Some of you are probably wondering whether I am aspiring to any writing at all. All I am really doing is blogging. I think maybe that is the limit for me. I have vague dreams of writing comedy skits. But they remain vague and I can't help thinking my ego gets carried away often. My idea is the more I write, the clearer I'll get in my head, what I want to write. If I had quals. in clinic psych. and counselling, throw in some Buddhist gap-year in Asia, and I might just create my own website. Offer people some feel-good counselling and pass the buck by having a whole page devoted to "external links". Quote Eckhart Tolle and the bible at the same time, to show how broad-minded I am. It amazes me how people write novels, even short stories. To spend so long in the head of one's characters. Must be hard to come back to reality sometimes. The part that bores me is the descriptive stuff. I don't enjoy reading it and I hate writing it. I don't care about the shape, texture and colour of a dining room table. Just tell me , it's a table and I'll use my own concept of what a dining room table is. I'm more into the anxious monologues of Woody Allen. How writers show what is actually ticking inside our crazy heads. Then I feel better about myself, knowing I'm not the only one with racing thoughts, with suicidal tendencies. I think Dosteovsky does it well in stories like "the gambler". (because I used to be a pathetic gambler too) I might be more suited to non-fiction as that is what I read mostly. Spirituality. Now that word has become so overworn, so cliché, but it best describes what I have a passion for. And I know I come across as a sarcastic s.o.b. sometimes but there is a part of me that hungers for this stuff. In my "humble" view, the minute we put our spiritual concerns on the backburner, is when we start to falter in our lives. OK, there endeth. Maybe I should write my own bible.
Writer? Well, many of you would say that I imagine. However, this question has plagued me all my life. Like a meaning of life question. Perhaps my problem is expecting a simple one or two word answer. It has so wracked my brain that I think my best job might be career counsellor. You know the last time, I went to a career counsellor, they couldn't stop with the cliché advice "make sure your resume is good, sell yourself before and during an interview and don't be afraid to take something less than you are qualified for." Somehow I was expecting more. Choosing the right job requires really good self-awareness. And of course, different jobs suit at different times of our lives. But I think there needs to be more time spent on getting to know the client personally. What are their likes and dislikes outside of work. What do they want to achieve in their life besides earn a living? How is their mental health? Are they stressed around people? Just because you are anxious around people, doesn't mean you aren't suited to a human services job/career. Of course pragmatic concerns like resume are also important. But I think I would be interested in helping either high school students or university students who wish to change courses. Help them question their own motivation for making choices. Do you really like kids? How is your level of confidence in front of a group? How might you build that confidence? There are many of us who had to change our course at college. I baulked at psychology and chose education instead. But looking back, my reason for rejecting psychology was "oh, too much science and statistical analysis, I can't do that". But look at what psychologists end up doing. Most end up in human service/counsellor roles to my knowledge. Ok my conclusion is, that choosing a job, a career requires time, patience, research and asking yourself the "hard " questions. The more ruthless we are in examining our motives, in separating healthy idealism from delusion, the better we can do in life. I'd like to see students spend a whole week or two in their last year of schooling on a meditation retreat with a career focus. or has it already been done?
If I ever get to the U.S. I want to go to Gesthemene, the monastery where Thomas Merton stayed. I think it is in Kentucky? Anyway, I read Seven Storey Mountain like millions of others did. Written in 1948, a best-seller. OK, critics might say it was full of naïve idealism. And very catholic. Still I've remained a fan of Merton and his later books show growth and maturity. Too bad he died so young as he was just about to embrace Buddhism. I'd love to visit a Catholic/Buddhist church, one day. Do they exist already? But mystics to me are like great writers. They can see more and have more enthusiastic imaginations. They cross boundaries, they help you join the dots, see connections. They live in their spiritual imaginations like St. John of the Cross. They aren't caught up in the material world. They transcend intellectual pride and any form of ego for that matter. They know the value of humility. Humble, humble, humble. That is the key. God aint interested in how smart you are. He's interested in your heart, in your soul. Before I get accused of preaching, I'd better stop. Each to his own. Good luck on your journey. And wish me luck on mine.
