IT STARTED WITH A YIN YANG

I was seventeen years old when Michelle and I were introduced. I couldn't tell you what she was wearing, but I do remember that she had black hair with a bright blue streak through it. She was pixie cute, forward in a way that wasn't invasive, and I liked her instantly. While we had a good natured disagreement about what what each side of a taijitu represented, I became aware of a strange connection with her. Unfortunately we had been introduced by Mark, my oldest friend, and Michelle's new boyfriend.

Over the next few weeks, we saw each other a few more times, but I can honestly say that I never considered or thought of anything romantic between us. She was with Sparkie (Mark), someone who is as close to being family to me as someone can be without the shared chromosomes. Not to mention that I was somewhat distracted by the fact that I had started seeing a girl too. My first girlfriend in fact. And so the girl with the blue hair, my bestfriend's girl, was essentially forgotten about.

Time passes, relationships end, life moves on.

* * *

Sparkie had an active social life back then. He was, and remains, one of the most personable and naturally charismatic people I know. These talents served him well in life in general, but probably more often in love and lust. What I'm trying to say is, he saw a lot of girls. Or rather, he saw a lot of many girls. This being the case, in addition to a few alchopops, is probably why he didn't figure it out sooner. After all, she did look very different.

We were at a local nightclub and, while he was getting some drinks, I was dancing like everyone was watching (which is to say, extremely awkwardly) when somebody called out my name. I said hello to the girl who knew my name but I had no idea who she was. Surely I wouldn't forget a girl with bright red hair which was shorter than mine, would I? It took us maybe 20 minutes to figure out that Michelle with the short red hair was Michelle with the blue hair. After that we got to talking.

In those days (and probably still), when the clubs closed in East Kilbride, it was an unwritten social rule that the night could not end until you went to the local chippy, The Victor (or Victor's which everybody annoyingly calls it), for a half pizza and chips. This was always my favourite part of the night; everyone could talk without shouting, the booze was wearing off a little, and most of the choads had shambled off for the night.

It was there, still talking while we sat against the window of The Victor, that Michelle lay her head on my shoulder. It felt to me like she had always belonged there. I am typically awkward with people, I am very uncomfortable when given any affection, and was particularly so when that affection came from a pretty girl. I had even been like that with the girl I had been seeing. But not then, not with her. It was only after the door of her taxi closed that I realised I should have kissed her.

* * *

A few weeks later it was Sparkie's 18th birthday, and I was eager to see him and give him his gift, I had got him a wallet which was a replica of the one from Pulp Fiction, the one which said BAD MOTHER FUCKER. We lived opposite each other back then so I had went over as soon as I woke up. From that point on it was one of the best days of my life. I can't remember a day before that in which I was happier or had more fun.

By the time we reached Plush, the local club, we were giddy. Having been having as much fun as everyone else, and possibly because it was a special occasion, led Sparkie's dad, David, to decide that he didn't want the party to end just because we were leaving, he was going dancin'! As we made our way to the club to the tune of Bonny M's Daddy Cool, I couldn't have imagined that my day was going to get any better.

We met Michelle and her friends almost immediately on arriving at the club. Naturally I was pleased to see her, but I didn't realise how much until, on seeing her give Sparkie a hug and kiss to say happy birthday, I felt a little twinge of jealousy and a little pang of panic. After that I'm not exactly sure what happened but nevertheless, I found that Michelle and I were soon together on the dance floor. Just me, her, and David.

I was already feeling guilty about my feelings for Michelle, so you can maybe imagine how awkward it was that all that the only thing that stood between us was my best friend's dad, Michelle's ex-boyfriend's father. It actually didn't take long for David to catch on, but the guilt was still nagging at me. I excused myself, found my friends, and took Sparkie aside. Just as I knew he would, he laughed when I asked him if he would mind if I asked Michelle out (or probably, more accurately, if he would mind if I "got off" with her). With my friend's blessing secured I made my way back to the dance floor with Michelle. As Van Morrison's Brown Eyed Girl started playing, and I was still planning to make my move, Michelle kissed me.

My life changed after that. We were together most of the time, and spoke on the phone when were apart (actually spoke, there was no texting back then kids). We had found each other and didn't want to let go.

There have been a lot of changes in our lives since that night in July of 1999, some hard, some joyous, but the one constant which has never changed is that I love her, and she, I'm grateful to say loves me.

Hate/Apathy

While Michelle and I walking down Sauchiehall St. earlier there was an Asian girl and her boyfriend walking ahead of us, and a trashy looking girl and her friend ahead of us. We couldn’t believe our eyes as the trashy girl, completely unprovoked and without warning, reached forward and struck the Asian girl in the face.

Never once did it occur to me that the attack was racially motivated. Not to sound too much like a douchy liberal or anything, but I didn't even notice the girl was Asian, not until I heard her, that platinum blond piece of shit.

"You're not even supposed be here!"

You're not even supposed to be here? I couldn't believe it. I can't believe it. What could possibly possess a girl (or anyone) to just randomly attack someone? And to do it because the person is different from you? It was so odd, so unreal. It was disgusting.

Thing escalated when, understandably, the couple where shouting at the girl, mostly just asking: Why? When the trashy girl started attacking again Michelle and I were snapped out of our initial shock and called the police. Five minutes passed and the trashy girl started walking away after having continued to try and attack the couple several more times. I called the police back, gave a description of the blond and her friend and was assured that someone was on the way. We were in the area for maybe a further five to ten minutes but nobody came. We then walked in the same direction in which the girl had fled and still nothing. Not only did no officers respond, but there was absolutely no police presence on Sauchiehall St. or Buchannan St.

