Tuesday 26 March 2024

Understanding

   I am sometimes amazed by how circular learning is. As with everything in life, it is a life-long, ever-evolving and changing process. You forget things, you change opinions, you realize connections, you deepen your knowledge, and you are never done. That is actually the good part. How interesting would life be if you were suddenly done? Now I know everything there is to know – what now? No, thank you. I would rather make a few mistakes, confirm what I know and add something new.

   When I opened my first book about yoga, aged about fourteen, I knew I was into something important. The book was from the library, full of nice photos, but did not say much about philosophy in particular, it was more about offering a different exercise regime. I knew straight away that this was more than exercise and that it would be in my life forever. And it is.

   I went through a lot of learning and will never stop. The practice is evolving. I am also happy to know that things that seem too far-fetched and strange will come to me when I am ready. Fourteen-year-old me was thinking that meditation was something weird and decided to push it aside. It took more learning, researching, thinking and trying to figure out that I needed to sit down to concentrate. Because meditation is a state. I may say that I meditate every day but I know that I am trying to concentrate enough to be ready to meditate. It might happen in this lifetime, or one of the next ones. Showing up every day and doing the practice is what matters. Doing it without expectations that are too high, without waiting for rewards, recognition, or praise, is at the core of the learning process. I do it because it matters.

   And there are some little surprises on the way. How many mornings do I look at my wandering mind and question whether I will ever make it still? And then, later, I experience clarity, find solutions to problems, and inspiration that springs out of nowhere. My mind works differently. On the physical side, some poses offer new insight after years of doing them. Suddenly, a little tweak makes me see and feel them differently. Now I get them. Some poses work all the time. Some go up and down. Some need a lot of work. When balances work, I know that my mind is clear and focused and that it will show during my day. And it does.

   Yoga isn’t about how you look when you do it, or how long, deep, high, or extreme you can go. There isn’t one right way. There is your way of doing things and your way of living your yoga. Showing up day after day is what counts. Understanding is knowing that I know nothing. Understanding is accepting that learning never ends and can come from unexpected sources. Understanding is standing still feeling like you are flying high up in the sky, seeing your life and your worries from a bird’s perspective.

Monday 4 March 2024

Forgiveness

Forgiveness is often seen as a virtue, something that we should have and demonstrate so that we can show the world that we are indeed decent human beings. It isn’t easy. We can learn to say the right thing, and we can act as if we are over and above something, but in reality, we hold grudges, ponder, and analyse. Deep inside, we know that we didn’t really forgive.

Maybe it is because as with everything, outer limits and expectations are hard to meet. We need time to be ready. As with grief, when we are expected to move on, we can forgive in our own time, we are capable of doing it, but we need to be ready. And nobody knows when it might be. We may shake off our trauma and move on, or we may need (or want – why not?) to sit with it, take our time, and work with it. Dealing with our grudge, pain, and grief, or any other thing that society might consider unhelpful and undesirable, might be what sets us free in our own time.

Of course, having our pain and trauma as the thing that defines us isn’t good for anybody, but the preconception that life is supposed to be happy and good and only positive vibes are allowed is naive and, frankly, impossible.

Forgive and forget, they say. Again, why? What if we don’t want to? What if remembering the bad as well as the good is beneficial? The best lessons in my life were learnt from mistakes. Bad things are part of life, they are here to stay, and they are how we learn. To learn, we must remember. Fairy tales are nice, but life isn’t about overcoming one obstacle, defying one enemy, and living happily ever after. Life is up and down, circles of time, and people with baggage. In the baggage is a mixture of positives, negatives, neutrals, riches, losses, and things unforgotten and unforgiven. The baggage makes us what we are.

