life

A CONVERSATION WITH MY 13-YEAR OLD SELF

| sophiekemsley

Many people who know me will know that I’ve written a complete diary entry, every single day, for thirty years. I didn’t intend to, but once you get into the habit of something like that, you can’t quite stop.

The diaries are personal. I started them in the interest of recording all the things I didn’t want to forget, but over the years they’ve been a valuable way for me to process my thoughts and feelings too. This was particularly useful during childhood, when things were ever-changing at pace.

I was very lucky to have a stable and generally happy upbringing. When I post what I’m about to post, I want to make it clear that I acknowledge and appreciate that. But – like a lot of young people – I really struggled with anxiety.

Throughout my teens, I had zero confidence in myself. I felt different to everybody else, hated my appearance, and was often ridiculed and laughed at by the ‘cool’ girls for being a bit “weird”, because I enjoyed different music and could be a bit quirky.

And I looked the way I did. I was regularly referred to as Bugs Bunny because of my teeth and – on one particularly damning occasion that I can fortunately laugh about now – Robbie from Eastenders, because of my straggly hair (as well as the teeth, again).

Some lines stay in your head forever:

“You’re SO sad. You know that don’t you?!“ (First week of secondary school, from a girl who’d gone to the same primary school so I felt had the evidence to say this. Ouch.)

“What’s wrong, Sophie? Did you look in a mirror?!” (Year 11. Same girl and her friend. Double ouch.)

I often felt that nobody really liked me because of these things, which as a child is a really nasty yet very common way to feel. In reality I had many lovely friends at school, and though time and distance can naturally cause some friendships to drift, they will always have a special place in my heart because of what we learned about life together. The problem at the time, was that I just didn’t understand why they’d want to hang around with me. I didn’t even want to hang around with me, because it would have meant having to look at my face, and I didn’t even like looking at myself in a mirror, which probably explains why I often looked a bit of a mess. Vicious cycle.

But this isn’t a ‘woe is me’, because the reality was that I was far, far from alone in being the target of ridicule.

My form at school earned a lovely nickname within the wider year group: ‘Slags and Weirdos‘. I never needed to ask which category I fell into. In the earlier years of secondary school there was a bit of an in-form rivalry between the two of us because we were so different, but by the end of year 11, we all seemed to gel. Maybe it was a mutual respect following the shared experience of being judged by others, but it showed to me at an early age the value of trying to understand and respect people’s individual stories, even – especially – if on the surface they differ from our own. The importance of recognising that all groups have their own challenges and experiences. The ‘Slags and Weirdos’ had more in common than they initially realised, and we were the best form because of it. Go the A’s.

And I know that this kind of social politics still goes on in schools today, that young people are struggling more than ever with their mental health, either with anxiety like I had or things much more serious. I feel for them, I really do, particularly in the advent of social media, where the judgement and bullying can be constant, and not just confined within school walls.

Whenever I read through my old diaries, there are so many occasions when I just want to respond, to go back in time and reassure or advise myself from the future. I obviously can’t do that, but writing this feels like the next best thing.  Who knows, maybe the 65 year old me will feel like doing similar after reading back over the 2026 diary. A lot of our life is only really understood or contextualised in time. That’s how it works.

Much of the content below will seem trivial. It is trivial, and that’s why my responses are mostly in jest, but the problem is that I didn’t know that at the time. The fact is, that it was a very upset thirteen year old girl writing some of these entries, and whilst I personally think it’s healthy to be able to laugh at ourselves – which is why I do so throughout this post – I don’t want that sentiment to be forgotten.

Why am I sharing this? Well for one thing, I’ve been trying to work out for years how to make some use of my diaries, since I’ve spent so many years writing them.  The other reason is that I think sometimes, even within the furthest flung corners of the Internet, things are found when they need to be. If any youngsters come across this page at any point in the future – my nieces and nephews perhaps – then I hope it can help to reassure you of the power of perspective and time, and why many of the things you’re stressing about now really don’t matter, or that they’ll pass.

