Home business, home education and health challenges: what makes us tic?

In five days, we fly the nest we’ve called home for the guts of half a century.

Everything that happens, happens for a reason. I believe this. I know it to be true in the deepest part of my soul.

Sometimes, that reason is that I am dumb, and I make bad choices.

Decades on, the haunting ghosts of those choices resonate on, shaping my life down some high speed, ravine-hurtling rapid I would never have chosen, and which I surely have no power to stop anymore.

I always get what I want. Always.

And the price of it is always high.

It costs everything, every time.

And yet, I keep on wanting. I hope for more. I wish. I dream. I reach. I strive. I aim. I try.

And somewhere, deep inside, a voice whispers, softly, reminding me that all the ancient mystics were right.

Desire is the seed of pain. And suffering. And regret. And growth. And life. And adventure. And invention.

It’s everything. It destroys everything. It grows everything. It finishes one thing and starts another. And sometimes, the finishing means simply ending, stopping, ceasing to feed and nurture. Not done. Not complete. Nowhere near the end. Just stopped. Destroyed.


And something new and fresh and distracting to take its place.

And thank God for that. Or the pain would be worlds more than we simple humans could hope to endure.

In less than a week, we will be ‘back home’, in the UK, retreading the ground our ancient ancestors trod before us (although slightly South and East of those old Celts from whom we hail).

We’ve been planning this gradually for all our lives. Majestic and slow, with the indolence of the young who know assuredly that all the world lies before them, and nothing evil could ever befall.

We’ve been planning this suddenly and instantly with all the haste that sudden waking and fleeting opportunity dumped into our sleepy laps, not a moment to lose, not a second to waste.

It’s happening!

All along, it’s been frantic excitement and plans, the bright future drawing us to its incandescence like moths to a flame, inexorably drawn to the light and the heat and the glow, all the world around receding into dimness and shadows and imaginary nothings.

Until today.

The force of all we are doing and leaving and the sheer massive impossibility of turning back collapsed on me. The innumerable goodbyes (the ones I know most likely mean forever).

The innumerable goodbyes (the ones I know most likely mean forever).

The children who chose just now – this very unobtrusive, unassuming moment to grow up and become all of their potential in one wrenching, devastating, necessary, unexpected, too-soon instant.

The darlings who have been our constant friends for every moment, and now most likely will only wake with us in the hereafter.

The home. The people. The food. The place. The land. The million tiny knowings that make us native – things we will never have again.

Once we say goodbye to this place that runs in our blood, whose dust cakes our skin, whose legacy shapes the pathways of our minds, never again will we be native anywhere. The new place will be alien – foreignness made ever more so by its passing facade of being so like all we know. The language. The culture. The heritage. The faces. Familiar, yet other. Similar. But not ours. Never ours.

And when (if?) we ever come home – should we ever have the privilege to call any place that again – it will not be ours. We will have forfeited our birthright in less than a week, leaving all we have ever loved and hated and hoped and known behind, for all that we have ever imagined and hoped and nothing we have ever seen or conceived of.

In a week, we will be alone save each other.

And what do we know of these, our fellow travelers? These fellows we have sacrificed to the mill of work and earning and eating and being this long, hard, grindingly lonely decade? How tenuous the sticky blood of our connection, grasping to one another with all its mute, impotent powerlessness. Hoping that when we all wake up, washing together onto some distance, strange shore, some shred of desperate familiarity, some infinitesimal shard of knowing grips us, binds us to one another, protects us from the legion at the gates which no longer shelter us.

We feel we must.

We feel we have no choice.

We feel driven by the course of fate and circumstance to take mad leaps and save ourselves.

The truth is not so.

We had a choice.

A tiny one.

We made it so long ago, we didn’t notice it.

Will we be so foolhardy next time?

Most likely, we already are.




The Tree

The Tree stood in the middle of a great wood. Even though the wood was dense, and undergrowth fought for its place throughout the acres of forest, around The Tree, there was a small clearing. Demure grass had paved a gentle lawn around its base.

