Mentalechoes

If there is one thing I could change about myself, I would make it so I wasn’t such a shy person. It’s funny, but a lot of people who know me actually think that I am a very confident person who strolls through life laughing and doing all the things I want to do. In some ways that is true, but in the middle of my heart is a very shy person who is worried about fitting in and being accepted by people. I’ve been like this since I was a kid, and as I have grown older, I’ve found it difficult to have confidence in myself. If I see a pretty girl in the street, so many times I wish I could walk up to her and say hello and say something funny that would make her smile. But I don’t because I worry that I will make a fool of myself and look stupid. This fear is something that stops me being easy in my friendships and relationships with other people. My friends would say I quite complex, and that can make it hard for a lot of people to get close to me. It’s this lack of self confidence and fear that drives me to obsession with activities and projects, which makes my behaviour quite intense.

I do believe though that we all have the ability to change ourselves in any way we want. It’s one of the fundamental principles of Bhuddism – that we all have the potential for enlightenment, and hence ultimate change – which forms the framework of my beliefs about spiritual stuff. Well I won’t go into that any more other than to say, all that spiritual stuff gives me the belief that we can always improve ourselves and we aren’t stuck in any place (emotionally, physically) that we don’t want to be in.

Perhaps that’s something in life that I am meant to overcome. That letting go of being shy and being afraid of people, and learning how to really be that confident person that other people see in me. This blog is a perhaps a part of that.

A while ago I read an article written by a great writer to people aspiring to be great writers. I think it was Earnest Hemmingway who said something like, ‘if you want to be a great writer, write about the most personal things you are thinking, as if to share them with the person you would least want to know’. I can see his point really; if you do this, you are garaunteed to write from the heart and every word will have meaning and emotion which the reader will pick up on and absorb. Writing is all about evoking emotions in the individual who is reading you; who you are at that point in time having a relationship with. One day I would like to undertake a writing project and write a novel about life and people, and the way it see it. I think I would call it, “This Life Through My Eyes”. I would write it like Charles Bukowski wrote his novels; part journal, part story, all raw images of a life the way he saw it and lived it. Yeah, I would like to do that. It will be my legacy to the world, so that when I am no longer here, I will have left behind some small contribution that means I will have done something worthwhile while I was alive. Much like this blog as well I suppose!

I wonder if anyone will have heard of me in 100 years?

Padwanna.

As I looked out across my flat,
I wanted to lay down on my back.

So much crap could I see,
I could hardly believe it belonged to me.

How the fuck did it all get here,
where do I put it all to get the place clear?

The vacuum cleaner looks small in my hands,
to suck up the mess in which I stand.

My mates buggered off and left me the chore,
of cleaning up this mess thats covered the floor.

Where do I start, where do I begin,
just where the hell do I find the rubbish bin?

Maybe I should get a cleaning lady,
but that would mean I’m more useless than a baby.

Well mess-o-mine that’s all around,
This is it you bastard, you’re going down… to the rubbish tip.

Padwanna!

How time flies when the unexpected happens! I can’t believe it’s been a week and a half since I was last here. Amazing really to think that the days can pass without us even being aware of them if we don’t take the time to stop and ‘live in the moment’.

A friend of mine turned up on my doorstep Saturday morning (a week and a half ago) with a backpack on his back and a couple of other bags filled with stuff, asking if he could stay for a bit. Turns out him and his wife are going through a first stage seperation. Poor bastard! So since then he’s been here at my place sleeping on whatever space is available trying to work out what the hell he is going to do. Most of my nights have been spent hanging out with him spending time doing guy stuff and just generally being a mate. Seeing his situation though has really made me think what marriage is worth in the modern age. I seem to hear more tales of woe based around marriage problems than I do happy-fluffy stories based around the whole I-soooo-love-my-partner idea. I wonder a lot why this is. Has marriage become just another disposable accessory of a westernised superficial lifestyle? My dad had something like 5 marriages, and way back when I was still a young teenager I swore I would only get married once (if at all). My philosophy is, I would rather not get married at all, than marry someone that was a compromise from ‘the one’ and have it all fall apart later. Yeah well easy to say I suppose, but as my wise ole mother says, ‘In life there are no garauntees, so take a chance and see where it goes for better or worse’. I guess Mum, but not for me with marriage.

