Many of us cast doubt into ourselves on whether we can do something, or not. Whether this is something that stems from our past or childhood is not what matters. What matters is that we become mindful and aware that we can do anything we put our minds and our hearts to. For we are all limitless, we are a product of something infinite and so the only boundaries that are in place are the boundaries that were set before us at some stage. Break through those boundaries, fear not the unknown for it may very well be the unknown that carries you to untold successes.
This evening on walking to where I am currently staying my mind was seriously active and was thinking about everything, literally everything was flashing through my mind – past, present and future. One of the problems I have always had, and I believe it must be a problem we all have is I have a proclivity of focusing too much on the past and the future…but seldom the present, the present I do think of is thinking how miserable I am feeling, a negative feeling bound to breed negativity as I went from being a bit more jovial than I have recently to thinking of happier times and wanting them back which made me miserable rather than happy, I mean…seriously. Aren’t happy memories supposed to be there to make us happy when we think of them?
I was thinking on what is going on within myself now and my physical fitness from the past. The fittest I have ever been, for purpose has been in my adult life in my twenties (the fittest I was as a kid was on the farm in Zimbabwe, but then I had no goals or purpose, I was a kid). If you have been following my blog for a while you will have seen in this post that I had been in the process of joining the British Army as a commonwealth applicant. This was in 2006, a year after I had come to the UK and after I attended my army presentation at ACIO (Army Careers Information Office) in Aldershot I put myself through an intensive PT programme – using training techniques I learnt from my father in my youth who had been a member of the elite Fire Force of One Commando, the Rhodesian Light Infantry. I conditioned myself and focused. It was the fittest I have ever been in my adult life as I had a goal and that was to join the most senior English line regiment, the Princess of Wales’s Royal Regiment, 2nd Battalion (2PWRR) I reached my peak fitness of being able to run 1.5 miles in seven minutes without breaking a sweat and the time limit being way below the allowed maximum for infantry selection. I disciplined and conditioned myself. I worked on my martial arts (taekwondo & judo), and worked on my upper and lower body – not only did I focus on my physical attributes but also educational and studied religiously for my BARB test (British Army Recruitment Battery) which is what shows you where you are best suited. I did the practice test so many times and studied so much that I opened everything up (in theory) from infantry to trade regiments and corps to Intelligence Corps, to Royal Military Police, although I was focused on the infantry. I was focused and while I was so focused and conditioned, as well as determined to reach my goal my emotional status was also at its peak, I was never stunted and always had something to work towards. Anyone who has spent any time with me continuously since 2006 will tell you I was focused, self-disciplined and motivated. To cut a long story short the Army ended up not happening for me due to circumstances beyond my control, I however didn’t stop trying for years. There have even been times where I have decided to try elsewhere and as I speak a little French maybe try the Légion Étrangère (French Foreign Legion), but sadly again bureaucracy getting in my way as the requirements have changed somewhat and they are now a professional army, unlike in decades gone by. But my years of being a soldier have passed me by, now.
In 2014 however I found a better me and that version of myself that I discovered grew and grew, helped along by an awesome part of my life who saw the best in me, it was a version that has obviously always existed as I had discovered how to get out of my own way. Somehow. I then returned to my fitness and became the most toned I have ever been in my adult life. Whilst I was training for the Army in 2006 I do not recall having become as toned as I did. But anyway, that all does sound vain, I must admit but what I am meaning was its fitness that helped unlock all that, both times. Actually, what helped 2014 and make me reevaluate life was a breakdown Christmas time 2013. But then I worked towards a better me and was helped along. Now I kind of feel I am slipping backwards, in a bad way, though some of it is self-imposed for what I feel is self preservation, but in an unhealthy way. Maybe time to apply some breaks and find that other version of myself but make it a better version.
