Category: Space Oddity

Oh no love, you’re not alone

I don’t want to write this. I don’t want to write this. I don’t want to write this.

If I write this it makes it real.

But if I don’t write it I feel like I will burst.

It’s ridiculous really, it’s not as though I knew the guy, but a huge part of my light and life has left this world.

David Bowie has been with me since he first mesmerised me in the Labyrinth when I was a kid (and caused me to force my parents to repeatedly hire it from the video store, though I knew it word for word.)

He was with me through my awkward teenage years – when I was at my most scared and isolated telling me I was ‘not alone’

Oh no love! you’re not alone
You’re watching yourself but you’re too unfair
You got your head all tangled up but if i could only
Make you care
Oh no love! you’re not alone
No matter what or who you’ve been
No matter when or where you’ve seen
All the knives seem to lacerate your brain
I’ve had my share, I’ll help you with the pain
You’re not alone

As a young adult navigating the murky waters of mental illness at a time when nobody talked about it All the Madmen from The Man Who Sold the World was a two-fingered salute to the rest of the world. It was okay, he got it. It was our secret.

‘Cause I’d rather stay here
With all the madmen
Than perish with the sad men
Roaming free
And I’d rather play here
With all the madmen
For I’m quite content
They’re all as sane as me.

David Bowie taught me that it was okay to be different. He taught me to embrace it, to run with it and see where it led me. That if I wanted to dress in orange paisley dye my hair blue and do ridiculous stuff on stage I bloody well could. If I wanted to blast Aladdin Sane when everyone else wanted to be the Spice Girls then I should, and at maximum volume.

I was fascinated by his influences, I discovered new (and old) writers, new music and art.

He was, he is, my best friend. He taught me to be me.

I have never met the man before but he has been with me for my entire life. Through gleeful celebration and abject misery. He graduated university with me and held my hand through journalism school. He’s sailed across the South Pacific with me and celebrated the publication of my first book.

In a way he also helped develop my writing style.

Back in the days of dial-up internet that sounded like R2D2 in a blender I discovered a world much bigger than my own. In trying to navigate this exciting new place where you could easily talk to people on the other side of the globe I joined a mailing list (do those even exist anymore?) called BowieList where, through group emails I was able to banter with a bunch of intelligent, funny and eloquent people from all walks of life, with the connection of our mutual admiration of Mr Stardust. I really looked forward to those emails, spending quite a bit more time on the university computers than I needed to ‘study’.

I enjoyed and appreciated the way these people wrote, the way they made me smile. I magpied the hell out of them and discovered a wittier more confident version of myself in the process. I made friends with some wonderful people who, while we are not in touch as often now, I still think about a lot.

I graduated to other Bowie groups, The Man’s own website Bowienet and even a proto virtual reality chatroom with avatars (Bowie did everything first) and I think this is where I developed my conversational writing style. I have so much to thank him for.

I also very much associate David Bowie with my Mum. It was her ‘best of’ album that I loved (and nicked) that led me to discover him.

We were lucky enough to see him in concert when he came to Wellington for the 2004 Reality tour. It was the most amazing night of my life. I don’t think I have ever felt that high. We’d gotten seats right up the front (of course) but as soon as I heard his voice I screamed like a banshee and ran for the stage – poor Mum managed to grab the back of my shirt and go with me, narrowly avoiding being left in the dust.

We were right up the front. There was a barrier, a security guy and then my Main Man. We couldn’t have gotten any closer if we tried. Typical inhospitable Wellington it was hosing down with rain but, while the band stayed where it was safe and dry, Bowie was out on the apron prancing about, getting soaked and having to have towels regularly thrown to him. He dedicated Heroes to us for sticking it out in the rain, but he was the hero.

Mum snuck a disposable camera in and managed to sneak a couple of pics before we were stopped. That’s how I will always remember him, looking right at us with that spectacular smile

Bowie reality Welly

 

Just last year Mum and I took a girls trip to Melbourne to see the David Bowie Is exhibition and I am so glad we did. It was incredible, everything I hoped it would be. We had a wonderful time.

Mum Ziggy and I

Bowie bar 2

Bowie beep beep

Just yesterday (before I heard the news) I was blasting out his new album Blackstar, marveling at how he was still making such challenging, haunting yet gleeful music.  That he was still experimenting, still twisting and changing, still messing with our heads.

When my sister told me last night I couldn’t breathe, it was like all the air had been sucked out of the room. If it wasn’t for Paddy letting me blubber all over him like a trooper I probably would have had an anxiety attack then and there.

I had to get out of the boat, I put my headphones on and walked round the waterfront playing Blackstar and finding new meaning in the lyrics. I oscillated between feeling completely numb and sobbing to myself like an idiot.

But even then I wasn’t alone. He was singing to me. It sounds silly but it felt like he was holding my hand.

