My fire walk

It was quite some time ago; I was approaching my 50ties birthday, and it seemed to be a scary time. I was close to a very serious and advanced age. It is strange how with passing time I sometimes get younger rather than older. Not chronologically, of course, but in my mind. The first time it happened to me was when I was 24 years old. I have been married for two years and reality did not match my naïve expectations of happiness ever after. I was restless and discontented with my life, but I was already 24! It seemed to me that is was too late to change my life, too late for true happiness, too late for anything really.  I decided that I had to stay in the unsatisfactory situation to the end of my miserable life. I am exaggerating a bit; I was naïve but not that silly as all that. I remember one beautiful summer morning when I felt so unhappy in spite of warm and yet fresh air and sweet ripe apricots I could pick directly from the tree growing next to the terrace linking to my bedroom. I was visiting my in-laws outside Warsaw, and this was a great place. Silly me, I did not recognize the paradise around me, I was just thinking about the drudgery of life ahead of me. It was going to be a life of duty to follow once given promise. Divorce did not seem to enter my mind. I have to commend myself for that. I was going to honour the vows in spite of making a mistake in marrying too early, almost against my parents' judgment and with no life experience. This is another reflection and a rather serious one. As this post is not a serious type of a post, I leave it for later, maybe...

     

What I want to say is that at the time I was twenty-four and thought I was already too old for changes. We struggled for the next two years, and I somehow started to feel young enough to put mistakes behind me and start again. This time, I decided that from now on no marriage for me. Possibly living in sin, if I happen to come across true love, but no marriage! I believed it spoils romance and makes any relationship drudgery. It is quite fun to recollect such moments and difficult to think that it was actually me. So I got younger after two years and reorganized my life to become an independent woman. I remained independent, but not for a long time unmarried.

I did not think about my age until approaching fifties. Suddenly, I started to think about myself as a person becoming old, and I got scared. I was not prepared for that.

When attending a business seminar at the Sydney Entertainment Centre led by Tom Peters, I found a flyer on my seat advertising Tony Robbins “Unleash the Power Within”. It was called a seminar, so I was under impression that it had something to do with business. It promised to change my life in a positive way, and I thought: this is just the thing to prepare me for crossing over to fifties. I even got my company to pay for the program so strong was my belief in attending a business seminar. My husband must have read the leaflet more carefully than myself, and he decided to join me. Maybe the power within was to be unleashed, but not his wife. I will always be impressed by his move, clever and supportive even if a bit controlling. 

                         

When I read that the part of the program included a fire walk it was too late to change my mind. If I withdrew, I would lose my self-respect, I would consider myself a coward, it would hurt me rather than help to combat the resistance to getting old. And one Friday evening we showed up at the Sydney Entertainment Centre and were immediately surrounded by rather strangely enthusiastic people. Not our class, darling, I though. Tony Robbins did not make a good impression on me either. I was standing amongst this strange crowd and totally disapproved. It was a strange environment, and I knew that it was a big mistake, a huge one! There was no way out though and Tony in preparing his audience for the fire walk scared us out of our wits. First, he scared us and then taught us how to manage the walk. It was NLP in action. Anchoring, mirroring and matching and other skills to help us with this crazy activity which was ahead of us. I realized that I might disapprove of the undignified  movements we were encouraged to follow, but if I do not listen to what he says I either will not do the walk or burn myself rather badly. So I started to do the oooooh… while pretending that I was a plane taking a turn followed by an energetic clap of the hands. Then we were supposed to make a fist. I felt very silly, but that lasted only for a while, and then I was taking off with the best of them making silly noises and then making a fist. This was anchoring of a resourceful state in which we were going to march into the burning coals. I was amused and impressed looking at my normally very sane Swedish husband doing his oooooh and pretending to fly. It was not his scene, and I think he did it for his crazy Polish wife. It must have been love.

