Value and worth, do I have any?

I'm not sure where I am going with this. I may start at one place and end up at another... let's see what happens.

Friendships change, I know that. Especially so, with friendships that span age and life stage differences. A while back, one (or even two) such perceived change(s) impacted on me so much that, after a time of wondering, I had to take action by making my thoughts and fears known - mentally and emotionally, I just could not dwell on it any more. I needed to bring things out in the open; to know where I stood and in so doing cease the endless turmoil of my mind. I also stood to gain the freedom to move on. All this wringing of hands and wringing of mind has prompted me to try and identify the life script that drives my thinking over these matters. What follows is an attempt to do just that. It may be incomplete and it may be imperfect but it is a start never the less.

As an adopted person, one of my most important needs is to have a value and worth. I don't mean self-value or self-worth, I mean a value and worth to others, to those outside of myself such as family and friends. After all, it is the actions or the non-actions of these very people that informs me of what my value or worth might be to them at any given time. This acknowledgement of my value and worth might say happen around Christmas time or it might be on my birthday or theirs for that matter but it could also happen at any other time of the year too. The same is true in other areas of my life such as work and my wider interactions with society but it is the closer stuff that really counts. Given that I've been around for some time now, I have to acknowledge that during ones lifetime, relationships can and do change and that nothing is permanently fixed. Saying that, I also have to acknowledge that some people, for whatever reason, appear to have enduring and meaningful relationships from cradle to grave but that is not my experience. My guess is that a therapist would say that I have a wounded soul and because of this, I sometimes seek reassurance and approval from others, as this is my way of measuring worth. I would say that the therapist is not far off the mark and I would like to add that I also have a thing about fairness and equality too. I naturally try to treat people fairly and in human terms, I see others as equal to me*. So, perhaps somewhat naively, I have a desire to be treated in the same way. Ooh, that reads like a complaint! It is not a complaint however, it is just me stating a need.

Abraham Maslow in 1943 produced a paper on his Theory of Human Motivation and the concept of a Hierarchy of Needs. A paper that I find quite fascinating. A paper that offers me understanding of my particular human condition and hence, provides me with clues to my own salvation. According to Maslow's theory, there are five levels of need and currently I appear to be stuck somewhere between the third and fourth levels; social needs and esteem needs. I do have to say here, that I have reached the fifth level before now and indeed dwelt there for a while but over time, I seem to have sunk back down again - nothing new there then! If you are reading this, then rather than repeat Maslow's words on the third and fourth levels here, why don't you click on the link above and see for yourself what I am wittering on about - you never know, this stuff might make you think too!

Happy Days.

*One thing I like about running, is that it brings together people from many walks of life where all have the opportunity to share a common experience that is free of social status or class.

Or is it?

Running and the Art of reading tea leaves...

I remember my mother and her friend Florrie, from over the road, reading the tea leaves. This ritual always seemed to happen on a Saturday or Sunday morning and involved the use of our best china teapot and our best china cups and saucers. These precious family items usually only saw the light of day when we had relations or guests coming for tea on a Sunday afternoon (itself a ritual) and so I inferred from that, that this tea leaf reading business must be a very important thing indeed. On top of that, the readings were always used as a sort of guide or pointer to what our family fortunes might be for the coming week and so over time, I unknowingly absorbed the rituals and secrets associated with the art of Tasseomancy. Jane Struthers in her book, The art of tea-leaf reading, calls this ritual 'The tasseomancy ritual' and states that, 'When you prepare for a ritual, such as setting out a special teapot, cup and saucer for your daily tea-leaf reading, you are automatically putting yourself into a frame of mind to carry out that ritual. The actions you take, such as setting a tray with the tea things and reaching for the special notebook in which you record your readings, will help to prepare your unconscious mind for what is to follow'. Long after these early childhood experiences of mine had been filed away and forgotten about, I had occasion to unknowingly draw upon them prior to running a 100K race in Mongolia. At the time I had no inkling that I was making an instant connection with my past in order 'to prepare my unconscious mind for what was to follow'. As far as I and a few other runners were concerned, we were just getting rid of our pre-race nerves by having some fun. Given that we were in a very remote part of Mongolia preparing to run in the 2006 Sunrise to Sunset 100K footrace, certain items were not readily available to us; alcohol for one - apart from the local industrial strength Vodka that is - and Indian or Ceylon tea for another. Tea therefore was brewed from local berries and of course the rather tough skins left in the bottom of our cups, were ideal for reading our fortunes; especially our fortunes concerning the very next day and the start of a race that would take us over high mountain passes and across the open steppes of Mongolia. The group of runners I was part of were a truly international bunch, as they had come from all corners of the world and most had never heard of, let alone seen someone perform the Art of reading tea leaves. So there I was peering into one cup after another and dispensing the fortunes of all who wanted to know. I can't remember all of the readings but there were two in particular that stuck in my mind. In one cup belonging to a Korean Fund Manager from New York there was a definite image of a rabbit made up of three fruit skins. The reading taken from this image, was that like a lucky rabbits foot, this rabbit represented good fortune for what was to come. The second reading came from a cup belonging to an American Chinese language expert. His cup also contained three fruit skins giving an image of a salmon leaping a waterfall - a sure sign of strength and stamina and again a good omen for what was to come. Both these guys and others who had been present were completely bowled over by these readings, as I was and from then on I was known as the Shaman. Needless to say that all went on to complete their race without mishap.

