I’m not sure I would make a good negotiator for the UK in respect of the Brexit discussions which will take place with the EU starting next year.

I tend to think we should assume a Hard Brexit and work hard with our dear European allies to find a mutually beneficial; gentler way.

I imagine a sensible government would have a few outcome scenarios depending on the type of Brexit which eventually emerges.

Last week, my car broke down on my way home from work. I managed to drive it in a woeful condition to the garage. It was making a terrible rasping sound.

As I walked home from the garage, I thought of the situation with my car as akin to a Hard Brexit.

It won’t be repairable;

It will be too expensive;

I can’t afford a new car now;

I’ll have to catch two buses to work and two buses back for the foreseeable future;

I will lose the freedom I enjoy in having access to a car, particularly on a weekend;

I won’t have a car for my journeys south on holiday and to see friends.

I will lose the opportunity to run before work as I will be sat on a bus!

I only washed the car last night – what a waste of time that was!

Hard Brexit! so why did I feel so calm!

Well, as follows:-

The saved diesel money and insurance will pay for bus fare and taxis;

I have been waiting with interest to see what would finally bring my car to a standstill – interesting that I was on my way to church when it conked out!

I do have the means to save up for a new one, its just a timing issue;

I do have access to finance (not my preferred solution though);

The car is in good hands with a mechanic I trust.

Softening Hard Brexit ! I slept well.

The following day, I caught the bus to work.

Shortly after I arrived I received a phone call from the garage – my car need a crankshaft pulley and would it would be repaired and ready for me to pick up at the end of the day.

Soft Brexit!

And my point, be prepared for the worst, the worst is only a place from which a journey forward begins!

My next blog will be: An Olive

William Defoe

Earlier this week, I arrived early for a conference (work-related) in my local big city, and I realised that I had an hour of time to spare before the conference was due to start.

I had a few options to consider in terms of making use of this spare time, including sitting in the reception area of the hotel drinking coffee, or going out for a walk, I chose to walk.

My intention on setting off was to head for the shops and buy one or two last minute gifts for Christmas, but I found my feet taking me towards the Catholic Cathedral.

The door was open but the seats were empty. I knelt for a while in the silence of this beautiful building and in no time at all I wept.

These emotional moments are never to be wasted, so I tried really hard to think about what I was crying about, here are a few of them:-

In recent weeks I have had very little time to just be;

I am tired;

I am not feeling happy in my marriage at the moment;

I wish the children would discover the faith I so much wanted them to have;

I feel financially stretched;

The cars old and seems to be making a funny noise;

I don’t like winter… and here’s the big one,

I don’t feel accepted and;

I don’t feel accepted because I have not really told anyone beyond a close circle how things are with me.

I sat up for a while staring at the altar. To my left I became aware of some activity and saw a priest in his vestments heading off to a side altar to say Mass accompanied by an altar server and a parishioner.

I worked out that I had time to attend this Mass so I walked over. The little altar was enclosed by rails so I knelt on the steps leading up to it so that I could participate.

The little service was intimate and beautiful, and as I knelt there, I again felt overcome in the cathedral at the intensity of my feelings which were so raw.

At communion, the priest greeted me by name which moved me deeply, and after Mass as he walked down the little steps on which I had been kneeling I kissed his hand (a sign of my respect for him and something I assure you I am not in a habit of doing) and he warmly embraced me around my head and neck, and held me there for a few moments, before releasing me and asking after my family.

As I walked back to the conference, I seemed to gain a perspective and an energy which I had not been conscious of on my walk to the cathedral.

Perhaps it did me good to just let my heart speak in that holy place.

I did not leave that holy place as I left the cathedral (holy as it is), I sensed my own holiness, my own virtue, my own self-hood and this had found its expression whilst being overcome in the cathedral.

My next blog will be:  Hard Brexit

William Defoe

I’ve been struck recently, during home refurbishments which seem to have gone on for ever and a day, how much I have been craving the need to establish my normal routine.

The usual pattern of each day, which is punctuated by sleep, work and relaxation with the odd bits of variety, for example, putting the bins out for emptying on a Wednesday.

