Friendly Face

I don’t often go to the pub these days except when I’m away with friends. But yesterday I went for a pint and a whisky in the “Farmers Bar” of a local hotel. It’s usually quiet there…the farmers are too busy I suspect…and I wanted a bit of time to reflect on things.

The only people in there were an old lady and a man, also not young, who turned out to be her son. The man I had seen regularly on the streets nearby our house, and had got in the habit of saying hello to, even though the response always seemed gruff. He hadn’t got a very Friendly Face to my mind.

But appearances, as they say, can be misleading. The time for reflection went out the window, as I had a lovely chat with him and his mother. They came across as very kind hearted people and the man with the unfriendly face turned out to have a name, like everybody else.

And he is, it turns out, really quite friendly.

Build Resilience

I’ve got something difficult to do today. It involves trying to reboot two relationships that have deteriorated over the last few months. It’s scary because I know that those people think I have done something wrong. And I have no real grasp of what that wrong might be. As a result I feel hurt, because of their perceived rejection of me.

This sort of “difficult” has the habit of becoming more difficult the longer it swishes around in our heads. The longer we don’t talk about it. In fact it’s come to a head in my own mind over the last few days. Which is why today I’m going to try and do something about it.

I am letting go of my own sense of grievance. The hurt and the anger. Then I’m having to let go of the story I tell myself of “here, we go again another rejection on the way”.

And I am rebuilding with -

First, the love that I have for these people. It hasn’t felt like love for a while, but it hasn’t gone away. That’s where the hurt came from of course. But I want them to be in a good place. This must be hurting them too. Our relationship was good, and it can be good again. Perhaps even better as a result of coming through some difficult times.

Secondly, by changing the story I tell myself that turns my expectations into a kind of victim mentality. The person who will always be the one having to say sorry. The person who has to carry the pain. It’s quite a sad, and self pitying story that one. No need for it.

I’d rather look to the future now, and see myself as someone who has always tried, and always will, to grow in a positive and life enhancing way, though inevitably making many mistakes along the way. Someone who cares about the people in his life. Someone who isn’t, and shouldn’t be, defined by how other people, even those close to me, see me. Or even how I see myself.

Because finally, this simple truth - yesterday is history, and tomorrow hasn’t arrived. There is, and always will be, only this moment. This is the entirety of my experience right now, and who I am here is just fine.

This is all part of my journey to Build Resilience. I hope this “heart on sleeve” blogging might contain something that helps you along the way as well.

Fake It Till You Take It

Taking our own advice?

We’d like to think that when we give it, we take it.

But who would want to take advice from us? Especially us!

In my experience, any wisdom that occasionally comes out of my mouth or taps forth, like alien morse code, from my keyboard, appears well ahead, sometimes years, of any subsequent transformation into constructive action or changed behaviour.

So, behold today’s words of wisdom…

…Fake It Till You Take It.

ps. And here is my Fee Come’s Fourth release for this month. A seasonal tune about an angel who ignored my advice to “do it now” and instead put things on hold until a more opportune Christmas -Maybe Next Year.

The Snowman

The Snowman was brilliant white
As pure as the purest snow
But he went and drank himself silly one night
And next morning his feet were
Yellow

I’ll get my coat…

….and my mittens, and my scarf. And a sledge.

Let It Snow

Let it snow, let it snow, Let It Snow.

Away to see the grand weans, as we won’t be able to at Christmas. And, yes, here in Falkirk the gods have smiled on us and, shortly we will be able to witness the pure joy that a downfall of white fluffy flakes from the sky, brings to the children.

And to us too. Something about it I. Perhaps not so much if you live in Antartica I imagine. But when it is not a constant experience, a white blanket of snow makes it feel as though magic is possible.

We all need a little bit of magic.

And now….snowmen, snow angels, snowball fights and screams of delight are imminent. Wish me luck!

Kissing The Earth

Sadly there was a dead otter at the place where I walk to this morning. It looked like it had been crushed by a car on the nearby road. It must have been a shock to the driver, who clearly got out and moved it to the spot on the grass where it lay.

