#and he got an award recognising everything he did because there are five me alive solely because of him

[allsortsotings]

Peñella y Pandenis

It’s been about three weeks now since I last updated. Perhaps because the pace of life has been more fast, but arguably because it has slowed down. I feel the need more to write when stressed, frantic or in waves of mania than when calm and relaxed. It’s said that the greatest art comes from depression, which might account for the radio silence in times of peace.

After Andreas’ we found a workaway in a tiny village called Peñella. We got the train from Novellana which had a quaint old waiting house and a big field of grass and daisies which allowed me to do yoga for half an hour whilst Nik went to buy lunch of pan, plátanos y naranjas. The train cost about €7 each and was an excursion in itself. Ubiquitous sights of mountains, rivers, fields and farms passed us as we headed to Infiesto.

On arrival we were greeted by the curly headed Maya; a delightful five year old with a wobbly tooth and a love of attention. Maybe I recognised some of my younger self in her which is why I often enjoyed playing with her more than partaking in the serious grown up chats/ ‘adult moments of silence’. We talked truffles over a litre of sidra and some crisps: Adam has started a truffle plantation in some flattish land - as flat as you can find on a foothill - and needs them to be constantly weeded in order to grow and produce.

It’s a big plan: the truffle trees will act as a working farm, in order to get planning permission for a barn in which Adam and his family can live. They currently reside in a beautiful self built house on the hillside with lots of crafted wood and amazing views. But! You say. Cultivating truffle trees? Impossible!

Yea, but nay. Adam’s trees came from a man in Barcelona who impregnates other tree types, in this case the ‘holly oak’ with truffle inoculations, then ships them out to customers. It’s surprisingly consistent work, due to the rapidity of the weeds’ growth. The trees however, are relatively low maintenance, almost cactus-like in their ability to withstand drought and lack of water for up to one year. With the all-sun or all-rain weather in Asturias, it’s perfect.

At Adam and Naomi’s we stayed in their old festival truck which was used for the Tiny Tea Tent (holla Glastonbury, WOMAD, etc), until he four children came and the new, improved Tiny Tea Truck was born. Complete with bunk beds, bath and pull-down bed.

The truck we stayed in was parked permanently on the truffle field, with a balcony built around the front and covered by eight year old willow trees. The view of the mist and the mountains at sunrise was quite mystical. We loved staying there. It had a gas stove, wood burner, sink, shelving, storage, dining area, and could still be opened up at the back so one could watch the sunset whilst hanging off the rear eating dinner, if one so wished.

Our cupboards were reasonably filled as part of the volunteering agreement which sparked the idea of masterchef style invention tests using what we were given. Arancini balls, aubergine parmigiana, fishcakes, hummus, kidney bean curry, peaches with granola and homemade yoghurt were some of the plates produced under the restrictions (in the loosest sense of the word).

On this note, we got really into food whilst there, even though we are always into food, but more so. On a special level. Something seemed to provoke an excitement in me to create and experiment with different dishes and tastes.

I say ‘something’ when knowing without a doubt that it was our celebratory trip to Los Llaureles; the gourmet ten course restaurant experience we went to for our anniversary (!!!). This was my first ever anniversary in life and I was greatly pleased to be spending it eating ten courses of food on the mountainside.

The dishes were (as named by us):

Honey Spoon Agave, mascarpone, almond cinnamon crisp

Laksa Miso broth, vermicelli, seafood

Mushrooms Date paste, creamy shrooms, salmon, cheese

Foetus Chicken shaped dough ball in an eggshell filled with clear garlic soup

Bao Bun Fish, apple gel, mayo

Croquette Brûléed whipped goats cheese stuffed date

Bitter Salad Mango, spinach, peanut sauce

Merluza Con mayo, rosemary, black sesame

Chia Seed Vanilla soy, mango, papaya, almond cinnamon crisp

Woman in a Gold Dress Wallflower: sponge, creme Catalan, Valencian meringue helado. Needed a ruby goji berry twist!!

So to sum up the food was fantastic.

During this time I was also awakened to the incomprehensible stress of being a full-time Mother: where is the time?

Seeing another person constantly so dutiful and aware and organised was slightly mind blowing. It’s clear to see that the children are unaware of any stress effects of this, and it made me realise how much you can take for granted as a child. I tried to help out and play with the kids and ask them stimulating questions, etc, but its nothing compared to the generally under-awarded gallantry of getting kids up in the morning; taking them to school; making food that everyone eats; keeping up with homework; cleaning; nurturing and getting again to bed at a reasonable time to do it all over again tomorrow. Life runs away quickly when it’s paced like this.