Funny, I should miss the mundane routine aspects of my life, when I am usually looking forward to the next bit of excitement such as a birthday or Christmas or a holiday or a visitor.

I think the bigger picture of my life tells me that I am constantly in and out of routine and although a holiday, for example, may be classified as out of routine, it is in fact, in most cases, part of the usual pattern of my annual routine.

This need for a basic pattern in my life, keeps me grounded, keeps me safe, manages the stress so that I control it, so that it does not control me.

This life of mine, in and out of routine, punctuated by the occasional unexpected pleasure or pain, is the emotional heartbeat of my life which helps to keep me calm, in a life which is coping with certain aspects which are hard to live with.

This in and out of routine makes my life tolerable because the ebb and flow is akin to the sea lapping the shore, whatever is drawn in by the underlying current will be pushed back out again  by the waves.

My next blog will be:  Overcome in a Cathedral

William Defoe

I’ve been noticing,  within the context of my own observations, the multi-layered and complex process of people watching.

From our earliest moments as a human being, we learn to distinguish and make sense of the world, by watching  and following the example of those close to us.

It is in those days that our boundaries are set, sometimes for our own safety and in other aspects to develop a sense of community and faith, which attaches us to what defines our being.

Later, and particularly in adolescence, the varying boundaries of peers, in matters such as faith, sex (yes or no!), drugs and alcohol becomes more pronounced.

In my case, the rigidity to those boundaries created within me a propensity to not only judge myself but others too, particularly when my expectations of what was right, and what was wrong, was compromised.

In a sense, it leads us to choose friends who are like ourselves, however, happily for me although some friends swam in the same pool of experience as me, they have taken root and branched out in different ways, which has not compromised, in most cases, my friendships.

In later years, my people watching usually involved a payback in some respect, an attraction confirmed and satisfied, a judgement settled in respect of the behaviour of another, but also a judgement on myself, when I considered myself not man enough to be a proper father.

In my years of darkness – and by that I mean, the isolation and fear of being married with a hidden and growing crisis that I was in fact gay – I had a private and very intense attraction to my own sex – an almost insatiable need to confirm, what I most wanted to deny about myself which lead to feelings of inner loathing, guilt and despair.

In recent years, I am noticing the joy of just observing people.

There is no obvious payback to observing ordinary people doing ordinary things like filling their car with petrol, buying a takeaway or going from A to B.

This connection with the otherness in other people, reflects back to me a growing sense that I am in a world of variety and community, and that I am not an island, I am connected with all the people whom I do not know by virtue of my humanity.

It is a nice feeling to nod as you pass by, or open a door, or give up a seat to an acquaintance – and this becomes possible when people watching becomes a vehicle for respecting others rather than satisfying self.

My next blog will be: In and Out of Routine

William Defoe

If a coiled spring is left under tension for many years, a type of fusion occurs between the coils as a result of the climatic conditions to which it is exposed.

If something happens – a seismic shift – which finally enables the unsprung spring to uncoil itself, then at the very moment of release, there is almost a hesitation before the full extent of the pressure which it has been under for so long – perhaps years – is finally released.

I don’t know the circumstances which brought footballer Andy Woodward to the moment when he decided to tell the media of the abuse he had suffered as a child at the hands of his football coach, all I do know, is that he is finally an unsprung spring and I salute his courage and those men who have come out of anonymity to support him.

His tears are the lubricant which I hope will enable him to speak out his torment of abuse as a child, and his suppression of it, within himself, for so many years.

I have not suffered any thing like the horrific abuse suffered by the physical and sexual violence which so many in our society have suffered, but my torment, my unsprung spring, was caused as a result of suppressing the truth about my own sexuality for so many years in conditions where I felt I was unable to be the person who I am.

A familial and religious rigidity in my own environment to a view of what was right and what was wrong, made it hard for me to acknowledge openly and in safety, the truth and depth of feelings I carried for my own sex.

