Men's things - II

Scanning human innards

The hospital is an interesting meeting place of humanity, where our frailty and infirmity meet with a strong will to live, compassion, care, and the understanding used to help us return to healthy and vibrant lives.

With X-rays came an advancement in medical research and observation, then ultrasound, magnetic resonance imaging (MRI), and computed tomography (CT) scans which all provide a non-intrusive view of our innards for experts to review and decide some plan of action; if their observations are indicative of an issue.

The Trafford General Hospital is the cradle of the NHS and where it was launched just over 75 years ago, arriving early on Saturday morning, I was met with a labyrinthine range of corridors, first to the main reception and then to the Radiology department, being the collective term for all these aspects of scanning.

In preparation for it

The aftermath of my bladder emptying requirement was to prepare for an MRI scan of men’s things. The call came in on Thursday evening and the speedy arrangement was once again, a bit unsettling. After a series of questions, I was cannulated as the scan was to be with contrast. The contrast agent which could have side effects is to help tissue and blood vessels show up more clearly.

Having changed into hospital tunics, one back to front and the other front to back, I mentioned my first MRI scan and the poor choice of music, Here Comes The Hot Stepper it was. The nurse offered me choices and I went to Bach and classical calming music, good effort and it was soothing.

Closed to noise and tightness

I was given earplugs, there must be a Nobel Prize for making the MRI scanner silent, this is beyond the one already given for the discovery of MRI. The cannula was connected, I was strapped down around my midriff and the music, the scanning and the noise began. I closed my eyes trying not to think about being in a tube of claustrophobic angst, it did not bother me.

Time passed quickly and I was pulled out and asked to wait for 15 minutes; first to remove the cannula and to observe any contrast agent side effects. I was soon on my way home, with much time still left of the Saturday morning. The results will form part of the review to be had soon.

Other blogs

Blog - Hotstepping into a magnetic resonance experience

Blog - Men's things

Drought in bladderland

You’ve seen it all before

I guess when it comes to health and medical issues you must forget to be embarrassed and face things with, well, an injection of humour.

When I was in hospital in late 2009, I needed to have a shower and I was in such dreadful pain being supervised by a nurse. She pulled the curtains to shield me, but in that state of sheer vulnerability, it meant nothing to me.

I simply told her, "In your job, you have seen so much that I do not care for what you see now", as I invited her to scrub my back and hose me down. We can be precious about the common things, when in the hospital, honesty, frankness, openness, and truth matter more than anything to get the right outcomes.

A drought in the bladder

So, this morning I got a call from a nurse at the GP surgery, we know each other, and she wanted a sample that I could not produce on demand. Well, after waking up and everything with the ablutions there is nothing to give.

As the conversation progressed, I asked if this could be medically induced, like cloud seeding the bladder, that sort of thing, you should never give the medical establishment those kinds of thoughts to work on.

For want of a better word, we agreed that I could visit when I am pressed and at the surgery, I’ll be given a container for it. Then, it might just need fear or terror to unwittingly wet yourself, why that surprises me when I once had juvenile enuresis is interesting. All they want to do is take the piss.

Blog - Childhood: Atọ̀ọlé (October 2010)

I shall not be moved

Phone in a nature call

Leaving church yesterday I found the need to visit the public conveniences in the shopping centre before making a collection which had me queue up on one floor only to be told the collections department was two floors below and again, another queue.

After I collected the goods, I stepped out of the shopping centre and reached into my side holster to retrieve my mobile phone, it wasn’t there, it could not be anywhere else, it had to be in the toilet cubicle on the toilet roll holder, something I have never done before, leave my phone anywhere but in my holster or my pocket when I am away from home.

Catching myself from the irrational

A flood of panic was about to overwhelm my thinking, you do everything on a phone, is it replaceable, how do you recreate the user experience and convenience curated and cultivated on your phone and a million other thoughts.

I had to catch myself, Akin keep your head and calm down, to override the hyperactivity of my imagination, I had no intelligent words to speak but to speak in tongues which focused me towards knowing whatever the case, I would have my phone.