I didn’t want to write this, but I feel a bit better now I have. I am also really touched by the messages I have been getting from family and friends who know how big the part he played in my life really was. I love that my facebook and twitter feeds are filled with Bowie, I love that everyone has a song that is special to them and they are all different ones. Everyone has a different place and a time where he really spoke to them and that makes me smile.

This isn’t goodbye Mr Bowie, Mr Stardust, Mr Jones. You will continue to be the soundtrack to me life and so many others. You have shaped who I am and that is never going to change.

You left the world on a spectacular note, you played us right to the end you clever boy. Keep on creating wherever you are, you’ll keep on inspiring down here.

‘This way or no way
You know I’ll be free
Just like that bluebird
Now, ain’t that just like me?’ 

 

Radio Gaga

(Sorry for taking so long to post these on here – life and lurghies kind of got in the way.)

Last month I ended up sharing more information about myself over the radio than anyone could possibly want to know.

The Nutters Club is a late night show that runs from 11pm to 1am on Newstalk ZB. Hosted by comedian Mike King, it describes itself as being a show about “Nutters helping other Nutters live at peace with themselves and others, so that we can all lead meaningful lives.”

The show’s producer had read Which Way is Starboard Again? picked up on the mental health angle and invited me on to talk about living with obsessive compulsive disorder and anxiety.

I was absolutely terrified, but the guys were great and made me feel as relaxed as I possibly could. Mike is a media personality who has been very open about his battle with mental health issues so he was a great to talk to and his co-host Malcolm Falconer, a really laid back and switched on psychologist, helped chill me out before and during the show.

Malcolm’s website psychd.co.nz has links to all sorts of useful and interesting stuff.

Nutters - Mike King and I
Nutters – Mike King and I

Once I got over the ums and the nervous giggling I think I did alright – although I did end up calling Paddy an old bastard on national radio. Mike kept talking about Starboard being the story of ‘a young woman meeting a young man with a boat’ – after about the 3rd reference I blurted out ‘actually, he’s not that young!’ explaining that there is a bit of an age gap between us.  Poor Paddy! He says he still loves me.

So here’s part 1 – I’ll forgive them for misspelling my name, it’s all good publicity!

Nutters Club Part 1

And if you are still awake after that, here’s part two. One of the best things of the second part of the interview was an amazing lady who rang in. She was 48 years old and had only been diagnosed with OCD and anxiety at age 44. I can only imagine how difficult things had been for her for many years. She rang to thank me for speaking about living with anxiety. She said she still had a way to go but that listening to me sounding so confident gave her hope. Now I’m not the poster child for getting through these sort of things. I still have my moments and no doubt I will have more in the future – but it was an amazing feeling to be able to help at least one person see that there is light at the end of the tunnel

Nutters Club Part 2

One of the things some people who were listening to the show at the time (and I was really surprised at how many people actually are listening to the radio at that time on a Sunday night/morning) complained about were the ads, and I can definitely see how they would be irritating to listen to,  but I have now seen it from the other side and for me it was actually the opposite. I found the ads were an immense relief, because it gave me a breather from constant babbling.

Because the show finished so late they put me up in a hotel near Newstalk ZB and the suite came with a complimentary bottle of wine. I had a few hours to kill before go-time but tried my best to resist the urge to drink the nerves away – I figured turning up sozzled probably wouldn’t be a good look. In the end I caved and had one medicinal glass, then put the bottle out of sight. By the time I got back from the interview though I was completely wired. It was 2am and I was wide awake, so I poured myself another. Then I remembered my good friend and primo cook Janie (who I had stayed with the night before) had packed me off with chocolate brownies to help me make it through the night. So there I was at 2am on a Sunday sitting by myself in a hotel room, glass of wine in one hand and chocolate brownie in the other, partying like an author.

Disclaimer: I was in bed and fast asleep pretty much 10 minutes later – rock and roll!

 

What a Canadian going to space can teach me about going to sea

I’ve just finished reading An Astronaut’s Guide to Life on Earth – Colonel Chris Hadfield’s autobiography.

For those of you who don’t know Hadfield became a bit of a social media rock star after posting a series of amazing YouTube videos from the International Space Station – everything from scientific experiments and stunning space vistas  to how to brush your teeth in zero gravity.

Most importantly of all, he  recorded his own version of David Bowie’s Space Oddity – IN SPACE!

Being the Bowie freak I am this of course is what first brought him to my attention.

He popped up on my radar again when I was talking to a friend about how sailing scared the hell out of me but I still found myself doing it. He said he’d just finished reading a biography that he thought I’d really like and promptly handed me An Astronaut’s Guide to Life – what going to space taught me about ingenuity, determination and being prepared for anything.

My first thought when starting to read was ‘pssshh, overachiever! There’s no-one in the universe (s’cuse pun)  more utterly out of my league. My second thought was ‘hey, wait a minute! This guy thinks just like me!’

