The Lieutenant

My eighth book of 2014 is The Lieutenant by Kate Grenville. This is the best book I have read this year and Australians should have to read this. It is fiction but based in facts around the First Fleet.

The story is so relevant to recent events in my life that I related to the point of tears. Even if you aren't where I am in a place of hopelessness and acceptance, you will find this book brilliant.

Without the usual guilt you get from tales of the English meeting the original Australians, this book bases the history we all know in compassion.

You will see that world and moment in time through the eyes of a physicist who falls in love with a black girl but can not love her because he has made a commitment to a life that he chose before he discovered who he was.

There is a scene in the book where the protagonist realises that he didn't find the person he was until he met this amazingly brilliant woman who he could be himself with. As if he became a person because she accepted and expected he was that. They shared a love of language and a great intellect but existed in a time and place where it was not allowed. They shared a mutual respect.

There is so much more to this book than a love story. There is a love of science and of history. Kate Grenville is an amazing writer who took me there. There, where everyone should go.

Should I read this? Oh my goodness, yes.
What did I learn? Life is not something that you should let happen to you. You should experience it. Live it. Love through it. Fail. Get up again. Learn and learn some more. Regret nothing.

Curvy: How one man's lust made me see myself as fat

Curvy. Voluptuous. Hourglass. Buxom. Luscious. Curvaceous.

They were all words a recent boyfriend used to describe me. He lusted after curves and it was all he ever cared about when we were together or apart. It was almost an obsession and one he proclaimed was my most alluring characteristic.

For all the people who have called me a narcissist, I have never really thought of myself as being physically beautiful. For me, beauty is about your soul. It is your kindness and compassion. It is having a mind like a steal trap and always improving it. It is an ability to express your thoughts and convey real emotions. It is about authenticity and sincerity in actions and words.

Yes, it can be dressed up with a fit body, nice clothes or makeup but without a solid baseline, none of that makes you beautiful. People see through the socially acceptable beauty that is but skin deep. That makes that kind of attraction fleeting. Although I appreciate an attractive person, I do not crave them if they have no more than that.

This man I was seeing is quite amazing with words. He can convey in a paragraph more than most men I've known could say in a novel, with one of the great Russians writing on their behalf. He could paint a picture with words, that hastened your beating heart or restarted a stalled one.

The problem was that instead of focussing on any of the things I care about improving in myself, he pointed only at those curves. He would write to me each night about them and lay with me for hours, always concerned with them. Those bits and bumps that most women work hard to hide or exercise and diet away.

Now, some men act as though them accepting you aren't a supermodel is them doing you a favour. This was in that vein but a little more insincere. With him, it was as if nothing else about me existed and if I were any other women with any other brain or talent or soul that it would not matter.

After a while, I started to become very self-conscious of my curvy parts. Words like voluptuous and buxom made me think of tavern wenches in old stories where drunken men with little to no inhibitions would hit on anything in a skirt.

Before him, I always thought I was ok with a need to exercise more and lay off the cheese but now I feel more aware and a little alarmed at my curvy physical nature. What before was a part of who I am but not that important, makes me feel bulgy and awkward.

He has gone now, on to curvier pastures but his legacy lingers. It will take me some time to work my way back to being confident with who I am and in knowing that I am not the sum of my fatty bits. As I move away from that continuous maths view of curves back to my discrete maths underlying building blocks of the world view, I will ignore those men who focus on that aspect of me.

Even if I was a supermodel or whatever some guy's exact physical type is, I'd still rather be loved or lusted after for the other parts of me that I think are quite special and wonderful. Not the aspect but the attitude. Not the shapely shapefulness but the happy happiness beneath my smile. Not the fat or skinny parts but the thinking and speaking parts.

We must all find that beauty inside us and not let anyone break that with their obsession. If we don't then we are held to the standards of others and will only disappoint.

This is why I will always ask: Will you still love me when I'm no longer young and beautiful?

Violation of Volition

The preceding ten days has been a maelstrom of insanity accented with violations of my space and time. Yes, there have been major multi-dimensional offences committed.

