Questions, questions

Someone asked me recently if I felt my life was stressful. Why? I asked, surprised. Because so many of your blogs relate to stress. Interesting, I thought. My shifts really are my very own.

Australia, specifically Melbourne, rated as the number one city in the world to live this year by The Economist Intelligence Unit. For the third year in a row. Yet Australia rates as number 10 on the UN's list of happiest nations. Part of the determinant for this rating is the country's level of mental health. Apparently 10% of the world's population suffers from clinical depression or crippling anxiety disorders. This is the statistic that interests me, rather than the longevity of our lives, GDP etc, because "mental health is the single most important determinant of individual happiness." (page 5 of World Happiness Report.)

And yet our rates of mental health are startling. Not only is suicide the leading cause of death for young people aged 15-24 (Australian Bureau of Statistics, 2012), but Australian youths have the highest prevalence of mental illness than any other age group (ABS 2009). 14% of them suffer from anxiety disorders, 6% suffer from depressive disorders, and 5% suffer from substance abuse disorders. Despite being tenth on the list of happy nations, thirty people will attempt suicide on average on any given day, and six will be successful. 

One night at work recently I was enjoying some Christmas cheer with some other quilters when a man came storming in. The front door had been inadvertently been left unlocked. His whole body was moving in seemingly different directions, as if each body part had its own music and rhythm, completely separate from the neighbouring body part. He wanted food. Our party food. My boss and I got up straight away and moved towards him. It was way outside our normal hours of giving out food parcels, but as we were there and he needed help, we were prepared to give it. At first he was upset that he wasn't allowed to help himself to the Christmas baking that the quilters had brought in to share, but he calmed when we promised him a food parcel. He had the munchies, and he needed food to calm whatever craziness was going on inside his body.

We took him to the other room, leaving doors open and treating him as if this was a perfectly normal event. He danced around the room, totally unable to relax or stand still, and plucked food from our cupboard and fridge that he could open and eat straight away. We gave him lots of room. I could feel my heart pounding, not so much from fear, but from all senses on heightened alert. His behaviour seemed unpredictable to me. I took my cue from my boss, who remained calm and relaxed. She managed to find out  his story. 

He had been staying at a seedy hotel not too far away. He got into an altercation with two other people, and couldn't handle the stress and stay at the hotel any longer. He scored some ice to settle his harried emotions, carried off his folding metal bed from the hotel room, and wandered off to find somewhere to set up camp. With our bright room lights glowing and delectable food spread visible, he decided he wanted some when he walked by with his bed and whacked out mind. Perhaps it was a good thing the door was unlocked; who knows what he might have done to get inside or how stressed he might have become if we had said no and refused to open the door to him.

With the stomach pacified, a new blanket to warm him and thick new socks to comfort his toes, he jolted and jerked his way back outside, struggled to set up his bed in a doorway a few inches too short for the metal frame, lay down and went to sleep. Ordeal over. I took a very deep breath, debriefed quickly with my boss, and returned to quilting to talk to the others about it. 

I couldn't believe that anyone would willingly do that to themselves, reduce themselves to such a state when reason and logic are flung out the window, never mind physical control. I can't imagine how crappy his body felt the next day when the hangover began. It hadn't been his intention to use ice. It was a reaction to a stressful event. An inability to deal with stress and provoked emotions.

Michael Carr Gregg is a passionate children's and adolescent's psychologist. In one of his blogs entitled, Are We in Danger of Raising Marshmallow Children? he states that current parenting practices that cotton wool our children is not doing them any favours. "The result will be a generation of young people incapable of assuming adult responsibility with no idea how to handle the routine challenges of life, making them risk-averse, psychologically anemic, and riddled with fragility and anxiety."

Do I live a stressful life? No, I have it pretty good. Do I experience stress? Why, yes, I do. And I am concerned about my children's future. And the future of all our children. Why are they living with such anxiety? Why are they killing themselves? Why are they anorexic, addicted to drugs, unable to cope with life's challenges? Why do they turn to ice when they can't handle their emotions? What do they need to learn to handle the bad things that will happen, as they do to everyone? We lose games, break bones, have parents that hit or emotionally wound or abuse, get fired, fail exams, get hurt. What is the difference between those people that get up and shake off their pain, and others that fall apart? Why is 20% of the population in this happy country depressed and anxious? That is what intrigues me. That is what I am passionate about. And that's what I think about. It wouldn't be much of a blog if I wrote about my breakfast and how much I like the little birds that feed in my fejoia tree. This may be my blog, but it is about a much bigger picture that I cannot keep to myself.

