On possibility

I currently have six ill formed blogposts waiting on me in my drafts.

Six.

S I X.

So I obviously started a seventh, and here we are.

Those six posts are all on BIG THINGS. Marriage. Motherhood. Patriarchy. Love. Wanderlust. A scrambled mess of all the thoughts and all the feelings. A deep, thick swamp of what I'm working through on a day to day basis, trying to connect it to a bigger picture. To other stories and other lives. It's like walking from my sludge into someone elses, leaving big brown footprints in between. Immersing myself until I need to haul myself out, looking like some kind of swamp monster, then needing to shower and wash it away. Stripped back until I'm squeaky clean, before I can go wading back in all over again.

That's a pretty good metaphor for my mind right now. Add in the swamp monster continually driving around a roundabout at some point, and I think we've nailed it.

I want to get this stuff out. To talk it all over, put it down, share and be shared with in return. Desperately at times. I think it's interesting guys. I think you'd like it. I think it's worthy of conversation, and dumping it out here would feel like heaven. There are pages and pages of words. If only my brain could coherently arrange and edit and spellcheck, and I had built in wifi so I could upload it by merely blinking. The dream!

The reality? I just. can't. do. it. I can't get far enough into any of it. I keep bashing up against a brick wall, so then I start again. On a another topic. Another thread. Another tangent. And in a big way I feel like it's just a very accurate reflection of my inner workings right now. A lot of solo parenting, a lot of contemplation, a lot of reading and taking on other points of view has left me confused. Messy. Overwhelmed. A swamp brain filled with all the stuff.

There are also other reasons it's not working. Some are totally legit, and some... not so much. Shall I list my excuses for you?

• I have children. This feels less of a legitimate reason every time I trot it out.
• I'm not making the time. I could be getting up early in the morning like a good, organized creative person does. Do I? hahahahaha no. I do not.
• I've lost my creative mojo. The ideas are there, but getting past that first hurdle seems impossible. I feel a bit lost, creatively.
• It's hard and requires concentration. I'm not pushing through the uncomfortableness. I'm basically a toddler wailing on the floor at the difficulty of it all, waiting for someone to save me from myself.
• Something else is calling me. That book. This website. Those kids. The bloody dishwasher. All the other things are calling me, it seems.
• I'm not good enough. I wish I was a better writer. Coherent. Concise. No typos. That the words would come and feel like me.

Maybe that last one is the real crux of this story. If I felt good enough at it, good at all, would that make those other excuses easier to kill off? Is it hard because I'm not good enough, or am I not good enough because I'm not trying very hard? I suspect it's a combination of the two.

If that's the case, there is hope.

Finding your own voice in writing is fucking hard, right? It's not easy for anyone, and that's why (as with many endeavors in life) not everyone does it. So often I can't see myself clearly enough in what I'm writing. I can't see the nuance, or humour. Or the playfulness that can fly out of my mouth but feels so much clunkier and awkward in written form. I just can't see me, I guess.

Obviously the only real way to find my voice, to see myself here in these words, is to come the fuck on, Bridget. Write more. More and more and more until out comes me in that sentence, that phrasing, that paragraph, that whole piece. There I am and down I spill. Practice practice practice. To put in the hours. Deliberate practice and blood, sweat and tears.

Really, none of it matters. Or at least, it only matters to me. I only want to be better for me. To know that I can translate these thoughts into something that can exist outside of myself. Worked through and sorted, filed into an imaginary cabinet labelled 'Shit Laura thought about' (new blog name?) I mean really,  is there even any point? I don't know. But I do know that sometimes, I like it. This feeling of 'stuckness'. Of challenge. Of the possibility at becoming better at something. Maybe I will, maybe I won't, but it's possible. And sometimes it's just really fucking irritating.

Oh hi, life.

previously, on 'the internet' #8

My Twitter bio states: Reading the internet since 2001. NO SPOLIERS. Based on a joke (ok, not really) about what I'm currently reading, which is always and forever, the internet. I'm about 50% done guys! Previously, on 'The Internet', is a weekly listicle of what I eyeballed. Down to business.

