Bicycling

I've had my bike for almost four years. It's a sad-looking thing, unloved and resented of late. I resent it because the brakes are shot and I can't be bothered to pay to get them fixed. Add that to the fact it's heavy and slow, I really am not enjoying cycling anywhere further than Ken High Street on it. The other day, my dear friend Hannah lamented the near-death of her beloved bicycle, who had not lived up to his name, Hercules. I sympathised and forgot about it, until one day she arrived at my door with a very shiny new bicycle that was soooo sooooo lovely I actually am ashamed to say I did a jig on the pavement!

The only problem is that I've now come down with an acute attack of 'bike-envy'. I can't help it, it just came up out of no where. All of a sudden I'm all over the internet for a new bike. It's addictive. I have convinced myself that I will easily save the money I spend on a new one by not buying a travelcard, and next week I'm off to see these lovely people to test ride a few of their angelic cycles (the one I am coveting is pictured below). I'll let you know how I get on! The excitement is almost too much, then again, I am a faddy person so we shall soon see if this phase lasts.

Anger management

I'm not an angry person. In fact, if anything, I'm a little smug about staying cool as a cucumber while others shout and scream. Even I know that's all rubbish though, we all get angry, it just comes out in different ways. I tend to shut down, withdraw and have a good old silent slanging match in my head with the person or persons I'm cross with. That's actually no better than hitting a wall, or screaming, but I'm trying to work on being somewhere healthy, somewhere in between.

A couple of days ago I woke to the wind howling outside. The virginia creeper that looks so pretty outside my window in summer has taken on a horror-movie persona... scratching and beating on the panes of glass without ceasing. It was one of those winter mornings when the urge to roll over and go back to sleep is as strong as death, but instead today I chose life and ungracefully tumbled out of bed. I should have known it wasn't going to be a good day. First of all, the trip to the Post Office with a bundle of red cards resulted in a getting wet on the journey. Later, I spent two hours on the Piccadilly line on a defective train, going slowly insane at the huffing and puffing of my fellow passengers, who clearly had better places to be than 200 metres underground with a random assortment of the general public, one of whom had not had a wash for several weeks. After five tubes and a bus I found myself walking through unfamiliar streets towards my destination, when quick as a flash, my ipod was stolen. Someone with fingers so nimble I barely had a chance to realise what was happening. At first I didn't know what to do - perhaps I'll just get an iphone instead I thought. But the anger came, directed at anything, anyone, most of all at myself. I feel guilty for caring about something so transient, so indulgent as a material possession, that, let's face it, I can replace tomorrow. I guess I should write it off, but part of me wants to be angry, wants to indulge myself in that self-pitying guise. That's the bit I need to work on, for all things in this life are not my own, and today a woman in Calcutta is struggling through another day of rain, trying desperately to bring up her children on a pile of sand at the side of the road. I want her to matter - life and death, and not my indulgences.

standnotamazed

Standnotamazed are a theatre company, run by a few lovely folk, including a great friend of mine. They use magic to blur the lines of the real and the imagined in theatre, and watching them is like the feeling you get in life sometimes when you're not sure how something happened, but you're very glad it did.

They're amazing, and lovely and they're performing at The Place as part of Resolution 2008 on Friday 25th January. Do come and see them if you can, you'll love it.

Art can change the world

"I started to sense that words not only convey something, but are something; that words have color, depth, texture of their own, and the power to evoke vastly more than they mean; that words can be used not merely to make things clear, make things vivid, make things interesting and whatever else, but to make things happen inside the one who reads or hears them."

Frederick Buechner.

I happened across this quotation the other day, and I agreed wholeheartedly with the sentiment. Words have a power that is inherently greater than their surface value, and in the history of the world it's words that have stood the test of time, allowing us to get inside the minds of those otherwise lost generations who went before. I'm aware that in living this life, I'm only ever 75% there in the moment. The other quarter of my mind is writing inside, trying to put into words what is happening, the thoughts, feelings, textures and smells of whatever it is I'm doing at that moment. I can't tell you of the amount of times I want to go back to a conversation later in writing - to express my joy, or sadness, or floundering advice to someone through words on a page or screen, instead of those that tumble graciously from my lips. When I read something like what Frederick Buechner said above, I'm grateful because I know I'm not alone.

An Islamic Conscience: The Aga Khan and the Ishmailis

I wonder if you have heard of the Ismailis? Or the Aga Khan? If you are anything like me, perhaps the words evoke a vague recollection or something you feel you have heard of, or ought to have at least. My knowledge of Islam and certainly of the sects within, is hazy to say the least, but I was fascinated to learn more at the premiere of An Islamic Conscience: The Aga Khan and the Ismailis, a one-hour documentary film, the first of its kind, which showed in Leicester Square at the weekend.

The Aga Khan, a sixty-something, well-spoken white man, is the spiritual leader of the Ismailis, a small sect of Shia muslims, who number around 15 million worldwide. Historically they have been persecuted, and today they see their identity in the Islamic world as under threat. They are not fundamentalists but peacemakers, and their humanitarian work is to be admired. But if they're such an asset to the world why has no one heard of them? In the panel discussion following the film, one of the panel suggested his reasonings: good news doesn't sell newspapers.

Although I was left with many questions, the film was a great introduction into the delicate world of Islam and its relationship with the West. If you'd like to find out more, click on the link above or here to buy the DVD.

How then should we now live?

Travel is a huge privilege bestowed upon our generation like no other before. I think nothing of international flights in double-figures each year, soaking up cultures and people like the chamis leathers my dad used to dry the car with. From stiff and indifferent, my mind transforms, becoming supple and flexible. My mouth literally changes, wrapping itself around unfamiliar language and even more unfamiliar food. I can eat anything now, really, and this from the girl who used to almost vomit at the smell of fish.

Yet with great privilege, comes great responsibility, and the more I see of this world, the more I come to understand that all is not well. All is not well with the poor. All is not well with the environment. All is not well with the economy. All is not well with world politics. And after a time, it becomes hard to know what to do with that knowledge. I used to flit between guilt and indifference, until I realised that both were selfish in nature, and now I see that we all have our own choices to make, and our own paths to take. For some, their place is in living their life - bringing up children, seeing friends, loving their family, putting food on the table, and buying fairtrade, using the car less, buying green electricity. For others, their place is in politics. For others, in dialogue between communities, like a friend who volunteers in conflict resolution between different cultural groups in East London. All these actions are good and pure and right and will go a long way to starting us off on the journey towards all being well.

I don't know where it leaves you... it's not for me to tell you, or to say. But for me, on the journey past guilt and indifference, I hope to find a way I can make a difference, somehow, however small. Not to appease my conscience, but to live in a way that reflects what I have seen elsewhere. To know that my actions in some way take into account the misogyny I saw in Asia, the poverty in India, the indulgence in other cultures. I wish you well on your journey through to the place where you find some things, no matter how small, are well with the world.