Happy (rainy) Birthday to Meeee...

This is my official birthday according to the Gregorian calendar. So although I think the day would be hard pressed to beat the No. 11 bus ride that I took on the morning of my Hebrew birthday, the advantages to this one are that it is official and hence I am receiving lots of lovely phone calls, emails and cards. So that's nice. Very nice, in fact.

Having said that, it's a bit of a strange day. Despite having all kinds of nice messages and calls, I am not likely to come in to physical contact with a single human bean. Not unless I head out to the bars later and trawl for well-wishers, but that's not the kind of human contact I am looking for. I guess I could always hit the streets with a "Free Hugs" sign if I was totally that desperate.

The reason for my physical isolation is partly due to the tube strike. Those RMT rotters have closed down the underground system for 48 hours as of 7pm last night. This meant that my best friend, who had spotted an opportunity to travel down from Newcastle to London and take me out for drinks and a meal last night, couldn't make it. Or rather, she could have done, but we both decided that transport-wise, it would be a bit of a nightmare.

So then because of the underground being out, I decided to work from home for the next couple of days, which was I felt was a good decision to make, because I knew that the monotony would be broken by a visit from GBM who said that he would take me out for a meal tonight. Then he called this morning to say that he woke up with excruciating pain in his shoulder and can't drive. Slightly gutted? Yes. But no grudges - if he could make it, he would.

Looking on the bright side, now I actually have the time to fit in my annual bath.

And of course, it is raining. Every year I hear people moaning about the rain and exclaiming "It's June! It should be summer! Where is the sun?!" Oh how short people's memories are. It rains 9 1/2 years out of 10 on the 10th of June - I worked that one out long ago. And got over it.

In the true spirit of raising my consciousness, I could either choose to be devastated over my birthday, or cheerful for what I have. I choose the latter. I've decided that the saddest birthday is the one that you don't reach. I'm lucky - today I have reached the grand old age of 39 - many don't.

I have decided that the age of 39 is very lucky. 39 is 3 x 13. The word 'Love' in Hebrew has a numerical value of 13. So that's 3 times Love. Hmm.. I think there's a song for this, and the words are so incredibly appropriate too....

Love, Love, Love

Love, Love, Love

Love, Love, Love

There's nothing you can do that can't be done.

Nothing you can sing that can't be sung.

Nothing you can say but you can learn how to play the game.

It's easy.

There's nothing you can make that can't be made.

No one you can save that can't be saved.

Nothing you can do but you can learn how to be you in time.

It's easy.

All you need is Love, All you need is Love,

All you need is Love, Love... Love is all you need.

There's nothing you can know that isn't known.

Nothing you can see that isn't shown.

Nowhere you can be that isn't where you're meant to be.

It's easy.

All you need is Love, All you need is Love,

All you need is Love, Love... Love is all you need.

      All You Need Is Love - The Beatles

Amen to that.

Always on the Bright Side.... K.R.

More Procrastination

This morning I had my follow up appointment with the ENT consultant. Despite the fact that my symptoms still persist I had an overwhelming feeling that I was wasting his time. The scan of my sinuses was fine, which is good. This meant that having an operation solely to correct my deviated septum without needing drill further holes/relieve excrutiating face pain or headaches etc was considered overkill - which is also good. Quite frankly I don't relish the thought of anybody (skilled or not) approaching my delicate schnoz with a hammer and chisel. How do the irripressably vain cope?

I was pleased with myself for making the consultant laugh at my faux disappointment by stating "Awww... I was hoping that whilst I was under they could just maybe shave a little bit off the end and make my nose look a little more pointy". But I was even more pleased when he responded by saying "Believe me, there is absolutely nothing wrong with the look of your nose at all. It's a lovely nose" Gush. He is rather attractive. I will hold on to that warm girly feeling for the rest of the week.

Anyway, after making my eyes water a second time by invading my nasal passages with a probe ("just to double check"), I went home with a prescription for Gastro Resistant capsules, to rule out the possibility of reflux, of all things. I had already decided that trekking in to London in the afternoon was a foolish idea, given that I had plenty that I could get on with at home, so I contacted the office to let them know.

