03/11/07
Rather naturally the last entry leads on to the next, so you're going to have to forgive me whilst I take a step to one side and look at something else for a while.
I've been avoiding really talking about work for a number of reasons. For a start it's really not that relevant to what I'm trying to achieve here. However I find myself in a situation that bears some thought.
For various reasons my job is changing and I'm taking up a new role. My current role still needs to be filled though, so two new people have been drafted to cover it. The fact that they thought they'd need two people probably says more about how well I'm doing than anything, but nevertheless they're supposed to be taking over.
Now I get that they don't know the system as well as I do, they've only had a few weeks to learn, but they're not... trying is the wrong word. They're not taking responsibility for it. They're not driving it forward.
It's kind of a shock to realise that I have been. I'm fully aware of the state of the system. I know what's been done, what needs to be done and where each of the problems have got to.
In other words I'm fully in control of it and know what needs to be done. I'm working out in my head the next steps and what needs to be achieved to reach them. I'm foreseeing problems and working out solutions and I'm molding and shaping the people around me to achieve them.
In short, I'm acting like a manager, and I'm pretty sure it's being noticed. The problem I have now is that I've got to deal with the new guys. To be a manager you've got to be a manager. It's not my job, it's not even my role, but I've put myself in the position.
So, how to sort this out. I'm not used to criticising people, and I'm not used to motivating people at the same time. It's an interesting pickle. If I do it right it'll be a huge boost to both their careers and mine. People are watching, and their looking to see how I do.
If I get it wrong, I'll create a bad working environment and end up having to do more work to fix it. Or even just to keep it going as well as I have been.
So no pressure or anything.
Friday, 22 February 2008
Catriona
25/10/07 - just
I'm ten years younger than Catriona, which unfortunately means that when my memories were sticking she was stepping out into the wider world. I have few truly vivid memories of her simply because I was too late.
I think that's my misfortune because what I do have is photos. My father is a compulsive photographer and almost all the ones of me before I can remember include Catriona looking after me. I don't really remember the decision to start dancing, but I'm pretty sure it was after watching her in a Claire Goodwin's dance show.
Maybe it was Kirsten, I don't know.
In fact I really have only one vivid memory of Catriona when I was growing up. It was bonfire night, we were out at the traditional bonfire and she was looking after me. She had to explain to me that I'd spent all of the money that Mum & Dad had given to her, and all of her money as well.
It was the first time I was introduced to the concept of money, and money as a finite resource. It was also the first time I was introduced to generosity as a concept.
Well that's not true. I'm sure I must have been introduced to both those things before, but it was the first time it made sense. I think money and generosity have been intrinsically entwined in my head ever since. Which is weird because to tie it down to one thing completely misses the point.
Catriona has a marvellous generosity of spirit, of time, energy, enthusiasm and warmth. The majority of the time she will give up anything for anyone. The rest of the time she will give it up for - it's the wrong word, but - the right person.
I remember discovering that a work site was just around the corner from where she lived. Literally around the corner - the car park was across the road. So I figured I'd skip the ride home, get a train and see if she was in. Normally she wouldn't have been, but that day she'd had a doctor's appointment so she was. For once in her life she had a few brief hours to relax and enjoy herself and as soon as she saw it was me she gave them up.
I don't think it meant anything to her, it just meant a lot.
I've see her cry once at my paternal grandfather's funeral. After we walked out Euan and I turned to her together and it was one thing too much for her. In my head the subconscious moves I see are me turning to my older sibling for support to see him turning to his older sibling for support. So we both turned to her for support.
I think she recognised that and it was more than she could handle at that time. She needed her own support, so she burst into tears. It was too much for her.
It happened that I was closer so I caught her. The interesting thing was that I immediately passed her onto Sean, her then boyfriend and now husband.
I had no stability, no ground work to build on without her. Give me anyone in tears and I will do my best to make them stable - for a time at least. But remove my family and I have no tools to work with because the concept was so alien to me I'd never considered it.
I have now, and I know I could deal with it. I just hope to God none of the situations that would require it will happen any time soon.
