The Great Jettison - emotional catharsis through physical catharsis!

Last year, as a Christmas present, I unashamedly asked for a pretty valuable gift. I asked my mum to gift me some of her time to help me sort through some of the mountain of stuff I have in my house that I don't want.

It's difficult to describe the effect that owning so much stuff has on me. I inherited an awful lot of things from my dad. He died on the 29th May, 2009, and I spent a large part of the subsequent summer trying to sort through his belongings, but there was just do much, it was impossible for me to do, despite the amazing help I got from so many friends. Eventually, when I'd reached my limit in both time and effort, I hired a removal van and stuck it all in storage. When I moved into my house a little over four years ago, I moved all this stuff in. I've been slowly sorting through it, and every now and then I have a bit of a breakthrough, and I feel a little more space.

But last Christmas, I still had so much stuff. The problem is, I feel the need (and I mean, I NEED) to sort through it before getting rid of it. Then I have to decide what to do with it - throwing things away is an absolute last resort (often a necessary resort, but still). So I have to sort things into sell (sub categories: eBay, carboot), give away (sub categories: friends, charity shops, freecycle), re-use (scraps of cloth, wood, metal - could well be useful!), and then recycling (sub categories: collection or dump).... and very last, bloody bin it. And that's just deciding what I should do, let alone actually getting on and listing, posting, packing, going to a carboot, giving away..... So getting my mum in with her disinterested viewpoint was a real boon. I had a big breakthrough, I got rid of quite a few things - but this seemed to pull out some vital stone in a wall I didn't realise I'd built, and promptly lead to a depressive episode. At the time, this felt horrible, as anyone who read this blog or spoke to me at the time will know, but ultimately it was a good thing. I hit rock bottom - but this gave me a platform from which to push off. It's been a journey, and I'm still occasionally stumbling, but the last year has seen some important changes - I'm still in counselling, I gave up my PhD, I got involved with Riverside Sourdough - something I love and truly believe in. I've slowly learnt that all the hallmarks of success and happiness that I thought I should be aiming for are not necessarily the ones that will actually make me happy.

This is the main theme of "Everything that Remains", a memoir by The Minimalists, which my friend Sally suggested I read as part of her new online book group (join in on Instagram! #pageturners #readcreateshare). A lot of it wasn't applicable to me (I do not have an insatiable need to buy new things, I don't always want new gadgets, I can't remember the last time I bought an item of clothing (bar socks and pants) at full price - most of my stuff comes from charity shops!). But, yes, I have inherited a lot of stuff.

I feel almost like a custodian, with a responsibility divvy it out the best I can. But that is a herculean task when you know how much of a collector my Dad was, and that's not even counting my Grandpa, whose stuff I have inherited after his death in September 2013. My dad's sister is still around, but there has been a massive breakdown in communication, and it doesn't seem there is a way to sort things out reasonably, without me being subject to accusations, including stealing from my Grandpa's dead body or whatever else she sees fit to make up and bandy about to anyone who will listen to her (a group which has pretty much diminished to zero members). All that is to come, and while I hope it will be easier that my dad's stuff, I am still terrified of letting go of some precious family relics. The worst thing is, all these relics.... I don't even know what they are, but I would still find it nigh on impossible to chuck away photographs, diaries, letters..... I know this may not make sense to everyone, but I've been brought up by a hoarder (sorry Dad, it's true) and it's not easy to break those early-learnt behaviours.

