Meeting a Hero

Have you ever met somebody that you look up to, like way, way up to?

 

The thing about heroes is that we can look up to anybody, for whatever reason. We make people our heroes because we respect and admire the virtues that are extolled by their actions. We aspire to be like them in that particular way, and look to them as a considerable yardstick when acting; ‘what would such and such do?’

 

Now, as I say, a hero can be anybody. They can be your Mum, Dad, your Uncle, a professional athlete, a movie star, a politician, any public figure, or just somebody that you know well and have uber-respect for. Which is a good thing, because this means that you can have heroes in your everyday life potentially, which is something I myself have come to enjoy.

 

However, today, I am talking particularly about that hero you might have that is famous for some reason, and one that you wouldn’t have a large chance of meeting.

 

For me, in this instance, I’m talking about Mark Donaldson VC. For the uninitiated, Mark Donaldson VC is a serving SAS operator in the Australian Army, who was awarded the highest commendation for bravery in the Commonwealth, the Victoria Cross.

 

Trooper Donaldson won this award for actions in Afghanistan, when he carried a wounded Afghan interpreter back to safety, under heavy gunfire, when the convey they were travelling was contacted by the Taliban Insurgency. He literally risked life and limb so that another person could be saved.

 

But, on top of this, Trooper Donaldson is a man worth admiring. He excelled as a soldier in his basic training, and only spent a short period in the regular Australian Army before attempting, and being successful at, the Australian Special Air Service Regiment’s gruelling Cadre Selection course.

 

He is a man of single-minded determination, with an unflappable will to succeed at whatever task, and the physical and mental capacity to cope with the extreme demands placed upon Special Forces soldiers.

 

Now, all of these qualities, plus the fact that this man still has the personal time and dedication to have a family as well as such an amazing career, as all aspects of huge admiration for me. Perhaps many members of the SASR hold these characteristics, and I am sure they do, but because of the nature of their work, they must live in the shadows, which makes ‘Donno,’ a beacon of admiration for people. The embodiment of the spirit and virtue of one of the world’s best fighting forces.

 

So you can imagine that if you could have the opportunity to meet somebody that you hold in such high regard, you would take it wouldn’t you? Well, for me, that opportunity presented itself in a pub.

 

On Remembrance day this year, I was out drinking in Canberra with a friend of mine, after enjoying a nice pizza at the same establishment. Apart from it being Remembrance day, which in this country does come second fiddle to ANZAC day in terms of commemoration of veterans, it wasn’t a particularly interesting night out. A few beers, a weekend to look forward to, fairly standard.

 

However, while my friend was in the toilet, and me standing near the bar people watching, I saw a face that I thought was familiar. This was Mark Donaldson.

 

He shuffled into the pub with people I assume were friends, all of them dressed to the nines in tuxedos. He was somewhat more low key, wearing only a collared shirt and slacks. Still dapper however.

 

I am not the most outgoing person it must be said. In fact, I probably would never say hello to somebody famous out in public, for numerous reasons. However, perhaps unfortunately for Mark Donaldson, I made the exception, and after my friend had returned from the loo, as he came past my position again, my friend and I introduced ourselves.

 

To say that it was a pleasure is a gross understatement. The man was simply lovely. He was gracious, friendly, chatty and modest, which I suppose are all things that a man who has had the admiration of thousands thrust upon him would exude.

 

But the best thing about meeting the man was that, one on one, as a person he turned out to be better than the man that I thought he was. He was just such a gentleman. He genuinely seemed happy to talk to me and my friend, perhaps because we’re also mil members, but it did not seem at all like he minded us.

 

Of course,  I did my best not to wear out my welcome, and my friend and I left him to his beers and company. But the impression that it left on me was amazing. I had just met a man whom any man would do well to look up to. All the first impression ticks in the box of a polished man, with the credentials of a VC to back it up. He is not a hero like an actor or a musician however. This is a man who’s bread and butter is defending his nation, something at which he is supremely adept.

 

This is not an individual famous and admired for his creations, but rather because he showed such enormous character in laying down his life to help out another human, in the service of his nation. The fact that he didn’t fob my friend and I off as a football player or other ‘hero’ might, goes further to confirming what a wonderful man this dude is.

 

 

 

In meeting this character, it reconfirmed to me my own immense pride in my current career path, and, despite what it has cost me, it has reminded me that there are indeed great rewards, such as the opportunity to serve alongside such great men as Mark Donaldson VC. It reconfirms your own virtues, goals, and aspirations, and if you have the means, I highly recommend it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Back, but with no vengeance.

It has been a while but I have decided it’s time to begin blogging again. I can’t really say why I hadn’t kept up with the habit for the past year or so, but part of it involved being blissfully happy in a relationship with a lovely girl. Unfortunately, that ended, and has given me a lot of pause to contemplate and reflect on life, and perhaps is a reason for this resurrection.

 

That being said, you can imagine that the first blog back after a long absence, which was partially due to a relationship, would be filled with vehemence and bile towards the other person. I don’t have any feelings like this at all towards my ex, and it is beneath me to convey that publicly here.

 

However, that being said, being tossed back into the singles pool made me realise something rather, I think, interesting, about the subject of many of my past blogs; the subject of the modern gentleman and chivalry.

 

It must be said that part of that interest in chivalry and being a gentlemen came from the fact that I wanted a woman in my life, but not just anybody. I wanted somebody who would help me grow and flourish as a person, and I am delighted to say that, chivalry and being a gentleman, in that past instance, worked a treat!

 

But, when it came to the point where the relationship ended, it left me asking myself a big question, when it came to that aspect. What is the point? What is the point of being a gentleman, treating women not just with respect, but being chivalrous towards them, if the relationship you want is to end?

 

Now, obviously, you can’t say that how you act will determine the length of your relationship. Relationships are very complex things, even the short ones, and have many influencing factors. But when you feel that, as a person, you couldn’t have treated that person with any more respect and dignity that, I think, only a gentleman can treat a woman, you do find yourself asking yourself ‘why do I put such an effort into being that way, living that life?’

 

Pondering this; I realised that being a gentleman is 10% about how you act towards women, and 90% about what you say about yourself.

 

If I were now to stop conducting myself the way I had for my ex, in all areas of life, how would that reflect on me? Would I maintain my own image? Would I retain the respect of my friends, family and peers? The answer is no.

 

I realised that while being a gentleman was a huge part of the image I tried to portray of myself with my ex, and I hope that is what she saw, it wasn’t merely a show for her, so that I could have a relationship with her. But for some reason, when it all ended, I did not think this. I thought that it was solely for this reason that gentlemen lived this life.

 

If I were to stop now, living this way, my whole world would change. Not just the female company I might keep in the future (assuredly being a much lower, and don’t judge me for saying so) class of person than who I would date as a gentleman, but just about everything else. My personal discipline, my tolerance for other people, my joie de vive. All that would change and probably leave me a bitter husk of a person.

 

I guess what I am getting at is that as a gentleman, if you truly strive to live like this, once you start, you cannot stop. If you start conducting yourself with a lack of manners, decorum, respect and personal dignity, you lose face and respect much faster than the person who does not conducted themselves with the same levels as this.

 

I don’t wish to paint all this as an elitist outlook, however, I will say that when you pursue this lifestyle, you are actively trying to portray yourself the best possible way, at all times.