Moved to thankfulness and gratitude

The cubicle I used was vacant and the phone had gone and immediately I thought of going to the information desk of the shopping centre as there was no toilet attendant about. I found the information desk and told the man there; that I had just lost my phone in the gentlemen’s toilets. He asked what brand it was, and as I told him he produced my phone saying someone had just handed it in some five minutes before.

Great relief and thankfulness, angels ministering even when you have done silly things. However, as I meditated on the situation looking for a place to sit down before calling Brian, I knew for myself and the many things that I have been through then, before, and after, I shall not be moved.

The chaplaincy of Chortles-upon-Whereitsat

Cameras at the ready

On many occasions, I find myself taking funny orders, inconspicuously traipsing the streets of Manchester, and accosted by some who commend my sartorial taste to the extent of being asked to be photographed.

I was in a conversation on my phone at St Peter’s Square when a man decked out in full Rastafari garb, lots of Jamaican colours from head to toe came into my purview and as I remonstrated that I was otherwise engaged, with hand signals and gestures, I obliged a picture. Then he sat beside me while his partner snapped away, then he gave a wave and left.

Dressing up is an art

On a Sunday afternoon, I could acknowledge five variations of dapper or looking good from the hat to the whole ensemble, it is like I cannot dress down. Interestingly, if I do have to visit an office, in my life of work where I have had many suits, shirts and ties, I would rather wear them than leave them to feed moths.

For all the easing of formalities, having once worked in the city, the business capital of the United Kingdom, I am quite a reminder of a bygone age, with a bowler hat too for the cold and frigid winter days.

A chaplaincy I assume

This evening, I was at church for the valedictory service in honour of the outgoing Archdeacon of Rochdale, it was a well-attended event with all the trappings of Anglican traditions and all the extant clergy of the diocese and beyond. Quite a fine service before a small reception of hot beverages and cake.

As I was making my way to the table to be served, I was approached by a parson who I had met before at another event, he came with the familiarity of a bear hug, before he began to discuss clerical opportunities in the diocese, I guess I was being confused with someone else. I however could not reject such due consideration for the chaplaincy of Chortles-upon-Whereitsat.

A chortle we did have when I suggested, I could consider taking holy orders, as for where and when, I would have been expected to wear a dog collar for the event rather than a day cravat, or had I inadvertently converted one into the other? A conversation about doppelgangers ensued, they look nothing like me, and an unfortunate case of prosopagnosia becomes more humorous than to be maligned.

Dr Jerry Savelle (1946 - 2024)

A persuasion in pain

My Christian faith has led me on many journeys, in the search of purpose, knowledge, and insight on the issues of life along with looking to understand why we exist and what kind of legacy we might leave, to hope that in the annals of time, our footsteps show sure paths and our deeds are impactful in the lives of others.

In early September 2009, I was in excruciating pain and literally dying from cancer tumours that had consumed most of the area of my left sole and the underneath two of my toes. The only way I could walk on that foot was to bandage it tightly and wear a pair of monk shoes. I had not convinced myself of what remedy for this suffering might be.

Maybe a miracle today

My days and nights were preoccupied with listening to sermons on divine healing as I am also of a Pentecostal inclination; I have followed many leaders of that persuasion in the teachings and revelations they have shared for decades. Skimming through some of the websites of these preachers, I happened upon the itinerary of Jerry Savelle and instinctively, I booked a flight from Amsterdam to London with the view to attend every venue he would be appearing at.

In visiting, I informed some friends who met up for either of the two sessions that I attended, it was also a time of reckoning for me because until then, much as I would have wanted a miracle of healing to deal with this problem, a sense of irresponsibility of allowing my condition to deteriorate to the state I was in quickly dawned on me, because I then found the courage to admit to the seriousness of the disease I had until then kept mainly to myself.

An impartation of sense

Dr Jerry Savelle ministered in two different churches where the fawning of the overseers did not help the setting. The man of God then offered to lay hands on the whole congregation, but I was more like the thronging crowd than the woman with the issue of blood. If I received any virtue, it was commonsense. I did not regret my journey; it just gave me context to tackle an existential threat.