The authors, Joshua Fields Milburn & Ryan Nicodemus, made some really good points - a big one that I've taken away is to ask "does this add value to my life?" which is great in a lot of situations, but often I find that is a difficult judgement to make. Also, the main author really quite brushed over getting rid of his mum's stuff - he didn't even mention what happened to her dog! But as a direct result of reading this book, I've set myself small tasks. The first was to sort things into: eBay, Freecycle, car boot, and then begin to act on the first two. The carbooting will have to wait for a couple of weeks, but everything that comes back from that will either go straight to donating to charity shops, or if I enjoyed the experience and have a small number of items left that I still think someone would like. I'll head to a different market. The great thing is, once you start getting rid of stuff, the catharsis that results and the space and order that it inevitably leaves behind is such a big motivator that actually I start enjoying getting rid of things. But it's always good to let people know of your intentions and think that there might be someone who's tracking your progress, so with that in mind, here are some pictures of the first wave. (Well, almost.... Mum 'helped' me clear out my wardrobe recently, so a whole bin bag went to London to be sorted through by my sister and her friends.

Pre-sort

Post-sort: The eBay pile is front-centre, the Freecycle box front left, and the car-boot/else-wise pile behind

The starting point - Freecycle-a-go-go!

But the main thing I took from the book can be summed up in this quote:

"These days, I have little desire for new material possessions (although that baleful yearning still lingers from time to time), but I do want to be successful. And success for me has little to do with money, or possessions, or status. Rather, success is a simple equation: Happiness + Growth + Contribution = Success. That's the only kind of success I know. Hence I want to partake in work that makes me happy, work that encourages me to grow, work that helps me contribute beyond myself. Ultimately, I want to create more and consume less. Doing so requires real work"

I have had some moments of self-doubt since jumping off the track I was on - have I made the right decision? What am I doing with my life? Where will this lead me? Can I still consider myself a valuable member of society? Reading this brilliant book, and especially what is says along the above lines, helps me to appreciate that I can uncouple success with what I thought I should be doing, and just focus on things that actually bring me really joy, contentment, satisfaction and - yeah, growth. Mainly into all that space I'm creating by shifting my stuff!

Why I gave up my PhD after almost 4 years

Today, I had a meeting with my supervisor, for which I felt I had to write a letter, because I wouldn't be able to say the things I wanted to. In it, I told him that I didn't think it was feasible that I continue with my PhD, so I wanted to walk away. 

As many of my friends will know, I was diagnosed with depression in January. Depression, as I'm sure you all know, can be a difficult thing to get diagnosed, but suffice to say, I think I'd probably been suffering for a good while; at least a year but potentially longer. I have worked hard over the last few months to "heal" myself, and most of the time, I've been feeling better. But over the last couple of months, during which I've been trying to get back to work, I've felt like I've been on a downward slope. One of the things that made me realise how insurmountable an obstacle this was was the utter dread I felt in coming back from Scotland last week. For the first time I realistically considered the prospect of walking away, and it soon became obvious to me that this was the best option available. 

My PhD has been difficult from the start; my industrial sponsors pulled out, thus deriving me of any kind of external framework, and I could no longer expect the industrial experience that I had been happily anticipating. So a few months in I had to redefine what I was going to research, with my supervisor and I coming up with the plan to carry out the work on a specific type of furnace. We were very lucky, and managed to source one of these furnaces for free, but we had to deconstruct, transport, and reconstruct it. The time it took to get this furnace up and running was over a year, and it was longer than that before I started my own work on it. The capabilities of the furnace and associated equipment proved significantly less than I was hoping, and I was a matter of months away from my first (3 year) deadline. During this time was the first time I sought help for what I felt to be depression, but despite speaking to a counsellor I was not diagnosed. She gave me tips on time management. Steadily my motivation was draining away, and the constant small failures of not gathering results fast enough, not doing the tasks I'd set for myself, not advancing my work fast enough, led to a really quite toxic cycle of vitriolic self-criticism and inability to do anything about it. 

