The Paradoxical Society

Has our society become selfish and mean-spirited? 

We have the press that shame those who clearly need help, or they raise hell about "fake homeless" and benefit frauds. People I know complain about "foreigners who come to this country to take up our benefits", or the "lazy bastards who are taking our hard earned money to live the life of Riley".

People like Ant McPartlin don't need to be publicly humiliated, he's most likely in a bad enough place as it is. That he is being used as a marketing piece to sell trashy newspapers is morally corrupt. People in bad situations need support not beratement.

The recent story of a "millionaire businessman" in Torbay photographing and so-called outing "fake homeless" people. Senseless. 

There are lifestyle choices you can make, like whether you are a fitness king or queen, or a sofa sloth, but choosing to sleep out on the streets during the recent snows and minus temperatures? I don't think that's a choice somehow, the reason is irrelevant. It's not like they're doing it to inconvenience others.

There used to be a time when we would provide night shelters for the homeless, and give them warm soup. Now we walk past them and blame them for getting into the situation they are in. 

Just when you think our society can get no lower...there is hope. 

The new generation are more generous and willing to donate more on average to charities. In fact, the British public in general are increasing the amount of charitable giving. (2.9% in the UK in 2017), and most people report donating money from time to time.

The recent snow storms gave the opportunity for people to shine. There was more neighbourliness...and people actually talked in the streets. Some owners of 4x4s were offering to take NHS staff to and from work. A group of 4x4 owners in Devon (the Devon and Cornwall 4x4 Response group) volunteered their vehicles and time to transport vital supplies and support the police and medics when needed.

These are the stories that give a different side to our society that is so at odds with the negative stories that the mainstream media press upon us. 

Our society is living in a paradox. We want Britain to be great but we fail to witness its decline. A great society cannot be judged by its wealth but its happiness. And a great society can measure its equality not disparity.

With  1 in 4 of us likely to experience a mental health problem each year, and a growing rift between rich and poor (According to the Equality Trust, the "top fifth" of the population earns 40% of the income, and the richest 10% of households hold 45% of all wealth). The level of inequality is increasing. And we all know that Brexit and austerity benefits the rich, while the poor shoulders the burden.

And then there is the faith paradox. Our so-called political leaders who claim that they use their Christian values to guide them, while their actions are very different. If their values guided them, why did a rough sleeper die outside parliament? And why would they be dismantling and selling the NHS for profit when it has such a negative impact on our health?

Life is not all doom and gloom, although those negative stories certainly help sell papers.There is actually a tremendous amount of kindness. The kindness might not be consistent (just because someone donates to an animal charity doesn't mean that they're going to offer a cup of tea to a rough sleeper on the street), but where there is the seed of kindness, there is always hope.

The thing with a paradox is that two things can't exist at once. In much the same way that time lines can not exist together, the paradoxical illusions we have created will at some point implode on us and we will have to establish a new truth. One, of course, that I am sure will be carefully guided by the press and the spin doctors while we immerse ourselves in the latest binge-worthy Netflix series.

[Random fact - Did you know that £189 million was raised in 2015 by bake sales alone?]

Resolve the cause and you won't need to treat the symptoms.

Why do the motivation gurus write so many books?

If their step by step plans and "powerful" words actually worked, surely only one book would be necessary. In fact, if one person's wisdom was enough, why are there so many other people out there who claim that their systems are the ones that will work?

Oh, and while we are on that point, did you know that we have a system which is biased: we tend to record the successes more than the failures! No one reads books from failed entrepreneurs, after all. For every successful entrepreneur, there are probably dozens of failed ones.

There has to be a measure for what counts as success and in our society we have decided that wealth is it. If you don't earn enough to meet that mark, you are seen to be a failure in some way and all these business gurus exist to tell you how to reach the heights society expects of you. No one thinks that, perhaps, it is the measurement for success that is the problem...in fact that there is a measurement at all.

In the same way, psychologists have to decide what is 'normal' in order to recognise mental health disorders and THEN they can "treat" you so that you fit in the nice little square boxes and, more often than not, into the tick box exercises to satisfy national statistics and targets.

I could rant about this one for a long time.

What if there is no normal. If one in five of us suffer or have suffered from a mental health disorder, then it suggests that there is a problem with the measurement, and most definitely a problem with the treatment.  

