Think Small: the art of the achievable

We’re always being urged to “Think Big”, to stretch our imaginations to see what is possible, to visualise what we want to (and can) become.

It’s stirring stuff. Just the sort of thing to get us fired up at a motivational talk and walk out of the door ready to take on the world and emerge as the ‘next big thing’.

Unfortunately, for most of us, that’s about as far as it goes. With every step we take out of that inspirational talk, that ultimate goal slips further and further from our grasp. The more we focus on those grand ambitions, the harder it gets to imagine achieving them. The chasm between where we are and where we want to be is just too huge. Gradually, the dream fades and we settle back into the status quo.

After all, what you can’t imagine, you can’t achieve.

That’s where “Think Small” has to come in. The road to every grand design is paved with a series of small steps. Small, manageable and - above all - achievable stages.

You might dream of a fulfilling, harmonious home life. One free of petty squabbles about who didn’t change the loo roll, or how you’re going to pay the next pile of bills to drop into your letterbox. Clicking your heels together, a la Dorothy in 'The Wizard of Oz', is not going to make it happen. Transforming the everyday kitchen sink melodramas that populate our mundane lives into an oasis of serenity and warmth seems like Mission Impossible (cue music and Tom Cruise dangling from the ceiling). You cannot imagine it as achievable, so you give up.

But hold on. Rewind. Let’s take another look. Break it down into a series of small stages and maybe we can imagine achieving that coveted dream of a happy home life. Make a conscious decision not to go nuclear every time you reach for the toilet tissue to find the last visitor to the littlest room has left a single ineffectual sheet hanging sadly off the holder. Instead, plan ahead and make sure there is always a back-up of two or three rolls within arm’s reach.

When you want your teen to make their bed/do their homework/clear the table, resist the urge to screech like a banshee on speed. Instead, remind them calmly but firmly to do their bit (just be prepared to say it several times, preferably not through gritted teeth). Credit them with the maturity to make a useful contribution to the household.

And when the latest demand for your hard-earned cash lands on the doormat, don’t turn on your Other Half shouting accusations of profligacy, citing those new killer heels or that latest gadget as evidence. No-one reacts well to a harpy, and playing the victim just invites more abuse. Instead, take a deep breath, sit down and work out the solution. Together.

The same small stuff thinking applies to the world of work. If you dream of achieving something great in your professional life, don’t make a mental leap straight to the ultimate prize. You must have the vision, for sure, but if you don’t plot the steps that will get you there, you are doomed to disappointment.

Steve Jobs may have been one of those rare human beings to make huge mental leaps to something extraordinary, but even he took Apple through a series of steps that led to the must-have latest gadget to reshape our world. Back in the mid-90s, the company was in disarray and looked doomed to failure. Step by step, it was revamped, a new corporate vision was imagined and a series of small achievable stages were made to make it one of the world’s best-known brands. According to reports, Jobs’ legacy includes a list of thousands more innovations, yet more goals to be achieved after his demise.

So, next time you look up at your Grand Design and take a gulp of self-doubt, just stop and take a deep breath. Re-imagine it, with a pathway of small achievable steps that will eventually take you where you want to be.

Kicking against the cliché

We all love a good stereotype, don’t we?

They serve as a kind of mental shorthand that save us the trouble of actually thinking or examining something before we make up our mind. They save time and effort, easily find supporters, and are an absolute Godsend for tabloid headline writers.

Trouble is, though there’s often a seed of truth in most stereotypes, the cliché rarely tells the whole story. Like a caricature, they simply zoom in on a single characteristic and magnify it so much that it eclipses every other feature.

I’ve been battling the clichéd ideas of many folk for years, especially since moving to Greece more than 20 years ago. I quickly revised my ideas about all Greeks being consistently loud, flamboyant and prone to smashing plates. And contrary to their expectations, many Greeks I met were surprised to learn I don’t like beer, am bored to distraction by football, couldn’t make a dainty cucumber sandwich to save my life, have never had a hangover, and – until the Family Tree fanatics uncover evidence to the contrary – I am not related to the Queen.

I do, however, like Marmite.

I am undeniably English in many ways. It’s a simple matter of fact. I’m me, I’m English, I’m happy with who I am but I have no reason to consider myself superior or inferior to anyone by virtue of my accident of birth.

I am not responsible for the highs and lows of my mother nation (Note the Greek friends: Blame Lord Elgin for the looted Marbles, not me!).

