A New Era

After months of planning, designing, agonising over content and wondering whether I could actually pull it off, I have finally done it - I've made my own website.

All this year's blog content has been imported into it, and all future content will be posted primarily there, leaving this as a still-functioning but essentially old blog full of back-catalogue pieces. But, on the plus side, there's lots of new content to explore and an easier, more interactive set-up on amberinred.com.

There is a comment function for all the blog posts, and there are also creative pages, my model portfolio, and a contact page so you can email me directly.

Thank you to all of you who have read, commented, encouraged, interrogated, and generally interacted here - please, come to the new site and continue!  I look forward to seeing you over there.

amberinred.com

Night Thoughts

It's true for me that the night is when I struggle the most to quiet my mind, and the little inner voices that want to remind me of my failings. Some of them are actual; others are imagined, or circumstances beyond my control which, tinged with blame my rational mind knows I shouldn't accept, I find myself reliving as I fight to get to sleep. It's all very well knowing you shouldn't worry about something, but it's quite another hushing those night thoughts and finding peace of mind when so many things are vying to steal it from you. 

It is often in the night that I do my soul-searching, my tackling of unspoken fears and unrealised desires. In the small hours when the world is dark and relatively quiet, while some memory or pressing thought has hauled me out of slumber, I tread through fog in search of clarity. Sometimes it's just because I want to go back to sleep; other times it's more vital than that, and I need an answer I will still remember in the morning. 

A lot of these thoughts centre on a deeply-rooted fear that I am not enough in some way. Not clever enough; not accomplished enough; not savvy enough; not attractive enough in many senses of the word; just, not enough to succeed. And what idea of success am I holding anyway? Because I've given up trying to impress those who likes me best for my academics - to them, I've done nothing impressive since I left University. I've given up trying to impress those who only ever expressed admiration for my body, because it's either too big for some or too small for others, too pale, too tall, if only I just changed X it would be perfect - there's no need for me to try and appease them. And this year I've let go of trying to have the best answer to the 'and what do you do' question at weddings/parties, because frankly I don't like the idea that people are reduced to their job status or that their value primarily sits in the activities they undertake. 

I'm far more interested in how and why people do, not so much what. I prefer to be more focused on how I feel in my body and loving it as it is than worrying about what it looks like to others. I believe academic ability is just a tool, and success in exams alone doesn't necessarily determine success in life. 

Success is a broader concept. For me, it's fulfilling the deep-seated passions I've had since childhood; creating what only I can create, and being satisfied in it; it's living a life that has a valuable impact on those I care about and the wider world, even if it doesn't look spectacular. It's overcoming obstacles with patience and determination; encouraging others; finding the purity and honesty that is possible in humanity. 

Too often I forget my perspective on success in favour of someone else's. Too often I find myself weakened by doubt, held back by anxiety, uncertain of success and therefore unwilling to try. However, I am working on finding confidence in the right places. I am grateful for friends who can pick me up, and slap me out of it if need be! I remember that I will not be the only one struggling, and therefore it would be good for me to be more outward-focused. 

I hope anyone who has read through this and connects with it will know that it's not a unique struggle, and we can be there to support one another. It's exhausting battling people's assumptions whatever state you're in, and to finally find some freedom from specific fears or pressures only to have others try and put you back in your box is a sad and demoralising experience, yet a common one. It makes me very aware of how vital it is that as I learn not to define myself by my perceived failings or weaknesses; also to unlearn any default  negative view of others, even if it's one they have encouraged. It is my sincere desire that humanity can function more on the basis of building one another up rather than pulling each other down, and that confidence is attainable and not confused with arrogance or vanity. 

People in Need of Love

Here we go then: me and my laptop and my befuddled brain, typing out whatever occurs to me and hoping to goodness it makes some sense to someone. Because if there's anything I've learned this week/month/year, or rather re-learned, it's that I haven't got the answers. I really wish I did. Sometimes I probably act like I do. But I have to be honest - as much as I want to be of significance in this world and do something or things that are worthy and useful and giving, I frankly haven't got a clue how. All I know is that I see needs that I want to fulfil, and I along with the rest of humanity just have to do the best I can to do so. If I can be brave enough; if I can stop being selfish.