Life isn’t about forgiving and being virtuous and good. It is about understanding what happened and moving on when we can. Not a long time ago I read an interesting thing that prompted this post. I can’t recall the exact words but the message was: perhaps instead of forgiving what you can’t forgive, forgive yourself. And it was so liberating, even though, at the same time, I thought that I had already understood it somewhere deep inside but didn’t really say it like that, so clearly and nicely. Somebody hurt you, somebody did bad things to you, somebody took away a lot? And you are meant to forgive and forget? And you feel bad because you can’t? Don’t. It is okay. Let them live with what they had done, let them pay the price for it. Don’t go looking for a proof. Don’t reach out. Don’t let others force you into reliving it, talking about it over and over again. Instead, extend your kindness and virtue to yourself. Forgive yourself for not knowing better. Forgive yourself for allowing it to happen, for not reacting differently, not knowing what to say and how to say it, not knowing the right way to act, react, and move away. Look at yourself then, look at yourself now. You have learnt. Even if you thought it impossible, you had moved on. You know more now than you had known then. And you are forgiven. Extend your kindness and virtue to yourself. Know that at any time in your life, you have done the best you could have done, knowing what you had known, with the resources you had. Forgiveness is possible. And you can offer it to the most important person in your life: yourself.

Monday 22 January 2024

Winter Musings

 

 The third week of January was cold. Seeing a frosty landscape on the conservatory window early in the morning brought back memories of dark winter mornings of my childhood in Europe, when winters were like that, and cold and snow were normal.

I like all seasons, see the magic in them, and easily accept the disadvantages of each. But when proper winter hits – something that is more rare with each passing year – the reaction is stronger. Maybe I am a winter person, I was born in the winter, who knows? Nothing stirs me quite as much as snow crunching under my feet, snow-covered trees and houses, paw and bird feet marks, and an endless stream of snowflakes gracefully falling from the grey sky. The sounds and light are different in proper winter, you can sense it upon waking even though the curtains are closed and you have no idea what you will see.

Of course, I remember long, lazy summer days, swimming in lakes and ice cream, or the freshness of spring, and I always admired the autumn colours of nature around me. But still, winter is special, it stirs more feelings and memories. When I think about spring and autumn, they are special, but somehow transnational, and can be swallowed up by the other seasons. Summer and winter dominate the year, they define it. Years are remembered by them and their extremes. But while summer is different everywhere – you can’t expect the same summer by the seaside as it is under the Alps or in a busy metropolitan capital – winter is winter. It means cold and snow.

The weather of winter brings me back to my childhood more than anything else. We used to ice skate on the local ice rink. Some braved the local ponds, but I never felt quite certain on these. We sledged and skied. Later on, our dad took us for cross-country skiing, there were paths made all over the local hills and it was way more fun (in my opinion) than going up and down a hill, especially if my pocket money couldn’t stretch to a day pass for the ski lift and my parents saw it as an unnecessary expense. Also, the skis were much lighter to carry. Because everything was local, we walked. It feels very last century when I say that we lived in a small town where you could walk everywhere and nobody had seen it as a strange thing. It had changed by now, of course. But ‘fifteen-minute cities’ were a thing back then.

Of course, we lived in a place where people expected winter. The roads were managed, pavements were cleared, people changed their tyres every winter and spring, and we had winter clothes and shoes. We were ready. Blocks of flats had a rota so each flat owner knew when was their turn to clear the entrance and footpath. House owners cleared the fronts of their houses. The council took care of the main roads and the side roads. Sounds like paradise. It wasn’t perfect, but we functioned and got around.

Every year when we are lucky enough to glimpse a proper winter in England I rejoice and flutter. If nothing else, it gives us a break from the usual rain, wind, and mud. But then I have to go outside and sigh. Our road is a mess and I have to pray that they salted the main road. Usually, they do, which is great. Then I see people in normal shoes, flapping around. The phobia of wet shoes and socks creeps in and brings memories of my mother and grandmothers, warning us of catching certain death. Everything halts and pipes freeze. But still, I am happy.

If we were a little better prepared, people would understand. So far, they look at me like I am a very strange person (which I maybe am). But it makes sense. You can manage cold. You wrap up, put on layers and your body tells you when it needs you to go home. When we have summer heatwaves, there is nothing that helps. If you stay in the sun too long, you get sunburn, but unlike the cold that builds up and makes you move away, you notice it too late. It is easier to cope with winter. And way more romantic. It makes me happy, and sledging with my daughter brings my childhood back even more. We can all be silly when it snows!

Tuesday 16 January 2024

Clearance

 

I spent most of my weekend by the table, going through magazine and paper cuttings, old magazines, warranty booklets, and random bits of paper with information that some time ago seemed relevant. They were happily nestled away in a far-reach part of the library but, as happens regularly, I am running out of space. I need somewhere to put all the games and puzzles that the family accumulated.