It is a symptom of our society, and quite frankly a derivative of commercialism, to fix the symptoms and not the problem.

We treat anxiety and depression with medication and sessions to change our thought patterns when, quite often, a change of circumstances is required.

We are told that we should treat lack of action with motivation. It is pretty hard to be motivated when you are not inspired.

We put taxes on plastic carrier bags that puts the onus on the customer and not the supplier to find a sustainable solution. It is not the customer that produces or even demands plastic bags, it is the retailer who wants to cut costs by using cheap plastic that can have their logo printed on for advertising.

This is my first blog in a very long time and I have no idea where I am going with this mild morning rant.

I have suffered with writer's block for the last ten years but that time is drawing to an end. I'm kind of sick of hearing people tell me that writer's block is ridiculous....you just have to write! If only the solution could be that easy. Oh wait, there is no magic pill for that.

Writer's block is a symptom. Much like a headache could be a symptom of stress, or it could be a symptom of a hangover. Yes you can treat the headache with a couple of painkillers but if it's a hangover, you will be wanting to drink more water or if it's a sign of stress then you will want to reduce your stress otherwise you will get a repeat of the symptom. Pointless, isn't it.

My writer's block was down to a few different things which I have mostly resolved. I have also discovered the following:

Firstly, to be able to write, you have to have something to say.

Secondly, you have to have the inspiration to say it.

And, finally, you have to have the motivation to write it.

Cure the cause, and there's no need to treat the symptoms.

Post-holiday blues

I've been on holiday. Not a long holiday, just a week. It doesn't explain my absence, I know. 

My first thoughts this morning as I stepped into my cold, dark office, was that I didn't know what I was doing here. The feeling weighed down in my stomach like I'd swallowed some rocks. This isn't me right now. 'Me' is someone else - somewhere else - tasting life and doing things that are fascinating and, quite frankly, cool. Work does not make me feel alive and buzzing like my holiday in Sicily made me feel. Instead, I feel like I've hugged a block of ice gone numb. 

Sicily is hot sunshine, opposed to the cold rain in Cornwall. The food there leaves explosions of taste in your mouth, the streets are full of people and food markets, even the language is poetic and flamboyant. Here, the food is served soggy or part-cold, there's no attention to it...it is 'fast food', and lacking in nutrition.  

I have the post-holiday blues. I know I do, but I've never missed a place as much as this. 

We went to Sicily for Mount Etna; or, rather, I went to Sicily to fulfil my life-long dream to go up a live volcano, S came for the holiday and the food. Why it took until my mid thirties to fulfil this dream, I don't know, but finally I did it...I have walked on a volcano and seen real, molten lava. 

When I was young, all I dreamt about was being a volcanologist and a writer. I read Geology at university but soon discovered that volcanology was not all adventure and excitement, there was physics involved. A lot of physics. Even my Physics A-Level could not prepare me for that, so I switched to palaeontology and dinosaurs. Interesting, and easier. I don't regret it. Life takes you down many different paths, usually for a reason. 

Going up Mount Etna was fascinating. Sicily was fascinating too. I've learnt so much out there, including the more laid-back attitude. I have a lot to think about now, ideas to follow up and perhaps new dreams to be made. In the mean time, I will just keep plodding on while I silently plot my next escape. 

Engagement

The late afternoon sun was warming the hills of Cornwall with a golden light. We were parked up on the edge of Dartmoor, sitting in the car waiting to watch the sunset. We'd had a long drive, not just because we were going home to Cornwall from Aldershot but because I'd managed to get lost on the moors and missed heading to the waterfalls I had in mind. I figured it was quite romantic, though: the two of us, relaxing on the moors with a beautiful view and what looked to set to be a beautiful sunset.

'Is this romantic?' I thought I had better check, but I left the 'enough' unsaid.

'Yes...why?'

She sounded suspicious, so I changed the subject. For ten minutes, we chatted about random things. I knew I was delaying the question, but there had to be a perfect moment, right?

The sun was steadily disappearing over the horizon when she asked if we should get going as it would still be two hours before we got back home. I felt deflated, not like a burst balloon, more like a slow puncture on a tyre. Had my moment been missed?