But I suddenly realise I haven't even mentioned the basics yet. The simple intimate truths that we build a part of our personality on. I love my sister, deeply and truly. She is my rock of sanity, my grounding stone. She is one of my biggest fans and harshest critics. She is kind, generous, giving and warm. I appreciate everything about her and I don't see her enough because she gives so much of herself to other people that I'd hate to be another burden on her.
It's the wrong way of looking at it, I know. Logically she'd want me to bug her, if I was her I'd want to be bugged. But emotionally it's enough for me to know she's there - whenever. In a weird way I think it would cost her more to give me less than it would cost her to give someone who meant less more.
But then equally I get more out of her giving me less than they do. A five minute chat with her improves my day, and my life, as much as an evening with a good friend does (and that applies to the other two as well, but more on them later).
Like I said, I love Catriona deeply and truly. She's the most obvious marker of who I am. And there are some truths that are buried so deep, and are so obvious that we never think about or question them. They are such a part of us that an entire section of our self, our inner being, is based upon them.
It's nice to know that the only reason this one is wrong is because it's not strong enough. After all, maybe she gets more from a five minute chat with me too.
So, childhood.
Now really here I should start with my parents. I mean ultimately they are the start of me. I’m not going to, but I should.
There are many reasons for this, but to keep things simple I’ll just give you two. One – it’s too big a subject to tackle without a run up. Two – to understand my relationship with them I need to look at the filter first.
But even the filter is complex. I’m the youngest of four so there are three others to introduce first before I can even begin to explain the effect.
If I’m offensive I’m truly sorry. That’s not, and will never be, my intention. But it’s impossible to try and describe someone without risking the possibility that they object.
Enough hiding. Onwards.
The first child is the leader, the trail blazer. Every fight they had first. Every aim – from the first beating heart to the first step into the wider world they did first. They can never lose that. They can never have it taken away, they can never have it diminished. Everything else is a copy of what they did first.
But that also makes them the bench mark that everyone else is compared to. They can never compete, never get the chance to be better than the others if they weren't the first time around. They're pushed forward and they never get the chance to know if they've done well or badly until the next one appears.I'm ten years younger than Catriona, which unfortunately means that when my memories were sticking she was stepping out into the wider world. I have few truly vivid memories of her simply because I was too late.
I think that's my misfortune because what I do have is photos. My father is a compulsive photographer and almost all the ones of me before I can remember include Catriona looking after me. I don't really remember the decision to start dancing, but I'm pretty sure it was after watching her in a Claire Goodwin's dance show.
Maybe it was Kirsten, I don't know.
In fact I really have only one vivid memory of Catriona when I was growing up. It was bonfire night, we were out at the traditional bonfire and she was looking after me. She had to explain to me that I'd spent all of the money that Mum & Dad had given to her, and all of her money as well.
It was the first time I was introduced to the concept of money, and money as a finite resource. It was also the first time I was introduced to generosity as a concept.
Well that's not true. I'm sure I must have been introduced to both those things before, but it was the first time it made sense. I think money and generosity have been intrinsically entwined in my head ever since. Which is weird because to tie it down to one thing completely misses the point.
Catriona has a marvellous generosity of spirit, of time, energy, enthusiasm and warmth. The majority of the time she will give up anything for anyone. The rest of the time she will give it up for - it's the wrong word, but - the right person.
I remember discovering that a work site was just around the corner from where she lived. Literally around the corner - the car park was across the road. So I figured I'd skip the ride home, get a train and see if she was in. Normally she wouldn't have been, but that day she'd had a doctor's appointment so she was. For once in her life she had a few brief hours to relax and enjoy herself and as soon as she saw it was me she gave them up.
I don't think it meant anything to her, it just meant a lot.
I've see her cry once at my paternal grandfather's funeral. After we walked out Euan and I turned to her together and it was one thing too much for her. In my head the subconscious moves I see are me turning to my older sibling for support to see him turning to his older sibling for support. So we both turned to her for support.
I think she recognised that and it was more than she could handle at that time. She needed her own support, so she burst into tears. It was too much for her.
It happened that I was closer so I caught her. The interesting thing was that I immediately passed her onto Sean, her then boyfriend and now husband.
I had no stability, no ground work to build on without her. Give me anyone in tears and I will do my best to make them stable - for a time at least. But remove my family and I have no tools to work with because the concept was so alien to me I'd never considered it.