It was the one place in all the wood where the sun could find its way right down to the ground. Long golden fingers, full of warmth and life, gently caressed The Tree from top to bottom, and warmed the waiting garden in which it rested.

The clearing around The Tree made it a natural place for meetings. The monkeys loved to gather around it. They would dance and joke and eat and chatter. They planned their lives around that tree. And sometimes they pondered its purpose.

The Tree was so high – much higher than any of the others in the wood. What was it for? Why had the Creator made it? Why had He given it to them.

Jo was an adventurous monkey – probably more so than most. Even for his kind, he pushed the limits. The Tree was limit he had yet to push – and he was eager to do so. Jo’s father cautioned him to leave The Tree to its place as center of The Gathering Green. Jo’s mother prayed herself to sleep at night, begging the Creator to keep her little monkey safe.

For his part, Jo started training.

He learned to climb even higher than he ever had before (which is saying something!). He taught himself to swing across impossibly wide distances, and to grab onto tiny branches he previously imagined were beyond his reach. He discovered how to use his body’s momentum to propel himself from one branch to the next, mid-swing, with just the slightest of touches, barely disturbing the branches he passed along the way.

He grew strong, and fast, and agile.

Monkeys live to climb and play, and at first Jo had many playmates. All the younger monkeys – and even some of the older ones – enjoyed stretching their limits and expanding their skills.

But then it would be dinner time, and they’d head off to eat their fruit, and Jo would just keep going. He was determined to achieve his goal, and nothing seemed able to slow him down. Seeing how tall The Tree was, Jo realised that he’d have to take a few days to get to the top. He figured he’d get further faster if he could climb at night, as well. Sacrificing sleep, Jo trained through the night to see what it was like.

It wasn’t long before he was training alone.

After a while, when they saw he had no plans to slow down his training, some of the monkeys began to taunt him.

“You’ll never make it to the top, you silly monkey!” they yelled.

“Why not give it up – no monkey has ever been that high before!”

“You’re crazy! You’re sure to kill yourself before you’re halfway done!”

Jo ignored them all. Or at least, that’s what it looked like. In fact, their taunts spurred him on. “You’ll never make it to the top!” they said. “Just watch me,” thought Jo.

“No monkey has ever been that high before!” they jeered. “Yet,” thought Jo.

“You’ll die trying!” they assured him. “Better to die living than to live half dead, afraid to try anything,” thought Jo.

It didn’t feel like very long to Jo when he felt ready to tackle the top of The Tree. He didn’t make a fuss. He didn’t look for fan fair or acclaim.  He just kissed his mother gently on the top of her head, and set off across the Gathering Green, towards the giant roots of the ancient, enormous Tree.

No climbed The Tree all of that day. When night fell, he used his training to keep going, resting only when it was dangerously foolish to go on because he was so tired. Before dawn broke the following day, he was already on his way, climbing ever higher through the thinning branches.

Towards the end of the second day, the topmost branches of the surrounding trees fell away. Jo could just peek above them, and begin to get some idea of the extent of the forest. Still he kept going. Like the night before, Jo climbed until well after midnight. This time, however, his climb was lit by the bright round moon, and a million twinkling stars. Jo was enchanted. He’d heard of the moon and the stars, of course. But he’d never seen them before except as tiny, shattered glimpses, hidden behind the branches of a thousand trees. On this night, nothing stood between Jo and the infinite sparkling sky.

The cosmic light lit the way and Jo got further that night than he’d ever imagined. He thought the lights in the night sky would keep him awake, but his hard day’s work saw to it that he got the best rest he’d ever had. Distant bird song stirred him before dawn the next day, as they did every day. Once again, he set off, climbing as high as he possibly could.

Today, though, Jo saw the sunrise for the very first time in his life. The inky indigo velvet night glowed like golden fire at its base; purple and peach swept up the canvas of night and dissolved into opalescent morning. The day yawned a sleepy hello before bursting into life around him.

