Don’t Worry, fantasise.

I hope I know you well enough be honest with you, I haven’t really been in the correct frame of mind to write for you recently, I start writing and then “stuff” comes into my head, you know, the daily the niggles, the things that have been said that shouldn’t have been – by other people of course, not me.

And that’s a bit daft really, because, and please forgive my honesty, I don’t really write for you, I write for me; to get something off my chest or just to rattle on until I come to a point where I haven’t got anything left to say.

So I asked someone for some inspiration for this next Blog and we shall call her The Pilates Pixie and do you know what, her idea was brilliant and inspiring and thought provoking so I’ll pretend it was mine.

It’s something we all do, all of the time, but don’t realise we are doing it and when we realise we are doing it, it’s impossible to do it any more. It’s not rubbing your tummy whilst patting your head whilst licking your own nose with one elbow touching the ground. But try it anyway, I can do it, because I am very good at Pilates – (I can’t and I’m not, but I give it a go).

It’s meditating.

And the Pilates Pixie is right when she says that meditation is the state of mind you reach when you are doing a repetitive job that you are completely confident about and it allows your mind to drift and think about what might have been and which fantasy career you might have had, well that’s our interpretation of it.

So I started thinking, what fantasy job do I think about when I am engrossed in a job like mowing or weeding or putting up the framework for next year’s climbing beans.

And I realised that I really do have my fantasy job:

• I’m outside.
• I’m being creative.
• I’m surrounded by people who appreciate what I do. Some of them even bring coffee and cake. (Going off on a tangent here, you can’t imagine how happy you make a gardener when you make them a cup of tea or coffee and bring them a piece of cake when the wind, rain and sometimes snow are coming at them horizontally).
• I’m nurturing.
• What I don’t get done today, can be done tomorrow.
• I can take my dog to work.

Yeah, I guess I’m happy.

I’m not a stained glass window maker, but I can see the attraction. Although my favourite stained glass window is in the church of St Martin in the Fields, which isn’t stained, but it is beautiful – have a look. Last time I was there I stood looking at the window listening to a Christian service being taken in Cantonese, it made no sense. But happiness doesn’t need to make sense.

Neither am I a horse trainer for cowboys for films, or a cowboy trainer for horses for films, but I can see the attraction, but not in a Brokeback Mountain kind of way. But if it makes you happy, go for it.

But if those happen to be your fantasy jobs, you may not get to do them, but bear this in mind, every time I look at a cowboy film or a stained glass window I will think of you, and your insight, and your humour and the fact that you keep the Dancing Queen occupied for a couple of hours a week to let me recharge my batteries. So thank you.

Another part of my fantasy job would to be a writer, an author, a storyteller, a wordsmith. But I don’t reckon I’d have an audience. So I’ll just carry on doing these therapy sessions that just happen to involve writing.

Until next time, happy fantasies. And if anyone could fantasise about getting rid of this horrible winter weather, I’d be most grateful. And HAPPY.

And if you need some help learning to meditate, I know a really good teacher.