The Street Performer

It was a cold and drizzly day in Basel, Switzerland. I had a few hours to kill before meeting my dear friend, Shadi, and decided to have a hot chocolate before heading to the cinema for an afternoon film. I went to Starbucks... yes... ME... in Starbucks. Those of you who know me well will probably have heard me criticising the place mercilessly (apologies to my best friend who loves it) but it was convenient at the time.

It had been a hard few weeks leading up to this little weekend escape. Many things had gone wrong, and my life in London was feeling fairly bleak. As I sat myself down at a second-storey window overlooking the street below, I took some deep breaths and sipped my hot chocolate - Swiss-style. (By Swiss-style I mean that the look of disappointment and self-chastisement which usually follow a sip of Starbucks hot chocolate were lacking. It was Switzerland - the land where no bad form of chocolate exists!)

Things were already looking up... I settled into my chair, pulled out my journal and gazed out the window. There awaiting me was something very odd. I had box seats to the show in the street but it still took me a couple of minutes to work out what I was looking at. There was a tall man with khaki cargo pants tucked into his hiking boots, a pink jacket, and a Noddy-esque cap. He already cut a striking figure in the wet, cobble-stone street, but there was more. He had large cardboard signs that said things like, "You are beautiful" and, "Listen! Everything is possible! The only one who can stop you is your own self!" Next to them was a large teddy bear declaring himself to be "Winnie the PooR." Altogether, quite the spectacle!

I wasn't sure what his angle was yet. He was just standing there at first. Eventually he started to do 'warm ups'. For a good fifteen-twenty minutes I was confronted with moves like this:

Finally a couple of daring kids, who seemed to be around twelve-years-old, saw the juggling balls on the ground and asked to see some action. He picked up three of them, tossed one up in the air and covered his eyes with the other two as he dramatically "watched" the single ball fall to the ground. He got one of the kids to give it a try too, and he awkwardly did so. You could see by the look of satisfaction on his face that he was completely chuffed by their interest and finally started to toss a few balls around. Once he got going, he was pretty entertaining! Other passers-by stopped to watch as well. The arrival of each new small child inspired him further and he pulled out his whole bag of tricks for them.

After a while I realised: I was smiling.

A little boy, about three-years-old, walked up to him, and instead of putting his coin in the case, he boldly held it up to him and didn't move until he stopped juggling to take it. The Street Performer stooped down to receive it with a heart-warming smile and placed his hand on his heart to express his gratitude... All the difficulties of recent weeks disappeared in that one beautiful moment. I know you're going to think I am just a big girl, but a couple of tears may have welled up at that point. This random guy, who at first seemed to be missing from the local psychiatric ward, was so full of love and warmth to those around him.

With my hot chocolate well and truly drunk, it was nearly time to walk down to the cinema. I grabbed a few Swiss franks and headed downstairs where the little crowd had dispersed and the juggler was now on his own.

I crossed the street and went over to him. He stopped what he was doing and said, "Thank you!" as I dropped the coins into his case. I had a little speech ready, but thankfully he saved me from having to use my rusty German by speaking very good English himself. When I told him where I was sitting he said, "Oh you were the one up there!" I told him that I had been sad but he made me smile and I wanted to say thank you. He gave me a big hug and told me to stay positive and not give up! He was a "gypsy traveller" (as he put it) from Hungary who moved around a lot. I don't know what his story is, but he smelled homeless and obviously made his living by doing this sort of thing. It still amazes me when I think of how bright his smile was, how open his heart was.

If he could be like that in his situation, then I could certainly find a way to be so in mine.

Parents Part 1: Courage

Since moving overseas by myself I have had to learn a lot of things very quickly and draw on all of my resources in order to survive. It often leads me to reflect on various things people have taught me throughout my life – especially my parents. As always, these valuable lessons have been transmitted, not by the lectures given or rules made, but by the example they set as I was growing up. For the record, I have FOUR parents and since I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately, I’d like to take the time share a little something about each of them and what they have imparted to me as a person. I’m going to break it down into four parts to make it easier reading, so let’s start with Dad!

My dad is one of the most courageous people I know. I’m sure he doesn’t always feel very courageous, but in order to bestow something on someone else, you must have a measure of it yourself; and, as a father, the most precious thing my dad has passed onto me is his courage.

Dad waged his anti-fear campaign from very early on in my childhood. Whenever I saw something scary on TV or heard a strange noise in the house he would always explain them to me…

“It’s not blood, it’s tomato sauce, and that’s not a real shark, it’s a robot.”

“There’s no one out there. It’s just the water pipes banging. Houses make noises all the time.”

