Tag: Mindfulness

Pottery

Every Friday when I’m at work, someone in my office asks me how I’ll be spending the weekend. I usually say I’ve got nothing on, and that that’s just the way I like it, but that’s not always strictly true. I do a lot of pottering – well, as much pottering as one can do on six wheels rather than two legs. Sometimes it leads me to people, places and plans with purpose. Other times, it lives up to its name, and I’m wandering aimlessly.

Not that that’s necessarily a bad thing – I actually spent a lot of today doing it. It clears the mind. It’s a calming, comforting, familiar routine, and one that requires no effort on my part whatsoever. But every so often, when I’m traipsing round the same shop for the hundredth time, I do wonder: is this something other people do, or is it just proof I need to find another hobby?

As is often the case, I can’t help worrying about what other people think. Every year, I get older and older, and now and again I feel like life is passing me by. Have I got enough to show for it? It can be hard to tell sometimes. Do I get myself worked up for no reason? Possibly. Probably. I don’t know. The jury’s still out…

Mason

The Vault

The coffee shop – two or three weeks ago, or thereabouts – scribbling away…

Damn. I’ve used this notebook for the one thing I vowed I never would – talking shop. Jotting notes from meetings. In the past, that might have ruined it forever, tainted it to such an extent that I couldn’t use it again. It sounds silly, I know, but it’s always been too easy to feel like I’ve failed in my mission to use it for one purpose and one purpose only. But this time I’m ignoring that, pressing on and using it as a starting point instead. Anything will lend itself to a stream of consciousness if you give it a chance. Besides, as I may or may not have admitted to before, I owe it to Liz to put this book to good use, so that it doesn’t suffer the same fate as so many of its predecessors. And it’s no more useful than it is here, in the coffee shop, accompanying me as I slurp my way through a hot chocolate with plump marshmallows. It gives me precious respite from the screen time that dominates my week. I’ve saved it for precisely this moment, too. It’s approximately 4.30pm, and on a Saturday the place closes at 5pm. When they kick me out, I’ll emerge from warmth and sanctuary into chilly November air – but I’ll still be warmed by the twinkle of those familiar, inspiring lights. I love seeing them framed by steamed-up windows. It makes this feel like the cosiest place on Earth.

Christmas is coming!

Mason

Back In The Driving Seat

This piece was written for the December 2022 issue of Caitlyn Raymond’s fantastic Details Magazine, which is out now – you can find out more about it by clicking here!

Whether it’s for this magazine, my own blog or any other outlet, I always try to write about my own life from a ‘glass half-full’ perspective. And why wouldn’t I? After all, there’s enough misery in the world at the moment without me adding to it. Unfortunately, though, my sunny disposition on the page isn’t always reflected in real life, and that’s never more true than now, at the tail end of nine months of unemployment (so far). I sit, I dwell and I overthink, and it seems like there’s something different for me to mull over every single day – I never quite seem to be able to catch a break. It’s hard to admit that without moaning, but I’m just telling my truth.

Last week, that troubling thing was time itself – more specifically, the feeling that it was passing me by, and there was nothing I could do about it. I’d turned 25 and I was sitting there, in the thick of November, with seemingly very little to show for my year. That’s a hopeless situation, let me tell you, and when you’re down in the dumps like that it can be very easy just to wallow in self-pity. I definitely know what that’s like, because it’s usually when the comfort eating starts! So when it happens, what do I do about it? I take control, I make changes, but not necessarily the kind you might expect.

They aren’t major life alterations. There’s plenty of time for those, and in any case, it’s always much better to take baby steps – and I mean baby steps. I’ve realised I have to seize the initiative wherever I can, even if that means deciding to eat my dinner an hour after Mum and Dad have finished theirs, as I have done recently. It’s caused a little bit of debate, and I suspect they think there’s something driving me away from them, no matter how many times I try to convince them otherwise. But the simple fact is that they won’t dictate when I’m hungry: I will. They can’t complain if I spend too long in my room either, because if I have my solitude, I’m calm and content, and those moments are worth their weight in gold.

