Might as well...

I have to blog today.

For reasons I won't go into here (fearing future employers may research me online) I am emerging from a few months spent trapped in what I have come to name 'the fog'. Those who experience 'the fog' will know what I mean when I say 'the fog'.

I realised today that this fog had lifted when I sat in a lecture listening to a very interesting and clearly talented author discuss his work and his writing process. When fog-free, listening to lectures, participating in discussions and taking many (many) notes is the norm. When the fog descends, however, it is all I can do to motivate myself to get out of bed let alone delight in all that there is to delight in around me (and there's a lot). Today, however, as I listened I realised that I was really listening, taking it all in and not just looking in the right direction desperately trying to focus. I decided to test just how fogless I was by closing my eyes for a few seconds and seeing if I felt relieved shutting the world out and reminding myself of sleep...I didn't! I actually wanted to be awake and be there in that room at that moment; for me this is a very good sign! It is a good sign because those who know me know that I LOVE being at university. I moan about deadlines and being tired and stressed like everyone else but I have never felt more welcome and at home as I do in a classroom listening to one of my lecturers talk with passion and expertise. For me, it just feels right.

Despite evidence to the contrary, I now want to try and convince you that the point of this post today is not to go on exclusively about depressi...er, 'fog' but to share some of the lovely things I've noticed now that I can see again. Three times this week I have wanted to clap during a lecture. One of these moments occurred yesterday in a class on globalisation; one little PowerPoint slide was so well considered, so wonderfully written that it clarified any niggling doubts I had about the process of abstraction. The second moment occurred as a result of another slide, by the same lecturer, discussing the implications of the autonomy we're all supposed to be 'thankful' for in enlightened society and the third arose this morning when the author, David Calcutt, read a few pages from a book he is working on as a means of answering my question about the 'starting point' of a new story. His writing was magnificent and after he read it he looked at me and said 'does that help?' I managed to pull myself together to say 'thank you; that was excellent'. It really was.

(A word on clapping while we're here: I didn't actually clap during any of the three moments I have shared here. I'm British and random outbursts of joy or excitement don't come easy. We clapped at the end of David's talk but that's because it's ok to clap at the end of things. Clap at any other time and you'll be branded a weirdo, even by those of us who are deeply suspicious of conventions...suspicious or not, social conventions are very powerful. Perhaps I'll think about the possibility of considering clapping next time, maybe.)

Other lovely things this week include better sleep, getting up at the time I planned, keeping meeting times with various people, energetic debates with fellow students in class (whether they like it or not), considering 'life after uni' and making arrangements to see a close friend for supper and a few other friends for drinks next week. I have really had to focus on doing these things but I've done them and I feel better for it and I think I have channel four to thank, in a roundabout way.

Earlier this week I was watching television with my dad and we happened to catch the end of a show about the Emergency Services on, as I mentioned, channel 4. We tuned in during a rather distressing situation involving an alcoholic suffering both addiction and severe depression. I will suspend my critique of why I think such shows are being broadcast (for now) but it is fair to say that I am often troubled by how addiction and 'mental illness' are dealt with in the media. In this instance, however, this man was clearly in an extremely dark, frightening and all-encompassing place and it was disturbing yet compelling viewing. As is the case with shows like this, they did a 'few months later' type thing and this man reappeared on this screen. He did look better; he was noticeably brighter and less encumbered. It was what he said, however, that has stayed with me all week. Without remembering the exact words it was something along the lines of, 'you might as well have a go at being happy'. What a wonderful thing to say, I thought. I am now wondering if this statement helped pull me out of the fog because as soon as I got back to my flat I stuck a post-it with those very words on the mirror in my bedroom. It wasn't 'wake up happy' or 'be happy TO THE MAX!!!’ often followed closely by 'buy this' or 'believe that', it was: 'have a go'. Now, I'm sure if I put my Baudrillard hat on I could criticise all of this and find a reason to send the lot back to the capitalist consumer system it came from; I do think, however, that this (relentlessly critical) line of thinking is sometimes where the fog is at its thickest and most powerful. Knowing what I think I know makes 'being happy' seem nothing more than a triumph of, to quote Mr. Baudrillard, 'the hegemonic culture of happiness'. Fundamentally, I do agree with him which means I won't be investing in a life coach, placing my faith in a new car or berating myself for not experiencing happiness in the same way as many others any time soon. I won’t be stepping blindly, hands bound, into happiness but I at least have to try and have a go at being happy in my own way, I might as well.

