Category Archives: Better Ideas

Better a Couple of Blokes Pashing…

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I really don’t like getting into debates that I don’t think about much.
Screen Shot 2017-03-19 at 9.28.26 AM Don’t get me wrong, I am continuously up for an argument, but most of the time it is for my own enjoyment.

But, this morning I read OUR, yes our, immigration minister Peter Dutton  warned CEO’s to “stick to their knitting”, and said the Turnbull government “would not be bullied” into changing its stance on gay marriage.

Now normally if people ask me what I think of gay marriage, I say, I don’t.

What the fuck has it got to do with me.  Everyone I meet I immediately bring sexuality into the conversation so that I can disclose that I am heterosexual, plus, I find the debate… well…. distasteful.

Not because I think a couple of blokes pashing at the alter is distasteful, but, because if society is more worried about two of its’ members loving each other and wanting to spend their lives together than:

  • Our soldiers dying fighting wars over…. fuck knows what they are over.
  • Aboriginal communities living worse than 3rd world countries.
  • Hunger and kids dying in 3rd world countries.
  • Politicians salaries and honesty.
  • The debate on climate change.
  • The road toll.
  • Domestic violence.
  • etc etc etc etc

… if they are more worried about gay marriage than the list above (which is twice as long as this, no, make that 10 times longer than this) then we are all doomed.

I just don’t get it!  We are allowing, even legislating in favour of things that hurt our society – often hurt our souls unretrievable; yet, we won’t let a couple of people do something that I can’t see hurting anyone.

I’m not going to discuss divorce here – because most times everyone gets hurt some way or another in divorce – but, in a divorce (other than the disgrace of domestic violence) it is usually a civil (both figuratively and legally!) situation with the biggest argument is who gets the house and who gets to turn the kids against the other one.

But, gay marriage – what the fuck!  How can that hurt anyone.

I was chatting to a mate the other day (a bloody Catholic, so I pointed out he was a member of the worlds largest criminal organisation – in jest of course – please don’t sue me Pope Francis!) who I thought was a pretty open and accepting thinker.  He said he believed in gay marriage but (I love the ‘but’ at this point – and not in a gay way!) it should be a civil thing and have nothing to do with the church.  I thought a couple of things at this point:

  • Gay marriage in his view was okay, legally, just don’t tell God about it.
  • Who said he spoke for God, because he was.
  • It was nice that he didn’t take the normal church view of all gays go to hell – or maybe he did and the marriage thing was all a clever ploy so that at the Pearly Gates St Peter already had the documentation to send you straight to hell.
  • It was one of the lesbians we were drinking with turn to shout in the round and her and her partner (wife – well not yet – they had only been together 17 years – which is longer than any of my marriages!) they had wandered over to a booth and were now grinding each other in a mild pawn scene when alI wanted was a beer and to stop trying to convince a Catholic he was wrong.

It all became too much so I started talking about the footy.  Immediately the AFL Womens’ League was brought up so I went for a piss and never came back.

I write what I think here, I write what I want (it’s my blog!), I also try to write what I feel.

I feel, we should stop giving such a fuck, and endlessly debating, stuff that doesn’t hurt the world (your soul is another matter – and completely and rightfully a matter for yourself!) and is so unimportant in comparison to some of the stuff that is going on – but, our lives are drowning is trivial and bullshit.

Please don’t be offended GLTGBDXSH groups (I didn’t know the acronym.  I knew it started with Gay and Lesbian so I randomly pressed keys for the others as I don’t care enough about the acronym for me to even pop of this page and Google it) – it’s not that I don’t care about you, its that I don’t care enough about you in comparison to other things that could kill me tomorrow, or economically destroy me and our country, save a childs’ life, stop another domestic violence death, save a kid from dying in a gutter from drugs or being molested (probably by a Catholic)…..

Come on world, come on straight people, come on gay people (and all the other acronym people), come on Catholics (I withdraw that one – they’re not listening…) come on politicians – more important, come on community and Business leaders….. fucking concentrate, just for a moment on the things that matter.

I hope one day I can go to a proper gay wedding.  I have been to a few ‘pretend’ ones as the law says they are not real – but, do we need the law to say our love and commitment is not pretend – maybe, who knows, I know I don’t.  I know one thing, oppose gay marriage or march down the street in support, either way it doesn’t save one kids from starvation.

I do hope in the future I can go to a legal gay wedding; after all I’m a heterosexual male Australian and I’ll go anywhere for free beer.

PS:  I left the ‘stick to their knitting’ phrase alone in Dutton’s comments as it was just too much to tackle before my first beer of the day – anyone know where there’s a wedding today!

PPS:  This blog may contain a few typos and grammatical errors, but I just couldn’t care enough to proof read this more than once – I’d get my wife to do it, but she’s knitting me a jumper and i don’t want to interrupt her before she cooks my dinner.

 

 

 

Better Dancers – in Death, Thank God We Can’t Hear the Music

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I haven’t written a post for a while as I have been busy – not with life, as that is always there, and always gets in the way.  I have been busy with a support group called the 801 Group.

It is a support group for Police in South Australia, their family, friends and colleagues who suffer from PTSD, stress, anxiety and depression.  I have written a few posts about it in the past.

The group started about 18 months ago with a few of us getting together and having a coffee and a chat.  We went into the wider world and started a Facebook Page which slowly grew although attendance at the meetings waxed and waned but rarely into double figures.

