We're All A little Mad

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Valentine’s Day, the new ‘blue Monday’ (and on a Thursday no less).

So Valentine’s Day. I can hear the groans of melancholy across the broadband cables, for a day dedicated to the idea of Love and all things Romantic it’s a contentious subject. 

I decided this year to Google the origins of Valentine’s Day as we all know the common saying: “Valentine’s Day was created by Hallmark for profit” It turns out, Valentine’s Day, or the Feast of Saint Valentine, has origins dating back to the pre-Christian era. In ancient Rome, the 13th, 14th and 15th were celebrated as Lupercalia, a pagan fertility festival. Young men would strip naked and use whips to spank the backsides of young women in order to improve their fertility (I am not making this up, I swear: http://www.telegraph.co.uk/women/sex/valentines-day/7187784/History-of-Valentines-Day.html).  Circa 496 AD the then Pope, Gelasius, declared 14th February to be St Valentine’s Day, a Christian feast day. Christianity sure knows how to take all the fun out of a holiday. And today? We send around a billion Valentine cards each year, not to mention the amount of money spent on gifts and flowers and chocolate. (I hear sometimes you don’t have to buy them for yourself.)

As it turns out, Valentine’s Day has a real history. It may now be over commercialised, but surely you can say that for all pagan come Christian holidays? What about Christmas? Easter? You can’t tell me those holidays are not dominated by cards – credit and paper. But underneath all those clichés, red roses, heart shaped chocolate boxes and teddy bears (come on guys have some imagination), there is a wonderful day. Everyone has someone who loves them all year round and Valentine’s Day is a wonderful excuse to tell them. For all you cynics who still think it is nonsense, use it as an excuse to get drunk mid-week (preferably not on your own, there is nothing worse than drinking alone on Valentine’s day, except perhaps drinking alone and watching The Notebook...).  

The thing about Valentines’s Day, whether you are a skeptic  one of those super romantic types (with little hand cut heart confetti, balloons and love heart underwear) or somewhere in between, is that it will without a doubt get you thinking about Love. This year, Valentines’ Day certainly got me thinking about my own romantic life. I am 26 and tragically single. I say tragically not in the sense of my own emotional stability, but more in regard to my current lack of romantic prospects *cue image of tumbleweed blowing in the wind and string quartet *. I’m not fishing for sympathy here; I am, despite appearances, not a crazy cat lady. So what is the hold up?  

Maybe I’ve become more idealistic in my pursuit of love. I wasn't idealistic when I was 20. I wasn't settling but perfection didn't seem so imperative. I was happy testing the waters, growing as a person, playing the field, opening new doors, and all those other hackneyed sayings. But now the moment I like someone, even a little, there are a hundred questions going through my head. Questions that by the time I have answered conclude with one simple point: there are too many incompatibilities; too much friendship and not enough romance, too much romance and not enough laughter. 

It is conceivable these thought patterns are detrimental, that my ideals prevent me from diving head first into someone (metaphorically and actually) who could be everything I ever wanted just because he might not fit in the big heart-shaped box I built for him. But the counter argument always stands; why should I settle? Square pegs round holes; it just isn't going to work. I am by no means an elitist; my list of traits and requirements is not a mile long. Realistically it could be said I want three things; laughter, friendship and passion. Surely those are the broad strokes that make up the tapestry of any good love story? Consequently it's not that I am idealistic but realistic; it's not settling, it's knowing what you want. Mediocre won't work anymore. So, for me, in my little nest of social philosophy, until the right guy comes along, preferably wearing a bow-tie and shares a love of Harry Potter that teeters on obsession, my friends will  have to bear the brunt of my love, often clingy, always physical and rarely muted. 

The Death of the New Years Resolution

It’s coming to the end of January! My bank balance and my conscience are very happy about this. Who came up with the idea of 6 weeks between pay cheques at the most expensive time of year? They were either masochistic or loaded. Same goes for New Year’s Resolutions, after one too many G&Ts you profess ‘life needs to change’. Then in the cold light of January 1st the hangover kicks in, a hearty breakfast solves one, but that bargain you made with the Universe, that one lasts a little longer...