Never in his life had Jo seen anything so magnificent. He stopped in his tracks, his breath caught fast in awe-struck lungs. As he watched the day unfold all around him, kissing awake the nighttime world with life and colour, tears rolled down his face. He could barely grasp so much beauty. And he couldn’t imagine that, for so long, he had missed it all.

There was so much more to see than he could ever have guessed.

At last, day was there and life was living itself, and Jo got on with his work of climbing. He wasn’t far from the top now, and he happily plunged onward, aiming for the tuft of leaves crowning the top of the tree. He couldn’t wait to see what he would see from the far side of those leaves.

Soon, he was there. He plunged into the leaves and found himself surrounded by ripe red berries. Nervous at first, he sniffed at one of the berries. It smelled good! Jo picked the berry and ventured a tiny nibble.  It tasted good, too! In a flash, he ate the berry up. It was great! He grabbed a few more and gobbled them, too. Delicious! He had never tasted anything as good in all his life.

Feeling comfortably fed, Jo pressed on, pushing his head through the leaves at the top of The Tree. From there, he could see forever. The forest stretched on as far as he could see, banked by tall grey mountains away to the west. Over in the east, right at the edge of how far he could see, something flat and infinite glinted and flashed in shades of blue and green. He could not imagine what it was – it was unlike anything he’d ever seen before.

Jo spent all day at the top of The Tree. When evening came, Jo saw his first sunset. The sky darkened with a mellow slowness that made it hard to notice the changes at first. As it got darker, the pale blue deepened to sapphire and cobalt and indigo, glowing deeply purple and then orange as the horizon caught fire with the dying sun. And then it was gone. Darkness blanketed the mountains and the distant flashing flatness and the trees in the forest and The Tree Jo had climbed and even Jo himself. He crawled back into the clump of leaves at its zenith, closed his eyes, and slept more deeply than he ever had before.

The next day, Jo was saddened to find that he had slept through that magical morning moment when night becomes day. He ate some more delicious berries, and tried to decide what he should do next.

He had achieved his goal, and the high of the day before had given way to a flatness he couldn’t explain. What next? he wondered.

Jo considered his journey so far. He remembered the training and the taunting that came with it. He thought about the changes he had experienced as his body grew strong enough for the challenge. He pondered all that he now knew about the world, which he had never dreamed of before. He knew he could never go back to the way he was before. He could never forget how much more there was to life …

And then he knew – he would show the others! He had figured it out. He had conquered his goal. He had climbed The Tree. He now knew it could be done – and how to do it. He would show them, and let them share the wonders of the great wide world with him. Jo could hardly wait to get back to the troupe and tell them all about it. His newfound purpose (and a bit of gravity!) propelled him down The Tree at lightning speed. Before the end of the following evening, Jo was back in the woods, climbing quietly into the Gathering Green so that he wouldn’t wake his sleeping friends.

As soon as the troupe woke up the next day, they realised Jo was back. His mother gave a shout of joy, while his father patted him proudly on the back. The little monkeys mobbed him, eager for tales of all he’d seen and done. Even the older monkeys looked grudgingly impressed that he’d made it back at all. When they heard that he’d been all the way to the top, and saw and tasted the delicious berries he’d brought back, a cheer went up from them all.

One little monkey hung back, timid and nervous. Jo sensed she had something on her mind, so he asked her kindly, “Kiki, is something the matter?”

“Oh no!” she stammered. “It’s just … umm … could you show me how to go to the top of The Tree?”

A hush of shock silenced the crowd and they all stared at her as if she’d just eaten the last cranberry without sharing.

“Yes!” Jo exulted. “That’s why I came back! I want to show you all how to get to the top. It’s amazing up there, and I want to share it with everyone.”

Noise exploded through the Gathering Green as every monkey voiced his or her opinions all at once.