And then the procrastination began. Instead of launching in to the work tasks, I had a cup of tea. Then I checked my email. Then I had another cup of tea, with some lunch. Then I checked my email again. Then I printed out the documents and instructions for what I was asked to deliver and wasn't sure I understood exactly what needed to be done. I felt slightly sick. Perhaps another cup of tea will cure that. It didn't.

I thought about all of the little tasks that I needed to get done before my friend arrives tomorrow night (tube strike permitting), like wiping away a mark on the kitchen floor, properly cleaning the loo, putting on the freshly washed duvet cover. Oh, and I need to finish my Vision Board (because the bits are all over the living room floor) and iron some clothes for the rest of the week. Should I do all of that now and get it out of the way? Best not. I read through the documents again and sent an email with a short list of questions to clarify the task.

After checking my email at least a billion times, I finally made a start on creating one of the documents. And I just couldn't get my words together (I know! How unlike me!) My Ego was having a field day (ha ha, silly cow, you can't write for to-ffeeee, who is going to give you a job, you incompetent, good for nothing!) but rather than cave in to yet another cup of tea, I moved away from the introduction and started on the second paragraph instead.

And after five minutes I got in to the flow.

So that's the first document nearly complete, and the second document needs to be virtually identical, save for one section. Marvellous.

And then I read today's Kabbalah Daily Tune Up and laughed. The question I want to ask Yehuda Berg is "How do you read my mind like that?!" See for yourself:

Challenges are opportunities. I'd just like to remind you of this timeless principle for the 2,344,343th time.

Believe me, I know seeing negative events as opportunities (rather than punishment) is one of the hardest things a person can do. Just remember, it's second nature to your soul and the more you practice this perspective, the more it will become second nature to your rational consciousness.

Today, watch your experience change as your attitude changes towards things that would normally bother you.

Making Mistakes

Life is all about fulfilment - about having desires and achieving them. And yet so many of us fall short. So many of us stop trying because we are afraid to fail. Or we aim low because we think it is more realistic and then fall short of that because we fall out of love with the lesser dream.

The last couple of weeks have been a bit of a whirlwind. I attended a motivational course, then was invited to attend a three day Train the Trainer course. After this I was invited to speak to the MD about a book keeping position that he thought I might be able to help with, which is strange because other than being quite good at numbers and detail, I have no book keeping skills whatsoever. So I took this interest as a desire to lend me a helping hand in getting out of my situation and went to speak with him just over a week ago, where we ended up talking about my skills as a training support and documentation provider. He was interested. The company need to revise their training manuals and he thought he may be able to make use of my skills.

The long and the short of it is, I was offered a 3 week work trial, which considering that I thought there might be a position open at the end of the trial, I suggested that we formalise with the job centre. He agreed.

All I can really say is that my first week at 'work' felt awful. I was given little or no direction in what I was meant to be doing and little opportunity to ask. None of the directors are on the same page requirements-wise. I found myself sinking in to such a negative place that I lost all confidence and could feel myself taking energy from everyone around me. I believed I was being brought in to create the training manual and right at the end of the week I was told that all they wanted was a design to hand over to the design company to create the manual. There is no sign of a job opportunity at the end of the trial as far as I can see.

I managed to travel for an hour on the train, pick up some milk and some take-out successfully fighting back the tears, before caving in to body wracking sobs over my fish and chips on the kitchen counter. Even at the time I recognised the humour in the vision that this was portraying, trying to stuff salad-creme covered chips (hey, don't mock it until you have tried it) in to my mouth whilst simultaneously wiping the tears, blowing my nose and gulping air.

And then I got to thinking - what was this all about? The Light has placed me here for a particular reason. What is it? What do I need to change in myself in order to change the situation? I was angry with the MD and the other staff, but more angry with myself for hiding away like a dormouse for the entire week. I was angry with him for not valuing my opinion. But how can he value me if I don't value myself?

The thing is, I would love to see their company with really fabulous, impressive training material. My heart is definitely in the right place. I know that if a couple of design mock ups were handed over to the design company, that it still wouldn't ensure that the content was pitched at the right level, leaving little improvement over what they already have.

