"Here on Christmas Day"

A Christmas song ... 

"Photographs in picture frames

Around memories of yesterdays.

Raise a glass to everyone

Whose footsteps are still on my heart,

Whose loved has kissed my soul,

Whose heart has held my own,

And though they’re gone,

I feel they are still here on Christmas Day.

Come with me and let me show you

This wonderful, magical Christmas Tree. 

Each toy is a memory; past, present and future,

Each light is a kiss; there’s even a spare!

Raise your glass high; both behind and forward

As we toast the past, and what’s yet to be.

Santa Claus holds us all safe in his arms,

As we over-indulge in this love that we share.

 

Stories that are yet to be

Written down in memories.

Let’s spare a thought for those yet to come;

Souls that my heart has yet to meet.

Gifts that will be share,

Food to be prepared,

And though they’re not yet here,

I feel their love here on Christmas Day.

Come with me and let me show you

This wonderful, magical Christmas Tree.

Each toy is a memory; past, present and future,

Each light is a kiss; there’s even a spare!

Raise your glass high; both behind and forward

As we toast the past, and what’s yet to be.

Santa Claus holds us all safe in his arms,

As we over-indulge in this love that we share ..."

(c) Sharon Cox 25.12.12

Beating at the Heart of Christmas ...

Once upon a time there was a lonely little Christmas Tree Toy.  She was a pretty little thing; a beautiful red heart, which had been made with lots of love and care.  But she was sad and lonely as she sat in a house all on her own …

She remembered the kind and happy old man who had made her.  He’d taken so much care when he carved her from the huge plank of wood from which she and her friends had come from.  She had no idea what had happened to all of her friends.  The last she remembered of them, they’d all been hanging together on a branch in a shop.  And then a lovely lady came along & gently looked at them all, before deciding to take away the beautiful red heart.

The beautiful red heart was happy and excited; she knew that she must be special.  She was the Christmas Tree Toy that the lovely lady had chosen.  And because she was such a lovely lady, the beautiful red heart felt safe in the knowledge that she would be going to a lovely warm home, to hang on a beautiful Christmas Tree and make lots of new friends with the Christmas Tree Toys already hanging there.  She was wrapped up nice and warm and safe in tissue paper so the lovely lady could take her home. 

But the beautiful red heart was disappointed when she got home with the lovely lady because she just put her to one side and left her there, and the beautiful red heart began to feel sad and lonely, wishing she was still with her friends in the Christmas shop.  She’d been told to expect such delights when someone came along to take her to their home … but the beautiful red heart thought she must have just been forgotten about, cast aside in her Christmas wrapping …

And then one day, the beautiful red heart heard happy voices and her heart rose as she felt herself being picked up by the lovely lady and being given to a gorgeous girl.  The gorgeous girl carefully opened the tissue paper in which the beautiful little red heart was nestled.

The beautiful red heart was feeling so happy and excited … what was about to happen to her?  The gorgeous girl took one look at the beautiful red heart and her face lit up with a huge smile and she said; “You are so beautiful.  You can have pride of place on my Christmas Tree this year!”

The beautiful red heart was so very happy to hear this.  She knew that at last, she was going to find her home on a beautiful Christmas Tree full of friends …

But wait.  No!!  The gorgeous girl is leaving and she’s left the beautiful red heart behind.  The beautiful red heart screams at the top of her voice; “Stop!  Wait for me!  You’ve forgotten me!”

But the gorgeous girl doesn’t hear her, and the beautiful red heart begins to cry as she realises she’s being left behind.

The gorgeous girl mustn’t want her after all.  She’s not going to spend her Christmas on a gorgeous Christmas Tree after all.  The lovely lady spots the beautiful red heart sitting on the side and carefully wraps her up in her tissue paper, and puts her to one side.

Back to being the lonely little Christmas Tree Toy without a Christmas Tree.

The lonely little Christmas Tree Toy spends a few days feeling sorry for herself, part wrapped up still in her tissue paper, wondering what fate has in store for her. 

