this week's Wednesday wondering

I find it mildly fascinating that we tend to give hurricanes names...like Irene or Katia... as if somehow they are simply individuals who have worked themselves into a temper. In another situation, we might invite them round for a cuppa. Our tendency to anthropomorphise, I suppose (I'm not sure anthropomorphism can be converted to a verb, can it?).

 How did you guess? - yes, I have ironing to do.

the makings of friendship

What makes a friendship?  What starts a friendship?

There are all manner of people, so it seems inevitable that there are all manner of friends.  And what you think 'makes' a friendship may differ from my definitions.  In fact, our very definitions of friendship may differ.  One person's friend may be another's friendly acquaintance.

'Laughter is the beginning of friendship; sorrow is its seal' - words I scrawled rather loftily over a decade ago.  Sounds a bit weird.  What I meant was, sharing laughter is the beginning of friendship, sharing sorrow is the the sealing of friendship.  I had a specific friend in mind I think, where the early days were full of giggles and shared jokes, a delight at similar senses of humour.  But then came the day when we begun sharing our tears and our hurts - and thus entered a whole new level of friendship.

I've also known encounters where you start with laughing together and end with crying together all in one conversation - one of those 'fast forward' friendships I mentioned in my last post, somewhat rare and dependent on an automatic trust and honesty which allows for such deep emotional connections...

But not everyone will thrive on these deep friendships, preferring not to bare all and share all!  And I have those I call friends who would not see this side of me.

Is it fair to say there are levels of friendship?  I don't want to make it sound like some are superior and some are inferior -echoing back to playground politics at school - where you were consigned to 'best friend', 'second best friend' and lived awkwardly under that label. 'Power play' can be at work here, and it can create deep insecurities. But there will be friends I share more deeply with because I have seen in them an understanding that allows for it.  There are friends I share more deeply with because we have walked together through difficult times - and shared lunatic moments!  There are friends I share more deeply with because they have made the effort to stay in touch when others did not bother.

I suspect we all form friendships in different ways - different from each other because we are individuals with our own ways of expressing, our own needs.  Different even within ourselves because we identify those in our lives who would particularly appreciate certain things about us.

We can form friends through familiarity - seeing each other regularly. We can form friends because we have gone through similar experiences and helped each other through them. We can form friends because we see in someone else a likeness to ourselves. We can form friends because we see a difference from ourselves, one that is complementary. We can form friends because we have hope and faith in common, or because we have been through a stage of life where we were both developing and learning new things.

There is no single template.


Update: on reading this post, a friend (who comes under the 'fast forward' category!) mentioned this moment in the Big Bang Theory, which I link to here for your viewing pleasure (embedding is disabled): http://youtu.be/k0xgjUhEG3U



Next up: maintaining friendships, perhaps? 

thoughts on friendship

RECENTLY IN THE BACKGROUND of my mind I've been thinking about friendships - specific friendships of my own, as well as friendship in general - the formation of friendship, the endurance (or not) of friendship, the levels of intimacy within friendships, the challenges of friendships both old and new.

I could try and splurge my thoughts in one rambling post, but I will try, time permitting, to reflect upon my theme in instalments.  Friendship as a concept these days now acquires new challenges as not only do our friendship bases widen due to travel and movement, they can also be formed and maintained by social networking.

Social networking has a different impact on friendship depending on your generation. What I mean is, for those of us who grew up prior to social networking sites, we have the somewhat odd experience of 'getting back in touch' with older friends, not merely as individuals but as collective. For example, I can look at my school friends and see that one group of which I was a part have largely stuck together - which unsettles me slightly when I realise that I am not one of them any more. I moved on and away and did not move back; my closest friendships were formed, generally speaking, later. There were reasons for this, health probably being a factor, as well as opportunities and common hopes, dreams, opinions.

When I moved into adulthood and encountered the scaldingly intimate friendships I made later, it seemed strange to try and find this in earlier friendships made of other stuff - different in tone, different in need. Yet I can see that those who have grown up in these friendships have also reached these levels of intimacy - which I formed with others in other places.  (The challenge of course that I did not remain in these places and thus have experienced the fierce loss of no longer being a few paces away from those who changed me so utterly.)