Why did I suddenly get the urge to read tea leaves and why was I named as a Shaman? Well, the part of Mongolia we were in, Hovsgol National Park, is a place where Shamanism is still practised and given that I love to run and be one with nature, I think that I unconsciously tuned into this belief system and 'hey presto', my previously hidden tea leaf reading talents came bubbling up to the surface for all to see. That's what I like to believe anyway. Oh yes, during the early part of the race, just after dawn in fact, I received a good omen too in the form of an antelope shaped cloud, which of course represents agility and fleet footedness. Have to say though that I hardly felt fleet footed towards the end of this race and I had suffered much to even get that far!

Happy trails.

A tale of a Sunday run...

Looking down Sprat's Hatch Lane on a November day.

Somewhere around 10.30AM today, I found myself at the Winchfield car park frequented on Saturday mornings by the Hart Road Runners Bridge Club. Not Bridge as in that exclusive card game played by thinkers and schemers but as in bridge over troubled water or in this case the Barley Mow bridge that carries Sprat's Hatch Lane over the Basingstoke canal. Today the car park was frequented by another group of out door types all of whom were members of the Canoe and Camping Club of Great Britain. As explained to me by one of their number, they are quite a nomadic lot and today they were all heading off up stream to King Johns Castle for a bit of an aquatic rave. My run was going to be a bit of a rave today too, as although I wasn't quite sure where I was going, I did know that I my run would start by doing the smaller of the Bridge Club runs in reverse. In other words, I was going to do my own thing and go down Sprat's Hatch Lane instead of up. This reverse running can bring you benefits, such as seeing things from a different perspective - always a useful skill - and my previous blog, 'Breaking away from the 'norm',* gives an example of this phenomena. Anyway to get back to the run. My route,which I would describe as being in a state of flux at all times, turned out to be very enjoyable as it took me through countryside that I had crossed once or twice with other club members but had never crossed on my own, so today I would be finding my own way. In so doing, I found myself running across open fields and past huge flocks of honking Canada geese - honking because someone was crossing their feeding grounds with a large bird of prey sitting on their arm! I ran down unknown paths that led nowhere in particular and I ran along boggy woodland trails that also led me to places that I didn't really want to go to. Twice I ran past the same pair of ambling lovers, who walking in the opposite direction to me, were amazed at my obvious athletic ability and turn of speed and remained open mouthed as I said Hi for the second time that day. All an illusion of course, as just after I passed them the first time, my path had turned to run parallel to their own but they hadn't seen that, so not wanting to ruin their positive image of me, I won't be telling.

* Both blogs are taken from the same Sunday run. A sort of 2 for the price of 1 deal if you like.

Breaking away from the 'norm'...

It's amazing what new things you see when you run a familiar route in reverse. On Sunday, as part of a longer training session, I ran the shorter of the Hart Road Runners Saturday Bridge Club run but I did it the wrong way round. Whenever, I have turned up for this run we always follow the tow path from the Barley Mow bridge to Sandy Hill bridge, returning to our start point via the small copse on the opposite side of the canal and Sprat's Hatch Lane. Because I am unfit, the long drag up Sprat's Hatch Lane leaves me breathless and in this heaving lungs state, my senses are dulled. Well, today I ran alone and I went off running easy down Sprat's Hatch Lane instead of puffing up it and almost immediately I began to see things that I had not really noticed before; in this case a series of standing stones. The first of these stones can be found in amongst some scrubby trees just past a ruined wooden shed and what looks like heaps of old garden detritus. The second of these stones can be found further down the lane squeezed between a small tree and a boundary fence and the third stone stands alone in a small field just past the thatched cottage that backs on to the canal. These standing stones carry no markings but they do appear to be equidistant from each other and that suggests to me that they have or have had a purpose. Being inquisitive, I would like to know what that purpose was. Anyone know? Oh yes, why don't you break away from the 'norm' sometimes and do a familiar run in reverse. I guarantee that you will see things differently. Always a useful skill to have in life, don't you think.