I have now, and I know I could deal with it. I just hope to God none of the situations that would require it will happen any time soon.
But I suddenly realise I haven't even mentioned the basics yet. The simple intimate truths that we build a part of our personality on. I love my sister, deeply and truly. She is my rock of sanity, my grounding stone. She is one of my biggest fans and harshest critics. She is kind, generous, giving and warm. I appreciate everything about her and I don't see her enough because she gives so much of herself to other people that I'd hate to be another burden on her.
It's the wrong way of looking at it, I know. Logically she'd want me to bug her, if I was her I'd want to be bugged. But emotionally it's enough for me to know she's there - whenever. In a weird way I think it would cost her more to give me less than it would cost her to give someone who meant less more.
But then equally I get more out of her giving me less than they do. A five minute chat with her improves my day, and my life, as much as an evening with a good friend does (and that applies to the other two as well, but more on them later).
Like I said, I love Catriona deeply and truly. She's the most obvious marker of who I am. And there are some truths that are buried so deep, and are so obvious that we never think about or question them. They are such a part of us that an entire section of our self, our inner being, is based upon them.
It's nice to know that the only reason this one is wrong is because it's not strong enough. After all, maybe she gets more from a five minute chat with me too.
Sunday, 30 December 2007
Desperately seeking something
25/10/07
25/10/07 by about five minutes which invariably means I'm drunk. I also have the remains of a beer around here somewhere.
But that's not what I want to write about. What I really want to write about is something I've been putting off for a while - I just finally have to accept is true. I'm an attention seeker.
You've almost certainly noticed. It's not like it's something you can hide. Now I can justify it in many ways. Well, one really, but that's not really good enough. I don't thing I should be an attention seeker. I don't want to be one.
Actually I don't really care. It's just what I do. I spent the night singing karaoke and being filmed whilst doing it. I played to the camera - badly. But I still played to the camera.
A good friend of mine - hey Kelly - once said that you can't get over a bad childhood any more than you can get over a good childhood. I had a good childhood - and it's probably something I should spend a couple of entries on - but it still defines me on too many levels. In some ways I'm not sure if I've grown beyond it.
I'm the youngest of four. I'm much more than that, but ultimately it always comes back to that. I can't help it.
Ask any elder child and they will tell you that they had it harder than their younger siblings, and their right. But the younger siblings also had it hard. It's in a completely different way, but it is still hard.
We never get over our childhood, but this requires too much time and space to fully explore. It's also too late and I'm too drunk. But it's important. So that's what I'll talk about next.
All that's really important now is that I'm an attention seeker, and of the four of us I'm the only one who's single.
25/10/07 by about five minutes which invariably means I'm drunk. I also have the remains of a beer around here somewhere.
But that's not what I want to write about. What I really want to write about is something I've been putting off for a while - I just finally have to accept is true. I'm an attention seeker.
You've almost certainly noticed. It's not like it's something you can hide. Now I can justify it in many ways. Well, one really, but that's not really good enough. I don't thing I should be an attention seeker. I don't want to be one.
Actually I don't really care. It's just what I do. I spent the night singing karaoke and being filmed whilst doing it. I played to the camera - badly. But I still played to the camera.
A good friend of mine - hey Kelly - once said that you can't get over a bad childhood any more than you can get over a good childhood. I had a good childhood - and it's probably something I should spend a couple of entries on - but it still defines me on too many levels. In some ways I'm not sure if I've grown beyond it.
I'm the youngest of four. I'm much more than that, but ultimately it always comes back to that. I can't help it.
Ask any elder child and they will tell you that they had it harder than their younger siblings, and their right. But the younger siblings also had it hard. It's in a completely different way, but it is still hard.
We never get over our childhood, but this requires too much time and space to fully explore. It's also too late and I'm too drunk. But it's important. So that's what I'll talk about next.
All that's really important now is that I'm an attention seeker, and of the four of us I'm the only one who's single.
Character flaws
17/10/07
Another thing I've noticed about my writing is the people. Now all writing is about conflict. If there's no conflict there is no story. It can be a conflict of people or lifestyles or worlds. No-one wants to go and see a film where boy meets girl and they live happily ever after, or read a thriller where the hero and the villain get on and work together. This journal itself would be rather boring if I wasn't in conflict with myself.
