Missing the point(illism)

Bonfire night, scattered over a fortnight or so, is more or less officially done with now. It’s once more safe to go out. I’m surprised we still celebrate it, given the Politically Correct culture we now live in.

I was never allowed to attend these ritual burnings as a child. Mother would not allow it. I thought it desperately unfair. Of course, it’s only as an adult that I realise (with great annoyance) that she was correct. She had a very good reason – possibly two – for her forbidding my presence there.

It turns out I can’t be around fireworks or large fires. I found out the hard way. When I went to university, I made full use of being ‘off the leash’ and went to a bonfire party at the first opportunity that presented itself. The next few days were spent in asthmatic regret. Clearly, the smoke and fumes are some kind of vampiric Kryptonite.

Oh, the other reason? Well, you do know about how to kill a vampire? Perhaps she was concerned that, if anyone found out about me….

Anyway, let’s get back to the disgruntlement…

I have mentioned this before, that sometimes in life we are told things that are initially an affront to us. We stomp, we whine, we moan about how unfair it is on us. Of course, if it is a case of political correctness, we state how unfair it is on others.

Off at a tangent, I was once severely told off for laughing at a blonde joke (I am extremely blonde, as you may recall). Yes. Told off. That’s not funny, they said. That’s offensive, they said. Why aren’t you offended? they said. My reply was quite simple (and probably equally offensive) ‘Oh, I don’t need to be offended at blonde jokes. I have people who do that for me. They’re called brunettes.’

Anyway, back to my point. Pun not intended. Have you ever seen a Pointillist painting? Artists such as George Seurat (apparently people in art galleries get upset if you call him George Sewer-rat) created the most incredible works of art using, not brush strokes, but small dots of colour. This means one thing though: stand too close to any of his paintings and they just look like a mess of tiny splodges. But stand back…. and be prepared to be hit by the beauty and sense of his work. Yes, sense. Suddenly, it all becomes clear.

Yup. And that’s life for you, too.

Although, here’s the thing…. this happens on a couple of levels. Live long enough, and you’ll see the pattern emerge.

1) The conscious level. This is all those times someone (usually a parent, haha!) gives you advice/instructions that at the time annoy the bejabbers out of you, only to discover afterwards (sometimes years afterwards!) that they were in fact, correct.

2) The subconscious level. This is where the big pain and big changes often happen. This is where the ‘advisors’ themselves are actually unaware of what is taking place…

Who are they? Usually (but not always), they are people who pride themselves on their ability to manipulate people and circumstances and are so often totally unaware of the big picture. Of what is actually occurring. Of course, I speak only from my own past experience. It can also be a pleasant process, with pleasant people. But, more often than not, it isn’t. This is why it all seems so clouded and incomprehensible at the time.

Sometimes you will find someone who plays chess with people’s lives, moving them around like the useless or inconvenient pawns they presume them to be. Playing with them like a spiteful child would play with puppets.

What few realise is that it is they who are the puppets, with the Universe, some greater power using them as tools to force/enable us to move onto some greater purpose. And as they clap their hands and congratulate themselves with smug self-hugs on another life ruined, another face-that-doesn’t-fit gone from their tiny kingdom, little do they know they have in fact helped the caterpillar break (however painfully) out from their cocoon and take to the skies of their future. They are in fact being used to help you, not hurt you – ultimately. Though it’ll never feel like it at the time!

So many incredible things in life are achieved only through pain: birth, growing teeth, healing…  Think of how a horseshoe is made – no amount of pleasantries or cajoling will coax that straight piece of metal into its final shape. Try it. Okay, start with something feasible like a wire coat hanger. Tell it to become an egg whisk. You know, one of those curly ones. Talk to it nicely. Offer it treats, bribes, then ultimately reminders, particularly about ‘how disappointed’ you are. I’m guessing nothing much will happen until you forcibly twist and twirgle it into shape. Ouch.

Think something doesn’t make sense? Step back.

 

 


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Sometimes the best things in life are free!

Life is pants.

“Never sweat the petty things, and never pet the sweaty things.”

Good advice.

I also like “Never sweat the small stuff. It’s all small stuff.” I’m not sure about the link between perspiration and good advice, but I’m sure someone out there is clever enough to come up with a syllogism for that too. There is so much advice out telling us what not to do for a happier, healthier life, in the form of books, videos, cute little memes (yes, them again!). But say we’re fortunate/determined enough to give up over-thinking, over-analysing, over-indulging, over-anything-else-ing, with what exactly do we fill the void?

Over the decades, I’ve seen so many parents barking ‘don’t ‘s at their kids: don’t run, don’t talk back, don’t put that in your mouth, you don’t know where it’s been (bonus points on that one!), without offering an alternative… I would just once like a toddler, on being told not to run, reply “But mother, I’m only three years old, it’s in my programming to run everywhere. I’ve only recently perfected this technique of movement, and I wish to maximise my newly acquired skill. Give me an alternative, mother, and I will gladly comply.”

Or, more simply put – “Don’t run? What else am I supposed to do?”

So, here’s my two penn’orth: always have an alternative option to hand. Want someone to stop doing something (and that includes you!)? Then give them an alternative or two to try out. In sort, have a Plan B (C, D, and so on). Have a escape route. You always have a choice.

I like to do swapsies… Swap horrors for delights. And make the most of those delights, even if they are only tiny ones. Find yourself a list of simple pleasures. Make these the things you dwell on as you fall asleep at night, rather than visualising the person who hurrumphed at you in that queue, or who took your last Jaffa cake…

There are a few simple pleasures in life which can’t be beaten. Not in the schadenfreude kind of way, you know, where you derive deep pleasure from seeing the person who cut you up on the road get stuck behind a horsebox. No, I mean the true, pure innocent pleasures of life.

Here are some of mine…

  1. Moonwalking (literally) out of a pair of socks after a long day.

  2. Duvet Arms. This is when you snuggle down under the covers after sitting up in bed with bare arms. Try it. You’ll be glad you did.

  3. Climbing into bed with fresh sheets, especially after a shower.

  4. Radiator Pants. On a cold day, leaving your clothes on a radiator overnight and donning deliciously warm undies the next morning.

  5. Sitting down on the sofa and finding that the cushion fits your back perfectly, without any need to shuffle it around first.

What five things will make your list?

 


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…because no good story ever started with a salad.