Seeking advice earlier this year on a delicate personal matter from a friend who works in the therapy industry she used a phrase that I'd heard of in passing before but to be honest had not given a great amount of thought to before then.
She described people as having lives that are "hardwired" meaning that, if I've understood her correctly, we are almost pre-programmed to follow a certain path in our lives and feel certain impulses despite our best efforts not to go down that route as we might well consider and know it to be irrational and foolhardy.
Definitely not in our best interests by a country mile.
We sort of can't help ourselves though in a way as it's gonna happen come what may.
I was grateful for her commentary on my situation and her moral support as a valued friend and it did sort of help me to achieve some kind of clarity and perspective on it even though I secretly wished that she'd given me say a more pragmatic five-point plan to follow to completely solve the angst I was feeling ... if that was ever going to be possible.
As things turned out and I'll not bore you with the details things went somewhat Pete Tong in all-too practical reality and the consequence of this for me on a personal level has been that pretty much ever since I've been turning over the situation in my mind over and over and wishing that I could turn back the clock.
I don't think it was necessarily that my approach to the problem was fundamentally flawed as my heart was in the right place but rather I'd overdid things due to my being too naturally enthusiastic as can be my wont (not always) and then as I'm a stickler for loose ends and simply hate being at odds with anyone wasn't able to cut my losses soon enough and realise that whatever I did however well-intentioned after that initial setback I was only actually making matters worse.
Digging an even deeper hole for myself.
It takes two at a bare minimum to play most ball sports well and when that doesn't happen you might as well pack up your kit and go home.
As mentioned before it's one thing to know this both at the time and with hindsight which as ever is a truly wonderful thing but other emotions are pulling you this way and that too and with some being stronger than others as well you can very easily slip up which is what happened with me.
A few months down the line and I've come to realise that it made a far bigger impact on me emotionally than I thought it would even if the fallout from such an initially strong feeling which then goes awry in inauspicious and ugly circumstances is inevitable no doubt.
As of today's date I'm still sifting through my feelings and trying my hardest to gain peace of mind on the issue.
I'm getting there and am a lot better off than even say a month ago but occasionally I lapse and feel ill at ease with myself over it.
I've been in two minds as to making it the content of a blog as whilst I'm not bashful when it comes to sharing how I'm feeling with others including complete strangers maybe I'm aware too that simply discussing it can stir and churn up some difficult thought processes in myself leaving me feeling quite tender and vulnerable for a while.
My mood though at the moment feels that without revealing names etc. it could work out to be a like a form of ongoing therapy for me.
It doesn't dominate my life thankfully (as much as it once did which is progressive) and I am reaching that point where I can look back on the whole episode and laugh at it to some extent but at the same time much of it does seem like so much unfinished business and in an ideal world where other people are limitlessly flexible, never take offence (perhaps through a misunderstanding) and have a lot of time for you with no work distractions etc. I'd give anything for a chat with this other person to put things right.
I am the eternal optimist I suppose or a hopeless dreamer ... hey I am Piscean after all which I'll go along with when it suits my purposes ie during a blog!
All in all as with much else I suppose I'm getting on with things and suppressing what I feel in my heart of hearts as utimately it's a futile exercise thinking that this fantasy of mine to have a reasonable chat about things can ever take place.
This is where the emotional intelligence title tag to this piece comes from as over the past few months and please forgive my preciousness perhaps I've had to bite my tongue on more than a few occasions and ride out the raw transient emotion of a particular moment and come through to a feeling of achievement that I was able to get through it without biting the head off some other person.
This in turn soothes my weary brow and gives me the strength to go on knowing that I can just move on in that moment.
It's an ongoing situation though as said which is where my question posed about my being dishonest really with myself comes from as I sometimes don't know if I can keep this up at times.
There can feel like there's so much festering away inside me that surely at some point it has to emerge and maybe not in the way that is going to work to my advantage.
There is a drastic solution which would involve me changing my life situation around quite a lot but it could well be that this'll have to happen as whilst my wife and my kids and my immediate and extended family are my main priorities I also have to take care of my own mental health to ensure all those things can get the quality attention that they need.
Anyway it's a work in progress and if you're interested I'll keep you posted.
Life eh?! Can be a bitch and then you die which is one phrase I learnt very early on ...
