'Not Enough Deep' - a nice holiday so far

A nice holiday is being enjoyed so far. 

Like the Lady of Shallot, I drift down the stream of this week, the musty cushions of this faery craft carrying me to a timely demise. 

Where I am now should be appreciated. 

Curious as to what lies ahead, I drift down the stream of this week in my faery craft, eager to discover what this mysterious holiday has in store for me. The musty cushions of my vessel, a fitting reminder of the adventure yet to come, buoy my anticipation with every passing wave. What secrets await around the bend?

Drifting down the stream of this merry week like the Lady of Shallot, I bask in the soft cushions of my fairy craft and soak up the joy of this timely holiday! I'm truly blessed to enjoy this moment, and I'm determined to make the most of it.

As I glide downstream this week like the Lady of Shallot, I allow myself to be embraced by the comforting cushions of this faery craft and take in the moment of what a wonderful holiday I am having. I am truly grateful to be enjoying this moment!

The Lady of Shallot’s song of sorrows echoes through my mind as I drift on this week's river. The musty cushions of this faery craft slowly carry me toward the dreaded end of my break. Even though I should appreciate the present, I can't help but worry about what's to come.

The above is an AI rendering of my writing. As you can see, it is rich, a voice of excitement that rings harmoniously with the white waters beside the boat. Will rhythm be experienced as well? The monosyllables of usual expression exist for a purpose and reason, wielding the words that are recognised by all. 

I am intrigued by the AI rendering of my words, which seem to have a certain resonance. I cannot help but wonder - will its rhythms be as engaging as the sound of lapping waves on the side of a boat? Even the simplest of words have a purpose and reach the understanding of all - what will be the outcome of such a poetic phrase?

This writing is engaging and rich: where is the language that I might use myself under pressure? Can I remain with myself? When I close my eyes, what lays beyond the door to my mind palace? A mere hareem? 

When I close my eyes and open the doors of my mind palace, what lies beyond? Is it an exotic harem, a palace of my own inner thoughts, or something even more mystical? What happens when I can no longer rely on external forces to keep me entertained and must turn inward to stay engaged? What lies within the depths of my own consciousness?

Why this desire to be focused?

I sit here with one more 'day' of teaching to go. Celebrations are thin.  

I am less tired than I have been in my teaching career. I can teach to a high standard with minimal planning. The angst that I once felt teaching in Beijing and Scarborough has disappeared, perhaps entirely. People who I taught with once have gone. 

I am underappreciated, although unlikely through malicious intention. Instead, my presence is liked and used by others. My skills and attention mean something. 

I am really quite bored. 

Breathe into my belly. Feel alive. 

I saw a photo of an old friend: how fat they have become. 

How fat I have become. 

It is time I think to begin to appreciate myself before I die. I have made a reasonable niche for myself for the length of time it might last. 

I want to stay with myself. 

Being with the various cultures, staying with them... 

Less Scattered; More Focused

Modern living leaves us scattered, our finite energies dissipated into the evening sky, dwindling smoke that disappears.

I desire readers: I should read myself.  

'Motivation'

In ways, my motivation at this time has waned. 

There are many folks I could decry: the fairly typical machinations of people vying for position in institutions. There are archetypes: 

a) The teachers who fled the country after affairs. 

b) The teachers who suffered unfeasible personal loss after drinking too much: death and deportation.   

c) The teachers who find knowledge tedious, and openly so. 

d) The teachers who 'do it already', and seek to reduce their investment. 

e) The leaders who facilitate the above. 

It is somewhat easy to look at the above and sneer. 

What do I notice?

On the Sunday after music I realise how I often do not feel physically excited in the way I once did. 

Music means much to me, not least because it transitioned my quiet home life into something more exciting outside. 

I am not physically excited because I feel the things I could achieve are within my grasp, and that does not excite me. 

Perhaps I should take some time to reflect and appreciate what about the world I might enjoy. 

On Friday I stood in front of many, and played electronic music with confidence. 

I absorbed the weak angst of a leader, and was a guardian angel for others

The irksome individualism of a musician was challenged

The plaudits of my charges were accepted

Last week I managed to do as little work as possible. 

= work is simply a grind at the moment, without much pleasure, and with little physical excitement. 

Some abitrary ambitions

For decades I have struggled with the notion of ambition. 

Focusing on an ambition to be achieved creates purpose. 

There is little ambition that others can give me I enjoy. 

I live my life like I will die soon. 

Instead, live a life like I will wake up tomorrow. 

a) Guitar: find people to play with. Cover Paradise Lost songs, and learn Metallica. 

b) Personal Training: three times a week, get fit, run races. 

c) Work: Book on teaching literature based on my UBDs. Also, understanding ToK better. 

Ambition is vague in those immediately surrounding me. That is fine: I feel it is time to experience mine. 

I have energy, emotional and physical, to do some of the above. I am stepping away from the painting hobbies for now. 

A dream about Japan

Last night I dreamt about working in Japan. 

I was struck by how expensive everything seemed. There was no dual economy, and I was saving so little money. 

That does not capture the dream. 

I picked up a vacuum sealed meal, vegetables and meat. It was supremely expensive. 

I have little to say at the moment. That is fine. 

'Doing Work in the Evenings'

I woke up this morning with my chest stirring, feeling the force flux between the furnace of my stomach and the engine of my chest. What was this feeling? 

Was this 'fear of the tasks ahead'? Was this 'intimidation at what might occur at work'? Or was it 'the possible strong stirrings of glorious emotion'? 

For a fair length of time I have sat with my miniatures, painting as the lonely teenager wished to paint, a single coat of gloriously inked highlights. Such sitting with toys placated my emotions. 

Strong emotions were stirred when working with my old boss, although it was not just him who provoked them. I felt motivated to prove myself at work, to dedicate appropriate expertise to my daily craft: what do I feel now? 

The day stretches out, threatening an overflowing chest of expectations that cannot be delivered, its weight grabbing my head by either side, staring deep into my eyes. 