I used to read much more magazines and loved Sunday newspapers. I stopped buying them as time became more precious and reading time was even worse to carve out in my day. With papers, I also didn’t want to fund a certain rich bloke, no matter how good journalists he employed. Magazines totally lost their magic. Fashion magazines for women were outgrown just like their teenage predecessors had been lost before. Suddenly, I wouldn’t care about the latest celebrity musings, didn’t know who they were, and it was boring me. Newest beauty trend? Who cares?

Sorting out the incredible chunk of history was like evolution happening in front of my eyes. I kept some of the very first cuttings because they reminded me of the young girl who had started living independently and had had lot of dreams and ideas. I must say, I was into art and independent movies, and I silently approved of the young self.

Then I went through the image stage. Being involved in modelling and fashion, fashion photos were study, inspiration and admiration. How are the best photos made? How to be in them?

Then, there was the travelling phase, with endless materials about places I had been to and wanted to return to and many new places I had hoped to visit sometimes. They still hold their magic, but with disasters, changes, pandemics and uncertainty, even if I get the time and money, I will have to research again. Besides, being older means I know much better where I want to go.

Speaking of being old, I found a surprisingly high number of articles about the real point of most magazines for women – how to make myself better. In early adulthood, it was mostly self-improvement and (sort of) psychology. Later on, especially with the years of on-and-off pregnancies, losses, early motherhood and uncertainty, I was finding all the supposedly right ways to eat, exercise regimes, treatments and products that were supposed to make me better. I didn’t realize how much stuff I had put aside for a better time when I would be ready. They were very easy to get rid of.

Who knew that all that is needed is to work with your body as it is, eat right and move in a way that feels good. Good sleep, proper home-cooked food, and peace of mind make most of these articles truly irrelevant. Luckily, I have found my own ways to live and nourish myself and others. It took a bit of time but I got there.

I found my flirtation with yoga and alternative lifestyle magazines, but they never got a strong hold. I was into yoga before it became mainstream and realized quickly that I have the tools I need and ways to find the right teachers. I don’t need trends.

I have found some clippings of writing that were good and inspirational. It is funny how the interests follow the journey of life – from images to words, from travel to home comforts. I don’t need most of them. I do appreciate how much work goes into the media. However, most of it is meant to sell us stuff or ideas. Keeping my distance helps me focus on what interests me. I cleared the space, filled the recycling bin, and kept what I really liked or wanted to keep for now. I cleared some space without having it written down as a resolution. There was simply a need that was fulfilled at the right time when I was ready. Boxes of games are moved to the freed-up space. The empty lower shelf could be given to my daughter's expanding LOL collection. Looks like we all have to pass the consumer stage in life.

I will have to go in detail through articles of book reviews and film listings, they are part of ‘to be read’ and ‘to be watched’ lists that are only virtual, unlike the real lines of books and TV series, including some good documentaries. I am once again realizing that books and movies stay, they are not disposable and they mean as much as ever.


Sunday 31 December 2023

End of The Year

 

As the year is coming to its close, I can’t help but feel a bit annoyed. 2023 was a year of splendidly miserable weather. A few hot days, a few bright days, a few frosty days. Rain, mud and wind everywhere in between throughout the seasons. The last week is no different.

I worked a bit between Christmas and New Year’s Eve, which was good because I had to go out and I was actually quite lucky in being out in between the bursts of really bad winds and storms. But still, it is a bit sad. We didn’t do our traditional Christmas family walk and I am not sure that we will have a stroll on the beach to start the new year. We’ve done so for the last two years and it was always lovely.

Our planet is struggling, we can all see it, and yet so little is done about it. Excuses about the economy are made, people don’t want to change their ways, and the top one percent seeks a way to exploit the crisis. Let’s shop our way out of climate change!

On a more personal note, this year was a busy year and brought with it a new dynamic and discipline. I figured that once I get going, I can get a lot done. Discipline comes naturally, I don’t like unfinished work. Seeing my little business growing was great, and being appreciated was very rewarding. I like the fact that I can do what I like while I am also being useful and helpful. I met some very nice people and their pets and realized that coming out of my shell a little is fine.