I have as much in common with David Cameron and the Milliband of Brothers as I do with a small furry creature from Outer Centauri.

Sad to say, elected representatives rarely mirror the lives and outlooks of the people who vote them in. They are almost always way more privileged than the hoi polloi they claim to represent. Many have never had a real job outside politics. Few have any real concept of the daily kitchen sink dramas that punctuate our mundane lives.

When I first arrived, Margaret Thatcher was still in residence at No.10 Downing Street (yes, I’ve been here THAT long) and the response of many when they learned where I’d arrived from was “Ah! Maggie Thatcher!” with varying degrees of admiration or disgust, depending on their political allegancies. Lord knows how much saliva I wasted trying in vain to explain just how NOT like the Iron Lady I was.

So, I have a vested interest in trying to smash clichés that inevitably raise their ugly heads.

Over the past few months, the Greeks have received a very, VERY bad press internationally. And this week, the actions of politicians have made them seem like Drama Queens of the worst kind.

But don’t fall into the cliché, I beg you. Contrary to the message perpetuated by headlines in publications like the Daily Mail, most Greeks are not lazy, dissolute, donkey jockeys who are good for nothing but a bit of local colour when you’re on your annual hols on one of their islands. Most are hard-working, highly educated, ambitious people who just want to pay their dues, raise their families and live a decent life.

Yes, there have been explosions of violence amid the mostly peaceful (if noisy) demonstrations outside Parliament. But can you honestly say they were more horrifying that the outbreaks of feral looting and destruction in London and other English cities this summer? Despite the high passions you see on show on your TV screens, statistically violent crime in Greece is (still) at much lower levels than in many other countries.

Yes, there is corruption and tax evasion. Isn’t there everywhere? Most Greeks DO pay their way – it’s the privileged few who have the influence and resources to wiggle their way out of their obligations that have landed the country in the current mess they’re in. Just think of the UK MPs’ expenses scandal – does that mean every Brit is a crook?

Yes, there has been endemic mismanagement of many elements of many aspects of Greek public life for years. But can you honestly say that everything where you live is run as it should be?

Yes, some Greeks are chancers who will take every chance to cheat the system or pull a fast one for financial gain. Have you forgotten good old Del Boy and his like, those lovable rogues that can be found on any British High Street?

Despite our differences, there’s more that unites us than divides us.
So next time you see the bi-polar antics of Greece’s politicians or the anger of the crowds in Syntagma Square in front of Parliament, bear in mind the ordinary families that are just trying to make the best of things as their lives are dragged along in the wake of high drama.

All they really want is to sit down and relax in the company of people they love, and perhaps share a laugh over a cup of coffee.

As for me, well when it comes to beverages I DO fit the cliché.
When the going gets tough, I put the kettle on.

May we live in interesting times (?)

Well, these certainly are interesting times, aren’t they?
At least, they are if you define “interesting” as “unpredictable, subject to wild mood swings, uncertain and teetering of the brink of an abyss” rather than “engaging and worthy of further study”.

I guess there’s a reason why the phrase is considered a curse rather than a blessing.

Turmoil has been a key characteristic of life in Greece for at least a year now. Crippling austerity is being imposed on the majority of simple hard-working, working and middle class people, who are understandably peeved when they see the country’s fat cats continuing to enjoy most of the privileges that have contributed to the dire state of the national economy. The overpowering mood of the country is one of frustration, disillusionment and powerlessness in the face of the overwhelming odds that are casting a huge black cloud over everything.

So, you might think that some would welcome Prime Minister George Papandreou's announcement of a referendum to ask the Greek people to vote on whether they want the austerity measures.

The same austerity measures that have been announced as non-negotiable and have already started to be implemented over the past months.

The measures that have cut salaries, raised taxes and put a stranglehold on the country’s commercial life.

If we were going to have a referendum, wouldn’t it have been a good idea to do so BEFORE the measures we’re to be asked about started raining down on the heads of common people? Or before extra funds were devoted to printing and sending out of demands for extra taxes to households around the country? Or before assuring our creditors that Greece is committed to the changes they demand to secure a bail-out?

If Angela Merkel and Nicola Sarkozy were gob-smacked by the Monday evening's bombshell, you should see how it hit us. The first reaction was disbelief and “What the ...?”.

Then, we started to think through the likely consequences of the shock announcement and we were left angry, bemused and utterly at a loss at what could possibly be gained from such action at this late stage in the game.

Personally, I wonder if the PM simply had a brain fart.

