Love, Loss and Light at the end of the tunnel - how blogging got me through tough times.... by Morgan Forester of 'Letters From the Edge of the Platform'...

             "For a man who no longer has a homeland, writing becomes a place to live"

T. Adorno

I remember exactly how I felt the minute I closed the door behind me after moving into my new flat in Prague.  After a heart-wrenching break-up that was drawn out over many months back in England, I'd seen my ex-partner off at the main train station known as "hlavní nádraží" so he could travel on to his new partner.  In that moment as I stood in my new surroundings, I was in 'emergency mode'.  Minute by minute it was my job to survive and stay the right side of the edge of sanity.  I was filled with a caffeine-like alertness to the loss I'd been through.  I felt like I was in shock after surgery.  As though they had removed a ventricle and replaced it with a machine instead.  Except I would need to remember to keep breathing, to put one foot in front of the other to keep moving, lest the machine also forgot how to do its job.

That was late summer 2010.  Gradually the temperature dropped and sunny days became a thing of the past.  The Czech autumn turned into a very harsh winter and soon I was facing Christmas.  It bore down on me with a pressure and shame that only being single in a family-obsessed country can generate.  Ultimately, I was saved by a nasty cold forcing me to stay in bed and look after myself, which got me through to a day or so before New Year's Eve.

  

In my lemsip haze, I made a decision to send a sort of 'message in a bottle' to the universe to test my idea that I should pursue writing in some way.  I told myself that I would write to a journalist and if I got a reply, I would take that as a sign.  I picked up an old article I'd saved from a newspaper and sent an email to the author.  A day later, I received a generous response, telling me that he sensed I must know how to survive tough times,  so I should go ahead and test the waters with my writing.

Having had that one little positive indication, I followed in the footsteps of other blogs I read, namely www.belgianwaffling.com or http://mccookerybook.blogspot.com/  and set up a blogger page.  I called it, 'Letters From the Edge of the Platform' in reference to the train station-related beginning of my move here.  Bit by bit, I began to uncover a greater priority in my life.  My day job was just a day job.  And woe betide anyone who rubbed me up the wrong way, because I would get my revenge in an internet instant with a blogpost full of descriptive venom for their atrocious behaviour.  

I realised that this frivolous-seeming occupation was in fact helping me develop another side to myself.  I began to love what I could do with words and marvelled in, "the soft and soothing attempts of scrolling through my brain for just the right match of word for my mood [...] The sense of wistful wallowing in a field of language."  Writing had become my new companion.

I also gained another companion.  I got invited on a date, which turned into other dates.  Before I knew it I was writing a blogpost entitled, "Love and other tragedies", beginning: "God save me - I think I've fallen in love. This is not very 'me'.  I'm meant to be dynamic and fiercely independent and cynical."  That 'love' (or tragedy) turned into a relationship and I tentatively started to explore the prospects of where this whole new lifestyle could lead me.

So far, I have known highs and lows in equal measure, including paid writing work and a wonderful holiday beyond my wildest dreams but also having to move out of my flat and find somewhere else to live just as I thought things must be looking up.  Did writing a blog 'save me' from great hardship?  Certainly not.  Did it bring a little light at the end of the tunnel with which to see my way through the next challenge?  Thankfully, yes.

Photo credits:

Katya Evdokimova  www.begemotfoto.com

Letters From the Edge of the Platform:

http://lettersfromtheedgeoftheplatform.blogspot.com

To Blog or not to blog, that is the question… Tracey Bailey of 'Mum in Meltdown' asks herself the question...

So to blog or not to blog, that is the question I asked myself nearly 18 months ago! Should I, shouldn’t I?

My life had drastically changed over the previous year, long term illness had seen to that. I went from being a professional Qualified Driving Instructor running my own business into the land of the ‘non-working’ (and NOT through choice!).

I had loved my job, it was fun, enjoyable and different every day. I was seen as a professional, not just someone’s mum or wife. Don’t get me wrong I love being both of those and it’s what my blog is based around, however, that’s not what I want to be defined as – I am more than that. I have a brain, ideas, I am creative and my mind is always on the go. I am my own person.

But let’s face it life is never simple, it likes to throw the odd curveball at you just to see what your made of. So, after being diagnosed with M.E / Chronic Fatigue Syndrome (you know- that 80’s ‘Yuppie Flu’ thing...YES it’s real people, I can vouch for that!) my whole lifestyle changed. I could no longer physically work. I could no longer earn money and contribute financially. I had to rely on and become dependent on others.

This as you can imagine did not go down very well. My mind was still whirring. I needed desperately to keep my brain engaged and active and be something other than just the ‘ill me’, even if it was just in the virtual world. That’s when I took the plunge and started a blog. I had a lot to say and share, although to be honest I never really thought anyone would actually want to read it! But I blogged for me, my sanity and to put down in black and white what was going through my head.

My blog name was, and still is, perfect for me- I was (and still am) a Mum in Meltdown. I don’t necessarily feel the need to post daily, I will post when I have something to share or just get off my chest. I have since added a page for my M.E journey in the hope of raising more awareness of this ‘invisible ‘ illness that I, and thousands of others, live with every day( my symptoms are real people…….REAL). I have also added a craft page documenting my return to the knitting craft after many years, with the hope of improving, learning and hopefully selling in the near future (see I told you I had a creative side!)

I have also become totally obsessed engaged with the social networking side of blogging. Twitter and Facebook are fab for information, gossip and a good old virtual chat! Now I know that sounds a bit sad to some of you- but hey, some days that can be all I’m physically capable of, so each to their own and all that.

I see no sign of me giving up my blog anytime soon. I don’t earn from it (YET!!! But wouldn’t that be nice) but it documents my life and state of mind at the time. Even if no one were to read it I would still feel better in myself having written it all down and cleared it from my head.

