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Robyn M
Speed |
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Journal of the Wandering Mind
Yes, apparently we have a brain drain. This week there was an article stating that 24% of New Zealand graduates leave New Zealand to work overseas. This comes as a big surprise to people. But not to me. There is always a percentage of students who go to university to study because they have ambitions of working overseas. If you want to get a good job overseas you need qualifications. Why would we expect all graduates to remain within New Zealand's shores? Why would we expect that they would all be content with what we have to offer? Why would we assume that they do not want to reach the peak of their careers? We sent athletes to the Commonwealth Games and we told them to 'go hard' and do all that they could to win those medals. And yet we do not tell our graduates the same thing. We do not tell them to go out in the world and be all that they can be? We do not tell them to reach for the highest peaks. New Zealand is a beautiful country, it is peaceful and it is easy going. Many people choose not to leave New Zealand because this is home, and this is a wonderful place to raise a family. We are happy to live here, happy to grow old here. But, there will always be people who want more than that. People who go overseas, become big executives for huge companies, and never return home to New Zealand. They have found their place in the world and it is not New Zealand. But there are other people who move from their land to ours and make this land their home. Graduates all have the opportunity to work overseas, and we should not deny them this right. Nor should we be surprised when they exercise this right. Young people who have lived overseas as expat kids often hold hopes of going back to that country to live and work. They have experienced life there, enjoyed it, and have no fears about going back one day. If your parents have worked overseas then you are more likely to consider it yourself. The wonderful thing is, you can go out there, work anywhere you want, but you can always come home to New Zealand
That's my Uncle Ken, one of my Mum's brothers. He passed away a week ago. Cancer. He was a quiet, strong man. Told that he had cancer three years ago, he decided that he simply had too much to do on his small farm and did not have time to die. And so he continued, on and on and on. Now that's strength! To stand up to cancer and say 'No. I am nowhere near ready to leave yet! So bugger off!!' My greatest regret is that I did not know him better. I wrote the following poem for Ken, as a way of working through the great sadness I feel over his death.
Tribute to Uncle Ken
A deep sense of peace Never make assumptions. My cousin's eldest son was killed in a car accident last year. A tourist to New Zealand veered to the wrong side of the road and caused a head-on collision with the car Aaron was driving. Aaron and a passenger (a friend) were killed. Aaron's bother was flown to hospital by helicopter in serious condition. The driver of the other car was also killed. The part that caused the most pain for Aaron's parents was the assumption, by a newspaper reporter, that because he was young he must have been speeding, he must have been a boy racer, it must have been his fault. Aaron was not in the wrong, he was driving correctly, and that reporter's words caused a great deal of pain for Aaron's parents. Imagine it, your first born son has been killed, your second born is in critical care and may die, and some insensitive newspaper reporter says something like that? Cruel. So, please, never make assumptions. We do not know what is happening in another person's life. So how can we judge them? How can we assume to know all the facts? We can't. We speak in ignorance when we make assumptions and judgments. Let us be fair, and give people the benefit of the doubt. Let's 'cut them some slack'. We have a great tendency to take pride in criticizing other people. It gives us sense of superiority and power. But really, are we just trying to appear important and knowledgeable to other people? Are we trying to be something we are not? Too much time is spent by too many people trying to build a glowing reputation, trying to be something we are not. We take so little pride in compassion, tolerance, mercy, wisdom, kindness, gentleness, sharing, understanding, and yet great importance is placed on being a 'hard ass', a 'ruthless' executive, a highly educated person. All I am asking is for us all to place more value on the gentleness, the compassion and the fairness. Let us not judge what we do not understand. We grew up in Auckland, Jacquie and I. Met in primary school. Kept in touch after my family moved to Christchurch. Lost touch somewhere in the last 7-10 years. Yesterday, at the library, I saw a phone book for the Nelson and Bays region and, though I