I’m no political Svengali but from where I’m sitting the PM's apparent attempt to throw responsibility for the fate of the country to its people – basically telling them “give me the mandate or on your own heads be it” – looks like political suicide.

Actually, it looks like a political suicide bombing - as it’s certainly set to take a lot of folk with him.

Maybe it’s all part of a complex conspiracy to destroy the Euro Zone or establish a New World Order? Who knows?

I do know is that these are the kind of interesting times I could do without.

I also know that I am powerless to do anything about it.

All I can do is hang on and grit my teeth, along with everyone else, as history takes us on a crazy ride with an unknown destination. And as the autumn evenings close in on us, I’ll be curling up on my sofa (as long as it’s still mine), wrapped in an old blanket, sipping my tea and thinking about what soup I can make from the dregs at the bottom of my fridge.

Some don’t have it so good.

Silent Sunday: ManChild and The Love Spud

The word-nerd's hit list

As I've said before, I'm a sucker for words.

Put in the right order, that can move mountains, melt the stoniest of hearts and even change the world. But that doesn't mean they can't be abused - and sad to tell, they often are.

My pet hates are the latest buzz words used by all and sundry, without caring if they're understood - even by the word criminal using them.

Some are old chestnuts, some of new offenders that taunt me through the airwaves (yes, even Auntie Beeb!). But every time I hear or read them they have my Inner Word-Nerd gnashing her teeth, spewing malodourous smoke out her ears and scrabbling around to find an Editor's extra sharp scalpel to cut them out of existence.

So here, for your delight and delectation, I present you (not in order of preference) with the Top Ten in my hit list:

Segway (verb):

These days a frequent visitor to places that really should know better (like Radio 4 recording studios), this isn't a word at all. It's a brand-name. And while the Marketing bods at the company that makes those peculiar-looking, eco-friendly contraptions for those too lazy to walk are probably thrilled about its use as a verb (to make a transition, change tack or direction), it's WRONG!. The correct word (which no-one but students of musicology knows, uses or understands) is segue, and it's not pronounced Segway.

Ring-fence (verb):

Another noun that's morphed into a verb, much abused and over-used recent times, largely by economist types on the news in these financially-frightened times. I understand what it means, but every time I think of it, a mental picture of a black and white Border Collie herding a pack of angst-ridden sheep into a pen leaps to mind.

-self (as suffix to personal pronouns):

Why does everyone on the box insist of adding this seemingly harmless ending bastardise the perfectly good you, me (OK, my), she, her, it, etc? You know the sort of thing: "There are several options open for yourself" or "They suggested they give myself a Ronseal spray tan". 90% of the time, it adds nothing. 100% of the time, when misused, it makes you sound like an idiot. Making words longer does not make you sound more educated, sunshine.

invaluable (adjective):

This is NOT the same as "valuable", any more than "infamous" is the same as "famous". It either means something is without or beyond value. Just sticking 'in' in front of an adjective either changes its meaning - or declares the user as a self-made moron.

24/7:

Enough already! We get it! You mean 'all the time', 'constantly', 'day and night', 'round the clock'. For a start, you can bet your bottom dollar that the person using this would not be too thrilled to live up to his or her 'open all hours' blag if you call him at 5am on a Sunday morning. And secondly - Hello! The 80s are over, deary. Gordon Ghecko went to jail and is now a sad old man quaking behind his trust fund. All that Yuppie jargon is now just seriously uncool.

Outside the box:

The cliche is so overused that it's not only back in the box, it superglued to the bottom and has a five-inch nail driven through it to the ground beneath.

genuinely (usually at the start of a sentence spoken in an earnest Neil the Hippy whine):

This is just superfluous. It is not an alternative to "really". And if you use it for half your sentences, should we be suspicious of the other half as likely lies? If you're genuinely genuine, you genuinely don't need to say so!

sans- (poncey alternative to "without'):

OK, so you did French at school (who didn't?), but really is this necessary? It sounds like a straight steal from "Pseuds' Corner" in Private Eye a couple of decades ago, but these days it's everywhere. You can't move for people - usually women, it saddens me to say - who talk about being "sans make-up", "sans sunscreen", "sans shades" or what-not. Really, saying you're "sans knickers" doesn't make you sound classy and vaguely Gallic, though it might just announce that you're "sans a clue".

Let's say (presumably used just to boost word count):

Another pointless addition. I tell you what, instead of saying "Let's say" every other sentence, let's NOT say and just get on with it and say what you're saying. OK?