 

Now, I am ashamed to say, that since the end of my relationship, I haven’t done a very good job at being a gentleman. One dimensionally, the reader could see that and think ‘Ahha! He has been trying to shag lots of loose women instead of trying to take them out for dinner or a stroll by the lake.’

 

Indeed, this isn’t the case. In fact, when I say I have been a poor gentleman of late, it has had nothing to do with women frankly, in fact they are not part of my pursuits at all right now.

 

But, it is to say that my interpersonal conduct has been rather poor for my own standards. I can think of many examples, particularly in the past two weeks, when I’ve been living in conditions of higher fatigue and stress than my normal life, that these faults of mine have been exacerbated.

 

And that has reminded me of my previous pursuit of gentlemanliness and it truly made me feel ashamed, because it was the realisation that this conduct of chivalry was much deeper than the relatively shallow goal of trying to meet women, even if it was to find a particular one (yeah, The One) woman.

 

I realised that being a gentleman is how you treat all people. People, whom you might not like or respect, people with whom you don’t see eye to eye with, and even people who might harbour contempt towards you. If you treat them as a gentleman would, exhibiting at least personal respect and dignity, then you can do no more, you have oiled your end of the working parts of the machine, the ball is in their court.

 

But, if you don’t (and it is worse if you used to), then it exhibits a low form of conduct that people who are enlightened would balk at.

 

This was a particularly long way of saying ‘being a gent isn’t about women, it’s about dignity’. But I felt that I needed to address it.

 

Of course, if you conduct yourself this way, then you should meet women of the type in which you seek, but they shouldn’t be the objective. The peace of mind that treating people well brings is the reward unto itself. And it is a shame that that is something that isn’t considered when people hear the word ‘gentleman.’

 

 

An admin point.

 

While I do not have nearly as much time as I used to to blog, I am going to make a serious effort to get back into the habit.

Taking Offence

Taking Offence

Hello readers.
Today a topic that I have often circled around but never particularly cared to blog about. Do read on.
How do you feel when you’ve been offended? I don’t mean something like a bruised ego, where your pride might take a little bit of a hit and you feel aggrieved, with a bit of personal embarrassment thrown in. Pride, I have often felt, is a vice, especially when it is pride in self; ego.
Believe it or not, the author tries to be as anti-egotistical as he can. I am not always successful at this, and I have been called arrogant in my time, although I believe it was actually just mistaken identity, that it was actually my self confidence which was being labelled as arrogance (are they the same thing? I don’t really think so.)
But what happens when you are offended? When somebody lambasts a key belief or ideal you hold, or refers to your race or appearance in such a cruel manner that it provokes that fire in your belly, that it flares your nostrils and causes your eyes to transfix with such focus you feel your gaze could melt steel.
Or you might experience the other side of offence, where you feel crushed, heartbroken, vilified and unsure of yourself. You are left with emotional bruising, and find it difficult to be able to trust the person who has offended you ever again?
It’s not pleasant experience. Either way, you’re left feeling like you are about to commit a violent homicide, which, when that feeling surpasses, can leave you feeling ashamed for your rashness. Or you can be left with a feeling of depression and anxiety because something about you has been perceived as completely vile to another person and they have let you know it, in no uncertain terms.
Now, as being my style, this post wouldn’t be in this blog unless it was in response to some occurrence in my life. Well that is the truth. I was offended yesterday, and experienced feelings that exist somewhere in the middle-ground of wanting to inflict grievous bodily harm, and feeling aggrieved and saddened. It came about in a family conversation where my stepmother, perhaps thinking it a funny truth, but a truth nonetheless, stated categorically that she considered me a ‘mature sixteen year old.’
But let me set the scene for you. I live at home, with my father, and his partner, the lady in question. I live there because at present, I am in a state of financial reconstruction. It is not my idea to be living with them long term, but it suits me well right now because our house is close to town, where my social and professional lives exist, and it means I am able to live with relative ease until my financial situation improves. The whole idea was intended as a means for me to reduce stress.
I do not particularly enjoying the fact that I live at home, especially considering I had been living ‘out of home’ for the previous 14 months, and I do not believe, really, that at the age of 24 that you should be looking for mum and dad, or whoever, to help supply you with a roof to put over your head. But there we go.
Aside from this, I do not think there is a great deal of grounds for my level of maturity to be likened to that of a sixteen year old.
I have a career path, which while (as I have previously laid out) I do not particularly enjoy, but I do hold down my job well, and have maintained good interpersonal relationships with all my work colleagues since I have been with my current employer. I am also presently engaged in a career change which will hopefully, amongst other things, enable me to move out of my present living circumstances and travel around Australia. But I also look forward to life after this move is made. What do I do with life’s challenges, such as home ownership, wealth creation and sustenance and becoming a father?
I have a wide and varied group of friends, many of whom are substantially older than me, and with whom I can partake in wide-ranging, well considered conversations. Many of them live away from me, yet we are able to make our relationships work out long term because of give and take, something which I don’t think anybody with a decent level of maturity can ever achieve.
I also maintain a decent level of fitness, and have a role as a cycling coach for a local training squad.
When I look at this little snapshot of myself, as objectively as I can, it is difficult for me to observe an 24 year old with the maturity of a sixteen year old in this person above.
Of course, like all people, I am certainly not perfect. Far from it in fact.
I can be petulant, demanding, moody, I can be insular and introverted, and I swear about as a badly as a man whom considers himself something of a gentleman shouldn’t, and I even harbour a set of rather morally questionable ideals with regards to sexual relations, if you must know. In fact I believe I could probably, quite easily sit myself down and come up with a litany of personality failures that could engender me as immature, despite them being some things that I do not particularly like about myself and am perpetually committed to trying, sometimes in vain, to alter.
But I think my strengths show that I am not immature. I am kind, giving, loyal, conscientious, and hard working (when I am interested in the work at least) and I have a decent sense of humour.
But ask anybody what to describe the kind of person they think they are and I’m sure you’ll get a slightly imbalanced, with a view to the negative, list of virtues and vices about that person. But that doesn’t paint somebody as anything, a persons actions define who they are.
It is just that my actions and the life that I lead do not allow me to consider myself to be a 24 year old with the maturity of that of a 16 year old.
So do I not have a right to feel offended? Because I did at the time.
Some things that are considered offensive today, I feel, people need to have a certain amount of thick skin to bridge, because, lets face it, if you live in the western world in the year 2010, and are offended by people who swear, smoke, drink excessively or disagree with your political, religious or sexual persuasions, lets face it, you’re going to spend your life being offended. You’ll either turn into an angry, vitriolic individual with a chip on the shoulder the depth of the Mariana’s trench. Or you might end up a depressed, socially awkward and anxious individual who cannot interact with anybody because of your sensitivities (although these people tend to be rarer than the other kind.)
However, when somebody makes a remark, directed squarely at you, calling you immature, reckless, dumb, frivolous or whatever, whether you think they are correct or not, do you not have some sort of right to feel like a wrong has been committed against you? Especially if you passionately disagree with the person who issued it, and who has a considered opinion as to why this is so (as in my case)?
What is the best response? Should one respond at all? In my case, I merely shrugged, mumbled non-combatively and did my best to ignore it, which is my way of taking something on the chin. Should I have blown up? Gotten mad and called my stepmother out, demanding an apology (which, knowing what this woman is like, would never be forthcoming, for I suspect sorry is not a word in her vocabulary, nor apology a concept she understands.) Should I have thrown my plate of ravioli at her?
I suspect that a measured response is what is called for in this instance, but having said that, sometimes it does absolutely nothing to relieve the feelings of hurt that accompany being offended. A measured response involving diplomacy might clear up the air, definitely, but if the extraction of an apology is not expected, then why bother with a diplomatic response?
As fate would have it, however as I have penned this post, I was listening to an audiobook of Dale Carnegie’s famous people skills tome, How to Win Friends and Influence People.
In this book, Carnegie categorically states and quantifies with numerous examples, that criticism of a person is completely futile. By way of attempting to make the person improve by lambasting their character/mistake/choice of shoes with insult and ridicule, Carnegie states what this actually achieves is the opposite. The person feels it necessary to justify themselves, which often galvanises their resolve, to prove that they in fact, rightly or wrongly, that they have absolutely no need for change. I think the words in this blog are demonstrative of that phenomenon.
I have just spent almost two pages attempting to justify how I am in fact mature, and my attempts at justifying myself has in fact heightened my belief that I am a mature person, and also has lead to the further condemnation of my stepmother. Something which she probably would not appreciate. It has also caused me to want to put a great deal of distance between herself and my father because of this, something my father would be aggrieved to hear me say, but I am afraid it is a lesson he needs to learn.
It is a quantification of the basic message that one should never say something to another if it is likely to cause them hurt. If they have a failing, a rebuke of the failure will achieve nothing but angst and resentment and the brick wall of self-justification.
And consequently, that angst and resentment can only be countermanded by something of a rare commodity: Grace.
I would have listed graciousness as one of my virtues. But I think I may be more selective of it in this instance.
Good day readers.