And although there are several adages about the age of friendships being directly related to their quality, this is not always the case. There are moments when a jolt of recognition occurs between two people who have only just met, whereby the intimacy and frankness that can take years are fast forwarded. These moments are not necessarily common, but precisely because of their rarity they feel deliciously surprising when they occur - as if they are a gift of sorts.

Friendship comes in many guises.



Image: stock.xchng

the incongruity of me

THERE ARE times when I know that trying to do anything is useless; I am over-expended; there is nothing for it but to slouch grumpily quietly recharge until I regain some kind of energy, however small.  But my personality is not terribly patient with resting up and waiting.  It's not that it doesn't like being calm and meditative or reflective.  But when tiredness comes along it is not terribly sympathetic even to gentle reflection - I can't even rest coherently.  My mental abilities are resigned to two simultaneous states - one rather like the hyperactive toddler who should have been in bed two hours ago, and the other a dead, lifeless opposite.  The one wars against the other while from the outside I look generally spaced out and cannot seem to construct sentences properly.

When I stop, I tend to dream.  My hopes and longings bubble up unhindered by busyness, but they are so incongruous in comparison with my physical state that moments of elation are swiftly followed by moments of depression.

I don't feel depressed while writing this, so you don't need to grab your box of tissues.  I just wanted to have a bash at explaining something I can't easily describe. I don't even know how to finish this post, but life alas seems to require days like these - riding out the silly fatigue, putting my desires and expectations in the corner of the room and allowing myself to feel and act like mulch.  Perhaps those who need rest the most resent it the most.

Eventually, the mulchiness is moulded into something rather more helpful - quietness of heart.  But such a thing is not acquired by the flicking of a switch or a mere intention.  No, first I have to master the mulchiness of a dynamic personality warring against the stagnancy of fatigue.  Then, and only then, does serenity seem to have a chance.

Wednesday wondering

AGAIN another week (nearly) has trundled past.  The earth has rotated on its axis a few times and lives have changed for better and for worse, be it small, seemingly insignificant changes or huge events tumbling people and communities into turmoil.  Shocking amounts of children have died in Somalia - and other places grappling with horrors of their own have continued to grapple with them.  The UK, meanwhile, analyses and re-analyses the riots, the possible reasons for them, and the proper response to them. Six people are stabbed to death in Jersey.  A newly wed dies in a shark attack.

Sometimes I find it hard to comment on world events, be they corporate or individual, knowing that I will never be able to fully comprehend or respond to them, knowing that there are so many tragedies, so many lives. In an age of mass communication we have the ability to find out about so many of them - and then not know how to respond.  The age old question: who is my neighbour?  arises out of the global village and finds no easy answer.  We can't just say: that's miles away from me, I'll only focus on my local community.  Neither can we forget our 'next door' communities, although we are frequently distracted from them, encased in our own quiet bubbles.  We express the required outrage and indignation when hearing about things but our hearts and minds are stretched very thin.  There are so many 'communities' in our lives these days.

There's no criticism in my pondering; it is, in fact, mere pondering. A moment of muddled thinking, before I go back to my daily routines and my personal circles and wonder how I connect with a bigger whole, which feels full of holes.

Very glad his wisdom is unsearchable and his love beyond depth and knowing.

God is pleased he made you

A WEEK has hurtled past while I wasn't looking.  Well, I was looking, but not in this direction!  Although frequently thoughts have come to mind which were eminently bloggable they have not, alas, been blogged.

It's been a busy week, and overall a positive one with fair amounts of interaction.  I started it in a good frame of mind after the affirming nature of last weekend.  On the Sunday morning it was said: "God is pleased he made you", and for some reason that hit me rather hard; I felt as if something fractured inside me.  Got rather sniffly.  I think half the time we feel that God may have been pleased with the initial "making" but we are unsure - is he still now, with all our missed opportunities, half-hearted attempts and apathy?  God is pleased he made you.  I heard another word behind the sentence in my head: God is still pleased he made you.  I actually felt quite convicted - and during our time of confession offered up any unhealthy self-recrimination and asked forgiveness for it - and came away feeling released.