And then one day, she looks around and notices the lovely lady with a box full of Christmas decorations.  She feels herself begin to get excited.  Might she have a Christmas Tree to hang on after all?

She watches the lovely lady take a Christmas Tree out of the box.  But this doesn’t seem right.  It’s black.  Aren’t Christmas Trees supposed to be green?  And aren’t they supposed to be big and bold?  This one is tiny.  The beautiful red heart can see just how tiny it is when she sees the lovely lady’s cat sat next to it.  The tree is no bigger than the cat!  There’s no room for the beautiful red heart and lots of friends to hang on there.  She watches the lovely lady put small, brightly coloured baubles and tinsel on the tree … but there’s no room for her.

The beautiful red heart’s excitement begins to fade as she realises, that this Christmas Tree isn’t for her. 

Back to being the lonely little Christmas Tree Toy without a Christmas Tree.

The lonely little Christmas Tree Toy snuggles back down inside her tissue paper, dreaming of Christmas Trees and all the friends she was going to meet there.  She thinks about all of her friends in the shop, all of the Christmas Tree Toys who were cut from the same plank of wood as she was.  Where are they all now?   “Are they still hanging in the shop?” she thinks.  “At least they’ll still have each other and won’t be all alone like me.” 

The lonely little Christmas Tree Toy spends a few more days feeling sad and sorry for herself.  And then one day, the lovely lady picks her up.

“I wonder where I’m going now?” the beautiful red heart thinks.  “I hope it’s somewhere nice.  But what if it’s not?  What if I’m just going to be thrown away?  A lonely little Christmas Tree Toy without a Christmas Tree to hang on, isn’t much good to any one.”

The beautiful red heart was taken outside and carried by the lovely lady to a different house.  And when she got there, she was surprised to see the gorgeous girl again.  And as the lovely lady handed the beautiful red heart to the gorgeous girl, the gorgeous girl looked so happy to see the beautiful red heart again that her loneliness was swept away forever.

The gorgeous girl took the beautiful red heart carefully out of her tissue paper, and, as the beautiful red heart’s excitement built and built, she carried her into a lovely warm living room and there, there was the Christmas Tree that the beautiful red heart had dreamt about.  She felt filled with such love and happiness that all of her sadness was washed away.

The gorgeous girl gently hung the beautiful red heart onto the Christmas Tree, and the beautiful red heart looked around her, she just knew that she was going to be very, very happy hanging here.  There were lots of new friends just waiting to be made and she just knew, that she was the heart beating at the centre of them all.

Love, friendship, good luck and happiness would beat throughout that Christmas Tree that year and through everyone who was lucky enough to see it … with it’s beautiful red heart beating … beating at the heart of Christmas …

I catch the songs that make the whole world sing ...

 Playing my guitar this morning, working on a couple of the songs I've written recently, I began thinking about the process of songwriting ... & how obscure it is; at least for me!

I can't consciously grab hold of what happens when I write a song.  I never write in a formulaic way. I don't think about music theory when I'm writing.  I don't think about what 'should' work or 'shouldn't' work.  I just allow the song to emerge ...

And that's the process for me.  I can't force a song to be written.  I can't just sit down and decide to write a song.  The song will only be written when the time's right for the song; that's just how it feels.  

Earlier in my life, I was a prolific songwriter.  Songs came easily to me.  They weren't all necessarily good ones, but some were!  What, for me, was important though, was that I could write songs.  I could express myself, my thoughts and feelings through music and lyrics; and that was a powerful outlet for me.  And then, somewhere along the way, I seemed to lose that ability.  Fortunately, for whatever reason (& I could hazard a guess as some of those reasons!), I seem to have broken through my writers' block and have written 3 new songs over the last few months, which gives me great pleasure.  

And yet, to go back to the songwriting process, I'm not sure what I do to write a song.  It's feels more like a process of me having to capture what emerges through my fingers on the guitar or piano, or through my mouth when lyrics & / or a tune begin to emerge, or even what I sometimes hear vaguely playing somewhere in my mind.  I'm not consciously creating the song ... it feels more like it emerges through me & I have to catch it!!

