6th November 2014

Woman’s hour

I failed to get out of bed in time to have breakfast with my flatmate today.  The-not-being-able-to-get-out-of-bed thing is a slippery slope.  I’ve definitely been getting up later the last few days.  In fairness, I was on the internet absurdly until 2 last night.  A cocktail of buzzfeeds and even lesser sites that I have little to show for.  Lesser than buzzfeed?  Jaysus. 

I almost got sucked into it again this morning… luckily I came downstairs in time for Woman’s Hour.  I cleaned the kitchen listening to Marion Keyes talking about depression.  She was very helpful.  I had previously written her off as a writer of chick lit – I maybe read Sushi For Beginners 10 years ago – she was in a mental pile marked ‘not someone with something I need to hear’.  Bad isn’t it?  She is just as complex as anyone.  I am ashamed at my arrogance for having judged her as shallow, particularly given my own vacuous feasting last night on unpalatable internet slop.  One ‘news’ article didn’t seem to know who Glenda Jackson was and bemoaned her lack of twitter.  Who gives a shit?!?

There is something peculiarly poisonous about internet on handheld devices.  It is a buffet where nothing is particularly satisfying, but it’s just stimulating enough to keep you at the trough.  There is basic enough psychology to it. 

BF Skinner, the daddy of rats in mazes, worked on conditioning.  In one set of experiments, rats in boxes would press a lever for food rewards.  If the number of presses before a reward is dispensed is predictable (always 1, always 10, always 200), then rats learn to only press the lever when they want food.  However, when the number of presses required is variable (sometimes 1, sometimes 10, sometimes 200), rats press the lever a whole lot more.  They also take longer to stop pressing the lever when rewards are over.  Rewards on the internet are similarly unpredictable – sometimes you’ll have a facebook like or an email, or if you’re cruising articles sometimes you’ll find one that is genuinely worth noting.  Most of the time you’re just pressing that lever waiting.  Maybe a declaration is in order.  I am not a fucking rat.  I am going to remind myself of this every time I reach for my phone unnecessarily, or get distracted when trying to do something worthwhile.  Fucking internet.

5th November 2014

I am still sad.   It is tiring. 

Some days you just don’t know what you’re doing with your life.  There is a fear it may be being wasted.  That you are surely not fulfilling some abstract potential.  Maybe you’re not where you should be because of some character flaw.  You are a bad person.  This shadowy concern is of course nonsense as it is completely paradoxical.  You cannot ‘fail to reach personal potential because of personal flaws’, because your personal potential is precisely limited by your flaws.  You have in fact already fulfilled your potential, completely.  Well done.  Now go back to bed and let the mould gather in unwashed mugs.  You’re welcome.

…

…

That was comforting for about 20 seconds, but once your back in bed a whole load of other questions tumble.  Chiefly, if you have indeed fulfilled your potential, if this really is the highest you can achieve, why did you think you were capable of more?  And is it so bad?  Let’s play with this.

Why did you think you were capable of more?  A handful of reasons.  You know what success looks like.  You see it all the time, both in fantasy and reality.  It doesn’t look that different to you.  You also tick a lot, maybe all of the boxes in privilege top trumps – gender, race, sexuality, class, education – so either you’re really bad at playing your hand, or there are other more invisible categories on the trump cards.

Is it so bad?  Well you’ve got your health (mostly).  You live better than most of the kings of history every time you have a hot shower.  You make your own living which is an achievement.  And there are countless people going through much more stressful situations.  Although, the misery of others is scarcely a source of comfort – “you should be happy, because somewhere, a stranger is being assaulted” don’t fly.

Yesterday you spoke to a neighbour, a mum whose 16 year old daughter had just had just had a baby.  The daughter had post natal depression and kept running away from home.  The mum was managing her social worker’s confusing bureaucracy, worrying about when to get police involved whilst also looking after the rest of her kids.  You have less to worry about than her.

Apart from the addition of a social worker and financial hardship, this situation is not dissimilar to that of a celebrity you once met.  Success as fame does not protect against all types of human difficulty.  Is it true success?  Ha.  Maybe you do not know after all what success looks like.  Maybe more of it is fantasy than you think.  Trinkets are scant insulation if you havn’t got to grips with the important stuff, whatever that is.  Whilst this may be enlightening in some ways, you still are not really closer to knowing what you’re doing with your life.  You do at least know a little more of what you don’t know.  Sweet.

4th November 2014

Sometimes we are just sad.

There is recent article on the guardian website called ’10 easy steps to happier living’.  It’s quite bouncy, nurturing and contains good advice like ‘exercise’, ‘look after others’ and ‘have goals’.  No shit.   Whilst I think all their points are sound advice and not that hard to do (you should do them), when it comes to happiness and sadness, one thing the tone of this self-help list is not making room for is the complexity of happiness and sadness.  Sometimes, we are just sad.  Really fucking sad.  There is so much sad stuff happening (poverty, broken dreams, human cruelty) it would be unnatural not to be affected by it.  But, we should be OK with that.

If you are drawn to read a list telling you ways to be happier, you are probably a little bit sad.  Whilst, I’d like to reiterate that I think it’s a positive list full of good advice, there is also a forced optimism to it that I usually associate with people trying to sell me shit.  It contributes to a culture that we should put a brave face on things, or that if we are sad there is something our life is missing.  I think just a little more nuance to it would allow those who are a sad a little more dignity.   Being able to admit that you are sad and having other people do the same might make you feel a bit less lonely and, oddly, is probably also an important step to happier living.  In fact, I might even put it at number 1. 

Step 1 to happiness is to be sad.  Really fucking sad.  Put on some sad music and look at a sad picture.  Sob until you make weird noises and the snot flows and then you can feel the sunshine and know that beside the tears on your cheeks there are tiny rainbows, you beautiful, sad freak.