Regrets – I Have A Few

Recently I attended the funeral of an old college friend.  ‘Old’ if mid-50s qualifies for that epithet, ‘college’ because that’s undoubtedly where we met but ‘friend’ – what exactly does that mean?

We were certainly friends at college.  We shared a house, spent all our weekdays in the same classes – normally siting next to each other – and found ourselves drinking together every night and every weekend.

But then college finished and we all went our separate ways to work for newspapers all over the UK.  There were a couple of reunions, and in recent years, an attempt to organise a Christmas lunch for those within travelling distance of London.  The fact that this year it was not held until February speaks volumes about the event – and our organisational skills.

So all in all, I have probably seen my ‘friend’ twice, possibly three times, in almost 40 years.  Not surprisingly I knew almost nothing about him, his wife, his family, his job, his interests, hobbies or the kind of man he’d become after he stopped being the twenty-year-old journalism student I knew.  But yet his death hit me quite hard, and it seems to have had a similar effect on the rest of our group.

True, he was ’the first of the gang to die’ and we all got a nasty taste of our own mortality, and he was also a thoroughly nice bloke – at college and by all accounts throughout the rest of his life.  But for me, it was something more.  It was the realisation we’d all missed the opportunity to build on what we had at college.  We’d been far too quick to throw it all away in pursuit of our careers, even though it was a shared career in journalism – apart from one guy who became an air traffic controller (don’t ask).  We’d severed friendships and relationships in search of other friendships and relationships.  We’d dismissed common experiences and shared memories without a second thought, and yet almost 40 years on, four of us spent a couple of hours at the wake remembering and re-living those experiences to the best of our failing memories. And perhaps the most surprising thing of all was just how easily we could all joke, tease, insult and talk to each other as if we’d been together every day since college.  There was no strangeness, no awkward silences or periods where we weren’t sure how someone would react to a bad taste comment.  We were all still friends and apparently always had been, despite the separation

I always used to tell myself that the lyrics of ‘My Way’ would be an appropriate epitaph for my life, and to an extent, I think they still are.  But I’m becoming more troubled with the lines:

‘Regrets, I’ve had a few;
But then again, too few to mention.’

The number of regrets may not be huge, but I’m beginning to wonder if the scale of them might be. Have I always prioritised the right things?  Have I spent enough time trying to see the other side of the argument, to see things from other people’s perspective?  Have I made enough time for others?  Have I worked hard enough on friendships and relationships?

I’m not going to tear apart my life here and now – this is already an incredible amount of soul-searching and sharing for an ordinary guy who has been brought up on the northern version of the Nike motto – ‘Just Git On Wi It’.  But I am going to reflect on one thing which has been troubling me since I sat in that packed church to say a final farewell to a guy I’d effectively said goodbye to almost 40 years earlier – and never looked back.  We were all taken by how full the church was, with people who’ve shared his life in many different ways.  And I appreciate the funerals of younger people tend to be better attended than those of older people, due to how much more shocking those deaths often are and also the diminishing number of friends and colleagues around to attend the funerals of octogenarians.  But nevertheless, it made me speculate on how many people would attend my funeral, and I have to conclude I don’t think it would be anywhere near that many.  Not that I’m too bothered by the attendance of an event I don’t even want to be at myself, but it made me evaluate my friendships.

I know a lot of people from all over the world, but like all journalists with a bulging contacts book, how many have I worked to convert from acquaintances to friends?  Not enough!  I never attended either of the two college reunions (if I’m honest I’m not even sure how many there have been) and I only attended a few of the Christmas lunches.  I’m know I was working abroad for some of the lunches, but I can no longer remember why I couldn’t attend the others, or any of the reunions.  What about all the other social events I didn’t attend?  What about the quick coffee, the quiet drink, the short chat in the corridor?  What about remembering to ask how someone was feeling?  What about inquiring about a sick partner or child?  I’m sure I had a good reason – it just doesn’t seem like too good a reason now.

The Barefoot Bohemian.

 
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It’s A Goal!

