I've Moved

Hello *waves* I'm over here now, should you be interested: http://tobetternessandbeyond.wordpress.com/

The Countdown Begins....

Can hardly believe it's the 27th December already and I'm a mere 9 days away from embarking on my travels; the past month has flown by. Up to now I've felt no nerves at all, but now they are inevitably creeping up on me and the enormity of what I'm about to do is hitting me square in the face. My room (have moved out of my house in London and back to my parents' in Surrey) looks like a bombsite, and it's becoming patently clear I will never fit everything I want to take into my rucksack, despite the fact it's pretty much the largest on the market (due to a minor administrative error on my part). I've done the 'travelling' thing before, to some extent, so I know what to expect - and I certainly know there's no point in taking any nice clothes because they'll probably all be ridden with bed bugs and fit for the bonfire by the end - but nonetheless the city girl in me is finding it hard to give up the mini skirts and heels in favour of old sweatshirts and walking boots...Still, I've got a week to find the strength to do it, and find the strength I shall.

It's been a funny few weeks, fraught with the stress of moving out of London, giving up a reasonably paid and secure job and jumping feet first into the (extremely inadvisable, given the current state of the economy) status of voluntary unemployment. I can't deny it brought a lump to my throat when my final pay cheque cleared on Christmas Eve, and it's certainly making me look at money in a new way now I know the amount that's currently in my account will only decrease from here on in. But at the same time I feel a sense of freedom. When you're in full time employment, paying rent on a flat and are tied into God knows how many contracts and bills, it's sometimes hard to see the wood for the trees. Every month the money comes in and goes straight out like the tide, taking more with it than was there to begin with. It's only when you step off the merry-go-round of consumption that is modern living that you realise quite how depressing it is, not to mention how goddamn difficult it is to extricate yourself from it all. I've cancelled more direct debits than I care to mention, but am finally in a position where I'm free of all my financial commitments, and I must admit that feels pretty bloody fantastic.

I had mixed feelings about leaving London, after all, it's been good to me for the past eight years, on the whole. But recently I had started to notice myself getting angrier, sliding slowly but inevitably into the state of deterioration that comes with having lived in a big city for too long. Don't get me wrong, I love London; it's vibrancy, variety and the opportunities it offers. I just need a break from it. I'm TIRED of all the late nights, partying, packed commuter trains and tubes, grumpy faces and frankly awful weather. I may be nearly thirty but I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up, so I saw little point in quitting one job in favour of another that I would almost certainly come to realise wasn't what I wanted to do either. Fortunately, I have a wonderfully supportive family and the means to give myself a few months' leave of absence from my life; I fully appreciate how lucky I am and that many don't have such opportunities, and I'm determined to make the most of every moment.

Christmas back home is always a wonderful time; mother and I will always bicker, of course, but in spite of that we love one another dearly and, this year especially, I think the three of us are really relishing some quality time together before I head off into the unknown. I must admit as the years go by it's hitting me hard that my parents are getting older. As an only child this is perhaps harder to accept, partly for selfish reasons as you worry how you'll cope if one or both of them becomes ill or infirm. Even in the past week I've found myself getting frustrated by my mum failing to remember things I've told her, or getting herself worked up about things I deem ridiculous and unecessary to waste time or breath on. It's almost like I'm holding her accountable for succumbing to the ageing process, which I appreciate is deeply unfair, but which I nonetheless find hard to stop doing. It's hard not to worry about those you love the most, but sometimes you have to find a sort of acceptance of the way things are, and go along with them instead of fighting what is ultimately a futile battle. I guess the same applies the other way around; mum's worried to death about me going away, but once I have gone I'm sure she'll find a way to cope just as she did when I went to Africa in 2007. One thing the human race is good at doing is adapting, and I'm sure we'll all adapt just fine once this period of change is over. Aside from anything else, my parents love one another deeply, and I take great comfort in this fact.

