Tag: family

  • Be blessed, not entitled

    Be blessed, not entitled

    Appreciation is simply an acknowledgement of what we feel blessed with, while gratitude is reflected in what we claim to appreciate.

    The secret to contentment is found in gratitude.

    But not in an attitude of gratitude.

    It must be more substantial than that.

    Gratitude must be a meaningful connection with what we truly value about ourselves and our lives, and not just appreciation for having more than others.

    Gratitude allows us to focus on what’s good, and realise how much worse things could be.

    It encourages appreciation for what we have instead of envy for what we don’t have.

    Most importantly, it recognises the blessings that most take for granted like good health, free time, youthfulness, good relations, and peace of mind.

    When we lose gratitude for these things, we take it for granted and stop doing what is needed to maintain it.

    That’s when we lose it.

    And if we still don’t recognise our ingratitude at that point, our difficulties become a trial rather than a reminder leading us to believe that we’re cursed or being tested by divine decree.

    Live with gratitude. Always.

  • Gratitude, the root of peace

    Gratitude, the root of peace

    As long as you have gratitude in your heart, you will always find opportunities instead of problems in your life.

    Gratitude allows us to focus on what’s good, and realise how much worse things could be.

    It encourages appreciation for what we have instead of envy for what we don’t have.

    Most importantly, it recognises the blessings that most take for granted like good health, free time, youthfulness, good relations, and peace of mind.

    When we lose gratitude for these things, we take it for granted and stop doing what is needed to maintain it.

    That’s when we lose it.

    And if we still don’t recognise our ingratitude at that point, our difficulties become a trial rather than a reminder.

    Live with gratitude. Always.

  • When Family and Friends Collide

    Being torn between my loyalties towards family versus friends was never pleasant. I recall specific events where I was treated with disdain after returning from an afternoon with a friend in my neighbourhood. It was not just from my father, it was pretty much from the whole family. Having a social life seemed wrong, and being socially awkward was my default disposition. I suspect the two went hand-in-hand.

    The insecurity of a family unit that grows insular by default rather than necessity is often a reflection of the insecurity of those that yield the most influence on them. It’s almost cult-ish by nature. The indoctrination that suggests that choosing the company of others automatically implies that you place less significance on your own family members is unnatural and stifling. Having to choose between your absolute loyalty to family that precludes any other bonds from being established and wanting a space for free expression unattached to your family should not be a choice that anyone should have to make. It sets the scene for a precedent that can rarely, if ever be met.

    The underlying principle is a simple one. If you impose limitations on others, limitations that don’t shape their moral or ethical standing but instead is aimed at defining their movement and free association with others, you need to be damn sure that you’re in a position to offer them what they would otherwise get from those social circles. Family can be toxic as much as they can be a blessing. Often, in a less healthy environment, they stifle the growth of each other and root themselves in a point from the past based on the belief that they need to protect each other from a perceived, but often unrealistic threat. Simply stated, a family of victims of society are more likely to restrain the social activities and affiliations of its members than one that is secure in their collective individuality.

    But that begs the question as to how do we become a family of victims to begin with? Again, I look towards the most influential members of the family, typically the father, or the mother, or both. They set the tone for what is perceived to be healthy and balanced, versus what is unacceptable or intolerable. Their fears and insecurities are often passed on as truths and realities, while preventing sufficient exposure for any of their children to determine the veracity of such claims themselves. This ensures that the established authority in the household remains unchallenged, and that the balance that is comfortable for the insecure, remains above reproach. Despite its best intentions, it is a sick environment in which to raise a healthy mind.

    I’ve often witnessed first hand how such environments yield common chronic health conditions. The kind of conditions for which most are happy to blame faulty genes, while remaining oblivious to the stress and strain our bodies face when subdued in such an unnatural way. Occasionally one member of the family will be free from that condition. They will generally have a more optimistic or healthy outlook on life, including a healthier social experience. However, the inclination under such circumstances is for the rest to believe that that one individual is fortunate, and since they are not afflicted with the same ill-health, it is therefore possible to live a healthier and more meaningful life. That is simply rubbish.

