Keris Stainton's Blog, page 66

When self-help… helps

I wrote this for a newspaper a couple of years ago, but they never printed it. The enthusiastic response to my review of Peter Jones's wonderful book, How To Do Everything And Be Happy, inspired me to hunt it out.

Sitting in a coffee shop, postponing going in to the office, I started reading Paul McKenna's book Change Your Life in Seven Days. I'd read enough self-help to know that it was unlikely to really change my life at all, let alone in seven days, but I was ever-optimistic and hoped that this book would be the one to make the difference. For years, I'd been a self-help addict. My shelves groaned with titles like Make Your Creative Dreams Real, How Much Joy Can You Stand, Live the Life You Love, Write it Down Make it Happen, Creating a Charmed Life and more, and yet I was still miserable, but with no reason to be.

I was happily married with a gorgeous young baby, and my husband and I had finally managed to buy our own home, but I hated my job and was frustrated that I'd never managed to get a writing career off the ground. (I'd started writing a novel around ten years earlier, but hadn't been able to finish it.) Mostly I was disappointed with myself. I wanted change and had taken certain efforts to find something that inspired and challenged me, but no matter what I did or how I felt, I always seemed to end up back in what was basically the same job, just in a different company.

While I drank my decaf latte, I started reading McKenna's book and, just a few pages in, found an allegory that began 'Imagine you woke up one day in a land populated almost entirely by giants.' Ordinarily, I would have skipped over it. I wanted information on how to change my life not namby-pamby fairy tales, but for some reason I kept reading. It went on: 'Do as you are told. It's easier to get along if you go along. Don't cry. Don't fight. Study hard. Get a job. Do as you are told. Get married. Have children to support you in your old age. Do as you are told.' Which is exactly what I'd always done. I'd been the good girl. I'd been conscientious. I'd studied and worked hard thinking that eventually I would be rewarded, but instead I'd just been taken for granted. I got to the end of the story: 'And then one day you wake up, and there is a tiny little creature staring up at you. She has awakened in a land of giants. And because you love her, you begin to teach her everything you've learned about how to survive in this land of giants. And so, the cycle continues …' And I started to cry. I had my own tiny little creature – who was, at that moment, being looked after by someone else – and I didn't want him to grow up with a mother who was disappointed in her life and too afraid to follow her dreams.

But it was time for work (and of course I couldn't be late) so I left the coffee shop still sobbing and had only just managed to pull myself together by the time I got to the office. I'd worked in various roles in the same company for a while, but the latest position was the worst. I was an Administrator in Corporate Recovery and Personal Insolvency, which meant that generally every client I spoke to had either lost their job or was facing bankruptcy. Angry and tearful callers were common. I often had to advise worried and frightened people who had been told they could lose their homes, should sell their cars, even give up their pets. I felt like every aspect of my job was negative and it was wearing me down. I couldn't concentrate in that morning's meeting. I thought about what I'd always wanted to do: write. Why had I never done it? What was I afraid of? Maybe I should just do it. Yes, I might fail, but wasn't I already failing by being unwilling to try?

After finishing the Paul McKenna book, I realised that simply reading self-help hadn't been enough – I needed more direct assistance. I contacted life coach Suzy Greaves, who quickly helped me realise that, rather than being afraid of failure as I'd always assumed, I was actually afraid of success. I was also pinning all my hopes on having a novel published, which, should it ever happen, still might not necessarily mean I could give up my job. With Suzy's advice and support, I remembered my teenage dream of being a journalist and, fairly quickly, got a commission from a national glossy magazine. I was worried that it was a fluke, but I also wondered if it could be the start of something.

Spending more and more time at work either daydreaming about leaving or researching article ideas online, I felt guilty. Although I didn't enjoy my job, I'd always tried to do it to the best of my ability and I hated that my heart wasn't in it. But opening the post one morning, I found a letter from the wife of a client. She was writing to tell us he'd committed suicide over their financial situation. I found myself in tears again. Life really was too short. I shut myself in an office and rang my husband, David. I told him I wanted to quit. "Fine," he said. "Really?" I asked. We didn't have savings – in fact our financial situation wasn't much healthier than some of my clients. David had a good job, but didn't earn enough to support us without me working at all. I knew that if we got desperate I could temp, but I really didn't want to. My mum had told me to learn secretarial skills so I'd always have something to "fall back on", but I'd been falling back on it for fifteen years. David asked me if I thought I could get more commissions and I told him I did. "Okay," he said. "You're not happy. So quit."

