Today I'm giving zero fucks about... 2018
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Today I'm giving zero fucks about 2018.
Except I'm not. Giving zero fucks about 2018, that is. When it comes to this year, I give all the fucks. It has been a year of unexplained lows, but also unexplained highs - the sort where I'd wake up on a Tuesday at 4am, unable to get back to sleep. With no more to do than go to a spin class and go to one coffee meeting, I would feel, quite literally, ecstatic with glee and excitement for the day. Every day felt like an unexplored entity, with all the potential to be absolutely incredible. And, by and large, my average day did feel pretty great. Perhaps it was because the months of November to June that year had seen me weighed down by the enormous head-fuck that is depression. Thus, those months had been ones where everything felt hideous. Every day. Depression doesn't discriminate - every day is on a scale of shit to extremely shit and you just pray that the day you're dealing with is going to be a classic bearably shit one. Because the really bad ones hardly bare speaking about.
Still, the result of a year of such intense ups and downs is that there are so many lessons to be learnt. Hiding round every corner, whether you like it or not. Sometimes I really wish there wasn't this pressure to learn lessons from our mistakes (it was the first thing my therapist asked me the second time I got fired this year). Sometimes it would just be nice to say, "gosh, wasn't that shit. Wonder what the hell went on there? Guess it's just gonna remain a mystery". *Closes case book, takes a drag on a cigar and pours a whiskey on the rocks*. But it's important we push ourselves to learn from life's little gifts, the good and the bad. I am possibly one of "personal growth's" biggest fans. Like, if they were touring, I'd be queuing up from midday, when doors are at 7pm, just to front row the hell out of that gig with my ridiculous banner. Fantasies aside, I really value the opportunity to grow and develop as humans. The dark times really are fodder for learning the lessons that will help you on your way with that. And man, don't I just love a bit of melancholy (incidentally, depression used to be called melancholia. God I wish it was still called that; there's so much beautiful martyrdom in that word to me. So much poetry. I'll just bring it back).
Then there's the other reason why life lessons are super important. Because, without them, I wouldn't be able to compile my end-of-the-year-what-I-learnt-from-2018 list, which follows on. Some are profound, some are not. All should be held in the same esteem. A motto for life, if ever there was one.
2018's Life Lessons That I've Decided To Give Some Fucks About
You are not as fat as you imagine (from the song "Everybody's Free To Wear Sunscreen" by Baz Luhrmann). Two life lessons here. Firstly, I was under the influence of a bit of the old melancholia and, as a result, had some big body image issues. To the extent that I found it very difficult to leave the house. Fast forward some months, I'm a stone heavier than I was then and I'm looking fine. Turns out I was just really skinny back then. It's all about perspective, y'all. The second lesson is that Baz Luhrmann is not the lyrical genius I once thought. "Everybody's Free To Wear Sunscreen" comes from a Chicago Tribune column written by journalist Mary Schmich, described as the commencement address she would give if she were asked to give one. When I think of a woman, sitting at her desk, writing the advice in that song, it gives me the shivery shivers. And yes, life is full of people ripping other people off, but I at least hope she's getting some of the royalties.
Time spent investing in yourself is never time wasted. It can take whatever form you like. My friend, Jo, and I are trying to plan "white space" into our week. It's unplanned yet intentional time (Jo's phrasing and I think it nails it) for reading the things you wanted to read, thinking about that thing you wanted to dedicate some headspace to, or finally listening to that podcast with 2018's hottest girl-crush that you've been meaning to get round to. Or it could be taking yourself for a really long walk on a day of unexpected sunshine. One morning, at the end of summer, I went for a walk through Trent Park, taking a route I'd never taken before. I happened across a field with a sole tree in it and the way the early morning sun hit that tree cast a long shadow over the dry yellow of the field. And I actually shed a tear. A few in fact. I couldn't tell you why. It was probably lots of things. But had I not invested in myself and my needs, had I not given my soul the walk it so desired that day, I would never be able to tell you all about the time a tree made me cry. And, honestly, it feels like a really special moment. I have no idea how to find that tree again and I kind of like it that way.
