Let’s Fuck This Shit Up (I). And a dusky pink pinafore.

I thought I’d dip my toe into the water of these words. I have an occasional shiatsu (sounds like a small dog now that I’m writing it, hope I’ve got the right word?) session to support my well-being, and my most excellent practitioner lent me the phrase. It sounds better than, ‘Let’s try hard to change some deeply-engrained habits and live differently’. I’m probably going to come back to the full strength of it when my cylinders are replenished. And I think I’ve got a campaign in mind to attach it to. Watch this space. And by the way, it’s International Women’s Day in early March. 

I always thought of myself as the kind of person who embraces change. Then one day I observed the colossal wave of emotion that rose within me on finding someone else sitting in the seat I usually occupied in the office (those were the days!).  I went to hell and back when the email system at work changed to something in a BLUE colour. My point being that the truth is that I can find change pretty difficult to navigate. And accepting that there are things you might need to address does not make doing them differently any easier.

Of course I don’t mean having a sausage sandwich when you really fancy a fishfinger one, just to shake things up. I mean ‘differently’ as in, ‘no longer doing the things that may feel comfortable because they’re what you’ve always done, but are actually not that great for you/are downright harmful to you’. For example, choosing to step away from always taking responsibility for stuff, eg your sons’ dirty laundry stashed below their beds, even though it comes naturally to you. Throwing your to do lists to the wind. Stopping and being silent when your self-worth is built on what you describe as ‘goals’ that you move into a ‘done’ list. (For a while, at least.) Looking into a mirror and saying ‘I love you’, even though it makes your stated inability to run as far as a bus stop manifest as a marathon sprint to a sporting event you’re going to have to participate in. Easy, tiger.

Years ago, my dad had some feldenkraise sessions to help deal with a problem that meant the fourth finger on his left hand would, randomly, start doing the dance of life to its own beat. As a violinist, this was Not Good. I remember him telling me that his instructor had suggested he try and do things in a way that would be counter to his usual instinctive response, to get his synapses forging new connections. This included things like putting his left foot onto the bottom of a flight of stairs, rather than his right. Subtle interruptions to one’s routine. This idea really stayed with me - 30 years later I often change feet when approaching a staircase. (Weirdly, as long as they are made of stone and in big places like train stations or amphitheatres. No idea why.) 

I get this weekly feel-good email newsletter. I’ve lost count of the times the content has spoken to me in a way that would suggest that the universe is looking out for me (or that I’m well-tuned into my own echo chamber or something). Last week I opened one that had arrived back in December, and which shared a story about the time the author had stepped away from a well-paid job. Ha! And then I opened another, which was, guess what? -  about the art of doing things differently: try dressing up if you usually dress down! Wear jewellery even if it’s not your thing! Ok, so neither of these spoke to me, in as much that I almost never do either of those things but…. It gave me food for thought. Perhaps I could find a dashing suitor if I wore a gown to the ballet? And I guess there may be some merit in picking the sausage sandwich, after all.

Anyway. Let’s just say that in my own way, and in the spirit of gentle self-love (which sounds really wrong) I’M FU**ING THIS SHIT UP. (I deleted ‘trying to’, because I’m trying not to try.) 

In other news, It did not occur to me until after I had picked them, that my bathroom tiles and wall paint are not just the dusky pick colour of the corduroy pinafore dress with metal clasps that I had as a child. (I am drawn to relics of my childhood like a moth to a flame.) They are also vagina incarnate. And were glued to my wall yesterday. Change? Let’s hope they are an omen.