The 5 year itch?

This month marks five years of permanently living in the UK for me. Not a momentous milestone compared to the tenure of some other expats I know, but it feels big to me regardless.

When I came over in 2007, I remember our plan was for me to spend five years in the North East after which time Will and I would set sail for a new life in America. It didn't register to me then that I might not actually WANT to move back yet after five years. Surely there was no way I would stay in the UK longer than I had to, right?

The thing about me is that I am an extremely restless person by nature. I don't really sit still for more than five years at a time. I like new experiences more than new achievements. That's one reason why we moved to London last year - I was feeling overwhelmed by the need to have an adventure but at the same time I didn't want to do it without Will by my side. I still may give up cities and jobs easily, but when it comes to my family and friends, nowadays I generally prefer to keep the "good uns" around. (Against their will even if must be - thank goodness for Facebook eh?)

The last year or so living in London has been fantastic. I don't feel like I need to move on from this city just yet, but I have a feeling that the restlessness will settle back in eventually - sooner rather than later. It's inevitable really.

I think I was just born impatient. I have this (made up) memory of kicking the hell out of my mom from inside her uterus, shouting "are we there yet lady?" at the top of my prenatal lungs.

And yes, I realise impatience isn't glamorous nor attractive, but I wouldn't change myself too much in this area either. Despite the fact it can be a bit annoying, the internal drive I have for continually doing new things, learning more, finding new places...it's made me pretty damn brave over the years. I'm not afraid to make a fool of myself for the right reason. I'm not scared to risk everything for something I am passionate about. I don't really mind starting over as I've done it so many times already.

And most importantly, I am pretty sure the journey is more important than the destination in life, so as long as I get things more right than wrong, it will all be good in the end right? At least, that's what I always tell myself. ;)

Goodbye Mini!

When we realised this summer that we'd put less than a 1,000 miles on the Mini since moving to London, the decision was made to sell our sweet little car. Today we signed her over to her new owner, and it felt really weird.

Now, I haven't really driven much at all since moving here in 2007 so for me it isn't AS difficult to imagine not owning a car anymore, but at the same time I can't think of any long stretch in my entire 36-years where I was living in a household that DIDN'T have a car. Yeah sure, maybe we didn't have a WORKING car, but we still had a junker out front at all times nonetheless. So the realisation that we don't have an automobile any more feels a bit odd. And freeing, but mostly odd.

For Will it's even more disconcerting. He had a brief car-less stint during his RAF days 30 years ago, but that's about it. Back then he hitch-hiked everywhere, but sadly I don't think he'll be doing much of that these days as he lacks the uniform and youthful stupidity. He loved this car, or at least loved to moan about this car. Within minutes of signing her over, Will was enroling in a car club called ZipCar. Which is fine and a great concept, but I'm guessing we'll use it two or three times and that's it... we just genuinely don't need a vehicle anymore now that we live in one of the most accessible cities in the world. It's rather freaking cool.

PS I plan to start telling everyone we are car-free because we are doing our part to save the environment. Sure, it's more of an unintentional side effect of our car-free life than an active choice, but I might as well get props where I can.

I'm no role model - life lessons from Boston

On a business trip in Boston, had the following conversation about careers with a 20 year old uni student in Boston who is waiting tables at Legal Test Kitchen:

Him: 'So, how did you end up working in the UK? Did you go there after you got your MBA?'

(I should have answered: "lots of training & hard work plus the help of some very generous people along the way". )

Instead I gave him the full overview of my crazy life story including dropping out university to follow a boy to Colorado, my 'starter' marriage and the globe trotting I've done since.  All of which he has overtly romanticised. Am now afraid he's contemplating quitting uni & following my example.

Don't be daft kid!

Life is good, so go on and hate me... :)

It's been eons since I last wrote on this blog! So much has changed yet so much is the same.

We live quite happily in London now - moved here in August 2011. Shockingly, I am still with the same company. The other half and I are still in love and, quite sickeningly, seem to ACTUALLY like each other more and more with each passing day. To complete our family, we have adopted a "fur baby" cat named Maisie who only has three legs, half a tail and a rather hilarious personality.

Our life has sorta turned all perfect in a "dysfunctional romcom" way.  In the movie version of us, I fancy Anne Hathaway as me and George Clooney as Will, but I would settle for Paul Rudd if pressed. For either of us really.

A lot of our life has remained the same as it was two years ago. We both have some big regrets from our dark and distant pasts. I miss my family and friends in the US insanely. My accent has become a mid-Atlantic mess and apparently I'm sounding posher by the day since moving south. But honestly, we know we are fortunate and we are humbled by all the good we have in our lives. I hope one day to right past wrongs and strive to be the best person I am capable of being....in the mean time I am happy, healthy and on the right path. Life is good and I am not taking that fact for granted. Now go ahead and vomit if I'm making you sick with all this gushing... :P

NOT An Idiot Abroad by any means...

http://www.flickr.com/photos/juliehicks/1019612432/
Originally uploaded by julieboddy

I've just booked a ticket for my nephew Elijah to come see me next summer. (Just typing that sentence is making me tear up.) I am so excited to have him come visit us. So proud that he's independent and mature enough to do so. So glad that we are lucky enough as a family to be afforded such opportunities. So thrilled to share my new country and life with my own blood. So happy to have an excuse to visit tourist attractions I normally can't drag my dear husband within 50 yards of. Woohoo!!

This trip is as much for me as it is for Elijah. It's a way for me to feel a little less alone on this strange island while simultneously broadening my nephew's view of the world be a few thousand miles.

Plus, I absolutely LOVE playing the role of tour guide. :)

American Expat "Moment of Zen"

Oops!
Originally uploaded by DeeMac

In homage to one of my favourite telly shows, I bring to you today's 'Moment of Zen' as an American Expat living in the UK.