Add to that a toxic mix of bullying at school and later, in the workplace and the life of an unsprung spring becomes intolerable not only to ourselves, but to those around us, those whom we love who suffer too.

My father, a quiet gentle man once exclaimed in exasperation that I was very highly strung – true, I was always on the defensive, like a kettle ready to boil, aggressive and moody.

Perhaps you feel like that, or you are close to someone who acts in ways which you do not understand.

In my case, a series of unhappy events at work, and then in the family, and a sense that relationships with my children were breaking down as a result of my controlling and aggressive parenting, lead me to take the first step in my liberation from fear.

The steps that followed my liberation through talking; and reading; and writing; and running; and crying; and laughing have helped to make sure that my spring is free, my spring is sprung, my spring has bounce once again.

My next blog will be: People Watching

William Defoe

One evening last week, I found myself sitting alone in my car having dropped off my adult daughter at the local garage to pick up her car, which had been in for repairs.

As I waited for her to let me know that I was released from my duties, I observed across the road from me, a man get out of his car and walk into a Chinese takeaway.

He was greeted by a man behind the counter and he ordered his supper (I assume).

He then picked up a newspaper and stood at the counter whilst waiting for his order to be prepared for him to take home (I assume).

After a few minutes, the man behind the counter brought our his order in a bag with little handles on it, and handed it to him – I presume there was some exchange of cash – and then the man left the takeaway, closing the door behind him and got back into his car and drove off.

Shall I end my blog there? – was the above of any interest to you whatsoever?

I have felt curiously drawn to the events that evening, because I am desperate to understand whether as an observer of the event:-

• was I part of it?
• was it relevant to me?
• did I benefit from it or contribute to it in any way
• was it an irrelevance?

At a fiscal level, I suppose I contribute to the taxes which pay for the maintenance of the roads on which the customer drove to reach the take away.

On a social level, if I had been in the queue behind the customer I would have been directly affected by having to wait my turn to be served or vice versa.

On a community level, I benefit from the economic well being and prosperity of the diverse community in which I live.

On a gastronomical level, I like Chinese food too!

But, I repeat, does all of the above have anything to say to me by being an observer to those events?.

I have arrived at the conclusion that I am involved as an observer, because on this occasion, I took notice, I involved myself in the observation of an everyday transaction between people in my community and I experienced a connection.

I have come to realise and appreciate, that, whilst I value my growing sense of self, it is nurtured in quiet reflection and deepening my self-knowledge, it is also nurtured in community whether active or passive.

So, in conclusion, my passive involvement as an observer of a transaction in which I was not involved, connected me to the society in which I live.

“You can go now Dad, my car is fixed” – “Thanks for the lift”

My next blog will be: Unsprung Spring

William Defoe

A few weeks ago I went away to the east coast of the UK for a long weekend.

On the day of our departure, having started off the day with my normal routine of a run, I noticed that as the day progressed, I felt steadily worse and worse and worse.

The feeling I experienced, reminded me of one of the key moments in one of my all time favourite action movies, Die-Hard 4*, when Bruce Willis and Justin Long discover that the villain, Timothy Olyphant has directed all the gas from the North Eastern states of the US to their location at a West Virginia power station.

There is this moment when they sense a deep foreboding and then react as they realise the force which is at that very moment travelling at an unstoppable pace to attempt to eliminate them.

In my case, the deep foreboding and unsettled state, took its course by first of all making me feel very tired and unsettled and anxious. During the night I woke up with a horrible sore throat and over the next few days the full force of the virus showed itself in a streaming nose and eyes, a headache, lethargy.

The common cold comes and goes, its one of life’s little treats, but I do think it has the effect of clearing out the build up of stress and anxiety because the common cold causes you to rest.

While I was away on my short break, I was at least able to rest and sleep and nurture the parts of me that needed space in a hectic period of my life.

The feeling I am most interested in, is the intensity of the feelings I had, before the cold took hold, those few hours before I realised I was coming down with a common cold.

I sensed into the awakening of my mind, to the situation in my body, that something was stirring, something was coming, something was going to require me to respond to its demand for my attention by resting, enduring, and recovering.