Two Aussie guys in their twenties were executed in Indonesia last year for drug smuggling. Myron Sukumaran and Andrew Chan. They had been in a Bali prison for 10 years. There was a feeling from some, that they got what they deserved as the damage they would do to drug users would've have been massive, immeasurable. And there were those who felt a life sentence would've have been more appropriate than facing a firing squad. Can you imagine how you would feel being on death row? Being obsessed about execution day? Apparently they had to wear garments with a target over the heart so that the shooters got the right spot. And I heard that sometimes they miss and it takes longer to die. Imagine the agony of those last minutes. I'm thinking I would require a diaper or pad for the last month before execution day. Just absolutely petrified. Constantly pooing my pants. The level of anxiety would be through the roof. I'd be requesting benzodiazapams too but I guess they wouldn't agree to that, and the irony of asking for drugs when you are being executed for smuggling them. Apparently they became born again Christian, Chan a pastor I think. They showed courage and remorse and went to their deaths with dignity in my view. They apologised for upsetting their grief-stricken family and for their wicked crime too. Who am I to judge these two guys? If I could show the same guts, at the hour of my death, I will be happy. Imagine too, any of those tortured in war-torn countries before their deaths. How much courage is being shown right this second, somewhere in the world.Because violence and murder and torture are so common, such everyday ocurrences. We can at least send a short prayer to them now, no matter what our belief is.
Don't tell me you have never been envious. C'mon! Just think back to high school for a minute: -those kids that scored higher than you in tests -the kid that could run light years faster than you -the guy who had a shopping list of girlfriends -the guy who had an absolute doll of a girlfriend -the guy who had a girlfriend -the guy who could speak to girls without having a panic attack -the pubic speaker guy who had truckloads of confidence, and talent I guess -the guy who could play guitar like Mark Knoepfler - the all round jock But you know what? Statistics show that we are wasting our time being envious. We should be focussed on honing our own skills. Our own progress. As if others don't exist. Life may be a competition, but as far as we know, the only challenge is bettering ourselves. The people who can use this approach are the winners in life. It has been scientifically proven, that those who ignore others' achievements and focus on what needs to be done at this very second: -live at least 2 weeks longer on the average -sleep at least 13 minutes longer every night -have 0.27 more children than the average family -have 1.269% better chance of not getting run over by a moped Envy is a waste of time and energy. Do the green thing. Vote "No" to envy!
I just realise what a beautiful name Grace is. If I had a daughter, I'd like to call her Grace. Grace may well be the most important word in the English language. It is certainly the most under-rated. Apparently you need to be humble to receive it though. If low self-esteem equalled humility, I'd be OK. But I'm not. Low self-esteem, big ego, intellectual snob (only towards people who haven't been to Uni), aversion to several personality types, sense of entitlement too which is disappointing. Humility is harder than you think. I'm trying my hardest right now to be humble. C'mon write something humble for God's sake! .......... I really admire people who remain true to themselves but are not worldly successes. Who don't get distracted by what others think of them. The unsung hero is full of grace.
Did I tell you about Graham Northcott? He's 85 years old, fitter than me and still making plans. Plans to travel to Europe again this year, plans to renovate his home, plans to start a business selling chocolate door-to door, plans to get a new girlfriend and plans to get a personal trainer. I thought by that age, you'd be making plans about the next life, not this one!
Be confident young man! Believe in yourself! Show no fear! Have courage! If anyone has been "guilty" of self-doubt in their life it is me. It has paralysed me at times to the point of quit, quit, quit. No I can't be a writer. I lack descriptive powers and I'm too superficial. Too old now anyway. No I can't be a nurse. I hate blood. No I can't be a teacher. I lack the social skills and confidence. I don't like the limelight. No I can't be a guitarist. I don't have the self-discipline. No I can't become a manager. I lack a loud confident voice. And I can't even manage myself sometimes. No I can't have those people over for dinner. They'll laugh at my cooking and presentation skill. Excuses? Yeah maybe but these are the self-doubts I suffer. I guess the trick is to do it anyway. Just keep going despite the doubts. No one likes someone with too much arrogance, lacking in all self-doubt. The happy medium would be nice. Some self-doubt is Ok I think. Stop us from over investing, biting off more than one can chew. And another thing. Chronic self-doubt leads to chronic scepticism of others. Not trusting others can do it.
