A day in the life…..

Do you think we are designed to feel frustrated? Built to become underwhelmed by routine and lack of spontaneity in our lives? It makes sense if you want to be logical about it. If humanity wasn’t created this way then what would drive us to do better? Achieve more? Work harder? I understand the reasoning and all but it would be swell if the moments when the giddy feelings of goal achievement satisfaction starts to dissipate and the inevitable grey-ness of discontentment creep in were further apart. Much further apart!

One moment I feel like I can take on the world and anything it has to throw at me and the next I’m wondering how I have remained alive for as long as I have. I should be able to navigate rough waters relatively well. After all, I was given a pretty good starting kit in life. If the multiples of morons the world over can survive- and excel , surely I should be able to? And then I don’t. And reality hits me with the force of a hundred unpaid bills and I am left surrounded by the shrapnel of my self-confidence. Dazed and bewildered at why I have not yet achieved greatness. Or at least nauseating wealth. I’d settle for nauseating wealth.

And then there is the guilt. The guilt for not appreciating my life. The opportunities given, the family I have and the love I receive. The guilt for not throwing up my hands daily and bursting into song for the partnership I have been lucky enough to find, the friendships I have been able to maintain and the employment I hold. What kind of a thankless, ungrateful horror doesn’t count her lucky stars for the blessings showered upon her. This thankless horror it would seem. Because today, all I can think of is that I’d rather be anywhere but here, listening to the crackly radio and the tapping of this keyboard. Each and every email I receive sends me plummeting further and further into my carefully constructed house of self-pity and judgment. Why haven’t I done better? Why haven’t I achieved more? Why am I stuck here?

But then the day ends and I come home to my little corner of the world where I get to choose the soothing colours that surround me, the food in the fridge and the shows on the TV. I get to curl up in the arms of the man I love and forget that I am not the owner of a Fortune 500 company or a great political revolutionary. I get to feel like the queen of the castle and of his heart and I get to sleep in a warm bed. For a short while I get to feel smug at my noble feelings of gratitude and thankfulness……….

And then my alarm clock goes off.

WORKING THE SOCIAL NETS

As one who is making a career out of blogging, checking in and indulging my voyeuristic tendencies, I believe I have earned the right to document my observations about the effect of social networks in general.  Even if I haven’t earned the right, the mere existence of these mediums provides me with a platform to publish and promote my ramblings to the unsuspecting stumbler, face–bookie, blogger and twit!

DIGITAL ROMANCE

In an age long forgotten, men and women looking to meet prospective mates had one of two options. They would either be blessed with the good fortune to meet their darling out and about or they would have to endure the spine twisting, belly-wrenching, stomach-churning trauma of a blind date - often pre-empted by a dear friend extolling an endless list of qualities that have little, or nothing, to do with the suggested suitor.

Today, the role of masculine bravery and chivalrous thrills has been diluted into the ‘first move’ friend request. Well, slap my head and call me silly but there’s as much gallantry in this as the ‘forgot my wallet’ stint and ‘early morning meeting’ sneak out.

Now, I could focus on the negative here – the spineless army of ‘hunters’ social media is harvesting, but instead I choose to direct my prudent perspective to the glowing positivity that is TIME MANAGEMENT! Not to sound too superficial, but when it comes to the game of romance, attraction is an integral player. From the perspective of the ‘gatherer’ we can stalk, scout and research our beloved friends’ suggestions before agreeing to surrender an entire evening.

This affords us the opportunity to weed out the “oh-my-G-d-how-desperate-do-you-think-I-am” suitors from the “might-be-worth-a-coffee” candidates. Only if you are a full time employed, well adjusted, healthy and able individual, will you fully appreciate the time and energy spared!  Social net-WORK-IT BABY!

E-MPLOYMENT          

With every firm, warehouse and one-man-roadshow creating a Facebook business page these days, getting a ‘feel’ for the company is easier than beating your 4 year old nephew at angry birds. A lot easier.

For employers seeking responsible, well adjusted, hard-working and skilled individuals, there’s a little more of an effort curve. But when it comes to weeding out the social renegades, online recruiting tools are ready and able to assist!

Peter Perfect’s LinkedIn profile may boast more degrees than a thermometer, but his daily stream of marijuana-fuelled inspiration tells a different story. While Average Annie’s list of qualifications might be slightly lacking, the link to her personal blog reveals a wonderland of untapped genius, creativity and talent, (much like this one). In the dating game, social stalking encourages face-value assessments. In the corporate arena, it safeguards both parties from being duped by the same. Social NETWORKING at its best!