Which isn't always easy.  Sometimes, I can 'hear' that tune in my head, but I somehow can't quite get it out through my voice or instrument.  And that can be really frustrating!  But that moment when I do stumble across, or find, the right notes or chords is amazing!  Such a sense of achievement; 'Wow! that's it!'  It can make me smile or even laugh out loud, when the song is suddenly out there!  I feel a sense of pride at this piece of music that I've created, that's come from me ... & yet I still don't fully understand where it comes from!

Does that matter though?  The final creation is what matters ... the song; no matter where it comes from, or how it gets there ...

Christmas Wordplay ...

As someone who loves wordplay, and who is very aware of both how much, and how little, words can mean ... I just love these Christmas cards!

Every time I hear the carol, 'The Holly and the Ivy,' I'll think of this Holly and Ivy!

Bought in John Lewis, the cards are designed by Ernst Voller & the copyright of the image belongs to photolibrary.com  (who I hope doesn't mind me sharing it on here!?!)   (RNLI also receive a donation from the sale of these cards)

My Life In A Photo ...

Whilst I was writing a song on my piano and guitar yesterday ('Liberty' the previous entry on here), my cat, Elsie, jumped up onto the top of my bookcase to watch ... after she'd helpfully walked up and down the piano keys a few times!

I got my camera and took a photo of her sitting up on the bookcase watching me.  It's somewhere she's only been once before ... at least whilst I've been in to see her!!  As I took the photo, I realised that it included most of the important things in my life.  I moved my guitar to make sure it was clearly in the frame ... and there it was; my life.

My gorgeous god-daughter in the photo.

My cat on the bookcase.

My books, symbolising my love of reading, my PhD and my interest in all things relating to therapy and the human condition.

My guitar and piano showing my love of music ... playing them, writing songs, singing, and listening to music; both recorded and live.

My laptop, on its home on my little stool - another part of my PhD, it also symbolises my love of writing and researching online.  It houses my collection of photos of friends, family and important memories.  And of course, it's my link to friends and to this blog.

And last, but not least, my wine rack ... & enjoying a glass or two of wine ...

                                                                                 
                                                                                           Which photo of yours, illustrates your life?

Liberty ... a song for New York

Verse 1

Raindrops and stormy clouds,

Blowing through the skies.

Tears, fears, and broken dreams,

Caught in many eyes.

I watch Liberty cry for everyone,

Who’s felt her heart was their home.

And as she takes a look at what’s destroyed;

Things she could not control.

And it leaves her feeling like a lost and injured soul.

Verse 2

Waves crash and sweep ashore

All that’s in their way.

And washing up old memories

From a different yesterday.

I watch Liberty scan the skies,

And wonder what’s yet to come.

She listens to the fear that’s in her heart,

But it’s drowned out by hope.

Cos she knows that storm clouds always drift away.

Verse 3

Instrumental

I watch Liberty inhale the air,

Take it deep in her soul.

She looks to her flame to light the way

Along the steep road to home.

And she knows her heart will some day soon be whole.

(c)  Sharon Cox 4th November 2012

Might This Be Love?

Empty glasses on the nightstand tell a tale of illicit love.

A borrowed bed, a hotel room; drinking stolen wine.

But when I close my eyes, I still see his brown eyed smile,

And on my lips the ghost of his mouth kisses mine.

Oo-oo-oo; might this be love?

Words that were not spoken tell a story of their own.

A smile that held promises of love to come. magnetised my soul.

And then I found myself searching for a heart that I'd only glanced,

And I heard those silent words screaming, 'Please take this chance.'

  Because, oo-oo-oo; might this be love?

I can only guess that fate had plans for me.

Took me by the hand and led me, to where he would be.

Made me think;

Oo-oo-oo; might this be,

Oo-oo-oo; might this be,

Oo-oo-oo; might this be love?

(c)  Sharon Cox June 2012

Unadulterated Pleasure …

Watching my young god-daughter last night eating an Easter egg really brought to my attention how much our relationships with food and eating change throughout our life.

