Pollyanna

I mentioned to a friend last week that I was feeling a whole lot let PollyAnna'ish that I usually am - she responded: 'you're allowed to you know'.  Yikes - am I!?!?! 

Never given myself actual permission for that before!

There are days and there are days - and then there are weeks, months even,  when you (erh-herm I mean ME when I say that obviously) that are so nutty that one (you, me, I) is not about putting ones  head up for air  but possibly just hoping that a few globs of oxygen are going to make it down as far as said head is buried.

That's how the past couple of months have been for me anyway - and it's probably my own fault. An inability to say NO when asked to do stuff, a tendency to operate by way of short bursts of productivity interspersed with long periods of pfaffing (a phrase stolen from someone else but SO good!), and a general sense that THE YEAR IS RUNNING OUT AND THERE'S STILL SO MUCH TO DO (what's with that anyway? - It's not like the world is gonna end on December24...) - these things are have resulted in me having massive to do lists, running from one place to the next, day in day out, cramming as much into my weekends as possible, going to bed too late, eating a lot of wraps and salad (not all bad but kinda sick of quick food), and imbibing fairly impressive quantities of coffee.  

I'm not really complaining as such - it's mostly all stuff I do want to do, including getting ready for a new job, finishing some overdue renovations on my house, starting some new projects at the office, the usual family and friend things - and doing kid stuff around my work schedule, but there's the odd day when I come up the drive after a 12 or 14 hour day and think - STOP THE WORLD I WANT TO GET OFF!!!!

The bummer is of course, that most of us, me included, don't get the privilege of opting out.  Pesky stakeholders like my Bank, my family, my community, my employers, put pay to that.  I am torn between admiring those that say 'and for that reason I'm out' and actually pack up and go, and thinking that they are copping out of being a grown up.  

Its the plague of the white middle class woman (and man) of a certain age - have a full and busy life, get a bit bored, get a LOT bored, try some new stuff, still feel bored, and decide that the only solutions is a 180 of life as we know it.  (yeah OK so I am a bit jealous of people who have the nerve to do that even if they don't have the means or the sense not to....).   

Its end of year - everyone is busy and stretched right?  My life is not non stop excitement - and I kind of miss the 'damn it let's do it' lifestyle I have experienced in the past - but it's still pretty full on. Good stuff - people stuff. Good for the soul if only I let it be stuff.   And no, quitting is not an option.  And the stress bunny that sits just inside my ribcage is just going to have to sit tight for a couple more weeks. 

In the meantime, I'm keeping this list handy - just in case I have the time and inclination to act on it's advice....(thanks eponis.tumblr.com, I might even take a selfie)

The little black dog (part two)

Six or so  months ago I wrote about the little black dog who kept turning up at my door.  I think most people figured out that this was not a literal dog, but an analogy originally  coined by Winston Churchill to describe his 'fight' with depression.

Firstly I'd argue that it's not a fight.  I'd say Depression is a wave ...a cloud...it covers you - can threaten to choke you, but it's certainly not something (for me) that involved a great deal of fighting!  Not least because in the midst of a downer, I don't think one has the energy to do very much at all , let alone indulge in a scrap with something that has no form.

But I digress.  Because there was still a fight - its just that the fight for me was not with depression. The fight was internal, having to accept that I might need some 'chemical intervention' and having to swallow my pride enough to go and ask for that.  The Doctor, on hearing my sorry tale (and believe me it was a sorry one, even those I'd tempered it for prides sake more than anything) sat up in her chair and announced  'I can't believe you're still upright' - and then offered me a veritable cocktail of delights - some to help me sleep, others to stay awake, uppers, downers, and in betweeners.  I declined all but one relatively benign option, and then fought with my own handbag as I walked around first with a prescription for two weeks, and then with a wee bottle of innocent looking pills for another two.

But, finally - as much because I'd spent so much stinkin' money on the Doctor and the prescription, as any other reason - I took one of those pills. And another the next day and another the next day. and by day four I was seriously a different person.  Yes it screwed with my sleep patterns, but so what - I was only sleeping about three hours a night anyway, so it just meant I was tired, and wired, at a different time of the day.  And yes, things seems a little...bright...or something - like my senses had been heightened in some weird way. Which maybe they had, in that the cloud had shifted -  it was just a little confusing when I was also feeling, finally, blessedly removed from that cloud I had become almost comfortable under.

