A Magical Metamorphosis.

The past four months have been four months of upheaval, turmoil, adventure and discovery.  I'm in my new home.  My son is in his new home.  Penny, a dog of such sensitive perception, shares both homes.

A new life has begun for my son, for Penny the lovable Jack Russell and myself.  I, a man coping and challenging every aspect of my low esteem caused by past environmental trauma.

Yes, the past four months brought on a deeply intense bout of depression.  The "inner critic" screamed, tormented me to the point I could barely sleep, barely eat.  I was sinking fast.  How was I going to cope? Would my son cope with his new responsibilities?   Would Penny be able to adjust?   Questions, concerns, whirled and whirled in my frazzled mind.  Something had to change.  It was time to battle against the inner critic.  I cannot give my depression permission to sabotage my right to a peaceful, hopeful life.

I learn from that past and embrace the now.  A new sense of excitement, of realistic, positive anticipation that all will be just fine. The inner critic has been replaced by the loving return of my "inner child."  An inquisitive child that sees the good in perceived bad moments.

The powerful revelations that lay within the four months of perplexity quashed the incessant chatter of the inner critic.  My upbeat attitude is returning with a sense of defiant triumph.

When my son lived with me, I hardly saw him.  Just a fleeting glimpse down the hallway as he headed to his bedroom.   I'd get the occasional grunt of acknowledgement from my son.  On a good day I'd get two grunts.  My son, Tristan, an angry, frustrated young man.  A young man craving independence and feeling trapped.  An angry, frustrated young man who would vent his seething rage directly at me.

That was then.  This is now.  My son is coping remarkably well as he sets out on his new life.  Of course, he gets incensed over the bureaucratic incompetence that transforms what should be simple situations into a surreal complexity.  I'm sure you know what I mean.

Tristan has started listening to my advice.  I like to think he listens to all my advice, okay, most of my advice, some of my advice, just a tiny bit of my advice.  Even a minuscule fraction of taking on board my advice is a great deal more than he used to pay heed to.  Now that he is paying his own way, you bet he listens to me in regards to saving money, to paying the correct amount on his taxes.

The anger my son has felt has dissipated.  The communication between the two of us has gone through a magical metamorphosis.

In fact, I'm seeing more of my son now than when we used to live together.  The common denominator is communication, cooperation, love.  And who is behind this new understanding of love I share with my son? Take a bow wow, Penny the Jack Russell dog and modest internet superstar!   Penny knew that she needed to see both of us together, all three of us together, as much as possible.  Penny, loving Penny, has taught my son and I valuable lessons.  Lessons that the purity of a dog's unconditional, non-judgemental love, is the bond that grows, that glows with the symbolic beacon of hope  for the future.

A magical metamorphosis.

Listening To The Inner Child.

We all have choices.  In the past, I made the mistake of giving in to negative thoughts. The screaming chatter in my head that told me I was useless and not worthy of being a part of society.  A pathetic man trapped in his self-imposed prison.  And I clung onto those thoughts.  Reinforced by those who exploited my vulnerability and compounded by me.

In one last gasp attempt, I reached out for the last remaining shreds of my self-worth, my dignity. Negative energy will not be given permission to sabotage my right to a peaceful, positive life.  I will not drown in the sea of despair.  Now I walk along the beach of dreams where the sea and the sky embrace.  Beyond the horizon, the voices in the chorus of compassion, the instruments in the orchestra of enlightenment, merge together, flow as one, in peaceful, rhythmic harmony.

I challenged my fears.  Understood that the inner critic tells lies.  Yes, I have been scared.  Yet through those dark clouds of fear, I found inspiration.  Inspiration to carry on, to face any outcome, with a resolve, a determination that has made my heart, my soul, rejoice with the knowledge that when you seek the good, you find the good.  I began to listen to my inner child.  For the inner child reveals the truth.

A positive environment starts from within and transcends to the world beyond.

The past few weeks have been painful, hopeful.  Moments where I sat in a darkened room, stared out at the stars and felt the solitary tear flow down my cheek.  My life has been one of bizarre contradictions.  I am the reluctant recluse who when he braves the outside world, becomes a man who brings that smile to someone who seems so sad.

I have made many a mistake and lessons are learnt.  I am not defined by my mistakes.  What I learn from my mistakes, defines me.

Customs To Customs.

