Lydia has not yet fully accepted the Halti collar that I started using with her a few weeks ago, but we’re getting there.
As usual, we work it out between us, even if it takes a while.
There was no yoga or Qigong class today but after doing the woodland walk with Lydia this morning, I got ready to meet up with my friend Judi, who I have known for many years, since she was a friend of my Mum when I was a teenager.
Now 85, Judi’s resilience and zest for life is an inspiration, and we resolved to meet up more often going forward.
On the way back to the car park I called in at B&M Bargains where I had earlier seen a dog bed that looked perfect for Lydia. Pleased with my purchase I returned home and am now in reflective mood.
My confidence levels have been low over the last few weeks which I know is at least in part because I’m tired. Keeping up a combination of resting, meditating and constructive, focused activity will help. As will tickling Lydia’s tummy. Of course, ‘the tickling of the tummy’ is a constructive, focused activity in itself. In fact I don’t think you can get more constructive and focused than thatš.
Starting this latest 28-day cycle of writing into life on a Mental Health Monday, I have so far meditated and had a walk with Lydia.
I collected her from the boarding kennels this morning where she has been staying for a couple of nights. I had a night out in town with two friends on Saturday and a duvet day on Sunday.
Cocktails and a Thai curry in good company made a welcome change and Lydia had a change of environment as well. We all need it sometimes.
Iām booked into yoga this afternoon, followed by a Qigong class.
Iām struggling with low mood and low energy levels. For now, I donāt think there is anything I can do other than what I am doing.Ā There are no āquick fixesā so I approach the situation as positively as possible, keeping a focus on health and wellbeing and remembering to be glad that I am so fortunate to have my health and a reasonable level of fitness; not something to be taken for granted.
The day is mild, with blue sky and sunshine, albeit damp from the weekendās rain.
Lydia has had her second breakfast ā theyād fed her before I picked her up from the kennels this morning but she still demanded ā and got ā her breakfast ball with her usual supply. We all need a bit of a ābonus ballā sometimes. Sheās now outside enjoying being back in her domain.
Over the last couple of weeks, while Iāve had a writing āholidayā, Iāve been bringing my focus closer to my own domain: my home; our home. Home isn’t something to be taken for granted either. I’ve always been fortunate to have one, one way or another.
Over the next few months ā through the winter ā Iām going to concentrate on giving care and attention to the edges and corners in our home ā the bits that often get missed with a general sweep and āhooverā round. Iāve never been the best at spring cleaning so Iām going to do it over the winter instead. Then, when spring comes, Iāll be free to do other things instead. Thatās my plan; thatās what Iāll do. It may not be the most exciting plan on the planet, but itās mine.
Paperback versions of my two latest books are now available on Amazon:
Rules, Rhymes, Recovery, Recipe, Random: writing into life
Lydia is very calm on our walk this morning; much calmer than sheās been on a walk for a very long time. Itās lovely just to amble along with her, stop when she sniffs at and forages blackberries, feel no need to do much other than just walk along with my dog beside me. I tell her what a lovely dog she is and let her know how much Iām enjoying my walk with her.
I also thank her when we get back to the car. I want her to feel appreciated. She is.
The sense of mellowness and calm continues throughout the day.
I visit a friend in the village. We also go for a walk together, and we thank each other to show our appreciation of each otherās company. Itās a lovely thing, to enjoy the company of another; nothing to prove; just a sense of being together, being alive and being there for each other, even if itās just for that day.
As I write, Lydia is enjoying being outside on a day which is warmish with a soothing breeze.
Iām enjoying being inside, with the door open.
A lingering sadness remains and always will, but the nagging, aching grief has gone, as each day brings something new, or not new. It doesnāt matter. Each day just brings.
No such thing
Thereās no such thing As an ordinary day Each day awakens In its own way
Some days it rains Some days itās sunny Some days are serious And nothing seems funny
Thereās no so thing As an ordinary day Each day is different In its own way
Some days are lonely Some days are glad Some days are joyful Others are sad
Thereās no such thing As an ordinary day Each day unfolds In its own way
Some days are busy Others are slow Some days itās hard To know which way to go
Thereās no such thing As an ordinary day Each one just passes In its own way
***
And when the day Is done and gone We sleep Until another day That isnāt ordinary Comes along
Writing a blog post every day is a challenge Iāve set myself, after several years of only being able to write a blog post every few weeks or months. It’s taken a long time to get my brain to work the way it is working now, and writing has played an important part of my recovery journey.
Getting stuff out of my head and on to paper ā however, incoherent and uncoordinated that stuff was ā helped with clearing out the crap. I started the process long ago, itās only now that I can write with a sense of connectedness to my self, and a sense that it might also help to connect with others.
A lot of people may think that they ācanāt writeā, like a lot of people think that they ācanāt singā, or draw, or paint, or do anything much at all.
We often judge and self-limit, at least in part because weāve been previously judged and limited by people who wanted to control us, who didnāt want to feel threatened by our presence; our potential.
