Out With The Old, In With The New

This time of year seems to be about a last-minute dash for perfection as we hurtle towards the biggest party season of the year. I’m for ever amazed at how it always comes as such a surprise.

The date of Christmas, unlike Easter, is set in stone so I’m always curious as to why the mad rush as this particular Holy Day creeps up on us. How come we’re never ready? Is it that we’re so preoccupied with our day-to-day existence that we forget about it? No, I doubt that. After all, we plan other holidays in advance and look forward to our sunny trips abroad or change of scene at home. They usually get planned and booked before the big day.

 

So maybe we derive a certain pleasure in the drama of the rush. The amazement at the reoccurrence of the annual event, the sudden recognition that it’s upon us, the build-up and the expectation that it will be the same – or different – from what’s gone before. 

 

I find it fascinating that we seem to experience the same set of emotions every year and I find it hard to fathom it out. Except perhaps what all this is doing is taking us back to childhood and giving us a taste of those blissful moments that many of us may remember. That magical moment we look back on with real affection. Oh, to be that all-hopeful child once again!

 

Back in the present, what we can do for our children is to try and give them the best experience of this beautiful time of the year so they can bank their own memories for their future. That might be one of the best presents they can ever receive. It’s a gift to hold onto, and to treasure.

 

For adults, it’s a bit trickier. Time may have made us all a little more cynical. The treats we requested from Father Christmas may be lost in the post, or in translation. Or we may perceive that all that work we’ve done – all that planning, all that loving and giving we’d wanted so much to offer – is not received with the graciousness and appreciation that we’d hoped for. What then? Put like that, it’s easy to imagine a toddler tantrum coming on in adult form.

 

If you’re feeling fraught and recognise any of these signs, may I offer a suggestion? How about allowing a little time for reflection?

 

Believers understand the importance of Christmas – the birth, the new hope, the farewell to what is past – and usually allow themselves a moment to consider what Christmas represents. But even if you celebrate the festivity for its own sake alone, this is a good time to stop and take stock. 

 

I wonder if we come over all “rushing”, so that we don’t have to allow ourselves time to reflect. What might reflecting mean to us? Satisfaction, contentment, happiness or, on the other side of the coin, disappointment? It’s hard to work it out if we don’t give it some thought.

If we feel resistant to the idea of reflecting, why might that be? And if that feels too much like being about to go down a rabbit hole, consider that too. Remember a Monty Python sketch where one of the team kept explaining: “My brain hurts.” It can do when it’s trying to avoid looking at a question or finding an answer. Easier to put it to one side and wait for a time when you’re less busy. After Christmas maybe.

 

My challenge to you is to go there. Enjoy the ride/slide and see where it takes you. Rabbit holes may seem dark and all-enveloping but they are also tunnels, with entrances and exits, if only you have the concentration and determination to find the right direction for you.

 

I wrote recently about the loss of a close relative and this is the first Christmas we’ll be without her. It’ll be very strange and disparate. Even though she was not herself for some time, she was still in this world. Now, we’re all having to find ways of managing that loss. It’s surreal, as those of you who have been through a bereavement will understand. 

 

Ironically, not one of the siblings are spending Christmas with another. Two are minding (different) cats, one’s settled at home (with their cats) and the other, the chief mourner, remains undecided about what to do or where to go. It’s a little unsettling.

 

On the plus side, a new baby was born this year into a family that already has a fascinating child. This new sibling has, from very small and slightly fragile beginnings, turned into a real chunky monkey with the most amazing charm and good nature, so different from others we might have known!

 

I’m discovering I’ll need to use different skills sets to learn how to incorporate a life-adjusting loss (with the sadness and stoicism that entails) with the delight and joy of watching a new person develop. 

 

My aim is to celebrate the birth of the new baby while acknowledging that the person who has gone was also instrumental in that baby’s arrival. 

 

That baby – and all other babies – are the product of their parents with all the characteristics – light and shade – of their ancestors. 

 

And that’s where the similarities end. Ahead of each one lies a journey that belongs to no other, in which each can make their own individual and first hesitant steps.  For my part, I am there to celebrate this year's new birth and make sure that family knows I’ll do what I can to help, if I'm needed. 

