I Didn't Realise It Was Dark.. Until Someone Turned The Light On

Have you ever noticed how your eyes adjust to the light, or the lack of, and when the light gets switched on you often have a "woah, I've been sitting in the dark" moment? How funny then that we often don't notice the darkness within our soul either, until someone or something comes along and shines a great, big beacon upon us. For some people this beacon comes in the form of religion; a lightbulb moment in which everything becomes clear to them and they give everything to their chosen God.

I'm not one of those people.

I absolutely support people's right to choose their own beliefs, I just don't share that belief system. I should, considering how amazing my mother's relationship with God is. She became a born-again Christian some 7 or so years ago and I can categorically say that it changed her inside and out and made her a far better person. My father, whom I never conceived would ever join the church, also recently made his commitment to Jesus and pledged his heart. However, for me, that connection to the Almighty is just not present. I did go through a stage in my very early 20's where I was so fundamentally lost that I turned to God in the hopes of finding comfort, solace, reason.. and I guess for that short period of time I did feel less alone; but the issue of religion raises far more questions in me than it ever gave answers. I simply cannot understand why being a good person isn't enough to grant you access to heaven. How can it be 'fair' that someone who has done terrible things can repent and be forgiven, yet someone who has lived a good, honest and loving life is not given the same level of acceptance into paradise? Not that I think anyone is beyond forgiveness in a mortal sense, we all make mistakes, but the whole concept makes me uneasy.

I guess now would be a great time to admit that I'm not entirely convinced heaven exists, either. Not in the traditional sense of the word, at least. I desperately cling onto the notion that there is an after-life, and that I will be reunited with lost loved ones, but I'm not sure I accept the heaven and hell concept as a whole.

I guess my beliefs are more spiritual than religious; we all have a moral obligation to do no harm and be the best people we can be. We should be kind and generous to those less fortunate than ourselves, we should only speak with truth and goodness, we should be bound not by a connection to a superior being but by a love for all of humanity; and should we choose not to be all of those things then there will be some level of karmic retribution.

I always tell my children that 'doing nice things brings nice things back'... and by the same token, 'doing bad things brings bad things back'. I suppose that isn't a far cry from Christianity, except that I don't tell them the nice or bad things are delivered from an all-seeing, all-knowing presence. I instill in them a sense of accountability to themselves, and to those around them. Our family, for example, works on a respect system. The only rule in my home is that you should respect yourself, your surroundings and the people you live with. That covers such a vast multitude of potential offences that I think we have the bases more or less covered. That's not to suggest that sometimes those rules aren't broken; growing-up is all about learning from our mistakes. But, ultimately, we tick along nicely without the need to impose the fear of God.

Having said that, without something to believe in, life can be lonely. I've muddled along for years feeling unable to shake off the sense that I am missing out on some great secret. Whilst an accountability to humanity is a pretty awesome feat, it still doesn't answer the questions that plague me: Why are we here? What's next? What is my purpose?

And then, suddenly, my light came on.

I am here, in this beautiful world, to leave my mark. I am here to live a full and blessed life, and share my love and my thoughts with anyone who wants to receive them. I am here to raise my children to be grounded, loving, thoughtful and happy. I am here, in short, to live life in as full a way as I can. There is no need for answers beyond that. Whatever comes next, as long as I am able to stand there with an open heart and say "I did my best", well, that's good enough for me.

Eggs And Hash Browns, Oh My!

Yes, really. I am writing about the above!

I am a strange creature when it comes to food. I go through stages of liking one particular thing and then living on it. My latest craze is hash browns. Having started to get a little tired of eating them on their own but not tired enough to quit the habit, I decided to up the ante and throw an egg into the mixture; this alone caused every pore in my body to exude joy . . but then I put the whole lot into a sandwich and in the words of Belinda Carlisle "wooah heaven is a place on earth". Or rather, in my kitchen.

I'm thinking maybe I need to get out more.

A River Runs Through Here

Today I went to the lake which is a mere 20 minute walk from my front door. The sun was beating down on my winter-white skin and I walked barefoot on hot concrete. My children paddled in the shallow area at the foot of the lake where the water runs in fresh from the mountain, and I sat on an old wooden bench sharing cheese sandwiches with my beautiful Labrador.

As I watched scores of people open picnic baskets, feed small children treats and throw sticks for panting dogs I wondered why it is that I don't sit there more often. I have become so accustomed to the mountains that surround my little village that I seem to take them for granted. But sometimes, just sometimes, the beauty of the place catches my breath and I feel blessed and undeserving.

Love, Actually

I often wonder how I manage to be both a romantic and a cynic. Maybe it's a skill reserved only for those who have been burned.. but still love to watch fireworks?

Sometimes I catch myself day-dreaming about finding Mr. Right; when in truth I would be much more likely to hurry past him with my head down, praying he didn't notice me. You see, when I fall in love I do so with my whole self. Every fibre of my being is poured into my lover, and I find that in my haste I have reserved nothing for myself. Having spent years mending my heart, I am reluctant to open it again for fear of my soul spilling out.

There's a small part of me though, a tiny space within the walls I have created, that longs for the moment when I can look into someone's eyes and really see myself as they see me. Not as this neurotic, broken shadow.. but as a woman who is loved.

Ten Things I Know To Be True

1. The universe conspires against any attempt I make to get dressed before 9am.

2. I will never, ever be lithe and sprightly. Especially if I continue to eat Cadbury's Dairy Milk for breakfast. And lunch.

3. Sometimes it is entirely acceptable to swear at old people. Particularly if they bash you in the ankles with a shopping trolley and then launch into a tirade of insults about 'the youth of today'. Especially when you're 29. And you weren't even in their way.

4. Wine has no calories.

5. War and Peace is boring. I know, I know, I'm supposed to be a literary snob. But, seriously, yawn! People only read it so they can tell people they have read it. Well, guess what, I couldn't finish it. It was dire.

6. The word 'mum' can send you spiralling into the depths of panic-stricken despair.. or lift you above and beyond the greatest joy. Sometimes on the same day. And sometimes in the same sentence.

7. My tweenagers will never, ever think I am as cool as I think I am. Ever.

8. Feminism was never about having it all and doing it all.. it was about having the option to have it all and do it all. The choice. I choose not. (Expect more on this subject at a later date)

9. Nobody is ever around when you finish a crossword (circa Rachel Green) but you can guarantee someone is listening if you fart.

10. Hanging up on people is rude, dismissive and petulant. And sometimes absolutely necessary.

Words On Paper

I am well known for procrastinating. I'm full of good intentions but they somehow get lost in translation. In fact, there are approximately 15 blogs littered through cyber space in which I have left one or two posts to wither away. I absolutely promise to try really hard not to leave this one unattended.
I was speaking to a friend recently, who shares my love of writing, about my desire to be a published writer versus my literary snobbery at producing anything less than high-brow. I expressed my horror at the thought of being known as the woman who writes trashy chick lit. When, in actual fact, I should be expressing my horror at the thought of my having produced absolutely nothing.
After this conversation, I went away and thought about the barriers I create in order to prevent myself writing; I don't have time, I'm tired, Nobody will read it anyway, I'm rubbish, I'm boring. . . and I suddenly realised that I felt rather justified in my excuses. I felt able to feign a dramatic pose (you know the one - the whole 'back of the hand on the forehead' thing) and announce proudly that 'I am a tortured artist!'
Pretty pathetic, huh?
So, here I am. Writing. Nothing high-brow, nothing of consequence; just my incongruous thoughts. Words on paper.