my #1 happiness tip

Just smile.

It's that simple. Those days, or moments - and I am sure you have them too - when I feel petulant or miserable, I force myself to smile. A big, wide, toothy smile. I usually take the time to do so on the way to whatever it is I am about to do, whether it is a meeting, a shift at work, a tutorial at uni, lunch with a friend, a date with my boyfriend... just contorting my lips into an upwards curve, which gradually, miraculously, makes me feel lighter and happier. 

There is, of course, a scientific explanation for the phenomenon. The act of smiling releases endorphins and seratonin, which gives us an immediate sense of well-being. I think there is a further benefit, though, other than the biological aspect. Smiling through my tears, anger or hurt makes me realise that my unhappiness is rarely, if ever, the result of terrible things happening to me - but, rather, a reluctance to be happy... usually because I am feeling acutely weary or nurturing a penchant for self-pity.

It's not that I think that unhappiness is something to be shirked at all costs. Sarah Wilson has written a couple of lovely posts about why it is perfectly okay to be sad. (Here and here, the latter is my favourite.) Life is not all rainbows and butterflies, after all. Sometimes it is really devastating and completely unfair and utterly irritating. Hiding, disguising or pushing aside our true feelings can be exhausting and honesty can be a good, healthy thing... best utilised, I think, when we are alone, or with those close to us.  

But there are, without a doubt, times when being sad is not conducive. Like when we have work to do. Or when we are celebrating somebody else's special day. Or when our lover arrives home from a long day at work. Or when we have to interact with perfectly innocent bystanders who don't deserve our wrath. It is those times, and many others, when the right thing to do is to rise above our melancholy and plaster a smile on our faces. Because that is all it can take, sometimes, to be happy. 

"Turn your face to the sun and the shadows fall behind you."

— Maori Proverb

thirteen virtues

(via Miss Bonaparte)

When he was young, Benjamin Franklin transcribed a list of thirteen important virtues that he felt were important guides for living. At the end of each day, Franklin would record his progress and transgressions in a book. It is not the virtues themselves that inspire me (Franklin seems to have wanted to limit his pleasure, while my desire is to enhance it), but rather his daily act of reflection and mindfulness. Franklin admitted that he often lapsed in at least one of his virtues; but he always resolved to do better the next day. And it is, I think, the promise to do better that makes us better. Not necessarily being an angel (or, as Franklin said, achieving "Moral Perfection"), but striving to be.

So I have created my own virtues. Actually, I don't know whether they should be called virtues - maybe just things to remember; or, things to keep in mind as I go about my day. Most of them are quite simple but surprisingly easy to forget in the messiness of life. I don't think I will actually assess myself by marking them off, but I will reflect upon them each night, and peruse them again each morning. My hope is that, one day, they will become so ingrained in my frame of mind that I will abide by them, subconsciously. Living lightly, joyfully and lovingly, each and every day.

Avarice

The most important things in life aren't things.

Beauty

What you do, the way you think, makes you beautiful.

Begin

Begin doing what you want to do now. We are not living in eternity. We have only this moment, sparkling like a star in our hand-and melting like a snowflake…

Career

Don’t ask yourself what the world needs; ask yourself what makes you come alive. And then go and do that. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.

Change

How wonderful it is that nobody need wait a single moment before starting to improve the world.

Cherish
Cherish your visions. 

Cherish your ideals. 
Cherish the music that stirs in your heart, the beauty that forms in your mind, the loveliness that drapes your purest thoughts. 
For out of them will grow all delightful conditions, all heavenly environment, of these, if you but remain true to them, your world will at last be built.

Consciousness

I have no advice for anybody; except to, you know, be awake enough to see where you are at any given time, and how that is beautiful, and has poetry inside. Even places you hate.

Courage

Nothing external to you has any power over you.

Decisions

The doors we open and close each day decide the lives we live.

Dreams

Tell everyone what you want to do and someone will want to help you do it.

Faith

What you are comes to you.

Freedom

Man is free at the instant he wants to be.