 

On reflection, this sounds a good way to remember the meaning of Christmas and to celebrate it in the way it truly should be.  

Grief – The Price We Pay For Love*

I lost a close relative recently. She lived a long and fulfilled life, most of which was conducted very much on her terms. 

Strangely, for someone who was determined to be at the centre of every glamorous and fun event, this 97-year-old lady left this world so easily and so soundlessly that those lovely carers in her room preparing her for bed didn’t even notice. They went to tuck her up and she was gone. What an ending and what a lucky way to go!

 

I and three other members of the group had been preparing for this particular ending for a number of years. I had experienced other losses over the years - some of which saddened me and some of which left me with such a hole in my heart that I thought it would never mend - but this was a major one. 

 

In a sense, I was also lucky because of my years of experience working as a bereavement counsellor. I had some idea of what to expect. 

Most of us know by now of what are described the five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. However, even that’s not quite what it seems. 

The research, by Elisabeth Kübler-Ross, was actually about people who were themselves dying, not people experiencing the death of a loved one. There is a difference. 

 

The stages make more sense if you understand this is about the person at the centre of the story. The person who is dying. Bargaining in that case becomes clear. We’ve all done it in less important circumstances. But, if you are the person who has lost a loved one, no amount of bargaining can get that beloved back. The ending is final. 

 

Understanding that – and remembering that the stages are not linear – it becomes easier to adapt these stages of grief to one’s own process. Denial – disbelief that the person is dead; Anger – it was so sudden, I had no idea, how could they do this to me; Depression – I can’t bear it, I’m lost, how will I manage without them? I can’t go on; Acceptance – they’ve gone, that’s it, now I have to go on with my life and nothing I can do or feel or plead for will bring them back.

 

These are only a few thoughts and are mine alone. Your own grieving process is unique to you and you will have your own internal conversations. Again, bear in mind there is not a specific time frame for these conversations to take place, nor a formal way of grieving. We may one day accept our loved one has gone while the next day we wake up in a fury at what’s happened or a sense of disbelief that it has. And so it goes until at some point later down the line, we find the pain of mourning is shifting and lifting and, little by little, an ability to find joy in life returns.

 

We all grieve differently. And, of course, it depends on the age of the person we have lost. You can mourn a 97-year-old for the loss of them in your life but it’s not the same as when someone younger leaves this world. There is a sense then of what might have been and the deep sadness of the loss of a future. And when a child goes, well, that is unbearable. 

 

It feels strange to observe how we all mourn differently. My own loss is different from the other three relatives who are also most affected. One – the favourite – is bereft. They cannot bear to hear someone tell them they were lucky to be the best beloved for 75 years. The bond was so close there was no room for anyone else. They never married or had their own children. They have others they could turn to but they don't want that. They want her back and for it to be just as it was.

 

The middle two are grieving in their own ways. The second mourner is just as they always were, elusive, impenetrable and avoidant. They may telephone and start talking, only to pause with an “anyway” before abruptly ending the conversation. The avoidant is always keen not to go there if there’s any emotional pain involved. I imagine they've been hurt in the past but I'll never know. 

 

The third in this quartet is the peacemaker. The one who presents a “perfect” face to the outside world and observes the niceties with a decorum they believe is in keeping with how they believe the grieving process should be. They will be seen to do the right thing at all times, shed tears if and when required, put on a brave face when not. Either way, it is impossible to know what’s really going on inside. You will never be invited into the inner sanctum. 

The final piece of the jigsaw – the scapegoat – had a difficult relationship with the person who’s gone and feels awkward and unsure about how they’re supposed to respond. They always felt an outsider and the person on whom the other chief mourners project their own rages and furies – the innermost prejudices they can’t face admitting to themselves. In shorthand terms, it’s called “owning”. They don't.

The scapegoat is so overwhelmed with the feelings of others that they find it hard to work out what they themselves are feeling. They feel a bit of a fraud because they imagine it would look strange if they started screaming and crying about their loss because of the difficult relationship at the heart of it. Even so, they are part of it and they feel they deserve to be included. It looks unlikely. 

I explained this was personal right at the start, but I’m sharing it in the hope that you – and I – will understand there is no right or wrong way of mourning. It is a process unique to us. We have to find a way to go through it in the best way we can. 