For conflict to occur people - characters - have to be in opposition. They have to be against each other in some way. It can be intentional or accidental. It can be major or minor but it has to be there.
All my characters however are fundamentally flawed. They might be depressed or crippingly introspective. They might be physically disabled or plain racist. They might just have seriously screwed up and have to deal with the consequences. That's fine. That's how it should be.
The problem is that often the women are flawed victims and the men are idiotic bastards. Just to be clear, when I saw flawed here what I really mean is repressed and when I say idiotic here what I really mean is, well, repressed.
It's not totally true, occasionally a man jumps the divide to become a flawed victim. Sometimes a woman is an idiotic bastard. However in each of those cases the character shows characteristics which are decidedly against their gender and the reason they are that specific gender is motivated by the plot. But it gets worse.
The characters that I find myself identifying with the most are the ones that hardly appear at all. They're the ones that exist only to give meaning to the events, or to give the main characters someone to talk to.
Now if life imitates art and art imitates life then this doesn't bode well for either me or the people around me. However since I also know that all of my characters are simply reflections of me I think you're all safe.
I on the other hand am vying between being a victim and a bastard. I am living on the outskirts of the world and it's entirely possible that I'm just a little bit repressed.
My repression is a weird one though. It's an emotional repression rather than a sexual one. I have had far too many conversations with friends about sex to be worried about that and so although I could talk about it I won't. Besides it's far to personal a thing for me to feel the need to share it with the world.
I saw an old friend over the weekend who, having read the blog, asked me if I was okay (hey Matt, you get a mention!). So lets be clear about that one now. I am okay. Very tired, a little bored of living in hotels and desperately looking forward to work calming down, but basically I'm fine.
Beyond that however I feel... loose I guess you'd call it. Untethered. Like I'm waiting for the hook that will drag me back down to Earth and reality.
That'll be work tomorrow then. There's nothing quite like being a non-manager to clarify your thoughts and make you realise how much the stuff in your head doesn't matter.
Another thing I've noticed about my writing is the people. Now all writing is about conflict. If there's no conflict there is no story. It can be a conflict of people or lifestyles or worlds. No-one wants to go and see a film where boy meets girl and they live happily ever after, or read a thriller where the hero and the villain get on and work together. This journal itself would be rather boring if I wasn't in conflict with myself.
For conflict to occur people - characters - have to be in opposition. They have to be against each other in some way. It can be intentional or accidental. It can be major or minor but it has to be there.
All my characters however are fundamentally flawed. They might be depressed or crippingly introspective. They might be physically disabled or plain racist. They might just have seriously screwed up and have to deal with the consequences. That's fine. That's how it should be.
The problem is that often the women are flawed victims and the men are idiotic bastards. Just to be clear, when I saw flawed here what I really mean is repressed and when I say idiotic here what I really mean is, well, repressed.
It's not totally true, occasionally a man jumps the divide to become a flawed victim. Sometimes a woman is an idiotic bastard. However in each of those cases the character shows characteristics which are decidedly against their gender and the reason they are that specific gender is motivated by the plot. But it gets worse.
The characters that I find myself identifying with the most are the ones that hardly appear at all. They're the ones that exist only to give meaning to the events, or to give the main characters someone to talk to.
Now if life imitates art and art imitates life then this doesn't bode well for either me or the people around me. However since I also know that all of my characters are simply reflections of me I think you're all safe.
I on the other hand am vying between being a victim and a bastard. I am living on the outskirts of the world and it's entirely possible that I'm just a little bit repressed.
My repression is a weird one though. It's an emotional repression rather than a sexual one. I have had far too many conversations with friends about sex to be worried about that and so although I could talk about it I won't. Besides it's far to personal a thing for me to feel the need to share it with the world.
I saw an old friend over the weekend who, having read the blog, asked me if I was okay (hey Matt, you get a mention!). So lets be clear about that one now. I am okay. Very tired, a little bored of living in hotels and desperately looking forward to work calming down, but basically I'm fine.
Beyond that however I feel... loose I guess you'd call it. Untethered. Like I'm waiting for the hook that will drag me back down to Earth and reality.
