Just the inner musings and terrible poetry of a man surviving himself. If that's not frightened you away already and you have a query, please feel free to ask.
The title of this post is perhaps one of my least favourite sayings as it was used in the home I grew up in for a variety of mentally and emotionally abusive purposes, but today, I am taking it back with strength and determination.
I like to think that in every one of life’s frustrations there is a lesson to be learned. It may be a simple one, it may be a hard one, but instead of letting life hand me my arse and call it a day, I’m making lemonade, and I’m making it sweet.
I’m a DIY sort of bloke; I like to be able to look at something and say: “I made this,” or “I’ve done this myself”. So today, I took it upon my person to put up a clothesline.
A proper clothesline.
Off I went, cable in hand, joiner and wire cutters in my back pocket to set this up in the back garden. In about 10 minutes, I had a shining blue, vinyl coated cable strung diagonally across the yard, just waiting for the load of clothes I had taken out of the washer. Success!!
Then I got two thirds of a load out - towels, sprog’s pyjamas and track pants, some of my own underpants - and snap! Down comes the line into the grass that admittedly needs to be mowed before the weekend is out.
Knowing sprog was safely up in his room for a nap, I took the opportunity to quietly work a few choice words out of my system before I marched over and retrieved the freshly laundered clothes from the ground. Was I pissed? Begrudgingly, I admit that this was something that frustrated me more than it perhaps should have. But did I give up?
I’m a sucker for punishment.
When sprog woke from his nap, I got him dressed and freshened up and headed out to get a new clothesline. I would have a load out and flapping in the wind come sundown if it killed me. I purchased a steel cable line that could withstand a load of 46 stone (that’s some serious washing!) and a new joiner. Sprog thought his father was hilarious as I tried to explain that even in your daily life, you cannot give up because something’s not gone to plan - you have to be present, commit, and figure out a way around the snags. Perhaps the subject was a tad bit deep for a three and a half year old, but he humoured me and only tried to pull my hair once as I pushed him around in the trolley at the hardware shoppe.
While I know he didn’t grasp all of what I was telling him, I know he understands that in life, you can never give up. I see his determination every day and it inspires me to keep role modelling the things he needs to see in order to grow up well adjusted, strong and level-headed. Life is like that bloody blue vinyl clothesline; there are times when the cable will break, but you have to pick up your washing, count your pins to make sure none have flown over the fence into the neighbour’s yard, and try again with something stronger than before.
As I head out the door to go to dinner with mates, my son once again safely in bed and under the watchful eye of a loved one generous enough to give me a couple hours of their time, I know I’ve kept my promise. I’ve made this day a good one.
As I sit here with the last dredges of my late Saturday morning mug of extra bold, I’m pondering a post I just read that says:
Never long for anyone from your past. There is a reason they never made it to your future.
This is me walking the walk. I’ve given up longing for people and moments from the past because to long is to relive and that’s simply counterproductive. What’s past is in the past - whether that be love, trauma, victory or loss. I must live in the present as it is all that is guaranteed in this life aside from death and taxes, and so today - right now - I am healing. I am smelling the coffee and feeling the caffeine hitting my blood stream. I am executing my plan for this day. I will make it a good one.
People who judge you don’t belong in your life. Period. A person who has made mistakes and is trying to better themselves deserves respect for their efforts.
This looks like such a peaceful way to spend the day. It makes me reminisce about the days when I used to smoke by an open window and listen to the rain falling outside.
There is something about the stillness of this scene that hits so deeply and sinks beneath the very skin of who I am.
Coming into wakefulness in a room that feels as in tune with where I am trying to be in my own head is amazing.
I had intended to get white window dressings when I went out yesterday, but when I came across those silver, textured curtain panels (the hems of which admittedly rest on the floor, but that’s what all the fancy folk are doing nowadays, so I’m not too bothered), something tugged at me. The picture on my wall is of fire (one of my favourites - I know the artist personally), and the name of the curtain panels listed in the sample pile was “cracked ice”.
Fire and ice.
Again, a fantastic metaphor for the goal I am trying daily to - and, I feel I am succeeding - reach in my life: balance. These two elements are like the polar opposites within me: dark and light, gentleman and beast, the heat of passion and the coolness of the logical mind. I need all sides to be whole, and yet, they must be in balance for me to feel grounded and stable. I am changing my environment as I am changing my person, creating my world as I see fit, and reflecting that which I want to be, do and achieve.
My house is a microcosmic symbol for myself. I’ve cleared the junk and started with the innermost sanctum both in my home and in my mind, and now I am moving throughout with my transformation. As it is within, so it shall be without.