Tips on winning, from 3000 years of ancient wisdom

There are games that one plays and as you play you get better. 

The more difficult the opponent the more you progress. 

A skilled player will tax you, frustrate you and surprise you. Later you will lick your wounded pride. 

Afterwards, you gain from reflections on the lessons only an expert can painfully give you. Exposure to excellence does many things. 

On the one hand, it raises the bar of what is possible to heights you never knew existed. 

On the other, you learn humility and the grace to lose well. 

Otherwise, you may become a petty loser who blames everything and everyone for the gross injustice of not winning. 

Or perhaps you settle for only ever playing those of less ability than yourself. 

You become a perverted winner by fixing the game by default. 

In doing so you miss out on the real lesson to be learned. 

You will boast and bluster your victories to all who have the patience to listen. 

But all the while a tiny inner voice will nurture self-doubt. 

Losing is such a necessary part of life. 

It shows you there is much to do. 

To change, adapt, learn from others before the big game is up. 

You have to play this game of life. Win or lose it will take place. 

Your only choice is to learn from each loss or settle for pretending to be the winner you are not.

Quotes from winners from over 2000 years ago

“Waste no more time arguing about what a good man should be. Be one.”

Marcus Aurelius, Emperor of Rome. Lived from 121-180 AD.

“Happiness and freedom begin with one principle. Some things are within your control and some are not.”

 Epictetus – Stoic philosopher. Lived from 55-155 AD.

“Difficulties strengthen the mind as labour does the body.”

Seneca the Younger, Roman Stoic philosopher. Lived from 4BC-66AD.

“Our greatest glory is not in never failing, but in rising every time we fail.”

Confucius, Chinese teacher and philosopher. Lived 551-479 BC.

“Good character is not formed in a week or a month. It is created little by little, day by day. Protracted and patient effort is needed to develop good character.”

Heraclitus of Ephesus, Greek philosopher. Lived 535-475 BC.

“Good actions give strength to ourselves and inspire good actions in others."

Plato, Greek philosopher and mathematician. Lived approximately 428-347 BC.

“Be still my heart; thou hast known worse than this.”

Homer, Greek author of the Illiad and the Odyssey. Dates of birth and death are unknown. Lived somewhere in the range of 1102-850 BC.

PS the last one is one of my favourites!

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Bossy wives, funny bus drivers and transporting and transmuting

I had forgotten the chattiness of the Irish. Not the well bred iciness of the middle class, whose mark of good manners is studiously ignoring you under all circumstances. If they live beside you, they will pride themselves on 25 years of avoiding conversations across well manicured garden hedges. No, I’m talking about the chattiness of those neither rich or middle class. 

Here I am, heading by bus from Ballymoney to Belfast. Nothing exceptional happens all the way from Ballymoney to Ballymena. The usual flocks of the over 65’s taking advantage of free transport they are entitled to. It does the heart good to see groups of elderly folk travelling up to Belfast for the day. I love the way they dress up for such excursions. On cheap airlines nowadays, people dress down. It might be the stewardesses on such flights who set the tone. They are dressed like supermarket assistants and every everyone else feels duty-bound to follow suit. In the olden days, beautifully manicured stewardesses with pristine make up and hair floated up and down the central catwalk of the plane.  People aspired to that template with varying degrees of success. But cheap airlines show their disdain for customers so obviously; making you stand in freezing corridors like cattle, squeezing you into tiny battery hen containers. Dressing up for such treatment defeats even the fashion conscious among us. 

Regarding public transport, the wealthy have cars to insulate themselves from others. Occasionally, they will commute by train but use books, iPads and mobiles to isolate themselves from their fellow travellers. Buses however are avoided and so have a different clientele entirely. As a result social interactions on buses in Ireland are startlingly different. 

The new driver who takes over the bus in Ballymena is called Marty and is a really talkative man. He greets almost all who enter the bus by name and has a friendly insult for everyone. He is small and wiry and has a great line of chat. 

“Hi Ruth, are you heading up to Antrim hospital to see your mum?”

 He asked the middle-aged woman who is missing an arm. She smiles at him and nods. He beams back and asks, 

“How is she doing, love?” As he hands her a ticket.

She answers in a strong Ballymena accent,

“She’s not so bad, Marty”.  

He responds challengingly,

“You’re up visiting that hospital so often, I reckon you’ve a bloke up there!”