That'll be work tomorrow then. There's nothing quite like being a non-manager to clarify your thoughts and make you realise how much the stuff in your head doesn't matter.
Sunday, 14 October 2007
Birthdays and backgrounds
10/10/07
So another year of my life has dawned and the world begins again. I'd like to say that turning 28 has given me many deep insights into my life, but the truth is I've reached the age where birthdays mean very little to me anymore. It's just another day, plucked out of the ether to mark the time between two arbitrary points in space.
In fact if anything the effort of working out what presents I want and making sure I see/speak to/respond to all the relevant people is more of a hassle than anything else. It's a fun hassle, but a hassle nonetheless.
However in an effort to get my creative juices flowing I've been returning to old ideas for plots and stories to see if any of them are worth dusting off. What I've noticed is that they have a couple of themes to them that are worth examining.
The first, and the main one, is that they all revolve around the notion of time. If they're not condensing a story into a short period of time they're expanding it into millenia.
They are all obsessed with repetition and return. In my stories History always repeats and it's in how the characters deal with these repetitions, how they grow and change because of them, that I write.
So, do I see my life as a series of loops? Am I myself stuck in some kind of never-ending limbo? I think that's how I see it. I'm as welcome to endings as beginnings. I recognise that very little of my life is long term and since I believe that I never hold on to anything to make it long term.
Yet equally I concentrate on the ageless saga. How the actions of yesterday expound the moments of tomorrow, and how the conditions of both squeeze the boundaries of today. This concentration on the ages is much easier for me to understand because I know where it comes from.
My maternal Grandfather died a few months after my Mother was born. She doesn't remember him, so she has few memories to pass on to me. But his absence shaped a large part of her life. I think, reading between what she says, that it lead to her falling in love with my Dad.
My Grandmother still gets upset thinking about losing him. She loved him dearly and by the time I thought to ask her about him... Well, lets just say it's not a good idea to upset her these days.
This man has had a huge impact on my life and yet I know very little about him. What I do know is that traditionally I should have been named Alexander after him, and every year I find myself wondering about the rest.
So maybe a birthday is much more than just a hassle to me after all.
"A few years ago it dawned on me that everybody past a certain age - regardless of how they look on the outside - pretty much constantly dreams of being able to escape from their lives. They don't want to be who they are any more. They want out. This list includes Thurston Howell the Third, Ann-Margaret, the cast members of Rent, Vaclav Havel, space shuttle astronauts and Snuffleupagus. It's universal"Douglas Coupland
So another year of my life has dawned and the world begins again. I'd like to say that turning 28 has given me many deep insights into my life, but the truth is I've reached the age where birthdays mean very little to me anymore. It's just another day, plucked out of the ether to mark the time between two arbitrary points in space.
In fact if anything the effort of working out what presents I want and making sure I see/speak to/respond to all the relevant people is more of a hassle than anything else. It's a fun hassle, but a hassle nonetheless.
However in an effort to get my creative juices flowing I've been returning to old ideas for plots and stories to see if any of them are worth dusting off. What I've noticed is that they have a couple of themes to them that are worth examining.
The first, and the main one, is that they all revolve around the notion of time. If they're not condensing a story into a short period of time they're expanding it into millenia.
They are all obsessed with repetition and return. In my stories History always repeats and it's in how the characters deal with these repetitions, how they grow and change because of them, that I write.
So, do I see my life as a series of loops? Am I myself stuck in some kind of never-ending limbo? I think that's how I see it. I'm as welcome to endings as beginnings. I recognise that very little of my life is long term and since I believe that I never hold on to anything to make it long term.
Yet equally I concentrate on the ageless saga. How the actions of yesterday expound the moments of tomorrow, and how the conditions of both squeeze the boundaries of today. This concentration on the ages is much easier for me to understand because I know where it comes from.
My maternal Grandfather died a few months after my Mother was born. She doesn't remember him, so she has few memories to pass on to me. But his absence shaped a large part of her life. I think, reading between what she says, that it lead to her falling in love with my Dad.
My Grandmother still gets upset thinking about losing him. She loved him dearly and by the time I thought to ask her about him... Well, lets just say it's not a good idea to upset her these days.