I know now, quite categorically and with absolute certainty, that I can sing.
I may not sing in a way that other people would consider to be āin tuneā or appealing, but that doesnāt matter. I can sing.
My favourite song to sing is āFairytale of New Yorkā by The Pogues. I used to sing it every year at work, with my mate Dave. I last sang it ā loud and strong ā at a Hen do.
I know also that I can write. I write because I want to and I hope that my writing may also help anyone reading it to find the sense of self that I have done, in a world that for many years didnāt make sense to me at all.
Iāve struggled all my life to identify with any kind of role; but I do now identify with the self-appointed roles that I have: writer, artist and dog trainer (not necessarily in that order and with no qualifications whatsoever for the latter).
Iāve had holding ārolesā before, that were part of my development and needed to be, but they have all led up to this, and the work I do now, with words, with clay and with my dog.
It’s not my real name, but ‘Glad’ is better than sad, and I’ve worked hard in my life to be Glad, not sad.
I’ve recently started decorating my house – our house. This may not seem like an amazing revelation or achievement, but it is for me. I’m 64 years old and have had a long struggle to be able to enjoy doing the everyday things that I can focus on now.
It’s taken about fifty years of unlearning and then re-learning how to be me. Poetry hasn’t been the only vehicle I’ve used for recovery and discovery, but it has been a regular companion along the way.
As a teenager – like many teenagers since and still – I developed a very negative self-image of myself, inside and out.
Out
Out, out into the world That’s where I wanted to go What I wanted to do When I was young But when I looked in the mirror All I could see Was an ugly, unattractive body Looking back at me
I went on a diet from the age of about 15 that lasted for the next 30 years or so, and affected every aspect of my life (or more accurately non-life that it had become). I didn’t think I had anything to offer as a person, didn’t know how to form relationships, and put all my energy into losing weight. At least if I was thin, that would be something. Except it led to nothing, because it wasn’t solid ground on which to build a life. It was the best I could do at the time, but I did eventually realise, after I’d had a major breakdown in my late thirties, and was trying to get myself going again in my forties, that I needed to eat, to give me energy, to be able to live. I had to finally, eventually, push through that awful sense of self-loathing that I associated with putting on weight in order to emerge as a (literally as well as generally) well-rounded person with an appetite for life.
I still have to work at it, still take anti-depressants, can’t use shop changing rooms or look at myself naked in a mirror, but on the whole this does not affect my ability to enjoy my life – with my partner – and try to make the most of every day.
I can still very easily cut myself off, go into ‘zombie’ mode, more readily associate with entropy than energy, so decorating my house – however long it takes – and writing this blog – wherever it takes me – are positive signs of engagement; action rather than inaction.
I hope my poems and other musings may resonate with anyone who has struggled to find their own identity and path through life. I know now that there are endless possibilities and I hope that the following poem (in six parts) helps to show how important it is for each of us to find our fighting spirit:
Jacket 1 It’s there, on the chair The red fleece jacket With hood and drawstring waist That I don’t want to wear Don’t want to keep
It’s warm and soft when I put it on But far too big for me Drowned in a red sea Shapeless, I feel A baggy, saggy, faceless entity
I look at the jacket On the chair In limp, loose folds of red, and seams This isn’t the jacket of my dreams
It’s theirs to wear Not mine to keep Their tears to cry Not mine to weep
It’s there, on the chair The red fleece jacket With hood and drawstring waist That I don’t want to wear Don’t want to keep So I’ve put a price on its head To let it go free To someone who wants it But when will that be?
Jacket 2 It’s there, on the chair The red fleece jacket With hood and drawstring waist That I don’t want to wear Don’t want to keep
It’s warm and soft when I put it on But far too big for me Drowned in a red sea Shapeless, I feel A baggy, saggy, faceless entity
I look at the jacket On the chair In limp, loose folds of red, and seams This isn’t the jacket of my dreams
It’s not my layer These aren’t my lies With drawstring waist And nylon ties
It’s not my jacket They’re not my dreams These aren’t my ties They’re not my seams
So I leave the jacket On the chair To go my way While they go theirs
Jacket 3 Now it hangs upon the door That red fleece jacket That I didn’t want to wear Didn’t want to keep
It’s warm and soft when I put it on And not too big for me Warmed in a red sea Shapeless no more No baggy, saggy faceless entity
I look at the jacket On the door In limp, loose folds of red, and seams It’s not the jacket of my dreams But just a layer to keep me warm From frozen looks And glares of scorn
It is my jacket With hood and waist To wear a while From place to place
Jacket 4 What next?
Jacket 5 Jacket in?
Jacket 6 No!
Gladabout.life blog posts from March 2020 to September 2024 are now available as an e-book on Amazon for Kindle:
Rules, Rhymes, Recovery, Recipe, Random: Glad About Life
Glad About 
You must be logged in to post a comment.