pleasant surprise

Around noon, the phone rang and my husband turned to me and asked, ‘Would you like this puppy?’ Staring from the screen was the most adorable black Cocker Spaniel. My heart lurched. I love spaniels, though I would have been happy with any medium to small dog with four legs and a regular heart beat. With dogs at such a premium, I doubted we would be getting the pick of the litter, but she ticked every box.

My face showed my assent far before my words. ‘Of course! Of Course! When can we meet her?’

‘She’s ready to collect this afternoon,’ my husband told me. And by three o’clock we were off to Kent to fetch her.

We met in the garden with her mum and she confidently came up to us and gave us a doggy kiss. The deal was sealed.

Introducing Hermione Rose Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

Puppy struck

Puppies are clearly designed to have ridiculous heart-tug appeal – and Hermione is no exception. Why else would a sane human being accept broken nights, cleaning up little ‘accidents’ and having to completely rearrange their house to make it puppy safe?

Choosing to get a puppy was hardly a rational act. Yet, I am glad I ignored the nagging voice that kept saying: ‘What about when you are unwell? What about all those expenses? What about, what about??’

Life is risk. We can learn to minimise it; we can learn to put contingency plans in place, but ultimately we need to have faith in ourselves and our futures. The worst may well happen sooner than I’d like, but for now, I have a superb wee companion who will be loved and cherished. And love and friendship are really what life is all about. The rest is just housekeeping.

Sea Views

Over the last few weeks, I have been participating in a Wim Hof training course. It provides a non-invasive way to control and perhaps even lessen the symptoms of MS. A key component of the method is exposure to the cold. This can be achieved by taking chilly showers, but I have found a much more enjoyable route to the same end: sea swimming.

So, every couple of days, we rise early and head to the beach. The sun hangs low on the horizon and spreads out an apron of sunlight upon the sea. The silhouettes of intrepid paddle boarders and swimmers dot the waters and, onshore, the newly washed pebbles glisten.

Everywhere I look, there is a magnificent vista. And the only question I ask myself is why I haven’t been doing this before.

Morning sunlight on the sea Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

The psychological blocks

When I tell people about my sea swims, they do one of two things: one – look slightly horrified or two – say that they would also love to go. Sadly, they seldom do. And I understand that. For years, my boys all went sailing and paddle boarding in the most inclement weather (my husband once went surfing when there was snow on the beach) and I would stay at home drinking tea and thinking wistfully that it must be wonderful to be out in the ocean.

Forcing ourselves out of our comfort zone is just plain hard. We tell ourselves that we are busy; the weather is not quite warm enough and that changing on a cold beach is a pain (it is). All these are true, but few things of value are gained without inconvenience.

The rewards

For me, the rewards well outweigh a few goosebumps. The days when we swim, I feel the same excitement I had as a child on holiday. Sea swimming is, quite simply, exhilarating. Unlike the pool, there is no danger of being crashed into by inconsiderate swimmers doing diagonal backstroke, or being dive bombed my energetic teens. There is no sting of chlorine or the babble of voices booming around the echo chamber that is the municipal baths. There is only the gentle plash of the waves and the call of the gulls overhead.

Come on in! The water is lovely. Image: Jeff Costello-McFeat

For anyone with a disability, swimming is often the only aerobic exercise one can do. However, getting in and out a pool is not easy and asking for the hoist is embarrassing. Then one has to negotiate the slippery floors of changing rooms. Getting in and out the sea is much easier and I have my husband to help get me there and to change afterwards.

Another benefit is that the sea is cold. MS really is not compatible with heat, and my local pool is positively tropical. In the cool of the ocean, I am able to exercise far longer and more easily. The result? I complete my swim energised and fitter – a double win.

Aesthetics

I am a great believer in the healing powers of natural beauty, and I can think of almost nowhere that could compete with the views the sea commands. Looking out to sea, there is the enchanting image of sunlight dancing on water and above skies stretching to eternity. Clouds form and reform in an endless choreography of vapour. On bright, early mornings even the moon is visible – a chalky disc set in the blue.

The shoreline is delightful too. When far enough out, the deep green Downs with their ghostly white faces undulate far above the water. They serve as reminders of the land the sea has given up, but will reclaim again.

And scanning the promenade to the headland of Hastings, there are the pretty gardens, the elegant hotels, the bandstand and the pier.

Eastbourne – early morning Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

A word of warning

The sea is truly sublime – in Burke’s Romantic sense. It evokes feelings of awe, but also of terror. As with all wild places, there is an element of risk that makes it more appealing. The sea may beguile us with its beauty, but we should never underestimate its power. Calm seas may conceal strong currents; waves can catch us unaware; we may not be as strong a swimmer as we think.