And so earlier this evening I am walking along thinking about EVERYTHING, almost like…you know how you hear of people who have had near death experiences and their whole life has flashed before them? Almost like that but things from over the last few years, including me training to join the Army. And I realised something about all of us, myself included. I have been getting in my own way. A while ago I purchased a book by American singer, song writer, author, actor and motivational speaker, Tyrese Gibson entitled How to Get Out Of Your Own Way. And though I haven’t read the book yet, asides from reading the incredible introduction have realised something – that is the problem, I have been getting in my own way and whilst it is easy to let life do this to us maybe that is the key, we all, at some point or another get in the way of our own progress.
But, physical conditioning being a key to motivation due to the endorphins that are released into the brain at any given time we are doing any personal training and endorphins not only reducing our perception of pain but also trigger positive feelings in the body – I have never taken drugs but I imagine it is the same thing, once you exercise more the better the feeling and the more endorphins are released the more PT you crave making it a habit. To me that is the healthiest drug out there.
Are you struggling at the moment too? Do you feel that certain things are setting you back? Is there a version of yourself that you liked and would like back but an even better version? A better version for ourselves, our friends, our family, our loved ones. A better version for the future.
I will leave this in your hands to find what will work for you. If you know of someone who is struggling, or if you are and have found this post to help you and feel that it might somehow help someone else. Please send it on.
Many of you who may have been visiting the website and seeing the update posts on remodelling the blog etc but nothing thereafter and must be wondering ‘okay, so what on earth is happening exactly?’ All I can ask of you is to be patient with me. I have some personal stuff that I am working through which makes it difficult to focus on other stuff, at the same time as wanting to be able to give this a large amount, or portion of my time. It is just kinda hard to work on something when you have so much else going on, especially when that stuff is kind of stunting progress on much else. That includes my screenwriting course which I have not even started since I posted about that in March.
My plans reference GTBG remain the same as the last post, nothing has really changed at all. Nothing will appear in Media until I have taken the necessary steps which is why there is nothing in it. I have a passion for photography and want to start vlogging as a part of this page which is what the media tab will be for. My content designer and I are also continuously working on the page and so for those who visit on a regular basis who see new changes pretty much all the time at the moment and changes in themes and backgrounds, I am however, for the time being pretty set on it. So a big thank you to those people who have mentioned that they like the background images.
As mentioned before I also have a passion for the wild mustang causes and their persecution in the US by the Bureau of Land Management and the US government with several bills signed by Donald Trump already threatened by the BLM. But from my research let no rancher or farmer tell you that the presence of the wild mustangs threaten grazing for their cattle or other livestock. Anyone can do any amount of research to see that this is not entirely factual. The question will be from many people – friends and family and others who know I am a; not an American and b; not Stateside and indeed people who do not know me. The reason why is to me, and this is my personal opinion is those of us horse people have an obligation to protect them, that has been their territory since before Western Europeans got to the Americas as they were initially introduced to the Americas by the Spanish, the original name being Mustango. Silly argument? Nope, not really because they are not a threat to anyone who says they are a threat to them.
The wild mustang has been a passion that has long existed since I was a child and my passion and interest in the “Wild West” which may explain why I loved my horses in Zimbabwe and the wide open spaces. I know that many people still visualise the freedom that the Wild West gave, whether as homesteaders, wanderers, gunslingers, travelling lawmen and guns for hire or mere cowboys. The imagination that it still provides us all can never be replaced – it is the mustangs that have carried us through those dreams, it is the mustang that has carried me through my dreams to date and that is what this blog is being partly remodelled on, well, a large part of it. Not my dreams though but the mustangs.
So please, if you are visiting daily and referring people and sharing my content do not be put off by the lack of content – I will get to the stage where I will be continually creating new content, like computer game streamers who continuously update their game content for their followers and others seeking their entertainment. That is where I intend to get to with this page. Though writing an eight hour piece might be a bit difficult as a blogger/vlogger.