    When we stop to consider the impact of our emotions on our physical wellbeing, and stop writing everything off as a disease that attacks us from without instead of within, then hopefully we’ll stand a chance of breaking the cycle. The stress coping techniques that we adopt as we grow are learned from those we’re most exposed to. When that exposure is limited to only an insular family unit, it stands to reason that the resultant ill-health will be a common experience as well, hence being misconstrued as a genetic inheritance.

    The cycle can be broken, but it requires exposure to other frames of reference for us to develop any reason to question the truths that we hold dear about life. Of course the reverse is also true. If that insular family unit is balanced in its embrace of life, then it also stands to reason that the individuals that it spawns will be balanced by nature. This is unfortunately rare, if not impossible, because a healthy balance would unwittingly provoke broader inclusion in society, including the necessary contribution towards remedying the ills of that society.

    The greatest irony of society is that it is most severely criticised by those that are in fact an inherent part of its make-up. When we assume a level of aloofness and distance ourselves from the ills of society, we become party to the problem, rather than the solution. Too often those that break the cycle extract themselves from the environment that spawned them. While it may be healthy for the individual to do so, it robs the very same society of the resources and influences that are needed to uplift its social fabric to be one that is healthier and more wholesome. That societal structure can be as small as a single family, or as big as a community of families. Either way, we are an inherent part of it, even if we remove ourselves from it. That absence defines our contribution, whether we like it or not.

    The test of our character therefore arises when we find ourselves needing to hold on to the new-found freedoms experienced external to that sick cycle, while acknowledging our responsibility to assist others to see that there is a life that is possible beyond the unhealthy indoctrination that defined our reality before that point. Empowerment lies not in liberating yourself only, but in liberating those with a similar affliction as your own.

  • Orphaned

    I’ve found that the most unassuming leaders and role models are the ones with the greatest impact. They are not the ones that are celebrated from the pulpits. In fact, from the pulpits is where you will find them despised or judged. But that is not a testament to their being, instead it is an indictment against the bearers of those stations.

    Seeing a father celebrated tonight left me ambivalent, as the subject of fatherhood often does. I looked across at one whose father was taken away at a young age. I saw the fight to maintain composure dull the eyes that was just a minute ago filled with the enthusiasm of youth. But even in that there is a blessing that I struggle to relate to, and I wonder if those that have lost truly appreciate the gravity of the grounding point that they have in life, even if only for those few short years beyond which they may understandably feel cheated out of a lifetime of love and affection, not least of all the wisdom that often accompanies such a presence.

    Oddly enough it really is the presence more than the conscious efforts of fatherhood that appear to leave the most powerful impressions. Perhaps in that presence I can relate,  but not much beyond. I often recall the words of a man I once met when he described the influence his father offered in his life. He recounted how he awoke every morning to see his father sit comfortably in his favourite armchair reading the newspaper, allowing all about him to continue uninterrupted, but equally uninterested. It was that scene that prompted him to be more than his father ever was, to him or to those around him. That is a reality I can relate to.

    But tonight was a reminder for more than just that. I found myself questioning my views about celebrating life versus celebrating occasions and witnessed first hand how people that I have anyways recognised and admired for living a full life seemed to be galvanised by the occasion of marking a milestone in a life fully lived. Perhaps they, like me, don’t recognise the amount of life they live. Perhaps they too, looking from the inside through the lenses that filter their reality, may not recognise the amount of life they have lived relative to the struggles and loss that scarred their landscape.

    The reality I’m faced with is that life is not separate from the bad times, or the occasions. Celebrating the occasions in the absence of celebrating life at least gives us speckles of appreciation even though I still spurn the distraction it causes in its wake. Contemplating all this, including some unexpected interactions this evening gnaws away at yet another old companion that I’ve held dear for so long. Jadedness is spawned by bitterness. It’s a response needed to dull the ache that a lost youth and an absent father etches into our distorted view of what promise the world holds. It’s this same distortion that often sees us fighting battles that exist only in our minds.

