“Am I the same girl?”

One of the very interesting things about this year has been reconnecting with a few people from my past. Regardless of whether it was five or twenty-five years that had passed, I found myself thinking about how much had happened since our last meeting, and, inevitably, how much we’d changed, as a result of our life experiences, as well as the ageing process. 

When these encounters happen, sometimes there’s a relaunching of the friendship. In the initial stages, there tends to be a lot of nostalgia, as each party tries to remind the other about things that happened all those years ago. What I find myself dealing with is the awkwardness of having forgotten something the other person has remembered; I feel like I’ve let the person down, somehow, by not having retained the memory. Fortunately, it also happens the other way around.   

What I like is when the rekindled friendship feels like a comfortable fit, where, despite the relationship having discontinued many years ago, there’s an ease of communication, ready laughter, and a natural flow of who and where we are at this stage of our lives. It’s a really good feeling, and something that I find wonderfully affirming. I love it when the energy of a good connection, made at one stage of life, resurfaces many years later. It confirms my belief that certain bonds are permanent, even magical, defying geography or the passage of time.  

But what is decidedly in a category of its own is a friendship revisited after forty-plus years, when your last connection was in your childhood, and you meet up again as middle-aged people. Very strange. In so many ways, I feel like a different person to whom I was when I was 11, yet when I hear the other person’s views of me, it seems one’s essence remains unchanged. Having said as much, what unnerves me - ever so slightly - is someone expecting me to hold the same views I held decades ago, when surely the whole point of life and growth is shedding what no longer serves us, and taking on what does. I rather like the process of redefinition, both conscious and unconscious.

As I approach the end of yet another year, I can’t help but smile as I contemplate the regaining of lost connections. Some destined to play a bigger role in our lives than others, they definitely give us a fresh perspective on who we are, and of how big a ripple we’ve caused in the pond of life.   

            L-R: Aunty Helena, Mom, Wendy, me & Dad, +- 1970, when I was 9 or 10 yrs old. 

Planning my next concert: Sun 27 Dec 2015

Last week, Wayne confirmed a date on which we could do our annual concert (during his visit to Cape Town), and today the venue was confirmed. 

For now. I'll announce just this, with all other details to follow shortly:

I'm doing my 3rd annual concert with guitarist Wayne Bosch, undeniably the musical highlight of my year, on Sunday 27 December, at the District Six Museum, at 4pm. We will have two sets, featuring young musicians in the opening set. Wayne and I will do a longer set, putting everything into our one duo performance for the year. 

Tickets will once again cost R100 each, which includes the delicious refreshments served after the show. 

I invite you to contact me to reserve your tickets as soon as possible, as last year's concert was sold out, and many people were disappointed.

Contact me on my Facebook musician page (Trudy Rushin, Singer-songwriter), or e-mail me at guitartrudy@gmail.com

             Wayne Bosch and I at our 2nd annual concert, on 28 Dec 2014 (District 6 Museum)

My 2nd music video - Joe - is on Youtube!!!!

Last night, my second music video, produced by Lisba Vosloo (an amazing woman, who also produced my first video), was uploaded onto Youtube. It's a song called "Joe", and it features my guitar teacher, duo partner, and mentor, Wayne Bosch, on guitar, and me on vocals. Filmed at our world-famous coffee shop, Truth Cafe, in Dec 2014, it's another proudly South African product. We recorded the audio with Dave Subkleve, at Audiolounge, in July 2012. 

I wrote the song in 2001. Like most of my songs, it arose from an actual life experience. It's a tongue-in-cheek song about seeing an interesting man at a jazz concert, admiring him, and wondering how my life would be if he were in it. :-)  

Because of its playful theme and sound (a humorous blues ballad), it's quite popular. I've often been asked, after performing it live, if he's a real man, and what his phone number is. Haha! 

I'm ecstatic at the release of this video. I'll post the link below - hope it gets you to Youtube. 

Plan B - just go onto www.youtube.com, type my name and surname, Trudy Rushin, and you'll find it. 

Enjoy!  

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EiPk0e-VJPg

                         Wayne and I at the filming of the Joe video, in Dec 2014. 

Sad Art

A few weeks ago, I sang at the Cape Cultural Collective’s October event. A special aspect of being part of any of their monthly events is that I get to watch - and sometimes, meet – really interesting artists.