On a personal level, I am at the start of my journey and still a little bemused. I'm not quite how it works. But, as a professional, I know that I will come through it, and I can take whatever memory I choose to keep with me and to hold dear. I just have to remember to give it time.

Photo 1: Ann on Unsplash

Photo 2: Nick Fewings on Unsplash

Photo 3: K. Mitch Hodge on Unsplash

 

 

 

 

* The original quote comes from psychiatrist Colin Murray Parkes in his 1972 book Bereavement: Studies of Grief in Adult Life:  

“The pain of grief is just as much a part of life as the joy of love; it is, perhaps, the price we pay for love, the cost of commitment.”

This is usually quoted as: “Grief is the price we pay for love.”

 

 

Flirting with Anarchy

In my earlier days, I was tempted by the idea of anarchy. It had an edge to it; a romantic and revolutionary sound to it that separated me from the crowd of aspirational young capitalists. It was a rebellious alternative that any sensible young adult should be consider. 

In those days, I wasn’t entirely sure what it meant. I’d read Joseph Conrad’s The Secret Agent and found it a combination of mysterious and mundane but, still, the slightly bitter aftertaste left a lingering desire for a world where anarchy might reign supreme. 

 

Anarchy, according to the dictionary, is: “A state of disorder due to absence or non-recognition of authority or other controlling systems.” A more positive definition reads: “Absence of government and absolute freedom of the individual, regarded as a political ideal.”

 

What if? I wondered every few years as my pencil hovered over a name on a voting ballot. How would it be if we were all grown up enough to govern ourselves and didn’t need to choose a large number of people to take decisions on our behalf. Or, some cases, to even ignore the electorate’s wishes once they were in power. 

 

There are some people who might want to be told what to do and feel uncertain about having to make their own individual choices but we could accommodate them too – those of us bold and brave enough to take decisions could bear them in mind and act for them. It seemed a logical and reasonable proposition.

 

And then, dear reader, my fuzzy-at-the-edges fantasy almost came true.

 

First, there was the chaos of Brexit. And it was chaos, regardless of how anyone voted. Those who voted to leave were unhappy, those who voted to remain were equally miserable. 

 

How the individual voted is no longer the real issue. I think all of us imagined that by this stage there would be some kind of reasonably speedy resolution to the problem, even a separation as complicated as this one. 

 

Six years on, not really. And now we read we can keep expecting delays even up to next year if we try to go overseas. Our biometric passports apparently are not up to scratch. We are in a continuous state of flux, with little sign of an improvement.

 

Then, hot on the heels of the Brexit conundrum came Covid. It supposedly started in a Chinese wet market in Wuhan but now we wonder about cross-breeding bugs escaping from a laboratory. Whatever. It still took away some two years of our lives. More than a year since we supposedly opened up again, we are still feeling the shock-wave effects from that period. 

 

Some people are on permanent lockdown alert, others want to go out but remain frightened while the needs of the vulnerable – children and older people – which went unconsidered for so long are still up in the air. 

 

Then there are the people in the middle. The young healthy and middle aged who did not seem to be too much at risk from the virus – as awful as it was – but whose lives also were changed by covid. The effects of lockdown will go on for years.

 

One of the major consequences was those who were furloughed had a chance to reflect and to consider what they wanted from their lives. It seems that many were not as happy as they had thought previously. A Monday to Friday 40-hour a week was no longer as desirable as they once imagined. A result a government could never have imagined.

 

I’m listening to the news as we speak. I hear the NHS is on its knees because there are insufficient staff so operations are delayed and millions of people are on a waiting list.

 

Then I hear that some 600 officers from the Metropolitan Police are being investigated over domestic violence. It’s set up its own unit to look into the investigations. 

 

And then we come to today’s current government. What’s happening there? I won’t name them in case it’s all changed within the next week or two (it already has) but it seems as though we have a disparate group of MPs, senior and junior, who have forgotten politics is all about the people and what the MPs can do for them, rather than the other way round.

 

There seems to be no direction from anyone and no sense of purpose and it appears to have been like that since Covid. 

 

Philosopher Thomas Hobbes, via Leviathan, offered his interpretation of a social contract. A very simplistic summing up suggests that, in exchange for giving absolute authority to the monarch, he/she will protect you and your life. If the monarch fails in that duty, the social contract is broken.