What kind of fence do you use?

Odd title, I know. I like to think that mine is wooden, with gaps large enough to climb through. The fence I am referring to is the one you created throughout your life, it is your story, your history. Many of us pretend not to have a past and prefer to cut all ties. Does that mean it has any less of a guiding influence? Perhaps that's invisible fencing that gives us a shock when we stray too far anyway.

Other people have a solid brick fence many feet high. It is sturdy and safe and keeps them in place. Some are like prison walls though, and are meant to keep people out: no change allowed. Or maybe no challenge allowed.

To what extent are we defined by our past? Lots of us like to move somewhere new, start over again, and while extreme it can be liberating. I know a child who was caught in the reputation of scrapper, picking on people, starting fights. Through family shifts this child moved schools and was able to shed that jacket and start again, and created a whole new image that felt much better. How great is that? But a man I know killed a step-father defending his mother. Prison and guilt destroyed him and he lives in search of another bottle, completely unable to move beyond the circular glass wall in which he has enclosed himself.

What about maintenance? Do we plough onwards, neglecting what's behind and paying attention only to what's ahead? Here come the cows over the broken fence to consume all we have sowed. Where is that balance point between maintaining who we have been, cherishing our old stories, and planning ahead to see where we are headed? If we see a mountain ahead, do we just sigh and keep at it, or look for another way to build or direction to go? I'm pretty sure my fence has crumbled in a few places and starts again some ten metres away.

Some of us have very prickly fences that have wounded us terribly. Physical or emotional scars will remain. What do we do with that structure, where bits of our flesh still hang off the barbed wire?

My story has been pulled from the past a few times lately. Once by the exercises in the course I am doing, and now with a visit with my mother. It feels weird. I see that I have tried several different structures that start and stop, and that they are falling for the most part into disrepair. Sometimes I have not wanted to go visit back there, afraid to face the old emotions that tend to rear up, but today I have read some advice and it goes like this: go back and visit your story. It is your story. Have compassion for yourself and release old pain without getting caught up in the story. We must give meaning to our story because it is ours alone, and from this meaning we can move forth helping other people to learn too. We are all imperfect, we all could use more compassion. It's time to plant some flowers along the fence line and take ownership. There's no other story like yours, like mine. And what child does not love to hear stories of parents or grandparents when they were little? Or even their own? My kids love to hear over and over again what they did as little ones. No matter how silly.  It's a perfect opportunity to help them build their fence. What does yours look like?

A Recurring Word

My word for this week is patience. It's been dancing around my thoughts over the past while, maybe year, as I wear myself out stressing about getting to wherever I'm going. Perhaps it's the forties, perhaps it's just me, but my journey seems to have a million hairpin turns with no end in sight. When will I be satisfied with my achievements? Patience, darling.

My husband came home this week describing the 'sales' attitude at his workplace as impatient. 'Just get the customer to sign now!' is the motto, where my husband traditionally has been the let's-build-the-relationship kind of salesman. I can relate to that impatient attitude. I want to be a best selling writer changing people's lives, and I want it now!

I've started a 12 week course at Humanworkplace.com and part of this week's lesson was to read and reflect on our life's journey. I must say I haven't given my history much thought, but after the exercises I realised that my strengths are the same now as they were in high school. How annoying as I thought some were recent revelations. As I reflected further on one particular article on our reading list, I became aware of the importance not only of the journey, but of honouring it, each and every step. The word patience flashed brightly like a neon sign in my mind.

I think now that if we slow down and look around ourselves more often, we will notice more, more of what's important, and more choices to bring on what we want. Once we stress that logical thinking part of our brain I referred to in my previous post shuts down. Just as asthmatics can't breathe so well once their chests tighten up, neither can our brain think clearly if we are tensed up and stressed.