Ruth blushes and giggles, delighted by his jesting. The whole company on the bus begins to perk up and some smile. This boy is a live wire! He tells us all,

“My wife is 5 inches taller than me and is terribly bossy. I'm a chatty fella on the bus but a silent wee man at home! My God! She wears the trousers in our home!”

There are titters of laughter now from the front seats. Smiles are shared by all on the bus. A rather chubby redheaded lad in his 30’s runs late to catch the bus and is scolded by Marty. 

We’re all here waiting on you. Just take your time why don't you? We have nothing better to do than sit like wallflowers for you to come along! "

He makes the lad so nervous, he drops his coins into his rucksack and they disappear into its cluttered depths. He pulls out a tenner in desperation and offers that. Marty scolds him again,

 “Now, I'll have to give you my money out of my own pocket for change.”

He hands over fiver. 

“That's what the wife gave me today for a coffee and a bun!” 

The lad grabs it and runs to his seat at the back. An elderly man called Davy, shouts out,

 “You're a wild man, Marty, I’d hate to see you with drink taken!”

 Marty responds,

 “No, I don't touch the demon drink, sure look how mad I am without it!”

Davy mentions the bad thunder and lightning of the previous night and Marty says he is terrified of lightning he points out his garden was lit up last night with flashes.

 “I was scared rigid. You’ll know if there is lightning today because you’ll find me hiding under this bus seat!” 

Davy says, 

“I loved watching it from my chair, through the window last night!”

Marty snorts,

“Sure you're an old guy, almost dead already. You have nothing to fear from anything. I’ve got my whole life to think of!”

At this, the whole bus is laughing. Davy responds in puzzled tones,

 “How did you get that woman of yours to marry you? 

Marty explains, 

“Sure wasn't she the luckiest lass in the world to get me. I am a fine fellow. If I could've married myself, I would have! I got down on my knees and asked,

“Would you like to marry me? I'm the best man in the world. When she said, “yes” I asked if she could lend me a fiver towards my rent, now that we were practically family.”

Davy laughs and says,

“Sure you're raking it in, with all the money you boys on the bus get. Marty laughs and asks Davy,

“If I find £20 in one coat pocket and £40 in the other what would I have?”   

Davy shouts out, “£60” to which Martin replies, 

“No, I'd have someone else's coat on!”

The banter continues the whole way and he lightens the atmosphere. He is careful to greet each new passenger and say a teasing goodbye to those who disembark. He tells the thin tall teenage girl that she is on the late shift today and despite her shyness you can see she appreciates that he's noticed. By the time we reach Belfast others are telling their jokes, sharing tales and teasing him back. It's another world and if you couldn't catch the strong accents you would miss the good humour that cushions all the jibes. It all feels so familiar, this quick witted repartee. But it is Marty's ability to take a somber silent bus load and bring them back to good-humoured humanity that pleases me the most. His good nature is contagious and as we disembark I want to shake his hand in appreciation. There is definitely something special about having a radiant personality.  Misery is so contagious but thankfully so is happiness.

"A gentle word, a kind look, a good-natured smile can work wonders and accomplish miracles." 

quote by William Hazlitt (10 April 1778 – 18 September 1830) English writer and philosopher

The Inner Critic just has to go!

I have a voice inside my head. A vicious critic who has only negative comments to contribute. In every situation it considers only the worst possible overcome. I used to tell myself this voice had a role. It prepared one for the unseen or unexpected. When or if a disaster happened at least I'd had a ‘heads up’ in advance. Then, this last trip to Northern Ireland I talked with a loved one and came to the conclusion this voice needs excised. Part of that process incorporates understanding where this voice came from. 

I think I've tracked it back to childhood. The moment I arrived in the in the isolated Sperrin mountains of Northern Ireland fresh from Sydney, Australia. It didn't help having a distinctly Australian accent. Nor did being introduced to a fifth year primary class who had been together since kindergarten. Cliques had already formed and alliances and friendships were cemented. There was I, as odd as you please. By the end of my first day at school blood had been drawn. I felt different in almost every way from the children around me and the voice articulated clearly that I was an outsider. Every time I failed to make a friend, join a game in the playground or sat alone at lunchtime, I heard it's rancid observations. “You'll never fit in”. “They don't like you.” “Don't you get it?” “They don't want you here!” ”Stupid, stupid why did you think you could fit in?” Even when things went okay the voice prepared me. “Okay, sure, it's fine this morning, just you wait until break time then things are going to really kick off.” 

