Things to Worry About (or NOT)

when I wore dresses

 I recently wrote a piece for Febulous February, a writers' blog celebrating Gay History Month; the theme was Letter to my Childhood Self: it took a few liberties with timelines, but

Dear Wednesday,

Good name! Don’t worry, it’s OK to style yourself after a loveable freak; yes, you can choose what sort of weird you want to be. Own it. Control it. Rejoice in it.
Don’t let anyone else choose your label. Choose your own, but remember you can always change it. One day you’ll find more interesting labels, and people attached to them who will become your friends.

Don’t worry about friends. They will come and go but the really good ones will stay and make your life more, better, in so many ways,  and forever. There may be troubles ahead, but honestly you won’t ever be alone.

Don’t worry what people think, and Relax – you don’t need to try so hard not to fit in. You don’t fit in,  because you are fabulously yourself. You don’t have to act it out. (But you can if you like, it’s fun)

Don’t worry about the mirror. No, you aren’t pretty. But you’re not ugly...and one day quite a few people will come to think of you as foxy, enigmatic, attractive, interesting and one glorious day, you’ll be singing in a band and discoing in your bra and...um...Don’t worry about s.e.x. It isn’t compulsory and you’ll figure it out and even (according to one or two instances of unsolicited feedback) be really quite good at it. Don’t worry about boys. They aren’t compulsory either.

Don’t worry about the family legends, they love you really, or the stupid people who mistake you for a boy; or maybe just pretend to, to be mean...you are an excellent girl. Never mind the mean girls who don’t understand you, it’s ok to be a bit brainy and interested in everything and refuse to choose a side,  because all the sides are interesting. And one day people – including you - will be really proud of your brainy...

Don’t worry about God, or the Devil. They’re kind of like Santa, and you don’t have to keep believing in them. Some people do, but trust me,  you’re going to find they get eclipsed by feminism, art and general curiosity. Just be kind...not because your inner nun is watching, but because it’s the right thing.

And don’t worry about dying. That funny lump was just glandular fever, and look, we’re still here, being weird, arty, fabulous...and happy.

With love, always, Fin x

Like most people (who do not have to worry about living in a warzone or in an unsafe abusive home, for example), I worried about all sorts of lesser things from spiders to periods, school dinners to the possibility of Hell. But, interestingly, the one thing I never seemed to worry about was my own future...I had no idea what it might hold but I knew I was going to be an artist. Whatever that means... although being the right sort of weird is definitely a factor. I think a life well lived includes the continous search to be better, more...not richer or importanter or included in more books about modern art...but better at art, at ideas, at finding solutions, and never quite satisfied with what you produce, because you can always see how it might develop next...

How it works

 

How it works: this depends on who you ask

In the morning, the birds make the sun rise by their singing. “Time to get up and warm the sky, we are cold”, say the sparrows. The blackbirds argue noisily, “Not too hot, my eggs will cook”. The robin laughs.

Later, when it is warm, the trees shake their branches to make the wind, and cool the air. Out to sea, where no trees live, the water rolls over and over to make the wind. They push it towards the shore, where it meets the tree-wind, which makes the waves break. All the shorebirds run up and down, paddling in the warm water, job done for the day.

The sea is busy...it pulls the water down off the mountains, like a magician pulling flowers from his sleeve, while the waterfall holds up the cliffs so the fish can climb up. Or down.

When the water is all gone, the cows sit down in their fields to make it rain, and the sea whispers to the rain “come to me, come home”.

When the wind has cleaned the land, and the sun is tired of shining, the birds sing a lullaby and the hills open their arms to snuggle the sun down to sleep.

Then the flapping bats come in, carrying the dark like a big cloak and lay it over everything. The dark has holes in it – thousands of holes made by hundreds of biting insects, horrid wasps and evening midgies.  But the cloak is not spoiled. These are the stars, the holes that let light shine through from the other world; the world of possibilities. The daytime creatures sleep, except for the woman who shepherds the clouds across the sky. While they sleep, new possibilities drip through the holes, ready to be found in the dew on the grass; or in your dreams.

The owl calls the moon,  who may or may not come. Moons are always busy. 

New Year High Resolution

 Be less of a lone tree and be more involved in community. Get out there, join, share. Inspire, be inspired. Stop slamming the door on all the difficult stuff because you think you can't fix it.
No you can't free Palestine. But you can play the drum at a march.
No you can't make women equal and free worldwide but you can protest. You can set examples, you can encourage.
No, you won't be a famous artist filmmaker and the BBC won't screen a retrospective of your work when you die. But you can show it in a festival, online, at an exhibition and people will see it.
Maybe one person's life will be better because they met you, saw your work, laughed at your story, believed they could do that too...