The actual issues I faced with my work would not have been insurmountable, were it not for the external issues I was facing in my private life, with the still-continuing fall-out of Kevin's death, his inquest and unwanted responsibilities in my grandpa's ill health and death, my aunt abusing her position of authority in my grandpa's affairs and effectively casting me out of "her" family because I wouldn't back down when she wanted to inherit more of my his money, one of my best friends becoming chronically ill, stressful home-ownership issues, and faulty brain chemistry; and then all the boring tribulations that any life well-lived brings. I went to speak to a woman in social sciences who has seen it all as regards PhD students, and we she said to me "I'm not surprised you've lost motivation; I'm surprised you manage to get out of bed every day!".

I had been feeling so much better, so I thought I would be able to make the PhD work, but as I began to assess how much work I would do, I would get a ringing noise in my ears and it felt like part of me would shut down in panic. I wasn't using my time constructively, outside of the time I'd allotted to working in the bakery I've become involved with. This had all been the case for a while, but the thing that made me make up my mind once and for all was the tragic death of Robin Williams. I tried not to read too much around it, because, to be frank, I'm miserable enough with the state of the world. But I did read a couple of articles about the reporting of depression-linked suicides in the media, and the statement "depression can be a fatal disease" made me feel a bit sick because to be brutally honest, and this is incredibly hard for me to admit, the horrible voice inside my head had questioned the point of continuing to struggle at all when the alternative would be so much easier for me. I'm given to understand that, contrary to what I've believed for years, vivid thoughts of harming oneself are not in fact normal when you're upset and stressed. So since I couldn't make myself feel better about my situation, I decided to change it. It was an incredibly difficult choice, and yes, I do feel like a quitter, and a failure, but I also feel that it takes a big person to admit they've made a mistake. I truly believe it is the right thing for me, and I look forward to having a fresh page on which to make my next decisions.

I want to thank all my wonderful friends to whom I've spoken in the last couple of days, for being so supportive, and not letting me feel like a failure! You're all my rock and I've so lucky to have you, especially Mum, Penny, Rhys, Sally, Sophie, Lizzy, Ceri and two Kates (D and K!).

The art of moving on

What a day. Within a month of the 5-year anniversary of Kevin's death, we finally had the inquest. Many of you will know the story, but for all those who don't know; my wonderful father died suddenly and tragically in a hot air balloon accident in Turkey, on the 29th of May, 2009. He largely brought me up, and we were incredibly close. Not only to me, but he also was a dad to both of my sisters, who have different fathers, he was my mother's best friend despite not having been a couple for 23 years, and his death left many of us terribly adrift. Quite simply, he was adored.

I was coming back from a night out in Brisbane, where I was living, and our very good friend John called me to tell me he'd been contacted by The Daily Mail to ask him for information about my dad after his death. After a few moments of complete disbelief, I felt like someone and hit some critical spot at the centre of my entire being, and I had exploded out into thousands of different pieces. It's five years later, and I still don't feel that all of those pieces have re-coalesced, and losing both Kevin's dad and uncle last year, along with finally having the inquest, have really brought many of those desperately sad and hopeless feelings I thought I'd got rid of to the fore again. So really, the last few months have been a case of really trying to solder myself back together and be the person I know he would want to have left in the world.

The inquest itself was, for the most part, boring and bureaucratic. Whilst I'm frustrated at how long it's taken, I can't fault Swansea Coroners' Court - they have been awaiting information from Turkish authorities, and response from the pilots involved, and details from their interviews with the police following the accident, none of which have been forthcoming. The finding of the inquest was basically thus: his death was accidental. The basket of the balloon above collided with the actual balloon ("envelope") of the one he was in, tearing it and resulting in it dropping like a stone about 150 metres to the rocky ground below. My father was killed, one person was permanently paralysed, and a number of people, included my dad's partner Juliet, were severely injured and still suffer almost constant pain and lifestyle-limiting injuries. The accident likely occurred as the result of two balloons being too close together, because they took off very close both in distance and in time. They couldn't say which balloon "went in" to the other, because both pilots declined to attend the inquest, which is fairly discouraging. There have been criminal proceedings in Turkey, but the conclusions of these were not made available to the coroner It was postulated that the balloons were so close together so as to allow the tourists in the different balloons to take pictures of one another when at altitude. So basically: my dad probably died for keepsake pictures.Sometimes, it's not easy not to be bitter.