One trick for me is thinking time. While I walk the dog, wash the dishes, cut up food for dinner, or sit and have a cup of tea, the more time I allot to pondering what's going on and how I can bring myself more fully to the present moment, the more I see. As a farmer harvests what is planted, our minds will harvest what we sow. Always thinking about what's next on the to do list? Then the focus will always be on how much there is to do and how rushed life is. Those funny people we all know, they always look for the joke, for the funny angle, and that's what they harvest. Who doesn't know someone who always manages to find the negative part of any situation? They look for what's too hard, too risky, too silly, too anything, and that's just what life will be for them.

 I've always envied meditators who can sit and empty their minds for periods of time. They seem so calm and centred and happy with exactly where they are in life. It must be nourishing for both body and soul. I started off intending to take ten deep breaths and usually made it to three before my mind wandered off like an errant sheep. Lately I've made it to eight. Not just sitting uncomfortably cross legged on the floor, but at my desk, or at the stove, or standing in a queue, or driving, or looking at the divine sweetness of a sleeping child before I collapse into bed with a treasured book. The result? My patience factor has increased. Imagine what meditating for half an hour might do for me.

Given how disabling stress can be and how great joy feels, I'm going to stick to deep breathing and ruminating as I charge through my days, and enjoy where I am with a patient frame of reference. Same list of things to do, just a different approach. It's certainly more fun, and I am more productive along with patient. Maybe today I'll make it to ten.

Stressbusting

I had stopped by work on a day off recently when a man appeared in the doorway, eyes downcast, asking for a food parcel. It was his first time to visit us and he was humiliated. I welcomed him in and reassured him that we were happy to help out. His shy and nervous demeanour relaxed as we chatted and I eventually prompted him to share his situation while he picked out some food to tide him over until his disability payment came through.

This man used to have a decent job, a fun life, and lots of friends. He worked in the music industry so there were lots of late nights making music and singing. His craft was his passion. Slowly and steadily the demands and accusations of high maintenance musicians wore down his protective veneer, and he had a mental breakdown. The diagnosis, as he put it, was schizophrenic tendencies. Triggered by stress. Can you imagine that turn of events in your life? If you knew that excessive and prolonged stress would trigger schizophrenia or other mental health disorders, would you initiate any changes?

From a post in Forbes Magazine in October last year, David DiSalvo reports that 'stress, no matter its cause, alters brain circuitry in ways that can have long term effects on mental health...traumatic events appear to cause depression by derailing the brain's so called reward system, which normally causes pleasurable feelings whenever we engage in fun activities like spending time with friends...stress also causes the release of chemicals that impair the function of the prefrontal cortex, home of higher level thinking...acute stress mutes our reflective tendencies, leading to everything from anxiety to aggression to depression.'

Curious about the possible link between stress and schizophrenia, I visited schizophrenia.com and discovered this: 'These lines of research are converging: brain development disruption is now known to be the result of genetic predisposition and environmental stressors early in development (during pregnancy or early childhood), leading to subtle alterations in the brain that make a person susceptible to developing schizophrenia.' There is a whole lot of cool information at the website if you are interested,  just travel via the link above.

What really intrigued me, though, is this: 'research has now shown that children's and teen's brains are very sensitive to stress (up to 5 to 10 times more sensitive than adult brains) and can be damaged by frequent or ongoing stress. ... This stress-related brain damage can greatly increase risk for many types of mental illness later in life.' (sourced from the same article listed above)

There will be more about mental health in our civilised first world in a coming blog because it's a growing concern, but before I sign off I would like to share an interesting bit of information: people with the genetic predisposition for schizophrenia had a 1000% increase in their risk of developing the illness if they smoked marijuana!! If that is your fallback choice to alleviate stress, you may want to try something else. And if your children get stressed a lot, consider finding ways to help them handle it. Their brains continue to grow until they are 25 years old, and while they are amazingly adaptable and capable, able to regenerate and learn quickly, it would be great to fortify them with a solid foundation to handle stress easily as they travel down the road to independence.

Kids and Kindness

Recently my eight-year-old daughter came home from school in a good mood. But by bed time, as she became more and more tired, she started to really misbehave, which is quite out of the ordinary for her. When she crossed our line of acceptable behaviour, she was sent to her room to calm down. Ten or so minutes later I dropped in and she burst into tears and apologised, explaining that she had been feeling frustrated from the day's events. Aha. The old hold-all-the-emotions-in trick.