Language and culture, those of us who have a greater understanding of language and culture beyond our own are truly gifted. That has been my interpretation of being multilingual for ages due to the fact that I speak one other language fluently, other than my own and speak notions of four other languages (French, Italian, Spanish, Polish) and can say a few words in Chinese and Arabic. I truly envy those who speak twelve languages fluently. However, my belief is that to understand culture is of more importance, and why? My reasoning with that is simple – we get to understand each other a lot better.
I have harboured a belief since I was in my early twenties that we can can all create an understanding of one another through an understanding of each others culture, wherever we are from. Whilst I have lived in the UK I have met people from all four corners of the globe. I have met people from Central and Eastern Europe, people from Italy, Spain France and Belgium, made friends with peoples from Poland, America, Argentina, El Salvador. I have made friends with people from Pakistan to Algeria. And though I have an Argentinian friend that I went to school and worked with in Zimbabwe I started to pick up Spanish from he and his family. Some of my cousins had a Belgian background and so started to pick up French from them. But my understanding of language & culture never really took off until I came to the UK. That is one of the beauties of the United Kingdom, its broad spectrum of different cultures and backgrounds.
I am no lingual genius, I do however wish I was but being able to speak the notions I do is gift enough but had I carried on with my Polish course I would be able to speak Polish fluently. But this is where I think the ultimate respect for other nationalities come from. Although I do believe that an understanding of another religion, other than my own helps. I do not believe that is where the ultimate in understanding and acceptance comes from – it primarily comes from language & culture.
So at the end of the day what is your understanding of the key to humanity, acceptance and understanding?
This post totally goes against what I have remodelled this site on but I think this is an important part of who we all are and who we should be.
So yesterday I wrote a piece about remodelling my blog and that I’ll be making some changes. The changes to come will include aesthetic changes but also changes to the navigation of the site.
I have also done away with some things. If you have acquainted yourself with the menu section you will have seen a tab for my writing and reviews, as I will be creating a whole new website niche to writing I have removed that. I have also removed reviews, I have been focusing on the monetisation aspects without focusing on my passions. Passion is where the ultimate skill comes from and this is demonstrated through horsemen like Chris Cox and Buck Brannaman, as their passion in their horsemanship shines through everything they do with and for their horses and their community. It also shines through visionaries like Steve Jobs and Richard Branson through their brands.
There will be other things that will be added in the greater scheme of things.
Just keeping you all posted on thoughts on the direction I’m wanting to take this…
So I was thinking of taking things on my blog up a notch and will be doing a bit of remodelling, as you have noticed I have changed the header image (which may be temporary) and over the coming months will be adding a different twist and you will soon notice a new tab but will not be active for the next few months while I get all my ducks in a row.
There is a specific issue which is very close to my heart and that is the wild mustangs of the United States and so will be writing a post on that in the coming few days, as I don’t know too much, except for their unfair hounding and persecution by the BLM (no, not the black lives matter movement but the Bureau of Land Management) and so am conducting research both on the web and a through contact who works closely with wild mustangs in Oregon, no point in writing something inaccurate, any writer will tell you that its not very healthy for your existence if you want to succeed as you will always find someone who genuinely knows more or as much about the subject you are writing about.
When I initially started this website I wrote a piece entitled Going the Distance – New Website and the fact that I will be closing this page and creating a new one. That is no longer the case, I will be keeping this website going but also creating a new one niche to my writing. In that piece I also mentioned the possibility of vlogging (video blogging) of which I have not forgotten and so if you keep your eye on the menu section you will see a tab appear for media and in that you will get vlogs on my YouTube channel, as well as photography. This will however not be instantaneous and will only be coming over the next few months.
With regards to my followings of wild mustangs I will be doing thorough research and backing up what I know already before I continue (can you believe, I went into the library in my town today and asked a librarian if they had any books on wild mustangs and she looks at me and goes “cars?” – yeah, ummm…they have wild mustang cars roaming the plains of the US and they have untamed V8 engines…ahem) and their trials and tribulations I will be starting pretty much immediately but I will need to do my research more thoroughly as I do not want to get my information incorrect.
