Wednesday, 11 December 2013
Awe, onions & a sense of pride
In the space of eleven months my life has turned from fine but mostly mundane, to lovely. Delightful, even. I could never have imagined the first night I braved going along to Stockton Town Choir, that I would come to this now; wonderful friends, a real sense of belonging, and a need to help others and be the best version of me that I can.
Today I had the privilege of working with Matty and some of the kids from Matty's Bistro. When I say privilege I say it knowing that it doesn't come close to expressing how I feel right at this moment. In our world now we take what we can. I'm generalising, and I know that it's not the case everywhere we turn, but if we're completely honest with ourselves we'll all admit to loving a freebie. I know I do! Very rarely do we have the opportunity to step into someone else's world and appreciate how some of the perks we're lucky to have in our lives come about.
Over the last few months I've come to realise that I want to help people. Most of the time I don't know how, but little by little opportunities arise and chances are taken, and I find myself in absolute awe of the people who work tirelessly to make other people's lives better. These are people who do so much for others that it becomes a way of life. It's not a one-off. It's not a flash in the pan. It's just what they do because they want to help.
Well, today I helped and it felt, and still feels bloody marvellous. Where Mike McGrother is a force of nature working like a Trojan and passionately shouting from the rooftops about his beloved town, Matty Brown is a silent worker bee, flying here there and everywhere, working quietly in the background and with a calm poise that the Dalai Lama would be proud of.
My privilege of working with Matty and those fabulous kids today is not understated. Where Matty works to give them skills to take with them into new working lives, that could never happen were it not for the enthusiasm and dedication of the young people who just want to make their own lives that bit better. Our young people are so often criticised for being wasters; lazy scroungers who expect everything for nothing, and yet tonight I watched some of these young people working harder than I see most adults achieve, and it's not their living. It's their training, their chance to make a positive change in their lives. And by hell, they're going for it!
I hope beyond hope that these opportunities don't disappear. I hope that funding doesn't dry up and that the people who can help to keep such things running don't turn their backs. I hope more and more people learn to have faith in the youngsters who are unfortunately labelled as no good for no other reason than society has been taught to believe that that's what they are, and so often by a media who doesn't take the time to discover who they are at all. I can tell you now that I won't look at any of these kids in such a bad light again. Instead I will open up enough to see the potential in them and the drive they have deep down inside to make their lives better and their futures brighter.
I salute the dedication of these young adults, and I sit here in awe of the power of one person who just wants to help.
Today was indeed a privilege, but it was also an inspiration. One person really can make a difference.
Sunday, 3 November 2013
Bring the Happy - Memory 2628
It was our first date. My partner and I went to see Stacey Kent at Stockton Arc. She's a jazz singer whose voice is sublime, and we both adored the sound of her flawless tones. I'd booked the very top balcony, the one with only one row that feels as though you're sat at a bar. No one else had booked the balcony, and so we sat hand in hand, snuggled up together, losing ourselves to the beautiful music.
When I heard about Bring the Happy back in August it was through the Arc's website. I instantly fell for their idea; to set up camp in a town or city, to collect happy memories and to make a show from some of the memories they hear and read. I needed to know no more about who they were, why they were doing it or how, I only knew that I had to leave a memory and see the show. So I booked my ticket and waited.
As the songs washed over us one after the other I gradually became more and more nervous. I can vividly remember the butterflies inside me as the evening drew on, and the later it became the more I wanted to ask him to dance with me. I was never a confident person, always rather shy (though better at hiding it these days), but I knew I had to ask. Eventually, when the final song was announced, I somehow found the courage to ask. I knew that if I didn't, we would never have this moment again; not here, not with this stunning music and our new, exciting love. And so, with butterflies dancing in my tummy and goosebumps from head to toe, I took his hand in mine, which by now was shaking, and I asked him to dance. And for those few minutes What a Wonderful World it truly was.
I sometimes feel like a bit of a fraud, you know. I joined Stockton Town Choir having never lived there (although I did work in Stockton on and off over a few years). I so badly wanted to leave a memory for Bring the Happy despite not being a resident. Having been part of the choir for ten months and performed in various Stockton settings for so many wonderful reasons, even just to make people #smile, I was having a tough time picking a memory. I have so many that make me smile that I could have spent all day in the Bring the Happy shop.
I didn't leave a choir memory in the end. I couldn't. I just kept returning to the same memory of My Flying Dutchman and me. It wouldn't leave me alone, not since the moment it happened, and so I really had no choice.
To this day I don't know whether Stacey Kent and the band noticed us up there on the balcony dancing to their dreamy, romantic music. I do know that the song finished much too early and it was suddenly time to leave. We walked arm in arm, as we always did, to the high street to get a taxi home. I'd like to think it was our obvious romantic aura, but I knew deep down it was probably the same thing he said to every couple who entered his cab, but he welcomed us, "Mr & Mrs Perfect". As he drove us back to Middlesbrough he asked whether we had any children.
No, no children, and we're not married.
Oh, well then, no you should be married before you have children, and they will be beautiful children for Mr & Mrs Perfect of course!
And so went our conversation, and all the while we laughed and snuggled in closer together in the back seat of the taxi.
I didn't go to the Bring the Happy shop. I was lucky in that the lovely people of Invisible Flock came to choir one Wednesday a couple of weeks ago, and so I left my memory that night instead. I hurriedly typed it into an iPad because I knew I should already be in the Georgian Theatre getting ready to sing! So I gave the briefest of accounts, while hopefully still getting the feelings across. I didn't want to tell my story in front of others who knew me; it was private. At the same time it was so important to me that it couldn't go untold.
It was our last ever date, though neither of us knew it. We'd been together for a few years; a weekend here and there when our diaries happily synced and flights between The Netherlands and here were available. Stolen moments, it seemed, and so few of them that it was always painful waiting for the next. But it was our last ever date, and there we sat in Stockton Arc again. We watched a comedian, but to this day I'm certain My Flying Dutchman only understood half of the jokes. And as though no time had passed, we sat side by side, arm in arm, always so very much together.
Finally last night, 01 November 2013, the first of the three shows in Stockton Arc arrived. Armed with the memory still vivid in my mind, the knowledge that I was so very close to that spot on the balcony, and with a lovely friend at my side, I sat down full of excitement and anticipation. I knew the show would be wonderful, but I had no clue what was to come.
We walked arm in arm, as we always did, to the high street to get a taxi home. As we entered his cab he welcomed us, the very same taxi driver we had on our first date. He beamed as though he recognised us, and he called us Mr & Mrs Perfect all over again. He didn't ask the same questions; he really did seem to remember us, but of course he couldn't. It was all just the same things he says to every couple, surely. As before, all the while we laughed and snuggled in closer together in the back seat of the taxi.
It was our last ever date, though neither of us knew it.
To explain what happens in performances of Bring the Happy would be to spoil it for those who have yet to experience it, and I won't do that. I will say that I laughed, smiled, cried, laughed, sang (quietly!), danced, laughed, cried some more and smiled and laughed again. Bring the Happy is an experience, not a show. It's something truly special that I do believe makes our world just that little bit brighter. Their whole presence, their chats with people about their memories, they all add to the Happy. The performances that culminate from the few weeks collecting memories is just the icing on the cake.
My Flying Dutchman and I still talk. We're still friends. We still have a great amount of love for each other. We both know, however, that this is how it will remain. No more occasional weekends or 'stolen moments'; not for two years (almost to the day). A friendship that will never disappear has replaced a relationship that was never meant to be, and that's okay. It was always going to be this way, and we always knew that.
Then last night happened. Bring the Happy was everything I hoped for and more, and at the end when the applause had died down, and with emotions still raw from the rollercoaster, I picked up my phone and checked my messages. What I saw was an email sent just moments after the performance began.
Sent: 19:03
From: My Flying Dutchman
The message simply read: For some reason... I had to think of you :) X
All I could do was cry. They were happy tears, tinged with sadness too of course, but happy nonetheless. My friend knew something had pulled at my heartstrings, but there was no way she could know what or how deeply it affected me. I'd told her my memory before the show started, and now I showed her the email. She hugged me and I cried some more. I had complete strangers looking over wondering what was wrong. Some of them asked if I was okay. I wasn't... but at the same time I was...
I pulled myself together and knew I had to tell the performers what had happened. I almost felt obligated!
I recounted my little tale to Ben. I briefly told him the memory I'd left, that every now and again during the evening my mind had wandered back up to the balcony above me, and I showed him the email. And as I spoke it was all I could do not to cry again. But I held it together, and a goosebumpy Ben gave me a hug, and as I was about to go back to my friend he told me that the next day he'd use my memory and he'd tell people what happened that night. He didn't know I'd already decided to come back the next night, and I knew that now I absolutely had no option but to book the tickets! I returned to my table and my friend, sat down, and breathed ever so deeply. Lots.
As I laid in bed trying to get my overactive brain to settle, I decided when I returned for the next performance that I would take something along to say thank you to everyone involved in Bring the Happy... Ben, Rich, Victoria and Hope & Social, the fantastic band who played and sang all evening. Only they themselves know their reasons for touring with the show, but I know the effect it can have on one person. When I think about how many people they must have talked with over three weeks in an empty shop on Stockton High Street, I realise how many lives they must have touched and smiles they returned to otherwise sad, frustrated or even just bored faces.
Invisible Flock... the trio behind Bring the Happy... seem to me to be extraordinary people. They carry with them not only a need to put on a wonderful interactive performance, but also a desire to make the world a nicer place, and I can absolutely relate to that. I know that the things I do for people are tiny in comparison; giving away cakes, putting extra money in a parking meter for the next person, leaving a little note for a colleague to show they're appreciated, they're all small things, not huge gestures designed to change the world or how people think. They're all just things to make people smile and feel valued even if they don't know who's done it or why.
So tonight when I returned to Stockton Arc for a second helping of Bring the Happy, I was prepared. I was armed with cakes and extra tissues, and a huge appreciation for their hard work and the ethos that drives them forward.
Tonight, 02 November 2013, there I sat with some more friends. This time I was familiar with the songs, I knew what was coming and yes, my mind still wandered up to that balcony. Then in the middle of one of the songs was my memory. It was paraphrased, but to me it was perfect. The memory, some little details I'd never mentioned in the original typed version from two weeks previous, and the email from the night before; it was all there. As I sat and listened I cried again, as I'm doing now, for the butterflies I felt, for the taxi driver I may never see again, but mostly for the friendship I have despite the relationship I lost. And I felt privileged that he believed our little story should be told. I felt special. I felt significant in a town full of epic, splendid stories and it made me smile through my tears.
At the end of the evening I found Ben and I handed him the thank you cakes, and such an unexpectedly grateful face I have never seen before. After a short chat I returned to my table to simply enjoy the company of my friends for a few minutes before heading home.
A few minutes had passed, perhaps more than I'd intended, and I looked up to see Ben approach the table. He presented me with one of their CDs as a thank you for the cakes I'd given that were a thank you for... well... everything! I think perhaps this time it was he who was looking on a face that was unexpectedly grateful!
It's at times like that I realise kindness and generosity of spirit really are infectious; it's passed on like a virus. I know I've said it before, regularly, that if you're kind even just to one person that it makes a difference. It doesn't only make a difference to that one person in that one moment. No, they're likely to pass the kindness on to someone else, and then the next and the next, and before you know it you've begun a chain of nice events, however small, that brighten people's days. These acts of kindness spread so quickly that before you realise what's happening you're playing a CD in the car on the way home from a show, when all you really wanted from the evening was to hear your story being told and to say thank you to the people doing the telling.