I have raised my children to be kind, but that is, I now see, not good enough. Because when faced with someone who is mean, kindness has little effect. I actually think the kindest kids may be the favourite to pick on, because the retribution is minimal, and the resulting stress the kind children feel and express through tears is a good reward for those kids doing the harrassing. In the two schools we have attended the staff at both teach the children being hassled to put up their hands and say, 'stop it, I don't like what you are doing,' and if it continues to escalate, to say, 'if you don't stop I will tell the teacher.' To the kids who love to stir up others, these retorts would have very little effect. In fact, it may just stir up their fun level a notch or two. In the face of these kinds of children, kindness does not work. No wonder she got so frustrated: despite following the social rules, some children will not (can not?) reciprocate.

To my daughter's shock, I gave her permission to say 'no' to the troublesome child when she tried to come between the two friends. And in class when this child interrupted and disturbed her learning, I gave her permission to speak out loud and interrupt the teacher by demanding that the child stop. 'Really?' she asked. 'I don't want to get in trouble.' I smiled, 'you can tell the teacher that I gave you permission to speak that way, and the teacher can talk to me if she doesn't like what you did.'

At school the very next day the trouble maker came over to stir up the two kids playing nicely. My daughter turned to her and said, 'no,' and explained she had had enough of her interruptions. Shocked, the troublesome child went to the teacher to report the incident. (Imagine!) The teacher heard both sides of the story and requested that the troublesome child leave the others alone and sent her off to play elsewhere.

It's not enough to be kind in this world. There are unkind people who need to hear 'no'. And the nice kids need to know how to say it and stand up for themselves. It doesn't mean stooping to the behaviour of these kids, but it does mean knowing that if that amazing inner voice says, 'this feels wrong,' the nice kids have the power to say 'no way,' whether it's trouble making kids in the playground or adults intent on mischief. Our kids need to know they've got permission to stand up for themselves. They need to learn to listen to their intuition. They need to know they have the right to refuse to do anything that seems wrong. The relieved and satisfied look on my daughter's face when she relayed the success of her new strategy during the day's events confirmed for me that kindness, while an important aspect of feeling good about oneself, is not enough on its own.

What's yours?

I got my first unsubscribe request today. Not my first rejection with all the projects I've worked on, but blogging is much more personal than fiction. At least it feels to me like it's a bigger risk.  Writing a story of fiction is bloody hard work, don't get me wrong, but to send my own personal observations out there on the net for others to read and judge? Yikes. I had to stop and think about how this unsubscribe request felt to me, naturally with a pen and paper.

When I wrote fiction, the point was always very clear: to entertain and inspire people to feel emotions, and hopefully help them feel connected to something greater, more universal. What then, are the points of my blogs?

A friend recently shared an incident with me when she talked herself out of trying something new by asking 'what's the point?' to her daughter, who snorted and said, 'there doesn't have to be a point to everything we do.' Are we so trapped in our left brains that we can't do something purely for pleasure? I think perhaps that I have missed the point of my writing: it's not about anyone else, it's about doing something I just have to do. For now, it's in the form of a blog.

What I've realised is that writing is my addiction. Blogs are the latest method to feed my habit. My husband once told me that I get 'feral' when I am between projects. Writing brings me back to myself, helps me clarify what's going on inside, allows me to connect to something bigger than my roles as daughter, wife, mother, daughter-in-law, friend, school parent, employee etc. 

The definition of addiction by the free online medical dictionary states:

Addiction is a persistent, compulsive dependence on a behavior or substance. The term has been partially replaced by the word dependence for substance abuse. Addiction has been extended, however, to include mood-altering behaviors or activities. 

This definition is abbreviated, and there is an interesting slew of information that follows about the costs to health care (in this case, in the US) to treat people addicted to substances.

Maybe we all have our own 'addictions'. Would you be more comfortable if I used the word 'hobbies'? But really, aren't all the activities a search for satisfying our soul, for altering our moods? Yes, some are much more serious and damaging, I agree. I just get grumpy when I don't make time to write. An alcoholic quitting cold turkey could shock the body into heart failure. A woman I know resorts to quilting. She knows its her day off or down time when she cuts, sorts, and stitches material together. When work overwhelms her, she goes home and quilts. We all know someone who pops a cork or laces up the running shoes. So what happens to people who haven't found a hobby, or just don't make time? Are they those grumpy people we run into all the time?