I must thank you for continuing to follow me throughout this time and I ask you to please keep following me and sharing my stuff and page.
It all began with a single thought, lying in my bed staring out of my window at the night sky – starless, wet, and cloudy – a typical English winter evening. I began to think of home – my parents, my horse, the space, the farm – everything representing my past I began to think of and with this I became emotionally strained, tears streamed down my face as I recalled the past; I faced facts – I was certifiably homesick and although I had refused to face facts before I had to admit it as my mind stirred bringing all that filled my world. I thought of everything that was precious to me. All the anger, the pain and memories stirred up.
The last walk that my father and I had in search of poacher’s who we ended up apprehending after sitting on an O.P. (Observation Point) for an hour monitoring movement through binoculars, eventually catching the poachers who had poached Guinea Fowl, unfortunately it was nothing major like any antelope but they were still poaching, we apprehended them in the end letting them go their ways but confiscating their catch they had tried to hide once they saw us watching them which was unintentional, as far as my father and I were concerned our O.P. was well hidden, unfortunately it was not.
On the same farm we resided on in the Manicaland Province of Zimbabwe I had inherited a horse from the previous owners of the farm who had relocated to New Zealand within a year of the Zimbabwe land reform programme beginning. The horse was just short of 16 hands; he was dark brown – almost black known as a dark bay in equestrian circles. A stallion of eleven years, extremely powerful and very quick – his name was Beauty, pretty original and so I tried to change his name to Pilgrim which is the horse from The Horse Whisperer and it didn’t fit, so then thought of Destiny and that still didn’t fit, and so kept his name. Named by the mother of the previous owner who according to her son thought “she knew the world about equines but in fact knew nothing and would refer to “her” books claiming that they were the only things that were correct so practically she knew nothing about horses but when it came to the theoretical side’ – such as maintenance, handling and sheer up-keep “she knew everything”, any horseman will however tell you that practical horsemanship is different from theoretical – practical. It is the practice that makes a horseman great and able to connect with their horses. This I have always believed as in many corners of life practical outweighs theoretical, for if you cannot listen to a horse how on earth can you pay attention to a human? I am no professional horseman but this is a belief I have held for a very long time. Even though I have had to learn it the hard way in an accident which could have claimed my life, but that is possibly another story for another time.
Beauty was my friend – I don’t think there was one corner of the farm we didn’t cover; we rode fence lines, herded cattle in for corralling at night keeping them from Hyenas and cattle thieves, drove them in for dosing or dipping on a monthly basis; it was utter bliss and herding with him was heaven, he knew exactly what to do without me reigning him and was extremely affective – he kept the cattle in line and you could tell he was always at his happiest when droving. On one occasion whilst we were gathering the herd to take them for dipping a cow decided she would be brave and try take Beauty on and so she began to charge, Beauty then turned in and kicked out at the cow, she stumbled but lucky for me she was not injured, probably a bruised ego more like. Shortly after that incident that heavens opened up and we got the gloriousness of an African thunder storm.