Christmas Day itself was lovely this year. In the morning I visited one of my stepdad's care homes, and met 92 year old Tom and Bunty, the latter of whom is in the late stages of dementia. Tom immediately remembered me from last year, recounting the conversation we had about Africa that I must admit I barely remembered myself. They're such a wonderful couple; so warm and gentle. Tom in particular melts my heart, as he barely leaves Bunty's side, and shows such patience and devotion to her in spite of her illness. It must be an incredibly lonely experience losing a loved one to dementia, watching as they fade away and slip out of your grasp, but being at the care home made me realise just how important such facilities are for the relatives of sufferers of the disease. Every relative I spoke to praised the staff and spoke of how their support helped them to cope during the darkest times. It's such a tragic shame that provision for the elderly in this country is so dire, not to mention the fact so many wonderful carers from overseas are now being forced to return to their countries for immigration reasons, leaving gaping holes in recruitment.

After the care home, the three of us went to the Salvation Army Christmas lunch in the community centre down the road, where my stepdad had been coerced into performing a magic trick, and I, in turn, coerced into helping him. I must admit I had been dreading it, and when we arrived and I saw the assembled crowd, many of whom were glaring out from beneath their paper hats and clearly doing their best to have a thoroughly miserable time, the feeling of dread grew even more. Thankfully, however, the 'trick' ran smoothly, and the vast majority of people were good sports and got involved. It was a far cry from the atmosphere in the care home that morning, but then I suppose that's not all that surprising given most of the Salvation Army attendees lived alone and didn't know any of the other people present. I sat down next to one lady and asked if she was enjoying it, to which she replied 'I shouldn't really say this, but it's not really my kind of thing.' I have to admit this made me smile; why should she lie and say she was having a great time when it couldn't have been further from the truth? That said, I'd hazard a guess she was happier having her Christmas dinner there than she would have been sitting all by herself.

Inevitably, with a fortnight to go before leaving the country for eight months, I have met someone who could potentially be someone special in my life. I say potentially, because at this relatively early stage it's really hard to know either way; all I do know is we get on very well, and if I wasn't going away I'm pretty certain I'd want to see more of him, and get to know him a lot better. Part of me is cursing the universe for it's shitty timing (after all, I've been single in London for the past three years and not met anyone even remotely suitable!), but another part is thinking that the old adage of 'what will be will be' is true. I know the next eight months are crucial to me working out what I want from life, and that if I fell into a relationship now there would still be that adventurous part of me that would forever wonder 'what if.' It's for this reason that I know I'm doing the right thing, and can see it's pointless to even entertain the idea that I might be 'missing out' on something special here. At the end of the day, if there is something there, it will still be there when I get back. Eight months isn't forever. I just have to believe in fate.

Staring at the Moon (& drinking Baileys)

Ever since I was a little girl I've been fascinated by the Moon; the way it glows so brightly in the sky, sometimes just a sliver, sometimes huge and round like in the stories. I love how sometimes you can see it so clearly you can make out the dark spots and the contours, how it can seem so close one day and so far the next. But most of all I love the fact you can see it no matter where you are in the world. It is a constant, a tracker, a way of keeping in touch with those you love and miss even when you can't be with them.

In January I went on a meditation retreat to Scotland. Admittedly, I hadn't set out to do this; I had actually been looking into writing retreats when I stumbled across it, and given that I've always had a desire to learn more about Buddhism it seemed an opportune thing to do. When I first arrived I was pleased to find the others were all pretty normal rather than raving, chanting hippies, and I enjoyed the chance to be with people in the context of a shared interest. Each day there were teachings and meditation sessions in the little adjoining meditation room and, whilst I found the whole thing fascinating, knowing myself as I do (with my constant worries and preoccupations), deep down I didn't really think I was capable of 'losing myself' in meditation.

On the second day we were told that after that evening's meditation session we would have complete silence until the following morning. I have to admit my heart sank. Suddenly it seemed that this was to go the way I had expected, I felt out of my depth and wished I could better push aside my neuroses and meditate the way I was supposed to. That evening, after dinner, we somewhat trepidatiously filed into the meditation room, got into position on our cushions with our blankets wrapped around us and began to meditate. To this day I don't know how I managed it (I never have done since), but after about fifteen minutes of concentrating on my breathing and trying to push the constant barrage of thoughts out of my head, my mind suddenly went quite, quite still. When the bell rang to indicate the end of the session I felt an incredible rush of peacefulness, which carried through as I walked outside and down towards the loch at the bottom of the gate. Several of the others followed suit, and we all just stood there, silently looking up at the moon which was full and totally unobscured in the cloudless winter sky.