 

Bearing in mind Hobbes lived during the terrors of the English Civil War, it is easy to see why such a contract would be so appealing. Absolute certainty in times of absolute chaos is a very appealing prospect. It is, of course, the antithesis of anarchy, that ideology I have found so enticing over the years. 

 

Apparently, our views tend to change over the years, becoming more conservative (with a small c) as we hopefully grow wiser with experience and life is less black and white than it seems in our youth. 

 

The anarchy idea perhaps stayed with me for some time longer than it should but now I feel as if I’ve been offered the chance to see what an anarchy-lite version might look like. 

I don’t like it. I feel as though I’m staring into an abyss with one foot creeping ever nearer to the edge. I want to feel firm ground beneath both my feet; I want to feel there is someone, somewhere in charge who has some real ability to pull me back from this frightening and continuing uncertainty. 

If there’s anyone out there who can come forward and deliver me from my head filled with fears, I’d be very grateful. Anarchy, it seems, is not for me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Monarch of the Glen

Imagine being given a job for life from birth. It’s a starring role, one with a lot of deference involved, no money worries, a number of different residences and someone on hand always ready to do your bidding. You need never be alone, you need never be frightened of the usual concerns we mere mortals have. You will not need to worry about leaving this life unloved or indebted. You will be cared for until the end.

The only proviso is that there are some rules you’ll need to abide by. They will not be too onerous and you’ll be brought up knowing what they are from an early age (being rebellious will only cause you distress). There’s an interesting dress code at certain times of the year and you’ll need to get used to be observed when you’re out and about. You can’t be seen to be rude, at least not in public. And you’ll spend quite a time being seen in public and by the public. How would you feel about that?

 

It might be quite a relief. There’d be no need to worry about learning, exams, qualifications and, possibly worst of all, decisions about a future career. It’s all planned for you.

 

If one looks at from a Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs perspective, then it’s looking positive. If you go from the bottom up, you’re not having to worry about your needs being met when it comes to staying alive, keeping warm, sheltered and clothed. 

 

Moving up the hierarchy, you’ll be protected and kept safe. You’ll have a great number of people wanting to love you and be loved by you which means you should have a strong sense of connection with the world and your place in it. 

 

From that, if you’re a well-balanced soul and not too tiresome to those around you, your self-esteem should be strong. You’ll have status, you’ll be respected and you’ll have a reasonable amount of freedom – more than most people have during their working lives. It may seem sometimes as though you have no privacy but, if you’re sensible about it and stick to the rules, you’ll be allowed to go your own way more often than you might imagine. 

 

Continuing with the Maslow theme, having all these needs met early on, it means you are left with a real chance in life to reach the peak – described as self-actualisation. You will have time enough to study, ponder, absorb and act (keeping in mind the rules set out initially) – meaning you can work on being the best person you can possibly be. And if you haven’t considered self-exploration, may I remind you of the wisdom of Socrates who said: “The unexamined life is not worth living.”

 

 

So, how would you feel about becoming monarch, not just of the glen but of all the surrounding areas? If you do it well, it looks effortless and, like the Queen, you’ll not get much thanks for it until after your departure. But at least you will gain satisfaction from knowing you’ve done your best. 

 

Even though you do have responsibilities, you will never ever have the final say in what happens. It may seem so but you really won’t have to stay up all night worrying and wondering about any decision you may seem to have made. You will have the best and most experienced advisers possible. They will be there for you. All you need to do is trust them to give you the best advice and then sign where they tell you to. 

 

Ah, signing. That should not present a difficulty but it might, as we’ve only recently witnessed. May I suggest you have your own pen in hand when it comes to the important role of offering a signature. We’ve watched live the fallout of getting a signing wrong. Prince – sorry, King – Charles first seemed to be stymied by a stray inkwell, then we had the incident when it didn’t seem to work and then, finally, we had the time when the ink splodged and he signed the wrong date. 

 

We spotted a little bit of temper there and I felt slightly unsettled. I doubt the Queen would have been so jittery. Thinking kindly, the King had just lost his mum and it looked for a moment as though the establishment was looking to wear him out within days if given the chance. It seemed important to forgive and, fortunately, it all worked out in the end. 