recalled (from the address on the back of the envelope all those years ago, that I had accidentally thrown away), she had moved to Motueka and not Nelson, I decided to try this book anyway. I grabbed it and looked her up. There she was! Fantastic! I'll get in touch, I thought to myself, make sure it's the right number and re-instigate the friendship. I wondered what she had been up to, and truly looked forward to talking to her. I phoned that evening and spoke to her husband Tony. He remembered me...but he had some sad news. Jacquie died, three months ago of gastric cancer. Shit! I had left it too late. I had tried to track her down on several occasions, but could not find her. When I finally did find her, it was too late. Not only was I sad to hear of her passing, but I really kicked myself for having let contact lapse in the first place. It is hard to really grasp that she is gone. Aged 42 years. It's not fair. She was a cool, feisty, live my life my way kind of chick who did not back down from life. The more I think about her death, the more I realize that we must cherish the people in our life. If anyone means enough to you to talk to, email, write to, then keep that communication alive. Don't let it slip away. Make sure you know their address, phone number and email address and keep in touch. Don't make the mistake of thinking there will always be time to catch up later, because sometimes you turn around and they are gone. Our jobs and careers keep us busy, and often that busyness is the excuse for not making time for friends. Turn that around. Make the time. Fight for it if you have to. It doesn't matter if you have to invite a friend over to talk to you while you do the gardening or clean the windows, all that matters is that you invite them over, and into your life. Truth is many friends would happily turn up and help you clean your windows. It is warming to know that someone cares enough to invite you over even though they have many chores in need of completion. And yet, how often does the completion of chores come ahead of the invitation to a friend? How many people do not invite a friend over because the house is a mess? That's crazy. Friends don't care about mess. Make this year the year that you bring all those old friendships out into the sun. See which ones are still thriving. Nurture them. We all need people in our lives, no matter how independent we think we are. People make all the difference.
I am so sorry that I left it too late to find Jacquie
I often wonder where life is leading me. One day the direction seems clear. The next day I haven’t a clue what is coming. This has taught me to let go and let God. I like that saying. It’s brilliant. It is saying, clearly, that I am I AM and that I am allowing that highest part of me to direct the course and direction of my life. I am removing my third dimensional conscious mind from the equation, I am stopping myself from getting in the way of my highest self, and I am allowing my I AM self to take charge. I am I AM. I surrender to this highest part of myself because I, the conscious Earth dwelling part, really don’t know what is best for me all the time. I, the Earth dwelling part, seeks material pleasures, taste bud delights, warm soft clothes, entertaining television and books, endless cups of tea. Such seeking states: I am the physical body. But the realty is that this physical body is merely a part of me, the part that is anchored to the Earth, the lowest part. The Highest part of me, my I AM Self, seeks something far greater, something far more enlightened and true, my I AMness. My I AM Self seeks to bring that forth until it that is who I live as, what I live as, until it is all that I am. Some days I have no idea what is coming, and that is okay, because I am learning to let go, to allow life to progress, to allow my path to unfold. I cannot try to control something that I do not understand. It would be like tipping a 1000 piece jigsaw puzzled out onto the table and insisting that these pieces should go over there and those pieces should go here, when I have no idea what the jigsaw picture is! My life is being guided for my greatest spiritual evolution. Part of that involves me doing as much as I can, whilst here on Earth, to help the people who I love, people who I meet, and others who I reach through my writing. My goal is to share as much as I can, to teach as much as I can, to lighten people's hearts and lives as much as I can. When my lifetime is over, I want to be able to say, I did all that I could. I do not want to have regrets, or to think that I should have done more. And so, I allow my I AM Self to chart the course of my life, to direct me to where I need to be, talking to who I need to be talking to, learning what I need to learn, sharing what I have to share, and loving as much as I possibly can. To live life to the full, embracing every moment, as my I AM Self upon this Earth...that is my intent.