Last Sunday was also the day of the Dam to Dam running race that I have been training for over the last couple of months. Boy, what a fantastic day that was! 30,000 runners from all over Europe turned up to have a crack at the 16.1 kilometer distance winding through some really scenic Dutch countryside! I was pretty blown away when I first turned up to the start area because I thought it was only going to be 2000 runners, but as I was to learn that was just my group. The registration was a bit of a laugh too because my friend who flew in from London to run it with me got allocated number 97 (out of 30,000), which pretty much meant he would qualify for the Australian Olympic team if he actually fit the number profile. As the nice girl gave him the tags, she looked at him in his long shorts and unsporty casual t-shirt, and asked in a confused tone of voice if he was actually a professional athlete. Heh heh… well not this year baby! Luckily we didn’t have to run with the first group like we were meant to, which was just as well because I don’t know if I could have coped with standing next to the Ethopian national squad in front of a 10,000+ spectator crowd, and every major Dutch television station. That would have been an exercise in mass public shame cause those guys make everyone look fat as fat bastards! As it was we accidently joined the second group going off which was much more our style.

The run itself was great. Almost the whole way the route took us through little residential districts just outside of Amsterdam, where the locals had camped outside with water stalls and boomboxes of every shape and size, blaring every conceivable style of music to cheer us on. There were even variety entertainment groups on the roadside at regular intervals performing acts on makeshift stages. The whole thing had the feel of a carnival day with tons of sweaty people all trying to get somewhere really really quickly! By the time I got to the 12 kilometer mark I was feeling pretty buggered, I had hit the wall and the first feelings of doubt crept into my mind if I could make it, and then I saw a huge archway over the road a half a K in the distance and I thought that was finish line. I made a sprint for it, and when I was on the verge of puking at about 100 meters away from it, I realised it was only the marker for the last 4 kilometers, with some guy on top of it yelling into a microphone: Don’t stop yet, only 4 K to go! Fuck me! Well fortunately they were playing some inspirational music (I think it was Dr Alban, Sing Hallelujah) which kept my feet moving. When I did reached the final kilometer mark coming into the business center of Zandaam, there were spectators lining barracades 5 people deep, and the vibes from the cheering was so loud it practically lifted you off the road. All of a sudden, even though everything was aching, I managed to pick up the pace for a big finish. About 200 meters out I could hear the Rocky theme track blasting out over a PA system and man, I just started sprinting for the end. What a rush! Better than any drug I’ve ever had! Once over the line we were all hearded single file like cattle through a series of a guide rails to collect a bottle of water and our medal. Then we were turned loose out the other side to mingle with the biggest mass of sweaty bodies I’d ever been a part of. Very funky!

Really for me, it wasn’t at all about the time I did – which is good because mine was pretty ordinary considering – but more about being there and being a part of it. I’m addicted to that finish line feeling now, so I am going to see if I can get a spot in a 21 kilometer race coming up in 4 weeks in Rotterdam. There’s something about being a hero that really gives you a buzz! You have this boost for days afterwards that makes you feel like you can accomplish anything if you work at it. As I figure it, since life is 90% mental, that’s got to be a good thing!

Padwanna!

It was Fathers Day back home yesterday. One of my best mates told me in an email this morning, but I already knew about it. Thanks to Yahoo Calendar I don’t forget important dates now (unless I miss the reminder or I put them under the wrong date in the first place). I didn’t call or send or card to mine. I haven’t even spoken to him in 5 months. I don’t think he’s even noticed. For me, Father is more synonomous with sperm donor rather than caring authority figure who was always there for me. My father and I are practically strangers, and the handful of times we do talk in a year is forced ‘how’s the weather’ conversations. We never speak about anything meaningful or personal. That’s not my dads way. Once when he was angry and he was in an abusive mood he told me I could fuck off and die for all he cared! Well, to be fair he had been diagnosed with cancer and was angry about it and I suppose wanted to blow off some steam and I just happened to be the one on the phone. It’s funny to me though how we are so different, because I have never in my life said anything like that to anybody. Not even the one person I have really hated, and that was my mums second husband. My father has never been someone who has ever tried to be close to me. Not even through a long lot of years after he broke up from my mum and nobody else had a good word to say about him. I stuck by him when nobody else would, and still he has never made me feel like he really cared for me. I often wonder why! And a lot of times in my past I used to feel bad about not being the kind of son he maybe wanted! To this day I still feel like he wanted me to be different; and if I had of been different, maybe he would have wanted to be my father.

I know a lot of people have fathers like this. Mine is not the worst of the worst, but I guess I see friends who have good fathers and I wonder what it is that those fathers see in their sons that my dad doesn’t see in me. I try to look to the future to a time when I could be honest with my dad and try to reconcile our differences, but I know given his personality, it won’t happen. He doesn’t bend or compromise for any man, and certainly not me. I hope to be a father one day, and I hope that I am a better father to my kids than mine has been with me. Having the experience of growing up with the father I did, all I have to do is the complete opposite to him, and I’ll be doing alright!

Padwanna!