As babies and young children we eat when we’re hungry.  We demand to be fed, and if we’re lucky enough to live in the Western world where food is in plentiful supply, and if we have caregivers who respond adequately to our needs, we’re given food.  And we consume it, and we stop eating when our body is satisfied.  Babies and young children aren’t aware of the pressures yet to come to them from our Western culture that demands that they look a certain way and that they manipulate their body into a prescribed ideal.

When I showed my god-daughter the egg, her face lit up with unadulterated pleasure.  There was pure excitement in her eyes as we unwrapped it together.  And as you can see from this picture, she consumed it with passion and pure enjoyment …

How many people as adults are able to consume food, and especially chocolate and other ‘treats’ with the unadulterated pleasure of a child?  So many adults have their pleasure of food spoiled by inner voices telling them they shouldn’t be eating it, they’ll get fat, it’s wrong to enjoy food, etc., etc.  And even people who’ve never struggled with eating disorders, so often worry about putting on weight, losing weight, the number of calories, the fat content, and more.

Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could all eat with the unadulterated pleasure of a young child?  If we could all simply eat to satisfy our body’s physiological hunger needs?  But food and eating are inextricably tied up with emotional needs and hungers … and for the majority of adults, food and eating is often used as a substitute means of satisfying those other needs.  We all use food in ways other than satisfying bodily hunger … have a think about how you use food and what food means to you, and for you …

Wishing you too, the unadulterated pleasure of chocolatey abandonment ...

Melodious, Harmonious Empathic Connections

I've been sitting reflecting between clients today on a changed sense of self I'm currently experiencing.  I'm recognising it as an opening up, an expansion, and also a reconnection to a vital part of myself that 've suppressed over the last few years.

In my teens and early twenties, music was a huge and vital part of my life; a huge and vital part of mySelf.  Back then, when I didn't have a strong sense of Self, music gave me an identity and a way of expressing myself. I played guitar, a little bit of piano, sang, and wrote songs; and I loved it.

Leading up to, and during, my counselling training, I began to develop and connect with a much stronger sense of Self as an individual. Self awareness, personal development, psychological theories and therapeutic ways of being enveloped me. I found other ways of expressing myself. I became a 'Counsellor,' a 'Clinical Supervisor.' I became a 'PhD Student,' an 'Eating Disorders Specialist.' I became a 'Clinical Hypnotherapist' and 'NLP Practitioner.

But somewhere along this path, I forgot that I was also a 'Musician,' and a 'Songwriter.'

Sitting here today, I can see how blinkered I'd become, how focused my vision had become onto the therapeutic and eating disorders worlds. I loved, and do still love, that therapeutic world. I love connecting therapeutically with clients, exploring my own, and others' subjectivities, sharing deep empathic understandings and connections, being part of, and observing, the growth and change processes of others.

But, I also love music. And I think I've forgotten that at times.

For me, the connection that happens in the therapy room when working at depth with clients, is a similar sense of connection I feel when connecting with other musicians in a music room. And it's only as I write this now that I'm understanding that parallel. For me, connection is so important. That sense of retaining my own unique individuality (sense of Self), whilst connecting at a deep empathic level with others, is vital, and as both a musician and a therapeutic practitioner I'm lucky to experience that.

If possible, at times, the musical connection can feel even deeper than the therapeutic one. Playing an instrument or singing a song with other musicians, and hearing and feeling part of a shared whole (the song) is incredible. One retains one's individuality as the musician, but it truly is an experience where the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. It truly is empathic connection at the deepest level; embodied, through Self, through instruments, and through the music.

Embodiment has been a significant part of my PhD research. And I'm now really appreciating just what an embodied experience music is; both when playing an instrument or listening to live / recorded music. Music isn't just heard. It's felt. The bass line or drum beat that resonates through one's body. The melody or song lyric that causes the hairs on the back of one's neck or arms, to stand on end. The rhythm that your foot just can't help tapping along to. And when playing an instrument, the musician and instrument seem to merge. Watch musicians play, and just see how their body moves with, and around, their instrument. Observe their facial expressions as they lose themselves in the sound and the act of creating that sound. And when playing an instrument it can, at those times of empathic connection with the music, feel that the instrument truly is an extension of one's bodily self.