Of course, I still didn’t manage to translate my newly found skills into my writing career. But I did finish my fourth book, honed up my proofreading and editing routine, learnt a bit more about the process of bringing a story to life and set up the stage for a bit more shine. I will write more but I think that I need to take a break and focus on marketing and networking. Writing is my craft, my thing, but I also tend to hide behind it. This year showed me once again that there is only so much time I have and I can only accomplish so many things in a day. I can’t dedicate all day to writing. I have to manage the time that I can give it and sometimes, other aspects of my craft will have to take priority. It is nice to see other writers online, floating from a writing group to book signing, then doing a bit of reading and reviewing before spending half of the night working on a new story. Good.

I won’t forgo rest. I won’t keep myself awake for the sake of a daily word count goal. Making a note in my diary or sending a message is writing too, at the end of the day. I will stay realistic.

Besides, what I don’t do around the house won’t be done. I can’t abandon my family duty. Husband can help sometimes, but often explaining what to do, how and why takes more time and effort than doing stuff myself.

This year was again slightly frustrating because my right shoulder was frozen and I had to slowly work on rehabilitation. It wasn’t easy to accept that after sorting the left shoulder, the condition simply moved, for no apparent reason, onto the other side. I didn’t bother with seeking help, dusted off the old set of exercises and got on with it. Being limited is difficult. Sometimes, I think about ageing, about feeling different, about the body becoming heavy and bothersome. Scary thought. Good practice and active living help me to keep on top of my health, I don’t want to depend on our crumbling health service or other people, it truly terifies me. So I do what I can.

The best part of the year? Travelling again, being in Prague, seeing my family, spending time with my daughter, seeing how she is slowly coming into a new, more independent, stage of life. Sometimes I look at her and wish she could stay my little buddy forever, always safe with me. But I know that I will have to let her go, be herself and find and learn things on her own. I will always be there for her, of course, I will, but these years of childhood are so special, it is sad that they will become a memory. I hope that I can still plan some little trips and things to do together and that she will still be excited about them.

Ten years ago, we were celebrating the first Christmas with her. We were trying to figure out how she manages to get from lying down to sitting and kept missing the moment. She was lying down, we turned our heads, looked again, and there she was, sitting. What a year that was, bringing her into the world. And now she is all grown up.

We live in peace, we are safe, and we have a home. We have a lot. It can be tough and difficult and frustrating and sad, but overall, life is one great adventure. One circle of it is closing, moving on the next one, with a new number, but the same people, challenges and little pleasures. All the best to us all.


Sunday 10 December 2023

The Anniversary

 

Our fourteenth wedding anniversary passed without any notice. It started with celebratory feelings in the first years, moved on to a bit of less enthusiastic, then ironic occasion, and now it is more or less a normal day. Looking back at the photos of the day, we look like two people in love. That day was unassuming – just us and two witnesses in the town hall. We had a high tea afterwards.

Knowing what I know now, that was perfect for me. When my now husband proposed to me we almost immediately agreed that we wanted to be outside to get married and that the best place would be where we had met – South Africa, and on the beach (husband loves sea sand sun and is often convinced that so do I even though I am a mountain spirit and take a hill over a beach any time) where we first kissed. It was one of the kisses when the earth moves under your feet, the one that convinces you that something special is happening.

It was soon clear that a beach wedding was a great but impractical idea. Formalities of a wedding between citizens of two different nations and non-residents had made it clear that obtaining the legal document would be much simpler where we lived. No problem, we will have a beach ceremony, it will make no difference.

Then it became clear that my friends and relatives wouldn’t be able or willing to travel so far. Considering that I was already living far from them all, it was fine. Husband had enough family and friends to provide enough good company. Now I see that I had already set myself as a stranger in the group, coming alone, staying alone. For us as a couple it was practical – we could be in Africa all of December (using craftily the fact that the end of year grants most employees a longer time off plus annual leave plus the benevolence that the word wedding stirs even in hardened and life-beaten managers and human resources staff) and combine it with holiday and honeymoon. Husband was living in the UK for three years and was happy to have time with his friends and family and the sort of December he was used to – a summer one.