The most distressing moment was when I realised that someone had complete access to my online presence, my online information and consequently my inner most thoughts via one of my laptops that had been stolen.

I have a habit that I developed mainly through work that has me writing an email that lets me honestly express my thoughts and feelings on a matter without any intention of ever sending it. Just writing it down gets it out of my system and I don't dwell on it anymore. It is always more brutally honest than I would ever be in reality. My email drafts folder is my Picture of Dorian Gray.

There are rules to this that I always honour in case by some cruel twist of fate, the dreaded email is sent:

• Never address the email to anyone;
• Do not mention the name of the person it is for; and
• Delete the email after a couple of weeks.

With the recent theft of one of my laptops, I have learnt a few lessons:

• Always set your laptop up to require password access;
• Encrypt your drives; and
• When a laptop is stolen, change all your passwords immediately.

The more recent set of rules is a result of the said theft of one of my computers on Thursday afternoon.

Yes, insurance covers it and it was reported to the police and all that. I am fine, no harm except that I now must lockdown my online presence and seriously reconsider my venting mechanisms.

Since Friday morning, I have received a few emails from people who were surprised to check their electronic post and find that they had grumpy or delightful or confusing notes from me. Luckily, none of the people who got these letters were the intended recipients so they laughed it all off and complimented me on my ability to insult or wow a person with such eloquence and lack of profanity.

There were (until I deleted them all yesterday afternoon), just under a dozen emails in my drafts folder that consisted of voluminous amounts of my thoughts on different subjects. Nothing terrible but nothing I actually ever wanted to share.

It seems that the person who took my laptop is the same person who has been making my life very difficult this last few weeks and finally got some ammunition to use against me. And boy did they use it.

So, the lesson here is to never write it down if you never want anyone to see it. Keep the thoughts in your head or whisper them to your pet rock but don't put them in gmail and then leave an unlocked laptop around to be stolen by a creep on a mission. It makes it far too easy for someone to screw with your life.

Now, with passwords changed, property secured and draft email folder empty, I shall continue my life and hope that no more damage has been done than the Send button being hit on a few ephemeral tanty-driven electronic brain dumps.

You aren't a priority

I have a lot of friends. In fact, it is possible that I call too many people friends.

Today, I had a friend who told me a bunch of truths about myself. One of them being that I am not loveable because he couldn't love me. He told me I love emotionally unavailable men because I do not wish to be loved. He told me that I was never his priority and never mattered. He told me that he never cared about me.

Ok, you can say A LOT of things about me but to say I am not open to love is wrong. Maybe I haven't found a person who can see my uniqueness. Maybe I haven't been around enough lately to make things work. Maybe I am not perfect.

I still think I am someone who is kind and full of love. To give and receive.

So, to that man or friend or somebody that I used to know, I am sorry I wasn't a priority to you but I'm not sorry. There is only one Damana and if you can't value her then it is your loss.

Comfortably Numb

It has been a long time since I shared the workings of my mind and what state I hold after recovering from clinical depression.

I still speak about my depression without shame or discomfort although I often see that in the eyes of those listening. It is still not understood that depression is an illness and not something that anyone would choose.

I would no longer consider myself someone who is suffering depression. It is something that I sometimes fear returning but I don't see myself ever returning to those dire straights. There are now too many tools under my belt to allow that regression.

There is however something very different to me now that never existed before my illness. I have a higher pain tolerance. I am happy but there is an undercurrent of chronic pain that exists as part of who I am now. My pain threshold does not allow it to overwhelm me but like chronic back pain, it is something I have learnt to live with. Unlike chronic back pain though, there are no pain killers or anti-inflammatories that will ease the constant ache. And no, antidepressants are not my friend because I am not depressed. This is an ingrained hurt that is laced between the atoms that make me. It can not be separated. It can not be dispersed.

I described my life recently to a friend as though I live on a super yacht that is my current happiness. This yacht is sailing on a giant lake of pain where at no point you can see all the edges. There is a thin film of sadness that reflects pretty colours and is often left in my yacht's happiness wake. However awful that may sound, it is a state that I understand and survive in quite happily... if not relatively.

