Let the wild rumpus begin?

People seem to think that now that I am graduated, life should be all candy and pink roses. But the reality of it is slightly different, while some exclaim freedom, relief and new starts, I feel like Max, going where the wild things are.

There are no more scheduled vacations, classes, exams or grades. I’m setting into a forest of unknown; future employers, council tax, 9-6 work, professional development, so much potential. Yet, I am the first to admit, it is a bit like facing up to the monsters, getting to know them, and conquering them if you will.

Max was right to stare his monsters steadily in the eye, if nothing else, then to overcome his own alarm. Small and new does not necessarily mean inferior. However it might just mean you have to work a little harder.

Wild rumpus? Sure, I will admit to some emotional commotion. Going out to be measured and weighted by a whole new set of criteria. Who wouldn’t feel overwhelmed?

Now this might all seem like a campaign of self conviction, but the truth of the matter is advancement and alterations are great gifts. Newness always carries with it the ambivalence of fear and excitement. Where would we be without the occasional fuss and fizzy? Isn’t it just the prize we pay to be going somewhere?

And if I am presented the chance to grow a little bit wiser and a little bit stronger. Who am I to shy away? I say: let the wild rumpus begin!

Paris je t'aime??

I used to be sold on Paris; Fan, Super-Fan, Fanatic. Used to. This weekend I had a long awaited reunion with my beloved city. But for some reason it wasn’t as I thought it would be. Walking across a rainy Paris I felt like a stranger, and although the views continually swept me off my feet (as they always do), I was reminded, again and again, of why Paris is not a city where I want to live anymore.

Listing the things that I love….would take a long time; the smell of a bakery, the slow pace of a Saturday…the even slower pace of a Sunday, the space to live, the time to enjoy, the creative liberty, the appreciation of good things; beauty, food, art; love of that which embellishes life, the quality, the thoroughness, the choice (especially in the market and supermarket), the pride, the splendor…all the splendor…and still…I was confounded.

Maybe it was the lack of habit, the loss of edge that only a few months in Paris give you, but I was shaken by the arrogance and the sense of not belonging. I certainly hadn’t missed being walked into 1000 times on a crowded street without as much as a pardon. There I was, in the stronghold of politesse, yet it was nowhere to be seen?

Maybe it was the rain, that swallowed the pace and the brilliance and beauty which otherwise stings my eyes.

Maybe it was the short moment that didn’t allow me to digest and profit.

Maybe, maybe, maybe…I just felt that Paris was a chapter passed…but an eternal love. When we landed back in London it was neither melancholy nor relief, just…acceptance, just normal.

Paris je ne t’aime plus, mais je t’aimerai toujours

Rather sleepless in Seattle than heatless in London?

Autumn has come to London. All of a sudden sticky grey has been replaced by biting blue. I am trying to convince myself that the fact that the sun is actually making an appearance every second day, makes up for the 7 degree loss in temperature. And I would have been successful should my apartment not have been as cold as the outside.

Resentment is the word. Who ever came up with this ridiculous boiler-system? And where in the world did anyone get the idea that single windows have an isolating effect? As you might have guessed, my boiler doesn’t work, and I wake up every morning with excessive amounts of mist on my window (it is called excessive when you can’t see the colour of the sky). I can’t even begin to tell you the pleasure of getting out of bed and stepping into Siberia…or Antarctica, whichever is colder.

After having spent the entire weekend closed in my room with schoolwork, I have completely exhausted all my ideas of how to heat myself up; candles, tea, double layered clothes, woollen throws, hot showers…and still…cold toes.

I keep trying to tell myself that this is yet another one of life’s ways of making me appreciate the simple luxuries that I have come to take for granted…but a little heating isn’t too much to ask, is it?

Everyone is rich

I want to go see Andy Warhol at the Tate.

One tough cookie...?

Marie said I am too kind for my own good...and that I need to become One tough cookie:

"Daddy, I want another pony"

Looking around it seems that people are never satisfied, quite frankly I am even occasionally disgusted by my own hungry materialism.