I'm not saying we should be nice so that others are nice in return, because that's just not how it works. Genuine kindness breeds genuine kindness. It doesn't matter whether we know people, whether they're family and friends or whether they're complete strangers. They might just be people you met in a theatre in Stockton when you were meant to be singing.
And not to forget our memories. They're what the whole performance is based on, after all; the memories of everyday people doing everyday jobs, with everyday worries on their minds. Our actions and the memories that spring from them help to shape who we are right here, right now. Whether it's the day I met my first boyfriend, the day I left my husband, the day I hugged my dad in the hospital corridor after racing to see mum when we got 'the call', or whether it's having the courage to swallow my shyness and hand over a box of cakes to people I don't know just to say thank you. All of these things and countless others made me into the person I am right now, the one typing these words into her laptop with a pounding headache and a big mug of coffee because she stayed up until 2 am writing most of this blog post.
Bring the Happy is astounding if you open yourself up to its message. I will never forget the last two evenings in Stockton Arc. They've been added to my collection of happy memories in permanent marker. In triplicate, just in case.
If you can't bring the happy into your own life, I hope you have someone close-by who can help. If you don't, I hope you can find a way to ask someone. If you feel so inclined, bring it to someone else and do it without agenda. You'll be thankful that you did, and your smile will be so big and deep inside you that it'll become addictive. This is one addiction with which I'm glad to be afflicted!
We all deserve to smile, even if it's through our tears.
Invisible Flock
Hope & Social
Bring the Happy
When I heard about Bring the Happy back in August it was through the Arc's website. I instantly fell for their idea; to set up camp in a town or city, to collect happy memories and to make a show from some of the memories they hear and read. I needed to know no more about who they were, why they were doing it or how, I only knew that I had to leave a memory and see the show. So I booked my ticket and waited.
As the songs washed over us one after the other I gradually became more and more nervous. I can vividly remember the butterflies inside me as the evening drew on, and the later it became the more I wanted to ask him to dance with me. I was never a confident person, always rather shy (though better at hiding it these days), but I knew I had to ask. Eventually, when the final song was announced, I somehow found the courage to ask. I knew that if I didn't, we would never have this moment again; not here, not with this stunning music and our new, exciting love. And so, with butterflies dancing in my tummy and goosebumps from head to toe, I took his hand in mine, which by now was shaking, and I asked him to dance. And for those few minutes What a Wonderful World it truly was.
I sometimes feel like a bit of a fraud, you know. I joined Stockton Town Choir having never lived there (although I did work in Stockton on and off over a few years). I so badly wanted to leave a memory for Bring the Happy despite not being a resident. Having been part of the choir for ten months and performed in various Stockton settings for so many wonderful reasons, even just to make people #smile, I was having a tough time picking a memory. I have so many that make me smile that I could have spent all day in the Bring the Happy shop.
I didn't leave a choir memory in the end. I couldn't. I just kept returning to the same memory of My Flying Dutchman and me. It wouldn't leave me alone, not since the moment it happened, and so I really had no choice.
To this day I don't know whether Stacey Kent and the band noticed us up there on the balcony dancing to their dreamy, romantic music. I do know that the song finished much too early and it was suddenly time to leave. We walked arm in arm, as we always did, to the high street to get a taxi home. I'd like to think it was our obvious romantic aura, but I knew deep down it was probably the same thing he said to every couple who entered his cab, but he welcomed us, "Mr & Mrs Perfect". As he drove us back to Middlesbrough he asked whether we had any children.
No, no children, and we're not married.
Oh, well then, no you should be married before you have children, and they will be beautiful children for Mr & Mrs Perfect of course!
And so went our conversation, and all the while we laughed and snuggled in closer together in the back seat of the taxi.
I didn't go to the Bring the Happy shop. I was lucky in that the lovely people of Invisible Flock came to choir one Wednesday a couple of weeks ago, and so I left my memory that night instead. I hurriedly typed it into an iPad because I knew I should already be in the Georgian Theatre getting ready to sing! So I gave the briefest of accounts, while hopefully still getting the feelings across. I didn't want to tell my story in front of others who knew me; it was private. At the same time it was so important to me that it couldn't go untold.
It was our last ever date, though neither of us knew it. We'd been together for a few years; a weekend here and there when our diaries happily synced and flights between The Netherlands and here were available. Stolen moments, it seemed, and so few of them that it was always painful waiting for the next. But it was our last ever date, and there we sat in Stockton Arc again. We watched a comedian, but to this day I'm certain My Flying Dutchman only understood half of the jokes. And as though no time had passed, we sat side by side, arm in arm, always so very much together.
Finally last night, 01 November 2013, the first of the three shows in Stockton Arc arrived. Armed with the memory still vivid in my mind, the knowledge that I was so very close to that spot on the balcony, and with a lovely friend at my side, I sat down full of excitement and anticipation. I knew the show would be wonderful, but I had no clue what was to come.
We walked arm in arm, as we always did, to the high street to get a taxi home. As we entered his cab he welcomed us, the very same taxi driver we had on our first date. He beamed as though he recognised us, and he called us Mr & Mrs Perfect all over again. He didn't ask the same questions; he really did seem to remember us, but of course he couldn't. It was all just the same things he says to every couple, surely. As before, all the while we laughed and snuggled in closer together in the back seat of the taxi.
It was our last ever date, though neither of us knew it.
To explain what happens in performances of Bring the Happy would be to spoil it for those who have yet to experience it, and I won't do that. I will say that I laughed, smiled, cried, laughed, sang (quietly!), danced, laughed, cried some more and smiled and laughed again. Bring the Happy is an experience, not a show. It's something truly special that I do believe makes our world just that little bit brighter. Their whole presence, their chats with people about their memories, they all add to the Happy. The performances that culminate from the few weeks collecting memories is just the icing on the cake.
My Flying Dutchman and I still talk. We're still friends. We still have a great amount of love for each other. We both know, however, that this is how it will remain. No more occasional weekends or 'stolen moments'; not for two years (almost to the day). A friendship that will never disappear has replaced a relationship that was never meant to be, and that's okay. It was always going to be this way, and we always knew that.
Then last night happened. Bring the Happy was everything I hoped for and more, and at the end when the applause had died down, and with emotions still raw from the rollercoaster, I picked up my phone and checked my messages. What I saw was an email sent just moments after the performance began.
Sent: 19:03
From: My Flying Dutchman
The message simply read: For some reason... I had to think of you :) X
All I could do was cry. They were happy tears, tinged with sadness too of course, but happy nonetheless. My friend knew something had pulled at my heartstrings, but there was no way she could know what or how deeply it affected me. I'd told her my memory before the show started, and now I showed her the email. She hugged me and I cried some more. I had complete strangers looking over wondering what was wrong. Some of them asked if I was okay. I wasn't... but at the same time I was...
I pulled myself together and knew I had to tell the performers what had happened. I almost felt obligated!
I recounted my little tale to Ben. I briefly told him the memory I'd left, that every now and again during the evening my mind had wandered back up to the balcony above me, and I showed him the email. And as I spoke it was all I could do not to cry again. But I held it together, and a goosebumpy Ben gave me a hug, and as I was about to go back to my friend he told me that the next day he'd use my memory and he'd tell people what happened that night. He didn't know I'd already decided to come back the next night, and I knew that now I absolutely had no option but to book the tickets! I returned to my table and my friend, sat down, and breathed ever so deeply. Lots.
Invisible Flock... the trio behind Bring the Happy... seem to me to be extraordinary people. They carry with them not only a need to put on a wonderful interactive performance, but also a desire to make the world a nicer place, and I can absolutely relate to that. I know that the things I do for people are tiny in comparison; giving away cakes, putting extra money in a parking meter for the next person, leaving a little note for a colleague to show they're appreciated, they're all small things, not huge gestures designed to change the world or how people think. They're all just things to make people smile and feel valued even if they don't know who's done it or why.
So tonight when I returned to Stockton Arc for a second helping of Bring the Happy, I was prepared. I was armed with cakes and extra tissues, and a huge appreciation for their hard work and the ethos that drives them forward.
 |
Tonight, 02 November 2013, there I sat with some more friends. This time I was familiar with the songs, I knew what was coming and yes, my mind still wandered up to that balcony. Then in the middle of one of the songs was my memory. It was paraphrased, but to me it was perfect. The memory, some little details I'd never mentioned in the original typed version from two weeks previous, and the email from the night before; it was all there. As I sat and listened I cried again, as I'm doing now, for the butterflies I felt, for the taxi driver I may never see again, but mostly for the friendship I have despite the relationship I lost. And I felt privileged that he believed our little story should be told. I felt special. I felt significant in a town full of epic, splendid stories and it made me smile through my tears.
At the end of the evening I found Ben and I handed him the thank you cakes, and such an unexpectedly grateful face I have never seen before. After a short chat I returned to my table to simply enjoy the company of my friends for a few minutes before heading home.
 |
| Invisible Flock, Hope & Social and a few little cakes |
A few minutes had passed, perhaps more than I'd intended, and I looked up to see Ben approach the table. He presented me with one of their CDs as a thank you for the cakes I'd given that were a thank you for... well... everything! I think perhaps this time it was he who was looking on a face that was unexpectedly grateful!
It's at times like that I realise kindness and generosity of spirit really are infectious; it's passed on like a virus. I know I've said it before, regularly, that if you're kind even just to one person that it makes a difference. It doesn't only make a difference to that one person in that one moment. No, they're likely to pass the kindness on to someone else, and then the next and the next, and before you know it you've begun a chain of nice events, however small, that brighten people's days. These acts of kindness spread so quickly that before you realise what's happening you're playing a CD in the car on the way home from a show, when all you really wanted from the evening was to hear your story being told and to say thank you to the people doing the telling.
I'm not saying we should be nice so that others are nice in return, because that's just not how it works. Genuine kindness breeds genuine kindness. It doesn't matter whether we know people, whether they're family and friends or whether they're complete strangers. They might just be people you met in a theatre in Stockton when you were meant to be singing.
And not to forget our memories. They're what the whole performance is based on, after all; the memories of everyday people doing everyday jobs, with everyday worries on their minds. Our actions and the memories that spring from them help to shape who we are right here, right now. Whether it's the day I met my first boyfriend, the day I left my husband, the day I hugged my dad in the hospital corridor after racing to see mum when we got 'the call', or whether it's having the courage to swallow my shyness and hand over a box of cakes to people I don't know just to say thank you. All of these things and countless others made me into the person I am right now, the one typing these words into her laptop with a pounding headache and a big mug of coffee because she stayed up until 2 am writing most of this blog post.
Bring the Happy is astounding if you open yourself up to its message. I will never forget the last two evenings in Stockton Arc. They've been added to my collection of happy memories in permanent marker. In triplicate, just in case.
If you can't bring the happy into your own life, I hope you have someone close-by who can help. If you don't, I hope you can find a way to ask someone. If you feel so inclined, bring it to someone else and do it without agenda. You'll be thankful that you did, and your smile will be so big and deep inside you that it'll become addictive. This is one addiction with which I'm glad to be afflicted!
We all deserve to smile, even if it's through our tears.
 |
| Me with My Flying Dutchman - 2010 Stacey Kent - What a Wonderful World |
Invisible Flock
Hope & Social
Bring the Happy
Tuesday, 17 September 2013
What do you want?