My title for this blog is sappy, I know, but there's a reason for that - it's the best summation of humanity and my approach to life that I can possibly come up with. I firmly believe that is exactly what we all are: people in need of love, and not just the romantic kind. I mean filial, brother-to-brother, sister-to-sister even when we are not family, even when we are separated by national or cultural boundaries. I mean parental, in the care and guidance given by a mother, a father, someone who fulfils that role and protects. I mean agape love, love at its ultimate, the love that is willing to sacrifice whatever it must for the best of others.

There are kinds of love in this world that are so often overlooked in pursuit of the emotional eros rush, or subdued for the simple fact that we've developed an awkwardness of expression that prevents us from engaging in anything that could cause us embarrassment. That compassion and care for our fellow-man is a kind of love that should be celebrated and freely expressed is buried under fear of offence, and the very real possibility of being made uncomfortable. Countless times I've kept my mouth firmly shut when I actually knew it was right to try and say something helpful, or check if someone was okay. Also numerous are the occasions on which a well-meaning word of encouragement from someone else has been rebuffed with the lie of 'I'm fine,' because I didn't know how to accept their kindness. The prospect of acknowledging need, and thereby weakness, has our hackles up.

As far as I see it, we've got a couple of problems, and the first is that we live in a society that doesn't tolerate what it perceives as weakness. This might seem contradictory, but please hear me out. Apart from being a child, is there any state of being that doesn't come in for ridicule and judgement from one significant party or another? Those who are less physically strong or able can be left out of sports and physical activities even in school; assumptions are made that they don't try hard enough, and those assumptions follow into adulthood. Those who struggle with academics, regardless of the teaching scenario, their personality type and best methods of learning etc, are labelled 'thick', 'stupid', 'a failure'. Those who carry extra weight, for whatever reason, are vilified for a lack of self control; assumptions are made that they are lazy. The young are dismissed for a lack of experience. The old are dismissed as out-of-date. Women are told they have equality with men but are discriminated against in work and society for having children, not having children, having a career as well, staying at home with kids, wearing certain clothes... Men are assumed to be bullish, brutish, unintelligent, incapable of doing more than one things at once, not a 'proper man' if they are short/unbearded/single/etc. We have labelled our differences as weaknesses, and frankly, there just is no safe ground - some sector of society will always be pulling down another. With this to contend with, is it any wonder we have learned to put up a front of 'I'm fine', and never admit we might be struggling and in need of help? Is it any wonder that we hesitate to offer help, in case we offend someone by implying that they can't cope? Is it any wonder that our best chance of securing love of any kind may seem to be altering the way we come across, our appearance or our personality?

The second problem is the barriers created by the categories we then file ourselves into in order to cope with this dog-eat-dog approach to life. I'm no psychologist and I have no provable theory on this, only my own observations to work with. I don't think it's necessarily a deliberate effort to distance ourselves from one another, just the organic response of many hurt people, or people trying to avoid hurt, that we distance ourselves from that which could hurt us. We want to be invulnerable; to show the haters that we've risen above their hate; to prove that nobody's opinion matters except our own. It's an understandable reaction, and sometimes a necessary one, but in the pursuit of strong individuality, is something of community lost? When I put myself where people can't hurt me, I also put myself where they can't love me, either. And when I detach from a filial perspective of humanity, I can detach from compassion, too.

The truth is that often I am so focused on my own life and on myself that I find it all too easy to overlook the needs of others, just like I ignore my own needs so that I don't have to open up and be vulnerable. I hate people knowing I can't handle something. I hate letting them see a weakness. But without acknowledging that weakness, after a while I can believe my own lie and start to act like I'm superior in some way, and this is what I find so dangerous, because to my mind a superiority complex breeds abuse of power. Gone is the understanding that we are all in this together, and in its place all sorts of uninformed judgements, finely nuanced and maybe never openly expressed, but influencing every action, and every choice not to act. When I let myself think I'm better, I lose my sense of place in humanity, and I fail to be of any use to anyone around me. I become a worse person. And I forget how to love.