Friendship

We won’t always know whose lives we touched and made better for our having cared, because actions can sometimes have unforeseen ramifications. What’s important is that you do care and you act.

Hope

The very least you can do in your life is figure out what you hope for. And the most you can do is live inside that hope. Not admire it from a distance, but live right in it, under its roof.

Humanity

Oppression involves a failure in the imagination. A failure to imagine the full humanity of other human beings.

Joy

Life will bring you pain all by itself. Your responsibility is to create joy.

Kindness

Let no one ever come to you without leaving better and happier.

Life

You must understand the whole of life, not just one little part of it. That is why you must read, that is why you must look at the skies, that is why you must sing, and dance, and write poems, and suffer, and understand, for all that is life.

Love

Do everything with so much love in your heart that you would never want to do it any other way.

Nature

The best remedy for those who are afraid, lonely or unhappy is to go outside, somewhere where they can be quite alone with the heavens, nature and God. Because only then does one feel that all is as it should be and that God wishes to see people happy, amidst the simple beauty of nature. As longs as this exists, and it certainly always will, I know that then there will always be comfort for every sorrow, whatever the circumstances may be. And I firmly believe that nature brings solace in all troubles.

Peace

It’s so hard to forget pain, but it’s even harder to remember sweetness. We have no scar to show for happiness. We learn so little from peace.

Reading

That is part of the beauty of all literature. You discover that your longings are universal longings, that you’re not lonely and isolated from anyone. You belong.

Success

To laugh often and much; to win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children... to leave the world a better place... to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded.

Today

Every morning we are born again. What we do today is what matters most.

Writing

Close the door. Write with no one looking over your shoulder. Don't try to figure out what other people want to hear from you; figure out what you have to say. It's the one and only thing you have to offer.

Work

It's what you do that makes your soul.

(NB These are all quotes from some of my favourite writers or thinkers; the only reason I have not credited them in my list is because I know them from memory. They are as follows: Avarice - Anthony J. D'Angelo; Beauty - Scott Westerfield; Begin - Marie Beyon Ray; Career - Harold Whitman; Change - Anne Frank; Cherish - James Allen; Consciousness - Jeff Buckley; Courage - Ralph Waldo Emerson; Decisions - Flora Whittemore; Dreams - W. Clement Stone; Faith - Ralph Waldo Emerson; Freedom - Voltaire; Friendship - Charlotte Lunsford; Hope - Barbara Kingsolver; Humanity - Margaret Atwood; Joy - Milton Erickson; Kindness - Mother Teresa; Life - Jiddu Krishnamurti; Love - Yogi Desai; Nature - Anne Frank; Peace - Chuck Palahniuk; Reading - Scott F. Fitzgerald; Success - Ralph Waldo Emerson; Today - Siddhārtha Gautama; Writing - Barbara Kingsolver; Work - Barbara Kingsolver.)

the right thing to say

Yesterday, one of my relatives discovered that he is dying. 

I think all I can do is examine this situation from my perspective, as selfish as that may seem. I can try to imagine what he and his children and wife and father and brothers and sisters and friends are going through, but I will never know, no matter how hard I try. I have not experienced somebody close to me dying; even if I had, my experience would be different to theirs. I desperately want to be supportive and sympathetic, but I am paralysed by the fear of doing or saying the wrong thing; of making the situation worse, if that is even possible.

This paralysis is something I struggle with constantly, albeit on a much smaller scale. I have an acute and debilitating awareness of the effect my words or actions may have upon others. Before I say something, I practice in my head first, which means that I take too long to react to things. Sometimes I don't say anything at all, because the delay is so drawn out that the moment passes. It reaches the point where I have to ignore that warning voice in my head, in order to function. So I say the wrong thing, after all. To put it simply, I am awkward. I am not one of those people who seem to know, instinctively, how to comfort somebody in their time of need. I am drawn to those people; I think I have a subconscious desire to absorb some of their emotional intelligence. Unfortunately, it is not contagious. 

