How to Live

Hemingway, on how to live.

Minimalist Challenge

I’m strongly considering undertaking this 30-day minimalism challenge.  Some of the days seem pretty easy, while others are daunting.  I’m looking at you, number 13!

Who’s with me on this? 

via Into Mind

If Our Bodies Could Talk

When Joanna (from A Cup of Jo) revealed Dr. James Hamblin as her latest celebrity crush, I was a little confused.  I usually agree with her on just about any topic imaginable, but this confession had me like whaaaaaaaaaaaaaat?  At first glance, he looks like a skinny socially-awkward adolescent.  After watching a couple of his videos, it not only confirmed my first impressions but also showed how he has managed to make a lucrative career out of that persona.  Kudos to him, but surely this doesn’t grant him eligibility as an object of our affection?  I happen to know that Joanna shares my fondness of facial hair and this fellow looks like he has never had reason to shave in his life.  There’s also the fact that he isn’t exactly a celebrity;  I mean, Joanna herself is arguably more well-known. Shouldn’t your celebrity crush be more famous that you?  Isn’t that the point? I didn’t get it. 

Admittedly though, his video series If Our Bodies Could Talk is very, ve-ry entertaining.  I will warn you now that I binged watched the entire series, although if it should happen to you it won’t affect your life in the same way as say, Breaking Bad, given each video is only about 5 minutes duration.  Watch them… or my favourites at least:

Tabless Thursday is a concept I have successfully introduced into my life.  Single tasking is the new multitasking.  I’m all about it.

Things not to say to a pregnant woman.  This made me laugh out loud.  I didn’t say LOL because that doesn’t explain how I was actually laughing at my computer screen.  I was, for reals.

The case for napping at work.  Do you love him yet?

A take on the sad desk lunch. 

Is breakfast the most important meal of the day?  Maybe, as outrageous as it sounds, breakfast is…just another meal.   It is weird how preachy people get about not skipping breakfast!

After the sixth or so video, you might begin to find Dr. James strangely endearing, although I can’t put my finger on why exactly.  Us ladies are complicated creatures.  I’m not saying I’m on that bandwagon completely, but I get it.  I get it now.

Advice

I’m hesitant about posting on the topic of life advice, particularly at this time of year when every blogger is publishing their resolutions for the shiny new year.  You don’t need my two cents.  You can assume (correctly) that I have similar list of predictable intentions.  Anyway, this isn’t that kind of advice. 

This article, with excerpts from a “Dear Sugar”  column by Cheryl Strayed (author of Wild) , was one of those thoughtful pieces that I read, read again and then decided that it might be just the kind of soul-soothing guidance that your January self needs.

Here are my favourite bits:

 

On how to treat your parents…

One Christmas at the very beginning of your twenties when your mother gives you a warm coat that she saved for months to buy, don’t look at her sceptically after she tells you she thought the coat was perfect for you. Don’t hold it up and say it’s longer than you like your coats to be and too puffy and possibly even too warm. Your mother will be dead by spring. That coat will be the last gift she gave you. You will regret the small thing you didn’t say for the rest of your life.  Say thank you.

On love

I recalled a time fifteen years ago, when I was sitting in a café with Mr. Sugar. We’d only been lovers for a month, but we were already in deep, thick in the thrall of the you-tell-me-everything-and-I’ll-tell-you-everything-because-I-love-you-so-madly stage, and on this particular afternoon I was telling him the harrowing tale of how I’d gotten pregnant by a heroin addict the year before and how I’d felt so angry and sad and self-destructive over having an abortion that I’d intentionally sliced a shallow line in my arm with a knife, even though I’d never done that before. When I got to the part about cutting myself, Mr. Sugar stopped me. He said, ‘Don’t get me wrong. I want to hear everything about your life. But I want you to know that you don’t need to tell me this to get me to love you. You don’t have to be broken for me.

