I thought I was finished here at Anchors and Masts.  I thought I had nothing left to say. And yet I couldn’t quite bring myself to publish the farewell post I’ve had ready in my drafts folder since Christmas.

So…

Over the past few days I’ve been taking a leaf out of Chris Guillebeau’s book and conducting an annual review. Now I don’t know about you, but to me, the words Annual Review mean those simply dire corporate performance reviews, the full horrors of which were conjured up so brilliantly in The Office.

But a personal annual review is a very different beastie. This is a for your eyes only review which I like to think is related to Mary Oliver’s brilliant challenge:

Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

The idea is to begin by asking yourself two questions:

1. What went well this year?
2. What did not go well this year?

And I found out something very interesting and encouraging. It was that everything I’d actually done in 2010 I was really pleased with and proud of, whether it was starting and sticking with my new blog, Sacred Graffiti, or resigning a contract job which was really wrong for me, even though there was a financial risk in doing so.

So what was under the “What did not go well” heading? Absolutely nothing I’d done. Everything without exception was, to paraphrase the Catholic church, a sin of omission. All those ideas I’d been too lazy or scared to take further; all that creative energy frittered away and wasted; all that Godde-given brilliance damped down for fear that I might actually make a difference.

I’m reminded of that fantastic piece by Marianne Williamson:

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It’s not just in some of us; it’s in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.

There was something hugely encouraging for me in knowing that all (hah!) I have to do is take action. It isn’t about being successful, it’s about fulfilling potential, about taking a risk. It’s about taking the next step, and the one after that and so on.

And one of the things I realised was that I do want to keep writing here at Anchors and Masts. It’s unlikely to be very frequent, and more and more this will be a personal space for sharing ideas.

So if you’re still here reading after all this time, thanks for sticking with it, and keep an eye open for a big new venture I have coming up soon!

Meanwhile, one of the things I’m proud of having done last year is taking over leadership of non-profit organisation the Wholesome Food Association, which promotes food produced by planet-friendly methods and sold locally. We provide an alternative to full organic certification for growers in the UK who work on a small scale and cannot afford either the expense or time involved in organic certification.

Sustainable food production without cruelty to animals is something I believe in passionately. If you do too, why not “Like” the Wholesome Food Association page I’ve just launched on Facebook?

Image by jayneandd

Elsewhere:

If you want to know how to set about doing an annual review, Chris Guillebeau’s original article is here.

And a beautiful blog was launched recently by my friends at Turvey Abbey, the Benedictine community with which I’m connected. Preferring Nothing to Christ is a serene, contemplative space that I wholeheartedly commend to you.

Today is the annual Blog Action Day when thousands of bloggers around the world unit to write about one crucial issue. This year we are addressing the need for clean water.

I’ve chosen to focus on water in a Christian context. Water is mentioned continually throughout the Bible, in both literal and metaphorical ways. From the poetry of the creation myth in Genesis, to the psalms praising all creation, to the language and imagery of Christ as living water, it underpins all of biblical life.

Listen, Oh heavens, and I will speak; hear, oh earth, the words of my mouth. Let my teaching fall like the rain and my words descend like the dew, like showers on the new grass, like abundant rain on tender plants.

Deuteronomy 32:1-2

For I will pour water on the thirsty land, and streams on the dry ground; I will pour out my Spirit on your offspring, and my blessing on your descendants

Isaiah 44:3

Image by Hamed Saber

You care for the earth, you give it water,
you fill it with riches.
Your river in heaven brims over
to provide its grain.

And thus you provide for the earth;
You drench its furrows,
you level it, soften it with showers,
you bless its growth.

Psalm 64: 10-11

We are graced with such abundance and such goodness.

There’s another passage:

Is it not enough for you to feed on good pasture? Must you also trample the rest of your pasture with your feet? Is it not enough for you to drink clear water? Must you also muddy the rest with your feet?

Ezekiel 34:17-18

For there to be enough clean water for all the living things that need it, we must make some changes.

One of the best changes we can make is to stop buying bottled water. Although I reuse each bottle until it starts to crack I do still buy water in plastic bottles. Now I’ve got myself a totally reusable bottle and I’m using it.

Did you know that each year in the United States, creating the plastic bottles for bottled drinking water takes enough oil and energy to fuel a million cars? Yes you read that right, and I’m sure the figures are similar here in the United Kingdom.

Check out this video by Annie Leonard:

We can all take action to reduce water consumption in all sorts of ways. So let’s do it.