It's no wonder that for some musicians, their instrument becomes so precious to them.

I'm excited about reconnecting with my Musical Self. It feels as if my sense of Self has expanded, has opened up. My world is suddenly a bigger, much more expansive, expressive place. I think the 3 recent entries on here, and the song I've just written, are proof of that! An opening of my mind, and an expansion of my creativity, which I hope will also help me re-engage with my therapeutic and academic work in a much more expansive and creatively expressive way too.

  

Melodious, harmonious empathic connections, musically, therapeutically and academically are hopefully mine now ...

The Songwriter's Muse

Inspiration can strike in the oddest of places ... here I am, sitting in a motorway services somewhere on the M1 on a wet Sunday afternoon and a song has began to take shape in my head!

I used to be quite a prolific songwriter (not all good, but a few memorable ones!) but I've gotten out of the habit in recent years. However, after an enjoyable and extraordinary encounter this weekend, musical inspiration seems to have infiltrated my unconscious ... and I feel excited by it!

I never had a set way of writing songs. Sometimes the lyrics would come first, at other times the melody or the chords would introduce themselves to me as I played my guitar or piano. Sometimes they'd make themselves known to me simultaneously. I always had a storyline for a song ... a complete, contained little tale told in a few verses and a chorus, with sometimes a 'middle eight' or a reprieve thrown in for good measure.

Today though, I'm sitting here looking at the cars and lorries driving by on the M1 and the storyline has presented itself to me, visually initially, inside my head. I can see images in my mind ... almost like the video that would accompany the song. From the images I can see the atmosphere the song will contain, and from that atmosphere, I can hear, in my mind, the feel, shape and sound the song will take.

From that storyline and atmosphere, I'm writing potential lyrics, the story the song will sing. Of course, they'll change as they find their place in the music yet to be composed. Their structure and rhymes will change and adapt as they find their best fit amongst the melody, chords and rhythm.

My songs have always been inspired by personal experience; by something that's happened to me, been said to me, or that I've seen or read. They're not always an accurate representation of my personal experience and feelings, but sometimes adaptations, exaggerations, contractions, alternative realities. And I like the ambiguity that comes from knowing that others don't my truth; is the song my reality, or is it not?! It allows me to be emotionally present in the songs whilst not laying myself too vulnerably bare. (Similar in many ways to how I write this blog).

And I feel so excited! I can't wait to get home and sit down with my guitar or at my piano and allow the music to flow. Because for me, as a songwriter, that's what needs to happen; the song needs to flow. It feels like the song writes itself; like I'm just the channel through which the lyrics and music find life.

And that's such an exciting process! I remember the sense of achievement, awe, contentment and pride when a song has been born. Something that I've created and given life to.

And right now, I'm looking forward to feeling that unmistakeable feeling once again ... very soon!

And following from my previous entry ... I wonder if the people around me now can see any outward signs of my inner excitement as I manically type this up alongside the lyrics on my iPad!?!

  

... with special thanks to my brown eyed inspiration ;-)

Masking Turbulent Insides

Sitting at the corner table in 'The Olde English Tea-Rooms,' watching everyone relaxing and chatting over their tea, coffee and freshly baked hot scones. I suspect I look just like one of them, enjoying a leisurely cup of coffee, calmly writing these notes ...

The outer appearance though is a mask; a complete contrast to my turbulent insides.

My stomach is churning, turning somersaults as it baulks at the caffeinated invasion. Nausea sweeps through me in unexpected waves. My mind is dancing and jumping through all the possible alternative realities that might be mine for the rest of the day as I anticipate turning the page to this as yet, unwritten interlude in my life.

Nervous, excited anticipation is my current dining companion. The meeting I've waited for, imagined, fantasised about, looked forward to, is about to happen. No one else in this sweet little cafe has any idea of the free-falling feelings tumbling around inside me.