I deliberated whether sharing photos from the actual diaries – as opposed to just typed quotes – would be appropriate or ‘too much’. In the end I decided to share them. That way you know the words haven’t been altered or embellished to make for better or more impactful reading, like so many other things are these days. They are a child’s real thoughts and feelings. They were never written with a wider audience in mind, and there was no reason to try and hide or fabricate anything.

So here you have it. A conversation with my 13 year old self, part 1, when we head back to early 1999. This was my first page-to-a-day diary, the first year that the entries started to properly contain feelings as well as facts. My original plan was to do a full year, but within just two months, there was already so much I wanted to say… and that alone speaks for itself.

Names have been obscured and replaced with *** where appropriate.

“I’m really depressed that it’s back to school on Monday, every day something bad and worrying happens, it’s only good on Fridays when we don’t have too many different lessons.”

“There will come a time when you actually miss a lot of things about school, even double Maths on a Monday morning with Mrs Dey (what a legend, by the way. You thought she was evil, but now you realise it all came from a place of care. And in 2024, when you find out she has long passed away, you will actually feel very sad, and regret writing that poem about her in year 9).

You ‘worked’ a 6 hour day which included over an hour of pissing around playing cards at lunch. Bin Duty was once a term as opposed to every single day. You didn’t have to worry about bills or income. The only thing you were really compelled to do was go and learn about new and interesting things all week. You’d love to be able to do that now.”

“Absolute shit day!! There was me, tootling to skool all optimistic, only to find out that ***** knew about the Steps dance we were doing. She was really upset and now the group has split in two.”

“The sad thing here (aside from the fact you were planning to do a dance rendition of ‘Tragedy’ by Steps in the school talent show), is that you had been uncomfortable about leaving her out from the start, but you didn’t have the courage to voice it. You were more concerned about being included in the dance yourself, even if it meant others – like one of your favourite friends – missing out. That’s the real ‘tragedy’ here, and it was a really shitty thing to do. You’ll eventually learn that you must always listen to your gut feeling and align your actions with your values, but admittedly it’s harder to do that at your age, when you’re still working out what those values are…

By the way, in years to come – starting as soon as year 9 – you will ALL be laughing about the fact you fell out over this. So that weekend you wasted feeling grey and sick about this, worrying you’d lost those friendships forever… you really didn’t need to.”

“I’ve heard a cool song called ‘Pretty Fly for a White Guy’ by The Offspring. It’s cool. I heard it in HMV. I’m a goth, it’s official. Chart music today sucks (apart from BSB and 5ive – who are obvious exceptions). Heavy metal kicks ass! The songs have a meaning other than, ‘Oh I’ve just decided I love U‘

“Oh, Sophie. Cringe. The Offspring are NOT goth, nor are they heavy metal, they’re pop punk. You’re not a goth, although you’ll try to be one in 2001 when you start wearing lots of black and burning incense in your bedroom whilst listening to Belladonna & Aconite from your big sister’s Inkubus Sukkubus CD on repeat and using words like ‘wiccan’ on internet chatrooms even though you have no idea what it actually means.”

“Ya know, as a goth, people may think I’m sad, but they’re all a bunch of saddoes anyway. Live and Let Live. Peace to goths worldwide.”

“Hahaha. You’re still not a goth, three days later. And now you’re being judgemental about other’s musical tastes too. Practice what you preach, though you’re right in expressing solidarity with a minority.”

“I’m a little depressed about something. I don’t know any boys. I mean sure, there’s ***** and that lot but no more and it’s not as if I always see them. I hate my school, if it weren’t for my friends I’d want to leave, but (Rickmansworth School) is too weird. I guess I sound like a snob now, but it’s true, go to Ricky, prepared to be bullied if you’re larger than a 10 and look ugly like me (the ugly bit only, I’m size 8). I just hope things work for me like they did for (sister).”

“You’ll start meeting boys and having boyfriends in a couple of years, and the ensuing drama and general cacophony will make you realise why you’re happy to attend an all girls school. A comparatively peaceful oasis within the nonsense.

You will get offered a place at Ricky for sixth form but you will be delighted that you don’t need to accept it and can stay where you are. So you don’t really hate your school afterall.”