Main image by Steve Jurvetson

Elsewhere:

The Blog Action Day site is here. Find out more about issues around water and poverty here at WaterAid. You know about your carbon footprint – here’s how to calculate your Water Footprint. And returning to our theme of sacred water, here’s a thoughtful article by Jewish Contemplatives on water and prayer.

Image by Dudley Carr

I’ve been without internet access at home for two weeks. I felt like a cowgirl who’d lost her  horse, stuck in the bunkhouse, unable to roam the cyber-ranges, boots standing idle on the deck.

And now today I’m back, thanks to the ONLY helpful employee I’ve spoken to out of many at the organisation who took over my old internet service provider. And as it’s my birthday and I have the day off, what a special present.

So what did I learn from this unwanted experience?

1. That I need some non-web way of storing essential details like people’s contact details and my calendar. My entire life is run by Google and that ain’t necessarily good.
2. That the model of mobile phone I have is useless for internet access.
3. That the very first weekend, once I’d stopped fretting over the inconvenience, I found an unexpected sense of freedom from connection. This has made me decide to unplug regularly each Sunday.
4. That after the first weekend, the “freedom” got real old, real fast. I missed all my on-line friends and the experience of community being real despite being virtual was intensified.
5. That the sheer incompetence of my new ISP, the breathtaking rudeness and/or lack of concern of its employees and hours spent queuing to speak to a human being make me amazed they are still in business, let alone taking over other organisations. (If any British readers have ISP recommendations, put ‘em in the comments please, I’m going to switch. And if any of you are with a provider whose name is that of a gemstone, be very afraid…)

And in other news

I’m full of joy that this weekend, I make my final profession as a Benedictine Oblate with Turvey Abbey, my home from home. I’ve written about my Benedictine journey here before. To see some of the posts, click here. If you’re so inclined, please pray for me as I take this step.

So I’ll tell you about that experience at some point over the next few days. Now off to get the house straight for the friend who will be cat-sitting for me.

Main image above by Prayitno

Elsewhere:

Well there are absolutely hundreds of posts stacked up in the blogs I follow, so I’m afraid I’m going to push the “mark as read” button and start again, as I’ll never catch up. If someone has written something you know I need to read, please tell me.

Therefore my link is to a book, not to a website. It is Martha Beck’s Steering by Starlight. Its slightly cheesy packaging and subtitle aside, this book is already having a big impact on my life.

As my thoughts on dropping the pretence of our ego-selves continue, Chris Garrett’s post today on being yourself came at a good time.

He’s talking about authenticity online and he makes some good points around anonymity – that even if someone uses a pseudonym, they can still speak from the honesty of their hearts and you will get to know the real person regardless of the name they choose.

Then he goes on to talk about how well using the web seems to suit introverts, and something occurred to me. I’m a borderline introvert and I suspect that for many of us, it’s easier to drop the mask in writing. Perhaps that seems a bit counter-intuitive, because after all, in writing you have more time and opportunity to dissemble, to embroider the facts, rearrange the words or simply to show yourself in a good light.

But sitting here at my desk, I can take the time to reflect on what I really mean.

Sometimes, in real life, I’m far too affected by the energies of other people to be as real as I’d like. I play to the audience, I’m a bit of a people pleaser. Although I’m articulate, I often over-compensate for my shyness by being loud and hearty. Shudder.

So yes, I think that my written expression of myself and my thoughts is often more truthful than some of my day-to-day verbal interactions, even though for my own peace of mind and the privacy of others I set boundaries on what I will talk about here.

What about you, are you conscious of what masks you wear?

Image by Chiara Marra

Elsewhere:

At Nerdy Renegade News, Lisa uses some beautiful photographs and analogies to explore sinking deeper into the truth of life. Stop reading and do it, she says. Amen.

I just discovered by chance a useful exercise to help figure out some of what I really want to own. It’s my birthday at the end of the month and someone asked what gift I’d like. “Great,” I thought, “I’ll email my Amazon wish list”. I knew it would be quite long, because as I browse, I add things that catch my eye.

So I did a quick cull of my list. Easy peasy. Then I took another look. I wondered what my friend might choose, and I found myself thinking “Oh, I hope I don’t get such and such”. Ding!!! (That’s the sound of a lightbulb going on above my head.) I went through that list asking myself honestly what I would be disappointed to receive and therefore didn’t really want. I deleted about 90% of the list.

It was difficult, partly because most of the books that made the cut were less highbrow than my self-image would like! But I finally figured out the main problem was letting go of possibilities. I’m never going to be a food photographer, I’m never going to grow my own drugs, or be a private eye (honest to God, there was a mad moment there a while back…). There are only so many self-help books or expositions on the world religions one person can read.

