Here in the UK, the leaves are turning to colours of autumn gold and red and falling to the ground.

One day last week, a small uneven track on which I run each morning had a covering of autumn leaves over it.

The view down the secluded path, was very beautiful, as if a carpet had been strewn out in my honour as I traversed along it.

My mind turned to the uneven path which lay beneath the leaves,  and how the covering of autumn leaves had somehow disguised the reality of its inherent risks  – certainly a falling hazard on which I always take the utmost care.

But then, to be cushioned from the harshness of the ground by the leaves was comforting and the crispy crunch underneath my feet, gave me a sense of warmth and security as I ran along it.

I sensed within me a tangible example of what it is like to feel safe, in the midst of danger, trouble and strife which accompanies me through the upheavals of my state of my mind, as I come to terms with how life is, rather than how I imagine it should be.

Those leaves made me feel safe, because I already understood the harsh reality of the ground underneath them, and I think, that this is the main point of my post today.

My experience of safety and comfort, has only taken on meaning and significance because I have come to know, through deep and consistent practice, (with the help and guidance of my wonderful coach) the fullness of my truth, as a gay man trying to make my heterosexual marriage more loving and secure.

This aspiration of mine is helped by a covering of leaves – let’s translate this to a kiss or a hug or a smile or deeper intimacy, but soon those leaves will turn dank and damp, slippery and wet, and once more the ground will be revealed, not as a stranger to me but as a friend.

My marriage can only continue to be secure; loving; laughing; sharing; and hopeful, if I can tread upon the ground, which I have come to know over many years to be rocky, gravelly and uneven, when my feet know the places on which to put down my weight with security, dexterity and mastery which I have learned.

My next blog will be: Melancholy Intro

William Defoe

One warm evening whilst on holiday in Spain this summer, I offered to buy my wife a Spanish Lace Fan so that she could waft her face delicately as she walked along.

She declined the offer, but she laughed when I said I would buy one for myself.

I am sure that men do use these devices, but I associate them with women, where I have seen them been particularly put to firm use in churches during Mass.

I told my wife that I was going to buy one for myself, and I intimated an action with my imaginary fan, which was very effeminate in its movement.

We laughed.

It was a happy moment.

It is a moment I have stored to bring balance to the tough times.

I asked her, “What would you do if I was to buy a Spanish fan and walk down the promenade wafting it effeminately about my face?”

She said, “I would walk behind you and pretend to be not associated with you”

“But you wouldn’t leave me” I asked?

“No, I wouldn’t leave you” she said, “because I would not feel safe without you”

So, I tested the limits and I discovered that, for all my faults and failings, my wife is prepared to walk behind me in the most ridiculous of situations, but as I much prefer her at my side, I had to do without a Spanish Fan.

My next blog will be “A Covering of Autumn Leaves”

William Defoe

This summer, I read one of the most beautiful books I have ever read.

It is “Dandelion Wine” by Ray Bradbury

It appealed to me as a summer read, because the wonderful writing evokes through it’s hero Douglas Spaulding, the very essence of what it is like to discover that you are alive, and describes in amazing detail all the life giving, soul nourishing, bountifulness of being alive in summer.

It is a feeling I recall holding as a boy, a feeling of summer which however I try, I cannot ever seem to rekindle it in my own soul, now that my life’s experiences, the highs and the lows have taken their toll on me.

On Page 292 of Dandelion Wine, after experiencing a continual and wonderful onslaught of  words, which described the beautiful essence of summer, I came across these words which have had a profound effect on me:

[Mr Jonas speaking to Douglas Spaulding who is lying unconscious with a fever in his bed under an apple tree]

“Some people turn sad awfully young, he said.

No special reason, it seems, but they seem almost to be born that way.

They bruise easier, tire faster, cry quicker, remember longer and as I say, get sadder younger than anyone else in the world.

I know, for I’m one of them”   

These words moved me very deeply in a way which seemed to sum up the very core of my nature.

Despite knowing that I live, despite the generosity and richness of summer, despite all the things I have done, despite all the love I have been given, despite all the successes I have enjoyed, I have never really escaped a pervading sense of sadness, of melancholy, of anxiety and inner pain.

Mr Jonas leaves two bottles for Doug, one of which is filled with the atmosphere of the Arctic and the cold wind of the Hudson Valley;  and the other with the winds of the Isles of Aran and Dublin Bay and fog from Iceland.

These mixtures of cooling air revive Doug and I think that they revive me too.