A knock at the door and a shout "Parcel for Frank McCormack". Frank goes to the door and there's the spitting image of George Burns puffing a cigar and smiling. Frank is 25. Young . Lots of optimism, lots to plans. Life holds so many options . His body is young and bursting with energy. But he recognises George Burns from his movie Oh God with John Denver in the lead. Burns: "Well aren't you going to let me in? I am God, after all." Frank: "Is this some kind of practical joke?" Burns: "My jokes are more highbrow than that. No, it's me. You gotta believe Frank. You gotta have faith. You never had enough faith in yourself or me, did you? Well here I am with this parcel. It's a DVD. I want you to watch it and answer some questions after for homework. Can you do that for me, Frank? Frank: "Well, I suppose I should go along with this, even if it seems like a dream." Burns: "Aint no dream, Frank." Aint no dream. I gotta go. Got some other deliveries. You take care Frank and try and stay in touch better will you? I'm getting old and I need more attention so pay more visits, can you? Bye" And with that George Burns, aka God, walks out.
Separate us from them. The prisoner, the murderer, that awful outlaw. Lock them up. Keep them out of my sight. I don't want to know they exist. I don't want to know that jails keep people employed, that someone has to work as a warden or a kitchen hand in those places. Don' ever let me make eye contact with them. I am different. I am better. I am civilised. I am decent. I don't let my anger get the better of me. I don't use guns or knives or fists even. I'm afraid of violence so I must be one of the good guys. I haven't let my inner turmoil become outer turmoil....yet. What, you say I'm lucky? No I'm not. OK, I grew up in a relatively functional household. And granted, that night I was drunk and drove, I didn't hit a pedestrian. Oh and I did have support when I needed it. But overall, overall, I say I'm rather nice and they, and they are rather evil!
OK religion, a tricky topic I know. A friend of mine said once "All you have to be is a good person in this life and you will get to heaven." He was/is Catholic Christian. So all that doctrine and dogma is not important? But that makes all those theologians/writers/historians irrelevant. Surely it isn't as simple as that! And what is heaven and does it really exist? It is a bit too simplistic isn't it. And your definition of a nice person? Doesn't murder other people or secretly sleep with their partners. Doesn't interrupt you when you are speaking. So overall, a well-mannered person who obeys the commandments. Do unto others before they do unto you. Love others as much as you hate yourself. Something like that. But I can't buy Buddhism's reincarnation. Who me come back as a goat? Well maybe. Some of those Buddhists are exceptionally nice people though. Don't even swat mosquitos when they are meditating outside in summer! Can I just briefly mention Muslims? I really like how they are so diligent in washing their hands before prayer. Buddhists and Christians could learn something from that. Make sure you are clean before you talk to God. It is respectful.
Are you good at reading people? I mean, can you sum up people pretty much on first impressions? I like to think I am, but no, I've misread quite a few people over the years. In fact I tend to "fall in love" with people. By that I mean there is this honeymoon period where I think they are larger than life. One particular work colleague I remember. He was so helpful and informative at first. He was a refreshing change from my previous colleague who was lazy, selfish and loved to pass responsibility over to me. But gradually I found some chinks in this guy's armour too. He was cunning, very cunning. Gradually found I was taking all the responsibility and yet he wanted to call the shots, if there was no risk of him being found to have made a glaring error. I became his admiring lapdog and gradually that relationship just fizzled out until one of us left, fortunately him. This particular workplace has really had a profound effect on me. I quit there almost 2 years ago and have only found part-time work since. I can honestly say I disliked 83.5% of the people there. Maybe it was the work culture rather than the people. Almost like it was haunted with an evil vibe. There were tall women who used their physical height to intimidate, others who gas-lighted me until I doubted my own memory. Then there were the cunning ones who put you on the spot with outrageous requests" I know it's 3.00am now, but I'm sick can you call to see if you can get a replacement immediately?" Another one, scarpering the minute I arrive for my shift, leaving me with a huge issue to deal with and no handover. Gossip and the three faces of Eve. Who am I talking to now? There was no trust, no ethics. People just moaned about the smallest thing someone else did .And I became part of the problem rather than the solution. I became a moaner and a gossiper. For that I feel ashamed too. I needed to wash my hands when I left. Start again from scratch. Erase these people, these sordid events from my life. But I didn't. They still play on my mind. Even this morning, I replayed an event from that workplace. A silly little tit-for-tat in the car-park. That was about the 100th time I've replayed it in my mind. I felt humiliated and still do no matter how many times I try to modify the exchange.
