Cracking the social code

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Remaining mentally active and maintaining strong and varied social contacts provides a surprising number of significant health benefits. It helps to reduce the risk of Alzheimers, promotes a longer lifespan and reduces stress, anxiety and depression. I’ve been thinking about this for a while – in fact ever since retirement later this year became an objective. How will I fill the many hours I will (hypothetically) have spare? I have any number of art, craft and writing projects I can finally fall upon like a starving wolf, but most of those can and will be done in isolation in my art shed or study. A little voice in my head tells me that I’ll need more than this, so a couple of months ago I decided I should probably start focusing on the issue now make life more fun for future-me.

I already do some volunteering and have no immediate desire to expand on that, but joining a couple of new social groups sounded plausible. Having decided this, the sociologist in me immediately started to think about the layers of complex verbal and non-verbal cues that would need to be decoded. Whilst many of these are resolved at a subconscious level, social encounters – particularly with new people – require a fair bit of interpretation. There’s always extra information that needs to be processed in any given situation in order to function effectively. This can be exhausting,  but in my experience it can also be stimulating, interesting – even amusing.

Of course, existing groups have their own dynamics, shared history, in-jokes and group behaviours and, as often as not, don’t actively reach out to include outsiders.  They are, after all, already formed and functional and very possibly don’t need to be outwardly focused. The more closely bonded the group, the more difficult it is to gain traction in it. A group of close friends who spend heaps of time together is generally a harder nut to crack than a social group that meets on a regular basis but doesn’t keep in regular contact between meetings – although this isn’t always the case. Either way, the need (of whatever sort and for what ever reason) is largely on the side of the person trying to join in – and it falls to them to do the running, to make the effort. This is obviously made easier if the group is at least somewhat accommodating, but the time and effort still needs to be put in by the wannabe participant.

So how does one go about cracking the code, finding the elusive cryptic clues or secret handshakes that will grease the social wheels sufficiently to promote easy social integration in new situations? In reality there is no one-size-fits-all solution to social interaction, no one thing that will simply make it happen. It takes determination, time, risk and the willingness to listen. Perhaps part of success in this also hinges on finding / choosing the right target audience.

After some thought, I hit on two options for my initial forays. The first of these was to join an aquarobics group at the local pool. This provides me with physical as well as mental stimulation, along with a fair bit of amusement a couple of times a week. My other selection, based on availability and ability,

was to join a knitting group with a friend. Settling in there has been slow going, but the assessing glances and pleasant (but distant) smiles became nods and smiles of recognition the second time round, then warm greetings the next time. We’re starting to fit in and I’ve started to remember some names – and some people seem to have remembered mine. I haven’t knitted much, but I do know quite a lot more about knitting projects that other people have completed (such as a wedding dress, jumpers, blankets, socks and knitted vegetables!) or have underway (just as varied). Common ground is slowly being uncovered – and I’m starting to look forward to the sessions – knitting, chatting, laughing, chocolate biscuits and all.

I wouldn’t go as far as to say mission accomplished, but I think I’m on my way.

Just for the fun of it

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I’ve noticed that many adults appear to believe that being an adult means giving up things they enjoy and determinedly getting on with the business of being an adult. Somewhere along the line, the ability to enjoy child-like fun seems to be left behind. University, courting, working, family and bills happen – and the not-very-merry-go-round takes over, often with little fun in sight. How very sad – and how very boring!

There’s actually no compelling reason not to have fun or, indeed, not to do at least some of the fun things one did as a child. Admittedly bills do have to be paid, families call for attention, meals require planning and preparation – but surely this need not preclude enjoying the simple pleasures of childhood. Building sand castles, playing on the swings in the play park, jumping in puddles on rainy days, drawing and colouring-in, wandering around barefoot – these are just some examples of things we seem to forget to enjoy.

Last week was Adult Learners Week and our local library organised a morning of colouring-in for adults. The event booked out so quickly that they had to arrange a second session – also booked out – and have gone on to add colouring-in for adults to their ongoing programme of events. It turns out that colouring-in is now widely considered to be a beneficial pastime for adults. It stimulates areas of the brain related to motor skills, the senses 47802-5-beaglesand creativity and this in turn reduces stress and improves general health and wellbeing.