It’s an easy thing to answer; what do you want? Everyone wants something. Most people want more than one thing. A few want a seemingly endless list of stuff, fulfilled dreams and fairytale endings. But do you know why you want what you want?
Consider this. A relationship ends, and you pine and pine and pine for your lost love. You feel as though you’d do anything to get them back. In this technological age we can never fully leave someone behind. It’s almost impossible not to see their presence somewhere; facebook, twitter, emails, the endless number of apps on our phones and tablets. The process of grieving for a lost love, the one who got away, and eventually the realisation that you’re finally over it, can take what seems like forever. Some people never find their way through. Is this a side effect of our technological advances? If someone is never really out of sight, how can they be out of mind? Rewind the clock thirty years and you may well find that pining doesn’t extend to further pining followed by even more pining, and that instead we wallow in self pity for a while, then a friend drags us out to a pub, we have some fun and we move the heck on with our lives.
When our loveruns screaming for the hills in a blind panic walks away in the opposite direction do we miss the real person or the ideal version of them which, let’s be honest, becomes even more ideal when time passes and we conveniently forget the pain they caused in the first place. And they probably did. No one’s perfect. No one. No, not even me.
If we can give ourselves time to understand why we want the things and/or people we want, figure out which things are real needs and which are fantasies, we might have a fighting chance of succeeding.
I know why I want the things I want. I have a list (not a physical list, although it’s a miracle; I make lists about lists!). I know what’s achievable and what isn’t. I know what I need to do (most of the time). I know who can help me and how. I know the timescales I have in mind to achieve what I want. In some cases I know what the final goal is but with no idea how to get there, but I also know it will come to me eventually. I know that if I don’t achieve what I set out to do that I’ll be disappointed, and I know that in most cases that will be down to me and no one else, but I’ll get over it and move on, or I’ll try again… and again… and again…
Do I want my lost love? Sometimes I do, but then something happens to make me remember why he’s lost and why he’ll remain that way, and normal service can resume, for a while at least.
Do I want to find a new love? Yes. I wasn’t built to be lonely; most of us aren’t. I’m attempting to do something about it but I can only do so much, and I’m painfully aware of that fact. Am I tired of hearing that “it will happen when you least expect it”, “he’s just around the corner” and “you should try speed dating”? Dear god, yes! Am I likely to slap with a soggy haddock the next person to sincerely say any of the above or variations thereof? It’s a distinct possibility. Will I stop looking? No. I wasn’t built to be lonely.
Do I want my own family? At 39 years old while watching the egg timer drain away the last grains of my fertility? Yes, I always have. Will I be content instead to teach my nieces everything I can, to watch them grow into the incredible people I know they’ll be, and be there when they run away from home waiting with hugs, chocolate, pizza, girly movies, and make sneaky phone calls to their mums and dads when they’re not in earshot so I can still be their cool Auntie Kirsty? You betcha!
Do I want to figure out what, once and for all, I want as my career? Of course I do, but I know the job I have now is good, reasonably well paid, with fabulous colleagues and a boss who stands up for her employees even if she knows she can’t change something. Will I figure out what I want to do before it’s too late and I’m too old to be employed in a new area? I haven’t the faintest idea. All I know is I want to help people, I just don’t know how (and before some of you say it, I’m really not cut out to be a nurse!). I want to work at something every day that makes a real difference to people’s lives, and I want to take the fabulous feeling home with me every night, the one that tells me my short time in this life has meant something to people whether I know them or not.
Do I want to lose the rest of the weight I need to lose before I’m considered healthy? Absolutely! Is it difficult? Unless you’ve experienced the long, hard slog you have no idea just how difficult. In twelve months I’ve stayed almost (cough) the same weight when I know I could have already reached my goal with motivation and determination. I know I became lazy and started taking things for granted. I also know that the motivation and determination I need in order to achieve this will come to me in a flash, and I may not even realise it’s happened until weeks later when my trousers start to fall down! I know I’ll do it because I have no choice.
Do I want to move into a flat on my own? Darn tootin’, I do! Do I worry about how I’ll cope with my arachnophobia? Yes. Oh yes. Will it stop me from moving? Are you feckin’ kidding me??? The joy of walking into an empty kitchen and baking when I want, of getting up on a weekend and not lying there listening, waiting for the shower to be free, of having everything I put down still be there when I return to it and not ‘tidied away’ (suddenly lost)? This. This is my first goal, and it’s the one I know I’ll realise before all else.
I want more. I do want more, but these are the big important things I want more than anything else. These are the things that, for me, are worth fighting for and working towards. I’ll keep on keeping on because there’s nothing else I can do. What remains if I don’t? The lazy, sedentary, depressive, unfit waste of a person I used to be. She hasn’t been here for a long time and she’s never coming back, I can guarantee that much even if I don’t succeed with my list.
We can all achieve what we want to achieve if we understand what we want and why. Quitting smoking, quitting drinking, retraining in a new job, emigrating, learning to dance, singing on a stage, starting a business, making all our own Christmas decorations… we can achieve anything. Yes, that last one is on my list, too!
So the only question left is this…
What do you want?
Consider this. A relationship ends, and you pine and pine and pine for your lost love. You feel as though you’d do anything to get them back. In this technological age we can never fully leave someone behind. It’s almost impossible not to see their presence somewhere; facebook, twitter, emails, the endless number of apps on our phones and tablets. The process of grieving for a lost love, the one who got away, and eventually the realisation that you’re finally over it, can take what seems like forever. Some people never find their way through. Is this a side effect of our technological advances? If someone is never really out of sight, how can they be out of mind? Rewind the clock thirty years and you may well find that pining doesn’t extend to further pining followed by even more pining, and that instead we wallow in self pity for a while, then a friend drags us out to a pub, we have some fun and we move the heck on with our lives.
When our love
If we can give ourselves time to understand why we want the things and/or people we want, figure out which things are real needs and which are fantasies, we might have a fighting chance of succeeding.
I know why I want the things I want. I have a list (not a physical list, although it’s a miracle; I make lists about lists!). I know what’s achievable and what isn’t. I know what I need to do (most of the time). I know who can help me and how. I know the timescales I have in mind to achieve what I want. In some cases I know what the final goal is but with no idea how to get there, but I also know it will come to me eventually. I know that if I don’t achieve what I set out to do that I’ll be disappointed, and I know that in most cases that will be down to me and no one else, but I’ll get over it and move on, or I’ll try again… and again… and again…
Do I want my lost love? Sometimes I do, but then something happens to make me remember why he’s lost and why he’ll remain that way, and normal service can resume, for a while at least.
Do I want to find a new love? Yes. I wasn’t built to be lonely; most of us aren’t. I’m attempting to do something about it but I can only do so much, and I’m painfully aware of that fact. Am I tired of hearing that “it will happen when you least expect it”, “he’s just around the corner” and “you should try speed dating”? Dear god, yes! Am I likely to slap with a soggy haddock the next person to sincerely say any of the above or variations thereof? It’s a distinct possibility. Will I stop looking? No. I wasn’t built to be lonely.
Do I want my own family? At 39 years old while watching the egg timer drain away the last grains of my fertility? Yes, I always have. Will I be content instead to teach my nieces everything I can, to watch them grow into the incredible people I know they’ll be, and be there when they run away from home waiting with hugs, chocolate, pizza, girly movies, and make sneaky phone calls to their mums and dads when they’re not in earshot so I can still be their cool Auntie Kirsty? You betcha!
Do I want to figure out what, once and for all, I want as my career? Of course I do, but I know the job I have now is good, reasonably well paid, with fabulous colleagues and a boss who stands up for her employees even if she knows she can’t change something. Will I figure out what I want to do before it’s too late and I’m too old to be employed in a new area? I haven’t the faintest idea. All I know is I want to help people, I just don’t know how (and before some of you say it, I’m really not cut out to be a nurse!). I want to work at something every day that makes a real difference to people’s lives, and I want to take the fabulous feeling home with me every night, the one that tells me my short time in this life has meant something to people whether I know them or not.
Do I want to lose the rest of the weight I need to lose before I’m considered healthy? Absolutely! Is it difficult? Unless you’ve experienced the long, hard slog you have no idea just how difficult. In twelve months I’ve stayed almost (cough) the same weight when I know I could have already reached my goal with motivation and determination. I know I became lazy and started taking things for granted. I also know that the motivation and determination I need in order to achieve this will come to me in a flash, and I may not even realise it’s happened until weeks later when my trousers start to fall down! I know I’ll do it because I have no choice.
Do I want to move into a flat on my own? Darn tootin’, I do! Do I worry about how I’ll cope with my arachnophobia? Yes. Oh yes. Will it stop me from moving? Are you feckin’ kidding me??? The joy of walking into an empty kitchen and baking when I want, of getting up on a weekend and not lying there listening, waiting for the shower to be free, of having everything I put down still be there when I return to it and not ‘tidied away’ (suddenly lost)? This. This is my first goal, and it’s the one I know I’ll realise before all else.
I want more. I do want more, but these are the big important things I want more than anything else. These are the things that, for me, are worth fighting for and working towards. I’ll keep on keeping on because there’s nothing else I can do. What remains if I don’t? The lazy, sedentary, depressive, unfit waste of a person I used to be. She hasn’t been here for a long time and she’s never coming back, I can guarantee that much even if I don’t succeed with my list.
We can all achieve what we want to achieve if we understand what we want and why. Quitting smoking, quitting drinking, retraining in a new job, emigrating, learning to dance, singing on a stage, starting a business, making all our own Christmas decorations… we can achieve anything. Yes, that last one is on my list, too!
So the only question left is this…
What do you want?
Wednesday, 11 September 2013
When Sadness Falls
No one knows how they would deal with tragedy until it hits and most of the time we just don't think about it; things happen and we deal with the consequences. Good, bad, destructive, healing, however we deal with it we just get on with it without much thought. We know we're hurting and we know that the people around us are too, and we act on instinct. Sometimes we hurt others more in the process and sometimes we're the rock for everyone else while they all fall apart, and we quietly shut ourselves away and let the broken pieces fall behind closed doors.
Every last one of us has faced loss of one sort or another. We all know how it makes us feel.
Yesterday I heard news of a tragedy and I was so saddened by it, and with the sadness went a thought to the victims and their families. Tonight I learned that I know someone who was affected by the tragedy, and as I read some of his words it was all I could do not to cry right there where I stood.
I suppose it's human nature to detach ourselves from the bad things that happen to people we don't know; how would we cope day to day if we were deeply affected with every piece of bad news? But bring that news a little closer to home and it becomes real. It becomes something that could happen to us, too, and it makes the world a scarier place.
Tonight though, what I saw in other people was their concern and support. I watched their faces as they learned of the sadness that's affected one of our own - and he is our own, as is his family whether we've met them or not - and I was further moved by everyone's sadness. There was such a range of ages, backgrounds, beliefs, nationalities and values stood in that room, and yet we all felt the same as we learned the news. I didn't need to ask anyone because I could see it right there on their faces.
Tonight there was sadness, of course there was. There still is. Alongside that, however, is the realisation that when you touch lives in a positive way, the support you have when the bad things happen is immeasurable. Many people don't voice their thoughts because they think the person they want to help has heard it all before, and "we'd offer but we can't really help anyway", or they feel uncomfortable or nervous of the reaction. Some people simply find it difficult to say what they need to say; they can't find the words.