Splish splash running...

The rain poured. The wind blew and I ran. I ran over the bridge and along the tow path. I ran through the woods and I ran around the pond. Today, the otherwise peaceful pond was stirred up into a maelstrom of white water. Real waves curled into surf big enough to carry a duck into the reeds and bushes growing at the pond edges. Here geese and swans sheltered from the storm but for me there was no shelter. Even the trees dripped torrents of water on my head as I passed underneath their swaying branches. Leaves coloured golden yellow covered the path and hid the deeper puddles that I and my companion suddenly plunged into. Not many people out today I thought as rivulets of cold water trickled down my already soaked body. At the stream crossing we took stock of our situation. 54 minutes passed and over another 60 minutes to go before our saturated selves hit the 120 minutes we were aiming for. In an instant, thoughts of heading to a nice dry place entered our thinking but even reaching for this new goal would still translate into another 30 minutes or so of this splish splash running. We decided to follow the stream to its source at the canal sluice gate where we would make our decision to turn for home or stick it out to the bitter end. Following the stream was easier said than done as the small single tracks running alongside the stream had themselves turned into conduits of muddy ankle deep water. At the canal sluice gate the need to seek dryness and warmth got the better of us and we turned east to follow the now drowned tow path back to the car parked still some 20-25 minutes away. So if you had been out there today, you would have seen two drowned runners running along a drowned tow path and you would have questioned their sanity. Still, 90 minutes and 8 miles later we reached the shelter of our car, towelled ourselves down and drove home happy enough with our decision to end the madness of running in a storm.

Happy running out there.

Death, resurrection and existential depression...

I am 64 years of age and just recently, I became my sisters brother. I guess I've always been her brother but for most of her life she believed me dead and buried. When I was in my thirties, I met two women who also thought me dead; it would follow then that anyone who knew of me at the time of my birth would have also been told of my death. I think that someone must have told me too, as I can, in hindsight, say that for many years I also believed I was dead. By dead I mean dead inside. Sure I smiled and cried and to all intents and purposes, I appeared to be alive to all those around me but my soul was actually hiding at the bottom of a deep dark lake. They just didn't know it and I didn't either. I know now that I was in survival mode and rather like an iceberg, nine tenths of me was underwater and out of sight. Nice 'n' safe there. This death state stayed with me for years; through childhood, through teenage years and even through my early twenties and probably beyond. Don't get me wrong, I worked, fell in and out of love, married, changed careers, had kids, moved home and generally took an active role in living in this world of ours but I was still dead inside. I'm not dead anymore by the way. Today, I am a resurrected being. Firstly, following a messy divorce the deep dark lake was drained and in the mud I got in touch with that hidden part of me. From there on in life took on a more positive hue and today my sister no longer believes me dead. In fact most of the people who thought me dead originally must now be dead themselves and that means that I am free to get on with the business of being alive. In other words I have risen from the grave that was dug by the power of belief.

What's all this got to do with existential depression? Well, it's well documented today that adopted children can suffer from this form of depression; a depression brought about by a traumatic event such as abandonment, which leaves the child questioning their purpose and meaning in life - something I have always struggled with. Gifted adults and gifted children as young as five can also suffer spontaneously from existential depression, as they often question the meaning of life too but don't worry, I ain't one of them.

Definition: Existential depression occurs when one confronts issues of existence such as life, death, disease, and freedom. An individual suffering from existential depression questions the meaning of life and often feels it is meaningless. While some people may experience this kind of depression after some traumatic event, such as the death of a loved one, gifted people may suffer from it spontaneously; that is, there is no apparent triggering event. Gifted children can experience existential depression, even children as young as five. They may begin to worry about death and also question the meaning of life.

That's it then. See ya soon.

Cosmic butterfly...

I like this design. It is my Soul dancing and it's a better picture than the one of my bloodied knees. Hope those of you who are sick and tired of seeing those same knees can now rest and perhaps think about what your own Soul would look like on the dance floor.

Butterfly Wings

despair not

about

the fabric

of

our common future

instead remember

that

chaotic potential

of

butterfly wings

where every action

each exquisite stitch in time

weaves its pattern

upon our cosmic loom

© 1992 Stuart Boag