That beach day’s anniversary is in December, but through the years I have come to see the November quiet wedding as the one to celebrate. It was truly a day for us. We were together, made a legally binding commitment to one another, and had a beautiful day in the company of good friends in the city where we were living together. It seemed like the love would only get stronger, the world belonged to us and we would be together forever. It was special and in its low-key unpretentious way it didn’t show it but it let us feel it.

I wore what I wanted. I took out a long, beautiful, full skirt of black and grey fabric, combined an outfit, and wore blue (for something blue) net stockings underneath, I dressed and made up for myself. Picking up the traditional white outfit for the beach was much more complicated, I was thinking about where we would be, what would people say and how the photos would work out… But on that November day, we were simply having a good time. And that is why it was special.

I felt a real connection to my partner and to the people who witnessed the ceremony. On the beach, after I had spent the night alone as tradition required and husband had had a heavy night of getting back together and celebrating with old friends he didn’t belong to me, I could sense the difference. He was uncooperative during the time with the photographer, I could see that he would much rather sit with his mates and chat away. I loved the photo shoot, it reminded me of the blurry days of modelling and how often are you in a beautiful place, wearing a lovely dress, having your hair done and being perfectly put together? Oh well.

The rest of the day was a blur. It was long and exhausting and after came the deflation. The honeymoon was fine but we were now past peak romance, past the newness and the teamwork of last weeks. That culminated on the afternoon before the wedding, when we picked up the cake, had a last word with the decorator, and had our paper license for our beach ceremony picked up from the office, everybody was there or arriving and we were about to part – me back to our friends’ house, him to the hotel. We had a drink and talked and were at peace because our organizing was done and we were ready.

Looking back, it was a day for husband, I was just playing the role I was supposed to play. I enjoyed what I could but didn’t love it.

A couple of years ago, when our daughter was looking through the old photos of the beach ceremony, husband said that it was the best day of my life and I got really angry with him. How can he be so ignorant? I had never said that. If he were to truly look at the photos, I didn’t look as happy as on other occasions – the November city hall wedding perhaps, or our first holiday together (now THAT had honeymoon vibes) or when our daughter was born. He could see happiness on a special level there. He just lazily used a stupid cliché we all know and hear, a cliché that is used to make girls believe that wedding paves the way to everlasting happiness, fulfils them and makes their life meaningful. I will never ever bestow such nonsense on my daughter. Quite the opposite. If you were to ask me about happiness then what comes to mind are times when I was single, often alone, and doing what I wanted the way I wanted. And in connection to other people, time with my child trumps any romance that passed and is long gone…

As with every relationship, our evolved. When we were taking the vows in the city hall, we didn’t think that it would become so distant and deflated. Like any other fool in love, we thought we would show the world how it ought to be done. Instead, we found and faced our differences, faced challenges and changed. Things happened, good and bad. It is okay not to be dizzy with happiness. As long as you know that the other one is there for you, I think it is enough.

Sometimes I think about the very beginning of living together, the intensity of it and I am glad it is over because it was exhausting. Once we were more settled, I could find myself in the new role and be myself again. I put a bit of distance between us, but so did he.

I would rather have a quiet relationship knowing that I have my base and can focus on everybody being well so that I can do what I want or need to do than live like one of the utopian couples who always agree with one another, never argue and love to do everything together. Yeah, right.

As a loner, I carved out an existence where I can cultivate my existence and my husband can keep having his bonds with mates. He might have thought that I would be by his side at all times, unquestioningly joining in everything, but he had learnt that he has his space and I have mine and that is how it worked out. Good, bad, I don’t know. But pretending that endless romance is there would be much worse.

The one thing that I now know and that I had no clue about back then, before all the anniversaries, is that as a woman, I am expected to become the second half, the supporting part, the keeper of home peace. I am to like what he likes, be happy when he is happy, and want what he wants. When a man says We, he means I and the rest… It is sad. Only after marriage did it dawn on me that we are silently being pushed to be accepting, accommodating, loyal, polite, quiet, and, most of all (and my personal knicker-twister-upper) grateful. Husband automatically assumes that he is right. If something goes wrong it goes wrong. If it involves me, well, I must have made a mistake. The way misogyny powers the world can be very subtle. Even blokes who consider themselves open-minded and good have certain assumptions about life that they would never consider wrong. After years of marriage, I know I won’t change everything, but I am very careful about the little messages I put into my daughter’s mind as a part of her upbringing.