Felt a rush of courage at various points in the week, and at one point murmured a prayer of thanks for it - and at that moment glanced at my notice board where I had pinned my New Year prayer (my substitute for resolutions this year) which asked specifically for courage. I realised that despite all the inevitable hiccups of being me and being human, I have grown in confidence this year.

So - a busy week, but a positive one.  Obviously peppered with pieces of exhaustion but the good has outweighed the bad.

And if you're feeling a bit useless or disappointed with your life remember this: God is pleased he made you.    

muddled prayers

AS USUAL, I feel I need to write something but feel muzzled by inadequacy.  The tension exists between the tragic and the humdrum - the horror experienced by those deeply affected by events and the helpless sympathy of the rest of us - not sure how to react or feel, not sure what to say that would not somehow be belittling of their loss and pain - yet our lives tumble on in their daily routines.  Which seems so offensive to those who are mourning, those whose lives can never be the same.

And of course, this is only in response to the things we know about - thinking particularly of those in Norway at the moment, but there are other horrors and losses everywhere, quiet and dark abuses in places we rarely or never hear about.  Often I think I should feel more than I do, without the automatic numbing that takes place - a flash of disquiet at the relative smallness of my compassion.  Then I realise it's not about merely feeling but living compassionately - so even if we struggle to empathise at gut level (and how can we, really?) we make a choice to care, to love, to pray.

So I offer my muddled prayers for those who are desperately in need of help and comfort today - glad of a God whose arms are far longer than mine, but ashamed and appalled of the things we do in his name.

reunited friends

THERE WAS NO no rush of surprise or delight at seeing you;

rather normality stole in quietly and surrounded us.
The months without you simply slipped away -
surely you have always been here?
But as the day wore on I realised
the depth of my missing you -
the way your eyes never judge or condemn,
only listen - reacting to my words
with genuine celebration or grief -
and I breathed you in like
long forgotten air.

know what I mean?

DO YOU EVER have something you really want to say and do not know how to verbalise?  A realisation that has been creeping through, a lesson you've been learning, a sudden revelation?

But it does not seem to fit into words. You end up saying 'it's sort of like...', or 'you know when...' When you've finished speaking you feel you've done it an injustice, or said something entirely different.

It's just not easy to explain.

Sometimes time is the answer - gradually the words grow to fit, or the thoughts clarify themselves to an extent that  you can find a vocabulary for them.

As a writer, perhaps this perplexes me more than it would someone else. As someone who feels things deeply, perhaps I am inexplicable by nature!

Sometimes I would like to hand my feelings to someone, so they could borrow them for a moment. So they could catch the sense of what I'm saying, grasp the importance of what I'm learning. So they could understand my 'wow' moments without me having to constantly ask if they know what I'm getting at.

Looks like I'm having one right now.

Know what I mean?

welcome by listening

“LISTENING is always involved in hospitality. The most gracious attempts we can muster are meaningless if we do not actually hear the stranger. Listening is the core meaning of hospitality. It is something we can give anyone and everyone, including ourselves. It takes only a few minutes to really listen…

Hospitality is a way to counter the thousands of times another human being has felt less than human because others didn’t listen. Listening is the power of hospitality; it is what makes hospitality the life-giving thing it is."

- Daniel Homan and Lonni Collins Pratt, Radical Hospitality: Benedict’s Way of Love

This is one thing that I was particularly struck by when preparing the recent service. By listening to people, we are welcoming them. Welcoming their thoughts, valuing their opinions, providing them with a safe place to speak.  Our attentiveness is a welcome of its own.

For a fuller quote see here.

making connections

One thing that always gives me a buzz is making connections.

I love it when I'm reading something or researching something and I suddenly branch out, creating my own cross reference in my mind.  It happens when reading the bible (see my garbled thoughts here) but could apply to any area of study or research - or even light reading.  When reading a novel, for example, you will be reminded of earlier points in the story which are triggered by a new reference, a new incident.  The two combine in your mind, establishing a link, reaffirming the relevance of either or both.

Of course, when it comes to studying a topic or reading a text the connection may have been by hundreds of people already.  There may be nothing new in what you see - it may simply be new to you.  But would it have been the same - felt the same - if someone else had made the connection for you?  Would it sink in?  Would it be as memorable?