On getting back I read this quote:

”Walk as if you were Kissing The Earth with your feet”.

A reminder to take care. That we are clumsy humans, and we can damage, whether intentionally, accidentally, or without due care, the world we live in, and it’s occupants. Including people we love, and ourselves.

A reminder to be as aware and awake as possible.

A reminder that this earth, this short life, is a privilege.

Walking And Talking

I wasn’t just walking today. I was Walking And Talking. My son Michael was with me on my morning wander.

it’s nice to have him over from Malaga which, as you probably know, is in the year round pleasantness of the Costa Del Sol. He made a tongue in cheek comment as we headed in a vaguely easterly direction, on this sunny Campeltown morning.

”I’m looking at that big shining, sphere, in the sky. It seems like it should be hot… so why am I feeling so cold”.

Walking and talking, it goes without saying, is a different experience to walking alone. Of course it is possible to just walk together, sharing the time and the experience. That can be a powerful thing. Communication is more than mere words.

But, hey, we haven’t seen each other for a while. So we talked.

That often causes us to focus upon each other, and our worlds away from the place that we are actually walking through, even if the environment can be part of the conversation.

Somehow the walking adds something to the talking though. It helps to stimulate and activate. It’s pleasant and healthy to be moving. The conversation, like the open spaces we walk through, is perhaps wider ranging and more interesting than ones that happen confined to the four walls of a room.

I could be imagining that. But regardless, walking and talking is great. Perhaps more of our socialising should be done in this way.

Even in zero degrees Campbeltown.

The Telescope And The Microscope

When we zoom out, and look at it all from a big enough distance in time and space, everything looks small. Tiny. Miniscule.

Our own small lives, from a distance, don’t look any different from those of the most influential people and events on the planet, either now, or through the whole of history. It all looks insignificant.

But if we zoom in close enough everything, absolutely everything, matters. It all impacts something. There are no exceptions.

We need both those perspectives. One to keep us humble and liberate us. And the other to motivate us to take responsibility, and to find meaning in our lives.

It’s always useful to have both The Telescope And The Microscope to hand. Hard, sometimes, to know which one we should be looking through right now though.

And perhaps, sometimes, those of us who are constantly trying to “make sense of it all” need to put them both down.

Sometimes this is enough.

A Place Where Neverland Never Was

I’m happy to be a skeptic. Not easily convinced. Not just believing something because somebody, however eloquent or passionate they may be, tells me it is true.

That is a place many of us come to as adults. We should. It’s a kind of growing up that occurs when we first discover that Santa isn’t real. (I’m so sorry if you had to hear it here for the first time!).

For some people this “growing up” is a sad thing. But we really can’t live in Neverland for ever, even if we should undoubtedly take a child like spirit of adventure, excitement and curiosity into the whole of our adult lives. That doesn’t need to die.

So yeah, skepticism is good.

Cynicism, on the other hand, is a different kettle of spiny fish. On the surface, very similar to skepticism, in reality it is place where even the memories of Captain Hook, Tinkerbell, Rudolph and Father Christmas have faded away. The candle has almost gone out. A Place Where Neverland Never Was. A kindred spirit with Bitter Man.

There is, though, an antidote to the cynicism of the cynic in ourselves and others. It is a patient kindness and a compassionate empathy for the child that might still be in there, fighting to get out and stop Mr Skeptic from “growing up” too much.

Spending time, giving space, observing, playing with, talking to Real Children, is perhaps the best way to cultivate this antidote.

A Big Piece Of Rock

This morning after taking my usual walk along to The Field Of Hope I turned back in the direction of town. Right in front of me, hanging luminous over Campbeltown was a full and extravagant moon, shining bright even as the day began, lit up by the sun creeping up over Davaar Island, now behind me.

The moon is just A Big Piece Of Rock with no life upon it. A chunk that broke off from the larger piece that formed our own Earth billions of years ago. Yet it inspires awe. It governs the tides of our oceans. It acts as a muse for the humble songwriter. It can even give rise to hope.