SOCIAL WISE-ING

Remember that “EPIC” party your friend invited you to? You know, the one that “everyone who’s anyone” is going to attend? The one you have to attend unless you want to commit social suicide? Yes that’s the one! It’s the same event you were invited to on Facebook by that creepy guy you used to know in high school. Guess what?  You can check the guest list: the bird your friend is seriously into is going. THAT’s why he’s pushing it onto you like a constipated elephant. Here’s just another one of the perks of our age. We broadcast our lives ad nauseum and every so often, amongst the inane rubble, are helpful gems. SOCIALIZE your network!

INFO-WIZARD

In days of old, in order to stay abreast of current events one needed to trawl the news sites, scour the papers and doggedly catch the evening bulletins. These days, it’s a simple matter of identifying trends. Granted, you may have to learn to stoically ignore the Bieber-lievers and co. in order to hone in on actual newsworthy events, but once you master your filters, you’ll be able to impress all your dinner guests with remarkable knowledge of current world events. Social NEWS-working!

In this world of superficial values, insincere ideals and makeshift morals, social media is the unrivaled king! Portraying images of perfection, borrowing earth-shattering quotes (and forgetting to source them) and plumping up curriculum vitae are just a few of the luxuries it extends the average user.

But dig a little deeper. Analyze a little further. Scratch a little harder and the sparkly surface might make way for surfaces even glossier than first imagined – or ones in need of a little extra polish.

It’s not a new insight but it is a new platform in which to exercise it! As for me, I learned this while I was fortunate enough to be paid building a career, NOT working.  Social Not-working to be precise.

THE SECRET

I wrote this because I love the fact that our life's experiences sum up exactly who we are.....despite who we tell ourselves we want to be. The good and the bad experiences we endure, help mould and shape us. Sometimes we can share those experiences with others to give them a deeper insight into who we are, and sometimes, the lessons we learned are just for us.

SHE SMILES BECAUSE SHE HAS A SECRET

SHE SMILES BECAUSE IT’S HERS TO OWN.

NOT TO SHARE OR BRAG OR PREACH IT.

NOT COMPARE OR FLAUNT OR LOAN.

IT’S IN HER LAUGH – HER TWINKLY SMILE

THE CREASE BENEATH HER SOULFUL EYES.

WHEN SHE’S GONE IT HANGS A WHILE.

TO LINGER STILL, AFTER GOOD-BYES.

SHE NEVER HAS TO SHARE ITS INSIGHT

BREADTH OR WIDTH, OR OCEAN DEEP

IT BUILDS HER STRENGTH AND FUELS HER FIGHT

IT’S HERS TO CHERISH, HOLD AND KEEP.

A QUILT OF HOPE – A PATCHWORK MAZE

OF DREAMS FULFILLED AND THOSE UNSPOKEN

TAPESTRIES OF PASSION BLAZE

OF RULES UPHELD AND THOSE LEFT BROKEN

LOVE THAT’S LOST AND LOVE THAT’S VOWED

WEAVE THE GENTLE MYSTERY COAT

SHE WEARS WHILE WALKING IN THE CROWD

THE DREAMS THAT KEEP HER FAITH AFLOAT

ITS NOT A PAST, ITS NOT A PRESENT

NOT A FUTURE TO FORETELL

IT’S THE MUSIC SOFT AND PLEASANT

HER OCEANS RHYTHM – PULL AND SWELL

HER SPIRIT GROWS AND BENDS AND HARDENS

FROM INSIGHTS SHE SHEDS OR KEEPS

SHE’S STRONGER FOR IT WITH LESS PARDONS

HER SOUL IS RICH AND FULL AND DEEP.

EVERY JOY AND SMILE AND HURT

THAT SHE GATHERS AS SHE GOES

IS HER SUM – DEFINES - CONVERTS HER

THE HOW AND WHY – ONLY SHE KNOWS!

Game Changers

Having recently undergone a series of life-changing events, I intimately understand the innate ‘fear of change’ that many of us are vulnerable to.

Human beings for the most part, don’t enjoy change. We are creatures of habit, preferring to stick to that which we know even at the price of something potentially better.