The Iceman

Good day readers, how are we all going?

 

Before we get into the meat of today’s topic, I would like to update you that I have a couple of good topics which I am putting the finishing touches to, so I urge you to be patient. The ‘Stuff I care About’ series should feature here.

 

But today I am going to talk about the Iceman.

 

If you’ve seen the 1986 Hollywood film ‘Top Gun’, you’ll know the character I am talking about. Tom ‘Iceman’ Kazansky, portrayed by Val Kilmer, is the closest thing to an antihero that the story is. Whilst not a mortal enemy of the main character, Tom Cruise’s Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell, he is the antithesis of everything that Maverick is. He is controlled, calm, methodical and not prone to mistakes. This is in stark contrast to Maverick, who is reckless, brash, violent and unpredictable.

 

Now if you have seen the movie, you know that Iceman embodies the calm professional, and Maverick the passionate, red blooded hero, and is naturally going to win out in some way over his rival. Maverick might not have won the ‘Top Gun Trophy’ from the US Navy’s Fighter Weapons School, but he does ultimately win out by defeating the enemy, and saving Iceman, in the heat of battle, and in so doing regaining his confidence and recovering from the demise of his best bud, Goose. But does this reflect real life? Does the bright eyed, brushy tailed hero win the day in these situations? I think not.

 

While I can imagine for most men, they would prefer to draw parallels with themselves and Maverick rather than do the same with Iceman. Whether you agree with the perceived misogyny of Maverick, or that you abhor his arrogance in the early stages of the film, Maverick, surely, stands out as more interesting and likeable, somehow more real.

 

And how can you not agree. Maverick is the lead character of the film, and he gets the girl, it’s what the producers want you to think, to enjoy the story for what it is.

 

But in reality, if we as men, are to succeed at life, we need to be more like Iceman, in my opinion.

 

Now, at this moment, I would just like to interject a point.

I began this post on Monday, 08/11/10, and I thought I had a pretty clear direction where I wanted to take it. Something along the lines of the gentleman needed to learn to be cool, keep his own council, be true to his world. Some sort of small target bullshit, where you must conduct yourself as professionally as you can and you will lead a good life.

 

But today, barely one hour ago, in real time (it is currently 1834, 10/11/10) I just had an experience every guy’s, and I’m sure every girl’s worse nightmare.

 

I was having coffee with my mother, which is a fixture of ours on Wednesdays since about 2008 when a girl whom I had spent some romantic moments with in the past seven to ten days with, and whom I won’t name, arrived, with another guy.

 

Now, for a start, I cannot say that she has actually done anything wrong here. We are not dating, and our little experience had cooled somewhat in the past four days. However, I was confused as to what was going on, but not necessary believing it was over dead and buried.

 

However, as I saw the guy, who appeared to be dapper young guy, my heart sank. I actually felt what was almost a physical movement. When she looked in the café and saw me, she, perplexingly, smiled and waved to me, as a friend would do, but did not come over and say hello or some other such thing, which I suppose, when you are in the company of somebody you are dating, is understandable (and that is, if they were even dating.)

But the experience has left me shell-shocked.

 

I do make the concession that a relationship with this young lady would be rather impossible, as she is moving away in the new year. But if indeed she was seeing this guy, in a romantic context, and providing nothing to me to say ‘it’s over’ other than to actually see so in the first place, is quite heart rending.

 

So, be that as it may, where to from here.

 

And that is what made me think back to the Iceman.

 

In our lives, occasionally, we see things that shock us, sometimes right to the core. But while some things may shock us enough that we struggle to get by, there are other things which, while completely shocking, such as this was, also are not a pass to drop everything and clam up. I have a university degree to attend to. I also have a job application, which requires a considerable amount of effort, and is in due turn causing me other considerable stress.

 

These are things that require us to keep on, even when we’ve just had our guts torn out.

 

Life doesn’t stop for much these days, and usually, it’s only your life that stops. So when these things happen, what do you do? Do you get into a rage, flip out and what to kill things? Or to take a deep breath, calm down, box it up and do your best to move on, as imperfect and feeble as that sounds.

 

I am not saying I didn’t act irrationally once I was in my car. Because I did. I got in my car and screamed ‘FUCK’ as loud as I could. Then I took a breath, calmed down and have now, for the last hour or so, been trying to move on, although my forehead is twitching a little, which is making it difficult to ignore.

 

While I thought it was over before, I feel more than assured of this now. But I can’t stop. I can’t have a mini breakdown and shout and scream. That’s just counterproductive. Nay, it is simply better to get stuck into this assignment. Listen to some tunes and try and smile about it.

 

It’s what the Iceman would do.

 

 

 

NB: I also concede that it’s what any man should do in this situation, but I have never experienced the combination of hurt, anger and sadness this had brought.

 

NNB: If she is just friends with the guy, this might seem like a huge overreaction, but I don’t know if I’m prepared to concede that. My blood is still too hot to calm down fully.

 

Sorry if this you found this rambling and below par. But I had to tell somebody.

 

STFU

Hello readers.

I hope to finally break my 5 month abstinence from the blogosphere with this post. Rest assured, I have tried to bridge the gap in recent weeks, including one huge post about Afghanistan and the war going on in that country. It promises to be a great read (:)) so stay tuned.

However I thought I would break the drought with one of the old reactionary posts. It even could border on being a rant.

For those of you who follow politics in Australia, and also pay attention to Australia’s military deployment to Afghanistan (and this doesn’t relate to the monster post I have planned), you may be familiar with our Prime Minister, Julia Gillard and her recent visit to our troops in the war-torn nation.

This was one of her first trips overseas since finally being elected Prime Minister (albeit in a minority government).

