Leonard Cohen, Samba and the importance of small surprises

I went to my first Samba class last night. We were 30 absolute beginners in the Retired and Services Association Hall. As portraits of the Queen and the Duke or Edinburgh looked on sternly we laughed, cheered, sweated and wiggled our bottoms with abandon. It was utterly fabulous. My efforts were awkward to say the least but I am determined to persevere. To be able to dance in a large group of people at any time is bliss, and this year more than ever. For me it was also a celebration of remembering that looking rather silly is something to be embraced rather than feared. And that looking rather silly with lots of other people who are also looking rather silly is one of the very finest ways to spend some time.

2020 still has a way go and possibly a few more surprises in store but for me at least the beginning of the wind-down has begun. Last week was my final trip of the year to Wellington, my last full facilitation day was this week. I now look forward to spending the next 2 ? weeks with my individual clients as they reflect on this strangest of years and look ahead to an unpredictable 2021.

I am starting to do the same myself. Because of this, I am feeling a little wistful and more than a little weary. I have been crabby with the kids, impatient when they don’t listen (my 7yr old daughter’s complaint that her hands were too small to pick up the 2kg of her lego all over the floor nearly sent me over the edge this morning!). I have witnessed enormous resilience, positivity and leadership from my clients, friends, family and colleagues this year as they have adapted, adjusted and kept going. I also see people who are tired and on edge. Whatever your personal circumstances this year has come at a cost and all of us might need to make room over the break to acknowledge losses and sadnesses as well as to celebrate and be festive. My own losses are very small in comparison to so many others, but they still add up to something I don't want to deny. Personally I am feeling a call to “lie low to the wall” to quote John O’Donohue’s beautiful poem (in full below)

Like many I have worked from home a lot this year (that I even have that option, and to have work at all, is something I am profoundly grateful for). Today I had clients in town and between sessions took a walk up to one of my favourite spaces, Auckland Art Gallery, for the first time in many months. By chance I found myself in the new Leonard Cohen installation by artist Candice Breitz. I certainly wasn’t looking for it. I have a luke-warm relationship with Mr Cohen’s music after he was inflicted on me and my siblings by my Dad when we would have rather listened to Wham and Shaggy. We called it funeral music. 

Today I was mesmerised. It brought to mind the joy and solace to be found in the music we love. Of masculinity and vulnerability and the way that music creates space for those two to co-exist in a world that often makes that hard. Of how the best art allows us to see a person’s imperfections and frailties as being touched with grandeur - and in doing so find a more forgiving relationship with our own. And that if you look hard enough you can experience something akin to love for a complete stranger, even as they only appear to you on a screen. I could see my Dad in the men’s faces. I was deeply moved.

All this in a lunch time walk. When I work from home, lunch usually involves poaching an egg and putting a load of washing on. It occurs to me that this enforced revolution in how many of us are working is much bigger than simply missing out on office gossip and adjusting to endless Zoom meetings. It has also meant a shrinking of our worlds. When we only move through our immediate and familiar habitats we miss the minor surprises and disturbances that occur when we walk amongst strangers each day; new pieces of public art, a couple arguing in the street, the man holding a sleeping bag with an out-reached hand. These all remind us of the much wider context of which we are a part. Sat at home surrounded by our own ‘stuff’ (physical and otherwise) it's easier to become lost in our own dramas. I have noticed that myself this year.

Without the time and hassle of the daily commute our family life is by and large much calmer (Lego aside). On the days I do work from home I am undoubtedly less frazzled, more efficient and more focussed. But let's admit it, efficiency, calm and focus can be over-done and they don’t make for a very inspiring and mind-opening day.

As I said, I am feeling wistful today so may have been over-thinking things.  But if you are in Auckland check out the Breitz work - it is on for another week or so and its free. On your way please think about stopping at Albert Park Cafe just down the road on Kitchener Street. Like may downtown cafes the owner is desperately trying to keep her business going after the ravages of 2 lockdowns. The coffee is great and I know she would appreciate your custom. She has had to let her staff go and is doing everything herself so if you have to wait a few moments please be patient. Which reminds me, for 2021 I think patience might be the thing I need to work on the most. That and the Samba of course!

Go well everyone, may you find some slowness and interesting surprises this week.

Emma

This is the time to be slow - John O’Donohue

This is the time to be slow,

Lie low to the wall

Until the bitter weather passes.

Try, as best you can, not to let

The wire brush of doubt

Scrape from your heart

All sense of yourself

And your hesitant light.

If you remain generous,

Time will come good;

And you will find your feet

Again on fresh pastures of promise,

Where the air will be kind

And blushed with beginning.