I read an article by Christopher Hitchens today. It was timely. Christopher is one of my favourite authors, and he is dying of cancer. Stage four, metastatic, esophageal cancer. He writes a monthly column for Vanity Fair and his latest, "Miss Manners and the Big C", is the one I read today. Christopher writes: 

I recently had to accept that I wasn’t going to be able to attend my niece’s wedding, in my old hometown and former university in Oxford. This depressed me for more than one reason, and an especially close friend inquired, “Is it that you’re afraid you’ll never see England again?” As it happens he was exactly right to ask, and it had been precisely that which had been bothering me, but I was unreasonably shocked by his bluntness. I’ll do the facing of hard facts, thanks. Don’t you be doing it, too. And yet I had absolutely invited the question. Telling someone else, with deliberate realism, that once I’d had a few more scans and treatments I might be told by the doctors that things from now on could be mainly a matter of “management,” I again had the wind knocked out of me when she said, “Yes, I suppose a time comes when you have to consider letting go.” How true, and how crisp a summary of what I had just said myself. But again there was the unreasonable urge to have a kind of monopoly on, or a sort of veto over, what was actually sayable. 

When my grandmother died, two acquaintances' reactions were etched into my mother's memory. One was that of a work colleague who said, "but she was sick for a long time, wasn't she?" The other was a lady my mother knew briefly, whose son was in my brother's class at school. Although they were not close, she knew exactly what to do. She did not say anything; she simply hugged her. And that, my mother told me, was the most perfect thing anybody did for her.

So maybe it is not a matter of constructing the right thing to say, nor avoiding the wrong thing to say. It could just be enough to offer sympathy, in the most unselfish way possible. Not to attempt to understand how they are feeling or what they are thinking, but to show them that we care and that we are sorry that this awful thing has happened to them. To acknowledge that life is unfair. It is unkind. Terrible things happen to good people. We don't need to convey that sentiment with words. Most things - the most important things, at least - don't need to be said. Just a look, a hug or a clasping of hands can be enough. Or even pure presence. Just being there can express, in an unspoken language: We are on separate journeys, but you are not alone. I love you. 

red lights

I think everybody must have experienced a "red light", somewhere along the line. Or is it just me? A "red light" is when you are gliding - or maybe, to put it more aptly, sliding - along, going about your day-to-day life, thinking that everything is okay... when something hits you over the head and makes you realise that it's not. You are not the person you want to be, and your life is not the life you want it to be. You have gone awry. You are lost. So you stop still, at the red light, and wonder what on earth to do next.

For me, life can sometimes take on the form of an imperceptible avalanche, gradually gathering speed. You see, I have these wild and wonderful ideas about what I want for myself. I know exactly what I want to achieve in my life, how I want my days to unfold, what I want to learn, the kind of food I want to eat, the books I want to read. The problem is that, as firm as my convictions may be, a lot of those fantasies fall by the wayside. So why keep at it? Why do I envision these goals and dream of my "ideal" lifestyle, if it rarely comes to anything?

To tell the truth, I don't know how to answer that question. Nevertheless, I do think that goals are essential. The business, stress and temptations we are faced with every single day make it so easy for us to lose sight of where we want to go. A streamlined vision gives us parameters. It helps to convince us to prune our lives, figure out where we are going wrong, and keep improving. Because it's when those parameters are stretched too wide that we veer off course, and we become more and more lenient with ourselves... until we get to a point where we sit back and think, "Where am I? This is so far from where I want to be that it's not funny!"

Maybe it is a dead-end job, a stale relationship, hurtful friendships, hours wasted online and watching TV, staying home instead of going out, buying food instead of cooking it, sitting on the couch instead of going for a walk, sleeping in instead of waking up early... At the time, we think these things make us happy. Or, at least, comfortable. But they don't, really. It makes us feel disappointed with ourselves, in the broad scheme of things. We are truly happy with ourselves when we uphold a semblance of discipline, particularly when we reap the rewards later. It's not that we should not take a break every now and then, indulge when we need  a pick-me-up, be kind to ourselves when we fail to live up to own own expectations... that is all really, really important. But we need to take charge of our own lives, and create a life that we can be proud of. Achieve amazing things. Go beyond what we think we can do. We need to be able to look back, pat ourselves on the back and say, "Wow! You did a good job".