Thursday, 30 September 2010
Saturday, 4 September 2010
Me and me old mate Skiddaw
From Monday the 6th I'll be back at work after forty seven days of public sector holiday time off and without wanting to sound defeatist prematurely feel quite certain that within a few days my personal stress level will have risen starkly as things which are beyond my control (my personal definition of anxiety) on pretty much most levels start to happen left, right and centre.
This seems to be par for the course where I work ... this may well chime with your own personal circumstances and be a universal trait of all modes of employment I dunno.
Judging by how life was at my workplace last year through on occasion self-inflicted wounds I'm approaching the new academic year with my usual in-born enthusiasm but it's tempered this time around based on the aforementioned knowledge that however well you can attempt to manage your personal situation outside forces can have a terrible habit of barging down the door and repossessing you and without any prior notice either.
Therefore my attitude to this blog has been to try and have some fun with it on the whole and be light-hearted as I don't just want it to become this rantathon which I turn to every now and then to get things that are bothering me badly off my chest as knowing myself as I do I'll just make myself more het up and it won't be as cathartic as ideally I'd want it to be.
Having enough stress at work to get my head around quite a bit of the time I don't want to prolong that soul-searching here.
I want to write about subjects that get my juices flowing and excite me rather than sap me of energy.
Last Tuesday as I was busily snapping away using a newly-bought digital camera taking pictures of the vista that envelops Derwent Water in the northern part of the Lake District I briefly let my mind envisage myself a week on sat on one of the cramped chairs (you have my utmost sympathy kids!) in the hall at the school I work at listening to the head and other senior staff very formally welcome their colleagues back and set out their aims and aspirations for the year ahead etc. and it instantly put me at odds as you might expect with the happy vibe I was experiencing as we bobbed gently from side to side in the wooden cruiser boat that takes tourists around this three-mile long stretch of freshwater.
I could almost feel my shoulders sag and my heart sink and I hurriedly returned myself to living in the moment by pointing out stuff to my little lad that maybe his Nanna sitting in between us had missed around the water's edge like ducks landing close by utterly oblivious to the human presence around them ... they got there first after all and so we are uninvited gatecrashers on their turf so to speak.
A freshly spawned dream of mine now would be to get a transfer to a school in Cumbria but in its fledgling state it's not properly thought out and there's no guarantee that the problems regularly thrown up in the environment I work in don't just happen in another form in what I deem to be a rural paradise on Earth just because there are more trees and wider open spaces to lose yourself in ... life of course can't work like that.
I suppose then that next week as I stand in the hall absentmindedly glancing down at my slightly scuffed and pointed black shoes whilst I'm on lunch duty ferrying the new year 7's to and from the bogs I'll cast my mind back to days like that spent climbing the mighty Skiddaw which is the fourth-highest fell in the Lake District area at around 930 metres or 3000 feet high and come over all wistful and long to be back there.
It really is such a magical place which I know to many of those who might chance upon this blog is preaching to the converted but it's worth saying again to underline it.
Preceding the short break we had up there I'd gotten back into cycling around Salford and Manchester in a bid to sharpen my fitness and get me in as good form as I could for my job an essential part of which is to be on your toes constantly just in case ... as I ascended this supposedly easier and inferior mountain according to the Rough Guide I'd read the night before with its handy and well-trodden path it dawned on me very quickly that there was a long long way to go before I could see myself as even half-fit as under the pretext of enjoying the view to my fellow walkers I'd stop every thirty yards along the loose slate or so to catch my breath and give myself a pep talk about making that bush over there second on the left where that goat is chewing his life away (you can't miss it!) and seeing how I felt after that.
My missus had a valid excuse for not being with me at this point as she was carrying our freshest sprog Phoebe in a baby carrier close to her chest and not even two months had gone by since she'd undergone her second C-Section operation and so it was fair enough that she accompanied my mum and our lad back to the car where the grassy part of the climb finished.
I'd not thought though as I said goodbye to them how much I'd miss them within such a short space of time as Skiddaw is that sort of place and has such an unforgiving gradient that any moral support from people suffering as much as you is lapped up in an instant and can will you on to greater heights if you'll pardon a really horrific pun.
Another definition of stress and loneliness for me is that it happens when there's no outlet for your feelings about something or someone to be expressed and they just end up tucked away in a cul-de-sac in the dustier parts of your mind ... this feeling was taking hold in me more and more as I scrambled by now my way up this very difficult climb which wasn't helped when on questioning a woman coming down past me was told that I wasn't even half way yet.
Thanks luv but I suppose I did ask.