In October, the programme consisted of: drag artist, Manilla Von Teez, poets Tasneem Daniels and Sibulelo Manamatela, dancer Darion Adams, rapper Riyaad Riyo Samang, actor-magician Charles Tertiens, jazz singer Joe Schaffers, poet and artist Zulfa Abrahams, singer-songwriter, Byron Clarke, and me. Needless to say, it blew my mind to be on the same programme as these talented people. I sat in awe, watching them, as they performed their work, each one excellent.

I always leave these evenings inspired, and that night was no exception. One of the people whose story touched me was Zulfa Abrahams. On display in the performance area were some of her paintings, all portraits of women (faces only), and she read an extract from her recently-published poetry compilation, “I Am the Rose”. She commented, when talking to the audience, that people generally regarded her as a bubbly, happy person, but that all her art was sad. I looked at her paintings again, and she was right – all the faces on her canvases had intense expressions. And they were all beautiful.

I started thinking about the songs I like singing, and the songs I write. Many of them are decidedly melancholic. I could easily sing a whole night of bittersweet songs – in fact, I have to plan my performance repertoire carefully, so that I give my audience a wider range. I thought about the dancer, Darion, and how dark some of his dancing had been – powerful, riveting, and dark. Even the poetry that was read had dark, sad themes. I admired the way Zulfa had handled the topic of her sad portraits – unapologetically claiming it for what it was. She inspired me, and gave me the permission I hadn’t given myself, to be truly at peace with my own sad art. 

These are my thoughts on the happy-person-producing-sad-art issue: when we’re growing up, we’re given strong messages as to which emotions are socially acceptable and which are not. Parents and others give positive reinforcement for the brighter emotions, and we grow up learning, through experience, that people like us better when we’re happy. In contrast, what do people instinctively say to a crying child? “Don’t cry.” “Why are you sad?” “Cheer up!” We don’t allow people to be sad – we immediately want to fix it up, sort it out, make it go away. We so desperately want people around us to be happy all the time. This can put immense pressure on us, and cause complications, later on.

I remember when my son was a young child, we’d see him becoming tearful, and we’d ask him what was ‘wrong’. He’d say, “The music’s making me sad.” We realised that classical music, especially orchestral music, moved him to tears. I distinctly remember one day I went to switch the music off – in an attempt to remove the source of his ‘sadness’ – and he asked me not to. I was surprised, but I understood, in that moment, that he was an intensely sensitive child, and that he somehow knew it was perfectly fine to feel what he was feeling, and that the music should in fact continue playing and continue stirring him. It was one of those profound moments in my journey of motherhood. When we keep ourselves attuned, and don’t assume superiority, we can learn from the most unexpected sources. 

Now that he’s a young man, and is working on the different art forms at which he excels (music, art and writing), I can see that his sensitivity is one of his strengths, and always has been.

I remember the late actress, Elizabeth Taylor, saying, in an interview, that she had no problem showing anger (another frowned-upon emotion), in all her relationships, because she believed that the people we love need to know the full extent of who we are. I like that. I think it’s unhealthy to pretend to be happy all the time, because we possess such a wide range of emotions.

In conclusion, I’d like to say that if, for whatever reason, we end up showing our ‘darker’ sides mainly through the art we produce – be it poetry, paintings, sculptures, songs or any other form -  then so be it. Some of the most beautiful work that has been produced, over the centuries, has come from the deeper, darker sides of highly sensitive people.    

               30/10/15 - Old Slave Church Museum, at the Cape Cultural Collective's concert. 

Anniversaries

In the past few days, I’ve had two anniversaries, but not the kind one generally talks about in public, let alone celebrates.  After considering the matter, though, I’ve come to the conclusion that everyone has these kinds of anniversaries. We don’t throw parties for them, and we don’t get cards or gifts. If we’re lucky, we have a few close people who know the significance of the dates.

On 28 October, it was 19 years since my miscarriage. Even though I wasn’t very far into my pregnancy, it was still devastating. I’d had a very stressful year at work, and had decided to leave teaching. In the wake of that decision, even more events took place at work, and I was aware that I was taking strain. However, it was still a huge shock having to deal with the sudden end to my pregnancy. Just the day before, I had excitedly told my dad that I was expecting my second child, and I’ll never forget how thrilled he was. Having to phone him from the hospital, the next day, to tell him I’d had a miscarriage, was very hard for me.  