So there is one part of me supremely confident that nobody could create those training materials better than me. And this part of me knows that the solution is to quickly master a desktop publishing package and a graphics package, build a few pages in detail to work out how long the entire manual would take, shout my skills from the rooftops and give them a price.

And there is another part of me which is absolutely shitting myself. What if they laugh my proposal out of the room? What if they say no? But even worse, what if they say yes? What if I then have to prove what I am capable of and what if I fail and they don't want me to do any more work for them? Or if they don't have any more work for me? How am I then going to find more business??

I think that potentially this is one of the biggest hurdles that I have to face in life: the art of valuing my worth, of not calculating the potential outcomes beforehand and talking myself out of a taking a risk for fear of failing.

And then I read the Kabbalah Daily Tune Up today, by Yehuda Berg...

I bet I make more mistakes than you. Earlier in my life it used to drive me nuts ... how could I hope to do so much for the world and yet constantly mess up?

But I soon learned to love my losses because, as my father continued to remind me, we learn the MOST from making mistakes. Or as Thomas Edison answered when asked how he persevered in inventing the light bulb after 1,000 failures:

"I have not failed 1,000 times. I have successfully discovered 1,000 ways that do not work, and I do not need to try them again."

Today, be patient with yourself. You are in this world to learn, so start by learning to enjoy the process.

Looks like I am about to learn some valuable lessons.... might as well enjoy the process....

Happy Birthday to Meee... Oy!

It is a little known fact, but as from sunset last night, I was celebrating my birthday.

But before you panic, check your calendars (given the number of occasions I have missed the birthdays of my nearest and dearest, there really is no need) and rush to the shops to buy me a card, the birthday I was celebrating was my Hebrew birthday.

I had been asked the date of my birthday a few times at the Kabbalah centre (astrology is a big part of Kabbalah) and when I replied with my boring old Gregorian annual celebration of the day I was born, I would always hear the question "Is that your normal birthday or your Hebrew birthday? What's your Hebrew birth date?" As if I should know. Well I do now. I looked it up on the Hebrew Birth Date finder on the slightly out of date Kabbalah centre Astrology page. Or maybe it's not out of date - perhaps it is working on Kabbalah Time too.

Working out the Hebrew date is slightly different because they are based on Star Sign. So, for instance, my date is 6 Sivan - or the 6th day of Gemini.

Which just happens to fall on the Holiday of Shavuot, the date upon which the Torah was given to Moses on Mt. Sinai and also the anniversary of the birth and the death of King David (what a bummer of a birthday that must have been). When I attended Shavuot at the centre last night and said 'guess what - it's my Hebrew birthday today' the response was unanimous: "Oh wow! Tonight? You do realise that is very special?" and they looked at me with a kind of ... well, wide-eyed awe and expectation that I was about to do something wonderful, I guess. Like channel some divine source of wisdom, or something. A mischievous part of me feels that perhaps I need to learn David Blanes' trick of levitation and float whilst giving an announcement in Shabbat.

The whole 'special' thing doesn't sit very well with me. Yes, I have always felt this kind of higher sense of purpose, but no doubt so did Darth Vader (although I promise, I will never be lured to the Dark Side of the Force...), but I can't say that I feel particularly special. Which is probably just as well.

The Shavuot connection ended in the early hours of the morning and I stayed with a friend. As Hebrew birthdays start at sunset on one day and continue until sunset the following day, today was still my birthday (I have to say, I am liking this system). So in a 'it is still my birthday' kind of mood this morning I caught the bus from Chelsea to Liverpool Street in the blazing sun to make my way back home.

If you are due to visit London anytime soon, I can highly recommend the No. 11 bus from the Kings Road to Liverpool Street - it was the best sightseeing trip I have ever been on, and all for the princely price of £1. The route passes the London Eye, Westminster Abbey, The Houses of Parliament, Big Ben, Trafalgar Square, Downing Street, Whitehall, the Museum of the Household Cavalry, The Royal Courts of Justice and St Paul's Cathedral. And probably much more besides.

