Everything is XXXXXX

 I hinted in my last post that I have undergone some introspection recently as a result of our life changing decisions - selling our home of nearly forty years, buying a house in SA and our impending cessation of our employment and radical financial changes.

My week away with Ricky Ralph provoked discussion about our school days, old friends male and female, parents, siblings, politics, world affairs now and historically, technology, the environment, etc. Most of all we laughed a lot, like we always did.

Gord gave me a book for Xmas, "Everything is XXXXXX", subtitled "A Book about Hope", by Mark Manson. Provocative yes. It talks about emotions and values and behaviour and reactions of people, to what is happening to them and around them, largely in the context of our "thinking brain" and our "feeling brain" and how it all works. I'm not yet a third of the way into it but I'm sure it's an appropriate read for me at this pivotal time, where I cannot help but try to analyze why I am where I am, and think how I do. Not that I want to get too focused on it, I have too many practical things to deal with day to day and over the next two months that must take preference (The tussle between thinking brain and feeling brain is in full swing).

As the book says, I agree, we are all narcissistic to some degree, I'm no exception. We look at the world in terms of how it affects us. Last weekend I went back to Mt Waverley where I spent most of the first couple of decades of my life. My family left there almost 50 years ago. I drove past where our house was (it is no longer there, replaced by apartments). I drove past friends' houses, most of them are gone, my old primary school is still there, even a couple of the original buildings, but of course it looks very different with much less open space. The Sherwood oval where I spent countless hours kicking the footy as a boy is there unchanged except for the palm trees surrounding it being 50 years older. The kindergarten I attended is still there. The Valley Road Reserve survives, fortunately preserved and improved as the grassed areas are gone and replaced by native trees and scrub. It was wonderful and inspiring to see; "the bush" as we knew it, even better bush now 50 years on despite the development of sprawling city and freeways and traffic.

When I was about 15 years old I was out one Friday night with a couple of mates, Bill Edwards and Mick McCourt. Our dog Minnie, about 10 years old (we had a male dog when we were very young named Mickey- it died of distemper, called parvovirus now I think, and female Minnie was the replacement), a faithful dog who saw us grow from young children to adolescence, followed as usual. She ran onto Stephenson's Rd at the top of our street to check out a dog across the road and was hit by a car. She got up and ran back across the the road where I picked her up as she floundered. She went limp, dying in my arms. 

Tears came to me as I recalled this at that spot last weekend, more than fifty years after the event. With wonderful Minnie dead I was devastated. I howled my eyes out, and didn't know what to do. My mates were terrific in support at the time. I remember that. We decided to take Minnie to a vacant block near Mick's house and bury her with a pick and shovel borrowed from Mick's. I cried the whole time while we dug the grave. Tears well in me now while I write this. I had to go home and tell my family what had happened. Of course I blamed myself for letting it happen. To my relief my family did not blame me as I feared they would, despite their grief they were sympathetic that I had witnessed it and had the dreadful job of burying her. 

This self indulgent trip back to my past has keyed in with the book Gord gave me, and the changes in my life. I realize now how profoundly affected I was by Minnie's demise on my watch. I'm sure it was a contributing factor in my going off the rails in my teenage years. The book says a painful experience leaves you feeling like shit, and because of it you can think you deserve shit. I'm not looking for excuses for my failings; around the same time I took up smoking and binge drinking and lost interest in school and sport, I'm just thinking about my life and my values and how and why they change over time. I'm sure there were other factors, but 15 years old was bad timing to lose Minnie in that way. A kid growing up turns to the family dog when things go wrong, a trusted companion who gives love unconditionally. Suddenly she was gone and it was my fault.

I believe it's legal to briefly quote from the book if it is part of a critical article or review so-

"Psychologists don't know much for certain, but one thing they definitely do know is that childhood trauma fucks us up."

It says, "Our childhood experiences, both good and bad, have long lasting effects on our identities and generate the fundamental values that define much of our lives."

He says, "There are two ways to heal yourself - that is to replace the old faulty values with better healthier values. The first is to reexamine the experiences of your past and rewrite the narratives around them."

"The other way to change your values is to begin writing the narratives of your future self, to envision what life would be like if you had certain values or possessed a certain identity."

These quotations are grabs, minus his explanations, but I think they give a picture of his general thrust. I reckon the book is well worth a read. He combines philosophy with entertainment and humour.

In my case my values have changed radically over the last five decades. The nearly 70 yo old Carey thinks differently to the 20 yo Carey of 1972. The changes have come slowly after experience and observations. I think I have rewritten my past narratives and begun work on my future self. Hopefully my values will hold me in good stead.

What are my values? How have they changed? More thinking to do. Maybe next post.