Since I can never be certain that my MS won’t suddenly decide to make my legs stop working, I always swim with my husband close by. He is happy to circle me like an amiable shark and I am definitely more confident with him by my side.

Having extolled the virtues of the cold, I should be honest about its downside. Sea swimming is best enjoyed at a leisurely pace. It’s important to let your body acclimatise to the cold without rushing in (especially on hot days). A rash vest provides a little more warmth and a wet suit more still.

It is important to keep swims to a moderate length. Fifteen to twenty minutes is perfect for us. Any longer and we start to really feel cold and it is difficult to warm back up on a beach in the early morning. If you start to feel warm when swimming, it is a danger signal and you must get out immediately. It means that hypothermia has set in. Nature gives no quarter. It is magnificent, yes, but also deadly. It is as well to remember that.

A healthy habit

My morning swims have become a habit now. Though I know there are a few hardy souls who swim all year round, I suspect that come winter I shall return to my exercise bike.

While I can still do it though, I intend to continue as long as possible. The benefits that have accrued are impressive. Swimming in the sea requires all your concentration and thus acts as a sort of meditation. It is exercise, but never monotonous or dull. Each swim will be as different as the ever shifting tides.

A good swim will pretty much ensure a good night’s sleep – a boon for all of us. Studies have shown that cold water swimming can improve mental states and create greater resilience to infection. As a method for improving health, it is difficult to beat.

So I encourage you, while this delightful summer continues, to dig out your swimwear and take the plunge.

Suffering

This week’s post was inspired by a line from a novel I read recently. The protagonist is in a meditation class and she reports what the teacher says:

She gave us a formula: suffering = pain + resistance.
Jenny Offill, Weather

And that was it. The novel moves on. I read the line once and then again. I looked for some development of the idea, some clarification, but there was nothing. I was left with this line spinning around my head, tapping me on the shoulder at odd moments, nudging me to find a solution.

Days went by and then a week and then more days. I’d like to say that I cracked it, but I’m not sure. What it did do was make me think much more deeply about suffering.

It is rather like when you buy a new car. It seems so unique and exciting in the showroom. You’ve seldom seen such a gorgeous model before and you drive it home full of pride. Then, over the next few days, you notice a few cars exactly the same as yours and eventually you realise they are everywhere. As with suffering. If you can steel yourself to look, it is all around you.

Hiding in plain sight

For the uncomfortable truth is that we all suffer and yet we are loath to talk about it or address it. It is unseemly, impolite. A lovely neighbour of mine who died of cancer of the oesophagus, said to me when I was unwell myself, ‘Always look cheerful and don’t complain or no-one will talk to you.’ I was slightly aghast and reasoned that maybe it was a generational or a man thing. However, I’ve since come to realise that he was right. There is acceptable suffering: the holiday was cancelled; the traffic bad; the weather awful. Then there is the unacceptable kind: I’m in pain; my anxiety is terrible; I’m afraid or simply sad.

Incapacitated by sadness Image: Zygimantas Dukaukas on Unsplash

Feeling uncomfortable?

Apologies if you are uncomfortable, but there is no other way that I can share this. And if you bear with me, I think there are paths we can take that will be beneficial to all of us. We may dream of a world where pain is abolished, but the truth is that suffering is woven into life’s fabric far too closely to be removed. If joy is the warp, pain is the weave.

As if to prove the point, our amazing progress in the developed world may have saved us from the apocalyptic suffering of the developing nations, but it has not made us happier or pain-free. We may be diverted from suffering by drugs and distractions, but it still crouches in the corner awaiting to ambush us when our guard is down.

In fact, I believe that our insistence that suffering can be overcome is the very thing that prevents us from finding the solution. For if the mediation teacher is correct and suffering = pain + resistance, we need to change the formula.

A new formula

In this equation, we need to substitute two elements: suffering and resistance. Pain, I’m sure you agree, is a constant. From the little reading I’ve done in Western Buddhism, I know that resistance is to be avoided, so I’m going to substitute resistance with acceptance. What then would that equate to? What is the opposite of suffering? I would argue: peace – being at peace within ourselves and our bodies no matter how imperfect they are. So our new formula reads:

Peace = pain + acceptance

Peace be with you Image: Sunyu on Unsplash

First steps

Perhaps the first and most important step is acknowledging suffering in ourselves and others. Denial or wishing to fix it represents our discomfort with an unpleasant reality. It takes courage to look distress in the eye without flinching.