22 people turned up to the first event at the library – and, yes, I was one of them. Colleen, the branch librarian, told us that this pastime apparently emerged in France, where so many adults have taken it up that sales of colouring-in books now outrank those of cookbooks. Indeed, five of the 20 best selling titles on Amazon are currently adult colouring-in books! This information resonated with several people in the group who had purchased books for themselves, although most hadn’t been game to actually put colour on any of the pages as yet. The fear of making mistakes or colouring outside the lines, combined with the long-held stigma attached to writing in books, had made them too anxious to try.

Luckily the library staff had provided printouts of a number of open-source pictures found on the internet, along with a wide selection of brand new pencil crayons. In no time at all everyone was colouring away happily, chatting and laughing, reminiscing about the last time they had used coloured pencils and about life in general. By the end of the session, anxiety – about colouring-in at least – appeared to have fled completely. All the participants left for home relaxed andfun with colour_3sept15 smiling. Those who had had their own colouring-in books said that they felt much more comfortable about putting pencil crayon to paper; others took the librarian’s advice to heart and said that they’d print free designs off the internet and use those. Most people said they’d be back the following week, both for the colouring-in and for the company.

I fell into all three categories – and am delighted that colouring-in for adults is a trend that’s here to stay, for now at least. I’m feeling pretty chilled, my colouring book is on my desk (instead of in a drawer), I’ve unearthed my watercolour pencils and I’m eyeing off some gel pens at the local newsagent… If you’d like to reclaim a little of the fun you had as a kid, why not print off a picture (from one of numerous free sites) and try colouring it in? Don’t judge – just use whatever pencils, felt pens or whatever you have to hand and enjoy the process. Feel the serenity 🙂

 

Freedom on Two Wheels

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raleigh bike.pgI was given my first bike when I was eight years old. It was shiny and black and a source of endless delight – not to mention unrivaled freedom.  It had no gears or hand brakes, but as I didn’t know any better, neither of these were an issue. What it did have was rather nifty mudguards (soon removed for convenience and speed) and simple back-pedal (or coaster) brakes that were dead easy to use. That little Raleigh bike was my most beloved possession from the very first day, despite crashing headfirst into a hedge down the road on my initial solo attempt at riding it!

From thereon out I had any number of adventures, big and small, wherever my wheels could take me. One of the more dramatic of these adventures started out very low key. My friend Felicity and I were about 10 years old at the time and, unlike many of the youth of today, we were assumed to be both capable and independent. Parents weren’t informed of our movements, we just trotted off on our merry way. As long as we were back by dinnertime and there was no obvious damage to explain, we were left to our own devices. In this instance we had planned a trip to the local shopping centre to hunt for Christmas gifts. It was a distance of about 2.5km and we knew from experience that this took about 30 minutes on foot, about 10 minutes by trolley bus, or about 12 minutes by bicycle. Ever the staunch Scot, I opted to save the bus fare and rode my bike up the (very steep!) hill to meet Felicity as she hopped off the bus.

Some time later, after purchasing what knickknacks our pocket money could afford and enjoying an iced confection in the park, we headed for home – Felicity hanging out the back of the trolley bus and me in hot pursuit on my trusty bike. I’d grown quite a bit in the couple of years I’d had the bike and it had become a little worn in that time. My brothers had taught me to fix punctures and how to put the chain back on when it inevitably came off, but they still did the tricky things like adjusting the seat height since this involved enough physical strength to tighten the nuts and bolts. Or so I’d always assumed…

As I careered down the hill in hot pursuit of the trolley bus, laughing like crazy and taking the sorts of risks that ten year olds do, it never occurred to me that anything could go wrong. Not until the trolley bus stopped a little sooner than I expected and, when I tried to slam the brakes on by back pedaling desperately, my feet came off the pedals!  The seat had tilted back rather dramatically as I applied emergency pressure on the brakes and it was pretty obvious that the saddle was, in fact, not properly secured. I was left clutching the handlebars, my behind only centimetres from the back wheel, my legs akimbo to avoid the chain and the wheels.

coasterbrakeNow, the thing you need to know about back-pedal brakes is that pushing back on the pedals forces a set of brake pads to expand inside the hub on the back wheel. Friction then slows the wheel down very efficiently. The downside is that your feet actually have to be on the pedals for this to work – and there’s no backup plan if they’re not. My feet were nowhere near the pedals at this point, having slipped off when the saddle tipped backwards and tried to deposit me on the rapidly rotating back wheel. All I had was precarious balance and a grip of death on the handlebars.