“Right, today was fairly bad. Everything was OK until lunch. ***, *** and *** did impressions of me doing (the) Tragedy (dance), but just as (a) joke, which I’m aware of. I needed the loo so I got up and left the classroom. ***, *** and *** followed me out to see if I was okay, and I turned a bit tearful. I’m sorry I can’t do the stupid dance.”

“Okay, firstly, you need to accept the fact you’ll never get any better at coordinated dance (or any dancing, for that matter). Secondly, why on earth did they think a self-confessed ‘goth’ would make a great member of faux Steps! You don’t even like Steps. They should have just asked *** in the first place, if nothing else it would have saved the dramas of 08/01/1999. Whoever organised that bloody talent contest had a lot of tears to answer for!”

“At my party, she completely took over the CD player, we only listened to songs she liked. She knew I hated Billie music so she deliberately had that on.”

“Well thank goodness she (really nice girl, by the way) did take over the CD player at the party. Nobody would have wanted to listen to Weezer or Nirvana, just you (and possibly Emily), and you can do that in your own time. And one day, chart music will pine for something like the innocent, upbeat tones of Billie Piper. You might feel embarrassed to know that when you’re an ‘old lady’ (you know, 40) you’ll be straight on the dance-floor when that same song chimes in on 90’s nights. Because you want to. Genuinely. Pop music at the moment is the best, you don’t realise how good your generation has it. Keep her on DJ duty!”

“Hockey with Emma. There is a very fit boy there, I have a feeling he’s been noticed by me last year walking home. He’s from the Boys’ School, I could tell because he had Boys’ school gym socks on. He has dark hair in a style to Jordan from NKOTB. I’M GOING TO HOCKEY MORE OFTEN!!”

“You will never see him ever again, Sherlock. But you WILL see the real Jordan Knight, performing in Manchester in 2012. The rest of the New Kids will be there too. Yes, even Joey. The one you cried about last year because you fancied him so much but he lives in the States (and also has zero interest in meeting you, as he sits in his mansion with his beautiful blonde wife and millions of dollars).“

“My life really sucks!! I’m fed up with all this arguing at school. *** and *** went off again at lunch, *** was upset, *** has been quiet all day. *** and *** feel sorry for *** and I’m just alone. If *** and *** become best friends, who am I going to be best friends with? I’ll just go with ***, but *** and *** don’t get on well. I’m sick of this. I want to be ***’s best friend. I h8 this (oh look I’m so stressed I’m repeating myself). It’s going to be impossible to have 1 good day, and I’m going to say so at lunch tomorrow. I’ll say, “look, it’s no good pretending everything’s dandy (ok, crap word). We must talk and be rational about this.”

“Christ. Where to start with this chaos… maybe just know that in as far away as 2024 you’ll go for brunch in St Albans with at least half the people mentioned in this entry, where you will spend a great deal of time reminiscing and laughing about dramas such as this one. Real friends stay, and you can look forward to meeting your very best friends in the years to come. That’s all you need to know right now.”

“I feel so stupid! Everything’s muffed up because of me! When I asked *** 2 join our group, it upset a few people aka *** and *** and I think maybe *** They were upset because I’d not asked anyone about it first. I understand why they’re upset and I feel so stupid! Now *** and *** have left the group and even sat somewhere different at lunch. I have a feeling someone is in a mood with me, well actually I know they are, the thing is I don’t know who. *** refuses to call us a group.”

“I’m glad you were considering ways to conserve valuable energy (and ink) when you wrote “2” instead of “to”. It’s a shame you expended that same energy on feeling way more upset about this than you needed to. You’ll all be friends again before the week is out anyway. Please stop crying about this. It’s really not worth it. Watch some TV instead, pick up a new book, learn to paint, spend time with your parents and make the most of the free cake on the days out at all those old houses and gardens.

And sometimes people just like to sit in different places at lunch to switch up the scenery. Don’t let overthinking become a habit…”

“Went to hockey with Emma. Unfortunately, the fit boy wasn’t there, but I hope he’ll be there next week or else!”