Yet, if we can do this, a kind of healing takes place. Through listening to another’s pain, we are acknowledging it; giving it serious attention. In doing so, we accept the situation and help the sufferer to accept it also. It is the greatest kindness we can give. After all, any true improvement needs to come from the one who suffers themselves. That may indeed involve intervention from other experts – but they must book the appointment.

Compassion

Compassion literally means to suffer together. When we show compassion then, we do not look down or pity the victim, but we hold them as equals. It is a difficult thing to do, not least because there is an obvious imbalance between the giver and receiver. We also have to let go of the egotistical desire to be praised for doing a good deed. We have to draw upon the knowledge of our own suffering to meet that of our friend. We can then stand by them with full understanding and love. And with that acceptance, comes peace.

Come under my umbrella and we can both keep dry Image: JW on Unsplash

–

Morning has Broken

Morning has broken like the first morning
Blackbird has spoken like the first bird
Praise for the singing
Praise for the morning
Praise for them springing fresh from the world
Eleanor Farjeon

Morning song

As a child, this was one of my favourite hymns, which I sang joyfully in assembly. The message was simple – mornings represented everything good. They were an opportunity for fresh starts and new adventures and I greeted them with excitement each day.

As I grew older, mornings became something that were met with dread: the teenage horror of getting up early for school; the six am feed when the baby had been awake all night; the crushing exhaustion as my MS insidiously shortened my days.

Now, I have returned to my childhood joy of greeting the morning. My sleep has been restored (I shall explain how in a later blog) and each day really is a blessing. So when I was up and enjoying my first mug of hot water and mindfully observing the garden in the sunshine, it was this song that came to mind.

Inspired by my favourite village, Alfriston, and the melody based on a traditional Scottish Gaelic tune ‘Bunessan’, it is perhaps not so surprising that it speaks to me.

Here’s the Cat Stevens’ version to get you into the mood.

A perfect celebration of the new day

Reclaim the light

It seems that mornings have fallen out of favour. After scrolling through three Google pages, expecting to find all sorts of fascinating facts and rituals based upon morning, I found only articles on the meaning and etymology of the word and the wonderfully droll comment, that ‘There is no ‘urban’ definition for morning because the type of people who speak ‘urban’ do not know what morning is.’

Out of the mouths of babes and urban dictionaries. As we’ve detached ourselves further and further from the natural cycles of day and night, the morning has become insignificant or an irritant to our busy man-made, artificially lit days.

It is time to reclaim the morning. It is, after all, the perfect moment to set our minds and bodies into balance. Grabbing a coffee and rushing to work does the opposite. We are wrong footed from the start and the subsequent hours are likely to be harried and stressful.

The solution is as simple as setting the alarm ten or fifteen minutes earlier and trying to keep to that schedule throughout the week – including weekends. I am not suggesting you get up at dawn (though I know some who do) but to ease yourself into rising at a slightly earlier hour. In doing so, we buy ourselves the most precious of commodities: time.

Since I have been getting up earlier, I have been able to indulge in quiet mindfulness. On Sunday morning, I sat for at least half an hour watching the garden come to life, listening to birdsong and the hum of bees in the lavender; watching the elegant duet of tiny butterflies in the marjoram and seeing the sleepy heads of the golden ragwort-like flowers gradually straighten and release their petals.

I do this each day and there are always blessings to be found. One day a giant dragonfly came and looped across the sky, another a long legged cricket hopped by my feet and today a tiny mouse was skittering across the back of the bench where I was sitting. Without stillness, without calm, such miracles will never be witnessed.

Okay, my field mouse wasn’t in a tulip – but just as cute! Image: Nick Fewings on Unsplash

Making the most of ‘free’ time

The extra time has also allowed me to do the exercises I need to optimise my health. The yoga and breathing takes about an hour, but this does not matter, because it is ‘free time’ stolen from time in bed. And the beauty of this virtuous circle is that this activity is the very thing that ensures my sleep is deep and nourishing.

Recently, the weather has been kind and there are few things more delightful than practising yoga on a dewy lawn. When I do the pose, ‘Salute the sun’, that is exactly what I am doing. When I lie back on my mat, I do not have to envisage being connected to the earth – I am, literally.

And since I am self-isolating, it also gives opportunities to go out. There are not many people about at seven-thirty in the morning and my husband and I have used this to our advantage to go for early morning sea swims. We usually have the beach to ourselves. We can relax and enjoy the experience thoroughly, since we do not have that background hum of anxiety to spoil it.