But he was, in so many ways, the person I want to be, and he would do his best to eschew all bitterness. So that's what I strive for as well.

So this is a special day for his memory, and as part of that I'd like to include what I wrote as his eulogy and read at his funeral:

From the moment I came in to the world, Kevin was always there for me. I doubt if there was anyone more born to be a father. He listened when I read through “Little Red Riding Hood” for the first time, and he proof-read my essay postulating the existence of Dark Matter. From introducing me to the concept of angular velocity on a roundabout in Agnes Riley Gardens one summer’s afternoon after nursery, to watching me collect my physics degree 20 years later in Bath. From picking me up when I was too drunk to walk home, to being a spectator at my cricket match the following day. Watching continuous episodes of “Firefly” with me when I was dumped on Valentine’s day, supporting me when I couldn’t find work in Australia, through nightmares, bad exam results, good exam results, the bike-crashes, the burns, the illnesses, the screaming fits, the slammed doors, the ambition and the apathy, from the mountain tops to the bottom of the sea – and I mean that literally –he never underestimated me, whilst simultaneously he never failed in being there for me.

I always wanted to do the best by him simply because he always wanted to do the best by me.

More than anyone, he has influenced who I am, my values, my fears, my hopes, passions, bugbears, delights, slightly nerdy leanings, generosity, and empathy. We shared a sense of compassion, a sense of humour and a spirit of adventure, and ultimately a logical and relaxed outlook on life.

I have been prodigiously lucky in being taken on so many of his adventures, both large and small, diving, skiing, climbing, clay-pigeon shooting, windsurfing, sailing, kayaking, the Glastonbury festivals, visiting NASA, Las Vegas, The Grand Canyon, The Red Sea, The Rockies, and the Alps, right down to the gardening and the road trips, where we would sing the entire Rocky Horror Show album, from memory. 

Kevin was ever unfailing in his enthusiasm and pride in me and himself, with his almost constant smile which I have heard referred to so many times over the last 3 weeks. 

He had an indomitable sense of humour, which was at different times acerbic, witty, or downright slapstick – He was possibly the funniest person I’ve known, and I would like to relate possibly the funniest moment in my entire life; we were in Alpe d’Huez in the French Alps on one of our many skiing holidays. We were walking to dinner, him wearing his big bright blue skiing jacket, when for whatever reason, he decided suddenly to insert his entire head into a roadside snow drift. As I laughed hysterically, trying desperately to continue breathing, I asked “Did you really just do that?” to which he responded “What, this?” and promptly repeated the manoeuvre. As I fell onto the floor, completely incapacitated, he exclaimed “Well, it could be worse, I could have done THIS!”, and proceeded to run slap-bang into a person-height snow drift, leaving a cartoon-esque imprint in it. I can’t recall much after that, except that I had to be bodily lifted off the road because there was a car approaching….

I know that everyone will have their own memories of Kevin, and I would like to urge you, if you so wish, to share them with me, either in the book that we will have at the party this afternoon, or at any point in the future, in the days and years to come.

I would like to conclude by passing on a message to everyone, that I feel my dad would be proud to have as his epitaph, namely; do not, in the course of your lives, forget that you are never too old to learn something new, and you are never, NEVER too old to go on a new adventure.

I miss you so terribly much, Da.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kevin_Beurle
http://www.timeshighereducation.co.uk/news/people/obituaries/kevin-beurle-1956-2009/406899.article
http://www.planetary.org/blogs/guest-blogs/1978.html
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/london/8075154.stm
http://www.yourlocalguardian.co.uk/news/local/wandsworthnews/4415278.Exclusive__Daughter_of_Turkey_balloon_crash_victim_pays_tribute_to__unique__dad/