Thought Picnic: The Many Mirrors of Criticism

The Mirror and Its Drip

Criticism is a mirror, but not all mirrors are polished the same way. The polishing might bring clarity, or the mode of polishing might scratch the surface and distort what we see. When we look in the mirror, we hope to see the best reflection of ourselves rather than a caricature that makes us recoil.

Dripping criticism is subtle and persistent. It is the raised eyebrow, the “interesting choice” comment, the slow leak of disapproval that erodes confidence over time. A manager who says, every week, “We'll need to tighten this up eventually,” without clarity or support, creates doubt rather than direction.

I dare say this almost always comes from familiar settings: the parent who has constantly said something that becomes ingrained in memory, a habit formed with the intent to change yet one that does the opposite, creating tension, resistance, and resentment.

Left unchecked, those early and well-meant words settle into the inner critic we carry into adulthood, a voice that goes on speaking in a parent's cadence long after the parent has fallen silent.

Burning on Contact

Caustic criticism burns on contact. It is sharp, often clever, and sometimes public. “Did you even read the brief?” may get a laugh from bystanders, but it scars the recipient. Its power lies in humiliation, not improvement.

Its purpose is to reduce a person to insignificance; it highlights inadequacy in order to expose weakness. The person on the receiving end is likely to shrink, wishing the ground would open so they might fall into the crevasse. It is wholly unkind, the bailiwick of the sociopath.

Tearing Down

Destructive criticism tears down without offering a path forward. “This whole plan is a mess” ends the conversation instead of advancing it. It may be emotionally satisfying to the critic, but it leaves both the work and the worker diminished.

This goes beyond cynicism; it is the need to complain without helping or offering solutions. It sees the problem clearly yet fails to realise that identification is not resolution. There is a close cousin here in withering criticism, the scornful, contemptuous remark designed to make a person wilt on the spot.

It borrows the sting of the caustic and the finality of the destructive, which is perhaps why it is so hard to place: it wounds like the one and forecloses like the other.

Care and Clarity

Constructive criticism, by contrast, is anchored in care and clarity. It names the issue and points towards growth. “The introduction is strong. The argument would be clearer if you added evidence in paragraph two” respects both the person and the goal. It assumes capability.

This brings the best of helpfulness to the fore: empathy, guidance, and emotional intelligence, which engender growth and productivity. It takes a wholly different mindset. Yet every sort of criticism, given with the right intentions, can become constructive; it depends on motivation, desire, and drive.

Gentler Forms and Love

There are gentler forms too. Reflective criticism asks questions rather than making declarations. “What outcome were you hoping for here?” invites ownership.

Self-criticism, when healthy, refines craft and character; when excessive, it becomes an internalised drip. Cultural criticism challenges norms and systems rather than individuals, asking whether the rules themselves deserve revision.

Ultimately, criticism reveals as much about the giver as the receiver. The best criticism carries three traits: specificity, proportionality, and goodwill. Without goodwill, it corrodes. With goodwill, even hard truths can build something stronger than what existed before.

Its reach is wider than the work in hand, for over time criticism shapes confidence and character, bolsters or erodes self-esteem, tips us towards obstinacy or leaves us open to persuasion, and quietly colours the way we see the world; but that is a thread for another day.

Beyond goodwill, perhaps the real driver of the best kind of criticism is love: a deep love, concerned to bring about the kind of change in others that we wish for ourselves. The root of that is self-love, from whence springs the ability to love and to be loved in return.

A Google NotebookLM AI Podcast on this blog

In Wine, In Play, In Anger, and In Indifference

Wisdom From the Mother Tongue

Yoruba provides a rich seam of wisdom that, even as a second language, I have mined to find gems that sparkle and light my path. “Ibi eré ni à ńmọ òótọ́ ọ̀rọ̀” is a saying that has meant so much to me; it has made friends and broken relationships. “It is at play that the truth spills out.” That would be a liberal translation, and I'll stick with it.

The Romans arrived at much the same conclusion by a different route. “In vino veritas,” they said, “in wine, there is truth.” Where the Yoruba sage observed the loosened tongue at play, the Latin observer found it at the bottom of a cup. Two cultures, two settings, one shared recognition: the heart, given any opening, will speak its mind.

What reinforces that viewpoint comes from the words of Jesus Christ in the Bible: “A good man out of the good treasure of his heart brings forth good; and an evil man out of the evil treasure of his heart brings forth evil. For out of the abundance of the heart his mouth speaks.” (Luke 6:45)

A Watch Over the Lips

The unguarded expression, spoken without thought or consideration, regardless of disposition, is one reason why we need a watch on our lips. So says the Psalmist, in a prayer asking for divine assistance in controlling one's speech, preventing hasty, sinful, or hurtful words, and acting as a guard over what is spoken. (Psalms 141:3)

It takes only a moment of lacking restraint, and everything comes crumbling down: the dismissing of issues consequential to others, simply because there is no background to their stories beyond what surfaces at the point of interaction.

Yet everyone has both the prerogative and the right to be unburdened and unbothered by external issues. In some cases, silence trumps expression, but that requires a modicum of discipline.

The Many Faces of Unguarded Speech

Wine and play are only two of the settings where the heart slips its leash. Anger is another: the row that begins over a small grievance and ends with a cruelty no apology can quite retrieve. Tiredness is a quieter cousin, where exhaustion strips away the patience that ordinarily holds the tongue in check. Grief, too, can sharpen words into instruments that wound bystanders who happened only to be nearby.