I returned home and booked an urgent appointment with my medical doctor and what followed was a referral, chemotherapy, and a survival which at prognosis if I did not tolerate the therapy left me with just 5 weeks to live.

God is good, always

Dr Jerry Savelle was a raconteur, a man who told wonderfully interesting stories about his Christian walk, he preached and taught about faith, favour, grace, the goodness of God, his motorbike and vintage car collection, his aeroplanes, and the many missions he had in Africa and all over the world. He encouraged and enthused, the titles of his sermons of which I have many just made you want to listen to what he had to say.

In Hard Times God Will Rescue You (YouTube playlist) is one set of 3 sermons he preached in 2022 that I have listened to many times in the last year to find great encouragement during my own personal hard times. Whenever I have needed the lifting up of my spirit and a reassurance of God’s love, I would seek out a message by Jerry Savelle either from my large MP3 archive of messages going back 25 years or a recent online impartation to the body of Christ on his itinerary in recent times.

An exemplary man of God

He represented a man of integrity, principle, purpose, faith, and good humour. He had been mentored by and been friends with many of the great men of faith who have either passed on or are well into their 80s. While I am saddened at his passing, he was a sure example of how to live the Christian life and be an exemplar of the eternal life that now is unto the life to come.

He always spoke fondly of Carolyn, his wife of almost 60 years, his two daughters and his grandchildren, he lived a full, exciting, and wonderful life. I think one quite important thing I learnt from his teachings was God is also interested in the things that bring us joy, be they pursuits or hobbies, as long as they do not distract you from eternal purpose.

He will be missed, but with the body of work in books, sermons, teachings, and stories he left for us, we can be thankful there was someone who showed that the person and character of God is for us to really find out, know of, and revel in the joy of living, knowing Jesus Christ and God the Father.

Thought Picnic: In time we travel in strange individuality

Using time for a purpose

Time is a journey that we traverse for which we know neither the length of it in the existence of things nor the sections that punctuate the start or the end of what defines a life.

Life is represented in birth, living, and death, events becoming milestones that govern the stories we get to tell. Indeed, I write a lot about telling stories, my own stories, the stories of interactions, and the stories that I narrate of my observations of others.

Relationships form a significant part of how these stories develop, some of these relationships thrive on nurturing with due consideration and others wither because selfish posturing pervades the context.

How it made you feel

Invariably, I curate my relationships in interesting ways. The ones in which I naturally belong that I did not initiate have suffered more because ties are generally of obligation rather than of interest. The influences from nativity into adolescence have laid a marker of unresolved trauma and consequences that leave one in a state of sad disinterest.

Yet, these are my roots, in need of understanding and exploration even as the outlook that becomes me suggests I am totally different from where I am supposed to have some affinity.

It is not what many may understand and there is a likelihood that some regret might greet the further passage of time for which I am wont to allow resignation than ruefulness. Emotions can be attached or detached, and this is within the model of feelings of direct or indirect abandonment that constitute the upbringing I enjoyed that others might recall differently.

With autonomy, you find your own posse in the partners and friends, acquaintances and networks, communities and involvements which are parts of your interests and give some purpose to living.

I will tell my own story

What no one can do is tell my story just because they are part of my story, they can choose to forget what I remember vividly or even misremember the details of how I was affected. It is not a gift many possess to read the mind of another or sense the internal turmoil that is the reflection of a situation.

This is what makes us unique, consanguinity hardly affords similarity in looks, character, personality, experience, or life. Having the same source is hardly indicative of the direction of flow, we diverge from the moment we draw breath and travel these storied journeys until the last breath.

When the books are closed, an account is made that constitutes a tribute of sorts, where is fondness, there is much to mourn and the absence of which leaves us untouched to the point of being unconcerned and indifferent.

What we do for the dead is more for assuaging the conscience of the living for the dead can do nothing for themselves. In the end, what they have sown in life bears fruit as to how they are revered. What is cultivated poorly yields a poor harvest, where there is no work, whatever the result, that is what is there to see.