Mindfulness.

I don't blog much these days, my degree (and love of cooking and wine when not degree-ing) takes up most of my time and mental energy so it has to take something super duper to inspire me to post something here...I guess this post is about one of those things.


Last Saturday I cried at a tree. Not because we were arguing, that would suggest I hear voices coming from trees and I'm pretty sure I don't. I cried because I stopped walking and thinking and said 'what a lovely tree'. Then came a flicker of synergy and I shed a tear for a beautiful tree with the sun's light streaming through it in Wolverhampton's West Park. A word on West Park whilst we're here: if you live near it and think, 'I really should go for a walk around West Park, visit the hothouse, see if there's anything music-y going on in the bandstand, enjoy the beautifully kept grounds and have a reason to praise the local council for a change' then stop thinking and do it. I go a few times a week if I get chance. They've also got lovely tennis courts that you can use for free. I have all the gear, a bit of an idea but no one to play tennis with so if you want to play tennis with me in West Park followed by a cuppa in the little tea room then that would be swell. I realise this post is beginning to resemble an online dating profile so I'm going to talk more about the tree now.


When staring up at the tree, (I don't know the name of the tree but it didn't know mine either so I didn't think it rude that I never bothered to ask) I thought, I'm Nietzsche, I am West Park's Nietzsche without the syphilis (I hope) but with the overbearing sister, the ability to grow a moustache and the belief that, to quote dear Friedrich: 'there is more wisdom in your body than in your deepest philosophy'. I switched my incessant thinking off and felt the energy between me and this other living thing, the both of us rooted to this baffling world. I can't speak for the tree, of course, but this isn't the point. What I was trying to do that day was put into practice some of the techniques I learned through a year of cognitive behavioural therapy I received during my first year of University; at the time my shrink called it 'mindfulness' and apparently it was all the rage at the time of my therapy. I was given a book called the 'Mindful Way through Depression'. Unfortunately for this particular book, my reading of it coincided with my falling head over heels in love with French philosopher Jean Baudrillard (although I didn't know it at the time, I thought I hated him but that's how it usually goes with love isn't it?) and an increasing awareness of Foucault so I read the first chapter, groaned and chucked it on my dining table, never to be read again.


Psychology buzzwords aside, being mindful of mindfulness is something I reckon we could all do with practising a little (probably a lot) more, in fact I think your existence depends on it! By existence I don't mean I am going to kill you if you don't heed my warning and I am not going anywhere near negotiating the nature of existence and what it is to exist in this post; I get enough of that from my degree and again from my philosophy buddies in the pub. By existence here I mean noticing that you're alive, again whether that means as a simulation, a brain in a jar or a living, breathing animal civilised right into a pair of jeans and a jumper. For example, if when you're washing up your cereal bowl in the morning you are wondering about your impending journey to work, in particular the state of the traffic on the M6, or are fretting about a conversation you had last night where you felt didn't quite say the right thing or didn't sound smart enough (all hypothetical situations, of course) what becomes of the person stood in the kitchen elbow deep in suds? I was discussing this with a friend and asked, 'if I am pondering the future or mithering over the past then where exactly do I exist?' It's a bit creepy to think of myself walking around like a zombie with my mind lodged firmly in different time zones.


It's pretty obvious of me to suggest that we're encouraged by the media and various discourses to better ourselves (buy stuff), to strive (buy stuff), to succeed (buy stuff) and this takes some bloody planning if you're going to try and do it. It's commonly accepted, for example, that to lose weight you need to plan meals to avoid being caught starving in front of a chippy and to lose more weight and up your physical and mental health, exercise is also key. Again, to do this you need to plan times to do it especially if you have a job, a partner, kids, a house to run, a degree to finish all the while living each day to the max and living for the moment. This living for the moment, being more ‘you’than you’ve ever been bullshit falls on its arse when British Gas calls asking why you didn't make your last gas bill payment or when your waistline expands due to not planning your meals properly. Perversely, being free and living in moments defined by consumer capitalism means being a participant in a game where, to feel young, healthy and relevant you need to not only play by the rules but be good - the best - at it too. You can choose not to but then what? I try to answer this everyday and haven't managed to come up with much. Even if you were to run away to live the 'good life' somewhere you'd need somewhere to live and hot water and heating, well I would, perhaps I'm a sissy.


