You’ll remember that my Lent resolution this year to give up fear, inspired by my Twitter-buddy Jeanne who consistently inspires people with her utter lack of fear and her stubborn unwillingness to give in to it at any point.

Giving up on fear is at once much, much harder than you may first think and much, much easier, too.

–The Easy–

It’s easy to ‘say’ you’re giving up fear. It’s definitely a plus to be able to get the words out and feel emboldened by the commitment you’ve just made.

It’s easy to stop yourself fearing the everyday kind of things that used to bug you – it’s a conscious choice whether you’re going to allow yourself to worry about how you pay the bills or if your energy is better focused on how to generate the income that’s going to cover them. A fact that’s especially true for freelancers like me without a steady paycheque1.

It’s easy to take advantage of the initial freedom that giving up fear brings you. It’s easy to float yourself away from the day-to-day issues and focus on your fear-free living–for the first week or so.

–The Hard–

It’s hard to genuinely beat your brain into submission when it tries to stir the old fear about those everyday items you shrugged off in the euphoria of your first few days or weeks. The rumbling in your subconscious feels like it’s never going to go away.

It’s hard to tackle the “new-found” fears that crop up without your being able to plan for them. You land a new job and you’re suddenly worried about being “the new guy”. How will you fit in, will you get on with your co-workers, will you be good at your job? All these things that life throws at us are wont to prompt a significant rise in our fear levels that isn’t easy to ignore.

It’s hard knowing that this new way of life is forever. There’s really no point in giving up fear for a few weeks or a month2 – it’s a lifetime commitment. And that is scary.

–But, But, But–

When you’re successful, when you manage to rise above your fear, to master it, control it and stop it from being the boss of you, it becomes very, very difficult to revert back to your old ways. The idea of being scared becomes almost laughable when you think of your old fear of making that phone call, or attending that networking event on your tod or of introducing yourself to the hottie across the room who’s been making eyes at you all night.

When you truly commit to stepping up to the plate and facing Fear’s most crippling fastball, you can do so in the knowledge that you’ll swing for it, you’ll hit it and you’ll be running for home before you can say “I’m scared of getting my kit dirty”.

1. or paycheck for our American cousins [↩]
2. or 40 days [↩]

A large part of our lives is taken up looking for new and exciting things to do; peering into the future to see what we could be doing six months, a year, five years from now.

I see things differently. Perhaps because of the perspective two-and-a-half years on the transplant list gave me – knowing little else from sitting, getting worse and waiting for (a) death or (b) a second chance – I don’t see the point in looking that far into the future. Six months is about my limit.

Even now, my fiancée is being incredibly patient as we try to plan our wedding for July 2012. I’m just about grasping it, but it’s a long way off.

I prefer to live a life that focuses not necessarily on the cliché-heavy ‘here-and-now’, but rather on the soon-to-be. Not focusing on what I dream of down the line, but on the actions – however small – I can take now to take a step closer to those dreams.

As I move forward in my own, personal brave new world, I’m already committing to things, exploring things and taking action to make them happen.

If your life is full of things you’d love to do ‘some day’, be they personal, professional or otherwise, now is the time to take the next step, the next action and set the wheels in motion for whatever it is you most want to pursue.

Just because it’s not laid on a plate, doesn’t mean it’s not there for the taking.

I’ve now been blogging in various guises since 2006, initially charting my transplant journey, both pre and post, then moving on to cover more to do with my day-to-day life, work and career. Then this blog turned into more of a business-orientated blog looking at social media and productivity, among other things.

There Is No Answer is a natural (or at least natural-feeling) evolution of that blog based on where I am in life today.

Over the last three months various occurrences ((some of which I’ve blogged about, some I haven’t)) have, erm, occurred in my life to make me rethink and re-evaluate life, the universe and everything1.