On being a (female) writer…

How many women wrote beautiful novels and stories and poems and essays and plays and scripts and songs in spite of all the crap they endured. How many of them didn’t collapse in a heap of 'I could have been better than this' and instead went right ahead and became better than anyone would have predicted or allowed them to be. The unifying theme is resilience and faith. The unifying theme is being a warrior and a motherfucker. It is not fragility. It’s strength. It’s nerve. And 'if your Nerve, deny you –,' as Emily Dickinson wrote, 'go above your Nerve.' Writing is hard for every last one of us — straight white men included. Coal mining is harder. Do you think miners stand around all day talking about how hard it is to mine for coal? They do not. They simply dig.

On becoming stronger with change…

Real change happens on the level of the gesture. It’s one person doing one thing differently than he or she did before. It’s the man who opts not to invite his abusive mother to his wedding; the woman who decides to spend her Saturday mornings in a drawing class instead of scrubbing the toilets at home; the writer who won’t allow himself to be devoured by his envy; the parent who takes a deep breath instead of throwing a plate. It’s you and me standing naked before our lovers, even if it makes us feel kind of squirmy in a bad way when we do. The work is there. It’s our task. Doing it will give us strength and clarity. It will bring us closer to who we hope to be.

To-do List

The Tuesdays that follow bank-holiday Mondays are the most hateful of all.  Worse than regular Mondays.  I spent a significant portion of yesterday sobbing on Skype to my boyfriend.  The rest of the day was just about getting through it.

Today, I’m focusing on one task: to slow down.

(This song helps)

Soul-mates

Mayday; M’aider; May Day

Mayday Mayday Mayday is used in military operations throughout the world as a signal of distress in radio communications.  But do you know where it came from?

A man called Frederick Stanley Mockford coined the term in 1923, when he was working at Croydon Airport (London) as a radio officer.  Most of the air traffic at that time was between Croydon and Le Bourget Airport (Paris), so he adopted a French phrase in emergency situations, to summon help from French pilots and ground staff.  “Venez m’aider” (pronounced ven-ay may-day) translates as “come help me” and from that point on, Mayday stuck.

To signal distress, the call must be given three times in a row ("Mayday Mayday Mayday") to prevent any confusion in noisy conditions, and to distinguish an actual Mayday call from a message about a Mayday call.

This piece of nerdy trivia comes to you today because it is May Day (1st May) and because I can write about whatever I darn like.

p.s. It’s Summer!  It’s here!

Knowing Hands

On Kindness

I suppose the thing I most would have liked to have known or be reassured about (when I was 18) is that in this world, what counts more than talent, what counts more than energy or concentration or commitment or anything else is kindness.  And the more in the world you encounter kindness, and cheerfulness (which is kind of its amiable uncle or aunt), just the better the world always is – and all the big words: virtue, justice, truth, are dwarfed by the greatness of kindness

- Stephen Fry

Dear Sophia,

The lil’est member of our family, my niece Sophia, was born one month ago today.  More than ever before, I wish it were possible to hold time still.  It’s all going too fast.  The letter below, via I wrote this for you, is entitled The First Day on Earth, so I’m a little late (as always), but I reckon most of the advice still applies to little Sophia.

First, you need to relax. I know it's not as warm as it once was but you get used to the cold and warmth can be found in the people around you.

Secondly, do not get used to crying to get things. Some people never grow out of it. Avoid them. Spend time around people who smile in the face of despair. Learn from them all you can. Everyone is a lesson. A story. A unique and wondrous perspective on the chaos that is human existence. The more people you talk to, the more you understand it. But never speak if you have the opportunity to listen. Especially if you want someone to like you. There's nothing you can say that'll endear someone to you as much as really and truly listening to them.

You are on day one of a sometimes remarkable, sometimes terrible, sometimes beautiful, strange and always completely unknown journey. Be ok with this. Worrying about what happens next will ruin the surprise. You will meet strange people along the way, some good, some bad. This is a pattern that will more than likely repeat constantly as you grow up. Some things will be good, some things will be bad. Neither will ever last forever. Nothing will stay the same. Appreciate every moment of happiness and remember it when you despair. Hold them close. And when you are happy, remember the moments of despair and think to yourself, "I told you so."

