What's the worst that could happen?

As I see it, there seems to be a preoccupation in our society with extremes – you’re either a drinker or you’re teetotal; you’re either a smoker or you’re a non-smoker; you’re vegetarian or you’re not, those of us who want to lose a few pounds go on a fad diet... (No finger pointing here, by the way, I’m just as guilty as the next person.) We seem to struggle if we can’t put a label on it.

What happened to balance? Why do we feel we have to swing wildly between black and white, or feel that we have to set up camp in one particular field?

Remember the old adage: “A little bit of what you fancy does you good”? I’ve been living by that rule for a few months now and it seems to be serving me well; I don’t feel at all deprived; life is feeling pretty balanced.

But, well, balance and moderation is all well and good isn’t it, for some areas of our lives? What happens when the thing we’re approaching has no half-measures?

Just like you can’t “kind of” do a parachute jump, you can’t “a bit” have children, and you can’t “sort of” quit your job to work for yourself – it’s all or nothing, isn’t it? And “all or nothing” can seem truly terrifying: it’s a total commitment. What in God’s name do you do if you don’t like it? You can’t float upwards and get back on the plane – once you’ve jumped you’ve got to deal with the consequences.

But what if all you’ve ever wanted is to experience that exhilaration of throwing yourself out of a plane? What are your options? Either you go up in that plane and you jump out – embrace the fear that, yes, it could all go horribly wrong - or you stay on the ground and know that you’ll never get to do it and, worse still, watch others experience what you crave.

How many of us shy away from something we know in our hearts we want, simply because we fear it may be the wrong choice? I’ve done that so many times. I fear I may mess it up or realise later that I made the wrong decision and it feels like there’s no going back. How often, though, is it REALLY the case that there’s no going back?

Well, this is where, again, we turn to balance – a balanced perspective. Yes, there ARE extreme circumstances where there’s absolutely no going back but really, they’re few and far between. What about what you’re shying away from? (I believe most of us are shying away from something, come on, admit it.)

Look at whatever it is you’re denying yourself because of fear and honestly ask yourself:

“Is it really an extreme circumstance? If I do this is there truly no going back, or is it something that potentially I could change my mind about at a later date if I decide it’s not for me?”

Dig deep and ask yourself,

“What’s the very worst that could happen?” and then, “If the worst happens, is that even worse than me leaving the earth having never tried it?”

If the answer is no, then you know what you must do.

Hearts for sale

The thing about online dating is that there are no guarantees. Unlike eBay or any other online shop for that matter, if the item you invest in doesn't turn out to be as described, there's no come back.

Still surrounded by baggage - physical and emotional - I fell into internet dating from a position of vulnerability. Another unsatisfying three year relationship over, another suitcase in another hall.

After I moved out on my own, when I wasn't making myself unsustainably busy to numb the pain, I'd be online, looking out for my next potential life-partner. A few guys said hello, I liked the look of some of them, too, but it all felt empty; none of them made me feel anything inside. That is until one evening, about a month in.

I'd trawled about a hundred or so online profiles, as I usually did, clicking one or two as "favourites" - maybe he liked art, maybe he was sensitive - but I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw this particular one. I remember, I actually stood up and said, "Wow, I have got to speak to him."

"Relax, smile and be happy" his profile instructed me. That spoke to me, so I read more. You know when you're on a beach looking for pretty pebbles and one catches your eye and you're so delighted you reach down to pick it up? Well, this was no pebble - I believed I'd found a diamond, right there at my feet. As I read what he had to say in those few short paragraphs, all the emptiness was filled, and the agony I'd been carrying around for months just dissipated.

Within two weeks we had exchanged probably 50 emails and had arranged to meet. His online photos were slightly obscure so I wasn't certain I'd recognise him but as soon as we saw eachother we smiled, he scooped me into his arms and squeezed me. "It's good to meet you." It was. Instantly I was hooked.

We had an amazing first date, spent all afternoon together in the sunshine; we walked, ate ice cream, wandered the markets and canals, shared food in a cute organic cafe... Could any first date have gone better? I thought probably not. At the end of our date he walked me to the station and gave me another of his giant hugs. I hadn't known if we'd kiss but no, we didn't. Maybe it was too soon, there was time for all that.

