Monday, 23 February 2015

When Women Leave The Men They Love

Have just read an article concerning why women leave men they love. It's short, intriguing, and utterly obvious. It observes that a man can be a good provider, a good father, and a great many other positives, yet if they are not "present within the relationship" then all these count for nought. Yet what does it mean to be present?
By way of example the article cites men who fixate on hobbies and interests that remove the focus from their partner. Now we do need these; heck I need these, but if your primary focus is the next round of golf, visit to the pub, or gaming session then that might suggest your priorities are askew. It observes how you can be a great provider, a good father, a solid contributor to the house etc, yet still be distant, still disengaged.
It's all a bit obvious, isn't it? By way of example, I married Joy and not my Playstation 4, and whilst I love the latter, experience has taught me that it should never come at the expense of the former. I suspect most ladies respond positively to men who give them time, who listen, who engage and give of themselves in a real and authentic way. Should we be shocked if we find ourselves jettisoned when we treat our intimate partner as just another item in our inventory?
I am an offender here. I have form. Joy once said that I liked my life in little boxes. Boxes I could place on a shelf and bring down when I chose. Parent box, husband box, work box, leisure box. She was right; right in just about every way. Funny how sometimes it takes somebody else to point out a trait so obvious to all but the one who displays it. So yes, guilty as charged. But to my meagre credit I think I'm a reformed character; I hope I've got my priorities aligned now I'm into my 4th decade. More than that, I understand the value of putting effort into the right places. My Playstation 4 is many things, but it doesn't do anything deeper than distract me. Joy and I, aided and abetted by our fabulous girls have spent years building a life, a palace of memories and experiences. Moments to cherish, special and profound. We've lived, we've built, we've learned. So when I read articles such as the one earlier I kind of get it. It isn't rocket science; it's just common sense amplified. It's about putting the mileage in and seeing what life gives back. So I get why women leave men they love, especially if these men lack the awareness to see what really matters. It's a trap I've fallen into, a hard lesson learned. And I hope that by reading this, it might dissuade other guys from getting it so wrong before they finally get it right.

Friday, 20 February 2015

This. Here. Now.

I'm not interested in being a good person. I'm not interested in being a bad person. I'm interested in being this person. This is to say that I just want to figure it out as I go, and give myself the space and permission to evolve beyond how society tells me to be. And so far I'm inclined to think that kindness trumps cruelty, honesty trumps deceit, and self awareness trumps self delusion. I spent too many years being blown like a reed in the wind, caught up in a quiet conspiracy between the should's and the ought's. I never appreciated the true freedom of free thinking; I never claimed the simple gift of being indifferent to how others perceive me. It's liberating, I can tell you. To walk into a room and to be simply indifferent to how people think of me, or how they judge me, or what they say when I'm not around. Say it, think it; it's all white sound to me. This isn't to say that there aren't a great many people that I value because there are, but I'm not going to call a boring person an interesting one, or a fearful person a lion heart. I've no interest in deceiving myself anymore than I have in deceiving you. This is course means I can be a challenge to be around, and I totally get why I may not be everyone's cup of tea. I don't want to be. I've shed that skin. My relationships come without expectations nor tacit clauses. I let them evolve, just honest and real and hopefully liberating. And I'm not wearing a mask when I'm in your company; I'm just me, with all the positives and negatives that entails. I do not look into the future with any particular game plan, nor with a huge desire to split the atom or make a name for myself. I've got too few years left on this planet to worry about my legacy. In fact I'm keeping it simple; I'm going to try to be a decent husband, an engaged father, and a servant of the general public through the course of my work. It's all a bit dreary isn't it? So mundane and devoid of ambition? Well for my part I simply see it as living in the moment, as taking enjoyment in the immediate. Plan for tomorrow if you wish, but keep a bit of yourself in the now. That's where the fun stuff happens, and when memories are sown.