I'm not saying all this because I'm trying to morally condemn society or individuals, or imply that my experience is the case for everyone. Like I said at the beginning, I really wish I had the answers but clearly I don't! I'm just hoping that my honest thoughts on this subject might be of interest to some people, and as always with anything I write, that it may spark some constructive discussion on the subject. Personally I don't think that mankind is capable of perfect expressions of love in and of itself; I believe we need some help, and that the best form of love is divinely modelled. Plenty of you will disagree with me on that, I'm sure, but that's what I see as truth. However, I also think that the potential for that perfect love lies within each one of us - the potential for thoughts and acts of respect, of genuine care, of compassion, of encouragement, and even of sacrifice. The acknowledgement of our shared humanity comes hand-in-hand with our responsibility to one another to attempt this love, even if we may fail. It is my sincere hope that I will learn to put this goal above that of my own comfort, realising that strength does not equal invulnerability, but the ability to overcome in spite of vulnerability.

BIG

BIG

I am the big one.
The big sister.
The tallest.
The towerer-over, still insisting on wearing heels.
The one you tell to sit down
So you don't feel intimidated.

I am the big one.
Big hips.
Jeans-filling.
Swaying, walking, dancing.
The one you can't lend your dress
Because I'll stretch it.

I am the big one.
Big thighs.
Long legs.
Can't fold elegantly into the back of the car,
The one that makes you budge up on the sofa.

I am the big one.
Big ideas.
Talking, laughing, singing.
Asking questions, wanting to know.
The one you think might be more chat than substance.

I am the big one.
Big dreams.
Ambitious.
Up at night writing.
The one who may be better at the theory than the practice.

Big.
I always have been.
I don't mind it.
I don't mind taking up space,
Physical, mental, philosophical.
I don't want to diminish.
I don't want to cower.
I have no plans to apologise.
I have no plans to stop.
This is what I was made to be -
Big.

That's Not You

A while ago I wrote a post under the title 'The Real Me', in which I posited that I wanted to lead what I guess I would term a more authentic or honest life. I also discussed how easy it is to even subconsciously create a public image/personality, and how we structure this to protect ourselves or project an ideal of what we want to be.

Further to that, something I've been thinking about lately is a phrase I've had thrown at me at various points in life, and have definitely heard levelled at others around me: 'that's not you'. From a throwaway comment in the fitting rooms to a statement of surprise in response to an outburst, it's an immediate contradiction that often comes from those closest to us, if it comes at all.

I distinctly remember a number of occasions upon which this little phrase, or words to that effect, caused me to question myself or to feel uncertain. A few times it was wardrobe-related, as inevitably teenage self-expression led to some unusual outfit choices. I would swan into the room in something bright or fitted only to be greeted with a quizzical look and a 'hmmm... that's just not you', quickly followed by me sloping off deflated to get changed. Chances are the people in question felt they were doing me a favour by preventing me from being ridiculous, but I always felt like I had been denied a moment of bravery, and I needed to fit back into whatever mould 'me' was actually supposed to take. As I got older I learned that women used 'that's not you' as code for a lot of things - when they really meant, 'that's not flattering'; 'that's not appropriate'; 'that's too outlandish', they would couch their judgements in the softer tones of 'I don't know, it's just not you, you know?'. I worked in a women's fashion store for two years on and off while I was a student and I saw it so many times, always with the same look of disappointment on the face of the woman in question. Now I'm not saying that it wasn't well-meant or indeed helpful at times, but the primary thing it taught me was, your body doesn't fit, and you can't wear this or this because of it. And if my body didn't fit, then what else about me was in error? How else was I expressing 'me' incorrectly?

'That's not you' isn't just a body-related phenomenon. I was probably more affected by a letter I received just before I got married, from an old friend with whom I had fallen out of touch. They wrote to me out of the blue and I can't recall the full content, but what cut me deeply was this little sentence: 'you're not really that sophisticated, are you?'. I had no idea what they meant. Was I pretending to be sophisticated? Was I coming off as acting out my life, rather than actually living it? I didn't understand. I had no concept of pretence in the way I carried myself at that time; I had developed more confidence and made some different friends, but I hadn't abandoned old friends or principles. Here was this person whom I had known so well and trusted for so long, back in my life after a hiatus in which clearly we had both changed, and their first thought was basically to say to me: 'that's not you.' I didn't get it and I certainly didn't know how to turn around and say, 'actually, yes it is.'

