Tag Archive: optimism

50 things.

Written on August 29th, 2009 and labelled Happiness, It's nice to be nice
2 Comments - Thoughts?

I realise that sometimes more than ever before I’m being a Negative Norman/Nancy/Whatever.  And, you know, while you may hate reading about the crud that happens in my life, I also quite dislike writing about it.

Writing about horrible stuff is easy:  horrible is forever in the news, or just down the road, or hiding under the bed.  Horrible is always around — and it will always be around — and I need to seriously understand and accept this.  Crappage happens.  There’s no point dwelling on it as, after all, that’s going to get us nowhere.

So, to try and break my negativity spell, here are 50 things which I like.  50 things that make me smile or laugh or that I truly, truly value.   Feel free to make your own after reading mine.  :]

  1. I like how fascinated with the sky I am.  How much I love to stare and stare at a blue sky.  Especially if I wake up early in the morning when the weather is different to the rest of the day.
  2. The first picture (along with the others, but the first one the most) of this post makes me smile my face off.
  3. I like that I imagine little music videos in my head as songs go along.
  4. I like that I don’t drink any soft drinks or anything out of a can.  I like that water, herbal tea or juice are my beverages of choice.
  5. I like how my friend Sophie allows me to give her a book on menopause every year for Christmas.
  6. I like my fragile relationship with reflexive verbs in other languages.
  7. I like that I’m an English dork.
  8. I like that even though some of my friends can be absolute pains in the ass at times, they are good friends nonetheless and I do actually cherish them.
  9. I like that I give a shit about things in the world.
  10. I like that I know how — and when I need to — switch off my self-consciousness.
  11. I like how much insight into myself therapy has and will give me.
  12. I like that, even though they’re ‘only animals’, my cats are like surrogate children to me.
  13. I like that I’m quite clear (at least in my mind) on who I do and do not like.
  14. I like how varied my musical tastes are;  that I can listen to Evanescence, Fiona Apple and Enya one after the other.
  15. I like how my ability to write is deeply seated in my emotional self.
  16. I like the fact that my three all-time favourite movies are either foreign or were made over 10 years ago.
  17. I like how much I love animals.
  18. I like how a little kindness goes a very long way.
  19. I like how reading pictographical instructions overloads my mind with confusion.
  20. I like how I’m not afraid to be somewhat brusque in a shop because I know that, essentially, I’ll be giving them my money.
  21. I like all the nice memories of days gone by.  The secret memories and moments that define who I am.
  22. I like that I talk to myself when I’m alone.
  23. I like how I try not to kill flies but, rather, let them out.
  24. I like being an affiliate member for several companies and people even though I’ve never earned a penny from being one.
  25. I like how goshdarn weak my circulatory system is (even to the point where resting my left foot on top of my right knee (making a triangle shape with my left leg and right thigh) gives me pins-and-needles).
  26. I like how I use hyphens all the time, even though I know I don’t really need to use them as frequently as I do.
  27. I like how cautious of the news I am.
  28. I like how I’m learning to use GIMP one tool at a time.
  29. I like shopping online.
  30. I like how obsessed I am with tracking all the visitors to my blog.
  31. I like how saying ‘my blog’ makes me feel grown-up.
  32. I like that I’m addicted to hummus.  A lot.
  33. I also like how addicted I am to aiming low.
  34. I like the fact that the saying ‘turn the other cheek’ always makes me think of a guy’s butt.  A nice butt.
  35. I like that I can cook!  (And that I DO cook)
  36. I like doing press-ups.
  37. I like singing when no one is home.  Like right now.
  38. I like to walk around naked at home, though I don’t usually.
  39. I like how I take my Creative Zen: M to bed so that I can listen to teleseminars I’ve downloaded before I go to sleep (so the information can soak in!).
  40. I like how I’ve always been the thinnest person in my family.  And that I am presently.  Though, I wouldn’t [EVER] rub it in their faces, because I know how much it stings to feel overweight.
  41. I like clothes that forgive my womanly hips.
  42. I like clover.
  43. I like going for walks on my own.
  44. I like it when you’re on a plane and you’re going down the runway and there’s that sudden, super-duper increase in speed and then the plane suddenly lifts off the ground.
  45. I like it that I know a quick test to determine if a mirror is two-way or not.
  46. I like taking showers that are nice and warm and have big nozzles on the shower-head.
  47. I even more like taking baths, but often don’t.
  48. I like that I know all the words to this song.  And most of them to this one, too.
  49. I like the sound of wind rustling through a tree or water running over rocks.
  50. I like how I have both the drive and motivation to get myself out of the UK.