We might be all sharing the same physical space, but we're each living our own unique, individual realities and experiences.

And for me, that's one of the things I love about us as human beings. We can never know completely what someone else's experience is; even when we're sharing that same experience. We can look around us at the people we're sharing public spaces with ... cafes, restaurants, bars, concert arenas, public transport, shops, schools, etc ... and yet never know what those other people are thinking, feeling, experiencing, remembering, even forgetting ...

And at times, the knowledge that no one else can know what one is thinking or feeling creates a sense of power. We might leak clues with our body language; and it can be fun to watch the expressions ... smiles, frowns, grimaces, etc ... that sometimes cross people's faces unconsciously, or changes in their posture, body movements. But they're just little unconscious leaks, small clues. We can never truly know.

Sometimes, it might be nice to know what other people are thinking or feeling, especially those we share a close or intimate relationship with. It would certainly reduce the inevitable uncertainties, misunderstandings and miscommunications that are part of relationships. But that would detract from the uniqueness of each of us as the individuals we are. Our unique subjective experience is what both isolates us ... and ultimately, connects us.

And by the way ... my meeting proved very enjoyable! The nerves had been entirely unnecessary; an easiness and gentle connection, with a hint of more to come quelled those instantly!

The Binge ...

The decorative biscuit tin has been sitting there on the side all week. Calling to me, drawing my attention to it. Even when I'm not looking at it, I can feel its presence; I know it's there. And I know it's full of those delicious cookies that I just love.

I've resisted it all week. After they were bought for me, by a well-meaning friend; they'd be horrified if they knew the conflicting emotions that tin of biscuits has instilled in me. I knew I should have given them away, or even binned them, but I couldn't. I couldn't bear the thought of those biscuits going in the bin, or of not getting to taste them.

I've resisted it all week. Until now ...

"I'll just have one," I tell myself knowing that I can't do that. Knowing that I'm just fooling myself ... but ignoring that sensible voice.

I open the tin and, holding the lid in one hand, I allow my gaze to wander over all of biscuits displayed there. Feeling my gaze caressing the crunchy sweetness of each individual temptation. I feel my heart rate increase slightly, my breathing becomes quicker and shallower as the anticipatory excitement and anxiety slowly begin to ignite.  My hand hovers over the selection. I'm only going to have one so I need to ensure I make the right choice. Knowing that if I regret my decision, I'll have to have another.

"Will I have the chocolate chip cookie? The chocolate covered one? Dark chocolate? Milk chocolate? White chocolate? The vanilla cream? The chocolate cream?"

Too many to choose from. And each has its own attraction. "I so don't want to get this wrong."

I finally decide on the chocolate cream. The combination of crunchy biscuit and rich soft filling areappealing to my eyes, my brain and the taste buds on my tongue.

"Crunch" as my teeth break through the biscuit. Crumbs crumbling around my lips.

"Mmm, delicious, " as the chocolate cream caresses my tongue. I try to savour each mouthful, knowing I'm allowing myself only one ...

But even as I know this, that other voice, the devilish voice at the back of my head, is telling me; "Go on, have another one. You know you want to experience the rich dark chocolate. You can stop after that one."

And this is where that infernal inner argument starts; "Am I strong enough to fight it today?"

And even as I ask myself that, or because I ask myself that, I know I'm going to succumb. I know I'm going to give in. I'm half heartedly fighting it, but the thought of more of those biscuits, those different textures, tastes, coverings and fillings is too tempting.

"I knew I shouldn't have had that first biscuit. That's where it all went wrong."

My heart is racing faster as the excitement builds, still quelled at this stage by my sensible inner voice; "One biscuit is fine. Just stop now. You don't need to have another one."

But my hand reaches into the tin again and I know my sensible inner voice has been drowned out ...again. I already feel angry with myself, but the enticement of more of those biscuits is too great to ignore. And anyway, I can get rid of them afterwards. It's easier to make myself sick with an overfull stomach than after just one or two biscuits ...