“Saddest love story ever known. He won’t be there next week, and neither will you. You and Emma will start bunking off from hockey club and cycle around the park for an hour instead before going back to her house to play Paperboy on the Sega. You’ll lie to your parents but the probability is they know this already. The shite hockey skills and lack of bruises kinda give it away.”

“At lunch some girls came up to me and implied that I looked like a boy they knew. I’m insulted!”

“Yeah. Comments like this don’t really help with the hang-ups, and the fact you’ll still be able to visualise this exact moment – some year 10s near the stairs by the modern language department – in 2026 isn’t great. But whatever, hopefully it was a fit boy at least. Or one that will grow into a hot man. Maybe it could be worse.”

“Confusing day. I felt that *** and *** were both in a mood with me and I had no idea why. I think it’s because I didn’t tell them what *** told me yesterday about *** and the legs.”

“Trying to second guess what people are thinking and feeling is – and will always be – exhausting. Just ask them, instead of overthinking. Chances are they’re thinking about Wagon Wheels and German homework as opposed to some idle gossip about some ‘legs’ (wtf).

“*** lent me her old mobile phone, it’s so I can look all cool in front of ***”

…

*Slams head on desk*

“Ooh! Today was scary! In PSE Miss Brown caught me writing, ‘I HATE PSE’ in big pink writing all over one of the pages of my rough book. She had a go at me after school.”

“Put the pink pen firmly back in the cylindrical Bang-on-the-door pencil case and stop defacing your rough book. You won’t realise it yet, but PSE is actually one of the more important of all the classes. You might find the Resusci-Annies mildly terrifying – who doesn’t- but this is more important than learning about tectonic plates, and more important than learning about parabolas (word last used in 2002). Just because there’s no exam on it, doesn’t mean you mustn’t listen. And that’s exactly why Miss Brown shouted at you about this, because she knew how important it was too.”

“I received my fake Valentine card. The poem inside is sick man!”

“You’ll remember it word for word for years to come, because you keep it:

‘Dear Sophie, your eyes are like shining grapefruits. Your lips bloom like Venus fly traps. From HB‘

Fair play to whichever creative genius wrote that. Even though it was sent in jest… still one of the best you’ll ever have.”

“Valentines day, the one day of the year that is the same all the time – I never receive any cards! I mean, I don’t exactly expect people to dish out money on a crummy looking card for me or anything, but it just adds more proof to my famous hypothesis- I’m UGLY”

“You have literally just received a Valentines card from your childhood crush. We can ignore the fact it was a joke. You can’t be that ugly anyway, your eyes are like shining grapefruits, apparently.”

“*** told me that *** thinks I’m annoying – because I help people with their problems.”

“It will never matter what anyone does – or doesn’t – do. Somebody, somewhere, will always have a problem with it. Even in adulthood. But the useful thing is that they’ll never be the sort of people you wish to have in your life anyway, so stop caring about what they think and only concern yourself with the opinions of those whose opinions you actually value. “

And to end with something light…

“Went to Tesco’s. It was sooo embarrassing!! I was walking down the frozen food aisle, fiddling with my retainer in my mouth – when suddenly it fell out and went rolling along the floor – bouncing too. I knelt down (on) the floor and I couldn’t find it then this lady comes along and points to it, ‘Is that what you’re looking 4?’ “.

“I’m telling you this after two whole rounds of braces and an ongoing interest in Invisalign, because if you were still in school right now you’d probably still be getting referred to as ‘Bugs’:

Stop.Fiddling.With.That.Retainer. And wear it EVERY night. Forever”

To be continued…

THE TRUTH ABOUT TURNING FORTY

| sophiekemsley

Ten years ago, I wrote an article on this blog called “The Truth About Turning Thirty“.

Of all the 164858273 (or however many) articles I’ve written here, it’s still one of few that has had a life beyond this website. Thought Catalog published it, it had thousands of views worldwide, and was warmly received by a number of friends and acquaintances who shared it further.

An executive summary of “The Truth About Turning Thirty”? Well, essentially, it was about ignoring societal expectations and realising that ‘milestone’ years end up being a bit of an anti climax, and nothing to dread. In many ways, turning thirty was a relief. Didn’t have to think about it anymore.