It wasn't my first attempt. I'd planned the perfect moment to ask 'the question' only a couple of weeks ago. I took her on a starlit visit to the beach which would have been perfect, except I hadn't checked the tide times. When we got there, there was  no beach (just rocks). The stars were perfect that night, however we were both frozen the moment we got out of the car. Notes were made hastily to self: stay in a warm place next time.

The stars really were perfect that night, the moon was just starting to rise behind us. I took a photograph, not a great one as photographs go, but it was so beautiful.

Back on Dartmoor, I didn't want to wait for another attempt. Two missed opportunities would not sit well with me. What if it was raining the next time I got the courage up? No, it had to be done then and there. I was holding her in my arms, her head resting on my shoulder, when I whispered: 'but I wanted to ask you a question'.

Her whole body stiffened. I think mine probably did too, like a frightened animal not knowing if I should stay or flee. I asked her, then, I just let the words escape my lips like they were the most natural things in the world. 'Will you marry me?'

It would have been an awkward drive home had she said no, but thankfully she said yes! Afterwards, I got to drive home with my fiancée. :-)

The Abseil

As I trembled at the top of the National Maritime Museum in Falmouth, wearing a climbing helmet and harness, the man asked if I had abseiled before. I replied no, to which he said 'bloody good time to start, huh?'. I trembled some more. 

It was Friday 15 November and we were raising money for Children in Need. My Mum, a 70 year old, had agreed to do the abseil a few weeks before. After some though, I decided that I would do it as well (if my Mum can do it...). The thing is, I'm terrified of heights but pride was not going to get in my way (or is it the other way around? Pride got in my way so that, despite being afraid, I agreed to do it). 

As I walked around the outside of the 95ft high tower, I wondered if I had just made a terrible mistake. In fact, I wondered if I should just walk back the way I had come. The only problem was that people had sponsored me; I had no choice. 

I reached the end of the walkway, and was attached to the ropes, shown how to let myself down and then told to climb over the railings. 

'What?', I said. Now I felt queasy. Climb over the bloody railings? You have to be joking. My body, however, was not listening to me. Before I knew it, one leg was over the other side and the other one was following it. What am I doing? I thought, though my body carried on following orders. 

'Now lower yourself down'. 

I started to lower myself down, eyes closed (I'm not that brave) until I realised that I wasn't going to fall. I was about 20ft down when I stopped and waved to my Dad who was taking photographs at ground level. I tried not to think about anything at all, but I knew that I was almost finding it fun. It helped that S, who was not afraid in the slightest (rude!), was right beside me for the whole way down.

Me and S about to let go and lower ourselves down.

We waited at the bottom for my Mum who looked grey with terror, and who had to go through the middle of the railings rather than over because she couldn't climb (she said she was too old). She did it though, and raised over £700. Although I battled with my fear to do the abseil, my Mum was the one who really achieved something. It took her nearly an hour to calm down afterwards.

It goes to show that if you don't do something because you are afraid, how do you know you won't enjoy it? 

A writer who can't write is like a sword fighter who is afraid to pick up a sword: not a lot of good when someone comes at him with a broadsword.

I have written articles and short stories in the past. My last article was published last December in Cornwall Today magazine but I haven't written anything since. I can't...I won't. I even have an interview to write about but it has been sat recorded on my phone for months (fyi My Samsung galaxy S2 has a better voice recorder than my dedicated dictaphone!). I also need to write letters for my boss to send out to people but it can take me so long (too long) to write one. It is frustrating, but it is also something I want to work on next.

I have always suffered from writer's block. Sometimes I find myself free from it, sometimes it is so crippling that I can stare at a blank page in horror,my guts an agony of twisted knots. It is a confidence thing, I am sure.

Being able to write the occasional blog post is helping but I think I need to do more. If I had remembered nanowrimo (novel writing month which is November) I would have prepared characters and the basic storyline for a short novel, but I found out as it was starting. I feel I need to challenge myself more.

I have been writing a bucket list and steadily working my way through it. I have milked a cow (because it was random), I have done a voiceover job, I have slept in a car (that was on S's list not mine) and I am gradually walking the cornish coast 13-15 miles at a time. A short story is on my list, my worst nightmare in terms of writing: creativity, length, completion. It feels like one of my biggest challenges yet!