Was it really how I thought about myself? Or some defensive reaction to cope with the new challenging environment? I'm not sure but even now in my 50s when someone compliments me in any shape or form I look at them to see if they are joking. Searching for the truth not this false missive. It is as if believing something nice about yourself would be the biggest flaw. Why do I need to excise this longtime companion in my thoughts? 

When we let such a negative voices  dominate we damage not only ourselves but those closest to us. They learn our habits and it's a fact of life the very worst characteristics to cope with are your own unique flaws. We can stand all kind of idiosyncrasies in others but not our own. Secondly, the negative backdrop to life drains energy. When we are happy our strengths come to the fore. Negativity does the opposite. Hard things become harder. And even simple tasks become draining. I've reached that age where I can no longer afford this brutal observer. They have to go! Ageing makes even mundane tasks trickier  so I certainly have no need of this disabling critic. Thirdly, I'm tired of the struggle. There is an growing awareness that other positive forces will come into play if I can only disentangle this intruder of mine. I know when it made an appearance. Understand why it felt protective in some ways but now I recognise its toxic influence and want change. How does one change the habit of a lifetime? Like how you change any other habit. One day at a time, with determination and the knowledge that one has been stuck in this harmful mode too long. When I re-read my writing so much of it is riddled with my inner critic. So I'm not sure if when excised totally, I will even be able to put pen to paper! In any event I shall need to find a new voice. One hopefully that is a good deal kinder and more gentle.  Watch this space!

Perhaps our negative voices act as really dark sunglasses changing the actual landscape around us. Instead of vibrant colours we see a poor shadowy image. This ultimately affects our brain which quickly and efficiently recalibrates the world into darker tones. We even forget that it could be different. We gradually own this darkened world and navigate within its limited hues.  Missing out on the kaleidoscope of colours we are bemused by those who see things differently. Their descriptions bewilder us and cause us to question their grasp on reality. When a pessimist listens to an optimist they can feel annoyance at the naïveté displayed. Their mindset repels at this alternative slant on reality. I'm beginning to suspect having a negative voice inside your head, like the sunglasses changes our view of everything within this world. The resulting impact on the brain restricts the actual wavelengths that should be picked up but aren't. Seeing is believing after a certain time. For example, if we wear glasses that invert our vision after a number of days the brain will recalibrate what we see and make the appropriate correction. In other words it turns everything the right way up again. 

Just as our eyesight deteriorates with age so does our ability to hear. In a study on Malta, one of my students science projects involved playing beats of increasing frequency. I was most perturbed when all the 17-year-old went on nodding that they could hear beats when all I heard was silence. We lose so many frequencies every year of our lives. Perhaps this parallels a spiritual truth. The young see and hear better. They have the capacity like young plants to adapt the environment quickly when older branches need the fire of test to alter them. If, as we age we become increasingly incapable of seeing and likewise restricted in our hearing then no wonder changing patterns of ingrained behaviour becomes much harder! But with focus and reflection we can make changes.  It is comforting to know this effect has a name, Perceptual adaptation.

Here’s an exercise to show how powerful it is. Click on the link. First you will see lilac circles moving but then focus on the cross in the middle you should be able to then see the green shape!

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Perceptual_adaptation#/media/File:Lilac-Chaser.gif

“Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it.” 

― Rumi

Hug the important stuff to you and cut out the rest

I am just back home in Malta from a three week visit to Northern Ireland. Apart from the luxury of soaking up my mum's company and seeing friends and family including my two grandchildren there was much to appreciate. Usually, I would dwell on the disasters of the trip, of which there were a few, but I will close the veil over those and speak only of positives.

I visited an elderly friend of my mother's, Jean. She has just been given the diagnosis of terminal cancer so it was with some trepidation we approached the neat bungalow in Portrush. When we were ushered into the bedroom we were startled to find a smiling radiant Jean sitting up in her bed on oxygen and weak but full of joy. She greeted us both with outstretched arms and hugged us  close. After asking about our family she explained how she come to terms with death. She had done everything, lived a full life and was happy to end the show. Talking about her funeral she explained she didn't want some clergyman wittering on about how she was a good wife, mother or grandmother. So she was getting the music ready and picking poetry she liked and was hoping her grandchildren would be willing to read on the day. Laughter was quick to bubble to the surface and Jean beamed her goodwill around the room. At one point, she pulled down the bed covers and showed us her swollen pregnant looking stomach. “I'm calling him Elijah”,  she laughed pointing at the growing belly. We left her bedside blown away by her courage, radiance and her ability to shower love even at this time. Such people raise the bar of what it is to be human and I wish all of us knew more about these gems rather than the doubtful specimens that stride down corridors of power in this country. Nobility is so far from what we have grown to expect.