The words don't always matter, though. Actions speak so loudly when they come from the heart; a hug, a handshake, a sincere look, a smile; they can all say more than any words.
So many people out there have made a real difference to many, many people's lives, whether for just a brief moment or whether they've passed on a long term, ongoing general feeling of wellbeing and a need to help others. To those people I'd like to say on behalf of everyone who won't, everyone who's scared, everyone who can't find the right words, everyone who's nervous or who just can't find the right moment... you are loved and supported by more people than you will ever know.
To anyone who has lost their smile... yes, it might take some time to return. It takes as long as it takes. In the meantime we'll all smile for you.
Monday, 26 August 2013
Record-breaking smiles!
It's difficult to know where to start with this post. So many lovely, happy, positive things have happened recently. I probably should have written a list, but in all the fun I forgot. Me. I forgot to write a list. Whatever is the world coming to?!
Well, apparently it's coming to a bright new shiny place, and it's all coming from people with big hearts, vivid imaginations, energy, drive and a love of the places and people who surround them.
A couple of hours ago I collapsed on the sofa at home with aching feet, a complaining back and a fabulous feeling that I know will stay with me for a long time to come. Today was the day that Stockton on Tees attempted three world records. That's three. World records. The sun shone, the crowds came and people stood up to be counted, just as their marshmallows and bounces were counted too. Twice. And filmed. And photographed. And cheered, chanted and clapped.
I can say hand on heart that my appetite for pizza, having watched so many people try to eat one as quickly as possible, has diminished substantially. Having eaten a marshmallow from the leftovers, once everyone had finished their attempts to eat the most in one minute, I was relieved I didn't put my own name down for the challenge. I could barely finish one. How the day's record of 14 was achieved, I have no idea! I can safely say that I've never had a burning desire to bounce on a spacehopper over a line as many times as I could in one minute, but congratulations to all who tried, especially for the couple who'd already speed-eaten a 12” pizza! No, bouncing on a spacehopper isn't for me. You can keep the spacehopper.
Stockton came close to having a record broken today, but for the moment it just isn't meant to be. A little practice for next time and I'm certain someone will crack it!
So what about the rest of the fun and frolics? Last night saw Preston Park stage a huge picnic, complete with Beatlemania (a great tribute band who actually made me appreciate their music more than I had previously), and the ever-energetic and infectious Wildcats of Kilkenny who stirred up the crowd into a dancing, bouncing, singing throng of happiness. One of my friends commented on the way home that it was so lovely just to sit with a picnic, surrounded by so many other people doing the same, enjoying the pleasant weather, company and lovely food. The music was a bonus; she would have been happy even without the music to entertain us. I suspect, however, that my bouncing and dancing kept her plenty entertained!
When I think back to last night's picnic I realise I didn't, in a crowd of more than 1000 people, hear of or witness any problems. No fights or arguments, no shows of ego or bravado, just enjoyment of the here and now with the people they love. There were Stockman Pies from the mighty and mightily fine Matty's Bistro (the best my friend has tasted, no less!). There was Oxbridge Wildcat Real Ale, I believe brewed especially for the event (but feel free to correct me). There was even some swapping of home-baked pie and tart à la the Great British Bake Off!
It's safe to say the picnic was a huge success, and just added to the feeling that's brewing up in and around Stockton on Tees. It's something positive and addictive, and I sense that the people who are inflicted with this fabulous shift of outlook are embracing it and passing it on to the people who surround them.
Myself, personally, I've had so many things for which I can be thankful. It's easy to overlook the good and focus on the bad, to dwell on what we no longer have instead of enjoying what's right there in front of us and surrounding us in the here and now. I'm as guilty of doing that as my next door neighbour, the bloke who takes my money for petrol, or even the optician who helped me choose my new glasses. I know when negativity begins to take over, but now I'm better equipped to deal with those moments quickly. I can do that in no small way thanks to friends, old and new. They help to pick me up and to make me see what's fabulous in my life. Most of the time they don't even realise they're doing it, but they are.
There was a time when I chose to only allow a few select people become close to me. I was always a wallflower; a shy little thing who, when I was a child, was so scared of men that I would cry and run away if the opportunity presented itself. One summer I even locked myself in a caravan because a man was taking a family photograph. I never liked being the centre of attention, even on my wedding day, and I preferred my own company than that of others. Looking back now I realise it was shyness and insecurity that made me feel that way. Self preservation.
Now? I'm fine with my own company, but it gets a bit old when that's all you have most of the time. I love to be with people now, and I adore my new friends. I can't remember ever being greeted with so many hugs, but now it's becoming the norm. So much so, that I greeted an old friend with a hug today who obviously wasn't expecting it, and it was only afterwards it occurred to me that I probably haven't done that before. Not with her.
I can't remember the last time I received so many birthday cards, and at times from unexpected places! This year someone made me a birthday pavlova (because no one still dare make me a birthday cake!), and I can't remember the last time someone did anything like that for me. It might have even been mum back in my teens. I can't remember being so enthusiastic about making plans with such a large number of people at one time, and now I just soak it all up and enjoy the laughs and atmosphere, and revel in the new memories we're making together.
There are so many people I could thank for helping me to wake up, and for making sure my eyes remain open, but the list is too long and I'll forget someone. You know who you are, you really, really do. But for this wonderful bank holiday weekend there's a picnic with fabulous music, pies, ale and great company to thank, and there's a Summer Show where people gathered to attempt world records. Both of the above are nothing without the people. They came together and had fun, showed support and respect for each other, cheered each other on, swung each other round to a manic fiddler, and drove each other home, making sure they were safely in the door before driving away. Because that's what we do.
Stockton on Tees does have record breakers but the achievements are immeasurable; enthusiasm, support, laughter and a desire to improve and enrich their lives and those people around them in the most imaginative, positive ways.
Right now my whole body hurts. Each time I stand up it complains at me and tries to make me promise not to put it through this again, but I refuse to make promises I can't keep. Physical pain passes; joy, laughter and an overwhelming feeling of belonging will stay with me so much longer.
I feel as though Stockton is trying to adopt me, and quite honestly I'm struggling to find reasons not to sign the paperwork.
P.S.
While writing this post I discovered that a person who won a prize during the world record attempts today has donated it to a local charity. Generosity is most certainly added to the list of positives in and around Stockton on Tees. There are many unsung heroes out there who do their bit when they can to make others smile, and I salute every last one of you!
Well, apparently it's coming to a bright new shiny place, and it's all coming from people with big hearts, vivid imaginations, energy, drive and a love of the places and people who surround them.
A couple of hours ago I collapsed on the sofa at home with aching feet, a complaining back and a fabulous feeling that I know will stay with me for a long time to come. Today was the day that Stockton on Tees attempted three world records. That's three. World records. The sun shone, the crowds came and people stood up to be counted, just as their marshmallows and bounces were counted too. Twice. And filmed. And photographed. And cheered, chanted and clapped.
I can say hand on heart that my appetite for pizza, having watched so many people try to eat one as quickly as possible, has diminished substantially. Having eaten a marshmallow from the leftovers, once everyone had finished their attempts to eat the most in one minute, I was relieved I didn't put my own name down for the challenge. I could barely finish one. How the day's record of 14 was achieved, I have no idea! I can safely say that I've never had a burning desire to bounce on a spacehopper over a line as many times as I could in one minute, but congratulations to all who tried, especially for the couple who'd already speed-eaten a 12” pizza! No, bouncing on a spacehopper isn't for me. You can keep the spacehopper.
Stockton came close to having a record broken today, but for the moment it just isn't meant to be. A little practice for next time and I'm certain someone will crack it!
So what about the rest of the fun and frolics? Last night saw Preston Park stage a huge picnic, complete with Beatlemania (a great tribute band who actually made me appreciate their music more than I had previously), and the ever-energetic and infectious Wildcats of Kilkenny who stirred up the crowd into a dancing, bouncing, singing throng of happiness. One of my friends commented on the way home that it was so lovely just to sit with a picnic, surrounded by so many other people doing the same, enjoying the pleasant weather, company and lovely food. The music was a bonus; she would have been happy even without the music to entertain us. I suspect, however, that my bouncing and dancing kept her plenty entertained!
When I think back to last night's picnic I realise I didn't, in a crowd of more than 1000 people, hear of or witness any problems. No fights or arguments, no shows of ego or bravado, just enjoyment of the here and now with the people they love. There were Stockman Pies from the mighty and mightily fine Matty's Bistro (the best my friend has tasted, no less!). There was Oxbridge Wildcat Real Ale, I believe brewed especially for the event (but feel free to correct me). There was even some swapping of home-baked pie and tart à la the Great British Bake Off!
It's safe to say the picnic was a huge success, and just added to the feeling that's brewing up in and around Stockton on Tees. It's something positive and addictive, and I sense that the people who are inflicted with this fabulous shift of outlook are embracing it and passing it on to the people who surround them.
Myself, personally, I've had so many things for which I can be thankful. It's easy to overlook the good and focus on the bad, to dwell on what we no longer have instead of enjoying what's right there in front of us and surrounding us in the here and now. I'm as guilty of doing that as my next door neighbour, the bloke who takes my money for petrol, or even the optician who helped me choose my new glasses. I know when negativity begins to take over, but now I'm better equipped to deal with those moments quickly. I can do that in no small way thanks to friends, old and new. They help to pick me up and to make me see what's fabulous in my life. Most of the time they don't even realise they're doing it, but they are.
There was a time when I chose to only allow a few select people become close to me. I was always a wallflower; a shy little thing who, when I was a child, was so scared of men that I would cry and run away if the opportunity presented itself. One summer I even locked myself in a caravan because a man was taking a family photograph. I never liked being the centre of attention, even on my wedding day, and I preferred my own company than that of others. Looking back now I realise it was shyness and insecurity that made me feel that way. Self preservation.
Now? I'm fine with my own company, but it gets a bit old when that's all you have most of the time. I love to be with people now, and I adore my new friends. I can't remember ever being greeted with so many hugs, but now it's becoming the norm. So much so, that I greeted an old friend with a hug today who obviously wasn't expecting it, and it was only afterwards it occurred to me that I probably haven't done that before. Not with her.
I can't remember the last time I received so many birthday cards, and at times from unexpected places! This year someone made me a birthday pavlova (because no one still dare make me a birthday cake!), and I can't remember the last time someone did anything like that for me. It might have even been mum back in my teens. I can't remember being so enthusiastic about making plans with such a large number of people at one time, and now I just soak it all up and enjoy the laughs and atmosphere, and revel in the new memories we're making together.
There are so many people I could thank for helping me to wake up, and for making sure my eyes remain open, but the list is too long and I'll forget someone. You know who you are, you really, really do. But for this wonderful bank holiday weekend there's a picnic with fabulous music, pies, ale and great company to thank, and there's a Summer Show where people gathered to attempt world records. Both of the above are nothing without the people. They came together and had fun, showed support and respect for each other, cheered each other on, swung each other round to a manic fiddler, and drove each other home, making sure they were safely in the door before driving away. Because that's what we do.
Stockton on Tees does have record breakers but the achievements are immeasurable; enthusiasm, support, laughter and a desire to improve and enrich their lives and those people around them in the most imaginative, positive ways.
Right now my whole body hurts. Each time I stand up it complains at me and tries to make me promise not to put it through this again, but I refuse to make promises I can't keep. Physical pain passes; joy, laughter and an overwhelming feeling of belonging will stay with me so much longer.