Never let someone else define you. You are your own creation and only you decide how you feel, who you are and what you want. This can be scary at first but it is liberating to truly and utterly embrace your own identity. People who hate you for not being like them are not worth hating back. Please, let go of hate whenever you can. Accept love whenever it is given and give it out freely. It is the most powerful force on earth.

Enjoy your stay.

I don’t know who said this…

Sometimes you meet someone, and it’s so clear that the two of you, on some level belong together.  As lovers, or as friends, or as family, or as something entirely different.  You just work, whether you understand one another or you’re in love or you’re partners in crime.  You meet these people throughout your life, out of nowhere, under the strangest circumstances, and they help you feel alive.  I don’t know if that makes me believe in coincidence, or fate, or sheer blind luck, but it definitely makes me believe in something.

… but it rings so true to me.

How did it get so late so soon?

The wisdom of Dr. Seuss… anyone else feeling like this lately?

Hemingway: on writing

I love how most of Hemingway’s advice on being a good writer applies, more generally, to being a good human.

Also, a cocktail inspired by this great man.

Water is Life

A four year old’s bucket list… and now I’m sobbing at my desk in work.

Support here.

George Saunders on Being Kind

I don’t often post entire speeches on little t, but then it’s not often someone’s words touch me like George Saunders’ did in his convocation speech to the class of 2013 at Syracuse University. 

This is so beautiful.  Please read it.

Down through the ages, a traditional form has evolved for this type of speech, which is: Some old fart, his best years behind him, who, over the course of his life, has made a series of dreadful mistakes (that would be me), gives heartfelt advice to a group of shining, energetic young people, with all of their best years ahead of them (that would be you).

And I intend to respect that tradition.

Now, one useful thing you can do with an old person, in addition to borrowing money from them, or asking them to do one of their old-time “dances,” so you can watch, while laughing, is ask: “Looking back, what do you regret?”  And they’ll tell you.  Sometimes, as you know, they’ll tell you even if you haven’t asked.  Sometimes, even when you’ve specifically requested they not tell you, they’ll tell you.

So: What do I regret?  Being poor from time to time?  Not really.  Working terrible jobs, like “knuckle-puller in a slaughterhouse?”  (And don’t even ASK what that entails.)  No.  I don’t regret that.  Skinny-dipping in a river in Sumatra, a little buzzed, and looking up and seeing like 300 monkeys sitting on a pipeline, pooping down into the river, the river in which I was swimming, with my mouth open, naked?  And getting deathly ill afterwards, and staying sick for the next seven months?  Not so much.  Do I regret the occasional humiliation?  Like once, playing hockey in front of a big crowd, including this girl I really liked, I somehow managed, while falling and emitting this weird whooping noise, to score on my own goalie, while also sending my stick flying into the crowd, nearly hitting that girl?  No.  I don’t even regret that.

But here’s something I do regret:

In seventh grade, this new kid joined our class.  In the interest of confidentiality, her Convocation Speech name will be Ellen. Ellen was small, shy.  She wore these blue cat’s-eye glasses that, at the time, only old ladies wore.  When nervous, which was pretty much always, she had a habit of taking a strand of hair into her mouth and chewing on it.

So she came to our school and our neighbourhood, and was mostly ignored, occasionally teased (“Your hair taste good?” – that sort of thing).  I could see this hurt her.  I still remember the way she’d look after such an insult: eyes cast down, a little gut-kicked, as if, having just been reminded of her place in things, she was trying, as much as possible, to disappear.  After awhile she’d drift away, hair-strand still in her mouth.  At home, I imagined, after school, her mother would say, you know: “How was your day, sweetie?” and she’d say, “Oh, fine.”  And her mother would say, “Making any friends?” and she’d go, “Sure, lots.”

Sometimes I’d see her hanging around alone in her front yard, as if afraid to leave it.

And then – they moved.  That was it.  No tragedy, no big final hazing.

One day she was there, next day she wasn’t.

End of story.

Now, why do I regret that?  Why, forty-two years later, am I still thinking about it?  Relative to most of the other kids, I was actually pretty nice to her.  I never said an unkind word to her.  In fact, I sometimes even (mildly) defended her.