Self-awareness is the most dangerous tool in your arsenal. Because self-awareness slays mental illness. It notices it early, stops it in its tracks and then gives you handy tidbits of advice on the best way to make sure that the fucker is kept at bay. Sort of like those old Shreddies adverts. Self-awareness; the psychological and less cardboard like version of Shreddies. Except instead of "keeping hunger locked up till lunch", self-awareness keeps "mental illness locked up forever and throws away the god damn key". Long live the blue cartoon dude in the Shreddies adverts that gets imprisoned in whole grain wheat. On reflection, what a bloody weakling - it's just wheat.
Have one pudding in your repertoire that you can nail every time. Nigella's Apricot Almond Cake with Rosewater and Cardamom will forever be my - and possibly now your - go-to dinner party and birthday cake. And with such good reason. I would say you can thank me later, once you've given this one a bash. But just thank Nigella, instead. I'm no Baz Luhrmann.
Nigella is sexy because she's confident in her body. And eats croissant bread and butter pudding in bed and then has an entire film crew film her doing just that in a silky dressing gown (I might have made up the silky dressing gown, I'm not entirely sure. But even if I did, can you blame me?). Funny fact about Nigella. She claims that when they started filming her original TV show - the one that established her as the chef with the lips, tits, pout and lingering gaze at camera 1 - that she didn't intend for it to be sexy. That she wasn't intentionally flirting with the camera. I'll just leave that there for you to ponder while I go off and review my flirting techniques.
Exercise. Always exercise. Even when you feel like it is the last thing you want to do or perhaps you just don't have the time to fit it in. In fact, these are the times when we need exercise the most. Make it enjoyable, do it with mates, tell yourself you'll treat yourself to a slice of Nigella's cake when you get home. Whatever it takes, just raise that pulse rate - even if just on a ten minute walk - and get those endorphins hitting you like life's natural answer to crack cocaine that it is.
Find your solace. It doesn't matter what it is or where you find it (as long as it's legal please, kids). My therapist's is baking. I have been offered baked goods every time I've been round there for the past month. Her house over-floweth with cakes and pastries at the moment and I'm not worried. We all need to seek a little bit of solace around Christmas time because fuck me, it can be trying. My Mum's solace is running. Mine are writing and cycling. These habits are the things that will help us to bring ourselves back to zero when everything feels off-kilter - and it doesn't even matter if you're not very good at it. There will be times when having this haven will probably save you. We can only be good for other people if we're good to ourselves.
Know when to call it a day when dating. I went on three dates with two different women this year. Both were dalliances that shouldn't have gone any further than the first date. One of them I just wasn't attracted to. Also, massive stumbling block, she was an anti-capitalist anarchist. It all went a bit pear shaped after I invited her to an event on personal wealth management. Her reply came, "only if I can burn it down". Not to mention my favourite thing to eat is octopus and she's a veggie whose favourite animal is octopus. The other was called Louise but liked to be called Loobie for short. Honestly, I shouldn't have even gone on the first date given I was already armed with that knowledge. Loobie Loo.
Giving less fucks about things that don't matter. You'll notice this ZFs is uncharacteristically late. While I don't imagine any of you at around about 5pm on Monday evening were wondering why there was a gaping Zero F*cks shape hole in your inbox, I do like to stick to my commitments and I always, and I means always, like to get things done on time. Little insight into my mind - when I hadn't managed to send out ZFs yesterday and at about 4pm realised it wasn't going to happen due to the mammoth NYE feast I was putting on, I ended up saying to three people "that's ok... isn't it?". The fact is that it felt so un-ok and I was really angry with myself, but them telling me it was NYE and to give myself a break did make me feel better. Because they're right. I think I spend a lot of my time rushing to places to find out that people are late; spending time and effort on things that eventually never even get used; worrying about what somebody thinks about something I've said because they've not replied in 10 minutes and they normally always reply within 5 minutes. This is essentially, the lesson I intended to teach myself and the one that I have learnt from writing this newsletter - give less fucks. Because the times when some fucks are called for, you'll know it.