What's your addiction or hobby? What do you get from it? I would love to know. Meanwhile, I will keep on writing, because it is for my own peace of mind or soul. And when I get feedback telling me that I've struck a chord, that's great. And when someone else unsubscribes, well that's fine too. I've fiddled with my words and things make sense. Phew!

Yes, You Are One too

On Saturday, October 12 across dozens of countries around the world, in hundreds of cities, thousands of people came together to demonstrate their concerns about the actions of one company. A single company. And where in Australia can I read about this feat? The local online paper of Margaret River, it seems, a small town in southern Western Australia. And Facebook. There I can find pictures of protestors from: all across America, Canada, England, Holland, France, Germany, South Africa, India, Japan, Puerto Rico, Jamaica, Portugal, Chile, New Zealand, Austria, Bulgaria, Switzerland, and Slovenia. Also online I can read about it at websites from around the world too, except for those here in Australia.

Why have the major newspapers here chosen not to report on this event? I wonder if there  exists a fear of retribution from this huge and greedy company. Fear of something. What? I can't imagine why else there wouldn't be celebrations of the actions and efforts of so many people from so many places. Against a single company! Why aren't papers looking into this event, and trying to answer why would so many people come together? What is it about this company that inspires such action?

I won't try to break down their track record. They are surrounded by so much controversy that even scientists on or not on their payroll would have trouble convincing you to support them or not. But I do know that after reading reports, hearing scientists speak, studying the effects of GM foods on animals, people and the environment, that there is a problem with what they are up to. I have no interest in an argument or discussion with you; I did my research and made up my own mind. And so, it seems, have thousands of other people around the world.

Even though my role in this world is currently limited to immediate family and friends, I still occasionally get that roll of the eye when I talk about being an environmentalist. Hear this now: you are all environmentalists. Yes, you journalists too. Don't believe me? Who likes the feeling of sunshine on their skin on a spring morning? Who likes going camping? Who likes spending the day on the beach? Who has a holiday house? A boat? A jetski? A canoe? A caravan? A tent? Who loves the sight and smell of flowers blossoming in spring? Who loves the smell when they enter a forest? Or the spring thaw of the earth in a country that freezes over? The sight of green when they get outside the city limits? The beautiful array of fresh food at a market? Watching animals do their thing at zoos or how lucky how about in the wild? Going fishing? Hiking? Biking? Skiing? Strolling? Rolling? Swimming? Where do we know is good for kids to spend time? Enjoy your food/wine/coffee/tea? Love fresh air? Looking at a view of mountains, water, islands, trees? Ever smell your food before buying?

Face it. You are an environmentalist too. Does this mean you should go march too? If you like. Or it could mean it's time to take an interest in what's going on with what's most important to you, otherwise companies like Monsanto and the slew of politicians in their pockets (and newspapers?) will remove nature from your food/wine/coffee/tea and replace little bits with science projects. That may be okay with you, but it would be nice to have a choice. And some control. Monsanto's executives have been reported to state that the company goal is to control 100% of the commercial seed supply in the world.  All of them genetically modified and patented. I mustn't get started or you'll give up on my blog. Just listen. Not to me alone, but to the thousands of people who on Saturday banded together to demonstrate that the world needs to take note. Please, take note! Especially you Australian journalists.

Always a choice

I have been procrastinating these few days. Not only are school holidays on now, which is a busy time, but several of us have been ill too. The real reason, however, is my resistance to face the revelation that has surfaced. It's a vulnerability thing. Perhaps you didn't know I'm human. Or perhaps you didn't think I knew I was human? Oh I know it. The emotions that have always flowed through me remind me constantly. And they are cause for the half of the population who couldn't stand Eat Pray Love to shake their head at me and want to tell me to get over myself. Oh if it were so easy!