I think this feeling translates to the call of the mind to address our troubles, our challenges and our own self belief and our relationships, because the tension builds up and the hard part is determining what it is, that is calling from within.

In those times, I see a correlation with my response to the common cold, rest, be still, listen, moan a bit (perhaps inwardly) and emerge stronger, clearer and safer to face the path you decide to take.

My next blog will be: Being an Observer

William Defoe

*Die Hard 4 Film Synopsis

As the nation prepares to celebrate Independence Day, veteran cop John McClane (Bruce Willis) carries out another routine assignment: bringing in a computer hacker (Justin Long) for questioning. Meanwhile, a tech-savvy villain named Thomas Gabriel (Timothy Olyphant) launches an attack on America’s computer infrastructure. As chaos descends around him, McClane must use old-fashioned methods to fight the high-tech threat.

Recently, as I drove past a dry cleaners store I read this sign, much to my amusement:-

“DROP YOUR PANTS HERE”

Of course, in the context of the shop window in which this sign was displayed, the invitation makes sense, but out of this context a whole new meaning illuminated my mind!

Words and their context are open to interpretation, and also mis-interpretation, and I have so many times in the past taken offence at a mis spoken word to keep alive an argument or infer I have been hurt just to prolong an issue unresolved.

I have made strong attempts on my journey of self discovery, to interpret what is said to me, or about me, with as full a clarity and honesty as I am able to in the moment, and where this understanding is not possible, I have pondered over it to strengthen my understanding before seeking clarification.

This new approach to listening and deciphering, means that I am in a much better place to respond constructively and openly to criticism or praise, and I am much less likely to mis-understand a sentence and risk dropping my pants (literally) the next time I visit the dry cleaners!

My next blog will be: Die-Hard 4

William Defoe

During my journey to know and love self, which I have been undertaking these last four years, I have made a conscious choice not to think of my journey as a religious journey.

I have felt a strong need to keep the spiritual dimension to my life fairly separate from the coaching experience, and the reason for this is because I need to experience a faith in self, rather than expressing my journey as a faith in God.

I already have a faith in God, a strong faith but I find myself increasingly asking the question – Where is God?

This question  – “Where is God?” is a surprise to me, because until recently, I would have felt a deep sense of guilt, if not shame, for posing the question to myself, but I am firmly of the view that it is a mature question for me to consider?

Sometimes I shock myself by saying – there is no God.

This creates new space for me to explore my beliefs which is liberating and energising for my body and mind.

It is shocking, in a sense for me, because it goes against my deeply held inherent faith and the profound beliefs which I hold  at the core of my being, at the heart of my life; at the root of all things.

I have come to realise, that I find it much easier to believe in Christ and that He is the second person on the one and indivisible Holy Trinity – but where is God?

I recently heard, through an acquaintance, that her friend follows all the rituals of his Jewish faith but does not believe in God – am I essentially the same as him? – a man faithful to the traditions and rituals and devotions of my Catholic faith and yet unable to believe in God?

Am I simply attracted to the community and the friendships which come with belonging to a faith community?

St Mother Theresa of Calcutta said before her death that she had experienced years of not being able to sense the presence of God and yet she kept her faith and attended to the needs of the poor with her fellow sisters.

I have a strong vocation to help others and yet I still have this feeling that I am in search of God.

Am I looking for proof of God’s existence? – when good things happen I am conditioned to thank God, and when bad things happen to turn towards God for comfort – I relate strongly to these patterns of behaviour  – I have had moments of extreme comfort in His presence and yet the feeling is fleeting – transient – insufficient to put the doubts to rest.

I feel that I am actually nearer to finding God by questioning His existence.

In asking the questions and challenging my beliefs, I am doing the serious work of searching for God

I hope my search does not end before I die – I hope that my faith in Christ will see me through the challenges of having a belief/doubt in the existence of God, because ultimately I have come to realise that it is my faith, not evidential proof which will lead me to Him.

My next blog will be: Dry Cleaners

William Defoe