lessons

The grumpy old man was me

/ beaumontmichael

A few years ago now, in the middle of what up to then had been a very ordinary day, my bride tugged at my shirt sleeve and asked me why I was always so negative. It was a complete game changer. In that moment I realised I had become the very thing I most passionately did not want to become. I was a grumpy old man.

It instantly gave me heart palpitations and a general sense of unease that quite quickly turned into anxiety bordering on panic. What have I done? What have I become? It instantly dragged me back to the same feeling I had, when as a fifteen year old I saw the girl of my dreams kissing my friend. Completely gut wrenching. A stock take was needed instantly.

It only took a few minutes to realise that in the last week, just about everything I had said about the outside world was a criticism. I held up everything to my judgement. The news, politicians, journos, drug traffickers, teachers, bosses, world leaders, neighbours, pop stars and pretty much anything that came into my view. While there may not be too much wrong with that per se, I was only seeing the bad, the imperfect, the fault, the weakness or frailty in them all. Worse than that though I was saying it out loud.

It was time I had a good long look at myself.

It took months of self-examination and introspection to realise that it was a defence mechanism. Not a good one mind you. Because of the work I was doing back then, I was constantly required to stand up and take a position on things, say things and write things from within a very small world that was full of negative, grumpy old men. As a result, I copped a fair bit of criticism for everything from my haircut to my politics. My way of dealing with that criticism was to belittle the source. Which quite quickly developed into a hair-trigger response to everything in the world. I had let that mechanism take me over like one of those jungle vines you see that slowly covers and eventually strangles the life out of a once solid tree.

Frankly, being negative is easy. The newspapers have been teaching that for as long as we have been able to read them. Particularly in Australia where the Tall Poppy syndrome is inculcated into our culture. We are taught to be suspicious, look at people with caution if not derision, question the status quo which only supports the negativity of course. I am not blaming anyone else here by the way, least of all journos that are only out there making a living, taking on that behaviour was all my own stupid doing.

Breaking that behaviour pattern is tough. Recovery is a rocky road. The good news is I had not always been like that. In fact many people through my other jobs had highlighted my positive can-do attitude as a signature ethos. So surely with a few hints, a bit of support and a bit of a game plan, I could undo the hair-trigger and get back to being a cheery nice guy.

My bride had already rung the alarm bells. It is simply not nice to be around negativity all the time and particularly not at such close quarters. I was pretty determined to change and pretty motivated to make the change a lasting one.

The first step was to take some action, not just thinking, but some physical action so I determined to go for a walk by myself each morning and fill that walk with good thinking. I discouraged my bride from coming along (as politely as I could) so that I could devote the walk to better, clearer more positive thinking. I promised myself I would not spend the time gritting my teeth with anxiety or letting negative thoughts into my head. It didn’t always work, but over time as I caught myself getting dark, I tried to work my way through the feeling in a bid to pop out the other side.

Walking really helps. I would get home and do a few quick weights as a way of signing off on that part of the day and I find that bit of exercise combined with good thinking makes a huge difference. On the walk I try to remind myself of things I am grateful about. My bride, my home, my friends, my lifestyle, my wonderful children, my music, my writing, all sorts of stuff that I was pretty happy with. Occasionally I would try to find solutions to things that were worrying me, but often I found that to be a gateway into doom and anger. I try to think of things I could build or people I could support rather than things that were not fair or people who had been cruel or rude.

My walks are still a source of therapy that I need to do. I don’t do it every morning but I know I should. Finding just 30 minutes to go for a walk and get my head straight makes such a big difference to the people around me that I should be thinking of it as a gift to myself. As you can see it is still a work in progress, Even at 55 I am still a work in progress and that’s fine by me.