So I guess the moral of this post is... dream. Set goals. Reassure yourself. Know what you want. Wish. I don't have much advice for how to get to those dreams. But I think the dream itself is important. You may have already guessed that I have recently hit one of those red lights I mentioned earlier. Which is a good thing, because I am determined to make some changes. (And when I say make some changes, I mean actually make them, not just plan to make them...) Stay tuned!

"If you want to make your dreams come true, the first thing you have to do is wake up."

— J.M Powers

some thoughts on writing

At present, I'm writing a little review of Eat Pray Love, the movie, which should be up in a week or so. In the meantime, I was perusing Elizabeth Gilbert's website for some research material and came across "Some Thoughts on Writing" - Liz's sage advice for aspiring writers, which I think would also apply (at least partially) to bloggers, artists, and perhaps anybody striving to achieve what seems like a far-off dream...

... I believe that – if you are serious about a life of writing, or indeed about any creative form of expression – that you should take on this work like a holy calling. I became a writer the way other people become monks or nuns. I made a vow to writing, very young. I became Bride-of-Writing. I was writing’s most devotional handmaiden. I built my entire life around writing. I didn’t know how else to do this. I didn’t know anyone who had ever become a writer. I had no, as they say, connections. I had no clues. I just began.

... I created my own post-graduate writing program, which entailed several years spent traveling around the country and world, taking jobs at bars and restaurants and ranches, listening to how people spoke, collecting experiences and writing constantly. My life probably looked disordered to observers (not that anyone was observing it that closely) but my travels were a very deliberate effort to learn as much as I could about life, expressly so that I could write about it.

... Send your work off to editors and agents as much as possible, show it to your neighbors, plaster it on the walls of the bus stops – just don’t sit on your work and suffocate it. At least try. And when the powers-that-be send you back your manuscript (and they will), take a deep breath and try again. I often hear people say, “I’m not good enough yet to be published.” That’s quite possible. Probable, even. All I’m saying is: Let someone else decide that. Magazines, editors, agents – they all employ young people making $22,000 a year whose job it is to read through piles of manuscripts and send you back letters telling you that you aren’t good enough yet: LET THEM DO IT. Don’t pre-reject yourself. That’s their job, not yours. Your job is only to write your heart out, and let destiny take care of the rest.

... As for discipline – it’s important, but sort of over-rated. The more important virtue for a writer, I believe, is self-forgiveness... Continuing to write after that heartache of disappointment doesn’t take only discipline, but also self-forgiveness (which comes from a place of kind and encouraging and motherly love). 

...  Always, at the end of the day, the important thing is only and always that: Get back to work. This is a path for the courageous and the faithful. You must find another reason to work, other than the desire for success or recognition. It must come from another place.

... Writing is not like dancing or modeling; it’s not something where – if you missed it by age 19 – you’re finished. It’s never too late. Your writing will only get better as you get older and wiser. If you write something beautiful and important, and the right person somehow discovers it, they will clear room for you on the bookshelves of the world – at any age. At least try.

... Everyone I know who managed to become a writer did it differently – sometimes radically differently. Try all the ways, I guess. Becoming a published writer is sort of like trying to find a cheap apartment in New York City: it’s impossible. And yet…every single day, somebody manages to find a cheap apartment in New York City. I can’t tell you how to do it. I’m still not even entirely sure how I did it. I can only tell you – through my own example – that it can be done. I once found a cheap apartment in Manhattan. And I also became a writer.

... My suggestion is that you start with the love and then work very hard and try to let go of the results. Cast out your will, and then cut the line. 

... If you decide to write, then you must do it, as Balzac said, “like a miner buried under a fallen roof.” Become a knight, a force of diligence and faith. I don’t know how else to do it except that way. As the great poet Jack Gilbert said once to young writer, when she asked him for advice about her own poems: “Do you have the courage to bring forth this work? The treasures that are hidden inside you are hoping you will say YES." 