 

That was lucky as the signature is key to all this. It confirms your status, your role, your authority and the reason why all of us accept who you are. You have to get it right.  

 

Sadly, as we know, this is only make believe and the job is not up for grabs, no matter how appealing it sounds. It is Charles by birthright. For the present, he has our goodwill on his side. And, while we know his reign cannot be anything like as long as his mother’s, we can still wish him a continuing long life and hope he enjoys and appreciates the benefits of all that he has. 

 

For his part, I hope Charles really appreciates the role he now has. It seems like a peach of a job. I also hope he can still enjoy those causes that he cared so much about when he was Prince of Wales, and get a sense of achievement at watching them blossom from the seeds he first sowed.

 

I also hope Charles as our monarch will be as gracious to us as his mother was so that we, in turn, can be equally gracious and loving towards him. 

 

Photo 1: PA/Danny Lawson 

Photo 2: Jack Lucas Smith on Unsplash

The Power of Introspection

 

Older adults who look inwards and reflect on life may be protecting themselves against dementia, according to a recent survey.

 

At present, the UK has some 850,000 with dementia, most of them in the older age bracket and it’s predicted the number could be up to 1.6m by 2040. The likelihood of developing dementia roughly doubles every five years after the age of 65.

 

It’s not clear what causes Alzheimer's – the most common form of dementia – but it is thought to be caused by the abnormal build-up of proteins in and around brain cells.

 

The NHS website explains thus: “One of the proteins involved is called amyloid, deposits of which form plaques around brain cells. The other protein is called tau, deposits of which form tangles within brain cells.

 

“Although it's not known exactly what causes this process to begin, scientists now know that it begins many years before symptoms appear.

 

“As brain cells become affected, there's also a decrease in chemical messengers (called neurotransmitters) involved in sending messages, or signals, between brain cells.

 

“ ... Over time, different areas of the brain shrink. The first areas usually affected are responsible for memories.

 

“In more unusual forms of Alzheimer's disease, different areas of the brain are affected.

 

“The first symptoms may be problems with vision or language rather than memory.”

 

So, if we don’t know what causes it (although we know what happens when we have it) we may have a lurking fear of developing it in the future. 

 

That makes it an alarming prospect and anything that may help prevent us from getting it is to be welcomed. 

 

I read advice such as not smoking, not drinking too much and eating a healthy, balanced diet. I also learn I have to exercise for more than two hours a week at a minimum and, even then, there’s no guarantee that I’ll be spared.

 

But this survey on self reflection and meditation seems to offer some positive and hopeful signs to allow us to work on keeping the mental part of our selves in the best possible condition, not just our physical selves. 

 

The idea that just 10 minutes a day of self-reflection (that’s sophisticated speak for thinking about yourself, decisions you’ve taken, the outcomes and how they’ve affected you) is good for your brain is wonderful.

 

Those of us who work in the world of psychotherapy are pleased there’s an acknowledgement that reflection is good for the soul. This is what is behind a talking therapy – a 50-minutes session to look at your self and take stock of where you came from, where you are and where you’d like to be.

 

That’s in an ideal world of course. It’s always easier to spot what’s the problem with other people and less easy to find a way of dealing with your own. That’s where the personal therapy time comes in. If you’re working with a trained, interested – but dispassionate – psychotherapist or counsellor, you can come together to look at and consider how you really work. What makes you tick, in other words.

 

The belief is – and there’s evidence to prove it – that if a person wants to make a change in their life they will need to look at past behaviour and examine why it might be they are taking a path that is causing them so much distress. By committing to the therapeutic process and by wondering aloud and considering what compelled them to make some judgments, they stand a good chance of altering their habits to improve how they feel. 

 

Self reflection, therefore, if done in the “right” way is a good way of changing the feeling process and turning away from negative thinking. For example, if you’re a person who looks back with anger, sadness or some other form of distress – or who maybe doesn’t look back at all for just those reasons – how about allowing yourself to look back without judgment? 

 

True self reflection is observation, recognising the emotion that comes with it and accepting that’s how it was. No need to be cross or sad now, it’s pointless. But what you can do is learn more about yourself by looking at it from a distance and considering how it affects you now and if it’s made a difference. It will have done, but it might also have offered you opportunities of which you were glad. Self reflection is a chance to change how you feel about a past event or events and, when necessary, put them to bed. It’s a chance to give up the role of being your harshest critic. 