                                             

                                        

Then the time came when we were supposed to cue for the walk. There were several places where the coals were burning. We picked one. I was shaking, wondering if I can do it, but I was clenching my fist as if my life depended on it repeating the walk mantra under my breath. When we were very close to our start, my husband offered to show me how to do it and go first. I would not have it. I wonder what it says about me, hmm… Then I went… the coals felt as it they were cool, I was in a trance. I can not remember how many steps there were, perhaps not too many, but I felt the heat of the fire on my face. At the end of the walk somebody poured a bucket of cold water over my feet, another crazy stranger hugged me, my husband was close behind, and the trial was over. We hugged people around us, and we jumped out of joy. It was fantastic! And it was over!

                                    

On reflection, it was the peak of my life so far. Big, big achievement, touching support of somebody I loved and the next half of my life was still ahead of me. I felt as if I was flying while coming home over the Harbour Bridge in the early morning hours. I was full of brave, exciting plans. I felt unstoppable like Tony promised. He said it will change my life and it did.

I was really well prepared to face my fifties and I actually started to feel young again. The time started to rewind itself like it did when I was twenty-six. For some time at least. Maybe another fire walk?

About courage

Courage has been one of my core values for quite a while. I value this value a lot. I could not resist this repetition even if it is a cheap trick. Am I a courageous person though? In some ways, definitely, but in some not at all. I would like to blame some of my shortcomings on my upbringing and my overprotective mother, but I had a lot of time to fix some problems. The fact is that I do not swim, and I do not ski because I was afraid of deep water and speed on slippery tracks. Some excuse may be that growing up in the middle of Poland there was no water or mountains around. I am aware that it is only a weak excuse and that I should own up to the fact that I am not able to do those things that an average Australian can. I can boast, however, that I walked on fire, though. Twice!

                                                                            

                                         

I am talking about physical courage, and there are of course other types. I may score better in some other disciplines of courage. I am not sure what I may come up with when I begin to reflect and analyse my case.

The reason why this subject came to my mind today is that I started to think about and plan my Christmas. One could say: already??? For a person who does not have the family around, Christmas is a time of challenge that needs solutions and planning. Strangely enough, I noticed that one of my posts about Christmas had been read recently few times. It is not only me who thinks about Christmas is September then.   What has this to do with courage? Not much, but it has a bit, the way I look at it. I always wanted to see Angkor Wat, and I was not sure how I could do it. It seemed a bit risky. There are few places in the world I would like to see and wonder if it is not beyond me to travel solo to India and South America. Africa somehow does not work on my imagination enough to want to go there, and nobody is trying to convince me otherwise. Europe is another kettle of fish. Europe is home, and I feel relatively comfortable traveling there especially that I perhaps could have the company of my fabulous niece, Martyna and my old Uni friend Basia. Maybe even of my young nephew Peter. For the coming year I am planning to go Madrid and with some luck to Italy again, Arezzo is firmly on my mind.

Dreaming of Italy again and Piero della Francesca's frescos

                                  

This was a bit of dreaming about future travels and by verbalizing the aspirations, I feel energized and hopeful that I will make them a reality. 

Going back to the trigger of this post and the possibility of spending Christmas and the New Year in Cambodia and Laos; it all started as a random thought after reading a coincidental email notifying me of the possibility.  After few minutes looking at the literary, prices and dates, I realized that having sufficient courage I should decide to go.  I will be fulfilling one of my dreams which I had classified as unrealistic.  Why unrealistic? Heavy suitcase, demanding walks, the behaviour of my heart? It is all manageable if I have the courage and stop to play safe and sensible. Suddenly I got a shot of enthusiasm and started to think that it is not always safe to play safe. My always wise friend Basia cautiously approved of my new idea, but I was sensing some reservations. It made me hesitant again. But perhaps it is better not to think too long about “to go or not to go,” pluck up the courage and just book the trip. The issue is still open.

