To skip a subject: The gains and at what expense

erover heen praten


I have discovered that I can easily skip a subject. So easily that I often can’t even remember the subject – what it was that managed to escape my attention. I also discovered that there are many people who do the exact same thing.

Here’s a clear-cut example: Someone asks how I’m doing. I say, ‘Fine. You know, busy, and all . . . Bla bla.’ What I’m not telling is that yesterday, I felt absolutely rotten. On my day off even. At least the skipping is clear to me in this example. Most likely to the other person as well. On some level in the “undertow”, we know very well that something is wrong. Appearance, the look in someone’s eyes, or their tone of voice (in my case a little too chirpy) speaks volumes. In most cases, the ones who ask the question will likewise skip the subject.

Here’s the gain: I can avoid the confrontation. With myself and with the other person. It feels as if this way I’m not troubling them with my dark mood. They won’t be burdened. For instance, I’m not telling how I experience the relationship with or towards the other person. And skipping the subject, allows me to pretend it isn’t there . . .

And here’s at what expense, which I usually find out the hard way: I feel lonelier, because I’m not telling how I really feel. Little by little I lose touch with myself. Inside me it gets all tangled up: my feelings and thoughts are blurred. At these moments, I’m very likely to switch to more bla bla.

Just think how often you or other people skip the subject. Still, the unsaid often turns out to be the most valuable. To you, but to others as well. I’m curious to learn about your experiences.

Rest and motion or rest in motion



Life can be pretty hectic. Busy schedules, traffic jams, crowded car parks when you’re going shopping, sorting post, all the things you love to do or that need to be done, choices you have to make, everything that’s going on around us. That’s a lot of movement. And, of course, the issues of the day to top it all off. Just think how often people say, especially in reference to their job, that they’re running round like headless chickens.

Our diaries seem to indicate that life can be shaped, planned, or, indeed, controlled. Every person who has ever had a severe illness, or has had someone close to them become really ill, knows better than that. But at the same time, I sometimes feel that my diary is controlling me rather than the other way around. Then I put up a resistance. I want rest. I want to do nothing whatsoever. To just sit on a bench, basking in the sunlight, and stare into the distance. I like peace and quiet. A moment without inducements. Just me, no obligations. Being at rest puts me into contact with what is underneath the surface of daily life.

It feels as if rest and movement are fighting each other at this point, as if they are opposites. There’s no rest when I’m in motion. When I’m resting, everything is on hold; there’s no movement. This ‘digital’ way of dealing with rest and motion is also a form of being in control, fear of believing in the larger flow of life.

She dove into the motion. To me that expresses surrendering to the stream, to life’s movement. Instead of putting up a fight, I dive into it. I have no idea where it’ll take me, but I’m not afraid to have faith in it. People say it’s quiet in the eye of the hurricane. That is what I am looking for: rest in motion. What are you looking for?

Doing what you love best

vaker tekenen
Then what are you waiting for?)

For a while now, I’ve wanted to draw more often. When I draw, the images express my emotions, my feelings, my thoughts, and how I experience these, uncensored. I don’t ‘invent’ anything; images and words present themselves while I’m drawing. Before I get going, there is always a barrier. As soon as I get started, I’m engrossed in it, losing all track of time. I’m creating. While I’m working, I can hear my critical voice speaking, but it doesn’t affect me, I keep going. The flow of ‘what wishes to be created’ is stronger, and I follow. At night, I sleep like a baby and the next day, when I look at my drawing, I feel happy.

Deep down I know what’s keeping me from drawing more often. Two limiting beliefs. There is no value in drawing; it doesn’t earn you a living. Or, What’s the use? And oh, another one pops into my head as I’m writing this: You’re merely indulging in navel-gazing; you’d better go make yourself useful. This sounds like a different version of the first one.

When I put these beliefs in front of me for closer examination, I realize that they evoke feelings of fear, hopelessness and inferiority. I can feel it in my stomach. This is the barrier I have to cross every time I draw. Acknowledging them helps: Hey, there you are! They melt, they soften.

I’m curious about what you would like to do more often, and what’s stopping you. And how you cross that barrier.

And I’m really curious to see what the world would look like if more and more people started doing what they love best. It seems like ever more lights that are meaningful to what we need these days are being turned on.