Here’s a small selection of things I’ve learned about myself – and others – in that process:

1. I’m both far more fragile and far more resilient than I thought. That may seem oxymoronic, but my physical and emotional fragility were highlighted and tested by last month’s brain haemorrhage, pushing me into dark places of acceptance I didn’t want to go, but followed by the embracing of a new way of doing things, a new world order applicable only to the oliverse.
2. Failure is fine. It’s taken me over 29 years to finally accept it, but failing is a far bigger part of success than getting things right is.
3. Friends are those who you know will be there no matter what. I’ve learned some hard lessons about friendship in the last few months and had to face the loss of some people who have previously played a very large part in my life. But while my life has moved on, I’m not sure theirs has and that chasm is apparently too far to bridge.
4. There is always something else. For better and worse, there will always be a new challenge to face as soon as you surmount the previous one, but there will always been just as sweet a reward for tackling the next one.
5. Lastly, and most importantly, There Is No Answer. Nothing we do will ever be 100% right, but little that we do can ever be entirely wrong. Understanding – and embracing – the world’s lack of order is key to getting the most out of each and every day we’re here.

There Is No Answer is a call to everyone – artists, filmmakers, entrepreneurs, mothers, fathers, husbands and wives, dogs, dingos and donkeys – to embrace the knowledge that life is not a zero-sum game; it’s a multiple choice test that will only ever be marked by ourselves.

This blog will aim to highlight all those little things that can make life and work easier, more immediate, more fun and more enlightening. I am to lead the way in embracing the answer-less society by putting myself in the kinds of situations I feared before and pushing the boundaries of my comfort zone as I design and style a new life for myself.

Each day of my life is dedicated to the donor whose most generous of gifts allows me to be here today. I intend to honour their memory by living the life I want, the way I want with the people I want. Nothing more, nothing less.

Care to join me? Don’t worry, there is no answer.

1. thanks to Douglas Adams for that one [↩]

IF you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream – and not make dreams your master;
If you can think – and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
‘ Or walk with Kings – nor lose the common touch,
if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And – which is more – you’ll be a Man, my son!

— Rudyard Kipling

Nothing sums up the way I’m feeling this morning better than this amazing poem. It’s probably my all-time favourite poem and I try every day to live my life by it.

Around 8am this morning, I anticipated being in the middle of deepest Wales, holed up in a little hotel not far from the foot of Snowdon, enjoying a celebratory breakfast with the 3 Peaks team and our nearest and dearest who were all coming out to join us.

Instead I woke at home, in my own bed, many hundreds of miles from where I wanted to be and feeling pretty rubbish about it, if I’m honest.

But, straight from my Life According To Kipling playbook, I’m off out for a celebratory breakfast with one of the team and their wife, both great friends who’ve been hugely supportive through the whole crazy rollercoaster of the last few weeks.

I am facing disaster and treating is just the same as I would have the triumph of completing the 3 Peaks. By celebrating I’m telling whatever higher power has deemed it necessary to prevent me completing it for the 2nd year in a row that I will not be bowed, I will not be cowed and I will never stop appreciating, loving and making the most of the gift I’ve been given. Wales or Wellingborough, it makes no difference to me.

If this post means anything to you, please share the sign-up link for the organ donor register for the trek – http://www.bit.ly/oli3peaks – by copying and pasting or sharing the link to this post. Help us make sure everyone who needs it gets the second chance I’ve had.

Although yesterday didn’t see a new post on the blog here from the #Trust30 challenge, I’m still creating. I spent the day working on plans to migrate and upgrade some of the websites I own and run, including this very blog, which the eagle-eyed among you will have noticed isn’t where it used to be.

I’ve also been working on a page to collate everything I do and advertise myself to the widest possible audience. The page should be live in the next couple of days, but here’s a sneaky few peaks:

The plan was that by this time today1, I should have been arriving at a hotel in Scotland with the rest of the 3 Peaks team to prepare ourselves to tackle the immense 3 Peaks Challenge this weekend.

As we all know, other things happened to get in the way of that.

I’m absolutely gutted that I’m not going to be with Ben, Dave, Gary and my bro this weekend and that I’m not going to feel the immense sense of achievement (and exhaustion) on Sunday morning that I anticipated feeling. What makes it worse is the fact that this is now 2 years in a row when my health has got in the way of the very same challenge, with the very same team of people.