There is also the casual cruelty of group settings, where a joke at someone's expense earns laughter, and the laughter encourages the next, sharper jibe. Social media has industrialised this dynamic; the keyboard is a kind of wine in itself, lowering inhibitions whilst removing the face that might otherwise have stayed our hand.

Then there are moments of fear, jealousy, or wounded pride, when the words we reach for are not the ones we believe but the ones that will hurt fastest. And let us not forget the seemingly innocent slip during gossip, where a confidence shared in trust becomes currency in another conversation entirely.

Seven Words, One Covenant

"I don't have the energy for this." Those are seven words that broke a covenant, though one can be certain they would be used to castigate me as truculent, impossible, and recalcitrant. My relevance is transactional rather than in recognition of my own journey or story. I have my own issues, but everyone needs to see themselves in the mirror, too.

Going back to the verse I quoted earlier, an interpretation would suggest that a person's words reflect their inner character, thoughts, motivations, beliefs, and emotions. The "heart" represents the core of one's being, and what is stored inside inevitably spills out through speech.

The Fool in the Play

As a student of myself, and sometimes of others, I have learnt a lesson about the heart once again. It does not take drink alone to loosen the tongue; play, anger, fatigue, grief, indifference, or just plain spite are enough.

You had better be attentive to what is being said before you become the fool in the play where you are also the lead.

A Google NotebookLM AI Podcast on this blog

Thought Picnic: The Ephemeral Gift of Life

A Final Gathering

My very first conversation on Microsoft Teams this morning, returning to work, left me numb with shock as I was unexpectedly told sad news that brought tears to my eyes.

Only six weeks earlier, I was in Lancaster for a leaving gathering. We had been colleagues, then he led my team before an opportunity he could not refuse arose, and he was off to a new adventure. We all wished him well.

Since I work remotely, that gathering was our first meeting; it turned out to be our last. How ephemeral life can be. It can be simultaneously resilient and enduring, yet also so transient.

In times like these, I find comfort in the words of the Bible: “How frail is humanity! How short is life, how full of trouble! We blossom like a flower and then wither. Like a passing shadow, we quickly disappear” [Bible Hub: Job 14:1 & Job 14:2].

Numbering Our Days

The Psalmist says, “So teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom” [Bible Hub: Psalm 90:12]. I do not make New Year's resolutions because life is already a challenge. Maintaining the routine is hard enough without stressing over unattainable goals that fizzle out in months, if not weeks.

I am grateful for each day; it is the present, which is a gift of grace. Everyone runs their race, and no one knows when they will reach the finish.

Then we are swept into the eternity of memories and dreams. At that point, we console their loved ones and cherish the indelible mark they left on us during the brief time life afforded us.

May their soul rest in peace. What a sad start to the year.

A Google NotebookLM AI Podcast on this blog

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.

Essential Snobbery 101: Yet More Compassion Affects

Your Monitoring Causes Anguish

It was with amusement when I was chatting to my friend yesterday that I talked about YMCA, in reference to the malevolent Village People that camp on my social media pages for no particular reason than to seek salacious gossip to feed to others to find some sort of relevance or sense of significance.

Indeed, especially in almost 20 years of blogging and well over a decade on Facebook and Twitter, if it is not already clear that my expression is not as advanced and determined as it would ever be, my hope always is to present an ever-improving clarity in voice, intent, and assertion.

Maybe, in some cases, what I say when reported to some might upset them, but those who know me already know who I am, I am accepted for the person I am, and I have been. I know that learning to love myself is the greatest love of all, and I keep at it.

Your Meddling Cannot Alter

I was over 50 when a distant relation I had not spoken to in over 35 years called out of the blue to upbraid me. You, this boy, have not done this, he intoned. There was a swell of rage and anger in me, but I kept my cool. Apparently, he wanted to humiliate me before shoving a begging bowl before me to send him funds to complete his building.

I have been blessed abundantly to have an open hand to many, and more grace will abound to be able to do more as times change.

What would not happen is people who have no inkling of my life, history, struggles, or victories, thinking they can come around to instruct me to change something about my life because they once had some influence by reason of some old relationship to interfere and exceed their bounds.

Your Meanness Cultivates Atrocity

It is quite irksome, the lack of self-awareness in the first instance, that follows with the inability to mind your own business. Busybodies, on the lurk, unconcerned with the particularities of their own situation but inserting themselves in the lives of others in the quest to dominate.

Those who have absorbed the jot and tittle of everything going on elsewhere, yet all they do is exacerbate tittle-tattle without any iota of humanity or concern to help tackle to some resolution the situation they know too well is, for a season, not going to plan.

They are everything but the Good Samaritan, evil in thought or deed, overly spiritual in apparent prayerful support, without helping to meet any need. Full of faith but bereft of works that make it of any effect. They stand as leafy green fig trees without fruit, awaiting the curse to wither to the root and bear no fruit again. You know yourselves; the Lord forgives you and shows you mercy.

Y'All Moi Conquers Adversity

As for me, much of my amazing life has been lived in the open, my lips filled with testimonies of success, victories, and beauty. What say I? I have no problems with those who have set encampments at the gate; they will see the glorious from afar, and they will be partakers of the blessing, whether they deserve it or not.

The spirit of hope stirs up a well of possibility, and that has happened so many times that I even wonder how things happened and how change has come in ways never anticipated.

