A running buddy of mine experienced the joys of an internet "troll" a few days ago. He's fine, but I'm annoyed with the attitude which seems to be quite prevalent in some people these days.
So, the background of this is he's a really good athlete, even when he's injured, and believe me, there are times that I'm green with envy. The thing is, being a really good athlete doesn't mean you're always on great form, or that you're happy with your performance. He wasn't particularly impressed with a run that he did, and shared this on Instagram, then Nobby the Troll decided to have a go at him for "moaning" about something other people would "dream of".
In the grand scheme of things, it's like the last Mentos. If you get the last Mentos in the packet, great, if not, the world economy isn't going to collapse and everyone's life will go on as normal. Except, it's not that simple.
This sort of person is the type to have taken my last Mentos, and eaten it, then told me to get a grip because there are worse things happening in the world. Yes, there are, but that doesn't make it acceptable for you to steal my Mentos (or have a go at me for sharing when a run didn't go well, because that's what I use Instagram for).
Additionally, you don't know what I had planned for that Mentos. Okay, we're not talking about me taking it to the local registry office and making it my life partner, but maybe I'm stressed and the mint will calm my stomach, maybe I ate a tuna sandwich at lunch and am going on a date this afternoon/evening and don't want to have tuna breath (I mean, I wouldn't, since I don't even eat tuna, but still). Maybe my life partner at home thinks I never do anything considerate towards her, she loves Mentos and I'm going to take her my last one because she hates Rolos but the sentiment is the same (IT DEFINITELY ISN'T, but just humour me.)
My point is, you don't know.
I had a really s****y run the day I was supposed to decide whether to pull out of LLHM or not. I was told something along the lines of, well, you've done better than x person, or whatever, but the problem was it was a s****y run at a time I really didn't need a s****y run. I'm stubborn and pigheaded, so I just did the run and bother to the consequences, but maybe someone's not where they want to be on a training plan, maybe they're in pain, maybe they're a few minutes behind their PB, or they've been stuck a few seconds behind a new one for weeks and they just can't smash through that - my point is, you don't know. You aren't entitled to make that decision for them, just like you don't get to decide if I can spare my last Mentos. Maybe you think it's ungrateful that people fitter or faster or better at something than you are complaining, but trying to make them feel crappy about themselves for it makes you the bad guy; just try and have a bit more compassion and understanding for a situation that is different to yours. And for future reference, keep your hands off my Mentos.
Catch you later.
27 May 2019
26 May 2019
Carry Me Home (That Night),
When I woke up on the morning of London Landmarks Half Marathon, I was pumped, I was fired up, I was ready to go. Oh, and my hair was green.
I'd spent that week trying to bleach my hair into submission (a white-ish blonde colour) to make sure the green went over it properly, and then put the green on the day before. Unfortunately it came out a bit more like turquoise, but it was close enough. I had Macmillan sweatbands on my wrist, green socks, green hair, green shirt and a green water bag, too. I looked more like a walking highlighter than at any other time in my life. I was in the last wave, but I wanted to be there early and it was a good job, because the queue for the loos and for the bag drop was pretty long. Plus, getting there early meant I could actually do one of the Equinox warm up sessions that they ran for the earlier waves (but not for the snails...)
This was my first race, and I was so excited. My knee felt good - so good that I forgot to pick up painkillers - I felt good, the weather was good. Seriously - everything was GOOD. We were setting off from Fleet Street, right near where the original bowler hat was made, so we were walked forward by stewards in bowler hats, and then when the klaxon sounded and we were released onto the course, they took them off and waved us off with them. I don't know if it was choreographed or not, but it was beautiful. Finding out that across the 2 editions of LLHM over £10million had been raised for 180 charity partners had me on the edge of tears; that was very nearly it. If I were to list all of the times I nearly cried during the whole of it, writing this would take the whole of the bank holiday weekend.
