I was recently asked to write about “Loneliness”, by my friend Rich BJ., (that’s actually his real name; sucks doesn’t it?).  According to BJ, loneliness is a cutting-edge issue of our time and one, I have to say, I often help clients resolve.  So, I’ve written a few pointers on the dos and don’ts of loneliness.  But before we jump-in with a shit-storm of bad solutions, like a Trump supporter in a gay orgy; let’s first try to clarify what we mean by “loneliness”.  I’m sure that the patronising tone of this article, will probably lead you to consider that I also may have suffered the isolation of the human condition, and remarkably, come out the other side with a wisdom borne of experience.  Well, not true!  I’ve always been incredibly popular and had loads of friends.  Now, back to you.

Often, clients say to me;  “I’m just not like other people” and this may be true.  Perhaps, you’ve been shut out of spaceship and your “people” legged-it at warp-speed to another Galaxy, leaving you behind in the woods.  Many of us have been subjected to similar types of social exclusion, often verging on bullying.  But worry not, you’re amongst friends here, and help is at hand.  There are some popular misconceptions on this topic I think we need to clear up first.  No matter how “alien” you feel, do not hide in a dark garden shed or entice a ten year old boy into that shed, by playing “catch my balls” with him, at night.  Do not move into his bedroom, with or without, asking his parents’; nor hide there as a “special secret” between you two.  Neither, contrary to popular belief, can I recommend you engage in cosplay, or cross-dressing with his pre-schooler sister.  If the police are chasing you, do not go on-the-run with a group of ten year old boys, strangely dedicated to you.  Trust me on this, you can save everyone a lot of hassle by just handing yourself in for medical research.  The probes they’ll stick in you are a kindness, compared to the probing on a sex offenders wing, in a high security prison.

Aliens who hid in children’s bedrooms

Perhaps you just feel inherently “different”, to other people.  Maybe you’re a bit of an “outsider” at home, or you just don’t want to play-by-the-rules of conventional society? For those of you who really can’t fit-in, my suggestion is to turn to the healing power of music.  Try dressing from head-to-toe in black, perhaps don some daytime make-up which makes you look slightly vampirescque and look for musicians wearing the same clothes.  Buy their music, whatever it is, then buy all their merchandise, (even wear the t-shirt) and travel as often and as far, as you can, spending all of your money on their concerts.  For a mere $100, you can find yourself surrounded by tens of thousands of other outcasts; all wearing the exact same black clothes and all gathered together (on a weekend night), voicing their refusal to partake in a system they neither understand, nor agree with.  You’ll find things in common, as you stand patiently in line, waiting to show your ticket, or try to locate your numbered seat, amongst the thousand of identical rows.  Trust me, the unique feelings of isolation and disaffection, will be amplified as you all rhythmically raise a fist in time to the music and join in the mass sing-along.  You may have just found your tribe.   Who knew there were so many people, like you, who work in admin during the week.

Screenshot 2019-09-14 at 17.27.03
Individualism can be an isolating and lonely experience.

For some of you, it’s an insatiable craving for friendship and connection which creates feelings of desperate loneliness.  Even though you could be (unhappily) married, or have children (who secretly dislike you), for some of you, that’s just not enough.  Perhaps you feel like your life is stuck in second-gear, and it hasn’t been your day, your month or, even your year.  Given the opportunity, perhaps you don’t even have five good friends you could share a rundown, Manhattan penthouse with?  Don’t feel stupid or unpopular.  The trick to having friends is to systematically collect them.  Start by locating a weekly classes or activity, you can attend.  By seeing people on a regular basis, having shared interests, you build relationships.  Plan to acquire one new friend at each activity you go to.  Once you have four friends, meet each of them, once per month and continue to collect more.   The more classes you attend, the more friends you will make.  Simple.  Let’s say you attend two classes for six weeks; in just two years you could rack up 18 friends, filling both your diary and any rundown penthouses you want to live in.

Lastly, perhaps you are empathic to the isolation and social confusion of others, particularly young people and adolescents?  Maybe you want to reach out to help them, but you don’t know any?  One of the best ways you can do this is to go back to college and get a degree in English Literature.  You’ll also need to do a post-graduate year, to qualify as a teacher, then you will be able to apply for teaching jobs in wealthy,  conservative, mens colleges.  Once installed there, you will be able to play a pivotal role in broadening your student’s minds, creating a sub-community of attractive young men, all deeply connected through…poetry.  Don’t worry about getting fired for challenging the “system” through the power of verse (no limericks thank you).  Yes, you will change lives, (primarily your own), by surviving unemployment, without references or social security benefits.  Don’t worry, in twenty years time or so, you’ll be invited to their big weddings, lots of people will shake your hand and thank you for being “inspirational”; and you’ll get to eat and drink for free!