Who decides what is or isn't us? What defines it? Those who know us best ought to be able to tell what is 'normal' for us; when something abnormal happens, the person's behaviour is often described as 'out of character' - it's not a recognisable part of their usual modus operandi. It's been helpful for me at times to be gently contradicted when I've been getting carried away with some behaviour that's actually destructive for me or for those I care about. But on the day-to-day, is there no room for movement, for change? For those of us who sometimes feel like we have to justify or explain any new development in ourselves, it can be exhausting and frankly not always feel worthwhile.

I therefore find myself asking, why do these things get said? It could be just that people find it hard to countenance the new in contrast to the familiar, and that projects itself onto their friends and family as well as their surroundings. Personally I think it's a deeper issue, and it has to do with how we define self in the modern world. In this society we are increasingly free to make wider choices, and the emphasis is so much more on the individual than on community that our understanding of how we function together and inter-relate is constantly tested. I often find myself unsure whether it's right in a given situation to pursue my own good or subdue it for the good of someone else or of a group, when historically a community mindset was the only way civilisations grew and survived. Is it any wonder that when self can be so fluid and so many decisions justified that in the past would have been considered self-indulgent, we face a challenge to who we are? Because it's often easier and clearer to be defined by our differences than by more complex qualities, but those differences can make people uncomfortable.

For me, I know I'm still finding out who I am. It's probably a life-long journey. Some aspects will always be the same and others will change, and I'll do my best to find a balance and hold to the life principles I believe to be important. But when the 'that's not you' challenge gets thrown up and I feel threatened, how do I counter it? Hopefully, with enough grace to keep my friends but enough confidence to keep my individuality. 

All the Things I Thought I Would Have Done

A couple of months ago I made a list of 25 things I wanted to achieve before I turned 27. Perhaps unsurprisingly, considering I am definitely a bite-off-more-than-you-can-chew kind of person, I didn't succeed in getting through them all! There were some extenuating circumstances, but still, I should probably be disappointed with myself, right? I mean what kind of person sets goals and then just completely fails to reach them? Oh wait, that would be me.

The trouble with getting older/growing up, for me anyway, is that I'm still trying to figure out that boundary between flexibility and self-discipline. I know I'm capable of doing a lot, but somehow I still manage to scrape in at the last minute, and it's not a recent development. I was always the last to finish my drawings in art class, taking them home to be completed most of the time; I vividly recall sewing buttons for a craft competition (homeschooler alert!) the night it was due to be handed in for judging, despite having had two months to work on it. My essays were always in on time at uni, but I was forever behind with my reading, cramming my brain full on the train on the way back into Oxford for tutorials. It's like I have all these ideas and no clue how to manage my time around them, or allow for the inevitable interruptions, also known as Life Happening. I make schedules and plans and I can organise to a minute detail; I can pull off a huge party, or food for thirty people in a morning, or a corporate seminar. But when it comes to personal life goals, I always seem to be behind. And what is this self-imposed timetable I am trying to keep up with?

My 27th birthday was last Saturday, the 6th of June. I was discussing this blog post with the husband who cheekily pointed out that it was funny I would be writing about growing up when I'd had a Neverland-themed birthday party, i.e. a celebration based around a boy who never grows up. I hadn't really thought of it that way - I just wanted a pirate ship and bonfire and to be a mermaid, and clearly don't see those why those things should be exclusively for children! - but I had to acknowledge a degree of incidental irony. There I was, swanning around in an elaborate homemade costume and blue wig, garden littered with little bamboo-framed tepees and plastic bows and arrows and glass jars with candles in them, my own personal Neverland - and my list ignored, my goals unreached, and as yet no job to go to the following Monday.

It sounds so irresponsible, so careless when I read it back. I like to think those are terms most people I know would not apply to me. But sometimes you can't control all the cards you're dealt, or you don't know how to play them, or quite simply you get it wrong, and the best you can do is have a few parties along the way while you're figuring it out. It doesn't mean I'm not going to try to improve myself, or hit some of those targets, even if they're late. But at the same time, I've realised there's a lot we hold onto that may not be good for us, it just seemed like a good idea at the time. And that's where I was at when I wrote this.

All the things I thought I would have done
Live in a box
Which I take out and browse sometimes.
It's stored where no one else can find it
Although I let a few close friends have a peek
Once in a while.

Regret sits proudly in one corner,
Relief in another;
Ambivalence and forgetfulness
Can be found at the bottom
If I rummage.

