I Will Embrace Self-Help, I Will

When the kind publicity assistant sent me a copy of Physical Intelligence by Claire Dale and Patricia Peyton, she probably had no idea she was sending it to two of the sorriest specimens for self-help you could imagine. I was really keen to read the book, which claims that ‘the active management of our physiology – the ability to detect and strategically influence the balance of chemicals in our bodies and brains’ is within our grasp. This sounded like good news to me. The approach of menopause has hit me hard and my CFS has been back to the level of nuisance it was a decade or so ago. I’m clearly doing something wrong. In fact, my dry eye syndrome has been so awful that I had to ask Mr Litlove to read the book to me, and Mr Litlove and self-help… well it’s not the most obvious combination. Mr Litlove is fit and healthy and if a parallel universe existed in which he sang karaoke, he’d be up at the mike belting out Gloria Gaynor’s immortal line, ‘I am what I am and what I am needs no excuses.’ So the two of us together would have every experienced teacher rolling her eyeballs – one student eager but hopeless, and the other competent but deeply resistant. Would the book be equal to the challenge?

The book’s basic premise is that our responses to daily life are governed by a cocktail of eight chemicals, each of which has a signature feeling. We’d probably all recognise adrenaline and its feeling of excitement or fear, testosterone’s feelings of power and control, serotonin’s happiness. But there are others that are equally important and less well-known – oxytocin, for instance, which gives us a feeling of belonging, DHEA which governs vitality, and cortisol which creates the feeling of anxiety. The authors argue that the right combination of diet, exercise and CBT can be used to manage these chemicals as they ebb and flow according to the situations we find ourselves in.

The book is organised into four sections – strength, flexibility, resilience and endurance – with all kinds of different exercises designed to promote these vital qualities. So for instance, in the section on flexibility, there’s an exercise called ‘Relationshift’ which frankly every person in the UK ought to be made to undertake before we have to hear another thing about Brexit. Where this kind of loggerheads conflict occurs, the kind that has coagulated into a battle of wills, it’s important for both parties to be able to see the other side – such a shift reduces the sense of threat that has immediately been triggered, and sets in motion the chemistry of trust which can heal the breach. Name your emotions, the authors suggest, and be specific about the physical feelings that accompany them, breathe to stabilize emotion, and then consider what exactly is under threat here (they suggest possible threats to control, ownership, achievement, harmony, security, certainty, freedom, creativity or status, which is the sort of list one ought to carry around all the time because it explains a great deal). Then shift your perspective and imagine standing alongside the person with the opposing viewpoint and see how it looks. From this point of view, you might be able to come up with solutions or suggestions that benefit you both and meet the different needs. It’s not as touchy-feely as you may think, because thinking through a problem like this actively reduces cortisol (threat) and increases oxytocin (belonging). Minds, bodies and behaviours are all tightly linked.

So you get the idea. Unsurprisingly, there was much I struggled with. In the strength section, the authors suggested cheerfully that crunches, planks and squats were all you needed, which are the kind of exercises that even when I was in full health I would have considered a form of sanctioned masochism (one of the authors is a dancer and choreographer and yeah, proper dancers love that sort of stuff). And the exercise that I was hilariously bad at – in Mr Litlove’s estimation – was one called the ‘winner pose’. where you stand with arms and legs outstretched like a starfish. Apparently this builds confidence and power and should be used after any achievement to prevent the chemical high sort of collapsing in on itself. Well, I just can’t seem to manage it. I could do a sort of jazz-hands-by-my-face thing, but anything more brought about a feeling of such intense absurdity that I couldn’t keep it up. Mr Litlove, who has way more testosterone than any one person needs, would throw himself into winner pose every single time our paths crossed in the house, yelling ‘C’mon, Litlove!’ I pointed out that the authors of this book did not envisage their exercises being used by husbands to taunt their wives, but alas that did not prevent him from telling our son when he visited over Easter. And our son, who is training to be a therapist, immediately began asking why it was that I should feel silly? And did feeling silly matter? There’s nothing quite like one’s family piling in with the advice to make the appeal of self-help grow stronger. Some things are best done alone.