Recently, I experienced immense happiness. Not just happiness but a spark of hope. Hope is something that was beaten out of me a long time ago and although I hold optimism in life and the future, I do not hope for more than what I am gifted with now... which is a lot.

Today that happiness fizzled and whisked away in the wind. I was left on my yacht on the lake, relatively happy.

The problem with this is that relativity has shifted. From the joy of beautiful hope to a sweet pensive sadness and down to what now feels like a comfortable numbness.

There are still endless reasons to smile. There are still reasons to be optimistic. There are still great moments to be sailed. The problem is, the numbness leaves me feeling it all as if I were floating outside my body watching someone else pilot me. Being John Malcovich with me as the puppet.

A part of me knows that the numbness will recede and I will sail my yacht of happiness again but the yacht will feel smaller and the pain lake bigger and the oily film of sadness slicker and thicker.

This all makes me wonder why I'd ever attempt or accept a happy state again if it ever presented itself because when it rejected me and left me floating unmoored, the vessel I travel in will be smaller.

I shall ponder this as I ponder many things, all the while feeling comfortably numb.

Sand

Each day, I grasp life in my hand and try to make sure I do it right. That I don't fuck it up and in doing so, do the best I can be.

Yesterday, I let the sand run through my fingers.

I let things be what they are. Accept that what is, is. Accept that what will be, will be. Que sera sera.

And today, life feels better. So much better. Coated in chocolate better.

Sometimes, it is best just to let it go. Let the sand run through your fingers.

Dark and Lovely

Characters. There is an album that I remember from when I was in my formative years. It really did shape me in ways. Stevie Wonder can do that to you. He changes the way you think. Music does.

If you have not heard it then you should take the trip, and it is a trip.

There is not a song on this album that can't teach you something.

Cruel To Be Kind

I was in a crap situation until today, where there were two awesome people who were going towards a place of pain and suffering for more than just themselves.

So, I broke it. Stopped it. Took it beyond recovery.

Sometimes, the one who ends it is not the coldest but the strongest.

Life is too short

When I was very young... when my age was just a single digit, I heard about how many books were in my school library. My school wasn't very big and I knew there were bigger libraries in the world and so many more books. Of course, not all books are worth reading but even if only 20% of them were and it took me a week to read each one... well, I'd never live long enough to read all the books I wanted to read.

I lay in bed and wept.

Now I am older and I have read so many more books but still they keep writing more that I need to read. There is non-fiction to go along with all the fiction that is still out there.

So, I don't watch television or movies much. And there is much much more time but still not enough.

So I lay in bed and weep.

The Ocean At The End Of The Lane

Since I am not counting Green Eggs and Ham, book 7 of 2014 is Neil Gaiman's The Ocean At The End Of The Lane.

I have read a lot of his books, starting with Neverwhere. Maybe that was my mistake because I have never enjoyed any of them the way I loved that story. American Gods disappointed me and made me realise that books others rave about can mean absolutely nothing to me and that is ok.

This book is good. It starts slowly though and makes me feel as though it was written with a movie in mind for it. I really hope that isn't the case but it sure feels like it.

Gaiman paints pictures with simple and accessible words unlike any modern authors I can think of today. I do enjoy reading him just for each individual sentence. He is a master like that.

It's a short book and obviously a short story that had to be told as a novel. It is easy to consume and enjoyable.


Should I read this? Yes
What did I learn? When we are children, the world is magical. When we grow up, we are too broken to see that magic anymore. That thought makes me sad.

Eragon

Book 6 of 2014 in my reading quest is Eragon by Christopher Paolini. It is the first book in the Inheritance series. It is nice to read a book that has a dragon that isn't just a beast. Although, this book has that Like Skywalker kind of whingey young man become hero gets old, the story is engaging.

Should I read this? Yes
What did I learn? The dragons are wise, beautiful and fierce. I want to be one when I grow up.