To sum it up, I would say that Liz's advice amounts to...

... Write

... Live and breathe writing

... Travel

... Share your writing

... Forgive yourself

... Get back to work

... At least try

And most importantly...

... Your job is only to write your heart out, and let destiny take care of the rest... start with the love and then work very hard and try to let go of the results. Cast out your will, and then cut the line.

I think I can handle that.

(Picture via partytights)

groundhog day

Last week I watched Groundhog Day, for what was probably the trillionth time. It is a really wonderful, classic film.

I guess there is a lot that you can take away from it. The themes are intertwining and ever-lasting: self-improvement, prioritising, generosity, the pursuit of happiness, and all that.

This time, what really spoke to me was, how much we can fit into a day. I mean, if we truly fill our days to the brim, there is so much that we can do and achieve. Every single day is a fresh opportunity to learn something new, initiate a friendship, foster a skill, make a difference in somebody else's life... fall in love. Do something truly great. 

That realisation (or lack thereof) is something I really struggle with. I tend to embroil myself in a downward spiral, day after day, allowing the previous day's mood, worries and ennui to colour what happens the next... rather than nurturing the awareness that everyday is a completely blank slate, yet another chance to start anew (to break through walls we have built around ourselves; to change whatever needs changing; to dream; to take the next step; to cherish the beauty all around us).

“Every morning we are born again. What we do today is what matters most.”

— Siddhārtha Gautama

a letter

The other day, I read this lovely post by Gaynor Alder of The Modern Woman's Survival Guide in which she wrote a heartfelt letter to her 16-year-old self. It drew me into a cloud of nostalgia and I took up her invitation to write such a letter to myself at the same age. Here it is, reposted in all its glory...

Dear 16-year-old Me…

Be true to yourself.

Take chances.

Read.

Don’t diet.

Love, 21-year-old Me.

I think those four lines sum everything up perfectly... there's not much else to say. Life is simple really, when you think about it. Of course, that's easy to say when you're looking back, but not so easy to believe when you're in the midst of it.

P.S. Please spare a few minutes to take a hop, skip and a jump over to Gaynor's riveting travel tale Byron Bay: The Uncut Version... it's truly brilliant. 

lucky

I recently read a blog post by the lovely Becky Hunter, who suggested that we should take time to remember, every so often, that we are going to die (a tip she borrowed from the inspiring novelist Annie Lamott). I think that this is a great idea - although I think that we should mitigate that with the knowledge that we could, as Sarah Wilson points out, live until we are 120-years-old. These combined consciousnesses should encourage us to live fully, while pacing ourselves. Savouring each moment as if it were our last, while knowing that it probably won't be.

In the same vein, I propose that we take a moment, every so often, to acknowledge that we are incredibly lucky. I am painfully aware of the fact that I am privileged. It is not that I am particularly rich or connected (although, compared with much of the world, I am). It's just that as a woman living in a democratic, first-world country, with the freedom to seek education, make a living, marry whoever I want to, do whatever the hell I want with my life... the world is my oyster. Of course, that is not the case for many people, particularly women; whether due to politics, finances, religion, culture, illness or family circumstances. Consciously taking the focus off my own internal struggles makes me realise how small and trivial my "issues" truly are. 

With that in mind, here are a few heart-breaking, yet incredibly important, articles you may find valuable.

Forced Abortions for Chinese Women | Al Jazeera
When I was 17, I watched a documentary in my Human Biology class which was burned into my memory. It canvassed the one-child policy in China, an attempt by the government to curtail its swelling population. A communist initiative, the policy places the rights of the collective above those of the individual. Forced abortions and sterilisations of Chinese women, which are not officially condoned by the central government but do, nonetheless, occur, are a gross violation of human rights, not only for the woman, but also for her fetus. The documentary I watched at 17 showed, in graphic detail, the termination of an eight-month-old fetus, a procedure which was tragically consented to by the exhausted mother after eight long months of haranguing by the local authorities, who receive bonuses according to the birth rate in their district. The woman's stomach is pierced with a lethal injection, killing the baby. She can feel it dying in her stomach, his or her little kicks gradually slowing, until it stops moving altogether. She then gives birth to a stillborn baby (yes, a baby - in Australia, a premature baby is viable at 24 weeks, or six months). Afterwards, she is sterilised. The video I have provided a link for, above, translates the intense sadness felt by a husband and wife who have recently endured such a forced abortion, also at eight months.