I am far from lost though. My energy reserves lie under a brittle layer of static past: some movement and excitement can crack the cover and fire my engine. 

Uncertainty and fear are acceptable emotions because I live a post-modern life of negation. 

What kind of lifestyle do I live now? How might I immediately seek to change this? Movement is necessary, as is socialising...

A stronger back

Today I take on a personal trainer. 

Sleeping, reading and exercise connect. 

I will at Xmas stop the Think Club, and will start instead the scribblers. Imagination and effort seek fruition. 

To what extent can I continue to write? How or when might my voice be heard? Do I first need to imagine what the future could be, to visualise a version of its manifestion?

How might my blog and book once again begin? I have spent long enough 'relaxing' at home. I think it might be space for me to consider what I do once more. 

I might be honest about how I use my to do list, my blog, my attempt at a book, and other timings. 

I have spent perhaps 18 months building up my gaming collection once more. It has been a pleasing project, but now it is time to move into a different field. 

What are some doable ambitions? 

Inner: Reading 25 minutes each day.  

Body: 67kg, racing once a month or so. 

Social: Socialising x3 a week after work. 

  

Ready to reduce

Reading my diaries, it is apparent that 'extras' do not make me happy, the drink I imbibe stacks up with wasteful impunity. 

I have painted my collection of minatures. There is no more actualisation I seek there, perhaps. That served its purpose. 

Instead, movement, socialising, music: these can be my things. 

I think I want to get:

 

a) A personal trainer. 

b) A music teacher. 

This will focus my actions.   

Finished Painting: Next Actualisation?

I find myself in the first half-term after my summer with all my painting practically finished. A few bits here and there could be done but my collection is done. 

I am 74.5 kg again, unsurprising given my lack of movement. Treating physical energy as a given will not end well for me. 

Where might my strongest emotions rise? I am not sure, but I think that if I choose to... then... 

I was dicked by academia, promised nothing and yet still received a cold package. I am not sure what else or where else I should be. 

I enjoy some useful habits to a degree, but my reflection is difficult because I struggle to see immediately ahead. 

I wrote once: Physical endeavour + pausing words + intense silence = a spiritual expanding of energy...

Perhaps that is the spiritual endeavour I might seek. 

I realise from my blogs how scattered I might be. I think that rather than a loosening of my mind and body, I should seek instead more discipline and focus. I can walk the world without feeling the need to run, to fight each moment I see. 

My posture and breathwork have fallen away. My emotional life has dissipated too. 

Simply sitting and thinking will unlikely help... doing and moving will be better. 

Integrate those colleagues

It has been a long time since I wrote on this blog because its purpose is nebulous. I write this for the boyish imagination that might still spark inside me. 

More can be found by spending more time with those who see more to reality than that which can be observed.   

Almost Finished Painting

 A week remains until my half-term. 

I have managed to paint almost all my collection. It sits happily on my shelves for all to see, highlights looking beautiful with deep and rich hues. 

I sit often in bed, taking the beauty of that collection into my heart.  

It seems most Fridays I drink 2-3 beers, and suffer incredibly poor sleep. Last night, though, I was back to a 90 rated sleep, the likes of which I have enjoyed over the past few weeks in the middle of the week.

I have slept well: 

Upon waking up I often scroll through social media posts. I am not sure that is where I want my subconscious to go. '

I have purposefully unbalanced my social and physical life. That is fine for the time I did: moderation in all things, including moderation. Maybe some things to change: 

1) Look at the day just gone: reflect... 

2) Look fot the next day: visualise.... 

Do I really enjoy a major goal? Let's be honest, I have taken my foot off the career pedal somewhat last year...  For various emotional reasons, I stepped down and off particular challenges. 

I read about work intentions and work intensity and wonder where I might be placed now. I have worked intensely many times over decades, forgoing physical and social energy.

Consolidate, remove, focus, pause, space, silence. 

 

Emotional Energy?

A distinct difficulty of the post-modern era is the suffering of emotional truth.

My privilege looks after me financially and occupationally, with a relatively nourishing and healthy lifestyle of work and play enjoyed. 

However, my emotionally life is trickier, often undernourished, with passionate truth trickier yet.

As much as I find BTA distasteful, his philosophy about emotional truths seem to offer agency. 

I have little in the way of emotional space at the moment, and even less in the way of emotional nourishment. 

Rather than 'aiming to do more', I should perhaps aim to nourish all elements of this life as I once did... or did I?     

Rather than see my aims as a continual 'progress' that 'gets better'... 

Every damn book on emotional intelligence speaks about monetising it. That in itself speaks against how the West considers 'emotional intelligence, or how we interpret our body's daily workings. 

I took an MA, worked hard etc. I found a blockage with the next job up which overwhelmed me emotionally. What to do? Sitting, writing, thinking does not seem likely to do enough. 

What reflections have I enjoyed? 

Less is More

 Occasionally those I dislike actually enjoy a lifestyle I desire. 

Without doubt my focus is unduly scattered. For three weeks I prioritised 'inner' at the expense of 'body strength' and 'outer'. Consequences occur with such unbalance. 

I have 78 tasks today. That seems far too much. I am also not pausing enough each day. Some non-negotiables for energy: 

a) I need suitable sleep. 

b) I need more breath and heartwork. 

c) I find at times that I cannot sleep. 

Are there connections to be made between those three issues? 

Without being able to sleep, what hope might I have for the days ahead? Why am I taking with me to bed a tablet to watch videos? Is this the equivalent of being addicted to distraction? 

I guess that I am in a deliberate stream of 'chill this time'. I find myself walking this path several times. 

I need to sleep well for several days, and to feel the excitement of public performance once more.  Without energy and rest, little can really occur. 

Moderation: Enjoy

Hello all, 

The busy experiences of a new year have been enjoyed, without huge pressures or an extreme amount of work suffered. 

I notice that my posture and my breathwork has fallen away, as have my physical endeavours. But that is part of moderation, because everyone does not happen at once. 

To what extent am I able to simply be? Existential angst? Occupational boredom? Social ire? Physical degradation? 

a) Writing the teaching book. 

b) Writing about 'being', and the various distractions, and the fear of insanity at any point. 

