Leaden Circles Blog

Staying in and writing is the new going out.

[tracyjleeart]

Thinking Too Much

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Why I hate the term ‘millenial’ and other stories...

I just read an article that one of my very best friends recommended to me, and it feels like several previously intangible weird floaty bits of my brain stopped drifting about and decided to assume an actual FORM and show me something.

After reading said article, (I’ll admit I did skim read some bits of it, but hey, that’s allowed) I realised how much I hate the term ‘millenial’, and then I tried to come up with an explanation as to why.

I think, to put it simply, I think that trying to crystallise a whole generation of people in one neat little term such as ‘millenial’ just perpetuates feelings of hopeless and discontent and frustration to the point where the people who actually live underneath this heavy name tag are crushed by its weight. It’s so easy to just load up a label maker and stamp ‘millenial’ on everyone born between 1981-1996 and then, in the future, stuff them all with all of their experiences into a metaphysical box file on some dusty shelf for future social commentators to pore over. 

I don’t know if I hate the term because I AM the term - I fit the bill, wear the profile, have the ever-so-slightly sore sense of ‘I worked really hard and i still can’t afford to buy a house and probably never will’ - or if I have just realised that all of the so-called ‘cures’ to such existential dread such as ‘clean eating’ and ‘meditation’ and ‘bullet journals’ are simply filler not fit to fill the voids I’ve been experiencing when I think about my levels of satisfaction in life.

Even as I type this, I actually feel uncomfortable with the idea that someone will read this and view me as some whiny millenial who is upset that she doesn’t earn more and isn’t a homeowner and doesn’t have a load of followers on Instagram (I came off Instagram because I found it utterly pointless and ultimately maddening comparing my life to all the clean-eating, meditating, bullet journallers). How cynical I sound! How bitter! This is a hallmark of the millenial, allegedly. An inflated sense of self-entitlement coupled with restlessness.

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When you read something

and they’ve articulated it so perfectly that you are like

“YES YOU TOTALLY GET IT”

I just need some time to recover and possibly try and invent a time machine so I could be born before 1981.

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I can’t help looking at all these pretty journal posts and thinking

how the hell do you manage to achieve that without your mind tearing every single mark on the page to shreds and hating all your little cute drawings and can bullet points really fix your life and if I buy enough square paper will I learn the meaning of life?

[teachingliteracy]

“With distaste, Harriet reflected upon how life had beaten down the adults she knew, every single grown-up. Something strangled them as they grew older, made them doubt their own powers–laziness? Habit? Their grip slackened; they stopped fighting and resigned themselves to what happened. ‘That’s Life.’ That’s what they all said. ‘That’s Life, Harriet, that’s just how it is, you’ll see.’”

— Donna Tartt, The Little Friend (via quotespile)

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Yep. 

Maybe that’s just January talking but honestly this totally encapsulates how I feel today.

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Timbo Tunes #1

I love where I work for many reasons, but my colleagues are pretty high up on the list.

One of my colleagues, Tim, is really into his music. Often, we are the first two people in in the mornings, and we chat about bands we like or festivals we’re planning to go to or how he saw an awesome band back in 1990 at The Winter Gardens. It’s a nice way to start the day.

I passed him today and he handed me a little bit of paper.’Some songs for you to listen to!’ he said cheerily. ‘Thanks!’ I said, a little bemused as I was in the middle of sorting out resources and had expected the paper to be a doodle or note about something coming up at work.

So I’m home with my Aztec-pattern headphones on and I’m working my way through the list.

The first one is ‘Perfect Miracle’ by Spiritualized. 

It’s this wonderful, building cacophony of ukelele, brass and just awesome twinkly loveliness. The vocal is coy, husky and with a little buzz. Simply gorgeous. 

[leadencirclesblog]

Happy Birthday

to my favourite 29 year old Australian x

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Instant Idiot

This is the working title for my essay/article/thing around instant gratification, dopamine and how social media/online things can trap you in a cycle in your quest for this pesky little chemical. By ‘you’, I am referring to me - but I reckon it could be of interest to others.

[okay]

me:I’m gonna write something

also me: ok but what if you don’t write it perfectly

me: shit you’re right I better not write it at all

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This.

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Been a few daaaaaaaaaays

but I’ve been getting back into routine which has actually been very, very helpful.

I have a few projects in the pipeline including:

- A postcard submission to escZine

- Some additional material for mine and the husband’s podcast, Cups on String (which you can find on Bandcamp!)

- A piece for the Landing Place poetry event taking place in March at Margate’s Turner Contemporary

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Happiness is tea and cheesecake by the fire with your husband and two dear friends talking about travelling, storytelling and having sketches rather than plans.

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I am determined to not let anxiety win today.

But it is proving difficult.