On my flight home from Heathrow tonight, I was sat next to two 20-something Geordie lads who were commuting home from some job they'd just finished abroad. Their conversation meandered around a lot, often touching on funny stories about coworkers, including some of American descent. They were only speaking with eachother... and as far as I could tell, they had no idea it was loud enough that I heard everything they were saying.

At one point, the gents started telling funny but raunchy stories about one of the lads on their last job who watched porn at 3am every night, despite the fact he was room-sharing with other blokes. The jokes they made about this lad were very off-colour and I'm pretty sure not meant for my ears.

Later the conversation meandered back to their American coworkers, who they were earlier speaking of relatively kindly. However during 'Round 2', they started making fun of the American accents and optimistic natures, including impersonations of course.

( Up to this point in the flight, I had not said a word to them so my accent had not given me away, and luckily my clothes and hairstyle no longer serve as a neon 'American Lady' sign like they once used to do. )

Anyway, one of the lads does his best John Wayne impersonation and sings-songs 'Have a Nice Dayyyyy!' with a shit-eating grin on his face. The other guy, who's sat right next to me, starts laughing and says 'HAHAHA and they ALL say that too!'.

This is the point where I lean over to the gent right next to me, look at both of them and say "Actually, not all of us."

Initial reaction was an awkward laugh followed by looking down at their tray tables rather than at me.

Immediately followed by the silent realisation that they've just offended an American lady that they're stuck sitting next to for 30 more minutes.

Eventually the realisation that said American lady probably also overheard the entire porn conversation. (Although, potentially it's just wishing on my part that they'd be uncomfortable speaking about porn in front of me?)

And lastly, a palatable discomfort on their parts for the rest of the plane journey and a huge shit-eating grin on MY face this time.

Oops! :)

And that, my dears, is today's Moment of Zen.

Goodbye Grandpa.

grandpa and the shake
Originally uploaded by julieboddy

My grandpa Jim was never a man of big stature, but in my childhood memories he is a giant. Whenever I think of "home" in the familial core-being sense, it's his house on Critchfield Road which pops into my head, a place that serves as backdrop to most of my truly pleasant childhood memories. Grandpa in the garden picking beans or fussing about rabbits. Grandpa in the kitchen, peeling apples for pies. Grandpa in the living room with a pile of books and classical music on the hi-fi. Grandpa laying face-down on the floor while my sister and I walk up and down his spine in our bare feet. Grandpa loudly cursing at his new-fangled gadgets like the monstrously-sized 1980s microwave or VHS player. Grandpa taking a nap in the recliner despite my protests for him to play with us instead, telling me he's just "catching 60 winks". Grandpa growling at my sister and Dad because they are cheating at cards - again. Grandpa smiling with pride at my mother when she picks us up after classes, treating her as if she was his own child. Grandpa, my real-life Papa Smurf, watching cartoons with me followed by a grisly war movie or Madonna videos on MTV (shh don't tell Grandma!). Grandpa with a glass of sherry in one hand and the other hand petting the dog with love, the smell of his baking pies always in the background. These are the youthful memories I have of the man and the house that define "home" for me at the basest of levels.

As I grew older and more jaded (or maybe realistic?), my understanding of Grandpa Jim began to change, to grow more deep and less naive. I began to see not only his strength and beauty more clearly, but also his vulnerabilities and flaws. His huge dependence upon my grandmother and his nearly-smothering love for her. His ridiculous prejudices and immense secrets, especially those in regards to a distant past he rarely spoke of. Vast holes in him caused by the war, his childhood, the times before his brain tumour. His very complicated relationships with his own children, which contrasted so greatly against the absolutely uncomplicated one he had with me and my sister. His ability to anger too easily and his need to feel at the centre of things at all times - a need which grew greater the more frail he became. But it's not only his failings and frailties that I noticed as I aged...I also grew to appreciate his intelligence, his candour, his dry sarcastic wit, his generosity, and - most selfishly - his ability to love me no matter what ugliness I showed him, whether that be shocking blue hair or a shocking foul mouth.

To use a cliché, life is full of regrets. I regret I didn't spend more time with you before you died Jim. I regret I didn't know you at your end as well as I did at my own beginning. I regret not being home for your funeral, immensely. But please know that I am also grateful. I am grateful for the things you taught me growing up, especially the love of books, swimming, vegetables, cards, and just generally having a good time. I'm also very grateful that the final years of your life brought so many good things back into my own, especially as it relates to my Dad. You were the anchor which tied him to Columbus for the last several years, and his grandchildren are reaping the benefits of having their 'Grandpa Longhair' nearby and loving them so.

Thank you for everything Grandpa. I miss you already.

Somewhere In Between

Me on the 4th of July Cruise
Originally uploaded by julieboddy

Last week I took the Life in the UK exam, a mandatory step in the UK immigration process if you want to stay in the country long-term as a spouse of a Brit. I found studying for the exam to be really boring and frustrating because the book was filled with facts that seemed irrelevant and also at times inaccurate. After ranting about one particular bit of misrepresented statistics, an American friend of mine recommended that I think of the test as an "English Language" test rather than a knowledge test, which made it a bit easier for this egghead to accept. The test itself was actually pretty easy. I did have to memorise a lot of dates, numbers and odd factoids which I think the average Briton wouldn't know but hey, I passed and it was a relatively painless hour of my life to get past this first hurdle.

Next up: Indefinite Leave to Remain visa followed shortly thereafter by my UK citizenship. Both expensive and paper-heavy ventures but then I'll be done forever with this UK immigration BS and can quickly start bragging about being a European citizen. :)

In November I will have been living her for three years. THREE YEARS!! I cannot believe how fast the time has gone actually. The first three months were pretty easy - almost like a vacation - but then it got really tough really quickly. For about a year my entire core being seemed to rebel against the foreigness of this place and I couldn't settle in properly. Around the 18 month point I finally began to feel acceptance and even some contentment with my "new country". Nowadays entire weeks will go by where I don't even realise I'm a "stranger in a strange" land until something happens to shock me into recognition that this ain't Kansas anymore, Toto. It's the littlest things that make this happen as well.

