Weights and measures

ZillaWhat we define as reality is really just perspective …

I used to love a good moan. I would moan about anything from the state of my personal relationships to how overcooked my sunny sides where in the morning. Age has extinguished a lot of the unnecessary fires of youth so I moan a lot less these days but there was a period where I absolutely adored a yummy chunky moan.

Over the weekend I was in the presence of someone who was having a ‘moan’, lambasting her existence and the people who are forcing her to be in it. At the height of her moaning aria, she stopped herself and said, ‘But actually I can recognise that my life is not that bad’. Her half-serious facade suggested that she was clearly aware that the high drama of her moan, does not commensurate with the severity of her problems. She was aware that she was just having a bit of a moan.

In the last couple of days, I have been combing my 40-year existence in my head, with a keen eye and a checklist tagged to an imaginary clipboard . Why? I’ve been wondering if the % of my existence I’ve spent moaning and mopping about stuff was justified, or just fluff.  Perhaps I was just cursed with a terrible perspective of my existence and was consigned to being a whiny little bastard for little reason. Jury’s still out.

It often fascinates me that while a lot of us occupy the same spaces as other individuals, our perspective of our surroundings could be colored radically different from the person standing just next to us. I have experienced seasons where it felt like the ground was being re-mattered into muesli and I am struggling to hold my existence together, to keep it from dissipating into a thousand pieces. At the same time, a close friend would be experiencing the life equivalent of being a oft-ignored bachelor coming home to Miranda Kerr standing at the doorway of the apartment with a beer in her hand while excitedly preparing a dinner of bacon casserole with a side of Doritos Cool Ranch.  That’s better than good, by the way.

The physical world rarely matters to us as a collective. Our agendas are often markedly dissimilar despite existing under the same patch of clouds or occupying the same roads during a big demonstration. Our colors may be the same then, but our perspectives could be quite different. So until we are invaded by Martians and forced to band together to fight the threat of extermination, perspectives are probably going to rule the coop.

It concerns me that I fundamentally have no universal baseline by which to gauge my existence. How do I know if the contentment I feel these days is a result of an actually fulfilled life, or just a temporary rose-tinted perspective with a side of delusion? Being ruled by these incredibly unsettled facets worries me. I would prefer to plant my flag on something a little more unmovable, so that I can be certain of at least some portions of the outcome.

Perhaps that is why we have a thing called faith, and the person we have faith on …

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Baby, you’re my light

Blog-1That 10 seconds, it’s what separates love and apathy.

I used to have a habit of assigning value to superfluous things in a bid to obtain more meaning to my surroundings. In regards to the partner I wanted, I was certain that she would be absolutely perfect for me if she could sing ‘There’s a Light that Never Goes Out’ by heart (actually, in hindsight, this cannot be further from the truth).

With age I’ve gradually realised my folly, mainly that the heart-flutters you’ve reserved for your partner’s ability to karaoke Smiths classics quickly vanishes if they are unkind, vindictive and unreasonable. The truth is, we may dress our needs up in Salford Lads Club threads and train them to speak like dialogue from a Richard Linklater film but our based need to connect with another is really not based on the lyrics of ‘Here Comes Your Man’, no matter how much we think it is.

She affords me those 10 seconds. 10 seconds to gather my shoulder-drooped, scatterbrained thoughts over an issue. 10 seconds to rescind a gob-smacking decision before she sounds the red alert. 10 seconds to just breathe. I’ve never been a boot-to- door kind of guy. I do not rise to duress. I am the schmuck that needs 10 seconds to make the right decision, on just about anything. She gives me that. As such, for the first time in a relationship, I do not feel like I am the last rich cocky Chinese kid in a zombie yarn. It actually feels like I’m going to be around until the end.

I’ve actually taken an unnecessary rendezvous around the derriere of relationship junkyards and ended up back at the words of just about anyone’s mother, ‘Marry someone kind’. Actually it’s more than that for me, ‘Marry someone that gives you 10 seconds to be the best person you can be’.

Yeah …