Mindfulness, Observing, and discovering a fad before it became popular.

Just recently I have been hearing talk about something referred to as ‘mindfulness’. It seems to be in vogue. My wife mentioned it a week or two ago and a trainer on a work course that I am attending also brought it to everyone’s attention. I found this both rewarding and a little baffling. The reward comes from realising a notion that I have is being widely and, to me at least, suddenly accepted. I find it baffling because I thought that it was self-evident.

A few years ago, on another course, another trainer set up a big introduction for what they termed ‘a revolutionary new idea’. They talked about who there are always opposites, good-bad, high-low, hot-cold, peace-war; that sort of thing. The point of this revolutionary exercise was to make us realise that a characteristic in one person can be interpreted in two different ways. I did not like this person’s bombastic style and, perhaps a little irritated, I challenged the notion that what they were presenting was either new or revolutionary. It was just Aristotle’s dichotomies dressed up. This did not go down well with the trainer and we had something of a public falling out, but that is another story. The point is; I began to feel uneasy that this situation might be repeating itself.

Fortunately the trainer introducing the concept of ‘mindfulness’ lacked a bombastic style and made no unsubstantiated claims for it being either new or revolutionary. This put me at ease somewhat because for as long as I can remember I have been living a ‘mindful’ life.

My own particular brand of mindfulness does not come from studying Philosophy, in fact it predates that. I believe that it comes from my situation of being disabled. When I started school I wore short trousers, which was the norm back then and not some weird predilection of my own. Actually, I was desperate for the day when I would graduate to the year where boys were allowed to wear long trousers. This was because I wore a calliper, or leg iron, or ‘ironmongery’ as my doctor referred to it, on my left leg. Such an orthopaedic device was blatantly obvious when worn with short trousers.

My disability presented itself at a very young age and despite my best intentions it stopped me from doing ‘normal’ school activities. Over the years my mobility became more and more impaired and I, as a result, became more of a spectator than a participant.

I do not remember ever feeling resentful about this happening to me. I was born disabled and my state of being was all I had ever known. If I had had a period of normality that had been snatched away by some progressive disease or serious accident then maybe I might have grown to hate my situation, I really do not know. As I lost my mobility through slow degrees I became more and more an observer of life.

Discussions with my wife, often held over a bottle of wine, have revealed that I am a very observant person. I see things that others never seem to. Sunrises and sunsets are obvious examples, but I expect lots of people see them. I see other things, some of which are beautiful, like wild animals, some of which are not, like a crime being committed or someone feeling lonely. As my life progressed I became acutely aware of the existence of the moment, this one right here, right now, and understood that in reality it is all we have.

The past is an imperfect memory, the future an aspiration at best. The only thing that actually exists is the moment.

I became aware of this truth at a relatively young age and, I think, it helped me cope with situations that

others often express disbelief at, my numerous bouts of major surgery or my chronic pain for example. I use those because people often tell me that they are some of the things that they fear the most; suffering pain or going under the knife for a prolonged period of time. Been there, died on the table, got resuscitated, done that.

It seems to me that the reason why I loved events like Christmas so much is because I was living so much in the moment, attune to the festival season, valuing being with my family during a period of holiday, even when young.

Of course true mindfulness is not just about raucous events like Christmas; indeed, I think that it is more about the little events, things like just sitting still and being silent. Watching, listening, and developing an awareness for what is around you. Hearing your heart beat. Following a cloud as it drifts across the sky. Living in the moment that is all that we have.

I have done that for a long time as well.

To be honest being mindful has helped me deal with the trials and tribulations of being disabled as well. They do not, however, go hand in hand together. Mindfulness is not some esoteric wisdom given to the disabled as some form of compensation. Perhaps you need a certain kind of mind to form this kind of perception independently of any teacher? I may well have developed my own brand of mindfulness even if I had not been born with some physical disabilities? They are interesting but largely pointless questions.

For me mindfulness is seeing what is important in life and letting go of all the rest. That other people seem to have discovered, or maybe that should be ‘rediscovered’ because like Aristotle’s dichotomies this idea has been around for a long time, is a good thing. Anything that helps people deal with the pressures of life, to attain a healthier outlook, has to be a good thing. Be mindful, be happy.

Writing About Disability isn’t Pretty is it?

Having just started submitting my manuscript for Eugenica to literary agents I received a comment that made me ponder the wisdom of having four main characters all of whom are disabled; disability is not attractive!

I agree, it is not. And the fact is that some people have a problem in dealing with disabled people. In fact I used to work with someone who told me that they had a problem with disabled people, I informed them that they were right; they did have a problem! I do not have such a problem but then I am a disabled person myself so that would be pretty counterproductive anyway.

Long John Silver

Curiously literature is not bereft of characters that have some form of disability; in fact there are legions of them. Captain Long John Silver was a rogue who never let having only one leg get in his way. He is the sort of character that I like, a bit of a good guy and a bit of a rascal. He is objectionable in many ways but he has his redeeming features, unlike Shakespeare’s Richard the Third who is just all bitter and twisted, his bile being occasioned by the fictional hump and limp the Bard inflicted upon him.

Of course Richard is not alone, there is Captain Ahab also. Here is a man so bitter about being left disabled by a creature that he was trying to kill, the temerity of the whale to fight back, that he committed everything to gaining his revenge on Moby Dick. I was quite glad that the white whale won that encounter actually.

Capt Ahab

Then there are the Tiny Tim type characters. I really do not like them. Simpering, pitiable and pathetic. They are no more convincing than Shakespeare’s King Richard. I know, there are such people in the real world but I do not find them interesting. Besides, the truth is that even disabled people are more complex than that.

Disability is not the issue it is just the first impression. Inevitably when a reader begins to read Eugenica they are going to come upon my characters as disabled young people. This is inevitable because that is what they are but it is not the sum total of everything that they are. As the story progresses more and more of the characters is revealed, their hopes, fears, outlooks on life, abilities and also how they cope with being what they are; both able and disabled.

Antony Sher as Richard III

Let me illustrate them for you briefly. Grace has a missing left hand and right leg due to suffering a form of limb reduction whilst developing as a foetus. She has lived largely in isolation and is self-reliant as a result. Thomas is blind and black, a double burden for living in 1930’s Britain. He is also kind, brave and a gifted musician. Mary has Turner Syndrome but colours every day with a love of life expressed through singing, dancing and acting. Hector is losing the use of his legs but is a voracious consumer of knowledge. Neither of them has an ability that balances out their disability, all of them have abilities, just like everyone else, and a pronounced disability as well, unlike most other people.

It is somewhat saddening to learn that there will be those people who will look at the synopsis of Eugenica and discount it immediately because it has disabled people in it. Yes, disappointing, but not surprising. People do not limit their prejudices just to their choice of reading material after all. I have been on the receiving end of such prejudice many times in my life and I accept that it is part of the human condition. It is not an enviable trait and it can be challenged but it is there all the same.

Tiny Tim

If I have been successful in writing Eugenica then the reader should finish it thinking of Grace, Tom, Mary and Hector not as disabled people first but rather as admirable people who have disabilities. That is definitely one of my objectives in writing the book. How successful I have been will only be known later and that will depend upon how many people get to the end of Chapter One and choose to keep on reading.