A lesson on feeling nervous

Paris

Why you should never let feeling nervous impact your life in a negative way, no matter how great the fear, or how real the threat.

Nervousness, like hunger or happiness, is something I feel quite naturally throughout the day. It’s ingrained not only in my personality, but in the fabric of my instinctive bodily reactions, and has been since I can remember. Speaking to somebody new, answering the phone, leading a meeting, public speaking, getting on the tube, preparing for a night out, hearing a loud noise etc, etc. I am jumpy, a worrier, a worst-case-scenario thinker. It’s an endless, annoying disposition, and one I’ve wholeheartedly come to terms with. It’s an irrational, unreasonable feeling I’ve learnt to mask and ignore. I counter my nervousness with a very distracting kind of faux confidence, a performance of the character I’d rather have that’s so much a part of my everyday life its 99% real. Hand me a glass of wine and you can make it 100%. I have learnt to combat nervous feelings by acting as though they aren’t there. And it works. If I were to submit myself to every worried thought, every increased heart rate, every quivering hand, I simply would not be able to do the things I love, or be the person I want to be. We are bigger and more powerful than the confines of our own negativity.

In light of recent events in Paris and around the world, it’s fair to say that nervousness is currently a trending theme. I am writing this simply because I want to urge people never to let nervousness creep up and steel your personality, your identity or your life, no matter what. After Friday night’s terrorist attack in Paris, I was in awe of the people standing triumphantly in the streets the following day, from near victims to news reporters. Their strong defiance and bravery in the face of true threat echoes the strength we should always ensure to apply when faced with any demon, metaphorical or not. Saying you aren’t scared and acting as though you aren’t scared is enough to prove you aren’t, no matter what the little voice in the back of your head is telling you.

Much of my personal nervousness stems from an irrational fear of the unknown. But what happens when we have a legitimate reason to feel afraid? When we’re forced to picture ourselves trying to flee London’s equivalent of The Bataclan? What happens when suddenly it seems very sensible to avoid certain things, just in case? In my opinion, the most important thing anyone can do, is to live your life as normal. Terrorism can only ever win if we act terrified. To remain calm, optimistic, peaceful and brave is to counter terrorism itself.

 Last week, prior to Friday’s events, I found myself in a couple of situations that were interesting in terms of observing other people’s nervousness. Everyday things a lot of us are familiar with – a group presentation at work and two interviews (of which I was doing the interviewing, thank god). Clear and classic signs of nervousness were obvious in all cases: shaky hands, rattled speach, talking too quickly etc. These instances really dramatised how nervous feelings often equate to how much you want something to be good. I have OCD, and therefore want everything to be perfect all the time, which is probably why I end up feeling unnecessarily nervous. It’s fair to say, therefore, that any unified feeling of nervousness around terrorism on a national scale is nothing but a universal prayer for goodness over evil. Nervous feelings, if treated properly, can provide a useful energy, like performing under pressure in a test.

My advice? Never feel ashamed to be nervous, and never translate nervousness as a fear you can’t control. Meme pas peur.

Lesson 23: staying connected

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Social media blows my mind. The power it has over people is one of the greatest mysteries of the modern age. It’s addictive; fuelling the insatiable appetite we have to define ourselves, whilst giving us just enough control over the way we wish to be seen. So, what does that tell us about how we interact with each other?

Almost every social-media platform has eerily evolved from a means of communication to a voyeuristic wonderland. People no longer tend to chat on Facebook, they use it to stalk people. We follow people we don’t know, based on the way they look. The newest platforms focus on imagery alone. Everything is visual and photos have to be atheistically pleasing to be worth posting. You could have the best night of your life but the pictures won’t make it onto your profile if you didn’t look cool or attractive. We’ve been bullied out of posting ‘normal’ pictures because everyone else’s fake ones look so much better. Our pictures are all becoming posed, especially the ones we want to look the most natural. I can say all of this because I’m a prime offender.

I’m also a hypocrite. I hate the fact Intagram plays such a big part in how we view the world, but then I use it to advertise my blog, or showcase my day. We’re professionally and emotionally dependent on virtual connections. We’re in a never-ending talent show, liking, liking, liking all day, every day. We’re constantly on show, constantly being judged. Even the people without social media are being judged. How weird…he doesn’t have Facebook.

My relationship with social media fluctuates between completely compulsive to carefully considered. Sometimes I settle down to read or write and immediately start scrolling through Instagram instead. 30 minutes go by and It’s like I’ve been possessed, flicking through picture after picture, barely pausing to focus on a single one. What am I looking for? I have absolutely no idea. Inspiration? Probably. Reassurance? I guess so. In reality, I’ve wasted my time. It’s plain old procrastination. Other times, I use social media in a constructive, useful way, with site statistics and cultural affairs dictating what I write and what I search for.  As if having a real persona and an online persona wasn’t schizophrenic enough, we have so many different uses and agendas for different types of social media – each one demanding a new version of ourselves. Much like we turn to certain people for certain things in real life. Both our real and online personas are subject to same human tendencies, so how can you determine which one is the real you?

Our identities are simultaneously the most fluid and the most controlled they’ve ever been. As a writer, I’m obsessed with the dichotomy between the real and not-real. Everything you read on my blog is ‘me’ through and through. It’s my voice, my opinions, my personality. And yet, I haven’t uttered a single word out loud. It’s all online, created for a purpose. Is this my virtual persona? Or are my posts a snapshot of the real me? If you find reading them a positive experience, it really doesn’t matter either way. So, here’s my advice: learn to recognise when social media leaves you feeling unnecessarily shit about yourself, and then walk away.

Last week, I went for a drink with a few old work colleagues. I was really surprised and grateful when they told me they’d been reading my blog after discovering it on Facebook. I felt instantly connected. This is when social media does the job it’s supposed to do. Similarly, since setting up my blog, I’ve shared uplifting conversations with people online that I haven’t spoken to for years. It’s really humbling to think that amongst all the selfies and filters, we still have a simple desire to connect with each other on an emotional level. As emotional as you can be when you’re just a few words on a screen.

Her Poetry: Honey

honey

Honey

Honey, down in the depths of the pot

It stops if you reach its core

The glistening dulls to a mucusy blot

That clogs to rot in the back of your throat

It turns to dregs but the barrel is bare –

You licked it clean of its salt.

 

The hand that grabs is met with a snare

But the fingers that linger are forever without

They open and close like the mouth of a fish

Gaping at bubbles of air

You swallow at rocks ’til your body is sick

But you know that the hunger’s still there.