I have grown a beard.

It feels like a rebellious act because I know my wife doesn’t like it.

I can’t say that I set out to upset my wife by having grown my beard, but I can’t absolutely say that I have not.

I think a part of me is experimenting, and as I have not had any big public meetings this week at work, I have indulged myself in growing facial hair.

I think my beard makes me look quite distinguished, perhaps it is because it has quite a few grey flecks in its array.

My beard has attracted notice and a few comments and a few observations of silence.

This range of feedback ranging from silence to ridicule at the very extremes and polite banter, has stirred up within me, a sense that any change is met with diversity of opinion both from the self within, and the world without.

My beard, I think will have a short existence, I don’t think it will see in Christmas with me.

I will miss its warmth;

I will miss its courage;

I will miss its rebelliousness;

I will miss its colours;

I will miss its smile, yes, my beard has made me smile.

My next blog will be: Dizzy Spell

William Defoe

I seem to have been in a continual state of flux this last few weeks.

I have this gnawing, aching sensation that I am craving for change in my life and I feel desolate and empty inside.

It is a kind of depressing disillusionment with the  present, together with a hopeless feeling of futility of prospects for happiness in the future.

All this untamed visceral want, pre-Christmas, has somehow knocked the lustre out of the season of goodwill to all men.

I have learned to be patient with myself when I feel like this – I’ve been here before – It is an unpleasant means to an end, which ultimately adds value in my life – something constructive will emerge from it, I am sure.

The strangeness of my demeanor makes it a difficult time to actually initiate any change, so I already know, that while I am in this semi-depressed state, it would be truly foolish to try to react to it.

• Am I really going to leave my wife, leave my job, travel to Europe’s southern coasts in search of love and casual work and casual sex and then come back and re-train as a teacher?
• Am I really going to live off the state and wander the canals of Britain?
• Am I really going to  walk the Camino on my own and flop to my knees in a penitential act of sorrow for my past mistakes and appeal through St James for clemency?
• Am I going to find a little nook and paint the landscapes and sell my wares in the markets of Europe?
• Am I really going to buy a cottage on the edge of a remote Scottish loch and live a life of solitude working the land?
• Am I really going to invest more of my life in serving Christ and the community as a church minister, tending to the needs of my fellow parishioners?
• Am I really going to jet off to California and become a coach to the those whom will be inspired by story?

No wonder, it is not a time at present, during this period of craving for change that I should make a decision!

But words have emerged into my consciousness and left an indelible imprint – teacher; canals; camino; painting; solitude; minister; coaching which may form a fuller part in my future life when I become more lucid and calm.

I know that gradually the gnawing, clawing, fawning craving for change will subside, and hopefully out of the myriad of want, something useful, something constructive will take shape, which I can embrace as part of my future life.

My next blog will be: Beard

William Defoe

The annual exercise of writing and dispatching Christmas cards to family and friends has just ended.

The process involves digging out the tattered Christmas Address Book which contains too much information to lose, and yet too much effort to transfer onto digital media at the moment!

The Christmas Address Book has a poignant effect on me, because it has various crossings out where acquaintances have died, or where relationships have ended or started or been replaced.

The Christmas Address Book tells me that relationships are not necessarily permanent, they have changed and evolved, ended and started in a variety of ways which have been accompanied in the lives of my acquaintances, in situations of intense pain and overwhelming joy.

The Christmas Address Book does not provide a narrative on the stories, it just provides the brutal facts, with a crossed out name, and an added one here and there.

The Christmas Address Book does not tell of the struggle some of us undergo to maintain our names side by side, to avoid the fatal or crushing stroke of the pen, which signals that a marriage has ended naturally or by law.

At this time, I ponder over and over with renewed anxiety the fate of my own name in the Christmas Address Book of my friends, and pray that I will find the courage to take the path best suited for all concerned, for a happy and fulfilling and loving onward life .

My next blog will be: No Photograph Taken

William Defoe

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