Past all of the above, I don't remember a great deal about the first couple of miles. I remember smiling, being happy about being there, the feeling of setting off with another group of runners - that was pretty spectacular. I remember snippets of landmarks, like the hotel where I went to my first summer ball with university, the samba band that I was surprised no one was offended by (all Irish pale but wearing "traditional" dress - I mean, honestly...), that first bit out on Embankment... Oh, and the giant Bagpuss. That was pretty awesome. A lot of it has slipped though; most of what I remember was being in pain, the ending (because I knew the pain was approaching the end), the magnificent lady who gave me painkillers and Alex, who is just a bit of a legend in her own right. Oh, and the Tower of London looking beautiful, plus the pub The Hung, Drawn and Quartered.
It's a bit of a strange one as to why I remember the Macmillan cheer station. The first cheer stations were really early on in the race, and I was looking out for the characteristic green that I soon learnt is almost the exact same green as NSPCC and another charity, I believe, and I got to just past mile 6 - in agony, and I couldn't help feeling like Macmillan had forgotten to turn up. It felt very much like they had sacked it off and decided to stay in bed. Half way around and they were still nowhere to be seen. It was only when we were either just approaching mile 9 or just after mile 9 that suddenly they came into view and that was another point where I was on the brink of flooding London with my tears. I did actually ask them "Where the hell have you been?" and one of the volunteers said back (in a friendly way) "We've been here the whole time!" and I did actually say, trying to make it sound like a bit of a joke, "But we needed you a few miles back that way!" There were a few of Team Macmillan providing the party at the back for that race, but there were points before I saw them that I was genuinely on the edge of quitting, because why had I turned up if they hadn't been able to be bothered?
Saying that, I love Macmillan. Really, I do. Working with them as a Cancer in the Workplace trainer is wonderful. Fundraising for them is a breeze, because cancer affects so many people (not a good thing) but the work that they do is so amazing and has such an impact (which is the good thing). They offer a lot of support, they couldn't be more helpful and the fundraising support team are just the other end of the phone. I think I was just upset that I'd seen every other charity out at a cheer station, except mine. Also, I get really ratty when I'm in pain.
It was a gorgeous day for what ended up as more of a stroll/power walk around London for me, but I ran over the finish line, and when they gave me my medal, I would love to say that's the point I finally let myself have a little cry, but that would suggest that I had some control or choice in the matter - I did not. I burst into tears, but was told I wasn't the first crier of the day, so it was okay.
Mostly, I loved London Landmarks, but one thing that really sucked was how far away the bag drop was from the finish line. Whether you've walked it, run up, hopped it or whatever, it takes a lot out of you and the last thing you need to be doing is going on a trek through the City of London to collect your belongings and head back home, but there we go. Also, the loos were revolting by the end and there was so much plastic waste and crap by the end of it that it was slightly turning my stomach, but I rant about plastic enough, so I'll avoid that today.
When I was done, I managed to haul my ass back to my flat for long enough to find a swimsuit and more painkillers and then headed over to my gym and put myself into the spa pool (hot tub, but not mega hot) for half an hour to try and recover a little bit. I treasure my medal, and the photos even though I look like a fat dork on most of them, and the memories that I do have, but I cannot wait to do another run like that when I'm in better shape/health. It's also good to know I can cross a half marathon off my bucket list, and I never actually have to do it again!
Catch you later.
I'd spent that week trying to bleach my hair into submission (a white-ish blonde colour) to make sure the green went over it properly, and then put the green on the day before. Unfortunately it came out a bit more like turquoise, but it was close enough. I had Macmillan sweatbands on my wrist, green socks, green hair, green shirt and a green water bag, too. I looked more like a walking highlighter than at any other time in my life. I was in the last wave, but I wanted to be there early and it was a good job, because the queue for the loos and for the bag drop was pretty long. Plus, getting there early meant I could actually do one of the Equinox warm up sessions that they ran for the earlier waves (but not for the snails...)
This was my first race, and I was so excited. My knee felt good - so good that I forgot to pick up painkillers - I felt good, the weather was good. Seriously - everything was GOOD. We were setting off from Fleet Street, right near where the original bowler hat was made, so we were walked forward by stewards in bowler hats, and then when the klaxon sounded and we were released onto the course, they took them off and waved us off with them. I don't know if it was choreographed or not, but it was beautiful. Finding out that across the 2 editions of LLHM over £10million had been raised for 180 charity partners had me on the edge of tears; that was very nearly it. If I were to list all of the times I nearly cried during the whole of it, writing this would take the whole of the bank holiday weekend.