There were no irritating tour guides cracking bland jokes and inviting me to 'look to my left' - just a continual display of spectacular architecture for almost an hour. I couldn't think of any better way to spend my birthday.

If anything that totally explains to me why it always pisses down with rain on my birthday in June (almost without fail). I've simply been celebrating the wrong day!

So! Don't settle for one birthday!! check out your date and celebrate twice! Astrology page

Love Thy Neighbour

Being a student of Kabbalah, I am ever mindful of my thoughts. The theory is that what you put out there, you get back. Tolerance is key: when someone or something pushes your buttons, there is a lesson to be learned and potential Light to be revealed. Hence the term 'Love Thy Neighbour'.

Yes, that's right.
Love thy neighbour - even if they are a drug addict.
Love thy neighbour - even if they play their music loud and you have to overcome your usually timid nature to ask them to 'keep it down'
Love thy neighbour - even if they are teenage, with hoods pulled over their heads and scare the living daylights out of you.
Love thy neighbour - even if they are continually depressed. (Hey, I didn't say 'hang around with your depressive neighbour and allow them to bring you down with them').

'Loving thy neighbour' doesn't mean being a victim or a doormat in sycophantic loving acceptance of everyone and everything - to me it means more of just being able to see the other viewpoint - to walk in someone else's shoes and not judge them no matter how much they push our buttons.

And let's face it - there are plenty of people who push our buttons. But I wasn't expecting my actual neighbour to be one of them. Quelle surprise.

My neighbour Ron was pointing the side wall of his house this afternoon, standing in my back garden to do so. Ron is a mild-mannered Scot, in his mid fifties (I think), with a Sean Connery voice (I would love to ask him to say "Mish Moneypenny", but daren't..). We've stood and chatted a couple of times - he's a nice chap, is Ron.

I spotted him when I was hanging out the washing late this afternoon and poked my head around the conifers to have a quick chat and see what he was up to. Once again, polite conversation (although he does make me bristle by shortening my name - but I suck it back and let the moment pass) and then somehow we start talking about living off the land and I mentioned that if there were to be an enormous crisis, I wondered how many people would actually know how to grow their own food.

"Oh, there's already something on the way" says Ron, with a glint in his eye that told me he was holding some enormous secret.
"How do you mean?" I ask innocently. He smiled and hesitated. "Come on, what secret are you holding? What do you know that I don't" I laughed.
"Has nobody round here told you about me?" he asked "Has nobody told you what I am?"
"Noooo.........." I said, thinking that maybe he was a high ranking civil servant or was friends with a cabinet minister or somebody else in the know.
"Hmmm... okay. Well.... I'm a Jehovah's Witness" he said.
"Oh right." I said "Well I've been studying Kabbalah" I blurted. He'd never heard of it.

And then we compared Bible stories. Oh what fun. Suddenly cleaning the bathroom became a very attractive prospect and I was itching to get back inside.

He really knew his stuff (and like Dot Cotton out of Eastenders, he gave me chapter and verse - literally). I'll give him his due - he has never mentioned his faith before and seemed reluctant to reveal himself.

But I'm going to give myself a little credit too - I listened to what he had to say about the fundamental beliefs of Jehovah's Witnesses, even though I really, really, really didn't agree with what he was saying and would have loved to have cut the conversation short. And even when I explained a little about Kabbalah and he said "Och, Kabbie, you really need to be careful what you are gett'n' yerself in to there" as though I was getting sucked in to a dangerous cult, I took a deep breathe, smiled sweetly and said "Please, Ron, there really is no need to worry about me".

We both accepted that I didn't want to read his book and he didn't want to read mine. I have absolute faith and certainty in what I believe to be true, and so does he. He thinks I am totally doomed. I felt frustrated that he appeared so rigid in his views so as not to see any similarities between our two beliefs.

Bless him. We eventually (and very politely) ended the conversation, agreeing to disagree. Then we looked at the pointing again and disagreed on that too - I think he is doing a great job, whereas he is not so sure.

