“I'm not a body with a soul, I'm a soul that has a visible part called the body” Paulo Coelho, Eleven Minutes

I'm reading a very interesting book at the moment. Lent to me by a friend. I kind of knew why; it was to do with my new venture. But it's so much more than that. It's a 'window on the soul'. Not entirely, but in many respects, and on many pages, it has taken my breath away.

The first observation was that there was a crease down the spine. To me, this is the sign of a well loved book, or one that is really good - in particular, on the pages where the crease is. I glanced at my estimation, and saw some interesting phrases, and thought 'this will be good'

I was right, but again, not for the reason I thought. I chose though to start at the beginning. A very good place to start, although I suspect that Maria would be squeamish and Mother Superior would have a fit. It's an open and inherently honest story of a professional woman's life and feelings. Graphic, yet not for show. Intense, yet not frightening.

The first fright was that the opening section takes place exactly where I used to live. But not in the way I lived there. Timid mouse that I am. Or was then. Names of places, roads even, that I knew very well.  Rather too close to my then home.  But I persevered.

Then a summary of a time that I could very closely relate to.  A long term relationship and all that comes with it.  A sense of loss - of the self.  Of doing everything for others but betraying yourself.  She described it very plainly, and accurately.  This is a woman who really knows herself.  She may have been subduing it for a while, but it was always there, in the background.

“sometimes life is very mean: a person can spend days, weeks, months and years w/out feeling anything new. Then, when a door opens - a positive avalanche pours in. One moment, you have nothing, the next, you have more than you can cope with..”
― Paulo Coelho, Eleven Minutes

A few more sections of terrible coincidence.  Of revelation.  But all the while of honesty and purpose.  I expect it didn't feel like that at the time though.  It never does.  When you distill the vast range of boredom and mundane experience down to the essence of action, it is always a little more clear than it was when diluted by everyday life.  I wonder how many tears were shed.  She doesn't really say.  Or perhaps she doesn't really do that. 

And then on page 77, there he was, my friend.  Lining up against the creased spine. Thinly disguised.  I was reading this on the train - and gave a sort of a half laugh, which made the man opposite me look up from his laptop.  And I smiled all the way through that section.  It was really weird reading what I was reading, but it all made perfect sense.  She writes very particularly - his speech in the text really sounded like him - and so I could assess that all the characters were probably very closely played.  Good on you! I say.

I then started to wonder why he had really given me the book to read.  He must have known I would work it out.  Is he just that free spirit?  Well, I knew that anyway.  Someone with his history, career, approach to life would not have any qualms about sharing such things, I guess.  I haven't come to any conclusions about that yet, but it's an interesting debate going on in my head.  The safest option (and most likely) is the quality of her writing.  Modern, upbeat, practical and yet spiritual in an odd way, and very very engaging.  He wanted to show me how such a novel should really be written.

On many occasions I had to stop and think. I couldn't believe just how close to home some of the sections came, and yet it was very different. She is amazing. So confident. Sure-footed in her opinions and approach. Knows what she wants and tries to get it. On page 111 I found another phrase I could associate closely with:

'I've never felt fully validated unless I'm needed'

Where the hell does that come from?  I just don't know.  I don't think it is my parents, or experiences.  It seems to be inbuilt in my psyche.  I have the capacity to be very selfish, I know.  And yet, also very selfless.  And I'm most in conflict when the two are out of balance.  I'm no Mother Theresa.  Well, I wouldn't be taking the time to write this, if I was.  I'd be out there being a Nurse, or something.  Hmm, better think about that one later.

There are three people though, that don't need me.  And I feel that our relationships are of equals, and they are very rewarding.  I don't see or meet or correspond with them all the time, but when I do it's great.  And I hope that they see this too.  Not this post, oh, you know...

I haven't finished the book yet.  It's still intriguing me, and each episode she cites gives something different to the story.  I now get the feeling though, that it won't have an ending - just as real life doesn't have an ending.  It's only ever a step on to the next thing.