Being born in a big city, bombarded with images and being swept up in its fast pace I have become accustomed to this level of planning, game and role playing but that doesn't mean that I don't get sick of it, depressed by it and indeed scared by it but then again I do want to wear skinny jeans and saunter sexily into my local Ask restaurant for a bowl of pasta and a glass of primitivo. I'm reminded at this point of something Zizek considers when addressing those of us who 'do capitalism’ but 'ironically'. Zizek seems to be suggesting that it doesn't really matter how you do capitalism: ironically or in earnest, you're still doing it...what a bloody tricky idea to consider. I try not to worry too much though because, more often than not, you end up sounding like a self-righteous right-winger who thinks that if you're suspicious of the system and yet enjoy it's 'spoils' you have no right to attack it. What toxic nonsense!


Back to this mindfulness, (ironically, I went off track for a moment, it takes practice), I am actually suggesting something quite simple. I was slicing mushrooms for supper last week and whilst doing it I was thinking about the workout I had planned the next morning and whether, after the workout, I was going to shower first or eat breakfast. It was 8pm on a Thursday night and I was already 'living' at 7.30am Friday morning. I had said 'see ya' to my evening and, subsequently, already lived-out my Friday morning in my head rendering the 'actual' Friday morning a bizarre re-enactment. See what I am getting at here? Think Picasso, he said something along the lines of: if you already know exactly what you're going to do, why do it? I've already covered the impracticalities and seeming impossibilities of complete non-planning but I accept the sentiment entirely. For me, if I excessively plan everything (something I was pre-disposed to doing pre-CBT) I end up feeling like I am acting out my life and never truly living it. Like I wrote the script and am now cast in the starring role, again: creepy. For me, there's something magical about getting lost. The initial reaction is to think 'oh fuck, I'm lost and my important plans will be ruined', I still do this when my plans dissolve, which is often. Last week for example a friend and I got lost walking home from a restaurant, he had just moved into the area and we were busy chatting and somehow got trapped in a maze of terraced houses. At first I wanted to tell him off and let him know just how important is was for me to get home to, er, sit on the sofa but when he looked at me, sighed and said 'I've got no fucking clue where we are' I just laughed, opened one of the beers we had purchased on the way home and continued wandering around chatting for a bit. Getting my stuff ready for work the next day and making sure I got 8hrs sleep could all wait as we walked through unfamiliar streets enjoying a meaningful chat not sullied by putting the washing on, checking emails or getting ahead. In case you were worrying how we got home, in the end we listened out for the sound of zooming cars and followed it to a main road with sign posts.


Back to the mushrooms, I mentioned them as they provide me with a great example of how simple practising this mindfulness can be. Whilst slicing, I caught myself mid-thought and said, aloud 'I really like the way the blade slices through the spongy flesh of the mushroom' and, like that, I was back in the kitchen enjoying my evening. The next morning as I exercised I was already running through the lecture I was going to later that morning but, again, I said 'I like feeling the sweat running down my back as it shows I'm working my arse (and belly and bingo wings) off' and like that I was there, enjoying my workout. Like I said, it takes practice, I think we're hardwired to planning and the next thing on the list and if we can't do it ourselves we can employ someone to do it or download an app to help us. This level of auto-pilotism explains why people wake up one morning asking where the last 10 years went or are spooked to realise another week has passed. It's why people look at their partners one day and realise they don't know them anymore but how can you know someone if you're skimming past them all the time, living under the same roof but in different time zones? Such things inspire me to consider a year out of academia once my degree is finished. I have gotten so much out of it, learned so much and made friends I will treasure but I also live deadline to deadline and I experience a form of suffocation when I think that I could continue to do this without me being 'aware' of it until it's too late. I just need a little time to think about it, please.