As the twinges in my calves became more frequent and the beads of sweat that seemed in permanent residence on my forehead dripped off me like early morning condensation I thought how strange it was that I was actually feeling quite cold by now and really and truly putting my waterproof jacket on might be a really good idea ... surely though I'll just get hotter and hotter which in combination with us having skipped lunch until we got back meant I'd have to give up quite soon from becoming very giddy because of energy starvation.
I'm not quite sure how fitness works and maybe it was purely an adrenalin rush that was furiously pulsing through me but as time went on I felt better and better and more and more eager to reduce my breaktimes and press on as with each new vantage point reached and ticked off the view to both sides of me on this narrowing ascent was becoming increasingly spectacular and I was getting closer to fulfilling my goal of being able to say as I sat on the verandah of the static caravan belonging to my parents with its clear view of Skiddaw in the middle distance that hey I'd conquered that there hill and knew how the reverse view looked.
Unbeknownst to me at the time I would be shortly blearily eyeing the sign that tells anyone who is yet to give up that not too far away is the "Skiddaw Summit" ... to say that my heart did the moonwalk at this news is to mock the late Michael Jackson as I was joining in with his entire repertoire of funkier tunes at that point ... to celebrate this fact and with not another soul around except for the odd distracted goat that had seen it all before anyhow (each had assumed a Larson-cartoon caricature by me now perhaps half-deliriously) I at last left my personal mark on Skiddaw by having a well-earned pee (not as easy as it might seem bearing in mind that that high up the wind is so fierce I felt like one of the Ghostbusters and was vainly trying not to cross my stream - hopefully you'll have seen the film to get this).
Nature's reward for your effort to this stage is to level off the path quite appreciably and this passage that lasts for a good mile or so did help me assuage my frustrations of a little earlier when I felt I encountered for the first time the sneering and snotty demeanour that some of your fellow hardy people can show as you go past them as if in my England cricket cap and purple Converse trainers I'd foolishly deluded myself into thinking I could reach the top without need for all the climbing paraphernalia that was by the looks of it weighing them down.
As I felt better being within sight now of my goal I was a bit peeved to find that as well as being very generous only a few moments before Mother Nature could also be cruel and to demonstrate this had ramped up the last leg quite considerably as if she's testing your willpower like a dog that's not had a walk all day will almost rip the hand off its owner once a lead is attached to its collar.
Talking of dogs there were quite a few in attendance on the climb and my admiration for our canine friends increased a hundred-fold consequently as whilst they might possess two more legs their hearts are a lot smaller and they have less free will (they go where their masters go leading me to wonder if Gromit-like any dog whose owner had a property at the foot of the mountain had ever left a little note on the fridge giving thanks for all the chews but all things considered a move to Holland was the best thing for them as the cry of "Walkies" had lost its pull long ago) ... it's all relative I know.
Somehow and I'm not exaggerating there for dramatic effect I got to what was within spitting distance of the small monument that indicates that your arduous haul to here is almost at an end but with the wind blasting my cheeks this way and that I decided to take at a rough guess about a thousand photos instead ... this killed some time waiting for a couple who were sitting in the pile of stones that served as a shelter against the buffeting gust.
The relief on finally being able to slump down on those rocks however much they tore into my bum (they're not really made for comfort) was immeasurable really and I really savoured the moment by reflecting on those points when I'd thought sod this for a game of soldiers and instead felt glad I'd let them pass me by.
Anyway the views are what you can probably imagine them to be ... you do literally feel that it's like being on top of the world.
Pictures speak a thousand words as they say and via Facebook I'll soon be posting the ones I took and so please look out for those if you are at all curious as to what being on top of the world looks like.
As for the descent well that's another post and so for now I'll sign off by urging you to get up to Skiddaw, stare at it in awe from the base and then say to yourself ... "I wonder what it's like up there by that goat etc." ... go for it folks is all that is left to say!!
This seems to be par for the course where I work ... this may well chime with your own personal circumstances and be a universal trait of all modes of employment I dunno.
Judging by how life was at my workplace last year through on occasion self-inflicted wounds I'm approaching the new academic year with my usual in-born enthusiasm but it's tempered this time around based on the aforementioned knowledge that however well you can attempt to manage your personal situation outside forces can have a terrible habit of barging down the door and repossessing you and without any prior notice either.
Therefore my attitude to this blog has been to try and have some fun with it on the whole and be light-hearted as I don't just want it to become this rantathon which I turn to every now and then to get things that are bothering me badly off my chest as knowing myself as I do I'll just make myself more het up and it won't be as cathartic as ideally I'd want it to be.