During those meetings we shared horrible, tragic, frightening stories; and we looked in each others eyes and knew we were, finally understood.  We supported each other, received a few phone calls from others (a lot actually, if you count Facebook personal messages) who just could not make it to the meetings.  Most couldn’t make it to the meetings because they were psychologically too damaged, to embarrassed or no one else knew they were suffering (many were taking annual leave instead of telling anyone of there battles).

I was one of the founders of the group and did it because I didn’t want any more cops to have nowhere to go.  I didn’t want anymore cops to suicide – if just hurt my heart too much (even when I didn’t know them).

Our little group (ignored by the South Australia Police who sent us a nice letter saying they acknowledged we existed but they had their own stuff – and the Police Association of South Australia who printed a letter from us in their Journal and then said they wouldn’t give us their ‘imprimatur’ – if I here that fucking word one more time I will scream – plus PASA had their own stuff, their own long game, wait and see we are talking to the Government….. blah, blah, fucking blah!)…. meanwhile our little group met and did what we could for each other.

Out little Facebook page wandered along, picking up a member or two – we actually celebrated a few days ago as we had reach 250 members…

Then it happened again.  A well liked, active, dedicated young cop killed himself.

I have to say it.  Every time, every-fucking-time, it happens, I cry.

I retired 5 months ago, it’s not my problem, I don’t want to go on a crusade, I don’t want to fight ‘city hall’, I want a peaceful life in the country…..

But….  I cry, every-fucking-time the blue ribbon appears on the Facebook page, every time I hear the story when they ring me (again!) about another Cop who ‘topped’ themselves, I cry.

We lost Sharynne Grant such a short time ago.

We lost Ashley Meeks a few days ago.

I think PASA and SAPOL lost their humanity a lot longer ago.

And now it begins.

The media (the fucking Merchants of Misery) go into a frenzy, not to report on a tragedy but to get an angle that no one else has, so they can sell it and get ratings, page clicks or sell papers…..

SAPOL takes the company line and have a really important ‘Commissioner’s Enquiry’ for a few months, form a new project team to do another project, introduce a new support scheme…..

PASA blames low numbers, they blame SAPOL, they blame the government (but not to much) they have a new enquiry, fuck that we’ll have a national enquiry; beat that little State SAPOL, we have the Police Federation of Australia – hear that…. National Enquiry mate, fucking National..!!!

And they dance and they talk, and they promise, and recommend, and sell and sell and sell.  And they sell that they understand and they will fix it and they are on our side….

And they sell the message, the party line, the government policy, the non-committal heartfelt sentiments of our caring leader – and they sell and they sell ……

And when the dust settles and the sales are over, we look and realise, the only thing that has been sold, is us – we have been sold out!

And a few days ago the blue ribbon started to appear again.  I cried before I even knew who it was even before I logged in – not again, not fucking again!

So I sat at my little desk, to check how the 801 Facebook page was going – how my mates were going, and thought I better get a meeting together (as they had stopped a few months ago because there wasn’t enough of us to organise them…), I flicked on the screen, logged on and found that 2700 people had joined our site in 48 hours.

Yes, 2700 (2953 total membership at its peak to be exact).

I cried.  I was overwhelmed.  I learned of Ashley Meeks (who I did know) and I thought of him now dead, seeing his mates rally.

But the rally was one of pain, of fucking heartbreak and the sadness that hurts your heart like nothing else.

And I read the posts and I cried, most of the time.

Hundreds, no thousands, in the Police family were pouring their hearts out, disclosing horror, upon horror, upon horror – some people had to leave the site (and I get it – I would be gone if I didn’t run it and have a few backing me up!) because it hurt them too much, or reminded them to much, just reading the stories.

And there was anger, and sadness and the loudest rally cry I had heard in the Police for years….. a call from the heart, a call to stop this horror….

….But, within the rally cry I started to notice something else, not from the rallying members, but from somewhere else….

I started hearing in the background, the faintest sound of music….. and slowly, but surely, the music got louder, until, at exactly the right cue, the fucking bullshit dancers (some were even marienettes this time – a nice twist!) appeared….  and started dancing the same old fucking dance again….

And I cried.

I shut down my Facebook page, I turned off my phone, said “Fuck ’em” and hugged my wife, who said “I love you, are you going to be okay”  and I said “Yeah, it was never me I was worried about” and she said “Yeah, I know”.

So, I wrote this.  On my blog – for me, for Ash and Sharynne – because even though I only personally knew one of them…. I miss both of them so badly…

I have heard the call for being positive, for not slagging SAPOL or PASA or the GOVERNMENT, for working collaboratively, for sitting around in bean bags and singing kumbaya and talking about our feelings…..

… and all the time I hear the music and see the dancers dancing ….

I’m going to bed.  Hopefully I won’t dream.

Better Fatties on a Plane

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I am about to go on holiday for a couple of weeks to Bali with my wife.

We have decided that we will try ‘carry on’ only as we do travel rather fugally in the way we eat, what we spend, the sights we see… so we though let’s see if we can go away for two weeks with just carry on luggage.

We have done our research and understand that the allowance for carry on is 7 kilograms.screen-shot-2016-11-08-at-12-11-15-pm

Today I checked by carry on bag, which has all my clothes, my toiletries, my camera, my shoes and my laptop…. it weighed 8.5 kilograms.  I started to angst about what to do!

I’ve decided that I’m going to do nothing – I am not going to unpack my little carry on and try and make the 7 kg limit.  In the event that they weigh it and there are any problems I have the following reply….

“My wife weights 54 kgs, I weigh 79 kgs, between us we have under 20 kgs of luggage; that is an approximate total of 150 kg’s for both of us with our
luggage.”