The Crimewave that Shames the World | The Independent | Robert Fisk

In this extensive article, Robert Fisk recounts countless honour killings, which have occurred throughout the world, over the last decade. These tragic deaths, perpetrated in the most barbarous of ways, usually by the victims' fathers, brothers or uncles, are reminders that, in some cultures, simply being born a woman is enough to warrant a brutal, unjustifiable murder. The excuses given for these killings include such "slights" as the woman being raped, a suspicion of premarital sex or refusal to acquiesce to an arranged marriage. The most hopeless aspect of these crimes is that they are often condoned, legally and culturally, leaving many of the murderers unpunished. 

The Decade in Pictures | Pixcetera
These incredible photographs speak for themselves, prompting us to remember that our experience is just a speck in the expansive, intricate matrix that forms the, sometimes unrecognisable, world we live in.

It is so tempting to turn away from these excruciating stories; to feign ignorance and concentrate on our own happiness and fulfillment. I cannot emphasise enough how important I think it is to take heed of the unbearable things occurring around us, no matter how faraway they appear to be. If anything, as consumers, we need to support the journalists telling difficult stories, keeping callous governments and cultures accountable, bringing injustice to the forefront of our consciousness. For me, what really drives me in life, as in writing, is empathy. The knowledge that every single person in the world, no matter where they come from or what life they lead, feels pain and love and hurt and joy as keenly as I do, is enough for me to actively seek justice and fairness, and keep my own life in perspective.

five regrets of the dying

Today, Sarah Wilson posted this amazing piece by Australian blogger Bronnie, of Inspiration and Chai. Bronnie worked in palliative care for many years and collated a list of the most prevalent regrets shared by her patients upon their deathbed. All of these regrets are things that I have been thinking a lot about lately, while dreaming of my future. When I read this, my heart just sang (a purely selfish response, because it is also heart-breaking) and I felt validated, in a funny way.

1. I wish I'd had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me.

This was the most common regret of all. When people realise that their life is almost over and look back clearly on it, it is easy to see how many dreams have gone unfulfilled. Most people had not honoured even a half of their dreams and had to die knowing that it was due to choices they had made, or not made.

It is very important to try and honour at least some of your dreams along the way. From the moment that you lose your health, it is too late. Health brings a freedom very few realise, until they no longer have it.

2. I wish I didn't work so hard.

This came from every male patient that I nursed. They missed their children's youth and their partner's companionship. Women also spoke of this regret. But as most were from an older generation, many of the female patients had not been breadwinners. All of the men I nursed deeply regretted spending so much of their lives on the treadmill of a work existence.

By simplifying your lifestyle and making conscious choices along the way, it is possible to not need the income that you think you do. And by creating more space in your life, you become happier and more open to new opportunities, ones more suited to your new lifestyle.

3. I wish I'd had the courage to express my feelings.

Many people suppressed their feelings in order to keep peace with others. As a result, they settled for a mediocre existence and never became who they were truly capable of becoming. Many developed illnesses relating to the bitterness and resentment they carried as a result.

We cannot control the reactions of others. However, although people may initially react when you change the way you are by speaking honestly, in the end it raises the relationship to a whole new and healthier level. Either that or it releases the unhealthy relationship from your life. Either way, you win.

4. I wish I had stayed in touch with my friends.

Often they would not truly realise the full benefits of old friends until their dying weeks and it was not always possible to track them down. Many had become so caught up in their own lives that they had let golden friendships slip by over the years. There were many deep regrets about not giving friendships the time and effort that they deserved. Everyone misses their friends when they are dying.