Having enough stress at work to get my head around quite a bit of the time I don't want to prolong that soul-searching here.
I want to write about subjects that get my juices flowing and excite me rather than sap me of energy.
Last Tuesday as I was busily snapping away using a newly-bought digital camera taking pictures of the vista that envelops Derwent Water in the northern part of the Lake District I briefly let my mind envisage myself a week on sat on one of the cramped chairs (you have my utmost sympathy kids!) in the hall at the school I work at listening to the head and other senior staff very formally welcome their colleagues back and set out their aims and aspirations for the year ahead etc. and it instantly put me at odds as you might expect with the happy vibe I was experiencing as we bobbed gently from side to side in the wooden cruiser boat that takes tourists around this three-mile long stretch of freshwater.
I could almost feel my shoulders sag and my heart sink and I hurriedly returned myself to living in the moment by pointing out stuff to my little lad that maybe his Nanna sitting in between us had missed around the water's edge like ducks landing close by utterly oblivious to the human presence around them ... they got there first after all and so we are uninvited gatecrashers on their turf so to speak.
A freshly spawned dream of mine now would be to get a transfer to a school in Cumbria but in its fledgling state it's not properly thought out and there's no guarantee that the problems regularly thrown up in the environment I work in don't just happen in another form in what I deem to be a rural paradise on Earth just because there are more trees and wider open spaces to lose yourself in ... life of course can't work like that.
I suppose then that next week as I stand in the hall absentmindedly glancing down at my slightly scuffed and pointed black shoes whilst I'm on lunch duty ferrying the new year 7's to and from the bogs I'll cast my mind back to days like that spent climbing the mighty Skiddaw which is the fourth-highest fell in the Lake District area at around 930 metres or 3000 feet high and come over all wistful and long to be back there.
It really is such a magical place which I know to many of those who might chance upon this blog is preaching to the converted but it's worth saying again to underline it.
Preceding the short break we had up there I'd gotten back into cycling around Salford and Manchester in a bid to sharpen my fitness and get me in as good form as I could for my job an essential part of which is to be on your toes constantly just in case ... as I ascended this supposedly easier and inferior mountain according to the Rough Guide I'd read the night before with its handy and well-trodden path it dawned on me very quickly that there was a long long way to go before I could see myself as even half-fit as under the pretext of enjoying the view to my fellow walkers I'd stop every thirty yards along the loose slate or so to catch my breath and give myself a pep talk about making that bush over there second on the left where that goat is chewing his life away (you can't miss it!) and seeing how I felt after that.
My missus had a valid excuse for not being with me at this point as she was carrying our freshest sprog Phoebe in a baby carrier close to her chest and not even two months had gone by since she'd undergone her second C-Section operation and so it was fair enough that she accompanied my mum and our lad back to the car where the grassy part of the climb finished.
I'd not thought though as I said goodbye to them how much I'd miss them within such a short space of time as Skiddaw is that sort of place and has such an unforgiving gradient that any moral support from people suffering as much as you is lapped up in an instant and can will you on to greater heights if you'll pardon a really horrific pun.
Another definition of stress and loneliness for me is that it happens when there's no outlet for your feelings about something or someone to be expressed and they just end up tucked away in a cul-de-sac in the dustier parts of your mind ... this feeling was taking hold in me more and more as I scrambled by now my way up this very difficult climb which wasn't helped when on questioning a woman coming down past me was told that I wasn't even half way yet.
Thanks luv but I suppose I did ask.
As the twinges in my calves became more frequent and the beads of sweat that seemed in permanent residence on my forehead dripped off me like early morning condensation I thought how strange it was that I was actually feeling quite cold by now and really and truly putting my waterproof jacket on might be a really good idea ... surely though I'll just get hotter and hotter which in combination with us having skipped lunch until we got back meant I'd have to give up quite soon from becoming very giddy because of energy starvation.
I'm not quite sure how fitness works and maybe it was purely an adrenalin rush that was furiously pulsing through me but as time went on I felt better and better and more and more eager to reduce my breaktimes and press on as with each new vantage point reached and ticked off the view to both sides of me on this narrowing ascent was becoming increasingly spectacular and I was getting closer to fulfilling my goal of being able to say as I sat on the verandah of the static caravan belonging to my parents with its clear view of Skiddaw in the middle distance that hey I'd conquered that there hill and knew how the reverse view looked.