I will always have a story to tell, a story of a life that has experiences, adventure, loveliness, excitement, and much more. It has always been my own story, not vicariously living the lives of others, because I have enough to be doing and living, I love my life and the stories I have been blessed to share. Yet More Compassion Affects!

Notes

Village People was a popular American music group that formed in the late 1970s, and one of their most-played hits with a cult following is Y.M.C.A, which has formed the basis of the subheadings in my blog.

Context of Village People from the Urban Dictionary: A person or a group of persons who wish you bad and constantly work towards bringing you misfortune through physical or diabolical means. Usually from your town, but could also be anyone.

In the eve of the year of the Lord 2023

What is a year?

Time is a construct of a frame of reference and for us earthlings, it represents how long it takes for the earth to revolve around the sun, our sun. Any day of 24 hours of the earth rotating once on its own axis can become that point from 365 days and a bit is measured to become a year and invariably, every day is a New Year.

It makes one wonder what ushering in the New Year is all about and whether one should put any more significance to any day than another, but in our humanity and depending on the culture and how we relate to the heavenly bodies we have broadly agreed on a concept of time measurement and milestones that makes today the last day of the calendar year of 2022 AD [anno Domini nostri Jesu Christi (in the year of our Lord Jesus Christ)].

It is grace upon me

The religious and Western significance of AD is not lost on me, for it allows me to reflect on the disappointments, misfortunes, sadness, failures, happiness, goodness, mercy, strength, comfort, successes, expectations, hopes, and good health that have defined this interesting year.

On a personal level, I know I am loved beyond what I could ever deserve, and I am grateful to my lover, Brian, my family, my friends, my neighbours, and even strangers that have held me up and buoyed me through situations I could hardly have traversed alone. Even more so, my faith has strengthened me constantly renewing and replenishing where exhaustion deigns to take hold.

Gearing to God

For those who drive, gears need to be engaged for a car to move with some determination, a car in neutral will remain stationary except if it is on an incline and the brakes were taken off, then it rolls and without control might well crash into something, causing damage.

It makes me think about how in religion faith and believing in God is also one of direct and practical engagement in prayer and supplication with desire and conviction for things to happen, God does not work in neutral, though accidents do happen.

The best comes

I am thankful for my health holding strong even after a scare that had me blue-lighted to the hospital a week ago, nothing to fear, just a strain that subsided after a couple of days without any intervention. The suddenly of anxiety soon gave way to the calm of assurance and a recovery of verve and swerve.

Daily, I have reason and cause to smile, even to laugh, to praise and to be filled with thankfulness, the privations of the present being swept away in the deluge of plentiful abundance of means, favour, opportunity, adventure, excitement, and dreams coming true. Let us reach out with the purpose to enter into the jubilee of the year of the Lord 2023.

Wishing you a very Happy New Year, the best is on its way.

Ìjẹ̀shà-Ìjẹ̀bú: A time for healing

Part I: Ìjẹ̀shà-Ìjẹ̀bú: A town of pain

An appreciation of Baba Cole

Joel Adebambo Idowu popularly known as Baba Cole, that was his nickname and I never met him, he died 4 years before I was born, he was my maternal grandfather. I have only recently begun to hear much about him. There are many ways we are supposed alike, he was an anglophile and an archivist, some sort of encyclopaedia of knowledge.

From what I have learnt and there is much more I need to flesh out, he was a literal man, of considerable influence, a prince of the town and a member of the ruling council of the town. He had three daughters, my mother being the middle one, there is a rumour that there might have been a brother, but no one has confirmed that to me.

Standing true for justice

Much as he respected traditions and conventions, he was not ready to sacrifice people for those causes and for that, he paid the ultimate price. As it transpired, an emissary was sent to our town from the neighbouring town just at the time when certain fetish practices required a stranger to be sacrificed to the town’s deities.

My grandfather made the case that an emissary from the neighbouring town who was to deliver a message and return with a response could not just disappear somewhere between the towns separated by 5 miles of forest and lands, it would be incomprehensible and incredulous. He won the argument, and the stranger was spared to return home.

Sacrificed for integrity

However, some traditionalists took umbrage at his intervention and through a combination of mystical and malevolent acts, my grandfather took on a sudden fit of involuntary body reactions and died. I inferred the rational and the irrational becoming a narrative and that has become the story of my grandfather, he was sacrificed to the malevolent forces in Ìjẹ̀shà-Ìjẹ̀bú when he stood in defence of an innocent person against the system.

That is how at around the age of 19, my mother lost her father and strangely at 19 I also had this break from the concept of Ìjẹ̀shà-Ìjẹ̀bú that grew to epitomise my reticence to visiting Nigeria. If I were to create a narrative, I embody the spirit of my maternal grandfather who is owed more than an apology for the wickedness meted out to him when he rationalised against the irrationality of traditions that should have gone into abeyance.

Beyond redress to healing

I cannot say if one needs to ask for an apology from Ìjẹ̀shà-Ìjẹ̀bú for what happened to my grandfather, much as I am not asking for an apology for what I have experienced with my father. Some things we cannot change, but there is much we can work towards reconciling that we might have the courage to do the greater thing, the boldness to write better stories, and an acknowledgement that we can find some healing after all the real and perceive hurt.