I’m a big believer in beliefs and in setting goals.  I’m also a big fan of making lists. In fact I could probably make a list of ten reasons why you should have beliefs and goals.  Or ten reasons why making lists is a good idea.

I’m not necessarily talking about religious or spiritual beliefs, although some of my comments would apply to those beliefs too.  And I’m not talking about those lists which exist more for the existence of the list than to help us remember something, or to make our day more efficient.  You know the kind of lists I mean:

  1. Wake up
  2. Get out of bed
  3. Clean teeth
  4. etc etc

Brilliant! Five minutes into the day and three items ticked off already.  Fortunate the first one was achieved or the day would probably not have turned out quite as productive.

The beliefs and goals I’m talking about are the things you think, the things you tell yourself, regardless of whether you would openly admit to believing them.

How do you speak to yourself and what sort of things are you saying?  Those are two very important questions which you’ve probably never considered before. You hear the things you say to yourself more than the things you hear from anyone else – including nagging partners – because you can keep repeating things to yourself long after others have stopped talking, in your sleep at times.

If you are constantly telling yourself you won’t be able to do something there’s a wealth of evidence to prove you’ll be right – you won’t.  That doesn’t mean just repeating something as a mantra will automatically make it happen but it’s more likely to.  See my comments about positivity in my last post – Ashes to Ashes.

It’s also more likely to happen if you make yourself accountable, tell a friend or family member about your goal, write it down, set a deadline for it to be completed or if it’s a long term project, set progress milestones.  These are all common, and well-known techniques for project management which can be applied to our lives.  But thought should also be given to the kind of targets or goals you’re setting yourself.

For Christmas 2013 I wanted – and was bought because I’m a luck boy – a Nike Fuelband.  That’s a bracelet which monitors your movement throughout the day and gives you a score based on your activity levels.  It can prompt you to move if you’ve been inactive for too long and you can set a daily goal which is your target for the day.  (Other similar devices are available :-))  It doesn’t get you fitter but it’s a painless kick up the backside to remind you to move.

What was interesting to me about using the device in the context of goals and targets was that if you do something like play golf or run, you are almost certain to hit a daily target of 3500 (don’t worry what the units are – they are a Nike creation).  However, if you’re not able to do any sport that day, or are travelling for most of the day, it’s difficult.  There have been many days I’ve found myself running up and down stairs at 2300 or walking round and round airports to get the last few points to hit my target.

The dilemma is where do you set the target?  Set it too low and it doesn’t really push you to achieve – so it’s not really an incentive.  Set it too high and you are certain to fail on some days.  What I found as my streak of days of achieving my target grew into months was that the target had become the main goal, not the activity which led to it.  And so after about six months I reduced the target to 3200.  This made it slightly easier to hit on non-sporty days but believe me it’s still a reasonable target.  As a result I managed to complete a year of hitting my target everyday.

I accept I am a little obsessive about some things – I prefer to call it driven – but the goal of getting a full 365 days of my target simply took over from all the other purposes of the device.  For the record I still wear it and try to hit my target but I’m not stressed is I fall short some days when normal life takes over and makes exercise difficult.

A similar example of the process taking over from the purpose and resulting in me feeling trapped is my approach to the lottery.  I have been doing the lottery since it started – you’ve got to be in it to win it, right?  How else is my life going to change into the hedonistic ideal I’m fantasising about?  And I’ve used the same numbers.  I know them off by heart and it makes renewing my entry very simple.  But now I can’t stop because I would know if those numbers came up and I hadn’t entered that week.  How gutted would I be to see my 14 million to one chance disappear because I took a break or saved a couple of pounds?  A perfect client for Camelot.

You may think these are very ‘first world problems’  and I’d be the first to agree but I’ve used them because I think they are typical of the kind of things we can get ourselves trapped in, as well as some far more important things.