But still.  It bothers me.
So here’s something I know to be true, although it’s a little corny, and I don’t quite know what to do with it:

What I regret most in my life are failures of kindness.

Those moments when another human being was there, in front of me, suffering, and I responded…sensibly.  Reservedly.  Mildly.

Or, to look at it from the other end of the telescope:  Who, in your life, do you remember most fondly, with the most undeniable feelings of warmth?

Those who were kindest to you, I bet.

It’s a little facile, maybe, and certainly hard to implement, but I’d say, as a goal in life, you could do worse than: Try to be kinder.

Now, the million-dollar question:  What’s our problem?  Why aren’t we kinder?

Here’s what I think:

Each of us is born with a series of built-in confusions that are probably somehow Darwinian.  These are: (1) we’re central to the universe (that is, our personal story is the main and most interesting story, the only story, really); (2) we’re separate from the universe (there’s US and then, out there, all that other junk – dogs and swing-sets, and the State of Nebraska and low-hanging clouds and, you know, other people), and (3) we’re permanent (death is real, o.k., sure – for you, but not for me).

Now, we don’t really believe these things – intellectually we know better – but we believe them viscerally, and live by them, and they cause us to prioritize our own needs over the needs of others, even though what we really want, in our hearts, is to be less selfish, more aware of what’s actually happening in the present moment, more open, and more loving.

So, the second million-dollar question:  How might we DO this?  How might we become more loving, more open, less selfish, more present, less delusional, etc., etc?

Well, yes, good question.

Unfortunately, I only have three minutes left.

So let me just say this.  There are ways.  You already know that because, in your life, there have been High Kindness periods and Low Kindness periods, and you know what inclined you toward the former and away from the latter.  Education is good; immersing ourselves in a work of art: good; prayer is good; meditation’s good; a frank talk with a dear friend;  establishing ourselves in some kind of spiritual tradition – recognizing that there have been countless really smart people before us who have asked these same questions and left behind answers for us.

Because kindness, it turns out, is hard – it starts out all rainbows and puppy dogs, and expands to include…well,everything.

One thing in our favor:  some of this “becoming kinder” happens naturally, with age.  It might be a simple matter of attrition:  as we get older, we come to see how useless it is to be selfish – how illogical, really.  We come to love other people and are thereby counter-instructed in our own centrality.  We get our butts kicked by real life, and people come to our defense, and help us, and we learn that we’re not separate, and don’t want to be.  We see people near and dear to us dropping away, and are gradually convinced that maybe we too will drop away (someday, a long time from now).  Most people, as they age, become less selfish and more loving.  I think this is true.  The great Syracuse poet, Hayden Carruth, said, in a poem written near the end of his life, that he was “mostly Love, now.”

And so, a prediction, and my heartfelt wish for you: as you get older, your self will diminish and you will grow in love.  YOU will gradually be replaced by LOVE.   If you have kids, that will be a huge moment in your process of self-diminishment.  You really won’t care what happens to YOU, as long as they benefit.  That’s one reason your parents are so proud and happy today.  One of their fondest dreams has come true: you have accomplished something difficult and tangible that has enlarged you as a person and will make your life better, from here on in, forever.

Congratulations, by the way.

When young, we’re anxious – understandably – to find out if we’ve got what it takes.  Can we succeed?  Can we build a viable life for ourselves?  But you – in particular you, of this generation – may have noticed a certain cyclical quality to ambition.  You do well in high-school, in hopes of getting into a good college, so you can do well in the good college, in the hopes of getting a good job, so you can do well in the good job so you can….

And this is actually O.K.  If we’re going to become kinder, that process has to include taking ourselves seriously – as doers, as accomplishers, as dreamers.  We have to do that, to be our best selves.

Still, accomplishment is unreliable.  “Succeeding,” whatever that might mean to you, is hard, and the need to do so constantly renews itself (success is like a mountain that keeps growing ahead of you as you hike it), and there’s the very real danger that “succeeding” will take up your whole life, while the big questions go untended.