I feel as though Stockton is trying to adopt me, and quite honestly I'm struggling to find reasons not to sign the paperwork.
 |
| Wildcats Picnic @ Preston Park |
P.S.
While writing this post I discovered that a person who won a prize during the world record attempts today has donated it to a local charity. Generosity is most certainly added to the list of positives in and around Stockton on Tees. There are many unsung heroes out there who do their bit when they can to make others smile, and I salute every last one of you!
Wednesday, 7 August 2013
Kindness costs nothing
Having had a few down days recently I started to think about ‘niceness’ and how it affects us personally, both for the giver and the receiver. I had a few moments recently when I’d uncharacteristically snapped at people at work, with various legitimate reasons behind them I might add, but nevertheless the frustration and anger were misdirected. It gave me no joy to do or say what I did either at the time or looking back on it now. But we’re all human, right? None of us are beyond making mistakes, and every emotion we feel is valid to us in that moment, regardless of whether or not the spectator agrees.
What we don’t often consider is that every emotion we feel is capable of being manipulated to such a degree that before we know it, we’ve gone from feeling full of sorrow to enthusiastic about life, and we can do this to ourselves as well as others. We often try to help a friend in need, and even if we don’t know what to say for those words of comfort, just being there with a smile and a hug can be enough to improve someone’s outlook on a situation that’s getting them down. We do this instinctively for friends and family, and yet we don’t do it for ourselves.
Being ‘nice’ can be difficult sometimes, especially on those days when we don’t feel quite ourselves. I’ve been known to force myself to smile and be gracious at supermarket checkouts when all I really wanted to do was snatch my receipt and growl. It’s not easy but it’s worthwhile making the effort, because even if it feels physically painful to do it (and sometimes it does!), it still makes the other person feel a little better about their own day and their own problems. It may even just make them feel better to realise that through gritted teeth you made an effort for them; a complete stranger, when the previous twelve people didn’t give a rat’s backside.
It’s the smallest of gestures that make the biggest differences to our lives. Some people think that being nice or generous involves huge acts, lots of money, gifts and elaborate surprises. Well, not for me. The single, most memorable gesture was from one complete stranger who made my day, and I’ve never, ever forgotten it…
It was my second ever trip to London on my own, and having stepped off the train at Kings Cross my first thought was to find a bathroom! I already knew where it was, and I already knew that I needed change. It was only when I looked in my purse that I realised the smallest change I had was £1. I turned and saw that the machine to give change was out of order. I took a deep breath, put on a big smile and asked a lady who was approaching the barriers for the toilets whether she could change my pound. She couldn’t. She did, however, have enough to just give me the change I needed. I tried to give her the £1 coin anyway but she refused to take it.
All it took for me to have my faith restored in the kindness of human beings was a smile and 30p. I never knew her name and I can’t remember her face, but I’ve never forgotten that one small gesture from one kind person in a big, cold city. The smallest of gestures really do make a big difference.
I was talking with a friend a few weeks ago, and he told me the story of his journeys to work. He always walks to work (a local college), and he quickly realised that he often passed the same people day after day, and they usually just looked like they were aiming to get through their mornings with the least possible disruption. Understandable, but they were also doing that without a glimmer of joy; trudging along, just waiting for the weekend to arrive.
So he made the decision to smile and say good morning to every person he passed on his walk to work, and this is what he discovered:
Day 1 – People initially looked startled, and they quickly muttered a begrudged return greeting while looking uncomfortable
Day 2 – People saw him approach and were prepared, just in case. They made a little more effort to say good morning, at least sounding less scared and a little friendlier
Day 3 – People saw him approach and attempted to get their greeting in first, giving a cheery good morning and a nice smile
After a while of doing this; weeks, months, I’m really not sure how long it took, he realised that a small community had formed. People at the college who didn’t normally communicate with each other were talking about their families, holidays, and so on, with added speculation about who this man was; the man who talks to people and smiles when he doesn’t know them. They concluded that he’s a nice guy, but perhaps a bit odd because of this unusual interaction with strangers.
His actions had led to people communicating with each other in a way that even he hadn’t expected. All he did was smile and say good morning to each person he passed, but it was enough to make them open themselves back up to the world and face their days with an extra little bit of joy, amusement and expectation.
It really doesn't take much other than a little effort to make a positive difference to someone's day. What you perhaps may not have considered is that not only does it make other people a little happier, but it can have the same affect on the person doing that small good deed or act of kindness. I took a walk along the promenade before work one day, and with my friend's words in mind I smiled at more and more people as we passed each other. I'm confident that most of those people wouldn't have smiled first, but they returned them without hesitation. One lady gave me a big, beaming smile and as I passed I chuckled to myself, partly because I didn't expect to see such joy on anyone's face before 7 am on a weekday, but there it was and it lifted me right up!
Now, I'm not saying that we should live our whole days trying to make others feel better about themselves and their lives, I'm only saying it would be nice to even just try to be nicer towards one person each day. It might be a big, beaming smile. Perhaps an anonymous little gift (I've been known to send chocolate bars to colleagues through internal mail). Maybe even, after collecting your car parking ticket, putting enough in the machine for the next person to get free parking.
There are so many things we can do and they don't need to cost a penny. Sometimes it just takes a little imagination, other times it just takes a kind word and a smile. Tomorrow, why not try complimenting a stranger? You could hold a door open for an extra beat or two for another person to come through. Why not hold back from driving bumper to bumper in heavy traffic, and actually let someone out who's been sat waiting at a junction for the last five minutes?
These things will make you feel better. They really will. Consider too that the person for whom you've just done or said something nice is more likely to pass that on to someone else, all because someone unexpectedly made them feel valued.
We all have our bad days, of course we do, but we can turn them around into okay days, or even good days, just by being a little nicer and opening ourselves up to others.
Communities don't thrive on misery, negativity and selfishness, they thrive on kindness, support and a sense of belonging. If you can help to foster positive relationships amongst a community, however large or small it may be, why wouldn't you?
I heard it reported recently that as a nation we're the happiest we've been for decades.
Let's prove it.
What we don’t often consider is that every emotion we feel is capable of being manipulated to such a degree that before we know it, we’ve gone from feeling full of sorrow to enthusiastic about life, and we can do this to ourselves as well as others. We often try to help a friend in need, and even if we don’t know what to say for those words of comfort, just being there with a smile and a hug can be enough to improve someone’s outlook on a situation that’s getting them down. We do this instinctively for friends and family, and yet we don’t do it for ourselves.
Being ‘nice’ can be difficult sometimes, especially on those days when we don’t feel quite ourselves. I’ve been known to force myself to smile and be gracious at supermarket checkouts when all I really wanted to do was snatch my receipt and growl. It’s not easy but it’s worthwhile making the effort, because even if it feels physically painful to do it (and sometimes it does!), it still makes the other person feel a little better about their own day and their own problems. It may even just make them feel better to realise that through gritted teeth you made an effort for them; a complete stranger, when the previous twelve people didn’t give a rat’s backside.
It’s the smallest of gestures that make the biggest differences to our lives. Some people think that being nice or generous involves huge acts, lots of money, gifts and elaborate surprises. Well, not for me. The single, most memorable gesture was from one complete stranger who made my day, and I’ve never, ever forgotten it…
It was my second ever trip to London on my own, and having stepped off the train at Kings Cross my first thought was to find a bathroom! I already knew where it was, and I already knew that I needed change. It was only when I looked in my purse that I realised the smallest change I had was £1. I turned and saw that the machine to give change was out of order. I took a deep breath, put on a big smile and asked a lady who was approaching the barriers for the toilets whether she could change my pound. She couldn’t. She did, however, have enough to just give me the change I needed. I tried to give her the £1 coin anyway but she refused to take it.
All it took for me to have my faith restored in the kindness of human beings was a smile and 30p. I never knew her name and I can’t remember her face, but I’ve never forgotten that one small gesture from one kind person in a big, cold city. The smallest of gestures really do make a big difference.
I was talking with a friend a few weeks ago, and he told me the story of his journeys to work. He always walks to work (a local college), and he quickly realised that he often passed the same people day after day, and they usually just looked like they were aiming to get through their mornings with the least possible disruption. Understandable, but they were also doing that without a glimmer of joy; trudging along, just waiting for the weekend to arrive.
So he made the decision to smile and say good morning to every person he passed on his walk to work, and this is what he discovered:
Day 1 – People initially looked startled, and they quickly muttered a begrudged return greeting while looking uncomfortable
Day 2 – People saw him approach and were prepared, just in case. They made a little more effort to say good morning, at least sounding less scared and a little friendlier
Day 3 – People saw him approach and attempted to get their greeting in first, giving a cheery good morning and a nice smile
After a while of doing this; weeks, months, I’m really not sure how long it took, he realised that a small community had formed. People at the college who didn’t normally communicate with each other were talking about their families, holidays, and so on, with added speculation about who this man was; the man who talks to people and smiles when he doesn’t know them. They concluded that he’s a nice guy, but perhaps a bit odd because of this unusual interaction with strangers.
His actions had led to people communicating with each other in a way that even he hadn’t expected. All he did was smile and say good morning to each person he passed, but it was enough to make them open themselves back up to the world and face their days with an extra little bit of joy, amusement and expectation.
It really doesn't take much other than a little effort to make a positive difference to someone's day. What you perhaps may not have considered is that not only does it make other people a little happier, but it can have the same affect on the person doing that small good deed or act of kindness. I took a walk along the promenade before work one day, and with my friend's words in mind I smiled at more and more people as we passed each other. I'm confident that most of those people wouldn't have smiled first, but they returned them without hesitation. One lady gave me a big, beaming smile and as I passed I chuckled to myself, partly because I didn't expect to see such joy on anyone's face before 7 am on a weekday, but there it was and it lifted me right up!
Now, I'm not saying that we should live our whole days trying to make others feel better about themselves and their lives, I'm only saying it would be nice to even just try to be nicer towards one person each day. It might be a big, beaming smile. Perhaps an anonymous little gift (I've been known to send chocolate bars to colleagues through internal mail). Maybe even, after collecting your car parking ticket, putting enough in the machine for the next person to get free parking.
There are so many things we can do and they don't need to cost a penny. Sometimes it just takes a little imagination, other times it just takes a kind word and a smile. Tomorrow, why not try complimenting a stranger? You could hold a door open for an extra beat or two for another person to come through. Why not hold back from driving bumper to bumper in heavy traffic, and actually let someone out who's been sat waiting at a junction for the last five minutes?
These things will make you feel better. They really will. Consider too that the person for whom you've just done or said something nice is more likely to pass that on to someone else, all because someone unexpectedly made them feel valued.
We all have our bad days, of course we do, but we can turn them around into okay days, or even good days, just by being a little nicer and opening ourselves up to others.
Communities don't thrive on misery, negativity and selfishness, they thrive on kindness, support and a sense of belonging. If you can help to foster positive relationships amongst a community, however large or small it may be, why wouldn't you?
I heard it reported recently that as a nation we're the happiest we've been for decades.
Let's prove it.
Sunday, 14 July 2013
And, Oh! How we danced!
Today is a great day! Today I danced, laughed, danced and danced some more, while the sun beat down on me so hard that I was sure before I even moved that I would melt into one huge puddle on Stockton High Street.
Today was the day that Diversity came to town, and so did the rest of the north east!
