Gavin Whyte's Blog, page 27

300 Words a Day - #14 - Wavering Happiness

On a scale of 1 to 10, how happy would you say you are?
I detest that question.
Answer too low and memories of happy times come back in abundance, making us feel we’re being unfair to ourselves and are ungrateful for what has been.
Answer too high and memories of the not-so-happy times rush forward to haunt us, making us feel we’re being unrealistic and inauthentic. 
Over the past 20-30 years there has been an explosion of books, promising us ways to obtain unwavering happiness.
If we read them and still don’t feel happy, then we try another one. If that one fails, we end up thinking something is the matter with us. 
We’re not doing it right.  
We’re not trying hard enough.
But all along the fault exists in the books.
They’re offering us something that doesn’t exist…
Unwavering happiness.
It doesn’t exist - at least in this world of polarities it doesn’t.
I read recently that the Dalai Lama, when asked if he experiences stress, answered that not only does he experience stress, but he also experiences anxiety.
Wavering happiness.
For me - and I know I risk the chance of coming across negative here, but hey, we’re being realistic - for me, happiness stopped being my goal a long time ago.
It’s funny, because many people think I’m a happy person, yet I don’t consider myself a happy person at all.
I consider myself to be content.
Contentment is safer. 
In my eyes it’s more mature. It’s happiness without the clown and the giraffe-shaped balloons.
It’s an inner-knowing that all is well, and when things don’t appear to be going well…
…then the comedown from contentment isn’t that dramatic and you know the climb back to that sweet spot of contentment isn’t that difficult to reach.

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300 Words a Day #13 - Let's Try Not to Judge

Every morning, before breakfast, I walk our dog. 
This morning was no different.
The vet has told me not to take her too far, on account of her weak heart. She’s no spring pup anymore. She’s getting slower every day and her eyes are failing her, but, still, she gets extremely excited when you say the magic words and get her lead ready. 
We have various routes to choose from (we meaning our dog and I. She’s called Hanbao, which is Mandarin for hamburger - I didn’t name her…), and she usually decides which path we should take.
This morning she decided to take me to the bank. If I was by myself it would take me literally a minute to get there, but with Hanbao it’s a 10-minute walk there and a 10-minute walk back.
I don’t mind. As she’s busy sniffing this and that (what my wife calls “going on doggy Facebook” - Dogbook, if I may) I’m practicing my Mandarin on my phone.
As long as I keep an eye on what Hanbao’s sniffing and where I’m stepping, then everything’s right as rain.
This morning, when we finally made it to the bank, there was a man, drunk, sitting outside it.
He was old and unkempt, but didn’t look homeless.
We walked past him and Hanbao looked at him, and then up at me.
“Is he okay, Gav?” she seemed to be saying.
He began mumbling to himself, then he looked up at me and fell back into a drunken stupor.
What’s wrong, old man? I thought.
Are you trying to drink away your pain?
What have you been through that’s brought you to this point?
We’ve all got a story behind the eyes; it’s so well hidden.
That alone should give us reason not to judge.
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300 Words a Day - #12 - Volunteering at a Hospice

I used to volunteer at my local hospice.
Me, along with several other volunteers, would wheel a trolley of drinks down the wards, knocking on doors and seeing who wanted a biscuit and cup of tea or coffee.
I think I did it for four years.
I met some amazing people in that place.
The staff.
The patients.
The families.
And I can’t forget my fellow volunteers.
Some might perceive volunteering at a hospice to be a source of anxiety, but I never experienced anxiety.
99.9% of the time I would say a cloud of calm hung over the building.
I saw how the staff were with the patients; how they talked to them (even when the patients were unconscious), how they walked them to the toilets, how they fed them and dressed them and cleaned them and comforted them with their open hearts, full of compassion. 
It takes a special individual to do that.
We can become numb to almost anything, but we’re never numb to love.
Some might seem it, but take a good chisel to their shell with an open heart, and watch that shell break into a thousand pieces.
Some of us take longer to trust than others. 
Our shells can seem impenetrable. 
We’ve had years and years, decades, of adding layer upon layer of conditioning and suffering, and adding strength to it all by identifying with it.
Many of us refuse help because without our suffering, who are we?
We can ask for help, believing that asking is all it takes to be fixed, but when the help comes we resist it. 
It’s okay to allow ourselves to be helped - cared for.
It’s not a sign of weakness, for to ask for help we first have to acknowledge our suffering, which requires strength. 
Ask away.