We were lucky to finish weeding at 2pm, amble up to the house for lunch, and amble back down for a leisurely dinner or stroll into Torazo. It’s not unusual to finish work at this time in Spain, which is definitely something I love. Work hard in the morning with high brain activity, eat slowly and generously during lunch, then relax into a siesta, a walk or reading for the rest of the evening. It feels like there’s more time in the day, and that its use is efficient.

We drank beer, sidra or wine most days with food. One Thursday after a smaller lunch we paired Asturian cheeses with Rioja, become progressively merrier as the mealtime went on. Food feels so good after manual labour, so much so that I’ve come to lose the same appetite without it.

Tea breaks feel like real, restorative rests. I’ve come to appreciate a range of biscuits and their dunking abilities. The pleasure of a black tea with milk is something inextricably linked with outdoor work. Read: builder’s brew.

We spent just under two weeks at the truffle plantation, it was a lovely time for reading and cooking. I finished 1984 which was one that has been on my list for virtually ever. So poignant. May save interpretations for another time.

Adam & Naomi know a small network of fellow ecoprojects and helpex/workaway hosts, so on our last Sunday we made a convenient switchover to El Toral with Liz & Steve via a barbecue. It was one of those moments where you’re glad of however life brought you to that moment. More mountains, hills, wooden decking overlooking a sheep field, delicious food and interesting people.

There was a man named Klas who makes stone masonry fires - they’re this amazing way of making the most out of heat energy by sending all the stuff through big metal pipes which are covered usually with clay. It’s a thousand+ year old technique but for whatever reason they’re relatively uncommon in Europe despite being incredibly efficient. They take a long time to build and are reasonably expensive but they last pretty much forever. Traditionally a family home will be built around one as the main pole of the house. Steve is reading a lot about their construction and kicking himself for not building one originally, as wood collection is a constant job here.

At the BBQ we also some girls doing English teaching in Coruna which which seems like a good thing/idea. Sort of considered it but the year is quite a commitment and after speaking to Liz freelance teaching seems like a good option. A one-to-one thing with locals for an hour or so.

Liz & Steve’s is a place currently focussed on hosting guests in la cabana (the guesthouse) and the blue rainbow caravan. We sleep in a little box attached to their old caravan, wher Hugo currently resides, in a field shared with some lovely orange cows. Hugo is a talented guitarist from Madrid who has been here for half a month.

We met on the Sunday and quite quickly entered inspiring philosophical conversation. We talk about literature, ideas, music and feelings. Nik and I were immediately pleased to be chilling with him for the duration of the stay. We take it in turns to cook dinner and eat overlooking the field, the stars above us and the moon sometimes hidden by the clouds.

No topic is bounded and the other day we did a creative activity which involved taking ten minutes to draw what we visualised when imagining the superego. All three were distinct and different. And of course, in true Freudian style, in some way interpretable as phallic.

The week here has fast gone by. Starting with cleaning the chicken coop and laying down straw and manure to enrich the garden soil, ending by cooking a banquet of roast sumac cauliflower with squash, red onion, apricot and black olive tagine, spicy onion rice, mustard leaf zhoug, tahini sauce and walnut tzatziki. We eat really well here. Liz is a fantastic cook and Steve goes by the ‘Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall approach’, which is nothing to complain about.

Always a bowl piled with fresh garden greens, a hot pasta or salad and fresh bread with olive oil. Food is something they may endeavour to move onto when more comfortably in the swing of bnb work. Yesterday there was a double booking which meant convincing one party to sleep in the Mongolian yurt. As a team we somehow went from empty field to fully furnished round sleeping house with wooden steps and concrete paving (Nik’s toil). Everything inside is painted and embossed beautifully, with purple curtains behind the bed and various fabrics from Steve’s travels to Turkey and Tibet sparkling around the walls and floor. Luckily, we may have to sleep in it next Wednesday to make room for a new volunteer.

Next week we’re heading to Bilbao to get some respite before embarking on a new adventure: Classroom Alive. It’s a one week boot camp in Barcelona with the aim to plan a journey from 2 - 6 months by foot with rucksacks and tents, learning in a classroom-style format for half the day, then walking for the rest of it to the next destination. It sounds crazy and I’m excited to see what it will bring. If anyone is interested, let me know!