I handed in my notice that same day and I have never regretted it. My freelance career took off and I matched my employed earnings in the first year and have increased my income each subsequent year. I work from home and can do the school run, attend assemblies and sports days and, on the few occasions my son has been ill, have been able to pick him up within ten minutes of getting the phone call. I've since had another baby and now I arrange my work around him. I also finally finished a novel and, last year, signed a two book deal with a major publisher.

But I only realised how far I'd come when I started reading Kasey Edwards' book, 30 Something and Over It for my book club. I thought it was a memoir, but found it often drifted into self-help and Edwards' search for a more fulfilling job and life. And rather than being inspired, I was bored. I wondered when I'd last picked up a self-help book. I couldn't remember, but it wasn't recently. I used to wander aimlessly around the self-help section of my local Borders, looking for The One. The one that would change my life. I haven't been near that section for a long time. Now I haunt the young adult section, picturing my own book gracing the shelves.

Newport to Seaside : 20 August 2001

Big driving day almost to the top of the coast. Stopped in a few places to look at the views but kept going really until Seaside. Really nice place.

The motel is gorgeous – huge bed and bath and the owners are lovely. Were very excited to tell us they'd get us "English muffins" for breakfast

Bit fed up so we went out to dinner at the Creakside Pizzeria, really at the side of a creek (hence the name!). The we sat on the beach and watched the sunset.

 

 

 

Florence to Newport : 19 August 2001

Set off for Newport with a couple of viepoint stops. Checked into the motel then went to look at the Bay.

Got the Sunday paper and parked in a park overlooking the ocean. D had a sleep and I read my book, then we went for a walk on the beach. It was absolutely gorgeous. 

The circle of life

Earlier this week, I was sorting out some baby stuff to get rid of. I still think about maybe having another baby, but I know we probably won't and it seems mad to hang on to stuff on the off-chance, and I'm doing the big declutter, so it had to go. There was a pram, the Amby Hammock, the steriliser and the Tummy Tub. Now we only used the Tummy Tub a few times, but when David saw it in the "out" pile, he said, "Not the Tummy Tub!" That's because of this:

I put all the items on Freecycle and they were snapped up instantly and out of the house within the hour. When the man who picked them up knocked at the door, Harry clutched the Tummy Tub and sobbed. Joe is 2 and a half. No one has even seen the flippin' thing for at least two years (it's been at the back of a cupboard) and, let's face it, it's practically a bucket, but half the members of the family did not want to see it go. (I only really get sentimental about clothes and Joe couldn't care less.)

Later the same day, me and the boys were heading out for a walk when we stopped to watch a skip being delivered to the house next door. Our 86-year-old neighbour, Nancy, went into a home* last year. When we got back from the walk, the skip was full. Nancy lived there for 65 years. She was married for more than 60 (her husband died a few years ago) and raised a daughter there. I know it's just stuff – and it wasn't even anything personal: it was carpets, chopped up cupboards and units, a bath mat – but seeing it in the skip made me weepy.

Joe still wasn't arsed, though…

* it's down south, close to her family. I've got their number, but I can't bring myself to ring because I don't want to hear that she's died. I'm going to pretend she's happy down there forever.

Brookings to Florence : 18 August 2001

Went to the library and sent emails. Had a hilarious one from Dad.*

We stopped at a place called Gold Beach and got a coffee then sat looking out over the sea. I love the Oregon Coast, it feels to me like "my" place.

We finished our coffee then went for a walk on the beach – it was so beautiful. We stopped for fish and chips (!) at Bandon and had a look around. It's lovely, what I imagine New England is like.

From there, past the Oregon sand dunes all the way to Florence. We walked down to the Old Town and had a mooch around the shops, before dinner in a restaurant called Mo's, overlooking the river (lovely photo here) (and have a look at Mo's website. Or rather, have a listen to the song!). 

  

Reading: Horse Heaven by Jane Smiley

* Wish I'd kept these emails, but apparently not.