In a show of unusual cordial collusion, she mentioned to the right wing opposition leader, Tony Abbott, that he could, if he so wished, travel with her to Afghanistan, in a show of bipartisanship. He declined however.

Now, it is speculated that the PM allowed this information to leak out to the press, and Tony Abbott was forced to issue an embarrassing excuse, that he wanted to avoid jetlag on his journey to the British Conservative Party Conference, to be held whilst Gillard was visiting Afghanistan and some European nations.

However, on his way back to Australia, Abbott suddenly surfaced in Afghanistan, visiting the Special Operations Task Group, shooting some rounds from an AuSteyr and operating a Bushmaster Chain Gun in an ASLAV armoured fighting vehicle.

Now, one doesn’t just materialise in a country like Afghanistan, like Tony Abbott had just done so to counter the bad press he had received from Julia Gillard. It takes many weeks of secret planning with the Australian Defence Force in order to get a planned insertion into the country, to ensure that security, a paramount concern for visiting statesmen, to be assured.

So, the leader of the opposition asserted, upon his return, that he was not able to give a reason better than avoiding jetlag, for his decline of Julia Gillard’s travel offer, because his own trip was prearranged and was a secret which the leader of the opposition was not obliged to share with the government. Thus, he claimed ‘Machiavellian low bastardry’ from Julia Gillard, with Liberal frontbencher  Chris Pyne also chiming in that it was backchannel bitchiness from the PM.

Of course, there were stern denials and claims of mistaken facts from the Government, as is a Labor tactic, to simply paint, no matter how unrealistic, a picture of incompetence and disability, on the Coalition.

But, now that I have painted this picture, and I am sorry for the apparent bias towards the Coalition, but I have conservative political views (there I said it!) I would like to discuss with you the awful image this gives both of our political leaders.

I am appalled at both of our leaders for the politicising of this issue. Probably a little more appalled with Julia Gillard, but not much.

The war in Afghanistan, with the exception of the Greens political movement and independent left wing MP Andrew Wilkie, is one of the few issues where both sides of politics more or less agree. The Coalition advocates an increased troop commitment from Australia, which the ALP does not, however, the both support our current contingent of forces until the completion of our segment of the Internation Security Assistance Force (ISAF) mission, that is, to provide special operations soldiers to support the US forces in southern Afghanistan, and a mentoring task force to assist in the development and growth of the Afghan National Army (ANA) and Afghan police and security forces.

It is a mission that is far from easy or safe. Afghanistan is nation of pure diversity, with many ethnic groups occupying the nation, and to add further complication, many tribes diversifying those parent ethnic groups. The area where the Australians are operating, in the southern province of Oruzgan, is dominated by the Pashtun ethnic group, which is the largest in the nation.

The Pashtun people are the primary supporters of the Taliban, however, this is not universal, and there are examples of many Pashtun villages resisting the Taliban, often costing villages torrents of blood, but resisting nonetheless.

In conditions such as these, it is possible for the Australians to make a favourable impression on the Pashtun tribes, by helping them to rebuild. However, the Taliban insurgency does not make it easy for them. This year, the bloodiest for Australia, has seen 11 servicemen die. One of these fine men, Jason Brown, was an elite SASR operator killed in action during operations in the Shah Wali Kot region. Also, three 2^nd Commando Regiment operators, Scott Palmer, Benjamin Chuck and Timothy Alpin, died in a helicopter crash while supporting a similar operation.

However, the rest of these fatalities were due to improvised explosive device (IED) strikes and gunfire from insurgents trying to eliminate the soldiers who were trying to assist the population.

These men see the greater good in their difficult and extremely dangerous task, and all of them absolutely want to be there, to see the job done.

However, while ever the leaders of our nation politicise the war, by way of saying, he or she doesn’t support you, but me and my party support you more, when this is neither respectful nor true, makes our soldiers just another political tool.

While the trivial sniping between leaders, from both sides, goes on, trying to score points on one another, our men and women in a war zone are dying, doing difficult, dangerous and unpleasant work. They are sacrificing one way or another. Some are unfortunate and sacrifice their lives, while all have sacrificed time away from home and family, and have had to endure the horrors of war, such as witnessing the deaths of comrades, or, perhaps worse, the suffering of children, as has been a common theme in this war.

Thus, I implore our leaders to stop speaking about who went first to Afghanistan and why. You have simply lost the plot of your visits,  not going to support the soldiers, but preparing for the next election, with your despicable sniping.

I am sure, deep down, both our leaders care about the health and wellbeing of our soldiers, however, in accusing the other that this is not the case removes the sombre respect they claim to hold for the campaign, turning it into yet another political football.

So please, Julia Gillard and Tony Abbott, recognise that discretion is the better part of valour and STFU*.

*Please visit www.urbandictionary.com if you are unsure of this acronym.

My Two Cents: The Landis Issue

I would first off like to apologise for my absence if you have missed my posts in recent weeks. I have been going through some things, some of which you might be familiar with, and, I hate to say, have been feeling rather negative about them. So, rather than spew hate and vitriol at the world over the internet, I felt I should simply abstain for a while and come back to the normal posts when I am feeling more myself. Sooner rather than later I hope.

What I want to talk about tonight though is a news item that has been around for a few years, that of the cyclist Floyd Landis.

For those who don’t know the back story, Landis was the favourite of the Tour de France in 2006 after the field had been eviscerated by the Operacion Puerto doping investigation, and the retirement of on L Armstrong.

Landis had ridden an impressive race that year, up to stage 16. He was on the money in the prologue, stayed firmly in the peloton in the frenetic early stages of the race, and limited his losses in the first time trial. He even managed to prevent eventual winner Oscar Perreiro’s breakaway from gaining more than two minutes on him in GC when his team got lazy on stage 13. It was all going well.

However, on Stage 16, Landis had a bad day. For whatever reason, on the final ascent of the day, the climb to the finish in La Toussuire, Landis lost all composure. Whether it was a hunger flat, or a problem with his performance enhancing drugs, we’ll never really know.

He simply bonked, and on that climb, went from being in the Maillot Jaune, the leader’s jersey of the Tour de France, to being 11 minutes on General Classification behind Perreiro.

Now at this point most pundits had written Landis off. It would simply be unheard of for a rider to retake that time on the final mountain stage and 50km final time trial.

Yet, as history says, that’s what happened. Landis went on the attack on the demonic stage 17 to Morzine. The stage contained two Hors Category (Without Category, the most difficult) climbs, but Landis went for it, motoring past the early breakaway, with a sole companion in Patrick Sinkewitz.

Eventually, Landis dropped Sinkewitz, by simply going too fast for him up the monstrous mountains of the French Alps. By the finish, he had not won by mere seconds, but over five and a half minutes. Oscar Perreiro trailed in some time after second placed man Carlos Sastre, and Landis had, amazingly, retaken nine minutes of his eleven minute deficit.

Such was the nature of Landis’ ride, most pundits now expected the final obstacle, the stage 19 time trial, to be a formality. And it was. Landis stormed along the hot French tarmac to eventually put himself 57 seconds ahead of Perreiro for the formality of the finish on the Champs Elysees.

And so it appeared that Floyd Landis had won his first Tour de France. It looked as if America’s dominance of the Tour was set to continue, following Lance Armstrong’s retirement. And it didn’t look like it would abate any time soon, with Landis’ team manager John Lelangue trumpeting a new sponsor for the team to take it forth, and bring on the victories.