I finally gained a healthier perspective and found my peace, when I gave birth to my daughter, two years later. Seventeen years later, my daughter is one of my two bright shining stars, and I know, without a doubt, that everything  is exactly as it was meant to be.

The second anniversary was on 1 November - the date my marriage was legally terminated, fourteen years ago. It was the healthiest thing for me, to leave that marriage, and I have no regrets, except that my children did not have the kind of childhood I’d have liked them to have had. Having said as much, I have to add that I am extremely proud of them; they’ve grown into confident, compassionate and insightful young adults, and I know they’re going to live interesting, purpose-driven lives.

I know I’ve grown up, because I can look back at both of these events, and understand that they are merely parts of my journey, parts of my life story. I can’t say I’ll ever forget them, but I can feel myself disentangling from the sadness of the memories, and becoming more philosophical about them.

My concern, these days, is for other women who are going through the same things. I want to reach out and tell them that, in time, they will find peace. It doesn’t happen overnight, but if you focus on nurturing your gifts, and on loving the ones who need your love – and not forgetting to love and be kind to yourself - peace will be your reward. So many people regard the achievement of fame as success, but for me, having achieved inner peace, after years of turmoil, is one of my greatest feelings of success - second only to the joy of watching my children grow into who they’re destined to be.

Facebook post on World Teacher's Day 2015

If my heart could burst from happiness, it would do so right now.

I sang at a World Teachers' Day event today, organised by the British Council. I thought I was just going to sing, but I was invited to be part of the day's proceedings.

Oh my word, where do I start?

Firstly, it was held at one of my favourite Cape Town venues, the District Six Homecoming Centre. For the first time, I got to see the Table of Hope! Super-inspiring! People have such good ideas, and are doing so much to make a difference in the world.

Secondly, it was part of an ongoing programme called Connecting Classrooms, where schools from different countries form partnerships, working together to effect change.

Thirdly, the main presenters were from an organisation called ATD, which stands for 'All together in Dignity' - part of the Fourth World Movement. They work with poverty-stricken communities all around the world, helping set up projects suggested by the communities themselves. Two such projects are the Street Libraries and the People's Universities.

Next, throughout the day's varied and interesting programme, they had 'buzz' sessions, where you had to leave your seat and walk across the room to speak to someone completely new to you. I met such interesting people!

One of the biggest wows of the day, for me, was the session with the Bonfire Theatre Group - if you ever get to experience this group, you'll understand why they were able to move most of us to both tears and laughter, sometimes simultaneously. They work with the participants, drawing their topics from what we say, but it's not like Theatresports - it's fully immersed in the topic of the workshop. Deeply moving - an 'MC'/guide, three actors, and a cellist. Improv acting, lots of dance-type movements, and this incredibly haunting sound of the cello. Their only props = scarves and other pieces of fabric. Made me sad at the thought of the arts vacuum in most of our schools.

There's so much more I want to write, but I think I'll let it all out in a carefully written blog post.

In conclusion, 2 things: 
1. Today I met a woman whose story touched my heart, and her name was (literally) "Life". 
2. As happens to me every now and then: "Are YOU Trudy Rushin?!" I nod. "We're Facebook      friends!" Haha!!!

A story to be told

Do you know that I think about writing throughout the day? I always have so much on my mind, so many observations of life, so much to get out of my system and put into words, that, by the time I actually sit down in front of my laptop, I have at least three different ways I could start my piece. I yearn to write more often, and I should make it happen. If you love something, you should do it.

I’ve been on a short college break – just one week, hugged by two weekends – and today’s the last week day before the last weekend. Why am I up so early, then? It’s garbage collection day, or ‘Bin Day’, as we call it. I have to get up and haul the huge bin to the street before the truck gets here. I’ve been doing it for years, so it’s just one of those regular chores that keep the household running. Just another thread in the rich tapestry of life.

                          My neighbour's mulberry tree in full bloom - spring is indeed here.

Over the past few weeks, I’ve felt a significant shift of energy, and I’m fascinated by it. I’ve made a conscious decision to live my life with more awareness, on many fronts. One of the things I’ve started doing is, on becoming aware that I’m awake each morning, allowing this thought to fill my head: “I accept the universe’s gift of a new day, and I give the universe the gift of myself.”