All the religious disciplines I know of call for an early start to the day, beginning with prayer. For some of you, that may well be the path you choose, for others our prayers can be more secular, a sense of gratitude for our continuing lives and the opportunity to begin again afresh. But whatever you do, I encourage you to see it as a ritual; an act full of meaning and significance. Then you really will enjoy the morning’s blessings.

The blackbird is speaking: enjoy his song.

The maestro of the garden Image: Photo by Nicolas DC on Unsplash

Expanding the Possible

I don’t believe in fixed boundaries when it comes to living – only flexible ones. When we are sad or depressed, we bring in those walls as a form of self-protection, though ironically, they simply seal our fate. We need to break down the barriers; free ourselves from our ‘mind-forged manacles’ and embrace the possible so that we can live to our full potential. Does this involve risk? Absolutely. Does it involve discomfort, denial, discipline? Definitely. Is it worth it? Do you need to ask?

At 7.30 am this morning, my husband and I headed off to the beach. It was a pretty day and the sea was calling. We were going for a swim. At such an early hour, there was no concern over social distancing, only that the sea would be on the chilly side. It was. But after a few weeks of cold training, it was perfectly fine. After a few minutes, it was positively pleasant.

The best way to start the day! Image: Jenny Bess on Unsplash

Since the sea is strong, and I am not, my husband circled close by in case I got into difficulties. (When I talk of risk, I mean the small and manageable rather than the fool-hardy kind.) I managed fifteen minutes, which is hardly an Olympic standard, but it is a progression for me.

And this raises a crucially important point: expanding the possible takes time. Our culture is so obsessed with quick results that we often give up before we really begin. If one thing doesn’t work, we try another, forgetting that everything from learning the piano to running a marathon involves dedicated and incremental steps.

Finding balance

Slowing down often, as in the fable of the tortoise and the hare, means reaching our goal faster (see https://whenlifegivesyoulemons.blog/life-in-the-slow-lane/). Taking time means that we will generally be more successful in achieving our wish – no matter how unlikely or impossible it seemed at the outset. I was completely inspired this week by the Swedish photographer and artist Janna Jinton. Her stone balancing is truly breathtaking. I’ll let you see for yourself in the video below.

My husband and I tried this with a few pebbles this morning. We managed three standing upright and were very pleased with ourselves! Even on such a small scale, it was empowering. And whenever we try and succeed in pushing ourselves and our skills a little further, we feed our very souls.

Witnessing the impossible

In order to attempt the seemingly impossible, most of us will need a little prompting from someone who has already blazed the trail. For me, this has been Wim Hof , an extreme athlete and multiple record holder. My husband mentioned his exploits some time ago and I was duly amazed. After a video chat with my Overcoming Multiple Sclerosis friends, his name came up again, and I did some further research. Here are some of the ‘impossible’ things that he has done:

Running a half marathon above the Arctic Circle, barefoot only wearing shorts
Swimming underneath ice for 66 meters
Hanging on one finger at an altitude of 2,000 meters
Climbing the highest mountains in the world while wearing only shorts
Running a full marathon in the Namib Desert without drinking
Standing in a container while covered in ice cubes for extended periods of time
Shown scientifically, that the autonomous nervous system related to the innate immune response, can be wilfully influenced, something that was previously unknown to science https://www.wimhofmethod.com/iceman-wim-hof

All of these exploits have been checked and confirmed by the Guinness Book of Records, so I think we can trust them. That said, my mind still reels. I still wanted some visual proof and here it is:

Seeing is believing

These incredible feats were not achieved overnight, but after decades of serious training. When pushing our boundaries – wherever they lie – we need to take tiny steps allowing for rest and recovery in between. If we do not, we risk injury and capitulation.

We also need to enjoy the experience. I love the sea and I love swimming. Putting up with a little cold, therefore, is a small price to pay to experience both.

I also love my daily yoga ritual and look forward to it as one of the first things I do each day. It wasn’t always like this. In the past, I would prevaricate and skip days and forget – even though the yoga itself was always physically healing and relaxing. It took the discipline of doing it daily to break that behaviour.

Don’t stop

Committing to a goal is the first step in achieving it. We are capable of so much more than we imagine. However, there is a significant caveat here. We do not all begin from the same point in terms of age or ability. All we can do is expand our own boundaries millimetre by millimetre in whichever field seems most important to us. I will never run a marathon, nor likely ever run, but I can work on my mobility and general health to optimise it. That is my marathon training.