It brings light to a dark night.

And, in this case, to a cold November morning.

If an inanimate piece of rock can do all of that, then perhaps we shouldn’t focus so much on our own limitations.

Love Has Boundaries

Good boundaries are hard to build. I’m speaking about in our personal lives, but what applies there certainly applies in the big, wide world.

A boundary can be so good it keeps everything out. Everyone. But a boundary that good is suffocating. Because everything and everyone needs to breathe. Otherwise it can’t really be called Life.

But a boundary that lets everything in ain’t a boundary. Or if it lets too much in, it ain’t an effective boundary.

And this is all so important, because everything that matters to us is dependent upon building effective boundaries. Our relationships with each other and in the world. Sometime our own personal sanity, and even our individual and collective survival.

I’ve alway been on the “too welcoming” side of boundary building. I don’t find conflict easy, and historically I haven’t found it easy to say no. This isn’t healthy. It often leads to one kind of collapse or another, in the long run.

Dealing with the boundary issues early on in the process of building anything saves a whole heap of trouble later on. But once the trouble happens, the boundary issues still need to be dealt with.

The truth is Love Has Boundaries.

Comfort Zone

Capo The Shark is lying on my desk.

He’s sulking.I was supposed to take him with me to The Gather last night. But I forgot.

Capo doesn’t get out very often. He’s got sharp teeth, but they don’t get used as much as he’d like. It might have been his chance to shine….well to bite down on the neck of my guitar anyway, and help me shine. Perhaps.

Actually, it turned out that his absence turned into an excuse. For me. There was a wee jam at the end with two fiddles, a bodhran, and….well…no guitar. My guitar was tuned down. I could have tuned it up, but “hey, they’re playing already…I’ll just watch”.

Truth is “jamming” is outside my Comfort Zone. I didn’t come to music by playing with other people, as many, if not most musicians do. I honestly find it very difficult.

But it’s not that I couldn’t. It’s really a case of me learning a few simple bits of guitar theory, and getting on with it. I’ve got the chops really.

My apologies to Capo The Shark. Not just for leaving him behind, but for using him as a cop out.

The Dark Streets

Many years ago I wrote a song called Potatoman, one of my earliest songs, which somehow became locally popular, among some young fellas mainly, and made me feel like a bit of a celeb when I occasionally heard the call “hey, Potatoman” in the streets of Campbeltown.

Occasionally, I hasten to repeat.

Anyway, the song contains super heroes, which always go down well I find. But mainly it was a kind of prayer. The key line being “Please don’t let me end up a bitter man”.

I had become aware at the time of how easy it would be, in my own life, to walk down The Dark Streets of bitterness, and never come back.

I haven’t been called Potatoman for a long time, but still occasionally I find myself poking my head into one of those streets again. They seem to offer the opportunity for vindication, “just” reprisals, and the weird satisfaction of being the martyr.

In reality they are just a bad place to be. They bring suffering, and only suffering, and only to the bitter man, or woman, themselves.

The prayer still stands.

Jenny

Another very windy, rainy day in Campbeltown. Walking along the front earlier I heard a familiar sound in an unfamiliar place.

The wren is the smallest bird in Britain, but quite common. It’s most often seen, though usually first heard, darting round in the shrubbery, and the low bushes and bracken. Sometimes in the trees but usually close to the ground. Places with shelter.

Jenny had decided that the place to sing out loud today was upon a very exposed railing along the seafront, facing into the wind. It was a tiny act of defiance, but impressive none the less.

There was shelter to hand. She later popped down to the sloped sea wall where there were plenty of nooks and crevices. But for a couple of minutes she blasted out her best rattly soprano while I, the sum total of her audience, watched in admiration.

I felt like applauding. I really enjoyed the gig. But I learnt a lesson too:

Don’t wait for perfect conditions - Do it now.

The Weather

I was under the weather yesterday, and spent a lot of the day sleeping. Today I’m in the weather. Almost above it.