I don't know what it was that I felt in that moment, whether it was simply a state of total relaxation or a spiritual experience, but I do know that the feeling I had then is what I have been striving for ever since, perhaps even what has led me to where I am today, about to head off into the unknown for eight months by myself.

"Religion" is a contentious subject these days, "spirituality" even more so. Many people believe religion is the root cause of war, and when you look at the atrocities that take place around the world in the name of religion, it's easy to see why. When you throw the Catholic church with its antiquated laws into the mix you get a picture that is the antithesis of the modern, forward-thinking and accepting society we have come to believe we are. I can quite see why people want to break with religion, relegate it to the past and accept it is an outdated concept. I can also understand why more and more people are branding themselves "atheist" and adopting the attitude that science, rather than religion, holds the answer to why we are here.

But no matter what 'evidence' is put in front of me to the contrary, when I stand outside my house on a crisp November night, Baileys in hand, and stare up at the Moon, I remember that feeling I had in Scotland; the rush of adrenalin, the sense that something far bigger than us and way beyond the realms of our comprehension - with or without science - is responsible for this wonderful thing we call life, and I just can't shake it off. I can't quantify it, I can't explain it, it's just a feeling inside me. Call it religion, call it spirtuality, call it what you will, it is my belief that we were put here for a purpose, that the world and all the people in it are too wonderful to be the result of a 'lucky' turn of nature. Maybe I'm right, maybe I'm wrong, maybe there IS no right OR wrong. But there IS something. And that something is simply mindblowing. That something is US. And what amazing creatures we are.

No Such Thing as a Coincidence?

This evening I was fortunate to be invited, through my stepfather, to a meeting about dementia care in India. I know that might sound boring (I must confess I thought it might be when I, out of a sense of familial duty, accepted the invitation) but it quickly became apparent that the people assembled in that room were anything but a load of boring boffins. One was a leading paediatrician in Kerala who, despite having no formal qualifications in geriatrics, is also the President of the Alzheimers Society in India. Another was a lady who lives in Cornwall and has worked in social care for many years but who, after seeing a five sentence article in a healthcare magazine on the provision of services for the elderly (or lack thereof) in India, promptly took herself over there and established three nursing homes for dementia patients, where previously there had been none (none! Can you imagine? In a country as big as India! Only 1,500 care homes in total and NONE for patients with dementia). There was a lady who works for a dementia review organisation who was an actress until the age of 50, at which point she decided to do a degree and immerse herself heavily in the world of social care, where she has now made quite a considerable name for herself. There was also a man who has been in the banking industry for thirty years, but who confessed to me soon after being introduced that he had begun to feel a certain purposelessness until he became involved with this cause.

My stepfather, I should explain, is a leading figure in the provision of nursing homes for dementia patients across the UK. The reason for tonight's meeting was to officially launch a charity he has co-founded which plans to establish care homes specifically for dementia patients in India, where westernisation is finally catching up and changing the very fabric of their society. Where previously families looked after 'their own,' and many generations would traditionally live under one roof, the younger ones caring for the older when they became frail and infirm, now children feel pressure to migrate to the cities, to find jobs so they can send money back to their families, or in some cases to get an education. Times are changing, but the government can't keep up, and subsequently problems such as dementia, which had previously not even been recognised, are now a ticking timebomb waiting to go off. In many villages there are no men left, all having gone elsewhere to find work. The women, therefore, are the primary care givers, but not having the education to understand an illness such as dementia, the care they are providing is insufficient. It's a vicious cycle.

I digress, as my point was not so much to rant at the failings of the Indian healthcare system, but rather to praise this group of fascinating individuals for having the passion and courage to come together and forge such a groundbreaking project. To hear them share their stories, their reasons for becoming involved, was absolutely fascinating. Each and every one of them has been on a journey, of sorts, that has led them to where they are today, in this incredible (and hopefully profitable) partnership. What they showed me most of all was that nothing is impossible, not if you want it and believe in it enough. The lady who has set up the care homes in India has been on a one woman crusade for years, and finally she has found a group of like-minded individuals who have the collective influence to make her dream a reality.