Most recently this occurred when I was riding my bike into the city centre to pick up some spices at the Quayside (river dockside) market. Just as I was turning left to take a short-cut through a nearby park, I was suddenly overcome with the feeling of "foreigness". Potentially only other expats can fully understand what I mean by that statement, but basically I was riding along on my bike and this huge swell of emotion came up involuntarily, pushing the thoughts of "I live in a foreign country. This is not my culture. This is England. How did I get here again?" into my mind. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling necessarily, but just a highly intense awareness around the fact that I'm not in my native land. These thoughts were then followed up by mixed feelings of pride, sadness, intrigue and loneliness all at once. It lasted for about 5 minutes whilst I was cycling along and then *poof* it was gone. Very weird sensation all around, but from what I can tell, quite common amongst expatriates, even those who've been here 2 and 3 times longer than myself.

I tend to surround myself with friends who are also foreigners of one type of another. My closest work mates are from different parts of the country to the North East (and believe me, on this small island, being from a town only 75 miles away means you're a foreigner!). The people I am closest to here "in real life" and online are from other parts of the country and/or from another country altogether. Most recently I've started up local friendships with some Scottish and American people who've been transplanted to Newcastle for various reasons. I crave all of their company as fellow "strangers". The empathy these groups can provide is really important but also it's a heck of a lot easier to make friends with other displaced adults than it is to break into a circle of life-long friends like a lot of the Geordies I encounter seem to hold dear.

Sometimes I wonder what all of this means in terms of me as an American. My vernacular is changing quickly. I spell like a Brit, swear like a Brit and discuss vegetables like a Brit (i.e. courgettes, to-MAH-toes, BAH-zil). However, even after I get my UK passport and have all the rights of a British citizen, I will never really be British culturally-speaking. I'm also starting to realise how foreign I seem to Americans these days as well, which is equally weird (just ask my sister!). Besides the way I speak and write, my viewpoint on world affairs has totally changed, my eating habits are vastly different and my reliance on public transportation is almost awe-inspiring. My husband says I'm turning into a 'Mid-Atlantic' citizen, meaning that I don't have a single cultural home anymore and that my culture is formed somewhere on a mythical island between these two incredible countries. On good days, I take that as a huge compliment, but on bad days I look at it as a disadvantage and I mourn for my waning American identity. I think the reality lies somewhere in between, wrapped in the loneliness of being "forever foreign" and the excitement of being a "citizen of the world".

Group (Career) Therapy

I'm about three-quarters of the way through an experiential leadership course offered by Common Purpose, called International Navigator. The demographic for the course attendees tends to be energetic, ambitious and high achiever types (read: SWOTs) in the early stages of their careers as leaders. There are several programmes going on concurrently within & external to the UK, organised by geography - I'm on the 'North' cohort, which is dominated by public sector delegates and just a small handful of us private sector folks. The London cohort is more private sector dominated, and the Scotland and Indian cohorts are, well, primarily dominated by Scots and Indians (ha - don't know their sector mix so I resort to lame ethnic jokes instead). Anyway, this is the first time I've been around so many people at the same point in their careers but from different sectors as me, so it's been an interesting scenario to say the least.

All of the Common Purpose course events are covered by the Chatham House Rules, so I can't get into exact details of who said what when, etc. but I can discuss the information I gain as long as I don't reveal the source or reveal anything said confidentially. Which isn't as easy to do as you'd think when trying to explain the context of a really cool approach used at XYZ organisation! (I digress, but I could probably do a whole blog post just on CHR itself. Very interesting construct for meetings...but back onto topic here...)

So, in my last two Common Purpose sessions, we've done group exercises which basically went like this:

• Each group member has 2 minutes to pitch a problem for which they'd like the group to brainstorm potential resolutions.
• Group votes on a single person's problem to use in the exercise.
• Group spends 15 minutes asking the 'problemed person' about their problem, their personal values, aspirations, etc. - anything relevant to finding a resolution to said person's issue.
• Group spends 15 minutes discuss the 'problem' & potential solutions but the 'problemed person' is not allowed to speak or influence in any way.
• Last 10 minutes are spent with the group listening while the 'problemed person' reflects back on the discussion and explains what he/she are going to take from the exercise, including any potential solutions.

When these group sessions were first pitched to me, I rolled my eyes and was like 'oh great, here we go with the touchy feely stuff'. However, after the first one where I helped problem-solve for a public servant facing workplace politic issues shockingly very similar to my own previous experiences, I was totally bought in. I approached the second session with zeal, and was pretty excited when the group picked MY problem as the one to discuss (although keeping my mouth shut for 15 minutes was REALLY difficult and I sorta cheated on the 'no influencing' aspect by pulling faces a couple times). Anyway, I won't bore you to death with the details of my problem or the myriad of suggestions I received, but I do want to share two lessons I've taken from the exercise:

1 - This form of 'group exercise', or group therapy as I jokingly call it, is actually a very effective method to brainstorm problems & resolutions, whether they are personal or professional. Hearing other people discuss topics very close to my heart without being able to interject or influence was difficult but also incredibly enlightening. I'm not sure how I will use this tool at home or at work, but I definitely need to figure out a way because it is, quite simply, a brilliant method for generating new ideas for old problems.

2 - The session where we focused on my own career conundrum was quite possibly a *true* epiphany moment for me. Having my concerns, ambitions, strengths and weaknesses replayed back in front of me by a diverse group of 7 talented leaders from around the UK has really lit a fire under my oh-too-lazy bum. I have a huge list of ideas from the group, some of which I had already considered but now seem more plausible and others which I could never have come up with on my own. Pretty damn cool, actually!