Unbeknownst to me at the time I would be shortly blearily eyeing the sign that tells anyone who is yet to give up that not too far away is the "Skiddaw Summit" ... to say that my heart did the moonwalk at this news is to mock the late Michael Jackson as I was joining in with his entire repertoire of funkier tunes at that point ... to celebrate this fact and with not another soul around except for the odd distracted goat that had seen it all before anyhow (each had assumed a Larson-cartoon caricature by me now perhaps half-deliriously) I at last left my personal mark on Skiddaw by having a well-earned pee (not as easy as it might seem bearing in mind that that high up the wind is so fierce I felt like one of the Ghostbusters and was vainly trying not to cross my stream - hopefully you'll have seen the film to get this).
Nature's reward for your effort to this stage is to level off the path quite appreciably and this passage that lasts for a good mile or so did help me assuage my frustrations of a little earlier when I felt I encountered for the first time the sneering and snotty demeanour that some of your fellow hardy people can show as you go past them as if in my England cricket cap and purple Converse trainers I'd foolishly deluded myself into thinking I could reach the top without need for all the climbing paraphernalia that was by the looks of it weighing them down.
As I felt better being within sight now of my goal I was a bit peeved to find that as well as being very generous only a few moments before Mother Nature could also be cruel and to demonstrate this had ramped up the last leg quite considerably as if she's testing your willpower like a dog that's not had a walk all day will almost rip the hand off its owner once a lead is attached to its collar.
Talking of dogs there were quite a few in attendance on the climb and my admiration for our canine friends increased a hundred-fold consequently as whilst they might possess two more legs their hearts are a lot smaller and they have less free will (they go where their masters go leading me to wonder if Gromit-like any dog whose owner had a property at the foot of the mountain had ever left a little note on the fridge giving thanks for all the chews but all things considered a move to Holland was the best thing for them as the cry of "Walkies" had lost its pull long ago) ... it's all relative I know.
Somehow and I'm not exaggerating there for dramatic effect I got to what was within spitting distance of the small monument that indicates that your arduous haul to here is almost at an end but with the wind blasting my cheeks this way and that I decided to take at a rough guess about a thousand photos instead ... this killed some time waiting for a couple who were sitting in the pile of stones that served as a shelter against the buffeting gust.
The relief on finally being able to slump down on those rocks however much they tore into my bum (they're not really made for comfort) was immeasurable really and I really savoured the moment by reflecting on those points when I'd thought sod this for a game of soldiers and instead felt glad I'd let them pass me by.
Anyway the views are what you can probably imagine them to be ... you do literally feel that it's like being on top of the world.
Pictures speak a thousand words as they say and via Facebook I'll soon be posting the ones I took and so please look out for those if you are at all curious as to what being on top of the world looks like.
As for the descent well that's another post and so for now I'll sign off by urging you to get up to Skiddaw, stare at it in awe from the base and then say to yourself ... "I wonder what it's like up there by that goat etc." ... go for it folks is all that is left to say!!
Tuesday, 17 August 2010
Is this the hardest job? Oh yeah ...
Before I kick off in earnest I beg any possible readers for forgiveness that despite trying really hard I'm very likely to dip into using cliches at times as it's that sort of subject.
In addition I will more than once state the bleeding obvious ... please don't throw anything ...
I'll be honest and admit to loving with a passion taking my little lad for a walk somewhere as apart from the physical health benefit to him and to a far lesser extent me, him getting the mental stimulation too from being outside in the open air and coming across many sights and sounds that he might previously have only seen vicariously on telly and us as a general thing spending some time together (the quality is not my main concern) it's a wonderfully easy and freely available opportunity for me to pad out an activity with him which won't involve (so much) spending a concentrated and energy-sapping period of time during which the following questions repeatedly and invariably pop into my head ...
1) What educational worth is he getting out of this?
2) Is this in some way (maybe very tenuous and obscure but valid all the same) teaching him the wrong values for his future life?
3) Am I encouraging lazy and bad habits in him from him doing this?
4) Is he plain old bored?
5) Is there any chance he could hurt himself badly doing this (which I'll never ever forgive myself for)?
6) Does he seem happy in himself?
I could go on and on and on listing my other numerous anxieties but you could have a Europe-sized mountain of washing up to do and might need to be catching a bus urgently and so I'll leave you to think up a few of your own if you're keen.
The point I'm making is that what to Matty is a very simple activity can be, depending on my mood at the time as well of course, riddled with self-imposed and probably totally irrational self-doubt for me as his dad wondering if I'm doing good by him.