Some people, however, cannot be helped. I am sorry to say that Mr Litlove did not see the light. He read the section on procrastination out loud – and goodness knows he could use some advice here – while mentally singing la la la la la. I could see him doing it. You know that fur men grow in their ears as they age? I’m coming to think of it as a kind of enchanted forest designed to prevent any alternative point of view from entering. But the authors of the book had evidently seen us coming. They sensibly suggest that you should devote a month to each section of the book, picking out a few of the tips and exercises and ‘habit-stacking’ them, or trying to attach them to other habits you regularly practice.  And even Mr Litlove found one exercise at which he nodded approval and said it was really good. This is an exercise for when something dreadful and undesirable gets thrown at you. You begin by feeling the force of your resistance and saying – shouting if you want, punching the air – I won’t! I won’t have this! I don’t want it! And when that energy is worn out, then you start saying, I will take this on. I will handle it. Could there possibly be an allegory in this for Mr Litlove’s relationship to self-help? Ah well, time will tell. But I will definitely be keeping the book within easy access as there was much intelligent support to be found in its pages.

In Which We Consider Moominmamma Closely

In a bid to remind myself that I still know how to read a book, I recently picked up Comet in Moominland by Tove Jansson. It was short and easy, with pictures. I’m pretty sure I read the Moomin books as a child but I had retained no memory of their intrinsic style, though I was aware that their supporters really love them.

I’d only read a few pages in – Moomintroll and Sniff go exploring and find a strange sign, a star with a tail, carved all over the forest – when I became very curious about Moominmamma. When Moomintroll and Sniff finally return from their adventuring, it’s late and past their supper. Moominmamma does not say, ‘Where the hell have you been?’. She does not say ‘I’ve been out of my mind with worry,’ she just says they should help themselves to something to eat before bed. That night when everyone is sleeping, Moominpappa hears a strange noise outside and finds the philosopher Muskrat in the garden in the rain, complaining that the family’s bridge-building activities have destroyed his habitat. Moominpappa invites him in to stay and tries to provide some hospitality by lumbering about in the kitchen without turning the light on. Naturally, he creates a commotion and some breakages.

Moominmamma came running downstairs with a candle in her paw.

‘Oh! It’s you,’ she said. ‘I thought someone must have broken in.’

‘I wanted to get the palm-tree wine down,’ said Moominpappa, ‘and some silly fool had put that stupid vegetable dish right on the edge of the shelf.’

‘Never mind,’ said Moominmamma. ‘it’s really a good thing it’s broken – it was so ugly. Climb up on a stool, dear – it will be easier.'”

I was so struck by this exchange that I read it out loud to Mr Litlove. ‘Tell me what’s wrong with this scenario,’ I invited him.

He shot me the sly side-eye. ‘They don’t make wives like they used to?’

‘No one makes wives like that,’ I said. ‘The real Moominmamma would say, “What in the world did you think you were playing at, rummaging in the cupboard without turning the light on? Now you’ve broken my best dish and ruined tomorrow’s dinner to boot.” I’m trying to decide whether it’s dangerous to mislead children this way.’

When on the following day, Moomintroll and Sniff come running in at the sound of the lunch gong, only to demand sandwiches to eat out, and Moominmamma does not say, ‘What? Are you crazy? Go and sit down and eat what I’ve cooked for you,’ but simply complies, I began to believe she was operating under the influence of some powerful sedatives.

No, I’m messing with you. I didn’t really believe that, but I was intrigued by this image of overly perfect motherhood, and Moominmamma as this serene, loving, centre of the world whose presence assures comfort, certainty and security.

