An Open Letter to All those to Whom I Offered Unsolicited Advice:

I am truly sorry. It was done with the best of intentions, I saw your pain and wanted to make it better. I wanted you to stop being in pain. I thought the way to help was to give you the benefit of my experience and wisdom. I see now how mistaken I have been in taking that approach. Actually, what you needed was a hug, a cup of tea and a genuinely listening ear. I am sorry that I failed you and will try harder from now on.

Lots of love

Roses

This letter is overdue. It comes out of a cup of tea a couple of Thursdays ago with Stephen W, an NLP coach as we spent the afternoon putting the world to rights and talking about the changing world of Personal Development. One of the things we discussed was what people need when they sit down and go "OMG life sucks."

Do they need interventions? Better coping strategies? A blank cheque? No. Actually, what they need is a friend. Some one to sit with them and listen without judgement or advice. People by in large, don't need fixing, they aren't broken. Life happens and people make the best decisions they can given their experiences up to that point and in the circumstances. 

By in large, I'm not broken. I don't need fixing. Life happened and I made the best decisions I could given my experiences up to this point and in these circumstances. I only know how to be Roses in this world. I don't know how to be you. I'm sorry if I tried to impose my experience on you in your time of need. 

It happened to me a couple of days ago. 

It was delivered with the best of intentions. The unsolicited advice. 

I was told I would only really be happy once I accepted the situation with Dave. Once I came to terms with the cancer and the inevitable outcome. Death I was told, comes for us all. We are all going to die.

As I said, the best of intentions.

Here's the thing. Since December, I've been living with the fear, sorrow, disappointment and grief. I don't have the cancer, it's not me fighting for my life. It isn't about me, and yet, it is. It is about how well I keep it together. How well I sort through my To Do List to do the crucial things first, the essential things next and to be able to shelve the important things so I can rest, until they become crucial or essential. It is about how well I can hold my courage, and then to be kind to myself, when fear overcomes and makes me want to run away to the other side of the world or into a book or ranting on Facebook, so I don't have to deal with my feelings. 

He talked about "acceptance". I think I'm going to have to sit him down and investigate his definition of acceptance. I know what's coming. I've been there before. I have been with three of my parents as they faded and died. Here's the thing, I don't like it. And I don't have to like it. Perhaps it's just a misunderstanding of the concept of acceptance on my part. Over the next few days, I'm going to explore it further. Acceptance is bandied around a lot, a bit like "closure". 

The thing is: I'm doing the best I can. If I think something will help, I do it. The fact of the matter is: this is a truly shitty situation and the only thing that will get me through this is by living in the moment and being open to what comes. I can't do any more. I physically and emotionally cannot. 

All his well-meaning advice did was make me feel more inadequate than I did before he opened his mouth, and resentful of his observations of my fragility and vulnerability. 

It made me aware of the times I have done that to my friends. I don't want to make that mistake again. I'm sorry. I truly am.

Wear Sunscreen

I am the Class of '99. I thought at the time this was a fairly groovy tune. I've printed this out and stuck it around me, to remind myself of the important things. So, in my usual fashion, I thought I'd share.

Ladies and Gentlemen of the Class of ’99: wear sunscreen.



If I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be it. The long term benefits of sunscreen have been proved by scientists whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable than my own meandering experience. I will dispense this advice now:


Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth. Oh never mind; you will not understand the power and beauty of your youth until they have faded. But trust me, in 20 years you’ll look back at photos of yourself and recall in a way you can’t grasp now, how much possibility lay before you and how fabulous you really looked. You are not as fat as you imagine.


Don’t worry about the future. Or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubblegum. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind; the kind that blindsides you at 4pm on some idle Tuesday.


Do one thing every day that scares you.


Sing


Don’t be reckless with other people’s hearts, don’t put up with people who are reckless with yours.


Floss


Don’t waste your time on jealousy. Sometimes you’re ahead, sometimes you’re behind, the race is long. And in the end, it’s only with yourself.


Remember the compliments you receive, forget the insults; if you succeed in doing this, tell me how.


Keep your old love letters; throw away your old bank statements.


Stretch


Don’t feel guilty if you don’t know what you want to do with your life. The most interesting people I know didn’t know at 22 what they wanted to do with their lives. Some of the most interesting 40 year olds I know still don’t.


Get plenty of calcium


Be kind to your knees; you’ll miss them when they’re gone.


Maybe you’ll marry, maybe you won’t. Maybe you’ll have children, maybe you won’t. Maybe you’ll divorce at 40, maybe you’ll dance the funky chicken on your 75th wedding anniversary. Whatever you do, don’t congratulate yourself too much or berate yourself either – your choices are half chance, so are everybody else’s.