I eat that second biscuit … one this time covered in chocolate.

My heart is racing, excited, fearful, anticipation.

I’m still eating that second biscuit, but I’m already thinking about the next one … a vanilla cream … and the next one … covered in dark chocolate … and the next one … and the next one .. and the next one . the next one next one next one next one …

All sensible thought had left me.  I’m eating faster and faster, trying to savour the taste, yet simultaneously, not tasting the taste.  Just eat them.  Now I’ve given myself permission; just eat them.  Eat as many as I can.  It’s okay now I’ve started … I might as well keep going until they’re finished.  It’s okay, I can get rid of them afterwards …

Keep eating them; tasting them, whilst not tasting them.  Savouring them, whilst not savouring them. Eat them, eat them … the sense of freedom and liberation … eat them, eat them all ……

And that’s exactly what I do.  I eat them all.

And suddenly, the tin is empty…

Regret.  Disgust.  Horror.

I have to get rid of them now.  I can’t let them all stay inside of me.  I’ll have a drink of water … it’ll mix with the biscuits and make them easier to bring back up …

Fear.  Terror.  Dread.

I don’t want to do this.  I don’t want to make myself sick.  I’m terrified of the damage it might cause me … I’m well aware of the health risks.  I know I’m putting my life at risk every time I make myself sick…

But I have to do it.  I can’t let them stay inside me …  

Into the bathroom.  Head over the toilet.  Hair tied back. Two fingers down my throat …

Relief, release …

Remembering; and hopefully still understandinging ... to everyone who finds themselves caught in this painful, frightening, liberating, disgusting, terrifying, disempowering, empowering cycle …

Turning Forty

A recurring conversation topic amongst a number of friends recently has been around turning 40.  Four of my good friends turn 40 this year; 2 of them this month (January 2012) and with each of them, the fact of turning 40 has been a discussion point.  I’ll be 39 this month and so will be entering the fortieth year of my life; hence this topic has personal significance for me too.  But just what does turning 40 mean?  Anything?  Nothing?  Everything?

Is age just about the number, or does it mean more than that?  For me personally, the number itself isn’t that important.  I’m 38 right now; one day later this month I’ll wake up and I’ll be 39 … but nothing will have changed.  My friends will be 39 until the clock turns to midnight on their birthday and in a split second, they’ll be 40 … but nothing will have changed.  Their bodies won’t suddenly morph into something else, their lives won’t change, there is no concrete template for what a 40 year old person should be … everything will still be the same.

Or will it … ?

I think that for some people, their beliefs around what it means to be a particular age really do cause them to change once they approach that particular birthday.  If someone believes that turning 40 labels them as middle-aged, and for them, ‘middle-aged’ has certain behaviours or ways of being attached to it, then they’ll no doubt rapidly change.  For those people who still believe that ‘life begins at 40,’ then they’re more likely to enjoy entering their fifth decade and make the most of the life they’re living; it might even give them permission to begin enjoying life.

Forty, as an age, does carry come significance however.  It’s near enough the mid-point of average age expectancy.  People tend to have established their careers or have some career experience behind them along with families, marriages, divorces and significant deaths.  By 40, people do have a lot of life experience behind them and it can be a time to reflect on the years that have been lived and to evaluate life up til that point.  It’s a time by which childhood ambitions have maybe been fulfilled or perhaps recognised as childish dreams.  Or it can be a time to take stock of life and to make plans for the ambitions yet to be fulfilled.  And this is where the so-called ‘mid-life crisis’ (which it is said can take place anytime between 35 and 55) steps in.

In Jungian terms, the mid-life transition is simply part of the maturation and individuation process that we all experience as we become more true to our inner selves.  And for me, this is an exciting, sometimes scary, and  important part of our life’s journey.  It’s not necessarily a comfortable process, but it can be hugely rewarding as the ego is left behind and one’s Self or Soul comes to the fore. (This link will take you to what I feel is an interesting article describing this mid-life transition in more detail: The Quest for Soul at Midlife)

For me 40 is an exciting age and people are at such different life stages.  Some people have 1, 2 or more marriages behind them whilst some still remain single. Some people have grown up children, whilst others are still raising theirs, and even others, have yet to have their children.  Some people have made their name in their career; others are still climbing their particular ladder, changing careers, or simply happy where they are. 