Felicity’s face told me that she fully expected me to slam into the back of the bus at any moment and, considering the rate at which I was bearing down on it, this seemed extremely likely. Immediate evasive action was called for and instinct took over. I swerved out from behind the bus – narrowly missing both it and the on coming station wagon, then swerved back onto my side of the road just as the bus started off again. All this time I was trying desperately (and unsuccessfully) to haul myself back onto or over the saddle so that I could get my feet back on the pedals.

I whizzed down the steepest part of the hill and into the long sweeping curve towards the intersection, hoping with every part of me that the traffic lights would be in my favour and that there would be no oncoming traffic. My luck held, the road started to level out, and my speed dropped enough for me to risk the rapid dismount. I leapt clear of my bike whilst keeping hold of the handlebars and running alongside it. It was, after all, my treasure!

We careered to a halt, narrowly missing being clipped by the bus as it trundled past, and fell into an inelegant and only slightly grazed pile right near the bus stop. Felicity made a flying exit from back  of the still-moving bus and rushed to my assistance. Between us we managed to drag my bike to the verge, and then collapsed in a heap, laughing and whooping with the joy of being alive and being 10 years old and invulnerable. There being no actual damage, the parents were never the wiser – but I closely supervised any maintenance of my bike done by others after that!

Bicycles have been part of my landscape since that very first machine. I’ve had racing bikes, mountain bikes, a BMX bike, static exercise bikes and a hybrid bike. They’ve varied in colour from black to pink; silver to blue – but all (except the static bikes) have provided me with unsurpassed levels of independence, adventure and enjoyment. I still ride whenever I can – and every time I see someone else on a bike – whatever their age or gender, whether they’re wearing cutoffs or lycra, barefoot or in expensive cycle shoes – I smile. Rock on, riders, be free!

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On a borrowed racing bike, 1975

Finding joy in little things

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As is the way of things, I was vaguely listening the wireless en route to work last week, tuning out the adverts, hoping for a traffic update and generally bopping along to whatever muzak the morning show threw in my general direction. Sometimes lyrics catch my ear and stick with me for the day, an earworm that interrupts me at odd moments as it plays and replays some part of a tune. This time I could blame the earworm on John Mellencamp – or on Jack & Diane, depending on how you look at it. Either way, the refrain of Oh yeah, life goes on… long after the thrill of living is gone… stayed with me long after the work day was done and dusted.

Thinking about it later I realised that every time I hear that song I reject the notion that life can become joyless, that it can become something so mundane and ordinary that it just goes on because it hasn’t yet ended. I view joyfulness – and enjoyment – as a skill, something that can be learned and then honed, be practised and taught to others. It’s a state of mind, a way of looking at both yourself and the world around you in a way that allows you to see the positives.

I understand that different people at different times have more or less capacity to cope with life, with personal and interpersonal problems, stress and conflict. Learning to be joyful is about expanding that capacity. Not necessarily by making more time for yourself or following some 10-step plan for a better life, although both of these may be valid options, but by focusing your attention on the present moment. I find that it’s about being IN that moment, being mindful of it and making the most of what can be found there. It’s about capturing what is found – however small it is – and holding it for just long enough to make your day feel worthwhile.

Joyfulness can be learned. I believe it can also be relearned – as long as you don’t let yourself believe in letting go of the thrill that is life. Today I noticed that our rosemary bush at the front gate has started to flower. It made me smile. That smile made me feel good about the day. Feeling good about the day helped me to be more tolerant, to find some pleasure in things that might otherwise have slipped my attention. Each time I do this, each time I find something to make me smile, it makes it that much easier to do so the next day. And the next.

My joyful – and lasting – moment today started with it being a lovely spring day. Since I was working from home, I chose to have lunch outside in the garden. This is a happy thing in its own right, but was enhanced by our puppy rushing over to say hello to me. Her tail was wagging madly and, as soon as I sat down, she dropped her very chewed bone on my lap. She then pushed the bone into my hand and stood leaning against me, gnawing on the gummy end in a very companionable (and sticky!) sort of way. Pure gold!