To what extent can I simply be? In what moment might I frankly pause and simply focus? 

I ask for moderation: so much of excitement is seeking more.  Consolidation is perhaps my virtue now...

Moderation in all things, including Moderation

I have stepped away from body strength and engage, seeking instead to spend my evenings on 'inner': even then I am spending my time on a cocaine inner life. 

I find myself with 72 tasks on this Sunday (!). Is this too much? Come on. Way too much. 

Yesterday I did not look at my To Do list at all. 

For various reasons I have retreated into my abode. I think back to my emotions when I first arrived in Manila: I became overinvested in a trauma bond with another person. The mistakes I made in the past in Beijing protected my from the same actions here though: relating to the boss would have been a terrible end to my freedom here. 

Just 'being' requires a certain foundation of health that I simply do not enjoy right now. 

I feel that my emotions and social connections need some nourishment. 

1) Focus on my projects

2) Not demanding too much energy from others

3) Building more nourishment into my days

Perhaps more than that, why do I not have children? What might be the impact of that on my life? Last night I dreamt of moving in York, or Bath, an aspirational town with the kind of nourishing middle class support network which I would enjoy. 

I walked, I showered, and feel better. In what ways am I nourishing myself? That is the moderation I seek. 

Beginning the Fourth Week: Teaching Fitness?

Hi folks, 

The fourth week of this new teaching year begins. Students have had time to settle in, with those who might be most earnest stepping forth already, their paths already long begun. 

Those who are on a get-through exist too. They drag their heels, reluctant to commit to any path.  

Those who live to vex me are present, even if they are not. They deserve special care, even if they do not. Ignoring them is a new skill I need, and one I did not enjoy in Dubai. 

My energies have been reasonably dissipated this year. The reasons I might give for less energy only push pennies into different corners of the desk. Perhaps instead I have chosen to step away from a disciplined path trodden already by rational self-enlightenment. I exist to notice, not to do. 

Where are the sources of authority in my life? Are they parental? Governmental? Spiritual? Occupational? Cultural? 

Without those pauses, and the movement across this earth, where might my energy be? Without a sense of energy, of firing up my furnace, where might I be? 

For decades I reflection from one day to the day a mini-life, a small-saga: a moment a temporary being. What meaning might seep into the next day? What connections between the various ambitions of my life?

I cannot seek perfection this day, or even meaning, but rather that I link from the days before, and the days to be. That perspective is fitness to me.  

 I read again these thoughts and feel ready for a day of preperation. 

Emotions of a New Year

I am now three weeks into a new year, tired somewhat after a reasonably busy three weeks of work. 

I am in a position now, aged 40, to consider where I might direct my emotions. I speak cocaine words, expanding energy, attracting others to the unfolding experience of a text.  

Physical energy

Emotional energy

Where to see 'excitement' 

There is plenty in my life to 'not be excited about'. Yet how to 'deal with that'? To seek more exciting stuff? 

The fields must be toiled or a toll will be paid. 

Physical endeavour + pausing words + intense silence = a spiritual expanding of energy...

Teachers around me have long since slipped their cars into the lowest gears: it is up to me to slide out of their slipstream if I want more speed. Can I face the blast of cold wind, the buffeting of expectation, the angst of creating reality? 

Can I step back into the grim reality of quieter lessons? Pausing intensely, speaking more mindfully. 

Breathe. Be. 

Even now just typing these words creates the rhythm that my voice seeks

Earnest breath punched out with the dogged will of the upper lower middle

A clumsy rhythm that might one day slip into iambic fun. 

 

The Feelings of a New Year

A new year dawns upon us all in less than a day now. I look forward to it with the bright smile of an experienced waker. 

Last week was as good as I should expect it to be. 

I remembered my first week in Manila 3-4 years ago. I woke up Saturday a little hungover, yet ready for the week ahead. My mood changed quite quick; a few weekends of not seeing that whom my heart had seized upon seemed to shake me, unearthing my feet far too easily. 

The stability of my life now is deliberate. I am fortunate to enjoy energy, and I make that fortune. 

My feelings for the new year are myriad: they are physical and yet to be entirely labelled. 

I should appreciate the words that seem to be typed from my hands. 

I should appreciate how I have two profiles on this computer that separate work and play, knowing that work will soon occur. 

I should appreciate how the flash of chess passes across my mind, and I acknowledge it. 

I should loosen my back, and keep my posture, appreciating the health I do enjoy. 

I should appreciate how my mother speaks to me, asking me why I no longer call her mother. 

I should appreciate how the week ahead remains open, with the possibilities likely to be positive. 

 

Less Scattered

A few days remain until I begin my new year of teaching, the last step of the bridge between the COVID years and now. Many missteps lay behind me but I have not fallen. I should feel ready.

I awake today betrayed by my belly. The tender nature of the body means my current privilege is ill-felt. A bad crumb can manifest itself as angst because that physical irk becomes a mental itch, something always there, demanding attention. A sore stomach becomes an aching mind, a power cast to bed, convalescing. A fat belly becomes a distended spirit, blocking my desires to thrive. 

A week ago I finally greeted the unpalatable truth of being scattered. The finite resources of my spirit and mind run low when I doomscroll, leaving me weakened, a mind atrophied. 

A past solution to the scattered nature of my mind was to focus on others, on work, on the administration useful to others at that time. I satisfied the agendas of many, made them happy, and received verbal plaudits. Such a return leaves me threadbare, the plaudits becoming platitudes. I think now with dumb emotion on too much time sown into the lifeless paper of spreadsheets. 

Yet in the past I have been impassioned with expectations. I rose with the heady eddies of work-wind into the higher ladders of being: I focused at work, and I almost won. But I did not have enough like-minded colleagues - I never have. 

Different colleagues make my focus difficult. There are a few types: 

1) Those focused on logistics: anything of the inner-life challenges these people, making their blinkered systems strain to absorb the full light of reality. Different perspectives, heavy with meaning, make their flimsy models creak; they call for us to build on more fruitful grounds. These people might become mindless bullies, high in cunning, prizing brutalising structures and seeking to find 'the bitch' each year to manifest their 'management style'. 