There was a time, not very long ago, when I was so self conscious, shy and scared of people laughing at me, that when opportunity came my way I would back away from it very, very quickly. It didn't matter whether it was something for friends, family or work; I just didn't want to be involved. Then one day something remarkable happened. I became so aware of my own mortality that I suddenly found I was terrifed of living my life without actually living.
I picked myself up, dusted myself down and got the hell on with it; no one, not even me, would stop me having some fun!
Today, by 'eck, did I have some fun!
I learned recently that Stockton on Tees is in the top 100 list of crap towns in the UK. This both saddens and frustrates me. I've witnessed first hand over the last six months just how much effort Stockton has been and is putting back into the town, working hard to make their corner of the world nicer, more welcoming, more exciting, more enticing and a happier place to be both for its residents and its visitors.
Today, they absolutely pulled that off, helped in no small way by Diversity.
All for the making of a TV programme for Sky, the talented and charismatic lads from Diversity worked some of its residents to the point of sheer exhaustion. They made them dance, dance, dance and dance until their limbs did the moving for them without a moment's thought. These brave, wonderful people have been put through their paces in no small way, but the reports I've heard have all been incredible. Friends have been made, personal limits have been blown out of the stratosphere, bodies have been worked almost to the point of breaking, and it's all been done with smiles, laughter, camaraderie and a huge sense of pride.
I may not have been directly involved with this incredible project, but that made me no less enthusiastic to be a part of the final product.
Today was the first time in the whole of my adult life that I voluntarily danced, and I chose to do it in a crowd of thousands upon thousands, with the sun beating down and my body already crying, the threat... no, the promise of cameras absolutely everywhere.
What surprised me, though, was the number of people choosing not to participate. There were so many people stood around just watching, arms folded, still obviously enjoying the spectacle. I wanted to scream at them, "For the love of everything wonderful, DANCE! Join in! Don't just watch; be a part of it! Do something unusual, stop worrying so much and just... DANCE!"
I didn't scream at them. I did try some encouragement, as did the people who were with me, but all that did was make them stand somewhere else! But for all those people who watched from the sidelines, there were countless more who did join in, and it was a fantastic thing to see and be a part of. Mine will be only one in a face of thousands, but I'm there smiling, dancing and laughing, and wishing I'd done it all sooner; enjoying my life.
I don't want to say a huge amout about the TV programme or the events of the day because that's not what this is primarily about, despite the photos! This is about our lives. It's about our enjoyment of life, and our pride in ourselves, our friends and family and where we live.
Please, if you're one of those people who's negative about the town you live in, complaining that it's 'crap' or 'nothing ever happens', try opening your eyes. I know that Teesside is changing because I see it week after week. It's evolving and growing, and it's making steps to enrich our lives, but that will never happen if we're not open to new ideas and experiences. Other people can only do so much to make our experiences worth something more than a shrug and a frown; we need to let the good stuff in.
Today I danced in a way I've never danced before; with enthusiasm, joy and an abandon that I never knew was inside me, and what I want now is more. I want more and more new experiences, and I want to help create them, too. I want people to see what's good about who they are and where they live instead of concentrating on the negatives. I want that to be passed onto the next generation, and the next, until eventually the normal thing to do when we walk down the street is to smile and say hello, not to have our eyes cast downwards and our heads filled with negativity.
Recently a fellow chorister blogged, amongst other things, about random acts of kindness and how important they are, and I concur wholeheartedly. For the last 18 months I've been doing my best to live by that and I've discovered things about myself that I never knew before; positive sides to me that are gradually coming out as more time passes. Random acts of kindness towards our friends, families and complete strangers are all well and good, but we can't forget about ourselves. We need to remember to be kind to ourselves too, and if that's making a complete and utter fool of yourself in scorching heat on a high street in Teesside, so be it. If it's allowing yourself to go out and try something new just because you want to, fine. Don't forget about yourself. To make other people happy I think you need to be happy, too.
I've said it before and I'll say it again; open up your eyes and be prepared to see and hear great things around you.
Your town isn't crap.
The people in your town aren't crap.
Today thousands of people in Stockton on Tees danced and laughed and danced some more, and the sun shone down and smiled with us as we partied. Now... you tell me... how isn't that just bloody wonderful?
Today was the day that Diversity came to town, and so did the rest of the north east!
There was a time, not very long ago, when I was so self conscious, shy and scared of people laughing at me, that when opportunity came my way I would back away from it very, very quickly. It didn't matter whether it was something for friends, family or work; I just didn't want to be involved. Then one day something remarkable happened. I became so aware of my own mortality that I suddenly found I was terrifed of living my life without actually living.
I picked myself up, dusted myself down and got the hell on with it; no one, not even me, would stop me having some fun!
Today, by 'eck, did I have some fun!
I learned recently that Stockton on Tees is in the top 100 list of crap towns in the UK. This both saddens and frustrates me. I've witnessed first hand over the last six months just how much effort Stockton has been and is putting back into the town, working hard to make their corner of the world nicer, more welcoming, more exciting, more enticing and a happier place to be both for its residents and its visitors.
Today, they absolutely pulled that off, helped in no small way by Diversity.
All for the making of a TV programme for Sky, the talented and charismatic lads from Diversity worked some of its residents to the point of sheer exhaustion. They made them dance, dance, dance and dance until their limbs did the moving for them without a moment's thought. These brave, wonderful people have been put through their paces in no small way, but the reports I've heard have all been incredible. Friends have been made, personal limits have been blown out of the stratosphere, bodies have been worked almost to the point of breaking, and it's all been done with smiles, laughter, camaraderie and a huge sense of pride.
I may not have been directly involved with this incredible project, but that made me no less enthusiastic to be a part of the final product.
Today was the first time in the whole of my adult life that I voluntarily danced, and I chose to do it in a crowd of thousands upon thousands, with the sun beating down and my body already crying, the threat... no, the promise of cameras absolutely everywhere.
What surprised me, though, was the number of people choosing not to participate. There were so many people stood around just watching, arms folded, still obviously enjoying the spectacle. I wanted to scream at them, "For the love of everything wonderful, DANCE! Join in! Don't just watch; be a part of it! Do something unusual, stop worrying so much and just... DANCE!"
I didn't scream at them. I did try some encouragement, as did the people who were with me, but all that did was make them stand somewhere else! But for all those people who watched from the sidelines, there were countless more who did join in, and it was a fantastic thing to see and be a part of. Mine will be only one in a face of thousands, but I'm there smiling, dancing and laughing, and wishing I'd done it all sooner; enjoying my life.
I don't want to say a huge amout about the TV programme or the events of the day because that's not what this is primarily about, despite the photos! This is about our lives. It's about our enjoyment of life, and our pride in ourselves, our friends and family and where we live.
Please, if you're one of those people who's negative about the town you live in, complaining that it's 'crap' or 'nothing ever happens', try opening your eyes. I know that Teesside is changing because I see it week after week. It's evolving and growing, and it's making steps to enrich our lives, but that will never happen if we're not open to new ideas and experiences. Other people can only do so much to make our experiences worth something more than a shrug and a frown; we need to let the good stuff in.
Today I danced in a way I've never danced before; with enthusiasm, joy and an abandon that I never knew was inside me, and what I want now is more. I want more and more new experiences, and I want to help create them, too. I want people to see what's good about who they are and where they live instead of concentrating on the negatives. I want that to be passed onto the next generation, and the next, until eventually the normal thing to do when we walk down the street is to smile and say hello, not to have our eyes cast downwards and our heads filled with negativity.
Recently a fellow chorister blogged, amongst other things, about random acts of kindness and how important they are, and I concur wholeheartedly. For the last 18 months I've been doing my best to live by that and I've discovered things about myself that I never knew before; positive sides to me that are gradually coming out as more time passes. Random acts of kindness towards our friends, families and complete strangers are all well and good, but we can't forget about ourselves. We need to remember to be kind to ourselves too, and if that's making a complete and utter fool of yourself in scorching heat on a high street in Teesside, so be it. If it's allowing yourself to go out and try something new just because you want to, fine. Don't forget about yourself. To make other people happy I think you need to be happy, too.
I've said it before and I'll say it again; open up your eyes and be prepared to see and hear great things around you.
Your town isn't crap.
The people in your town aren't crap.
Today thousands of people in Stockton on Tees danced and laughed and danced some more, and the sun shone down and smiled with us as we partied. Now... you tell me... how isn't that just bloody wonderful?
Sunday, 30 June 2013
A Question of Identity
We don't think about
our identities very often, do we? We choose how we dress and
somewhere niggling in the back of our minds we have an idea of how we
want to be perceived by others, but we don't usually act out of
conscious decisions. We just 'do'. We already know who we are, we
don't need to think before we act.
In the last two years
my identity has changed. My whole outlook on life, the universe and
everything has shifted off sideways in a kind of tipsy, happy, huggy
kind of way and I'm much happier because of that, as I'm sure are
those people around me who had to cope with the miserable,
pessimistic version of me for so many years. But I
didn't sit there one day and think, “I want to change. Who do I
want to be now?”
The
last week, however, has seen me look a lot more closely at myself; my
actions, my outlook, my physical appearance, how fit (or unfit) I
feel, where I want to be, what I'm prepared to do to get where I want
to be... it's all quite exhausting, really!
Yesterday
I took bleach to my hair (yes, yes, the stuff that's meant for
hair!). I'm not sure what I hoped to see looking back at me in the
mirror when it was all washed out, but I did see what I expected; a
whole lot of blonde and orange
and left with a scalp that requires a few days of recovery before
attempting a cover-up. And tomorrow I need to go to work.
My
own reactions have been mixed; laughter, desperation (maybe I can use
the other colour anyway!), resignation. I was even nervous of dad's
reaction. Having last seen me with dark red hair, the last thing I
needed was for him to think there was an intruder in the house or
have a coronary! Resignation is the one that's stuck with me,
though. I did this to myself, deep down I knew what the result would be, and
after all... it's only hair.
It's
only hair.
That
right there is what made me start thinking about identities. It's
not only hair at all. It's one of the ways we define ourselves,
especially for women (although admittedly men are coming into their
own in the area of personal grooming!). My hairdresser said to me
yesterday that some people just aren't meant for long hair, and I
agreed, perhaps because I know I'm one of those people. It only took
me 38 years to figure it out. Walking down the high street yesterday
I clearly remember seeing the people not meant for 'conventional'
appearance, some not meant for being alone, some for whom a smile
seemed to have been invented and who make the world so much more
pleasant.
Our
identities are more important to us than we realise, at least until
something happens to tear it down into pieces. My orange hair is
nothing, it's irrelevant in the grand scheme of things. It will grow
back, I'll change the colour again and all is well. Identities...
people... are shattered by so much more. People lose their sight or
their hearing, they lose limbs, they become incapacitated through
illness, women have mastectomies, men have orchiectomies and the
world keeps on turning, but to those people how they view themselves
physically, emotionally or both is changed forever whether they
consciously think about it or not. We hear of people being strong in
the face of adversity and at the same time the person next door is
falling apart. Is that a conscious decision? Does it matter?
Regardless of how they came to be the people they are, their actions,
words and appearance are theirs. We only spectate on the pieces of
their world that they're willing to let us see. Although some of us
try to be involved we're only ever as involved as they allow.
In
the past week I've spent time with so many people and so many
different personalities. I've been saddened with bad news from a
colleague and friend, lifted by so many other colleagues and friends,
old and new, frustrated by acquaintances, irritated by a rare few,
and given absolute joy by people who while facing negativity chose to
laugh, smile and sing with extra vigour. These are the people I
salute, and the people against whom I measure myself, if only in a
small way and only when I remember!