It was all getting a little too easy loving my neighbour, I guess, as far as unemployed, depressive, junkie, hoodies are concerned. So the Creator threw in long conversation with a Jehovah's Witness just to test my mettle.

So another one to add to the list:
Love Thy Neighbour: even if he thinks you are dooomed!

All the same, the conversation was (as us Essex birds like to say) 'enough to give me arse an 'eadache'. And it rained on my washing.

Practice what you preach

This week I learned that there is more to being a good trainer than meets the eye. Or at least, more to being an excellent Goals UK Trainer than meets the eye.

Goals UK provides a motivational package aimed at getting people back to work (and then some). When I took the course last week I was skeptical at first. I had seen all of this material before - I thought I knew it all: affirmations, goals, yeah, whatever. But by the end of Day 2 I was sold and emerged refreshed, invigorated and Rah-Rah-ing over positive language and positive thoughts. The course is very cleverly designed and highly choreographed so that it can be delivered consistently by all of the trainers. So learning to train the course is a little bit like learning how to perform a two day soliloquy. Well, almost.

This week I ended up with a double dose by attending the Train the Trainer course. And to train the course, you need to be walking the walk AND talking the talk - which means catching every negative - I mean, less than positive - phrase by the tail as it launches itself out of your mouth, drag it back in and reword it.

Harder than it sounds. Or should that be: Not as easy as it sounds. *sigh* See what I mean?

At the end of Day 1 of the trainer course, the team were told to pair up and prepare the delivery of what we had covered so far. I was aghast (or is that 'not very happy'?). I mean, I know that this was a Train the Trainer course, but they didn't tell me I would actually have to train anything! I had only been invited along for Day 4 - surely I shouldn't have to take part? I had been a participant on the course only once, had heard the material once more, and now was expected to train it to a room full of people who knew the material backwards and would be able to spot every single mistake that I made? Like, Hello?! Does anyone else see the injustice in this? Life suddenly became very unfair and I found myself making excuses. And excuses are simply not allowed in Goals. Excuses are what children make in a whiny voice. And as I re-read the paragraph above, I think "Good point, well made".

So I built up a raft of excuses to float on - to myself, to my presentation partner and when that didn't seem to let me off the hook, to the chap who ran the training. It made no difference - I was told to do the best I could and advised not to do any preparation either. "Well that is just fucking ridiculous!" my Ego whispered, "you're going to look like a complete tit!" and in its best Catherine Tate's Nan voice: "What a load of old shit!"

And it was at this point that I stopped myself and thought 'What am I worried about here? Everyone knows that I have seen this only once. They know I don't know the material, so, who gives a shit? In the grand scheme of things to fear, this shouldn't be that high on the list. If all else fails, start singing "I dreamed a dream" from Les Miserables, and really make a fool of yourself'.

And so I turned up the next day feeling completely relaxed (which is totally unusual for me - perhaps I have been abducted by aliens?), and only started to feel slightly sick when the first couple performed brilliantly.

And then it came to my turn. And what happened? I was amazing, word perfect, stunning and innovative. They were floored by my abilities and begged me to train every course available for the next six months!

Oh don't be silly - I looked like a complete tit. I went blank as soon as I stood up and had to claw my way through the material, stopping midway through sentences, losing track and having to re-deliver the points from the start. It was the most disastrous -*ahem* least successful - presentation I have ever made. Or so I thought.

According to the feedback I didn't come across that way. They said that despite the fact that I didn't know the material I held it together well and came across as really confident.

Kabbalah Rookie: 1 Ego: 0

On Day 3 I presented material with which I was more familiar, and so the challenge was then how to train well, how to keep the participants involved and engaged. Much better - even though I have never trained a classroom session. Or should that be even though until now I have not trained a classroom session (Never is - as Supernanny says - "unasseptable", and should be replaced with 'until now').

The entire week was pretty intensive and I have a lot to think about - like where the Universe is going to take me next, and how to formulate entire conversations with positive sentences before I open my trap. (I'm not complaining - sadly I love this stuff!)

In the meantime, I am trying to relax a little this weekend, as I am absolutely knackered.

*sigh* What I meant was: In the meantime, I am enjoying a relaxing weekend although I could really use some more energy....