His emails after that point dropped off a bit - always "manic" at work - but still we met for dates; five wonderful afternoons over the course of about ten weeks. The last time I saw him I felt we had become close. He'd mentioned previously that he hadn't been ready for anything serious so I had backed off and left him alone - neither was I, if I was really honest with myself. But after a couple of weeks he came back to me, wanted to see me again, and I was glad. He'd clearly been doing a lot of thinking and he told me his plans; his dream of moving back to his home country, a friendly community, sunshine, kids, beachside living; in a few years, after he had worked out how to make more money.

Why did he tell me this? Was he looking for my reaction to gauge whether I'd like to be a part of his future?

When I left him that day his words and actions told me we'd see eachother again very soon. That was almost two weeks ago. Since then it's like nothing has changed. He's again busy at work, no phone calls, few emails and no plans to meet up.

Why, then, is this extraordinarily beautiful and confused man in an online shop selling himself as potential relationship material?

I've decided today that I must move on from him for my own emotional safety. He's a risky venture and my well-being is at stake. I'm having conversations with some wonderful men who are very keen to meet me.

But what about my ten week investment? And far more importantly, what about that aching, gaping hole he left in my heart? I hope that one of these other wonderful men can help to fill it in, and soothe it better. But the thing about online dating is that there are no guarantees.

"Did you ever think life was incredibly beautiful?
Did you ever get frightened by the passing of time?
Were you ever helpless in the face of love?
Don't you know we're all part of something eternal?"

~ Ivor Tymchak, Gentle Ihor's Devotion

All four one

Someone told me recently that they wished they could love football. I didn't need them to elaborate; I think I understood; I've often wished it for myself: that feeling of belonging and loyalty through thick and thin.

I spent this afternoon in a riverside pub with three friends and a big group of strangers, to watch England play Germany in the World Cup. I don't *do* football but somehow have allowed myself to be swept along this time by the enthusiasm of friends and colleagues, alongside that little bit of hope I have that it'll give me a sense of belonging.

I'll be honest, I don't understand half of what's going on but football fans are only too willing to indulge my questions, explaining about penalties, the point-scoring system and who the players are. That's the thing about enthusiasts - they love what they love so much that they'll gladly pull you in and make you welcome in the hope that you'll love it, too, so that they can share it with you and make you a part of their "family".

A hundred or so people crowded around a TV screen in the back room of a pub, on a hot day, connected by our support for our team. Each of us sharing, in varying degrees, the joys and disappointments of the game. When England scored I was genuinely pleased, not least to sense the joy of those around me. I felt frustration and disappointment at our disallowed goal (seriously, WTF happened there?!) and I shared a bit of the pain of those around me when Germany scored (all four times...) And I knew that millions and millions of people the world over were also sharing this with us.

Some of us were texting friends about the game, some were updating Facebook and Twitter and some of us made friends with strangers in the pub - how this game brings us together! And what struck me was, the more people shared and connected, the better it felt: it doesn't become diluted by sharing, on the contrary, it becomes stronger.

While the game was on, the world kept turning, shit happened like it always does, but we forgot about all that for a couple of hours, because we were supporting something that we were a part of. And we didn't win, far from it, but we were united in our defeat and, because of that, none of us were alone. How comforting.

I wonder, how can we apply this outside of football? What can we do to recreate and maintain this community, friendship and support long after the World Cup is over?

We're all a part of something: a flatshare, a family, a workplace, a group of friends, an exercise class... What is each of us actively doing to create a community of friendship and support?

In London, as in most cities, it's easier to go about our business without a thought for or acknowledgement of the next person, particularly as life is so fast-paced. But if we can take a moment to reach out with kindness and friendliness, especially to those we don't know, maybe we could be the force to change the cycle for the better and help to create a community similar to that I saw in the pub this afternoon.

"Children begin by loving their parents; after a time they judge them; rarely, if ever, do they forgive them."
~ Oscar Wilde

X Goodbye

Do you remember the last time you were turned down for a place at university or for a job?

