Am I living my life on auto-pilot?

When I was a kid, all I could think of was all the cool things I'd get to do when I was a grown up.
I couldn't wait for the freedom to choose for myself!

When I left primary school and moved up into secondary school, all I could envisage was studying the sciences, history, mathematics - and emulate my heroes - Leonardo, Galileo, Copernicus, Kepler and Einstein - discover something new, exciting, World-wowing!

Off to polytechnic then with dreams greatness in academia - I'd get my degree in chemistry and physics, become a great home office pathologist like Dr keith Simpson, or Sir Bernard Spillsbury - and I'd solve the unsolvable, and bring the killer to justice.

But something around this point changed.  I failed my degree because I didn't put the effort in.  I'd lost my way.  I got a job making pizzas - and thought maybe I could join the police.  I applied about 5 times and failed each time - I started working as a civilian answering 999 calls, and began the lazy drift from one day to the next.  I no longer had any purpose.  I had under-achieved myself to mediocrity and that was where I was going to stay.  I put my life onto autopilot.

Ten years passed and I was exactly the same - no real prospects, no additional skills, nothing to look forward to, no purpose.  I bought a small one bedroom flat, and continued to drift.  Autopilot was doing just fine, thank you.

I had a blip though - made a decision and flipped autopilot off whilst I changed course.  I moved to Exeter and began working for Devon and Cornwall police taking 999 calls.  I got a promotion, extra responsibility, met a girl, got married.  Had a daughter, changed jobs and started working in IT for the NHS.

But I realise today, I've somehow snuck back onto autopilot again.  I don't ever remember flicking that switch, but it definitely got flicked!  I've been doing this job for about 13 years now, and I'm at the top of my pay scale and little or no prospects on a promotion.  My daughter is about to go into secondary school, my wife runs her own business - and I'm cruising from one day to the next with no real interaction with the present moment.  I wake up, get up, make tea, clean my teeth, get dressed - same routine every day.  I drive to work, but arrive there without really realising what happened during the 15 minute drive.  I log onto my PC, check emails, check calls, drink coffee, eat at my desk, until it's time to go home.

Another 15 minute autopilot drive home, get changed, sit on the couch, watch TV, make dinner, eat, watch TV, go to bed.  Life on autopilot!

If any of this rings a bell with you, if you see anything familiar in the routine, then, like me, you need to flick that switch and come off autopilot!  I have managed to get to 53 years old, and I can only account for half that time as being lived with meaning and purpose.

Too many of my days are lived in a haze, not paying anything very much attention, losing time, wasting time, achieving nothing - living like it doesn't matter that nothing got done yesterday or the day before because I was busy drifting along as if in a dream.  I'm acting like I have an infinite number of days at my disposal, so wasting half of them isn't a big deal - but you know what?  I don't have an magical supply of days that'll go on forever.  I need to wake up!  I need to pay more attention, and I need to make better use of my time.  So I'm going to rip out autopilot, and I'm getting Mindfulness installed instead.

Buddhist Lesson

This is one of my favourite Buddhist lessons. 

Two Buddhist monks are walking back to the temple one hot, dry day when they come across an old woman beside a raging river.  She is staring at the river, which is clearly barring her way, with a look of total frustration on her face.

The younger of the two monks offers the lady assistance, so she climbs up onto his back, arms about his neck, her small bag of possessions bumping painfully against the monk’s chest as he fought the current to get her across.

On the far back, the old woman climbs down and goes off on her way without saying a word of thanks or any acknowledgment of the monk’s kindness whatsoever.

The young monk remarks to the older one how rude it was of her, how bruised he was from the bag banging against him, how tired his legs were having carried that extra weight, how hot and thirsty the exertion had made him, and so on – all the way back to the temple.  As they get to the gates the older monk, who all this time had kept silent during his companion’s complaints, turned to him and asked, “Are you still carrying that old woman on your back?”

Joke

A dog walks into  a butcher's shop holding a small wicker basket in his mouth.  He puts the basket on the floor and takes out a small piece of paper - on it is a list, 2 pork sausages, half a pork pie, one small lamb chop

The butcher takes the list, put the items into the basket.  The dog takes a small purse from the basket and sets it before the butcher, who opens it.  Inside is a £5.  The butcher gives the dog 60p change.  The dog puts the purse in the basket and off he goes.

Next day the dog comes in again, and the same thing happens.

The day after, the dog comes in again - but this time as the dog leaves with his laden basket, the butcher follows him.  The dog walks off down the street and gets to a busy main road.  He sets the basket down and pushes the pedestrian crossing button.

When the lights turn red he picks up the basket and crosses the road safely.

A few streets later he approaches a house, puts down the basket and standing up on his back legs, pushes his nose against the door bell.

An old man opens the door, sees the dog and starts to berate him.  "Stupid dog!"

The butcher runs up to the man and shouts "Stupid?  Are you kidding??  That's the most amazing dog I have ever seen!"

"Nah, if he was that amazing, he wouldn't keep forgetting his door keys"!