One of my last rides on him was a moonlight ride, just him and I before I left for the other end of the country so stayed as much time as possible together because this horse had truly become one of the best friends I have ever had and through that a philosophy will always stick with me, “Never once do we choose the horse, we are chosen by the horse”. The night of our last ride was utter bliss; the moon shone brightly, the African night sounds stayed vibrant – crickets, nightjars and jackals would seem to be entertaining themselves and the odd cry from a Hyena would bellow out in the distance, and every now and then a slight breeze would kick up. As we rode I stared at the night sky, stars like diamonds on black satin glistened in the darkness, the odd shooting star would pass over head and burn up in the atmosphere. I would usher the odd reassuring word to Beauty as we continued our ride on the dusty trail. Eventually after a two hour ride we returned to the stables and we stayed in the yard for a bit after removing his tack and stayed with him for a while. I lay back on the empty feed trough and watched the sky, listening to the sounds that surrounded us. Beauty coming up and nudging my face and smelling my hair, sometimes nibbling my nose out of affection – after a while with him I decided it was time to retire. I petted him down, picked up his tack and walked back home with him following closely behind, I opened the gate, put his tack down, petted him down and hugged him one last time and locked the gate behind me and with that he returned to the stables of which were a lovely Victorian style design. The stable area was a square design with a cement feed trough in the middle, each stable was naturally big and had an individual feed trough in each corner made out of cement. In total there were fourteen stables, a feed room, and traditionally, a foaling stable – the stable area and yard was huge and when properly maintained was stunning. The stables had two entrances – one for a vehicle, another for when coming in from an outride or releasing the horses into the stable grounds or grazing pastures which in the nineteen forties and fifties had been a horse racing track on the farm which is what the stables were originally used for, the view from the stables and main house was stunning; we stared into utter vastness and down into the pastures which the cattle and horses would often share. In the distance lay foothills which would put Ben Nevis at Fort William in Scotland to shame. It was utter bliss and can happily say that it was possibly one of the best farms we resided on – the house was big and also a huge traditionally designed colonial era house.
I spent a few more days at home and as usual spent the majority of the remainder of my days on the farm known as Coldstream Estates with Beauty doing the norm; herding cattle, riding fence lines and being a regular “African Cowboy” and sometimes visited the former Zimbabwean minister of finance – Simba Makoni, if he wasn’t on the farm I would go and see his nephew and manager.
I understood from my mother when we spoke on the phone once from the other end of the country that Beauty would often gallop up and down the fence whinnying after I left as if he were trying to call me.
I then left the comforts of home to go work at Zimbabwe Online in Harare (Internet Service Provider) but later transferred to the west of the country to the country’s second capital Bulawayo to work in the office there which was by complete accident, I stayed there for almost a year and in that period realising that it was time to leave Zimbabwe in search of a better life so I could concentrate on building a future. Within that time I had organised for Beauty to go to a good home in the same area and not far from the farm we lived on. So, from March 2004 to November 2004 I lived and worked in Bulawayo. My time there drew to an end and I left to travel to directly the other end of the country to spend my last month with my parents, they had moved two months after I left home. It took me three days to get home to my parents as I spent two in Harare to finalise my travel plans and say goodbye to friends. On the third day I secured a lift to Headlands which was the area where we had lived for several years and had inherited Beauty, I was dropped at Halfway House in hoping that I’d be able to find a lift all the way through to my parents of which I managed to from a German expatriate who was a doctor in the eastern town of Chipinge. Whilst there I saw the person I had entrusted with Beauty, a brigadier in the Zimbabwe National Army. I enquired after my equine friend but the news was unfortunate and my heart sank. He told me that he had not been able to secure Beauty and that he had eaten a shrub which poisoned him – without him telling me the name I quickly deduced that he had eaten the same plant that had killed his mother two years before I inherited him called Lantana Camara which is hazardous to both cattle & horses in the tropical regions of Africa, America and South America, it induces Cirrhosis of the Liver and kills them slowly and painfully – my heart sank upon hearing the news – my friend I had shared good times, sad times, lonely times with was dead – he had made the world simpler than it was and had made more sense than any human possibly could.
At one stage in 2002, a year prior to inheriting Beauty I went to house/farm sit within that same area for an Australian expatriate who went away to Mana Pools and Chirundu Game Conservancies for a few weeks, the setting of the farm was absolutely stunning. I was allocated a horse, a South African breed known as Bosikop and was skewbald (white and brown colouring) – the name was Ziggie, he was an eight year old, 16 hands on the mark and having been of South African breeding was extremely rugged – whilst on the farm we rode the valley’s, stream’s & foothills and the views one would find are the kind to be ever captivated, ever beholden. I would awake at 0430hrs, go out, get Ziggie from the paddock, stable him and feed him – return to the house prepare breakfast which was often two slices of toast and a mug of coffee.
