Seven Roles

I wrote this post a few weeks ago, but am only just feeling brave enough to publish it. Hopefully this is progress. Next step: tell someone about this blog so that other people can read it. No, not brave enough yet.

The Seven Roles

From week to week, day to day, and even hour to hour, I feel like a different person. I ride waves of confidence one moment and then feel awkward and shy the next. Calm, contented feelings are replaced by stress and anxiety in a matter of minutes. Sometimes I feel loved and supported, surrounded by a thick phalanx of friends and never-ending social possibilities. But then a few unanswered emails later, I am convinced my friends have deserted me, that I have let them down in some way. Other transitions happen more slowly. From feeling like the luckiest girl in the world one week, the following week I feel let down. Sometimes I feel wise and world-weary: other times optimistic and excited. Sometimes I feel clever and sharp-witted, other times shallow, self-centred and ignorant.

These fluctuating feelings are tiring! They create a tension in my mind and soul which manifests itself in my body.

I think that they are related to all the different roles I play in my life. “Play” is the wrong word: these are all the roles I am living.

Employee
Manager
Daughter/Grandaughter
Sister/Cousin
Girlfriend
Friend
Housemate

I noted these down in no particular order. Perhaps I wrote “employee” first because I am writing this at work, and even as I do so I am feeling like a “bad” employee. I am also a “bad manager”, since I am not setting a good example to those I manage, engaged in personal creative writing rather than work. NOT writing this blog entry, and instead working hard, would no doubt make me feel like a better employee and manager… but I did work hard this morning and, besides, I am writing in quest of self-discovery, happiness and fulfilment, and I’m sure that will make me a better co-worker too.

Daughter. I think this came next because I have just spent 15 minutes on the phone to my mum (see? personal calls in work time = v. bad employee), arranging for my parents to come up and do some DIY jobs around my flat at the weekend. Since owning my own flat, which should be the ultimate sign of independence and maturity, I have never felt more strongly like a daughter. My parents have been an invaluable source of help and support, but I feel guilty for all this help. A “bad” daughter, abusing her parents’ kindness.

Well I won’t bore you with how I fail in the other roles. But suffice to say I struggle. And then I feel BAD. I think GUILT is actually a huge negative force in my life. So that’s something I am going to read up about and I will come back to you if I make any life-changing discoveries on the subject.

I enjoy reading Penelope Trunk’s blog immensely.

Despite its title, Penelope Trunk’s Brazen Careerist, which, if anything, would put me off reading it if I hadn’t already read articles written by her, it includes her musings on a wide variety of subjects, not just about working life. She is thoughtful, well-read, brave and intelligent, and she helps reassure me that we all struggle to succeed in all the various roles we play/live in our lives. You should read it.

Boys and Bikes, as promised

As part of my research about cycling, I have dusted down my own bike and hit the streets on two wheels once more, dodging cars and lorries Monday to Friday along the Victoria Embankment, and swerving past errant dogs and children in Richmond Park at the weekend.

I have also been reading about an amazing journey around the world by bike, undertaken by the inspirational Al Humphreys. I really enjoyed his two books about his trip: The Mood of Future Joys and Thunder and Sunshine. They gave me incredible wanderlust, whilst simultaneously reinforcing my conviction that I personally could never, ever achieve this feat.

So, based on both my practical and theoretical research, I believe I have come up with some answers about boys and bikes.

THE SHORT ANSWER:
It’s fun! Cycling is really, really fun, even when you are risking your life in London traffic.

It’s also about the journey, not the destination. Unlike travelling by tube, for example, commuting by bike gives you the benefit of burning calories, fresh(-ish) air, views of the sunrise/set over the river… and a sense of achievement when you overtake cyclists going more slowly than you. And of course the mental time and space to think freely (whilst simultaneously remaining hyper-alert for motorists about to cut you up obviously).

I have also learnt that all this is not boy-specific.

But to become a true cycling fan I need to overcome my fear of
a) mending punctures
b) pumping up the tyres
c) cleaning my bike and getting covered in black oily yuck.

So I think I still have a way to go.

As for boys and going walkabout: this requires further thought. Jon Krakauer’s Into The Wild is a somewhat shocking but nevertheless gripping glimpse into this subject. Both sympathetic and critical, it is extremely thought-provoking. Hmm.

Blogging Philosophy (and Poetry)

I have decided to try NOT to write down every thought that comes into my head, and feel the need to EDIT my speech in the same way in real life. Especially when it comes to gossiping.

On Monday night I go to a quiz at my local pub.

This week we learnt
that seventeen syllables
make up a haiku.

That was a haiku! Although not a proper one, since it doesn't have a break or contain a seasonal word.

Monday night routine:
Run home shower inhale food
and off to the pub.

Better - but still no seasons.

January Tuesday:
Clock-watching, Facebook stalking,
I must do some work!

Does January count as a seasonal word? I think so.

I am reading a book about a man cycling across the world. I have been thinking a lot about boys and their need to go walkabout. And about a boy's relationship with his bike, which represents simplicity, a means of escape, and fun.

Boys and their bikes have
a special relationship:
two wheels, no nagging

I am planning to think a lot more about this subject, so if I come up with any brainwaves I will let you know. Even though you are just me.

7000 words per day

Apparently women speak 7000 words per day, and men only 2000. I suspect this isn't true... but it is an interesting premise.

Do blog words count?

Everyone, especially women, seem (seems?) to be outpouring their thoughts into cyberspace these days. I think it must be therapeutic. Worse still, I seem to be reading them.

Well, this is my experiment. I am not sure yet what I have to say but I'm sure I will think of something.

77 words - done!