After about three weeks things settled down, and I started to feel normal again.  I admit I was a bit slack and missed the odd day of medication but it didn't seem to make a lot of difference provided I got right back in the swing as soon as I realised.  At the one month mark I had to get a repeat, and the Doctor told me that whilst I had noticed an immediate change (and so had she - she was dead right about how deficient my 'insert name here' hormone was), it would take at least three months, possibly six, to see true outcomes and for the meds to be absorbed and sustainably effective

As three months approached I knew I didn't want to go for a another prescription repeat. I felt good, in control, normal (well kind of, I think, maybe).  She warned me against coming off it but agreed it was my choice and that as long as I did it slowly - over the course of two or three weeks, breaking the pills into smaller and smaller bits, and stretching out each dose - and I was monitored by someone who could watch for any changes - she would support the decision.

And so I did.  Three weeks later the meds were out of my system.  It would be fair to say there were a few times in the next couple of months I questioned my decision - maybe I'd done it too early, not least because the issues that had got me to where I was in the first place weren't all resolved.  But by and large I was feeling pretty good.  Stayed busy with normal life, talked (even more than normal) through what was in my head.  Retired some energy sucking relationships and working on developing the ones that were mutually energising.

Now I fear I've turned into a 'go to the Doctor' preachy kind of person.  I have watched a couple of close friends cope with highs and lows (I'm reluctant to diagnose it) and really struggle to get out of the lows.  Maybe they need chemical help, maybe they don't.  Medication alone will not fix problems, and should not be viewed as such, but it can give you enough oomph, or breathing space, or clarity of perspective to be able to move forward and deal with whatever got you to that place in the first instance.  The first step has to be being willing to talk to someone who really knows their stuff and just might be able to help.  That's probably the bit I found hardest. And it was probably the bit I should have done earlier.

What I learnt is that (cliche alert) prevention might be better than cure, and medication might be the ambulance at the bottom of the cliff - but you just can't be too proud to beg.  A hundred dollars on a Doctor and some pills saved my sanity I reckon.  What a bargain.

the quest for simplicity

As you know, I'm all for keeping things simple.
That means having less stuff - physical stuff, mental stuff, emotional stuff, even spiritual stuff.
It also means being intentional about the things, people, experiences, that accumulate going forward.

But I wonder - can this go a step too far?

http://guynameddave.com/100-thing-challenge/ is all about really paring down your possessions.  But I think he's missed a pretty crucial point.
 Sure we only need one chair to sit on.  We only need a one-person sized bed.  We really only need one knife and fork for that matter.

The argument goes, according to Dave and his ilk, that when one lives a transitory life (the roving author, the travel guide et al), one can manage with the contents of their backpack.  So good so far.
But the reality is that for most of us, we need a place to call home.  We can't afford to live in hotels.  In fact we probably have no desire to do so.  So that even if we only own 100 things (and this guy takes some poetic licence with that concept), we are still going to need to use a whole lot more than that.

Which means, doesn't it, that we will need to borrow those things from someone else? Whether that be by way of renting them, making use of public ones (hardly likely in the event of a bed or dining table!), or using the ones currently owned by others, we still can't get away from the fact that someday, somewhere, we are going to need more than those 100 things.

And whilst the idea of 'where-ever I lay my hat'' may sound appealing I think it has left out one really REALLY important consideration.

And that is, what about people?  The best way to nurture those we love is to spend time with them.  Which mostly means real human contact - consistently and constantly.  Not so easy when you live out of a suitcase.  The novelty of perching on someones single bed, eating every meal out of the same bowl is going to wear off pretty quick (trust me, I've been there!).  I accept that hospitality is about people not places, but transit lounges and cafes are not sustainable when it comes to building trust and longevity into a relationship of any kind.


Sure, have as little 'stuff'as possible.  Strive to be kind to the earth.  Be responsible with money.  Think how much more time you will have with less things to be concerned about.  But don't make the mistake of paring your relationships down to the bare minimum too.  Because they really can't survive on next to nothing.