However, all too soon, the celebrations began to fade.

A couple of days after Landis’ celebrations in Paris, the media reported that a rider had tested positive for a banned substance. This is not unusual in big cycling race, in fact, almost every major tour, it is almost expect, as disappointing as that is to admit.

But this Tour had been largely free of doping expulsions, save for the business of the Puerto investigation.

But then, the mightiest rider in the race was named. Floyd Landis had tested positive to a banned substance. Which stage you ask? Have a guess.

Stage 17, Landis’ phenomenal ride back into contention, was now an infamous display of the superhuman powers granted to cheats.

Interestingly however, Landis tested positive not for Erythropoietin (EPO) the wondrous red-blood cell booster and dopage de guerre of most endurance sports. He also hadn’t tested positive for a blood transfusion, the other type of doping most common in cycling.

He had tested positive, instead, for having an increased ratio of testosterone to epitestosterone. If my memory serves (and everything I have written so far is from merely my memory) the natural ratio was deemed to be 3:1. Landis’ result returned 17:1.

Of course, from here, Landis immediately declared his innocence and demanded his right; to have his B sample, that is, the second sample taken at that particular doping test, to be tested. It was duly returned to also be positive.

Now, interestingly, most cyclists, when they reach the point of having such evidence stacked against them, caved in. The current suspension, which applied in 2006, was a two year ban from competition, which, in the scheme of things, is a rather minor blow to ones career. Most banned riders would elect to take the ban, and would either return to competition, to be jeered and never again fully trusted, of figuratively, ride off into the sunset of retirement.

Landis did neither. Instead, he decided to fight his conviction.

Without boring you with legal details, Landis had his case heard in at least three separate courts. The first was in the United States Supreme court I believe, and was nothing short of disturbing and bizarre. Landis would not own up to anything, and conducted something of a media blitz in the lead up, and even had the audacity to create a fund where sympathetic members of the public, of which there actually were a few, to contribute to his legal bills, called the Floyd Fairness Fund.

The trial also saw Landis’ legal team stoop to the unbelievable level of intimidation tactics by phoning up US three-time Tour de France Champion Greg LeMond and pretend to be his sexual-abusive uncle, in order to get him to drop his testimony, which was unfavourable of Landis. This relevation was previously completely unknown to anybody other than Landis and a few of LeMond’s family, so the magnitude of the breach of trust, and the disgracefulness of the actions, is staggering.

After the ban was upheld, the 2006 Tour de France was finally stripped from Landis’ drug-tainted shoulders and awarded to Perreiro.

However Landis would not quit, and tried to have the decision and his ban overturned in at least two more separate court of appeal. It would eventually cost him something in the order of US$2 Million, and the suicide of his father-in-law, who was deeply depressed and traumatized by the affair. It also prevented Landis from making a comeback to competitive cycling, something which was within his right to do, until 2009, rather than 2008, and it was only to a US National team rather than one of the glorious European teams which is where every cyclist truly wishes to end up.

Now, you would think after all this that enough would be enough, and Landis would be ready to resume his life as a professional athlete, even if it meant he would have to work to regain the trust and abilities that he possessed. And don’t get me wrong, he had ability. Every cyclist who chooses to dope does. Doping doesn’t transform an awful rider into a superstar. It rather transforms a star into a superstar.

It is disgraceful for the need to do so, but there it is.

However, Landis has recently decided he isn’t done with slaughtering his public image for his conscience.

Fast forward to April 2010. In a series of emails and telephone calls, Landis reported to the USA Cycling Federation and the world body, the UCI, the intimate details of his doping activities.

Fair enough, this is a mea culpa if there ever was one, and is laudable. However, Landis went further by choosing to name the people who introduced him to doping. None other than the aforementioned Lance Armstrong and his team manager, Johan Bruyneel.

Now, if I need to describe Armstrong to you, I would also like to inform you that you have failed because you have absolutely no grasp of current events. But I’ll do it anyway.

Lance Armstrong is cycling’s Michael Schumacher, Valentino Rossi, Ricky Ponting, Kelly Slater, Andrew Johns, Zinadine Zidane, Tiger Woods and Roger Federer.

He is simply one of the best there is. Now, because of the diverse nature of cycling’s races, it is difficult to state whether Lance was the best ever, and he probably wasn’t. That title must go to Eddy Mercx, who was as adept at winning Grand Tours as he was Spring Classics. He was also a dope cheat.

Lance however is cycling’s modern megastar. But it isn’t just because of his seven wins in a row at the Tour de France from 1999 to 2005, but also because of his much publicized battle with cancer. In the prime of his astonishing career (before the TdF victories!!!!) Armstrong was diagnosed with testicular cancer which had spread to his lung and brain.

Most medical practitioners had written him off, saying he simply had no chance to live. But as Lance was Lance, he stated his intentions to live, and fought hard, physically, to overcome the pain of cancer and the horrendous treatments required, and mentally, not to give up, to eventually be cured.

But Lance then stated his intention, and was successful in, returning to cycling and dominating the race of races in a fashion never seen before.

This battle with cancer and transcendence of adversity saw Lance write books on the subject, and was so successful that he created a global cancer fighting fund known as LiveStrong, and is also responsible for those yellow armbands, which were at one point fashionable, and still are, to many cyclists.

What I so far haven’t mentioned was that Lance had at no point tested positive for performance enhancing drugs during his career, before or after his cancer battle.

But dig a little deeper and this is where things get murky.

In 1999, it is alleged, and I stress that, Lance tested positive for the dopage de guerre, EPO, at the Tour. However somehow, this result was not made official due to a technical problem with the test and was confined. The blood is still lying in state in a French anti-doping laboratory, and could be retested, and has been.

It is, however, Lance’s call whether or not the results go public. He has so far declined. Now of course, anybody could suggest that if Lance is clean, as he repeatedly states he is, then he should prove it once and for all by releasing these results. But Lance isn’t one to give into the doubters. This is also not to mention the fact that in his comeback tour in 2009, ten years after this first victory, Lance was subjected to the most advanced tests, which are highly accurate in detecting EPO and its new, even more difficult-to-detect illegitimate son, CERA (Continuous Erythropoiesis Receptor Activator, does the same thing, just does more with less drugs is the easiest explanation). He came up trumps, and also finished third, a ripped muscle man, beaten only by two mountain goats, Alberto Contador and Andy Schleck.

But I digress. Landis was Lance’s protégé in his formative years at US Postal. He was a gifted climber, and one of the integral members of Lance’s 2004 Tour de France team, which was possibly Lance’s most outwardly dominant Tour victory ever. Neither rider (if I need to say so) tested positive for anything during that race.

But Landis has since named Lance as the person who introduced him to doping, via Johan Bruyneel. He described meeting Lance in his home, and was given his first Eprex-brand EPO syringes by Armstrong, apparently in plain view of Lance’s wife. He also admits to doing this systematically, as was the method of other teams, such as Deutsch-Telekom/Telekom/T-Mobile and Festina. He even describes how Lance and Johan bribed the UCI to cover up a positive test result, something I consider to be completely ridiculous.

Now, this scandal is in itself, nothing new, and in my opinion, not the most major doping case to hit cycling in recent years. The Operacion Puerto investigation netted some huge scalps, such as Ivan Basso, Jan Ullrich, and looks to claim Alejandro Valverde, who mysteriously was not named in the initial investigation documents, and is still racing. His climbing ability has change markedly however, he has regressed from being astonishing to simply being very, very good.