Do we continue going to this society or this club because we’ve been going every month without missing for x number or months or years?  I’m sure there are similar examples in your life.  But what if we simply did what we wanted, without adding the pressure of habit then we’d have more time and we could use the positive benefits of habit for other things to create real worthwhile change in our lives.  I think it’s important to keep sight of the purpose – the destination – and don’t let the process or journey become the main goal.  Sure you need to enjoy the journey and not simply be fixated on the destination but we need a clear idea of where we’re trying to get to, or who knows where we’ll end up.

It’s about making manageable changes, slowly and constantly, because then it’s sustainable.  I hear people say they are going to start a positive habit and instead of saying they are going to do it five minutes a day, or do it three times a week – which is manageable and sustainable – they go at it like a bull in china shop and try to do 30 minutes a day or do it for 6-7 days a week.  And then they are surprised when they lose steam and give up after a short period.  Diets fall foul of similar pitfalls – but you know my thoughts on diets too.

So in my experience the lists and goals which work for people are when they break up their long term goal into daily or weekly targets which are achievable but not easy, they write them on a list to keep track of their achievements and they make themselves accountable in some way to achieve the goals.  But perhaps most importantly is they make sure the daily or weekly list is not overwhelming, and if they achieve it sooner one day then they reward themselves rather than adding more tasks for the day.  And if one day or week there are some unachieved goals, that’s not a failure.  Simply rewrite your list for the next day or week to accommodate those tasks.  It’s important for you to see achievement and progress however small because it’s those small incremental steps that lead to real change.  As World Record endurance athlete Stu Mittleman said:

“I never ran 1000 miles.  I could never have done that.  I ran one mile 1000 times.”

Good Luck
The Barefoot Bohemian.

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Ashes to Ashes – Lesson For Life

So England have just regained The Ashes – something that prompted me to post a little friendly jibe at my Aussie friends on Facebook.  Why did I bother?  I don’t particularly like cricket.  I don’t follow it as a sport.  I don’t even know all the English team.  In fact I only ever pay attention to the result of The Ashes matches.

I think I did it because they care so much and would delight in rubbing my nose in an English defeat.  So I guess it’s just petty boy banter then.  But it made me think about the different approaches to sport and whether that could be a lesson for life.

Firstly why do the Aussies care so much about The Ashes?  I think it’s partly an enduring connection to the motherland even if the relationship is now more like a rebellious teenager goading their seemingly stuck-in-the-mud parents.  It’s partly their delight in performing well on a world stage – particularly with a small population as they endlessly point out to anyone who is still listening by this point.  It’s partly their relentless drive to achieve in any field and it’s partly because they love poking fun at the Poms.

But running under all that is a strong belief in positivity and they genuinely believe they will win despite the odds or predictions of experts.  They are masters of inner talk, of visualisation and of determination.  Perhaps there’s an argument that this stems from their pioneer past – at least for those who chose to go there voluntarily.  I think it’s more about their approach to sport in schools, and to life in general.  They simply don’t have the same history of inequality and lack of opportunities.  (Yes I know I’m conveniently ignoring the issue of the Aborigines – not because i’m unsympathetic or dismissive – I just don’t think it fits into this, so please bear with me).  So they see every Aussie team as a possible world beater and they go with that belief until they are proved wrong – if they are proved wrong!

So what do we English do differently? (and I’m deliberately excluding our celtic neighbours because I think they do have a different approach).  Well we love to build up sporting heroes, or icons in any field, and then we delight in tearing them down.  Before every tournament our media is full of stories about how we are finally going to be world leaders, often despite the evidence of past performances.  How many times was Tim Henman about to win Wimbledon?  How many times were the English football going to heal what will be 50 years of hurt next year?  And yet take the temperature in any pub and you’ll get a very different story.  We know most of these teams or players are not world class and we prepare ourselves for defeat, avoiding humiliation if possible.