Sometimes I wonder if we are all too ready to have others make all the connections for us, to tell us where to look, to provide all the cross references we need.  These can be valuable resources, but there is a thrill in discovering something for ourselves.

I love making connections - feeling those synapses fire and fusing my thoughts in unexpected ways.  And although I like to hear and learn from others - there can be something very personally rewarding in making some of these discoveries myself.

Image from stock.xchng

hidden lives and unhistoric acts

It fills me with a mixture of hope and of quiet sadness that we so often do not recognise the value of others and the good they do in our world. We do not note the small acts of ordinary kindness, so keen are we to vaunt the exploits of the famous and the infamous, so eager to either praise or mock extravagant gestures. Our lives are steered gently by those who love us, rebuke us, protect us - even when we do not see it.  George Eliot puts it in just the right tone of voice:

...for the growing good of the world is partly dependent on unhistoric acts; and that things are not so ill with you and me as they might have been, is half owing to the number who lived faithfully a hidden life, and rest in unvisited tombs. - George Eliot, from Middlemarch

why I love Google Street View

Yesterday's trip went well.  I did indeed head library/cafewards initially - spilling out some words in my well weathered notebook, and having a quick peruse in the library itself before heading off for my 'appointment'. It was great talking to the two pregnancy centre workers - I find on-the-scene research really makes a subject come alive, and gives me the opportunity to meet new people too - we got on very well and I went away very glad to have made contact with such lovely people.

Of course all this entailed knowing where I was going. It was in fact on a bus route of one I already take frequently - it just went beyond the point where I usually got off. This is the classic problem I have always had with buses - knowing where to get off. You may know where it is on a map, but guessing it from the seat of a bus is quite another thing. This is why I love Google Street View. I get an advance glimpse of where I'm heading - not merely of road names on a map but the pizza places, shops, pedestrian crossings that all act as markers. I could tell, for example, that if I passed McDonald's I had gone too far - I'd need to get off at the next stop and backtrack.

And I need more than one marker. There is more than one set of traffic lights or traffic islands on a journey.  I need several backups - things that put the scene in context, let me know where I am in relation to my goal - and in relation to the other markers.


Uh oh.  Analogy approaching.

Sometimes we only use one marker in our patterns of thought and interpretation. We hurtle down the road thinking we're going in the right direction - aha!  Metaphorical weeping willow on right!  But we forget to look at the other markers which define the context, put things in a different light, show us another, better approach. Plus we forget that different people use different markers - different associations, memories, worldviews (street views?!). We can't understand why we've landed at such a different place.

I need to know what markers are there to tell me when to get off the bus. But I need to practise spotting them in life too - whether when reading the written word, listening to a conversation or a quiet confidence, understanding that there is usually more than one point of reference. If I forget to look for others, I usually misunderstand - I get off at the wrong stop and can't work out why.

writing and watermelons...sort of

Feel the need to write a vastly entertaining or astonishingly profound post.

Alas, such a thing is not forthcoming.

Have done various 'little jobs' today, including typing up the most recent instalments of the book, which inevitably includes editing and adding along the way.  (I managed to continue doing this even when the cavity wall insulation people were drilling holes a couple of feet from my head - impressive.  Earplugs were required, although it was still very very loud even when wearing them.)

At first it feels like a chore - sitting down to type up what I've already written - but soon it enlivens and inspires, reminding me of the reasons I am doing it and helping me breed further thoughts.  You may ask - why don't you type it from the start?  Well, sometimes I do.  But regular readers will know my love of notebooks - the paper kind - and how I love to sit in cafes scribbling aggressively, accompanied by a generous cup of coffee and possibly a packet of crisps or a banana. Last time I purchased a mini fruit salad which felt nice and naughty all at once.  It had watermelon in it.  What is it about watermelon?  Cool, crisp and refreshing.  It doesn't exactly go with coffee but never mind - I ate then drank.

I'm taking a trip this Wednesday to visit a pregnancy crisis centre to do some research for an article.  I'm assembling the pieces in order to make a pitch and hoping that someone will be interested!  It's one of those things where there are so many coincidences - people I know who are involved, stories I've been told - that I felt it was almost wasteful not to look into it further.  Those involved are very keen - I only hope I don't disappoint them.  Perhaps I should not feel so much for my subject matter - but passion (and compassion) are powerful things and I wouldn't want to write about certain things without them.