 

How about looking back and simply reflecting? Remember the situation and look at it as an observer rather than in a punishingly judgmental way that makes you clench your fists, tighten your muscles and feel your jaw ache as you relive the distress. That is of no help. Negative thinking can worsen depression. Positive thinking is good for our us and we need to work on our optimism. Ditch the stress.

 

Socrates, the wisest of all philosophers who chose to give up his own life rather than back down on his principles, declared an unexamined life is not worth living. He believed we owed it to ourselves to examine within. Seems he was right all along. It's not self-indulgence, it's good for you. Have a try!  

Photo 1: Faye Cornish on Unsplash

Photo 2: Milad Fakurian on Unsplash

Photo 3: Javier Allegue Barros on Unsplash

 

 

When Boring is Better

Some of us are addicted to drama. We have TV show to prove it … murder, mystery and suspense. And if you, like me, occasionally protest that something that wouldn’t happen in real life, we’re shushed and told: “It’s a drama, suspend disbelief.” 

If we do, we may enjoy seeing the story unfold. We may watch as we see ordinary people getting caught up in extraordinary events that, for a time, seem both unresolvable and unmanageable. But then, within a few short hours, all is once more well with the world. The characters can go back to their normal lives and we, the audience, breathe a sigh of relief and prepare for our next piece of escapism.

But what happens when life begins to imitate art? What happens when real life is only about veering from one drama to another? How do we feel about it then?

There are some people - and families - who live a life full of drama and seek out dramatic events when there is too much "ordinary" happening. They lurch from one crisis to another and seem to feel charged up when they are experiencing the highs of their life of drama. 

The problem is that drama may be a part of life but it can't be all of life. Most of us humans  function best when we are working in a calm environment, when we are able to use all our senses to work on a problem and find a solution. 

Imagine taking a trip on a boat and try to feel the enjoyment you experience from the tranquility of the ride. Imagine a calm, turquoise sea, a picturesque backdrop of sandy, uncrowded beaches and the warmth of the sun as the boat glides across the water. Feels good, doesn't it? 

Then imagine how you'd feel if that same boat was going into a squall. The coastline blurs, clouds darken and the water turns choppier and choppier. How are you feeling now? I'm sensing a certain tension.

What matters particularly in this scenario is who is the captain of your ship. If s/he is experienced, calm and confident, you may feel safe in the knowledge that they can steer you out of trouble. But, if they are they looking to you to help them out because, while they may have their captain's licence, they've never been in this situation before, you may be right to feel worried.

And this is where we are at present. My imaginary ship is rudderless, captain-less and I have no idea what's on the horizon. To be honest, I can't even see one. 

The daily headlines seem to offer little hope and more and more confusion with our own ships' captains - from all parties - as confused about their direction of travel as the rest of us. If they could give us a clue it might help but I can't see it happening any time soon. 

I read recently that we humans click more on "dark" headlines than we do on cheerful news. As a result, the mainstream press seem to be going the way of social media by emphasising the gloom. We read it, digest it, and our spirits lower. And so it goes on. 

The irony is that, despite all this alleged misery, life has improved hugely for most of us over the past 50 years. The material lives of most people are far better than even our grandparents' time and the quality of our living remains much better than it was. So our reality is not in any way the same as our fantasy. But that is not what we pick up from the news, with its daily dose of misery through which we must all scrawl. 

So what to do? Cold turkey is hard. Smart phones and social media is intended to become addictive and the programmers are good. We can't help going back, and back, and back - even if it's just to check the headlines or if someone's responded to our tweet or thrilling post elsewhere. 

We do need to break off our addiction if we're to start feeling better. Perhaps start with a phased and thoughtful withdrawal. Perhaps allow yourself a a morning and evening perusal, rather than a constant glance and update. It's doing us no good.

Drama on a continuous basis is exhausting. It wears us out and it keeps our minds in their original reptilian state when logic and reasoning were not important and all that mattered was being on constant alert for what danger might be about to befall us. It means our mental anxieties play out in our bodies making it impossible to relax and process what's actually going on. To work well - and to keep well - we need our minds to be in harmony with our bodies. We need to be able to sit back, relax and decide individually what matters. 