Beyond cancer threat to stories of health

Winded by the speed

The speed at which things have moved presented a cause for concern much in the need of allaying any anxiety. As you pay attention to your health and seek the best outcomes, some processes and procedures become a medical requirement for ensuring things are nipped in the bud at the earliest opportunity.

A few blood tests, a conversation with my GP and a visit to the surgery for a preliminary assessment have set me on the path to a date with some of the best urologists in the field and what my GP casually suggested would be a scan, might well be a bit more uncomfortable at this studio that offers a one-stop shop of tests superficial and intrusive, aided by a local anaesthetic.

The scheduled duration of 30 minutes could last up to 4 hours and all that is in an appointment letter that landed before I picked up the post proposing an analysis of my GP’s request.

Checking off cancer prospects

Before one is a potential cancer diagnosis or just the discovery of the cause of symptoms that could not be explained from being felt up in a funny place. Having dealt with cancer before, I can safely suggest it does not entirely prepare you for the prospect that you might be checking for it and unsure until you are given the all-clear.

Health stability in managing long-term conditions can lull one into complacency and a renewed sense of invincibility. Life is fleeting, each day is a gift and a blessing for which we should be thankful and grateful.

Beyond every looming threat

What you find in certain issues of life, is you need to cultivate your support network of significant persons that would buoy you through tough times. People with whom to share burdens and talk about things, partners, friends, and others, depending on how comfortable you feel about things.

My faith is also a critical source of succour and strength, feeding on the encouragement of the Word of God in the Bible and in the sermons of anointed preachers to confidently call those things that be not as though they were.

The times I have faced life-threatening diagnoses and conditions with the hope and assurance that I have the grace of a better story and a testimony seeking to be told; whether the threat or reality of cancer, it would not be the last you’ll hear of me.

Other reading

Blog - Cancer is a human experience, not a battle won or lost

Blog - When I had the murderous cancer of denial

Blog - Thought Picnic: I share hoping it can help

Blog - Cancer: No journey is the same

An inspector calls again

Just moved in?

In the tenth year of my residency, I get asked questions like I had just moved in 10 days ago. “Are there any leaks?”, she asked. You know damn well if anything was not functioning, I would have logged a call. That reminds me, to save my manicure as apparently the union of nail technicians is on strike for better conditions of work and pay, my dishwasher needs looking at.

It was a house inspection by the letting agency that was first dated for the month before arriving 3 weeks later than intended. It just so happens; that the same inspection was conducted by the building managers a few weeks ago but I entertained the knock on my door this morning, without remonstrating too much about the obvious fact that these activities need to be coordinated.

I allowed them the run of the house as I returned to my desk to oversee the screens of engagement before me. Doors open, cupboards inspected, mutterings among them and then Jobsworth supercilious becomes her.

Hear it scream

My fire alarm and before I knew it, the riot act with every act of parliament, the law and whatever else was being read to me in the tone of an emphatic Gotcha! Heck, the other guy who was here a few weeks ago inspected the same fire alarm.

As she sang the refrain, “By law, it is the responsibility of the tenant to ensure that the battery is changed in the fire alarm.” I picked up my piano bench, moved it under the fire alarm, stood on it and pressed the test button. We were greeted with a shrill sound that no one had the readiness to shield their ears from and she was fully clipboard-equipped to my utter glee.

Then, I pressed the test button again which I think made her tick the required box, no apology but a full acquiescence to the fact that the fire alarm is working. By then, they must have felt fully welcome in my abode and before I could offer them tea and biscuits, they were ready to leave. What a shame, I was just beginning to enjoy their company. Not!

Men's things

Keeping an eye on it

When you get within a certain age range, you need to pay a bit more attention to a few things and more so, your health. I have attended talks, groups, discussions, seminars, and conversations about men’s health and ageing, these things interest me enough even if I do not seem to act on the much I have learnt.