Rather than flutter about in the morning at home I shall probably go to the library (or neighbouring cafe!) first - get some thoughts flowing - although my current notebook is nearly full.  I'm sure I only just replaced the last one!

You never know, maybe I have some watermelon while I'm there...watermelon on the brain.  Is that normal?!

I can't seem to draw this post to a close; it's pure rambling.

I shall take a breath and punch in my last full stop.

Image from stock.xchng

the happiness gene

Since I posted last month on the happiness movement and the idea of happiness as a decision, another article caught my eye yesterday. Apparently, they're saying there is a 'happiness gene', which explains

...why we each have a unique baseline level of happiness and why some people tend to be naturally happier than others, and that's in no small part due to our individual genetic make-up. - Source here

From my perspective, it seems that there so many factors to so many parts of life (do you know how many theories there are about CFS/ME? It can be very befuddling!). If there is a tendency for some to be 'happier' than others, how we do we balance this with human choice or indeed religious belief? Is 'joy' unhampered by such precise ideas of happiness?

And the big old question - how much are we enslaved to our genetic make up? Can we act against our genes? Should we bother?

Biblically speaking what we are "in the flesh" is countered by who we are in the Spirit - not meant to be controlled by our "natural" cravings (I use quotation marks because such concepts are hard to translate). If the Christian life goes against our instincts (to some degree), does it go against our genetics, too? Can we be set free from our genes?

Just random, uninformed musings...!

Image from the Press Association (see source article)

blogging: a writer's dilemma

Theoretically, I have been blogging here for four years this month.  I say theoretically, because my stuttering start in May 2007 didn't really add up to much. It was only in 2008 that I started picking up post wise.

At the beginning, any reluctance to blog was a kind of protectiveness, a dislike of laying myself bare. I wasn't really blogging for an audience;  I was just trying to express something. Around that time I started my regime  programme for dealing with CFS/ME, so it helped to put some words somewhere. I didn't get to do much wider communicating, otherwise.

This was also prior to my decision to make writing my reality, before accepting it as a vocation rather than a dream. I was still in the turbulent relationship where I tugged at it and snarled at it and wished it away and wished it back again.

Now, I have found my blogging 'voice' and don't mind using it; I have fallen into natural habits over what I do and do not share, what I consider public and what I most certainly do not.  This seems to vary from blogger to blogger.  Plenty of bloggers post personal photos of their families and friends; I have chosen not to.  These days I allow a photo of myself - I didn't, initially - but I still don't share pictures of others, unless they are already 'public'.  That's my choice, one of the lines I draw.

But the question now is not - do I dare to blog? but Where is the balance?  Because it's not just about time and energy - it's about the writing.  Me as a writer.  I'm currently focusing a lot on my (non fiction) book, which is privately satisfying but inevitably it doesn't 'show' in any way; it is a working towards something that might be published in the future, not an article I wish to get published now.

During Lent I blogged every day over at Thirsty Ground and did a fair bit of blogging here, too.  Now Lent is over, I'm easing the pressure over at TG and deliberately slowing (as if I could go much slower - I take such small chunks of the biblical passage!).  It takes quite a bit of writing energy.  Blogging is writing, after all, and it's important to me that I do, to some degree, craft my blog posts, not churning them out in splurges of feeling or rolling paragraphs with no breaks and strange punctuation and dense sentences that go on forever and ever and multitudes of ands and aggressively overwhelming quantities of exclamation marks - argh!!!!!!

Anyway.

Actually, it doesn't take me long to write a blog post.  The crafting comes quite naturally.  But it's still using writing energy.  Not to mention brewing time. I'm quite the teapot.  Subjects churn and build and brew into reality.  Eventually - hopefully - I write them down.

Sometimes this scares me a little - how many thoughts, ideas, articles and books am I capable of but will never fully externalise due to sheer lack of self-discipline?  

I'm sure I have a point.  Oh, yes.

For a writer, blogging is a dilemma.  It's very positive - a way of practising our craft, of getting into the habit of writing, even a showcase for our work.  A web presence, as they like to say - a touchstone, a vehicle, simmering with possibility.