Letting go of the possibilities and promises with which each of those books tantalised me was difficult. But I feel unexpectedly lighter now. That wish list was building up a whole lot of mental “shoulds” I wasn’t even aware of.

Does this strike a chord? What possibilities do you need to let go of?

Image above by Eneas

Elsewhere:

For readers in England (or intrepid travellers): I’m co-teaching our introductory Enneagram course at Turvey Abbey (right) on the 12th to 14th February 2010. Turvey is a beautiful Benedictine monastery in Bedfordshire, UK. Places are filling up fast, so if you’re interested or know someone who might be, click here (and scroll down) to find out more or book a place.

It’s Blog Action Day on 15th October. We’ll be blogging about climate change. Why not join us – click here to register.

And we’re fast coming up to National Novel Writing Month (well they say national, but I’m reading it as international). The idea is to write a 50,000 word novel during November. Mad? Yes of course, that’s the fun of it. I signed up yesterday, despite the fact I’m busy every weekend in November. And then today I got confirmation I’ll be needed for a consultancy job taking place in… you guessed it, November. Well who needs to sleep?

My recent post on whether we’re too polite drew a great debate – thank you to all who contributed. I want to pick out something regular commenter kigen had to say about blogs:

The worst thing about them is self-analysis, self-promotion and extensions from that, the supposed self-help for others. It makes sense of course, the self is free for the writer to plunder, constant daily content readily available, free of copyright. it is supposed that all anybody wants to read about is SELF-HELP, and so to draw in the reader there is all this advice for YOU to care about YOU, to advance YOU, on and on. Isn’t there some other topic bloggers would like to talk about!! And even when they address something outside themselves, they do very little research on the topic, it’s about their trip to the event, or their feelings about what someone wrote, or what THEY didn’t like about this, that, and another. How about some good journalism, real reporting, with no reference whatsoever to the author’s personal involvement in that topic? The age level of blogging is teeny-oriented it seems by its very nature. Can that be changed or not?

Actually it’s the personalisation of experiences I enjoy reading about. If I like someone’s blog and their style, then I will gladly read their opinions. I find their feelings about something more interesting than an unbiased critique. I value the bias, and can always collect alternative views elsewhere. But I appreciate not everyone thinks like me.

Specialist blogs

One thing to consider is a blog’s niche. If I’ve subscribed to a blog which I hope will help me develop, or help me make money, then I expect that blog to focus on ways of helping me, not someone else, or the world. There are times when we have to give ourselves permission to be selfish.

There are so many blogging niches: technology, social media, politics, art, writing, business, religion, ecology, fashion, entertainment and many more. In this mix are some excellent writers and some truly terrible ones. There are certainly many writers whose focus is their subject matter, not themselves.

Personal blogs

But perhaps kigen’s reference is to those of us who write personal blogs. We don’t have anything to sell, and often only a loose focus, but we have ideas and experiences we want to share. Maybe in doing so we’re bound to be, in one way or another, always on about ourselves.

The blogosphere

I (yes, “I” again!) find this whole online world fascinating. We’re creating something genuinely new. It’s almost impossible to get a handle on how big it is, although Technorati’s 2008 report makes interesting reading (900,000 blog posts in one 24-hour period).

And who are all those bloggers? Again, Technorati give us some clues:  36% of bloggers globally are between 25 and 34 years old, 42% between 35 and 54. This is contrary to the view most people have that blogging is, as kigen puts it, “teeny-oriented”. Two-thirds are male.

I’m disappointed that fewer women write blogs, and more so that only 8% of bloggers are in my age group of 55 and up. On both counts, I wonder why.

One thing’s for sure: many bloggers are barely literate. And many blogs are poorly designed. Some start off well then either run out of steam, or lose their way. That still leaves many to choose from that are really excellent.

Egotistical?

All this doesn’t answer our main question though: is blogging inherently egotistical and should it be different?

Your views?

Image by Rick

Elsewhere:

In A Seat At The Table, Clare gives us a great example of how the world of blogging can help us think and grow.

When does politeness become dishonesty?

I was talking about this with a friend the other day. We both incline naturally towards dissembling. Towards softening tough words so much they become meaningless. Even towards taking upon ourselves the blame in certain situations to make the other person feel better.

In fact the late and very great Mr Quentin Crisp positively encourages this latter tactic. In Manners From Heaven (his unique take on etiquette), he has this to say:

In refusing a sexual invitation, one should never take the high road of self-righteousness. Manners demand that we appear to be less than others. ‘I may be very old-fashioned…’ is always a good line to use. One practically apologises for having to say ‘no’.