I would then get him groomed and tacked up and then depart on a days ride patrolling the gullies and streams, often running into a small herd of Kudu, a large troop of Baboons, and bumping into the odd Duiker or Klipspringer and passing the odd obvious lair of a leopard, with it being summer I would often end the day off watching the sun go down from a huge hill next to the house.
On one occasion I had been patrolling on Ziggie when I became bored and with it being mid October and the weather being inherently hot I needed to be kept occupied. I was riding in between two rock formations in a valley when I noticed a troop of baboons to my 1 o’clock so trotted roughly twenty meters ahead of the column and dismounted to face the troop of which had become curious and had stopped at my rear of which I was now facing; I kept my hands by the bit keeping the reigns on his withers so as to mount and depart immediately so knelt down on my haunches and sought out the ring leader, once I had spotted him I locked eyes and began to challenge him by barking at him in the typical baboon manner a “BAAA-HOOOW”. This being a challenge several male baboons barked back without moving, I again barked – this continued a few times before the “main-man” started to move forward. This, to me being a game barked twice of when I noticed the troop beginning to charge in my direction. I had one advantage, I had a horse so I quickly mounted, turned Ziggie in on the heal, barked once more and cantered away in the opposite direction, in front of us was a wide stream and then a semi-steep climb up the bank on the other side. Unwilling to be literally torn apart by baboons I crossed the stream and cantered up the bank on the other side and carried on riding. I had now kept active and my adrenalin had now got going as challenging a baboon is extremely dangerous as they have been known to tear apart leopards, humans and dogs. Having Ziggie as a trustworthy companion was a delight and even until today when I think back to the entire time there I smirk to myself; knowing that I only did what I did on that occasion because I had one advantage over the baboons and also with it being a very brief stage in my life of which I thoroughly enjoyed and loved every minute of, it is one of the few parts of my African life I can never regret.
All this I registered and remembered as I lay in my bed 5000 odd miles from my former homeland and feeling nothing but a heavy heart. I felt a heavy heart at the situation, a heavy heart as I now realised that I was homesick and missed my parents; that naturally wasn’t a realisation – I always did miss them from the moment I left, the moment I walked through those departure gates at Harare International Airport on the 16th of January 2005. I felt a heavy heart as the Africa I had grown up in was a different Africa and had learnt a different language & culture, liberalised certain viewpoints of past situations with the country and made friends with the majority of Africans I had met within my short twenty six years in Africa. What had happened to the country I had grown up in? The country which I had once loved, what had happened to the nation I had once served in pride as a police officer for two years?
I can safely say that I truly wish my children could have the upbringing I had – the space, a different culture, a different language – sadly, my children will not have that – I will not share that with my family. Times change, situations change, life changes but I guess who and where we come from will never change in our hearts. We will always stand proud, stand true and be who we are. Memories we will always have to remind us of where we are from and who we are.
I guess those of us who have left will always say “I had a home in Africa”.
January 2007 ©
Whilst in UK and having met people from all walks of life, cultures, languages and countries I’ve had time to learn the universal word of “what”, as a youngster I was always taught that it was rude to say “what” and always use pardon or excuse me in its stead; which is quite right but as time has gone by and coming from Zimbabwe, having started to learn French and Spanish from a young age and more recently started to learn Polish and speaking Shona (native language of Zimbabwe) fluently I’ve come to learn that there is no rudness intended going from another language because its how it is translated.
Often if a Shona speaker in Zimbabwe did not hear you they’d say “chii” (pronounced ch-ee), translated into English this is what. French is the same thing and is “quoi” – (pronounced qwa), in Spanish it is “que” (Pronounced as ke”. Polish is “Co” (Pronounced S-aw).
As a youngster I’d always be told when a worker would say “what” in English. For instance was “damn rude”, in Shona there is no word for pardon or there is excuse me which is “pamsoroi” but, as far as my history has taught me, individually I never recall someone saying “pamsoroi” unless they wished to get passed someone. From what I gather from the other languages I’ve bothered to pay attention to, I’ve heard and said “chii’ ‘quoi’ ‘que’ or co” in conversation.
