The Devil And I

As you know, I do not hold a belief in God. This despite having been an evangelical Christian for 12 years from the age of 24 through to 36. The world to me seems to look pretty much as I would expect were it to contain no Divine presence. The more I reflect, the existence of the Devil is a far more probable thing. I mean, look at his advertising budget. Hardly a moment passes without some piece of hideousness coming to pass somewhere in the world. Usually to those most vulnerable, to those least able to defend themselves and protect those they love. Funny how those in positions of power are most protected, but then is it? Of course not, but then that's the point isn't it. In a world full of arbitrary misfortune combined with a species such as ourselves and its propensity for simple malice, this is what we would expect. Now of course I don't believe in a literal Satan, and it has long been my conviction that the deepest darkness can be found in the heart of man. Our thinking brains all have a darkness malingering, a shadow that always wants to unfurl and impact the world. To hate is easy, to love harder. To judge trivial, to forgive a challenge. It's almost as if the decks are stacked towards enticing us towards those darker places. I wonder why? And let's be honest, who has not taken a perverse pleasure in the misfortunate of someone we dislike who may have received a reckoning. We can deny it all we want but it is there, a hovering satisfaction when we deem that some kind of cosmic justice has been served. I see sufficient malice and cruelty and unkindness through the course of my work to have reached a point where I have what might be described as selective empathy. I do not care for others equally. I make no pretence over this. And I venture no apology. If a person continually persues a course of conduct that results in the suffering of others you can be damn sure that I care a lot less about him or her than I do a genuine victim. Talking of the latter, when I encounter them it reminds me that the darkness has not consumed me whole. To get alongside a victim of crime, or a domestic violence sufferer, or a person in extremis is something I consider a privilage. To walk with them, to carry a little of their load if only for a few minutes. To listen, to engage, to connect human to human. I often hear people say how they dislike dealing with the public and I find it perplexing. Granted they can drive you insane, but when you do make that meaningful connection it is special. I have never lost that feeling, and the day I do I will know that it is time to move on. Those of you seeking to deny your own darkness might want to be reminded that to do so is a fools errand. Fighting it only makes it more tempting. But you do not have to succumb. And when you have the bravery to acknowledge that shadow within you, you've taken an almighty step to robbing it of its power. We are light and dark, truth and deceipt, bravery and cowerdice, and the only real factor is the amount to which that varies from person to person. So don't lie to yourself. Don't live in denial. Do that for too long, and the darkness will consume you whole.

Living Raw

I'm a contrary bugger. I tend to puzzle people. I don't always behave as people expect me to. This is not deliberate. I have few guiding principles which I try to live by, but generally speaking I'm happy to let life play out in real time. It's no secret that over the last few months my mind has been a funny place to inhabit. This whole reaching 50 thing has had unforseen consequences. I've been questioning whether the direction of my life is one I'm happy with, or whether I have become too accustomed to settling for less. I'm still figuring all this out, but as I do this these are the things that will guide me. One, I'm going to continue to tell the truth in every situation, irrespective of whether people find what I have to say difficult. I think commiting to try to speak truthfully is one of life's biggest challenges, but I respect those who do and I disdain those who do not. I still recall a workplace conversation I had with a girl whom I do not know particularly well. She was recounting a particular conversation and detailing how she had spoken in a way that may have made her life easier but was hugely dishonest. I loathe this. What a coward. What struck me the most was the ease in which she did it. I find nothing to respect in this. As you've guessed honesty is important to me, and when I sense someone lacks it I will give them a wide berth. The times when I have bent the facts have left me feeling unsettled, and I'm resolving to work on this. Another thing I want to address is my propensity to withdraw when I'm feeling flat or disillusioned or confused. This is particularly hard for Joy because whilst I'm rarely rude or aggressive my distance sends its own message. This a flaw in me and something I want to work on. I'm responsible for communicating what I need and I can't expect other's to have some miraculous insight that allows them to see inside my head. I also need to be honest about the things that disappoint me. I wanted being a parent to be easier, but in hindsight that was a bloody ridiculous expectation. As your kids get older be under no illusion that it gets easier. Its just that the questions change, the challenges. I love both my offspring but I do struggle with being a Dad due to my own inherent selfishness. I wanted it to get easier. It's a long way from that, and this despite both my kids being amazing in so many ways. There's some generational differences creeping in and I need to be mindful of that. As for married life Joy told gave me a mental image recently that was both helpful and depressing. We have experienced some incredible high's when we are connected and in tune with each other, and that means when that bar dips we both feel it. Joy described a rollercoaster, with life as a series of ups an downs and how we need to find some way to be accepting of that. She's right. It doesn't mean I have to like it. One long high would have been just fine. There's an aspect of my personality which is either famine or feast. I'm a man of extremes, not in terms of my temperament as this is fairly even, but more in terms of how I am feeling internally. In the back of my mind I'm concious that some members of my extended family battled with mental health, and whilst I do not think I have I'm aware that perhaps I have genes that predispose me? That's speculation, but I do carry it with me. I've dealt with numerous people through the course of my work who suffered with significant mental health. In fact I've listened to full bipolar meltdowns over the telephone, and my God its a thing to behold. Anyway, the title of this blog is "Living Raw" simply because that is what I do. This is the only way I know. I cannot file my life and my thoughts in an orderly system because that would take something from it. I am flawed in so many ways yet these are not flaws that cause me to feel guilt. In some ways these weaknesses help moderate my internal compass, remind me that I'm incomplete and that I have so much to work and reflect on. Being aware of imperfections doesn't mean you have to be defined by them. Look close enough at anything and you will see flaws. That's called being human.