Never is this idiosyncrasy more apparent than when a certain Mark Zuckerburg decides our peaceful existence resembles a snow globe that needs a good rattling. The shake unleashes golden snowflakes that flutter and sparkle as they swirl around, but for the poor folk inside, who have been jostled within an inch of their lives, the beauty is not as apparent.

The golden flakes of late are the recently revamped Timeline that will take the place of our well-worn profiles; the ticker that painstakingly records and publishes our every like, action thought and feeling to our networks and an updated newsfeed that vaguely resembles the one we only just got used to.

September 2011 saw these changes rolled out and what followed it was an uproar of disgruntled Facebook users bemoaning their unfamiliar accounts and lamenting their previously adored online experience. How on earth are we expected to enjoy our favourite social network NOW they cry!

Cast your mind back to the last time Zuckerburg gave us a jiggle. Was the reaction not exactly the same? And the time before that? Over the last few years, Facebook has undergone numerous changes to improve usability, update their interface and expedite Facebook stalking. Each time our globe is rocked we get nostalgic for the Facebook we just lost.

As I mentioned before, I am no stranger to the panic that change incites but I am proud to announce that I am actually enjoying the most recent Facebook experience. The timeline (which I installed myself since it has not yet been officially rolled out) is an awesome way to document and review all the hours I have squandered on the site. And the Ticker makes sure I am always well informed about my fellow users own wasted hours. All in all, the changes have improved my experience and I am certain that in a few months when Facebook rolls out their next batch of changes, my efficiently organized news feed will be full of petitions to restore it to the way it is now.

Thank goodness for the Zuckerburgs of the world! For ignoring our anxiety, nudging us towards evolution and making it his business (literally) to never let us get too comfortable. We should take this recipe into our snow globes with us and when we see no sparkles around anymore – do a little shaking of our own!

THE OLD HOUSE

I used to walk past an old house on my block. A house as big as a tree.
One day as I strolled by this very big house, I heard a young man call to me.

‘Little girl will you buy me some milk, and some butter and cheese that I need.
I’ll give you these coins. Keep the change once you’ve paid. You’d be doing a very good deed.
I don’t leave my manor not at night or at day. No I never will leave this place.
If you do this for me I will pay you each time, he said with a smile on his face.

Off I skipped to the market to purchase the goods for as cheap as could possibly be.
I returned to the house. The grand old house. The one as big as a tree.
The young man was grateful. He hopped about. Thanking me once and again.
He asked if I’d come back next week for the same, at around a quarter past ten.

From then on, each Sunday at a quarter past ten, I’d stop past the house of the man.
I’d gather his list, his coins and his smiles and go off with my cash and my plan.

In my head, sometimes I would wonder why the young man never left his old place.
After weeks I decided I’d ask him, so I finished my chores with some haste.

When I got to his house and I asked the young man why he stayed in and never went out.
He looked confused and shifted around then said “what you talking about?
Of course I can’t leave. Can’t you see why? There may not be fences and chains.
But if I leave my old house, I could never come back, and that would cause me great pain.
My old house is lonely. It has only me, to keep it company all day.
And at night when it’s quiet my house needs a friend so this is the price that I pay.”

I nodded with earnest as though it made sense though he could have been speaking Chinese.
The old house looked like it had been there for years, and I could not hear its sad pleas.
“It pains me” he thoughtfully added “to stay in this grand house each day, but what can I do? It is lonely. I’ll have been here for six years in May.”
While I look at the other men working, and driving and visiting friends,
Don’t you think I am jealous and saddened? But I’m stuck in this house till the end.
It’s not my fault that I can’t leave. I do it for lack of a choice.
Poor old house would be lost without me.” he finished in a very small voice.

So I made him a deal. Yes I told him, that with his groceries I’d bring something more.
Tales of the world he was missing. To this I solemnly swore.
The young man was thrilled at the promise, of seeing the world through my eyes
He clapped and he danced and thanked me three times before we said our goodbyes.

So I brought him his eggs and his flour, I always made sure to include
A story of what I had seen through the week about friends, parties, people and food.
Oh how he loved all my tales. He said he’d had tales of his own.
Long before the old house needed him all the time. A time where such fear was unknown.
The old houses fear he assured me, was steady and strong as the night.
It wouldn’t you see, be fair if he tried, to resist or put up a fight.

As I grew, so did my stories. I shared them as best as I could.
I shared them each week and he soaked up each word and swore that he’d leave if he could.