I will then look around and indicate one of the hundreds of people I know will be checking in at the same time as us, and say…

“That person over there, just the person, not their luggage, weighs more than my wife and I combined with our luggage, and we are not counting the snacks they are going to eat before they get on the plane!”

screen-shot-2016-11-08-at-11-57-21-amIf at this stage it isn’t looking good for me to shame the check-in clerk to turning a blind eye, I am going to go to the fattest person I can see booking onto our flight and ask them to eat, either me or my carry on bag (I understand I will probably have to pay for tomato sauce and a Diet Coke!).

I will then arrange for them to to shit me out (or my bag) in Bali, hopefully somewhere near our hotel!

If you are a little over weight and this offends you – can I suggest you don’t eat so many pies and cakes – especially washed down with a diet Coke!

Better No-one Left Behind

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I have been thinking about what can I do to raise the awareness of PTSD, stress, anxiety and depression (and a myriad of other psychological disorders) which are the result of policing.

Yes, the 801 Group is a great start – not only that, but I have met some really strong people as a result, through doing nothing other than stepping forward. They have inspired me to continue trying to make it better for those already suffering and hopefully prevent a few from suffering in the future.screen-shot-2016-10-03-at-11-54-44-am

(NB: The ‘801 Group’ is for police suffering from psychological injuries as a result of their duties and was founded about a year ago in Adelaide. Regular meetings are held and a private Facebook page exists with over 200 members – mates helping mates…)

But how?

I think one of the biggest problems is the problem that faces us all when we are trying to understand something that we have no experience of, other than observing, or what the media (The Merchants of Misery) tell us; that is, how can we possible understand what it feels like.

This is also one of the reasons the 801 Group works so well. As soon as you walk into the room at a meeting you realise that everyone there understands. You don’t screen-shot-2016-10-03-at-11-58-21-amreally have to say anything. You just know they know. A lot of this is in the eyes….

So how can a policing culture change, attitudes change, if it is impossible to understand what it feels like, what people are going through, unless you experience it yourself – and without being too dramatic, then it is probably too late.

I will try using an old analogy.

It’s like the feeling of riding a Harley; if I try to explain it to you, no explanation is possible; but once you have ridden a Harley, well, then no explanation is necessary.

screen-shot-2016-10-03-at-12-21-19-pmOf course this analogy can easily be dismissed by those who have no interest in motorbikes.  So, how about making it a little more personal, even a little bit too close to home.

I will try to explain to you what it feels like to have a parent die – your Mum or Dad. We all think about this as it is inevitable, we all think we are prepared… right up until it happens. Then we suddenly realise that at all those funerals we have been to, for our mates’ Mums and Dads, we really had no idea. My Dad died 25 years ago and I remember it like yesterday. My Mum only died a couple of years ago – I thought I was prepared after Dad’s passing. Wrong! It was the belief that I knew what it was like being shattered when Mum actually passed away – only then did I actually understand.

If you have had a parent die, you understand the above paragraph completely. If you haven’t, I am happy for you, but I am also completely aware, that no matter how much you tell me you understand what it feels like, I know you are wrong. You are not ‘wrong’ in a bad way, you are just wrong because until it happens to you, you really can’t fully understand.

This is just like me telling a parent who has lost a child that I know what it feels like. Sorry, but this is bullshit. I can never know unless it happens to me.
These are all pretty sad, even cruel, analogies to attempt to try to explain to someone what it is like to suffer from PTSD, stress, anxiety or depression resulting from police work. But, I think it goes a little towards actually explaining it – the ‘it’ being that you can’t explain ‘it’.

So I believe that it is not the understanding that is important, I have just noted that this is impossible, it is the knowledge and acceptance that you can’t understand that is important.

Only those who have suffered can understand.

Often in the Police we see horrific things happen to people – we attempt to empathise with them, help them, protect them or take action. But, do we ever really feel like that victim or that offender, until it is us.

Let’s talk about the offenders. How many in our policing careers have we arrested; or kicked their doors down, or put them on the ground in handcuffs, or refused their bail, and locked them up for months awaiting trial.

We take the above actions, go back and type up the file and then decide what we are going to have for dinner. Do we think about them every day, that guy or girl screen-shot-2016-10-03-at-12-29-12-pmsitting in a cell, away from their family, missing birthdays, Christmas, their kids, or Mum and Dad and possibly losing their job, friends, reputation? Of course we don’t! The next time we think of them is when we are called to do the court file, and mainly we are shitty that they didn’t plead guilty and save us all the paperwork. So we sit down and finish the file and send it off – then, again we decide what we are going to have for lunch. Do we think of them, the person, the father, mother, wife, husband, sitting in that cell, of course not. Why not? Because it is not us.

All this is the difficulty in our modern world… most of the time it is not us, we are glad it is not us, and if we turn our head just a little bit, we don’t even have to see it in our peripheral vision. It’s just not there, it’s just not something we have to consider in our daily lives of getting the kids to school, making ends meet and trying to live our normal life. Yeah, it is a great 5 second grab on the news, or a 7 minute story on Today Tonight, or a ‘shock horror’ moment on the front page of the paper, but then life goes on.

It is not us, and we are glad. It is not us, so how can we possibly understand what it feels like. We are still living our lives.

This IS the problem with the psychological injuries plaguing the Police, but, it is worse; why?