There was also the Saunier Duval affair in the 2008 Tour, and now an investigation of riders in Italy, which has seen former World Champion cobbles specialist Alessandro Ballan suspended by his team, even though he has not been named or charged by investigative body.

The gravity of this affair, as doping scandals tend to be named, surrounds Lance.

As far as scalps in cycling go, they simply do not come bigger. But not just for the colossus of his results, but for his credibility.

Lance’s cancer charity, LiveStrong, is such a success because of the air of invincibility Lance exudes. On the surface, there is nothing wrong with this, as what could be a better mindset for somebody who is trying to fight for their life with cancer than to think they can overcome it.

Lance’s air of invincibility does come somewhat simply from the fact he could actually get back on the bike, some doctors predicted him having to be retaught how to walk. But for a man to go and win the hardest race in the world, seven times in a row, was something completely and utterly unheard of.

Of course, Lance has offered his explanation for the rash of wins. His unbending self-confidence, killer instinct, competitiveness bordering on combative and an team of superb cyclists protecting him till he launched the most aggressive and devastating attacks. He also named the expert care he received; in his first book It’s Not About The Bike. He says that the doctors were able to sculpt his muscle mass into that of a bike rider, rather than the triathlete brute that he was.

So you can see that if this amazing, uplifting achievement were simply the result of being able to hide his EPO traces better than anybody else, it would make people feel less of your achievements no?

Not to mention the image of dishonesty and perpetual mistrust it would create.

Because we can assume that Lance (probably) isn’t doping any longer, as it would be completely stupid to do so now, with the nature of the tests, if he has in the past, he will be doing his utmost to protect his image. Fair enough.

Ultimately, unless a federal investigation is launched, which has been mentioned, the only way Lance can be found out is if he implicates himself. Which I doubt he will ever do (although stranger things have happened.)

What bothers me is the need that Floyd Landis has felt to come out and mention Lance directly.

He claims it is a matter of clearing his conscience, even though he has not come out and apologized for the farce he caused while trying to have himself exonerated for the 2006 scandal. He has instead admitted to new doping, which he could have kept his mouth shut about.

But naming Lance puts a whole new spin on things. It threatens the empire and legacy of a man, which, rightly or wrongly, has been set up to do good in peoples lives. Even if it was created on the basis of a false image seems almost superfluous to the fact that this organisation contributes huge amounts of money to fighting one of the most insidious of diseases.

I see this act as a wholly selfish and ill-considered thing to do.

Cycling has a very harsh view of dope cheats. The vitriol directed at these people is stunning in it’s harshness, similar sometimes to that which would be directed at a rapist or a murderer. And while the sentiment and anger are very real, and while human’s respond very strongly to cheating, I feel it is necessary to point out, first and foremost, that cycling is a sport.

But for Landis to accuse somebody who helped him make lots of money doing what he loved, of doing such a vile act, with so little provocation, smacks of envy. Landis could simply be jealous that his doping netted him a three year suspension and mockery of the global community, rather than his own race team, cancer charity, and the boundless other business interests Lance Armstrong has.

I do not wish to give the view that I endorse cheating, and if Lance Armstrong has cheated, then I will be a little more unenamoured by him than I am now. But for what it is worth, Landis’ words are surely about as worthless as mine are, in labeling Lance a dope cheat.

Floyd has gone and committed career suicide on a grand scale to ‘clear his conscience.’ It could even be career homicide if Lance’s career ends in tatters if their revelations are proven true, and it will be a huge disappointment to millions of people if this is so, because of the lie of the legend of LiveStrong.

But sometimes, the truth is the harder thing to live with than the lie, and, frankly, this time, I’d rather believe the lie.

Life is full of doom and gloom. More people saying no we can’t, no enough saying yes we can. Lance has created a belief in many people that they can overcome a premature death, something which most people with cancer would surely love to believe. If this believe is put at stake because, while Lance did overcome cancer, his return to cycling just descended back into a murky world of drugs and lies, then I think I almost prefer the lie.

The Landis Affair is a great moral conundrum, but if I can briefly sum myself up, in some of that vitriol I mentioned at the start. Floyd, you’re a bloody idiot, pull your head in you jealous bastard and go back under that rock you came from and tell the worms who probably care more you fucking idiot.

Occupation: Doer

I have a bit of a confession to make. I am suffering a bit of guilt at the present.

It isn’t because I have recently murdered somebody or extorted billions of dollars from investors like that twerp in the USA did.

My guilt stems from the fact that I still work somewhere in an industry, which I no longer am interested in a career in, and am actively looking to get out.

It was a guilt, which has stemmed from a number of directions. Initially, I was feeling guilty because I was letting myself down, knowing that my passion had left the building long before I was going to, and knowing that I had subjected myself to months of interminable hard slog trying to get through everyday with some sort of achievement and continuing motivation.

But since then, my guilt has begun to change shape. I am still lacking in passion to remain in my current career of engineering, and am still hugely excited by a potential chance to move into my dream career in the army. However, I have guilt that I’m letting others down. Other people that I work for and work with.

If you have any prior knowledge of my work situation, I worked in an engineering group, which I found rather boring, and the work completely unstimulating. The people with whom I worked were great, but the work, which they were able to endow me with, was somewhat uninspiring. This drove my wanting to get out even harder.

But since then, I have changed departments, and now work some similarly nice people. The difference however is that my boss provides me with much more stimulating work, so much as to say that just now, he has given me a dream project, which synthesises all the areas of plant engineering I remain interested in.

So my guilt is in a sense a feeling of the betrayal I will inflict on my current employer if I am fortunate to gain my dream job. I feel guilty that, after only a short while working with a great team of people, with whom I already feel I am building a good rapport that I will be leaving them for another hopefully great team of people.

However, there comes a realisation that I must say is a welcome addition to my thinking on the matter.

In life, we don’t have simply one career. We have many. I’m not sure of the exact figures, but I feel it could be as many as five.

But every job we have, whether it follows the line of training we are in, or is completely different, as my current and dream careers are, all our careers go on to form an entity which plays a significant role in defining each and every one of us.

While ever we are employed, as a do-er, if you will, we are building up ourselves as people. We are laying the foundations for futures, when we have to confront and negotiate all the challenges that we are faced with in modern life. Employment anywhere will always develop some particular skills, be it in business, the military, or the clergy. Be the skills technical, procedural, or interpersonal in nature.

Just because we learn things in one area of life, and then decide that isn’t where we wish to be in the future, it does not render all our learning completely wasted.

This is how I initially felt, when I made my decision to change careers. I felt that I was wasting a lot of peoples time and money, including my own, because I was not going to be achieving for the business where I worked, as a qualified engineer.

However this is misguided. It is true that I will (hopefully) never be an engineer at this company, because I no longer feel the passion I did previously, for this particular career.
But, the skills I have learnt, and the application, which I have had to implement to learn them, or the work I have completed and the ethic which I have displayed whilst working on them, are all valuable to a person.

These learnings steel you to what you know you can achieve. They give you confidence in your ability, and are also an excellent way to market yourself, for you future, whether you wish to change to something related or unrelated.