For now, it’s raining, but we’re not going to let that deter us from our Easter Saturday trip to Nava’s sidra museum. Hopefully there will be samples.

[simplirme]

THOUGHTS : on failure, depression and defeating the odds through creativity

Failure matters.

Just as vulnerability is helpful in the right doses, so is failure.

Failure is powerful, transformative, enhancing. 

Heck, I would know. I have failed a lot in my life so far. Last year, I applied to 50+ crappy low wage jobs. Every single one rejected me. I went home and cried after each interview, convinced there was something intrinsic wrong with me.��How could I ever do creative work if I was considered 'under qualified' to wait tables or serve pizza? 

 I have started 5 blogs. The first failed because I was 13 and had no idea what I was doing. I tried to code my own site and that failed. The second, a few months later, was quite successful (in part because my age made me a novelty.) Then my motivation dwindled and I began posting less and less.  

Around that time, I fell into depression and failed at the simplest things of all. Getting out of bed, having conversations, writing, looking after myself, eating and sleeping all became challenges I could not overcome. I remember feeling genuine pride at having got out of bed and made it downstairs to get a glass of water by 6pm one day.

I failed at these basic life skills with enough consistency to land me in hospital for a year. Wow, I thought as I signed the admission papers, this has got to be the ultimate failure. Well done me. In hospitals, that capacity to not do basic things is taken away. Don't want to get out of bed? Someone will pick you up and drag you out. Don't want to shower? Expect to be picked up and placed under the water. Don't want to eat? Good luck fighting off six trained adults who will force you. And so on and so on.

Treatment for depression in the UK is built on physical force and threats until some sort of survival instinct kicks in. It doesn't always, though. I met many girls - smart, beautiful, wonderful girls- who hadn't spoken or walked or been outside or done anything not forced for years. Some got better. Some are still stuck like that, passed between different hospitals every few years. For a while I kept failing and failing and failing. After a few months, I began to make small wins. A combination of therapy, much needed medication, proper nutrition, sleep and intense friendships with other girls chipped away at the black depression. I remastered the art of doing the basic stuff needed to stay alive.

Then I started writing again. I wrote more than ever before. Every 10 days, I filled a Moleskine notebook. My tiny hospital room filled up with stacks of them, each full of messy handwriting. On bad days, I drew and made collages, turning images into eventual words. It began with drivel, which turned into stories, rants, letters never to be sent, plans. I wrote about the home, family, friends and college which I ached to return to. From the writing came hope, and from the hope came fewer failures. 

A year ago, I turned 18 and the hospital could no longer use force on me. So I left to rejoin the real world, taking with me all I had learned about myself from a year of introspection. I knew I had lost a huge chunk of my teenage years, but I accepted that and was determined not to fall so far again. I went back to college, having worked hard enough to avoid going back a year. I got As in my exams. I spoke to people. I appreciated everything. I got into university and moved out. I kept writing. Then I started this site in March, wanting it to be something I would not allow myself to fail at. 

During that time I had failed a lot, though I was lucky to have somehow remained at the middle of the bell curve. Enough failure to make me push myself harder than ever before. Not enough failure to make me give up and resign myself to a life in hospitals like an invisible strata of society do. I have kept on living.

Picture a graph with that same bell curve. A consistent lack of failure (often due to fame) leads to ivory tower syndrome. We see this in the cases of many an actor, singer, scientist or designer who is lauded for too long. Over time, their self-awareness wanes and their work/lives descend into chaos. That's not the only factor, but it plays a role. The hard work is over, money assured and their creativity becomes a commodity. When the inevitable failure comes, the resources to deal with it have withered away. Insulated cocoons can only last so long. We glamourise the artist gone insane to ignore our collective role in their decline. When we cushion people from failure, it is all too likely to backfire in the long run. 

On the other end of the bell curve is consistent, crushing failure. The kind which forces so many people to give up on their creativity. Maybe the ability (honed through deliberate practice) is not there. Maybe the world isn't ready. The world is often not ready. Or you are not ready for the world. 

It's a scale which varies from person to person. Some quit after one rejection by a publisher, jeer from an audience or critical comment on a post. Some continue to the point of bankruptcy, isolation and ill health. 

Between lies that crucial balance. Enough failure to keep you driven and realistic. Enough success to ensure you maintain the discipline to keep going. 

I have written before about my thoughts on reacting to criticism of your work. In my opinion, not giving a fuck is the wrong way to go. I believe you should care deeply and embrace negative reactions. If you can feel the pain of failure deeply and still continue then that's a good sign. 

