Darkness to Dawn - Day 15

Day 15 (Friday 15th December 2017)

15 years ago the trend for the UK Christmas Number One Single changed, when the support for 

traditional bands ceased and reality TV started impacting the Chart. In the UK the Christmas 

Number One is the single at the top of the UK Singles Chart in the week in which Christmas

falls. Traditionally Christmas Number Ones were the best selling single of the year. 

Often there was intense rivalry between bands to achieve pole position - most notably i

n 1973 when 2 glam rock bands, Slade and Wizzard, battled it out. Slade won with "Merry Christmas Everybody" 

(which has remained their best selling song of all time and is the most played Christmas tune 

as well as being the festive song that nets the most royalties  - at least £500,000 pa)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jt0Ym6HMxp8

I'm on my way to Leeds this morning to visit the people in our branch there and then on to the team in Beverley. It's good to get out of the bubble of London and see how things are in other areas. I suspect it will be a bit chillier than down south, but I know that the welcome will be warm. At the end of the day I'm driving on to Durham to fetch my youngest back from uni - I'm beginning to feel festive - the family will be back together. :-)

The writer of today's piece is not antisocial, but they have asked to remain anonymous. Once you have read their piece I am sure you will understand why. I am sure that you, like me, will want to wish them a better 2018. There have been a number of posts this year where people have shared their challenges and sorrows. One of the things I particularly like about the Advent Blog's reading community is the genuine concern and compassion that is shown by the many to the few. Life isn't always easy but it does help to talk and share. 

***************************

2017 can't finish soon enough. It's been an awful year. Illnesses, work, and personal issues all fell on top of each other to create the perfect storm and the storm rained darkness. It's no wonder that earlier in the year the wheels came off.

This darkness has always been there but it's always been in the shadows. It's always been part of the shadow. It's always been talking to you. This year its voice has been loud enough to start to, and then take over, the self talk that you're good enough. Not hearing your positive voice but the voice of anxiety and despair is painful.

Waking up several times a night and dreading waking up in the morning is a hateful feeling, only eased by getting so tired that you sleep because of exhaustion, not tiredness. Hiding that lack of sleep behind stories to avoid admitting it to your family and friends tests your creative side.

You read about the fear of public speaking and how people feel like prey. The fear of speaking at all is what dumbstruck really means. When half a dozen faces are turned at you in a meeting waiting for the next words you'll say. Not knowing what to say because you know what you'll say will be the wrong thing is true creeping death. So you say nothing much and become 'uncommunicative' and less of a 'team player'.

Those times in the day when you can't concentrate because the voice is there, reminding you you can't do this. 

The noises in your head are mixed with the noises in the office so you go to the lavatory and sit there for 10 minutes trying to gather the strength to get by. Even getting by for an hour would help you. 

The paralysis that comes from having so many things which haven't been done that you do none of them because you can't imagine doing one over another. And then dealing with the feelings of despair that you anticipate will come from the tasks not being completed.

Some people talk about you in glowing terms and it's difficult. Your self-esteem doesn't exist, you are panicking about what you said or did to create that perception of you and then have to steel yourself to go again and be better.

On a warm summer day you come home at lunchtime and stand in your lounge. You drop your work bag and weep. Deep and painful sobs that wrack your body for an hour. This is too much. This is wrong somewhere. You've felt like this before and you couldn't deal with it alone. 

You call the Samaritans. They recommend you see your GP. And a crack of light appears. You see your GP and they help you realise that you are unwell. It's the same unwell you had 15 years ago and you dealt with that by talking to people. You are recommended for counselling and you spend time with a person who listens. Another crack of light. They don't just listen though. They empathise, they get you to question those strategies and ways of working that are dysfunctional and energy sapping. It feels better and gets better week by week.

It was dark as night but the sun is coming, the sky is a deep violet now with a hint of orange. The dawn of something else is here.

Day 13 - Christmas Comet Fragments

Day 13 (Sunday 13th December 2015)

13 stripes on the flag of the United States of America represent the 13 original British colonies
that declared independence from Great Britain and became the first states of the Union.
The American flag has been modified officially 26 times since 1777, most recently in July 1960
when it gained its 50th star. The stars represent the current states in the Union.
Above illustration shows some of the forms of the flag over the years.

Today's festive and love-filled post is by the ever popular Mat Davies. Mat is a highly respected international HR Director, a proud Welshman and a valued friend/colleague. He is passionate about music, rugby, books, technology and connecting. You can follow him on Twitter (his handle is @RafaDavies). You can get a feel for the subjects that matter to him within the work environment from his Somewhere posts or else catch up with him at a Tweet-up.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Are you hanging up your stocking on the wall? I’m fairly certain that you know that this is the time when every Santa has a ball. So here it is, Merry Christmas, everybody is having fun, looking to the future now it’s only just begun. Christmas. I love it. The older, but not necessarily wiser, that I have got, I’ve learned to cherish this time; not just the day itself but the anticipation of the day; the reflection that Boxing Day  brings; the days between Christmas and the New Year where days seem to go on for ever. Christmas, though, is all about the love.