I guess because I have usually had blood work done twice a year, I seem to be a bit conversant with health issues, my kidneys, my liver, bone health, and other indicators in the blood results that I chase up with medical personnel to have a handle on the issues when a result falls out of range.

One month on prescription folic acid and the folic acid deficiency anaemia is now a thing of the past, the last reading put it at borderline high when it was well below the minimum range hardly 7 weeks ago. The other things as red blood cell counts and thyroid activity we need to monitor over a longer time.

That erogenous zone of life

The elephant in the room, the prostate-specific antigen (PSA) test, that I have ignored and done nothing about for years. Friends report their experiences and I sometimes pretend not to be in the affected cohort. My GP even sent me messages inviting me to assess this facility, it is one of the more intimate men’s things that we find ourselves too coy to talk about.

Two blood tests later, in early February and late March, my GP called to have a chat and then immediately scheduled an appointment to have me felt up in a funny place. I duly attended and before I could draw a sharp breath, it was over.

Well, it is slightly enlarged but smooth, and a scan is needed just to be sure. This matter is important but we rarely want to attend to it, either out of fear or embarrassment, both of which can kill you if a situation could have been caught early, but left too late.

Deal with it early

After my many encounters with the medical establishment for all sorts of life-threatening conditions, this should be the easiest of matters to assess, review, and understand, and hopefully, after the scan, I might just lay my mind to rest, absent of any worry or anxiety.

You have to know, to know, that once you are over 45 and black, the statistics can be scary, but do not become a tragic statistic, make that appointment, have those checkups, know the situation or at least have the knowledge to face up to it and have it dealt with promptly.

“1 in 4 Black men will get prostate cancer in their lifetime. Black men are more likely to get prostate cancer than other men, who have a 1 in 8 chance of getting prostate cancer.” Prostate Cancer UK

Men’s things are also about life and well-being, better the finger now than a scalpel blade later.

Reference

Prostate Cancer UK: Black men and prostate cancer

Let's delve into this

We delve deeper

Some parts of this blog started off as a comment on Facebook that I decided should not be left there but given a bit more context that might go into a series of discussions on language, expression, vocabulary, usages, culture, and influences. Other rather succinct views on this topic have been expressed as tweets on Twitter. God, forfend I suggest the other name.

The matter of the word ‘delve’ has been a burning topic for the past few days on social media, where someone of privilege and influence inadvertent revealed a bugbear about the use of a word in an email and attributed it to the use of Artificial Intelligence because by his assumption, it was an unfamiliar word and people do not write like that.

Now, I write this in the context mainly of my own upbringing rather than in the broader spectrum of how Nigerians have reacted to this as I 

The different cultures

I was so miffed, even annoyed; the bounding dunce, (and I use that charitably to suggest he is slow to see his own blind spots), in every other area except for his computing nous and venture capital clout, who is just over a year older than I am, was British-born but left for America at the age of 4, meaning my Britishness at that time was even more impactful as to appreciate the good use of the English language than him.

He was schooled in the American system, and what he has retained are vestiges of the English aversion not so much to pomposity, but that unfortunate inability to pigeonhole the unfamiliar into trenchant class structures that remain significant in Great Britain to today.

The education context

Imagine being so well-spoken and still having an accent, it upsets them no end, they cannot believe we had schools that did Eton College for a pittance abroad. (We had reading, writing, comprehension, and spelling classes at the primary schools that I attended in Nigeria, which had a large foreign contingent of pupils and staff.) You attend to every variant of the same question, “How do you speak (or write) better English?” You want to answer, that I had an exceptionally good primary education.

Obviously, using a rich vocabulary is seen as trying to be clever, writing mellifluously is considered beyond our capacity, it is damned with faint praise as flowery. We are just too well-read to use English in a perfunctory and unimaginative way.

The class issue

Every inner self-loathing was inadvertently embodied in that tweet about delve, so unawares. We need to begin to understand that how people express themselves reveals just as much as they intend to say as it is about who they are. We are already self-profiling to observers and to an audience by our conduct and conversation.

