The Taller the Tree, the Harder the Fall

We do our best, and sometimes our best isn’t enough. Other times we succeed, and the rest of the time we’re under appreciated. 

It’s a shit feeling to give your absolute all to something and fail. Perhaps even exhausting. To taste the air upon the dire cliffs of despair. So much so, that it makes you ask, why do I even bother. 

Whether it’s a task, a talent, a relationship or a game, failure tastes sour. 

Considering though, that we are merely flesh, bone, and bacteria, it’s quite extraordinary that we do not fail at everything we do. Cognitive function (whatever that is) and behavioural conditioning actually allows us to learn from our failures and grow. So why then, with such ability do we continue to fail in areas that we should have learned from? 

I think that the hardest part of failure isn’t the disappointment from ourselves and our friends, nor even the repercussions of our inability,  but rather most ironically it is knowing that you need to return to the metaphorical horse, but simply cannot bring yourself to do it. 

The difficulty lies within convincing that voice in your own head that it’s okay to fail, everything will be fine, you’ll grow from this, blah blah. 

It is acknowledging that what is done is done, and that it is not a failure, bit rather an opportunity which did not previously exist. 

Easier said then done. Stay resilient, believe that you can do better, always keep learning, and acknowledge your shortcomings for what they were, and not what they are. 

I never was good at practising what o preach. 

Guise

A passing moment

A thousand blades of grass below, and broken clouds of shades above. Wandering ants and rising plants, surrounding sounds of neighbours plans. 

A million microscopic cells at any single visual point, paint a picture for the sake of sake, and weave a memory within our mind’s tapestry.

Take any single moment in time, isolate as many elements of that moment, one by one. Take it in. Separate the sound of passing traffic, from the whistle of that summer breeze. Every muscle, ligament, and bone that works together as you scroll meanderingly through Facebook, your eyes constantly adjusting, re-focusing, absorbing. 

Millions upon millions of unconscious cells been carried though a fragile ecosystem that we call ‘person’.

It’s almost not our fault, that we live lives filled with such extensive stimuli, it would be impossible to appreciate every single element that goes into making any given moment, a reality.

There is a peace, however, in slowing down and isolating the experiences.
Take a moment away from your feeds, from the unending flow of information at your fingertips. A slow deep breath, and a taste of mindfulness.

In a world which is passing so quickly, it is these moments that centre me. Putting existence into perspective. 

Guise

Cynicism and Optimism

When did I become so cynical?

It’s something I’ve noticed recently, that amidst all the click bait, celebrity relationship drama, and “it’s just a prank bro” clips filling my Facebook feed, I have come to accept that I hate other people. It leaves me bewildered, searching for the answer to when I stopped seeing the best in people, basically, when I stopped giving as much of a shit as I used to.

As a teenager, I was wound more tightly than hospital sheets. I was anxious, nervous, and highly insecure… so pretty much like 80% of teenagers (I assume, anyway. Just go along with it for the sake of this piece).

And so, eventually I finished school, got a job, started studying, got a different job, got promoted, finished studying, got another job, and so on.  My job exposes me to the best and worst of people every day, but then again, whose job doesn’t? Somewhere along that way though, things changed. I was no longer who I used to be. I no longer had control over being the playful optimist I had once been, as life was now in the way.

But I guess that’s the beauty of optimism. It is inherently biased to highlight the points which you actually want to remember, beer helps with those other memories. Hidden in the opportunist concoction of hindsight and artistic licence is the reality of mediocrity and underwhelming chronicles. We too often remember fondly of our past, not always willing, or capable, of distinguishing the merit to our rosy re-creation.

This is where I am at now, trying to find the best of both of me, the real cynic, and the playful optimist. Seeking out how to balance the scales by recognising each side of me and adapting my style depending on the situation. Knowing when to be positive, and trust in optimistic power, but also when to bite the bullet and know that the cynic grounds my perceptions, and keeps me close to reality.

For the record, I don’t actually hate other people, it’s more a compelling frustration.

Guise

Do you have something to say about the roles of cynicism and optimism in your lives, contact @guiseside on Facebook or Twitter, or email at guiseside@gmail.com

Journey to the Centre of My Writing

Inspiration is a fickle,  inconvenient bitch. It comes when you can’t use it, and is a hide-and-seek champion when you go looking for it.