Wednesday, 18 February 2015

Spiritually Yours

Spiritually for me comes with no expectation of either eternal reward or punishment. I see it as available to us all in those moments when we stop and reflect and listen to that which is around us. If I'm in the midst of a peaceful, tranquil natural landscape then it touches me deeply. Those places where you cannot hear a car or the typical noise pollution. Beside a babbling stream, in the heart of an ancient forest, or atop a hillside on a clear day. In those moments I often feel a sense of the past rather than contemplate the future; I imagine how early humans lived in a world with none of its present day condiments. A tree with gnarled roots, the fleeting sight of a deer dashing between trees. Or alternatively, those moments in good company when people really connect, when they see and hear each other. And above all for me, when I encounter someone who really makes me think, or compels me to see the world slightly differently from how I saw it before. These things to me are deeply spiritual, and require no Gods or Goddesses. And then there's a glimpse through the Hubble, those astonishing images when we really can stare into deep time, when we see the light of ancient stars that probably expired countless ages before their immensity reached us. Or last thing at night when I go into our small garden and look into the night sky. I feel light in my stomach as a write this. And yes, spiritual. For me no Holy book could even come close to compelling me to feel such things. And I say this as a person who was traditionally religious for a great many years. I assert that I'm more spiritual now, more self aware, more beguiled by the universe than I've ever been.

My whole interaction with the cosmos is a relationship.

Friday, 13 February 2015

Fifty Shades Of Common Sense

I've not read Fifty Shades Of Grey. I require no "BDSM for dummies" starter pack. And aside from EL James' remarkable capacity for bad prose, she has got people talking. Or at least, the people who weren't talking about creative sexual self expression anyway. Now whilst Christian Grey is probably not the best mascot for BDSM, I think people whom are so inclined can search the tens of thousands of Internet forums, or blogs written by both male and female dominants and sub-missives. A careful inspection of the more highly regarded ones will teach you that the same phrase repeatedly crops up. Safe, sane, and consensual. If you apply this mantra to any form of sexual activity then there is absolutely no reason, as far as I can see, that loving and emotionally self aware couples cannot enjoy an entire banquet of sexual creativity. Fantasy comes in many forms, and as unique individuals we should welcome this. And as a man who loves to please his lady I consider it essential that I make every effort to understand what makes her tick and learn ways to enhance the intimacy and levels of connection between us. As such, when I hear people simply assume that alternative forms of sexual expression are automatically perverse or damaging I just have to role my eyes. And I wonder to myself, are these people fully aware of how a loving and creative sexual relationship can bring new strength and illumination to a couples? Now of course partners must decide their own limits, and no person should ever feel compelled to partake in an activity which they feel is degrading or damaging to them. But let's be honest shall we, a large silent percentage of the population have and continue to engage in many of the activities described in Fifty Shades Of Grey. And as far as I'm concerned, just so long as the bedrock of their interaction remains safe, sane, and consensual then I hope they have a lovely time. Some people enjoy receiving pain, or seeing people respond to pain. Same goes for a thousand and one forms of sexual activity. My advice to all persons who read this, irrespective of gender, is never to let yourself be drawn into any activity you do not feel ok with. And if you're wavering as to whether something interests you or not then discuss it with your partner. You're on a journey together after all, and you'd be wiser and more likely to achieve mutual satisfaction if you share with honesty and candour your boundaries and expectations and fears.
This is just common sense. This is the beating heart of any positive relationship. And as you grow together the boundaries may shift, and things once inconceivable may become of greater interest. Keep an open mind, but more than that keep a warm heart. A heart of compassion; a heart motivated by a desire to love your partner, in whatever shape or form this may take.
This blog isn't about sex. It's about communication. And if you've had to wait for me to say it then that says something quite profound about you.