And though my head is in the clouds, you know what I mean sunshine.

So you’ve got to give it to The Weather - it positively rains down idioms and metaphors upon the humble speakers and writers among us.

Sometimes, we hardly need to do a thing .

A Gap To Be Filled

There’s A Gap To Be Filled somewhere.

-The colouring in book.
-The lull in the conversation.
-The longer wait than expected at the bus station.
-The quiet car journey.
-The few minutes before going to work.
-The misunderstanding
-The silent part of the song.

Or is there?

The Sort Of Things We Do

I think I might have mentioned a fiddler called Jill from Glasgow who ended up playing along with me to my songs at a recent open mic.

Anyway, yesterday, after a bit of time spent working out the logistics over the previous days, I drove for over an hour just to have a jam with her. Ineke, and my son and daughter-in-law who are visiting, came along for the ride. Bout of travel sickness for somebody in the car on the way. Long and winding roads in these here parts.

But the location for our rendezvous was a caravan with a great view of the ocean and the islands beyond. Lovely. And so nice to meet Jill again, who already feels like a friend, despite the brief contact.

And I got to play the song I wrote for, and sang at, my son and daughter in law’s wedding. When Starlight Comes To Stay. But this time with a fiddle accompaniment. Which undoubtedly made things better.

Tharushi cried. Again. Which is always a good sign in these circumstances. And better than puking up.

This is The Sort Of Things We Do. Musicians anyway. Maybe you too.

What’s The World Coming To?

Here is a song lyric from my week away. It’s an upbeat downbeat song.

What’s The World Coming To?

You’d like to think
Maybe you think
That one and one is two
But when you’ve been around a while
You get a different point of view
You start to wonder
Yes you wonder
What’s The World Coming To

Life’s not a puzzle
In a book
With the answer’s in the back
I’d take a peak, if I could
To make up for the brains I lack
I wonder
Yes I wonder
What’s the world coming to

I’d like to see how it all ends
I hope we’ll still be friends
In the end

You get a feeling
Sometimes inside
That things aren’t what they seem
It’s just a feeling, and you don’t really know
What it might mean
You’re only human
You start to wonder
What’s the world coming to

I’d like to see how it all ends
I hope we’ll still be friends
In the end

I lie and watch the dragons
In the clouds
Breathing fire
I can’t decide if they’re going to attack         
Or maybe they’re just happy to see us

You’d like to think
Maybe you think
That we can work it out
We do what we can
You take my hand
Pour faith into my doubt
We’re only human
Can’t help wondering
What’s the world coming to

We’re only human
Can’t help wondering
What’s the world coming to

Now Is The Time To Sing

Yesterday, the blackbird was singing beautifully from the top of an impressive stone cross, among many impressive stone crosses in Campbeltown Graveyard -

“In loving memory of Malcolm Mclaren, died 1901”.

But the singing blackbird, serenading one hundred and twenty two years of loving memory, is alive. Malcolm is deid. And I doubt anyone is remembering him at all now, lovingly or otherwise.

It’s the way of things. It makes today hold more significance.

Now Is The Time To Sing.

Rhubarb And Custard

And yet…continuing on from yesterday…as much as there is everything in the present moment to fulfil us, and is in fact all there really is, how do we move forward, or in fact do anything, without some kind of drive or motivation to push us.

Why not go and spend seventeen years meditating in a cave (like some people actually do!) and ignore the wider world. If it’s all here, right now, why not?

It’s a paradox. Which is another word for saying: “Um, haven’t worked that one out yet”. Paradoxes might in fact be impossible to work out. Maybe they just exist. Like Yin and Yang, Breathing In and Breathing Out, and ….um…Rhubarb and Custard.

Mostly we ignore paradoxes, because they blow our minds.

But they are the edge of the knife where life might well be at its most potent. Don’t know about you, but I’d like to live a potent life.

I suspect that could be the hardest challenge we could ever have.

And the easiest.

Flipping paradoxes. They’re everywhere you look.