2) Those too-focused on the professional elements: anything that might request personal investment falls into a ditch for these people. This archetype is clearly more of 'refuse vocation' rather than 'demand professionalism'. Their private life will leak into their work, and collaboration is poisoned by the limited reading and finite thought they grant to what should be a thinking job. They suck energy, and rarely give, for their focus lays outside others.  

3) Those too-focused on efficiency: 'We do it already'. There will be no idea or ambition that has not been tried already in some form, no matter how thin or formless that idea might be. Limitation is the prime quality of this type, limited in reading, disorganised in time, and likely running low in physical energy after imbibing last night, again to excess.  

4) Those too-focused on side-gigs: Perhaps once effective or diligent, this type spends their time perpetually exhausted from running side-gigs, usually marking or house managing. Their lack of energy fosters a fatigue that runs to the path of least resistance at work. They support the limitations of all.  

What do I do in the face of these types? I used to stay awake, strong emotions singing in response to the cultural dissonance I felt. 

Now, from last week, I have created a schism between expectations and enhancement. I see enhancement as something self-chosen, of my choosing, and involving more than professional ambitions. My emotions are aroused by enhancements. 

I see expectations as that I must complete. I seek to conduct these expectations with minimum emotional investment. 

With more mindful pausing, I might conduct my day with the quiet intensity I once desired as a gothic teenager. That which once stirred my emotions - such as exchanging computers - should now be greeted with gated feelings. 

 

Ready?

Blogs and Writing

I have yet to focus my energy on my blogs. 

An unpalatable truth is that my nature is scattered. Across too many hobbies I stretch myself, my finite emotional energies become thin. My spiritual essence fades into the eddies of laconic hobbies, and my once dynamic power looks threadbare. 

I look at books, and I decide to change this hobby to reading. Rarely have I chosen to give time to this...

I look at my painting and realise that this hobby is relaxing. It is not something that I need to form into a habit. 

I consider my blogs, and wonder about starting new ones... with SEO etc? Yet I do not want to focus my energies too much on blogs because who reads blogs? Reddit and Facebook have curated the internet for all: Twitter has been wrecked by the likely characters, contentious for clicks. 

My music hobbies are cool. 

My reading/writing hobby is cool. 

I still need to negotiate the relationship between my reading for work/academia, and for 'play'...

First, I want to acknowledge that my sleep and my hydration are helping me pause more mindfully after words, sentences, breaths. 

Second, I want to realise that I have enough time for things, but my willpower is variable. 

If I allocate time each day to the various habits that speak to me, then perhaps I can function stronger... 

 

Mindful pausing takes energy

At times in my adult life I remember a page from a youthful Fantasy Series called 'Ancestral Trail', specifically a moment of violent action where a protagonist fell into quicksand. The story told me they 'redoubled their efforts'. This term struck me as what I do in the face of pain and anxiety: try harder. Many times I respond to stress and emotional angst with mindless investment. 

A new approach inspires me: pause mindfully. 

My posture was been weak for a long time because of my weak core and lack of will to sit strong. Posture is part of pausing mindfully. 

My sleep has been intermittant for many speculations. Reading my Kindle before sleep sounds far better for my routine, as does a shower, and water, and walking before bed. All of these are mindful pauses. 

Breathing deeply is something that does not come easily to me. Typing these words slowly feels good, reflecting on the sense of the keys pressing down, appreciating the time I have to frame them. 

Mindful pausing and slowness takes energy. Abrupt thoughts and explosive energy are easier for a man of my disposition. This is the way I interrupt others, seeking my say, urging for recognition. There is another way. Think about the concept you wish you express. Leave it hanging, ready to sink in over time. Do not think that concept will catch immediately in the mind of your listeners. Instead enter conversations with the ambition only to express a concept, hanging it in the air, letting the thoughts of the listener fall as they will. 

I started this blog almost ten years ago as a way of considering how to teach abroad. I remain childless, although I enjoy a wonderful partner, a woman of great depth and love. With her I am better. Love should be at the centre of my life, driving my ambitions, making me enjoy the mindful pausing, imbuing my most simple of actions with meaning. The passionate angst of past people was far from mindful. 

I have taken a hard reset these few years, considering what I might want to do in my professional and personal life. The relationship between my personal and professional experience really needs renegotiating. 

I term my professional life 'expectations', and anything I do in that as an obligation. That framing works to reallocate some of my emotional investment away from professional obligations and towards more emotionally nourishing ambitions, or at least less emotionally draining relationships at work. 

As part of this renegotiation between work and play, I also want to become more aware of unpalatable truths that exist, even if only for others. The rules of power as they might stand professionally are real for at least some colleagues. My purposefully naive approach to the industry of teaching and education, powered by the vocational beliefs I have forged, serves me only to nurtured limits before a dark forest. It leaves me vulnerable to the flanking exploitation of others, of limited colleagues who see themselves operating by a different moral code. 

For days I have planned to consider my UBDs and a Literature book. Today I feel I might be able to begin that, mindfully pausing to do so.

Where might strong emotions rise?

The bubbling of strong emotions is not where I want them to be. 

Emotions that move my stomach keep me awake at night. 

I fall asleep feeling that there is 'something missing' or 'something not quite right' about the day I have led. 

The flow of essence is not a smooth river, pure and shimmering. The agendas of others grow difficult weeds in me, breaking off into the waters of essence, dirtying the flow. 

Every river is to be dirtied at some point, just as every body of water desires to flow into the ocean in some way.    

I am of an age where 'imposing my will upon the world' needs to meet 'going with the flow of the world'. 

My awkwardness about my hair and height, my mouth and words, needs to realise that I physically struggle with agreeing to be with people.  

A balance of 'impose my will' and 'go with the flow' needs to be met. Water will be redirected, and will not be denied even by man-made rock over time.  

My fears of people are also driven by sometimes my lack of movement. 