I do believe that acceptance needs to be brought to this word from English speakers as saying “what” is not a matter of rudeness nor ignorance but more so a matter of translation. So, my question is; does the ignorance not stem from the people who regard using the word “what” as a matter of rudeness?
“HELP ME” I think must be one of the hardest sentences to use, “help” is not just a word but a motion, asking someone for assistance must be one of the hardest things to ask for in this world, especially when you have asked for so long and it becomes hard eventually because you just don’t want to keep doing it. I also think independence and the loss of it has quite a lot to do with it and then something happens which makes that little bit or huge amount of independence go out the window.
What’s prompted this blog is my fear of asking for help and the question, “why am I afraid of asking for help, what is it that makes it so hard?” So, I started doing my own research and searching within myself for the answers and I think there are two sides to it, two of which are pretty much a standard answer of “I am afraid of looking weak” and “I am afraid of looking needy”, these are pretty standard reasons but there are also individual reasons, reasons that could stem back as far as our childhood. Who likes to look or even feel needy anyway? Put your hand up. My guess is probably a really small percentage. It is one of the worst feelings to feel that you’re being portrayed as needy, whether people think it or if you feel you are portraying yourself as such.
I have been faced with situations many times within the last decade, more than I care to even admit where I have needed help but I have been too afraid to ask, from both friends and family; particularly the friends that have helped me often, it is probably mixed with the standard answers above but I also don’t like to feel like I am being a burden and another feeling I absolutely loath, which I feel derives from feeling as though you are a burden is the discomfort that’s brought if you do ask for help. Do you know this feeling? I do, all too well as I am slowly, very slowly getting used to the idea of asking for help. What I think makes it worse is if you ask someone for help and they give it but throughout that time they go about things in such a way that makes you feel uncomfortable and almost ram the fact that they have helped you down your throat or I think what makes it equally hard is if you politely reject someones help and you don’t particularly go on about about whats up but you still get the fact that help was offered but you snuffed it thrown in your face – these are sadly the kind of people that make everything worse. Those are the kind of actions that have a long lasting impact on the ability, or in this case, the inability to ask for help and in the long run also damages trust in people all together. But within all this I think the main thing, in my opinion and from my personal experience is the fear of rejection, of what??? Rejection – For me it is that feeling when you know you need help, you want help but I tend to often forget the old slogan of “If you don’t ask, you don’t get” and so I opt to go without because of not wanting to put other people, or myself out. It has got to the extreme once where I even made myself go without a roof over my head for fear of asking for help.
The idea of asking for help is something that I am getting used to, its taking a while but I am getting there. But every now and then something happens where I will take two steps back from the one step I have gained.
If you have been following my blog for some time now you will have seen the piece, My First Impressions of Melbourne, Derbyshire and whilst I was up there I became acquainted with a guy who I mentioned to that I was going to write this piece, as he said – this is a piece that could open a whole can of worms. There are however a few websites covering this topic and so it doesn’t really open a whole can of worms – it is just a problem with general society these days and that is because the majority of communities with the way the world has changed have become divided and they go about their own business. With how fast paced the “rat-race” has become we all seem to have forgotten about each other.
I have compiled a list below of articles that have interested me that lead to this question:
- Why is it So Hard to Ask for Help by Good Therapy
- 8 Reasons Introverts Might Find it Hard Asking for Help by Andy Mort
- Why is Asking for Help so Difficult by The New York Times
- Why Asking for Help is a Hard Thing to Do by Psychology Today
- Why It’s Hard to Ask for Help by the Huffington Post
Being a bit of an introvert (which I truly believe is purely circumstantial and hope it is) and although the majority of points in the second article have definitely hit the nail on the head. For me the second point has hit me the most and have had lines like the one in the first point been thrown at me in the distant past and it has become a line I throw out about myself, often, especially if I am hurting about or angry at something, that is ‘its life’, even though deeply I know it isn’t life, life should be enjoyed, even loved. But these lines being “get over it” and “Its just life I’m afraid”. But hey, guess what? If you happen to be one of those sad people who use that line or both of them, it isn’t just life ‘I’m afraid’. Leading to the second point of the article which is my main issue – though points two, four, five, six, seven and eight are all pertinent to me and therefore I am sure many throughout the world will have the same issue and although no two people can be exactly the same I am sure thousands-upon-thousands will have similarities in the above experiences.