I
make my decisions much more consciously now than I ever used to.
When faced with negativity or bad attitude I returned it without a
thought to what was behind it in the first place, and it never made
me feel any better for giving as good as I got. Now? If someone
talks to me negatively I respond with extra kindness and positivity.
If I'm greeted with hostility I return a sweeter greeting and soften
my voice. I do these things consciously; partly because I feel
calmer when I do, but also because I don't know what, amongst the
negativity and hostility, is happening in that person's life that I
can't see.
It's
all part and parcel of my identity. Seen or heard, it's all just me.
Tomorrow I'll plaster a smile on my face and hope that by doing so,
I'll feel better about being accidentally ginger and let others laugh
with me instead of at me. Even now I'm wondering what on earth in my
wardrobe I can wear that won't clash! The answer is probably
nothing. So then, suck it up girl and get on with it!
Tomorrow
I'll also consider that with each person I meet they have their own
important, private stories, and that their identities, consciously
chosen or not, are theirs. I won't judge, but I will
think about how I respond. I'll treat everyone equally and I'll be
as kind as I can possibly be (without being creepy, cuz you know...
there's a limit!).
There's
one person out there who comes to mind, and his first piece of advice
to a ten year old boy when he met his hero was to be nice. Two
months later he proved that he practices what he preaches, and that
same ten year old boy is the proud owner of a personally hand-written
letter meant just for him.
Whatever
else you do tomorrow, be nice to someone whether you think they
deserve it or not. And if you see me walking down the corridor and
think, “Oh crap, it's like she's wrapped her head in a peach!”,
feel free to say it or not, but please... if you say it, say it
nicely!
Sunday, 23 June 2013
Thank You For The Music
It was only as I was
sat here this morning drinking my second coffee of the day that I
realised just how large a part of my life music has become.
I've always loved
music, of course I have. I think it would be difficult to find
someone out there who doesn't love at least one type of music. I
have my favourite artists and they've changed over the years as I've
matured, but those lost as favourites will never be considered any
less important to the memories of my distant adolescence. It may not
have taken me long to realise that Jason Donovan's songs were bland
and lacking any emotion and soul, but hearing one of those terrible
songs now still transports me back to another world; my younger world
of new loves, nicking out of school at lunchtime to avoid school
dinners, first kisses, school exams and 2-for-a-penny Mojo's.
Anyone who knows me
well knows of my love of David Bowie. I first took him seriously
when I was 15 years old. I saw Labyrinth at a special repeat
screening at the cinema a couple of years after its release.
Admittedly my primary reasons for giving his older music a listen
were the tights and make-up, but something in his voice that day gave
me goosebumps and it had never happened before, and rarely since.
My first experience of
Bowie's real music (not the pop/mainstream stuff of the 80's) was
when I borrowed Aladdin Sane from someone for whom I used to work. I
felt honoured that I was allowed to take this beautiful vinyl album
home and listen. When I got home I went straight to my room, closed
the door, put the needle on that most wondrous spinning disc full of
promise, and when the music played I felt elated to have discovered
him. I even felt slightly nervous because, quite frankly, was I
supposed to like this? The disjointed, erratic but still melodious
style of piano that Mike Garson played was completely alien yet
absolutely right. To this day I hear the album and I'm back in my
old room, feeling excited and scared and ever so chuffed with myself
for finding this musical genius!
Since that day my mind
has been a lot more open to bands I've never heard of and to those
that peers and/or society told me I shouldn't like, whether it be
down to my age or my other musical tastes. Over the years I learned
to accept that in order to fully enjoy the music I choose I need to
stay true to myself. It meant that at the age of 33 I finally
admitted I love jazz, and now my iPod is full of Ella Fitzgerald,
Stacey Kent, Eartha Kitt, The Puppini Sisters, Caro Emerald, Louis
Armstrong, Slim Gaillard, all alongside such greats as Foo Fighters,
Dolly Parton, Jace Everett and Paloma Faith. My music taste is
eclectic, but it's mine and I make no apologies or excuses, and nor
would I expect you to explain your music tastes to me.
But things change. It
seems that music starts to lose its significance with us as adults to
some degree, and certainly for some more than others, and I had no
idea it had happened to me until recently.
For some people music
does remain an essential part of their lives, whether it's playing an
instrument or living each day with a soundtrack to their lives
running through their heads. Some of us don't seem able to walk five
minutes down the street without mp3's blasting straight into our
ears.
For me, however, music
had started to become a background noise. It was always there and
always heard, but I stopped really listening. Then I joined Stockton
Town Choir back in January and my focus shifted more significantly
that I realised. In fact it took six months for me to see its
significance and importance.
The background noise of
music was suddenly right there in front of me. It was surrounding
me, pulling me in, and I was suddenly being hugged by a huge warm and
comfy blanket of “welcome home”. I was comfortable and happy
from the first day, albeit I was a tentative singer for a while.
Now, though, it's a part of who I am and it's brought even more music
to my life than I ever thought possible.
The community that both
surrounds and is the choir is
phenomenal. I've made a lot of friends who would never have been
part of my life otherwise, and on top of that I've been introduced to
more and more music and it's returned the passion I'd previously
lost.
There
are musicians, bands, individuals and moments that I will never
forget...
The
enthusiasm, passion and drive of Mike McGrother who leads us into
fun, challenging performances in the unlikeliest of places.
The
goosebumps that so rarely happen when I listen to a singer returned
on our big rehearsal night for #smile at Stockton Riverside College.
Joe Hammill stood, one single voice in one large room full of people,
and he sang so hauntingly beautiful that I could only listen while a
lump formed in my throat. To this day I'm not sure how I remembered
to sing. Then the terror and joy of us all performing with him (and
others) on Stockton High Street!
The
introduction of new bands like Fake Major and Cattle & Cane, who
I knew instantly should already have sky-rocketed to fame and
fortune; those who lose themselves in their music and make you
forget, for a short while at least, that anything exists outside of
that moment, in that room, with those melodies and voices.
The
sheer joy of watching Infant Hercules (the male voice choir also led
my Mike McGrother) grow in solidarity, strength and harmony over
three months. Their performance at Saltburn Theatre with the
Wildcats of Kilkenny was perhaps beyond any expectations they even
had of themselves. It was powerful, beautifully so, but also carried
with it warmth and pride, and I can recall no finer performance from
those gutsy blokes!
I've been
mesmerised by the incredible musicianship of Gordie MacKeeman and his
Rhythm Boys. What they can do with a double bass, a couple of
guitars, a banjo and a fiddle is something very special. Add to that
the lively and highly accomplished level of tap/clog dancing and the
whole room was blown away.
I've had
inspiration thrust upon me by watching talented, enthusiastic
musicians play, to the point where I once again picked up my cello and
attempt to make some kind of acceptable noise that doesn't make dogs
bark and babies cry.
There
have been many, many moments of joy, goosebumps and feelings of
solidarity with both old and new friends, and old family members
(sorry dad!), but to list them would be to bore you rigid.
My
point for this post isn't that 'choir is great, everyone should try
it', because that would just be daft. It was and continues to be
right for me, and I'll keep going as long as I possibly can. My
point is about the music itself and what it can give you.
I
spent a lot of years taking very little notice of the music that
surrounded me, and because of that I lost some of the joy in my life.
Open up your ears and your minds, listen to bands you don't know
anything about, try music you never expect to enjoy, and all the
while listen... really, really listen...
Try
telling me that you don't have a song that instantly lifts your
spirits and makes you smile. I know somewhere in your collection
there's one that brings tears to your eyes despite you not knowing
why. There's a song there, too, that makes you feel comforted. And
don't forget the one that makes your adrenalin pump faster and harder
until your lead foot makes you speed down the motorway faster than
you know you should.
Music
is everywhere. We have so many songs on our players now that we can
barely choose what we want to play. When you do finally make a
choice don't forget to listen to it, enjoy it, appreciate it, and let
it speak to you, enrich your life and make your world even more
special.
Monday, 3 June 2013
The Big Lunch 2013 & good vibes
Did you know that yesterday, Sunday 02 June, was The Big Lunch? Were you aware such a thing existed? Did you realise that anything was happening in your area? Well, something was and it was fabulous.
First, everything you need to know about this national event is here but in a nutshell, "The aim is to get as many people as possible across the whole of the UK to have lunch with their neighbours once a year in a simple act of community, friendship and fun."
Well, what fun we had!
There was wonderful (very) spicy food provided by Matty's Bistro, in itself a worthwhile endeavour teaching young people skills that they can go on to develop in paid jobs, and it's been shown that these young people do go on to paid work in kitchens thanks to the work of Matty's Bistro. I've talked to a couple, too, and I can honestly say they're intelligent, enthusiastic, funny people who absolutely deserve this chance they've been given. I, for one, will show my support for this in any way I can, even if it's only buying a pie or two when they have a stall in the market on Stockton High Street. If you see their stall please do stop, buy some pies and have a chat. You'll be glad you did!
But anyway, I digressed.
The Big Lunch. Can you believe that Stockton Central Library allowed us in on a Sunday to eat, sing, dance, be merry and cause chaos to their otherwise calm, peaceful lives? Well, they blinkin' well did, and what an afternoon we had!
Infant Hercules, a male voice choir, regaled us with their rich, harmonious voices. This was their first proper performance having not been formed all that long ago, but you would never have known it; they were beautifully moving. It almost made me wish I was a man. Almost! I confess that I'd miss shoes and handbags too much.
Events like this are what make me so proud to be part of Stockton Town Choir, as we also joined in with the always impressive Wildcats of Kilkenny, along with Infant Hercules. I can only speak for myself, but singing We Shall Overcome for so many lovely people and in view of recent events gave me an extra sense of belonging, community and pride in what we were doing. I do hope it helped a few others, if not everyone else, to feel the same.
The Wildcats of Kilkenny then continued with a few songs of their own in the only way they know how; with fun, laughter, energy, incredible musicianship, audience participation (those poor, poor Yr 6's!), dancing, jumping and just a tiny bit of chaos.
Just another little aside here. It's easy sometimes being part of the choir to forget that Wildcats frontman, Mike McGrother, isn't just a ball of enthusiastic energy. He's also an incredible musician and infectious performer. The rest of the Wildcats could be easily overlooked with such a force of nature among them, but as a whole they work beautifully well together and their longevity is testament to this. I can't remember a time when the Wildcats weren't on the bill somewhere locally, and especially when it comes to events like SIRF and Intro Festival (previously Middlesbrough Music Live) they wouldn't be the same without them. There are a number of reasons why, after over 20 years, I decided to pick up my cello and attempt to play again. It was partly because I wanted a new challenge, for something to stimulate my senses, with a desire to re-awaken a passion for something that I used to be reasonably okay at, at least in my adolescent head. The final push towards my decision was watching the Wildcats, Cattle & Cane, Young Rebel Set and others perform for The Piano two weeks ago both on the high street and in The Storytellers, but especially the Storytellers. I may not play well (I'm pretty much back to being a learner, after all), but by hell I'm enthusiastic. I do feel it appropriate at this point to apologise to my neighbours; the cello is not a quiet or subtle instrument and I even make myself cringe!
Anyway, back to business (again). The Big Lunch was "... to get as many people as possible across the whole of the UK to have lunch with their neighbours once a year in a simple act of community, friendship and fun." I can say with absolute certainty that this was achieved. We ate, talked, laughed, sang, danced, and laughed and sang some more.
