Category Archives: helping each other

Why do we help others? (and getting ready to write)

“…whenever we feel an urgency or longing to help, it’s often rooted in the fear of facing our own unhealed pain.”

This is Ezra Bayda’s proposal in his article ‘The “Helper” Syndrome‘ on Tricycle. He encourage us to be curious about what’s going on when we help others. Are we subconsciously seeking approval, or propping up our flagging sense of usefulness?

The questions feel very relevant to my work both as a therapist and as a writer. As a therapist I’ve already done some exploration, in training and in my own therapy, around what drew me to being a therapist. I like to contain other people’s chaos – it makes me feel safe. I like to be ‘the one who knows’. All these subtle motivations (which run alongside more ‘wholesome’ ones) will have an effect on my work with clients, and not being honest about them is more dangerous than including them in my acknowledgement of who I am.

As a writer, I have a drive to write which runs underneath any worldly expectations. But I am also riddled with compulsive needs for recognition, approval, fame, fortune….

I am getting ready to write my fifth novel. As always, I’ve no idea how to write a novel – how the hell did I do it before? And maybe more importantly, why do I do it? It’s no picnic in the park, writing a novel, you know.

What is helpful, though, is to remind myself of all the reasons why I write. Yes, I write because I want people to think I’m wonderful, to give me lots of money, to bow down before my greatness (!). But. I also write because I want to get to know my characters as they appear, which helps me to know myself. I want to try and make something beautiful. I want to share what little I know with other people – an offering. I want to offer my writing self to you all, in good faith.

Bayda again: “The question is: Where in our life do we do good, at least in part, to subtly solidify the self? Where do we get in our own way? Where do we use even our identity as a spiritual seeker,or the comfort of being part of something bigger,to cover the anxious quiver of being?”

I hope I can manage not to get in my own way too much, but to allow the writing to flow through me. To let my ego dissolve and become, as Bayda says, a white bird in the snow.

My new character is called April. I hardly know her, but I trust she’s got lots to teach me. I resolve to acknowledge all of my varied motivations to write, and to give them plenty of space. I resolve to offer myself to the service of the writing. I resolve to love being a writer, to be grateful for the opportunity.

What is your relationship with doing good? What do your resolutions need to be right now?

Blackening bananas

I just went searching for a quote I half-remembered. I found it when I was living through difficult times (aren’t we always?) Reverend Master Daishin said it. It is this:

“What comes is a gift, as it shows us what we need to offer.”

Today I am thinking, this quote could turn my entire life upside down.

Not, I need more, but, what do I already have more than enough of that others might need? Not, I am suffering, but, how might my suffering illuminate the suffering of others? Not, how can I sell more books, but, how might my writing be helpful to others?

What comes shows us what we need to offer.

The painting is by Lino Mannocci, who made the beautiful monotypes I fell in love with at the weekend. Here is some more of his work, and look at this. The titles of the monotypes were poetry – especially the ones in Italian, but the English ones too: ‘And the nursling of the sky’, ‘Nobody else was there’, ‘I change but I cannot die’. Even his name is music. As Esther and me looked and looked, they infused us with something like a deep cherishing. I wish you could have been there.

Two bananas have been blackening on my kitchen table all week. I’ve looked at them daily, and thought ‘I should put them in the compost’. Last night I read in ‘Hand Wash Cold’ that Karen Maezen Miller makes banana pancakes for her daughter with blackened bananas. I offered myself banana pancakes this morning, fluffy and sweet, drizzled with honey and eaten in the sunshine. I wish you’d been here and I could have made some for you too.

A final reminder from Karen.

“Attention is the most concrete expression of love. What we pay attention to thrives. What we do not pay attention to withers and dies. What will you pay attention to today?”

Pay attention to your blackened bananas, to the weeds on the path, and to the cat winding around your ankles. What comes is a gift, as it shows us what we need to offer. In lieu of actual pancakes, this is my offering to you today.

Thank you, people of Worcester

I had a strange and wonderful night last night. I was meeting a friend for dinner in Worcester – a city I’ve never been to before.

After circling the one way system a few times, I parked Rosie in a random car park and struck out into the city. After a few seconds a young homeless man with no front teeth approached me and started his spiel – he needed £8.80 for…

I interrupted with a pound, and asked if he knew where Cafe Royale was. He said he could show me the way, and I followed.

Whilst we were in a particularly dark and deserted alleyway I did wonder about how sensible I was to follow this strange man in a strange city, but he delivered me safely to my destination, having told me all about his son in Ireland and showed me his injured finger (he was concerned it had gone yellow – I reassured him that iodine did that).

The waiter in the cafe recommended us an Indian restaurant, and told us to tell him he’d sent us.

A girl from Hungary insisted on walking us (out of her way) from Cafe Royale to the Indian. She told us she liked England. People did what they said they were going to do.

The waiter in the Indian recommended a restaurant in Bromsgrove, and told us to tell them he’d sent us. Then he gave us a free Baileys each, ‘because it’s Sunday’. The curry was AMAZING, and ridiculously cheap.

Two men gave us perfect directions back to Rosie. The Christmas lights twinkled merrily, and I circled the one way system several times again, and all was well with the world.

The people of Worcester all turned out in force to help our evening run more smoothly. I think this is how people are. I think we like to help people. I think if we expect the world to help us, and ask it nicely, it will.