Tuesday, 10 February 2015

A Knight And His Queen

A Knight, if viewed in the traditional sense, is man whom is a protector, a servant, and chaste. Oh well, two out of three ain't bad. This is to suggest that a Knight is a man of strength, of honour, an outward looking fellow in almost all regards. And a Knight isn't really a Knight unless he has Queen. A lady to serve, to honour, to cherish, and to yield to.
Ok, I know what you're thinking. The medication isn't having the usual effect today? He's off on one. And you'd be right. In actual fact I've been off on one since October 2013, because that was when Joy and I began to do things a little differently. Do allow me to explain, and do try to keep an open mind. In so many ways Joy is a traditional girl; classy and feminine and simply oozing intellect and dignity. In contrast I'm a Tasmanian devil, a whirlwind of contradictions and repressed insanity, a contrast of rapier intellect and village idiot. Put simply, she's the sensible one and I'm the court jester. I am a man however who loves to please, to put his lady on a pedestal and create a space where the sky is the limit for her. Yet for so many years we'd had this good, yet also slightly unbalanced relationship in which neither of us were being the truest version of ourselves. Joy loves being pampered and adored, yet I did this only rarely, treating her with typical masculine indifference, not really valuing the amazing lady whom I spent my life with. This is odd, because as I've said before I'm naturally a pleaser; I like to honour and cherish and adore and be bewitched, yet there was something holding me back, some kind of societal stumbling block, this sense that if I ever gave into my true nature it would make me less of a man. Weaker somehow. Dare I use the term henpecked? And for Joy, well she has of late confessed that she used to boss her brothers around and was made to feel she was somehow wrong for doing it, even though beneath her gentle nature there is a strong, clear minded, assertive woman. In fact the kind of women I have always admired and desired. I've seen so many amazing females lose themselves in relationships, conforming to what society expects rather than just allowing themselves to flourish. We've listened to the lie that men always have to be dominant and females submissive, when all along we all have traits that ebb and flow between each pole. Now I'm mindful that I'm rambling, and I'm probably not making much sense. All this is meant to lead to the central message of this blog, which is to encourage couples to allow each other to be the truest version of themselves, to honestly express their natures and let each other shine. In our relationship this plays out with me essentially focusing my energies of giving Joy what she requires when she requires it. It means me being her Knight, adoring my Queen and very deliberately putting her needs above my own. Whether it's something as minor as warming her side of the bed so she never has to get into a cold one, or running her a bath and filling the bathroom with candles, or just opening doors, fetching her coat, helping her with her boots and coat when she comes and goes. In short, a thousand little gestures which when combined show her that she is a treasure to me, a woman to be adored and esteemed and placed on a pedestal. As a funny aside I recall seeing her paint her toes one evening and basically claiming that as a former decorator I could do that. Fast forward and now she gets regular pedicures and foot treatments, which appeals to her love of being pampered, especially whilst she watches Downtown Abbey or Call The Midwife. Perhaps the key ingredient is that I've learned to listen, to anticipate her needs and preempt any requests she has, which she absolutely loves because it shows her I'm thinking of her.
So what to make of this? What to make of me? Submissive? Compliant? Well you can use either term and I frankly couldn't care. But here's a little nugget for you; the definition of submission is actually strength under control, or strength focused, strength channelled. Joy loves my masculinity, and in her eyes I'm more of a man than I've ever been, which is affirmation indeed. I'm still that crazy dervish of insanity, all ideas and volume and eccentricity. Yet around her I'm calmer, more docile, more focused. Oh yeah, and if you think that my acquiescence to Joy extends to all comers be prepared for something of a shock. I may yield to Joy, but only Joy. Which is to say that if you're expecting an easy ride if you fire across my bow then it's unlikely to end well for you. So there you have it; the secret of why Joy and I are more in love, more committed, and more engaged on every level than we have ever been. We've discovered that courtship doesn't have to end, that romance isn't the sole territory of fledgling lovers first setting off on their journey. It can be rediscovered, and it can be ignited and sustained. But here's the rub; you don't get to this point by being something you're not, or by being somebody you're not, and I suspect there are plenty of couples out there who have good relationships when they could be having great ones. This saddens me. It should sadden you, too. Life can be so much more.