In the 7 days since that 'meme' session, I've made several key realisations. First of all, I believe that I need to create my own personal brand and market myself proactively against that brand. It is unacceptable to just float through my career on best intentions. I am passionate about my profession, personal values and various hobbies, but I'm not bringing those themes together cohesively in my daily life, which I firmly believe is why I'm not completely clear where I want to go with my career. It's time to quit whinging about being confused, set some goals (no matter how small) and work to achieve them. Over the last week, I've filled up about 6 pages of notebook paper with ideas big and small, from blogging more seriously to getting my UK driver's licence to finding a way to run my own consultancy business and/or moving to Spain before I'm 40.

The myriad of things I've jotted down are definitely not all achievable as a whole. It's also highly likely I'll chicken out on some of the riskier aspects, but this is *literally* the first time in years where I've had some real clarity and focus upon what I want to get out of my career longer-term. It's a bit scary but also really damn exciting.

So, here's hoping I don't just let this newly found drive all die out... to help prevent that from happening, I have decided to approach the situation like I am managing a project at work - create a plan and then hold myself accountable to deliver. Won't bore you with the details, but after this blog post is published, task #2 can be marked complete. Wheee! :)

Now time to get back to my regularly scheduled programmes. I've earned the right to veg out to some Scrubs reruns, me thinks.

False Sense of Security....

Warning: Bad language alert.... only read on if you're not easily offended. 

Tonight I was the victim of a sexual assault during my commute home from work.

Wow, that sentence feels very heavy - too heavy. Sexual assault. Was that what it really was?  The law says it is so (if it can be proven). The cop said it was so (if it can be proven). But it wasn't rape and I didn't get hurt physically, so those two words feel overly heavy to me, and weirdly laden with victim's guilt. Was it my fault, did I encourage them, etc. etc. All of that is going through my head right now, but I'm getting ahead of myself here, let me fill you in on the backstory.

I was verbally harassed during my train journey home tonight by a roughly 13 year old boy whilst his two friends urged him on and told him new things to say to me in their native language. Lewd and disgusting things that 13 year old boys shouldn't be saying to a woman of my age, or even at all. As I left the train after enduring about 6 or 7 minutes of this abuse, one of them patted my ass. I know this because a) I felt it and b) when I turned around sharply in response, one of the boys was blaming the other for doing it. They got off the train behind me making some more noise towards me, but I bee-lined up the stairs and out of the station as quickly as possible in fear they would follow me. I saw some Metro ticket checking agents on my way up, but I was too freaked to stop and ask them for help or to report the boys' behaviour.

I walked home and immediately broke into tears when I saw my husband behind our safely closed front door. In an instant after explaining what had happened, Will had his keys in hand and was rushing off to the station to find these boys himself (teens often hang out in front of the station for some stupid reason). Thank goodness that Will found them already embroiled in a ticket dispute with police officers when he got there or else tonight might have ended with my husband in cuffs. He was definitely that angry. When he rang me to have me come down to ID the boys, I thought he was going to tell me something much worse... but thankfully he was just solving my immediate problem which was trying to find the flipping police's phone number via google. (Seriously, when you're really pissed off, even googling is difficult)

Long story short, the police now have my details, the boys deny verbally harassing me and the one boy who would admit to touching me says it was 'an accidental brushing'. I've told the police I want to press charges but I couldn't positively identify which one was the one that actually touched me. It's possible that the CCTV footage on the train will give them something to go by but I'm not very hopeful. I agreed with the coppers that I would not have the boys arrested right then as long as the police took the kids back to their parents in the squad car. If the CCTV footage turns up something useful, I'll press charges but otherwise I will have to be consoled that the incident is now on record and the parents are definitely going to be notified. Maybe it will scare them into thinking twice before bugging another woman... maybe, but I doubt it.

I am calm now, but at first I was too shocked to know what to do. And I was so freaked out on the metro that survival mode had kicked in. I was trying to be tough, funny, ridiculous - anything to get the boy to go back to his original seat and leave me alone. What I wasn't doing was paying attention to their faces! I couldn't look in their eyes, only at the floor and out the windows. I can't even be sure which of the three was the one saying the nasty things versus the ones just laughing and egging him on in another language. All I can remember is their very unique jackets and their spiky hair. I think my mind just checked out after a few minutes.... common I suppose.

I kept thinking that either they were going to follow me home and (if I was lucky) maybe they were only after my iPhone or wallet. I kept internally debating whether or not I could talk my way out of the situation if they didn't let up, whether I could harm them more than they could me, whether or not I had been wrong in not immediately chastising them and it was my fault that they kept on harassing me because I didn't act disgusted enough. And I was also angry at the fact that the other 2 or 3 people in our train car didn't seem to want to make eye contact with me despite my desperate attempts to look at them and find an out from this little nymphomaniac wannabe who saddled up next to me. Here's a brief snippet of the things which were said (I'm leaving out some of the lewder bits):

Boy: "My friend, he fancies you. He wants to fuck you."

Me, nervously: "I'm old enough to be both of your mothers twice over, no thank you."

Him: "He wants to lick your fadge. Don't you want him?"

Me, faking a laugh: "Very funny. He'd have to grow about 10 inches in height and some body hair before he'd be my type and even then I'd never be interested". Insert fake smile again.

Him: "But my friend wants you so much, hey look at me..." blah blah blah.

I think what angered me the most is the fact that I have successfully told middle aged drunk men at the bars to "fuck off and leave me alone" on a night out, but when being harassed by three rinky dink brats on my evening commute, I felt completely helpless. I guess that I am not prepared to be harassed in that environment, and especially not by children. It just really really paralysed me for some reason. And now I'm really fucking mad at myself that I took a coward route with it and tried to laugh things off in the moment instead of standing up for myself - what was I thinking?! I know I'm the victim here, but I am a STRONG woman and I can't believe I let three little kids upset me so much.