    Maybe the fatigue of being me is suddenly not a fatigue, but instead it is a surrender to a reality that was self imposed. Self imposed or not, it is still my reality. Tonight, sitting here, isolated in my thoughts, surrounded by the warmth of an extended family of whom only a select few I have ever connected with but still feeling the familiarity of a blood line I am tied to in spite of my exclusion for reasons unknown to any of us, I find my soul oddly consoled, yet still restless. But it’s a fading restlessness, even if just for tonight.

    Perhaps my jaded soul will learn what it means to feel human after all. Perhaps not.

  • Who puts a smile on the face of the village idiot?

    I’ve been asking this question a lot lately. Most people laugh it off, probably turning me into the proverbial village idiot since I put the smile on their face, but no answer seems to be forthcoming. It was never intended to be a rhetorical question. At many points in my life I found myself abandoning that which was dear to me in favour of assisting others to achieve that which was dear to them. My philosophy then, which still influences my choices now, is that my life was never about me but rather about those around me. It’s a sound philosophy, but only if everyone subscribes to it.

    The reality is, most don’t. The harsher reality is that my ego is probably the most unrelenting force I’ve ever had to deal with. So after going through endless cycles of hoping for that shared subscription, which in fact was a veiled desire for reciprocation, I would reach my tolerance levels of patience and then binge on a self-indulgent mission of getting what I believed was due. It was often justified, but nonetheless destructive. With each cycle though, I found my tolerance increasing and my expectations decreasing. But the question remained unanswered.

    The same question can be asked of a physician. Who is the physician of the village physician, or the care giver of the care giver? My point is that we’re all so focused on receiving the services and care from so many around us, that we often forget to consider what their needs are, especially when their needs are not our primary responsibility. The generous amongst us are the most abused. It’s a strange dichotomy though, because it implies that the more abused we are the more beautiful our souls. At least from the outside looking in.

    Unfortunately, the truth is not as pretty. The truth is closer to the fact that most beautiful people appear that way because they have abandoned their desires for themselves, at least within the context of what they desire from others, and they’ve filled that vacancy with seeking fulfilment and purpose in contributing towards the ease of the lives of those around them, not because they are expected to, but because they don’t want others to experience the same void that exists within their lives. I think the most beautiful smiles on the faces of dying people are not because they feel fulfilled but because they feel relieved that the struggle is finally over.

    I think those smiles say more about their willingness to leave behind what others still cling to than it does about feeling contentment about what they’ve achieved. I think those smiles lie, but the ones around them take comfort in it nonetheless, because that is what people do around apparently beautiful souls. They take comfort from them more than they give comfort to them. After all, a soul that appears to be beautiful cannot possibly be in need of the comforting from the pain that the overtly troubled souls require. It is then no wonder at all that the most forgotten are often the most tender. They’re the ones that demand less, give more, and expect little.

    I guess the answer then would be that no one puts a smile on the face of the village idiot. The village idiot has no needs because they appear to be out of touch with reality. We are inclined to believe that they lack any sense of the suffering and the pain of others which is why they always find a reason to smile, or to make others smile. Because as long as they have tears of laughter on their faces, no one will see the tears of loss or yearning that hides behind that beautiful smile. Village idiots are like the air we breathe. They’re taken for granted when they’re there, lamented for a short while when they’re gone, and quickly replaced when an alternate source is found.

    The problem is, we’re almost all village idiots waiting for someone to put a smile on our faces. If we weren’t, there wouldn’t be so much anger and bitterness in this world. Only a small group of idiots have realised that waiting for such an effort from others is an exercise in futility. While we’re waiting for others to care, we lose sight of the fact that they are also waiting for us to care, especially when we suspend our compassion in protest of the absence of their awareness of our needs. If ever there was a polarised state of being, this would be it. Neutrality is not possible, let alone an option. You either contribute or you consume, doing nothing denies another what is their dues, or their needs, in the same way that their inaction denies you of yours.