The lady who began her education at 50 was a particular inspiration to me. For years since graduating I've wondered whether I should have continued along the Psychology path and made a career of it, but nowadays I feel so much time has elapsed that there is no way back; she's made me see that's not the case. She is also a committed Buddhist, and when I told her my 'story' so far, how I feel moved to do something but don't know what, how I long to find some 'peace' and make some sense of the world, she told me she doesn't believe in coincidence, that there was a reason we met tonight (her boss sent her instead of himself as he knew how passionate she was about going), that indeed there is a reason for everything that happens in life, and that the path I'm on will take me where I'm meant to go.

Okay, I know I'm venturing into 'mumbo jumbo' Land now, but I must admit it felt a bit spooky to meet someone who not only turned my idea of being too 'past it' to re-train on its head, but who also has strong links to Buddhism, something I'm increasingly feeling drawn towards. It was also interesting to meet the lady who set up the care homes, someone who has toiled so hard and who is finally seeing her hard work come to fruition. Then there's the banker, who I see in every one of the trustees on the board of the charity I work for; someone who has worked their whole lives and is financially secure, but feels a sudden sense of worthlessness, a 'hole' in their existence that can only be filled through giving something back, being altruistic. Funnily enough, that particular gentleman reminded me of a guy I dated a while back, who chided me for wanting to work for a charity, and claimed I'd make a far bigger difference by earning as much as possible now and giving back later in life. At the time I thought he was an utter knob (as it happens he was, but that's another story), but tonight something clicked and I actually saw what he meant. Don't get me wrong, I'm not about to become a city trader and sell my soul to the devil, but I do see the value in accruing some wealth or, perhaps more specifically, social status, so you have greater influence when you do decide to put your weight behind a cause.

The funniest thing of all is that I never planned to go to India. In spite of my interest in all things spiritual it just hadn't made it onto my list. But one day, not long after I began planning my travels, I had a sudden and impossibly strong impulse to put it on there, right in the top slot. Admittedly, my best friend pointing out I would have been 'following winter around the world,' had I gone with the original plan of Australia and South America did hold considerable sway, but there was something else in it that I couldn't put my finger on. I just knew I HAD to go. It wasn't until after I'd decided on India that I found out of my stepfather's business interests over there; indeed if I wasn't going he wouldn't have invited me along tonight, the point of which was primarily to introduce me to people who could advise me on where to go.

As always with my blog posts, I'm not sure quite where I'm going with this, I just feel so overwhelmed by the passion of the people I've met tonight. It's so rare to meet a group of like minded individuals with such collective drive, enthusiasm and actual ability to make something work. I have no doubt their venture will succeed, and that the Indian healthcare system will benefit because of it. It's not the answer to the westernisation of the developing world, granted, but maybe we just have to accept that as economies grow the age old social constructs of the past inevitably have to adapt. Much as I think they've got it right in India, promoting family values and ensuring the young look after the old, I also think the young must have the chance to flourish without the shackles of knowing they must care for their parents when they reach old age no matter what. In this country we've gone too far the other way, making no provision for the elderly and effectively leaving them to rot - surely there's a middle ground that can be achieved along with a greater understanding of what is happening in our society? We're an ageing population, and must therefore make more provision for the elderly. After all, with age comes wisdom - what's the use of throwing the wise members of our society to the wolves and leaving it in the hands of babes who know nothing? Wise up, World, times are changing, and so must we.

Tits and Twitter

So Jason Manford is the latest ‘celeb’ to get caught flirting with someone (sharp intake of breath) OTHER than his wife (who, for the record, is heavily pregnant with their third child), and the tabloids are whipping themselves up into a frenzy. “One Show Jason’s Twitter Sex Shame” shouts the Sun, alongside quotes from the ‘busty 22 year old’ recipient of his ‘pervy posts,’ who says she was ‘really shocked’ by the way he pursued her (in spite of the fact she happily went along with his requests to photograph her pendulous breasts and send them to him. But anyway, I digress, let’s put the money grabbing tart to one side and get to the crux of the matter..).