But you see, all that was going through my head in the moment was something my sister told me about her 12 year old son recently. She was saying how that my nephew has gotten so strong at only 12 that she knows he could physically harm her if he wanted to, and she's damn well glad he's too scared of her still to ever do so. "He could take me Julie, seriously he's that strong" is what she told me. So when the first of the boys sat right next to me and started saying those lewd things the first thing I thought was "I bet I couldn't stop them from taking me". I knew they weren't going to do it but I couldn't get that out of my head. Over and over. And I think that was the moment I lost my (false?) sense of security for the first time since moving here.

The police were amazing, my husband was amazing and I'm genuinely proud of myself for not just letting it slip past without report. Too many boys and men get away with harassing women in this world and only by reporting it can I wage my own little protest. Now I just have to watch my back when I ride the train every night, in case they get on it with me again. :(

On the bright side, I now know yet another British slang word for female genital. Thanks for expanding my vernacular you little bastards.

me and my dad, 1977

me and my dad, 1977
Originally uploaded by julieboddy

This picture says 'Late 70s' all over it, don't you think? Well, I sure hope so as I'm using to enter blogger Noble Savage's giveaway contest for an 'old school' Sesame Street DVD.

Have a great '70s portrait of your self and love Sesame Street too? Check this out:

http://noblesavage.me.uk/2010/03/26/funky-friday-a-giveaway/

Remember the time....

SkyArts have been airing series one of the US telly show 'In Treatment' over here, which is surprising in that we don't often get these sorts of dramas in the UK. Will and I've been making our way through the show one episode at a time, which is a bit slow-going because not only is the subject-matter sometimes really disturbing for us but also because there are so many damn episodes - like 45 in the first season alone!

Quick side note - please don't shoot me for switching between 'series' and 'season' accidentally. I'm becoming so anglicised with my word selection that I'm not even aware of when I switch between the two vernaculars most often.

Anyway, back to 'In Treatment'... The show has some really amazing acting in it, and is also quite cleverly directed in my opinion. The actor who stands out the most to me in the first season is Mia Wasikowska, who is about to hit worldwide stardom as Tim Burton's Alice this year. Her performances opposite Gabriel Byrne on the show are both delightful and gut-wrenching simultaneously. I identify with her character Sophie more than any of the other 'patients' on Paul's therapy couch, which is odd considering my life probably has just as many parallels with the Laura character (self-hating overly sexualised woman with major 'mommy and daddy issues' who is attracted to older, unavailable men). But no, it's Sophie that tugs at my heart and brings on the flood of nearly forgotten memories.

Some reasons that I identify with Sophie are her precocious nature despite being so young, and because she's been forced to grow up too quickly and blames herself for her parents' problems. But the biggest reason I identify with her is that she is pragmatic and mature on the outside whilst suffering from paralysing depression and anxiety just underneath the surface of the nearly-perfect mask she wears to make it through the day. When Sophie describes her fascination with death, her confused loyalties to the adults around her, the pain she feels she's caused to everyone she's loved...well...I just fall to pieces. Things I haven't thought about in years come back to me and it knocks me for a loop, sometimes for a few days. Sophie's character feels like an exaggerated made-for-telly version of the more real self that I was when I was younger. It's painful to watch, yet I keep going back.

Now let's be real here...no, I never threw myself in front of a car to attempt suicide. And no, I wasn't an Olympic hopeful in gymnastics. Nor did I have upper middle class parents who could buy me anything I wanted including a $300/hour therapist. And honestly, I'm pretty sure it's far too easy to assume the root of all of Sophie's problems lie with her father's deceit and her mother's reclusive depression. Life just isn't that clean-cut and in reality, chemical imbalances play just as much of a part in depression as stupid parents or poor life choices. It's not any of those things about Sophie that remind me of my past: it's the way her character speaks about the confusion of being thrust into adulthood too early, and the rawness in which she exists just under the veneer she tries in vain to show the world. And the desperate wish for it all to stop.

I spent years, decades even, feeling the same way. Therapy, age, maturity and hindsight have all helped me to realise my parents aren't completely to blame for the pain I felt as a child, and neither am I. I also know that I don't have to feel that way anymore, that it's within my control to stop from hating myself or becoming a martyr. I am so SO glad of the stability and contentment that I've found over the past few years, and of the support I receive from my husband, my family and my friends. Sometimes it is easy to forget that I used to be a 9 year old who would almost daily write in her diary about wanting to die after being insanely bullied at school and completely depended upon (or conversely ignored) by adults at home. But I WAS that little girl - that was me, that's how I felt and what I wrote. I never want to forget that scared little girl, but I also never want her fears to rule my life again. Watching Sophie's sessions on 'In Treatment' make me realise that it would be a HUGE mistake to forget who I was and to not acknowledge who I've become.

Thank you Sophie.

Two steps forward, one step back...

For those of you who know me in the 'real world', you know that I've been struggling health-wise for the last year. Constant throat and lung infections, frequent colds, routine sleeping problems, serious lack of energy, etc. etc. I've been under the care of my GP and a specialist since November and finally we've made some progress it appears. I no longer regularly feel like I don't have enough energy to sit up and I haven't had a really nasty infection since mid-November. Actually, in two weeks time it will be 3 months since I've had to miss work due to illness which is sadly a personal best over the last year plus.

To keep myself 'well', I'm on a myriad of supplements and drugs right now and I've been working part-time since late November. I'm taking oral antihistamines, a steroid nasal inhaler, vitamins C and D, zinc, Turmeric, a multi-vitamin and then of course I have my trusty oral inhalers in case of allergy or exercise induced asthma (as if I have been exercising since October!). To help with the sleeping issues, I take Valerian root. When my sleeplessness gets really bad, I supplement the valerian with a sleep-inducing drug my specialist gave me which gives me incredible dry mouth. All of this pharmacology seems to be helping, but I am not sure which one of the myriad is actually helping me the most because there are so damn many of them.