Back in 2016 when I shared the article, a few older friends asked if I would do a similar piece in the future about turning forty. I remember wincing at that prospect at the time: “Forty?! I mean, I’ve just about handled turning thirty. Forty will be a whole new kettle of fat, oily fish. Really not looking forward to that one.”

If I’d historically thought I’d be married with children by thirty, then forty was a whole new thing. Not only should I have definitely had a family of my own by that point – and beaten that biological clock so many warned of – I should have also nearly paid off my mortgage by then too, be worshipping Himalayan salt lamps and all things magnolia, wearing cream linen suits to buy yoghurt-coated macadamias in M&S, and preparing for early retirement.

Or so I thought.

(An image which proves why AI isn’t a complete threat to art 😉)

The reality is, I’ve still not married. In fact, the closest I’ve ever got to an engagement is putting a beef Hula Hoop on my forefinger whilst snacking, and I’m unlikely to ever be a mother. One thing our generation of females was brought up leading to believe was a must do in life, is pretty much not ever happening for me (for a number of personal reasons beyond age, plenty of people become mothers after 40)… but, the Earth hasn’t imploded afterall. My mortgage is still massive and – thanks to the state of today’s economy – I’m probably going to have to carry on working when I’m a skeleton that’s been six feet under for 50 years.

But the interesting thing?

I care even less about any of that than I did when I was ten years younger.

Because there are two things that happen concurrently as you age, and they both repel each other slightly.

The first is that you think you should be continuously developing, progressing, moving forwards, and all that jazz. Just like all those well-intended lifestyle influencers on social media, who punctuate their prose with new-age words like ‘up-levelling’ and ‘manifesting’ – and who make us feel guilty for drinking Pepsi Max instead of turmeric-infused liquidised tree moss – suggest.

The second is that you have an ever growing appreciation of how fragile life actually is. And that if you’re just here, breathing, seeing, experiencing – then actually that’s enough – and that thinking about the next goal, whilst having its place and purpose sometimes, can actually become quite exhausting if constant, and detract from the things most precious.

And the latter of those two things is the one I find myself bowing into the most these days. A global pandemic that fell within my ’30s contributed massively to that. Remember that weird time, when suddenly we all realised how the smallest things – like shopping for groceries and finding one person to walk with – were actually exciting, and what mattered the most?

Maybe because they are. Always were, always will be.

After something like that, all those social milestones which had been plotted into the land ahead got dug up and chucked into a household refuse tip along with all the other fads of the past.

But even without a pandemic, I think it still would have happened.

In essence, the older you get the more you realise that time and headspace is better spent on the things we have than what we don’t have, and how precious time is. It’s nice to dream about tomorrow, but not at the expense of today, which is incidentally the only time we ever really have.

And then – as much as we wish to deny it – there’s a third element too. One which wasn’t as visible at 30. One which I hadn’t felt the need to account for when I was ten years younger, writing my previous piece.

It’s that of age, and the natural impacts it has on the body. Key limbs or organs beginning to struggle (for me it’s my peepers, damn you, recurrent corneal erosion…). Lines on the skin requiring more and more latherings of cream. Grey strands battling the brunettes and blondes for ownership of your head, making you feel less like Cruella and more like a full-on witch, pining for the halycon – by comparison – Cruella days of the past. The body slows whilst the days and weeks around it seem to accelerate.

The brutal truth that we are closer to the end than when we turned 30, even if we still – hopefully – have a long while to wait.

And what does that really mean?

It means ‘just press play‘.

Just effing press it.

Dance to the song that’s playing right now. Though there may not be as many DJ’s, cocktails and 2am boxes of fried chicken to go with it as there were ten years ago, there’s still a rhythm in there somewhere. But, if it’s taking a little while to detect it, then it’s also fine to take a rest for a bit. (‘Superstition’ by Stevie Wonder always served a great purpose as being a good time for a loo break in order to get back in time to celebrate the impending arrival of the Vengabus).

And eat more beef Hula Hoops.

Because ageing – turning forty – really isn’t a bad thing. At all.

