Right and wrong on planet Yellow Fluff

21/3/11

When I was a child, I had a very strong sense that there are some things that are right and some things that are wrong. Like my moral code was the right one. I am sure that it is not an uncommon childhood belief, but I think I probably held on to it for a long time.

I now know that life is so much more complicated than that, and that in fact there are all sorts of opinions, and everyone believes that theirs is the correct one.

And these opinions range from the ones that would make any human being cringe with disgust, like homicide, incest and torture; to the more mundane, and more acceptable, like war. (which, by the way, still makes me cringe).

The longer I live, the more I am convinced that I am the only one with my particular set of beliefs, and this sometimes makes me feel very lonely.

I had a very interesting socialist discussion about health care with a patient today. You see, I believe that health care should be free for all, regardless of colour, race, income, or even species. But I also know that my convictions, (and in the past, my eagerness to express them), have gotten me into trouble. I have come to realise that I am a minority. In this little planet known as Yellow Fluff.
An ex-boyfriend sent me a friend request after 9 months (9 months!!!!!) of silence.
Did he just expect me to jump for joy and accept that he would be privy to images of my children, my friends, my life, after dumping me ON THE PHONE???????
See what I mean? Craziness of the world, craziness of people.

Some people reading this might think that it was a really good/noble/brave thing he did to contact me after so long to say that he enjoyed my company and that he would like to be my friend. Well, he obviously has not visited the planet Yellow Fluff, not really. That planet where temperatures soar well beyond 100C, fire spits out of small volcanoes, and so on.
People just do things differently, and think so differently. I know it makes the world more exciting, and varied. But it makes being an adult very complicated. Nothing is a straight line, nothing is a primary colour.

This is why I adore my friends. People who I have chosen to love; and my family, who in the most part have shared the same experiences that I have; and therefore understand better than others where my beliefs came from. And those people who are my chosen family, my close friends.

I have friends who would cringe at my political and social ideals, I have friends who think that my distaste of eating meat is silly, I have friends who believe in God, I have friends who believe in capital punishment, and others still who drink lots of alcohol, or are teetotallers. I have friends who believe that the only good cat is a flat cat, or that the only way to have a dog is on the barbie (that was a joke!).

But I guess the common denominator of all the people that I choose to count as my friends is that these are people that I respect, admire, look up to. People who make me laugh, or that I choose to journey with. People who make my life better in one way or another. I think that people don't need to think like me to be right. I believe in what is right for people. I believe in conviction. I love confidence.
But I despise silence as a form of communication. It is empty, meaningless, and a passive aggressive dishonesty that I cannot abide.
I think all my friends are great communicators.
But who says I am right? My rules only apply on my little planet.

Carpe Diem

1/3/2011


We are often told to count our blessings. We teach our children to count our blessings, we are reminded by pop culture to be grateful. How many of us actually are grateful and make a point to be just a little bit grateful?
I have learnt to be.
It is often when we are faced by some dilemma or other that we suddenly realise that we need to count our blessings, daily, every moment, every breath.
I have tried to live my adult life this way, being grateful, enjoy every moment, seize the day.
Every day I give people news, a lot of the time it is bad news; and as much as this is a cliché, it is not until one stares death straight in the face that we actually remember to breathe just a little bit deeper the next day.
My father died young, and for a few years after that, I used to panic for my children's safety, for my own safety, for my mum's health. Not a day went by that I would think about my own mortality, and after a while, I had to let it go. Because awareness does not necessarily equate acceptance. One can live in panic and the resulting emotions are not pleasant.
In the last few months, I have met someone who lost a child of nine, cared for a young cancer patient myself, witnessed two of my long term patients' passing, heard of a parent of the school's demise in a car accident, heard of flood victims, cyclone victims and earthquake victims. Never mind the people who die daily and whose news are simply buried with the thousands of other souls whose time has arrived.
Because of the almost daily news, we certainly do grow somewhat resistant to the news.
My cat brings me dead mice, pigeons. Often I find them only when they smell. I know, it is disgusting, but it also means that I can recognise the smell of death. A walk in the playground with the kids can be interrupted by the unmistakeable aroma of death; a reminder.

When I think about death, about my own mortality, faced by it, my only thought is life.

It is the most unusual thing. I think about those I love and live for, I think about the mark I make day to day on those I work with, socialise with. I think about what I have written and hope that I have more time left to live so I can fill more pages with my thoughts.
I think about my kids, and my cats, and my sisters, and my beautiful niece and nephews. My lovely friends who share my life. I think about all the progress that I have made in my life, about my psyche and how proud of it I am these days. I think about how healthy I feel when I run at the gym, and how much laughter I manage to fit in to a boring day at work.
I think about how many people I know who appreciate me, and the difference that I manage to make in my own little corner of the world.

So, I think about life, how much I love life, and how worthwhile the journey is.
I think I am grateful.
Be grateful, live every day, make it all worth it. I think it is.