Importantly, I can never, ever stop. For life to be the amazing, fulfilling adventure that I believe it is meant to be, we must never cease testing and stretching ourselves to expand the possible. We are capable of so much more than we even dream.

R.E.S.P.E.C.T

Just a little bit …

A true diva

In a time of extreme divisions and, in some cases a complete breakdown of society, it seems more vital than ever that we come together to engage in open and honest debate. But to do this, we need to remember the first vital rule: that we respect those whose opinions differ from our own.

Each day brings new stories of trolling, deplatforming and cancelling. To me, these are all ugly words which threaten the very basis of a healthy, functioning society: freedom of expression. This does not mean that I advocate giving a voice to those whose words are vile or untrue – there are laws for that – but simply that we listen with open hearts and minds.

Throughout these turbulent months, I have been turning to my Quaker Faith and Practice to gain a moral compass in these uncharted seas. Indeed, this is where the germ of the idea for this blog began. I’d like to share this with you:

…When words are strange or disturbing to you, try to sense where they come from and what has nourished the lives of others. Listen patiently and seek the truth which other people’s opinions may contain for you. Avoid hurtful criticism and provocative language. Do not allow the strength of your convictions to betray you into making statements or allegations that are unfair or untrue. Think it possible that you may be mistaken.
Quaker Faith & Practice, Advices and queries 17

Listen

We all find it hard to listen to what others say and especially when our minds are clouded by our own prejudices. If we are honest with ourselves, we often hear nothing the speaker says when we have a negative view of them. Our thoughts are too full of proving them wrong, looking for flaws or simply despising them.

Though we are unlikely to have chats with world leaders any time soon, we are going to have conversations with our friends and neighbours. Brexit, in the UK, caused serious rifts; Trump did the same in America. Whatever side of the divide we fall on though, at least half the country will fall on the other. Race issues are resulting in further fissures, but the truth is that somehow, we all need to get along.

We can work towards reconciliation, or division. I know which I prefer and it needs to start here, with us.

I hear you Image: Mimi Thian on Unsplash

Listening is an active rather than a passive act. It is important that we engage physically with proper eye contact and body language and that we indicate in some way that we have heard. Perhaps we need to paraphrase what was said, ask open questions or pick up stitches of their words and knit them into our own discourse. We need to allow room for expression and avoid my worst habit of jumping in before they finish.

Stick to the facts

As tweets and retweets fly and posts on social media bombard us, it is very difficult to know what is true. These platforms have no fact checkers and we are often subsumed with confusing and often contradictory information. Mainstream media doesn’t seem to do much better – shouting in headlines and emotive pictures and giving very little space to the rather less thrilling facts and figures.

Fortunately, we do have access to the truth, should we wish to take the time. And it is utterly vital that we do. Whatever position we take, it should be an informed one. Our arguments have no power, if we do not understand what we are advocating; our ability to change opinion rests on our understanding of why someone holds an opposing point of view. Perhaps, as is often the case, their position rests in fear. If we take our task as allaying those fears, we might well find they change their minds. If we ridicule or ignore their concerns, no number of fine words will sway them.

Keep calm

With inflammatory issues, where people have passionate feelings, it is extraordinarily difficult to keep calm. Most of us are able to restrain ourselves from physical violence, but it is well to remember that violence in the mind can be equally toxic: to ourselves and others.

It is in states of anger that we are most likely to exaggerate, be hurtful or bend the truth to our argument. None of this ultimately helps. Assuming that our goal is to achieve positive change, we will never do this through aggression and conflict. Violence begets violence and I am more than a little perturbed that many young people feel it is a valid path. Even the most cursory look at history will show that violent reform leads only to misery. Stalin, Chairman Mao and Pol Pot provide the most striking recent examples.

The fruits of violence are misery, orphans and widows Image: Randy Colas on Unsplash

Be the change that you wish to see

Change starts with each individual. And it starts with action not speech. We must first look to ourselves, our failings and and our own foibles before we look for those in others. Then, and only then should we act. We must let our lives speak for us. And if we do, we will find our voice is considerably more powerful and persuasive. A more just and compassionate world is within our grasp. Let us reach for it.

The Unsolicited Sabbatical

This has been a challenging week. Lock-down is easing and folk are returning to an almost normal existence: visiting friends, going for walks and picking up plants at the nursery. For a few days, I too ventured out into the world. And despite the low level hum of anxiety, it was exhilarating.

Then I spoke to my lovely new MS nurse on the phone. She urged me not to risk infection, since it would invariably cause an MS flare up and quite possibly a relapse from which I may or may not recover. Since I am functioning at the very edge of normal, I certainly do not want to tip over to full disability. I knew all this, but the lure of ordinary existence and connection with friends made me wish to disregard it (and at some level still does). How strong the siren song to meet up with those we love; how strong the voice that whispers that there really is nothing to fear.