My mother, in her eighties, was full of gusto and energy as usual despite two broken toes. Keeping her home and garden immaculate. Weeding out with unforgiving remorselessness dirt, untidiness creases, dust and disorder. When she turns that glance upon me she notices the haircut I administered to myself with a large pair of kitchen scissors. Also, the fact that I had resown my size 16 pair of trousers to accommodate a recent loss of weight. Not being a dressmaker I had simply taken the same kitchen scissors (aforementioned) and sliced off a corridor of material from the inside legs all the way around. Then, on resewing by hand (in large and irregular stitches) I somehow created an unsightly bunch of material at the crotch. It was not a good look, for any woman, as it appeared as if I'd suddenly grown testicles but no penis in my mid 50s.   My mother notices too much and set about bullying me into improvement. Later, with a proper haircut, her size 12 trousers and a comfortable pair of shoes from her wardrobe I am transformed like her house and the garden. Then, each night we played sudoko with an intensity of competition seasoned athletes could not match. The winner gloats with satisfaction and the loser complains about distractions like visitors /TV or a phone call. 

My Mum and Northern Ireland people in general are always concerned what others think of them. They're convinced the populace is taking notes on all their misdemeanours. Neighbours may well have a telescopic lens trained on your front windows. This phenomenon of course is not limited to Northern Ireland. In the north of Greece my friend lived in a remote village where the neighbours took note of how often you washed your bed sheets. The lack of crisp clean sheets regularly blowing in the wind would be discussed with forensic intensity by the women of the village. I take after my father not my mother in such things and have fond memories of my dad, who cared little for the public’s opinion, opening the front door of the bungalow completely nude (just out of the shower) apart from a small hand towel strategically placed. 

I returned to Malta after midnight a couple of days ago and fell eventually into a fitful sleep. The flat is very noisy and creaks and I require darkness to sleep properly. However, I'm unused to the emptiness and so kept my bedside light on. As my grandson Charlie so eloquently declared when put to bed,  “Charlie doesn't like the dark.”  I love the way he always talks of himself in the third person.  Not having slept well I rose to a flat devoid of food. Accustomed to breakfast in bed, a dreadful habit, I decided to go shopping in my pyjamas in the neighbouring supermarket. I just put extra layers on top and bought all the food I needed. Then, got back into bed and resumed my normal breakfast routine. Now, I'm sure there were people who noticed my state of dress, bed hair disarray and panda eyes but fortunately I did not notice them! 

Something however I did notice this visit to NI was how old I have become. I cannot tell you how shocked I was by my mother’s magnifying mirror on her bathroom window ledge in Northern Ireland. There, for the first time in four years, in blistering sunlight I could see my wrinkles and hair growing everywhere it shouldn't particularly in places were really there seems no actual need for it. I mean nose hair serves a useful purpose but why should it proceed to grow excessively outside the nostrils like an overgrown hedge? In addition, because I've lost weight my face looks like a half deflated balloon and as if to take pride in its sprouting set of nostrils my nose has taken up immense proportions dominating my face in a fashion I neither recognise nor appreciate. But I'm being too negative. I’m mobile, I have loved ones and I am loved. There are times in your life you just hug the important stuff to your chest and take the kitchen scissors to the rest.

PS I have just realised that my interpretation of concentrating on the positive seems to consist of death, dying and the disintegration of old age with hair and wrinkles thrown in…sigh...

"Sometimes I go about in pity for myself, and all the while a great wind carries me across the sky."  Native American Saying

In the fog of change, you kind of lose stuff

When did it become so tricky to be a parent?

Somewhere after they hit adolescence

But before they gain independence

There’s a rough, rough patch

When they do all the wrong things

When you react in all the wrong ways

In the fog of change, you kind of lose stuff

Lose sight of how much they mean to you

Because you are so scared of all that’s out there

You question your parenting performance big time

Almost as much as your offspring do, but not quite

Bewildered at the pace of change you see in them

Blinded by a life time of holding this responsibility

Reluctant to let go of this precious trust

Shaken by their demands for freedom

But knowing that you have no choice to hold on

When does it become tricky to be a parent?

When they no longer need you to be around

But want you to see, they are transforming

And to embrace with joy what they have become.