Questions

What mood are you in?
Relaxed, Content

What are you listening to?
System 7 live in Kyoto October 2011

Where are you right now?
Cornwall, UK

What’s on your “must do today” list?
Post the last eBay parcel

What colour would you choose to describe yourself right now?
Orange

What were you thinking about before you started this?
Do I want a pasty for lunch?

What are you planning to do later?
No plans at the moment

What’s the weather like where you are now?
Dry, cloudy, slight breeze, some sun.

Do you have a blog or diary you want to share?
https://www.my-diary.org/edit/?action=viewentry&entryid=545504118

What is filling your mind today?
How do I generate more interest in my writing?

What do you like to do to keep fit and active?
Walk the dog.

Ambition - You can be Anything you WANT!

How many times have you heard someone saying "You can be anything you want to be!" in that syrupy-positive way meant to bring out the best in people?  Does it make you think, "Hell Yeah!" or does it make you cringe?  Well, up until a little while ago I was a Hell Yeaher, but now I'm not so sure.

I think such broad statements are not only a big fat lie, but could be quite damaging too.

When I was a kid at school, we had a careers adviser ask each of us what we wanted to do when we left school.
CA: "Colin, what do you want to do when you leave school?  What do you want to be?"
Me: "A secret agent."
CA: "No, seriously.  What job do you want?"
Me: "I want to be a spy!"
CA: "Er... Let's say you can't be a spy.  What do you want to be instead?"
Me: "An astronaut."
CA: "Who's next?"

I couldn't be a concert pianist or world famous violinist - I don't have any musical aptitude.  When I look at music, I don't understand a word of it.  It might as well be written in Chinese - in fact, it makes about as much sense to me.  I don't have the... what's the word?  The Knack.  Some people look at sheet music and can hear the melody in their heads.  They have the knack.

I couldn't be an Olympic gold medalist - there is nothing I can do that would rank me first in the world.  There will always be someone younger and fitter than me, more determined.  I'm too polite.  "No, after you!  I insist!)

Now I know there are some people out there that'll be thinking "you're giving up on yourself!" or "If you truly believe..."  But I'm just being realistic.  I understand I have limitations, and I'm willing to work with them.  I could be a spy, but I'd be rubbish at it.  They could invite me over for coffee and within 10 minutes of sitting on their beautifully white couch stroking their fluffy white cat, I'd've told them all about myself, my organisation, and where we keep the chocolate digestives.

Instead, I know that I'm pretty good at communicating.  I can make people laugh. I'm honest and reliable, helpful and kind.  I work hard.  My customer care skills are awesome!  I know what I'm good at - Communication and Customer Care - and so I've built my career around those two specific areas and have made a success of it.

I don't think there's much call for customer care on the International Space Station.

Thank you for reading this!  You might like:
http://collywobs.blogspot.co.uk/2015/05/am-i-geek-nerd-or-just-having-mid-life_27.html

Humour

What is humour?  What makes a joke funny?  Why is something funny to one person and not to another?

I don’t know.  I was hoping you’d tell me!

Now some people would have laughed at that.   And some people would have laughed at that too!

I went to see Eddy Izzard live at Shaftesbury Theatre a good few years ago now, and he used a similar technique to get a laugh which relied on a form of self-belittling, self-deprecation, admission of ignorance.  On this occasion the joke was a little off-beat, a little too “out there”, and so he followed it with an observation: “Note to self, remove unfunny comment”, and of course, the audience laughed, so he followed it with. “Note to self, maybe not.” And he got another laugh.

One comedian took this to a higher level by saying he could probably kill someone by timing his jokes in such a way that the audience wouldn’t have time to breathe in in-between laughs.  The audience laughed, and just as the laughter began to taper off, he said “Like this!”, and they started laughing again.  He waited, one finger raised, in silence, until the laughter started to wane.  His facial expression perked up, he raised his finger higher, and said “And this”, and the laughter started all over again. 

This proved to me that humour doesn’t have to be rude or threatening, racist or sexist.  Gone are the days of Mother-in-Law jokes or Irishman, Englishman, Scotsman jokes.  We’ve been told during the 80’s and 90’s that these subjects are taboo – the Political Correctness ideal has made laughing at someone’s gender or religious leanings a no-no, and those that do laugh either feel guilty about it, or revel in their prejudices. 

To me, the funniest humour is that Eddy Izzard/ Billy Connolly type self-observation, anecdotal, slightly humble delivery.  I can relate to it, I understand exactly how they felt.  Any uncomfortableness I feel is sympathetic, empathic – and so I can see the funny side of their experience because they’re laughing about it too.  I don’t poke fun at other people, I poke fun at myself.

For example:  In response to my question about whether a friend had anything planned for the weekend…

Julie : 10:00
Long weekend Monday off with Neil, Pub lunch 

You?

Colin: 10:01

No thanks, I'd just get in the way

Julie : 10:02

Ha that’s funny

And that brings me on to the art of the one liner, or the quick-thinking quip.

