The Reward is the Journey

Before you know what kindness really is you must lose things, feel the future dissolve in a moment like salt in a weakened broth. What you held in your hand, what you counted and carefully saved, all this must go so you know how desolate the landscape can be between the regions of kindness. How you ride and ride thinking the bus will never stop, the passengers eating maize and chicken will stare out the window forever. Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness, you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho lies dead by the side of the road. You must see how this could be you, how he too was someone who journeyed through the night with plans and the simple breath that kept him alive. Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside, you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing. You must wake up with sorrow. You must speak to it till your voice catches the thread of all sorrows and you see the size of the cloth. Then it is only kindness that makes sense...

Humility is a word that today carries a whole lot of meaning for me.  I used it and meant it towards the end of a workshop I was delivering this weekend.  I felt it, and powerfully.  I feel humbled sitting in the presence of families who have someone missing.  Their extraordinary and awful experiences throw into a different light so many of mine, both past and present, and I was conscious of the collective experience spoken to by a group of relative strangers, brought together by a horrific and harrowing reality none of them imagined, let alone expected.      The workshop represents the completion of a series we have as a team delivered up and down the land.  Yet it stands for so much more.  As I found myself fumbling for words, which carried anything like the meaning I was searching for, I surrendered and allowed my heart to find its voice.  Sometimes words fall so far short, it is better to give up the...

...When you say nothing at all?   Disclosure in the therapy room is a contentious subject, but perhaps one that is not explored as readily as it could be.  I am under no illusion as to the existence of a peculiar power dynamic in the therapy room, and do not seek to deny it, either inside or outside of the room.  Revelations I make about myself, my experiences, and my opinions can have a significant bearing on the individual relationships I have with my clients.  But the impact of my silence should not, I feel, be overlooked or underestimated.    It would be all too easy, perhaps, to remain an empty vessel, or a blank canvas.  To make 'therapist style' noises, at appropriate moments, and engage the full range of active listening skills.  It wouldn't necessarily make me very useful.  I'm not convinced this would establish terribly productive therapeutic relationships, capable of catalysing meaningful chan...

I have grown used to the sound of trains as they pass by at the bottom of my garden.  The sound was alien when I first arrived, and I felt convinced I would never overcome the regular disturbance, day and night.  Today, it is there, and I live alongside it, rather than battling against it.  At night, I barely notice the trains, and during the day, I find them somehow comforting, reminders that time is passing by, confirmation of that eternal truth that nothing stands still.    Travelling by train is something of a rare pleasure these days.  In recent months, I have, it feels, travelled the length and breadth of the country.  I do not have any such adventures on the horizon, but recall feeling aware of a definite sense of calm whilst in transit on the railways recently.  Train journeys are now, spaces to simply be.  In terms of getting from A to B, there is nothing much for me, as a passenger, to do, and nowhere for me to g...

It made a lot of sense as she said it - it can be scary to zoom out.  Keeping things in the day, and focusing on the here and now is a skill that once learnt, can become something of a protective cloak when the bigger picture is perhaps less orderly, and even overwhelming.   A great many of us move through our lives one chapter at a time, turning the pages as we go, and retaining a sense of 'all is well, all will be well', by taking things line by line, with the ability to take things even more steadily, word by word.  We set ourselves objectives, and make plans, but we live looking only just ahead of where we find ourselves.    There are lots of reinforcers for this approach.  Education for one.  Modules, rather than finals.  Public examinations annually, or even more frequently.  Progressing in a linear fashion.  It all keeps things ticking over nicely.    Until they don't.  I have come t...

As the days get colder, and the nights longer, I have upped my scheduled entertainments.  Twice in a month I have been to the 02.  For two very different evenings.  Jesus Christ Superstar was written to be performed in an arena setting.  Andrew Lloyd Webber, who appeared on stage at the end of the show, told us he'd waited 42 years to get to the 02.    Not to everyone's tastes, perhaps.  I thought it was spectacular.  The show has been revamped and boasted cutting-edge modernisation used last summer's London riots and the Occupy movement to create a contemporary backdrop for the rise of a new political leader who threatens the status quo of capitalism and state authority.   And it was loud!  Swinging effortlessly between heavy rock and ballad, the emotional connections in the triangle between the tortured but disaffected Judas, the weary Jesus and the yearning Mary Magdalene, are only further intensified Tim Rice'...

"...Rarely have we seen a person fail who has thoroughly followed the path that the program suggests..."  So says Chapter 5 of the Big Book, the basic text of Alcoholics Anonymous.  "Those who do not recover are people who cannot or will not completely give themselves to this simple program, usually men and women who are constitutionally incapable of being honest with themselves."   How it works might be summarised as Honesty, Open mindedness and Willingness.  No two meetings are ever the same.  They may be broadly similar, as they tend to follow a similar format, but a meeting is as individual as the people that make it.    Meetings are the backbones of a great many individuals' recovery journeys.  In them, those who have decided to abstain from substances, or behaviours, access the support of those with a common purpose, and this is the not-so-secret key to 12 Step Fellowships.  By sharing thei...