This realisation has been of huge help to me. It makes me realise that while the nuts and bolts outcomes of what I may be doing in the here and now may be without use to me in the future, they will be of use to somebody else. But, more importantly, the things that I have learnt, while doing each and every job, are invaluable for the future.

Sure, the technicalities might be different, but the overall processes are often implicitly similar. But even higher order again, the ethics in business are wholly interchangeable no matter where you go. As is virtues such as professional courtesy, conscientiousness and zeal.

This is, in effect, an around-about way of saying that anything that is worth doing is worth doing to the best of your ability, or at as close to the best you are able to muster at a given point in time. Other factors, such as motivation, play a key role.

But if you enable yourself to see this truth, that everything you do will be of benefit to you at some point in the future, in some way, the perhaps this will change your motivation, by raising it in some measure.

So why not be a doer, no matter what you’re doing. Don’t see yourself as an engineer, a soldier, an accountant, or a priest. See yourself as a doer. Each thing that you might do in your life is of value, no matter how insignificant it may seem. If you use every opportunity to do, rather than just coast, you may very well achieve what you truly desire, and be much better at it because of your doings.

Relevance

Ok, time for a good old-fashioned reactive piece.

Oftentimes, when I get bored of the vast CD collection I keep in my car, I often supplement my listening with whatever is on the radio. Usually it’s the Government-funded alternative-youth channel, Triple J, which I tune into, and why not. It plays the best music on the radio. No pop, lots of dance and alternative, and, when it’s not playing, the discussion is usually interesting banter about real issues. None of this flippant bullshit we hear about celebrities on the commercial stations.

This morning, the topic of ANZAC day was discussed. If you live outside Australia, ANZAC Day is our national day of remembrance for the fallen soldiers. It is held every year on April 25, which was the day the Anzacs, as they are called, landed at Suvla Bay, on the Gallipoli peninsula in Turkey, during the First World War now 95 years ago. The fact that the battle was a death struggle, resulting in the deaths of 8000 young men from Australia and New Zealand, and the fact that the battle ended in tragedy and humiliation, encapsulates the sombre mood of the day.

Since then, it has been held nationally to commemorate not just the sacrifices of the living and the dead of Gallipoli, but those made by Australians in every war we have been involved since, be it the second world war, Korea, Vietnam, Iraq or Afghanistan. It gives Australia a chance to say thank you to those who gave so much, whether it be the years of hard service fighting, or their lives, for the love of their country.

However, each year, there is always some sort of controversy surrounding this day. Being a British Colony, Australia fought closely alongside the British Expeditionary Forces during World War I, and as such, were British citizens during that time. So, naturally, each year, on Anzac day, the British National Anthem is sung alongside that of the Australian National Anthem at Anzac Day services.

However, because of the nature of modern Australia, with it’s strong drive towards republicanism, people often question whether this is necessary. They forget that Australia being a British Colony is a major factor in what it means to be Australian, and, because of such a drive away from the monarchy, believe that God Save the Queen should be spurned because of this.

I find this sad and dismaying, especially since this has already been implemented in Victoria as an official policy. But what disturbs me the most is the public’s own lack of vision. Many people do not realise the deep disrespect they are showing when they are unwilling to sing this song, because to many older Australians, God Save the Queen was the Australian National Anthem for a long time, well before Advance Australia Fair.

But a far more enveloping fear is developing in me I fear, for I began to hear the voices of Triple J’s breakfast hosts this morning questioning the relevance of Anzac Day as a whole.

This is an interesting position that young people who do question it take. Most young Australian’s recognise Anzac day, and are among the best attending portion of the demographic at dawn services and Anzac Day marches.

But for people to question such an event is an act of what I find to be profound barbarism.

Generation Y, the generation of people between 1980-1993, has already been criticized numerous times for being selfish, unwilling to do hard work and such. Older generations frequently label Gen Y as the ‘MyGeneration’ (and that trend seems set to continue, with government support, if you read todays SMH).

It is a generation where personal needs are put forth before anything else. It is thus quite disturbing that the most extreme members of the generation feel that because Anzac day celebrates, first and foremost, the heroic contribution to Australia’s society and national identity, that young Australians, who are nearly all dead, made 95 years ago, and not the youth of today, that it is suddenly not relevant in modern life.

I don’t wish to suggest that this is every young Australian. I am a Gen Y Australian and I absolutely do not follow this idiom.

But to those of you who might, I think you need to look inwards and recognise, that, as the Anzacs proved, there are many great rewards for doing things not for oneself, but for the country and indeed the world.

It matters not that the Gallipoli operation ended in failure, because from the moment the first men fell, a legend, which should be indelible on any Australian’s psyche, was carved. That of mateship, courage, and a willingness to sacrifice oneself for something higher than yourself.

But while ever anybody questions the relevance of Anzac day, I weep for the future. I hope that the next generation are a little bit less conceited than us…

I Am Human

As my more avid readers might know, I have recently been struck with the imminent affliction of having a loved one, and a very dear loved one indeed, suffering from a terminal illness.

You might also recall that I have not, as yet, reported any outward, emotional outbursts on the matter. I have simply maintained something of a steely, numb-ish resolution to be there for my grandma in her final weeks, and be grateful of the good times.

Because, which she is dying, she is certainly not dead, so to speak, meaning that I don’t think I have moved into real grief stage yet. Instead, as I said, there is the numbness, the cold-steel.

Well, somewhat oddly, I think I report that the cracks have started to appear in this steel. The emotions are creeping out.

I guess in a way they started right from the beginning; the deep sighs before responding to questions like ‘how is your grandmother?” The thousand yard staring. Not commonly my thing.

But yesterday, a big crack appeared.

If you have to know, being a Friday, I was off sick from work with a bit of gastro. It was an unpleasant experience to say the least, as anyone who has had it will agree. But what we never remember about being sick is that not just the afflicted area, but your whole body, often hurts.

I thought for a few moments that I had meningitis, because all over I was in pain. Back, shoulders, neck, everything, simply ached. As I had not been able to do any exercise the days previous (possibly due to the onset of the bug), I can’t blame it on muscular soreness.

With this aching and soreness came a malaise, the malaise of being ill, which I must say I loathe. The feeling that this has come around so fast, when really, apart from a slight cold, I have hardly been sick at all in eight months, when I’m pretty sure I had swine flu.

But the moment I’m speaking of came when I watched a movie, The Boy in the Striped Pajamas. If you haven’t seen this movie, I can’t really explain it without ruining it, because it is quite an unusual story. But it is grippingly tragic. All through it, there are moments of tragedy, in all its forms. If you displace your own background knowledge of Germany, the surrender of the main character’s sister to the Nazi Regimes racial policies is utterly tormenting.

But this was not the moment which hit me. It came when the main character, the son of an Obergruppenfuhrer-SS named Bruno, learns that his beloved grandmother had died in an Allied bombing raid on Berlin.

And I was away. Tears flowed. I was gone. Almost had to pause the movie. It was a hard, deep, honest to goodness cry, thinking about nothing but my grandmother, spurred on by hearing the words “you grandmother is dead” on the box.

Admittedly though, I think that now it’s happened, I feel a little more comfortable with myself.

Before that moment, I had been drifting through life not really knowing how to feel. Often outwardly happy, but scratch the surface, it was just there, the unmitigated sadness. The feeling of the imminent loss. But I couldn’t let out, I couldn’t let my grief just leave.

But after that moment, I think the process has started.