Except for me, there is. My husband has to work, but I do not have to socialise. Worse still, if, through my ignoring my nurse’s advice I fall ill, it is my husband who will have to deal with the fall-out. We are not old enough to retire and I’ve volunteered long enough at Citizens Advice to know what life is like for those who are forced to leave full employment to become carers.

Which leaves me here. Literally.

Home sweet home or house arrest? Image: Jeff Costello-McFeat

How long?

Of course, no-one knows how long this pandemic will last nor how soon we can hope for a viable vaccine. As a result, my self-isolation could last 6 months, a year or even two. When I first noted the 12 week lock-down in my diary, it seemed an eternity. Now it seems like a brief break. Hence the difficult week. There are no good options here – only risk assessment.

The spectre of depression hovers always. The best way to send someone mad is to place them in solitary confinement. In my bleakest moments, that is exactly how this feels. Except, of course, my situation is hardly like that. I have a comfortable home, a fabulous garden, the company of my husband and via technology, all my friends. What I need is the energy and self-discipline to turn this around. What is ostensibly most people’s worst nightmare, could equally be a dream come true. Lock-down is an opportunity like no other to do all the things you plan to do before life gets in the way. It is a sort of enforced sabbatical.

Glass half full

Once I got over feeling sorry for myself, I started to think of this as a gift of time. How would I spend it? Following the advice I would give my students when planning an essay, I embarked on an elaborate spider diagram with each leg representing all the things I like to do (and including domestic tasks, which no-one can escape from!) My diagram included eighteen distinct categories with everything from gardening to calligraphy. I then translated this into a sort of schedule with hourly slots only to discover that there were not enough hours in a day. My slots would need to be vague enough to include a number of activities. So the creative one might mean art, or sewing or writing a poem.

Then I started thinking in blocks of time. What if I made Tuesday my teaching/volunteering day and Wednesday my writing one? What if I gave myself goals such as make an entirely new dish each week? Or finally work out how to join together all those granny squares I crocheted and which are now lying mournfully in a basket?

My days are already book-ended with morning exercise /meditation and evening Swedish and journal writing. These long days are beginning to look shorter and more precious.

Some of you reading this are over-whelmed with work and no doubt would love the luxury of time that is available to me. Many of us have a great deal of time. If that is the case, and this is a sabbatical from normal life, what would you like to do with it? Answers on a postcard please…

The Sound of Silence

Most of us have a very ambivalent view of silence and for many, it is something to be avoided at all costs. It is indicative of boredom and loneliness. Some of us are so uncomfortable with silence that we surround ourselves day and night with the distractions of radio, television and social media alerts.

Silence, perhaps, recalls wet Sunday afternoons when we were told to play quietly, or when we were reminded that children were to be seen and not heard.

Yet, silence is also bliss, yearned for by those of us caught in the whirl-wind of modern existence. Like the Chinese symbol for Yin and Yang, it is both beneficial and detrimental, active and passive, good and evil. Like solitude and loneliness, how we perceive silence and how we work with it will help determine which of these two opposites holds true.

When silence is harmful

There are few things more damaging to an individual than to have their voice unheard or dismissed. To the speaker, it can feel like they have been gagged and they are likely to either act out or become more silent as a result. Silencing others is easily done and often unintentional, but it can be just as easily remedied. If we can listen with sensitivity and play back what we have been told, we can relieve their stress and strengthen our relationship. We don’t have to agree with what they are saying either – simply acknowledge it. So if your child, partner or friend is being especially quiet, it might be the time to check that they are feeling heard.

Be quiet! Image: Scott Umstaddt on Unsplash

The silent treatment

One of the most powerful punishments is to give the silent treatment. By blocking all communication, you remove the chance for the person to apologise (if that would be appropriate) or even find out what is wrong. It is the most pernicious of punishments and the rise of ‘ghosting’ on social media is a worrying one. Painful though this is, it is a result of immaturity on the part of the ‘ghoster’. Should we encounter this treatment in the real or virtual world, we are best to get on with our lives and without them. Nothing feeds their power more than your insistence on interacting.

Alone with your thoughts

Finally, silence can be a frightening place, as it leaves us alone with our thoughts. With no distractions, it is easy to spiral into the old grooves of negative thinking. Our brains do not like the quiet and without training will simply fill the void with random images – most likely anxious or upsetting ones. I’m sure this is why we so often fill our lives with sound – as a barrier to thinking. However, the sound we introduce only drowns out thoughts; it does not resolve them. A better way, is to gradually acclimatise yourself to silence – making quiet times for reflection and growth not worry and regret.