Alternatively and I'll perk up soon I promise I'll ponder whether I'm spending enough time with him, whether he feels loved as we do stuff together and also be panicking that once this latest thing has run its inevitable course with a child who like any other other possesses an attention span shorter it can seem than your friendly neighbourhood goldfish whether I've got something else lined up to go straight into so that there's not a vacuum ... again when I think about it for long enough during a calmer time I realise how daft I'm being for fretting so much.
All in all and when all is said and done it's just so very, very tiring and before you know it you feel drained with much of it emanating from emotional exhaustion.
However much I know this I can't help myself and for me that's the definition of being a parent which if you'd not worked it out already is what I'm wittering on about.
People who know me well enough will know that regarding self-confidence I dip my toe in the water at the quieter end of the pool as whilst I'm not showy I'm not afraid of speaking my mind too and having an opinion on most subjects.
Mixed in with a very self-critical personality anyway I guess it's inevitable a post like this would happen.
Thus please don't take some of what I say to be dead gloomy as really my aim is just to be as candid as possible ... the bottomline is that I love my little lad to bits and likewise his sister who has joined us recently.
It is the biggest cliche of all and as an ongoing thing I learn this to be the most self-evident thing there is going that having kids is a huge nay mammoth responsibility ... the best analogy I can think of is that it's like being an on-call doctor but one whose shift lasts all week (this may happen in some areas already I dunno??!) and whose pager has developed an internal fault meaning that whatever you do to it (bringing in steamrollers and state of the art precision-guaranteed bazookas to turn it off) it'll beep every few minutes with it occasionally jamming leading to there being a precious gap of a few hours.
This same doctor is then needed to be on the ball even if their body is telling them that it feels like it's just climbed L'Alpe D'Huez on a Penny Farthing and unlike with the children of other people that you've maybe babysat or spent a few hours with and had the most fun in ages as they made you feel young again it dawns on you that you can't give them back to their parents as hey you are their parent.
Please don't get me wrong as I'm in no way complaining or wanting to feel sorry for myself ... far from it.
Rather it feeds into what will by my final line in this post which is pay a heartfelt public tribute to my mum and dad and other relations who chipped in down the years begging me to eat up all my pudding and the like and put my toys away as that taught me self-discipline and say thanks so very very much for being there as I know exactly now what you went through.
My most sincere apologies too for the grief I gave you about countless bits and bobs that seemed so important at the time.
I love you mum and dad and know my lad feels the same about me as he told me so on our walk today!!
In addition I will more than once state the bleeding obvious ... please don't throw anything ...
I'll be honest and admit to loving with a passion taking my little lad for a walk somewhere as apart from the physical health benefit to him and to a far lesser extent me, him getting the mental stimulation too from being outside in the open air and coming across many sights and sounds that he might previously have only seen vicariously on telly and us as a general thing spending some time together (the quality is not my main concern) it's a wonderfully easy and freely available opportunity for me to pad out an activity with him which won't involve (so much) spending a concentrated and energy-sapping period of time during which the following questions repeatedly and invariably pop into my head ...
1) What educational worth is he getting out of this?
2) Is this in some way (maybe very tenuous and obscure but valid all the same) teaching him the wrong values for his future life?
3) Am I encouraging lazy and bad habits in him from him doing this?
4) Is he plain old bored?
5) Is there any chance he could hurt himself badly doing this (which I'll never ever forgive myself for)?
6) Does he seem happy in himself?
I could go on and on and on listing my other numerous anxieties but you could have a Europe-sized mountain of washing up to do and might need to be catching a bus urgently and so I'll leave you to think up a few of your own if you're keen.
The point I'm making is that what to Matty is a very simple activity can be, depending on my mood at the time as well of course, riddled with self-imposed and probably totally irrational self-doubt for me as his dad wondering if I'm doing good by him.
Alternatively and I'll perk up soon I promise I'll ponder whether I'm spending enough time with him, whether he feels loved as we do stuff together and also be panicking that once this latest thing has run its inevitable course with a child who like any other other possesses an attention span shorter it can seem than your friendly neighbourhood goldfish whether I've got something else lined up to go straight into so that there's not a vacuum ... again when I think about it for long enough during a calmer time I realise how daft I'm being for fretting so much.
All in all and when all is said and done it's just so very, very tiring and before you know it you feel drained with much of it emanating from emotional exhaustion.