(See you again when I’m 50. If I haven’t abandoned all things internet to join a magnolia-worshipping, tree-moss eating cult on some remote island in the Pacific).

LESSONS FROM A DODGY ELECTRICIAN

| sophiekemsley

My electrics blew out the other week. Completely.

The timing couldn’t have been worse, it was a busy Monday morning between important meetings and not only could I not get back online to attend said meetings, but nor could I boil the kettle to make myself a coffee with which to mentally deal with this drama.

Preliminary scoping of the problem suggested that only an emergency electrician could help me out here, so I got onto Google, did a few searches, deployed what I thought was a decent enough amount of due diligence and contacted the first one on my admittedly rushed list of contender soon-to-be superheroes.

He arrived 45 minutes later than promised and diagnosed the problem within seconds of pointing a technical looking thingy at my fuse box:

“Well, I’ve taken a look, and it looks quite a simple fix…”

My heart rose.

“…But it’ll basically cost you your left lung and a million pounds. So if you’re happy to just agree to all that right now and send over a 20% deposit along with all your remaining bags of Wotsits, I can get you back online within minutes, Ms Damselindistress”.

My heart sank.

I needed time to think.

So I thought about it.

And I thought that if that’s what it needed, if that was the only thing that would help me to carry on doing my essential tasks, then that’s what I’d just have to do, and worry about the cost later. I started to think about all the things I could sell to help fund this.

But then I observed a funny feeling inside, and considered the idea that this was all a bit quick and that this man might be a bit of a con artist.

And that he needed to leave immediately.

I channelled my inner Peggy Mitchell from Eastenders:

“GET OUT MA FLAT!”

Now clearly, it didn’t happen that way (although in hindsight I wish it had, as that would have been far more entertaining). In reality, it consisted of a sheepish call to my Dad for a second opinion and then politely, but also very socially awkwardly, asking the man to leave so that I could “process this”, and apologising for calling him out to effectively do nothing. So British of me.

“That’s fair enough, Mrs Kemzel. But everyone else is going to tell you the same thing. And they will charge you much more than we do.”

He left and – long story short – a more reputable electrician came a few days later and pretty much resolved the matter within minutes for a fraction of the initial quote. One 32nd of it, to be exact (I calculated it!). I then realised for certain, that I had been duped by the original guy. He had realised my knowledge of electrics barely extended beyond “switch it off and on again”, and tried to take advantage of that, to my – literal – expense. He created a problem that didn’t exist and threw jargon at me that he knew I wouldn’t understand enough to question, and I almost fell for it.

So what’s the point of this admittedly pretty boring story? Well, for one thing, it’s a lesson in realising that just because somebody might appear to be wearing the right badges and holding the right equipment, it doesn’t always make them trustworthy, or even right. It’s both hard and depressing to accept that there might be people out there with intentions that profit from the naivety of others, but it happens more often than we realise, and can have devastating, life-long impacts on vulnerable people.

I also thought more about our reliance on electricity and digital connection. There was a point during this encounter when I had my banking app open ready to depart with a considerable sum of money, not because I wanted to, but because I felt I needed to. And that’s a feeling that pretty much summarises most of our financial outgoings – bills, MOTs, boiler services, groceries (and I’m not talking about the fun stuff there, but the blendinthebackground omnipresents like celery and stock cubes) – all really boring stuff that doesn’t exactly excite us but is stuff we feel we need to pay out for because if we didn’t life would be a lot harder and we wouldn’t function.

Most of us sacrifice a lot of the stuff we want in order to pay for what we need. It’s a very lucky minority who don’t need to do that.

But I’d also argue that sometimes, we do actually need some of the things we want. We might be able to function without treating ourselves, but this life is too short and challenging to persistently do that without reprieve.

Being content and enjoying the limited time we have is also a need. Probably – definitely – the most important one of all, but when it comes to using money to buy things that can help us do this, it’s often the one we prioritise least, because we don’t get sent intimidating letters and our homes won’t fall down if we don’t do it.

I’m obviously not recommending that we all start spending our money irresponsibly, as that just makes things trickier in the long run, but I do think that sometimes we need to be as quick to consider handing over our cash for things that simply bring joy as we do for the more boring things that just support basic functionality.