So we have two contrasting approaches to sport – and I would argue to life in general.  The Aussies think positively, visualise success and stop at nothing in their attempts to achieve it.  The English fear the worst, hope for the best, and our overriding goal seems to be avoiding embarrassment.  We’d much prefer giving the impression we’ve done our best and missed out narrowly than really going for it and getting a battering for our efforts.  The Terry Butcher bloody bandage image of sporting resilience now seems to be sadly lacking from many of our sporting heroes.  I’m sure there’s another article in the possible reasons for this – our approach to competitiveness, money in sport, fear of failure etc etc

So which is better if we move outside the world of sport and think of this in terms of everyday life?  As usual I think the answer lies somewhere between the two.  I’m a massive advocate of positive thinking, removing negativity and visualisation etc.  But I also strongly believe this is not enough and on its own rarely results in positive changes to people’s lives.  I believe it needs to be tempered by realism.  No amount of positive thinking or visualising me being able to jump off a tall building and fly is ever going to make it happen.   That’s why losing weight or stopping smoking using willpower alone is very difficult.  Some people mistake realism for negativity.  Yes it can be, if it’s ‘unrealistic realism’ or if it’s just placing unnecessary obstacles in your way.  But identifying real obstacles or difficulties you are going to face and tackling those effectively is positive.  It shows your determination to achieve your goals and in my experience this is a far more effective way of making changes and getting where you want to be.  And if that means you need some help then ask for it.

So should we change our approaches to our sporting teams?  Of course not – it would take all the fun out of whipping the Aussies by an innings and 78 runs.  And after all, the Rugby World Cup is just around the corner where Australia are ranked third in the world, making them more likely to win than England, who are fourth.  (See what I’ve already started to do there?)  So let’s see if favourite status fails them again.  Perhaps they can spend the extra few weeks of not having The Ashes to worry about to come up with a reasonable justification for their usual low population argument when they consider the teams ranked 1 and 2 have significantly fewer people.  (Australia – 24 million New Zealand – 4.6 million Ireland – 5 million).  I’m just saying ……. we love you really but you’ll never get me to admit it.

Good Luck
Barefoot Bohemian

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And Then You Go And Spoil It All…

After a gap of far too long it’s perhaps a little odd that I have decided to mark my return with an article about nastiness. But then if you didn’t appreciate ‘odd’ you probably wouldn’t be reading this blog anyway.

It was prompted by a reminder of how unnecessarily nasty people can get, often for little or no reason.  This got me thinking whether nastiness could ever be justified and whether being nasty says more about the state of mind of the ‘nastor’ than the contents of the nasty comments say about the ‘nastee’. (I know those aren’t real words – but they might be now).

So when do people usually resort to nastiness?

  1. I guess the most obvious example is because they are simply a nasty person.  You know the type – they generalise and exaggerate the truth to make a nasty dig at you, often when you’re at your most vulnerable.  They keep you permanently on edge, unsure how they will react and you are always waiting for the nastiness to ooze out and poison the conversation.  Quite often they project their views on to you with comments like “I don’t think you like me” or “Why are you always so mean to me?”.  So what do you do about these people?  Well first, take a look at your own actions and see if you did anything to provoke this behaviour, try to see the situation from their perspective and decide if this is an isolated display of nastiness, a misunderstanding, or if they really are an inherently nasty person – and to be fair there aren’t that many of these around but they are out there! If you think it’s a one-off then speak to them and try to sort things out.  If you’re convinced they are just a nasty piece of work then move on my friend, you already have a perfectly good arsehole and life is way too short to surround yourself with any more.
  2. I think the next most common example is – when the subject of the nastiness (nastee) deserves it and I suppose we have to accept there may be occasions when this is justified. But how often can we truly say a person’s actions or comments are so heinous that they deserve both barrels of nasty vitriol?  I suppose the test of this is how you will feel about the event months later.  Does it really merit the abuse you dished out?  If the answer is ‘yes’ then blast away, don’t let me stop you giving the bas@ard what they seemingly so richly deserve.  If the answer is ‘no’ then perhaps you just lowered yourself to their level without just cause and you have learned to hold back a little next time.
  3. Another occasion is when the nastor thinks it will make them feel better about whatever has happened.  They see themselves as the victim and only a rich dose of venom will right the wrong. This is the “I gave them a piece of my mind’ syndrome.  Be careful about this, often you don’t have enough mind to be giving it away to every Tom, Dick or Harry especially when it rarely makes any difference to the outcome of the disagreement.  And think about when you’ve done this – did you actually feel better or did it leave you more shaken, upset and struggling to convince yourself you feel better for saying what you said?
  4. Then there is the time when the nastor needs to feel justified in their actions and so is trying to provoke a response from the nastee.  If the nastee responds with a similar outburst then the original nastor can feel their attack was eminently justified – in fact mild by comparison and it ‘proves’ what a thoroughly unpleasant person the nastee is and so they merit the nastiness (see point 2).  It is incredible how determined some people can be in pursuit of this self-justification, even doggedly continuing as if the nastee is taking issue with them when in fact he/she is not rising to their bait at all.  This is very common and stems from the insecurity of the nastor.
  5. It can also be used to emphasise the severity of an issue, which again is a form of self justification (see point 4).  The nastor is attempting to demonstrate just how bad the perceived original offence is, otherwise they would not have reacted in such a nasty manner. Really? Or are they Points 1 or 3?