For want of a nail…

I am incredibly lazy. Particularly around the house. I often don't notice any mess (or dirt) until I'm expecting visitors and then I'll suddenly spot the cobwebs dangling from the ceilings or the mucky fingerprints on the light switches (I'm not saying I then do something about it, but at least I'm aware).

For ages I've had pictures propped up here and there and I wanted to hang them, but didn't have any nails. Yesterday – as part of my decluttering campaign – I decided to get them on the walls. Me and the boys went out to a local playground and, on the way home, bought a box of nails. It was 65p.

When I got home I skipped around the house, putting up pictures and it's made such a big difference. Not just to how the house looks, but to how it feels. I'm so glad I finally got round to it. (Imagine how good I'll feel if I ever paint over the water mark on the ceiling or get a shade for the bare bulb in the lounge.)

A registration plate my dad brought back from Canada. I've never really thought much of it and only as I was hanging it up (on my office wall) did I realise it was probably off our car. And Dad probably shouldn't have taken it (but he wouldn't have worried about that).

 

One of the things on my Big Zeroes 40 List is to create a family gallery up the stairs. It had been stalled at about five pictures for a while, but yesterday I added a bunch that had been lurking around the house in various places.

And I've been meaning to frame Sark's How To Really Love A Child poster for ages (since before Harry was born, I'd guess), so I finally did that too.

 

 

 

This is Harry's bedroom wall. He's always asking us to stick random things up there – newspaper cuttings, pages from magazines, adverts – but his baby rugby shirt has just been leaning against the wall until yesterday.

One day I'll actually take it out of the frame and iron it, but don't hold your breath.

 

 

 

The boys aren't actually bothered about having things framed. They much prefer sticking things up with the fancy tape my lovely friend Anne-Marie sent me to fix my specs. See:

 

Eureka to Brookings : 17 August 2001

Set off from Eureka to Redwood National Park.* We parked up and went on a 2.5 mile hike, looking for elk. It was tiring – steep and slippy – but very beautiful. We saw elk too, but only from a distance. 

We had a Subway** at Crescent City (the last town in California) looking out to sea, then arrived in Brookings (first town in Oregon). Checked into the Beaver State Motel (snort). 

Went to the supermarket for something for dinner and then watched The Replacements with a bottle of wine. 

* The Endor scenes from Return of the Jedi were filmed there. Apparently.

** You may have noticed we did not eat well on this trip… (Subway, McDs, Burger King, etc., were all that we could afford most days.)

How much do I need to see this film?

Santa Rosa to Eureka : 16 August 2001

  

Set off to the Redwoods and the drive-thru tree. You could actually drive through it (duh), so we did. Then we sat by the lake for a while then walked up through the forest. It was incredibly beautiful. 

We picked up a sub for lunch then drove to Avenue of the Giants and ate watching deers drinking out of the stream (D thought they were drinking next to an outflow pipe, but I prefer to think it was a log). Forced David to hug a tree. From there we continued down Avenue of the Giants, stopping for a sit on a dedicated bench, then arrived at Eureka*. 

Got out and wandered around for a bit, but didn't really like it so zipped off to Arcata, which I was looking forward to as it was so highly recommended by the book, but the only hotel was too expensive. Headed back to Eureka where the accommodation was cheaper. Checked into an Econolodge and headed out in search of some food/entertainment. 

Ended up at the mall where we had an Arby's for dinner and watched American Pie II.** Went to bed at 12 and were woken at 1 by a man yelling and swearing. I thought it was on TV at first, but then I realised it was outside. It went on for a while then I heard him leave. Then I heard him shouting further down the street. I worried at first that he'd come out of a room and that he'd come back and then, because it was 1am, my imagination ran away with me and I wondered if he might be armed. Thought "I want to go home" for the first time since we've been here. Didn't sleep well at all. 

* I've just had a look at Eureka online and there's a nice looking Old Town that we obviously completely missed. Doh.

** Not very successful on the food/entertainment front then.

Me. In a tree.

Harry reading Jessie

Yesterday I found Harry sitting on the sofa like this. He can't read well enough to actually *read* it, but he still had some comments:

Super Grover?!

Oh! There's Jessie in it.

Huh. Very funny.

Have you got any pictures in it?

No, you haven't…

Sam? Is that Fireman Sam in it?

He then presented it as an award to the fire engine (from the collection of about twenty we seem to have acquired) as a reward for the best emergency. *baffled face*