I was working in London many years ago, and was enjoying a cigarette break when a colleague stops by my table and asked if he could have a light.  I’ve not smoked for 17 years now, so I’m not sure if they’re still available now, but back then I had a thing for those little, brightly coloured Bic ones, so I passed it over to him.  “Oh, I have a jumper at home this colour!  Or is this a little lighter?”

I think I snorted coffee down my nose.  It also received several groans – which I think is an acknowledgement of funny in some cultures.  (At least I hope so, because most of my best jokes get that response).

Humour seems to be about being in the right place at the right time, and saying the right thing in the right context .  I can’t count how many times I’ve come back from a gig or the Comedy Club and faithfully replayed a set, and all I get back is a blank stare, or a half-hearted chuckle where it should have been 15 minutes of uncontrollable belly laughs.  Humour is objective and subjective, a complex weave of storytelling, dramaticism, timing and expression.  Change a single aspect of it and it’s no longer funny.

Jasper Carrot sums it up nicely with this anecdote.  “What do you put on your passport under occupation when you’re in the stand-up business?  Comedian?  I was stopped at the Security Line at Heathrow, the Customs Officer inspected my  passport, looked at me suspiciously  and said “Tell us a joke then!” “

It was much funnier when he told it.

Snapshot

This was a short story idea I had a decade or so ago, but never got around to writing it.
I think there have been other similar concepts since though - I promise I've not copied anyone's idea as far as I know.

Snapshot

A short story about the diversity of life.

It was during the winter on 1993 that I felt at my worst.  The chemotherapy was making me sick, and the morphine was only just doing it's job.  I was hanging in there, but only just.  Everyone said I was doing just fine, that I was a fighter, that I was going to beat this.  Some days I just couldn't bring myself to believe it. Hope for the best, prepare for the worst - isn't that what they say?

So on a particularly dark day I decided to shake the demons. Under my bed is a shoebox.  I don't know why I keep it, it's filled with stuff I don't want to keep. By the time I pulled it from the clutches of the lost socks and dust bunnies I was exhausted, close to tears, knowing the pain I was feeling now wasn't a patch on what I was going to feel once that lid came off.

Inside the box are the trophies of a happy, healthy past. Cinema ticket - first date. Place card - wedding day.  Boarding card - honeymoon. It's a 13cm by 9cm by 10cm memory prison. These inmates are hard - maximum security, very dangerous, no chance of parole.  Visiting privileges long since revoked.  Keep Out!  Unsafe Structure!

There's one faded photograph I go back to time and time again. Piccadilly Circus, May 1987.

She's sat beneath Eros with our daughter in her arms, both smiling at me in the late Spring sunshine as I stand by the Tube entrance with my camera held to my eye. Whenever I look at that picture all I see is those smiles, those eyes looking at me full of love, and I feel that familiar tearing sensation inside my chest again. It feels like something thick and black is desperate to get out but I'm afraid if it does rip itself free, the avalanche of emotional upheaval will leave me hollow forever more.

This time it's different.

The glossy paper feels heavier, thicker.  The image has more depth.  And for the first time ever I notice other details.  There's a guy on a bicycle with a satchel swerving around a taxi.  A happy couple holding hands as they start to cross the road in the background.  A child with an ice cream skipping into frame - all frozen in time as I pour all my attention into my two girls sat beneath that iconic statue of love.

Something about that ice cream girl draws me in.  I don't remember seeing her on that May day, and yet there she is, immortalised in my photograph for all time.  She looks about 6, so that would make her... what? 12 now?  Did she live in London, or was she a tourist? Was she there with her mum and dad, having a fun day out like we were?  Or was the ice cream a distraction?  Take her attention away from the memory of her mum hooked up to all those machines in the ICU?

I glance away, unable to continue that train of thought, and catch sight of the cyclist.  It's not a satchel, it's a courier bag.  Where's he going in such a hurry? What documents is he carrying in there?   Some vital evidence needed at a high profile court case perhaps?  Legal documents that decide whether someone gains or loses custody? The image has a deep sense of urgency about it.  I hope he got there in time.

The taxi driver's gesticulating out of his window, waving his anger at something unseen, his mouth frozen open mid obscenity. He doesn't look angry though. He looks concerned.  Maybe he's shouting a warning?  I can't quite make out what he's looking at.

The happy couple are holding hands.  She has a wedding ring on her finger, but I don't see one on his.  Are they married, or is this an affair?  Are they heading to an hotel or from one? The smiles are real, but her expression looks a little strained.  Is it guilt?  Fear of being seen in such a public display of affection?  Her free hand is resting on her stomach.  Was she smoothing her dress, soothing an ache, or is the outcome of her liaison already germinating in there?

As I lay the photograph back in the box with more care than I've ever shown it before, I realise that I am not isolated from the world, I am an integral part of it. I am not an individual, detached from everything else, I am a leaf on a tree - connected to all the other leaves by the planet that I live on.

I look one more time at the taxi driver.  I think he was looking at me.