Life in the very fast lane...: I have a love of romantic movies, but particularly...

Life in the very fast lane...: I have a love of romantic movies, but particularly...: I have a love of romantic movies, but particularly when they are combined with an aviation slant… think Top Gun, Fly Boys and the one I wa...

I have a love of romantic movies, but particularly when they are combined with an aviation slant… think Top Gun, Fly Boys and the one I watched last evening, Pearl Harbor.  There is something to be said for beautiful women, handsome men in their flying uniforms, and those very fast propellers.

I am known at times to be far too much of a sentimentalist, and it has also been said of me that my fixation with all things involving the male species and their flying machines (I chose my first school project to be about Orville and Wilbur Wright as I loved the idea of not one, but two aviation pioneers!) has, at times, bordered on the obsessive.  However, mid-life hormones aside, what I find so wonderful about these movies is the common thread – individuals with a love for speed, danger, excitement and of course, living on the edge – something history has shown to me that I am clearly far too fond of.

To digress slightly, I decided at the beginning of this year that it was time for me to return to the early morning, very traditional, said (not sung) Eucharist at the local church.  It had been so long since I had taken communion that if I were Catholic and had to state how much time has passed since my last confession, the priest would most certainly need some smelling salts in order to be revived.

On the back of the fact that the Pearl Harbor film is nearly three hours in length, and involved some tears on my part over the affairs of the heart involved for the characters, I arrived at church this morning at 06h55 looking red eyed and I dare say a touch disheveled. 

Amazingly, I was greeted with long lost hugs of affection by members of the parish I felt sure would never remember me, but, astoundingly, they all did.  They are wonderful people, and they have been attending the old stone house of worship for a long, long time.  It became apparent to me whilst I sat listening to the sermon, that I had most definitely brought the average age of the congregation down by about seventy four years.

Biological statistics aside, when I left, I was approached by a senior citizen and asked if I would consider being a “Sides Person” to help out with collections and directing the congregation towards the correct place for communion etc.  I did not want to be impolite, so I said I would “think about it.”  The very nice gentleman said to me, “but we need you!”  Suddenly Uncle Sam’s army poster flashed before my eyes, and I felt, for a Nano-second, like I was signing up to be one of the gorgeous nurses, like Kate Beckinsale, out of none other than Pearl Harbor.

I managed to escape without signing on a dotted line, but I remembered vividly a line in this very movie in which Alec Baldwin says of the war pilots that there “is no such dedicated a soul as that of a volunteer.”  It is so true isn’t it?  If one volunteers to do something, it means you really do want to help out in that particular area, and correspondingly, it means that as a soul, you must be so dedicated to the cause.

I am still sitting on the church fence trying to decide whether to sign up or not, so I shall sleep on it, without watching any lengthy movies, in order to make my final decision.

All this being said, two things that rest with me are:  decades may pass between visits to the local church, but in many instances, familiar, kind and welcoming faces remain where last you saw them; and secondly, I have decided to really go after that Kate Beckinsale look, and once I have it, it may be time to try and find my own Orville Wright.

Life in the very fast lane...: I have a wonderful client, whom I admire greatly f...

Life in the very fast lane...: I have a wonderful client, whom I admire greatly f...: I have a wonderful client, whom I admire greatly for so many reasons. She is incredibly savvy from a business perspective, along with the ...

I have a wonderful client, whom I admire greatly for so many reasons. She is incredibly savvy from a business perspective, along with the necessary ambition needed to succeed; she is funny, and positive, and as bright as a brand new button. I am fortunate to now be able to call her my friend, instead of just someone I do some work for.

It is therefore not at all surprising that when she and I were talking about relationships a couple of days ago, over a glass of something delicious of course, I pricked up my ears when she began to give a certain view on matters of the heart.

It seems that for whatever reason, one person is almost always more interested in the relationship than the other. Heaven knows why, but if you look around at things and go to the movies or listen to song lyrics, it seems this is a universal pandemic. It seems too, that it is easier when it is you who is less likely to get hurt, but then there is the corresponding guilt, which is not fabulous.

My client made a comment that really struck home. She said, quite simply - "you know, not every race has to be the Comrades". I asked her to elaborate. As I was now on glass two, I thought I was at that stage of the evening where I become super bright and exceptionally sharp, but I was also quick enough to ask her to explain herself before I gave her my convoluted version of the statement.

She said, "I mean, not every man we date has to be "the one". There will be one, possibly two, maybe even three men who may be "the one", but the rest are not even close to this, but that doesn't mean they need to be written off immediately. They may add things to your life for a portion of time, until they don't. Those are the 5, 10 or 15 kilometre runs. They are not the Comrades. But when you train for the Comrades, you can't do it unless you have completed those 15 kilometre runs. And sometimes you do the Comrades, then you finish that race, and you run shorter distances for the rest of your life. You see, not every race has to be the Comrades".

"Wow, this wine really is making you clever", I replied to her.

We chatted about this issue with amazing clarity, and we both felt sure at the end of the bottle, that we had it all worked out.