Yep, I have countless memories of my dad saying: “You mustn’t be afraid.” He gave me the impression that truly scary things were very rare in life and we shouldn’t let the fear of them rule us. I didn’t realise how profoundly this attitude had shaped me until I moved over here. I mean, it had occurred to me before, when my girlfriends were freaking out about a big spider or a noise that seemed like a burglar trying to break in, that I was able to draw on my dad’s “It’s nothing to be scared of” doctrine, but now I have come to think of it as an invaluable part of who I am.

Friends that thought I was crazy for going outside to prove that a noise was just the wind and not a criminal thought I was even madder when I moved to a new country where I did not know anyone or speak the language. I landed in Italy with the nebulous reassurance that somehow I would find my way – and I did. I see now that that quiet confidence is a gift from Dad that, for me, has become a life philosophy: “You mustn’t be afraid.” Fear can rob us of so many things, and no matter what I do with my life, I hope that I will always make the choice to be brave.

My dad has seen some pretty awful things in his time and been through many tough times, but he has always kept going, kept working hard and not given up. I have to tell you, I’m really proud of my dad. Every time someone tells me that I have guts, the person they are really paying tribute to is the man that taught me how. I am so grateful to him, and if I ever have kids, the one thing I hope to pass onto them is the courage to live an intrepid life.

“Ships are safe in harbour, but that’s not what ships are for.” – William Shedd

Italian Stallions

The secret weapon of the Italian Stallion is all in the way he looks at a woman. It's an art. The surreptitious glances employed by Australian men are alien concepts in Italy. Italians have no qualms about staring at you unrepentantly and yet they manage to do it in a way that is flattering, not freaky. They make you feel like they really SEE you. This is cryptonite for women. After a fair whack of time in this country, I'm fairly immune by now, however, a recent Italian Stallion incident was an apt reminder of their capabilities.

I was sitting at the base of a monument in Milan's Piazza del Duomo when a couple of guys sat themselves down next to me. It has to be said: One of them was quite good-looking. Let's call him Giorgio. Giorgio had a shopping bag from some Milan-based designer store and a cigarette he insisted on smoking in that smooth European way. His phone rang several times and it was evident that he spoke at least 3 languages. Impressive. Suddenly, Giorgio jumps up, raises his dark eyes wrathfully toward the sky and then beseechingly at his friend: "Did it get me?"

Yes Giorgio... It got you...

A pigeon had pooped on his pin-striped shirt. The friend giggled, and Giorgio despaired. In Italy, your clothes are practically your curriculum vitae.

Then... What did he do? He turned to me with one of those looks... As if he were asking me the deepest and most meaningful question in the world... "Do you have a tissue?" Recovering from the bomb blast of his weapons of mass seduction I altruistically produced not only a tissue but a bottle of water to help save his shirt. What a caring person I am... It was only after he had thanked me profusely and reflected on how fortunate he was that I was there, that I realised what was happening. I injected myself with a hardy dose of anti-cryptonite and moved on.

Now I hear you asking, "Is that the only story you have from your five weeks in Italy?" Of course not! Nowhere inspires me to write this blog like Italy! As soon as I get back to England I'll fill you all in. At least Giorgio had a full arsenal to work with. Stay tuned for a couple of guys who came at me with the likes of catapults and butter knives. HahahFor now, I'm trekking around Eastern Europe for ten days. I was sad to leave Italy this morning but now I'm in Prague and looking forward to my first stint in the Eastern Block! Catch you soon!

Lovely People

“A loving person lives in a loving world. A hostile person lives in a hostile world. Everyone you meet is your mirror” – Ken Keyes Jr.

I can’t tell you how much I agree with this quote.

In my job I meet new people every day from all kinds of backgrounds and situations. It’s amazing how people cope, or don’t cope, with the difficulties of life. Today I met one of the loveliest couples I have ever encountered in my life. They are an elderly couple living in Essex (where, coincidentally, I now work), and for the sake of maintaining patient confidentiality, I’ll call them Bill and Jan. Jan suffers from a particularly severe manifestation of osteoarthritis. Her joints shoot out into all kinds of irregular directions and her feet and knees and visibly deformed. She has every excuse to behave like many of the bitter and prickly characters I have likewise met through working in healthcare; but Jan is the sweetest lady you could imagine, and her husband, just the same.

“They say that society is going downhill, but I think that people are still pretty friendly, don’t you?” said Bill when we were discussing technology and its social impact.

“Yes definitely,” concurred Jan, “I say hello to people and I get warm greetings back. People are generally nice.”

I responded to them with what I said to you guys at the start of this post: “They say the world is your mirror. Loving people live in a loving world and hostile people in a hostile world. I think that saying is really true and you are both the proof of it because you’re both lovely.”

