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To Live and not Just Exist

Choosing life, happiness, peace and joy. Oh and weight loss too

Month

May 2016

Humanity

I work very hard for the money I earn, to pay the bills I have, to eat the food I eat, to have pets, to live on a smallholding.

I work very hard every day to afford uncapped Wi-Fi, a Telkom line, a Vodacom contract, a washing machine.

My middle class family worked very hard every day to send me to a middle class High School, where I mingled and learnt the way of other middle class children from middle class families.

I succeeded, in spite of my best efforts not to. Despite being a black sheep. Despite being ‘the emotional’ one.

I work very hard every day to live the life I live. I don’t have millions in the bank. Don’t even really have thousands. Most end of the month, I don’t even have hundreds.

I don’t drive a fancy car. I don’t own a house or property. I grew up into the very middle class I grew up in, with very middle class views. Views on whether or not our country is functioning. Whether or not it is safe. Whether or not I should stay or flee. Whether or not our President is corrupt. Very middle class.

With the privilege that comes with it. Having a job at all, a stable one that affords me 3 warm meals a day, a roof over my head, a dog, a house with an indoor toilet, a phone, a cell phone, a car….

Let’s say that all vanishes today. Let’s say I get fired or retrenched. Let’s say I am suddenly brain damaged or deaf or blind or poor. So poor, that R150 a day becomes something you are willing to die for.

Let’s say your life condenses into a moment where the hope of earning R150 a day for a very long day of work, is something you will die for. Because that hope for R150 a day, is what will feed you.

That hope of earning R150 a day – which you get up at 4 in the morning to get ready for.

That hope of earning R150 a day – that you use your last R10 to catch a taxi to.

That hope of earning R150 a day – on an empty stomach, because the hope of R150 a day from yesterday was in vain.

Let’s say your whole life condenses into that moment. Where you and the thousands like you, in that moment, are not middle class.

You are not well off. You are not rich. You are not even really poor. Because in my mind poor equates to at least having something, even if it is not enough.

You literally have nothing.

Then who cares if our country is functioning? Who cares if it is safe? Leaving is not even the beginning of a thought you may have. What your president does or doesn’t do is of little concern.

What happens on the day you wake up, and your first thought is “Where am I going to find money for food today.”

Do you perhaps lose hope?

Do you perhaps turn to crime?

What do you do?

Where do you go when your country, your people, your government fails?

I grew up into the very middle class I grew up in. With all the opportunities it affords me by default.

The next time you judge the hell out of a government that is failing you, just for one moment consider what you have.

As of last year, 22% of the people in my country live on R11 a day.

When last did you spend R11? What did you spend it on?

The next time you sit in judgement from your very middle class dining room suite, in your very middle class house, in the middle class suburb you live in:

Consider for one moment whether or not you can survive on R11 a day.

Rethink your life.

Find your humanity.

Donate something if you can.

Support someone if you can.

Be more than some middle class douche.

Be someone’s Hope.

** The featured image is a photo I took of a young boy and his brother (I assume) while travelling on the train home from work one day. Just two little souls, with their parent, trying to live any kind of life in our country. Be their Hope.

Breath

9 flights of stairs doesn’t sound like much right?

9 down and 9 up.

Most people fly through it. It is the 9 plus that gets them.

Me?

Today I stood at the bottom of a stairwell and listened to breath.

The panting rasp of someone with the lungs I have.

The laboured inhalation of someone with the fitness level of an overweight rock.

It used to embarrass me – the thought of someone hearing me breath heavily. The idea that I would be judged and found wanting. It is why I never did sport at school. The sound and the jiggle and the red face and the sweat. And yes, the coming last.

Children can be cruel. But sometimes, we are our own worst tormentor.

So today, I stood at the bottom of a stairwell, 40 minutes into a seriously hard gym session. A gym session full of the things I thought I couldn’t do.

I listened to breath.

And I thought –

How Blessed is that sound?

How Joyous is that sound?

How many times has that sound meant something else?

How many times has that sound been accompanied by panic, because I just couldn’t get enough breath?

How many times has that sound, slightly twisted, echoed around a hospital room – for weeks on end?

You feel free to judge me all you want.

The breath. The sweat. The red face. The jiggle. The coming last.

Until you hit a wall one day, and breath becomes a thing you actually have to think about….

The breath is what matters.

The doing.

The being.

So who gives a crap if I came last?

At least I took part.

At least I was there.

Sometimes, when breath is all you have, that is where your Hope and determination lies.

 

 

Picture found on – https://embodypilates.wordpress.com/2014/06/19/pilates-breathing/

The Small Things

Sjoe, I have been gone a while.
Thing happened. Reality shifted. Time passed.
And here we are.
Life has this really annoying and occasionally cool habit of throwing stuff back in your face. At your lowest, or your highest, or somewhere in between. A little memory. A little song. A little blog.
A little bit of God.
I forget sometimes how far I have come. How hard this road was to travel. Sometimes I traveled it alone. Sometimes with family. Sometimes with friends. I have written before about being the Black Sheep. About being the Fat Chick.
Reality is – we are who we are in the moment. As kind or vicious, as generous or selfish, as alive or dead, as happy or sad. All we have is a moment. Because the next moment may be a life ender. Or a reality shifter.
In a moment, a Blessed moment, I walked into a gym with a little bit of hope. And I met a lovely lady who runs a gym, a lady of passion and laughter.
In a moment, an Inspired moment, I faced a lifetime of fears around what I look like. Around inherent sporting ability. And I thought screw it. I joined a gym.
In a moment, a Divine moment, I remembered that even though it is hard. I really do like exercising. I am crap at it. But that doesn’t change the Joy.
I have written before about finding Joy in the small things.
Sometimes the small things are the ache that comes from 18 flights of stairs.
The laughter that comes with trying to skip.
The giggle that accompanies a burpee done in the style of a deranged alien.
Sometimes the small things are driving on a farm road at 5 in the morning. In the mist.

Just you and your God.

Sometimes the small things are realising that you came from here….

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And you have gotten here so far…..

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With a whole world still to go…..

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