On the class matter, I had to tick a box in 2024 that asked about my social mobility status. Well, I was never working class and there are settings where sophistication is effortless that it is more than attainable for many, in speech, comportment, or just the basic sense of self. The world will never attain true egalitarianism, but we can make the world a better place if people use their privilege to lift others rather than knock them down.

In other situations, it is to allow one’s worldview to be open to new ideas, understanding that cultures differ, usages are myriad, and diversity suggests there is not just one perspective. Even in the quest for simplicity, what is simple varies and that is subject to too many variables that we cannot control that we make allowances and gain new opportunities from stretching the limits of our purview.

On the delve matter, there was a bigger issue at play, especially as Paul Graham and his family have returned to the UK since 2016, we have not begun to delve into the many layers involved. I can see through him as through plain glass. Yes, I also use AI in my writing, it is Akintayo Intelligence.

A play for time

Playing with time

Time is one of those things that seems immaterial to many, that the need to keep time is rarely important. While I am not obsessed with time, I like to have time, keep time, know time, take time, and use time. It matters in a lot of things, time is precious.

Yet, when it comes to setting appointments, I prefer to defer to others, and this might seem like ceding control to setting the agenda. We should not confuse agenda with schedule, the agenda is a series of points to discuss, and the schedule is when you have chosen to have that discussion.

I accept there might have to be adjustments for time, manner, location, and some other variables. However, when I concede the setting of the time to others, I already know I will be on time.

Playing on time

If you have then set the time and for whatever reason you have failed to keep to time, one element of irresponsibility has inadvertently been displayed, especially if parties to that arrangement have not been duly updated and informed you will be late.

Communication is key, but what I find amazing is for someone given all the opportunity to dictate the time not meeting conditions they had set for themselves and others.

I consider keeping people apprised as both a duty and a sign of respect. It is valuing their time, the idea of being fashionably late is pomposity passing for self-importance and insouciance.

Playing to time

Maybe punctuality is not a virtue, being punctilious saves you from avoidable stress in travel, appointments, and decisions.

There's not much to anyone who abuses or misuses time, wasting the time of others. Don't call me impatient if you are late, and if you are doing me a favour, please, do not take liberties too.

This brings me to African time and the picture I found in a restaurant convenience in Franschhoek, South Africa, my observation then was it was a bespoke watch, not for the purposes of keeping time.

African Time, Franschhoek, South Africa

Flicking my ingrowing hair

The urge

My penchant for making small talk leading to interesting conversations and possible friendships is one I enjoy very much, but it does not always work out like that. There are times I have spoken out of turn creating avoidable embarrassment or out of certain curiosity or enthusiasm, put my foot right in it, I might well sink into the quagmire of mortification.

Nature itself can be cruel in the joke she plays on us. I saw a man the other day who seemed to have patterns of intriguing amusement shaped at the back of his head as if a barber had created designs that looked like two big eyes sitting on the edges of a maple leaf-looking representation.

The purge

In my amusement, I said to him, those look like eyes, to which he responded, alopecia. All I could say was, “Forgive me.”, even as I upbraided myself for being too forward and probably not observant enough. Then who would have thought the loss of hair would come in such uniformity as to look like it was designed rather than a natural thing?

Then hair has its many stories between those who want it to grow in some places they do not need it to appear and those who cannot grow it for the want of trying, out of loss or what nature intended.

The scourge

The many jokes made of how your hair is cut or shaped, the malevolence of the Pọmbé haircut that took an inch off all the sides, it seemed you have a rag placed on your head, or when it was all taken off and I was called Jagoo at school. Why my dad allowed that to happen still escapes me.

Now, that I have male pattern baldness, another side of ribbing comes into play. Yes, this time, I was supposedly flicking my ingrowing hair. Revenge is a dish best served cold; I am waiting the table of that cool customer.

Homeless, not hopeless

Among us all

There are moments that you observe as you walk around your city that present you with a time to reflect on the many blessings that greet us each passing day.

The grip of adversity can rob you of every kind of agency, the belief in yourself, the appreciation of human kindness, the facility for hope, and even a desire to live.