Because the Police are supposed to weather all storms of physical and psychological attack – they are tough men and women protecting the rest of us. It is their job, their duty and if they fail who do we turn to.

screen-shot-2016-10-03-at-12-53-37-pmSo, when the strongest, most resilient and bravest of us all fail, who do we turn to. The Police, the individual Police Officer, feels this every day. They feel it as they are in one of the few ‘jobs’ that require you to take an oath; an oath that says you will give it your all, you will, if required, give it your life.

So the Police, the strongest of us, must not fail, must not fall by the wayside physically or psychologically. I’m not saying that everyday the police who go out there are swearing new allegiance to the people, cheering in unison to fight for the downtrodden, putting on battle armour and raising battle standards… but, somewhere, deep inside each of them they know it is not a job, it is a duty, it is a sworn duty and they cannot fail.

Unfortunately in a war of attrition against crime, some are left behind. It is not the callous moving forward while our comrade lays wounded on the ground. It is not disregarding the old saying of ‘no man left behind’. It is the reality of not wanting to look at our mates failing, crumbling, crying, drinking, angry, afraid, lost, lonely… because, we may be next. It embarrasses them and it embarrasses us, we don’t know what to do, we don’t understand.screen-shot-2016-10-03-at-12-35-31-pm

And the next day they are not there, the boss is calling the roll, my stats are behind, that brief of evidence isn’t finished, there are new jobs waiting and a pile of old jobs unfinished. I think of them fleetingly, but I don’t understand and I don’t know what to do.

The radio screams for my attention, someone needs me who I am sworn to protect.

“Roger, I’m on my way…”

Better Aussie Battlers

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In 1973 an average house in Adelaide would cost you $16,250 – and the average wage was $111.80 a week ($5800 a year) – average rents were $10 a week – a new Holden Kingswood was $2730.00.Screen Shot 2016-06-22 at 4.15.20 PM

In 2014 the average house in Adelaide would cost about $450,000 – and the average wage was 1453.90 ($75,000 a year) per week – average rent are about $400.00 – a new
Holden Commodore was $35,000.

To put it simply, the price of houses have gone up 600%, rent about .25 % and cars about 40% in comparison to the money we were earning in 1973 and are now earning.

I have been thinking about this post for some time; not being an economist, accountant or financial advisor (as they are bullshit jobs!), I reckon, I’m pretty qualified to say, that something is really not quite right here.

Is it just that the poor are getting poorer and the rich are getting richer and most of us are all just sitting in the middle struggling…?

At this point, I should point out that all of this doesn’t matter.  I have lamented in other posts about the futility of chasing wealth and power as ultimately, we firstly all end up sitting in a chair, pissing our pants, watching days of our lives and waiting for our relatives to visit who never come….. and, then we die, and take nothing with us (remember, you never see a trailer on a hearse!).

In truth the rent, the house, the car are all useless articles that cost a lot, but perhaps have no real value in our lives.  It is no use knowing the price of everything, if you don’t know the value of anything.

And considering that in recent years more and more people are filling their time doing bullshit jobs (see earlier post this week – click here) I ask myself constantly “Self, – Is there such a thing as an Aussie Battler anymore?”

I think the world changed for the Aussie Battler after a couple of wars, a few where we called the returned soldiers Heroes, and then a few smaller wars, or where they Police Actions, where we called the returned soldiers baby killers! (bearing in mind we now all celebrate the ‘heroes’ in all our wars, and Police actions, yet fail to live the values we celebrate in them – I had a spit about this last ANZAC Day and put a video up on my YouTube channel if you’d like to have a look – click here).

Then we had a sexual revolution and a stock market boom (and multiple crashes), the housing boom, there was a baby boom in there somewhere (I think around the time of the sexual revolution or one of the wars – it doesn’t matter, I think the baby boomers are actually the cause of everything!), and now a technological revolution (still going on – is it a boom, or just a series of small startup booms, which become bust – unless you sell porn or are Facebook) and then a global financial crisis (which had a cool, catchy and overused acronym – GFC!) and then….

Screen Shot 2016-06-22 at 4.17.41 PMWhat?  What are we now.  Are we Aussie Battlers, pulling ourselves up by our boot-straps, working hours in the hot sun, digging a hole somewhere, lifting some heavy stuff, to return home on dusk, having lamb and three veg for tea (not dinner) and watching the ABC News… do we see the vision splendid of the sunlit plains extended…  I don’t think so!

Are we still the land of real opportunity, or are we a people governed by those who talk a Screen Shot 2016-06-22 at 3.49.21 PMlot about jobs, struggling Aussie families, ‘moving forward’ (fuck, I hate that phrase, almost as much as the hypocrisy of the person who said it with the ultimate lie of never having a carbon tax in a government that I…. you know the rest of that bullshit – if not just switch on the News now and listen to any politician from any party in THIS election!) … are we now not governed by an elite group of people who themselves couldn’t even define (not that I can?) an Aussie Battler let alone find one.

What really is in the future for these entitled, self obsessed, iphone, ipad, internet, snapchat addicted no hopers, we call a variety of labeled generations, who still live in OUR houses (that we worked bloody hard for as real Aussie Battlers!) and expect everything to be given to them…..