                                 

Life afer finishing Neapolitan quartet

It took a while to read the Neapolitan quartet, big parts of my days and evenings were filled in with reading the books. Now I have finished. There are and will be gaps in my days I will automatically like to fill in with continuing the story. Today I will write about my impressions even if I am conscious of the fact that this is not the subject that interests many of people who may stumble over my blog. Maybe I do not give the book justice it deserves or maybe the book itself is not of wider interest. In any case, my stats show that my posts related to the Neapolitan story dropped. I do not mean to say that I do not care, but I write the blog mainly for myself. The reading of the quartet was a rather personal exercise. The story stirred me, clarified some of my thoughts and gave new meaning to my memories.

It is a dark book. Conclusions one can draw are pessimistic and depressing. Idealistic and somewhat naïve people, like me, have to eventually accept facts of life and they are not pretty. This applies to human nature and to politics and politicians. None of the characters of the books is a knight in a shining armor; they are all very human not to say imperfect or even evil. While reading the books I identified with some of the characters, their thinking, and actions. From the beginning, I took the events on a face value, but the analysis that followed in later parts added disturbing depth and hypothesis.

Writing about mistakes of young people that were made out of need and desire for love and recognition, Elena Ferrante stresses the point that mistakes are unavoidable.  They have to be respected by older and wiser by letting such situations to run its course without interfering. This is not what parents typically think and do believing that their children need to be helped and advised, sometimes even forbidden to proceed with their plans. Elena Ferrante says to parents -  let the mistakes happen and even give their support.  Do not interfere with your children and your own fate. This is not resignation followed by critical observation after forthcoming disasters and thinking “I told you so”. This is accepting that things need to go along the way the objects see as right for them. Almost like accepting fate in the style of Greek tragedies. I have made some mistakes in my life, some wrong decisions; I even acted the way I feel ashamed of. Like anybody else. Reading the book, I forgave myself for that. I could not have acted differently at the time with knowledge, experience, and feelings I had. It had to be like it was. The sad events, the ones that helped me to build my charter as it is now, took a different meaning while reading the book, they do not seem disturbing. At least I do not feel hard done by the events and the people who hurt me. This is the power of the book. It takes one through the stories that one can relate to and see them from new perspectives.

This is another book about writing and writers. Knausgard and Ferrante write about themselves and their lives as writers. They make it very clear that writers need to expose themselves in their most intimate, difficult moments of life and write about their inner life. Even if what they write is supposed to be fiction. Some of us bloggers call ourselves writers. I do not. I do not have sufficient courage or confidence. However, writing was my dream since I was a young girl. I think that all of us readers, at some stage dream of writing ourselves. Those dreams wake up at the time when professional careers finish. People start to blog. Does it make us potential writers? In my opinion not many of us, but we can have fun and explore. I do.

I am still reading the Neapolitan story

                                                            

For a few weeks now, my reading has been going along one track of the Neapolitan story. It is a bit out of character as I typically read more than one book at a time. This time, I do not meander reading this and that, it is all about Lenu, Lina and Italian politics in the sixties, seventies and moving into eighties. Emotionally it is not an easy read. I read it fast, often at night even if that negatively affects my sleep. The poison of the dark story saturates me slowly, but there is no way I wound not finish the books. In fact, I think I will be going through withdrawal symptoms when I finish. I am reading the last book The Story of the Lost Child. The young women are just over thirty years old, their personal lives are complicated. Since the story continues over many years, there is no concept of “and they lived happily ever after”. There are happy life events and then there are disappointments, betrayals, new loves and new problems and new happy events. Just like life typically is. I find many points that remind my life, trigger off memories I have not thought about for many years.

It is easy for me to associate with parts of the story, especially that Italian and Polish temperaments have common points. Both explosive at times, emotional, exaggerating negatives, warm and friendly when things are going well but ready to fight and quarrel when things are not going according to their wishes. Being a part of a Swedish family I have tempered expression of my emotions and passing of time also had a calming influence on me. Reading the book, though, I find hot-tempered reactions rather natural and that makes me aware that I have traveled a long way since my childhood similarly to Lenu and Lina.