As Sunday afternoons go in a library, I'd say it's the best I've ever spent.
Should we stop there? Absolutely not! A sense of community doesn't have to be a huge gesture involving hundreds of people, as wonderful as it feels to be part of that (and I hope that doesn't stop). A sense of community can be formed with small gestures of kindness and inclusivity, whether it's taking homemade cakes into work to share with colleagues, taking a few moments to talk to your neighbours or even just smiling and saying hello to people as you walk past.
Take a moment and consider what would make you feel like part of a real community again, and if you can achieve it, do it. If you need help to achieve it, seek help and do it. There are more people out there than you think who are eager to make our world a little more pleasant, but you'll never see them if you don't look up from your phone at what's around you, and you'll never hear them if you don't stop, remove your earphones and take the time to listen.
Yesterday I made myself stop. I (mostly) put away my phone and I watched, listened, took part and had a blast. Thankfully a few other people took photos and videos of The Big Lunch, and the links are below. Look, watch, enjoy!
Photos
Video - Wildcats of Kilkenny
Video - Wildcats of Kilkenny - Nellie the Elephant
If you decide you want to be part of Infant Hercules or Stockton Town Choir, take a look below for meeting days/times (though you may want to check before attending, just in case summer holidays/football matches cause alterations):
Stockton Town Choir - Georgian Theatre Stockton, Wednesdays 6-7pm (from about 5:20pm for a bite to eat in Green Dragon Studios)
Infant Hercules - Red Lion pub, Norton, Thursdays from 8pm
A final aside. This afternoon I was walking down Redcar High Street and was pleased to see one of the shops being refitted ready to open as Re-Loved. I've never heard of it before, and someone else was asking what it's all about. Briefly, it's something set up to help young people in the local area but they explain it nicely here. It's great to see something positive in Redcar for young people, and the guy talking about it (who was also repainting the shutters on the shop) was so passionate about the positive effect it already has. Redcar's own Mike/Matty perhaps!
I opened my eyes and my ears and found something positive, just like I said could happen earlier (I typed that before I walked out the door this afternoon). Have a peak outside, it's becoming rather nice out there!
First, everything you need to know about this national event is here but in a nutshell, "The aim is to get as many people as possible across the whole of the UK to have lunch with their neighbours once a year in a simple act of community, friendship and fun."
Well, what fun we had!
There was wonderful (very) spicy food provided by Matty's Bistro, in itself a worthwhile endeavour teaching young people skills that they can go on to develop in paid jobs, and it's been shown that these young people do go on to paid work in kitchens thanks to the work of Matty's Bistro. I've talked to a couple, too, and I can honestly say they're intelligent, enthusiastic, funny people who absolutely deserve this chance they've been given. I, for one, will show my support for this in any way I can, even if it's only buying a pie or two when they have a stall in the market on Stockton High Street. If you see their stall please do stop, buy some pies and have a chat. You'll be glad you did!
But anyway, I digressed.
The Big Lunch. Can you believe that Stockton Central Library allowed us in on a Sunday to eat, sing, dance, be merry and cause chaos to their otherwise calm, peaceful lives? Well, they blinkin' well did, and what an afternoon we had!
Infant Hercules, a male voice choir, regaled us with their rich, harmonious voices. This was their first proper performance having not been formed all that long ago, but you would never have known it; they were beautifully moving. It almost made me wish I was a man. Almost! I confess that I'd miss shoes and handbags too much.
Events like this are what make me so proud to be part of Stockton Town Choir, as we also joined in with the always impressive Wildcats of Kilkenny, along with Infant Hercules. I can only speak for myself, but singing We Shall Overcome for so many lovely people and in view of recent events gave me an extra sense of belonging, community and pride in what we were doing. I do hope it helped a few others, if not everyone else, to feel the same.
The Wildcats of Kilkenny then continued with a few songs of their own in the only way they know how; with fun, laughter, energy, incredible musicianship, audience participation (those poor, poor Yr 6's!), dancing, jumping and just a tiny bit of chaos.
 |
| Wildcats of Kilkenny @ The Big Lunch, Stockton Library 2013 |
Just another little aside here. It's easy sometimes being part of the choir to forget that Wildcats frontman, Mike McGrother, isn't just a ball of enthusiastic energy. He's also an incredible musician and infectious performer. The rest of the Wildcats could be easily overlooked with such a force of nature among them, but as a whole they work beautifully well together and their longevity is testament to this. I can't remember a time when the Wildcats weren't on the bill somewhere locally, and especially when it comes to events like SIRF and Intro Festival (previously Middlesbrough Music Live) they wouldn't be the same without them. There are a number of reasons why, after over 20 years, I decided to pick up my cello and attempt to play again. It was partly because I wanted a new challenge, for something to stimulate my senses, with a desire to re-awaken a passion for something that I used to be reasonably okay at, at least in my adolescent head. The final push towards my decision was watching the Wildcats, Cattle & Cane, Young Rebel Set and others perform for The Piano two weeks ago both on the high street and in The Storytellers, but especially the Storytellers. I may not play well (I'm pretty much back to being a learner, after all), but by hell I'm enthusiastic. I do feel it appropriate at this point to apologise to my neighbours; the cello is not a quiet or subtle instrument and I even make myself cringe!
Anyway, back to business (again). The Big Lunch was "... to get as many people as possible across the whole of the UK to have lunch with their neighbours once a year in a simple act of community, friendship and fun." I can say with absolute certainty that this was achieved. We ate, talked, laughed, sang, danced, and laughed and sang some more.
As Sunday afternoons go in a library, I'd say it's the best I've ever spent.
Should we stop there? Absolutely not! A sense of community doesn't have to be a huge gesture involving hundreds of people, as wonderful as it feels to be part of that (and I hope that doesn't stop). A sense of community can be formed with small gestures of kindness and inclusivity, whether it's taking homemade cakes into work to share with colleagues, taking a few moments to talk to your neighbours or even just smiling and saying hello to people as you walk past.
Take a moment and consider what would make you feel like part of a real community again, and if you can achieve it, do it. If you need help to achieve it, seek help and do it. There are more people out there than you think who are eager to make our world a little more pleasant, but you'll never see them if you don't look up from your phone at what's around you, and you'll never hear them if you don't stop, remove your earphones and take the time to listen.
Yesterday I made myself stop. I (mostly) put away my phone and I watched, listened, took part and had a blast. Thankfully a few other people took photos and videos of The Big Lunch, and the links are below. Look, watch, enjoy!
Photos
Video - Wildcats of Kilkenny
Video - Wildcats of Kilkenny - Nellie the Elephant
If you decide you want to be part of Infant Hercules or Stockton Town Choir, take a look below for meeting days/times (though you may want to check before attending, just in case summer holidays/football matches cause alterations):
Stockton Town Choir - Georgian Theatre Stockton, Wednesdays 6-7pm (from about 5:20pm for a bite to eat in Green Dragon Studios)
Infant Hercules - Red Lion pub, Norton, Thursdays from 8pm
A final aside. This afternoon I was walking down Redcar High Street and was pleased to see one of the shops being refitted ready to open as Re-Loved. I've never heard of it before, and someone else was asking what it's all about. Briefly, it's something set up to help young people in the local area but they explain it nicely here. It's great to see something positive in Redcar for young people, and the guy talking about it (who was also repainting the shutters on the shop) was so passionate about the positive effect it already has. Redcar's own Mike/Matty perhaps!
I opened my eyes and my ears and found something positive, just like I said could happen earlier (I typed that before I walked out the door this afternoon). Have a peak outside, it's becoming rather nice out there!
Saturday, 25 May 2013
The Piano (or A Triumphant Day in Stockton)
I'm sitting here at my laptop typing away with absolutely no clue what's going to end up on the page. When I'm writing I usually have some kind of idea where I want it to go, but this time I'm just letting it all flood out in one mammoth babble of happiness!
Warning! The text below will contain descriptions of uplifting, happy times with music, dance, laughter and singing. Not suitable for miserable gits who can't just sit back sometimes, relax and let the world take them on a nice little ride.
Now then, yesterday was the much anticipated Piano on Stockton High Street, an event organised by Mike McGrother intended to help promote the fabulous regeneration of his beloved town, and to make people smile and have some fun on an otherwise cold, dull day.
- The Wildcats of Kilkenny
- Ivory Dan McCormack
- Young Rebel Set
- Cattle & Cane
- Southmartins
- Matty's Bistro
- Stockton Riverside College
- Abbey Hill School
- Stockton Town Choir
- Lizzie Purdham
- A brass band
- A silver statue man whose name I don't know, but who was just marvellous (and easy on the eye, thank you very much Mike!)
Yesterday's performance was even more joyful than #smile was back in March. Today there wasn't just singing. Today there was humour and amusement, magic, juggling, tap dancing, cream scones, surprises (who knew 'Albert' could play piano so well?!), ballet dancing and hell of a lot of clapping!
For me there was also a tear or two, and they were of happiness. For #smile I was nervous and apprehensive, and I know I felt very aware that people were watching me. I enjoyed it immensely and came away wanting to do more and more, but today was different. The Piano saw me lose myself amongst it all, and as we sang:
I'll see you through your bad times
I'll see you through your fears
I'll see you through your hangups
Yes, I'll dry all your tears
... I looked into the crowd and there was dad. Right there at the front, looking for all the world like he would burst into childlike sobs in a heartbeat. As I sang those words they weren't just for Stockton, they were for him too; my wonderful, strong, supportive, unconditionally loving dad, and that's when the lump hit my throat.
But of course it was for Stockton too; a town in which I no longer work, have never lived and only occasionally visit (though I do now visit more and more frequently even outside of the choir), and I happily drive the short distance to choir practice and performances because, well with everything I've written up there ^ why in the world wouldn't I take that drive?! I've said it before and I'll say it again; it's okay to give to or do something for communities of which you've never been a part. We do it all the time when we throw money in buckets for Comic or Sport Relief, Children in Need and so many other charities. What we forget sometimes is that we can make things better with good will too; a song, a dance, a smile, a thank you, even just a nod to someone to show that we're aware they're not just part of the landscape and that they do matter.
Yesterday's weather was a shame. The rain held off, but the biting, cold wind kept some people away from Stockton High Street so the crowd unfortunately wasn't as big as I expected. There was, however, a second little helping of music and frivolity in the Storytellers pub in... you guessed it... Stockton. It's been a looooooooooong time since I enjoyed music and company like that, and I can't even remember the last time I was in a pub. Shocking, I know!
It was standing room only in the pub and it soon became hot, sticky and uncomfortable, but it was overflowing with incredible music from fantastic musicians, more dancing, more singing, more bemused people when the choir joined in with our harmonising 'oooohs' and 'aaaaaahs', and a lovely little bar buffet.
The amount of dedication shown by so many people throughout the whole of The Piano, parts 1 (High Street) and 2 (Storytellers), is astonishing. Folks want to make their town a better place, and to make the people who live there feel better about their town and themselves. I love that.
I've written this without looking at any photographs or video footage (except my own) or comments from internet trolls who don't like to have their miserable lives uplifted. I can't give you their perspective on The Piano, but you already know mine and it involves a whole lot of love.
Yesterday in Stockton there was music and dancing.
There was a piano at its heart, but there were people at its soul.
Click here for a taster of the fun at the Storyteller's!
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