I have been to this beach so many times, but never at low tide before. Look at this magic.

• I've been seeing a LOT around the internets on the new Nancy Jo Sales book "American Girls". You may know Sales, as I do, for her brilliant pop culture articles - the most famous being this Leo piece, or her work on The Bling Ring. But with this book, I fear she's going to make me angry. Girls are under a microscope - how they act, what they wear, how many selfies they choose to upload and why. And yet, where are the boys in all of this? WHERE. ARE. THE. BOYS? Social media culture is not exclusive to girls, boys have the Internet too people. And so surely, rather forging on with this divide and holding one gender up to a higher standard, we should be looking at this across the board? Sigh. This article in the Washington Post puts it far more eloquently than I can. 

• I liked this on your present vs your future, and the preoccupation with being busy. How we tend to focus on the present (isn't that the way to be mindful? I can't remember) at the detriment of our future selves. 

"Sometimes you need to be irresponsible with your current challenges in order to make real progress on your future self. You have to let the present just sit there, untended. It’s not going away and will never end. That’s the nature of the present."

• If you haven't watched Catastrophe, I URGE you, hunt it down and binge. A dark comedy (aka the best kind of comedy) which starts with a six night stands and follows the relationship from there. It is fucking hilarious. And this profile on Sharon Horgan will definitely sell it to you (plus a new HBO show coming!) Full disclosure, I have a ridiculous crush on Delaney, obviously, as he is bearded. Related, my Jeffrey Dean Morgan obsession.

• The Sad, Beautiful Fact That We're All Going To Miss Almost Everything. I find comfort in this, and also really love flipping th whole 'well read' thing on its head.

• For the first time in ages, I have my reading mojo back (in no small part due to woman lives book club, currently awaiting book 3 from the library) This listicle of Spring reads is exciting me.

• Staying in is the new going out. YESSSSSSS mate.

from a series by the novelist and artist Douglas Coupland, called ‘‘Slogans for the 21st Century,’’ painted between 2011 and 2014.

• Rebecca wrote about time travelling with her son. I love the way she shares her motherhood, and the tenderness of raising a boy. Ridiculously inspiring for me.

• Phone Lolz. What happens when you trade your iphone for a flip phone.

"Even stranger than that has been people's reactions to seeing my flip phone. The most common one is mockery—an incredulous "That's your phone?" as if I pulled out a can with a string attached that stretched out of the room—followed by an insinuation that I'm a drug dealer and that it's my burner."

• Memory fascinates me. My own memory is something I've especially wondered about (I should probably talk my theory through with a mental health professional, lolz). ANYWAY, I like this on whether your memory can ever really be accurate, and how we're all just narrative building.

• For my fellow Master of None fans - this just made me happy. I felt there was a sprinkling of Tom Haverford in Aziz here. Also, ROME!

• Female orgasms are definitely a feminist issue. The problems girls are experiencing with sex are the same problems women are still having. Another case of WHERE ARE THE MEN? Caitlin Moran wrote about sex education this week. It's all linked. If we teach our kids that sex is a two way, pleasure for all street, as well as how to do it safely, then everyone's a winner. I mean, look at the stats! We need this. Women deserve better than those figures right there. You need a Times subscription for the Caitlin article, but here is an excerpt - 

"Statistically, you’re most likely to learn about sex from pornography – NUS research found this is where 60 per cent of students got their information from. The problem here is that pornography, obviously, isn’t sex – it’s pornography. It’s a business – peddling a cold, emotionless simulacrum of humping, and prone to obsessive fads: anal sex; slapping; light strangling. I would pay a great deal of money for no 14-year-old boy or girl ever to have this as their formative education on what should be a joyous, friendly, occasionally ridiculous but hopefully life-affirming part of their lives." 