  • Ties That Blind

    There are times when we’re so fixated on wanting to remove ourselves from a situation because we fear contaminating it, that we lose sight of the fact that our absence is in fact the greatest contamination of all. I find this most relevant in families, where our insecurity to fulfil our roles as role models leaves us receding and convincing ourselves that they’re better off without us. Unfortunately that insecurity rarely presents itself as that. More often than not it manifests itself as either selfishness or arrogance, both of which are simply defence mechanisms that we employ to prevent others from seeing our weakness.

    But it’s not about us as individuals. It never has been. The desire we all have to be part of something greater, or to be part of a wholesome social structure that is nurturing rather than destructive is what we undermine when we succumb to those insecurities. The most intriguing change in my life has been my need to recognise when I stopped being the nurtured and when I started being the nurturer. At some point I stopped being just the son, or cousin, and I started being the father, and the uncle. But it is my singular focus on needing to be nurtured that blinds me from realising that my nurturing is now dependent on being the nurturer.

    It all sounds so complicated, and it will complicate even further when I need to transition to being an elder, and not just the uncle or fatherly figure. But if I resist these changes in the rightful expectations that others have of me, I will be denying the next generation of the very essence of that which gave me a sense of community, family, and belonging. Sometimes it’s not being valued as an individual that gives us the comfort that we need to feel appreciated. Sometimes it’s simply that feeling of being part of a wholesome support structure that defines our self worth. Our innate need for significance is not only fed by recognition for our individual efforts, but more importantly it is fed by being part of something greater than us, and even more critical, having a pride of association with that belonging.

    And so I started contemplating these ties that blind us. It’s ties we maintain to who we were without realising that we have yet to embrace who we are, or who we aspire to be. It’s ties that hold us back in our belief that we have a right to take before we have a right to give. It’s that same sick mentality that convinces us that unless we’re responsible, we’re not accountable. Unless it is related to a responsibility we have over our own children or family members, then we’re not accountable for contributing towards the wellbeing of society at large. We forget that what strengths we have, others have as weaknesses, with the reverse being just as true. So when we stand arrogantly proclaiming that to each their own because we’re doing our bit and they must do theirs, we’re assuming that we’re superior to them in every way because we forget that they probably see similarly frustrating flaws in us.

    This is not an abstract notion. It’s not a philosophical debate either. It’s simply the realisation that if we act selfishly, we will deny the next generation the very security that now allows us the luxury to act selfishly. There is no such thing as a self-made man. We are shaped by society, and even when rejected by that same society, it is those that we surrounded ourselves with to find comfort in our rejection that formed the society from which we drew strength. I think the gravest delusion we suffer from is the assumption that we first need to receive before we can reciprocate. That’s the problem with this world. Everyone is waiting for everyone else, because the fear of rejection or insignificance is so great, that we’d rather demand it through obligation instead of earning that acceptance and inclusion through sacrifice.

    Worse still is the fact that the few that do sacrifice before they receive are most often the ones most trampled upon by the very same ones that cry foul when they are dealt a poor hand by life.

  • Nostalgic Recollections

    I spent the better part of my youth in an Indian township south of Johannesburg, so this feeling of community and familiarity with your neighbours was something that I enjoyed well into my twenties. I miss those days a lot and still find myself struggling to find ways to bring back some of that old school wholesomeness. Despite being withdrawn and reclusive as a person, I always had a sense of belonging to something bigger than just my family, even though I may not have played an active role in the community. Some of my best times of my life were when we moved out of my father’s house into a rented place in another part of the township. We had less and ate the most modest meals but we felt liberated in many ways.