TiVo Or Not TiVo - that is the question...

Today I decided that I would finally tackle setting up the TiVo box. And it feels like a big deal. Why? Because me and my TiVo box have a bit of history.

The only place that you can buy TiVo boxes in the UK (due to the rampant success of Sky+) is on eBay. I bought mine over three years ago, with a Lifetime subscription and a 250Gb Hard Drive, for the princely sum of £350.

And it was wonderful. It recorded everything I wanted it to record, plus a million other things that I didn't want it to record. Keeping up with the TiVo recordings became the main event of every evening - thumbs up, thumbs down, keeping films to watch at a later date, catching up with every episode of every drossy soap opera transmitted via terrestrial TV. Even though I only had 5 channels at the time, it was amazing how many hours of viewing I could amass on my 250Gb hard drive.

It was probably for this reason that the Universe decided enough was enough. Whilst watching a particularly gripping episode of Home and Away during a rather hefty thunderstorm, my house was struck by lightening, and the TiVo expired with a loud pop. It had ceased to be. It was no more. If it hadn't been plugged in to all of my other appliances, it would have been pushing up the daisies. It was an Ex-TiVo. And this was only four months after I had bought it. I was bereft - not only for the loss of viewing hours, but because in the UK TiVo only supply a helpline and not a maintenance or repair service, so I was rather gutted at paying £350 for a glorified doorstop.

Another six months passed, and a friends neighbour came home with a standard TiVo box that had been left outside the local charity shop. He had a TiVo of his own and so asked if I wanted it. I willingly accepted and went home to set it up, getting excited when I discovered that it too had a lifetime subscription, and although it only had a 40Gb hard drive, something was better than nothing. I would just have to watch more TV on a daily basis to keep up with the recordings, perhaps.

But halfway through the setup stage, the process simply hung. It looked as though this TiVo box didn't want to play ball either.

Then a conversation with the Unix guys at work brought positive news. They loved TiVo themselves and one of the guys assured me he could fix it, re-installing the boot script and swapping out the hard drives so that I had a working, lifetime subscription box once more, with a 250Gb hard drive. I handed over both boxes just as I was taking redundancy from work, and went off travelling safe in the knowledge that I would be in TV heaven when I found a place to live on my return.

When I did returned home and found somewhere to live, the box wasn't fixed because the chap fixing it was rather busy on completing a loft conversion. This didn't worry me because I had, by now, got out of the habit of being glued to the next episode of Neighbours. So I waited. And waited.

During this time I started to feel ashamed over my work situation until it got to the point where I was reluctant to email him because I didn't want him (or any of my old colleagues) to know that I was still out of work. And so time passed until a couple of months ago, when the boxes were rediscovered, fixed and returned.

So today was the day where I finally decided to face my TiVo fears. Despite there being no connection diagram for a TiVo connected through a Virgin cable box, I thought positive and started pulling out cables, connections and appliances.

And I hit a few stumbling blocks. I couldn't get two skart plugs in to the back of the TiVo, until I realised that all I had to do was swap them over. I thought that I didn't have the right cable for the phone line, but then I found two. Every block I hit, I took a deep breath or a short break, and the answer came to me.

With everything finally plugged in the way I hoped it should be, I flicked the switches, turned on the TV and selected the AV1 input. And I received a message: "Just loading. Please wait a moment". I punched the air in celebration and said a silent prayer of thanks. Get In!!

And then I looked back to the TV and it was displaying No Signal. Bollocks. What now? I switched the Virgin box off - no change. I noticed that the TiVo box 'receiving' light was no longer on. I switched it off and back on again and watched the screen. Again, "Just loading. please wait a moment". I waited. Then another message appeared which I had previous missed during my premature victory dance: "Please press the TiVo or Live TV button on your remote to turn on the TiVo"

I grabbed. I pressed. I pressed again. No little red light. No sign of life. The f$*king remote isn't working. And yes, it has new batteries.

So here I am, in a room strewn with cables with everything good to go, and a duff remote.

*sigh* Right, what's next on the list? Clean the bathroom..... I guess...