It is common for anyone in a busy lifestyle to let friendships slip. But when you are faced with your approaching death, the physical details of life fall away. People do want to get their financial affairs in order if possible. But it is not money or status that holds the true importance for them. They want to get things in order more for the benefit of those they love. Usually though, they are too ill and weary to ever manage this task. It is all comes down to love and relationships in the end. That is all that remains in the final weeks, love and relationships.

5. I wish that I had let myself be happier.

This is a surprisingly common one. Many did not realise until the end that happiness is a choice. They had stayed stuck in old patterns and habits. The so-called 'comfort' of familiarity overflowed into their emotions, as well as their physical lives. Fear of change had them pretending to others, and to their selves, that they were content. When deep within, they longed to laugh properly and have silliness in their life again.

When you are on your deathbed, what others think of you is a long way from your mind. How wonderful to be able to let go and smile again, long before you are dying.

Life is a choice. It is YOUR life. Choose consciously, choose wisely, choose honestly. Choose happiness.

The happiest household I know is my boyfriend Andy's. His mum, stepdad and four brothers live in a cosy place by the beach, which consists of two small houses joined together (it was originally built to house two best friends, an elderly woman and her priest). His mum is a freelance masseuse and his stepdad is leaving his job as a teacher at the end of the year to launch an online company and build boats. Inspirational quotes are written on a whiteboard in their kitchen daily. Their children are given the freedom to make mistakes and follow their hearts. Everybody contributes. It is not a life of luxury but the whole family are full of love, freedom and communal happiness.

I don't mean to say that their lifestyle choices are perfect. Everybody has to find their own happy place. I have just noticed that there is a new brand of success emerging, one which may be unfamiliar but is a whole lot more fulfilling and satisfying.

The brilliant Alain de Botton speaks about it here - a kinder, gentler philosophy of success:

"So what can I do now?" she spoke up a minute later.

"Nothing," I said. "Just think about what comes before words. You owe that to the dead. As time goes on, you'll understand. What lasts, lasts; what doesn't, doesn't. Time solves most things. And what time can't solve, you have to solve yourself. Is that too much to ask?"

"A little," she said, trying to smile.

"Well, of course it is," I said, trying to smile too.

"I doubt that this makes sense to most people. But I think I'm right. People die all the time. Life is a lot more fragile than we think. So you should treat others in a way that leaves no regrets. Fairly, and if possible, sincerely. It's too easy not to make the effort, then weep and wring your hands after the person dies. Personally, I don't buy it."

Yuki leaned against the car door. "But that's real hard, isn't it?" she said.

"Real hard," I said. "But it's worth trying for."

— Haruki Murakami (Dance, Dance, Dance)

relativity

NB I wrote this post a few weeks ago, but decided not to post it because it read like an essay and I thought my readers may find it boring! In light of Sarah Wilson's latest column on random acts of kindness, it became topical so I decided to post it after all. Here is part of my comment on Sarah's blog so you can gain a little insight into why I found this exhibition so compelling:

Sarah, I kind of disagree when you say that kindness doesn’t come naturally… I believe that it is the unnatural things in our lives – money, time, social structures – that encourage us to quell our natural kindness, but that everybody has a desire to be kind, which is a driving force. Most people have to LIMIT that kindness to a certain circle, maybe just family and close friends, as a way of protecting themselves (survival, as you say). Tim Minchin (my favourite comedian in the world, not to be confused with Nick Minchin, the sickeningly smug politician) has a song called “If you open up your mind too much, your brain will fall out”. Well, I think most people think that if they extend their compassion too far, their hearts will fall out.

A few weeks ago, I visited the Art Gallery of Western Australia to see Australian sculptress Patricia Piccinini's exhibition entitled "Relativity". As you can probably tell from the photos, her pieces are a little creepy. They make you feel uncomfortable and want to look away... but then, you can't help but take another glance, and step a little closer.

The exhibition is intended to force us to question "what makes us human?" When we look at these grotesque creatures, we have an innate desire to separate ourselves from them... but we can't. Patricia imbues them with a humanness that forces us to feel empathy, which shocks and surprises us. The creatures' vulnerability - whether due to childlikeness or frailty - gives us a sense of protectiveness over them. And once you look at them for long enough, they have a oddly sweet quality.