After the Christmas holidays, I felt better than I had all year. I felt like myself again, so I started working more hours and not spending as much time in bed feeling sorry for myself. This weekend, however, I am feeling like a cold is coming on and I'm pretty lethargic and icky feeling generally. Instead of taking it like a champ and just waiting out the cold like my old self would have done, I'm ridiculously paranoid that it means I'm not getting better and that I'll have to miss more work as a result. I'm so paranoid about it that I get angry with my husband if he tosses and turns too much in his sleep, waking me up and causing me to 'harm' my immune system by a lack of solid REM sleep. I've taken to sleeping in the spare room whenever his snoring is too loud or he moves too much in his sleep (God do I hate being a light sleeper!). I also get angry with anyone who smokes a cigarette near me or and I mildly panic whenever I enter a building that's got more mould than any other living organism inside (which, let's be honest, is REALLY common in the UK).

I am obsessed with staying well and the fact I feel tired and worn down this weekend does not bode well in my mind. I just want to feel healthy for like 4 straight months, is that too much to ask? I mean if I feel like this when I'm 34, that sure doesn't give me much hope for 74 now does it?!

The good news is, there is nothing significantly wrong with me. I'm a healthy woman. I'm not obese, I don't have heart problems, I'm mentally and physically fit. It's really just a small burden that I am allergic to a lot of what surrounds me on this damp dark island. I really shouldn't whinge so much, you know? That said, when you live in capital of world-wide whingers, it's really easy to get away with a good moan periodically. Thanks for 'listening' to mine.

State of the Union

In just over a week I will turn 34 years old. For the first time in my life, I am acutely aware that I am aging. I have lines appearing in my face which I never thought I'd see. The Briggs & Noorduyn women age gracefully & relatively wrinklefree is what I've been told (aka the lie I've been sold!). My skin and bones don't heal as quickly as they used to do. Also, I used to be able to sleep 12 hours straight without having to get up to pee - as if that would happen now!

Over the past year or two, I often find myself saying things about very young people which are either unusually wise or totally not empathetic enough, especially considering I used to be quite quirky in my youth myself. Most suprisingly, I often sound like my mother these days, or worse (best?) yet, one of my grandmothers. And not always the really sweet and kind one!

I know that this aging process has been going on non-stop since the day I was born and all, but suddenly it's very real and present in my daily life. Outside of the lines in my face, I actually haven't minded the fact that I'm aging and that it's noticeable. I like myself and my life a hell of a lot better with each passing year. (Plus, if the lines in my face get me down, there's always botox, right?)

I am comfortable in my own skin these days, literally and figuratively. I get along with my family better than ever - mostly because I'm mature enough to understand now that we can love eachother despite our faults and philosophical differences. I've utterly enjoyed seeing my parents become happier now that their nests are empty and their children are taking the world by storm in our own way. Sure, I miss being a super thin and energetic 19 year old from a physical perspective, but there is no way in hell I'd want to go back to that 19 year old state of mind. I was too opinionated, too immature, too impatient, too depressed, too serious and too worried about what other people think of me. I was also not remotely self-aware enough to know that I didn't know everything and that I wasn't always right. Each year I become more aware of how fallible I am. I have come to realise that it's far more about the journey in life than the destination.

Daily life isn't so easy right now. I'm struggling with recurrent illness and as a result, I'm quite depressed. This new digit being added onto my age is felt more succinctly than ever before as I wonder whether or not this is just the start of long-term battles with poor health and depression. Despite the fact I'm unwell and quite down, I still wouldn't swap out the life I have now and the person I am today for the insecurity and false certainty of my younger self. I'll just push through and make do and have faith that there is a lesson to be learned in all of this, and I'll be better off in the end.

Why I am against capital punishment...

I wrote this little ditty as a response to a thread on a forum I frequent where we are discussing the execution of the DC Beltway Sniper:

I don't believe in the death penalty. I feel very strongly that violence begets violence. The death penalty perpetuates a viscious cycle which I believe has longterm negative consequences on society, including desentizing society in regards to the taking of a human life. I also believe that capital punishment violates the Bill of Rights, specifically in regards to the 'cruel and unusual' punishment statement - there is no such thing as a humane method of putting a person to death! Also, it is a useless act of vengeance because it doesn't undo the original crime and bring the victims back to life suddenly, and the criminals themselves have innocent families who then suffer from a life being taken as well. What good comes of this viscious circle?!

I won't even get into the cost aspects nor the fact that America's image in Europe is further tarnished by the existance of the death penalty, nor the hippocrisy of a Christian nation supporting capital punishment in any form.

Lastly, I think it is very difficult to provide a fair hearing when the death penalty is on the table because there is the possibility to have jurors who are hesitant to convict based upon facts because it could result in someone dying OR to have a juror who is hugely pro-capital punishment and the fact it's on the table sways their judgement in regards to sentencing. I served on a capital murder case jury several years back and the death penalty was taken off the table for exactly these reasons - it was too distracting and we would have potentially had a hung jury if the death penalty had been an option.

I then started thinking about how I might feel about capital punishment in relation to someone close to me - say a predator who might hurt my sister, my mother, one of the children in my family, etc. If a horrific event befell one of them at the hand of some psychopath, would I change my stance on capital punishment? Really, truly would I still feel it's wrong?

The answer is yes, I would still be anti-death penalty, despite the fact that I might feel so angry about it that I'd likely want to kill the asshole with my own bare hands and risk the death penalty for myself in the process. I would still believe it is wrong even though I probably wouldn't be phased if the criminal died at the hands of inmates or from some terrible disease. No matter what tragedy befalls us, I would still believe that a government's money is better spent on the systemic change required to prevent victimization and  protect the innocent than in electrocuting murderers. Capital punishment focuses society on violence and vengeance rather than on reform and prevention. It's a never ending cycle of 'eye for an eye' that does no one justice in the end. It really must stop.

On the outside, looking in...

I've been going through this strange feeling of detachment over the last month or so. A lot of the time I feel as if I'm watching myself from afar and not really feeling or participating openly in the world around me -  not in a "first person" sort of way at least (although I do have loads of internal dialogues in 3rd person like any normal crazy person!).