Past all of the above, I don't remember a great deal about the first couple of miles. I remember smiling, being happy about being there, the feeling of setting off with another group of runners - that was pretty spectacular. I remember snippets of landmarks, like the hotel where I went to my first summer ball with university, the samba band that I was surprised no one was offended by (all Irish pale but wearing "traditional" dress - I mean, honestly...), that first bit out on Embankment... Oh, and the giant Bagpuss. That was pretty awesome. A lot of it has slipped though; most of what I remember was being in pain, the ending (because I knew the pain was approaching the end), the magnificent lady who gave me painkillers and Alex, who is just a bit of a legend in her own right. Oh, and the Tower of London looking beautiful, plus the pub The Hung, Drawn and Quartered.
It's a bit of a strange one as to why I remember the Macmillan cheer station. The first cheer stations were really early on in the race, and I was looking out for the characteristic green that I soon learnt is almost the exact same green as NSPCC and another charity, I believe, and I got to just past mile 6 - in agony, and I couldn't help feeling like Macmillan had forgotten to turn up. It felt very much like they had sacked it off and decided to stay in bed. Half way around and they were still nowhere to be seen. It was only when we were either just approaching mile 9 or just after mile 9 that suddenly they came into view and that was another point where I was on the brink of flooding London with my tears. I did actually ask them "Where the hell have you been?" and one of the volunteers said back (in a friendly way) "We've been here the whole time!" and I did actually say, trying to make it sound like a bit of a joke, "But we needed you a few miles back that way!" There were a few of Team Macmillan providing the party at the back for that race, but there were points before I saw them that I was genuinely on the edge of quitting, because why had I turned up if they hadn't been able to be bothered?
Saying that, I love Macmillan. Really, I do. Working with them as a Cancer in the Workplace trainer is wonderful. Fundraising for them is a breeze, because cancer affects so many people (not a good thing) but the work that they do is so amazing and has such an impact (which is the good thing). They offer a lot of support, they couldn't be more helpful and the fundraising support team are just the other end of the phone. I think I was just upset that I'd seen every other charity out at a cheer station, except mine. Also, I get really ratty when I'm in pain.
It was a gorgeous day for what ended up as more of a stroll/power walk around London for me, but I ran over the finish line, and when they gave me my medal, I would love to say that's the point I finally let myself have a little cry, but that would suggest that I had some control or choice in the matter - I did not. I burst into tears, but was told I wasn't the first crier of the day, so it was okay.
Mostly, I loved London Landmarks, but one thing that really sucked was how far away the bag drop was from the finish line. Whether you've walked it, run up, hopped it or whatever, it takes a lot out of you and the last thing you need to be doing is going on a trek through the City of London to collect your belongings and head back home, but there we go. Also, the loos were revolting by the end and there was so much plastic waste and crap by the end of it that it was slightly turning my stomach, but I rant about plastic enough, so I'll avoid that today.
When I was done, I managed to haul my ass back to my flat for long enough to find a swimsuit and more painkillers and then headed over to my gym and put myself into the spa pool (hot tub, but not mega hot) for half an hour to try and recover a little bit. I treasure my medal, and the photos even though I look like a fat dork on most of them, and the memories that I do have, but I cannot wait to do another run like that when I'm in better shape/health. It's also good to know I can cross a half marathon off my bucket list, and I never actually have to do it again!
Catch you later.
In This Dark Place,
It's always been possible for writing to take me to dark places, but more often than not, it's the shovel with which I dig myself out of them, which is one of the big reasons I'm going to try and get back into it as best I can.
One of the things that is adding to my current dark place is the fact I can hardly flipping run.
Whilst in San Francisco last year, I fell over. I don't just mean tripped over my own feet, got a few bruises and went on with my life - I really did a number on myself. I tripped, went down a few stairs and landed really badly on my ankle; then had to wear stiletto heels for the evening so I didn't ruin my beautiful floor length dress. I knew that the half marathon was coming up and I wanted to be able to still do it, so I took a couple of weeks off to rest it and then started training again, but the problem ended up not being the super sprained ankle. I mean, that was pain, but the real problem was something entirely worse.