So, quick, end-of-speech advice: Since, according to me, your life is going to be a gradual process of becoming kinder and more loving: Hurry up.  Speed it along.  Start right now.  There’s a confusion in each of us, a sickness, really: selfishness.  But there’s also a cure.  So be a good and proactive and even somewhat desperate patient on your own behalf – seek out the most efficacious anti-selfishness medicines, energetically, for the rest of your life.

Do all the other things, the ambitious things – travel, get rich, get famous, innovate, lead, fall in love, make and lose fortunes, swim naked in wild jungle rivers (after first having it tested for monkey poop) – but as you do, to the extent that you can, err in the direction of kindness.  Do those things that incline you toward the big questions, and avoid the things that would reduce you and make you trivial.  That luminous part of you that exists beyond personality – your soul, if you will – is as bright and shining as any that has ever been.  Bright as Shakespeare’s, bright as Gandhi’s, bright as Mother Theresa’s.  Clear away everything that keeps you separate from this secret luminous place.  Believe it exists, come to know it better, nurture it, share its fruits tirelessly.

And someday, in 80 years, when you’re 100, and I’m 134, and we’re both so kind and loving we’re nearly unbearable, drop me a line, let me know how your life has been.  I hope you will say: It has been so wonderful.

Congratulations, Class of 2013.

I wish you great happiness, all the luck in the world, and a beautiful summer.

via Sho & Tell

Zooey

Being tender and open is beautiful.  As a woman, I feel continually shhh’ed.  Too sensitive.  Too mushy.  Too wishy washy.  Blah blah. Don’t let someone steal your tenderness.  Don’t allow the coldness and fear of others to tarnish your perfectly vulnerable beating heart.  Nothing is more powerful than allowing yourself to truly be affected by things.  Whether it’s a song, a stranger, a mountain, a rain drop, a tea kettle, an article, a sentence, a footstep… feel it all.

- Zooey Deschanel

11 Ways to be Unremarkably Average

I worked in a company before that gave watches to long-service employees.  I found it the most depressing thing but could never explain why.

Job Hunting

5 things I’ve learned from job hunting:

• I’m supposed to have an objective reason for everything I do in life, in particular a reason why I moved to the UAE… and a reason why I came home.  Because it felt right or because it was time does not seem to suffice.
• My Masters qualification is generally regarded by relatives as some kind of superpower that I stubbornly refuse to use.
• I don’t have any substantial evidence of the things I’m good at, except my own certainty that I’d undoubtedly excel at them if given that chance.
• There is a qualification for everything, and everyone else in the world has been secretly sneaking out at night and getting qualified in all manner of awesome things that I didn’t even know existed until now.
• I will never know if any given job is the right job for me until I’m working it.  That’s when the career retrospectoscope will pronounce my decision right or wrong.

Shangri-La, Abu Dhabi

If I’ve only learnt one thing in my whole life, it’s this:  The world is not a wish-granting factory. 

There’s this idea that’s been pushed through our eyeballs by Disney that good things happen while we’re sitting around combing our hair.  It’s not like that at all.  You will work hard for anything good in this life.  I’m not trying to take your dreams away.  This is just a reminder of how much we work for our dreams, how tough it can be, how exhausting, how unromantic… and how even when it’s all worth it and things are exactly what you want, this life is still totally hard.

It’s very easy to forget that and believe in the Disney version when you stay at the Shangri-La.  The world begins to feel as if it’s designed in tandem with your whims,  where things you didn’t even know you wanted appear before you at the precise moment they’re most useful to you and your face continuously lights up while the staff smile knowingly, having seen that expression on a thousand other guests’ faces before you.

The Shangri-La is (by far) the most beautiful hotel I have ever stayed at, and possibly the most beautiful I have ever seen.

The weekend we spent there (about 2 weeks’ ago) started off well (checking in at a 5 star resort is not a bad start) and kept getting better and better.  When we arrived, the room we reserved wasn’t ready so we were immediately upgraded to a suite.  We had to politely nod through the Receptionist’s tour and wait for her to leave before we could scream and whoop and fist-pump at our luck. 