So what’s the point of all this?  Am I going soft or about to confess I’m going to join a religious cult, or devote my life of charitable causes?  No, I still believe in calling a spade a shovel, in voicing your opinions and if necessary, voicing them with passion and in forthright language.  I think hiding your true feelings, lying, cheating and betrayal are far worse than giving someone your honest opinion.

But I feel the boundary between doing that and being nasty has blurred considerably.  I see daily examples in the media, on social media and in everyday life when people are making a valid point, expressing it strongly but fairly and then they go and spoil it all by saying something nasty (to misquote the famous lyric).

It seems we reach for the nasty bucket way too quickly and don’t hesitate to pour the contents over anyone who has been unfortunate enough to have crossed our path. I rarely see an example which is justified.

My experience is that as soon as an argument, discussion or disagreement becomes personal and nasty, it lurches in a completely different direction.  It deflects away from the true cause of the problem and creates a new problem which inevitably takes over and dominates the rest of the interchange – I suppose we all care about ourselves more than other issues so we leap at the chance to defend ourselves.  People grab at the insult and use it to justify whatever they feel they need to say or do in their defence.

When this happens you can forget about resolution and, depending on the severity of the nastiness, any chance of reconciliation may have flown out of the window too.  My advice is stick to the facts, keep emotions in check and don’t be too quick to reach for the vitriol to strengthen your argument – it will dilute it instead.

And if you can’t see what a wonderfully constructed argument I’ve put forward then you can all sod off because you’re clearly too stupid to appreciate my wisdom. 🙂

Good Luck and please share your thoughts.
The Barefoot Bohemian

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Rio – Dancing In The Sand

Rio has never been far from the headlines over the last few weeks.  It’s been ubiquitous as a former colleague would have been quick to point out.  Even The Mariachis (the Mexican band which advertises Doritos) did a cover of the song at Glastonbury – it doesn’t get much stranger than that!

So I feel it would be remiss of the Bohemian if I didn’t include the greatest sporting event in the world and its supposedly glamorous location somewhere in these ramblings.

I spent a week in Rio De Janeiro, and while being everything you’d imagine it to be, there were some surprises. I suppose the first was that Copacabana beach is not the haven for gorgeous models in skimpy bikinis and muscled Adonises in budgie-smugglers, as my Aussie friends would say.

Anyone wearing skimpy swimwear really shouldn’t have been.  I already have a place to park my bike and I also want to be able to retrieve it again quickly and easily.  Having said that, Ipanema beach did seem to be much more up market with far more ‘beautiful people’ adorning the sand.  I stuck to Copacabana, where I felt far more at home with the flawed humans.

That’s not to say Copacabana was not impressive.  It was – all the more so because it was full of colourful football shirts from the world’s best teams – and a couple from England too. But if you are a firm believer that nobody over the age of 35 should ever wear a football shirt for anything other than sport, or a David Mellor-style romp with your mistress, then Rio last month was probably the best confirmation for your views that you could wish for.