I over-compensated for how bad the ankle was and damaged the soft tissue below my other knee and over stretched the tendon above it. Or over stressed. I wasn't very clear from what my physio said. The first physio I saw told me I would still be able to do the half marathon, and London Landmarks doesn't defer places, so I was doing it, come hell, high water or horrid injury. The second physio I saw had to remind herself that calling patients stupid is neither professional nor nice, but her face gave it away and I knew I was stupid for doing it, but I also knew it was the right thing to do, because it was the best I have felt since probably a bit before this time last year...
The problem was that my knee wasn't happy from mile 2. For those who don't work in miles, a half marathon is 13.1. Mile 2 I had to stop running, mile 6 I started hobbling, approaching mile 7 I was in the medical bay whilst they bandaged me up and the rest of the way was done with painkillers, determination and that very Mancunian brand of Northern Grit. John Green wrote in TFIOS that pain demands to be felt, well that certainly did. I can manage a bit of running on it, but not even enough to do parkrun (3.1 miles/5km) let alone in a respectable time, so I've been volunteering most weeks and sitting around wishing I could go swimming - I've been getting home too late and I spent two weeks at my mum's - or running or something, other than the physio exercises and just resting it. Thankfully, I have been able to do a bit of stair running, but my God, that hurts. That's not even my knee - my lungs feel like they've evacuated the building when I'm done!
I was never an athletically inclined person and it's something that I now regret. My parkrun times are longer than most TV shows these days, but I actually love it. Not always the actual doing of it, but the feeling of accomplishment and peace at the end are second to none.
I'm probably going to try and write up about the run now and post it later, because otherwise, I might forget.
Catch you later.
10 May 2019
An Ode to Chivalry,
"CHIVALRY AIN'T DEAD, Y'KNOW?" Oh really? Are you sure?
Here's an idea; can we take chivalry and rebaptise it as human decency?
The reason I have an issue with this idea of chivalry is three main things. Chivalry is about the way a man treats a woman, particularly a woman whom he is romantically interested in and to me that excludes too many people because if you're not romantically interested in the person or they don't fit into your ideas of a woman or how a woman should behave, chivalry can go out of the window. The other issue is why is it that men only have to behave this way to women, and not to other men? The last is that sometimes it can feel a little condescending and I don't have time for that.
I went on a date recently where someone was acting with this old fashion idea of chivalry and it was lovely. He opened doors for me, pulled my chair out from the table (which confused me because I didn't know that was what he was going to do, but it was also really sweet) and generally treated me like a lady. It was quite a novel experience. Now, he is the type that would behave like that towards another man, not because he's interested in them, but just because he's a really nice person.
To me, opening a car door for someone, pulling out their chair for them, helping them carry their child's pushchair down the stairs to the Tube because otherwise, it's really not very accessible for them, they're the sort of things that should be done by everyone for everyone. In some cases, yes, it's better to offer the assistance and give the person the chance to decline, or even just signpost that you're doing something to be helpful 'Here, let me get that door for you' 'Do you need a hand?' and my favourite Irish expression of 'Will I help you with your pushchair?' I had someone grab hold of the front of the buggy of the child I was nannying and take off down the stairs at top speed. The assistance was appreciated except for the fact that I nearly lost my grip of the buggy and nearly fell more than once, and that was quite scary. A bit of warning would have been lovely.
It's not just women who need assistance, even though I did read an article recently that stated that the world is designed for men, and I believe it is true in a lot of instances. It might be to do with hidden disabilities, or it might not be, but sometimes men need help, and sometimes a little expression of human kindness or decency from a stranger is enough to remind us that we are connected in this world; you have to put a hell of a lot of effort into being alone.
Last thing, and this is the controversial one, chivalry is from before the era of #thisgirlcan. In fact, it was far more #nowomancan. Women aren't going to dirty their pretty white gloves touching doors and now, we're more than capable of moving our own chairs. It might be a minority, but there are still people who insist on doing these things for us and calling us dear whilst thinking of us as delicate little flowers who mustn't do things for ourselves. It's outdated, but it happens. If you see a woman struggling to carry something heavy, there's nothing wrong with saying, 'That looks heavy, do you need any help?' but is it very condescending to say 'Oh you poor dear, let me take that from you.' because you think she can't do it. Yes, women these days do themselves an injury trying to do things they should ask for help with, but to assume you know better about what she can do is doing her a disservice, and then she'd prefer to have the injury than the help.