Patricia has identified her ethos as "I feel, therefore I think". Her pieces help us to tap into our innate kindness and humility, as well as extending our awareness of the way we project our own fears and insecurities onto others. When we first see these creatures, we feel anxiety and disgust. Why? These are just sculptures! They can't touch us. So why do we feel so uncomfortable in their presence?

Society teaches us that to be human is the penultimate state. Humans are the smartest, most valuable creatures on earth. Everything else – animals, trees, plants, water – is at our disposal; they are subject to our needs and desires. We can manipulate them for our own benefit because we have a certain "specialness" about us that makes us more important than anything else. These kinds of assumptions are gradually changing but I've noticed that a lot of people tend to live in a condition of willful ignorance... which, of course, makes it easy to be callous.

Patricia often pairs her creatures with children. Their innocence reminds us of a time when we were quick to offer trust and unconditional love, and slow to make judgments. We can learn so much from reminiscing about our childhoods. The children also represent the future, and the fact that things can change for the better if we only remain in touch with our hearts. This extends to our relationship with the "other" in general... other animals, all living things, as well as other people of different races and ethnicities, backgrounds and life experiences, those who are younger or older than ourselves.

So what to take away from this? We should not allow our fears to overtake us. We have to let go of the notion that we, as humans, are more valuable than any other living creature. We need to allow ourselves to empathise with other people or creatures who are different to us, instead of shielding ourselves from that compassion as a subconscious means of protecting ourselves. We can turn a blind eye to the experience and suffering of others, if we deliberately keep our distance, but when we look into their eyes, we cannot help but connect with them and feel for them. Humanity does not just consist of intelligence and survival instinct. Our greatest gift is the ability to intuitively empathise and feel attachment towards other living things - because that it what gives us the desire to improve things, and the responsibility of acting upon that yen.

“If you’re listening, if you’re awake to the poignant beauty of the world, your heart breaks regularly. In fact, your heart is made to break; its purpose is to burst open again and again so that it can hold even more wonders.”
— Andrew Harvey

lover

Nothing gets me in the mood for summer each year more than Lover's gorgeous spring/summer collections. I think the latest, "Untitled", is my favourite ever.

Beautiful, no? And quintessentially Australian - pretty and fresh and clean and summery. It has been so hot and sunny in Perth lately that spring seems to be just around the corner. I was a little upset that this winter was blink-and-you'll-miss-it, because I do love cute wintry ensembles. There is also the scary global warming aspect to worry about (probably more important than my wardrobe choices). But, selfishly, the weather always seems to have an effect upon my mood, so extra daylight, bright blue skies and warm weather tends to put me in a happier disposition... which is nothing to complain about.

I do know, though, that the weather is supposed to be varied - rain, hail, shine - in order to sustain growth and sustenance for our planet's survival. As much as I would love for the climate to be pleasant all year 'round, clearly, that utopia is not as ideal as it seems on the surface. This may seem like a long shot, but the thought reminds me of a letter penned by Stephen Fry in response to a desperate plea from one of his fans, who was suffering from depression. Out of the kindness of his heart, he provided her with some simply beautiful advice...

I've found that it's of some help to think of one's moods and feelings about the world as being similar to weather.

Here are some obvious things about the weather:

It's real.

You can't change it by wishing it away.

If it's dark and rainy it really is dark and rainy and you can't alter it.

It might be dark and rainy for two weeks in a row.

BUT

It will be sunny one day.

It isn't under one's control as to when the sun comes out, but come out it will.

One day.

It is a really beautiful piece, which I posted a long time ago here. Please do yourself a favour and read it. Even if you are not one to have experienced those rainy, dark days, it will help you to empathise a little more with those who do, a few of whom are bound to be your family members or friends. Depression is such a personal journey, but a little compassion and understanding from a loved one can make all the difference.

(Pictures via Lover, inspired by the gorgeous Sara of Harper and Harley)