I’ve been feeling a strong sense of inexorability, as though what I’ve been moving towards, my whole life, is just around the corner. It’s a wonderful space to be in, because my restlessness has been at an all-time high. The more I experience and learn, and realise how much bigger the world is than my everyday routine exposes me to, the more I’m convinced of the imminence of a stronger, more profound shift. All I know is, by this time next year, my life will be different in both a visible and a spiritual way, and I’ll be going through my daily stuff with a deep feeling of having found my purpose. I can feel its proximity, and I’m excited.

My head feels clearer, and I feel a sense of immediacy and connection, when I contemplate - and then make – decisions. Only when I become this focused, do I realise for how long I’ve been wading through life under a cloud of uncertainty, self-doubt, and all those other things that prevent us from living life to our full potential.

This has been an awesome week. It started with my being part of a World Teachers’ Day event. I sang two of my original songs to a group of about 50 educators, and I participated in the day’s workshops. I’ll post the article I put on Facebook, explaining the day and how it impacted on me. I met new people, I learnt a lot, and I left the event fundamentally different – still proud to be an educator, but deeply moved and inspired to do so much more.

                                         Kalk Bay Harbour, from the railway station.

On Tuesday, my daughter and I went to Kalk Bay, a quaint, seaside town situated just seven stations from where we live. We hopped onto a train, and made our way to this little piece of heaven. We spent the morning there, enjoying the hippie vibe and buying the things we go there for: ankle chains, earrings and fun clothing items. My daughter always buys succulents (plants) and we always buy second hand books. This time, I bought four:

1.   ‘Lucky Man’ - autobiography by actor, Michael J Fox

2.   ‘My Own Private Orchestra’ – by Ian Fraser, a South African actor and playwright

3.    ‘Escape’ – Carolyn Jessop (a memoir by a woman who escaped from a religious cult)

4.   ‘Dancer’ – by Colum Mc Cann (about a poor Russian boy who grows up to be a world-famous ballet dancer)

                     I've already started reading Lucky Man - compellingly written. 

I’ve become fascinated, all over again, by people telling their own stories. When I was younger, I used to love reading autobiographies and biographies. It seems I lost my essential self for a few decades, but have come right back to that knowing, that truth, that people telling their own stories is the most riveting of all.  

When I was trying to decide what to sing at the World Teachers’ Day event, I grappled with the usual dilemma – whether to sing well-known, people-placating covers, or to sing my own compositions. I went with my gut, and sang, at the opening of the event, my song called “In the Shade of Table Mountain”. It’s about people who were forcibly removed, by the apartheid regime, from an area called District Six, close to our beautiful mountain, and their yearning to go back and live – and die - in the shade of Table Mountain. It was the perfect song, because the event was held in the District Six Homecoming Centre, and the theme, throughout the day, was of people telling their own stories. The hook of my song goes, “All around in my city / People who are just like me / Each one has a story to be told”. (You can watch my video on youtube.)

                            Inside the District Six Homecoming Centre, on World Teachers' Day.

 At the end of the event, I sang another of my originals, called “My Favourite Time of Day”, a mellow bossa nova. The facilitator of the event asked me to conclude with a sing-along song, so I did “You’ve Got a Friend”, by Carole King. Even though I called out the words before each phrase, to help those who didn’t know the words (most did), I was struck quite powerfully by something - that the songs I regarded as sing-along songs were culturally specific, and that my Xhosa-speaking contemporaries were being left out. Life opens our eyes and hearts all the time – and we are called upon to respond, with as much love as possible. I have a new challenge. Yes!!!!  

The Table of Hope, where people's hopes have been written on rough strips of wood that are then made into a table. (D6 Homecoming Centre)

I have to end this post by saying that the highlight of this short holiday has been spending time with my children. Aged 16 and 20, they have busy lives, full of academic deadlines, creative pursuits, and all the wonderful social stuff that young people do, so it was fabulous spending hours and hours with them, just hanging out, cooking, eating, talking, laughing….. I really have no adequate words, right now, for how magical my world is with these two beings in it. My heart swells with love and pride. I am one lucky mother!

                     One of the many ocean pics I took from the train, on our trip to Kalk Bay. 

54 years and one week old

One week ago, I celebrated my 54^th birthday. I commented on Facebook that I’d been raised by a mother who was always comfortable saying how old she was, and that, as a result, I’d become equally comfortable doing so. I said that, to me, age was just another biographical detail. I really do believe that your age is not what limits you, in life – if you’re passionate about something, you could continue with it well into your old age; more than that, you could even start a new pursuit, later in life.