I'm not racist/sexist/bigoted, but...:

You know that whenever someone starts a sentence this way, they're going to follow it up with something so outrageously offensive that you have to strap your hand to the doorknob to stop it forming a first and thumping them in the mouth. If you're a bigot, please don't try and persuade me you're not immediately before proving you are. Honestly, I WILL work it out for myself.

There are more. I could go on and on (really, I could). But then you'd have to shoot me.

So, over to you.

What linguistic gems and abuse of English make YOUR teeth itch and braincells rage?

Silent Sunday (slurp!)

Dear So and So – The body and soul edition

Dear hormones,

We need to have a good old sit-down and have the dreaded ‘Where are we going?’ talk. You’ve been toying with me for long enough. A girl wants to know where she stands, you know.

It’s the uncertainty I can’t stand. And boy, are you sending me mixed messages!

Earlier this year, you stubbornly refused to make an appearance a couple of months, and then just turned up unannounced whenever the mood took you until you got the subtle message from my snarly looks and barking retorts and settled back into our good old routine.

One minute, I’m breaking out in zits that would make a teen testosterone machine flinch and the next I’m slapping enough salves, soothes and ointments to sink an oil slick onto a mysterious patch of reptilian skin that appeared on my jaw line.

And enough already with the Winnie the Pooh mood swings! While I love bouncy, manic Tigger and the melancholy philosophy of Eeyore in equal measure, I’d quite like to have a few days where I get to be level-headed Kanga, sensible Christopher Robin, or even eternally optimistic Winnie (though we can give needy Piglet a miss, if that’s OK with you).

I’m sick of being reduced to a soggy blubbering pile of tears… by a cereal ad.

I get the message. A change is coming. I’ll be 47 in a couple of months. But we’ve been fine as we are, haven’t we? Quite frankly, I don’t have time for an upheaval right now, so if you don’t mind, can we just carry on as we were for a little while yet?

Go on. I’ll make it worth your while.

With love - or hate - or utter confusion,
Crazy-faced and sweat-bound of Athens.

Dear Boobs,

I love you guys. You are consistently ‘Best in Class’ in my bod.

OK, so you’ve grown (who hasn’t?), and maybe you’re not quite a firm and perky as you used to be, but you’re still luscious and reliable (and believe me, that’s a rare trick to pull off!).

I feel I need to reward you somehow, just to show you how much I appreciate you. But sadly now is not a time for satin and lace, so let’s just hang on in with the clean cotton old faithful undies for now, OK?

In appreciation,
Your loving owner.



Dear legs,

What is it with you and me? I know you’re strong, I know you’re dependable, but would it hurt you to make a little effort to look nice now and then?

Yours, in eager anticipation of smooth, toned calves,
Madame Thunder Thighs.



Dear brain,

You’re too hard on yourself, you know. I know you think you’re the one thing that keeps this whole shebang going (well, yes, actually you are) but that doesn’t mean you can’t take a wee break now and then.

It might even do you some good to switch off completely now and then – like when I'm desperately trying to get some shut-eye instead of staring into the darkness at 4am, or when we’re watching a Jennifer Aniston movie.

Really, your participation is not essential at times. Even Olympic athletes need a break now and then (and you’re no Math-lete, sunshine!).

Yawningly yours,
Sleepless.

Dear psyche,

Now and again you just have to take the advice of some tried and tested comedy catch-phrases.

“Don’t panic!” would be a good one right now.

The end of the world is not nigh, yet. And there’s still stuff to be enjoyed and appreciated before you have to say “So long and thanks for all the fish”.

Oh, and something else…
….don't forget to breathe!

Desperately seeking serenity,
A very non-Ohm 40-something.

Dear Blogosphere,

You guys are awesome!

Whenever I start heading for meltdown, you’re there to listen to my silent screaming over the ether and to reach out with words of encouragement and optimism. I can almost feel the positive vibes flowing out of my laptop whenever I commit some of my angst to my blog.

This week, you came up trumps again. I had a moment where I flipped out, fearing the worst before it arrives at our doorstep. And yet, there you were, waiting to give me cyber cuddles and pats on the shoulder, boost my sagging ego and restore my default Pollyanna mode (without the annoying pigtails).

I've never met most of you, and probably never will, but I just want to reach my arms into the Internet and give you all a big, fat, grateful hug.

Thanks a zillion,
Me.