The wheels of society are greased by politeness. If we all said what we really thought all the time, it would certainly be satisfying and fun in many ways, but it would end in tears.

Politeness and friendship

So how do we reconcile good manners with friendship, truth and real closeness? For example:

You have a friend who’s gone and married a man so dire you would rather clean the toilet bowl with your own toothbrush than spend five minutes in his company. An obvious tactic is to invite your friend to meet up à deux. But sooner or later will come the inevitable invitation to a jolly supper party at their house, and there are only so many excuses to avoid this sort of thing. So you go, and grit your teeth. But now there’s a wall of dishonesty between you and your friend. And your own view of your friend has changed subtly anyway: you think less of her for her slavish devotion to this fool.*

I don’t know if there’s a constructive and honest way through this sort of situation.

At what point are compassion and kindness actually dishonest?

Politeness and Christianity

I think we’ve become a society in which there’s a lot of papering over the cracks in the interests of politeness and a sort of hippy-happy, sunny-bunny Christianity. A lot of ‘supposed-to’. We are supposed to be ‘grateful’ and ‘thankful’ all the time. And indeed it seems like the height of impoliteness not to be.

At the moment I’m going through my annual phase of being severely pissed off with everything, because it’s summer and it’s hot, and I’m one of those strange people that loathe hot weather. But shouldn’t I be grateful for this wonderful creation I’m part of? There are people out there with terrible problems, and I don’t have any real problems. Doesn’t stop me being pissed off though, and even hugging the feeling to me, because it’s very energising.

Politeness and blogging

Like so many people, women especially, I was brought up in an atmosphere which encouraged a kind of toxic niceness. Neither the church nor the school at which I was educated would stand for any honest questioning or subversive behaviour.

I tend to post here only when I have something positive to say, and I’m coming to realise that’s actually a form of selective dishonesty. And it can make writing here boring (for me and probably for you!).

I’m going to see where this line of thinking takes me over the next few weeks. Perhaps you’ll start to see glimpses of the judgemental, irritable, critical, contemptuous, and self-involved sides of me. Enjoy!

Meanwhile, what do you think – at what point does politeness become active dishonesty?

*Not a current situation

Image by allaboutgeorge

Elsewhere:

One of many excellent articles marking the 40th anniversary of the Stonewall Riots is in Religion Dispatches, which I found via Towanda. Rachel writes both compassionately and passionately as part of a synchroblog, here. And Ian McKellen, writing in The Times, reminds us of some of our own queer political history here in the UK.

It’s been a strange break from writing here. Strange in that I haven’t missed it. I’m considering whether to continue, or whether this blog has run its course. I’m sure I’ll always be blogging somewhere, and involved in the online community, but I’m not sure about here. We’ll see.

Meanwhile, Magpie Girl wrote a post recently that I can’t get out of my mind. About anger. Yes, ANGER. Grrrrr…

Here’s an excerpt:

Anger, like pain, is a helpful thing. Just as pain signals that something is wrong within our bodies, anger signals that something is amiss in our souls. When I talk to my children about anger we often refer to it as “a cover-up emotion.” I ask them what the anger is hiding, and they can usually come up with an answer. Women who have grown up in the church are not so skilled at this … The next time you feel a surge of anger, ask yourself, “What is underneath this?” You might even try visualizing the anger as a stone. Then imagine yourself lifting up the stone, and see what is underneath. See if you can address that root issue. I bet you’ll be surprised at how skillful you are!

I love the photograph above, which I found at Flickr and which gave me the title of this post. I’m afraid of conflict and I find it almost impossible to express anger; it just leaks out, sometimes self-destructively, sometimes in unspoken contempt for others. Even writing these words, I want to go and stuff the feelings: with food, with alcohol, with distraction of some kind.

It’s like putting your hand over your mouth after swearing. “Oops! Gosh, sorry about all that jolly inappropriate anger there, hope no-one spotted it, wouldn’t like to embarrass anybody.” (Smiles ingratiatingly. Maybe giggles a little.)

Of course there are some kinds of anger that are acceptable even in the most conventional Christian circles. Righteous anger that thirsts for justice and effects change is an obvious example. But you’re not allowed to thump anyone. Although overturning a few tables and chucking money on the floor is probably OK.

God knows (I’m sure she does, actually) there are many things terribly wrong in the Catholic church. What a secretive temple to homophobic, misogynistic, hierarchical, narrow-mindedness I belong to. So far I’ve subscribed to the school of thought that bears witness for change and tries to work from the inside. For weeks on and off now, I’ve been drafting a post provisionally titled “Why I’m Still a Catholic”. I’m having trouble caring about it. Seems pointless.