I’ve dealt for many years with the ups and downs of my health, but I’ve always managed to come out of things with a positive spin and so it is with this. Despite thinking that after transplant I wasn’t going to face these kinds of disappointment, I’m finally starting to hear the sense in my own words, spoken at almost every event I speak at: transplant is not a magic bullet, it’s simply exchanging one set of problems for another.

Don’t get me wrong, there is nothing – NOTHING – that I would change about my life right now. Transplant has saved and transformed my life and allowed me to be the person I always wanted (and believed) I could be. It’s allowed me to do all the things I’ve always wanted (and believed I could) do.

Events like the things that have been happening recently serve only to remind me that although I have downsides, so does everyone else. And thanks to my transplants, my troughs are a hell of a lot shallower than before – and than many other people deal with every day – and my peaks are a hell of a lot higher.

So it leaves me simply to suck it up and move right along – knowing in my heart of hearts that not going this weekend is the right decision and knowing that something else will soon come along to excite, entice and energise me as I move forward.

As a result of recent events, my life is going through a lot of changes, but they are all enormously exciting and I know that the best times of my life lay ahead. It’s time to knuckle down, get on with it and start taking my first steps forward to the brave new world to which I’m being introduced.

1. around 4.30pm as I write this [↩]

One of the interesting things about taking on a challenge like #Trust30 is the imperative to create.

Normally, we create out of a desire, out of inspiration that comes in many different forms, whether it be business ideas, marketing concepts or works of art.  By being part of a month-long initiative to create something every day, the onus is switched from inspiration to perspiration – we are forced to work to conjure something to post or begin.

Of course, creation-to-order is nothing new – media and ad agencies1 develop fresh, innovative ideas every day, under pressures from clients only too happy to take their business elsewhere if they’re are unimpressed.

So can creativity be forced? Is it possible to access the hidden banks of ideas in our heads to keep the creativity waterfall flowing, or are the people who do it day-in, day-out simply overwhelmingly talented and in touch with their creative hemisphere in their heads?

Truly creative people are able to create from nothing in an instant. It may not be a polished, finished product or idea, but their brains work in such a way as to always be able to supply something. But I also believe that there’s no such thing as a “non-creative” – everyone is capable of it, one just needs to learn how to harness the creative muscle and make it work for you like anything else.

1. as TinyButMighty is evolving into [↩]

Yesterday I pledged myself to taking part in the Domino Project, Ralph Waldo Emerson-inspired #Trust30 project to create something new everyday.

As I headed to bed this evening, it occurred to me that I hadn’t written anything on the blog today. Sure, I busied myself with updating and catching up on The Indie Film Hub, which had also been hit by my minor health detour last week, but did that qualify under #Trust30 rules?

What is “creation” – how do we define it? How do I define it is probably the more pertinent question; the one thing we can safely say about all art and creativity is that it’s entirely subjective.

For me, this blog represents creation; the Hub represents curation, a very different thing. Even though I create new content to post every day, what I’m actually doing is curating the content I believe to be of value to other filmmakers and people who work in film. The content itself – the lessons, the examples, the information – is all created by the hugely talented people whose blogs, websites and newsletters I read every day.

So what is creation? For me, creation is about intent. Creation is about originating something that serves a purpose. It doesn’t have to be a higher purpose. It doesn’t even have to be a purpose that matters to anyone else. When I first started blogging, I wrote entirely for myself, to motivate me and to explore my life and my feelings. That’s a purpose. That’s creation.

By that definition, I suppose the Hub does represent that. So why doesn’t it feel that way?

What’s your definition of creation? Is it word-count, impact, intention? Or is it more ethereal, more intangible?

After the travails of the last three weeks1, it’s time to get back to the business of blogging and creating top-quality content for all my readers again.

To that end, a very useful little initiative popped up in my Google Reader RSS feed this morning – The Domino Project‘s #Trust30 initiative, based around their new release Self Reliance by Ralph Waldo Emerson.