I went approximately 16 days with mine (a new record I might add!). My resolution was to be more tolerant of people’s foibles. You know those little character traits that grate on you? Those ticks and habits people have that sit somewhere between nails on a chalkboard and a punch in the face?  The ones always so petty you are ashamed to admit they irritate you, irritate is the wrong word, make you want to rage out is more fitting. You get my point. I figured if I could learn to tolerate these niggling irritations I would simply be a much happier person.

Day one (technically the 2^nd of January, I figure the 1^st doesn’t count as it was spent in the bleary haze of food and friends) went by without a hiccup. I smiled at everyone, said thank you to my bus driver and took a deep breath when a gentleman, although calling this guy a gentleman is a disservice to the few gentlemen left in this world, cut in front of me queuing for a coffee. Rather than vocalising my irritation, or imagining him dropping his cup on the way out of the door, I ordered my coffee with a smile on my face. Curiously this simple adjustment worked out delightfully; the lovely Baristas gave my extra stamps on my loyalty card. Rude guy nil, Maddy one.

 

The subsequent days passed in somewhat of a slow, downward spiral. I started to feel like I might be on a rollercoaster, with the inevitable drop just around the corner. In the metaphor of my life this stomach leaching drop represents reaching breaking point and shouting at someone. That looming threat heightened the pressure of perpetual niceness. One week in I started to work with my headphones in and music up loud to mask keyboard tapping and the perpetual cough of a colleague. By day 15, I’m fairly sure you could see the beads of sweat on my forehead as a lady sat next to me on the bus, took over a seat and a half and tutted when I bumped her just to reach into my pocket. At this point in our commuter tango I was practically snogging the window in an effort to compensate for her reincarnation as a space invader. Needless to say the pressure of my resolution was starting to show. It was on this 15^th day of my resolution – Wednesday January 16 2013 – that I had the annual New Year awakening. I remembered resolutions are made amidst the hallucinogenic ambience of New Years Eve; reality is always a little less acute, hidden beneath flashing lights and clinking glasses. Because of this, resolutions can (and probably should) be moderated. I can still thank the bus drivers and take a deep breath before reacting, but I can also kick and scream every now and then – you know pressure release like a valve on a boiler.  

Despite already falling off the wagon, I do think, for once, I’ve made a resolution that might stick. Here’s two reasons: one, I know for a fact I have a foible (or two) that can push other peoples buttons; I am a morning person...even on a Saturday, I’m up and I need attention (somewhere between a toddler and a Jack Russell). And two, the anger and irritation is not worth holding onto; it just creates a vipers nest of hostility and right now I still firmly believe 2013 is going to be my year. So bring on the perpetual coughs, the people who take up too much room on the bus and the holes in my favourite shoes on a rainy day; I’m waiting here with a smile on my face and a small bottle of Gin in my hand. 

The Fickle World of a 20 Something.

It has recently come to my attention how fickle I have become. Even at the now grand old age of 26 I am something of a dithering fool. I am plagued by indecision everywhere I go, suddenly every choice I make feels like it could be the be all and end all of an ideal I cling to. I am stuck at a crossroads with hundreds of paths I could walk down, but if I turn down one, will I loose my way to the others?

It is a common phrase; your twenties are the best time of your life, it is perhaps this expectation that is so debilitating. If my twenties are the best time of my life, perhaps I am living them all wrong. I am muddled by questions and decisions, to the point that even deciding  what to wear every morning is a palaver! Who thought deciding which shoes to wear could take a giant leap and become thoughts of what am I really doing with my life, but there you have it, boots or flats are now the grand philosophical questions of the day. 

So I sit on my metaphorical roundabout; I imagine there is a bright red swing set I sit on while I ponder these great questions, that in itself may just be thought procrastination, pushing myself higher and higher as if hoping the dizzy heights will give me some sort of profound clarity, while the rest of the world zooms past with what feels like drive and determination.