Ìjẹ̀shà-Ìjẹ̀bú has been a spectre, a haunting, a looming danger, sometimes a fearsome place that suggests a mountain of the strangest beings seething with malevolence and evil, or we have just allowed our imaginations to get the better of us and our rationality. It is a process calling for progress. I think my journey has begun.

Narratives matter and they have consequential significance even if they might seem trivial to others. I have had experiences dismissed when what I heard and saw changed me into a completely different person. Much as there are perspectives to have, the more important thing is to seek the good rather than foster the bad. Beyond my introspection and the times, I have had people counsel me, I hope I am amenable to guidance and instruction. One should never be in a position where the only resort is for God to send an ass to talk to you. [Bible Gateway: Balaam, the Donkey and the Angel]

Ìjẹ̀shà-Ìjẹ̀bú: A town of pain

A cause for appreciation

Waking up this morning from a dream that left me thinking I could do better with courses and causes, and I meant the kinds of courses of choice to travel and the causes that should be supported, the focus came back to myself.

When I spoke to Brian yesterday, I found every excuse I could, not to call my father on Father’s Day, I even checked as we were speaking if it was really Father’s Day in Nigeria, and then I got two Father’s Day messages from my brothers. Meanwhile, everyone online was celebrating Father’s Day and more poignant were those who shared memories of their fathers who had passed on, either recently or a long time ago.

In my wakefulness, I realised there was a lack of appreciation for the fact that I still have both my parents and they are thankfully doing well apart from the vagaries of old age. However, there are issues that I need to address about relationships that I only began to review as I stepped out for my walking exercise.

The town of my parents

I have a consequently very useful and good relationship with my mother, I cannot say that much about my father, and I think I know where that stems from, it goes way back to one event that seems to have defined so many things. It is the confluence of the irrational and the rational in what we call our experience that becomes the narrative whether it is plausible or not, makes no difference to the existential relevance of that perspective to the person involved.

My father, our little town of Ìjẹ̀shà-Ìjẹ̀bú with its big history, my maternal grandfather, some aspects of numerology which could just be coincidental, but one cannot ignore patterns of a sort.

Ìjẹ̀shà-Ìjẹ̀bú or Òdo Àyányẹlú in Ogun State is not to be confused with Ìjẹ̀bú-Ìjẹ̀shà in Osun State exists with a history that could hair-raising as much as it is intriguing, that it leaves people from there either quite passionate about the place or seriously averse to being there. We all have been touched by an enduring aspect of that town that even my mother would pass through the town on her way to a consultation without stopping to see anyone.

It is the retirement home of my father and many of his peers, yet you can mistake the place for a stairway to heaven, but like my paternal grandmother who lived to over a hundred years old, longevity has blessed many even as tragedy has befallen some.

Ìjẹ̀shà-Ìjẹ̀bú became a project and a dream, its children, many of whom from my parents’ generation travelled abroad for studies returned with aspirations to build their village, give the upcoming generations better opportunities, and infest their children with the same enthusiasm. We all seemed to play along, as it was where we met with cousins, developed new friendships, and had amazing conversations with lively elderly people. We looked forward to visiting, but the novelty began to wear off.

The schism and falling away

In my case, it was sometime in the middle of 1985, we had gone to Ìjẹ̀shà-Ìjẹ̀bú for some event and then some of my friends invited me to party in another town. I went to ask my dad and he might have had his reasons, but he did not grant the permission for me to go, and I shamefacedly passed my regrets to my friends who from what I learnt had a very good time.

Much as I was a difficult teenager, I was not given to vices or the kind of criminality that would involve the law, I can say in many ways, I was quite restrained and more so with my religious inclinations, but between my father and I, there has always been this simmering conflict that by the end of that year, I left home and did not see my father for probably another 18 months after.

For that refusal of permission to go to that party, I swore to myself that if I ever were to return to Ìjẹ̀shà-Ìjẹ̀bú, it would be in a box. I have not returned for 37 years and in that time, I missed many significant events that would have required my presence there or thereabouts.

On reflection and possibility

Then maybe as I thought about this morning, there is an undercurrent of fear that if I do venture, that might be the case, I do not know, and I have not attempted to test out the premise. It has become a kind of handicap, and this is the first time I am sharing this information, for what it has done in terms of our relationship is my seeking to define myself so differently from my father as much as possible without totally succeeding in being that different.

However, with that recessed in my memory commanding my inclinations, great import has been that distance has helped avoidance along with other explanations that could be summoned to protect the situation I have created for myself.

After a morning of introspection, I did give my father a call, I might even see a path to visiting Nigeria after 31 years, I don’t know if I will see Ìjẹ̀shà-Ìjẹ̀bú again, but I can understand how a complete breakdown in communication and relationships can instigate lifelong consequences. Gosh, I have nieces and nephews I have only met online, I am known of, but who knows me?

Postscript: My father launched a book about the history of Ìjẹ̀shà-Ìjẹ̀bú in April this year, there is much to learn about who we are, where we are from and what defines us. I saw the draft and my copy is wending its way to me, he is a formidable and quite accomplished gentleman.

Part II: Ìjẹ̀shà-Ìjẹ̀bú: A time for healing

Let hope lift you up

Time looking back

Ten years looking forward can be like impossible to plan for as everything one might have purposed or predicted could have been derailed by the vicissitudes of life and circumstance, we seem to take each day as it comes working towards something and hoping to achieve much.