Despite willing myself to look after my health, I have yet to secure a personal training session. I have struggled to find yoga. I have struggled with my stretching. Yet I am aware of this. 

Without strength from work, nothing much can happen. Strength needs to occur. 

Without planning my stretching, when do I think that will occur? 

I have some 'expectations' to do... this might be interesting to attempt. I also wonder how I might look to 'do' expectations... 

How might I again develop a better relationship with 'expectations'? 

Speaking and Breathing

I will die. As a childless man, that is my destiny. The rhetorical flourishes I might enjoy in myself distracts, word whipping after word, snapping attention to order. 

Yet in the space of life before death there exists potential. I have lived with considered determination, a steady beating step along paths of choice roughly trod. 

A holiday experienced, the first for three years, sees me ready and aware of the school year ahead. 

Happiness is really perpetual anticipation. 

Breathe to know I am here... 

Making Sense Matters More than Finding Truth

1) We do not access directly to reality, which does not exist within time and space. 

2) We want to make sense of the stimuli that we find. 

3) Context means we sometimes share reality. 

Listening to speeches about departing colleagues, I find myself listening to sense-making words rather than truth-seeking ones. 

Sense is in us. 

Social Engagement

I have a distinct range of hobbies: 

Music

Painting

Writing/Reading

These hobbies are enriched by others. However, the groups accessible to me are not necessarily to my current liking. I have to chose whether I connect to them, converging my values with them, or being a long wolf. 

The lone wolf option has often been my choice.  

What makes me excited?

What excites me? The people who surround me do not. 

I felt even 24 months ago the excitement of revising texts for a literature curriculum. Team teaching somewhat crushed my expectations, converging with methods that I find even now thoughtless. 

That does not need to be the case. I can revive that nervous excitement, that sense of planning, into something better. 

__________________

Perhaps a week later... 

A Sunday of Imagination?

A week of holiday has passed by: a pomodoro of writing has been sacrificed. 

For some reason I have struggled to sit with my imagination, and that struggle has existed for some time. What games can I play if I cannot sit with myself? 

Each person must struggle with the uncomfortable elements of themselves. What annoys me in others says something about me, because I must recognise that in myself. Integrate those uncomfortable elements - imagine a party where they exist. 

________________

I struggle to relax on a holiday. However, working out, eating well, avoiding the angst that might come with 'being busy'... these are worthwhile goals.

________________

Today I woke up a little more determined than yesterday. Can I have a 'look ahead to today'? 

Shall I try a 'stream of consciousness'? 

Part of me struggles to touch the marking work today... I feel that I need to move and stretch myself... 

_______________

We are in the last days of my holiday. I felt more mindful than I did before, appreciating the beauty of just lying here, of just being here. 

My other blog: there is no agenda, no rewriting of the education system, but rather working within it, recognising its flaws and foibles. 

_______________

The game once again seems annoying with the changes to AP. I asked others if they want to play, but no-one has agreed. I will need to ask others if I intend to do that. 

Today is a day of some 'work'? Perhaps? What do I have to write? Maybe I should listen to the 'prompts' I wrote? 

1) The piece of work a student produces for school reasons: there are a still human reasons behind that. How can there be context of reception if there is not a context of production? 

Art Gallery: can you speak the student about what you notice? Even then, what the aesthetics? Just bright colours? 

How naked will a teacher about why you are doing work? To pass an exam etc? 

2) To what extent is it possible that we can teach poetry by removing ambiguity, and finally by the end there is no... open, whacky, WTF moments... to waht extent can a teacher lead that... what might be unusual sense? 

Can students create their own structures for dealing with ambiguity? An acronym? More? 

Khadashi Suziki: https://alimalek01.wordpress.com/2017/10/04/suzuki-training-method/

How can these be incorporated into the classroom: how writing codifies culture and instinct, will. 

3) How a lot of things that I feel are essential are not things that I was taught, but rather that I taught myself... renaissance. Notions of ambiguity of literature. Metacognition... right time vs right language. 

Language that creates labels, binary...

A reflection is a recreation... the greatest song in the world...

4) Too much of artistic creation is based on originality: how about just being the first person in your family to do something... no matter how mundane, more value in that than being the first person in your village, network, profession. 

5) Decrying the ideas of complaints in education... Is education is not about results but the friends we made along the way. 

6) We cannot make any change to education if we don't make changes to the economic system: how many people would wnat to listen to easy, curious podcasts if they did not have to? How many teachers read?  

No change can occur in isolation: are governments in sole control of this? 

7) In culture, we want to follow and converge with culture, you are going to become more like the people around you than not, whether you like it or not. To go against a culture requires a certain level of belligerance, and the ability to deal with that. See professional provocateurs, and hte issues in their own lives and health. 

Culture used to be thought of something that is an almagation of your physical choices, but it really is about what you are encouraged to notice, and therefore NOT notice. 

8) Formative assessment, at what point does that occur. How does looking at one person's essay in a lesson apply to helping everyone else? 

How easy is the concept of a topic sentence? Can a student conceptualise what a topic sentence is? Should a teacher problematise what a topic sentence might be? 

Anger or Energy?

Today I feel more energy than I did before. Better sleep was enjoyed. Sleep should not be optional. 

Focusing for 25 minutes is spiritual. Simply walking and being in an ending way without endeavour seems to make for a poor holiday. 

I do not even need to focus 'too much'. 

My attitudes towards work have changed somewhat. Two people have triggered me: 

a) Older Guy. 

b) Older Girl. 

Both are ossified in their attitudes, stuck in their ways, defensive as fuck. There is little to believe we can do to change what I seem them doing: 

a) Jordan Peterson guides everything. Thing are dismissed without consideration. 

b) There is little that does not irk Older Girl, and even less that 'we do already'. 

To both these people we need to be intolerant of their intolerance. For a long time I have been willing and able to change my mind, working with young people and their plastic brains. How, then, will I live with conflict, being clear about my goals, and even clearer about my approach? 

Today I have time to enjoy some reflection of work in a way I did not have before. For now, I will run in the way that I can.  