There's a lot of junk
But some things I'm not ready to throw away yet.
It's difficult to detach ambition from sentiment
As they have become tangled over the years,
Mainly with my childhood memorabilia.

Notes from adults who no longer feature in my life,
Opinions lettered in bold ink,
Awaiting trial.
Bright-coloured thoughts wrapped around University papers
And daydreams hurriedly scrawled
In endless notebooks,
None of them full from cover to cover.

I think I keep the box because
I don't know whether I've finished with it.
Whether something I can work with
Will surface from amidst the dross.
Whether my vain hopes
Are extinguished sufficiently
For me to move on,
Find new ones. 

The fact is, I've spent the last few years sifting through those hopes, opinions, daydreams, plans. And I'm willing to bet I'm not the only one who finds themselves looking backwards almost as much as they look forwards, because sometimes it's really hard to tell what's worth holding onto and what isn't.The one thing I am set on is finding a way to prioritise the goals I definitely know are important, because those are the ones I don't want to fail on. As for the rest, I may have to wait and see.

Mantra

Lately I've been thinking about mantra. It's on the long list of things on which I can't claim to be an expert... Honestly I've been in two minds about whether to write anything on this subject at all, because my first draft really was more like an essay (seriously, it even had references). But then I remembered this is a blog and not an academic exercise, and the whole point is that I write about things that actually mean something to me, and this does. So here goes.

My very basic understanding is that mantra is the use of words and phrases which are supposed to have sacred meaning or power; to aid concentration; to psychologically influence. Those who use it in a spiritual sense believe it can create an awareness which connects us to our inner self, although there seems to be some argument as to whether this is down to the specific words used or simply the thoughts behind them, but either way there is a very natural association with the practice of meditation.

I hadn't considered myself the meditating kind, but really anyone who has stopped to contemplate the beauty of life and nature and has found some peace through that contemplation - isn't that exactly what we were doing, in one way or another? It's just not that not everyone has a spiritual context for it.

I was recently in the Lake District and until I climbed some of those hills, until I looked out upon the vast rugged terrain and breathed in the fresh sea air, I had forgotten. I had forgotten how much I needed these moments of elation, this quiet but overwhelming glory. To find that actually, for someone so naturally verbose, I was out of words. For once I didn't actually want to describe, to quantify what was in front of me; I just wanted to take it in. I wanted to be part of it.

I think that mantra in the modern age for those of us without the cultural-historical references of its history has become equivalent to lifestyle wisdom, a proverb or a catchphrase. From 'lean in' to 'yes we can', a few well-intended words can easily become trite when too often used or without sufficient thought to their meaning - YOLO is a pretty classic example. You do only live once as far as science and most streams of philosophy go, but somewhere between being the modern-day 'carpe diem' and the life-endangering disasters that have filled up YouTube, clearly something was lost in translation. For this reason I have been trepidatious, bordering on cynical when it comes to the concept of mantra, because not only am I not sold on the spiritual element of it, but I feel like even if that does hold water, it's been hyped up and hijacked by diet programmes and politicians, and I just don't have time for words that have no meaning.

The thing is, I do believe that words have power. We've all heard 'the pen is mightier than the sword', and for those who would argue the toss think of how the philosophies which inspired the sword (i.e. all conflict) were disseminated: in writing, by word of mouth, through popular song and story. History, literature and religion are full of discussions of the influence words can have, for good or bad; it makes sense that humanity naturally accumulates these phrases, whatever we choose to call them, to help us make sense of our world and delineate our outlook on it. I suppose I've always been drawn to language because of the power of it, the way it can draw us from ourselves, can break apart or solidify our thoughts, feelings, decisions. In the same way those Lake District views stopped and centred me, the right words can bring to the surface the strength and resolve I need to tackle a challenge, while the wrong ones can reinforce negative patterns that make me self-destructive.

The important thing to remember is that we make the decision as to which words we allow to affect us; we choose what we accept as truth. Plenty of what we take in is subconscious and even instilled in childhood, so as an adult I am finding myself constantly in need of re-conditioning, as I become aware of what I've accepted that I shouldn't, or what I've misinterpreted. The key to this re-conditioning is awareness - I can't change something I don't recognise is wrong. And then of course there is the uncomfortable fact that actually, I probably can't change it by myself. Miss independent needs some help.