In the end I have to say that, as much as I was disgusted by the attack, my feelings about the police response are close to equal.

Superman

This morning, my three-year-old saw a trailer for Long Walk to Freedom on TV, pointed to Idris Elba, and exclaimed “Superman!” I corrected him saying that that man was not Superman, but that he was playing somebody who is a real life superhero.

At the time I didn't really pay attention to what I had said, but my words were absolutely apt and completely encapsulated how I feel about Nelson Mandela. The world was a greater place with him in it and we are all richer for the knowledge that a man of such strength and such character existed in our lifetime.

I am very saddened by the loss of one the few good men of the world stage but concede that the great man has earned his rest.

MINDFULNESS

“Do you own a Yoga mat?”, This was the first question asked of me when I was introduced to Mindfulness. The man I met with was John Coffey (like the drink, only not spelt the same; and like the literary and cinematic character, only not huge, black, and magical) and he invited me to join my first therapy group.

The principal of Mindfulness (as it relates to psychology) is to bring your attention and awareness to the here and now; to live in the present rather that fester on the past and/or worry about the future. To achieve this, students of Mindfulness are taught meditation and some yoga based techniques.

The course was eight weeks long and each weeks session lasted roughly two hours. I wasn’t really sure what to expect, I had never even considered using the practices which John had spoke of as means of dealing with my depression; not because I didn’t think it would work, it wast just not something that was within my sphere of reference.

I was very nervous on the first night. For months before walking into the class I had only had a social relationship with one friend, my two-year-old son, my wife, and my mother. When I arrived I was greeted with weak smiles, little nods, and tension so thick that I practically could have swam to my chair. The question was this: In a room full of people with anxiety, who will speak first?

For the majority of the first session, the group introduced themselves, discussed rules, and were asked to say what they expected to get out of the course. In my case, I felt that Cognitive Behaviour Therapy (CBT) may have taken me as far as it could, and I hoped this different approach may help me further along.

At the end of the session John told us to lay out our yoga mats (yes, I bought one.) and that we were going to try an exercise called the Body Scan. Despite my initial thoughts on hearing this — run! It’s a cult! They're going to touch you! — I actually found the Body Scan incredibly effective. It relaxed me in a way that I hadn’t been for months; even my shoulders (usually like blocks of concrete) felt loose.

Over the next few weeks we, the group, learned a variety of techniques on how be mindful. At first I struggled with how exactly Mindfulness could help me, but then I read something in the paperwork which made it all into place. The section described how people with depression/anxiety will often find outlets to take them away from their thoughts and/or ways to avoid interacting with the world. The paper referred to this as being ‘addicted to distraction’, a sentence which fits me so perfectly that it could be carved on my gravestone. When I read that I realised that, although Mindfulness itself is essentially a distraction, it is a much healthier distraction. Rather than say, busying yourself with ‘Angry Birds’, you would instead try to live in he moment, taking in everything around you and bringing awareness to the here and now.

The course ended on Wednesday night and ultimately I’m unsure if I will be able to use Mindfulness to my full advantage. I believe the theory is sound, I believe that the techniques are useful, but I have a couple of barriers which are holding me back. Firstly, there’s time; the process of learning mindfulness practices is described as being simple but not easy — meaning that the concept is easy to understand, but that the goal can be difficult to achieve. The key to learning how best to use mindfulness is the same as it is when learning any new skill: practice. It is advised in the course that you use what is called formal practice — the body scan, meditation, yoga based exercises — and informal practice, which is just bringing the principals of attention and awareness to your everyday life. Formal practice should be done for 30 - 40 minutes per day. Per. Day. During the course of any given day I have just over one hour to myself. Of course, you would think that this would be ample time for me to engage in my formal practice, and you would be right; if not for my second problem: the hangover. No, not unexpected comedy hit of 2009 ‘The Hangover’, the hangover I’m referring to is the after effect of the little mood regulating pill I take each night before bed. I get up just after 6:30am every morning (cheers, son.) but I wouldn’t say I really wake up until just before early afternoon. That free hour which I spoke of before falls dead centre of that time frame, and the chances of me not falling asleep while attempting formal practice and waking up in time to collect my boy from nursery is close to nil. Despite these barriers, I will endeavour to use Mindfulness as best I can.

Over the eight weeks of attending the group I found some practices were more helpful than others, but I almost always felt better at the end of each class than I did it the start; the main reason for this was the people I was with. Together, we all learned a new way to think. A new way to face the world. Whether or not I’m ever able to use mindfulness properly, I’m glad I was able to share my time with everyone involved.

My Little Gift

I just received this little gift from my wife. Every morning, after having to drag me out of bed, she tends to our son, feeds our cats, and makes me a coffee before going of to work for 9 hours.

I was ill last night, loaded with the cold, so when I woke up this morning I was feeling pretty sorry for myself. My wife asked me many times how I was feeling and bought me medicine, something which I perceived as her telling me that I had to be okay, that I had to be all better because there was nobody else that could look after our son. I snapped and said that if were her that was sick then she could take a day off and why shouldn't I get to have a sick day. She told me that what I had was a cold and just to get on with it. I did not take that very well and said some nasty things. Things I did not and do not mean.

It's afternoon now and I more or less am feeling back to 100%. I would not have needed a day off, and even if I had still been feeling sick, I would have been able to look after our son until it was time for him to go to nursary.

I don't deserve this little gift. I don't deserve my wife. I don't deserve her care, or kindness, or love. Thank you for your love. Thank you for your care. And thank you for occasionally pushing me when I need to be pushed.

Thank you for my gift.