(And even writing that pissed me off, because it will give ammunition to those who have no comprehension why I’m Catholic, or even Christian, and would be delighted if I “saw sense”. By which, of course, they mean come round to their way of thinking.)

There are times when I don’t want to be grown-up and analytical. I don’t want to put forward reasoned arguments about my beliefs or calmly “own” my emotions. I want to rend and tear and scratch and bite. Or at least stamp my feet a little bit.

And that brings me to something Rowena said in the comments to Magpie’s post:

Sometimes I think the creative and spiritual blog world wants everything to be shiny and pretty, too. It has to be all positive and supportive, without realizing that being pissy a little, that being critical can be more supportive than just saying that everything is wonderful. A debate might serve more purpose than fawning over how wonderful a blogger is. Authenticity over Perfection. Perfection is so destructive, in my opinion.

What do you think? Are we too shiny and pretty?

Image by switch 1010

Elsewhere:

Danielle at White Hot Truth has been having a monastic experience you can read about here. And I thought this little piece from Killing the Buddha was appropriate: Margaret Speaks Her Mind.

When I was a kid, I always saved the best part of a meal until last.

This was sometimes a risky proposition: Mum cooked a lovely roast lunch, but her potatoes (my favourite) were variable. There was always the danger of slogging through the boiled vegetables, enjoying the tender lamb, then finally sliding a hopeful knife into the roast potatoes only to find that rather than crispy outside and melting inside, they were rubbery. But if she’d hit it right… mmmm, those potatoes were simply gorgeous.

Morning pages – dumping the rubbish

And so it’s proving with the morning pages I’m writing for Blisschick’s 100-day challenge. First thing every morning, I churn out three hand-written stream-of-consciousness pages. Usually, the first two and a half sides are the most awful crap, full of self-centred moaning and groaning. That’s the point of the pages, of course: you dump all that stuff out of your head to leave space for creative truth. (I mean creative truth in the fullest sense of how we live our lives, not only in the sense of artistic expression.)

Insights

And then often, in that last half page, some real insights start to emerge, even if it’s right in the very last line. Sometimes the last few lines are still soggy and disappointing. But sometimes they are deliciously helpful and worth waiting for.

Now I’m sorry if I’ve built up your expectations, but sadly I don’t yet have the meaning of life all nicely packaged up and ready to share!

Taking a break

What I have realised is this:  those last lines have become insistent that I need to go deeper into some reflections without an audience.

And the ‘audience’ means you, dear reader, because that stream-of-consciousness has made me understand I am in some strange way adapting my thoughts and experiences to what I write in this blog. It’s turning into the wrong way about, it’s making me less honest in both directions. I can’t find the words to explain why.

So I’m taking a couple of weeks’ break from writing here to do some more navel-gazing.

I’ll be around online and look forward to reading my favourite blogs. I’ll also be posting on my other blog, Pilgrim’s Moon.

I’ll be back here in early June. See you then.

Image by D’Arcy Norman

Elsewhere:

I mostly choose images for my posts from the Creative Commons stock at Flickr. It happens that the story behind the image above is really interesting. Go check it out at the photographer’s Flickr page. It centres around a book called Teaching as a Subversive Activity.

And as an adult, I’ve actually cracked the skill of perfect roast potatoes every time. I use the Delia Smith method explained here. It really works!

At the beginning of the year I set one of those timer countdown applications on my Google home page, so that every time I logged in I would see how many days left in 2009.

I thought it would focus my attention, but it sent me into a flat spin of overwhelmed panic. And for me, panic equals paralysis. It equals playing computer games for hours, watching mindless television, sleeping too long, eating too much.

Yes, I have a long “to do” list, just like everyone else.

But it’s the “wanna do” list that’s my problem. Everything from getting a tattoo to saving the world, with lots of creative and learning projects along the way. All while living more simply and doing these things in the spirit of my word for 2009: heart. And the first two weeks of the year have gone already!

So I went out for a good long walk yesterday and it cleared my head a bit. I realise some of the things on my wanna do list may not be feasible, but others (and more) I really want to do. And I have a lot of questions percolating that need time and measured consideration.

What is clear is that I need to look at conserving both my time and mental energy.

So I’m going to be writing here less often – perhaps once or twice a week. I hope that what I write will be better for it. We’ll see.

Meanwhile, elsewhere in cyberspace:

I’ve enjoyed two quite different blog posts about aspects of control and how we see things, by Jules and Marisa.

And I found some really useful free online meditation timers here. Various time limits with a beautiful bell to mark the end of prayer or meditation, which you can download to your computer or iPod.