I have about half an hour to blog, before doing my chores and school work. I really want to post a short piece on three of the new things in my life, since the beginning of this year.

Firstly, I started a regular solo gig at a local restaurant on 31 January, causing a permanent smile in my heart. I play my guitar and sing for three hours at every gig, and I love it. Getting the phone call from the owner, years after we’d met, reminded me that we actually do possess the power to attract things that give our lives meaning and magic, simply by contemplating them - fervently and persistently.  Basically, don’t give up on what makes you happy. Often, the timing can be frustrating, but just don’t give up – it will come your way. 

Secondly, I started to teach across two campuses in April, something which brought a whole new set of challenges, some easier to negotiate my way around than others. Let’s just leave it at that. We’re almost at the end of the academic year, I have no idea what next year has in store for me, but ja…! Life goes on. Many lessons learnt.

And thirdly, I started dancing on 1 May, setting myself a 100-day exercise challenge. On this blog site, you’ll find quite a few posts written during those 100 days. Now, almost halfway through my 2^nd 100 days, I can proudly say that dancing has become a regular part of my life. I started off struggling to complete my 20-minute workouts, and I’ve built up my fitness and endurance to sessions of at least 40 minutes. My goal is 60 minutes, after which I want to join a dance school/studio.

Dancing has reminded me who I am, and I love it. I am living proof that, when you do a form of exercise you love, it’s an absolute pleasure. I dance every second night, at home, to music of my choice, and I have total freedom to move as I like, without inhibition. I’ve also come to appreciate that dancing is so much more than just a form of exercise. I dance when I’m happy, and I become happier. I dance when I’m agitated, and I become calm. I dance when my heart wants to break, and I find healing.

It is something I’d recommend to anyone who feels like doing something to snap out of their inactivity. At the end of my workout, I play a slow tune, and I use it to cool down; it is such a profoundly moving piece of music (Keith Jarrett playing Some Other Time – live), that it’s become a mini-meditation for me.

At age 54, I feel like I’m steadily locating the pieces of the jigsaw puzzle that make up  my ideal life. I know for sure that most of my aspirations are not what people usually equate with success. For example, I’m more interested in making a difference in post-apartheid South Africa than I am in owning a big, shiny car. While I do need a car, my criteria have nothing to do with other people’s expectations.  

I know how to process life’s events - the exciting ones and the horrible ones - and  I know what my boundaries are. I’ve come to terms with the fact that sometimes we have to spend a few years doing something that doesn’t make our souls sing, in order to feed our families, but that, as long as we live with self-knowledge, and stay in touch with our passions, the wheel has to turn; it’s just a matter of time before you’ll be where you want to be.  

For now, that’s it. I’ve gone 5 minutes over time. Oh, that’s another thing – in my quest to have better boundaries, I’m working hard at better time management. Also, I’m getting to bed earlier, these days. AND…. I’m reading a lot more, this year! Yes!

So, life is exciting, amidst all the other crap (yes, it’s hard to avoid :) ), and I’m ready for the next year of my life. In a year’s time, I’ll be as close to 50 as to 60. Oh my word! Life goes by way too fast! I can’t waste it being unhappy.  

                  One morning this week, I was fascinated by a magical solar eclipse.

Finding balance

I’ve been thinking about compiling a list for my kids, as a sort of legacy, of pieces of advice, bits of wisdom I’ve arrived at over the years. I want to give it more thought, before committing the words to paper. Quite an interesting exercise, I’m finding. 

One of the main messages I want to pass on to them is that life can sometimes be demanding and stressful, even veering towards chaos. Often, no matter organized you may be, this is what you find yourself in the midst of, mainly because you don’t live in isolation – you share your space with people who may be very different to you. You need to have a coping strategy, a space you can go to, whether physical or psychological, where you can restore your balance. 

I operate with common sense, so I don’t believe that balance can be found only in overseas holidays or retreats into expensive game reserves. If you’re lucky enough to be able to afford that kind of lifestyle, good for you. For most people, however, it’s more likely that your peaceful place or space will be in or around your home, or somewhere in your city, at least. 

For many people, the thing that restores balance is not so much a place as an activity. For me, music has long been my haven, my refuge, whether it be playing it, listening to recordings or watching it being performed live. 

Right now, I’m staying up way too late, because I’m watching a DVD I‘ve wanted to buy for years: Jamie Cullum Live at Blenheim Palace. 