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Weight of expectation #2: ‘last days’

It’’s not as ominous as it sounds.

And as I prepare to write the next bit, I fully realise how petty and ridiculous it will sound. 

Today is my last day of holiday before returning to work tomorrow.

For me, this generates quite an overwhelming amount of anxiety. For some reason, my mind finds it nigh on impossible to to prioritise the positive parts of my holiday: the time spent with friends and with family making memories; consuming delicious food and drink; numerous cosy days and nights under a blanket of sleep and warm toes. 

From the moment I opened my eyes this morning, my mind was bombarded with an insistent inner monologue interrogating me on how I was going to spend this hallowed day. ‘Analysis paralysis’ followed: my complete inability to move forward with my day until I either make the decision to think differently or someone else does it for me. 

It’s a crippling state. Every attempt to move forward is thwarted by that inner interrogator; shining a light on each and every intention and cross-examining them with such ferocity that you rue ever having thought of it in the first place. Cue increased heart rate, waves of hot panic and an ever-increasing desire to construct the world’s finest duvet cave so well-equipped that you never need leave it again.

However - I seem to have won: well, this hour anyway. It’s now 7.24am and I’ve dropped my husband off at work and debated driving straight home, but instead I decided to park up in what seemed to be the only coffee shop open at this time of morning, order a blueberry muffin and a pot of tea and attend to writing my blog. 

A very dear friend of mine asked me yesterday if I had tried “taking the day bit by bit.” I keep returning to this idea as I sit here and do my best not to panic about the impending return to routine, to work, to expectation. I am ashamed to say that it is not something I find easy whatsoever - taking the day bit by bit. All too often, I find myself wishing and hurrying the day on or being so absorbed in pursuits that seem to absorb time and leave me totally drained of all motivation - *cough* Facebook *cough* - that I’ve truly forgotten how to appreciate each day. Having things to look forward to is all well and good, but what about all the days in between?

In professions such as mine, you need to be able to take the day bit by bit but you also have to have some idea of the trajectory you wish to travel upon. Whilst this keeps life interesting, it is also quite problematic for someone with anxiety as you have small victories where you ‘win’ at being in the moment and ‘getting through’, but this is then compounded by the need to know where you’re heading next and what you plan to do. 

There are rare moments of peace within my mind. Just this morning, when getting dressed, I ran through one of my ideas for tomorrow and felt momentarily satisfied that this would suffice and that there was no need to place such a heavy weight of expectation on myself or my students. 

Sadly, I have formed an unhelpful belief that such ‘self-care’ or ‘self-kindness’ is akin to ‘letting yourself off the hook’. Why I’m on the hook or what led me to dangling helplessly from it is largely unknown to me, but it seems to be so deeply internalised that it’s hard to free myself from it. 

It’s something to work on.

For now, I’m toying with the idea of having a day of wandering with my netbook and sketching rough plans for tomorrow and this term while trying not to feel encumbered and overwhelmed. It may even turn into a cafe tour. It depends on how long my netbook battery lasts as the coffee shop I’m in doesn’t appear to have power sockets I can use. 

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Caught Idea #1

A girl lives in a house by the sea in Margate. Locally, it is known as ‘The Mustard House’ because it is painted a particularly alarming shade of yellow.

No one is entirely sure how she got there - even she can’t quite fathom it.

Anyway, she has been tasked with repairing the glass lantern of a long forgotten lighthouse that was destroyed in a terrific storm on a tiny island only known to a select few. For centuries, the task of finding each and every fragment has been bestowed upon many an unsuspecting soul. Some took to the task with vigour; others abandoned it, sent mad by the complexity of the quest and the challenges it posed. 

The glass fragments can only be located by carefully and painstakingly combing the beach when the moon is full. The fragments themselves can wash up anywhere in the world on any stretch of coastline. To make the task even more difficult, the glass bear no distinguishing features. The only way the seeker knows that the glass they have found is that of the lighthouse is a peculiar feeling that can only be described as their heart momentarily crystallizing into a million tightly-knit blue stars. 

When a piece is located, the seeker is visited by a man known only as Fyfe (this is subject to change). 

That’s as far as I’ve got...

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Catching ideas.

So, I have this really bad habit of having an idea for a poem or song or essay or something written and instead of writing it down, I scrunch it up and chuck it in a mental waste paper bin and then set fire to said bin and walk away. Needless to say, the rest of my mind survives this metaphorical arson.

The point is: I think all my ideas are terrible and not worthy of committing to paper, or, in this case, pixels, I suppose. 

To try and break this habit, I am going to try and use this blogging platform (because it is my favourite and out of all of the other blogs and online things I have tried I always come back to this one) to catch those ideas and preserve them in the hope that I will actually come back to some of them and develop them.

[decision]