Am I really the only one who is lost? Am I all of a sudden devoid of the resolve I thought I had? Am I really so afraid of failure I can no longer find the courage to try? If I don’t make the most of my twenties will I be plagued with regret for the rest of my life? And how exactly do I make the most of my twenties? Do I use this time to be free and experience life? Or do I set the foundations for my future? What if I lay foundations in the wrong place and forever destroy something that could have been? How do I keep all these thoughts in my head? They feel like they are falling out of my ears in streams of gibberish and causing floods of emotions, indecision and plain hysteria. And the biggest question I find myself desperately trying to pick apart; when did life get so serious?

It's difficult to realise your life is nothing more than a tangled ball of wool; too many threads that look like they will untangle the mess but in reality they pull some places too tight and leave even more ends unanswerable. And that maybe life wont be what I had planned when I was 5; I am pretty sure becoming an astronaut is out of the question. But perhaps something better will come along. And until then, if you want me, look for me on the days I feel lost, wrapped in my duvet watching movies I am ashamed to have on my 'recently watched on Love Film Instant' list. 

Restless

Restless. London makes me feel restless. In a city with so much possibility it is easy to become lost amidst desires to succeed and stand out. I find myself desperate for both; success and recognition.
They don't necessarily go hand-in-hand. I want success in life, which for me means a career I can be proud of. This desire inspires me to write. In dribs and drabs mostly, but I am still writing almost everyday. The key here is consistency; one day I will have a portfolio to be proud of; hopefully stuffed with both published masterpieces and glimpses of genius in the form of tidbits, scribbles and doodles. It's a long road, particularly from the perspective of a 25 year old who is only a year into her first office job and a year and a half out of university. But, clutching my two degrees, desperately trying to make my mark in the workplace, while simultaneously charging down the bull that is living in London, I find myself, oddly, restless.

But restless for what? As far as I can work out, I am craving success and that desire is overwhelming. That's the thing about desire, you can never tame it, even by filling your life with this, that and the kitchen sink. If you want something else, that something else burrows into your conscious, ruining your concentration with a vice grip to rival Darth Vader, grasping at every idea that breaks free. Even as I sit here writing this I am wondering if there isn't more I could be doing to fulfill my childhood dreams.

I find the only way around this restless desire is to just roll with it. I do something new, different and impulsive. Although, I will warn you, reacting to the restless feeling with rash decisions is addictive, similar to the adrenalin junkie who throws himself (or indeed herself) out of a plane for kicks. You might find yourself dying your hair red, saying yes to a date you weren't really sure was a good idea or waking up in a different town than the one you started the day in....

This is where recognition and success fork into two parallel yet entirely separate paths. Recognition for my life's work is obviously something I crave. But, the dream you have of your funeral and what people would say about you (don't judge me here everyone does it...I am not a crazy person, in this respect at least), my unconscious fills itself with people who remember the things I have done that brought them happiness. The recognition I want, is happiness. Alright, now you can laugh.

In all seriousness, recognition for me is the moment you are remembered by a complete stranger for a kind gesture, or a friend for the laughter you bring, induce or even exclaim. Happiness is greater than hope, fame or even success, for the simple reason that it means more everyday. That feeling of a balloon swelling in your chest when you think of another, be it friend, family or lover. That grin you can't suppress, even on the tube when it makes you look like a complete nut, those are the moments to be proud of because for some reason for most people, happiness is secondary.

I guess the conclusion I have come to, stumbled across in these ramblings, is that success comes with hard work, but recognition, for me at least, is about making the most of your life, and doing it with as much openness as I can muster. At least that way, I will be remembered....even if it is only as that nut who never stopped smiling.

The Lost Generation

'The Lost Generation'

The heading they have given my generation (recent graduates); the Lost Generation, is spot on. There is a struggle in the job market; fighting for jobs and against dwindling account balances, and a struggle for every graduate to remain optimistic. It is difficult to sell yourself when you fear you have left yourself in a difficult position spending thousands of pounds and years of your life developing skills for your future life that coming out the other end appear obsolete in the eyes of employers.

I work in Starbucks currently and 90% of my colleagues are students, both current and recent graduates. We are told we are the lucky ones; we have a steady income. A consequence of this position, however, is falling off the unemployed radar. This type of steady employment also puts us in a difficult position because we cannot put ourselves forward for temp-work because we work full time, we can't attend last minute interviews, and we cannot start work immediately. The list is endless and becomes a mess of lethargy and frustration.