This younger, ungrateful generation who live in a world…… yeah, in a world that……. yeah, in a world that… oh, yeah, in a world that WE created for them!  Oh fuck, I think it’s our fault.  I know the good old days are gone, but is today just their good old days yet to be realised – sometimes I think not.  there are just a few things I know, and we all know if we look, that are real different from then and now:

  • I know I got my free education (even Uni if you went – which wasn’t encouraged or expected) – and now to go to Uni means to have a HECS debt (the equivalent of my first house deposit) that may cripple you for a decade and beyond.
  • I know I could walk the streets pretty safe at night – and now we have more Police and more laws and now about 90% of parents drop their kids off and pick them up from school through fear.
  • I know it was a fair dream to own a home and a car and now the opening stats in this post say, perhaps this is not a dream, but a pipe dream.
  • I know that if I really wanted a job I just had to go out and look for it – there were enough to go around and now even with a degree, and a HECS debt crippling any wage I earn, I may not get a job, ever.
  • I knew if I had a career it would probably be for life and now a career is until the next Government reshuffle (or election where promises of jobs never materialise, but cut backs and redundancies do!), business insolvency or stock market crash. Bearing in mind always that the CEO get his payout and lives to start another company or better still get a Government advisory or consultancy role.
  • I know that if I put a little bit away in superannuation I would be set up pretty good when I retire and now (even today) the retirement age is increasing and I can’t put enough away, even if I have a job, didn’t have to pay my HECS debt and found a secure investment that didn’t go bust or involve massive corporate corruption – if all these things did or didn’t happen I will still struggle to secure any future in retirement.
  • I knew the local cop, the local bank manager, the local councillor, the local butcher the local milkman (he came to my house?) – and now I do my banking and shopping on line (if I do speak so someone it is in Mumbi!), the banks don’t want to know me except to take my money in fees and give me crippling credit debt – there is no local ‘friend’ or respected member of the community we all look up to and most of all trust.

I don’t think the Aussie Battler is a myth, but, I also don’t think it is our future.

The Merchants of Misery (the media) rule our lives, drive public opinion, topple governments (who needs the CIA when you have CNN), make us buy, buy, buy and most of all ensure that our lives never seem good enough and then provide us with a moral compass that worships possessions, destroys diversity through fear of … what is it now, political correctness gone mad, or racism, or sexism, or basically the fear of standing up like the real Aussie Battler to fight for values that nobody knows what they are…. we are a society of Aussie Battlers with nothing to battle for except our next outrage to Tweet about and our next must have possession (as directed by the Media).

I refuse.  I outright, and down right, fucking refuse to be a puppet, to be on mindless media autopilot!Screen Shot 2016-06-22 at 3.57.29 PM

My Dad was a real Aussie Battler, and each day I wonder what he would think, what he would do? (bearing in mind at the end of each day he was to buggered to do more than eat his tea, watch the news and fall into bed to do it all again the next day – and he died at 64 on the dole as he wasn’t old enough for the pension!)

I haven’t mentioned this in the last couple of posts, even though it is the point of my blog and my YouTube channel, and that is being a better man.  Maybe it is because, sometimes, just sometimes, to be a better man, you have to understand that not all those around you have the same aspirations – they are still on autopilot, living a life dictated by the Media and the only way to wake them up is to give them a good hard slap (figuratively of course!)  Plus, there are those who will tear you down for even getting up any speaking what everyone else is thinking – even though when you speak up and say ‘fuck’ it becomes about saying fuck and not about the subject – always remembering, outrage is the modern equivalent of hard work.

I haven’t also mentioned, the being a better man words, because, well, I felt my blog, with an average of 60 reads per post and my YouTube Channel with a similar average, was just to small, I was too small, I just wasn’t important enough.

Then I thought, fuck it, that’s what everyone thinks – that’s what we are supposed to think, or go shopping to stop thinking at all!

So, standing up, speaking up, even if no-one is listening, is the point of being a better man.

As I have quoted before, as Gandhi said:

First they ignore you,

then they laugh at you,

then they fight you,

then you win.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Better at Walking Together

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Walking 10 IMG_8709 IMG_8712 IMG_8713 IMG_8719 IMG_8721 IMG_8710 IMG_8714 IMG_8729 IMG_8708 IMG_8711I was walking along the other day with my wife, holding hands, just walking. We were walking side by side and just out shopping – well, my wife was shopping, I was going along to be with her, because I wanted to.

Yes, we are holidaying in Bali at the moment, we love it, and we love walking around and looking at ‘stuff’. We also like doing it together.

This is when I noticed, we are somewhat in the minority…..

Most couples, even on holidays, seem to be on a quest.

The husbands (or is partner now the only acceptable term) are striving ahead, with the wife (partner!) dutifully following the mandatory 1 metre behind – OR, the wife is eagerly strutting towards the next shop and the husband is dragging his arse the mandatory 2 metres of shitted off, following you around, want a beer more than being here, look on his face and droop in his gait…

Okay, so why are you even out and about together. Just go separately, or is the habitual obligation of your marriage (or partnership) something you have to demonstrate publicly to make us all suffer along with you.

I understand sometimes ‘the man’ feels the obligation to walk in front with the ‘I’m not a tourist and have been here heaps of times before and know what I’m doing and where I’m going’ look on his face in a modern attempt at the cave man confidence which must always be displayed in foreign situations; but, does it really apply to doing something that is supposedly, something BOTH of you WANT to do TOGETHER.

My wife and I (reminds me as I type that the first time you say that at you wedding – “On behalf of my wife and I” – I’ve had a bit of practice at that!) go together because we want to be together, we want to walk side by side, we want to hold hands – it’s not always a journey, sometimes its just walking around. (Just as a note, we hold hands everywhere we go – life is too short not to hold hands!)

And… then there are times we don’t hold hands. That is when we are not together. Sometimes I go by myself and sometimes she does – because we want to and because the other one understands.