“I haven’t a clue what to write.” That’s a horrifying admission for a writer to make, especially when her one year of full time freelance writing is coming to an end—one year agreed upon by writer and husband! “I have sat here all day, struggling to think of something to write, but the words have stayed at bay, taunting me with their absence. A screen, and the image of a blank page before me. A half dozen false starts throughout the day, all deleted, all crap, unadulterated, uninteresting, crap. “Bugger. Bugger. Bugger.” A normally quite intelligent woman, rarely given to speechlessness, seldom ever having nothing to say, and yet, here I am, silent. Who has stolen my voice? I dig to the depth of my mind, trying to dredge something free from the muck, but whatever is there is stuck fast. With a sigh I lean back, take a sip from the mug of tepid tea—thank heaven’s for the comfort of tea. Is this the true life of the freelance writer? Blank mind and empty bank account? For years I spoke of chasing ones dreams. I espoused the great truth that we were given dreams as our life’s direction and that we are meant to follow them. Well, I have been chasing my dream down for so long that I am exhausted, and I still have not caught it. Have my words been a pathetic attempt to convince myself that if I chased the dream long enough I would eventually catch it? Has it all been lies? If I fail, is that the lesson I display to my children: try as hard as you can, but understand that you still might fail, that you could work for a decade or more and still not achieve anything. Is that the lesson I share? Have I shown them that I am a self deluded dreamer who has refused to admit defeat, even though I have lost the battle over and over and over again? Am I at the end of my dream. Am I at that point where I must consider where I go from here. Writing is, perhaps, a privilege that I have been blessed to indulge in. Perhaps the true success will come from writing in snatches of time, five minutes here, twenty minutes there, holed up in some corner of the house with my laptop. See? Even when I am utterly defeated I still refuse to give up. Am I an idiot? And I blind and stubborn? Why can’t I just put it aside? It is truly my Soul that calls forth and pleads with me to let the words pour forth upon the page? Does my heart sing only when I write? I can’t stop myself from writing. And I don’t even know if it is because I love to write, to merely that I love my laptop? Ah, sweet laptop, closed you harbor secrets that my Soul considers too deep to share with anyone but you. Your exterior, masks the complexity of your interior. You hold my secrets close, like a true friend. We work as one, a partnership, the bond between us strong and loud enough for all to hear. As my fingers work the keyboard you talk to me, in soft clicks and taps, your voice sweet and gentle, clear and yet musky. I inhale the scent of you. Perhaps I will continue with this dream, even if it is only so that we can continue to work together, in loving harmony.
(Note: All writers, I am sure, go through these lonely periods of doubt and confusion. Being a writer isn't as easy as people think.) It is something that my son and I will always cherish: the day I took him out for his first driving lesson. I had no idea what it would be like to teach my son to drive, and no idea how good or bad he would be. His time spent on driving games on his computer had revealed a speed-demon-maniac, so we had a little talk before he was even allowed to turn the key. I explained to him that what I wanted him to learn was smooth, even driving, and to take pride in quality gear changing. I also told him that any idiot can drive fast, that takes no skill at all, but the smooth driving of a manual car is something to work on and be proud of. I also told him: if I say stop, don't ask why, just stop! He made a $10 bet with me that he would not bunny-hop the car. Let's just say that within ten minutes of him starting the car, adjusting mirrors, and moving off, I was $10 richer! Driving a real car was quite different to what he had expected, but he did really well. Since we were on the deserted roads out behind the airport, we had no concerns about traffic, and focused solely on driving and changing gears smoothly. He did really well, and I had no cause to panic at all. In fact, even I was surprised by how calm I felt as a driving instructor. I talked to him about what we were looking for, about where to start slowing down before a bend and when to start speeding up again, about when to start changing down through the gears when approaching a stop sign or another street, and about keeping an eye out for animals--we did have to stop to let ducks cross the road! It was an important day, and quite an honor to share my love of driving with him. I love manual cars, and I love older cars--the ones with no fuel injection engines, and no electronics--just a real car with a real engine. I do not like automatic cars, they just take all the fun out of driving--press this pedal for go and that one for stop. Learning to drive involves getting to know your car, finding out how heavy or light she is, how long she takes to stop, how she handles on bends and what her turning circle is. It's all about zen driving, being at one with your car. When I drive, my car is an extension of me. That's why driving is so much fun. But reaching this relationship with your car takes