TL;DR: Don't be an arsehole. Offer to help, and do it for everyone. Catch you later.
Here's an idea; can we take chivalry and rebaptise it as human decency?
The reason I have an issue with this idea of chivalry is three main things. Chivalry is about the way a man treats a woman, particularly a woman whom he is romantically interested in and to me that excludes too many people because if you're not romantically interested in the person or they don't fit into your ideas of a woman or how a woman should behave, chivalry can go out of the window. The other issue is why is it that men only have to behave this way to women, and not to other men? The last is that sometimes it can feel a little condescending and I don't have time for that.
I went on a date recently where someone was acting with this old fashion idea of chivalry and it was lovely. He opened doors for me, pulled my chair out from the table (which confused me because I didn't know that was what he was going to do, but it was also really sweet) and generally treated me like a lady. It was quite a novel experience. Now, he is the type that would behave like that towards another man, not because he's interested in them, but just because he's a really nice person.
To me, opening a car door for someone, pulling out their chair for them, helping them carry their child's pushchair down the stairs to the Tube because otherwise, it's really not very accessible for them, they're the sort of things that should be done by everyone for everyone. In some cases, yes, it's better to offer the assistance and give the person the chance to decline, or even just signpost that you're doing something to be helpful 'Here, let me get that door for you' 'Do you need a hand?' and my favourite Irish expression of 'Will I help you with your pushchair?' I had someone grab hold of the front of the buggy of the child I was nannying and take off down the stairs at top speed. The assistance was appreciated except for the fact that I nearly lost my grip of the buggy and nearly fell more than once, and that was quite scary. A bit of warning would have been lovely.
It's not just women who need assistance, even though I did read an article recently that stated that the world is designed for men, and I believe it is true in a lot of instances. It might be to do with hidden disabilities, or it might not be, but sometimes men need help, and sometimes a little expression of human kindness or decency from a stranger is enough to remind us that we are connected in this world; you have to put a hell of a lot of effort into being alone.
Last thing, and this is the controversial one, chivalry is from before the era of #thisgirlcan. In fact, it was far more #nowomancan. Women aren't going to dirty their pretty white gloves touching doors and now, we're more than capable of moving our own chairs. It might be a minority, but there are still people who insist on doing these things for us and calling us dear whilst thinking of us as delicate little flowers who mustn't do things for ourselves. It's outdated, but it happens. If you see a woman struggling to carry something heavy, there's nothing wrong with saying, 'That looks heavy, do you need any help?' but is it very condescending to say 'Oh you poor dear, let me take that from you.' because you think she can't do it. Yes, women these days do themselves an injury trying to do things they should ask for help with, but to assume you know better about what she can do is doing her a disservice, and then she'd prefer to have the injury than the help.
TL;DR: Don't be an arsehole. Offer to help, and do it for everyone. Catch you later.
9 May 2019
As She Sheepishly Enters the Fray,
It's been two months. Why has it been two months? Why is it that I've still not written about San Fransisco properly, or London Landmarks Half Marathon, or my new job, or the perils of going for said job. Why are there so many drafts on this thing, where I couldn't convince myself to press 'Publish'? One of the big reasons is because my anxiety is an arsehole.
Now, obviously, I don't mean an actual arsehole, even if it's primary function does appear to be spouting crap, but instead, it's the kind of arsehole that also is supposed to look like the white-hot center of the universe. (God, I love a 'Grey's Anatomy' reference!)
Every time I think that I've just about got to the I'm back to okay stage, and I think I'm back to my normal self, something happens and I seem to slip back towards "relapse me". "Relapse me" is the person who sleeps all of the time, is constantly reactive and only watches TV outsidre of work. That might not seem like such a bad thing, but way back when I was feeling okay, feeling steady, I had hobbies that I loved that didn't involve drinking, running and vegging in front of the TV. Even my writing has fallen by the wayside.