The suite was about the same size as my apartment, with a huuuuuuge bed (you could roll over 50 times and not fall off), massive balcony with two couches and a sea view, an office, walk-in wardrobe/ dressing room, shower room (rainforest and mist settings), a big tub that fit two comfortably and a separate toilet.  We kept walking around marvelling as we found new things. 

In our room: fresh cut roses and treats from L’occitane

Details I particularly loved:  the bathroom was stocked with L’occitane goodies (my favourite), the sound system allowed you to play music in each of the separate rooms (singing in the shower has never been so much fun) and all the doors were on rollers so it was possible to push them all back and lie in the bath with the light from the balcony streaming in.  Bliss.

The view from our balcony

Altogether, there are three pools and a private beach.  The best is the infinity pool with stunning views of Sheikh Zayed Grand Mosque. 

Infinity pool at Shangri-La, Abu Dhabi

I found it strange that the hotel’s website doesn’t make more of a feature of it because it is so breathtaking.  The hotel also has it’s own souk, which can be reached by golf buggy or abra (a traditional Arabic boat) along the hotel’s winding waterway.

Abras at Shangri-La, Abu Dhabi

Private beach at Shangri-La, Abu Dhabi

I was so impressed that I’m actually booking in again for a couple of nights right before I leave at the end of the month.  That might sound pretty extravagant but the hotel’s rates will surprise you.  It’s gets very (some might say too) hot in the UAE at this time of year, and hotels adjust their rates accordingly.  Trust me, the heat is a lot more bearable when you are greeted at the pool with a complimentary mini cooler filled with bottled water and icy-cold-verbena-scented face cloths.  I swear, these people have thought of everything.

A man who’s sole job seems to be to clean the guests’ sunglasses

Photos by Lucy Jones (except the ones she’s in, of course).

p.s. Another 5-star stay and my complete guide to holidaying in the Emirates

Ten Psychological Questions

Just for fun, let’s do this.

Write the down the first answer that comes to your mind.  First comes the questions and then the meaning of your answers.

Questions

1. You are walking in the woods. Who are you walking with?

2. You see an animal. What kind of animal is it?

3. What interaction takes place between you and the animal?

4. You walk deeper into the woods. You enter a clearing and before you is your dream house. Describe its size.

5. Is your dream house open, or surrounded by a fence?

6. You enter the house. You walk to the dining area and see the dining room table. Describe what you see on and around the table.

7. You exit the house through the back door. Lying in the grass is a cup. What material is the cup made of (ceramic, glass, paper, etc.)?

8. What do you do with the cup?

9. You walk to the edge of the property, where you find yourself standing at the edge of a body of water. What type of body of water is it ?

10. How will you cross the water?

 

Meaning of your answers:

1. The person who you are walking with is the most important person in your life.

2. The size of the animal is representative of your perception of the size of your problems.

3. The severity of the interaction you have with the animal is representative of how you deal with your problems (passive, aggressive).

4. The size of your dream home is representative of the size of your ambition to resolve your problems.

5. No fence is indicative of an open personality.  The presence of a fence is more indicative of a closed personality.

6. If your answer did not include food, people or flowers then you are generally unhappy.

7. The durability of the material with which the cup is made is representative of the perceived durability of your relationship with the person from number 1. For example, Styrofoam, plastic, and paper are disposable; Styrofoam, paper, and glass (ceramics) are not durable; and metal and plastic are durable.

8. Your disposition of the cup is representative of your attitude toward the person in number 1.

9. The size of the body of water is representative of the size of your sexual desire.

10. How wet you get in crossing the water is indicative of the relative importance of your sex life.

My friend, Lucy sent this to me, second-guessing (mostly correctly) what I would answer.  I don’t think any of it can be very accurate.  At least I hope not. 

I was walking alone,  encountered a deer and watched it dart in the opposite direction.  My dream home was a tiny cabin without a fence.  The table was full of stacks of paper and books (!).  The cup was made of porcelain and I kicked it aside.  For number 9, I wrote down a massive lake (ha!) and I canoed across. 

How about you?  Did you play?

via The Dopamine Gallery