Friday, 6 February 2015

One Day In June

Today's piece has been 8 months in the making, and comes approx 24 hours after a surgical procedure carried out on my oldest daughter. A surgical procedure she would never have needed had it not been for a moment of utter stupidity that even now beggars belief. A kick. My daughter was kicked by a peer whom, for reasons I can only speculate had what I've come to describe as an impulse control moment. Do bare in mind that less than two years before Holly had undergone a repair for an epigastric hernia having been in acute pain for approx 3 months. It had been fixed. It was fine. She was fine. Only then, just after her 13th birthday her friend produced a moment of insanity and that single act has dictated the last 8 months of our lives. The pain returned the day after, similar but different to what she had experienced before. A debilitating pain, a pain that kept her off school, that limited what she could do, how far she could walk. Now anybody who knows us as a family understands that we are the classic out and about types. We spend whole days exploring and discovering and enjoying this amazing world, and so to find ourselves in a situation where we could not do the things we loved was to begin with irksome, and as time went by increasingly frustrating. The NHS, as with all emergency services consist of mostly capable and caring types, interspersed with the occasional turd who one wonders how they ever got the job. We had to join the queue for consultants appointments, went through multiple MRI's and scans, and nobody was able to precisely pinpoint the issue. In all honesty, exploratory surgery should have happened months before, and we remain bemused as to why nobody was able to offer this. It even reached the point when one consultant was about to discharge us from the list, convinced there was no problem. Credit here to Joy for fighting our corner, for convincing the NHS to arrange further scans. Greater credit still for when, towards the end of the year, she and Holly returned to our local GP, whom was magnificent and arranged a referral to the John Radcliffe children's hospital. This was the turning point, and from there on in we encountered staff that listened, that cared, that heard us. You'd be amazed at how previous consultants had failed to to do this, and that still sours our experience of Stoke Mandeville. Anyway, we saw two excellent consultants, the second of which understood that something really was wrong and arranged for exploratory surgery. Fast forward to yesterday, and 12 hours at the JR2 children's hospital. They opened her up, removed historic sutures that may have been dislodged by the aforementioned kick, and repaired a weakness in my daughters abdominal wall. She is home now. We all are. And we are emotionally fucking exhausted. Our lives have lacked normality since last June; Holly has not managed a single full week at school since the 2014-2015 term began. She has missed out on so much interaction and engagement with her peers, and had to stop pretty much all activity. And all because of the undiluted stupidity of another 13 year old girl.
If you're a parent reading this you'll know what it is like to see a child in pain. I've friends that have lost children, and have walked roads far harder than ours. But it hurts. It's hard. And the constant demand to keep going and keep going and plod on eventually takes its toll. I was meant to be at work today but have taken emergency leave. I'm wiped out. I am, put simply, emotionally wasted. I won't need long to get my shit together but I do need today. I want to be with my family. I want to smile with them, look after them, and be a clown and all the things a good Dad wants to be. With a fair wind it won't be too long before we can get back to normality. Only I've forgotten what that actually means. As an aside there have been a ton of other things that have made life a challenge recently. Issues with the house, with gas supplies; all minor in and of themselves but when added to the existing weight disproportionately angst inducing. My hope for this year is for calm waters. I'm also working hard to forgive this other girl, whom caused injuries consistent with grievous bodily harm to my oldest daughter. I hope she learns from this; I hope she grows. And I hope she learns to control her impulses, because then at least some good may come from an otherwise challenging time.

Friday, 30 January 2015

To Halal And Back

I've been irritated by two specific instances of religious inanity today. This morning I was troubled to hear of the increase in the number of animals slaughtered for halal meat without being stunned beforehand. This can result in several minutes of suffering whilst the animals bleed out, in contrast with no observable pain response when the creature is stunned. Thank you Islam and Judaism for this latest example of how religious ideology truly does cause observable harm. And as a dessert we now see the Church dabbling in established science and objecting to amazing new research that could potentially alleviate the suffering of families afflicted with certain genetic conditions. I am of course wearily familiar with the ability of religion to put continued spokes in the wheels of progress, or discount the suffering of fellow sentient creatures due to some absurd Bronze Age dictate. As research shows, we have already emerged from the stench of traditional Christian thinking, whilst Islam's brand of moral perfection continues to pile up the bodies thanks to its extremist elements. Now I've said plenty of times that you are of course free to believe in imaginary friends and build your lives around the teachings of Bronze Age camel herders. I even support your right to do so. But I'd much rather you did this without doing so at the expense of others, or in ways that actively stand in the way of things that could alleviate harm. The simple truth is that animals need not suffer prior to slaughter, and families really can be helped by these new methods which can eradicate or at least drastically reduce the chances of inherited genetic conditions. I'm keen to see sentient creatures suffer less, and I'm behind all demonstrable and evidence based initiatives that facilitate this. But religion, whether it be the Christian death cult or the caliphate obsessed adherents of Islam, please pursue your delusion only to the extent that if affects you. You see, I've grown up. I'm not an infant in need of an imaginary friend. I'm an adult doing the best I can in a world full of complex moral conundrums. I have a personal relationship with reality, and I'm frankly just a little tired that the ghastly spectre of religion continues to belch plumes of ignorance into the present day.