But it also takes time - time for thinking and explaining, time for tweaking and commenting, for interacting and editing.  All good things, but all things I need to do in my day job.

So - I will blog, but I will blog moderately. There's always a balance. Enjoy it, use it, but don't let it swallow all  your time. It could be said of so many things...

Hold all things lightly.

digging

After a busy but enjoyable Easter weekend, I've given myself permission to abscond to the garden for today.  It's been a productive morning - not always the case when gardening, but I'm pleased with what I've managed.  Granted, there is still plenty to do, and I haven't even touched the front garden, which fills me with quiet dread when I think about what needs doing.

Much digging and tugging needed for the major project this morning - transplanting a shrub out of a pot into the ground. Which sounds straightforward, but not when the roots have rooted through the pot. What's worse it was on a piece of flat stone so instead of simply growing down through the holes in the pot, they'd gone sideways, splayed out in immovable stiffness.

There was no chance I was going to get the plant out of the pot with any of its major roots intact.

So, I had to get the pot out of the plant. Using a hammer. Whack. The terracotta fractured and I was able to remove it piece by piece, with a degree of reluctance (I had hoped to reclaim the pot). I now have lots of terracotta shards to use for drainage, I suppose.

Of course, removing the plant from the pot was only one side of the procedure; the other was digging the hole in the ground. We have very dense, clay-like soil - on top.  But go down deep and it gets stony - really stony. The spade clanked irritably against the obstacles. Nothing for it - I grabbed the fork instead, driving the prongs between the stones, shaking the earth loose.

Sometimes I think I come at life with a spade and forget to use the fork first. I slam against obstacles with the dull blade and grow more and more frustrated. The fork takes a more careful route - teasing out the earth.  It still requires a lot of strength and persistence, but it gets through where the spade cannot. Sometimes the tool we assume will make the best job, achieve it the most quickly, is simply ineffective.

Such were the thoughts meandering through my mind as I dug - or forked.

Of course, when you slam up against solid rock there's not a lot you can do with either spade or fork.

I suggest, in that scenario, picking somewhere else to dig...

And sometimes, in order to free the roots, you may need to break the pot.



Fork image from Amazon - not the fork in question!

the potential and the peril of good intentions

So often, I see an avenue for encouragement.  I see something I could do. It may not feel like much - a mere contact, a mere word.  A simple presence - a being there.  A card.  A flower.  Just a little silly nonsense to lighten the air, even - something funny, something affectionate.

I put it on my mental to-do list.

Otherwise known as my good intentions.

Oh, they are such beautiful things!  They really are.  They are so filled with potential and promise.  They carry droplets of hope into the barren ache of despair.  They could, possibly, make a difference I would never be aware of, never truly understand.

But then I forget them.

Not immediately.  They go on the to-do list, and then they go on the roll-over list.  You know, the things I meant to do yesterday and will now attend to tomorrow (today rarely gets a look in).  Once they've been rolled over a few times I examine them and wonder - is it too late?   Will it still be appreciated?  I hesitate, now, to do them.

I put them on my 'uncertain' list.

Which means I still do not do them, as I am working out if they are now feasible, valid, or wanted.  I start worrying about how I will appear, about how it will look.

So much time has now passed that even thinking about them plunges me into despair.

So, I take them off the list for a while.

Time passes - days, weeks, months.

And one day I catch a glimpse of someone or something and - I remember.  And, sometimes I see - it would have helped.  I could have made a difference.

But now - what?  Their number has changed and I don't have their new one.  They've moved away.  The links are gone, broken or rotted.  The chance is lost.

It was such a good intention.  So full of promise.

And then I start compiling a list of regrets.  Things I should have done but didn't.  I'm so busy looking at that list that I neglect the new things, the new opportunities that today brings.  The cycle continues of the almost-not now-not evers.

I have to teach myself a new mantra, especially for good intentions:

Forget yesterday's failures.  Don't wait until tomorrow.  Do it today.

inspiration in unexpected places

At one point, as part of my writing course (yes I am still doing it - although admittedly very behind on my current assignment!), I was supposed to research trade magazines and specialist publications.  Now, I could have spent hours trawling through 'Happy Tractors' and 'Existentialism for Beginners'¹ in WHSmith.  However, I decided to be practical and use my current contacts / resources - which is what a writer is supposed to do anyway.