I think there is a certain amount of fake it until you make it involved in getting better, so I'm doing my best to try and remind myself to write, and do the other things I enjoy as well as running and keeping up with Game of Thrones. We'll see how that goes!
Catch you later.
Now, obviously, I don't mean an actual arsehole, even if it's primary function does appear to be spouting crap, but instead, it's the kind of arsehole that also is supposed to look like the white-hot center of the universe. (God, I love a 'Grey's Anatomy' reference!)
Every time I think that I've just about got to the I'm back to okay stage, and I think I'm back to my normal self, something happens and I seem to slip back towards "relapse me". "Relapse me" is the person who sleeps all of the time, is constantly reactive and only watches TV outsidre of work. That might not seem like such a bad thing, but way back when I was feeling okay, feeling steady, I had hobbies that I loved that didn't involve drinking, running and vegging in front of the TV. Even my writing has fallen by the wayside.
I think there is a certain amount of fake it until you make it involved in getting better, so I'm doing my best to try and remind myself to write, and do the other things I enjoy as well as running and keeping up with Game of Thrones. We'll see how that goes!
Catch you later.
24 Feb 2019
Romance Isn't Dead, But Maybe It Should Be,
What a strange thought for a writer who finds writing about romance somewhat inevitable, but alas, onwards we must charge.
I was watching a video this morning that was some news channel and they were talking about what has changed in the year since the Metoo Oscars (can't find a hashtag on my American laptop right now). One of the journalists, not sure if he was acting dense or being dense, but I'm trying to give him the benefit of the doubt, asked the question of 'if she doesn't kiss the man, what's the point of her being in the movie?' And if it weren't for the fact I was on a train full of people drinking my soul mate in coffee form (Starbucks Blonde Roast Soya Flat White has officially dethroned the AMT Organic Oat Milk Flat White because the coffee is less bitter) I would have probably flipped.
Explaining why is probably going to sound like a tangent, but bear with me.
A few years ago, one of my "great aunts" died. She wasn't actually my great aunt, but it was shorthand for my grandad's cousin or some other obscure relationship. She lived alone, had never married and had never had children. We found a few letters from an American military man whom she had been involved with whilst he was stationed in England (to what extent they were involved, I do not know, cannot know and really, do not want to know) and the last struck me as infinitely sad. There was a line in it that said something about he cared for her more than she for him. It was a fleeting romance and ended when he returned home by the seems of it. The romantically inclined part of my brain imagined all sorts of scenarios which prevented her from being with her love, making her lack of a husband be because she never got over him and there was a desperate loneliness to it, but then I realised something - not getting married does not mean that you lack a husband. The word 'lack' is completely wrong, especially when viewed with a wide-angle lens and looking at the photos of the travels that she enjoyed alone. There's a photo I love of her T posing in front of the pyramids, a cheesy grin blasted across her face. Her love of life could not be more apparent. It's not as though she spent her years looking with heartache at the space on the sofa beside her, sighing wistfully at 'what could have been.'
For some, the idea of a life with no partner is daunting. The purpose of life is to find someone, get married and have babies, or that is what is in the minds of many anyway. It's an idea that seems to me like an old sweater that shrunk a little in the wash. There are a few options on what to do with it.
First off, you could do what many career women do. You can soak the sweater in a water and fabric conditioner solution, pin it out back to its original size and let to dry and your sweater has been amended to fit you. Marriage and motherhood no longer has to mean a woman is banished back into her kitchen to make dinner for the brood and all that comes along with it.
Second, you can give the sweater to someone it does fit. Some people WANT a wedding and babies. For some people, that is their aim in life, and it is the job of the rest of the world to remember that that is valid. Have the romance, have the babies, have your happy. Happiness is not one size fits all, so you do you.
Another option is to do what my "great aunt" did. Throw caution to the wind, throw out the sweater and find a life that fits. Maybe you get tared with the brush of being a lonely spinster who is to be pitied, but as long as that isn't true and you know you're finding your happy, that is all that matters.
The second to last one I would say is never give up. There are precious few good films about finding love in later life, and those that there are seem to get limited attention, or they focus on this being the second love of a person's life. They've already been married, and they outgrew that marriage or something awful happened (cheating, divorce, a death of a spouse, anything really) but the idea of finding your first love at an older age seems like an unattractive concept. If you want a romantic love, never give up on that.
