Holidays

Wednesday 10.16am

I always resist going on holiday. " It is too expensive", "I can't spare the time away" "There's too much to do here" etc, etc. But once I decide to go and then actually do it , I am always glad I did and it usually turns out that the more I oppose the idea the more I actually need a holiday.

The problem with being at home is that I am surrounded by reminders of what I should or could be doing. If I was better at getting things done I would have all these "open loops" in my head written down and accounted for, but that is an ongoing project and by no means under control yet. Being away frees my mind from all of that and suddenly the world seems a much bigger place. But actually, although my conscious mind is relaxing my subconscious is still working away. I have had some of my best ideas, the solutions to problems that just have me stumped, when I get stuck and finally take a break. A walk, a trip to an art gallery or garden or just sitting in a cafe watching the world go by all work for me, but holidays are best.

Holidays are for doing whatever you feel like. For eating whatever and whenever you want. And especially for walking along the beach at six thirty in the morning because you were both awake and you can always go back to bed again later if you want.

Trees

Sunday 7.33am

Sitting on our little veranda here at home I look out upon trees as far as the eye can see. I have always been drawn to trees, I do not know why and I am certainly not the only one that feels this way but there is just something . . .

Like the first movement in the salute to the sun that I do every morning the trees have their roots solidly grounded in the earth, and from here stretch up tall reaching to the sky. When the wind blows they do not oppose it but roll with it in a seemingly random swirling motion that brings them back to the centre once again to continue as before. I find this movement both the sight and sound of it very relaxing to watch, to hear, to feel even, for it seem to echo somehow within my own centre. As far as I know the trees are just doing their own tree thing and do not know I exist but when I am close to them I feel surrounded by . . . . possibilities.


LIfe is never dull when there are possibilities.

Just like dying but you can still feel the shame

Sunday 7.48am

3am. It is dark, black, and completely silent. This is that darkest hour just before dawn when it is difficult to believe that the light will ever come again. And I am awake. Midnight is the witching hour but of course that is just make believe. This is much, much worse. A land of the dead inhabited only by the things that normally lurk quietly in the deepest recesses of my mind. Things I have said and done in the past rise up to leave me writhing in agonised embarrassment all over again. And added to that any current worries I may have whirl round and round my head until I am completely disorientated with no hope of ever finding a solution. This continues until I eventually fall asleep again or get up and do something else accepting that I will be tired the next day.

There is a solution to this of course. Write them all down. As David Allen says in Getting things done any unresolved tasks in your mind will keep disturbing you over and over again, often at the least convenient times, until you do something about them. But if you keep a piece of paper beside you you can write them all down - clear your mind knowing that the problems are safely recorded to be looked at again in the morning.

Admittedly I have not done this. Just accepting that it is all part of who I am has done the trick for me. It probably goes a long way to explaining my rather introspective, slightly depressive nature . . . . .