whoever you want to be…

How can YOU help?

This man likes to help people. Not just any people: Strangers. Just because. Out of the goodness of his heart. Isn’t that refreshing? But, in the same breath, isn’t the very fact that it’s refreshing also quite depressing?

Somewhere along the path of its existence the western world has taken a wrong turn. That’s not, of course, to say there aren’t a great many people doing wonderful charitable deeds every day, but rather that society as a whole seems to have lost sight of what is really important.

So many of us go through life with an inward focus, if not being entirely selfish in our motives our generosity extending only so far as those closest to us. We justify that attitude with the rationale that times are hard, we have to look after our own etc. But doesn’t the very fact that times are hard make it all the more important to adopt an outward focus?

You know that elderly neighbour, the one who lost her husband last year? Have you thought to pop in on her as winter approaches, just to check she has everything she needs? And what about the single parent family with six kids just down the road? Will they be choosing between heating and eating this Christmas? Could you do them some small kindness to make the festive season more bearable? Spare some of your children’s old clothes or toys, perhaps? Invite them round for tea?

The phrase ‘charity begins at home’ is so very true – not in the context of home being your own family (although of course we should always strive to treat our families well), but rather those who are suffering right on your doorstep, out of sight and out of mind. Winter is a lonely time and, for many, a treacherous one. So, this winter, perhaps we could all do worse than to take a leaf out of Guy’s* book and help a stranger in need. Just because. Out of the goodness of our hearts. Now wouldn’t that be refreshing?

*not his real name


About Belle365

Hi, I’m Belle. Thanks for stopping by. Here's a list of ten things about me: 1. I want to write, but rarely do it. This tortures me daily, and, unless I seek to remedy it by writing more often, will continue to torture me until my dying day. 2. I worry: about hate, about greed, about selfishness, about the state of the world my (God willing) children will inherit. I worry about what people think of me. I worry that this makes me shallow. I worry about things happening to my loved ones. I worry how I would cope. I worry that this makes me selfish. I worry that worrying will send me to an early grave. But I'm so good at worrying that I also wonder what I would do if I wasn't worrying. Probably more writing (see point 1)....Oh. 3. I see myself as two people (though, as far as I am aware, I am not technically schizophrenic): a) the fancy dress loving party girl, who loves nothing more than having fun with her friends, because she has seen through her own experiences that life is short, so why not enjoy the ride? b) the more serious and reflective person who wants to learn and to help people and to find her higher purpose (I suspect it is also she who really, really wants to write). Sometimes these sides are conflicting. Fortunately they are in total agreement when it comes to chocolate, red wine and travel. 4. I don't see myself as an ardent feminist, but the older I get the more frustrated I feel by the societal view of women and ageing. Having just hit the metabolically displeasing age of 35 (now officially past it according to the massive wankflap that is Donald Trump, as well as virtually every media outlet on the planet, whether they overtly state it or not) I hate the fact I am made (and have let myself be manipulated) to feel that my fertility is now teetering on the edge of a clifftop free fall, and that even if I do negotiate this rocky march towards infertility and manage a miracle procreation, my usefulness as a financially solvent career woman will be over, seeing as having a baby in your mid to late thirties is pretty much akin to career suicide. It's enough to make you want to drown yourself in a vat of wine (hence why I often don a wig and do just that - see point 3a). 5. The older I get, the more I realise that you are never too old to love drum and bass (whether you are ever too old to publicly dance to drum and bass is an issue I am currently grappling with). Ditto UK garage. I will never be ashamed of these two great loves. Never. 6. Speaking of great loves, I have two: my husband, who (sickening as it is) completes me, and Leonardo DiCaprio, whom I have loved since I first laid eyes on him as Romeo to Kate Winslet's Juliet, and will love until my dying day (likewise the husband, all being well). As much as I like Kate Winslet, I will never forgive her for leaving him on that door. There was definitely room for two. 7. I am riddled with self doubt, and have a serious case of imposter syndrome, particularly in relation to my fourteen year communications career. I have never understood how anyone could deem me capable of running their campaigns. The lack of complaints would suggest I haven't made a total balls up of it so far. But there's still time. 8. Infinity and death frighten me senseless. I can't even talk about the universe without breaking into a sweat. I need to believe in life after death because death CANNOT be the end. I should probably have some (more) counselling to address these issues. 9. If procrastination were an Olympic sport, I would win Gold, Silver and Bronze (to give an example, I sat down an hour ago to work on my new novel, and instead have been updating this bio. I refer you to point 1. Sigh). 10. I make more lists than Buzzfeed. When I die, besides having Oasis's Champagne Supernova played at my funeral (deep breaths - see point 8), I should probably have a To Do list inscribed on my headstone for when I reach the other side...


This entry was posted on October 29, 2013 by in Bea Spiritual and tagged , , , , , , , , .
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