I love what I get from it…………………………………….MY SANITY!

I BLOG THEREFORE I AM!

So in the virtual words of good old twittersphere  #thatisall

http://muminmeltdown.blogspot.com

Guest Blogger: David Gilston of Once Was England on 'Yesterday's Best'

Bounding forth from the past into the present, from the refreshingly chilly concrete bunker of the Churchill War Rooms, back into this unseasonally foreign, October sunshine, one bagged the wisp of a thought as it wafted through the rippling green haze of London's St. James's Park. It was this: since time immemorial, ever since our nocky, loin-clothed ancestors scratched their charcoaled fingernails across the musty cave walls of Cheddar Gorge, we Englanders have been driven to record, to pot and to pickle history, our history; for today and tomorrow, for ourselves and Johnny Foreigner.

One deduced that this habit was as English as tuppence, that it should be branded the 'Tiptree Syndrome'and that our nation's most favourite blend is called ‘Nostalgia’; a sugary, thick cut conserve that is each and every Englishman's relish. Instantly recognisable by its sturdy, rose-tinted jar, it is best spread thick when one feels all colly-molly, with its invigorating flavours of better times past. Now is an especially good time to twist open its lid.

These days it would seem, the world is rather fond too of the taste of ‘olde’ and what once was England. This fashion season, from Hoxton to Harajuku, one can see legions of Tricker-booted, Barbour-jacketed young buffers swagging the sidewalks; fellows for whom all things English are now most proper and champion. What a bit of jam!

Dam silly, you might say. I say, it’s a jolly kick up the collective corybungus for those who’ve forgotten from whence they came from. To paraphrase old Winnie, a country that knoweth not its history simply has no future. Here, here.

David Gilston is a British designer and brand developer whose blog Once Was England "harks back to a disappearing age in our history - the time of the gentleman - when people ate faggots and tripe, drove Rolls Royces and Bentleys, had their clothes made with their tailor and holidayed by the sea." Read the full GWG review of his blog.

Guest Blogger: Clare Macnaughton - A Modern Military Mother

When I met my RAF pilot husband, nicknamed Hagar the Horrible, for his Viking warrior status, he was a vibrant, bouncy energetic shade of yellow. I was deep shade blue as I had broken my leg and couldn’t walk. He burst into my life, loudly declared “hello, dream date”, swept me off my feet and we rode off into the sunset. Over time and evolution, rank, role, combat and age Hagar lost his colourful brightness and moved into an intransigent black and white.

First, because I loved him so, I tried to be a bit of black and white, but it was too rigid for me, so then I adopted a steely shade of grey. Eventually, I could bear it no longer and I went for pink and green, sometimes red, sometimes purple, turquoise and yellows. I wanted to roll myself in colour and tiptoe barefoot through the tulips. I couldn’t live with black and white anymore.

The difficulty with black and white is that the military precision is such that it doesn’t allow for flaws, fun and chaos. It’s very restrictive and our two children, our son, The Grenade, aged 8 (nicknamed so because when he younger he could destroy a room in 20 seconds) and The Menace, our daughter, aged 3 (called this because she quietly goes about her business silently creating disaster in her wake) can’t breathe in the rigidity of Hagar’s need for order, structure, command and control.

It’s harder when he returns from war because the war is run like a well-oiled machine. The focus is time, precision, prepping, delivery and execution – everyone know their place and their role.

Hagar returns; he is tired and angry. He doesn’t even know he is angry. He thinks it’s ok to shout but we don’t shout in anger here. We have been rolling in sunshine, colour and laughter, while he sweltered in the darkness. I give him a spoon; a wooden spoon and I take him to a light room for him to breathe out the dark smoke and breathe in the white light.

Life is complex, post war and we watch out for loud bangs and tired, grumpy Hagars. We try and bring him back down to earth with beauty and life. Meanwhile the battle continues on. Peace and love.

Clare Macnaughton is a Modern Military Mother, juggling a busy career as a writer and marketing consultant with a husband serving in the RAF and two small children. amodernmilitarymother.com

Guest Blogger: James York, founder of Blokely

Never before has the average man had access to, let alone needed, so much lifestyle information. But if 'knowledge is power', why are the majority of male-centric publication's readerships falling like dodos off a cliff?

One could make assumptions about the proliferation of the internet or boldly claim that men 'just don't buy magazines anymore'. But it might be that they simply don't relate to what they are being presented with. Put simply, their personal aspirations are not congruent with the market model in which the word ‘aspiration’ has been synonymous with the content.

Aspiration doesn't require economic value to play a part and, instead of reinforcing male self-confidence and virtues, it has latterly, and inadvertently, threatened to turn the masses into expensive-shoe chasing, self-conscious paranoids. It's interesting to see men rebelling against what risks becoming a contrived consumption-driven paradigm. They are defiantly showing that, whilst all life's frills have a rightful place at the table - few put them at the head of it all.

 Modern men have become cynics, impervious to these expensive and colourful lifestyle peacocks that dance in front of them so blatantly. And while they still buy clothes and shaving products, try to find wives and lovers and watch movies, more of the same unattainable, aspirational content is the last thing they require.

Let's take a step back and get back to value-adding practicality - the flint-like tools of male lifestyle. Afterall, the pace of falling readership in the magazine world runs in parallel to the fortunes of Western economies over the last ten years. Perhaps the market needs to reflect that? Be ready for the next boom and bust. There is a remodelling of collective identity taking place in reaction to the new realities of modern digital life. It's a measured approach to consumption and the choices available. Now, the ambition is to be secure and avoid repeating the mistaken attitudes that got the economies of the West into such a pickle in the first place.

James York is the founder and editor of men's lifestyle online magazine Blokely. www.blokely.com