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300 Words a Day - #12

I used to volunteer at my local hospice.
Me, along with several other volunteers, would wheel a trolley of drinks down the wards, knocking on doors and seeing who wanted a biscuit and cup of tea or coffee.
I think I did it for four years.
I met some amazing people in that place.
The staff.
The patients.
The families.
And I can’t forget my fellow volunteers.
Some might perceive volunteering at a hospice to be a source of anxiety, but I never experienced anxiety.
99.9% of the time I would say a cloud of calm hung over the building.
I saw how the staff were with the patients; how they talked to them (even when the patients were unconscious), how they walked them to the toilets, how they fed them and dressed them and cleaned them and comforted them with their open hearts, full of compassion. 
It takes a special individual to do that.
We can become numb to almost anything, but we’re never numb to love.
Some might seem it, but take a good chisel to their shell with an open heart, and watch that shell break into a thousand pieces.
Some of us take longer to trust than others. 
Our shells can seem impenetrable. 
We’ve had years and years, decades, of adding layer upon layer of conditioning and suffering, and adding strength to it all by identifying with it.
Many of us refuse help because without our suffering, who are we?
We can ask for help, believing that asking is all it takes to be fixed, but when the help comes we resist it. 
It’s okay to allow ourselves to be helped - cared for.
It’s not a sign of weakness, for to ask for help we first have to acknowledge our suffering, which requires strength. 
Ask away.

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300 Words a Day - #11 - A Postman's Self-Image

Many moons ago I attended a conference, that was all about spirituality. 
I was a postman at the time.
When I got to this conference, it didn’t take me long to feel I was out of my depth.
I was surrounded by university professors, teachers, psychologists, counsellors, researchers and the likes of.
And then there was yours truly. 
The power our self-image has on our confidence and outlook on life is truly phenomenal.
God, I felt small.
In my mind I might as well have been wearing a blue shirt, navy trousers, whilst carrying a red bag on my shoulder, and followed everywhere by a black and white cat.
Every time someone stared at me I felt like they could sense something was amiss.
“They can see I’m a fake.”
A suit-wearing man, sitting next to me asked the dreaded question: “So what do you do?”
I couldn’t lie.
“I’m a postman.”
I waited for it.
The dejected, “Oh…”
I used to hate people asking me what I did because I thought I could do better.
(Better only came about because I chose to grab an opportunity to move forward. But better is only better because of personal preference. My current situation isn’t better in the grand scheme of things, it’s just different.)
Being a postman provided me with the space I needed to grow, and I sit here being incredibly grateful for that.
Funnily enough, it was when I began to acknowledge how good it was for me, that opportunities to move on from it arose.
I used to practice mindfulness on delivery and write books in my spare time.
Not many jobs offer the space for that.
Oh, and the folk at the conference concluded that they hadn’t the foggiest idea what spirituality meant.
It’s debatable.


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300 Words a Day - #11

Many moons ago I attended a conference, that was all about spirituality. 
I was a postman at the time.
When I got to this conference, it didn’t take me long to feel I was out of my depth.
I was surrounded by university professors, teachers, psychologists, counsellors, researchers and the likes of.
And then there was yours truly. 
The power our self-image has on our confidence and outlook on life is truly phenomenal.
God, I felt small.
In my mind I might as well have been wearing a blue shirt, navy trousers, whilst carrying a red bag on my shoulder, and followed everywhere by a black and white cat.
Every time someone stared at me I felt like they could sense something was amiss.
“They can see I’m a fake.”
A suit-wearing man, sitting next to me asked the dreaded question: “So what do you do?”
I couldn’t lie.
“I’m a postman.”
I waited for it.
The dejected, “Oh…”
I used to hate people asking me what I did because I thought I could do better.
(Better only came about because I chose to grab an opportunity to move forward. But better is only better because of personal preference. My current situation isn’t better in the grand scheme of things, it’s just different.)
Being a postman provided me with the space I needed to grow, and I sit here being incredibly grateful for that.
Funnily enough, it was when I began to acknowledge how good it was for me, that opportunities to move on from it arose.
I used to practice mindfulness on delivery and write books in my spare time.
Not many jobs offer the space for that.
Oh, and the folk at the conference concluded that they hadn’t the foggiest idea what spirituality meant.
It’s debatable.

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300 Words a Day - #10 - Sanity & Silence

I have plenty of friends, but I can only talk to a select few of them.
I mean those that I can share an actual dialogue with.
A dialogue that leaves both myself and the other feeling inspired - recharged.
My closest friends are those where we can pick up where we left off, regardless of how long it is since we last spoke. 
None of the neediness. 
I appreciate that. 
Space. What could be more important in any relationship? 
What could be more disruptive than clinginess?
Cling, and resentment and disrespect will surely follow.
I read somewhere that resentment is the number-one cause of divorce.
Can you be alone with yourself?
I was a postman with Royal Mail for ten years. I got to know a lot of the people I delivered to.
One time, a family was having an extension fitted; their garage turned into an office, that kind of thing. Every morning I would shout morning to the builders.
That’s right… shout.
Their paint-splattered radio was blaring out the latest pop hits.
“I don’t know how you can work with that on,” I said, “it would drive me insane.”
The builder looked at me with his dusty face.
“It keeps me sane,” he said.
A woman I delivered to told me how she had the TV on all day, but never watched it.
“Just for the noise,” she said.
Just to be distracted from the fact that one is alone with oneself.
I know many people like that.
Why is it so hard for us to be in silence? Not only that, but to be in silence and alone?
Every sound comes from a bed of silence. 
That bed is calling for each and every one of us to sleep in it every now and then.