To return to the sailing metaphor, put so well in the Invictus poem: "I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul." Don't forget it. You're in charge. And, in the present chaos in which we seem to live, it's good to appreciate that boredom can sometimes be good for you.

Photo 1: Jürgen Venakowa on Unsplash

Photo 2: Matt Paul Catalano on Unsplash

The Power of Projection

 

This is the Queen’s year, as far as I’m concerned, even if the Platinum Jubilee celebrations are done and dusted.

 

Twelve months of keeping Her Majesty in mind seems a small thing to do when you’re talking about a 70-year reign dedicated to her country.

The festivities have clearly given us time to reflect on her role and her position in our lives, regardless of whether or not we’re monarchists. It’s been extraordinary to watch the people of the UK – and the world - come out to take part in a four-day event to celebrate the life of a 96-year-old head of state. How amazing is that! And what wouldn’t other national leaders give to have such support? 

 

The Queen seems to have perfected the art of being what a queen should be. She started off as the beautiful young princess of fairy tales who married her handsome prince, had two beautiful young children and was set for a life as a happy naval wife living in sunny splendour in Malta.

 

Tragically, that all ended too soon with the early death of her father. The young monarch was enthroned and, unlike in other fairy tales – I’m thinking Frozen here – she accepted her role with good grace and seems to have done it unflinchingly ever since. Seventy years in one role. It’s an impressive achievement.

 

Perhaps the Queen’s cleverest achievement is remaining almost silent. We hear her speeches at public events but, until recently, we were unlikely to hear her talking unscripted. The microphones were turned off when she appeared, by royal command. Now, we hear a little more as times change and her Bond and Paddington appearances reveal her sense of humour, but this is new. Mostly, we have seen much but heard little. And that must be the way she likes it.

 

It is remarkable to reflect how so many of us imagine we know  the Queen when, in reality, she is really known to very few. Rather like Diana, Princess of Wales, we have seen so much of her that we imagine we understand how she is feeling. In Diana’s case, we adored her when she joined the royal family, rejoiced with the children’s births and were saddened when the marriage failed. It was like a failure in our own lives and we empathised, imagining how she must be feeling. When she died, we were distraught; it felt as if it were a loss of a beloved family member.  

 

That was never the reality. Diana appeared to have magical powers (fairy princess tales again) in connecting with the ordinary person but she never was. She was born the daughter daughter of an earl and her life’s trajectory was far different from what most of ours was ever likely to be.

 

And so it is with our Queen. We sometimes see her in person but mainly we watch her on television and we imagine what’s going on in her inner world. When she smiles with her face lighting up in a way that reveals the girl she once was, we imagine we know what’s pleasing her. When she’s looking glum (she has a naturally solemn face in repose which does look quite stern), we imagine she’s upset and worry about what might be making her so. We might be right, we might be wrong but that’s not what’s important. What matters is that we have taken her to our hearts and we feel for her, even though we have no real knowledge of the person inside.

 

Actress Helen Mirren, in a recent interview, revealed she had been very concerned when she was first offered the part of the Queen because she knew so little about her subject. Strangely, she found it didn’t matter in the end because of the way people behaved around her. 

 

She told how she remained who she was but those around her started to treat her as the monarch, with the decorum and respect such a role deserved. As a result, Helen found herself evolving into Elizabeth, our Queen. She didn’t need to work on her acting skills, she just needed to be. The rest followed.

 

I believe that might be our monarch’s greatest achievement and one any future monarch would do well to follow. We don’t really need to know much about them, we just want to imagine we do. That way, we can become emersed into their world as we imagine we can draw them into ours. They become part of our extended family. We feel their pain when one child misbehaves or disappoints; we are overjoyed when we experience the delight in their achievements and all the time we can appreciate what we have, even while becoming aware that it may be drawing to a close.  

 

The Queen and her family represents a sense of stability that many of us long for, especially when it goes missing within our own lives. We are convinced she – and they – are there for us in times of trouble when some of us long to feel safe.