People under pressure

/ beaumontmichael

Hospitals bring out the best and the worst in people it seems. The ward I have been visiting recently is a prime example. It provides temporary respite for an elderly fat fussy gentleman without a single manner to his name. He has a regular female visitor, a neighbour or helper, perhaps a housekeeper or carer. The relationship is not one of great friendship, and definitely includes some financial component as they spend a bit of time each visit working out what is going to come out of “the account.”
Neither of them was blessed with the “whisper” gene either. This communication method is particularly useful in places like hospitals when you want to talk about financial movements or bowel movements or your genitals. Apparently though, it is not for everyone. He is rude to the nurses, the doctors and his regular visitor. In the two days he shared the ward with my son, I didn’t hear a single thank you or please.
I know more about him than I care to know, and yes that includes all the movements and the other details mentioned above. His every malady seems to be someone else’s fault, or problem. He hates the ward, the hospital, the staff and you won’t believe it but even the food is not up to scratch.
Well, guess what chubster? I have news for you, no-one wants to be there and it’s called hospital food for a reason. The doctors and nursing staff are battling to save your life. They are not turning up to work just to listen to you bitch and grizzle about things that they can’t change. (Bless those wonderful staff)
It was a great reminder to me that if you surround yourself with misery, you get miserable. My son is a terrific cheery young guy, facing a pretty tough medical challenge and being forced to listen to this egocentric fat fool is just bringing him down. And it is so important to be able to whisper.

Where is Mr T when I need him?

10 things you learn being a scooter rider

/ beaumontmichael

I am a scooter rider, albeit a big scooter, a 500cc beast that most car drivers think is a big touring motorcycle. I am also fortunate enough to live in an inner city suburb of beautiful Sydney, and ride my scooter throughout the state in the course of my job, but most often to and from the office in the heart of town. This is the third scooter I have owned and it has just clicked over 100,000 kms which is a lot of time spent on two wheels.

Scooter riders are so fortunate to be able to enjoy our commute to the office when for most travellers it is drudgery or even a necessary evil. However to stay alive, we need to be able to maintain focus, be quick learners and flexible thinkers, so it’s not for everyone. If scooter riders fade off and fail to maintain focus on the task at hand, even for a few seconds, we don’t stay scooter riders for very long.

Here are a few other lessons I have learned that resonate through everything I do

Lesson 1. Most people, most of the time, are doing the very best they can with the tools they have at their disposal. You can yell at them or curse at them or shake your fist or your head as much as you want, that wont help and they will never improve. Most of them think they are pretty good drivers, and the occasional lapse in concentration that has them swerve across lanes or fail to indicate, is no true indication of their ability. Like it or not there is a wide bandwidth of capabilities on the road at any one time.

Lesson 2. Some people are on drugs. That may be something recreational like a bit of weed, or something a bit more serious like steroids that will cause them to take outrageous risks and drive very aggressively. Action and consequence is not something that computes with them, better to just stay out of their way.

Lesson 3. No-one wants to get involved in an accident, but some people simply don’t understand how dangerous their actions are and how close they come to causing a problem. You don’t know what you don’t know. The guy on the scooter almost always finishes off the worst for wear.

Lesson 4. It’s not how you get into the shit that matters, it is how you get out of it, so you need to make sure you have a way out of it. Don’t put yourself or your scooter in a position where there is no way out.

Lesson 5, Even if it isn’t your fault, you are partly to blame. If you were not there in the first place it would not have happened (see lesson 4)

Lesson 6. There is no intelligence test to drive (or parent for that matter) Closely related to lesson 1. But a good reminder.

Lesson 7. Life is full of little beautiful moments, suck them up, live them, make the most of every single one of them.

Lesson 8. You will die. But then everyone else will too. The trick is not to die while riding. Two wheels are inherently less safe than four. Just because its more fun doesn’t mean you can sit and relax, you need to stay focussed.

Lesson 9. Car drivers (or at least many of them) genuinely believe that bikes should not be on the road. The roads belong to cars, therefore they are doing you a favour just letting you share it with them.

Lesson 10. It’s really nice to be right, it’s better to be alive.

Once upon a time I would get really really upset about the injustice of bad luck or circumstance. Scooter riding has taught me a lot about rolling with the punches, being pragmatic, separating function from emotion. It may not be for everyone, but I love every minute of it.