About five years ago I found that quote, scribbled it into a notebook, and it has stuck with me ever since. The more people I meet, the more I agree with it. When I was younger I was quite introverted and mistrusting of people. I thought they were bound to disappoint you in the end. I’ve realised over the years how wrong I was. People really are wonderful; flawed but wonderful. I meet more and more fantastic specimens at every bend in the road and I never want to take any one of them for granted. So I just wanted to take this moment to really cherish the nourishing and uplifting time I spent with that gorgeous couple today.

I shared a fact about my hometown with them and Jan said, “Oh I’ll always keep that with me now and I’ll think of you when I remember it.”

Jan… I will remember you too, and I won’t need anything external to prompt me to do so…

Pondering at the Park

It's a warm spring day in Kansas City and I am lying under a tall tree in Jacob L. Loose Park.

With my line of sight little higher than the lush green lawn I see the city from a new perspective. The lawn seems like a metropolis of grass edifices trembling in the comforting breeze. They seem to dwarf the actual skyscrapers that serve as their back-drop. And as I look up toward the hazy blue sky, my view of the light is filtered by the skinny boughs of the tree that shades me. It is obvious that the winter has only recently passed, but the naked branches are starting to show signs of new life springing up in the form of butter-coloured blossoms.

My bag serves as a pillow and the wind is leafing through the pages of the magazine resting on my tummy. That rustling sound and the threat if it blowing away all together keep me present in this moment.

The guy on my iPod is singing about God being a dad who wants to take care of his little ones: us. Somehow lying here, amongst everything I've just described makes it a little easier to believe that. He surely didn't create all this to do me harm...

Humility

“Life is a long lesson in humility” – James Matthew Barrie

What is humility? And how can I have more of it? Those are two questions I have often pondered over the years. Everybody likes a humble person and they like to hypothesise about what it means to really be humble. Some say it is making a right estimate of yourself (Charles Spurgeon), others say it is the foundation for all other virtues (St Augustine).

I agree with those guys… and yet there’s something so elusive about humility. If you think you are humble it is likely that you aren’t, so how can you ever know?

I don’t know… and this blog really doesn’t have any answers… I’ve just felt humbled lately by certain happenings in my life and though it isn’t a fun experience, I am acutely aware that I don’t want to lose this consciousness of how fallible, fragile and faulty I am as a human being. Not in the sense that I am sitting around hating myself, but in the sense that, just now, more than ever, the desire to judge others, get offended or indulge in the delusion of self-righteousness has somewhat faded away; and I’ve only just realised how much it was there to start with. From this place, it’s much easier to love and respect other fallible, fragile and faulty people…

I’m not saying that I’m suddenly living in a posture of newfound humility. What I am saying is, I’ve just discovered how much I need it.

The Weather

“Sunshine is delicious, rain is refreshing, wind braces us up, snow is exhilarating; there is really no such thing as bad weather, only different kinds of good weather.” – John Ruskin

What a load of rubbish.

Obviously John Ruskin never lived in South Shields where winds blow so hard that little old ladies are bowled over by them and present themselves in tatters to the Emergency Department where I work. They come in with injuries that range from skin abrasions to fractures. That’s right Ruskin, fractures! Winds so strong that just one gust can leave you brushing the knots out of your hair for extended periods and even able-bodied 28-year-olds struggle to remain upright.

And snow, exhilarating? I’ll concede that I was awed by my first experience of falling snow this winter. The trees were pretty, wearing their snow-caps, and the soccer fields covered in white powder had undergone a fascinating transformation; but snow is inconvenient. Public transport becomes chaos. You can’t leave the house at times, and most of all… IT IS SO COLD!!!

“Conversation about the weather is the last refuge of the unimaginative,” said Oscar Wilde, but even though he would condemn my choice of topic, I am going to continue!

I think that people talk about the weather because it really does have consequences for our everyday lives. I’ve realized that more than ever since moving to England. My whole lifestyle has had to change. In Australia I would go – even in winter – and sit outdoors in a piazza with my hot chocolate and a good book to have my relax time. I would take walks through city gardens or duck in and out of quirky stationary shops and book stores.

Here in the freezing cold climes of northern England I often feel house-bound. Every time I venture out for too long I contract a cold or at least a sore throat for the next day or two. I’m just not built for this kind of climate! I am rugged up in my 14 layers of clothes while the Newcastle girls traipse around in short-sleeve tops and impractically sheer stockings at the first sign of a double-digit temperature… The weather is dictating my life and I don’t like it.

I do believe it is well documented that people are generally happier in summer and warmer climates… and it’s got to be true! Now I understand why the English drink so much beer and eat so many potatoes. What else is there to do?