You may well think I’m immature, or I have a screw loose (now that I’ve written about my dinner routines, I’m wondering if I do too). But in a life that’s increasingly felt like it’s getting away from me, it allows me to climb into the driving seat and get back behind the wheel. That might only be for five or ten minutes at a time, but that doesn’t mean it’s any less valuable. It provides a light in the darkness, it helps to guide me through uncertain times, and it makes the long-term unknown that little bit less daunting.

Mason

Don’t Expect Photographic Masterpieces

The title of this post borrows the last four words of my Instagram bio. In a world awash with filtered and immaculately polished social media updates, they take a certain amount of pressure off my shoulders, because they justify a profile full of photos that look like they’ve been taken with a potato. Besides, the sole purpose of my Instagram is to document life as it is, right? That means no technological trickery whatsoever.

With that in mind, I’ve decided to present you with a few images from my last weekend’s trip to Winchester, which you might have already seen if you follow me on Instagram. If you don’t, they offer the kind of glimpse at my travels that only I can offer – namely one completely devoid of skill or meaningful context. I’ll try my best to come up with some witty captions, but as with the pictures themselves, I can’t make any promises. Here goes!

Mason

These sculptures marked the start of a hare-raising weekend. I took the photos having just got off a sweaty train bursting for the loo, so I’m surprised they’re as clear as they are!
After I got home, I discovered there’s a Doctor Who-themed hare somewhere in Southampton. Needless to say, I was very disappointed they hadn’t moved it a few miles to Winchester instead.
There is, however, a gold-painted hare outside the coffee shop I go to, known as the “24 Carrot Hare”. That was probably my favourite for the name alone!
Having marvelled at the hares, I went straight to said coffee shop (the lovely Open House Deli) looking slightly hot and bothered. The girl behind the counter took one look at me and asked if I wanted a glass of iced water with my flat white. Let me tell you, it was heaven.
It feels like I’ve taken countless photos of Winchester Cathedral over the last few years, but I can’t help it – it’s always enchanting, even more so during an August heatwave. I just need to be able to capture it without cutting off the top.
I was pleasantly surprised to be able to get a table outside Ask Italian on Friday night. Is there a prettier high street in the country to eat in? I highly doubt it.
Believe it or not, I was trying to capture the charm of Winchester’s architecture here, not scaffolding or bemused elderly drinkers.
I don’t drink, so this is only orange juice, but it led me to some fascinating conversations, which I’m sure you’ll hear about soon. The glass made me feel pretty sophisticated too…
Once I’d checked out of the hotel on Sunday morning, my wheelchair needed some extra juice to get me to the station (as much as I love it, Winchester isn’t the flattest city in the world). The Open House Deli kindly lent me one of their plug sockets, which just so happened to be directly under a skylight. I slowly sizzled for an hour and a half, so I was thankful that iced water came to my rescue once again!

When I Shut My Door

Until sometime last year, when lockdown meant Dad was undertaking an increasing number of DIY projects out of sheer boredom, my bedroom door did not shut properly. By now, you may be aware that I’m a man who particularly values his privacy – so this was a problem. I wasn’t keen on the idea of anyone barging in whenever they wanted, especially as I’m in my early twenties, so when the lock was finally fixed – and a closed door meant a closed door – it was a big relief. Nobody wants to be greeted by the sight of me in my underpants!

More recently, the lock has meant that I have the space I’ve needed to think more carefully about numerous things. I’m still writing reviews for Music Is To Blame – in fact, my first paid review has just been published – and I also recently finished A Natural History of Dragons (not actually by Lady Trent, but Marie Brennan; Trent is the fictional author who narrates the story). Both have necessitated more scribblings in my notebook, and all of these have been added from the comfort of the armchair in my room. If I tilt my head back far enough, I can rest it on the top as I sit there and recline slightly, waiting for the words I’ve read or the music I’ve heard to dance through my head, working their magic. Thoughts and ideas are much easier to process this way, and silence is much easier to enjoy when I just want a moment to close my eyes and drift off.