And about the writing, the quality of what I have read.  It's modern and fresh in approach, and makes me think that my style is more traditional - perhaps even a bit 'old hat'.  I don't intend to change anything, but for a few days it's really made me think about whether there is any merit in my writings.  And then, in the wink of an eye, the thought goes, and I remember all the things that I believe in - and one of them is ME.  I know I can do this.  I know that people will like my writing.  Not everyone, but some.  And if it works for some, then I will be happy.

A jolly good read though.  If you know me, and want to know the title, email me.

I need to contemplate this.

Whereas the average individuals "often have not the slightest idea of what they are, of what they want, of what their own opinions are," self-actualizing individuals have "superior awareness of their own impulses, desires, opinions, and subjective reactions in general.

My Annual Review

I felt like doing one this year – it’s the first time in a few years that I have felt as though I achieved something worthwhile.  And while I know I could do much more, I feel satisfied with what is there.

My home is more ‘up-together’ than it has been.  I take the time, and can put aside my cares to get on with the mundane tasks.  Somehow they seem worthwhile again now.  Whilst I still become irritated by the futility of it all (if only I could afford a cleaner), there is a role that I fulfil, and it is a role that is useful.  I am appreciated.  Well, most of the time.

I have achieved a personal challenge, and managed to feel I’ve done my bit for some very vulnerable people.  I have given time to people that need it.  A precious thing, time.

I see progress in the junior.  He seems to be thriving, and growing and developing, and I can rest assured that the progress he has made this year will enable him to survive in the future.  He can be independent, it just hasn’t happened yet.

Of course the trouble has always been that I have inwardly compared him to my own experience, and that is so very different.  It was unfair of me to do so.  I never did this out loud of course – I made a point of suggesting it very occasionally, so he knew he was different to me.  I think he is more his father’s son really.  And that is great.

All I want to do is help him not make the same mistakes we made.  But in truth, they are his mistakes to make, and that’s part of life.

I see comfort in my companion.  We have laughed and laughed this year, and there have been many joyous occasions.  I also see pain and unsettlement and irritation, and I’m not sure what to do about those.  All I can do is be there for my ‘role’ where I can.  Which is most of the time.

I have developed deep friendships this year.  And delved further into old ones, rekindling things long since forgotten. Some have been taken to new levels – surprising ones, but very fruitful outcomes have been created.  I respect and love my friends – they have shown how they treasure me for who I am, and not judge by faded paradigms.

I’ve taken time to think about myself.  My writing has become more formal – in part, this blog is to blame, as is the dear friend who accidentally suggested it.  I relish being able to put my words on paper, and it helps me sort my mind into some semblance of order.  Sometimes, re-reading it, I see that my words are coordinated and make sense.  Other times, it is a rambling splurge of thoughts.  But either way, it is helpful to me to clear my mind at emotional times, and reflect on the contents of my wispy cobwebs later.  Like Dumbledore, I guess, in his pool.

And the blog is not all.  Constructing a new story has been wonderful, and although it too is not conventional, it is a side of me that requires releasing into writing.  And another thing to thank someone for – the hope of sending my story into the world.  Hope is a fabulous thing.  It breathes life into the darkest day, and acts as a beacon when all around is collapsing.  So to have that, gives one a tool to use when you need it.

Looking back at the year,  I try to see whether I am 'a self-actualizing individual'.  It is perhaps immodest to say it, but I believe I am - and therefore above average.  That's not a bad thing to be.  My self-awareness has developed.  I know my faults and can work with them.  If I feel the need, I work against them.  I respect who I am and have a slight toss of the head and say - if others don't like that, then tough.  I am me, and I trust that those who are worthwhile will know and respect me for that.

I love the things that have happened this year.  Even the ‘not-so-good’ can be explained with a reason.  I adore the people that have made my life worth living.

I don’t deign to pretend that 2012 will be better or so many great things will happen.  I know that things change, and people change, but wish to send good karma.  If they choose to send it back to me, that is wonderful.  I can but hope.