YOURS IS SMALLER THAN MINE

During my stay in the media wonderland that is America, I can’t help but croon Aladdin’s soulful ditty. ‘A whole new world’ indeed. It’s the mecca of new age exploration. It plots the GPS coordinates for the rest of the world. So why do I get the sinking feeling we are getting a little lost?

With specific regard to advertising in the United States, I feel the urge to say (and thanks to blogging, my compulsion is gratified) that the American adverting arena has left me a little deflated. American advertisers have long held the reputation for being the industry heavyweights. But where there was once a plethora of thought provoking campaigns with brilliant concepts and game changing results, now rests a children’s school yard mentality, with a ‘my daddy’s gun is bigger than yours” approach to marketing. Its lazy advertising and I’m disgruntled.

I’m not a complete Neanderthal. I knew comparative advertising existed before I landed. But even so, when I see or hear it in a public arena, I still find it a bit shocking. It reminds me of that awkward feeling you get when you watch a couple snap at each other during a dinner party. Those are the moments when suddenly your fork becomes the most fascinating thing you’ve ever seen.

The first time I heard a really raw advert of this nature I was strolling down the aisles of one of the many planet-sized department stores in Miami. When the offensive advert aired over the sound-system I had to resist the urge to nudge the shopper nearest to me and whisper conspiratorially ‘did you HEAR that?” Having been here for a few months subsequent, I’m glad I didn’t. At one point, I considered getting the words ‘tourist’ tattooed on my forehead but I’m glad I didn’t do that either.

So it’s allowed here in America. Ok. I can appreciate that. I can watch television and witness the sponsored massacre of another brand while I merrily munch on my dinner. Let me re-phrase that. ‘I can pretend that I appreciate that. I can awkwardly gape around the room making wild hand gestures to the television and berate my fellow watchers for not being as agog and aghast at the disparaging remarks being made on live television." You know, up until the 5th century Gladiators entertained audiences in the Roman Empire in violent confrontations with other gladiators, wild animals, and condemned criminals. So I guess it’s not an entirely foreign concept. But don’t you think as members of civilized society we should have higher standards? And forget for a minute the brazen unsophisticated message these advertisements relay, what ever happened to thinking out of the box? What are marketing execs being paid for if this is the drivel they are producing?

Perhaps it’s my South African upbringing. Or perhaps it’s due to the carrot I can’t seem to dislodge from my ass, but I get all kinds of squirmy when I’m witness to this form of advertising. I’m also the nightmare audience for these brands because their public lambasting more often than not has me reaching for their competitors product. I always root for the under-dog.

I’m not naive enough to believe that a lot of the comparative claims made don’t have value. If product X is a lot better than product Y, I want to know about it. My issue lies in the fact that with the laxy-daisy guidelines to comparative advertising paired with subjectivity and soiled ethics, as the idiot staring at my television I’m being presented with a somewhat bias case. And in very bad taste I might add. My responsibility as a consumer is to manage the media swamping and reach my own conclusions. Not have a suit slop it up and serve it to me. Where is the fun in that?

I stand by the good ol’ ethics of pre-historic advertising. The guiding principle in all comparisons should be that products or services are promoted on their own merits and not on the demerits of competitors. As much as its results driven, advertising is entertainment, and as such, agencies need to work a little harder than ‘buy this product because that one sucks.’

THE LITTLE WHITE FLOWER WITH THE YELLOW MIDDLE

I know that the title of this blog may seem a little strange, but once you've read this post, you might understand why I chose it as my title. When I was about 17, I wrote this story. Years after I even remembered writing it, my Grandmother returned it to me. She had held onto it for me because she loved it and hoped I would do something with it. I hope you enjoy it as much as she does:


Under the hot African sky there is a field.
In the field there are many flowers. All the flowers look the same. They are all white with yellow middles.
In the community of white flowers with yellow middles is a family. In this family is a father, a mother and a little girl. They all have white petals with yellow middles The little flower family has always been very happy. The little flower spends her days swaying in the warm wind and singing songs under the shimmering sun with all her flower friends. All the flower children wave their white petals and shimmy their yellow middles together. The little flowers can’t imagine wanting anything more.