Both because we want to, and because actually, sometimes we need to.

And if you still can’t convince yourself that it’s perfectly okay to treat yourself once in a while despite these tough economic times, then just pretend there’s a dodgy electrician in your home telling you that you should, and that if you don’t do it, your heart won’t function.

Photo by Malte Luk on Pexels.com

THE WHEEL THING

| sophiekemsley
Photo by Erik Mclean on Pexels.com

In a couple of weeks’ time, I’m going to be saying goodbye to the car I’ve been driving around in for almost eight years and saying hello to a new one. And though – on the surface of it – this is just a case of trading in one costly clump of metal, rubber and plastic for another, I think it’s going to feel a bit sad pulling up the handbrake for the final time and stepping away.

ThecarthatIalwaysintendedtonamebutneverdid and I have had a lot of adventures together over the years. It’s enabled me to get to many destinations for many different purposes, from rubbish dumps to mountain ranges, and all the places in between. It’s been privy to the worst of my language and the worst of my singing (which is also my only singing). It’s put up with my varied taste in music without casting judgement, and has never really let me down.

In recent weeks I’ve been driving a little more than usual (apologies, environment, I promise it’s just temporary) to enable some final adventures with TCTIAITNBND, and some of my favourite times to do this have been at night, when the roads are emptier. There’s something quite stimulating about it, and when you get a good long stretch of motorway it can almost feel quite meditative. No choice but to focus on the road ahead and nothing else. No phones. No emails. No aimless scrolling. Just the warming glows of blurring lights and the names of nearby destinations passing by, with the occasional illuminated views of people eating burgers in service stations overhead. You think about each of their stories – where are they heading to, and why? – and wonder what the wildest reasons are.

You are locked in the present in ways which can be hard to achieve during other activities, practicing mindfulness without even realising. It’s not always about breathing or colouring.

And when the tunes are blaring there’s the temptation to skip the junction that will take you home and just carry on driving, no particular destination in mind, and just seeing what happens. And you won’t, because you need to get back and fuel costs are still ridiculous, but you promise yourself you’ll definitely do it someday.

When’s your favourite time to drive?

SAY-SUN-ARA, SUMMER?

| sophiekemsley

This Summer seemed to go as quickly as it came, but there are still hints of it here and there (if you search hard enough!).

The other week I particularly admired the resolute energy of this ageing sunflower in a nearby field. It was clearly a bit beyond its best, a bedraggled, hump-backed figure swaying in a lilting September evening breeze, ochre petals that were once lemon yellow wilting and reluctantly falling to join all the decaying neighbours on the ground.

Gastropod inflicted holes. General bit of a mess. I think we’ve all pretty much felt like how this sunflower looks at some point, I felt myself developing a hangover just by looking at it.

But what I liked about it is that it stood tall anyway, desperately seeking out what final remnants of sunshine it could to prolong the time it had left to dance. And dance it would, even though everybody else had already headed home. Even if once steady sways were now somewhat more wobbly.

And maybe – at this time of year especially, as clouds increasingly come to nudge blue skies away – we could all do with being a bit more sunflower. This particular one, ideally.

Looking up, dancing on.

THE DIGITAL DICHOTOMY

| sophiekemsley

A couple of years ago, the watch manufacturer, Timex, took a swipe at the Smartwatch phenomenon by advertising an analogue watch (with actual moving hands!) that could ‘tell the time without seeing you have 1,249 unanswered emails’. The advert won a huge amount of plaudits and was considered to be very clever, whereas once upon a time – not so long ago – the reverse version of that statement would have been what impressed.

Promoting what a product lacks as opposed to what it provides has seldom been the foundation for excellent marketing technique, but in this instance it worked. It got people talking, and considering whether or not society is venturing into an era of digital malaise, in which our dependence on all things electronic is becoming as much of a pain as it is a convenience.