Before I go any further, I should categorically state that I don’t think there’s anything wrong with a bit of harmless flirting, whether a person is married or not. Humans are sexual beings, in the main, it’s in our nature to flirt; it panders to our egos and makes us feel attractive, and that, in turn, instils in us a sense of wellbeing. What I DO think is wrong is when that ‘harmless’ flirting crosses over into ‘harmful’ flirting. Admittedly, the lines are blurred, but I would take exception to a married man claiming private messages (whether by text or on social networking sites) to someone of the opposite sex alluding to sexual liaisons or making requests for nude pictures is ‘harmless’ flirting. Perhaps they would see it as rather more harmful should their partners have the misfortune of reading such messages and kicking them out onto the street. As Vernon Kay and Jason Manford are no doubt finding out, what starts as harmless fun can have far reaching repercussions on a long term partner; relationships are based on trust, and whilst sexy texts are not cheating as such, do they not erode the very meaning of being in a monogamous relationship?

I’ve said before and I’ll doubtless say again that whilst I love the way social networking brings people from all walks of life together, it is not without its pitfalls. For every wonderful, funny, warm, witty and genuine person there are ten predatory, selfish, egotistical ones, hell bent on massaging their own egos at whatever cost. There are also, sadly, many disillusioned, downtrodden, naïve and emotionally immature people, who use websites like Twitter to give them a sense of belonging that they have failed to find out in the ‘real’ world.

Predatory and naïve people aside, the vast majority of social networkers are regular people, with regular issues and regular failings. They tweet when they are bored or to get attention when they’re feeling flat, they feel a flush of excitement as they watch their follower count steadily increase, they engage in harmless banter or even serious conversation with complete strangers. None of this is wrong; far from it, interacting with others can be enormously rewarding. But what some (dare I say many?) people seem to fall victim to is the trap of virtual reality. They tell themselves it’s okay to push the conventional boundaries of morality because the internet isn’t ‘real,’ and in a sense, it isn’t; most people that you meet on Twitter, for example, will only ever be ‘virtual’ friends. But does that fact in itself make it okay to flirt with them and send them messages asking to see their boobs? What about the REAL people in your life? How would THEY feel about such interactions if they found out? Betrayed? Heartbroken? If so, you know you’ve crossed the line and what you’re doing is wrong.

Ultimately, I believe that everything in this life comes down to respect; one should always treat others with the respect they themselves would like to receive. How respectful is it to your wife or girlfriend if you’re texting some cheap slut who has made her intentions explicitly clear and asking her to get her baps out so you can have a wank over them? Not very, I would argue, and nor is it very tasteful.

And....Stop

Today revealed a chink in my hitherto unchinkable party girl armour, when a week of rubbish sleep, stress at work and too many nights on the sauce finally caught up with me. In a way, I hate days like this, because they show I'm only human, and remind me of my ever increasing age and the fact I can't carry on living at this pace forever. But, on the other hand, they provide me with a rare opportunity to just stop, throw my hands up in defeat and admit I need to step off the social merry go round and REST. It wasn't even that I didn't WANT to go out with my friends tonight, I just physically COULDN'T; my body beat my brain into submission and refused to let me go. And you know what? This evening's been just the tonic. I came home, ran a bath, had a nice healthy dinner, watched TV and painted my nails. Sounds mundane, I know, but when you live the life of a hectic city dweller, you come to covet the mundane, to relish it.

I suppose this desire to just 'stop,' or as I more often say to 'find peace,' is the driving force behind my decision to go travelling (that, and the morbid fear of waking up one day to find I've never really 'lived'). To hell with the recession and the fear of what might happen one, two, five, even ten years down the line, isn't it important to take stock of where we are RIGHT NOW, to live each moment as if it were our last? I suppose this view is also why I feel so drawn to Buddhism, a central teaching of which is 'mindfulness' of how we treat ourselves, each other and our surroundings.

In all honestly I'm not sure how far down the spiritual path I'll get; to truly follow it you need to place little value on material wealth and possessions, and you must have the strength of character to eschew the trappings of a hedonistic lifestyle, which I'm currently failing miserably to achieve. But, that said, this irresistable desire to at least take a few steps along the road is something that I'm finding increasingly more difficult to ignore.

