I’m fairly new at all this “blogging”, in my day it was done in pen and ink and usually started with the words “Dear Diary”, in the hope that someone would read them in the future as well as the desperate wish that those ridiculous secrets you shared with your paper-bound best friend would never rise to the surface…
Yet here I am.
This is not set to be an account of my day, nor a list of all that I hope to achieve in life - although, undoubtedly, they will appear in here, as they are what makes me: me - it is an observation on this busy humdrum life that so many of us regard as nothing short of a race to climb highest or live fastest. I live in a small town that is called Home, remote and distant to so many people, in fact we are quite often missed from the map. It doesn’t distress me, I love that it is predominantly unaffected by the turning cogs of time that threaten to steal away all aspects of artistic nature in favour of the compromise that sells. But in spite of its steady nature, the clock is still ticking here. Today, as I am looking out of my small window there are no clouds, just an endless mass of blue. Summer, at long last, has arrived meaning that I have spent much of the morning lounging out in the garden enjoying the exciting tingling sunshine gives you, and planning trips to the nearby beach which is a four mile expanse of white sand almost undiscovered and a well kept secret of the local people. I miss paddling in the water like I used to as a child, and now that I have returned to the sea I am looking forward to splashing out into the salty waters once again.
I’m a nostalgic person with the hope that what has been my past will help me build my future, and inevitably there are echoes of my younger years in all that I do - my writings, my music and my artwork. I’m an avid poster on a local forum where, contrary to what the other posters may believe it is not my aim to antagonise people, it was brought to my attention how lucky I was simply to be me. I’m hoping to share the secrets of some of the fortunate events and pass on some humour and insight into the happenings of my own idyllic life.
I got a phone call yesterday, not a thing unheard of, even in this corner of the world, that began me thinking about something I had taken for granted - a smile. It costs nothing and yet it is worth more than any financial price. The throwaway comment that was made was that “I could smile today”. So I started thinking: what is a smile worth? People on the street hardly ever offer me one, although my intrinsically optimistic and bubbly nature means that I can’t help but smile at people. It’s true, I am perhaps too happy for some individuals. As a singing teacher I am in the bizarre position of being able to tell people that they have to smile - something any of my students will tell you I go on and on about, to lift the tone and help the flowing of the song. Sometimes it works better than others…
“I know you’re singing about someone who’s just died, but you’ve got to smile or the song dies too!”
I wonder, from time to time what my students think about my smiling obsession, but they all agree that it makes the music sound 100% better, and since that’s what they pay me for they have to smile.
Is it really true that a smile requires less muscles than a frown, or that extending your middle finger requires even less again? I imagine it is one of those over sentimental anecdotes that some student spend thousands of pounds to discover. To me it begs the question: who really cares? If, of those three things a smile is the only constructive thing, then smile.
I have my own little idea that if you smile the world will always be brighter. It’s never failed me, but plenty of people have delighted in telling me that it has failed them! Miserable gits, I think they just don’t smile in the right way. Sure, any fool can raise the corners of their mouth but how many can really radiate that sunshine glow and warm tingle from one soul to another that a smile is really about?
Try it.
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