The very last is remembering that not all love is romantic. It is possible to be aromantic and asexual or just go through a spell where the idea of dating is far too cumbersome and instead enjoy spending time with your friends. Maybe one of your friends is really great at people watching with you and the two of you can love that together, but that friend hates art, so you go to galleries and exhibitions with another friend. And you love them. You do the things you want to do and enjoy your life and nobody has to kiss each other or be holding a torch to someone who is blind to it. Maybe you do those things alone.
Maybe you dedicate your life to coding a game or writing a book or tending your garden and you have love for those things and something that's almost contempt towards all other humans because they are rubbish and planet ruining. Romance is not intrinsically necessary for a happy and fulfilled life. Sexual love isn't intrinsically necessary either, so maybe ladies, gentlemen, humans of whatever gender, no gender or whatever descriptive word you prefer, we should pick up out pitchforks and tridents and slay the beast that is romance, or maybe tell it that it has no home with us.
Just a thought; catch you later.
I was watching a video this morning that was some news channel and they were talking about what has changed in the year since the Metoo Oscars (can't find a hashtag on my American laptop right now). One of the journalists, not sure if he was acting dense or being dense, but I'm trying to give him the benefit of the doubt, asked the question of 'if she doesn't kiss the man, what's the point of her being in the movie?' And if it weren't for the fact I was on a train full of people drinking my soul mate in coffee form (Starbucks Blonde Roast Soya Flat White has officially dethroned the AMT Organic Oat Milk Flat White because the coffee is less bitter) I would have probably flipped.
Explaining why is probably going to sound like a tangent, but bear with me.
A few years ago, one of my "great aunts" died. She wasn't actually my great aunt, but it was shorthand for my grandad's cousin or some other obscure relationship. She lived alone, had never married and had never had children. We found a few letters from an American military man whom she had been involved with whilst he was stationed in England (to what extent they were involved, I do not know, cannot know and really, do not want to know) and the last struck me as infinitely sad. There was a line in it that said something about he cared for her more than she for him. It was a fleeting romance and ended when he returned home by the seems of it. The romantically inclined part of my brain imagined all sorts of scenarios which prevented her from being with her love, making her lack of a husband be because she never got over him and there was a desperate loneliness to it, but then I realised something - not getting married does not mean that you lack a husband. The word 'lack' is completely wrong, especially when viewed with a wide-angle lens and looking at the photos of the travels that she enjoyed alone. There's a photo I love of her T posing in front of the pyramids, a cheesy grin blasted across her face. Her love of life could not be more apparent. It's not as though she spent her years looking with heartache at the space on the sofa beside her, sighing wistfully at 'what could have been.'
For some, the idea of a life with no partner is daunting. The purpose of life is to find someone, get married and have babies, or that is what is in the minds of many anyway. It's an idea that seems to me like an old sweater that shrunk a little in the wash. There are a few options on what to do with it.
First off, you could do what many career women do. You can soak the sweater in a water and fabric conditioner solution, pin it out back to its original size and let to dry and your sweater has been amended to fit you. Marriage and motherhood no longer has to mean a woman is banished back into her kitchen to make dinner for the brood and all that comes along with it.
Second, you can give the sweater to someone it does fit. Some people WANT a wedding and babies. For some people, that is their aim in life, and it is the job of the rest of the world to remember that that is valid. Have the romance, have the babies, have your happy. Happiness is not one size fits all, so you do you.
Another option is to do what my "great aunt" did. Throw caution to the wind, throw out the sweater and find a life that fits. Maybe you get tared with the brush of being a lonely spinster who is to be pitied, but as long as that isn't true and you know you're finding your happy, that is all that matters.
The second to last one I would say is never give up. There are precious few good films about finding love in later life, and those that there are seem to get limited attention, or they focus on this being the second love of a person's life. They've already been married, and they outgrew that marriage or something awful happened (cheating, divorce, a death of a spouse, anything really) but the idea of finding your first love at an older age seems like an unattractive concept. If you want a romantic love, never give up on that.