I know the moan of ‘having to go shopping with the wife’ situation. Surely, if it is your wife there is no HAVE to. Sometimes I do things that are not things I think are important, or I would like to do (like just about any form of shopping!) but I go because I want to be with my wife, and she may want me to come (the reasons behind this actually still remain a mystery to me – although the occurrence of this is pretty rare, my wife is smart!), so I am not actually doing it for me, there is nothing in it for me…. but, there is, it is making my wife happy.

This reminds me of something I heard/read/imagined about the father talking to his future son-in-law and telling him that ‘marriage wasn’t for him’. Of course the future son-in-law was worried that permission to marry the daughter was going to get knocked back – but, the father went on to say, it is not for you, it is for the other person; you change your life from doing things for yourself to doing things, everything, for another person because you now hold them more important than you. Of course this is a great theory, but, we as humans have a great trait of taking advantage of situations. That’s where the ultimate gift of marriage, or a relationship, or a lot of other things in life, comes down to one thing, TRUST. (I just remembered I wrote about this once before using the Indonesian interpretation and punctuation of the words Anda and saya. Click here to read it)

I put my wife first. Oh, I catch myself a thousand times a day NOT doing that, but, I actually do catch myself. My wife puts me first. We trust each other.

We walk along holding hands, we walk along together, because we want to be together. We remind each other of it each day, by holding hands, by walking side by side, neither following nor leading, both wanting to be there. And, when that is not working out, we catch ourselves, we wait for the other one to catch up, we walf faster to catch up, we walk back and get them, we walk back and get them and carry them if we have to. And, sometimes, walking together can actually be taking a different route so that we end up in the same destination, then we share our stories, tell of our trip, when we are back together.

I sometimes think that being a better man is understanding that some of the simplest things in life are the most important, like going for a walk and holding hands.

PS:  I went out to get some photographs in Ubud, Bali.  I sat in a little cafe (okay, it was a bar!) and had a coffee (okay, I drank 4 beers!) and took all these photographs in an hour – I did not see one (Yes, you read right – NOT ONE!) couple holding hands.  I am going to get a T-Shirt made which reads “At least while you are on holidays HOLD HANDS”.

Better at “the dialectic”

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Well it has been some time since I have been mad here.Screen Shot 2016-04-25 at 11.30.59

And it escalates.  The YouTube channel is going well and I have decided that you can go against your nature.  I have spoken about this a fair bit in other posts; talking about the Scorpion and the Frog and generally trying to find a way to be a better man while all the time fighting against ‘my nature’.

I have decided it is fight I am going to lose!  I will lose, not because it is a battle that I cant win, not because using all my strategies is invalid, but because the one thing that continues to be my achilles heal will always trip me up, and that is  – I am me.

But, it not a fight I am prepared to give up on.
Here comes in “The Dialectic”.  Dialectic thinking is a pretty hard thing to explain – I tried once in a previous pScreen Shot 2015-05-09 at 11.05.19 amost and used my time in Bali as an example – bearing in mind philosophers have been arguing about it for years, sorry centuries!  They can’t come up with a definitive answer so how am I.  Well lets start off with a few of THEIR definitions and then I’ll get to how this is MY answer:

Dialectic thinking:

“a method of argument or exposition that systematically weighs contradiction, facts or ideas with a view to the resolution of their real or apparent contradictions”
(Fuck, that made my brain hurt!)

“The process of reconciliation of contradictions”
(That’s better – a bit like me.)

To me it is, allowing two contradictory ideas to exist at the same time.

Can I be the Scorpion and the Frog at the same time.  Can I still be shitted off by most things and wanting to tell most people I meet to get fucked AND be a better man.  Does one contradict the other so much that there can be no conciliation between the two.  The philosophers seem to think so – I do not!

I am me, sometimes it is not a pretty sight, but I am also resolved to be a better man – a man who lives his values, his beliefs and his convictions.  A man who is not wandering through life oblivious to my own existence.  A man who thinks a person is better, bigger and more important that the latest LCD Internet connects 100 inch TV.

To me dialectic thinking is about being those contradictions.

Not living those contradictions in conflict but just living them; as a better man.

As someone once said to me, how will you know when you are the ‘better man’ or is it a continuous process that never finishes.

I thought about it for a moment and said “Fuck if I know, but I refuse to continue living as a robot”.

I hope that my new series of videos “The Dialectic” goes a bit of the way to changing ‘Fucked if I know” to “Fuck me, I get it!”

 

 

 

Better at Saying Hello

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I haven’t written for a while as I have been working on a few posts all at once – all in which I hate the world!

I try to live my ‘mantras’ everyday; you know the ones, peace, mindfulness etc etc, but life, people, problems and more people, get in the way (one of the posts I was working on was called “Swimming in Shit” – so you get the gist of where my head has been!)Screen Shot 2015-11-30 at 23.19.57

Then things changed and I realised, in a moment, the power of “HELLO”.

I met a friend who I hadn’t seen for a while and they were just glad to see me.  They said HELLO – with their EYES, their SMILE and their HEART.  It was a Hello that made me happy straight away.  I think it also set the scene for the brief conversation we had – it was positive, it was upbeat, we laughed and we talked about ‘good stuff’.

The goodbye came and it was a good goodbye – if wasn’t a “let’s do lunch” goodbye, it wasn’t ‘I’ll call you goodbye’, it wasn’t a ‘we should do this more often’ goodbye – it was a goodbye, that said it was good to be with you, for that moment.

So often I am ‘swimming in shit’ and I have no doubt that sneaks through in every one of my Hellos.  I have to get better at saying ‘hello’.

I (we) are coming to a time of the year where it can be stressful, happy, and sad at the same time.  It can be wonderful with kids and family and friends, when at the same time we are thinking of those that are not with us anymore.