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Confidence in Strangers

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I’ve often wondered why it is that so many people seem to have a tendency to want to share intimate details of their lives with complete strangers. Whether it’s on a plane, at a bus stop, at the hairdressers, in a checkout queue at the supermarket or in any number of other situtations, unsolicited confidences are routinely both given and received. Since friendship is held to be an idealised bond of great significance, a relationship that overcomes isolation and provides support in an otherwise unsympathetic society, why turn to strangers?

What brings this to mind is my regular visits to the local indoor hydrotherapy pool to indulge in what I like to call exercise. In reality it’s an hour or so of wallowing around in deliciously warm water (now geothermally heated!) and indulging in moderate activity, often to the sounds of whatever audiobook I happen to be listening to at the time. Of late, however, my MP3 player hasn’t been cooperating, so I’ve been subjected to the sounds of the spa pump and the general conversation of other pool users, both of which I try to turn into white noise to accompany my exercise routine.

Striding determinedly up and down the pool in chest deep water wouldn’t, at first glance, appear to provide an ideal opportunity for someone to try to share details of their life with a fellow pool-user, whether a stranger or otherwise. Despite this, my experience is that many people go out of their way to strike up a conversation, keeping pace with their chosen confidant or waylaying them at one or other end of the pool with an open-ended question to do so. I always find it confounding when people do this to me, as I’m pretty sure that I don’t have the sort of face/demeanour that necessarily invites confidences. Nevertheless, a great deal of rather personal information is often shared with me. Frequently it appears to be information that the self-same people seem unwilling to share with friends or family, but is laid out in surprisingly intimate detail in the pool with what appears to be little or no compunction. Why is this so?

This week I ended up performing the function of stranger-confidant for an elderly gentleman (EG). I was caught unawares and answered a question in passing as I started walking a lap of the pool, after which escape would have required a level of brusqueness not available to me. I submitted with good grace, but kept walking – which required EG to stride along with me and work for it. He was not at all put off and went on to tell me in graphic detail about his even more elderly sister (EMES), whose attitude to life in general appears to frustrate him enormously. It turned out that EMES is over 90 and underwent hip replacement surgery four days ago, as a result of a nasty fall few days earlier when she fractured her hip. Since then she’s apparently been abusive and angry, says she’d be better off dead and seems to have a fine job in alienating everyone who cares about her. EG admitted that his tolerance is particularly low at present, having fractured his shoulder three months ago. He confessed to being in constant pain as he tries to remobilise the now-frozen shoulder and to regain some movement in the joint. There was more – lots more – about both subjects – before EG’s time was up. He finally headed for the spa and sauna (to ease the shoulder), after which I kept my head down and was careful not to make eye contact with anyone else for the rest of my session!

Then – and later – I started thinking about why people choose to confide in random strangers. My conclusion is that we are all simply keen to talk – particularly about ourselves – and sometimes it’s easier to do so in situations where we’re away from the usual distractions and demands of everyday life. Perhaps this separation provides a space for a people to foreground issues of interest or concern and address them by articulating them to strangers – as often as not to clarify the issue, rather than to ask for advice. I wonder if telling me about EMES helped EG in any way? Will he feel better able to cope with EMES or at least with his frustration about her outlook on life?

Does it help in any way to tell strangers things about our lives? Does the relative anonymity, the absence of shared social circles allow for sharing of this sort without fear of an emotional or social backlash? Strangers are, after all, strangers. As they aren’t part of our social milieu, it removes the need to worry about over-sharing, of burdening them with our concerns or about any associated social consequences. In addition to this, strangers may possess objectivity possibly not available to those close to us and as a result sometimes offer surprisingly useful insights or suggestions. Whilst there is no obligation (real or imagined) to take on board any of the comments received, having shared the issue with a stranger and received such comments could plausibly make articulating it again at a later date to someone closer (a friend or relative) easier. At the very least it might provide some perspective on the issue and thus make it easier for one to manage.

Are strangers then the no-cost equivalent of a psych or pastor? Do they fill the role of someone who has no prior knowledge about one’s life or circumstances and to whom one can unburden woes with minimal risk – effectively a social sounding board? If so, perhaps my retirement occupation could be busking as stranger-for-hire… I apparently have the skills 😛

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