Hurdled in corners all around my city are the homeless and the destitute whose many stories are seen through just their immediate deprivation. There is more to them than what we see. Yet, there is no magic wand to wave with either determination or the almost limp-wristed suave of a sprite from the other world to change things.

Just a little

The burden of the issue is immense, you want to walk away and pretend certain realities are too great to countenance, but I saw a man in distress, he was crying and that touched me so deeply, that I turned and went to him to ask what the problem was.

He had a catalogue of woe to drown fish in its own habitat and I asked him to give me 15 minutes, he had probably heard that too many times to care about the truth of good intentions until I returned just about 20 minutes later having been distracted by an unfortunate situation.

His surprise at seeing me again, yes, I made a promise to a total stranger, but it was not just about him trusting me but a demonstration of knowing that my own words must count for something to myself. It is hence important not to vow rashly, for in not meeting it, your words begin to lose significance to you first and then to others.

More in him

In our exchanges, I found that he was going to be 50 and about to be a grandfather, you just never know if you do not engage, interact with, and deign to see another regardless of stature. One little thing can restore hope, give a sense that there is a tomorrow and help appreciate that no man is or remains an island.

He said he would lie down and say a prayer for me, I cannot remember the number of times we hugged, but that little moment of turning tears into smiles should be the broader story of our shared humanity.

I believe in angels, and many have been sent my way, in the depths of despair there is strength that tells you a better story is just being written.

Annoying annoyances

What they see they see

What people’s impressions of me vary to the extent that I mustn't allow those viewpoints to influence or constitute my mode of expression. To be viewed as truculent, easily annoyed, and quick to take offence can only be a failure to invest in knowing me rather than one indicative of who I am.

I know the people I have intentionally given the cold shoulder and I have more fingers to count on one hand after I have accounted for them. I endured years of drunken opinions of seething disdain he became one of whom it was expedient to ensure any future dealings were terminated, after an unequal and trying friendship of just over two decades.

A gardener weeding engagements

I am not a difficult person to get along with, I however actively curate liaisons, acquaintances, friendships, and engagements, knowing what to cultivate and what to leave to lie fallow and allow to be reduced to insignificance. Frequently, it is not a reflection on them but a realisation that nothing worthwhile is to be gained from the continued relationship after inadequacy and frustration.

Maybe as an individual, I am quirky and strange, probably funny in a certain way, the things I allow to bother me are looking to be a better person and I am beginning to understand I need grace more than discipline. I might even consider counselling and therapy for some things, but those are personal journeys that anyone else might well find some profitable development for themselves.

Mirrors of keen expression

What I find insightful is and this might come as a surprise because, in this same blog post, I have suggested one aspect is not a reflection in terms of the choices of engagement, but a clear reflection if reviewed with introspection is the way people think about you might well be something about themselves too, their needs, their interests, perish the thought about their neediness or their insecurities which they then project on you as unfulfilling of a certain expectation.

How you maintain your composure when confronted with such situations becomes part of the development of character. It can be overlooked or ignored though there are times when a frankness of opinion might be bruising but immensely helpful, daily, I seek wisdom in knowing when either is right. One can argue that discernment may not be present in the state of inebriation which I never indulge or when aroused from a state of the soporific that is required in typical circadian rhythms.

Gun control of tempers frayed

Invariably, I am usually not annoyed when people think I am annoyed, I am usually annoyed because people assume I am, out of some work in their relationship that they need to work on, and then project that onto me as some inadequacy, I guess that is a trigger as much as a gun needs one along with good gun keeping by ensuring the safety is always on, just in case the gun falls into the hands of a two-year-old, of whom you cannot easily demand they give you back the gun as you would a harmless thing.

Why am I writing this blog? Just a few thoughts about the fact that making some allowances for everyone might help in understanding better rather than misunderstanding leading to bizarre conclusions. This month marks 4 decades of many things including a very cherished friendship if my memory serves me right. Anyway, like Pontius Pilate did say, I have written that I have written.