So, in the midst of all the chaos that somehow seems to keep seeking me out, I have my constant source of peace – music. I could write volumes about how music has helped me keep a sense of perspective.

I’ll write some more at another time. If I don’t go’n sleep now, I’ll be wiped out in the morning. I get up at 05:30, these days, and leave by 07:00. I need to shower now, then read a few pages of a book, before losing myself in dreamland.

And life goes on. 

                         A recent sunset - August 2015 - view from my kitchen window. 

“Alone again, naturally”

A night to myself, and I started it in the best possible way – by doing a dance workout. Happy me! When I started dancing, on 1 May this year, I had to work really hard, to get to 20 minutes. Now, three and a half months later, my dance sessions last at least 40 minutes.  I am slowly building up my fitness and endurance, my goal being to get to 60 minutes. 

As anyone who’s ever embarked on an exercise programme, starting from a state of extreme unfitness, would attest, the effects are exponential. Indeed. I think that anyone who’s trying to lose weight through eating differently alone is missing out on a very exciting journey – a journey of self-discovery.

As my body attunes itself to these new rhythms, I feel the ripples pulsing throughout my being. I feel myself growing more restless by the day. And I like it. I remember this feeling. And I remember the energy it releases in me.  It’s a wonderful energy, full of hope and excitement. Excitement at the prospect of change. I’m sooooo ready for that change!

This is how I view my life, right now: I could’ve stayed unfit and not started exercising, and my life would’ve stayed the same. But I made a conscious decision to commit to a new experience, to challenge myself and to feel alive in a whole new way. And I do. And I plan to take it further, inviting change into other parts of my life that have become stale, repetitive and unfulfilling. 

Just like my fitness is growing incrementally, so will my other changes not happen overnight – they, too, will evolve.  

What I’ve learnt, through my first challenge, is that, if I waited for others to make my life happen, I would wait forever. I have to initiate the change. I have to think it through carefully, make a decision, and then take that first step. I might be awkward in the beginning, but if I believe in myself and how right my goal is for me, I’ll take the next step, and the next, until I’m on a whole new path – one that makes me smile. And one that turns my heartbeat into a bossa nova.  

One day after my first 100-day challenge

Yesterday morning, life presented me with exactly what I needed - a bright, sunny sky, not a cloud in sight, and, best of all, those rare and precious gems, space and time.

Whenever I’m faced with free time, with nobody expecting anything of me, I feel like a child in a sweet shop, wondering which of the treats I should go for first; except, for me, it’s wondering which of my favourite pastimes to indulge in - journalling, blogging, or playing my guitar.

I always know when I have to write - it’s a feeling of being so full of thoughts and words, that, if I don’t write, I might explode.

I decided that, because I was so full of emotion, having completed my first 100-day challenge, I would journal, and not blog. I needed to write, write, write and keep writing, to get all my thoughts and feelings out. Blogging is different, very public, and requires a more restrained, deliberate approach.

I will, however, share some of my thoughts now, for the same reason I shared the whole challenge – to let you know what’s possible, and that, if I could do it, so could you.

1.   I set out to dance for 20 minutes every day for 100 days. After being forced to stop for a while (a bout of flu), I made a conscious decision to continue with the challenge, but to change the specifics. In order to do make my exercise routine sustainable, something I could stick to for the rest of my life, I made a commitment to myself to dance every second day.

2.   I took the promise very seriously, talking my way out of all kinds of excuses. Self-dialogue became a regular part of my life, as I spoke my way into my dancing shoes. (I ended up dancing 50 times in 100 days.)

3.    I’ve proved quite a few things to myself, things I’d almost forgotten:

-      I can stick to an exercise routine

-      I am a dedicated, goal-driven person   

-      I am capable of keeping myself disciplined

-      When I am true to myself, I make things happen

-      I actually do know myself best

-    Only I can change my life, to make it more fulfilling – by identifying what needs changing, working at changing it, and replacing it with my preferred alternative.

-      Music is indeed the magical ingredient in my life

So, yesterday my first 100-day challenge came to a close. I’ve renamed it 'Phase One'. Today is the start of 'Phase Two', which will also last 100 days, ending on 16 November 2015. I will continue to exercise every second day, but I am also adding two new challenges, each one extremely important to me.

This time, however, I will not be making them public.