In our lives, it is so true that some races will be long, some will be short; some will have a lot of uphills, some will have a lot of corners; some will have the odd vicious dog that runs out and tries to bite you as you beetle past; some will be the Comrades, some, will not.

In my life, I am proud to say I have run the Comrades more than once. I have done one down run, and one up run. I think I am done. But... I am very happy, for now, to run some short races, and whilst I run, I will be trying avidly to avoid any of those so-called vicious dogs.

I have a wonderful client, whom I admire greatly for so many reasons.  She is incredibly savvy from a business perspective, along with the necessary ambition needed to succeed; she is funny, and positive, and as bright as a brand new button.  I am fortunate to now be able to call her my friend, instead of just someone I do some work for.

It is therefore not at all surprising that when she and I were talking about relationships a couple of days ago, over a glass of something delicious of course, I pricked up my ears when she began to give a certain view on matters of the heart.

It seems that for whatever reason, one person is almost always more interested in the relationship than the other.  Heaven knows why, but if you look around at things and go to the movies or listen to song lyrics, it seems this is a universal pandemic.  It seems too, that it is easier when it is you that is less likely to get hurt, but then there is the corresponding guilt, which is not fabulous.

My client made a comment that really struck home.  She said, quite simply - "you know, not every race has to be the Comrades".  I asked her to elaborate.  As I was now on glass two, I thought I was at that stage of the evening where I become super bright and exceptionally sharp, but I was also quick enough to ask her to explain herself before I gave her my convoluted version of the statement.

She said, "I mean, not every man we date has to be "the one".  There will one, possibly two, maybe even three men who may be "the one", but the rest are not even close to this, but that doesn't mean they need to be written off immediately.  They may add things to your life for a portion of time, until they don't.  Those are the 5, 10 or 15 kilometre runs.  They are not the Comrades.  But when you train for the Comrades, you can't do it unless you have completed those 15 kilometre runs.  And sometimes you do the Comrades, then you finish that race, and you run shorter distances for the rest of your life.  You see, not every race has to be the Comrades".

"Wow, this wine really is making you clever", I replied to her.

We chatted about this issue with amazing clarity, and we both felt sure at the end of the bottle, that we had it all worked out.

In our lives, it is so true that some races will be long, some will be short; some will have a lot of uphills, some will have a lot of corners; some will have the odd vicious dog that runs out and tries to bite you as you beetle past; some will be the Comrades, some, will not.

In my life, I am proud to say I have run the Comrades more than once.  I have done one down run, and one up run.  I think I am done.  But... I am very happy, for now, to run some short races, and whilst I run, I will be trying avidly to avoid any of those so-called vicious dogs.

Life in the very fast lane...: After much thought on the subject, I decided I nee...

Life in the very fast lane...: After much thought on the subject, I decided I nee...: After much thought on the subject, I decided I need to truly get to grips with being single.   No dreading, no worrying that single people...

After much thought on the subject, I decided I need to truly get to grips with being single.  No dreading, no worrying that single people fall into the category of leper, no sleepless nights, no staring at the Blackberry to see if the red light has started flashing in the last 0.0001 seconds, no wishing a Sunday away as it is just too long a day to deal with.

So I sat down and tried to work out what the worst fear associated with singledom would be – and the answer popped up with ease – this would be going to a movie on my own.  The worst time to do this?  A Friday or a Saturday evening, when other couples are out and about together, hand in hand, swapping popcorn boxes and sharing slush puppies.  I was proud of the fact that I had worked out what my “single trigger” would be as they would say in relationship rehab (so I hear), but now I had to see if I had the courage to do anything about it.

I hopped onto the internet in the safety of my own home office, where I knew no-one would or could see me.  I took a huge plunge… I booked a single movie ticket online, for a Friday evening.  Now I had to see whether I had the personal strength to get myself there.

Friday rolled along, as they do, and time was ticking slowly towards movie hour.  Surprisingly, I was slightly excited at the prospect of conquering a personal fear, and so drove off happily to the movie house, whilst listening intently to my latest self-help CD in the car.  Arriving safely at my destination, I ordered popcorn for one, and off I went to my seat.

People started rolling in to the movie theatre and I have to admit, I started to wobble.  Were they all looking at me on my own in the corner thinking “loser”?  “Where is her husband, fiancée, boyfriend, friend, child”?  I started studying every individual popped piece of corn with great interest, praying for the lights to dim.  Luckily for me, the process began to get easier as I had two predominant thoughts – firstly, I had made it to the movie on my own, and must be proud of that, and secondly, no one there gave a damn about who I was and who I was with (or wasn’t with as was the case) – oddly enough, the second thought was the one that made me feel much better about the task at hand.

The movie started, the popcorn remained glued to my lap, and all was well.  As luck would have it, the movie, a typical “chick flick” was exactly what the doctor ordered, and lifted my spirits immediately.  Suddenly, the garden they call singledom was full of roses, all in bloom.  The weekend had begun, and had begun in a fun, positive, happy way.

The moral is a line I have heard often, but seldom acted upon, until now:  Feel the fear (tick) and do it anyway (double tick).