I put a notice in the church notice sheet. Magazines, please!

Inevitably I got a very varied assortment!  Some were of real interest, others were so jargon-ated I didn't have a clue.  The idea was to find new markets for writing, and to see what was required to write for such magazines - content, references, style.

I did a sort out the other day where I was going through my general magazine 'stash'.

I decided my collection of Insurance Times could probably be recycled. But some of the others I kept - one technology and engineering magazine I found surprisingly fascinating.  Management and business magazines can have articles on people skills and team work and stray into how people tick - very interesting.  One had an article on the role of gossip - I kept that one, and will  probably cut out the article for my clippings file eventually.

Yesterday I found the British Journal of School Nursing in my guitar case (what a strange sentence!)  Someone must have given it to me when I had my guitar with me, and I slipped it into the nearest available compartment.  Since I stopped my involvement in music at church for energy reasons, I've only just discovered it.  I'm not a school nurse.  I'm not a teacher.  I'm not a parent and I'm not a child.  But it is really interesting.  This was an issue from 2008 and had articles on stress and mental health, confidentiality, sex education, weight, drama in education, competence and the age of consent and an interview with a school nurse at an independent Faith School.

Now I am not necessarily thinking of writing for any of these magazines - my knowledge on the subject is full of holes.  But they cover topics that act as triggers - stimulating ideas, providing illustrations, looking at wider issues in specific ways.  And, of course, they open a window on other people's worlds.

We need to stray outside our specialisms, including in relation to faith and theology .  Many of these 'outside' elements can trigger connections we never knew were there - whatever our field or area of expertise.

¹As far as I know these titles do not exist².  But if you fancy some bored googling, you can confirm that for me, if you really want to.


² Rather ironic, considering the second one's title.

happiness is a decision

...part of the catchphrase of the movement called Action for Happiness. I caught this on the news yesterday, reporting on the launch event in London.

Happiness is now a science. People are deciding that it's good to be happy and that - gosh - this is not bound up in material possessions. In the BBC report page it says: 'On joining the organisation, members pledge to produce more happiness and less misery.' According to the promotional video below, doing good things for others makes you feel good about yourself. And guess what! Happiness is contagious. One spokesperson said:

"Rejecting a societal focus on materialism and self-obsessed individualism, the movement instead prioritises healthy relationships with others and meaningful activities as a means to happier living." (from BBC report)

And it's good for our mental health (which I suppose means it's nicely economical, too).


They're saying that happiness is a decision - a skill to be learned. Which puts me in mind of the apostle Paul saying 'I have learned to be content in all circumstances' (my emphasis).  I'm not sure that Action for Happiness would mean it quite in the context he says it, however:

I am not saying this because I am in need, for I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do all this through him who gives me strength. - Philippians 4:11-13

Paul's framework is that of a person - the one who gives him strength, rather than contentment for the sake of it. Neither does he do good to make himself feel good - it's about God's approval, not man's.  

So, is contentment the same as happiness?  And what about joy - especially when it comes to rejoicing in suffering?

People are trying different things to make them feel happy - be it meditating, writing a thank you note, making someone a cup of tea.  BBC Breakfast have even started a 'Happiness Challenge'.

This ties in a little with the government's interest in measuring well-being.

Is this partly in reaction to a time of economic difficulty?  That we need to find something other than the material to define ourselves? I'm certainly not arguing with that, by the way.  I just find it all fascinating, even if I do sound tongue-in-cheek about it.  Although making happiness the saviour of the world is a bit much (join the movement - be the change!).  It hardly addresses the real problems that so many face.  Sticking a 'happy' plaster on a gaping wound of despair?  Hmm.

How do you measure well-being?  Or happiness?  And how exactly do you define happiness?

Sitting in the library on Monday morning in a pool of sunlit silence and exercising my brain I felt a rush of pure...happiness, contentment, whatever you want to call it.  So, I guess that's one of the things that makes me 'happy'.  But others would be bored out of their brains.

So go on, tell me.  What makes you happy?  And just how important is happiness?







Image - Willow Tree figurine 'happiness' - photographer unknown