For those people who have known me longest, they are aware of how much time and effort I have put into writing stories. Screenplays (five), an attempt at two novels, short stories, and most recently a stage play. While technically I get good scores, there are elements that are lacking. A couple of months ago I discovered it was theme, the reason behind the story. But this past week it came up again that my main characters, my protagonists, are victims, and as any writer will tell you that kind of person is boring and a fast route to a dead story. A victim has things and events happen to them, rather than making decisions to take actions, even if the results are disastrous.  This word, victim, has come up a few times for me. Do you ever get that, when something seems to keep reappearing to you, demanding attention? Even these reminders from the universe are proactive!

While I tried to grasp the definition of victim in terms of crafting character I naturally looked around my life at myself and people. What kind of behaviour do victims have? What kind of attitudes? What does their life look like? What are their habits? And the scariest question of all, do I? Could I behave like one? Are there times when my fall-back attitude is one of a victim? It couldn't be possible, could it? No, surely not, not in my pampered little world. Then one night I dreamed clearly of a horse. I was riding, and it bucked and kicked until I flew off, and then it pushed me away from it and into a river. Being a spiritual being, I looked up horse in my power animal oracle cards. The key words on the card itself are: 'Freedom. You always have a choice.' Huh. I opened the little guide book and started to read: 'Let go the illusion that you're somehow a victim. Know that you always have a choice in any and every situation. Take responsibility for the consequences of that choice, and stop holding on to any beliefs that you have to somehow suffer though or endure the circumstances of that choice. Once you fully allow this reality, you will automatically shift into experiencing greater control over your life.' How's that for a nudge?

Yesterday I was busy doing errands. I had been quite unwell the previous two days and spent them at home. All right, I wasn't really on the couch, but I did avoid housework and instead pottered in the garden and sorted through clutter that was begging to be handled. Very satisfying. But yesterday the children were with me and once again the normal demands of life returned. We had several errands to do and the list got longer as one item we needed for a birthday today was proving elusive. I can't stand shopping at the best of times, so to have to extend my list by three or four shops in different locations became tedious. Add to that the demands of children who get hungry, want to buy this, want to look over here, want their allowance, get nosebleeds in the middle of Spotlight, and then throw wobblies (temper tantrums in Aussie slang) because they can't get their way, well, you can imagine how the fun factor of a day out together wore out very quickly. Oh the woes of our first world. I can hear the sighs of the Eat Pray Love haters again.

To get to the point, as I became grumpier and grumpier about children who say no when I ask for help but still expect dinner cooked, about the possibility that I have victim tendencies, about the rest of the clutter/chores/weeds that needed attention, that the chicken for dinner was still frozen solid, and that I felt exhausted and so unwell I just wanted to sit down and quit, I realised that I was being a victim. Oh poor me. I knew if I stood at the stove and cooked I was going to resent dinner, resent the family, and myself for doing what was expected rather than looking after myself. The horse card came to mind, 'you always have a choice.' And so I closed the door to the study and plonked myself down in my chair with a cup of tea and told the girls to make themselves busy somewhere else. Seems so obvious doesn't it? I can hear echoes of 'duh'. Yes, okay I can be a slow learner. It has taken a lot of thought and attention to learn this about myself, to see that indeed when stressed I can play the victim. Yuck! That sucks! Who likes a victim? No one. And so what the heck am I role modeling to my children??? That always gets me.  Is that what divides the Eat Pray Love readers? Those who have victim tendencies love the story and those who don't hate it? So I've said it. It feels like a confession of weakness.

Am I alone in the universe who for some bizarre reason adopted this behaviour? Is it a housewife of the first world syndrome? Is it a nature/nurture thing? Societal trend? I suppose the most important question is how do I move away from it? As Brooks and Dunn say in one of my favourite songs, 'it's just a drop in the bucket till the bucket fills up.' I'll keep looking at my horse card propped up on my desk and when I start to feel that irritability come over me I will remind myself that I always have a choice. Seems so ridiculous, really. I am reading a book called "Global Woman" in which I am learning about the huge industry of imported females from third world countries to work as nannies, maids and sex workers in the first world countries, often leaving behind their own children to be raised by someone else. What strength would it take to make a decision like that? To alleviate the terrible poverty of their situation, these women choose to live and work oversease, sometimes not seeing their own children for years. Well, perhaps in starting to be more aware of my own choices I can move forward to making greater and more meaningful decisions. And then I too can become one of the impatient Eat Pray Love disdainers.

