Happy to live with ghosts

In the corner of my mum’s attic there is an old sewing machine which is waiting to be transported to our house. It belonged to my grandmother and I can easily recall its clicking sound and the image of my grandmother’s hands bowed over it with a piece of navy blue fabric that she would use to sew a dress for one of her many granddaughters. I know that soon this sewing machine will take a prominent place in our house; somewhere between my desk for reading and writing and next to this vintage typewriter that once sat in a little closet in my husband’s childhood home, to remind me of all the things that my now deceased grandmother exemplified: discipline, work, beauty.

With the Internet being full of different approaches to decorating houses, I have been for a while thinking if I have one. I have been drawn very much to the ideas encapsulated in the Japanese ancient philosophy of Wabi-Sabi, so beautifully pictured and described here and here by my two favourite bloggers. You will learn from these posts that Wabi-Sabi is about seeing beauty in imperfections, appreciation of the ordinary, and although I feel a strong affinity for it I know that it is not me entirely. It definitely speaks to my imagination, helps me forgive myself for not being perfect, and agrees with my non-consumerist approach to the many of life matters… but I mainly draw courage from our family histories… to answer my curiosity and calling just as the people before me had the courage to do it.

Our house stores a few objects that once functional are now primarily memories of our ancestors, of people who at some time were present in our lives. We are now left with pictures, photographs, books, an old butler (the piece of furniture, not the man servant). I think that we keep those things because what we value is continuity and we appreciate what has been attempted by them. Those objects represent their dreams, their aspirations and their qualities. Sources of strength. I am delighted to live with ghosts like these.

Sometimes I think that we fall into the trap of believing that we live in the golden age and that previous thinking, products, or actions somehow did not exist in the past or were totally inferior to the present. Can we really be so smug, but at the same time so insecure, about our contemporary skills and successes? I feel that the things that we choose to surround ourselves with have the capacity to both ease our insecurity and give us the perspective that a) we are part of a story that is longer than our lifespans and b) that our lives will also become part of someone else’s history.

Isn’t it a reason good enough to live a courageous and fulfilling life abundant with gratitude?

Follow your child’s gaze

Just before the night sets in I sit down on a bed with my little boy, we surround ourselves with a number of picture books and we look through the images and I read to him. Depending on how busy our day was and how alert we both are this little ritual of ours lasts from 15 minutes up to an hour. I love this daily encounter with different adventures, poems and stories but most of all I love this very peaceful time with my child and the feeling of unity that it creates.

Years ago I was wondering what it is about reading or rather following a particular story which creates this feeling of togetherness. I decided that the answer partially is held in our gaze. We look in the same direction. We see things together.

When we go about our days with my son I try to follow his gaze. I try to look where he looks so that I get to know him better, so that I learn what his interests are. I hope that through this he will find courage to stay true to his interests later on in life and to be sure that whichever direction he will turn to, I will be watching this with interest too.

As part of my own development I often listen to podcasts and interviews on creativity, curiosity and calling in adult life and I like to link them to how I see childhood. Over these very first years of my son’s life I have formulated a very firm conviction that at the moment, at the very moment of being and becoming, curiosity is his only calling.

I owe it to his future to respect this.

Check the podcasts that inspired me to write the post above: http://robbell.com/portfolio/robcast/

Uncoil your spine

Over a month ago a physiotherapist very kindly and thoroughly examined my reflexes and muscle strength and firmly recommended Pilates. It was this or no hope to my overstretched and exhausted backbone. I left the physiotherapist’s room relieved. I had my signpost now – to how to look after myself and tend to my body. I don’t know about you but I feel I need a bit of direction in that matter. Over the years I got somewhat detached from my physicality as other things just were much more important. Now, three years after pregnancy and this extensive period of lifting and moving around with a child, my body decided to remind me of itself. And it’s lovely that it did. Pain is such a beautiful thing sometimes, it’s a call for personal attention, a call that we just must eventually answer, embrace and respectfully respond to.

So I did. I responded to my battered back with a respectful tone of Pilates and… a new way of life and thinking has opened before me.

It’s interesting how often our body reflects back the quirks of our personality and how at times it calls for changes in our behaviour.

A month ago I lied down for the first time on my Pilates mat and as I was stretching my back I heard the warm voice of my instructor: Less haste. You must be carried by stamina not by momentum. Do it slowly. Stretch slowly.

My whole world view collapsed. And a new one started forming.

I observed people who exercised with me. There was a man and a girl who were stretching themselves with wonderful grace, and with wonderful control and technique. I admired them. No jerky movements, no rush to complete. Just grace.

Yesterday I was there again and while with some exercises I did not struggle at all to the extent that I almost felt that just after a month they became my second nature, some other exercises really pushed me hard. The contrast between the two experiences was so strong that it shocked me. How can one thing feel so easy and the other so difficult? One muscle overworked, the other left untouched. Can they not work in congruence? My instructor bent over me again: The strength will come. Just do it. Slowly. Progressively. You’ll gain control over it.

Ever since my son was born I feel that we all have been going through a lot of growth. That together we have been uncoiling our spines to become confident and straight-walking people. His spine has been uncoiling mainly in a physical sense as he slowly progressed from being a newborn to a walking and running child, my spine has been straightening and strengthening through a lot of questioning, personal challenges and strong internal debates about my values and place and vocation in life. Perhaps the reverse will need to be happening now: as my toddler enters the questioning phase, I will need to look after the practicalities of life and the physical side of my vertebrae.

Now I know how to. By stamina, not by momentum.

A freely chosen task

“I consider it a dangerous misconception of mental hygiene to assume that what man needs in the first place is equilibrium… a tensionless state. What man actually needs is not a tensionless state but rather the striving and struggling for a worthwhile goal, a freely chosen task.”

~ Viktor E. Frankl

Flames of support

Last week I was fervently campaigning for lighting a candle in support of asylum seekers and refugees. The idea was warmly embraced by a number of friends and acquaintances and so on Sunday evening, at 9pm, in front of our houses, we lit up the dark and prayed for the refugees’ peaceful journeys to safety and remembered those who have perished at sea. We looked back in our ancestries and saw how each and every family had members who sought refuge and those who sheltered others.

When we gathered I thus realised that we share much more than we think. There is nothing more reassuring than seeing people who are close to you link together in this most crucial of ways. That what it means to be a human being for you means to be a human being for them. That to be respectful and mindful of others means to be a humanitarian. That to be a community means to be a humanitarian community. Nothing else builds trust as much as this.

Activism is not my strength. I am only learning to speak my mind firmly. Last week taught me one thing: that it’s only when you stop sitting on the fence and position yourself that you can seek practical solutions to problems. It’s only then that your mind starts to generate ideas that are worth implementing.

I know that last Sunday at 9pm we created a tiny little piece of history. History for our few families that decided to light a candle. History for our little toddlers who could not contain the joy of lighting candles in the darkness, who could not stop jumping up and down and laughing loudly and being totally in awe of the light and warmth. This event ignited not only the flame of the candle but also the flames of joy in these children. I am pleased and contented for myself and my friends that we’ve started creating the basis of stories to tell our children later in life. Stories of practised compassion, sympathy and connectedness. Thank you for your support Lovely People.