You received a letter, the anticipation when tearing open that envelope, your future in your hands, replaced by emptiness when you read those few lines. Or the thrill in your stomach when the recruitment agent called, quickly replaced by disappointment when she broke the bad news.

Felt pretty rubbish, didn't it?

Or could you take it in your stride? Plenty more fish to fry? No big deal? Depends how much you wanted it, I suppose but, even so, I know myself when I've been turned down for jobs I didn't even really want, it's still a little knock to the ego; made me feel a tiny bit worse about myself.

My friend got free tickets to the X Factor auditions last night so three of us went along. We queued for a VERY long time to get in but eventually there we were, in the audience of this massive, popular, national TV show. Thousands of excited fans, the lights, the music, TV cameras and, there at the front, Dermot, Louis, Cheryl and of course Simon - wow!

The first few acts I have to say were bloody great, very talented young people - no older than their teens. How anyone could pick holes in their performances is beyond me but if they've to get through they have to be exceptional and they know this, so the criticism helps them.

Next up we saw a 50 year old Indian gentleman in a tan suit. He looked pretty out of place and had with him a large rucksack which, when questioned by Simon, he explained quite seriously contained tapes and CDs. The audience laughed. I laughed. The Indian gentleman didn't laugh, he just looked a little uncomfortable and put the bag down to one side.

I couldn't tell you what he sang but it sounded appalling; just utterly awful, out of tune. The audience laughed. I laughed.

He was told, of course, that he didn't get through. Cheryl's a good girl, she's been there herself and knows how it feels so she chooses her words carefully so as not to hurt anyone's feelings. The other two, particularly Simon, not so much.

The Indian gentleman picked up his rucksack and left.

I left a little before the end of the show; managed to completely avoid the crowds at the station. As I descended the steps to the DLR platform I noticed a figure slumped on a seat - an Indian gentleman in a tan suit, with a large rucksack. He was completely alone and looked a little sad. No big group of friends and family around him showing support, hugging him, drying his tears, you know, like they always show on the TV when someone doesn't get through.

Just a man on his own in a train station going home after being laughed at and told he didn't make the grade. My heart sank. As I walked past I slowed and he looked up. I smiled and nodded and said, "Good effort. Good effort." He smiled back, "Thanks."

I didn't feel much like laughing now.

How did he feel, do you think?

I met someone...

... in the park today; a man.

I was enjoying the sun, reading, on the grass; he was fidgeting, shoes off, trying to get comfy on a bench. I watched him, on and off, for maybe 30 minutes. He was unremarkable in appearance - perhaps 30-something, slim, dark hair, black jeans, white teeshirt. There was something about his being alone and his apparent inability to get to sleep on the bench that eventually drew me to pack away my book and go and join him, also barefoot, on the bench.

My sitting disturbed him. He had his head buried in his arm which he lifted when he felt me sit down, and he shuffled over. Can't remember what I said, "Nice day." I think, and maybe, "You OK?"

Transpires he'd woken up too early as he forgot to shut his curtains before bed and had come to the park to sleep.

We exchanged easy small talk and within minutes had fast-tracked to discussing culture, diversity, global city-life, the emptiness of the Canary Wharf lifestyle, materialism... It started to rain so we took cover under the branches of a tree and continued to talk... About where we are in our lives, what we hope to achieve, religion, society, the craving to "fit-in", the need to fill the void inside, Eastern versus Western cultures and values and happiness.

We walked the park between rain storms, ducking under buildings and trees as the need arose. We talked for maybe three hours, then we exchanged contacts, and went our separate ways.

In the three hours, this young man from Eastern Europe, who has traveled the world, spent a short time studying society in Nepal, and spent 12 years studying the core values of the Hindu, Buddhist and Islamic faiths (among others), taught me that it's OK to be lonely.

He explained that it's Western society that trains us to believe we should be happy all the time and that if we're not we're failing. He told me that "personal identity" doesn't exist; that it's a false creation of Western society, and how many of us try to fill the void we feel inside with three things: career, relationship, material possessions. I pointed out that, for me, it's "keeping busy". I keep myself busy all the time because I'm terrified of feeling lonely.

He believes the void inside cannot be filled but that each of us simply has to learn to become comfortable with it.