Reflection on a holiday

I sit here now in the morning, fitter than I was last week. People I encountered before...

Anthropology suggests that we should embrace the limitations of our model. If we rely upon other people for our morality, if we desire to 'get away with as much as we can', where might we be left? 

Celebrating the limits of my perspective, the self-contained beauty of what I might be. 

What I notice in others is what I might notice in myself.   

Now with language

Poised in that comfortable position, I feel my body carrying less baggage than it was before. The needless consequences hang in fat bags around my waist. They can be dropped. 

Each year at this time I take examination culture seriously, adopting the mantle of 'the expert', buying chips into the game of examinations. 

What games do we need to play? What rules do we need to? 

Multiple games are being played in a place like Dubai, some of which I did not recognise, and some I had no wish to play.  

What games am I consciously playing? What games do I think others might be playing, too? How can I use the self-contained context around me as a thing of beauty for others?  

 

A Reflection

For about eighteen months I have sought to expunge stress from my body. 

The extraordinary skill of a colleague to teach literature to the Jordan Peterson model of 'this is life' unsettles me. As we grow older, our brains become less plastic, and we are forced to engage more with the stress that threatens to absorbs the world that lives when our eyes close.  

I am struck by how I have 'been in survival mode' since 2003. I am also struck by how I have reflected on this experience. 

With the world opening up, can I live some more pomodoros? Can I engage with 'pomodoros of stress'? 

The gaming I was doing is good to a degree, but it is too busy, demands too much time. 

It is time to walk and swim for now.  

Blogs and Writing

My blogs are coming up for renewal. 

I used to write extensively. I do not anymore. 

I suspect that I will just stop writing them. 

______________________

My blogs have finished their journey. 

Some of my blogs are coming to the end of their journey. 

Twelve years ago I started a writing journey with several blogs, 

______________________

I am tired. I think that booking time to write in a coffee shop after work is a good idea. There is the 'right time' to do things, I think. Time is nebulous, flowing unevenly over the tribulations of the day ahead.

_____________________

I am tempted to avoid or remove all 'stresses' from my life and my position. Is this wise? Ideal? Useful? Appreciated? Dangerous? 

I need more stimulus than this box.  

What happens 'without planning'?

What is dropped when I 'don't plan'? 

Exercise

Reading

Writing

These things are not things that I can do without planning. Taking into account 'human nature' when planning makes success likely. If I do not plan my fitness, my reading, my writing, these habits fall away. 

I am in a great position at the moment. A vestige of the being I was when leaving university remains, poking out from the covers of civilisation, still yearning for another type of life. 

Annoyingly to my colleagues, I speak of how my school is easy. But I am not without anxieties in my school work. If I want a life almost entirely free to do what I want to do, then my school has difficulties. 

The difficulties of my colleagues fall away sometimes, my attitude dipping beneath vital pools of character. The older lady in primary, the life coach in senior: their foibles matter not in comparison to the energy they bring. 

If I was to retire now, what would my life look like? What would I want to do more of? What would I do less of? 

I have a mere two weeks left of school. After that, I will enjoy two weeks of reflection and being at Easter. 

 

 

Talking to Joanna

To speak about: 

Family? 

Work? 

Focus? 

Body? 

Love? 

Over investing? 

______________________

I spoke about my MA, and how I overinvested. There is that chance of failure in competitive academic endeavours. All I ask is to leave with a sense of what succeeds, and what might be imprecise. That did not happen.    

______________________

We all choose what we are comfrotable with ethically... 

Do we make that more precise resource...

Do we go the extra mile and reply to students outside of office hours... 

To what extent is...

__________________

I think I need to cancel Joanna for now. 

Ten minutes before Work

Most of my diaries from ten years ago speak about work. 

I think my work represents many other things. A desire to do well, a willingness to survive in hostile environments. 

Today I find myself not yet to the point of being broken: far from it. 

I find myself arguing with a dude who asserts to a remarkable degree. 

Yesterday was vexatious a little, but that's how it goes. 

Football After Three Years

I lack the vitality I once enjoyed, my body and energy levels suffering thanks to my sedentary lifestyle. 

I need to figure out the role of games in my life. I think that when I sleep at night, my mind is often racing. Maybe seeing Elizabeth at some point is ideal. 

Maybe trying to pause, and speak slowly is ideal. 

Then I might realise that I need hobbies that encourage that reflection. 

I am not sure football is that: running is better.

A Holiday Ahead

The past six weeks have been very doable. 

In comparison to the ire of time twelve months ago, my body and heart feel easier, a calm body of water that swirls with the wind.

____

It is five days after I wrote this. In that time I played two games, spoke to many folks (Mark and Ryc), and kept on top of a few things with work. 

Playing a few games has left me in a good position, with my imagination taking up. 

I have recently been heading to bed fairly late, scrolling my phone too late in the evening. That is 'fine' for the excitement, but the potential tiredness is something I need to at least be aware of. 

___

I purposefully have left my work as it is. Today can be a little more focused. 

____

I spent yesterday socialising many times. Deliberately I left my work for another day. 

_____

The day after I worked well, not too much, and leaving the next day much easier than before. 

The holiday has been good, and appreciated. Moderation in all things, including moderation. 

 

A reasonable week

Today I woke from a violent dream, one where I fled from masked agents who attacked me and others. The climax saw me swing a bag at a man on top of a brick building, casting him to the concrete below, crushing him. Around the building the cult-like men surrounded the building, waiting for me to flee the temporary haven, ready to take me into their compound, trapping me for life. 

I saw this even when I woke up. I woke agitated, feeling the unease of the persued and persecuted, worried for my loved ones who might suffer the same fate.  

Maybe this vision manifested how culture will inculcate us more than we accept, makes us notice that which helps the mission of others, and lets us fit with the tribe. It reminds me of my experience with the Higher Education cartel, of how they do not engage with what students write or think about. The experience is infuriating because their credibility stems from how their degrees gatekeep jobs. Yet there are no exemplars, no comments of quality, and no teaching. 