I've used the yin/yang metaphor to describe the two sides to my (and many other people in my position; I certainly wouldn't presuppose to be the only one experiencing it) personality (party lifestyle vs healthy lifestyle) on a number of occasions, but never has it felt so apt as now. I'm a social creature by nature, and partying is FUN, but it's starting to feel like the yin is overtaking the yang and I'm being thrown off balance, finding myself increasingly succumbing to the fatigue such imbalance brings. I can't do things in half measures; I'm either full steam ahead or no steam at all. So for now I will continue to be full steam ahead, partying like its '99 with my friends and living 'city life' to the full. But, come January, when I really have run out of steam completely, I'll be boarding that plane to Borneo with a smile on my face and a lightness in my heart. Time to give the yang a chance to redress the imbalance. Time to take stock. Time to just....stop.

Thought Spill

I haven't been sleeping all that well of late, which is most unlike me. I wonder if, in part, it's due to worrying about not getting everything sorted for my travels, or perhaps it has something to do with the changing season and this sudden, insufferable cold spell we're encountering (not helped by the fact our heating's on the blink - some teaching from my distant past inclines me to think we need to 'bleed' the radiators, though I haven't a scooby how we might achieve this. I'm sure when the cold becomes so unbearable our feet turn to blocks of ice we will address the problem). Either way, it's troubling me, not least because I'm realising, as I get older (yawn-quite literally), that I just don't function well when I'm underslept. It also troubles me because my mother, bless her, has had severe insomnia for a number of years now, and it's one of my greatest fears (besides dying, and getting dementia - cheery soul, me) that I'll develop the same problem. Sleep is my sanctuary, the one place I can, to some extent, switch off and rest my weary, overthinking brain. That, and the cinema, which has the same restorative powers (if not more so; at least in the cinema I can totally immerse myself in the film I'm watching, whereas recently I've had increasing numbers of disturbing dreams about The Ex. Even three years down the line he haunts me in my dreams, the bastard. Anyway, I digress..)

So there's the sleep thing, and there's the worry-about-going-away thing, both of which are logical reasons why I'm feeling a bit on edge, for want of a better phrase. Oh, and THEN there's the worry-about-Mum-when-I-go-away thing, which there's precious little I can do about really. I actually think she'll be fine once I'm actually GONE, it's just in the run up to my leaving that she's fretting herself into a frenzy over all the things there are to do in preparation. I'm doing my best to tick something off the list every day, but with work currently manic and the lack of sleep I'm finding it a struggle.

Anyway, that's quite enough of the doom and gloom. The fact of the matter is I'm going travelling, for eight months, and the next few weeks can't go quickly enough because I genuinely can't wait. Don't get me wrong, I love London, and I'm certain I'll return here when I'm back. It's just that lately I've been feeling increasingly claustrophobic, getting the same tube every day, going to the same office, drinking in the same bars, waking up with a hangover every Sunday (and the rest)...Life's become a bit hum drum, and as I'm fortunate enough to have the means to get away for a bit, take some time out to reevaluate, that's exactly what I intend to do. There's nothing quite so exhilirating as the prospect of a few months alone and at the mercy of strange countries, foreign cultures, fate. I'm not so naive as to presume this trip will 'be the making' of me, or that I will 'find' myself in some Ashram in India, but I truly believe there is some kind of guiding force that's led me to making this decision, and I'm looking forward to exploring both myself and my faith a little deeper. The main problem with living in a big city is that life gets in the way of getting to know yourself. It gets harder and harder to create the space that we as human beings need to reach our full potential. There are too many distractions, as I've alluded to before, and too many temptations.

In the past two days not one, but two, people have remarked upon how much happier I am when I don't have men in my life. And they're right. Don't worry, I'm not about to go off on a man rant, I know when the right one comes along things will be different, but in the meantime it's important to keep perspective. There's nothing whatsoever wrong with having the odd fling, but if every encounter with the opposite sex leaves you more jaded and cynical than the last, it's time to take stock and reevaluate what you're all about. I have a friend who is currently in the most horrific situation with a man, a situation which - and I wish to God I was exaggerating - I fear may ruin her whole life. For all those times I've found myself feeling sad and lonely, I only have to look at what she's going through to know it's better to keep your dignity intact and be alone than it is to sell your soul to someone who will never love you in the way you want, or deserve, to be loved.

I could rant on further, Lord knows there's a lot going on in my brain at the moment, but given the sleeping issues I have to give my brain a chance to switch off, so I will bid you adieu.