Another inspirational poetry teacher is invited to wedding.

Perhaps you are facing problems that you’d like my help with, in future articles? Write to me, confidentially, in the “comments” section below. I’ll answer every one I find interesting.

X

Planet Organic

19 June, 2013

Last weekend saw the Festival of the Chariots go through London, from Hyde Park to Trafalgar Square.  It’s a traditional hindu festival imported to London from Puri, a city in the State of Orissa, on the North East Coast of India.  The festival revolves around three huge brightly decorated chariots being pulled by ropes along the streets.  A deity sits on each one.  The meaning of Ratha-yatra, is fairly literal.  The Journey (yatra) of the Chariots (ratha).  Ok, maybe it should be called Yatra-ratha, but it’s not, ok?

Rathayatra London. If you think this is busy, you should see it in Orissa

Stupidly, one time I must have mentioned to the kids that there is an Indian myth that if you die beneath the wheels of one of the chariots, you will attain liberation.  I can’t remember telling them this, but god do I wish I hadn’t.  All day long, I got this sort of thing;

Amba:  “Oh, I can’t look, has someone died yet?”
Me: “No, no one is going to die.”
Sami: “If someone fell and died under the wheels, would everyone be happy for them cos they’re liberated or sad that they’re dead?”
Me: “No one is going to die under the wheels, it doesn’t happen, ok?”
Sami: “But if they accidently fell near the wheels and didn’t get up in time, and the wheels crushed them flat like a pancake. Would their family be happy or sad?”
Me: “Neither.  No one is going to fall under the wheels, it’s doesn’t happen, do you understand?  It’s just a nice family day out, at which no one ever dies.”
Asha: “When are they kill someone under the wheels, do we all get pancakes?”
Me:  “There’s no dying and no pancakes.  Do you understand me?”
Asha: “That is so rubbish.  Sami, when’s the killing bit on?”

Rathayatra in Orissa. Did anyone die? Who knows.

The festival came to a close and we went back to the car in Queensway.  Sami waited with our friend, Sri, while I took Amba off for a desperate wee.  She was running out of time, I dodged round a couple of skinny chicks in designer jeans, strolling in front of us, and ran across the road into Planet Organic (PO) with Asha following behind me.  I found the loo for Amba, then browsed the Organic Pizza Tofu Fillets (£2.99) with Asha, while we waited for her.  At this point, the two chicks in skinny jeans passed us.  Unexpectedly, one of them launched into a tirade about what a shite parent I was.  Apparently, I’d crossed the road and accidently left Asha on the busy street outside, when I rushed Amba in.  She made it clear that people like me shouldn’t be raising kids, because we’re too stupid (and I suspect a bit too “high street”).  It was a full-on sneery bitchfest, with a  “I’m so much better than you” undercurrent.  Initially, I was just shocked, not at what she said, just at the nastiness that it came with.  I brooded over it, as I considered the Green Spelt and Hazelnut Cutlets (£3.39).  It required a response, I considered chucking a Dr Hauschka Deoderant (£11.99), at her.  But it was too risky, they might make me pay for it.  I considered coming back  with a devastating put down, but the real problem was  she was right, I wasn’t watching him properly.  Ok, it maybe a reoccurring theme in his life, but hell, she didn’t know that and she’d been a total bitch about it.  Then, I remembered the festival.  I remembered that in conflict the spiritual position is to use humility to disarm the ego.  I was still wearing a sari after-all.  So I went over to them, I drained all irritation from my face and anger from my body; and with all the sincerity I could muster, I said “Thank you”.  She was more than shocked and tried again to tell me what a crap parent I was.  So again, I listened and just said “Thank you.”  Nothing more.  Then the other one had a go too, but she was a bit nicer, so I gently put my hand on her arm and said, “Thank you so much.”  I left them wide eyed and totally speechless, as I walked off to find Amba in the loos.  Oh yeah, top-that bitches, I thought.

Amba had made it to the loo, just in time. If the last person in there had only left the seat cover up, not down, then there it would have worked out so differently for her.  It was flooded, there were no staff around and no mops.  So, I held my head high, passed the bitches again and swooned out of there, sari swishing, Amba’s shoes sloshing.  Self esteem in pieces.

We got back to the car, found Sami and Sri, and said our goodbyes.  Amba made me promise not to tell Sri what had happened.
“Is she coming back to our house?” Asha asked as we drove off.
“No, she’s getting the train to the airport, she’s going home now. “ I replied.
“No. “ said Sami, “She’s going to use the loo in Planet Organic first.”

Planet Donut

Bye   x