And you know?  Even if it does make 51, I like that you’ve read this.  :)

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Writer’s Gag

Written on August 24th, 2009 and labelled Emotions, Reflections
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(Just as an FYI, if you like my writing, do subscribe, won’t you? There are two ways.  Both are in the column over there —>)

One of the worst things for a writer is finding difficulty in expressing yourself. As a blogger, writing isn’t just a medium for me to splurge my thoughts but a way for me to work through so many things. It’s a place where I can use backspace. I can take my time or I can write quickly and you’ll still end up understanding. Writing is a way to unwind.

At least it’s supposed to be.

I don’t know if this is something which just affects a few people, or if it’s something that spreads across the entire world. But right now, as I’m typing this, it’s hard for the words to come. I’ve always been proud of my ability to write. To form sentences into paragraphs which are, at best, a little entertaining to read. And, even more, coming from a family where every member had to re-sit their english exams, my enjoyment and ability to use English has always slightly tickled me.

So I’m sure you can understand how deep my panic runs when writing becomes an endless battle with my delete button. Sentences are wiped into nothingness. Words are highlighted and changed. And changed and changed and changed. If I were a copy-editor, I’d smile at my proficiency at ripping writing apart.

But I’m not smiling.

I’ve always been one of those guys that has to cling to something to feel secure. An expertise. A skill. A certain set of knowledge. While it screams of dependency issues and somesuchery, I can’t help realise that there is sore truth in my need to feel secure. And you know what? My capabilities with using english have, for at least the past year, fulfilled that.

One part of me wants to label that this is a sign of things to come. That my writer’s gag — my sudden difficulties with writing — are only the beginning of a hurricane on the horizon.

Another part of me just wants to plaster the “I’m having a bad day sign” on it and leave it to boil down to nothingness.

But I’m not having a bad day.

I’m an expert at ending things on a bad note. But I’ve promised myself that I can’t do that anymore. The header (the first thing you see, at the very top of the page), is bright and colourful for a reason. Even though I know I can be the most negative nancy in the world, I’m determined to not be like this; to not become my mother(!). And if that means being a positive penelope, then I’m sure it couldn’t hurt, you know?

And right now, I can help but remember a pagan prayer I once heard:

I am peaceful, I am strong

Though dark may seem forever long

For day must follow every night

Everything is now alright

I am always safe from harm

The goddess holds me in her arms

And while I am very agnostic, I know for sure that my night — my writer’s gag — will soon be dispelled.  Of that I am sure.

Oh, and just so you know, I’m not describing writer’s block here.  Writer’s block, in my eyes, is when you can’t think of what the next words are.   When you don’t know what to write next.  I have a million ideas, I just can’t get them out fast enough before my backspace finger does them in.

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Listen to the Trees

Written on July 8th, 2009 and labelled Uncategorized
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I was initially torn between writing a post regarding, ‘How Strange some People can be’, but, after some thought, decided upon the above. Just so you know, this post is a revelationy response to this previous one. I recommend you read that one first, and then move onto this one. I don’t; really know how long this one is going to go on for, but don’t worry, it gets good. ;-)

So, 30 minutes ago I was out on a bike ride (something I frequently do when the weather is nice or I need to ‘reflect’), and had been pondering on bits and bobs of little consequence. Eventually, I found myself on the top of a certain wooded-hill that over the years I have taken an increasing fondness for. It was along this little stretch of road that the trees gave me the message*.

Before I tell you my little (well, actually, perhaps quite big) revelation, please let me give you some insight. A few months ago an English teacher of mine was giving my class a rant/story about a holiday he had been on a long time in the past. He told us about how he was in the shower, and was casually showering in the sun (as it was an enclosed shower with no roof in some tropical country) when, to his surprise, he saw a lizard on the side of the shower.

Without any alarm or startled response, both him and this lizard simpy watched each other for some time before the gecko walked off somewhere. This gecko came back day after day, minding his own business, before then plodding off. And he learnt something from the gecko. He learnt to be more ‘gecko’. That is, to stop worrying about things and to just be, just do and just get on with things. Not in a ’stoned’ way, but in a ’stop worrying’ way.

For me, though, this just didn’t work. It may have been that that lesson was a less-than-lovely one or that I’ve never really been into lizards — or anything. Regardless, it just didn’t work. So, naturally, I semi-brushed it aside.

So there I was, riding along that road, when the message sprung from a tree. I was peddling away when I looked upwards at the underside of a couple of long, leaf-filled branches. I looked down, and it had been delivered.

A tree doesn’t worry about growing or being, it just does. It just is.

And so, then, that suddenly applied itself to my situation without any type of conscious thought whatsoever.

Stop worrying about where you might be going, and just go there.

And you know what? I think I just might.

*I’m not crazy!

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