Looking back ten years, however, presents a different perspective and though one can elicit moments and situations as milestones that have passed, it almost seems like yesterday, whether coming through misfortune or otherwise.

If anything defines this same day ten years ago, it was the spirit of hope in the face of catastrophic loss, for the 1st of May 2012 was a bookend to my life experience where after cancer, the loss of status and means, I had lost my home of ten and a half years and was handing the keys over to a young couple who had bought my home for a song.

Blog: Thought Picnic: It's Goodbye to Oostelijke Handelskade 1121

Breaking away to rise

There was much I could dwell upon, but I decided instead to walk away, I needed to create new memories and write a better story from a situation that appeared to overwhelm my ability to begin to rebuild from the multitude of adversities that started in mid-2009 and continued a slow burn of ultimate realisation towards radical change almost 3 years later.

By the time I had sold my home for a loss, there was nothing left to keep me in The Netherlands and the impetus to depart and return to The UK against all other entreaties had begun. I did eventually leave in mid-August of 2012 and from then things took a turn for the better in health, in life, in work, and now in love.

Hope beyond the maelstrom

I have a strong witness, it is the witness of the power of hope in the midst of knowing that you are living to live well, that optimism has a drive that tells you with the determination that whatever you are going through shall pass, pass into the past, pass into history, pass into the making of a new story. I can witness that I have been blessed with goodness, mercy, favour, grace, fortune, opportunity, and new chances with the thrill of adventure and excitement.

You might have heard from many that you should never give up, and you should not, but sometimes, there is nothing to undergird that in your circumstances, it is like being caught in a hopeless, helpless situation. I can say, we are more caught by the limit of our ability to imagine beyond where we are at, it is the valley of the shadow of death, a shadow, it is, not death itself and like the Psalmist says, we walk through it and lay down in green pastures beside the still waters.

As long as there is life, let your soul be restored with possibilities beyond where you are at, and return after the passage of time to reflect on the fact that you had more capacity and strength than you ever knew you had to first face your storms and not be swept away by its ferocity, however long it lasted, to enter into the glowing sunshine and beauty of telling a better story. Shalom!

Thought Picnic: How our filters stymie our options

Nothing is for certain

Some things get me thinking about how we have great expectations for encounters in chance situations, setting up stringent requirements to be met, passed on as preferences that invariably lead to disappointment when the options we are presented with give us no choices to select from.

Much as we delude ourselves with the idea that we are open-minded and liberal, in practical terms, we are usually more conservative than would admit to ourselves about what we call preferences. The self-aggrandised level of myopia we select and live with eventually deprives us of the broader landscape of beauty that is laid before us.

Not everyone wins

Too many times, we behave like prospectors at a gold rush, highly optimistic that there is a fortune to be found, ready to till and turn the dirt for that elusive gem and coming up empty-handed after a long day of toil. Yet, we are undeterred hoping that the next day, or the next, or the one after would present in the eventuality that goal for which we might end all toil and witness a different outcome.

Over time, reality sets in that not all of us would be lucky, some might find a gem or two but the rest would steadily be approached by disillusionment as the steady erosion of optimism gives way to a truth we have batted away from the onset. That we arrived with bluster, we may not leave in a cluster, but at a point in stealth, we carry our story back to whence we came either to keep a new found grasp of reality or wait for another dreamy adventure to naught.

Experience teaches hard lessons

I see this is too many places in the quest for the many things that we seek to give life a sense of meaning and being, in career searches, in the need for companionship, or just the momentary fulfilment of lust, and there are many gold rush mines we can visit for which our desires and curiosity would never be sated.

One of life’s greatest lessons is one of contentment, an appreciation of what you have as opposed to what you desire or want, knowing from immemorial that you have a bird in hand rather than the two in the bush, or to paraphrase another saying, if you cannot have what you want; love what you already have.

Appreciate what you have got

Indeed, I need to constantly reassess my priorities and appreciate the many blessings that surround me daily, in the love of my life and our ultimate desire to set up home together. Whilst I would love things to be easier, that easier option may not materialise and we would have to make the best of what we have got for we are not in an impossible situation, we are just somewhere between the dream and the reality that would set things in motion for the next stage of our lives.

Sometimes, I have slapped myself on the cheek to clear my vision, a kind of reset that is usually not as necessary as it seems, if you have given yourself to some reflection and introspection. I have a clear idea of where I want to be, I just need to work at getting there sooner rather than later. Take down the filters and see things as they are, then in the clarity of that vision and perspective do not let the perfect get in the way of the good that you end up with nothing at all.

Be circumspect and realistic with your expectations such that you can manage your disappointments beyond disillusionment, you yourself the instruments of hope that can see beyond the mountain ranges that appear to make your journey an impossible quest to new accomplishments.

In the solitude of the solitary

It is just me

It is the silence, the quiet stillness in a place of solitude in the company of just oneself that you find a spectrum of just wanting to be alone and the dread of loneliness. Your thoughts oscillating without any uniformity between a desirous need and an acceptance of lack, it could be disconcerting.

This long weekend presents that very scenario where at one time there was the prospect of receiving guests that was postponed to the next month, at the one time you feel you should jump on a train just to feel the energy of a crowd from afar, the sight of strangers with some purpose giving you a signal that you still exist even if you are not noticed.

It is just so

Then, there is lethargy, an overwhelming sense of inertia, where normalcy is not entirely so, as at least you are somewhat engaged even if you are working from home, but presently you are not. The curtains remain as they always were, undrawn that the outside is a mystery when asked about the weather.