Surrender has been a prominent theme in recent weeks.  On so many levels.  For me, there are few lessons learnt as effectively as lessons lived.  My own experience is a wonderful laboratory for many an unanticipated (and sometimes less than welcome) hypothesis.  I feel as though I have gleaned a great amount of late.   I can now see how very different surrender and resignation are.  I can only see this having felt it.  Giving up is not an option.  Surrender is not only an option, it is sometimes absolutely the right thing to do.  Which is not to say that it's easy.    It's not been easy.  Watching someone you love losing their life to a chronic and debilitating illness isn't something I'd wish on anybody.  Watching the life being steadily squeezed out of a family member, powerless in the face of a ruthless and progressive condition, is challenging on every level.   She's fading away.  We've not lost ...

I had to look at it for a second time.  As I emerged from the Underground, a chalk message on a blackboard read:  "The best way to find something you've lost is to buy another".  It shouted at me.  I was making my way home after a long day, having travelled to and from Yorkshire, and there was this message - simple.  Far too simple, in fact.   It didn't of course refer to someone you may have lost.  But the intimation spoke to me.  We don't anticipate losing those we love.  We get by on the assumption that people we hold close to us in our lives will not suddenly vanish.  But that's exactly what happened to the twenty individuals I met in Leeds.  One day their relative was there, going about their ordinary everyday business.  Then they were gone.    Their experiences ranged in length, but the devastation was broadly similar.  Wives looking for their husbands, mothers missing their sons.  Sibli...

Less than a week ago, I was in Birmingham.  Tomorrow I'll be in Leeds.  My work has rarely before involved travel to such glamorous locations.  This weekend represents the penultimate workshop in a series I have delivered with colleagues on behalf of the national charity Missing People.  As police continue to investigate the disappearance of little April Jones, my work for the organisation feels as poignant as ever.  It will be a privilege to return to Yorkshire, where I presented an introduction to mindfulness over 3 weekends for families of missing persons earlier in the year.  I am looking forward to seeing some familiar faces, and to meeting new ones.      This aspect of my work, which has grown considerably over the last 18 months, has been both a challenge and a delight.  Having thankfully never found myself in the situation where someone I love has disappeared without trace, I am stretched to truly empathise with th...

Therapy is psychological exfoliation.  I've heard the cliche of peeling the layers of the proverbial onion too many times for it not to hold some water.  It makes sense.  Therapy, done well, is about going beyond and below the superficial.  When safe, the space is a sacred one, the potential for which may be limitless.  At times however, this is hard work.  I know this first hand, having sat on both sides of the room.   Stripping back, to uncover and reveal is necessarily exposing.  Safety is paramount, and so too is aftercare.  A comprehensive skincare routine entails exfoliation, cleansing, toning and moisturising.  Abrasion requires balm and serum.  I often find myself talking to clients about the importance of honouring the work done inside the therapy room after they leave, treating themselves gently - physically and psychically.  'Going there' requires enormous courage.  'Getting there', if indeed there...

Some Like it Hip Hop by ZooNation was an awesome midweek treat!  The innovative fusion of hip hop dance moves and soulfully sung song made for a thrilling foot tapping, and later hand clapping evening of entertainment.  Unexpectedly discovering our seats to be in the front row brought with it an additional dimension, as we were immersed in the storyline and into the powerful characterisation, and thus transported into the blindingly creative storyline and artistic genius of the relentlessly brilliant choreography.     Some Like It Hip Hop is a story of love, mistaken identity and revolution, in a city where books are banned, and where women are kept subservient to men.  The story revolves around two central female characters, Jo-Jo and Kerri.  When they are discovered breaking the rules of the city, they are thrown out.  They decide they have only one option – to return to the city dressed as men.  It doesn’t take long for ...

It has been a privilege to engage with the families of missing people through the workshops I have been delivering on behalf of the Charity.  It has been a pleasure to get out of London.  It reminds me that whilst I love living in the big smoke, I also adore getting out.  I feel myself expanding, and breathing more deeply when surrounded by trees and fields.  I remember speaking to a friend who spent several winters abroad, working in ski resorts.  She was troubled by the landscape, and I struggled to understand her complaint.  She spoke of missing the sky.    I now appreciate what it is that she was referring to.  In some respects a ski resort has more in common with a big city than one might immediately recognise.  The mountains protrude and dominate, crowding the horizon.  Escaping to North Somerset recently, this conversation which took place at altitude some time ago returned to me - I derive enorm...