However much I know this I can't help myself and for me that's the definition of being a parent which if you'd not worked it out already is what I'm wittering on about.
People who know me well enough will know that regarding self-confidence I dip my toe in the water at the quieter end of the pool as whilst I'm not showy I'm not afraid of speaking my mind too and having an opinion on most subjects.
Mixed in with a very self-critical personality anyway I guess it's inevitable a post like this would happen.
Thus please don't take some of what I say to be dead gloomy as really my aim is just to be as candid as possible ... the bottomline is that I love my little lad to bits and likewise his sister who has joined us recently.
It is the biggest cliche of all and as an ongoing thing I learn this to be the most self-evident thing there is going that having kids is a huge nay mammoth responsibility ... the best analogy I can think of is that it's like being an on-call doctor but one whose shift lasts all week (this may happen in some areas already I dunno??!) and whose pager has developed an internal fault meaning that whatever you do to it (bringing in steamrollers and state of the art precision-guaranteed bazookas to turn it off) it'll beep every few minutes with it occasionally jamming leading to there being a precious gap of a few hours.
This same doctor is then needed to be on the ball even if their body is telling them that it feels like it's just climbed L'Alpe D'Huez on a Penny Farthing and unlike with the children of other people that you've maybe babysat or spent a few hours with and had the most fun in ages as they made you feel young again it dawns on you that you can't give them back to their parents as hey you are their parent.
Please don't get me wrong as I'm in no way complaining or wanting to feel sorry for myself ... far from it.
Rather it feeds into what will by my final line in this post which is pay a heartfelt public tribute to my mum and dad and other relations who chipped in down the years begging me to eat up all my pudding and the like and put my toys away as that taught me self-discipline and say thanks so very very much for being there as I know exactly now what you went through.
My most sincere apologies too for the grief I gave you about countless bits and bobs that seemed so important at the time.
I love you mum and dad and know my lad feels the same about me as he told me so on our walk today!!
Saturday, 14 August 2010
Should I Stay or Should I Go??
For me one of the few downsides to married life when compared to my days as a young, free and single bloke is that my opportunities to be spontaneous and act on a whim are increasingly limited and a case in point will occur next weekend when Brighton and Hove Albion FC travel to play Sheffield Wednesday at Hillsborough.
I'm itching to go quite frankly as the last time I saw the Albion in the flesh was when they played Stockport County a few years back courtesy of my sister Michaela and her family as a birthday present ... the game (a 1-1 draw if I remember rightly?) was mainly memorable for a ding dong on the touchline involving a hot as lava Sammy McIlroy (the County boss at the time) who was clearly having a bad combover hair day as it might have been windy ... judging by how the ball was flying madly all over the place it no doubt was.
Whatever the quality of the game it was just so refreshing and enlivening to be back amongst the Albion faithful even if I felt mostly out of synch with the chants having not been to any home games at the old and now defunct Goldstone since the mid-90's and thus was playing catch-up songs-wise as well as watching the game.
It's all very well following a side through the media on the Beeb's Five Live, Sky Sports and in the Guardian and the like but you can never get a real sense of course for how the season is likely to shape up from cold and hard stats as much as you can from seeing the raw effort and passion put in by your heroes as they hopefully bust a gut (and heaven forbid a groin or achilles tendon) for the club ... from that you can decide whether unbridled optimism is realistic or not and go from there.
Back in April when my bike was in rude health or in other words the frame was properly aligned and the gear indexing whirred quite merrily (a sound accentuated beautifully by the ultra-tranquil and serene surroundings of the Peak District and specifically the Snake Pass aka the plain old A57 to route planners) I cycled the 40 odd miles that separates Salford from the South Yorkshire city to stay overnight with some generous hosts in my aunt and uncle whose window view overlooks the type of countryside that if you were rendered housebound for whatever reason would make the whole experience a joy to behold and make you consider grumbling about your lot the height of bad manners.
Gruelling as you'd expect and mainly so on the ascent after the market town of Glossop with a three mile stretch of smooth but energy-sapping sinuous tarmac I surprised myself with my enthusiasm to keep on going despite having never encountered this sort of terrain in Salford where the streets appear to be suffering from some kind of pothole lurgy and the steepest climb I've found so far is close to where I live with a 15% gradient for about 150 metres or so.