For one Miss Havisham and I can be soulmates on the same voyage, though mine is not out of misery or disappointment and the clocks have not been stopped. It may not be out of commission, quite likely one of omission, as I just allow things to be as they are and trundle on.

I could do some cooking, but it is a table set for one, I could watch television, but the discussion goes on in my mind, I might read something, and the recognition is mine alone, or listen to something on the radio to be taken to a place of nostalgia and new meaning.

It is just there

What I have been blessed with, though I am given the joy of communication, but I cannot use fully for the distance between us. I have to trust myself that I am fine, though I found out at one time that it could mess with my head and set my emotions in flux, I hope I get my funk sorted long before that which warms my heart presents.

For now, I sail, a lonely mariner on a boat in storms, keenly aware of where I am going, but unsure of when I would arrive. An albatross perches on the mast to indicate, I might have a long way to go, but the winds are in my favour, and I should soon reach a safe harbour and that is where I am heading.

A note to stupid self

A note to stupid self

For the day, I have lazed,
Quite completely unfazed,
From my bed, I did not raise,
Silly plans set ablaze.

In the hour that I did wander,
For the while, I had to ponder,
My instincts do still warn,
But ignored for me to mourn.

Into adventure, a risk to take,
My resolve I easily break,
A quota of steps to reach,
A lesson to me I teach.

The things that so appear,
In which we should be aware,
Sometimes are too concealed,
You’re lost when it’s revealed.

Chance can let one’s guard down,
Hindsight then makes you frown,
Once again you are a fool,
For breaking your own rule.

When I had the murderous cancer of denial

When I was in denial

Amongst the many other things, I find to do, this September week usually starting from the 20^th day of the month and on to the end does provide a time of reflection in many ways. Writing about the 20^th, I remember it as the day I got an HIV positive result confirmed from the week before in 2002.

As I reflect on the circumstances, it is quite strange that for years I had been taking tests but expressly said I did not want to know the result. How that could have served me any good, I cannot say, but either way, my wishes were respected in both the UK and the Netherlands. Whether that would have been negligent and unethical on the part of the medical personnel, if any of the previous tests proved positive, I cannot tell.

It was another 7 years before that diagnosis began to run its full effects on my physiology, my immune system was completely compromised, and I was now vulnerable and presenting opportunistic infections. That at the end of June, the loudest alarm bells of impeding danger was ignored is still something that bothers me.

When I was foolish

Suffice it to say, I was looking for a miracle, a sudden and spiritual Eureka moment when something I did out of faith or someone renowned of the calling would lay hands on me and I would be miraculously healed. Though, the healing would have been suspect as I had not to that point given myself to essential medical scrutiny first to confirm the conditions manifesting in me, before a confirmatory check proved the fact.

I was looking for a shortcut, absolving myself from any responsibility for my situation and in denial of the seriousness of my condition even as others were beginning to notice the rapid deterioration of my health. It took the better part of 3 months from the 22^nd June when I came down with shingles through July and August as fungating tumours formed on the sole of my left foot with associative pain that the only way I could walk on the foot was to have it firmly bandaged up, for me to come to my senses in a way.

When I was persuaded

The process eventually got me visiting my doctor who then expedited referrals to consultants that culminated in my admission to the hospital in the 22^nd of September, after which I began to understand what I was facing and the graveness of my situation.

There are many factors that contributed to my reticence, I was wishing and hoping, it would just go away, the real danger was, I could just have died, foolishly, stupidly, ignorantly, and unnecessarily, when there was much medicine could have done to help me.

Those factors, I need to find time to articulate, products of positive and negative influences, incomplete understanding of ideas, principles, doctrine and spiritual matters, religious naivety and the convenience of sticking my head in the sand.

The 18 nights I spent in the hospital 11 years ago are journaled and bookmarked in The Cancer Tales section of My Blog Themes.

 

Back to the cross with meaning to me

[]

Back to the place I know

In many ways, I am a creature of habit, many of the things I find a sense of comfort in I have written about especially when it comes to food and travel. However, one aspect that appears in my writings much as I would rather it reflected in expression than wear it on my sleeve is my spirituality.

It has a very Christian underpinning influenced by many denominations from which I have drawn strength and support through the good and the bad times where I find endurance, resilience, hope and expectation, knowing that things shall pass, and other things shall come to pass.

In that wealth of experience, I find unusually safe refuge from the turmoil around me, that I can return to my spiritual shelter like a treehouse in the garden away in silence to calm my soul is amazing.

Calm in the memory

Whilst I was chatting to my best friend, I cannot remember what made me search for Danniebelle Hall, a gospel singer and songwriter who passed on in 2000. In my personal prayer time back in 1988, I had a cassette tape of her songs, certain lyrics in her songs ministered life to my fragile soul. When she died, there was a particular song I could not get hold of, I probably last heard it in 1988.

At least, that is what I thought when my search showed up the song on YouTube. After my phone conversation, I played back the music repeatedly amazed I could remember most of the words whilst sorting out the mondegreens. There are periods of spiritual awakening that are recreated in returning to what I know and understand, like the tried and tested that gives me some renewal.

Recalling the times

It reminds me of one night Brian and I were at the Nobel Square in Cape Town, and this young man brought out his guitar and started playing gospel music, the songs of about 20 years ago, many from the Hillsong Music and Michael W. Smith catalogue, literally, all but two I remembered and sang along to.