#Trust30 is a month-long commitment to create something new every day for 30 days, whether it’s blogging, writing, painting, filmmaking or anything in between. The aim is simple to create.

I’m committed, are you? If you’ll be taking part, leave us a link to your site in the comments so we can all help to hold each other accountable.

1. detailed in 3 posts on my Journal Blog here, here and http://www.olilewington.co.uk/smilethroughit/2011/05/31/the-sage-concluded/ [↩]

By now you’ll have read the other two posts and, possibly, seen my Tweets on the subject, too, but I’m home safe and sound after the craziness of the preceding weeks. Here’s what happened on the final day of investigations at the John Radcliffe in Oxford.

At 8.30am I was informed I’d be going to the angio theatre at around 11am to get everything sorted. 10 minutes later I was told it would be 9am instead. A rapid shower and gowning later, and I was riding my bed down the corridors to the radiology department, where I was met by an assortment of nurses, doctors and, I think, and anaesthetist (although she could have been just about anything).

The nurse checked out my groin and deemed that I’d not shaved well enough, so gave me a rapid going over with a dry razor, following which I was immediately sterilised with surgical alcohol. Yes, yes it did hurt. A lot.

Next came the ironically-painful local anaesthetic injections around the artery in my groin, followed by a frankly disconcertingly painful and uncomfortable pull, pushing, pressing and scratching as the doc inserted a fairly large tube into my artery and begin sliding the angio tube all the way in and up to the base of my neck.

Angiograms are very weird things, where you’re lying flat on your back with an X-Ray machine immediately above your face and one immediately to the side. As they inject the contract dye into you head to highlight the blood flow – and thus show any clots or aneurysms – you feel a hot rush that’s unlike anything you can describe beyond the feeling you get when you tense really hard to make yourself go red in the face.

What’s even weirder with a full angio, as opposed to the CT Angio I spoke about last time, is that they pinpoint very specific areas of your head, meaning you get the flushing sensation in extremely localised areas in your head. It’s incredibly bizarre and although not unpleasant, it’s not something I’d like to repeat to often. Or at all.

Back on the ward, I felt the familiar headache forming, but this time it was accompanied by a significant nausea as well and before long I was beside myself with pain and the urgent desire to throw up, coupled with being forced to lie flat on my back for 6 hours after the procedure to prevent the artery opening up again once it had clotted.

It turns out, although I was unaware of it at the time, mostly through sedative doses of Codeine and Tramadol for the pain, that I’d reacted to the dye they had used. Whereas the CTA had only cuased a headache, the far more significant doses of dye used in the full angio had resulted in a not-insignificant reaction on my part. The only good thing to come from it is that I don’t really remember a lot of it too clearly.

In the end, I improved quite rapidly once I was put on IV fluids and began to eat and drink again and I was discharged the following day with two conflicted reports on what had happened.

The registrar was of the belief that the whole thing had been caused by acute sinusitis and that the LP result had been a false-positive. This is a diagnosis I struggle with having seen my mum suffer through horrendous sinusitis in the past and not recognising a single symptom she described in myself. However, because it was the only thing that showed up on the CT1, I think the Reg decided to put it down to the visible.

The consultant, on the other hand, strongly believes that it had, indeed, been a sub-arachnoid haemorrhage, caused not by a ruptured aneurysm as is most common, but by a burst blood vessel that was so small it obliterated itself in the process, leaving no evidence whatsoever for the scans to pick up – something that happens in around 15% of SAH cases, she told me.  Her main evidence for this was based on the Xanthochromia found in the LP – a type of cell formed when red blood cells expire – which she doesn’t believe would have formed in the CSF through a badly-performed LP as it takes too long for the RBCs to break down to that stage.

So, essentially, I left the hospital with a clean bill of health, but feeling worse than when I did when I was transferred.  I’m now on an anti-convulsant drug to stop the blood vessels in my head spasming and causing more problems. I’m assured this is purely a precaution and the course only lasts 3 weeks, so I should be back to normal soon.

More on the changes that have been forced on my by this latest hospitalisation later in the week.

1. ie, that my sinuses were full of muck [↩]