Archives: learning

I’m astonished logging in to the blog today to discover it’s been a month since I last wrote here. Why so? And why write now, at midnight on a Friday?

Because I’ve just read this and because I’ve had one of the most wonderful weeks of my life where I finally found peace with who I am, what I want to achieve and the knowledge and faith that if I want to, I will.

I wrote to my mailing list a couple of weeks ago about how disappointed I’ve been in myself recently. I’ve tried new things and failed. I’ve retried old things and failed again. I should have been celebrating the release of my first book and instead I was focusing on the negative things in my life and how ‘hard’ things were.

And yes, you’re right to scoff; how hard can life really be when I’ve just published a book that describes my journey that culminated in my being about as close to death as it’s possible to be while still breathing and moving around.

The truth is, I’d lost my way.

I’d lost the focus on the things in life that make me smile.

I’d lost my belief in myself and my dreams, that I can make things happen if only I put my mind to them.

I’d lost my understanding of the world around me and my place in it.

I was fearful; scared of a future I couldn’t predict, never realising that no one can.

I felt insignificant, I felt lost, I felt directionless and unable to see through the fog.

And then this week I spent a day with a group of people I greatly admire, hugely respect and feel an enormous amount of love for. And sharing the day with them, opening ourselves up to the world around us and to the spiritual world we wanted to share helped not only connect with my beliefs, but also with the inner sense of self I’d lost.

I’ve been crying out for an answer to my questions, all the while ignoring the signs for what I know to be true.

So far from being a downbeat and reflective post bemoaning the downfall and deletion of this blog – after all, what did I have to say the world any more – it’s an opportunity for me to wish you all an amazing end to 2012 (now the world hasn’t ended).

I hope you have a wonderful Christmas, that you celebrate the festivities in whatever way befits your beliefs (even if that’s not at all), and I hope you welcome 2013 with open arms and fresh excitement for what the world has to offer each and every one of us.

I don’t expect next year to be all green grass and rose-tinted, but I do hope that it delivers on the promise of the end of 2012.

The blog will be back in the new year; changed, perhaps, but still the same me, with the same beliefs and the same will to show you all that it doesn’t matter where you come from or where you’re going, only what you choose to do with where you are right now.

Last week’s post about whether mattering really matters or not stirred up a really interesting debate, both on here and also on my friend Chris Jones’ blog after he posted his thoughts in response.

One of my Twitter buddies also lead me down a really interesting thought pattern with his comment. He said

An audience of one is better than none

I totally agree with his point – at least in relation to filmmaking – but I also suggested that I sometimes count myself as an audience of one for my work.

As I’ve reflected over the weekend, it’s occurred to me that using myself is something of a cop out.

I’ve no problem with creating things in a vacuum and keeping them hidden from view – I like having space to experiment with filmmaking, writing, photography or any other artform I choose to challenge myself with – but it’s a lazy way out to say I’ve nade it for an audience of just myself.

One’s own self doesn’t not an audience make, and if I truly wanted to show things to an audience, I need to open myself up to that through wider dissemination of my work and not keeping it all safely tucked away.

I challenge myself to create more and share more with those around me, whether they be small, personal, family audiences, or a wider community of people in both my real and virtual lives.

Or, by contrast, to be happy creating in a vacuum just for me, but without trying to convince myself that it is anything but fear that’s holding me back from sharing it more widely.

How do you share your art? And how have you enabled yourself to open up to the big, scary world of feedback and criticism?

When I first started blogging, back in the dusty days of 2006, I began with a Statement of Intent. At the time, it was designed to remind me of the reasons I started the blog in the first place as well as letting people know what they could expect from me and it.

Over the years my blogs have changed faces many times, but this new facelift is something more. The simplified design and stripped-down visuals serve to remind me of the meandering thoughts and intentions that I let take over here and to keep me sharply, intensely focussed on what this blog is becoming.

You’ll notice the old name, SmileThroughIt1, is back because rack my brains as I may, I couldn’t think of a better way to sum up the purpose of this site or the ideas I live by.