In my times of meditation and seeking succour, there is a place for music from a certain place, like the minstrel strumming on a harp heralding a peaceful sense of being upon my thoughts, my mind, my soul, chasing worries and anxieties to forgotten places and reaffirming faith that makes miracles of the incomprehensible.

Waxing lyrically with effort

Whilst, I was at it, I decided to get the lyrics to What Can I Do from my hearing of the song, as I could not find any record online. Here goes and if you hear differently, help me with a comment. I always thought there was a refrain, but from the lyrical genius of this lady, nothing is really the same, then add the flourish of her vocal ability, I believe this song should be heard in choirs again.

Lyrics: What can I do?

What can I do?
To be of service Lord, to you,
How can I be pleasing in your sight?
I will give all that I am,
I’ll, I’ll do everything I can,
To show the world I love you,
With all my heart and mind.

Hmm, What can I do?
I just wanna be of service Lord, to you,
How can I be pleasing in your sight?
Here’s what I’m gonna do,
I’ll give you every, everything I am,
I’ll do everything I can,
To show the world I love you,
With all my heart and mind.

Whoa, What I am to some,
May not seem like much,
Oh, but what I am sure becomes,
Something great with just one touch of your hand,
So here, Lord, here I am,
Asking you.

What can I do?
What can I do?
I just wanna be of service Lord, to you,
How can I be pleasing in your sight?
I know what I’ll do,
I’ll give you everything I am,
And I’ll do everything I can,
I’ve gotta show the world I love you,
With all my heart and mind.

Whoa, What I am to some,
May not seem like much, Hey yeah!
But what I am sure becomes,
Something great with, all I need is,
One, one touch of the Master’s hand,
Hey, hey,
So here I am Lord,
I’m asking you.

What can I do?
Tell me what can I do?
Lord, to be of service to you,
How can I be pleasing in your sight?
I made up my mind,
I’m gonna give you every, every, everything I am,
I’ll do everything I can,
I wanna show the world I love ya,
You already know it,
But I gotta let the world, know I love you,
I sure do love you,
With all my heart and mind, I love you,
You saved my soul,
That’s why I love you,
You set me free,
(Lord, I love you)
I sure do love you,
You set me free,
I love you, Jeez,
I love you, I love you,
(Sure do love you)
You’ve been so good to me,
I love you, I love you,
With all of my heart, I sure do love you Jesus,
Yes I do,
(Lord I love you)
Sure do,
Lord you know I love you,
But I’ve gotta let the world know that I love you,
I love you, I love you, Jesus,
(Sure do love you)
(Love you Lord)
Oh! Because you’ve been so good to me,
You set me free,
(Sure do love you)
You open doors that I couldn’t see my way,
(Love you Lord)
And I love Jesus,
Somehow, I gotta tell the world,
That I love you, I love you,
(Lord, I love you)
O yes, I do,
How can I say it?
How can I say it?
I love you,
Oh, I love you Jesus,
(Sure do love you, love you Lord)

[To fade …]

What Can I Do? Written by Danniebelle Hall from the album Unmistakably Danniebelle.

From 2019 into 2020

Giving thanks

As we bid 2019 goodbye passing into the annals of the eternal past, I have much to be grateful for, being alive and celebrating 10 years after a full-blown AIDS and cancer diagnosis in September. I count myself blessed and fortunate to be in few who after my kind of diagnosis continues to thrive.

I was in Cape Town at the time, and I had great cause to give thanks in church for reaching that landmark decade.

As we took on the new year, I fell in love and though there was quite a distance between us, we found a way to make each moment matter, that in the course of this year, I have been back to South Africa in February, April, September and now December. I look forward to making my relationship with Brian the most significant and most relevant I have ever had; we hope for exciting things in 2020.

Focused south

On the work front, despite the promise of much activity, things were a bit slow, I probably only found engagement for about six months of the year. The fallow periods affording me the opportunities for quality romantic time.

For someone who happens to travel a lot, my compass has only pointed to the southern tip of Africa all year. It is my desire to visit the Netherlands to thank the consultants who handled my health crisis with such professionalism and empathy, it should happen soon. Other European cities as Berlin, Paris and Barcelona need a reacquaintance, much as Scandinavia remains undiscovered apart from Sweden.

Family keynotes

In October, we celebrated the 80^th birthday of our patriarch, my siblings did a sterling job of honouring him and making him proud, it was celebrated in the manner and style he wanted and we are thankful for his long life and rude health. The matriarch clocked 77^th though there were times when I offered to swear an affidavit on her behalf if out of envy, she wanted her 80^th early.

Other things that I got to do were to begin learning to play the piano, it is something I need to put more effort into. With a sudden furlough in mid-November, I took project management and enterprise architecture classes and went on to pass the certifications for both, all within a month.

Good year

2019 could easily have been a year of little, yet, counting my blessings, it was a year of great, exiting, magnificent and wonderful things. There was a supply for where there appeared to be little, I believe 2020 is a harbinger of greater things to come.

Generally, whilst it is unfortunate that the Brexit juggernaut is in full throttle, the world will not end, we will do well despite the odds. For all the dislike one might have for Boris Johnson, his success as Prime Minister would be for the good of all. How he intends to unite our nation with acts, activities, policy, and purpose, I am yet to see, beyond rhetoric, platitudes and verbiage.