I like the way Ferrante writes about political upheavals in Italy. I was always aware of the country having strong communistic movements, similarly to France. My knowledge was never deep and it was based on what I read in the press of the times. Reading the book I can recall the names and situations that were shaking Italy over the years. Almost all characters in the book have strong political views and many of them are deeply involved. Some are Camorrists, some are fascists and some are communists. The book tells stories of families and those stories are like an undercurrent of the political situations. The reader is left to draw own conclusions of what is actually happening in the country. Some Camorra bosses give “jobs” to friends and their children. These are rather mysterious jobs that take people away from the country and sometimes force them to disappear from the neighbourhood. Reading the books the reader gets to know the characters from their early years as boys and girls perhaps naughty, perhaps unruly but innocent at the start. Some of them grow into violent people, hurting and even killing others but I have difficulties to condemn them the way I would reading of such stories in media. This I consider strength of the book, it tells the story and through the story gives reasons for why things happen that way or another. Significant events emerge from apparently trivial stories in an unobtrusive way. 

Shimbashi

Some time ago, I decided that my way of exercising will be walking. Being brought up in continental Europe, sport was not seen as a thing to get involved in. Maybe watching could be OK, but not making oneself sweaty. My mother even considered that I could catch a cold being too active. I wrote “continental Europe” as Great Britain was always an exception. The positive one, as I see it now. So, I walk quite often. In the era of fitbits and other pedometers it is easy to measure steps and my goal is to walk 10,000 each day.

                                          

 During my walks I often  pass a Japanese restaurant  where from time to time one can see the cook making noodles on the board placed next to the window. He looked interesting, engrossed in his work, never looking up at the passers-by, skillfully using his rollers to flatten the dough. Often I wanted to stop and watch him for a while, but I never dared to out of respect of him being so busy and professional.  I did not want to disturb him.  As it often happens in life, I promised myself to go to this restaurant one day. Some years passed and my intention remained an intention only. I do not seem to have a friend who would be interested in having buckwheat soba noodles, so there was no opportunity. Going out on my own for dinner seemed a bit uncomfortable. Until yesterday.

I was returning from my doctor who gave me the good news. I have been worried for a while that I may be medically in trouble, so after hearing rather positive assessment I felt  relieved but assimilating the good verdict was not automatic. Grateful, but not fully believing my luck I started to walk towards home. The distance between the hospital and my home is considerable and I typically take a bus to get there. Now, I was walking towards home with an intention to take a bus at some stage. I wanted to find a place to have something to eat on the way. Not seeing anything tempting, I kept walking and thinking about starting a new carefree chapter in my life. A New Beginning again! Then, I realized that I have not found a suitable place to have a simple dinner but I am already close to home. The Japanese restaurant came to mind. It was on my way home. Such a great opportunity for a little celebration and realising one of my old plans. It suddenly did not matter that I would go to the restaurant on my own even if this is a rather formal restaurant, not a simple place I was intending to find for my dinner. I walked in and I liked the place, so I decided to stay. 

                                        

 I have some experience in selecting food of various origins, but this time, it was not so easy. Normally, I just glance at the menu and select dishes quickly. Not this time, I actually read the whole long menu and did not know what to chose. The buckwheat soba was definitely something I wanted to have, but even with this knowledge, it was not too easy to select my dish. Eventually, I decided for a mushrooms  and chicken hot soba soup. Since it was a little celebration I wanted to have some wine with it. And again, normally simple thing proved not to be so simple this time. The drink menu had a number of beers, sakes and other Japanese drinks I did not know. A bit confused I asked the waiter which of the drinks would be closest to white wine. She turned the drink menu over and there I saw a very familiar wine list, even Pinot Gris was there and I ordered it. Waiting for my dinner I read Those Who Leave and Those Who Stay. Things were looking up. I had a good time and it was rather comfortable to be on my own.