When it is right to make a noise

Oppressive regimes are the first to silence their populace. No tyrant wants your feedback on his governance. Fortunately, if you are reading this, you are in a place where free speech is valued and protected. It is a privilege that far too little of the world enjoys. But with that privilege comes the responsibility to speak up when the times require it.

The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.
Attr. Edmund Burke

We all moan about the world and its injustices, but we seldom act on our complaints. If we want to see positive change, we need to speak out against injustice wherever it may be. However, a word of caution. For our voices to express the right message, we first need silence. In the Quaker tradition, this waiting in silence for the right course of action is known as discernment. Hasty shouting and the clamour of outrage seldom result in the best outcomes. Quiet contemplation, listening to all sides and giving time for reflection before we speak is much more likely to have a positive and long-term impact.

A bullhorn or a quiet word? Image: Photo by Clem Onojeghuo on Unsplash

Perfect silence

Much as we avoid it, we all need silence. Spend a few hours listening to noisy neighbours, building work or a barking dog and you soon realise its value. Depriving ourselves of it is ultimately like depriving ourselves of oxygen or sleep. We are failing to give our bodies and minds a time to recharge, reflect and simply reboot.

Getting comfortable in silence

I have always worked in silence, but learning to live in it for the majority of the day was hard. Ones thoughts are not always good companions and I had to calm the increasingly panicked cacophony in my head. I had to learn to make friends with silence and pacify the background chatter.

If I were to suggest this was easy, I would be lying. It has taken literally years of practice to reach my present stage and I have much further to go. But what I have discovered is that now I actively seek moments of quiet and relax into them as into a warm bath.

You can achieve this comfortable silence in any number of ways: prayer, meditation, walking or yoga style exercise. You do not need to sit cross-legged chanting ‘Om’. The good news is that they all work equally well. Whatever works for you is the one to pursue.

I have used all the above, though my favourite, long walks, is now denied to me. But I’m not one to give up. Part of the joy of a ramble is interacting with nature and we can do that whatever our situation. We only need to get outside.

A wonderful exercise, when you’ve found a quiet and comfortable place, is to try a listening meditation. The paradox is that we still the mind by focusing on noise and the more quiet we are, the more sound we will hear. More advanced practitioners will not be perturbed by someone using a weed whacker in the garden next door, but I am certainly not at that stage and I would advise you try without disturbance.

Just the other day, I was doing this. Sitting by myself on the bench, I started identifying all the sounds I could hear. Some were obvious such as the hum of conversation from the neighbours’. Then I stretched to hear other noises. There was the insect buzz of a lawn mower in use hundreds of yards away; the ebb and flow of traffic; the ceaseless chatter of the birds, with individual voices becoming distinct; the gentle breeze brushing over my cheek; my breath and finally the barely perceptible backtrack of my tinnitus.

Within the time it took to hear all this, my body was moving into an ever-more restful state. There were no distressing thoughts or worries, purely a sense of calm. The sound of silence is strangely not silent after all – it is the glorious, ever-changing melody of life.

Let nature provide the sound-track Image: Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

What’s the use of worrying?

This is a question I often ask myself (whilst worrying away) and thought I would go ahead and explore it here. Living with precarious health brings constant anxiety. The Corona virus and world craziness is adding more still. I suspect that most of us are worried at the moment – and now seemed a good time to see if it had any real purpose.

Everyday worry is often harmless enough, but we all need to guard against it becoming a major facet of our lives. Unchecked, it results in debilitating mental and physical health. Worry is so normal that we think we know it, yet, I would argue that it is more complex than we imagine.

Magical thinking

Worry, at its heart, is fear about unfortunate outcomes in the future. It is about losing control, since no-one knows the future.

Mark Twain famously remarked:

“I am an old man and have known a great many troubles, but most of them never happened.”
Mark Twain

The irony is, as Twain jokes, most of those dreaded outcomes never actually come into being and our worry brings us nothing but sleepless nights.

However, this phenomenon can feed into a kind of magical thinking. We can, if we are not careful, come to associate the not happening as a result of our worry. Sounds crazy, but it has a sort of insane logic. If, the brain faultily reasons, I worried about something and it didn’t happen then my worrying prevented it. Should I stop worrying and something bad happens, this confirms my belief. Parents are perhaps the worst offenders in this (mea culpa). We come to believe that our very worrying is what keeps our child safe, so we keep on worrying to the detriment of our health and perhaps theirs.