I knew it was time for me leave.  Walking by my son's bedroom door, I gently whispered, 'goodbye' to him and to Penny the Jack Russell dog and modest internet star.  It was with a sense of anxiety, mixed with excitement, that this reluctant recluse headed out his front door.  Time, once again, to challenge my uncomfortable comfort zone.  And thus, off I went on Saturday morning, May 7th, to travel to Manchester airport, destination, Vancouver, Canada.
I stood there at the check-in counter, waiting patiently for my turn.  Whilst waiting in the line, I was approached by an official representative of the airline.  "Are you travelling alone, sir?", the lady inquired.  To which I replied, "Yes I am.  Why, is it that obvious?  Do you feel sorry for me?"  The lady smiled and stated, "Sir, we are offering you 400 Canadian dollars to take a different flight."  'Hmmmm', I thought to myself.  'Does this mean that the other passengers have got up a collection to keep me off the plane?  Do I look like some kind of deviant undesirable?'  Well, it turned out that someone was wanting to travel with the rest of their family and didn't have a seat on my flight.  The offer was for me to take the money, take a flight with a stopover in Calgary and arrive in Vancouver 2 and 1/2 hours later than I would have.  If it wasn't for the fact that I was being met at Vancouver airport at an anticipated time, it would have been very tempting.  I've no idea if anyone took up that offer.
Finally, our plane took off, and 9 and 1/2 hours later, we arrived in Vancouver, 1 and 1/2 hours after we left.  Yes, that does sound confusing.  Upon arrival in Vancouver, we endured the long wait to get to the customs officer.  If you are not familiar with the wait to get to the customs officer at Vancouver airport, it makes for an overwhelming visual.  In front of you is a vast sea of humanity that follows guide ropes that snakes back and forth, back and forth.  After about 30 minutes, these two ladies from Manchester, complained to me about how long it was taking.  I said, "Ladies, look on the bright side.  This is indeed a long wait, but you have gained 8 hours."  They laughed and then asked me how long it took the ferry to get to 'Victoria' Island.  I corrected them and told them they meant Vancouver Island, which has the capital city of British Columbia, named 'Victoria', located on it.
After 40 minutes, it was finally my turn to talk to the customs officer dude.  "I see you are going to be here for 35 days, sir.  What is the purpose of your visit?"  I responded, "Well, I'm here to visit friends, family and hopefully watch the Vancouver Canucks make a bit of history."  He smiled and we talked hockey.  "You better get going sir, the game starts in less than an hour."  Only in Canada, eh.  Only in Canada.
So, I grabbed my luggage, got greeted by my mum and step-dad and headed back to their home.  Had a quick chat and then proceeded to sit in front of their television to watch the game.  Priorities, eh.  Only in Canada, eh.  Only in Canada.
I spent five days with my family in the seaside town of White Rock.   Even did something that is a bit of a Canadian tradition.  Yep, my brother took me for a coffee at Tim Hortons.
And now I'm typing to you from the town of Hope, British Columbia.  A small town about 100 miles east of Vancouver, that is surrounded by majestic mountains.  A town I wrote about in my second ever blog.  A town of great significance in my life and if you would like to read that posting, you will understand what I mean.  Tribes and Tributes.  You might be familiar with this town.  For this was the town used in 'Rambo First Blood'.  So far, nobody has mistaken me for Rambo.
I'm living in Hope.  Staying with two remarkable people who live in hope for a better future.  Their story, their inspiration, their continued belief in positivity, in the face of adversity, leaves me with no doubt that this holiday is going to be a deeply profound and powerful time for all concerned.  Upon my return to England, I shall do a detailed posting about this experience that I know will touch your heart.
In conclusion, I apologise that I've not been as interactive with you as I normally try to be.  This reluctant recluse got away from his computer and truly challenged his fears, his apprehension, his 'inner critic'.  I went out my front door, embraced humanity and had this sense of elation, a, 'what the hell I can do this', feeling.  That, my friend, is a result.

Well, Here I Am.

Well, here I am. The picture on the left is me as a 'lil' dude'. Yes it's a dude. The centre picture is a fresh-faced me of seventeen, in my high school graduation photograph. The above right picture shows me at the age of fifty-five. I took that picture. The reason I took it, was because I could not get anyone to take my photograph. So apologies for getting a clear view up me old nostrils. I'm really quite shy and would not dare ask a stranger to kindly take a snap of yours truly. Unlike, for example, the smiling Japanese tourists who ask me if I would take a a photo of their happy entourage. No problem there, as I gladly oblige and proceed to run off with their state-of-the-art, all-singing, all-dancing camera. Yes, I'm only joking.
'Lil' dude', that sweet child of innocence, could never have envisioned that his future would be clouded with uncertainty and an overwhelming sense of being stupid. Stupid was ingrained in my mind and thus stupid dominated my thinking process. So, as a fresh-faced teenager, friendly, outgoing and caring; I used my bravado to hide the torment of a tortured soul. I was a young man, consumed with stifling fears of revealing the true magnitude of his stupidity. Thus I took the easy route and underachieved.
Oh, I had goals, dreams, aspirations. When I was ten years old, I wrote a play and sent if off to the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation. I never received a reply but it didn't matter that much to me. I wrote stories. I dreamt that one day I would be a writer. When I was little, the passion to write burnt strongly within me. I thought that when I grew up I would be this really famous author. Ah, I visualised the adoring fans lined up at my numerous book signing sessions. Then my other reality kicked in. Don't waste your time with writing. You are stupid. You've been told this enough times; so I gave in to my 'inner critic' and the relentless voice in my head that screamed, 'don't bother with your goals, your dreams, your aspirations, take the easy way out, underachieve and hide under the duvet.'
Now I am fifty-six. Still scared of revealing to you just how stupid I feel. Yet, despite this, there is another voice in my head that sings, 'challenge yourself, do not allow those who undermined you, to dominate your life. You are better than that.'
Yes, I am mostly a recluse. Yes, I am mostly alone and isolated. The duvet or doorway dilemma is a constant battle. The good news is that I am determined to get out there and be an integral part of that wonderful world that beckons me.
Well, here I am. I am 'lil' dude', I am that fresh-faced teen, I am that fifty-six year old man. What happens next? Well I know this much. I am becoming stronger and more determined to embrace a positive life. Who knows? Maybe, someday, I will have the confidence to submit my writing to a publisher.