This works wonders when it comes to clearing my head, and Lord knows I need headspace at the moment. Primarily, this is because of something new and exciting, which I can’t tell you about just yet, but it’s also because there’s plenty of scope for new ideas right now. When Lara finishes her copy, we’ll have to discuss our latest book, but aside from that I need fresh inspiration for my writing. August was yet another bad month for this blog – perhaps I should have set a target of four posts, like I did in July – but as always, I’m hoping this one will be better thanks to what lies ahead. When it is (and it will be, even if I have to force myself to write more nonsense like this), I’ll know that I have the peace and quiet afforded by a firmly locked door to thank.

Mason

You Don’t Know What You Have Until It’s Gone

Guten Tag! My name is Angharad and I am a friend of Mason’s. He has kindly offered me the chance to contribute to his insightful blog, so without further ado, here is some insight of my own!

I take many things for granted. Arguably, all of us do, and it stems from that wise old cliche of “you don’t know what you have until it’s gone”. This is, admittedly, the primary realisation which never fails to stop me mid-tantrum. Why am I screaming that my internet is slow when there are people not three miles from my house who have to sleep on the streets? Selfishness is an addiction, but realising how lucky you are, even on the worst days, can be the cure.

My dog died on 21 August 2017, shortly after his 11th birthday. He was a very springy Springer, who coped incredibly well on just three legs. He was a rescue dog, and one of the kindest spirits I believe I will ever meet. I used to mock him mercilessly because he was such a character; I mistook his joy for life as pure, unbridled stupidity, but he never failed to make me laugh. Whether it be by chattering to me like a dolphin (he never barked), dashing away to bring me his toys, Manky Frankie (a soiled toy fox) or Rooney (an equally rancid stuffed raccoon), or simply by waking himself up with a particularly loud fart, it always ended in myself and my mum laughing – and, in the last scenario, fleeing the room. I didn’t understand how important that dog was to me, and to my family, until he passed away. It made me wish that I had never mocked him, or abandoned him to see other people, or even spent so much time at university instead of spending time with him. I think we all take pets for granted, even though we know they have shorter lifespans. The house seems more silent every time I walk through the door; it made me realise that we typically wish for the thing we cannot have, namely more time.

I take my family for granted. My grandparents have always been there for me, and they have always supported me. My aunt, as well, who was ever taking me out on day trips and spoiling me rotten and taking time off work for a DVD and Chinese night. My mother, who has sacrificed so much to give me great opportunities, whilst dealing with so many different obstacles and tackling every single one of them. In retrospect, I an incredibly fortunate to have been born into such a supportive family. Of course, I wasn’t aware of this when I was younger, choosing instead to ignore most of their advice and kindness. It is only now that I live away from home, that I understand I need to show them how much they mean to me. I need to ensure that I call, and that I visit, and that I appreciate what they do for me.

Maybe we can’t stop taking things for granted, because we’re not always aware of it, but we can take a moment to be thankful for the things/people we recognise we take for granted. I don’t just mean family, either, but anyone who is of significance in your life. Pets, friends, partners, even neighbours. One particular neighbour springs to mind: she has also accompanied me through life, and she’s become a very wise, down-to-earth woman. As well as keeping in touch, I wrote her a heartfelt letter months ago, explaining how much she means to me and that she is basically my third grandmother. She appeared very grateful, and this isn’t an excuse to toot my own horn, it’s simply an example of something that everyone ought to do for those they love. After all, when you’re feeling down, what better way to be cheered up other than with reminders from loved ones that they love you?

We all lose loved ones eventually; no one is immortal. Therefore, I strongly encourage you, reader, to pick up the phone and call someone you love and tell them that (that you love them, not that they’re not immortal – the last thing people need is a reminder of their mortality). It doesn’t have to be an outright “I love you”, it could be something as elegant as “what would I do without you”, “you’ve been such a big help”, or “thanks for a great time”, because we live in a society where things move so fast that it is very easy for people to forget, and for people to be forgotten. Communication is essential if you want to be content, and if you want to help others be content: humans are social creatures, whether we like it or not. Even hermits are bound to miss even the most mild social interaction. Now, to link this with festivities, Christmas is a beloved celebration, for the secular and the religious alike. If you know anyone who might feel left out this Christmas, it never hurts to extend an invitation. We all take so many things for granted, more than we can know; the least we can do is acknowledge this, and thank the people (and pets!) without whom our lives would be utter chaos.

I wish you all a Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year.

Angharad