Alexis Ohanian wrote 'you are a rounding error' on the wall of his office after an executive said they only met with him about his site due to a traffic rounding error. If you have been living under a rock, that little site (Reddit) is now one of the largest on the internet. 

Stephen King hung each rejection letter he received from a publisher on a nail in his study. When the nail got too full, he got a larger one and kept writing. Again, if you have been living under a rock, he has since sold over 350 million books. 

Seth Godin said that he regards his mistakes and failures as prized possessions.

I'm sure you have heard countless stories like that, so I won't list more. But when we hear stories like that, we tend to focus on what came afterwards. The success, fame, extraordinary talent. Those people must have been to begin with. Their failures were just the mistakes of other people who did not recognise that, right?  

Wrong. Talent is not innate- plenty of research has shown that. Certain physical characteristics can help or hinder in different areas. Beyond that, it comes down to persistence and deliberate practice. That is what we develop through failure.

To cap off this mammoth post, here are some of my mental models for handling failure. 

1 - Imagine it as a training montage. You know those scenes in countless films where we see the hero go from hapless loser to cool superhero? My favorite is from Mulan. After much struggle and practice, she climbs a tall pole and impresses everyone. I like to picture myself in one of those whenever I suck at something. I imagine a time lapse of me writing at my desk, culminating in me publishing my first book. With a lot of scrunching up paper and swearing. It is a powerful visualisation. I also use this when revising for exams or exercising. Mulan falling off the pole was the necessary initial step towards her climbing it. If she can do that, I can finish this essay and reach the stretch goals I am working towards. The basic stuff (like, you know, getting out of bed) doesn't even make it into Mulan's training montage, so it shouldn't be part of mine. 

2 - Expose myself to it until it looses it's meaning. I was VERY unpopular at school. Unpopular enough to have chairs thrown at me, my work torn up and my books spat on. My means of handling it was to record insults and snide comments. I would then reread them again and again. Before long, those words lost their capacity to hurt me. I reclaimed control over my my responses.  In the words of Scroobius Pip, in the end they are just words, you give them power when you cower. Failure is just a word. It is something subjective. Are the failures I have mentioned here really that? Who knows. It's up to me (and you) to decide. 

3 - Eradicate all traces of it and move on. This was the advice my older brother gave me once and it has stuck with ever since. Sometimes I don't want to accept or rework. Sometimes I just need to forget and move on. In the words of Rev. William L. Swig, 'Fail early and get it all over with. You learn to breathe again when you embrace failure as a part of life, not as the determining moment of life.' Failure doesn't always mean anywhere near as much as we imagine. 

4 - Read about the failures of people I admire. As long as you avoid the aforementioned risks of this, it is very helpful. Try reading Just Kids by Patti Smith - the story of the life she and Robert Mapplethorpe lead before they became cultural icons. Or read On Writing by Stephen King, which details his complex path to getting published after many nails full of rejection slips. If that still doesn't work, then try Seneca's letter to his mother about exile. Or, try listening to any talk by Tony Robbins (this one is good in particular.) That holy group  of inspiring people always shake me out of worrying about failure. Also, listening to Conor Oberst for pretty much every waking hour keeps me sane. 

5 - Focus on maintaining a growth mindset. Here is a wonderful extract from the first thing I ever wrote- archived by my mother:  'my dog blak prins is a majic dog who eats majic food which he liks so much that he gobuls it up and smils.' My five year old self did not win any awards for that gem. That is doubtless a good thing as I am sure some people would have found a dog called Black Prince problematic. I digress. My writing has come a long way since then. The hundreds of blog posts which no one ever read, the rejected applications for writing roles, the ignored submissions, the burnt notebooks, the deleted Word documents, the scrapped drafts, the ideas which never even made it onto a page - they all contributed to where I am now. Along the way I have learned how to hone my work and write stuff which people like to read. Some people. Some of the time. I still experience the same failures on a daily basis, except the wins are there too. That is what a growth mindset is all about. 

(S)he who dares, might fail. (S)he who fails, also wins sooner or later. 

I have been writing this for the last 7 hours and it is time to stop now. This might be the most personal post I have written and one of the longest. If you have read it all, well done. Let me know what you think in the comments or drop me an email. Feel free to share this post with anyone who might find it helpful. 

// Rosie

P.S. As you may have heard, I launched a Patreon page for this site yesterday. If you enjoy my work, please take a quick look at it. 

.. via simplir.me