They often say that the best thing for a person to do is have a good hard cry. It is not something that I have always subscribed to.

And not because I consider myself a particularly tough bastard.

I have dealt with some pretty tough shit in my life. Probably not that tough on the world standard. I’ve never had to live in famine, or like Bruno’s friend in the movie, be imprisoned in Auschwitz.

But I’ve dealt with tough shit. I’ve been confronted with some situations which I wouldn’t begrudge upon anybody, like the situation at my former place of employment.

But I never cried over that situation. Not a tear.

I got angry. I swore a lot. But I didn’t cry.

Because crying wasn’t the method of dealing with that. The method of dealing with it was to keep going. Like Winston Churchill said, “If you’re going through hell, keep going.” So I did.

But in situations like this one, where there’s nothing you can do, but have a good hard cry.

I hate to say it, but I am inclined to think that crying is an outward admission of weakness. I don’t wish for this to sound prejudicial, but it is in a way. Crying is the thing we resort to when a situation affects us so badly that we cannot do anything about it but freak out. Sometimes it can happen at wholly inopportune moments.

That is not to say that people who cry are weak. Crying is simply the last in a long line of coping mechanisms. This is possibly (and I’m not trying to be sexist here) more true for guys than girls, but it is essentially the outflow of being emotionally overcome.

It was at that point, when sore as hell, sick as a dog, and thinking about my grandmother, and then having it shown to me in celluloid form, that I finally reached some sort of endstop. I couldn’t contain the emotions anymore. So out they came.

But that’s not my point. Hopefully we are all big enough to admit that crying isn’t a sign of weakness. It is merely a moment of it. Perhaps however if you are thinking about a career in the military you ensure your crying threshold rises above having cranky sergeants scream in your face and call you a c***, (hint Mitchy).

My point is that I think I have finally reached a point where my grief at the situation enveloping my grandmother is coming out.

I am upset, I am sad. And it’s showing. Which, in a way I am happy about. I don’t wish to coop up my grief, make it look like I don’t have emotion, like I’m a robot. I want it to show, because it is a way of showing the love, which is immeasurable in magnitude, that I have for my grandma.

So in a sense, a roundabout way, I am happy that I cried yesterday. And if you think that I am a big girls blouse for doing so, I challenge you to see who can do the two-finger pushups!

Writer’s Block

I apologise for not writing much this week, but I have fallen victim to not one but several writer’s blocks.

The first has simply been that I have been compelled to try  and finish a fair bit of work whilst I remain at Opex in particular and Onesteel in general. I do not feel like I have done the business a good turn, because I have been so self absorbed in my feeling of wastedness, and disgust at the crappy work I have had to do. So I have been trying my hardest to accomplish some final things before I leave.

The second block however is somewhat more macabre, the business surrounding my grandmother and her battle with cancer.

But rather than not have any inspiration to write, I have had much. Too much in fact. I could have written pages on anger, guilt, more on grief, and on propriety. Any number of things spring to mind in fact.

However each time I have put my fingers on the keyboard and began tapping out that irregular, chatty rhythm, I find myself overwhelmed with emotions. Anger mostly.

I have tried several times to write about my reaction to the reactions of my family members upon receiving the news about my grandmother, but I find the truth too troubling to comprehend. It troubles me immensely there selfish nature. Both sides seem to be interested in spending time with my grandmother not for her and her love, but to assuage their own guilt for the pain of their own lives, which she did not cause.

But each time I try to describe these feelings with any sort of detail, or describe their actions in any detail, I am blinded by rage, and cannot write, because what comes out doesn’t in the slightest resemble literature; it is not something which one can be proud on which to sign his name.

I find the nature of this revelation troubling. For the last months, I have turned to it as a manner of coping with the difficulties life has thrown at me. Call it some sort of meditation. Call it whatever, it has been therapeutic, and makes me feel as if I have spent the moments I was writing these thoughts like some sort of accomplishment, different to any sort of thing I have done before.

So it isn’t something which I want to lose. For the help it has given me has been great.

But I fear for it, because of the lack of inspiration of the past few days. Writing about trying to be a gentleman was one such inspiration, because it is one such thing that I believe in more than most things. Ironically, I think, that like Christianity, my other great belief, that in chivalry and propriety, is often met with confusion and misunderstanding.

But it is something with which I don’t think I can continue to muse on, as a topic, for I have exhausted my current knowledge and understanding of it.

Perhaps this means that I need to read up on it more and I do intend on studying it further, but perhaps I need to leave it be for now.

My anger is something which takes so many forms, is so complex, and layered, then perhaps I should write about it?

But no, I cannot do this either. For anger is a great evil inflicted upon the world by our sins. It is something that burns inside me, and which drives me, like a great rush of adrenaline.

It is something that I must be profoundly and utterly ashamed of. For anger is not something that a gentleman, or any person, should harbor in their souls. It is a natural thing in men, but it is something which should be spurned, and left alone, and uncontained.

For it is this force that is a great destroyer of worlds. Nothing else, except for hate, which is probably anger’s close brother.

If you look at all the events which have transpired in history which have been blamed on religion, political idealogy, or whatever else, it is not these aspects of life which cause them, but rather the anger at and intolerance towards them, by other groups of people, from other, different aspects, which causes this.

Hitler. Stalin. Osama bin Laden. Richard Dawkins. All in my view are great proponents of anger. They each had or have a viewpoint about what life or a particular aspect of is, and will do their utmost, with vitriol, hate and self-righteousness, to deliver all people to their manner of thinking. They do not respect or tolerate the people who have a differing viewpoint, and caste them aside, either by killing them, or filing them under the heading of ‘delusional’.

I do not wish to criticize anybodies view point. If you are a raging Nazi, Communist, Islamic Fundamentalist, or a passionate atheist, you have chosen your path. You have chosen differently to me, but I will respect you and your view, and not dismiss you as being mad, delusional, psychopathic or evil, because of it.

I believe I am fortunate in a manner because none of the anger I harbor is this degree of anger. Mine is somewhat closer to home, anger at personal selfishness and self-righteousness. Anger at not having gotten to where I want to be, anger at being made to work harder to achieve what some people seemingly get so easily.

But I cannot be agree about this. I must learn, and understand, that I have no cause to be angry about this. For this is one of the essences of life.

Each and every life is a journey, with a beginning and an end. But here is where the similarities end. No two lives are the same. Each person experiences different things, and they interpret them just a little bit differently, or sometimes, a lot differently, from the next person.

Life can be unbelievably, seemingly, unfairly easy, for some people. Surely everybody can name somebody or somebody’s, in their lives, who seem to get everything they want. But that is their blessing. That might even be their curse.

But that is not for us to know.

What is for us to know, and try to comprehend is that we are given one chance at this particular existence, whether you believe in heaven and hell, or reincarnation. This is the now I am talking about.

We have a finite amount of time to make it through existence being what we want to be. What we feel we should be.

So really, what advantage do we get from life if we are angry? What good does hate do us? What does coverting somebody else’s life really do for us?

It merely hurts us, and makes us wish for another life, an impossible, hopeless wish, which will destroy your hope, when you should really be thinking about what you can do to alleviate this anger, by replacing it with action.

But I’ve sat here too long lecturing. I don’t wish to lecture. This is merely my own view on this particular area. If you don’t agree with it, I won’t be angry with you.

And at least I have cured my writers block, it seems.