But of course, it’s just as well that she does, because what follows is a delightful tale of environmental apocalypse. The Muskrat informs Moomintroll that the strange signs they keep seeing are indications of the imminent arrival of a comet, an event which will probably destroy the world they live in. And so Moomintroll decides to take a long and perilous trip to the distant Observatory on the Lonely Mountains where he might get some better information. This being an age in which experts are still respected for their knowledge and no one is running counter-interference on the comet rumour as idle speculation or myth. He and Sniff set out with bags lovingly packed by Moominmamma (whose insistence on including woolen trousers will prove fortuitous) and begin a dangerous, adventure-packed journey, that will find them close to death on many occasions. But the journey will also present all kinds of developmental possibilities – Moomintroll falls in love with the Snork Maiden and rescues her, Sniff comes a cropper on a couple of occasions over his desire for all that twinkles, but learns nothing, alas – and will bring them a number of useful travelling companions. They will team up with the experienced and wise Snuffkin, with the analytical Snork, and the sweet, courageous Snork Maiden.

The news from the Observatory is bad: the comet is due to strike on the 8th October at 8.42pm and four seconds. The friends hurry back home to the Moomin Valley, but as they go, so the comet comes nearer and nearer, blocking out the sun, drying up the seas and rivers, and generally causing all kinds of climate change mayhem.

What matters is teamwork. The friends work together to overcome obstacles, evade dangers and make it back home. Their perspective is entirely inclusive – even the morose transgender Hemulen is rescued by them (though in all fairness, his bad temper is partly due to the fact they ruin his dress by using it as a balloon to out-fly a tornado). They make it back in time to warn the parents and pack up the home, taking their belongings to a nearby cave. Even Moominmamma wigs out a bit at this point, which shows you quite how stressful an approaching apocalypse must be. But as they await the end of the world together, the comet zooms through the valley, missing the earth by inches, and hurtles back out into the wilderness of space.

So what are we to learn from this story? The internal moral works this way: if you are close to a loving mother, you will be safe from harm. Moominmamma – or even just the thought of Moominmamma – looms large over this tale, the guarantor of peace and security. For it’s the generosity and affectionate, open inclusiveness of the Moomins that sees them through. Together they are stronger, and that togetherness is based on an explicit diversity of species. All those differences bring with them other essential forms of knowledge and resource. Compassion and wisdom avert oblivion.

It occurred to me that in our contemporary world we look to science and technology to save us, and to give us what fragile security we have. But is this wise? In the story, science is impressively informative. The comet really does pass the earth at 8.42pm and four seconds. But that all important sense of safety can only be gained from the community, and one founded on the ideal of the loving mother.

The story is a myth. Mothers don’t need to be as perfect in reality as Moominmamma is. But what we do need is that ideal of love in our hearts and minds, because it gives courage and it neutralises fear. It’s the only way to face whatever lies ahead and maybe, just maybe, avoid disaster.

New at Numéro Cinq

Way back in January I had a properly wonderful experience. I went to the studios of two very talented women: the painter, Miranda Boulton, and the poet, Kaddy Benyon, and spoke with them about their creativity.

The results were fascinating. Two amazing artists with two perspectives on creativity that could hardly be more different. We spoke about fear and anxiety, about process and productivity, about inspiration past and present, and about the roads their careers had taken them down.

The interviews are now up at Numéro Cinq and I think they’re both reassuring and encouraging for anyone who wants to live a creative life or simply explore their own relationship to art.

Each To Their Own

So I’m standing at the kitchen sink doing the washing up the other evening, when Mr Litlove looms out of the darkness coming up the garden path. He’s been out with his chums at Shed Club, which, yes, is totally a thing. It usually makes him happy and indeed he is looking very chuffed with himself.

‘Look what I made!’ he’s saying, before he’s even got close enough for me to see him clearly.

He appears to have a great wicker bow sprouting from the back of his head.

‘What is it?’ I ask.