While a simple gaze can trigger the most profound fulfillment, most of us seem to want to believe that the very same feeling can be purchased with an item, or just purchased, period. Now I am no hypocrite, I walk in the same trap, although I see myself doing it; “Oh, if I had that top, I’d feel pretty… and content”. I can be really daft sometimes.

Friends with money…I have them. Granted, they don’t have to ask themselves how they are going to pay for food or rent, or think twice before they buy a sweater (on sale), but they are neither happier nor unhappier than me, just… facilitated in life.

Realistically, I don’t lack anything; I don’t need, another book, another film, or another pair of shoes, yet I crave it from time to time. That’s when I feel corrupted; I have it all, but I still want more? Like Veruca Salt (Charlie and the Chocolate Factory) who upon getting her golden ticket – allegedly, everything she ever wanted – looks coldly at it and exclaims: “Daddy, I want another pony” (in addition to the two rabbits, six parrots, one hamster…). I would hate myself. Because there is, nevertheless, one element that makes the fundamental difference between blind greed á la Veruca Salt and the occasional yearning middle-class miss: appreciation.

Call me simple, but I like the concept of ‘no pain, no gain’. I like the thought of working, trying and achieving something. I love the process of making myself deserving of my own successes. That makes me smile from the inside. That makes me truly satisfied. And of course, there is nothing like giving yourself the pleasure of a prize, when you’re the one who’s made the effort. But to be greedy on somebody else’s expense? No.

Greed starts becoming dangerous, when you forget the value of what you already have, when you diminish it to irrelevancies, and give in to the desire for that next watch, shirt or pair of jeans to add to the collection. When you let arrogance take the overhand of humility, hubris in one single word. And you keep wanting more and more and more. Perhaps when you forget, or misjudge your own self value, it’s easier to attempt to gain it back by accessorizing your life and wardrobe, rather than your spirit?

Yet I want exactly that; to adorn my inner self, if you will; I want to love, laugh, give, contribute, dream, achieve, experience. I want to make something of myself, and for myself, something worthy and valuable. Like Veruca sings (which is hopefully where our common denominators end): “I want the world, I want the whole world…I want today, I want tomorrow…”…but just to experience, not to have.

- Sharing is caring ;-) -

PS. Just a small parenthesis: Above clip is from Willy Wonka: original Roald Dahl feature from the 70ties, Tim Burton remake is also recommended.

A day wasted is a week won

I think Tracy Chapman sung the line of the millennium when she said a woman’s work is never done… I say an adult’s work is never done, the list just never ends OR once you’ve gotten to the end of it, it is time to start from the beginning again.

Buy food, clean bathroom, wash towels, put in a dark wash, hang dark wash, put in light wash, pay the phone bill, bake a cake, make lunch, clean the kitchen, change the sheets, e-mail twenty odd people, take care of all correspondence, look for a job, look more for jobs, read the novel (but only 30 pages…because…there are other things to do in life), work, correct…by this time food will have run out, and the bathroom will need cleaning again. And there I go, running up and down that list, ad on bronchitis, two colds, the flu and a few other infections, and there is not much left of a person.

So at the end of the summer, it all started to get to me, and I was feeling pretty exhausted. But who has time to rest, right? The show must go on.

Nevertheless, at some point I started to get the sneaking suspicion that some rest would be good…you know, a few of those days where you wake up, but you stay in bed, wear your PJs all day, watch crappy movies, read and think about absolutely NOTHING useful. You need those days to make the good days function. But when your list reaches across the Atlantic…where do you find the time to waste a day? An ENTIRE day??

However, when the energy-account was on minus, there was no escaping the fact, that wasting a day would win me some energy. And so, I decided (because every rule calls for an exception… and my rule would be; rest when you’re done), that wasting time was not actually a bad idea, why not deviate from lists and routines? A day wasted is a week won, and I have plenty of weeks to go on living. Viva vacation (if only for another few hours)!