Thursday 16 November 2023

Open The Door


 

My fourth book is called Open The Door and it is a little different. It was a book that came as a new idea, not something that was already drafted or put in notes before. It was a fully freestyle creation from NaNoWriMo 2019. I did exactly what I was supposed to do according to NaNoWriMo rules: I showed up every day and wrote a certain amount of words.

In one way, it was a bit uncertain – will I have enough ideas, will the story fit into the word count and time frame, will I not run out of steam halfway? In the other way, it was liberating. No notes to go through, no limits. I allowed the characters to develop and do their own thing. I am still amazed by how well it worked.

I believe that the template was already in me, it wasn’t sweated over late in the evenings, staring at an empty page.

I knew I wanted to write a different story than before. But I still used references from my own life, mainly to modelling, ageing and (my old-time favourite) Japan. My first three books were about young people, about their uncertain lives, choices, and love lives. I wanted to move on to someone grown-up. I was experiencing motherhood and noticed that I was becoming invisible and that I was changing. I was thinking about the next stages of my life – what will happen after the big chunk of intensive mothering is done? When the little people become bigger and more independent? I will still be needed but in another way.

Another thing on my mind was the relationship between women. I was tired of the age-old formula of love between a woman and a man. The reality of married life might have had something to do with it, I’m not gonna lie. What if my heroine started to question her sexuality? I believe that it happens to many older people. Being brought up in the traditional notion of a nuclear family, seeing how society functions, reading books and seeing movies and TV dramas that always occupy themselves with the relationship between men and women, many of us follow the clues and question things later or never. I wanted my heroine to fall in love. But I wanted a different love. So I gave it to her.

In some ways, Open The Door may seem too easy. Nice, comfortably living people deal with very mild problems. There is no struggle, no drama. On the other hand, there are the subtle questions of life that come when we have the luxury to think about them. What do I want? Where do I belong? What will I do with the rest of my life?

And there are troubles and losses, too. Rachel’s life is far from easy when we meet her. Is it too ideal? I don’t know. This is how the story came to me, I am just a narrator. I wanted a nice story about nice people, who have a good life, home, and security, who can do a bit of soul searching. I probably needed it, because all of my past stories were about finding one’s roots, purpose, home, relationships, and building a career. I wanted to look at the next steps. In 2017 NaNoWriMo (I participated every other year and focused on editing etc. in the year after) my story dealt with very serious issues. It is still waiting for its next stages and it wasn’t easy to write, although, just like Open The Door, it asked to happen the way it did. So yes, this book is about the next chapter in life, it brings us more mature characters who are a long way from knowing everything. Because we are never quite done, are we?

Open The Door has Rachel, a thirty-six-year-old model, as a main character. She is a single mother and we find her worrying about her career prospects. She is well past the average model’s age. She has done well until now, but the clues about her ‘not getting any younger’ are slowly coming. What can she do next?

One of the problems with success is that you may have only one skill and some jobs don’t offer much progress. You are either in or you are out.

Rachel is well aware that many girls from the industry ended up married, the best of them were trophy wives, admired as much as they were in their modelling years. Finding a well-to-do man might be the best option. As luck would have it, Rachel is currently dating a man who would fit the bill perfectly. Only that he doesn’t mean much to her. Nor did any of her past relationships.

Rachel is slowly spiralling into a period of worry and change. She still manages to keep a brave face in front of her sixteen-year-old son, but how long can she keep going? Watching her son’s first love and comparing it to her relationships, she sees a void and doesn’t know how to find the right direction.

Instead of transforming herself into a professional housewife, Rachel manages to revive her career. Just like finding out that she has exceptional hands shortly after becoming a mum and saving her modelling career years ago, she discovers the blossoming market of older models. And it isn’t all. Love comes to her, too. In a very different form than she had expected. Donna, the mother of her son’s girlfriend, becomes her favourite person and it takes a while to understand that what Rachel feels is what she is missing. There may be a reason for her low interest in dating men. There was a lot to discover for Rachel and it was such fun being on the journey with her.