I'll admit to dismounting a short way in to the first climb but from there I made Sheffield in around another two and a bit hours and was whizzing along the lumpy lanes at times like I was a sole breakaway rider in one of the Grand Tours or so I'd like to dream ... stopping off at one other point to ease some cramp in my hands (a first for me) I made very good progress and the following day despite it being hillier going back I made even better time and only got off to have a couple of bottles of Coke and even the pros take those if you watch closely.
However much your legs can be burning the buzz you get as you turn onto a flattish section and can look back on your achievement of the last two miles or so of a steadily rising hill is something I heartily recommend to anyone able to get on a bike safely.
The descent (as much a thrill as any fairground ride you could mention as you seem to freefall minus a parachute at around 35 miles an hour and I was being passed easily by more seasoned guys) into Glossop is wonderful and sets you up for the ride back into Manchester and beyond that home sweet home.
All in all I had a ball even if in hindsight it might be that that was where things started to go awry for the bike leading to a six week hiatus since the end of June waiting for the German manufacturers Focus to fulfil their national stereotype and return it promptly as good as new ... tick tock as I'm still waiting ... clearly they could learn a lesson or two from their national football side.
My faith can last til this Monday though and then I can make the decision as to whether a trip to the game is on or not ... just don't tell the wife yeah!!!
I'm itching to go quite frankly as the last time I saw the Albion in the flesh was when they played Stockport County a few years back courtesy of my sister Michaela and her family as a birthday present ... the game (a 1-1 draw if I remember rightly?) was mainly memorable for a ding dong on the touchline involving a hot as lava Sammy McIlroy (the County boss at the time) who was clearly having a bad combover hair day as it might have been windy ... judging by how the ball was flying madly all over the place it no doubt was.
Whatever the quality of the game it was just so refreshing and enlivening to be back amongst the Albion faithful even if I felt mostly out of synch with the chants having not been to any home games at the old and now defunct Goldstone since the mid-90's and thus was playing catch-up songs-wise as well as watching the game.
It's all very well following a side through the media on the Beeb's Five Live, Sky Sports and in the Guardian and the like but you can never get a real sense of course for how the season is likely to shape up from cold and hard stats as much as you can from seeing the raw effort and passion put in by your heroes as they hopefully bust a gut (and heaven forbid a groin or achilles tendon) for the club ... from that you can decide whether unbridled optimism is realistic or not and go from there.
Back in April when my bike was in rude health or in other words the frame was properly aligned and the gear indexing whirred quite merrily (a sound accentuated beautifully by the ultra-tranquil and serene surroundings of the Peak District and specifically the Snake Pass aka the plain old A57 to route planners) I cycled the 40 odd miles that separates Salford from the South Yorkshire city to stay overnight with some generous hosts in my aunt and uncle whose window view overlooks the type of countryside that if you were rendered housebound for whatever reason would make the whole experience a joy to behold and make you consider grumbling about your lot the height of bad manners.
Gruelling as you'd expect and mainly so on the ascent after the market town of Glossop with a three mile stretch of smooth but energy-sapping sinuous tarmac I surprised myself with my enthusiasm to keep on going despite having never encountered this sort of terrain in Salford where the streets appear to be suffering from some kind of pothole lurgy and the steepest climb I've found so far is close to where I live with a 15% gradient for about 150 metres or so.
I'll admit to dismounting a short way in to the first climb but from there I made Sheffield in around another two and a bit hours and was whizzing along the lumpy lanes at times like I was a sole breakaway rider in one of the Grand Tours or so I'd like to dream ... stopping off at one other point to ease some cramp in my hands (a first for me) I made very good progress and the following day despite it being hillier going back I made even better time and only got off to have a couple of bottles of Coke and even the pros take those if you watch closely.
However much your legs can be burning the buzz you get as you turn onto a flattish section and can look back on your achievement of the last two miles or so of a steadily rising hill is something I heartily recommend to anyone able to get on a bike safely.
The descent (as much a thrill as any fairground ride you could mention as you seem to freefall minus a parachute at around 35 miles an hour and I was being passed easily by more seasoned guys) into Glossop is wonderful and sets you up for the ride back into Manchester and beyond that home sweet home.
All in all I had a ball even if in hindsight it might be that that was where things started to go awry for the bike leading to a six week hiatus since the end of June waiting for the German manufacturers Focus to fulfil their national stereotype and return it promptly as good as new ... tick tock as I'm still waiting ... clearly they could learn a lesson or two from their national football side.
My faith can last til this Monday though and then I can make the decision as to whether a trip to the game is on or not ... just don't tell the wife yeah!!!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)