What is SmileThroughIt? Put simply, it’s a philosophy of life that helped carry me through some of my toughest times. While waiting for my transplant, not knowing if it would come in time, I learned to focus on the good things in life. More than that, I learned that if I could find just one thing every day that made me smile, that day had been worth it.

This site is here to help me make the most of the second chance I’ve been given and if, through that, I can help, inspire or motivate other people, so much the better.

Before the lengthy break in updates, I’d started blogging to please others, to write what I thought people wanted, to ‘optimise’ my posts. But looking back over my archives, both on here and the original site’s archives, I saw that my best writing and the most effective posts came not from targeting an “audience”, but rather writing something for myself.

Although I hate to admit it, it’s not just my blog that has been through many twists and turns and a distinct loss of focus. Everything that’s happened in this blog has been mirrored in my day-to-day life and it bothers me that I feel like I’m letting this second chance slip past me without grasping every second.

This blog will reflect my change in mood, attitude and approach to my second chance at life and, hopefully, will help guide others through similar changes in their own life.

This story has no planned ending, no final goal, no means by which to measure its success or failure. This blog, like all of us, just is. And what it is comes from what’s inside and the people who read, contribute and support its aims, ideals and author (that’s me) along the steps of its journey.

Come along for the ride.

1. and I’ve moved all of the archives onto this single site, instead of stripped across two blogs [↩]

Writer/Director1 John August has put this post up on his blog today (or probably yesterday, US-time) linking through to an original pitch document from Gene Roddenberry for STAR TREK.

The document itself is well worth a read, for insight if nothing else, but JA’s comments and thoughts are equally valuable. More than that, though, he once again shows his generosity in helping writers understand the process by linking through to three similar documents he created for un-produced TV shows.

Not many writers would have the confidence to share what is, essentially, rejected work with a wider audience. JA’s willingness to open his work to writers across the world shows not only his confidence and talent, but perhaps that we all could be a little more open in order to learn more about ourselves and others.

Read his full post here.

1. and London Screenwriters’ Festival Hollywood Hookup guest [↩]

So, it turns out I’m not really very good at this adapting lark.

On an evolutionary scale, I’d be stuck somewhere around the fish-with-lungs kind of level – broaching the edges of a vast transformation but not quite grasping the basics of the new world laying itself out before me.

Everything is tiring.  Not just averagely sleep-making, I mean tiring.  Moving from one room to another if I have to slip off my O2 to change supply (because, let’s face it, I’m not about to raise the subject of O2 lines with Allied any time soon, even if it was an idea that appealed to me, which it doesn’t) can lead to a required recovery period of several minutes if not longer and the merest hint of further activity leaves me body screaming for bed.

The biggest problem I have is learning to listen to what my body’s telling me and then making the appropriate decision and acting upon it.

For instance: this evening I am beside myself with tiredness.  I didn’t sleep incredibly well, waking fairly often through the night in discomfort and from odd dreams.  Today, my wonderful Godson came to visit and we had a great day playing games and watching movies and just generally hanging out.  But it’s left me completely shattered.

The most sensible course of action would seem to be to take myself off to bed and sleep, but he left at 6pm, which means that if I’d slept for an hour or more at that point, which I desperately wanted to, I know that come 11pm tonight when I’ve finished my evening IVs, I’d have been unable to get myself off to sleep.

So I tried just taking myself to bed and relaxing with a book, which worked for a while before tiredness crept in and made the book a blur, on top of which the urge to spend a little more time with my soon-departing bro crept in.

I came downstairs and settled in the kitchen (comfortable but not sleep-able) to read some of the Sunday paper and we had some left-over scraps from lunch for our supper with Mum and Dad before he left.

But I’m still no better off in the tiredness stakes, and I don’t really know what to do about it.  I know that, listening to my body, I should be in bed right now, but I have a dose of drugs to do in an hour’s time, which will take an hour to go through, and if I fall asleep before then and have to wake up for them, that’ll be my night totally ruined.

I suppose one could argue that if I have nothing to do during the days, perhaps it doesn’t really matter what time I sleep, so long as I’m getting enough rest in during the day.  I could, for example, live like a badger and stay up all night watching the Ashes and take myself to bed when the day dawns, but I’m not sure that’s the answer.*

For one thing, being up all night on my own I know I wouldn’t feed myself properly then I’d miss all my day-time meals and so end up losing weight, which I really cannot afford to do.