time. I found my strategy worked well: teach him the 'how to drive' on deserted roads and let him build up confidence in his skills, then bring him into parts of suburbia and let him get used to streets with a few other cars. I will not take him into the city until I feel he is completely comfortable with other traffic. Problems inevitably rise with new drivers when they begin to loose confidence and panic. It is important that they be a confident driver, and that they keep calm when they are behind the wheel. Teaching my son to drive has been a great experience, both for him and for me. It happens just when you think 'hooray, Spring is here to stay and summer is just around the corner'. What happens? That bitter chill to remind you that winter is not quite gone yet. Except that this time that bitter reminder came in the form of a storm that saw my hometown, Christchurch, blanketed in snow. I pulled back the curtains just after 7 a.m. and it was snowing. Judging by the sprinkling on the ground it has only been snowing for ten or fifteen minutes. My teenagers were delighted as snow implied the potential for a day off school, hence they were hoping for as much snow to fall as possible in the next half hour. The snow did not let up and by 8 a.m. we had slushy snow in the driveway and a soft snow blanket building up on the lawns, roof, trees, garage, everywhere! Was I going to drive them to school in that? Not likely! I trust my own ability to drive in a touch of snow, but I don't trust other people--you always have one or two silly people who drive as if it was a fine and sunny day and wonder why they slide into other cars. The news that I was not going to take them to school was well received! We heard a short while later that the school was officially closed. It was a beautiful sight, four hours of constant snow fall. Christchurch was postcard beautiful. Possum, one of our cats, ran out in the snow, turned around and ran straight back inside. She did do a few more ventures outside, but always ran back in after a short while. Rafferty, our other cat, is still healing from surgery and is confined to the house, but she was clearly itching to get out too. This snow was rated the heaviest in Christchurch since 1992. Fortunately the weather had been predicted for several days and farmers had received adequate warning to move their stock, pregnant Ewes and lambs to shelter. More snow was forecast, but it never arrived. An overnight dumping was also forecast but didn't happen--much to children's disappointment--and the snow predicted the following morning didn't arrive either. In fact, but the end of that day the snow was all but gone. There is still snow across the top of the Port Hills and on the Southern Alps, but the rest has all melted away. It was pretty while it lasted. I'm a little preoccupied. Our cat, Rafferty (ten months old) is at the vets having surgery.
We don't know how she did it because she was not hit by a car and has not, as far as we know, been in a fight. But, she has a broken leg. What I was never prepared for was how absolutely gutted this would leave me feeling. She's a beautiful bronze tabby cat from the SPCA, much loved, with a gentle loving nature (except when she tries to swipe at my fingers while I am working on the laptop!) We honestly don't know how she got injured, but the injury is consistent with that of being hit by a car or from a bad fall. We were certain she had not even gone outside...but perhaps she had, and had simply gone out silently and maybe jumped on the fence, got a fright from the neighbors dog and fell badly in the dark. If that was the case we never heard a thing and never heard her come back in the cat door. The first thing we knew was a wailing meow, but when I opened the kitchen door and saw her lying in the hallway several paces from the cat door, she looked just fine. It was only a short while later that she wailed again and when I opened the door she was hobbling away. Something was clearly very wrong with Rafferty. A visit to the vet, who said something wasn't right with the hip. We left her at the clinic overnight so she could be X-rayed in the morning--getting her into the carry cage was difficult enough the first time, I didn't want to have to try and catch her the next morning and traumatize her further. Felt horribly guilty leaving her there, but the vet assured me that the pain relief would kick in very soon and she would sleep all night. I had hoped that she had just damaged a ligament or tendon or muscle, and it was only the phone call the next day asking me to come down for a consultation with the vet, that made me start worrying. When he told me what the problem was I was stunned--gob smacked even! How on Earth could she have a broken leg? The clinic will call me after she has had the surgery and woken up, and let me know how she is doing, and then they will keep her overnight again. She should be ready to come home the day after (Saturday 10th Sept). I feel dreadful. Right off my food. Sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. Sense of dread. All for a ten month old cat. Amazing. I never thought I would feel like this about an injured pet. But I do. So do our children.
I knew when we welcomed two cats into our family (Possum is a month older than Rafferty) that we would love them heaps... I never realized just how deep a bond we would form with them. Never imagined that it would feel like this.
