Sensory Overload

There is thankfully a good deal of consensus these days that New Year resolutions are at best well intentioned, and at worst a load of bollocks. It’s also pleasing to see that many are now recognising that January is probably the worst time of year to deprive oneself of life’s pleasures and set depressing and unrealistic personal expectations. That said, it would be disingenuous of me to pretend that I don’t have a small knot of excitement in the pit of my stomach at this time of year (and no, it’s not indigestion); a sense of new possibilities, renewal and refreshment.

It could be the promise of longer days, planning holidays, the fact that my birthday is in January, (a good chance to celebrate, despite everyone being penniless and/or dieting), or the simple sense that things can’t get any worse. Whatever, it is increasingly a time of optimism and gratitude for me and I try to have a rough sense of where I’m going and create areas of progress. This year however I would like to achieve only one thing really; the chance to quieten the mind. I have recently joined instagram (‘cos I’m cool and down with the kids), having left Twitter - and find an increasing attraction to the calmer pictures; gardens, the great national parks, swathes of beautiful flowers, crafts and cookery. I’m also drawn to ‘slow’ television and find myself looking wistfully at old children’s programmes - Bagpuss, Ivor the Engine, Blue Peter - where the pace was so much more sedentary than today. When my children were younger I used to occasionally watch CBBC with them and couldn’t believe the speed of everything. Programmes are louder, brighter, faster than when I was a child and - to me - over stimulating. This sensory overload is exemplified even more at the cinema, where bizarrely the effect it has is to make me want to go to sleep - presumably because my brain can’t take it. No wonder we’re all going crazy….

The intelligent amongst you will have pointed out that a huge contributor to this craziness is social media. You will also have remarked that it is not compulsory, it distresses an already overstimulated brain, that time away from it is important and ‘fear of missing out’ (FOMO) is childish. I have huge respect for those of you who have decided to sidestep social media altogether, but it’s hard to be in the creative arts and ignore this dimension in our lives; people expect to be able to connect online and for anyone below about the age of thirty five this is a natural part of their community and friendship groups. Arguably therefore, online connection needs to be engaged with and managed - rather than avoided.

Anyway, back to the good intentions - and possibly the unrealistic aim to quieten the mind. There is no doubt that some of the things I’m always banging on about help; long walks, listening to music, reading books, cooking. Unfortunately however they help but don’t cure and it’s likely that the only thing that achieves serenity is a long term retreat to a monastery. Given that is impossible for most of us, we need to find a way of navigating this madness. I was trying to explain to Big C the other day about the parts of childhood we miss and there is no doubt that one of those is giving oneself permission to do not very much at all - no need to justify - simply go and do some colouring if you’re a bit bored, or dawdle round to a friend’s house or (heaven forbid) actually do some piano practice. As we both came from big families we both also clearly remember having little escape areas (mine was a cupboard) where carefully stashed sweets could be eaten and books could be read without any interruption.

Reader - I have recently found my secret escape. It actually feels like heaven. Do you want to know where it is and how we did it? I will preface this by saying that Big C has always had at least a shed to potter in and I wanted the equivalent in the house. But like most families, we had heaps of useless shit everywhere, too much stuff, too little decluttering (impossible when the children were little) and a sense that we were becoming overwhelmed. Anyway, a lot of effort and one ginormous clear out later, a room has become available (almost) exclusively for me. I have fairy lights, a radio, books, even a small sofa. It’s bliss. I don’t want to come out. This will be my oasis of calm, my soothing space, my ‘girl cave,’ my sweet repose. How lucky I am.

Uplifting music of the day: - ‘A Sleeping Bee’ - as performed by Oscar Peterson and arranged by the brilliant Nelson Riddle. Oscar is undoubtedly one of Canada’s proudest boasts and how fantastically uplifting this interpretation is. Musicians love him and pianists want to be him. Sublime chops and feel.

Contemplative music of the day: - ‘Song Without Words’ - the second movement of Suite in F by Holst. Putting together some repertoire for this year, this piece is on my mind and is a lovely example of the exploration of folk music from these islands by early twentieth century composers.