It is also a time of the year when we see lots of people.

It is a time of the year for lots of “Hellos”.

I am going to be better at saying “Hello”.

Hello will be with my heart
Hello will be with my eyes (I’m looking at you)
Hello with be with my smile (Greeting people you know is great!)
Hello because I’m glad to see you (because I or you, may not be here tomorrow)
Hello is for now, this moment

Hello, Hello, Hello – glad to see you, tell me about the good things in your life and I’ll tell you about mine.

Hello, Goodbye – it was great to see you!

Better Knowledge

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I haven’t written a post for awhile as I have been reading and …… well, thinking.

I realised that although I think I know a lot of stuff there was a lot of stuff I didn’t know about.  I have been increasingly curious about ‘why I am here and what is the point’.Screen Shot 2015-11-06 at 5.22.09 pm

Yes, I know that we are all plagued with the age old question “what is the meaning of life” – but, in actual fact I don’t think we are….  I think the majority of the time we are just going about living, oblivious to our inevitable deaths which so often appear to be a surprise and a period of intense grief to those remaining…. and, then of course we go on with our lives again.

I am sure that prior to that moment there must be something more important than the latest episode of The Bachelorette, the price of the new iPhone (Do I really, really, need my phone upgraded – Why?) and indulging in the latest ‘pleasure’ because the Merchants of Misery (The Media) tell me that it IS the latest pleasure.

So, where have I been for the last month – I have been thinking and reading and then thinking about what I had read – and then researching and thinking and writing down what I had researched, thought about and read.

I was helped along when the 24 year old son of a friend was chatting to me; he was studying music and said that throughout history the particular period in time was reflected in the music – he gave examples of during the 60’s it was all very ‘free’, it go angry in the 70’s because of war and injustice and then down right radical in the 80’s with punk rock and anarchy being the musical cry…. he then said, he was looking at music over the last 10 or 15 years and it was just a mess – there was no theme and there was no meaning – it was noise for noise sake and for sales profits… he said he was disillusioned as it reflected the world.  This philosophical observation by a 24 year old, was further emphasised by the other philosophical blurbs of my children, my favourite which is there explanation and my  inability to understand that 40 text messages back a forward was a better method to organise getting together, than a 30 second phone call.

I take my children’s observations of the world with the same grains of salt that no doubt my parents took with my observations of the world.  However….. the real moment came when I was driving in the car and heard a song come on the radio (my wife told me this morning that it had hit number 1 on iTines!) that described a guy going into buy a moped – are you fucking kidding me!

I agreed instantly with my 24 year old philosopher – todays music is lost – there is no generational theme, no undercurrent of meaning, no soul – it is a reflection of the world created by the  Merchants of Misery (The Media) selling us more crap so that we buy more crap – all to seek pleasure in the way they tell us to – ultimately, so we will buy more crap.

Pleasure is no happiness; pleasure is not meaning; and telling me about buying a moped is no fucking music!!!

Where has all the knowledge gone about what is important and what has meaning.

Maybe, I have answered my own question – the meaning has gone in the music because we have lost the meaning to our lives.  We have lost some ‘depth’ to our existence.

In my reading and my thinking and my writing, my writing mainly consisting of mad notes scribbled on random piece of paper, I decided that society has lost some valuable knowledge about living that has been replaced with bad music, instant gratification, new stuff every week and striving for things that don’t only not matter but we can’t actually identify what they are.

My example of this is asking people this very simple question:

If you could be anything you want, where money was not really a consideration; where you would be doing something that was your passion: where you know doing it everyday would make you happy.  What would you be?”

I often clarify this by saying, “Well I always wanted to fly jets, and be an astronaut” but know that is not very likely and as it turns out it was not really my passion – just a fantasy.  So “What would you be” – “What would you do”.

Strangely enough, the majority of people I ask say “I don’t know?” – now I ask this to people of all ages and the answer in about 90% of cases is “I don’t know” – well, I have one think to say to that, how fucking sad.  It would be fair enough that you never attain your dreams – but, it is a tragedy to never have any!

Of course there are the ‘trap’ answers that actually mean nothing:
“I want to be happy”
“I want to be rich”

I reply – define happy – define rich and if you were rich what would you do? Would you be happy?

We are all so confused or worse – not thinking about our lives.   Why?

Because, nobody taught us how to think about our lives.  Yeah, we all went to school and learned stuff that we thought was shit at the time and turned out to be shit – but most of that ‘learning’ was really ‘educating’ as it was designed to teach us a few fundamentals to get us through (how to read, basic maths, the times table) but, actually the rest was teaching us how to think – I don’t think our current teachers even understand this concept.

So, we leave school being able to read and write and have a good basis for surviving in the world…… really?  Where is the REAL KNOWLEGE about living IN the world.  The REAL knowledge is actually about other people and us; how to get along.  Where were all the lessons on picking a partner, picking friends, getting on with people, how to deal with conflict, how to deal with loss and heart ache, how to be happy is a world that may be unfair and tragic through no fault of your own.Screen Shot 2015-11-06 at 5.25.52 pm

Life may actually be able to teach you about life – and, experience is the best teacher, BUT, why do we not a least try to teach our kids, and each other (it is never too late) that the real meaning of life and the real lessons in life are not about Nikes, and iPhones, and stuff, and the noise of the Merchants of Misery, but, how I get along with society, my neighbour, my family, my partner and most of all myself.

 

 

Better Say it Now….