Enjoy your body, use it every way you can. Don’t be afraid of it, or what other people think of it, it’s the greatest instrument you’ll ever own.


Dance. Even if you have nowhere to do it but in your own living room.


Read the directions, even if you don’t follow them.


Do NOT read beauty magazines, they will only make you feel ugly.


Get to know your parents; you never know when they’ll be gone for good. Be nice to your siblings; they are the best link to your past and the people most likely to stick with you in the future. Understand that friends come and go, but for the precious few you should hold on. Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography and lifestyle because the older you get, the more you need the people you knew when you were young.


Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard. Live in Northern California once, but leave before it makes you soft.


Travel


Accept certain inalienable truths, prices will rise, politicians will philander, you too will get old, and when you do, you’ll fantasize that when you were young prices were reasonable, politicians were noble and children respected their elders.


Respect your elders


Don’t expect anyone else to support you. Maybe you have a trust fund, maybe you’ll have a wealthy spouse; but you never know when either one might run out.


Don’t mess too much with your hair, or by the time you're 40, it will look 85.


Be careful whose advice you buy, but, be patient with those who supply it. Advice is a form of nostalgia. Dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts and recycling it for more than it’s worth.


But trust me on the sunscreen.

Save Me!

So, the Government want to make tobacco packets plain. Apparently, it will make it less 'sexy', less attractive to smokers and wannabe smokers. Really? Funnily enough, I don't smoke because of the cool factor. I don't think smoking makes me sexy. Really. I don't smoke the brand of rolling tobacco I do, because of the packaging. I wouldn't care if it was white or if they made the pouches pink and sparkly. 

I'm so damned tired of the constant nagging. Believe me when I say, I understand the hazards. I've seen the effects first hand. And if watching my dad die from lung cancer didn't make me stop immediately, then forcing tobacco companies to change their packaging to plain, really isn't going to make the damnedest bit of difference to my smoking habits. I'm tired of being tutted at, lectured and made to feel like a social pariah. I will stop when I'm ready and nagging me is only going to make me roll and light up another one. 

You see, here's the thing: I'm an adult. It means I get to make decisions for myself. Good, bad and indifferent.

I'm getting heartily fed up of scaremongering in the media. I had a look on-line and unfortunately I can't find these ads, you'll have to take it on faith they exist. Apparently, there are germs that live on the top of hand wash dispensers. Oh yes, ladies and gentlemen. This is Bad. The company involved is busy marketing one of these motion-sensitive dispensers for the home. 

For anyone who got bullied into buying one of those, to you I say PT Barnum was right. Sucker!

Let's look at this logically. The product is sold as an anti-bacterial hand wash and claims to kill 99.9% of all germs. So when do you touch the pump of the hand wash? Oh, just before you wash your hands. Hopefully, when you wash your hands you'll do a good enough job to get rid of those 99.9% germs. Where exactly does this need for a hands-free dispenser come from?

Last night, I sat with my jaw open watching an ad for a stain and anti-bacterial clothes detergent. Not only do I need an anti-bacterial surface cleanser, but now I have to wash my clothes with anti-bacterial soap powder. Great.

Where does this fear come from? How the hell did the human race survive this long in this wilderness of germs? I mean, how did I make it to adulthood washing my hands with a scummy soap bar (when I bothered to wash my hands at all)? Did I tell you I grew up with four dogs and a cat that used to sit hopefully next to my mother on the counter as she prepared food (the cat, not the dogs. They used to sit round her feet)? I played in a drain where people threw their trash. I drank water from a hosepipe. I used to share food with the dogs and let me tell you, labradors are known for showing their gratitude with lots of tongue. How did I survive?

Now, don't get me wrong, I can be sarky about this because I don't have a compromised immune system. But people with compromised immune systems do not make up the majority of the populace. Most of us walking around, are relatively hail and hearty. It's normal to get a cold. To sometimes not feel well. What isn't normal is this whole 'I need to keep going' business. If you're ill, be mean, keep it to yourself. Don't carry on as normal, don't go into work and share it with everyone. This, I saw first hand. One person comes into work with a bug and next minute you know, everyone's pretty much got it. Employers, take note: instead of having one person off ill, you have a room full of sick people and how productive are they? Really? Not very. They're too busy mustering the energy to remain upright. I guarantee you, the mistakes they've made those 5 days they came in ill, would have been best avoided by having a couple of days off in bed.

Perhaps the marketing people have got it all wrong. They should be selling the germ warfare stuff to the workplace.

Oh look, this has been a post in two rants. It's a Buy One Get One Free special offer. You lucky, lucky people. Have a good week. Try not to kill anyone.