    This newfound sense of freedom was reflected in our lifestyles. We suddenly went from being a highly stressed and restrained bunch, to a group that had boundless energy and time for fun and laughter. For the first time ever we felt like a really close knit family. We played volley ball several nights a week after a hard day’s slog, we braai’d more often than our doctor’s would have advised, and we actively participated in each other’s lives. This was very different from our days in the family home when my parents were still together. My father was often angry and tired, and he suffered from unexplained blackouts. Years later I discovered that the medication he was on to reduce the blackouts also had mood altering effects, and I can’t help but wonder if he wouldn’t have been a very different man if he didn’t take that medication.

    His blackouts were suspected to be the result of repeated blows to the head that were sustained when he was playing goalkeeper for the local football team. He also got into more scuffles than most people, and I suspect that some of his anger he didn’t even understand himself. There would be days when he’d be completely delightful, entertaining and fatherly. But those were unfortunately rare occasions. He often seemed easily overcome with the burden of having a big family on a small income. He was a strict disciplinarian with his own family, but seemed to have a very different approach to my cousins. I tried, and still try to understand a lot of his actions because as always, my idealism leads me to believe that no human being is deliberately angry or vicious or malicious, no matter how much they even try to convince themselves that that is who they are.

    The more we choose to be that way, the more we’re finding ways to hide the uneasiness of not knowing why we are that way, until eventually we stop questioning or trying to change and we accept it as being our destiny. I don’t believe destiny works that way. Destiny doesn’t dictate our character or personality or choices in life. Destiny, for me, is only the culmination of events that we have no direct and complete influence over. Everything else is subject to the limited free will that we’ve been given. I believe that how we choose to respond to the events that destiny throws at us determines our success or failure as individuals and as human beings. When we give in to the destructive influences that tempt us to take the easy way out, we end up selling ourselves short and losing a part of our soul that will always be extremely difficult to rediscover.

    I don’t think my father found enough motivation around him to want to be better than what he was. He was a very intelligent man, but he had no one that seemed to believe in him. There was never a shortage of people to judge him or criticise him, but I don’t recall ever seeing anyone that showed a genuine interest in what made him the angry man that he was. I often think that only when I truly appreciate the influence that my father had on my life, and only when I achieve a reasonable understanding of what made him the person that he was, will I be able to progress in my own life as a better person, father and human being.

    An extract from that book I never wrote. I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately. Somehow it feels as if I’m growing closer to the point where the words will bleed easily from my fingers the moment I resolve to do it. I hope that happens soon because I desperately need a ventlet from all the noise right now. 

  • When I was younger I used to be quite the loner, and still am like that on most days. I used to go ‘out’ on my own and stay out till late just mingling in crowds where I was the odd one out, or barely being noticed. And it felt that way when I was around people and when I was home.

    I remember on one occasion when I was at a friend’s house, his brother had been away for an extended time without any contact which sent his family into a panic. On that particular day my younger brother was with me when he looked at me and said, “See? That’s how everyone panics when you come home so late without telling anyone where you are.”

    I don’t think I said anything in return, and I don’t know why I’m suddenly reminded of this. But the one thought that did occur to me right now is that despite him saying that, I still didn’t think I was significant enough for anyone to give a damn about where I was or when I’ll be back. They fussed about me from time to time, but they rarely did anything with me. And I wonder how many others feel equally neglected but loved at the same time? It’s a weird feeling. 

    I guess being told you’re important or significant or part of a family or social circle is one thing, but having reason to believe that there’s a genuine interest in what you like, what you want, and what really interests you is a love of a different kind that is needed even more. I think we get this kind of love from partners or love interests in the early stages of a relationship, but when it dwindles, when that interest in us dwindles, despite the professions of undying love, we withdraw because suddenly we’re just as significant as family. And everyone knows we take family for granted, because they’re family, right?

    But we don’t want to be ‘family’ to the one we allow into that sacred space of fragility. When we allow someone in there, we expect them to worship us, but not smother us…they must hang on every word we say, but have something interesting to say themselves. They must need us, but not be needy or clingy or parasitic. We must be the centre of their universe, but they must give us space. 

    We’re an odd bunch, aren’t we? Or am I again a loner in feeling this way?