Would it be better to live as a ‘temp.’ uncertain of income from week to week, or stay put in a job that is at least consistent. Do you leave yourself with gaps in your CV you later have to justify. Or continue in a role that could be considered unworthy and unimportant by some employers? Do we keep pushing applications in the vain hope we will get a response, even a rejection is better than the empty space of an e-mail inbox. Or do we push for short scraps of work experience we can squeeze into holiday and days off in the hope somewhere in the hours of labour we willingly undertake lies a glimmer of prospect?

The real question we have to keep asking is; have you go it in you? Can you ride this wave to its uncertain conclusion while balancing your hopes and dreams against the drag of reality?

The lost generation; we are the people who serve you your coffee and epitomise the catch 22; you have to have experience to get a job but to get experience you need a job. Our experience usually doesn't fit on our CV. It’s the bit between the lines where we lived and breathed a life of passions, personal and academic. We lived, made mistakes (a lot of mistakes) and learnt in the process. We are a generation of battered individuals trying our damndest to make something, anything of ourselves in a world desperate to legitimise us, and in the process itself.

Don’t get me wrong, our breaks do come; there is hope. The fight is predominately with ourselves: our personal belief, resilience and patience. We demand better of ourselves- waiting to begin the life we promised ourselves was achievable once we were graduates.

And there we stand, willing a change of our fortunes, and doing our utmost to achieve it. We are not the ‘Lost Generation’ because we sit in front of the TV watching Jeremy Kyle day after day; we are the Lost Generation because we have emptied our lives into every corner of reality grasping at the promise of success.

Pessimism and Indifference

'Freedom injustice and all that crap people write about with no substance they don't know what they are talking about' - Sussex University Toilet 24th May 2010

Things like this always make me wonder if this person was writing out of pessimism or indifference? Do they not care that the world seemingly has no substance surrounding the question of freedom and injustice? Or is it that they think that there is no point writing about these things because the world as no clue? As subtle as the difference here is its important to realise that either way who ever wrote this wont be doing anything about what they consider to be the tragedy of the present. Which in turn makes me think, what exactly was the point of writing that in the first place? Are you trying to sound like an intellectual and make some poignant statement of the state of philosophy and politics which sounds very insightful but in-fact lacks any real meaning whatsoever? Or are you just angry at the world around you and yet unwilling to do anything about it? Again the divergence between these two questions is slim and it still boils down to the fact that the very statement made is tautological. The girl who wrote it is claiming that the world has no understanding of the concepts of Freedom and injustice and yet is doing nothing but perpetuating this by stating this as fact and then doing nothing to change it.

This is the state of affairs in a university today, the feeling of ambivalence of the conditions of social, political and philosophical understanding combined with the pessimism and indifference that means the ambition to do anything about this falls short and culminates in the writing of bitter meaningless statements in a toilet cubicle.

The irony here is that by protesting against this i am perpetuating they very thing that has encouraged me to protest. I am encouraging the tautology of indifference by vehemently protesting against the indifference. We might end up going in roundabouts here so i will just say that indifference is sustained by the pessimism that is incited by statements of indifference. So what exactly can we do, as students, to be honest even just as a member of this society? We write. We put down on paper in anyway possible our despair, but not only that, we also read. We read about the philosophy of Freedom and injustice, we read newspapers and books, and watch the world through documentaries. We come up with our OWN ideas. 

This stalemate between voicing an opinion and really taking a stand, lies in the worlds demand for instant information, resulting in our being spoon fed what we are demanding to understand, there by we are no longer understanding we are just regurgitating fact. I am sitting here trying on my own to change this, by reading and learning and hoping that others of my generation are tired for the same reasons and are doing the same. For really what is the world without trying to understand it? You can live from day to day and the world will still bumble along as it has, but the problems in the world will not be solved if we do not demand an understanding of them. You cannot fix the present problems with the knowledge of the past alone, for it is by way of the past that the problems came about in the first place.

You cannot tackle the state of indifference by regurgitating the very reasons for its being.

So here is my suggestion...pick up a book and work it out for yourself, you never know what might happen.