It’s something I have been thinking about more and more recently, triggered in part by the weekly notification I receive on my phone promptly at 9am each Monday. “You spent xxx more time on your phone than last week” it typically honks at me, and I’m never entirely sure if it’s trying to chastise me or for that or instead congratulating me for becoming further immersed into its features (and closer to 1984). Perhaps I should Google it, and see what other people think the intention of this notification is. All I know for sure is that it alarms me every time it includes the word, “more”.

Introverted extroverts like me can often make no sense to those who sit only one side or the other. You’ll think of us as chatty or shy, depending entirely on when you’ve met with us. We love nothing more than to feel connected with those we care about – in fact, we struggle if we don’t feel that – but we also crave regular access to personal space, and sometimes just don’t want to be ‘seen’. We view our phones as both a friend and an enemy at once, and since we need such devices for more and more things these days, we have to continually learn how to manage this somewhat complex relationship.

There are a lot of positives to it all. I think back to friends made in earlier parts of life and how as we diverted paths our friendship was restricted to the occasional letter received every few months (if that). The letters gradually stopped over the years and I could barely tell you anything about what they’re up to now, but had we been able to connect on social media, maybe we’d still be in touch to this day, and that would’ve been nice. I also think back to the times in which I’d only be able to resolve a bit of life admin if I was physically at home, on my computer, logged on to the internet. In many ways, I relish the fact that nowadays, you can tick things off your ‘to do’ list instantaneously, before they start weighing on the memory and mind. Transferring the money you owe to a friend whilst waiting for a plate of loaded fries to arrive. Applying for a postal vote whilst sat on a bus… digital technology is – without doubt – extremely useful.

Photo by Tim Gouw on Pexels.com

At the same time, I also worry that with a phone around, there’s never any real escape. We think about breaks – as a general concept- as a bit of an occasional necessity. They are. But is it really a break if you still feel compelled to respond to emails by way of the fact you have access to them 24/7? Or if you’re still reading all the same things that you would at home? I often recall being abroad a few years back and having a particularly lovely day out in which all I really thought about was what was around me in the there and then, throwing myself into the local culture and eating delicious food. I was feeling extremely relaxed and content, at a time when I had really felt I needed such a break.

Then, once I was back on WiFi, I stupidly opened up the Facebook app, and saw posts on local residents’ groups about people bitching about bin collections and the new charges for plastic carrier bags. I also had a couple of emails which prompted some anxiety. Within seconds, a small screen had transported me back to my day to day, the very thing I was trying to take a break from. I felt I may as well have been back at home, and then carried out a further act of self-sabotage by attending a yoga class. Two poor choices in a row!

You’d think the lesson from this would simply be to just not take your phone out, right? And a few years back, that would have felt possible to do, but nowadays – not so much. Going for a walk in the countryside? Better take a phone in case you get stuck or endangered. Breathe in that fresh air and panoramic surroundings!

Then see that text pop up about how your car insurance is due for renewal, and is likely to cost a limb (even switching off your data won’t have with that one!).

Heading to meet a friend? Better take a phone in case your train is delayed. But once you’re there you can put your phone away in your handbag and focus on your friend!

Until said handbag starts vibrating against your leg for too long to ignore, and you have to take the call because you don’t recognise the number, and it could be something important…

Up until it got soaked to death in a storm last year, I used to be one of the few remaining species on the planet who used MP3 players. Remember those? Just music and nothing else. It came with me everywhere for over a decade, and prompted many jokes from others alluding to my apparent love of antiques. Since phones can act as MP3 players these days and that’s what most people use, my traditional one was pretty impossible to replace, and so I succumbed to the trend. It’s been better in many ways, having no end of music to access thanks to Spotify and a decent data plan, but do I miss the days of being able to zone out to music whilst on the go without the fear of intrusion from emails and nuisance callers? Yes. Very much so.

If I sound like I’m bashing on technology too much, know that I believe the pros of it fully outweigh the cons. I would feel quite stuck and probably quite isolated if I didn’t have my phone.

But that’s precisely the problem.

Song of the Day: thenightsky – Lost Ocean

I can’t tell you anything about this band, as when I tried to find out more about them I got taken to a bunch of websites about custom star maps. Anyway, this is a nice Summer tune recommended to me by Spotify this week, so here you go.