It has been elusive in my life, as I’ve pursued it, to use it. to fuel my mind as I dip and dodge writer’s block. I’ve always relied on inspiration for content. Maybe it is the euphoric release when you complete something fueled purely by raw inspiration, versus forcing it through solely with motivation and/or the guilt of wasting talent. maybe it is laziness, or perhaps it’s even a willingness to embrace easier distractions. I’d hate to believe it’s the latter, but internally it strikes a chord. let’s come back to that…

There have always been two clear factors to my writing, or capacity to do so

• Inspiration – this is like that first mouthful of soft-drink on a hot, Australian summer day after spending hours out in the sun. It is the smell of freshly ground coffee, or the shiver of a cool breeze as you gaze upon the stars in the countryside. maybe even the first GTL after a long week at work. Unrefined, unaltered, unquestioned fuel, combusting efficiently without expending barely any energy.
• Motivation – the drive, the chase, or the reason. It is the hunger that pushes you to achieve a goal. It is the self-control to just sit and do, whether that be to write or otherwise.

And so, the question looms, “Why is inspiration so important?”. Does one require the other, or may they exist exclusively of the other? I suppose the answer must be yes. I may write with either just inspiration or just motivation, however,  the products of each should be inexplicably different. A piece without inspiration will exist, but like without heart. It will read factually but be missing the emotional connection that the writer can tie into text and paper. A piece without motivation will exist, but may be missing coherency, simplicity, or a clearly defined point. So with this exists the duality of writing. Inspiration and motivation is my formula. If I could bottle it, I would.

I’ve spent my life chasing inspiration and struggling with motivation. Lighting a fire under inspiration is something I’ve always left up to chance, and conveniently hidden behind when I’ve lacked the self-control to remain motivated. It has been easier to succumb to easier distractions, than to try and build a fire, and patiently sit by it as the flames grow and the meat reaches well-done.

With this I pledge to myself to spend as much energy as possible to beat distractions. To overcome fear of acceptance, of failure and of judgement.

I hope this piece continues to light my fire, or perhaps is the spark to yours. That this cathartic self-dialogue serves some greater purpose, to pay it forward, as a wise man has done for me.

Guise 

Rhythm and Blues

Wake Up. Don’t hit that snooze button again. You have a train to catch, or traffic to beat, or ferry to ride. It’s time for work.

Nobody ever told me just quite how it would change. Growing up, you are warned and whinged to about the hassles and stresses of working life. “Enjoy your school days”, or “make the most of uni, they were the best times”, that’s all we were ever told. The details were omitted of the difficulties of adulthood. We assume the details and believe that it all comes down to the stresses of paying bills, and raising a family. I don’t know about you, but I was never warned about the expectations, and THAT is what has been the biggest adjustment to adulthood.

I’m no stranger to responsibility, rather than shirk it off, my personality drives me at it and I thrive on it. Expectations are different however. Expectations from your manager which far exceed either your skill set, formal training, or time capacity. Expectations from your family to be there for them, to not snap at them, keep your patience, and to be the person that they have loved as you grow up. Expectations from your friends to always be the same, smiling, and ever-happy guy they have grown up alongside. Expectations from your partner to be a caring, nurturing lover, a keen listener, and a rock firm support during their tough times. Expectations from society that we will uphold the morale good, not drink to excess, work hard in our career, turn away from drugs, avoid violence, and so on. These expectations are all valid, and it fills us with a great satisfaction when we meet those expectations, but it leaves very little for one to focus on, develop, and grow one’s self, without some of those expectations falling away to way side, leaving us with broken or strained friendships, unfulfilled career potential, a rocky relationship, or a reputation as that family member that nobody can stand to be around.

Nobody warned us of the pressure; nobody warned us of the monotony of working life, and the anxiety that comes with it. Considering the improvement for worker’s rights that we have seen in the last twenty years, it’s fair to assume that this is the best it has ever been. I don’t want to know what it was like for our parents, grandparents, and so on. Ignorance helps me sleep.

So what’s this all about, exactly? Why scrap together 650 words of whingeing about life? Is it about the pressure of a career, the monotony that working life brings, the conflicting expectations drawing and pulling us in multiple directions, or a personal vent at the state of NSW infrastructure? I suppose it’s all of the above. It’s not to say that you or I can’t handle it all, or that we are destined to failure or an asylum. It’s simply that it sneaks up on us. When our career, family, relationship, friendship, health and hobbies come at us demanding the same scarce time that we have to spare, we cannot prepare for this moment. No matter how many warnings our relatives, mentors, and acquaintances offer to us, nobody is ready at that point. We are still young, possibly immature, but ultimately overwhelmed by the spike, in expectations.

Happiness is the key. Either find something you love to do, work for someone amazing or an employer who openly shows how much they care about you, just find something, because I’ve found in recent months, is that happiness makes the darkest days feel bright (don’t you dare say a word about that cliché).

When you find that happiness, make sure you show your appreciation to the person or people who supported you when you found it tough to wake up. When you were pressing that snooze button three too many times a morning, they were your happiness when you needed it most. She is my happiness, and the reason I fought through some of my toughest times. Thank you.

 

Guise