This is where my personal concept of mantra comes in, because I don't believe that I can simply be emptied of the negative. We fill ourselves up with whatever is around us; naturally like sponges we absorb from the people we know and the life we live and what we hear and watch and read. It's a deliberate and conscious effort therefore to pick and choose what to hold onto, but I know I need to if I'm going to become a better person, if I'm going to succeed at anything. So I look for what inspires and positively challenges me, and what I think is true, and I hold onto that - I repeat it, I have it on my phone or on my wall. I teach myself what I need to know, my mantra, and I try to live these. More posts to follow on what they are...

The Real Me

The real me. I wanted to take this statement and start with a very simple question - what does that mean?

Is it a slogan? A confession? An affirmation?

When we speak about 'me' and prefix it with 'real', we recognise a degree of constructed identity in our public and perhaps even private lives. By emphasising that something is real, we acknowledge that it must have an unreal alternative, a false twin. The actuality of the core being throws its shadow into relief, and maybe for a few seconds we realise that the shadow was masquerading as the whole.

It's easier than ever to create the personal reality we want to. We have so many freedoms - our education, our friends, our politics, our clothes, what we read, where we go, how and what we speak. Text, photos, sound, all are editable, malleable tools for self-projection, for image-creation. But whether what we create is indicative of our reality is up for debate. Naturally I pick and choose the parts of my life and myself I'm willing to publicly share - I don't mind people knowing what parties I go to or when I've been on holiday; I'm more cautious of letting them in on how many times I wear my jeans before washing them, or the rants I have when I'm by myself in the car. I'm using what may seem like trivial examples but this is how simply the charade can start - because I know once I begin worrying too much about how people see me, I stop remembering who I actually am. I can even believe my own construction for a while. My created reality is liable to run away with me, and like Peter Pan I'm left slumped on the floor imploring my shadow to come back and behave itself.

Of course the shadow metaphor has its limitations. Humanity is not two-dimensional; it is possible to be multi-faceted, to be complex, to be 'real' yet still changeable and diverse. I believe that the centre of 'real' in this human complexity is honesty with ourselves and others. What we acknowledge to be the truth is the starting point for all our decisions, be they moral, ethical, emotional, practical. When we centre ourselves honestly, we are better placed to relate to others and to our own selves. So why is it that I find this so difficult?

The main measures I used for myself when I was young were academic and moral. I wanted to be top of my class, and I also wanted to be the best-behaved; I craved the pat on the head, the gold star stickers, the sense of moral superiority (and I know some of you are nodding because you remember this about me!). Clearly wanting to succeed at school and wanting to do the right thing are perfectly good objectives, but it was easy for it to become about performance and perception just as much as it was about content. When I fell short of those standards in any way I didn't feel I could acknowledge my weakness; I wanted to maintain an image of a perfect reality that simply wasn't possible. 

The trouble with reality in our society is that it never comes up to our standards. On a global level there are wars we don't understand and poverty we may feel helpless to fight. On a community level there are prejudices and injustices of which we can't fathom the roots. On a personal level, we struggle for a degree of success that is so often judged by external measures which have gained huge influence in the public consciousness, but which can constrict our viewpoint and cause us to feel that failure is our only option. These measures filter into our mindsets so easily from such a young age that it can seem impossible to extricate ourselves, to decide which are valid and which are not.

I think this is why it's so important to make 'the real me' something to be unafraid of. More often than not we can think of it in terms of exposure - we think of our negative attributes, what people are going to judge us for. Well guess what? That's going to happen anyway. How about we decide to go for honesty that flies in the face of a perfection-obsessed culture, and work to some standards we really believe in? How about we give ourselves the chance to breathe and let down the facade? I'm not suggesting we forgo all privacy, which is a very necessary safeguard, but I am suggesting that seeing as we are imperfect we might as well acknowledge it, and realise that it's okay. We have value anyway. We are loved anyway. And when you consider that 'perfect' actually means 'complete', not flawless, it doesn't look so bad.

I readily acknowledge that I've a lot to learn, but what I do know about the real me is that too often I have let shame destroy my confidence and freedom. I would much rather celebrate the value of honesty in a world of unattainable expectations, and set some goals for myself that I can reach for without having to hide behind shadows that don't represent who I truly am. Improvement is always on the cards, but so too should be love and acceptance.

This is Project The Real Me, and I invite you all to join.