Arise 2020

For love, we live; for happiness we strive; for blessing, we pray; for success, we desire; for great stories to tell, we yearn; and for truth and justice we fight.

May 2020 be the new beginning for things we could never have imagined possible, exceeding the realisation of our wildest dreams. I look to have Brian by my side through it all. Thank you for being here, being there and being where life begins to have new meaning.

Thought Picnic: Of character building moments

As I walk

Building character is an evolutionary activity that is under constant review, assessment, reflection and adjustment. At least, that is how I think about it.

One episode this morning caused me to reflect on some of my attitudes to certain situations. It had snowed in Reading and as the pavements had not been gritted, one had to be careful as one walked from the hotel to the railway station.

As I walk briskly, albeit, with a walking cane, I am careful and usually do not expect to have to manoeuvre run more able-bodied people on the street. I would tend to walk close to buildings as well as follow the crowd.

Don’t talk back

I turned the corner and almost walked into someone coming up against me, I made my excuses and he walked around me. The next person simply ignored what had happened in front of him and made to stand in my way when I swung my cane directing him to walk to the right of me as there was no space to the left of me.

He followed my guidance, but as he passed me, he said, “Don’t use your stick at me.”, I then looked back at him as said, “You’re being an idiot.” As the words came out of my mouth, I was both agitated and deflated. I regretted it.

The situation made me reflect on why I had to answer back because there was no reason to. Once he had followed my directions, whatever way he felt about it should have been left to him as I had achieved my goal of, standing my ground and keeping my lane.

Tackle and leave

I felt diminished by the unnecessary outburst and promised myself to do better. I have on many occasions set in motion an act with the aim of attaining a goal and left at that. Engagement beyond having instigated my action simply develops into unhealthy interactions one can do without.

It reminded me of one instance where travelling in the 1^st Class compartment of an international train, I could neither relax nor nap because a child was completely implacable and an unruly disturbance. I got up and loudly addressed the parent to see to their ward then sat down.

For 5 minutes the father abused and railed, cursed and vituperated vitriol to the point of exhaustion. I ignored him. By that time, the child was quiet, we all could relax and the journey ended peacefully. From the little intervention, I had achieved what everyone wanted, peace and quiet. I don't dislike kids, but where parents are not embarrassed enough for their kid's behaviour to be seen to do something about it. They do have to be called out.

Achieve the prize

My not engaging the father at all meant the situation did not escalate or degenerate into a breach of the peace. Yes, I took brickbats for it, it was completely worth it.

I can be a better man even if people cannot be reasonable or considerate when they encounter me. I do not have to revel in the uncouth just to impact them. Silence is golden and worth its weight in gold. That is the building of character, only engage when your aim is about to be defeated, else, leave, your aim achieved and your dignity intact.

Thought Picnic: Pearls of my heart trampled on by swine

After much reflection

I have been thinking about this for a while: aspects of the heart and mind in relation to people I have tried to love and build some sort of relationship with.

There are times I have wondered about why finding people with whom to have lasting, rewarding, happy and beautiful relationships has been difficult, if not impossible. Do I attract a certain kind of personality with flaws that are beyond tending, caring and nurturing to the point of individual self-fulfilment and mutual benefit?

Open heart, open hands

I am a hopeless romantic, quick to invest time, means, resources, heart and soul in people I find attractive. Many of whom are, in essence, really beautiful people until some situation exposes the baggage, the insecurities, the self-loathing, the illnesses and much else.

Yet, I do have great capacity to manage any of those issues; my arms are wide open to embrace, my ears ready to listen, my heart open to accommodate, and in all, it seems to lead to heartbreak. I live by the view that an open hand is one that is ready to receive too.

I appreciate that I have had such experiences in life that many would never encounter, regardless of whatever they achieve. I make no apology for the fact that I have had a life of opportunity, of privilege, of class, of access and much else.

I mean, I make no apology

That I manage simplicity and sophistication with ease is just part of my make-up, and I do not intend to pay some vicarious homage to any sort of asceticism of socialist equality when even looking at my hands, I can see that my fingers are not equal, but of different lengths to make my hands grip and grasp effectively.

I love people for who they are, and my somewhat strong personality would tend to lift anyone I have within my purview up; it does not preclude my willingness to try new experiences, even as there are standards that one maintains simply to redound quality to the joy of living.

Damaged people with unmanaged issues

My search for useful and true love needs to move out of the cohort of those who are too engrossed in battling their own demons to see the possibility of good things ahead of them. The few I have loved who have turned out to be unlovable, the complimented who cannot countenance honest praise because their lives are infused with criticism and excoriation. It has forced me to hold back when there is a lot more I can do.

One would hate to think there is a seething jealousy that inhibits them from showing and receiving affection; it is part of what I have seen. Inasmuch as I have been taken advantage of, I cannot condemn myself for the things that I have allowed. I offer love unconditionally and give everyone the chance to be themselves and even a better version of themselves, because that is how I was brought up.

My pearls trampled by swine

To give everyone the benefit of the doubt, think the best of everyone, give them all the chances to find the best of themselves, help them with every resource I have at my disposal to get beyond themselves. What it does for me is radical and amazing; it gives me stability and the platform from which to improve myself too.

However, back to the original thought, I have been wasting my time with men who do not deserve me. I have to return to loving myself more and, in the process, begin to understand that I deserve better than casting the pearls of my heart and soul to be trampled on by unlovable swine.