To Days Long Gone, Part One

I find myself reflecting on my boyhood more and more. On the things that shaped me, guided me, inspired me. I need to get these thoughts down. A country boy from working class stock who lived in what was then council houses overlooking fields of wheat, distant trees, with a big sky always overhead. I remember two big trees in my garden, one of which was a purple beech and heavily leaf laden. I could climb one and scuttle under the other. I remember spending so much time outside on endless summer evenings beneath vivid orange and purple skies. I can still see the bats that terrified my mother flitting across the encroaching night, fast and soundless. And I can smell the tarmac and feel the heat from the roadworkers that would grit the road during the heat of the day. We would follow them through the village, enthralled by what to us were huge industrial machines. The days seemed warmer, longer, so full of adventure. I'd play a game called "Hiding from cars" with my neighbour Daryl. It wasn't too complicated, and consisted of watching cars coming from the distance and then leaping into a ditch when they rounded the corner so the driver wouldn't see us. And then there was Cindy, our old Yorkshire Terrier. An everpresent, lolloping around the garden, her hair too long but her heart so big. Funny what memories stir when you give your mind free reign. From village life we did a house swap with a couple from Winslow, so I became less of a Country boy whilst still living in a country town. Think I would have been 11 then. My two sisters were significantly older so I have no great memories of time with them. I was solitary quite a lot, which is possibly why I have grown up to become so creative in my thinking. I had to amuse myself for hours, days. There was less of a focus on parents being hands on back then so I was fed and watered and then mostly left to it. I'd spend hours building lego football stadiums, only I didn't have too much lego so I had to make a little go a long way. Whilst Dad was not hands on one of the things he would do was take me to what was then Aylesbury Odeon which was on Cambridge Street. My god I loved this, and it gave me a passion for the movies that has stayed with me. I remember those chocolate coated raisins you could buy from the confectionary stand. I always loved walking through the double doors into the immense dark space of the movie theatre. It was here my childhood imagination took off, inspired by Star Wars, by anything Spielberg conjured up, by those 70's and 80's James Bond movies. Roger Moore, you are a legend and always will be. At some point, and I don't remember when I discovered reading. Mostly movie tie-in's, which served as a platform for reading tons of science fiction. Hours I would lose in these imaginary worlds. I had friends but the memories of them dim in contrast with the stuff that really fired my mind. I even started writing, filling countless notebooks with adventure stories which were probably carbon copies of the stuff I was seeing on the big screen. Didn't matter; turns out the more you do something the better you get at it, so I read and I wrote from the moment I got home from school. Talking of school, I think it is fair to say that I was not designed for the education system. Wrong kind of bright, apparently. I think this is true of a lot of boys. My parents never pushed me or encouraged me or mentored me in any way so I developed largely based on my own impulses. Don't think too badly of them, will you? They were working class stock and products of a different time. Mum and Dad were providers. I never missed a meal and I was always well clothed. None of the clammy, clingy, obsessive parenting we see so much of today. I'm grateful. That said, I sometimes wonder if I would have achieved more had I been fortunate enough to find a mentor. Just a guiding hand, a quiet voice to nudge me on wiser paths. Please note that I could be badly misbehaved. Boredom and I do not make good bedfellows, which is to say that if you're no fun then I'll make my own, at which point you might want to stand clear because this can get messy. On reflection, I was probably allowed a little too much freedom. Nobody really put the brakes on me,or perhaps it was simply that they did not know how to? I think I'm going to stop for now. These waters run deep. These kinds of posts have no intended destination and I have no point to press home. Just ramblings really. Just me trying to trace the echo of a boyhood long since past. Yet one fondly remembered.