Torschlusspanik and change

Torschlusspanik.  Now there’s a word and a half.  It’s that horrible feeling of panic one gets, the thought that the door between yourself and all of life’s opportunities has been resolutely slammed in your face.  Know that one?  Yeah, thought so.  Me too.

But, you know, it comes about when we think of life as linear – as being a straightforward progression.  It’s all too easy to think we’re failures if we don’t steadily move on in what society perceives as the Right Path; if we don’t get the better job, the bigger house, more money in the bank.  But, really, what if life weren’t a straight line?  What if it were a circle, or cycles of circles?  If you go down only in order to come up again, somewhere slightly different, with a different perspective? 

Marion Woodman says, ‘A life that is being truly lived is constantly burning away the veils of illusion, gradually revealing the essence of the individual.’  And sometimes you have to break down in order to build up.  We fear dissolution in the way we fear all change - yet change is necessary for growth. 

It need not be big changes either.  People always focus on the big stuff – on making a shed-load of money, of losing a ton of weight, of moving abroad.  But really, sometimes all you need is something small, something tiny, just to kickstart the process.  ‘The Self need not carry mountains to transform,’ says Clarissa Pinkola Estes, one of my favourite writers. ‘A little is enough. A little goes a long way. A little changes much.’ 

So, today, maybe, think about doing something different.  Just something small, out of your usual routine.  Because we can become stuck in routine, in doing the same things, day in, day out.

I’m not saying all routine is bad.  Small children, in particular, need routine.  It keeps them feeling safe, secure. They know where their boundaries are, of space and time and emotion.  As they become teenagers, they need to test those boundaries, to flex their egos, their will.  It’s why parents should be a bit mean, a bit tough. Because, without those boundaries against which to push, to struggle, the emerging adult cannot break through his or her chrysalis.  The pearl needs the grit to grow.

But.  Once you’re a fully-grown adult, you need to beware of routines. You need to watch for the soporific trap of the everyday cuckoo clock.  It’s like my friend, Trish, the fitness instructor says – if you do the same exercise routine all the time, you won’t progress.  You’ll get stuck.  You’ll plateau.  You have to surprise yourself, catch yourself unawares.  And yeah Trish, my abs are still surprised this morning after those oblique crunches, thank you very much!

So.  Maybe today do something just a tiny bit differently.  Break the patterns.  Nothing major.  You don’t have to scare the horses.  Baby steps.  Wear something different; eat something different; go somewhere different; do something different.  In Tantra adepts shock themselves into different states of consciousness by consciously breaking taboos.  You don’t have to go that far (I’m not suggesting drinking blood or sleeping with corpses!) but keep the principle in mind.  Don’t become an automaton.  Accept the challenge of growth. 

Nauseated and appalled

Warning: if you earn less than £200K a year you might find this blog upsetting, distressing or downright obscene.





I am revolted, sick, beyond queasy to the point of puking – all thanks to the Mail on Sunday. I don’t read papers during the week but on Sundays I love nothing better than lying in bed, vat of coffee at my elbow, flicking through You Magazine (and, yes, having a laugh at Liz Jones’ latest bizarre antics). But yesterday I nearly choked on my croissant over a feature on teenagers having hugely flashy birthday parties. Apparently it’s not uncommon for 16 and 18 year olds to have parties costing a cool £50K. Take birthday girl Jayde Fleming-Smith (seriously) who turned 16 last December with a masquerade themed ball. Money no object – she was given a Corsa VXR Sport (worth £16,995) and a holiday in the Canary Islands with three friends but was the poor little rich girl happy? No siree. Her ice sculpture didn’t turn up and she didn’t like the photographs (glammed up by professional make-up artist, stylist and photographer): ‘I shouted at my parents afterwards,’ she said, as if this were the most reasonable thing in the world. ‘It should have been more about me. You only turn 16 once, after all. I wanted everyone in ‘I love Jayde’ t-shirts but we didn’t have time to produce them.’

Am I missing something here?

· She arrived in Jordan’s ex-wedding coach (OK, dubious taste but scores high on the ‘me’ factor): ‘My boyfriend was waiting inside with a diamond necklace. Everyone was shouting my name, which made me feel famous.’
· She instructed her 250 guests to wear white and silver so she could stand out in her blue frock.
· Male models policed the VIP area (I’m shaking my head in stunned shock at this point – she actually grades her friends into VIP and non-VIP?).
· She stuck up a billboard (with a huge photo of her) outside her school to advertise her bash.
· The invite stated: ‘No present, No entry’ and her friends duly obliged with Tiffany bracelets and Dolce & Gabbana watches. So, no chance of an iTunes voucher if you’re Jayde’s friend then?

Er, could it have been any more about her?

‘I love getting new things,’ trilled Jayde. ‘If I’m not bought something every day I’m not happy. I am very grateful for my party….but my parents will have to try harder next year.’
No doubt her parents smiled indulgently at this foot stamping from their little princess and are already planning to hire a few space shuttles for next year.
As if she weren’t revolting enough there were a further three like her and, by the time I’d finished reading, I felt quite bilious.
So I turned to the main paper, flipped onto the second page and realised that these girls are mere amateurs compared to the monumental greedfest that is Coleen McLoughlin.
£50K? A mere bagatelle – in fact, probably the cost of each party bag for the future Mrs Potato-Head. Her wedding, the paper estimates, will cost a cool £5 million. The figures just fade into meaningness - £250K for Wayne’s stag night; £50K for champagne breakfasts for the guests (see, girls, some serious catching up to do here); £24K for the security team and on and on and on.
Yes, it’s her wedding. Yes, everyone wants the nicest wedding they can have. But am I really being mealy-mouthed when I say that I just find this kind of excess quite utterly revolting? ‘It is excessive,’ says a source (oh, someone’s noticed?), ‘but so is Wayne’s wealth and he wants to share it.’
Yeah right. Poor old Rio Ferdinand, Steve Gerrard and Peter Crouch could do with a bit of wealth redistribution.
On the page opposite, with supreme irony, was a story that put it in sharp relief. ‘Emergency fuel voucher for 200,000 pensioners’ - ‘The vouchers come as households face fresh warnings over the economy,’ says the reporter. Oh yes, that’s right, we’re in a recession. Funny that. Don’t tell Coleen – might spoil the mood.