The overwhelming sense, that recognising and accepting melancholy as it rises within me, and then falls in a never ending undulation is tempered, by an ever deepening sense of self, and that these feelings of sadness are only ever a part of it, they do not define it all.

I love this growing capacity within me to nod to my old friend, but not to be owned by it.

To respond by running, by moving, by observing, by being outdoors in the sunshine, in the rain, in the wind so that the body is buffeted, slapped, awakened to an ever-deepening alertness and appreciation for being alive.

I know, for I’m one of them too!

My next blog will be: Testing the Limits

William Defoe

In recent years I have been trying to develop my capacity to be less reactive in situations, particularly in the home, where my immediate response was often one of anger, frustration, release or sullenness

How surprising then, that my reactivity and creativity at work are the very things for which I am highly commended, because in the working environment my reactivity gets things done, keeps the wheels turning and outputs delivered.

Whilst driving home from work last week on a busy motorway, I was momentarily pre-occupied with how, in the fast moving traffic, my environment was constantly changing while I had the appearance of not doing anything to change it.

Cars and vans and lorries sped passed me in the outer lane while I drove along at a constant speed in the inner lane, in which there was no obstruction or slow moving traffic which I needed to overtake or avoid.

The concept that, I can find myself in an environment in which, despite the fast moving pace of the world around me, I can sit tight, maintain speed, cover the distance whilst at the same time taking note and maintaining my relationship with the situation that I am in called softly to my inner voice.

I have noted that it is quite possible to react internally to the changing situation, whilst outwardly keeping a steady course.

At some point, further down the road, I may need to signal and manoeuvre, but when I do, I will have had time to prepare, time to find a safe space, and time to signal my intentions to others, so that my impact is managed, it is balanced and it is appropriate.

My next blog will be: Page 292  – Dandelion Wine

William Defoe

I have adopted a bad habit of running with my head down, particularly up hills.

If I chance to lift up my head, and see the gradient of the incline, I sense an immediate dip in performance as if the knowledge of the effort that is still required to reach the top is too much to bear.

Until recently, I have kept my head down and eyes averted to the ground so that my effort is invested fully in the moment, but the problem is that this solution is poor for my posture, it denies me the opportunity to see the environment (often beautiful) in which I am running, and, at the point I reach my goal, I have no sense of achievement within me.

I have asked myself what it would be like to look ahead and overcome this sense of being overwhelmed in the current moment.

Could I invest heavily in the moment, whilst looking ahead without suffering a loss of pace in the current moment?

It is hard to overcome the feeling that looking ahead brings, because it demands a focus of strength now at this point of the hill despite knowing that more “suffering” is to be endured.

I have come to appreciate that looking ahead is in fact, a good practice, not in the sense of being dissatisfied because I am not where I need to be, but as a means of recognising and appreciating more fully the here and now as I move forward.

My breathing is improved, my outlook is transformed, my context is wider and I am safer because I am actually looking where I am going rather than at my feet.

It is my intention to translate my learning from running practice to my life’s struggles.

Where am I now? How does it feel?

Do I know where I am going? Are there options for me to consider?

How is my behaviour affecting my own mental state, the lives of others and my ability to function safely in the environments into which my life takes me?

The intention of my new found capacity to look ahead, is to improve my performance in this moment, to overcome the feelings of being overwhelmed and fatigued and to take enjoyment from aspects of my life, despite the difficulties I am working hard to overcome.

My next blog will be: In Traffic

William Defoe

On Thursday 21st September, I attended a conference in London.

After the close of the conference, I had an hour to myself before I needed to head for my train.

As I was in the vicinity of Victoria Station, I decided to go to Westminster Cathedral, and pay my respects at the tomb of Cardinal Cormac Murphy-O’Connor, who had been laid to rest under the tenth station of the cross a week earlier.

As I knelt at his place of rest, and quietly recited the rosary, I felt a strong sense of fatigue and a need for rest.

I have fallen into this habit of saying “only seven years to go and then I can retire”

I resolved, as I knelt at the grave of this very good and humble man to refrain from thinking that my problems will be solved when I finally stop working – I know they won’t be, so why do I keep pretending that they will.

As I walked around the cathedral, a choir started to sing solemn vespers, and I felt a very deep sense of calm and peacefulness which has been absent from my life in recent months.

I was surprised to see that there was an opportunity for me to go to confession – that is what is known in the Catholic Church as The Sacrament of Reconciliation.

I tend to keep up my ritual attendance to Christmas and Easter, but not much in addition to those great feasts, particularly as I have felt in recent years a disappointment and a frustration at the limited value I have been able to attach to its outcome.