The dish I chose was fantastic!  The mushrooms were the Japanese ones, hardly cooked giving nice, crunchy texture; the whole thing was fragrant and well flavoured. Very enjoyable. From now on, I intend to visit the place regularly and make my selection more bravely. The restaurant is called Shimbashi which suggests geishas’ involvement, but I find the place very suitable for me even if I visit it on my own. It is not often that one’s expectations are exceeded but this was my experience this time.

After this unexpectedly good meal, I was ready to continue to walk home. I managed without getting tired and without taking a bus. And I did my 10,000 steps!

Reflections on the Naples story

                                                

I am now reading the third part of the Naples quartet and the last, the fourth book is already waiting on my table. I am really engrossed in the story, read late into nights and feel a need to write some of my current thoughts. I am running a risk that I will change my views, but after all, this is my blog, not a regular book review channel. This is some sort of disclaimer that makes me feel excused from writing half cooked thoughts.

In my previous post, I was very enthusiastic about the books, but I started to have second thoughts again. I understand that “the neighbourhood”, as Ferrante describes the part of Naples the main action takes place in, is by its definition limited in its population. But even accepting that, I started to find it a bit irritating that the characters reappear unexpectedly and are connected with others who earlier did not belong to the same thread. It seems intellectually incestuous and artificial to me.

I am reading at the moment the part of the book that is concerned with Italian social inequalities and unbelievably hard situation of unqualified workers in the sixties and seventies and the protests against it. There is some feministic slant as well. Women particularly suffer, in addition to the normal problems of the poor and hard working have to put up with being humiliated as convenient sex objects.  The books make many political statements and present various perspectives. The workers perspective and the perspective of their supporters – particularly students and the academics. I have to confess that my main interest is related to the psychology of the story and looking for an answer to my perennial question “how to live, prime minister?”. The part of the book I am reading at the moment is not concerned with such issues and here is my opportunity to learn more about Italy than I already know of it’s Renaissance. Actually, I believe that the whole book will lead me towards understanding Italy a little better. I still have another 600+ pages to read, so things will unfold. Already I am starting to have some understanding of the Years of Lead and appreciation of how subtly and masterfully Ferrante introduced the issues. I see how my understanding grew with the story.  First one gets only small signs of obscure social and political issues. Gossips, observations of a young girl, descriptions of fights in the neighbourhood and their causes.  It all develops to present serious political and social issues.

The language of the book is its strong part. It is written as a story told by the author, the main character Lenu. It starts when she is about 10 years old and in the part, I am reading now she is in her thirties. I was a bit disappointed with the language of the book reading its first part. I did not have any need to look into the dictionary. I thought that the language was on a simple side. And now I see that it had to be when written by the girl not yet sixteen. The second book gave me few opportunities to learn new words and now the style is almost belonging to political activists. Not my particular interest, but appropriate to the action. Generally speaking, my interest in politics is minimal. I still masochistically follow Polish politics and I am well informed, but at the same time, I am aware that there is almost nothing I could do to change things I worry about and I do worry which has the negative impact on my health. I have been sensitive to the moral injustice of many events that take place in the world, but I never got really involved. Maybe I should have been. There were reasons and opportunities to get involved in Polish Solidarity movement and the earlier events leading to Solidarity, but I did not go that way. I may be a fan of Bob Marley but I “gave up the fight”.

Opposite to me Lina, the “wicket” heroine of the story got involved and “stood up for her rights”, but realizing the price of being outspoken and superficiality of support of academics, she decides not to fight, she just wants to live as well as the circumstances allow. Lina is a courageous person, sometimes even reckless in her choices and actions, so maybe I could forgive myself for not being involved in bringing change when it was needed and possible.

Lina is a complex character and that is what makes the book so interesting. However, I find it difficult to go along with the story of a girl who is able to fight stronger than herself, marrying a wealthy shopkeeper, then walking away from financial security for love to be soon left by her lover and land up in inhumane conditions in a mortadella factory in. A bit too far fetched for me. Still, I am reserving the final judgment till later when I progress with the book further.