Connecting With Words

One day recently I was dutifully taxi-driving a car load of children around the city. We passed a community building with a big sign hanging out front that said: "Say No to Family Violence." My eight-year-old asked, "What is family violence?" I explained how in some families parents thought it was okay for husbands to hit wives, wives to hit husbands, and even parents to hit children. "But are they allowed to?" she asked, shocked. We proceeded to discuss the laws (no, it's called assault) but that behind closed doors people often disregard laws. To my astonishment, a visiting child piped up in a very casual voice, "my mum and dad hit me all the time." She then lapsed into silence and I could see her brain working through this new information, trying to make some sense of her difficult situation. Further discussion with the child will take place out of range of my children's ears.

What breaks my heart is not just that she has had to endure parents who express their anger this way, but that she doesn't have anyone to trust at home to be able to ask questions to understand life. When my girls want to nut through some new information, they ask numerous questions so they can create a clear picture for themselves. I love those conversations. They trust that they can ask, that they will get help to understand, and that the answers are honest. If I don't know something, then we find out. Often I get to learn something new too. Perhaps I am making an assumption that this child can't trust someone at home, but can we trust someone if we fear their anger and lashing out with a smack?

I work with socially disadvantaged people, people cut off from mainstream society, people cut off from family ties or connections with meaningful relationships. I see what happens when people do not have someone to communicate with, someone they can trust to say anything to and know that they will be heard. Many homeless people interviewed report that disconnection is one of the reasons they land on the street and stay there. It's very sad, to me, and it's one of the reasons I love my job - because I offer a way of connecting with these people so that no matter how shy, how cut off, how humble or how much pain they are in, they can have a chat and a moment's connection to someone who does care.

Which brings me back to children. They are learning so much from adults around them; they are learning how to behave, and open communication is fundamental to their development as independent and secure adults. It is such a gift to give them to know how to articulate their feelings, to satiate their curiousity, to feel free to say whatever they like with people they trust. I love that my children come home from school and unload about their day, that we can talk about the good things that happened that made them feel good, and also dissect the not so good things that happen too. Because as you know, good and bad things happen to all of us, all our lives, and what a gift for any of us to have someone who cares and who wants to listen. It is reinforced to me, over and over again, just how important it is to foster that connection, to make time, to let them know they are worth listening to.

What Do You Fear?

It seems as I progress along my journey that my fears have changed. It used to be that I feared being average, and boring, and unable to excel at anything. That's why I pushed myself into misery trying trying trying to be something. I suppose it was a fear that I didn't matter. But in my pursuit to matter to others, I never learned to matter to me. Can I ever be successful in believing I matter to others if I never matter to myself? What exactly does that mean, to matter to myself? Do you feel that you matter to you, to your well-being, to your happiness?

I think it means to determine what matters to me, and then figuring out how I want to stand up for that matter. That is a quality I have always admired in others, people who know who they are, what they are about, what's important to them. I don't want to follow along anymore, too concerned with what others think of me to take any kind of stand. Now I'm only going to pay attention to what I think. Like a quote I saw in a bookstore that went something like this: Does the tiger worry what the sheep thinks?

What is it that I fear now? I fear that greed will destroy the natural paradise in which we live, without which we cannot survive; I fear getting swallowed up by the small details and losing track of the big beautiful picture of meaningful relationships, with people, nature, and myself; I fear that too many people are disconnected from each other and the world around them; and I fear failing my children by not teaching them to believe in themselves or to only worry about what they think or to find out what matters to them. And so I take action now to address those fears, to use them to guide me forward in every decision I make, and to continue to mull them over so that I may conquer them, each and every day.

What's your focus?

I attended the Environmental Film Festival last night. Who knew? And it's been around since 2010. Yay! The film I saw is The Earth Wins, and while it's a beautiful showcase of earth, what really took my breath away is the message of the film. Perhaps because one of the driving forces behind it is a pilot, Jerry Grayson, who is used to seeing earth from above and filmed the whole movie from the air. He and the producer, Sara Hine, chose to work from the premise that Earth will always win, and so can we if we choose to listen. Instead of what most of us would expect, perhaps charts and numbers or pictures of the devastation we cause in the form of oil spills, mining, waste, incidental deaths to people and animals etc., this crew chose to focus on the strength of nature, and that no matter how smart we think we are, she will always win. There is some profound footage of the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina in New Orleans and the bushfires that raged through Marysville and Kinglake, but also some spectacular moments of nature's glory - the whales and dolphins took my breath away. I loved that the film shifted my focus not from the agony of what we inflict upon earth, but that she will, in the end, win. Even if we pollute ourselves to death, she will recover and flourish. How's that for a shift?