I hold you in my thoughts and keep you safe. Image: Steven Van Loy on Unsplash

Virtue signalling

Perhaps the most pernicious sort of worrying is the one used to suggest that you care. How often do we hear people say they are ‘so worried’ about x,y, or z and yet we see nothing in their behaviour to suggest that their worry would translate into any action. How often do we see celebrities who ‘worry’ about the environment and then travel by private jet to a climate change conference?

The unfortunate irony is that they probably do worry and thus use valuable mental and physical energy on the matter. But worry without action is detrimental to everyone. We may gain a little kudos from our peers for our seeming concern, but the issue is not resolved and at some level we feel ashamed of our own inability to act. Our worry brings no positive outcomes at all.

However, if we worry about something and act upon it, our worry lessons. The issue may well be far beyond our capabilities to solve, but any steps we take to ameliorate it inevitably brings us back a sense of control and self-worth. No individual can save the planet; however, if we make a conscious decision to tread as lightly as we can, we will feel empowered by that. Similarly, if a friend is unwell/unhappy and we visit, our worry is dissipated by the joy of reunion. We may not be able to make our friend better in the physical sense, but we will certainly have made them feel better emotionally.

We can make each other feel better! Image: Photo by NONRESIDENT on Unsplash

The price of worry

Worry is the socially acceptable form of anxiety, but we can tip from one to the other with surprising ease. The mind is like a cooking pot filled with everyday concerns, but it only has so much capacity. As we burden it with more and more, it is like both filling the pot and turning up the heat. Eventually, it will boil over.

For some, like returning soldiers from a war zone, the source of their stress will be obvious. But severe anxiety affects even those with the most comfortable lives. By catastrophizing over minor and fairly insignificant events, a similar level of anxiety can be achieved.

Whatever the cause, the effects of anxiety are extreme. In some cases, it will trigger long term health conditions like my own; in others, it will lead to levels of distress that makes life mentally unbearable. Hopefully, neither of these apply to you, but we are wise to work towards ensuring that they never do.

Keeping worry under control

Worry is about helplessness in the face of the future. Though we can’t do much about the future, we can do much to improve our present. We can embark on practices that work towards restoring calm: whether that be meditation, prayer, yoga or any other centring activity. Ideally, we need to do this daily, since worry takes so little time to take hold.

We might like to take stock of what triggers our anxiety. Anything that feeds on our fears and insecurities is not good for us and should, as far as possible, be eliminated. Currently, the media seems determined to whip their audience into a frenzy of outrage. And though this brings a certain frisson of excitement, it also destabilizes us. Acts of extreme injustice, inflammatory language and exaggeration may make good television, but not happy watchers. I’m going on a news fast for the foreseeable future. Anything truly vital will filter through via my husband or friends – the rest I can do without.

Overwhelmed by the news. Image: Photo by Bruno Bučar on Unsplash

Social media platforms like Facebook and Twitter can also be a source of worry with people posting inflammatory comments and others thoughtlessly replying. If we submerge ourselves too much in these, we are likely to have a very poor and very frightening view of the world.

And it is not just in the virtual world that we are susceptible. Our friends and family members can also feed our worry. Though I would not advocate cutting these people out of our lives, a little judicious use of social distancing might be in order. We can come armed with interesting topics of conversation to avoid being derailed into their current concerns or simply change the subject when the conversation starts spiralling down a rabbit hole. If this does not work, try to only see them when you feel you can face that level of anxiety. You are not obliged to act as a sponge to their fears – it is unlikely to help them and you even less.

Choosing the right response

Though we have precious little control over the lives of others, and little enough over our own, we do have control over how we respond. Nurturing resilience – or inner strength – will enable us to react calmly even in chaos. By practising disciplines which slow our responses and allow space for measured and thoughtful action will benefit us and our community.

Accepting our limitations is another way to reduce worry. We need to make ourselves comfortable resting within uncertainty (life). We need to let go of the illusion that we are in control. In doing so, paradoxically, we gain control – not of events (though it may influence these) but of our emotions.

And finally, we would be wise to consider what we can do and if possible do it. For this we need time to research and reflect. Often the problems we see are rooted somewhere else entirely. Let us seek out the root and make repairs there. There is so much we can do quietly and purposefully.

Whilst concern will spur us on, worry often leaves us rowing in circles. It is time to charter a new course. After all, to answer the question, What’s the use of worrying? I’d have to reply, no use at all.