It's really difficult to put a finger on what's going on with me or what the impetus was to start this blue period, especially given the fact I have been so happy and content all summer. I am partially blaming it on the "dark nights" for sure! I watched the sun setting around 430pm today - that is never, ever a good thing. And it will only get worse in late December, when the sun goes down by half three most days here! Ever since the days began getting super short here in Newcastle, I've started losing the desire to participate in pretty much everything that requires me to leave the flat - except where a paycheck is involved, of course!

I am being really hard on myself for not being as energetic or conent as I felt all summer long. It's not that I'm depressed per se, but I'm just acutely aware of the fact that my energy levels are diving and generally I would prefer to be as inert as possible until the Spring. If it were up to me, I'd stay in the house with Will, the Xbox and my breadmachine and pretty much not see the outside world for weeks at a time. It's really not a very nice way to feel, and what sucks the most is I'm hyper aware of the fact it's happening.

I feel as if I am witnessing my lethargy from afar and hate every minute of what's going on. The 'normal me' is looking in from behind the two-way mirror, screaming and shouting at myself to get my shit together and quit being so morose.

'Get out and exercise!', I'm shouting from behind the looking glass.

'Quit exagerrating! Get off the fucking couch and quit sulking, you're better than this!', I plead.

The whole thing is like some sappy infomercial reinactment of a woman suffering from the 'winter blues', or better yet - an antidepressant advert! Yes, I'm turning into THAT woman, and that IS NOT me. Really, it's not. I guess at least I see it happening and can do something to make it stop. Or wait until the sun starts shining for more than 8 hours a day again.

Dammit, I need to get my arse of the fucking couch and quit feeling sorry for myself.

Maybe after the next commercial break.

“Every man is guilty of all the good he didn’t do” - Voltaire

I’m feeling really cruddy this week, mainly due to being weighed down by a nasty cold or flu of some sort. I went to bed at midnight yesterday and didn’t get out of bed until 11am. I was up for only two hours before going back to sleep for three more. I am barely able to stay awake right now, and it’s not even 11pm yet! I haven’t had any exercise in over a week, and I’m missing a hugely busy and important week at work. I can’t even be bothered to shower, and in addition to suffering from flu-like symptoms, I’m just generally down today. I absolutely hate being at home, sick and useless. I just don’t cope well with boredom. Basically I am just feeling totally blah and it sucks. And then of course there is the guilt issue....

I always feel very guilty whenever I am unwell and have to miss work or cancel plans. Guilty if I don’t stick it out at work. Guilty if I do and then accidentally give someone my cold. Guilty if the house doesn’t get cleaned, and guilty if I DO clean the house when I should be resting. Guilty that I am not 100% my relatively cheery and involved self for my husband. Guilty that personal hygiene becomes nearly the last priority on my list for several days. I mean seriously, have you ever smelled my feet after a few days of no washing. If you had, you'd totally understand where the guilt comes from on that one!

Being sick is utterly made worse by the fact that I let myself feel so damn guilty for letting other people (and myself) down. It’s really foolish of me to be so indulgent in my guilt when I’m sick, but in a way it is sort of cathartic because I don’t allow myself to feel guilty about much else in my life. There are a lot of things in my past for which I feel guilty, but because I do not regret most of my choices despite the associated guilt, I do not allow myself to indulge in masochistic self-abuse over things I would not undo, even in hindsight. Perhaps it’s far easier to beat myself up over trivial things such as taking a sick day than to face the inevitable karmic retribution I fear I may face one day for sacrificing others for my own happiness? Or maybe perhaps I’m way over thinking this all due to the haze of Night Nurse and carbon dioxide poisoning from oversleeping today? Let’s hope it’s the latter.

You just had to ask, didn't ya?

For some reason, I am often asked by people I've just met one or more of the following questions:

1) "When are you going to start having kids?"
2) "Why don't you want any children of your own?"
3) "Aren't you ready to settle down and start a family?" (followed by: "You still have time to change your mind you know, you're still young!")

This post isn't going to be a rant about the people who barely even know me asking these sorts of questions, nor will it be a list of the real reasons I have not embarked on raising little mini-me's. Both are good topics best saved for a day when I'm in the mood to get really clever on your asses.

No, no... today’s post is about the ANSWERS which I'm just dying to give in response, for pure shock value. I guess I'm bored with answering the question reasonably and truthfully, so here are three gems which I've been fantasizing about using on the next lucky contestant:

The "Bore Them to Death" Approach:

(aka "The Green Approach")

"Well, actually that's an incredibly important question, thanks for asking! You see, I am a firm believer that the human race needs to focus on a more sustainable model of reproduction in order to save the planet. People should only reproduce in order to replace themselves once, no more, else we'll run out of precious natural resources too quickly. As such, I've done the maths and I believe there is a distinct imbalance in the ratio of Adults to Progeny within my extended family. Given that my sister, her husband, my sister's ex, my husband & his ex, and also my cousin and his wife have aggregately produced more children in ratio to the number of adults in our family, it's a moral imperative that I withhold from having children in order to ensure that the Adult:Progeny ratio is properly balanced.

You see, I really have no other choice. I mean, sure, I'd like to have kids but sadly everyone else in my family took up all the slots before I had a chance to get knocked up. That's life for ya."

The "Turn It Around on Them" Approach:

(Reserved for people who are especially condescending or rude when I say I don't want children)

"Actually, I'm pretty sure the REAL question here is why did you decide to have children? I mean, you're obviously dying to tell me. And honestly, I'd love to know the reasons, because for the last 2 hours all you've done is bitch about your little ones so much that I'm starting to wonder if I should call children services. I mean, I'm seriously worried that you hate the little buggers. So please, enlighten me as to your reasons to reproduce when you're OBVIOUSLY miserable."