Where do you stand?

After many prompts from a trustworthy friend I have decided to launch my ruminations into a blog. I was waiting for a catalyst big enough to justify the adventure and the universe responded rather dramatically as Tony Abbott was last night voted in as Prime Minister of Australia. Yikes. Other words came to mind but I'll try keep the postings free from that sort of language.
What scares me most is that the majority of Australians voted for a party that stands for trashing more of our national parks, eliminating the carbon tax, and stripping more money from the socially disadvantaged. Hugely successful movies often focus on the wonderful optimistic emotions generated when the underdog wins but now we get to watch  the underdog get kicked, over and over again. What fun. Especially if you are the underdog.
Dr David Suzuki, an eminent Canadian geneticist and naturalist and one of my idols is coming to Sydney later this month. He stands for nature and for hope. I am cramming now, reading and re-reading his books as I am definitely attending. Given our change in government, one of the points that stands out for me in Suzuki's book The Big Picture is that we must now consider a new economic model, one that isn't about producing more consumer goods. We currently use up in nine months what it takes one year for nature to produce. If the projected population is estimated to reach nine billion people by 2050, can we not see the potential disaster, the future written on the wall?
And so I share one of the many questions posed in his book: How much is enough? I ask: Do you know? Have you set an amount or a goal or even a dream of what you would like life to look like? What do you stand for? I read a passage from a different book yesterday that made me smile, this one called Earth Magic by Steven D. Farmer. In it he relates a story that he came across on the internet:

An American businessman was at the pier of a coastal Mexican village when a small boat with just one fisherman docked. Inside the boat were several large yellowfin tuna. The American complimented the Mexican on the quality of his fish and asked how long it took to catch them. The Mexican replied that it only took a little while. The American then asked why he didn't want to stay out longer and catch more fish, but the Mexican said that it was enough to support his family's immediate needs.
The American then asked, "But what do you do with the rest of your time?"
"I sleep late; fish a little; play with my children; take siesta with my wife, Maria; and stroll into the village each evening where I sip wine and play guitar with my amigos. I have a full and busy life, senor."
The businessman scoffed. "I'm a Harvard MBA, and I could help you. You should spend more time fishing, and with the proceeds, buy a bigger boat. With the proceeds from the bigger boat, you could buy several boats; soon you'd have a fleet of fishing boats. Instead of selling your catch to a middleman, you would sell directly to the processor, eventually opening your own cannery. You would control the product, processing, and distribution. You'd have to leave this small village and move to Mexico City, then Los Angeles, and eventually New York City, where you'd run your expanding enterprise."
"But, senor, how long will all this take?"
"Fifteen to twenty years."
"But what then, senor?"
The American laughed. "That's the best part. When the time is right, you would announce an IPO and sell your company stock to the public and become very rich. You would make millions!"
"Millions, senor? Then what?"
"Then you would retire. You would move to a small coastal fishing village where you'd sleep late, fish a little, play with your kids, take siesta with your wife, and stroll into the village in the evenings where you could sip wine and play guitar with your amigos."

  How has it become so ingrained that we have to always be pushing ourselves to be more, do more, earn more, have more? Do you know why I think so many of us love to get into nature, be it a park, zoo, beach, or even garden? Because it's one place where we can just be. The trees don't rush the flowers, the grass doesn't rush the beetle, and none of it rushes us. We can just sit and be. And guess what, we don't need permission to do that. But now we will need to be proactive, thanks to our new Prime Minister, to preserve those places not only where we can just be, but that stabilise the climate, clean our air and water, keep our soil fertile, and maintain a very delicate balance that sustains all fifteen or so million animals (that we know of), including humans. We've had a change in government; it's a good time to change how we govern ourselves too.