Charity Begins at Home

I’ve thought hard about this and deliberated for a while before starting this blog. Although this title phrase kept drifting in and out of my mind along with fragments of what I might write, I have been struggling with my writing recently. There may be a layered cake full of reasons for that, waiting for me to delicately pick at with my cake fork but perhaps now is not the time and I should push the whole cake to one side with a determined action, saying “that’s too rich for me right now.” I may well return to a forkful of it in a moment though, for both cake and self-doubt have that way of tempting you back to them.
For now then, I wonder what you think of when you read or hear this title phrase. I know in the past I have heard it said and felt saddened that those extolling the virtues of such sentiment have somehow arbitrarily decided that one chosen cause or charity is deemed to be more worthy than another. Historically speaking, I am sure that insular-facing politicians exclaimed that the problems of people in far away places were of little concern or relevance to us. That is, of course, until those problems began to be shared by a growing number of people and then the very fabric of freedom was threatened so that such problems were shared and indeed the focus of attention.
History lessons from the 1930s may not seem relevant, conversely others may warn of stark and compelling parallels to the dark, political landscape we now find ourselves in. Either way, the point I am seeking to make is that now, more than ever, we are all inter-connected, whether we like it or not. To dismiss the hardship and struggles that people may have because they are far away from us is both short-sighted and to deny ourselves the value of helping others, whoever they may be.
Moving away from what could be seen as contentious or political the concept of starting with what you can effect in the here and now, in your local area, is ultimately positive and proactive. Trying to take a whole world, wide lens view is daunting and potentially overwhelming.
I cannot be the only one who has noticed more homeless on the streets, been struck by stories on social media of families in poverty, or had a moment of reflection in the run up to Christmas to consider the ill, the tired, the hungry and the lonely. How individuals choose to support those vulnerable in our neighbourhoods is not for me to comment on. Suffice to say I have thought about it and taken different steps in recent years to help. It may feel like a drop in the ocean, but every positive act helps.
In writing this, I considered how we truly do need to look at ourselves before we can move beyond that. Perhaps that is the real crux of the phrase “Charity begins at home.” I always thought it was concerned with helping out your own, supporting your family, friends and neighbours before being in a position to help those further afield. Now I am thinking it is imperative to look at myself first. If I am not being kind to myself, not charitable enough to allow myself to fall down a little, then how can I begin to help anyone in any way at all?
I return to that writing dilemma that I mentioned at the start. Am I being too harsh on myself and expecting too much from the very act of writing? Self-imposed deadlines or constraints, perceived expectations of what I should achieve are all not allowing me to be kind to myself. It’s that time again when we look to new year’s resolutions. I think I need to stop expecting and anticipating certain results, cut myself a little slack and see if that can help me to find my own light in the darkness. Just as I wish that the many who will have far less than me this Christmas, will find their own light and hope for the year ahead.

New Year, New Chapter.

‘Twixtmas’ as I believe these few days between Christmas and New Year celebrations are called, is a strange part of the year. A mixture of exhaustion from all the preparations leading up to Christmas and a sort of self-loathing for giving into the indulgences of the holiday lead to me becoming a blob-like creature, incapable of rational thought, surrounded by mountains of chocolate and left over mince pies and turkey. Just to get off the sofa takes a concerted effort as it is during this time that I find my energy levels as well as my mood, can be low. All the anticipation of one day of the year, all the stress about how well the hosting of the day and managing relatives and expectations, all of that has to tip the mental balance into a downward trajectory doesn’t it?

So, this week, I have found myself keeping my mind busy, by writing, and my body active by walking the dog. Both positive actions to take to support my emotional state. I’m sure that each year I sink into the ‘Twixtmas’ slump but this year, I suppose I really don’t know what lies ahead for me in the new year. Having made the decision to leave work, I now feel that I am facing a difficult and significant time. Very much like a pedestrian stood at the kerb edge of a busy road, trying to find the right moment to commit to crossing to the other side, where promise and enticement lay to draw me forward through the dangerous traffic in order to get there. Sometimes, to get to the destination that you want, the hardest part seems to be taking the first steps.

I have started a sort of writing scrapbook – a collection of inspiring quotes within the pages of a notebook given to me by a friend. Alongside these, I plan to write my thoughts, my experiences, anything pertinent to me at the time. It feels like a positive way to empty my head of writing clutter and to note my observations of the world around me. Much like an artist keeps a sketch book. On my first blank page, my musings have started thus:

“My life is, as this book, currently open upon a blank page...”

At this point, the blank page of the year ahead seems simultaneously exciting and intimidating and I am grateful to all those who messaged me words of encouragement or suggestions of possible job opportunities for the future, having read my last blog ‘Overwhelmed and Out of Time.’

When you’re faced with the unknown, the little seeds of doubt that I am sure everyone has, can easily begin to sprout and begin to take hold of the dark corners of your mind. Given the chance, they could all too easily germinate and flourish like persistent weeds do among the beauty of a flower bed. This I must avoid. Whilst all around you can feel busy and is visually sparkling and welcoming, there have been times this last week when I have felt as though I am in some sort of movie theatre - an onlooker watching the scenes unfold around me, without any real participation on my part in the proceedings.