The investment in the MA feels like a cartel, as does higher education in the arts in general: what is its purpose? Can you get anything from that industry you cannot get from books? 

I wrote some emails to complain. But, like with the cult-men, do I want to be pursued by them? There was no engagement with my findings, only the glib application of a mark scheme and a tenuous misunderstanding of my findings, typed between coffees in snatched time between the real work of research. 

 

  

How things could have been

A child in Hull, working in a Hull school. 

Drunk in Hull, overselling carpets to poor people. 

Teaching next to a toilet in Scarborough still, led by certain types. 

Life could be distinctive in many ways. Instead I wake up at a decent time, ready to teach earnest kids, plenty of time for my hobbies, and the familiar energy returning to my body. 

After school today I want to see if I can remain with myself in the way I used to do with Joanna. The doom scrolling etc feels a little like I am a passenger, which I am, but with unfortunate consequences. 

A working day in paradise

Today was a harder day waking up, having not reflected last night. My recent routine of watching movie summaries did not work and I ended up sleeping remarkably late. A sluggish monster slides within my sleep, covering my brain with a murky slime, dulling my words. My stomach often sags in the morning, the unbalancing of my belly leaving a deep hole that sinks time, energy and even hope. 

Saying all this, my strength is better than before, my immune system winning its January war. I am busy today, but not so busy as I may have once been: Dubai was an aggressive partner who demanded perpetual attention, an investment of energy and spirit that might be better given to my hobbies. 

Reports are due this week, but the number of reports I need to have written is still far smaller than before. 

I am to be observed next week: this is the easiest observation scheduled for an inspection I've experienced. Usually this requires 20+ pomodoros of diligent work with tight lessons etc.  

The marking due this week is far less than a usual day in Dubai. 

I do not have to live in school longer than I need: those days of working in an empty floor on a small computer have passed. The aggressive deriding of others by that man can echo within the walls of his small office alone. 

At any point I am able to walk or swim this day as I wish with little to fetter my desires. 

I can breathe deep again, and feel my muscles soak with oxygen as they once did. The need for space and stillness, of ego dropping continues. 

Holding the inner and outer together

Occasionally a wave of bottomless uncertainty, that dirty wave of others outside me, crashes into the sandy foundations of my imagination, washing away some grains of discipline that I have collected. That erosion threatens the mental integrity of me. The rocks of time, hewed over decades of life and mined from millennia of thought, form some of the foundations of my mind, and the ivy sinews of creativity build interesting walls and intricate depth in the halls of thought. But always, that depthless uncertainty threatens to wash away the stability of my imagination, and cause me unnecessary ill-health, leaving me a weary and thin man. 

That I lack the discipline of the mind seems clear to me. Can I sit with my imagination comfortably, and form again the visions my privilege grants me? Do I retire to sleep with excitement once more? The possibility of me building back the discipline that I once enjoyed is possible. I have the stability of income, of hobbies and a network, of work and a partner. These might help me build my base of health once again. The usual methods of discipline - a fear of work, a fear of consequence, the anticipation of punishment for sins once enacted - these all seem to be ways of disciplining that I need no longer rely upon.

The 'strength' of aggressive bosses in the past seems weaker now, of firing with thoughtless impunity, of delivering meetings with machine-gunned instructions, of fearing parents of the bosses above: these are experiences of the past that echo with me now, but no longer with harmony. They have quietened, discernibly. Far louder is love.  

Fear is an animal that seeks to survive. Its furious scrabbling attacks others, defensive claws slashing any softness, be it flesh or hope, it matters not. 

Discipline seeks me to control and invest the energy that might pass into my body into the finite time left on this earth. 

The books I might seek to write, and the teaching I might seek to do: all requires a discipline that embraces the uncertainty of outcome.   

I find myself a little healthier than before. That is perhaps enough to build on the days ahead. 

Time, Space, Privilege

The privilege I enjoy now exists because of difficult choices I have made. 

My strength returns about a bout of illness: I hope that next January I do not suffer the same. 

I do not need to start new hobbies when my pursuits from childhood might instead be enriching enough. 

My imagination is shaky at times. 

When speaking to others, perhaps I could be clear about the concepts I want to express, and to connect. 

 

Not overinvesting

I sat in the first meeting of the new year with less vexation than before. I usually feel somewhat deflated after such meetings, the sharp apathy of some folks puncturing my ambition. But this time any sharpness bounced off my mind, rebounding with... 

First day of 'Less is More'

Perhaps some 'essentialism' might help my daily living. 

An old boss loved this book because it justified her unique approach in education. For her, essentialism was ideal for her leadership role in education, one that justified her imposing systems that were crushingly effective in creating conformity. 

My essentialism is different: is about not doing 'too much' in this moment, in the now, and instead attempting those pomodoros over time. 

Some truisims: 

1) If something is worth doing, it is worth doing badly.

2) We underestimate what can be done in a year, and overestimate what can be done in a day.    

_______________________________

From a young age I felt the absurdity of the corporate rat race, of that life seeking a career dependent on the favour of others. Yet I lacked economic means of independence and choose to take the nearest job available in Hull, a cover teacher in a failing school. It took me weeks to be chewed up, masticated by an industry I had no intention of joining. Being munched by education was character building, and stays with me even now: I entered an environment I was entirely unsuited to suffering and attempted to outwill it. That did not work, and I suffered, attacked and abused by a demographic of students and parents I had no idea existed. 

But I sit here now, aged 40, and able to see to a clear past. I was 25 or so when I began teaching formally. Another stint like that I will be in a formidable position. 

37k divided by... 195 = 190GBP a day (excluding weekends). 

On average, 3.5 lessons. 1 pomodoro each marking. 

About 23GBP an hour or 31 USD. 

If I figured out how much I was getting each hour in Dubai, it was likely 25-30GBP an hour. A huge amount for my lifestyle, but still not worth the expense to mind and body. 

_______________________________

Do I want to write like Brian Taylor? A blog?   