Life and humans are flexible AF. I didn't expect to be moving back home this year to live with my parents. I didn't ever want to rent out the house I own in south east London. I didn't know what my job prospects would be after a year of not working and there being a glaring gap on my CV. I didn't know what my life would look like this time after I recovered. Yet, I'm enjoying living at home. I've got income from renting out my house. I've been offered a good handful of jobs, often when I least expect it - and by the way: I was offered two jobs last week so now I'm FULL TIME EMPLOYED. And life looks much the same as it always did before mental illness but, oddly, I've found in myself a renewed confidence and even more of a passion for life than I have ever had before. And I'm learning to live this life sustainably, which has never been my forte. Nothing is ever a done deal, things will always surprise you. Just keep pushing and keep an open to mind to all the opportunities that you can create. They are seriously everywhere.
It gets better.
Fan-Girling
My career advisor says I put women on a pedestal too much. He said, and I quote, "it's frightening for them and disappointing for you". I feel frightening is a little strong; I prefer disconcerting. Semantics aside, he actually speaks the truth in that it is a very frequent urge of mine. So this week I'm not fan-girling anyone. 2019 is all about establishing good habits (I'll be straight back with the pedestal pushing content from the very first post when it's business as usual post Christmas malaise, don't you worry).
Scribbling
How to: help someone with depression. I wrote this piece for my friend. She then replied and told me that one part of it made her cry her eyes out because it was so close to her truth. I feel sad for her that that's her truth and so that one particular truth had her in pieces a little. But that's the thing about depression and all sorts of mental illness - there is nothing that is rawer. No nerve that feels so sensitive to the touch. No wound that feels so unhealed. That goes for people who live through their own mental health issues and the loved ones who live through those mental health struggles with them, there to try and pick up the pieces when they continue to break. When I think about it, it makes me so sad to think of all the people in this world who are walking around with the scars that mental illness has left on them. But then I think about all that it has taught me, and my family, and I have some hope that there are people who feel stronger and with a more complete perspective on life than before walking around on this earth. I wouldn't have been able to write this piece if I hadn't been through it 5 times. There's two more in the series to come; if you think it'll help you or someone you know, do have a read.
My #CoffeeAWeek project is becoming too comfortable - time to challenge myself. When I first started my challenge to meet with an inspiring or simply super cool woman for a coffee a week for a year, it felt exciting because when I told people about it I was proud of the fact that it was a tricky challenge. I was pushing myself outside of my comfort zone and the goal of 52 coffees in as many weeks felt punchy. But quickly my comfort zone expanded to cover asking random women I've never met for coffee and giving zero fucks if they don't reply or say no. I also realised that 52 coffees didn't feel so ambitious as I was, and still am, averaging over 2 coffees a week. It hit me like a pang of anxiety in the chest - fuck, this is too easy, I thought. Only one way to respond to that. Make it harder.
Ear-Worming
I've not been able to get Father John Misty (previously the drummer in Fleet Foxes) off my speakers this week. I never used to care for his music particularly. I even sort of disliked it for a long time. That's in spite of going to see him live at the Hammersmith Apollo at the end of last year. The trick to letting FJM's music move you as vigorously as he moves those ol' snake hips of his is to a) listen when you want something soothing yet sombre and b) to listen to just how dark and fucked up the lyrics are. Lend your earbuds to two of my faves with their reassuringly messed up FJM lyrics.