One warm day while the little white flowers with yellow middles were singing songs in the shimmering sun, a big truck pulled up alongside the small field. Out of the big truck stepped two big brown boots followed by two small red wellingtons. The red wellingtons stopped by the singing white flowers with yellow middles. A big hand reached down and picked up the little girl flower with the beautiful white petals and the golden yellow middle. All the flower children cried out for the little flower. They tried to hold her hands tight under the soil but the red wellingtons carried her away – far from all the other white flowers with yellow middles.

The red wellingtons carried the little flower into a big house. The little flower forgot to be scared because in the house there was so much to see. Much more than she had ever seen in the field filled with white flowers with yellow middles.

The little flower was placed in a vase. In the vase there were more flowers. But these were flowers that the little white flower with the yellow middle had never seen before. These flowers did not have white petals with yellow middles. These flowers had red petals with green middles. Beautiful red velvety petals with bright green middles. The little white flower with the yellow middle could only stare at these beautiful flowers around her.

The other flowers spoke to the little white flower with the yellow middle. They told her there were many more flowers like them. Even more beautiful than them, with different coloured petals and different coloured middles. They said there were so many different coloured flowers that the little white flower with the yellow middle would never see them all. The little white flower with the yellow middle missed her father and her mother and all her little flower friends but she really wanted to see all the other coloured flowers far away from the small field filled with white flowers with yellow middles.

The little white flower with the yellow middle felt the red wellingtons lift her out of the vase of red flowers with green middles and out to a garden filled with all the other coloured flowers. In the distance she saw the small field filled with white flowers with yellow middles and waved goodbye to them as she explained that she was going to find all the different coloured flowers far more beautiful than white flowers with yellow middles.

The little white flower with the yellow middle was amazed by all the flowers she saw. One was more beautiful than the next. There were red flowers with green middles, purple flowers and orange flowers, there were flowers of every colour and flowers of every size. There were flowers with thorns and there were flowers with tendrils. Flowers with leaves and flowers without. There were big flowers and small flowers and there were flowers that were tall and flowers that were short. The little white flower with the yellow middle giggled with delight and decided to stay amongst all the beautiful flowers far from the field filled with white flowers with boring yellow middles. The little white flower wanted to sway with the beautiful flowers in the warm wind and sing songs with them under the shimmering sun but the beautiful flowers ignored the little white flower with the yellow middle. They held hands with each other but the little white flower with the yellow middle could not reach that low so she watched. She smiled as she watched because it was enough just to look at all the beautiful flowers sway in the warm wind and sing songs under the shimmering sun.

Man sunny days went by and the little white flower with the yellow middle noticed that one of her white petals was becoming red like the flower she was leaning on. The little white flower with the red petal and the yellow middle was bursting with excitement. Perhaps now the beautiful flowers would let her say with them in the warm wind and sing songs under the shimmering sun. But the beautiful flowers did not notice that the little white flower now had a red petal. A few more sunny days went by and the little white flower leaned against a purple flower until one of her white petals became purple. Perhaps NOW the beautiful flowers would let her sway with them in the warm wind and sing songs with them under the shimmering sun. But the beautiful flowers still did not notice the little white flower with the red and purple petals and the yellow middle. But she stayed and watched the beautiful flowers because they were so beautiful to watch and she was so far from the field filled with white flowers with yellow middles.

Many more sunny days went by and the little white flower with the red and purple petals and the yellow middle began to feel weak. She
looked at her petals and noticed they were turning brown like the soil

she was standing in. the little brown flower was too wise to get excited. One sunny day the big brown boots returned and tossed the little brown flower into a big black bag. Inside the bag were many brown flowers just like her. The little brown flower was so happy to be around flowers like herself again. Perhaps these were her friends from the field filled with white flowers with yellow middles and they had become brown too. But the brown flowers were old and they did not want to sing songs with her and they did not want to sway their petals in the black bag.

The little brown flower tumbled out the big black bag and begged the wind to take her home to the field filled with white flowers with yellow middles. She had had enough of seeing all the beautiful flowers. She had missed swaying in the warm wind and singing songs with her friends under the shimmering sun. When the little brown flower got back to her field she ran to all her flower friends but they not want to sway with her in the warm wind and they did not want to sing with her in the shimmering sun because they did not know her. She was a little brown flower in a filed filled with little white flowers with yellow middles.

The little brown flower cried and cried. Until eventually the mother flower with white petals and a yellow middle wrapped her petals around the little brown flower and held her little hand and swayed with her in the warm wind and sang to her under the shimmering sun because she knew that the little brown flower was really still the same little white flower with the yellow middle.

THE END