Further to which, if I needed anything, had a nasty turn or my oxygen went funny or anything like that, it would mean rousing the house to come and help me, which I’d be mortified to do – it’s bad enough having to get someone else to make me cups of tea when I want them, or shifting oxygen tanks around on my whims, let alone getting them out of bed when they’re supposed to be resting.

What I really need to do, I think, is to find something which will keep me happily occupied in bed for a large chunk of the day – a computer game, or internet-linked lap-top or the like.  The problem with all of those options being that I don’t know how long I’m here for and they’re ridiculously extravagent things to entertain me when there’s a perfectly good TV downstairs.

I just can’t get used to spending a day on a sofa, though.  Daytime telly is bad enough (and I still can’t force myself to watch it, no matter how ill I am), but I’m also just not comfy on the sofa all day.  Odd, really, given I’d be quite happy in my bed 24/7 if I had summat to occupy myself with.

This is all one big crazy ramble now, largely caused by the constant fight to keep my withering eye-lids from gluing themselves together and calling it a night, but essentially it comes down to an “answers on a postcard” poser, really.  Any cunning plans for occupying myself whilst enforcing a strict “not out of bed” rule?

I’m determined to get better at listening and – hopefully, one day – pre-empting my body’s mood swings.  I used to be pretty good at it, but I seem to have lost my touch of late.  Here’s hoping it’s not too long before I get it back again…

*That’s not to imply that it is common badger behaviour to watch cricket all night, it was more an inference to nocturnal awakenings.

The hardest thing to come out of my recent downturn in form – as it were – is the adaptation I’m having to make to the way I do things and the things I do.

Yesterday, my big bro took me out in the afternoon to catch the new Bond movie (which is fab, incidentally, if somewhat dumbed-down Hollywood in parts) in the Xscape Cineworld in town. The trouble is it’s about a 200-300 yard walk from car to screen, including going up a floor, which took me a long time to negotiate and a lot more energy than I was used to.

I’ve recently become accustomed to walking a lot slower than I used to, although I did go through a patch of setting off at marching pace for 10-15 yards before being pulled up by unhappy lungs protesting at the work rate. I’ve now learned to start out slowly and continue in the same vein, but this latest infection has left me with a real need for permanent oxygen supply – something my pride has not quite caught up with.

Last night, K had some old work colleagues over for a girlie night in, which I couldn’t avoid and actually really enjoyed (she’s really quite girlified me). But even though it was in our place, and spent entirely sat on the sofas in he lounge, I couldn’t bring myself to wear my O2 in front of the group.

Silly, I know, but a good example of the adaptations I’m having to make to carry on as normal. I’ve got to get used to the idea that I’m going to have to have my nasal specs on when people are here and, more troubling for the moment, I’m going to have to get used to taking a portable cylinder out with me when I leave the flat.

It’s hard to describe the battle of heart and mind that’s going on at the moment – my head knowing that things are not only easier but also much better with the O2 on, my heart not wanting to be seen as a “sick person” by all and sundry who see me in the street.

One of the few blessings of CF is that to the untrained eye (and often to the trained, if you ask medical students patrolling the wards in hospital), the average person with CF doesn’t look any different to the average person without CF. Slightly skinny, maybe, but skinniness is somewhat in vogue at the moment anyway (for the girls, at least) so it’s not a big thing.

Going out with nasal specs and an O2 cylinder is another matter altogether. No one else does that. “Normal” people don’t travel adorned with extra air. Which means admitting to the world that you’re not the He-Man you wanted them to think you were. Or, at the very least, admitting that you’re “different”.

It’s one of life’s little ironies that I’ve spent such a lot of my life championing individuality to my friends, family and, more than anyone, the kids in my workshops, and now here I find myself aching to conform, to fit in, to blend.

But needs must, and I know I’ll come around to it. I just need to be more forceful with myself and understand that if I’m wearing the O2, I’ll be able to do more than I can at the moment, and hopefully “freedom” will be the spur that allows me to come to terms with it.

Failing that, anyone with any other ideas, please let me know!