And so I move into Days 101 – 200, with all the good energy I've gained from the first 100 days.

The gains of the first 100 days are far more than I can enumerate, but I can safely encapsulate them in one statement: I BELIEVE IN MYSELF AGAIN.  

You know what? I'll be 54 next month, and I feel like a whole new life has begun for me. 

S                        Saturday 8 August 2015 -  the clear, bright morning sky on Day 100. 

Behind Bars

       

I live in a little house on a hill. It has a magnificent view of a mountain range to the south of our world-famous Table Mountain. It also has an uninterrupted view of the sky, and I’m privy to the most breathtaking sunsets. It’s something I know my soul will crave, no matter where life may take me.

Unfortunately, the house has a front door that is easily accessible to passersby, which, in our country of extremes, with its pathologically high unemployment rate, means we have, on a daily basis, people coming to the door to beg for whatever it is they need: food, money, water, clothes, shoes, etc. It’s interesting to me how few people, these days, offer to do something in return. Before, they’d take one look at my garden and offer to clean it up for me, in exchange for something they wanted. Nowadays, people are so deep in survival mode, that they cut straight to the chase and don’t even pretend there’s going to be reciprocation of any sort.

Yesterday afternoon, I was marking at my favourite writing spot in the house – my kitchen table – with the sun streaming in through the window, and my Happy Trudy sensations all abuzz, as I made my way through successive exam scripts. Earlier, I’d mentioned to my mom, who was spending a few days with me, that opening our curtains served as an invitation to passersby, but that with the sun being so warm and lovely, I’d do it anyway.

While I was marking, I saw, out of the corner of my eye, a figure passing by. I looked up, thinking it was a neighbor, and as I started nodding my head to greet, I realised I was looking right into the eyes of Wilfie (not his real name), one of our regulars. He was still in the street at the time, and I desperately wished he was just passing by, but no…. about a minute later there was that unmistakable knock on the front door. I couldn’t pretend I wasn’t home (I have to do that sometimes – I’d need a third job if I wanted to feed everyone who came to my door), so I resigned myself to helping him quickly, and then resuming my marking.  

But Wilfie doesn’t come just for food, clothes or money – Wilfie comes to update me on his life, which has all the makings of a bestselling novel. The truth is, his stories are always dreadfully sad. My belief that ‘people are people’ means I listen to Wilfie’s tales of woe in the same way that I listen to anyone else in my life. How can I not? He’s also a person, and he also needs to tell someone what’s been happening.

Over time, Wilfie and his ‘meisie’ (girlfriend) have been coming to my door and telling me all kinds of stories, ranging from mildly disturbing to deeply tragic. Like the time Wilfie was shot in the stomach and didn’t come to my door for months, because he was in hospital. Almost devoid of what I consider ‘normal’ social boundaries, he insisted on showing me his scar, when he returned. Eish!  I’ve also had to hear about who was killed in their neighbourhood (they live in a gang-infested area, a few kilometres from where I live), and how he had to flee for his life, and how all his money and possessions were stolen by people he knew. Apparently, he lives in a shack, and when he’s out, people break in and help themselves to whatever he’s managed to accrue. I felt really sad when he told me that a really nice pair of boots my son had given him had been stolen. I look at him, I want to believe him, but I’m not blind to the possibility that he’s a drug addict and that he flogged the boots at the merchant. Kind of ties one’s hands, in terms of giving him things. 

But yesterday’s story broke my heart. His ‘meisie’ had been raped, a few weeks ago. Worse, it was by someone she’d gone to primary school with, and someone who’d been living in her neighbourhood for years. Apparently, when he dragged her from the shack, to wherever he was going to commit the horrible deed, he told her he’d had his eye on her for years. Oh my God! No matter what Wilfie may have spun me in the past, I could see that this was the truth. The pain in his eyes was unbearable for me, and I thought about how much worse the feeling must be for him. He told me all the details about going to the police station, and how he suspected the cops were in cahoots with the gangs. I asked if his girlfriend had had counselling, and at first he didn’t seem to know what that was, but then I asked if he knew what a psychologist was, and he did. We converse in Afrikaans (not my first language), so I was impressed that he knew the word, ‘sielkundige’. (Come to think of it, I’m impressed that I knew the word.) He told me  she’d been counselled by a psychologist at the police station, on the night.