I love the smell of my mother’s kitchen on Christmas Eve, the roasting turkey, the perfumed scent of peeled satsumas and earthy joy of cracked Brazil nuts; I love how TIDY her home is and how everything is dusted to within an inch of its life because you never know who’s going to come round now, do you? I love the whispered opening of a bottle of something red and mellifluous; the Christmas eve gathering with our best friends in the cricket club to sing carols really badly but not really care; to re-tell jokes and play schoolyard pranks like we’re sixteen again; the embarrassed recognition that you’ve drifted into talking about house prices and kids in schools rather than your records and films of the year which you quickly deal with because your aren’t that old or that boring; the faint recognition that sat across the room is your old English teacher isn’t it? And then you recognise that, no, that’s your actual class mate, someone you once snogged at the school disco- Lisa? Claire? Sarah, it was Sarah. An embarrassed smile and an acknowledgement of each other’s presence and then a quick retreat to the discussion of how hard it has been to buy stuff this year, much harder than last year and collective agreement of how spoiled kids are these days compared to when you were a child. You were delighted to get a Terry’s chocolate orange - if you were lucky - 

and you were happier playing with the cardboard box that the toy came in as opposed to the toy itself and did you see the price of that Star Wars game? I know, but I got a great deal at the Big Tesco’s- always go to the BIG Tesco’s. I love the cheeky round of a spirit that you never ever drink - but, well, it’s Christmas isn’t it?- and marvelling at the shape of the bottle and the label and wondering what it’s doing to your insides but it’s Christmas isn’t it? You’ll be fine in the morning, honest.

I love the walk home from the club and the fond late night farewells and have-a-great-day-tomorrows, fuelled by drink and nostalgia and bonhomie. I love the late night whisky back at home and the repeat of Carols from Kings and Jimmy Stewart reminding us of why it’s still a wonderful life and listening to the silence descend in the street; reflecting on which kids are going to get a bike from Santa because a bike is just the best present, isn’t it? Yes, yes it is. I love getting into bed and feeling that warm glow of love and togetherness. And Mam, you better have put my stocking up, just in case Santa comes, because although I know he probably doesn’t exist a little bit of me would like to think that he did.

I love waking early in the morning, when the rest of the house is asleep and the acute stillness makes it feel like the rest of the world is asleep; I love those quiet few pregnant moments of reflection of how we’ve come to another Christmas Day and just about survived ; I love hot tea and toast and putting on the radio and agreeing wholeheartedly with Roy Wood’s Wizzard about the wish for it to be Christmas every day and then, as always, wondering just how underrated Slade were, as Noddy Holder and co bellow in my ear.

I love the tearing of wrapping paper; the imaginary dusting off of the dust jacket on a brand new book as if it were a relic from Raiders of the Lost Ark; the arrival of my brother as if some returning boxing legend to the ring - I have arrived you may now commence the festivities; the unspoken acknowledgement that we probably won’t buy sprouts next year, knowing full well that we will, even though no one likes them; the debate about whether or not it’s white or red with the festive bird, but not really caring too much after the first glass or two; 

the remembrance of friends and families who can’t join the festive throng; of grandparents and cousins and uncles and crazy, white-wine-fuelled aunts with too much make-up and too much gossip about Diane and the affair with postman or was it the police officer; no, the postman, that’s him; the strict adherence to watching the Queen’s message to the Commonwealth, even though it gets trailed days in advance and you still cannot recall a single word of it an hour later but still, it’s HER MAJESTY.

I love the swapping of the presents and the sheer joy of finding the one that they really wanted and watching the gritted teeth of these ones that, you shouldn’t have (no, really, you shouldn’t have); I love the walk after lunch - and you’re hoping for a cold winter’s day but it’s drizzle raining again and you’ve got on the jumper that you will never wear again and you’re back home for a cuppa saying Merry Christmas to the neighbour you haven’t really spoken to for a year but wondering how the kids were doing in school and, they can’t already be doing their GCSEs already can they?

I love the Christmas TV specials, the Christmas ghost stories, the repeats of Dickens but, like every year, there’s simply NOTHING on TV, although you never switch it off and is this the 1984 Top of the Pops ? - how young does Paul Young look?; wondering whether the BBC’s Huw Edwards has drawn the short straw and gets to do the news broadcast and wondering whether he can get home to Llanelli to see his mam; which of the holiday companies will be the first to get their advert in, imploring you to book a villa in the sun whilst you’re gorging on After Eight mints and Cadbury’s Heroes; laying casual side bets about how long it will take for the arguments to start in EastEnders and falling asleep before it even starts.

I love that we have cold turkey sandwiches with pickles and cheese; to pretend to be Victorian families by decanting the port, even though we don’t have a port decanter but, it’s Christmas isn’t it? I love that for a small moment there very genuinely is peace and goodwill to all on the day that seems to last forever but doesn’t ever last long enough. 

Merry Christmas.