Life is like a box of chocolates on a 37 degree Celsius Canberra day

It's true. Sometimes, I am a complete fool. Sometimes a total bitch. And other times, nuttier than a Picnic bar. Most of the time, I'm doing my best to be a decent and considerate person. Although the road to hell is paved with good intentions, it is not good enough to act intending one thing and hurt others. So, I'm sorry if I've been an idiot. Will try to be less of one.

The Arabian Nights

Book five of 2014 is Sir Richard F. Burton's translation of The Arabian Nights. This book brought back so many childhood memories. Obviously, I read a children's version of this because I don't recall there being so many references to sex or to people being quartered.

This is well worth the revist and not an effort to consume.

Should I read this? Yes
What did I learn? That women were regarded as cunning and smart in these stories. They were respected and treated as calm. This is a very different view than what I expected. I also got used to the thanking of Ala every five seconds.

Fry's English Delight by Stephen Fry

I have just finished listening to the entire series Fry's English Delight and am considering this my fourth book of 2014.

Like everything Stephen Fry does, I think it is worth taking the time to consume. He is the delight. 

Should I read this? Yes
What did I learn? Metaphor means "to transfer" in Greek and is used in modern Greek language for furniture removalists and bank transfers. The word in English means to transfer a meaning from one thing to another.

How to Live on 24 Hours a Day by Arnold Bennett

Book three of 2014 is How To Live On 24 Hours a Day by Arnold Bennet.

It is from very early last century, and after you stop giggling at some of the silliness, it is thought-provoking. The main idea is that we have one equaliser and that is that we have 24 hours in a day. How we use that is important. It really encourages you not to have time where you're just waiting and doing nothing.

Not sure I agree with it all but it is interesting. A very short read and worth the effort, even if just for the smile.

Should I read this? Yes
What did I learn? How to look at my down-time and find an active way to live life.

We Are All Weird: The Myth of Mass and the End of Compliance

Book 2 for this year is: We Are All Weird: The Myth of Mass and the End of Compliance by Seth Godin.

As someone who has read his blog religiously for years, I found this book was concise and to the point as expected. The idea was interesting and one I'd heard others voice but didn't know where it came from.

Weirdness being about choice and the growth of the Internet supporting small tribes who would have been outliers is an interesting idea.

As someone who spends a lot of time making my own choices (good or bad) and has a lot of people telling me how I should act to be normal, this resonated on many levels.

Should I read this? Yes
What did I learn? I feel far less pressured to conform. Not that I ever really did but now I feel less concerned about it.

On Depression

Imagine that the laws of the universe changed. Imagine that to maintain the structure you have, you would have to concentrate with all your energy on all the bits that make you, you.

You have to picture the molecules made up of the atoms made up of electrons and protons and neutrons and tiny things that are proven in colliders.

The last thing you think at night is the shape you are and that is held until the next day when you wake up and you think the same so that it holds your shape.

Think of all the effort it takes. The pure exertion of effort that you must give to make your toe a toe and your lung a lung.

If you let go for even a second, you will fade in to billions of tiny parts that never recombine.

It is tiring, right?

That is what it is like to be depressed. That is how much effort it takes.

Outliers: The Story of Success

Last year I wanted to read 25 books and I read 27. This year, I aim to read 25. This is the first.

Outliers is another great Gladwell book that made me go and look up a whole bunch of concepts, studies and ideas to get a deeper understanding behind his ideas. Ideas that bring together psychology, anecdotes and statistics to tell many interesting stories about the favourable variables that come together to give people advantage on top of which hard work and risk taking can lead to success.

Having read Blink and Tipping Point, which changed the way I think, it took me a while to get to this much bigger book. It however has changed the way I think about approaching life more than the first two.

It was interesting that Gladwell is part black Jamaican. I don't usually google the authors I read but I did at the end of this book due to the last story about his grandmother. He is different to what I imagined. Go the fro.

Now, I must go off and work out what factors make up being me.

Should I read this? Yes
What did I learn? Success if all about opportunity, luck and hard work.

Getting Back Up Again

It is raining in Canberra as I write this. Having grown up in the tropics, rain to me is warm and welcoming. It washes away the day and pushes back the heat. This feels like the right time to sit down and take in the last few months.