Yeah I was one of those too. English teacher in Asia for 15 years. I'm afraid to admit this to people, wondering what stereotype will be triggered in their minds.....weird junkie, sex-addict, child-molester, sexist, loser, unmotivated ,vagrant, time-waster. None or all of the above? But what I'll focus on here is the utter shock of resettling back in my home country, Australia. Reverse culture shock they call it. The first year back here and I found the customer service poor, Aussies direct in speech to the point of rudeness, and expecting too much from me in conversation. I had become accustomed to being withdrawn, insular and an outsider. Looking back now, it helps me understand why I was attracted to the janitorial industry, or asset maintenance as I someone so euphemistically described it to me once. I could remain on the outside, keep to myself, whilst cleaning. Cleaning is very much an outsider's occupation; the jobs I did anyway. Plenty of time to think. That can be good but it can also be nightmarish when you contemplate how much money you're not earning and how much work the company expects from you for a pittance. OK that's another story. I think the problem is expectations. When you return to your home country, you expect things to be easy. No language barrier, better medical facilities, higher standard of living. But you forget that you've aged and changed as a person and so have the circumstances of the country you left.
They think I'm looney tunes, wacko, out to brunch, cuckoo, off the wall, mentally ill. Well, I'm not but I suppose you won't believe me either. I'm on assignment, doing an investigative piece for a magazine on psychiatric accommodation, disguised as a patient. I faked severe OCD, dangerously obsessive thoughts, where I felt I was going to harm someone else. I handed myself in. It was a grand performance" I, I, I can't stand it anymore doc, I think I'm gonna do myself in but what's worse is, I think I'm gonna harm someone else, my boss, colleagues, partner, strangers on the street. It's got me by the short and curlies sir!" This place is dead-set Cuckoo's Nest, with a Nurse Ratchet clone to boot. What an evil *****! The tricky part is they want me swallow medicine. 90% of the time, I can hide it under my tongue and spit it out later but occasionally they''ll go "Frank, make sure you swallow, dear. that's a good boy!" It knocks me out for hours. I don't mind it actually. Serokwell, they call it. Anyway, I gotta get out of here soon, before it kills my motivation altogether. This place is full of doped up desperados and sad cases. Decent people in the main but screwed by their illnesses and mostly lifelong customers of the system. More like slaves really. Now you're gonna find the next part weird. I certainly do. I can't contact my boss. Number must've changed and the email address too. I'm stuck in here indefinitely. It aint hell but the thought of being here eternally, freaks me out! What the ****! Now you are starting to doubt me aren't you? You think I'm delusional! that I'm really a patient who's tripping! Who thinks he's someone else!
The answer for me is a resounding "No". And that eliminates me from a lot of jobs. I'm a slow thinker. I need a job which gives me some space to daydream, to potter around and double check things. This made me think that the ideal job was security guard. No, not the ones who toss out patrons at bars and pubs. More the gate sentry types who have half an eye on proceedings and the other half on 'what if" scenarios in their imagination. I'm surprised there aren't any famous writers who weren't once working in the security industry. Now I can understand that some of you reading this are either self-employed or working in manic paced jobs. You might be a pizza delivery driver or a supermarket cashier. You haven't got time to be distracted and you like it that way. The shift flies and you can get home and then focus on your writing. But me? I like to fritter away the hours at work imagining my control-freak colleague is transported to another time and place, facing insurmountable odds in order to win the day. Or I have an idea for a security industry satire, where the last thing on anyone's mind is anyone else's security except their own. The boss is so anxious and paranoid, he secretly uses CCTV cameras on toilets. Then there is absolutely no sanctuary at work, no where to hide, no where to go. Your shift ends with a huge sigh, just to have survived the big brother scrutiny of it all. You are being paid to live and breathe a reality TV show every day. But the boss is only lookin for faults. What can I do wrong in a toilet for God's sake? Steal the toilet paper?