“It can’t be done!” “He’s lying” “He never went to the top!” “I want to go!” “I want to see the stars and the moon whole!” “I want to witness the dawn!” “I want to know what a sunset is like!”

“Kiki, let me show you how it’s done,” Jo said quietly. Together, they set off up The Tree. Jo showed Kiki what he had learned, and allowed her to take her time. It was hard going for Kiki. She was smaller and younger than Jo, and she’d had none of his training before setting off.

At first, Kiki could barely get to the first low branches. She tried, but she fell time and again. She was so afraid of failing, that she could not keep hold of the trunk of The Tree. She curled in a heap in a space between the roots, and sobbed.

Jo climbed down, too. He sat next to her, and wondered where he’d gone wrong. He was a good climber, it was a true. A natural, his dad always said. He had trained hard to reach the top – and he’d had the chance to do so. Kiki was a busy monkey with a lot to do each day. Finding time for this adventure had cost her more than it cost him.

It also didn’t bother Jo what the others thought and it never had. He did things his own way. Their taunts rolled off him, but they bothered Kiki. Her compassionate spirit meant she really cared about the others – and about what they thought of her.

As Jo considered Kiki’s situation, he felt guilty. He had had so much more opportunity than she had. It was unfair that he could get to the top of The Tree and she couldn’t. Perhaps it would be better for everyone if he stayed on the forest floor with her and the rest of the troupe, instead of entertaining dreams of grandeur.

“Jo,” Kiki looked at him through the mist of tears staining her eyes and cheeks. “Don’t give up on my account. It’s hard for me. But knowing you can do it gives me the faith to believe that maybe I could do it, too. Show me again how you got started … and show me how much you love to climb.”

Jo realised he’d been about to give up his dreams – maybe forever. He remembered the thrill of mastering climbing, and how much effort he had put into his goal. He finally understood that Kiki’s lack of opportunity had  not been his fault, but that he was her opportunity, here and now, as long as he didn’t give up on either of them.

Kiki was small, and young, and inexperienced. “She’ll need a lot of guidance,” Jo thought. “But this is what The Tree is for – to show us the world. And this is what I am for: to show them The Tree. If I give up – if I play small – I am not being my best self. I am not doing what I was created to do. In fact, all I am doing is giving everyone else the permission to give up on their dreams, too.”

“Kiki,” said Jo. “It’s not going to be easy. But it is going to be worth it. You have a lot to learn – and you’re little – but we can do this if we just don’t give up.”

The little monkey looked at Jo. “Do you really think so?” she asked.

“I know it,” he replied.

Kiki stood up, dusted herself off, and took hold of the trunk of The Tree one more time.

Now, what she lacked in strength and stature, she more than made up for in determination. She learned fast. She was agile. And she really, really wanted to reach the top.

By the end of the next week, she did. Like Jo, Kiki’s first sunrise brought her to tears. She was entranced by the sunset, and stared into the west for many hours after the sun had played his lullaby. At night, Kiki and Jo entertained each other by trying to count the stars. Jo discovered ho much easier the journey was when he shared it with someone. And he discovered how much richer it is to teach than to learn alone.

Jo and Kiki spent a week in the leaves at the top of The Tree. Finally Kiki turned to Jo and said, “You’re right. We must show the others. This magic does not belong to us, and it’s wrong not to share it.” They made their way back that very day.

When they got home it was evening, but this time everyone was waiting for them. The disbelief that had greeted Jo was replaced by skeptical interest. And when Kiki shared her stash of berries, every young monkey in the troupe begged to join.

Over the weeks and months that lay ahead, Jo and Kiki trained dozens of monkeys great and small to climb The Tree. Soon almost everyone had been to the top. They knew so much more, now. They had seen so much further.

Nothing could go back to the way it was before.



We do not glorify the Creator by playing small, but by being all that we can be.



Farsighted Fantasies

Being farsighted, I often see things other people can’t … or at least, I see things before other people can.

Sometimes, by their reactions, it’s clear the other people don’t actually believe that I’ve seen what I say I’ve seen … or even that it’s there.