This man has had a huge impact on my life and yet I know very little about him. What I do know is that traditionally I should have been named Alexander after him, and every year I find myself wondering about the rest.
So maybe a birthday is much more than just a hassle to me after all.
Oh dear
04/10/07
I seem to have hit a slight problem: namely the work/life balance. Or at this stage the work/work imbalance. Less than four days back from a weeks holiday and I already feel exhausted. I've also done 50 1/2 hours work and I've still got a day of work this week. I dread to think about the two weeks before my holiday.
Overtime this month will hurt to work out, but the biggest problem is planning. Too many jobs, not enough time. Not enough hours in the day. That's why I have minions now. This is both good and bad. It means I can shift responsibility somewhat, unload the things I have to do, but it also means I have to plan it more.
Basically I need to get a handle on my life at the moment. Unfortunately that's another job on the pile to fit around what I need to do. I need my life to stop for long enough that I can catch up. I'm hoping that will be tomorrow. Or by the end of next week at least.
I seem to have hit a slight problem: namely the work/life balance. Or at this stage the work/work imbalance. Less than four days back from a weeks holiday and I already feel exhausted. I've also done 50 1/2 hours work and I've still got a day of work this week. I dread to think about the two weeks before my holiday.
Overtime this month will hurt to work out, but the biggest problem is planning. Too many jobs, not enough time. Not enough hours in the day. That's why I have minions now. This is both good and bad. It means I can shift responsibility somewhat, unload the things I have to do, but it also means I have to plan it more.
Basically I need to get a handle on my life at the moment. Unfortunately that's another job on the pile to fit around what I need to do. I need my life to stop for long enough that I can catch up. I'm hoping that will be tomorrow. Or by the end of next week at least.
Let me explain.
23/09/07
After every major seismic activity the shape of the Earth changes. In itself that doesn't mean much, but it does have the interesting effect that it changes the speed of the Earth's spin. That in turn changes the length of a day.
It's not by much: a few milliseconds at most. I believe the Boxing Day Eathquake the year before last added three milliseconds to the length of the day. Just three milliseconds.
It's the type of thing that comes out in the wash. After all the length of a day is constantly changing. Daylight comes and goes, sleep steals hours. Three milliseconds will be lost after the next eathquake, or the one after.
Now imagine it wasn't the length of a day, but something more fixed. The mass of the Earth is pretty much fixed. I mean sure it has small changes: meteors come, satellites go. But overall it is fixed and so gravity is fixed.
Imagine it changed one day. It shifted by a Newton, or two. Would you notice? Would you shrug off the feeling as a bad night's sleep or a particularly good night the day before?
Or would it niggle at you? This weird feeling that something, somehow, was off. Not something you could necessarily put your finger on, just a feeling of wrongness.
This is the best explanation I can find for how I feel. A weird sensation that something inside is off somehow. I don't know what it is, I don't know how it came about, it's just not quite right.
When I started writing this I decided on rules, most of which I've adapted already:
1) All entries must be handwritten in this book.
2) At least one entry per week.
3) Copy them out into a blog.
4) Write them in London or outside of Southampton.
5) The full jist of the book and the blog must be the same.
6) No set routine.
7) Challenge myself once a week.
8) An entry a month should be about the year in total.
You can forget 4 & 6. They're conclusively gone, and I don't think there's anything wrong with that anymore. Hell, I think it's a good thing.
But I also think I shouldn't remove a rele unless I've got something to replace it with. So:
4) Plan more. Take the time to actually think things through as much as possible in advance. It might help matters.
6) Do something.
Now I know 6 is pretty obvious, but it's probably the most important. As you may have guessed this is this month's year in total entry, mainly because after a month and a half I haven't really got anywhere.
Basically I don't feel any different, but then why should I? A month and a half is not enough time to overhaul your personality. It's barely enough time to start and I'm not sure if I've even done that.
Except I guess I have. Twice in the last week I've had two conversations that, frankly, terrified me. One was about learning to drive and one was about getting therapy. Both were about fundamental changes to my life and if I'm not ready to face that then what is the point of this?
All the changes have been small so far. I guess the most profound has been getting together with old friends. That's as much circumstance as anything. Being in London I don't get to see my current friendship circle as much as I'd like, but I do get the chance to see people I haven't seen in years.
