Progress is a funny thing. You can be making much less of it than you necessarily know. Not that you should castigate yourself for something as ethereal as the cloud formations of the soul. Winds blow their way across the globe whether you feel them or not. And the weather: the passenger, the sometimes driver, moves droplet from ocean to mountain and sound from hill to stream, whether you feel it, hear it, smell it, it moves it all the same. Blame yourself no more than Cornwall blames itself for the rain, or the Cairngorms for the snow.
Regress has no humour. It is a steady bureaucrat clearing its in-tray. Avoidance is simple: send it no post; lose its address; blank-it in the corridor. Yes, maybe one day you will need its service, so don’t be an enemy, but don’t be its acquaintance and never be its friend.
I’m not suggesting that this one isolated incident created my life, but when I was five, older girls down my street put on a magic show for the younger kids. It was quite a beautiful thing to do, looking back at it, and it brought everyone together.
Halfway through their magic show they tasked us (the younger kids) with a competition: who could draw the best picture of their garage (where the magic show was happening). I drew their typical British 1970’s grey-bricked garage, at the end of their driveway, with the yellow garage door and I remember thinking at the time that it was quite simple so there was probably something I wasn’t doing right and I might not win.
It turns out that not only did I have better hand-eye coordination than the only other kid who actually drew their garage, but that I was probably smarter as well, since most kids just drew something else completely and didn’t hear/understand/care about their fairly simple instructions. But I won a small bag of chalky sweets, like Refreshers, or Love Hearts, or Palma Violets. They were delicious and I was extremely proud.
I remember going into my back garden afterwards and sitting up on the top of the slide with a beaming feeling.
Neither of my parents were particularly artistically inclined, yet I became highly art-focussed. I got an A at GCSE, and went on to study it at A-Level, and even now have four or five sketchbooks on the go. It was a huge part of what I just ended up being known for, growing up.
It has just made me realise how important the positive small things are in life, and there really are defining moments.
A reminder by Kelly @ Spark Change on what life is and why it is so important to live it.
Why does it take such an event as a death to afford us perspective? Maybe it is attention span, maybe once we have something to focus on we do just that. Maybe it is self preservation – a need to control potential dangers, or at least our exposure. Either way we wrap our attention around unnecessary trials and tribulations of all sizes. The most pressing truth of that is that there will always be a supply of them always waiting at the door. Always something of importance and always something to get stressed over.
There are many mantras to help that process of realignment, many places to turn to learn and advice to receive but trust is key. Read it all and hear it all and pay for your life coaches but if you do not trust them, if you do not trust the others who have been there and suffered so you do not have to then you are set to learn the same hard lessons the same hard way.