Accept that the 'value' of 100s of USDs of supposed consultation is perhaps snake oil. It might suit someone's purpose, somewhere, somehow, even if that is not to get scammed in the future. 

_______________________________

Finished my MA: What Next?

Since 2017 I have studied for an MA in education, investing my finite private life into academic study rather than potential hobbies for nourishment. I finished the final essay yesterday, and although the official results are to be decided in June, the final results will likely stand. 

Several things run through my head: 

a) When I finished my literature degree in 2004, I felt a mixed sense of accomplishment and 'could have done better'. I could not have done better on this, unless I had somehow travelled to Bath, and been more proactive in seeking other folks on the social media group. Both required extra investment, and both promised no returns. The 234 pomodoros I completed on the final dissertation were enough. 

b) I have the mind to complain and fight back against whatever mark I received. But in reality, I think that a sardonic take on the experience will sit better, if I give any take at all. This leads us onto my next point: 

c) I feel I have overinvested my body and spirit, and have been overinvesting my essence for a long time. Although it is possible to create something from nothing in terms of business, love and laughter, time and physical energy are finite, and cannot be manipulated. 

d) With this eye towards the finiteness of life, look at myself now, nearing 40, and wonder what kind of lifestyle I might enjoy? 

Here are some options: 

Retiring at 55, purchasing a house, and living a creative life. 

That appears to be the only option palatable to me at the moment, perhaps because it involves 'doing as you are now' until I reach 55. I mean, by that time I might be on an extra 30k a year. 

e) My taste in what makes a good or bad essay at undergraduate level is underdeveloped, largely because I never saw any. Higher education academics refuse to leave themselves open to judgements of quality or accountable if those judgements are reached or not. Therefore, the mechanics of what I am doing are largely invisible, and the teachers unwillling or perhaps unable to explain what they might be.  

With that in mind, I intend to walk away from higher education. What do I have? 

a) Music: distinctly amateur, although perhaps I might take this a little more seriously with some professional lessons etc. 

b) Writing: writing while teaching would require a disinvestment in teaching I am not quite ready for. 

c) Reading: reading for me is tied into imagination, medication, feeling, people... all things I at times take for granted.

d) Gaming: Could be something useful, but this does not feel like it requires a health cost, plus I do not trust that gaming is a worthwhile use of my time. 

e) Hobby painting: As above...

f) Work blogging: I think that I am perhaps at the end of the road for The Quill Guy. I will write a final post: I started it because I did not have anyone to talk to about how I approach teaching. 

Why do I consider what is 'useful' or an 'unuseful' usef of my time?  

I am in a pleasing position to judge or not judge myself in the now. 

To pull back more: to restrain: to speak less: to give less: this all seems an ideal approach and desire. 

Let me reflect on this philosophy more tomorrow.    

  

  

The Day Before A New Year

For many years the months of January and February cast dark clouds over me. They are meant to be the hardest months, testing the emotional and physical state of Western teachers like me, blocking the healthy rays that I usually seek. 

This is the first Christmas holiday I have not had to read or write my MA. In fact, I have enjoyed four weeks of holiday, finishing Follett and embarking on Lord of the Rings. I have: 

Inner: Finished The Wire; Learned some good solos (Sweet Child) and got back into the 40k hobby with some better painting. 

Outer: Aside from the last days of the holiday, I have seen a fair few people, including new gaming folks. I enjoyed meeting Grace's family and generally engaged with the world in a fair and ideal way. 

Body: I swam most days, growing bigger pectorals whilst maintaining 71.5kg with little diet and much cake. 

I can perhaps reflect more precisely on my weeks... is that possible? 

 

Reflection on Last Week: 

Interestingly I became more 'relaxed' in my time as the week went on, perhaps due to my hobby of painting to a film. 

Inner: Completed my reading and writing habits all week, finished The Wire and completed Lord of the Rings. 

Outer: Spoke to Ryc, Kerry and Brian; organised G's brother's CV, checked my school email each day. Cancelled a range of socials, but at least I made them. 

Body: Swam lengths all days but one, and did eight lengths on exercise days. Drank gin on Thursday and dropped off the other days. Did not overdo chocolate or snacks on the other days. 

Work: I did nowt. 

Should I reflect on my week just gone? 

Let's aim to focus on the week ahead: 

Inner: Reading every day, perhaps hitting another 2:30 hours through Lord of the Rings... 

Outer: Some video chats with folks...? Needed? 

Body: Swimming at least four lengths on the key days. 

Work: A calm start with marking completed as I choose... 

Not Overgiving

 I can safely say that I overgive, overextending myself in myriad ways. Typing that made me want to jump on social media to consider the ways I overgive. 

Finishing the MA made me wonder this: I have no judgement as to how good the final dissertation might be. However, I do seek the opinion of experts. Is this balance between self-trust and expert-seeking ideal? When I passed through the final door of university, I felt absolute certainty in my judgement. Moderations in school have attacked that certainty, perhaps revealing how my certainty was not helpful. 

I am not a hollow man, but I am a man with deliberate spaces. 

Imagination is not easy because it can lead to some terrible anxiety and even insanity. 

Whenever I want to alleviate the worry of insanity, I merely think about work... 

Can I engage once again with my imagination, and manage the fear of chaos and insanity? How about I do not overgive in that journey?

A year?

This morning I lay in bed a little later than normal, but still eating breakfast and relaxing at 8am. I remember not too long ago reading 'all' of my Xmas holiday. That made me ill. In fact, I am often ill in January.  I do not have to be ill now.  I have some space after my MA that I intend to enjoy (that is, now). 

A balanced life is desired in 2022, including for my loved ones like Grace and my other family. 

I read the above as five distinct ideas, with no priority. But deleting the spaces makes them into a distinct paragraph. 

_______

A few days into the new year and I am enjoying a new energy: do not overgive. 

Overgiving... in my time to the day, in my money or food, or in my emotional investment. 

As a middle class white man, I often overgive, my emotions washing against the metal box of expectations given to me as a pretend gift by others. 

It is time for me to meet others. 

What kind of goals might I set? Let me swim first.