And finally....The "Special Arrangement" Approach:

"Oh, well you see, I have this arrangement with my sister that's TOTALLY a win-win. She's got 7 kids and can't really afford to raise them all anymore. So here's the deal - she's going to send her youngest over here after he's potty trained to live with me until he's 12, at which point she has to take him back. In exchange, I pay for her husband's vasectomy and our shared-son's University education. Oh, and of course I'll cover his room and board while the little one is living with us here in the UK - wouldn't imagine asking her to pay UK prices for food and such!

Yes, I know it sounds a little odd, but it's really a great arrangement. I mean, I just cannot IMAGINE actually carrying a baby for 40 weeks or changing nappies for 2 years, and I DEFINITELY can't deal with a teenager, so this really is a win-win for everyone involved, don't you think?"

Missing the wee ones....

Today is my niece Hannah's third birthday, and tomorrow is my nephew Everett's first birthday. My family are having a huge party for the two of them at a local park today, and I'm super sad that I cannot attend. Some aspects of expatriate life really suck, and missing out on special events like this is one of them.

I spent the better half of three weeks with these two wee ones during my summer holiday this year, and it was such a blessing. I already have a fairly strong and long-standing relationship with my eldest nephew Elijah who is 11, but I barely knew the two youngest because I've lived abroad for the last two years. This year's trip allowed me to get to know them both, and it was a real joy.

Hannah is a lovely little princess who fears nothing as far as I can tell. At only three, she's already very girly, quite strongwilled, and wonderfully independent and adventurous. It takes awhile for Hannah to warm up to people, but once she does, she is chatty and fun. Hannah reminds me of everything that is special about being a little girl and of course that means I'll indulge her every whim if allowed to do so. She and I bonded during my trip in a way I didn't expect - I think every third word she spoke was 'Aunt Julie' by the end of my stay (and I only mildly bribed her, I swear!). For the first few weeks after I left, she kept telling my sister that "Aunt Julie's at work"; however I think the fact I'm in the UK is starting to set in: the other day Hammy declared that she "needs" to go to England soon. With Hannah, everything is a "need" - there is no such thing as "want", it's much more serious than just plain old desire to Hannah!

Everett, or Rett for short, has an incredibly pleasant and kind disposition. He is just a lovely, lovely baby... when he's happy at least. When he's pissed off, he sounds like a Veloci-raptor and people cower in fear for miles at the sound of his shrieks. That said, it's rare he gets upset and it's never over trivial matters. Rett really can't be bothered with trivial I think. He does everything at his own pace and on his own terms. You definitely can't trick Rett into doing something he's not keen on, that's for sure - and I love this about him. At one, he's already a discerning and thoughtful person - something most people can take decades to become. He's also the most cuddly baby I've ever been around. Rett just loves to "love on" people. He is most content when curled up in your arms. Considering that his mother's side of the family aren't exactly big on hugging or PDA (including myself), it's incredibly sweet and miraculous that Everett is such a cuddle bear.

I'm so sorry that I can't be there for your party today my lovelies. And it's likely I'll miss many, many more. I pray that when you're older this won't keep us from being close because you mean the world to me. Please remember that I love you so, so much. And the next time I see you, I promise to spoil you rotten - just don't tell Mommy!!

Healthier Living through Vodka

I will now prove to the world that drinking vodka is definitely a key component of healthier living.

(Note I say health-ier not health-y).

Will and I are on the path to healthier living. We’ve recently cut out all sorts of fattening foods, reduced our portion sizes, stopped eating out as much and are preparing more homemade healthy meals at home. I’m even baking all of our bread now using whole grain organic flours & minimal sugars. And yes, we’re cutting back on our intake of alcohol, because – let’s be honest here – alcohol accounts for a large number of the empty calories both of us have been shoving down our gullets the past 18 months.

Not that we’re excessive drinkers. At least not by the British standard, if that counts for anything? Until recently, we were sharing a bottle of wine with most evening meals and hitting the pub for pints once or twice a week. I’ve done the math(s) on this and figured out that each of us have been ingesting about 2,600 extra calories per week on average – without even really getting drunk!

Here are the hard, true facts:

2 large glasses of wine/day x 4 days/week = 1840 calories
4 pints of lager/week = 760 calories

Mind you, I’m not counting any periodic binge drinking in the equation. Not that we do it very often, but there definitely are the occasional mad night outs where one of us downs 2k calories of liquor on a single night… but if I’m throwing it all up the next day, the calories negate themselves on the way back out, right?

So…. 2,600 calories per week = ~371 calories per day. I would have to run about 40 minutes a day – every single day of the week – to offset that caloric intake. Currently I only run 3-4 times per week at 30 minutes a run. And even that takes up too much of my time. So, dammit, I need another solution.

Let’s face it: I’m not going to quit drinking completely. It’s just NOT gonna happen. Or at least not without me becoming a nun and/or crack addict. And I’m not interested in either of those life paths at this point in my career. I mean, I don’t like the associated fashion choices for a start. So dear me, what is a girl to do?!

Enter vodka, my hard liquor of choice.

A large glass (250ml) of dry white wine has about 230 calories. A pint of Premium Lager has about 190 calories. A single vodka & diet coke has, on average, about 55 calories.

Yes, I said 55 calories!

That means there are only 110 calories in a double!!!!!

That means that if I replace the same number of drinks I have on the average week with double vodkas & a nil calorie mixer instead of my normal white wine and lager, I cut over 1200 calories out of my diet each week. SIGN ME UP!

Will and I have decided to give this new approach a go. Additionally, we’re not drinking as frequently as before either, so in theory we should start seeing a change in our weight as a result over the next few months.

And now I have proven that vodka is indeed part of healthier living.

Please note, however, that I have yet to do the maths as to whether or not this is a sustainable option budget-wise given that Absolut is so expensive. One step at a time my friends, one step at a time. I’ll worry about whether or not we can afford the car payment once I’ve proven my theory is correct, preferably over a vodka tonic.

Also, I do recognise that this is no exact science, and I realise there may be flaws in my logic. Just give me a break and pour me another double please?