Perhaps it is because the demands of the traditions of a family Christmas, whatever that might look like for individual readers of this blog, create a familiar game, somewhat like us all following the rules of a predetermined chess game as we move across the board of play from the start to the end of the festivities. Even as I write this down, it feels like I am being the proverbial Scrooge character, bringing a message of ‘bah humbug’ to the season of goodwill. That is not my intention in my observations. It is more that there are always layers to social gatherings and not everyone is on the same page at the same time. Looking ahead to this new year, to be welcomed in at midnight in a couple of days’ time, I do feel that my path forward may be a rocky one. I may well stumble along the way but at least I recognise that.

Among the gifts I received for Christmas and to mark the leaving of my teaching post, were several items related to me setting myself up as a writer. I am not sure why this is so daunting right now, perhaps because it holds none of the 9 to 5 rules of a regular job and thus it feels strange to not be conforming to routines. It is not that I am seeing writing as a job either, for with that claim comes a necessity to have some financial gain from it. However, to immerse myself in writing, an ideal that I have always held in my mind as a dream, a sort of “if I ever win the lottery I would...” statement, to immerse myself I do need to treat it like a job and commit to the process.

So, as I say, I am sitting here with my blank page before me and it is up to me to decide how the writing falls upon it and what the story will be as the ink dries. One quote sent to me by friends reads: “Write your own story” That has to be my inspiration for my new year and my new chapter. Let’s see how the plot unfolds from here.

Frantic Festivities

So this has been a year of twists and turns, many of which have been documented within this blog, and now I find myself at the start of December looking at the finish line of 2018. This month is probably the busiest, as most people celebrating Christmas will no doubt agree. In recent years, we have found ourselves jumping through hoops to accommodate the various requirements of the festive season and often ending up exhausted by the whole process.

Beyond the plans for the big day itself and who will be going to who and how much food you really need to buy, is the clamour to sort out gifts for everyone in enough time to wrap them and get them to their destinations. The whole process seems to become more intense each year and I wonder if my memories of a simpler, distant Christmas are somewhat rose tinted? I’m sure that we all buy more stuff nowadays and, even with the immediacy and convenience of the little brown packages from Amazon Prime, the whole process seems to demand a level of commitment and spreadsheets that would not be out of place in a corporate organisation!

Since the kids lost their sense of wonder in the identity of the man in the red suit, it is certainly true that a certain amount of magic is lost from the whole event. Still, in the years immediately after that revelation we had times that we found time to share festive moments together; visits to see Christmas lights, taking long walks on a winters day or the odd special treat seeing a show or similar.

Then dark times invaded our festive season. Several years hosting Christmas dinner with an ill relative attending is hard but worse still is spending Christmas or Boxing Day in hospital alongside the bedside of a parent, unsure if they are going to make it through the night. Against the backdrop of those experiences, it is no surprise that the C word often conjures up an initial negative response from me. It is impossible to have the different parts of Christmas, the little family traditions that we all develop over the years, without poignancy and thoughts of those no longer able to join us round the table. 

Recently, whilst taking time alone with my husband, we tried to talk through ways of making this year calmer and less stressful. We’re still floundering somewhat in achieving this but we have got each other’s back and when one of us feels like it’s all too much, at least the other is able to offer a hug or a suggestion to help out. I think we’re both feeling a little resigned to the actual Christmas event being whatever it is and have adopted a sort of ‘let’s not overthink it all’ approach. I think we’re tired of trying to accommodate everyone’s wishes, be there for all and fit in with what everyone wants without regard for what we might want ourselves. We should be grateful to still have close family members around to share the two days with but it does feel like we’re ticking off the list of expectations and once again, putting ourselves at the bottom of the pile.

The things I am looking forward to this year are the little events we are choosing to have in the run up to Christmas and the promise of a few quiet days afterwards. There are evenings planned with colleagues and friends, a lunch out here and there and a mad party of dressing up and silly games set up for the drama group that I get to call my other family now! I suppose the attraction of these events are how they centre around simple things: raising a glass of wine together, playing a party game, walking in a wintry wood, chatting over lunch, wearing a silly hat or watching a friend open an inexpensive gift that has more effort in the thought attached than it has monetary value. Little things count. It may sound cliché to say so, but it’s true.

For many reasons we’re trying to scale back the excesses of our festivities this year. The money spent, the food wasted, the pile of wrappings- all seems an excess that we could well do without. I feel that I’m looking back with nostalgic eyes and perhaps trying to replicate some of that through us having a simpler celebration this year. I certainly intend to value the simple aspects of the festivities ahead: sharing time with those important to us, giving thought to tokens of love or appreciation, noticing the little touches that others have made, enjoying moments of calm or silliness away from the daily routines of our working lives. When all is said and done, these are the things that should refresh us and bring us joy and the strength we need to face the year ahead. 

Just as this year’s twists and turns have felt significant, I know that there will be more to follow next year. The unknown pathway is extending into the distance beyond me and I feel small as I stand there looking forward. Each year, as we reach midnight on the 31st December I check myself thinking what will this year bring? What have I got to be grateful for from this year? What can I do to make the most of the year ahead? No one has all the answers, for life tends to follow no rules. All we can do is give it our best shot and be thankful for those that we have alongside us to share it with. 

There will be more for me to reveal in my blog next year and many aspects that I cannot begin to imagine right now. For I stand small and timid, with images from films in my head akin to Little Red Riding Hood skipping off to Granny’s house and taking the forbidden steps off the pathway. Will there be a wolf in disguise awaiting my arrival into 2019 or will I find my way out of the dark and twisted forest and back on to the clear path? This story is yet to be told and its blank pages are waiting for my ink to spread across them.