On Thursday 21st September, my visit to confession at Westminster Cathedral was transforming.

The priest, on hearing that I struggle to manage a deep and wounding inner-conflict within my marriage,because I am gay was remarkable in his willingness to listen, to guide and counsel in words which resonated with my own secular practices which I have developed through integral coaching.

His words were a soothing balm to my restless soul, because they were empathetic, they were reasoned, they were lacking in judgement or specifying direction in line with teaching etc etc.

He wanted to make sure that I knew that he had heard my pain, and my confession was not for being gay (of course not) it was the impact that my frustration has on others, particularly my wife.

I am proud that my church has priests within it, like the priest who listened and spoke with me at confession, who want the church to be where we are, prepared to meet us in the midst of our suffering and to soothe and counsel not from a position of dogma but from a place of love.

My next blog will be: Why I Think Looking Ahead is Good Practice

William Defoe

I’m currently in the midst of a storm of all the old stuff.

It is a destructive cycle of old feelings of rejection and hurt, which I have worked hard in recent years, with the support of my coach, to overcome.

It should feel like a failure then, to experience these old worn out emotions and a sign that my development has not worked, but in fact it feels the opposite.

It feels wonderful, in an abstract kind of way.

It feels good because although I am experiencing these old feelings, I don’t believe them, and because I don’t believe them , I am less likely to act upon them in the moment.

It’s as if my destructive thoughts are encased in an inner energy which resists without suppressing the emotions which I am currently experiencing.

The hard bit is getting through the pain, which feels intense and raw:

• Feelings of frustration with the suppression of my sexuality;
• Feelings of failure in respect of my role as a husband and father;
• Feelings of disappointment in aspects of my upbringing;
• Feelings of jealousy and anger towards my siblings;
• Feelings of wanting to be alone – to run away and be left to live in peace
• Feelings that my job is too much for me to manage;
• Feelings that I am unloved and misunderstood;
• Feelings of physical inadequacy as a man.

My solution to all this in the past was to let rip in almost a rage to make damned sure that those around me felt their share of my pain too.

My solution this time around has been to run, to walk, to sleep, to be quiet (that is the bit I find hard); just being with it, waiting for it to drain away from my head space so that all the positive aspects of my journey to know and love self can once more occupy my mindset.

I haven’t cried, but perhaps if I had it would release the  tension within me.

I am grateful that I have developed a capacity to be in the midst of a storm of all the old stuff, without delivering all the old actions which I used to display wreaking havoc in its wake.

This means that the old rituals of having to go back over the destructive ground to repair damaged relationships, and retract words said in anger, asking for understanding and forgiveness are no longer required.

My next blog will be: Wearing a Handkerchief on Her Head

William Defoe

Last thing at night, as I prepare myself for bed, I follow the same ritual of releasing my body from its clothes.

As my underwear are help by my hands down to my knees, they then make the journey onward alone, brushing over my calves and ankles to land on my feet.

I have become adept at stepping out of my underwear with my right foot, and then flicking the said item with my left foot, so that they fly through the air to be caught by my right hand, before being marched to the laundry basket and unceremoniously dumped, without so much as a goodbye.

This flick of the foot to the wrist, speaks to me of how my body has the capacity to work between its many parts to support itself, and find ways to be efficient and creative and agile in the problems with which it is faced.

The act of bending to the floor to retrieve my fallen heroes puts a strain on my back which is prone to spasms of pain if the act of bending down is not executed with care.

Much safer then, to flick and catch and save my poor back the trouble.

I’ve been wondering whether my mind has the same mental agility as the body to metaphorically dispose of the worn out underwear of my thinking in such a way, as to use its inherent skill, to spare itself unnecessary strain and to dispose of my worn out thoughts efficiently, unceremoniously and effectively.

My conclusion, at the current time , is that in certain circumstances it does have that agility, but it has taken years to train it to learn the process by which it moves with a flick from old ways of responding to events to new ways of being present, being compassionate, being less judgmental of self and others.

I think that to be able to reflect, is to rehearse the steps needed to flick the foot and twist the wrist so that the mood is caught and dumped quickly especially when its contents are a risk to my health and well-being .

I think to pray is to connect with the synapses and nerves which control my propensity to  wallow in the suffering, to revel in the mood of victim, and the culture of blame.

If I am observed by my wife flicking my underpants into my hand, and I catch her eye, there is smile, an unspoken connection between us of witnessing something which is clever and ridiculous and this response is my hope for the training of my mind to know and love self.

My next blog will be:  A Storm Of All The Old Stuff

William Defoe