• Meanwhile offline, all I want to talk about is Luckiest Girl Alive. In fact I already instagrammed and tweeted it, so here we come full circle. Written by Jessica Knoll, it has depth and darkness and feels throughly modern and of the moment, IYKWIM. Plus a twist after The Twist. I finally watched the Marnie episode on Girls (episode 6 of all Girls searches are such beautifully crafted standalones) and this did not disappoint. I'm really enjoying this series, although We Need To Talk About Hannah. I made the wonderful/terrible decision to try a new Jillian Michaels workout. Obviously, I didn't really read about it until I was 15 minutes in, gasping for air and flailing, before realising it was not made for my level of fitness. I felt amazing/like death afterwards. I actually managed it twice last week so I'm going to call that a win. The biohacking episode of Note to Self is fascinating, if a little batshit. Living to 180? I'm ok thanks. aAnd the 'getting high on wearables' ep is total lolz and lifgoalz. There may have been a little bit of dreaming of summer and short dresses.

On dying {Moments from Motherhood}

A small, shaky voice comes from the top of the stairs. It's 8.19pm and I put him to bed 40 minutes ago. "I'm sorry Mummy because I know it's bedtime but I have a bad thought in my head and it won't go away and I can't sleep with it there". I tell him to come down and he crawls into my lap. I ask him what the bad thought is and he tells me that he is scared of growing up because he doesn't want to die.

Lest you think he's all deep thoughts and philosophising on life, his favourite word is currently poo, and he is obsessed with twerking. So, you know. This Is Five. However the dying and death conversation is one we have from time to time, it just hasn't happened for a while. Hearing the words death and dying come from my five year old baby sting me like salt water in cut. I squeeze him closer, not sure what I should say. These big things always seem to come out of the blue, knocking me momentarily. The usual "Don't worry, you don't need to think about it" tactic doesn't work, he knows that the day will come and he just doesn't know how to stop it. I can feel his heart thumping through his bony chest, he is struggling to suppress tears. He tells me that he imagined heaven falling out of the sky and dead people falling down on him. I'm surprised by the depth of the imagination, and heart broken he came up with the image. We aren't religious but have had a few conversations about various beliefs in previous discussions. I remind him that heaven is only there if you believe in it, and some people don't, they believe other things. And he wants to know what so I remind him about reincarnation. Straight away I regret it. His tears start to flow and he becomes distraught at the thought of leaving his body behind, at not having himself. He starts to describe what's he's picturing; his body dead, and through sobs tells me how his eyes will be closed and he won't be able to open them. I can feel him spiralling and feel desperately like I need to calm him and make it better.

To balance a five year old who is quite advanced in language and understanding, yet is still only five, is something I struggle with. It's a part of motherhood I didn't prepare for. He has always been a talker, from teeny tiny he spoke quickly and fluently. He likes to name - feelings and places and objects. The world and it's contents are just waiting to be discovered and labelled. And so we do talk a lot. I feel so lucky that he can express what he's experiencing - obviously in many ways it makes parenting easier, it takes away some of the guess work. But at other times, like now, I wish he didn't know about these things, that these words didn't come so easy to him. That his understanding wasn't quite so robust. Asking me questions where the answer is definitive and set and I can't change it or make it go away. Death is not a problem I can solve for him, for anyone.

I default to my fail safe parenting tool, distraction. I persuade him that we will make a cosy den in bed and I will sing ten green bottles to him. We will cuddle and sing until his mind is gently lulled out of the thoughts which make him cry. Distract distract distract. I carry him back up the stairs.