Life in the Fast Lane

I don't know how I do it, I really don't. After another day, trying to single-handedly rescue the failing British economy, I've come home and spent the evening painting my nails. I bet you wish you had my life, don't you?

I spent a couple of days oop North with the Viking, which was lovely. He's doing well and is really coming in to his own at work now; it's great seeing the way his confidence has grown. I think the Service is lucky to have him. Despite our change in circumstances, it was good to see him and spend some time away from my flat and city.

On the drive back home I had the time to start thinking about my New Year's Resolutions. Normally, I avoid making them because I know I'll just carry on as normal. This coming year, it's time to do something different. I'm setting myself some goals and I intend, with your help (as in nagging and encouragement) I'll achieve them.

I know round is a shape, and a very nice one at that, but I'd really like to lose a stone. I would like to become a lot fitter as well. To that end, I have purchased myself a tankini (keeps the wobbly bits in check) and I intend to go swimming a couple times a week. I'm also going to pick up the exercise dvds again. As you know, I don't do gyms, I find them way too scary, and I have a good exercise dvd collection, so I have no reason not to start working out regularly.

Boots always say 'change one thing', rather than try to make wholesale changes. So my one thing this coming month will be to move more. Salsa, swimming and regular workouts. Once those are happening, then I'll look at the diet thing.

I've put it out there...I can't wuss out of it now.

What are your New Year's Resolutions? Tell me and I can be your cheerleader, as you become mine. Together we can do it!*

*perhaps I've been watching too much Dr Phil?

Red Shoes and Wedding Dresses

Hah! Made you blink! :-)

Seriously though, I have been scouring the shops for a dress to wear to Alix's wedding. In the House of Frasier I found one, with a matching cardigan. Perfect in every which way but one. There is quite a lot of red in the dress; which means I'm in a bit of a shoe dilemma. The dress is white with red flowers and a red sash, so obviously I have to get shoes to match. I still remember when it was fashionable to take the piss out of white stilettos, and I still think they look naff; and the more WAGs wear them, the more I think so. Which means I have to find red shoes. Not a problem, you think. Why is this worth a blog posting, you think.

Except I've realised that red shoes are a little bit naughty.

I've been going from shop to shop looking at red shoes in all their glory and I couldn't figure out why I was so reticent. Then today it gradually dawned on me why. Red shoes are temptation. They are for naughty women. This is why I have been putting off buying the fabulous dress, because I'd have to buy naughty shoes.

Think about it. The Red Shoes is a folk-tale about a girl who loved to dance and loved red shoes. That didn't have a happy ending. She ended up a footless penitent. A cautionary tale for women who like to boogy with deviant footwear, I feel.

Which made me think about life, the universe and where I am in this cosmic puzzle. I still don't have the answers to most of my questions, and that's pretty cool. The journey is ever so much fun, and I'm certainly not bored yet.

Any ideas where to get a fabulous pair of naughty shoes? Preferably with ankle breaking heels and tiny straps, sparkles always appreciated.

Taking Advice

All my non-virtual friends will tell you, that I know how to give good, sensible advice. My advice is considered, rational and smart. My friends will also tell you, I'm rubbish at taking it. Until recently. I am learning to follow my instincts. I have to say, it's a bit weird. Yes, I'm still spouting advice at any given moment, but I am becoming more aware that people tend to do things in their own way, in their own time. And actually, it's a bit of wasted breath trying to get them to do 'the sensible thing'.

The advice I took? I took my cat to the vet, as per Dianne's advice. I'm really chuffed I did. Though I would say that the cat is still unimpressed with the whole procedure; she's not keen on injections. She had a steriod injection for the scratching, plus this new whizzy Front-line, plus a spray to do the flat, plus a flea comb.

If you really want my advice, the best way to spend a Friday night is on the kitchen floor with a bowl of hot water and several drops of lavender oil, a flea comb, and a scratching cat. Words fail to describe how satisfying it is to comb the little buggers out of her coat and drown them. The cat purred so much I was sure she was going to hurt her throat. The down side is that for every flea we took off of her, there are probably another 90 in the carpet somewhere.

But not for long. Tomorrow is my day off (the first day off for 6 days) and boy and I will be attending to the fleas. We will have to read the instructions on the tin, apparently this stuff is scary, kills all sorts of creepy-crawlies. Unfortunately, it does mean I have to do the laundry so I can hoover the floor.

I'm sure you never intended to stop by to read about my de-fleaing adventures, I am sorry. But next week I go onto my part-time hours and if I don't do some college work soon, I'm going to get my butt seriously kicked. So I promise, normal service will be resumed.