In spite of the weather, for me this time of year always holds a spring like quality.  There's something about fresh starts arising from my affinity with the academic calendar and the rhythm of the year within the year.  September has, for as long as I can remember, represented the beginning of a new year - albeit three quarters through the calendar year.  This year is no exception, and I have embarked upon a new programme of study necessitating pre course reading, discovering a previously unknown corner of London and meeting new colleagues in the classroom setting.     "As long as you live, keep learning how to live" Seneca   As an adult learner, groups today feel both exciting and still daunting.  First impressions, expectations, comparisons, assumptions.  I am looking forward to the year ahead, but am under no illusions.  I have the dates in my diary, I now have responsibilities - to myself, and to others....

I imagine the September evening light to be something of a photographer's delight.  So I imagined yesterday whilst sitting in my therapy room, writing my notes whereupon I noticed the difference a floor makes.  Just a few stairs perhaps, but a very different view.  Viewpoints are important.  I was reminded of that this afternoon whilst beginning to re-think the different arguments on the aetiology of sexuality.  Essentialist (nature:  I was born this way), developmental (nurture:  something happened, cause and effect) and social constructionist:  does it matter anyway, and why it might.      "Everything we hear is an opinion, not a fact. Everything we see is a perspective, not the truth." Marcus Aurelius   As I sit opposite my client (or clients) we literally sit with opposing views.  Physically we have different perspectives on the world outside.  I face looking in one direction, and they may...

Friends come and go but to a few you should hold on...  She is one such friend.  I let go, but hopefully we might be able to move on from the rather lengthy interlude that our friendship has seen, and apparently survived.  I feel blessed to have had an opportunity to offer a sincere amend, but know all too well that words carry far less value than actions, and intend to now live my amend.  Time has passed, and we have both grown, but time will tell whether we can overcome the distance that has arisen in the gap.    Friendship is precious though not always easy.  The best friendships are perhaps those that do weather a few storms, and whilst I wouldn't have chosen the particular variety of weather conditions ours has endured, the foundations have been exposed highlighting their strength and resilience.  We all of us have choices.  As adults, we have rights and inherent within those, responsibilities.  Today I recognise...

  My enthusiasm knows no bounds.  I found myself expressing interest in something before I had a clue what it is that I was committing myself to!  I'm in safe hands.  I know that.  I also know I can get off if I need to (or, if I find out half way up the incline that I haven't yet got the right cassette).    How could I not join in?  It's a mission wholly inspired by Charlotte and her recovery, and all in aid of Breast Cancer Care.  Besides which, it will be fun.  I have limited experience of climbing, and can claim to be nothing but an amateur.  But I find a challenge alluring and determination is something of a middle name.    This will be a challenge.  We will rise early, to meet at the Cafe from where we will set off and fire up our legs before reaching the two ascents.  My naivety amused me.  "Catford" I thought...  I couldn't call to mind any particularly sharp inclines.  YouTube...

A lot, actually.  Our name is often something we have little say over.  Expectant parents employ all sorts of strategies to arrive at a name that feels 'right', doing so very often before they've so much as met their infant.  Name books may be bought, family trees poured over, trends reviewed and friends consulted.  A short list is compiled.  The big day comes.  Waters break, labour concludes and baby arrives in the world...     ...Moments later the presiding doctor makes a call that for many will be unproblematic.  As baby takes its first few breaths post partem, "Congratulations, you have a beautiful baby boy!"  Or... "what a gorgeous little girl!"  From hereon in, baby's gender is decided, and with it a future.  Whilst the baby palette is perhaps now broader than the traditional pink-for-a-girl and blue-for-a-boy, there remain countless assumptions and expectations made on the basis of gender.  ...

I've been around a few days.  Recovery has taught me more than I can hope to retain.  I need to be regularly reminded.  What I know, and what I understand are two different things.  Knowledge alone isn't much use.  Wisdom is something else altogether.  If someone asked me what wisdom looked like, I wouldn't have a clue; but I know what it feels like.  Wisdom is practising the principles in all my affairs.     Including swimming.  Yesterday, I took the plunge and went along to a Club training session.  I dipped in to this a while ago, encouraged (indeed collected and taken to) by a friend whom has, I know, continued to attend.  Getting to the pool is something I needed to do for myself.  Whilst I have been happily doing my own thing, I have been itching to stretch myself, and step up to the challenge I knew a coach would present.    It was touch and go.  As I stood on the...

  In an ideal world, I'd live in a climate warm enough to swim outdoors all year round.  As it is, I live in South West London.  That being so, I have been spoilt.  The pool in which I train most often has a great amount of natural light, courtesy of the enormous glass roof.  It's a real joy.  It's almost as good as swimming in the open air.  A close second, and somewhat more practical for swimming 12 months of the year.  Besides which, it's single depth and has two ends (pools such as that to be found in Richmond's Old Deer Park, with a series of steps at the shallow end, whilst tempting to get into, prove hard to stay in for very long as turning is near impossible!)  I like my pool.  I also like exploring others.  As something of a pool nerd, I investigate swimming venues.  I subscribe to more than one online swimming magazine, read blogs written by fellow water babies, and dream of having my own pool...