As a result, sometimes I even doubt myself.

What I am realising, though, is that there is always more to life than they can see. I am lucky to be able to see some of it.

Knowing this, it stands to reason that there is more to life than I can see, as well.

I can never think,

“This is all there is. I know it all. I have all the facts. I am right.

Because there is always more.

There is always more to everything than we can see



Boundaries are my biggest weakness. I can’t say no. I don’t want to say no.

Goldilocks (who is fourteen years old) explained to me:

People need to know what your limits are – not what you can do, but what you will do. And what you won’t. That’s what makes them respect you.


The Benefits of Transparency

We’re supposed to play our cards close to our chest – not show our hand. We’re told to be cautious about what we say and to whom. Relationships are political minefields. Every word needs to be weighed against myriad metrics: past experiences with that person; past experiences generally; the specific situation; the larger picture; the potential goals a person may have for what they’re discussing with you; how that all affects you … and a whole lot more.

It gets exhausting sometimes.

On the other hand, we could be transparent in all our dealings. I agree with Brene Brown when she says that people need to earn the right to hear your shame story. Not everyone deserves that right.

But not every story you share is a shame story.

Sometimes, it’s just your life.

When you play open cards and go into a situation with clarity and honesty, what you get out of it is integrity. Yes, you run the risk of being hurt. Of course it’s possible that someone might use your truth against you. When they know your goals – what you want from life and from the relationship – they have the power to use that information against you.

Of course they do.

But maybe they won’t. If they don’t, you know you’ve found someone worth investing in; someone who deserves your time and effort.

If they do use your vulnerable honesty against you, you’ve found out something very valuable: this person is not trustworthy. They do not deserve you.

That’s painful to discover. But it’s a lot less painful to discover it at the outset, without having invested a lot of mental and emotional energy in political circumspection, and a lot of time and effort in a relationship.

That time and energy is better spent on someone who has earned it. And on you.

transparency is the shortcut to finding the right people to populate your life.

when you show your hand the result is integrity and transparency


Being jealous of talents that are actually skills is a great way to let yourself off the hook and make yourself miserable at the same time. – Seth Godin

A talent is nothing you’ve earned.

Like great looks and skin colour, it is usually true that the things we are born able to do are accidents of nature, gifts, if you like – but only inasmuch as we have done and can do nothing to earn them.

You wouldn't boast abouot your naturally curl hair, would you?You wouldn’t boast about your naturally curl hair, would you?

Or your dad’s accent, perhaps … ?

The things that come with the package are simply the starting point. It’s what we do with those things that really counts.

When you take what you’ve been given and build on it, when you work to create something from what you’ve been given, or put effort into improving an area where you may have been weak to begin with, that’s worth celebrating. That’s even, dare I say it, worth boasting about.

Because you’ve earned it.

The rest is just a foundation for your potential. Don’t get stuck at ground level.


When dealing with people, it can be helpful to understand how they see us.

It’s not that we’re trying to change how they see us. We’re not here to change anyone but ourselves, and people’s perceptions are part of who they are … Although we can change what they see. That’s a subject for another day.

Let’s start by considering what people see when they see us.

We tend to be so self-absorbed, thinking every person who ever glances our way is watching us; judging us.

The truth is, for the most part, they’re too busy fearing your judgment to even notice that there’s anything about you for them to judge.

On the whole, people tend to believe that everyone they meet is more confident, more “together”, than they themselves are. While this is typically not the case, it does present a powerful opportunity.

Fake it till you make it.

Since everyone you meet probably assumes that you’re confident and smart and have all your shizz figured out, you may as well act like it’s true. And – who knows? Maybe your brain will believe your actions and, the next thing you know, you really are all confident and figured-out-y. It could happen.

You might even discover that you really do know more than you thought you did … and that your confidence is well-placed.

Besides, what have you got to lose? No one knows any better.

Most people are too busy worrying about you judging them to have any time left to judge you

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