Yet it also gives me an opportunity to visit old periods of my life and see what I got from them. Some old friends are just that: friendships that are old. Gone and lost for a reason. Some are just twists of fate, lost for a reason but not a good one.
I've said before I've never felt like I've really belonged anywhere. What I have done is leave behind me a string of friends I care about, but don't necessarily see.
Our decisions and actions define who we are. They make us. So we decide and we act and we leave an indelible mark on the world.
Who we are, who we choose to be, is the sum of these actions. It's automatic, ingrained. Something we control and something that controls us.
So maybe I've been going about this the wrong way. Maybe I need to decide where I want to be at the end of the year and decide howe to get there rather than take the time to look at who I am.
Because although knowing who I am is important, it's so natural to me that I don't really know how it works. I'm so used to it that I don't even realise it's there most of the time.
Like Gravity.
After every major seismic activity the shape of the Earth changes. In itself that doesn't mean much, but it does have the interesting effect that it changes the speed of the Earth's spin. That in turn changes the length of a day.
It's not by much: a few milliseconds at most. I believe the Boxing Day Eathquake the year before last added three milliseconds to the length of the day. Just three milliseconds.
It's the type of thing that comes out in the wash. After all the length of a day is constantly changing. Daylight comes and goes, sleep steals hours. Three milliseconds will be lost after the next eathquake, or the one after.
Now imagine it wasn't the length of a day, but something more fixed. The mass of the Earth is pretty much fixed. I mean sure it has small changes: meteors come, satellites go. But overall it is fixed and so gravity is fixed.
Imagine it changed one day. It shifted by a Newton, or two. Would you notice? Would you shrug off the feeling as a bad night's sleep or a particularly good night the day before?
Or would it niggle at you? This weird feeling that something, somehow, was off. Not something you could necessarily put your finger on, just a feeling of wrongness.
This is the best explanation I can find for how I feel. A weird sensation that something inside is off somehow. I don't know what it is, I don't know how it came about, it's just not quite right.
When I started writing this I decided on rules, most of which I've adapted already:
1) All entries must be handwritten in this book.
2) At least one entry per week.
3) Copy them out into a blog.
4) Write them in London or outside of Southampton.
5) The full jist of the book and the blog must be the same.
6) No set routine.
7) Challenge myself once a week.
8) An entry a month should be about the year in total.
You can forget 4 & 6. They're conclusively gone, and I don't think there's anything wrong with that anymore. Hell, I think it's a good thing.
But I also think I shouldn't remove a rele unless I've got something to replace it with. So:
4) Plan more. Take the time to actually think things through as much as possible in advance. It might help matters.
6) Do something.
Now I know 6 is pretty obvious, but it's probably the most important. As you may have guessed this is this month's year in total entry, mainly because after a month and a half I haven't really got anywhere.
Basically I don't feel any different, but then why should I? A month and a half is not enough time to overhaul your personality. It's barely enough time to start and I'm not sure if I've even done that.
Except I guess I have. Twice in the last week I've had two conversations that, frankly, terrified me. One was about learning to drive and one was about getting therapy. Both were about fundamental changes to my life and if I'm not ready to face that then what is the point of this?
All the changes have been small so far. I guess the most profound has been getting together with old friends. That's as much circumstance as anything. Being in London I don't get to see my current friendship circle as much as I'd like, but I do get the chance to see people I haven't seen in years.
Yet it also gives me an opportunity to visit old periods of my life and see what I got from them. Some old friends are just that: friendships that are old. Gone and lost for a reason. Some are just twists of fate, lost for a reason but not a good one.
I've said before I've never felt like I've really belonged anywhere. What I have done is leave behind me a string of friends I care about, but don't necessarily see.
Our decisions and actions define who we are. They make us. So we decide and we act and we leave an indelible mark on the world.
Who we are, who we choose to be, is the sum of these actions. It's automatic, ingrained. Something we control and something that controls us.
So maybe I've been going about this the wrong way. Maybe I need to decide where I want to be at the end of the year and decide howe to get there rather than take the time to look at who I am.
Because although knowing who I am is important, it's so natural to me that I don't really know how it works. I'm so used to it that I don't even realise it's there most of the time.
Like Gravity.
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