It’s an age at which we’ve experienced a lot, have learned a lot, and have made many mistakes.  But there’s still potentially a lot of life yet to be lived.  And as we take the lessons and learnings from our first forty years in this life forward into the future, we have the potential to create our own unique greatness and individuality.

Everyone is unique.  Everyone’s life experience is unique.  And consequently, everyone’s experience of turning 40 is unique.  I’ve enjoyed being in my thirties, and I intend to make the most of this decade’s final year, but I’m also looking forward to turning 40.  For me, it’s the year I hope to complete my PhD and that will hopefully be an opening to a whole new world for me.  And at 40, I hopefully, have lots of years ahead of me in which to continue developing my skills and knowledge and sharing that information in many different forms for the benefit of others.

For myself, my age is just a numeric symbol of how many years I’ve been alive.  It’s a number that has no other meaning …

Wishing you all a happy 40^th birthday, whenever it happens, and whatever it means …

Just might be a fun, exciting & gratifying read ...

As I read the final sentence of the chapter in the book of my life called ‘2011,’ I paused for a while to reflect on everything I’d experienced and learned over the past twelve months.  It was an interesting chapter of my life, filled (over-filled at times!) with learning, discoveries and interesting clients.  During the chapter I became a qualified Practitioner of NLP (Neuro Linguistic Programming) and achieved a Diploma in Clinical Hypnotherapy.  Both of these training courses were fantastic experiences and I learned many more clinical skills as well as the ongoing personal development that therapeutic learning entails.  My thinking has changed in many ways, for the better, and in ways that will benefit both my clinical practice with clients and my personal life experience.   

Alongside these training courses, I continued to work on my PhD.  This also has broadened my knowledge of both my subject and my Self.  As a result of the research topic being born out of personal experience, a great deal of the academic literature that I’ve read has touched me, unexpectedly at times, at a deep personal level.  This process hasn’t always been an easy one as I’ve had to revisit painful experiences and feelings of my past, but ultimately, I knew that out of that pain would emerge deeper and clearer understandings of both my topic and myself.  And again, this enhances me on an academic level, a therapeutic level and the personal.

Reflecting on these learnings as I write this now is helping me realise just how much I did learn last year on all kinds of levels and how much I grew and developed during the journey I took during 2011.

Another important source of learning, this time on the personal level was a relationship with someone who didn’t stay in my life long, but who did make a big impression whilst they were there.  Definitely one of those people sent to me from which I had lessons to learn.  An intense relationship on many levels and one which made me question some of my personal beliefs and helped me recognise some of the things I need, and want, to have in my life. 

And I was lucky to have consistency throughout the entire chapter of unquestioned love and support from family and friends.  2011 brought a number of new people into my life, especially through my NLP and Hypnotherapy training and without a doubt, all of those people with who I shared some amazing experiences, have left their mark on me.  Their names are written in my book for always.

My counselling practice continued to grow steadily throughout the year and I was fortunate to experience my most successful year to date.  And I hope that that continues as I expand my therapy to include NLP and Hypnotherapy.  The seeds were also sewn for exciting new workshops around Body Image which I’m developing with a good friend and colleague.  We’re piloting these workshops in a number of schools later this month and I’m looking forward to where these workshops might just lead …

So all in all, the chapter called 2011 was a good one in my book.  It wasn’t always a comfortable or easy read but it was a very defining one, and it did have a good few pages of fun and laughter in it too!

So I’m left here on 1^st January 2012 beginning the early pages of this brand new chapter and looking forward with excited anticipation to meeting the people I’ve yet to meet and the experiences I’ve yet to have, the learnings I’ve yet to learn and the achievements I’ve yet to make.

From here, 2012 seems like it just might be a fun, exciting and gratifying read …