He moves the pole he is carrying off his shoulder and waves it at me. ‘Look! It’s a willow dragon fly. For the garden.’

When he is finally indoors and in the light, we examine the dragon fly. It has a densely woven body and great looping wings and a faintly malevolent air. Mr Litlove is pleased as punch with it.

‘I thought you were wearing it in your hair,’ I confess. But he is not displeased with this idea.

‘It could be a fascinator,’ he says, balancing it above his head. ‘What do you think?’

It is quite fetching, his Hobbity fascinator.

‘And if I’d said, “Darling, will you come with me to macrame class,” would you have done it?’ I ask.

‘Probably not,’ he agrees cheerfully.

Once upon a time, several months ago, Mr Litlove went down to the woods at a nearby National Trust house and joined a green woodworking circle. It was just to have a go, just to see what it was that they did. He made what can only be described as a very Brothers Grimm stool, and was then invited to join a sort of spin-off group to weave the seat out of strips of bark. Then he kept going so he could whittle spoons, and then try making bowls with a pole lathe.

I said: ‘You whittled spoons?’

Only the other weekend, he was in the woods again, stripping the bark off of a tree. I watched him skip down the path to the car with some bafflement. It makes me think of those verbal reasoning questions you’re given in the eleven plus exam.

‘Stripping bark off a tree is to Litlove what…… reading poetry for fun is to Mr Litlove.’

It’s really only a question of taste. I’m just not into rustic, particularly. I’m sure it’s lovely! Really! In the right setting and all that. Or in the wake of Armageddon. I’m sure that, if we survive, I will be completely thrilled that Mr Litlove will be able to whittle us some more spoons and bowls. And weave us some seating.

Isn’t it a funny thing, taste? It’s so random and unaccountable and yet it means the world to us. We were having a different conversation about essentially the same thing last night, when we got talking about what the first records were that we ever bought. I swear hands down that you will not be able to beat Mr Litlove’s first record choices either in terms of eclecticism or unaccountability. You could never guess them in a thousand years. His first records were George Formby, The Smurfs and Jesus Christ Superstar.

Isn’t that joyful?

‘I really want to blog about that,’ I told Mr Litlove.

He shrugged. ‘Oh go ahead. No one will believe you.’

I didn’t buy many records when I was a child because I have a much older brother who was always, always into music, so I just listened to whatever he was playing. For those of you who were children in the 70s and may enjoy the nostalgia, I remember especially: Supertramp, Steely Dan, The Police, Ian Dury and the Blockheads (My given name is Dickie, I come from Billericay, and I’m doing very well…), Judie Tzuke (probably my favourite of the albums my brother played), Gerry Rafferty, Pink Floyd, ‘Afternoon Delight’ by Starland Vocal Band (which I always thought was about a 4th July picnic!) Meatloaf’s Bat Out of Hell, Simon and Garfunkel, The Eagles, Bruce Springsteen (Baby we were born to run…) and probably my brother’s favourite: E.L.O. I remember also ‘Baby Don’t Fear The Reaper’ by Blue Oyster Cult and the one heavy metal band he liked, Hawkwind. Everyone else thought it was just a racket, which spurred my brother on to play ‘Silver Machine’ as loud as the volume would go.

I do remember buying ‘Take A Chance On Me’ by Abba, because there was no way my brother would be buying that. And I am also pretty sure my first ever record was ‘Forever Autumn’ by Justin Haywood, though I know he had the double album of War of the Worlds. I still have a strong visual memory of the cover art with those menacing stalk-legged tripods. But my great personal obsession when I was a child was with the score of West Side Story. I was given the album for my 8th? 9th? birthday, something like that, and I probably wore it out.

But you just can’t negotiate with what you love. And much as you can get an appreciation of something that doesn’t speak to your heart, it’s difficult to get further. I also thought I’d never heard any of The Smurf’s singles, but when Mr Litlove sang me a few, I did recall them!