The very last is remembering that not all love is romantic. It is possible to be aromantic and asexual or just go through a spell where the idea of dating is far too cumbersome and instead enjoy spending time with your friends. Maybe one of your friends is really great at people watching with you and the two of you can love that together, but that friend hates art, so you go to galleries and exhibitions with another friend. And you love them. You do the things you want to do and enjoy your life and nobody has to kiss each other or be holding a torch to someone who is blind to it. Maybe you do those things alone.
Maybe you dedicate your life to coding a game or writing a book or tending your garden and you have love for those things and something that's almost contempt towards all other humans because they are rubbish and planet ruining. Romance is not intrinsically necessary for a happy and fulfilled life. Sexual love isn't intrinsically necessary either, so maybe ladies, gentlemen, humans of whatever gender, no gender or whatever descriptive word you prefer, we should pick up out pitchforks and tridents and slay the beast that is romance, or maybe tell it that it has no home with us.
Just a thought; catch you later.
31 Dec 2018
NYE,
New Year is not my favourite time of year. This year I had plans, but they got cancelled what felt like pretty last minute, so instead I'll be at home making sure that the fireworks don't drive my dog crazy, but the truth is it's making me feel more than a little bit crappy.
People like to think of New Year as a new beginning and the chance for a whole new you. For one thing, I hate the pressure of that and for another, tomorrow is just the next consecutive day in my life, where I will be writing the same novel, doing the same job, reading the same book, and, oh, the big difference is I'm diving into Veganuary again, because I am nothing if not a glutton for punishment. I've been going a bit more vegan anyway, but I still don't imagine this will be the moment, or month when it becomes a permanent feature, purely for the fact that I know how difficult I find it.
Thinking ahead to 2019 though, there is something I'm really excited about and that's my first half marathon. I'm doing it for Macmillan Cancer Support (if you would like to support me in this, thanks, and please head to my Twitter page where there's a link to the Just Giving page) and I'm trying to decide whether to book in a few more runs as well.
This year has been incredible for several reasons, including finally being trained as a First Aider and Mental Health First Aider, getting to do some amazing things at work that I would have doubted myself for only a few years ago, meeting someone who made me believe in love and romance again (don't judge me because of my age, stuff happened and it broke my spirit) and even though that didn't work out, I have some amazing memories. I went to San Francisco, and I'm not sure that I stopped grinning about it the whole time I was there - except the bit where I stacked it down the Powell BART station stairs; that really hurt. I met some incredible people this year, read some really incredible books and spent some amazing time with my canine counterpart.
That being said, I also had a really crappy year with my mental health. Some of this year has been really difficult, and there were plenty of times where I wasn't sure it was ever going to get better, but it did and I'm still here. See you all next year.
C
People like to think of New Year as a new beginning and the chance for a whole new you. For one thing, I hate the pressure of that and for another, tomorrow is just the next consecutive day in my life, where I will be writing the same novel, doing the same job, reading the same book, and, oh, the big difference is I'm diving into Veganuary again, because I am nothing if not a glutton for punishment. I've been going a bit more vegan anyway, but I still don't imagine this will be the moment, or month when it becomes a permanent feature, purely for the fact that I know how difficult I find it.
Thinking ahead to 2019 though, there is something I'm really excited about and that's my first half marathon. I'm doing it for Macmillan Cancer Support (if you would like to support me in this, thanks, and please head to my Twitter page where there's a link to the Just Giving page) and I'm trying to decide whether to book in a few more runs as well.
This year has been incredible for several reasons, including finally being trained as a First Aider and Mental Health First Aider, getting to do some amazing things at work that I would have doubted myself for only a few years ago, meeting someone who made me believe in love and romance again (don't judge me because of my age, stuff happened and it broke my spirit) and even though that didn't work out, I have some amazing memories. I went to San Francisco, and I'm not sure that I stopped grinning about it the whole time I was there - except the bit where I stacked it down the Powell BART station stairs; that really hurt. I met some incredible people this year, read some really incredible books and spent some amazing time with my canine counterpart.
That being said, I also had a really crappy year with my mental health. Some of this year has been really difficult, and there were plenty of times where I wasn't sure it was ever going to get better, but it did and I'm still here. See you all next year.
C
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