As one of the most stressful episodes of my life comes to an end, I am learning to accept that I can survive pretty much anything that life throws at me. I can survive it and not fall apart.

The thing is that surviving doesn't mean that I prospered during that time. It doesn't mean I felt happy every second. It doesn't mean I smiled and was thankful for what got me there.

There is a powerful myth in our society that dictates that happiness is something we must feel 100% of the time and if we aren't then something is wrong. That is wrong and causes a lot of self-doubt when people have a bad time. They tend to think that any emotion that isn't under-pinned by happiness is a fractured and bruised existence.

Feeling other emotions is not a failing. It is life. It is normal.

As long as there is a general happiness and more good moments than bad then I am satisfied that my life is going well.

In July, I experienced something that no woman should ever have to face. I found myself in a position that I never expected and realised that those who were obliged to protect me were unwilling to do so. That shook my view of work and life and people, in general.

The following weeks saw me slow my life down and finally stand still, in some hope that everything would stop spinning. The weeks lead to months and I didn't start working again until one week ago.

It isn't easy for anyone to not work for that long but if I hadn't had that time to rest and recover, I wouldn't be so energised and ecstatic about what I find myself doing now. Burn-out from over work and the horror of July meant that I spent weeks at my parent's house sleeping and trying to get my brain going again.

It wasn't like when I had severe clinical depression. It was nothing like that actually. There were shitty moments but it never felt so hopeless like falling in to a bottomless pit. It was tough though and there were nights for months where I slept with the lights on in my bedroom or didn't sleep until the Sun came up. For some reason, day time seemed safer. That or I was becoming a vampire. I do sparkle.

Anyone who has been through really bad patches will tell you that being in a rut isn't the most horrible part. The being in it part is something you can accept as what you are going through. It is falling in and climbing out that are the most challenging moments. No, not moments. Moments are short and fleeting. These are periods of time and everything slows down like when you stack a push bike and see the ground coming at you.

Right now, I am climbing out. Back at work and thriving as part of a real team where I feel I belong. I'm not allowed to work more than 40 hours a week which leaves me 20 more hours for life that the last job didn't. Yeah, no more 240 hour months.

Restabilising takes time. My new routine is being established. My old friends and new colleagues and awesome family and wonderful social circle are helping me bound back to a semblance of a normal life. Soon it will actually be a normal life. Accepting that I am no longer tripping on every tree root as I run blindly from the wolves is not as easy as I'd hoped. I keep checking for the wolves when a granny with a chin walks by. Sometimes, I even lose it and say I'll just give up and not participate anymore but I wake up the next day and I do.

So, I'm getting there. There are so many people I have to take aside and thank for holding my head above water. There are others who don't deserve to be mentioned or even to have a thought wasted on them. They don't matter. Only the good ones do.

And I'm a good one too. Just one who is trying to get the rhythm back in my life.

Timing is Everything

About a week ago, I sent a message to my good friend Joy saying "hey." It was some ungodly hour of the night when I couldn't sleep. My friends know I get like that once in a while.

By pure chance and possibly due to sleepy eyes, I sent the "hey" message to someone else. Someone who I'd forgotten or blocked out to the point that his initials triggered nothing in my memory. None of our texts had been preserved which either meant his number came from my old work phone or I'd trashed the messages. That would be rare if I didn't send the number down the shoot with them so I figured there was a work-friend connection.

He responded commenting on the late time to send messages. I apologised saying I didn't meant to send that to him and didn't know who he was anyway. It didn't take too much banter to realise who he was.

Now, I don't regret the past. It is one of my rules. Living in the here and now, accepting what has happened to make me who I am now and going on with the lessons learnt has been my ethos for many years now.

This one however caused that twang of sadness or doubt or a just full sub-cutaneous jab to something with exposed tendons and lots of nerve endings.

There has been only one time in my life when I met a person and the chemistry was amazing and everything else was brilliant and thanks to crap timing on my part the first time and his part now, it all adds up to nothing. Just a twang like a string on a broken guitar.

And this proves two things to me...

1. Don't look back; and
2. Delete phone numbers from your phone that you should never ever text.