One of my particular skill sets is being terrified of everything (it doesn’t stop me doing things – but it can make them a lot more difficult). Paddy calls it catastrophising – put me in any situation and I will come up with the worst possible outcome, however improbable.

So you can imagine me astonishment when I read that Mr Overachiever Astronaut was actually scared of heights! It seemed about as logical as a person with anxiety issues floating offshore on a tin tub (sorry Wildflower!)

Hadfield did something I really admire, he harnessed his anxiety and made it work for him. He wrote about the power of negative thought and sweating the small stuff – and of course as an astronaut you have to sweat the small stuff to survive.

While nowhere near the same league he’d got me thinking – I’d never seen my negativity as having power before. When you think about it though it makes sense, as long as you actually know what to do if the worst happens.

In fact, during the one really scary experience I had on the boat (sorry – but I’m saving that for the book), I was actually able to handle things because I had a job to do and I knew how to do it. It’s the not knowing that turns you into a wreck.

Hadfield sums it up perfectly right here;

“In my experience, fear comes from not knowing what to expect and not feeling you have any control over what’s about to happen. When you feel helpless, you’re far more afraid than you would be if you knew all the facts. If you’re not sure what to be alarmed about, everything is alarming” (pg 52 – An Astronaut’s Guide to Life on Earth)

That sentence propelled me right back to our first night out of sight of land,  the boat creaking and groaning as we punched  into the wind that insisted on blowing in the exact direction we wanted to sail in. It was a little uncomfortable, but the boat was sturdy and we were safe – all the same, I was freaking out.

The reason I was freaking out was simple. I didn’t know exactly what was going on. Wildflower was making creaking, straining, banging noises I had never heard her make before. Because I couldn’t be certain if they were good or bad, the catastrophiser in me immediately decided they must be all bad. In short, I didn’t know what to be alarmed about – so everything was alarming.

Hindsight is a beautiful thing. Taking Wildflower offshore for the first time was a massive undertaking. We had a limited time window to wind up our jobs and our lives and make sure the boat was ready, but we didn’t spend enough of that time making sure that we as people were ready.  Theoretically I was – I’d passed my Boatmasters exams, I knew the safety drill – but mentally I had no clue what I was letting myself in for. I didn’t know what I should or shouldn’t be scared of.

Paddy was then faced with the unenviable task of skippering the boat with the first mate was popping up and down like a meerkat on speed going ‘what was that?’ ‘is that noise normal?’ He lay down with me in the back cabin (one of the noisiest spots) and explained to me what each creak and groan was and that helped hugely – but that was one more task he shouldn’t have had to do.

What it taught us was that next time, along with the boat prep, there will have to be more people prep (at least for me) – and one of the things I am keen to do is an offshore survival course. The kind where you practice skills you more than likely are never going to need, where you actually deploy the life raft and bob about inside it in a swimming pool.

I already feel much better now I have actually fired off a flare and I would rather know what to do if things went to hell than have to rely on others to tell me what to do. I’m never going to be an all-singing, all-dancing, fix-it-at-sea woman – but I would like to be able to do something practical without losing my mind.

Paddy worries this focus on the negative will put me off, but I think the opposite. I think it will calm me to know I am as prepared as I can be.

Worrying is something I’m good at, so I might as well harness it.

And, as Hadfield says “Anticipating problems and figuring out how to solve them is actually the opposite of worrying: it’s productive. Likewise, coming up with a plan of action isn’t a waste of time if it gives you peace of mind. While its true that you may wind up being ready for something that never happens, if the stakes are at all high, it’s worth it.” (Pg 72 – An Astronaut’s Guide to Life on Earth)

You have to be careful though, there is a balance when you are at sea. Sometimes immediately leaping into survival mode can actually decrease your chances of survival. The thing with a boat is, no matter how uncomfortable things get, often the safest place to be is on board. It’s counter-intuitive, but it really does take an awful lot to make a boat sink – and  if you cut yourself adrift on a life raft you are at the mercy of the elements. Nine times out of ten the safest thing you can do is stay on board as long as possible – the golden rule is that you should “always step up into your life raft”

A tragic example of this was the 1979  Fastnet race that got caught out in freak weather – it was the people who abandoned ship into their life rafts who were the ones who were injured or lost their lives and when the storm cleared the majority of the boats were still floating.

So I am going into this painfully aware of the balance but also with  a sense of confidence that I think this will work for me. So thank you Col. Hadfield  for helping me realise I can use my anxiety as a tool and that the power of negative thought could actually make me a better sailor.

PS: Note to my Mum – who I know is reading this: Stop freaking out. We will be taking a ridiculously safe and well-prepared boat at a safe time of year on an easy passage across the Pacific ocean – you have nothing to worry about (but I know you will because I know who the worry gene came from!) Love yoooouuu! xxx