He must’ve felt really reflective and confessional, because he then proceeded to tell me about his past. He told me that he’d been a gangster, and drew my attention to the many tattoos, all over his body. (Yes, Wilfie, I thought, those markings had not escaped my keen Virgo eye, the very first time I met you.)  He told me about how he and a few friends used to wait until people were out and then break into their houses. I felt the blood drain from my face, when he gesticulated to my house and said, “Huise soos die” (Houses like this one). I’d had two burglaries within six months of each other, many years ago - the second far more devastating than the first, because they’d obviously had a long time in the house, and had overturned every bed (breaking mine) and emptied every single drawer in the house (breaking my chest of drawers), strewing their contents. Not a nice experience. 

I’ll be honest, the irony of his own break-in did not escape me.  

He told me about how he’d been wrongfully arrested for illegal possession of a firearm, and about his years in prison. He said he’d eventually found a lawyer to prove his innocence, and he was released after having served six of his sixteen years.

I listened to this man - this tall, thin man, this man whose life had been filled with so much pain, this man who could tell me about his return to God, after answering an altar call at a “handeklap” (hand-clapping) church in such a vivid way, that it took me back to my own experience of it, when I was at high school. It happened at a time when my family life was in turmoil (funny how we don’t see it that way when we’re experiencing it), and ushered in a period of about three years during which I left the Anglican church and hung out with people who attended  the ‘evangelical’ (handeklap) churches. For those three years, I regarded myself as ‘saved’, and was an insufferable fundamentalist, who basically saw it as my mission to try to get everyone into Heaven. 

There was always that possibility that I’d go in the opposite direction, in my search for a feeling of belonging, but I didn’t. I still have an aversion to drunk people, although that may have more to do with how often I’d seen my father lose his dignity, through his own excesses.    

By the time Wilfie had finished his long story and I was about to look for my purse to forage for some loose change, I took in how his body language had changed, during the course of our conversation. He was, by now, standing on the step, right outside my front door, with a mere metre separating us, his back casually resting against the side wall, his eyes a lot more peaceful than when he’d first pitched up and had sat, anguished and fidgety, on the path.

It occurred to me that, with the safety gate between us, his view of me was exactly the same as mine of him – to each of us, the other was behind bars.  

'Special circumstances'

I have to smile when I think about something that happened in my class, one day last year. As usual, the students traipsed into my classroom, in various stages of lethargy, and started jokingly complaining about how I always made them work, in my periods, and motivating why I should give them - "just this once" - a free period. As the individual gripes grew into a 'group moan', I took out a whiteboard marker, and began writing on the board, starting with the heading, "Special Circumstances".  

I listed all the reasons I'd heard students give for not wanting a lesson. Here are some of them:
- It's too hot.
- It's too cold. 
- It's too early.
- It's too late.
- It's raining. 
- It's Monday.
- It's Friday.
- It's almost break time.
- We've just had break. 
- We're hungry.
- We're full.
- We're having a test later/tomorrow.
- We've just written a test.
- All the other lecturers give us free periods. 
- We really need a break!
- We're tired.
- Public transport problems. 
- We have to finish our assignments.
- We've just handed in assignments.
- Lecturers stress us out.
- Lecturers are so unfair.
- No-one understands us.
etc. etc. etc.

I explained to them that those were all the special circumstances that students had alerted me to, over the years, and that we would be continuing with English, despite the circumstances. (I probably stopped the lesson a bit earlier, as a compromise, but there was no way they'd get a free period - our year plan is way too tight for that.) 

And so, having been such a pain with my students, I know exactly how to treat myself when I come up with excuses not to dance - and believe me I can come up with ALL kinds of excuses! Some of them are very similar to the list above - It's too cold, it's too hot, I'm hungry, I'm full, I'm tired, I've had a hectic day, It's late, It's Monday, It's Friday, I have a deadline for tomorrow, I've just survived a deadline, I really need a break, I can't do this anymore, No-one understands how hard it is......   

I calmly ignore all my gripes, put on my zumba shoes, plug my earphones into my phone, select Dance Playlist, tuck the phone into my money belt (what can I say, I had to come up with a way to wear the phone while dancing), and voila, I'm dancing, and that smile appears almost instantaneously. 

 Many people who know me today would be surprised to know that I love road running. Many years ago, I took part in a few fun runs. Not sure if I could achieve that level of fitness again, but hey, who knows... as long as there are no 'special circumstances', anything's possible. ;-)