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I do have a lot more time on my hands lately working towards retirement, and have realised that a lot of what I used to talk about doesn’t appear to matter so much anymore.

I have also noticed that what is important to others, my friends, my work collegues, has just lost it’s urgent and imperative nature.  I have realised that a lot of what we talk about and say really is just the momentum of the rubbish that fills modern day life.

  • Is that report really urgent – or even important.Screen Shot 2015-07-10 at 11.21.59
  • Do we really care about that piece of office politics – does it even touch my life unless I talk about it.
  • Give me that 3 minutes back that I wasted reading that email.
  • Do I need to send that email – especially to confirm a conversation I just had with
    you.
  • I really can’t tolerate listening to you bitch about the same thing you have been bitching about for the last three (or even read 10) years in your job.
  • ….. and of course as I have said before, your ailments may be serious but they are not very interesting.

I wrote once before about the rituals of going to work, or even catching up with relatives and friends and we go through the motions – “Good-day, how are you” – “Fine, and you” – Yeah, great”.  Of course this is all thrown into turmoil when you say “How are you?” and they actually tell you – God, kill me!

Well that’s what I thought.  But, now I have a ‘but’ to my previous reasoning behind that.

Surely, me asking them how they are – even in an automated ritual – and them telling me is important.  It must be more important than the footy scores on the weekend?

Although lately I am watching more footy, not having been a real sports nut in the past, and I think I am beginning to understand – it is good fun, exciting and I now get how yelling at the TV can be very satisfying…  even if I don’t know every players name (who was ever born!) and their entire career and statistical history!  I also just realised that there is a sort of ‘sports spectator elitism’ – I am sure if next time I go to the pub and talk about the footy and can’t recite a blow for blow rendition of the entire game, I am some how tarnished as a ‘pretender’ and just doing it to ‘fit in’ – so I secretly sneak back to being a closet footy supporter and reading classic novels, appreciating art, wearing clothes other than track suits, continue to say Australia instead of Straya, watch the ABC (non footy shows), and have all my own teeth.  I have learned my lesson; so the next time I go to the pub and they ask me about the footy, I say I don’t follow it, they call me a poofta, it’s just easier!

So you are telling me how you really are?  But, I am busy and have to get to that meeting about forming a committee to develop an innovative planning proposal to segway our new Bullshit-Bingo1benchmark process into organisational synergy and value added people friendly systems.

The other day I went to the country town where I grew up as a kid.  In doing some business around town I came across an old school buddy.  I really enjoyed the chat and it was funny how, I think… we still thought about the same things – well sort of, it is a bit hard to explain…..  But, it was a connection, or reconnection, that I really enjoyed and still resonates with me now, a couple of days later.

I felt pretty good after talking to my ‘old mate’ and immediately it popped into my head to tell my Mum about it as she still has a great memory of all the ‘old town’ people……  then…..  I remembered, she died.

It is something that happens, I think, to all of us, that we want to ‘chat’ to someone and realise they are gone – either gone, dead – or gone, not in our lives anymore.

It is a bit sad, but it is sadder that we don’t actually say the things we want to say when they are around.  They are the moments, we all have them, when we are thinking of someone and say “I better give so-and-so a call’ and then life gets in the way (probably that meeting where we are still trying to work out what ‘synergy’ really means) and then the moment is lost and before we know it they may very well be completely lost.

It will always be the conversation we never had.

The other day I rang an old mate to say hello.  There is an amazing thing about mobiles phones, they have been around for a long time nowadays and people take them when they move house; plus there is Facebook and the interwebthing where you can always find someone – I think I have had the same mobile phone number for about 17 years!

So I rang my old mate and we went through the cordial hello’s, how are you (thank God he didn’t tell me!) and then he said “So, how can I help you?” and I said “You can’t, I just rang to say hello to me old mate and to see how you were going”.  There was silence for a moment, and he said, well thanks mate, I really appreciate that, good to here from you.  I then actually, asked him how he was going because I wanted to know!!!  ….. and then he told me, and I was interested, and I listened, and I cared …… and we had a great old chat; old mates talking shit.  Now we finished off that we would catch up for a coffee, and maybe we will, but now it doesn’t matter so much because we said what had to be said, what didn’t have to be said and were glad that it wasn’t too late.  I probably will give him another ring, and probably will catch up for a coffee.

So, if I ring you for no reason, this is probably the reason.  I’m sorry that it might come out of the blue and you may be busy – that’s okay, ring me back after the meeting and I walk out of mine to talk to you – I am actually interested in how you are – I can spare the time, because tomorrow, later, after the silly season, in the holidays, after I get this report finished….., may never come.Screen Shot 2015-07-10 at 11.24.37

So, I will finish with one of my favourite poems.

Sorry if I am repeating anything I have written before – it is just that nowadays,  I am just sitting down and writing as opposed to hyperlinking my life….  each thing that I have to say, I don’t put off, the excuses are only the ones I create…

 

The Indispensable Man

 

Sometimes when you’re feeling important

Sometimes when you’re ego’s in bloom

Sometimes when you take it for granted

You’re the best qualified man in the room

 

Sometimes when you think that your going

Will leave an un-fillable hole

Just follow these simple instructions

And see how it humbles your soul

 

Take a bucket and fill it with water

Put you hand in it up to the wrist

Take it out and the hole that’s remaining

Is a measure of how you’ll be missed

 

You can splash all you like as you enter

You can stir up the water galore

But wait and you’ll see in a moment

It looks just the same as before

 

The moral in this quaint example

Is just do the best that you can

Be proud of yourself and remember

There’s no indispensable man