On Friday 19th August 2005 I attended the Ashton Wylie Charitable Trust Unpublished Manuscript and Published Book Awards (held in Auckland, New Zealand). As much as I wanted to win the Unpublished Manuscript Award, I did not actually expect to. All finalists were presented with a certificate, which was a delightful surprise. If nothing else I would have something to put on the wall in front of my desk to inspire and motivate me. When the winner was announced I was a tad disappointed that it was not me (I would be lying if I said otherwise), but I had talked to the winner, Andrew Crowe, earlier and he was such a terrific guy that I was genuinely pleased for him--honestly, you should have seen the huge smile on his face afterwards! There were 53 manuscripts submitted, and the judges narrowed it down to nine and from there they had to narrow it down to five. The standard of submissions had been very high, so high in fact that the Trust decided to issue two erit awards. As they were about to announce the merit award winners I had a terrible thought running through my head: to be a finalist was a huge success, and made me feel like a winner already, but having missed out on the big Award and the prize money, if I missed out on the Merit Award as well I would feel like a loser. How terrible to go to the Awards function feeling like a winner and leave feeling like a looser. The two winners of the merit award were announced "...Brian Broom and Robyn Speed." Oh thank God! I thought! I walked up, shook Brian's hand on the way and gratefully accepted the award certificate and an envelope which I assumed contained a letter of congratulations. I will point out that the publisher whom I was attempting to win over was at the awards and to have him witness me receive a merit award for the manuscript I am hoping he will publish, was a huge joy! As they announced the Merit Award winner for the published book award I had a peek in my envelope to read the letter. I found not only a letter, but a check for $1000. I was even happier! Within five minutes of the awards presentations a publisher rushed up to me and asked if I had a publisher yet, and when I said, not yet, he asked me to send him my manuscript. Wow! Being a finalist got my foot in the door with two major New Zealand publishers, and now another had rushed up. The publisher I had worked on all evening told me he could not promise anything (he has not had an opportunity to read the proposal I submitted yet), but did ask how soon he could have the rest of the chapters if he wanted to read them. I promised that I could have them printed off and on their way the same day he asked for them. To be a finalist was a thrill, but to be a merit award winner, just put me on cloud 99. One of the members of the Trust came up to tell me she really liked my manuscript and she had total faith that it would be published. She said it needed work to tie up loose threads, but she was certain it would be published. She absolutely made my evening! To Ashton Wylie, wherever you are, thank you for asking, in your Will, that this trust be set up. I never met you, but you are my hero! My dream is in my hand, but my fingers are not yet curled around it. Everything lies with the publisher...he may like the work, he may not. ...I'll keep you posted...
I have written before about holding your dream tight; about chasing it, and never giving up. A year ago I was close to wondering if I should just quit. I wasn't making much headway, and was doubting my ability to write well. But I knew that if I did quit, I would regret it for the rest of my life. So I threw myself into my work with even greater vigor. The result? I started to make slow progress. More articles were accepted for publication. My faith in my ability to write grew stronger. But, my greatest dream was (and still is) to be a published novelist. I am not there yet. I am still chasing that dream, and have been through periods of wondering if my manuscripts were good enough--some rejections were harsh. No more. I entered my work in the Ashton Wylie Charitable Trust Unpublished Manuscript Award 2005, an award for writing in the area of mind, body and spirit. That was at the end of March. Since then I have held on to hope, and focused on my freelance writing career. On Thursday 28th July I received an email. It sat in my inbox, subject heading: Ashton Wylie Charitable Trust Unpublished Manuscript Award. My heart dropped. I knew that as soon as I opened that email my hope would be gone. It would be over. I would see a list of five names, strangers. As hope began to slip through my fingers I opened the email and read it, and read the list of five names and their manuscripts. There was a name so familiar that I did not recognize it at first. The name was: Robyn M Speed. The loudest "Woooo Hoooo!!!!!" surged forth from my lips! I was a finalist! My writing had been deemed good enough to make it to the shortlist. To be a finalist is a dream come true. It is a categorical statement: Robyn M Speed CAN WRITE! Whether I win or not, this is a turning point in my career. I knew, as I read that email, that life would never be the same again. I told my family and emailed all my friends, and received an absolute flood of congratulations from around the world. This Award is New Zealand's second biggest literary award, and it is a HUGE DEAL to be a finalist. The Award does not entail a publishing contract, but win or not, I am one step closer to achieving my goal. And I am so very very glad that I did not quit.
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© Robyn M Speed |
(Possum)