Shock and Awe

January 22, 2015January 22, 2015 / frankiegolightly

I had intended to write a ‘what I’ve learned’ type post to sum up my dedicated year of living authentically, but then something happened. A few days before Christmas I found a lump. Lying in bed, putting my hand to feel my heart beat, something was there that shouldn’t be. I had sometimes wondered if I’d be able to distinguish a lump if it came to it, but I knew. It felt like cold, congealing dread. Desperately wanting to mistrust my fingers, I went to see my GP who confirmed she could feel the same as me. She told me she was recommending me for tests as quickly as possible, with the kind caveat that this didn’t necessarily mean there was anything to worry about but it was best to be safe. I cried a little. I was surprised I wasn’t taking this well. Or perhaps I was. Perhaps the right reaction to potentially having a life threatening disease is to feel your world being thrown off-kilter, to be shaken to your very core. Shock and awe.

I told no-one. It was a few days before Christmas, after all.

For about 36 hours I moved in a haze, a strange fuzziness in which all my senses were on high alert. It was a strangely physical reaction. The ground felt a little shaky under foot, nothing had a sense of real permanence any more. Then I started to get some perspective. I hadn’t even had the diagnosis yet and even if it was the worst, half of people survive cancer these days. I began to see it as a positive, a necessary wake-up call. Suddenly 48 seemed like no age at all; the idea that I would waste any of my precious time feeling bored or bemoaning my cellulite laughable. All I wanted now was the opportunity to love my body for being healthy.

Every so often the idea of my mortality would hit me like a slap across the face and for a few seconds I would feel genuine terror, but generally I went about my days with an air of normality. Christmas felt just a touch more poignant.

Ten days after finding the lump I got the all clear. I wanted to cry all the way home from the hospital, letting the relief pour out. The ground still felt a little shaky. It is taking time to get used to the idea that I am not living under that threat any more. I feel changed by the experience and wonder how long that will last.

Today I had lunch with a friend who wanted to tell me about her week from hell. It turns out that she has been going through the same thing. Apart from her husband, she told no-one. She also took it well: she cried and shouted and swore. A healthy reaction to facing one’s mortality, I now think. She got the all clear two days ago. I shared my experience and our eyes mirrored tears. The shadow is still there but perhaps it will serve to illuminate the good stuff.

I cannot praise the NHS staff enough, who handled me with the perfect blend of care, humour and practicality. How they cope with having to give such potentially heart-breaking news I don’t know, but I thank them for it. Hundreds, possibly thousands of people go through this every day, many without such a positive outcome. They leave doctor’s surgeries and go about their business, looking the same as you and me. So please be kind, you never know what shadow someone is walking under.

Going Up …

September 16, 2014September 16, 2014 / frankiegolightly / Leave a comment

I’m currently working in London and learned something new today. I tend to take the stairs and so was unaware of Lift Etiquette, which is an Important Thing. Apparently it is very bad form to take the lift for only one floor. You shouldn’t press the button for a floor that gives the current occupiers an extra stop before their destination. Having to hold the doors for someone approaching is not appreciated; that the lifts in this building don’t offer a ‘close doors’ button option is a source of great annoyance.

Hearing this conversation I couldn’t help saying “Do those few seconds make that much difference?” to which the response was “You’re probably one of those happy people, aren’t you?” That made me smile.

There was an element of tongue-in-cheek through this conversation but it speaks to something deeper because the irritation felt when Lift Etiquette (or driving/ shopping/noise/neighbour etiquette – insert your poison of choice) is ignored is very real. After just a few days here I can already feel the pull of that mentality, where day-to-day seemingly petty issues become a big deal. I understand, I lived the life of the daily commuter for many years and know how important it is to be standing at just the right spot on the platform. I really am not trying to belittle it, but surely there has to be more to life than this? Perhaps that is the point: when we feel our lives aren’t all they should be, it’s easy to lose perspective and get overly frustrated when even the small things don’t go according to plan. Our larger dissatisfaction is channelled into what we feel we should be able to control.

Whatever it is, I thought then and still think so now, that the monotony of the daily grind would be brightened immeasurably if we tried to keep some perspective and took a moment to remember we are all human beings. It can be easy to forget. I once said something similar to a gent in a suit huffing and puffing behind me in the ticket queue because the person in front of us wasn’t moving quickly enough. He looked quite taken aback, genuinely surprised at the idea.

I don’t remember who said it but ‘kindness is the oil that takes the friction out of life.’ I can’t think of anything that doesn’t improve with a drop of it, perhaps it’s time to start a kindness revolution? That way, there would be no need for Lift Etiquette.

Photo from the film ‘Up’ found in the public domain

Does Kindness Trump Authenticity?

May 17, 2014 / frankiegolightly

I am spending a lot of time with my family at the moment. Which can be challenging for oh so many reasons (not least the endless supply of cake), but particularly when it comes to the sticky issue of being true to myself. Not only is it easy to fall into playing to the stereotype they have of me (a big enough topic to have a post all of its own), it’s also raised for me the question: does kindness trump authenticity?

As I imagine it is with most families (unless we’re even more screwed up than I realise), we have long established ways of communicating with each other. Some of these are silly, childish traditions created when I was a different person (an actual child, for instance). Particularly with my Dad. I am not that person now, and who I am today wouldn’t behave that way. But it would break my Dad’s heart if I didn’t play along. And, even in the name of authenticity, I’m not prepared to do that.

So I was getting my knickers in a twist thinking about this. Was I just taking an easy way out? Then I started to make the distinction between honesty and authenticity. I had been starting from the assumption that to be authentic you had to be honest. Which is of course true. But would it be enough to be honest with myself? If I chose to be authentically kind? Which made me wonder if perhaps sincerity is a more appropriate word. More kind, in fact.

I’ve rubbed up against this honesty dilemma before. Years ago when looking at my personal values, honesty was at the top of my list. Oh yes, siree, I believed with all my stubborn Taurean heart that this was Number One Most Important to me, I had absolutely no truck with dishonesty. Don’t be playing my friend if you weren’t going to be honest. Or so I thought, until I looked at how this really played out in my life. If a friend asked my opinion of her outfit and I thought she looked terrible, would I tell her? If she was at home and able to change, then yes I’d definitely suggest something more flattering. If we were already out and she could do nothing about it, I certainly wouldn’t tell her she looked like an exploding sausage, for example (unless so much wine had been consumed we’d both find it fall-off-our-seats hilarious … is there that much wine?). What would be the point of ruining her evening? So there I was, trampling on my number one value, which isn’t a smart thing to do. It meant I had to review and revise: yes, honesty is still hugely important to me, but in practice it appears kindness is more so. Who’d have thought? I surprised my stubborn self.

I’d love to live in a world where kindness and honesty could always be one and the same. To never have these conflicts, to be honest and true and accepting of each other at all times. And bluebirds would sit on my shoulder singing melodiously. That’s certainly something to work towards, and in the meantime I’ll continue to muddle my way through doing my best to find a balance. But until that day, yes, for me kindness trumps authenticity. As long as it’s sincere.