We lie in bed together and he tells me that he doesn't think it will work, that he is still worried. We make a den and I snuggle into him. By nature he is not much for physical affection. As he has always been a talker, he has always been happier next to me, not on me. Holding hands softly instead of being carried. He is not one for kisses, he prefers to blow them. But now he pulls my arms around him and squeezes me so tightly that it takes me by surprise and I realise how shaken he is. He tells me "I'm holding on and won't let go". I sing ten green bottles softly in his ear. When I am finished, he asks for another song. I sing Do Re Me, the song we would sing to him every night until he was 3. When I'm finished I ask him what his favourite part of the day was. This is our daily ritual - favourite part of the day, and we've already done it but I think that maybe if I can change the tape playing in his head, he'll be ok. So much of parenting is distraction, right? Distract the baby with this toy so she relinquishes the fork she's about to stab her eye with. Distract the five year old with stories and songs so the bad thoughts subside. Distract distract distract. We talk about seeing friends and playing at the park and painting. He is still holding me tight. I tell him that I like the cuddles. He tells me that he loves cuddles and we talk about how they make us feel better when we are sad, or even better when we are happy. I'm transported for a moment to being little enough to crawl into my Mum's lap and how the comfort of her physical presence, her body enveloping me, was so reassuring. I hope so much that I am that for him. He asks me to sleep with him and I tell him that I won't fit because he likes to sleep in a star shape. He finds this information hilarious - something he didn't know about himself. I tell him he sleep kicks me and talks sometimes too, and the giggles come on strong. Distract distract distract.

The gentle cuddles and songs and talk seemed to have worked, he tells me I can go and get ready for bed, that he is ok now. I tuck him in and kiss his forehead. He tells me he loves me.

I walk downstairs feeling a little dazed, and burst into tears. I was fine when I was with him but the heartbreaking words and his sobs come back to me and I all I want is my husband who is still at work. I want to talk about it with the one person who knows him as well as I do; who is as besotted with this sensitive soul as I am. I want him to tell me that I did the right thing and handled it in the right way.

Feeling our way around this stuff is hard. Our culture is not one that deals with death well, if at all. My Mum is Catholic and I was raised with a heaven. For me it was an immense comfort as a child, when my Nan died she became Nanny in Heaven. Gone from here to somewhere else, not just gone. It is still how I think of her, even though any belief in God or Heaven are long over for me. A few years ago when my maternal Grandmother died I bought a book for my Mum ' The Tibetan art of Living and Dying'. I need to read it again, but I remember how it detailed death being a big art of the cultural conversation from birth. I find myself wanting a book for Sachin, something that will help him when he feels like this. It's part of my coping strategy for many situations, to read.  At the same time I also don't want to talk about it more than is necessary. I can only be led by him, I suppose, and always be there to hold him and sometimes talk open and honestly. Sometimes it just doesn't feel like enough.

We're at an interesting time in his childhood. Traits that have been around since babydom are showing themselves as a part of who he is, not just phases. His sensitivity in many areas are coming to the fore and I hope we handle it right for him so that it becomes an asset and not a part of himself he struggles with. Sifting out the things that need more attention and things that we can slowly pull him away from is tough. In the meantime, I'll read books and talk to other parents and always be here for den building and singing whenever he needs it. Let's hope that's enough.

I'd love to know how other parents have handled to death conversation - and whether you have different cultural conversations going on...


Image by Kanae Sato

Murmuration

Saturday was a weird day (I'm writing about it separately it as it's a big mess of feelings that need to be untangled and sifted through), but at the end of it, there was this.

I'd been wanting to do it all winter, to come and see the starlings at sunset. But illness and cold and general moaning about the aforementioned by everyone meant it hadn't happened yet. On Saturday though, I needed it. The only way to get out of the house was to let Sach wear his PJ's under his many winter layers. Husband wrapped up Arla so that she resembled a baby eskimo. I grabbed my camera and we all headed to the beach. And it happened like it always does; as soon as I see the sea, I am lifted. This city soothes my soul in a way no place else ever has.

The blues of the ocean and the biting wind and the magic of nature, reminding me to take a moment out of my head and BREATHE. Sach and I stood mesmerised on the side of the pier. The Starlings danced for us, near and far, swooping below and above in the most beautiful formations, before finally taking shelter underneath us.

Our first murmuration was pretty spectacular.

July.

July started with the chance to shoot a beautiful wedding, the middle had a fabulous day trip to the beach with my Mama, husband and son. Sachin finished school, we bbq'd with friends. The backdrop to it all was sunshine, warmth and a garden

blooming with life.

March + April

Time with our favourite people, smatterings of new life and blue skies, my favourite belly button in abundance.