 

It doesn’t matter whether it is true, it matters that many of us believe it to be true and that brings us comfort. We are herd animals and we prefer to live within a group. Our Queen is the head of our herd and we party and celebrate as we acknowledge the role she plays on our behalf.

 

Her silence reveals nothing but allows us to believe we know all. And that is the secret of her success and what the power of projection is all about. 

 

A Cautionary Tale

 

I was recently told about an incident in which a woman and a young child were assaulted while in the car.

 

The assault was on the car, rather than the persons, but I’m told it can be classified as a criminal assault.

 

I’ll give a brief description: The driver was driving down a one-way street in a London residential area and stopped to tell the driver of another car travelling the wrong way down the street of his mistake. It was just after 12 noon. So far, so uncontroversial.

 

Now’s the worrying bit. To the original driver’s surprise and shock, a passenger jumped out of the car in the wrong, started screaming obscene insults and verbal abuse and telling the female driver to “F*** off” out of the way. He was also holding what looked like a giant electric screwdriver and was gesticulating with it as if he were about to use it - perhaps thrusting it through the partially open window.

 

At this point, the female driver froze. That was the amygdala part of her brain doing what it’s supposed to do - reacting purely emotionally to an unknown threat. This is a natural response to those who are aware of the “flight, fright or freeze” response we all of us will have when confronted with something threatening. What’s really of interest is how each of us do respond in reality. We may think we know what we’ll do. We rarely do. 

 

That’s why people in conflict zones are trained in how to cope with a particular situation. The idea is that, if they are forced to confront the situation enough, it will become second nature. Their amygdala/reptilian response will thus be partly controlled by the hippocampus (which deals with memory of past events) part of the brain to allow their instant reaction to be bypassed.

 

In this case, it didn’t happen. As the woman froze - and therefore did not instantly drive away - another man leapt out from the back seat of the car and hit the top of the car violently with another menacing and unknown electrical tool. At this point, the woman’s brain seemed to get back into gear and she drove off. 

 

She later reported feeling shocked and unnerved about the whole episode but proud of the fact that she had kept her feeling sufficiently under control to keep her child passenger calm. She accepted the car was damaged but said it could be repaired. All that mattered was that both human beings were safe.

 

The incident was reported to the police and she managed to get CCTV camera footage of the car involved, although not the actual attack.

 

The CCTV information came from a local nursery and the staff there laboriously trawled through the video footage until they found what was required. They didn’t need to; they were just being good citizens. They also explained that the crime level in the area appeared to have risen in recent months and talked about there being an “increased sense of danger out there” as one (male) member of staff put it.

 

He wondered if it was another unimagined consequence of lockdown. Even though lockdown laws and rules are no longer in place, it seems there are still fewer people out and about than there were. And some of those who are resuming their normal lives remain fearful to a certain extent, even wearing masks outside on occasion.

 

That may be a trouble with imposing draconian measures and making them law. It’s hard to reverse them when you decide you want people to get back to normal. Those who obeyed the rules will worry that Covid has not yet gone away and may remain fearful.  

 

Conversely, those who took no notice of lockdown may have been emboldened by the empty streets and it could be we are seeing the consequences of that lack of fear. And then fear breeds fear and so it goes on.

 

There is no moral to this story. It’s just sad. It seems to indicate we need to be careful to speak only to those people we know or recognise. Even an attempt to be helpful might be misconstrued. And that’s not a satisfactory way of living. We human animals need to connect and remain connected, as this painful pandemic has shown. We need adventures and fun and we need to take risks if we’re to have a life worth living. Closing down has not been good for us.

 

PS: I’m adding a small postscript to the story and that is the police have yet to come back to the woman who was the victim of the crime. She’s been told it’s unlikely they will because they are forever short staffed and don’t have the manpower to follow such incidents up. 

 

She did argue that most criminals started small and got bigger and brave the longer they did the work and got away with it. She felt she was unlikely to be affected by the same crime twice but worried that the four young criminals she’d come across might, if not stopped soon, become even more violent in the future. 

 

One police officer did assure her someone would come back to her and collect the USB which records the evidence for which they’re looking. A police constable has been assigned to the case and will be in touch with her when he’s back on duty. She tells me she’s not holding her breath. 

Photo 1: Will Creswick on Unsplash

Photo 2: Etienne Girardet on Unsplash