"Oh, pour me another drink / And punch me in the face / You can call me Nancy", Nancy From Now On
"I wanna take you in the kitchen / lift up your wedding dress someone was probably murdered in", Chateau Lobby #4 (in C for Two Virgins)
Hat-Tricking
You Know He Got That Big Dick Energy (4 mins) for helping me realise that the way to true inner confidence is just to grow the male sex organ. In case you're wondering what Big Dig Energy (BDE) could possibly be: "BDE is a quiet confidence and ease with oneself that comes from knowing you have an enormous penis and you know what to do with it". The only thing is, if I grew a confidence endowing (tenuous pun intended) penis, I certainly wouldn't know what to do with it. So I guess BDE is to never be mine. Don't let that stop you reading this article though - it's well written and bloody hilarious.
Nostalgic Photos Of SF Show The City Before Gentrification (3 mins) for providing me with much photography porn. Less about the words, more about the photos, scroll through the photos at the top to get a wonderful taste of old-time San Francisco before all the micro-dosing fuckwits of Silicon Valley came along and ruined it. Alternatively, take a look at a few of my highlights just below.
The brutal mirror for just being an interesting and well-written piece on one man's first experience of the hallucinogenic drug, ayahuasca. Even my anti-drugs friend wants to try it, so widely has this experience been raved about. Wonder how this dude got on? Hint: "Ayahuasca turned my life upside down, dissolving the wall between my self and the world. I also stared into what I can only describe as the world’s most honest mirror. It was a Clockwork Orange-like horror show, and it was impossible to look away.
'Gramming
The Ladder (the one women extend to other women because we want to help them climb)
This week I'd like to congratulate my friend, Amali de Alwis, on receiving a very well deserved MBE. I've always said that Amali was one of those who sort of dipped under the radar; content with doing amazing work and not making a big song and dance of it. I know I'm not supposed to be fan-girling people as per my lacking fan-girling segment, but honestly having sat on a steering committee with Amali and been in meetings with her, she truly is one of those people who only speaks when she has something decent to say and what she says always makes so much sense. I'd like to be able to do that. Her company, Code First: Girls, works with young women across the UK - delivering coding courses - with the mission of increasing the number of women in tech (the space I used to work in, hence knowing her). Since 2013, Amali and the team at Code First: Girls have delivered £4.2m worth of free education to young women. It's bloody brilliant. If you are a young woman, or you know a young woman, who would love to skill-up in tech, check out the CF:G website.
QOTD (like OOTD but more quote-y)
I do have a strong obsession with quotes on depression, granted. And as long as that morbid love continues, you will continue to get the odd one shared here - admittedly it's been every week since I started my instagram account @thedepressionjar, just full to the brim with the depressive buggers.
I read this quote in "Furiously Happy" by Jenny Lawson. While the book has turned out to be more disappointing than I'd hoped, this spoke to me more than I can possibly communicate. I didn't realise that the shame I feel around my mental health difficulties is not unique to me. Mental illness is so lonely and so anything that connects you to others and similar experiences feels like an absolute god-send. It's absolutely why I'm more addicted to these quotes than I am to that one damn cigarette a day I'm still smoking.
I've never felt proud for recovering from depression. I've only felt ashamed that I wasn't able to do it sooner. Embarrassed that I didn't try a bit harder. Disappointed that I didn't treat others better in the midst of it all (none of these are fair criticisms to direct at myself, FYI). And terrified of it coming back, almost as soon as I'd recovered from it. Now I know I'm not alone.
That's What She Said
"I also wanted to drop you a line just to fangirl over how much I have been enjoying all your newsletters!" from a ZFs reader who is doing the fangirling on my behalf this week. And it's over *blushes* little ol' me.
I let my Mum read a ZFs for the first time last week - the one about depression ruining my ski holiday somewhat. She described it as "heart-breaking and uplifting in equal measure". If you ever wanted a nice neat summary of the effects of mental illness and the recovery therein on a loving mother, look no further.
Like what you've just read? Pass this on to a woman or man who gives so few fucks that they don't give a fuck that getting this out late was my last failing of 2018. But I'm giving zero fucks.