So, what do we do? I don’t know – one minute I think I may have the answer when I manage to take a step forward, then when something goes wrong and I take two steps back that answer then in my mind becomes irrelevant.
And although we may live in a world that has become hugely self-sufficient and self-absorbed I think that communities and society needs to work closer together for those in need of help, for those who find it difficult to ask for help.
In my opinion the fear of asking for help also stems from our pasts and may be why we like to help others but why we find it difficult to ask for help, and sometimes difficult to even accept it when offered.
Its an interesting topic which could be delved into by thousands of psychologists and councillors and although there can be answers found I am sure there will always be underlying issues that will never be spoken about, or fully answered.
It is something interesting that could be studied and researched in-depth and one of those thousands of questions in the world that we will never know the answer to, maybe only a fraction of an answer. But surely a small understanding of why it is that way is better than no understanding at all.
Well, who knew I’d ever write about the making of a movie and although this is in reviews it isn’t really a movie review because the piece is about the making of Magnificent Seven – well, lets just say its a making that blew me away and kinda excited me. When I described how I’d do movie reviews I mentioned they’d come with a twist and if really good then I would wait until they were released on blu-ray and DVD in order to be able to watch the making before watching the feature film in order to be able to write an effective review, so really, this should be an edit to my review of the feature film but in all honesty I think this deserves its own review, and why…well…like all the leading actors in the film I love westerns, my Dad loves Westerns – I’ve got to say that it has to be one of my favourite genres out there, since I was a kid. I think Vincent D’onofrio who played Jack Horne said it best ‘it has nothing to do with a good western, it has to do with morals and good and evil’.
For me the making of a film has everything to do with the film, it has its own backstory, through the cast and the crew; it is what they go through to make the story great, its who they are as people that they bring to the set and from what Chris Pratt said, its about what they have wanted to bring to the set. The role he played was a part that he wanted to play as a child and what makes it even greater is he looks as though he thoroughly enjoyed himself during the making, as I said in my original review, he made the film and is my favourite character in the whole film – his arrogant, amusing, cocky personality is what made him make the film. Even throughout the making he will keep you chuckling.
To me Denzel’s depiction of the film and its spiritual aspect of good against evil, which is a powerful statement to make, especially in a film of this magnitude, especially when you have an ongoing story of Magnificent Seven to live up to and keep it great, without disrespecting the original stars of this great western. Denzel also says that there are those of us that have been put on this earth to protect the innocent, to defend the innocent which is why I love the genre – it is not only that but it is the sense of freedom, it is the sense of being able to do what you please and go where you please, unhindered.
Ethan Hawke who plays Goodnight Robicheaux goes a step further and I quote “There’s something deeply American about the Western, there’s an iconography about it that I think has reached a lot of people. There’s something that is so heroic that we all long for that kind of heroism in our life’. I think its that quote that just labels it all because we do, remembering that I am the same generation of the majority of the main cast who grew up watching westerns. I grew up watching Clint Eastwood in spaghetti westerns, The Good, The Bad and The Ugly, A Fist Full of Dollars, For a Few Dollars More and then other Westerns like the older Magnificent Seven, The Lone Ranger, John Wayne westerns – it is iconic and I can definitely agree with Ethan Hawke because it is an iconography, its an iconography that led me to wanting to write the western that I want to write.
So, do yourself a favour, ignore the fact that Denzel Washington never runs out of ammunition and invest in this version, you will not be sorry, for the feature film or the making and I guarantee you that if you watch the making first you will want to watch the feature film…