I never realised you could buy such expensive sporting equipment designed for some of the most toned bodies in sport and still manage to get the fabric to stretch round a beer belly wider than your shoulders.  The fabric in those things must be amazing.

The real players in Rio of course don’t wear shirts.  They exhibit their ball skills in random ‘join-in’ sessions up and down the length of the beach – seemingly day and night.  Some of those guys are amazing.  Most of them have more control with parts of their bodies not normally associated with close ball control – like shoulders, chests, ankles and backsides – than I ever had in my feet.  Men and women alike.  Of course I stayed a respectful distance away and just watched in awe with the other unworthy ones.

Well I suppose that’s not entirely true.  There was a moment when the game came to me – and I still get cold sweats thinking about it. I was wandering across the beach when I became aware that a ball was bouncing over the sand towards me.  Clearly no man can resist passing back a stray ball so that’s what I did.

As it approached it was still bobbling around so what did I do?  Horror of horrors! I stooped down and stopped it with my hand.  As soon as I realised what I’d done I almost jumped up with my hand behind my back as if denying a handball in the area.

What was I thinking? Was I worried about a Paul Robinson moment of embarrassment as the ball bounced over my foot as I went to pass it back? Was it the fact I’d seen Maradona in a bar the previous evening and thoughts of that infamous, cheating. disgraceful handball came flooding back?

Whatever it was, it produced a moment like the piano player in a western stopping playing as a stranger walks into the bar.  The beach seemed to go silent.  Hundreds of heads turned to look at me – some with looks of disgust, some pity, some stunned, some embarrassment.  It seemed as if a wave of revulsion was growing and began rolling toward me.

Instinctively I pulled back my foot – and with no run up – I kicked it towards the players in a desperate attempt to divert attention back to them.  I struck it cleanly – which was lucky as I realised I was still wearing my flip-flops – but it began too far right.  I felt playground tears welling up as memories of being last to be picked came flooding back (OK I’m over egging this a little now).

I watched the ball float about 30 yards over the beach, curl back in, and land right at the feet of the keeper who had started to come to retrieve it.  It was a cracker given the breeze, light ball, flip-flop clad foot etc etc.  The wave of disgust disappeared immediately and was replaced by admiration and smiles.  I’d rescued it.  I would be able to continue to stay on the beach after all and wouldn’t have to stay in my apartment all afternoon or find somewhere for reconstructive surgery.  But I still scurried away and didn’t walk as close to any other game all week.

I had a bit more credibility with my running though.  It was incredible to see the endless line of runners going up and down the Copacabana sea front for what seemed like 24 hours a day.  I joined them most mornings and it was like entering a never ending conveyor belt.  You just joined and left at will – yet the run kept going with a new field of runners, but all going remarkably slowly.  I wasn’t running fast at all but I was only passed by a bloke on a bike all week so in your face you football playing posers!

It was an incredible week, Sugar Loaf mountain, Christ the Redeemer, the Maracana stadium, the beaches of Ipanema and Copacabana, and the bars in Lapa come immediately to mind. But I think the most amazing sight was Rio on a day when Brazil played.

Everyone who isn’t required to wear a uniform for work seems to be dressed in a Brazil shirt – or failing that – a yellow shirt of varying styles.  It was reminiscent of Thailand when what seems like the whole of Bangkok demonstrates its loyally to the Royals by wearing yellow.  For an hour before the match the city slows down until it comes to a virtual standstill at kickoff.  Every bar, restaurant and shop has a TV showing the game.  All of them are full, with a semi circle of yellow shirts outside looking in to see the screen.  The official Fan Fest on the beach was full, with thousands more watching a second giant screen further down the beach.  The dual carriageway along the sea front was closed to traffic as thousands more filled the roads to look over the fence into the Fan Fest screen. Now that is support for a national team.  A truly unbelievable sight.

Good Luck
The Barefoot Bohemian

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