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300 Words a Day - #10

I have plenty of friends, but I can only talk to a select few of them.
I mean those that I can share an actual dialogue with.
A dialogue that leaves both myself and the other feeling inspired - recharged.
My closest friends are those where we can pick up where we left off, regardless of how long it is since we last spoke. 
None of the neediness. 
I appreciate that. 
Space. What could be more important in any relationship? 
What could be more disruptive than clinginess?
Cling, and resentment and disrespect will surely follow.
I read somewhere that resentment is the number-one cause of divorce.
Can you be alone with yourself?
I was a postman with Royal Mail for ten years. I got to know a lot of the people I delivered to.
One time, a family was having an extension fitted; their garage turned into an office, that kind of thing. Every morning I would shout morning to the builders.
That’s right… shout.
Their paint-splattered radio was blaring out the latest pop hits.
“I don’t know how you can work with that on,” I said, “it would drive me insane.”
The builder looked at me with his dusty face.
“It keeps me sane,” he said.
A woman I delivered to told me how she had the TV on all day, but never watched it.
“Just for the noise,” she said.
Just to be distracted from the fact that one is alone with oneself.
I know many people like that.
Why is it so hard for us to be in silence? Not only that, but to be in silence and alone?
Every sound comes from a bed of silence. 
That bed is calling for each and every one of us to sleep in it every now and then.

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300 Words a Day - #9 - Learning to Be the Flow

We can’t please everyone.
We can try for sure, but it’s usually in the trying that we see we’re fighting a losing battle.
It really is impossible to get everyone to like you, to accept your ideas, your views and opinions.
Folk have their agendas, just as you have yours.
The past is so well hidden.
Who knows what went on.
What scars were made, and how.
That’s one of the reasons to try and not take things personally.
Even if it involves those whom we thought were a good friend. Even members of our family.
Friends come and go - it’s a bit more tricky with family, I admit.
Those whom we thought were on our side can turn out to be not who we thought they were.
We can feel let down and disheartened.
We all wake up on one side of the bed.
Who’s to say your sunny outlook will be met with a smile by everyone?
It won’t.
It can’t.
Somebody, somewhere, will have woken up on the opposite side to you. (It’s a big bed.)
And visa-versa. 
(Happy people can be so annoying.)
The only things that are personal are the things we take personally.
We have a choice.
To enjoy the rainbow we have to put up with the rain.
To make an omelette we have to crack some eggs.
And all that jazz.
One day you will feel like you are doing everything right…
… the next day, everything wrong.
A friend of a friend is a Buddhist and recently went to a Buddhist conference. He told my friend how they were talking about ‘be the flow’, as apposed to ‘go with the flow’.
As my friend said, “Going with implies putting up with, rather than being your own flow.”

Now run along, river.


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300 Words a Day - #9

We can’t please everyone.
We can try for sure, but it’s usually in the trying that we see we’re fighting a losing battle.
It really is impossible to get everyone to like you, to accept your ideas, your views and opinions.
Folk have their agendas, just as you have yours.
The past is so well hidden.
Who knows what went on.
What scars were made, and how.
That’s one of the reasons to try and not take things personally.
Even if it involves those whom we thought were a good friend. Even members of our family.
Friends come and go - it’s a bit more tricky with family, I admit.
Those whom we thought were on our side can turn out to be not who we thought they were.
We can feel let down and disheartened.
We all wake up on one side of the bed.
Who’s to say your sunny outlook will be met with a smile by everyone?
It won’t.
It can’t.
Somebody, somewhere, will have woken up on the opposite side to you. (It’s a big bed.)
And visa-versa. 
(Happy people can be so annoying.)
The only things that are personal are the things we take personally.
We have a choice.
To enjoy the rainbow we have to put up with the rain.
To make an omelette we have to crack some eggs.
And all that jazz.
One day you will feel like you are doing everything right…
… the next day, everything wrong.
A friend of a friend is a Buddhist and recently went to a Buddhist conference. He told my friend how they were talking about ‘be the flow’, as apposed to ‘go with the flow’.
As my friend said, “Going with implies putting up with, rather than being your own flow.”

Now run along, river.

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