Failure is Good

In Flow with Otto

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Failure is inevitably linked with art – and life for that matter. Well, it’s also linked to success if you think about it. To put it a little harshly; if we don’t experience failures it’s because we don’t live – or we don’t create, when talking about arts. And if we don’t dare to make failure we will never succeed, either.

Life and art is about jumping from an airplane without knowing how a parachute really works, but hoping it will. It’s about taking chances, knowing that often they won’t lead to anything – or at «worst» to failure. I use brackets because failures aren’t necessarily bad. On the contrary; you can use them as stepping stones to learn more, to become better next time, to evolve, to grow. In my post Weakness as Potential Strength I wrote: By figuring out where our weaknesses lie, we can take steps to…

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We’re not perfect

We love our life together, me and Brad, but we are not perfect. Perfection seems to be something we all aspire to. Well, most people do anyway. Most want the perfect job, the perfect house, the perfect family. But how many people actually have that? Do you really want perfection? I know I don’t. Never had it, and never want it. How boring would life be, if it was perfect?

Brad and I have never worked on perfection; however we have always worked on happiness. Mutual understanding, mutual love, and mutual friendship. They are our priorities. Not perfection. We like each other. We don’t just love each other, we actually like each other. We like spending time together. Important, considering we live in a caravan and spend all our time together! We laugh. We listen. We love. We like. We enjoy. We are happy. We don’t have a lot of money. We don’t have kids. We don’t have a home. But we are happy. We are living life on our terms. And we love it.

How do we do it? How do we stay happy? We work at it. We respect each other. We talk openly. We don’t hide things from each other. We have no secrets. We don’t argue. We don’t yell. We don’t give each other the silent treatment. We don’t go to sleep angry. We have finance meetings. We decide everything as a couple. We’re a team. We’re on our side.

We’re not perfect. But by fuck we’re happy!

The H-Word

I hate my life.

I hate green vegetables.

I hate waiting in line.

I hate everything.

I hate you.

How often do hear these words? How often do people use the H-word? I hear a list of hates every time I speak with people; in fact I mentally add them up in my head during a conversation.

I hate hate. I really do.

So I made a decision to remove this word from my vocabulary. Sometimes I dislike the way people drive. Sometimes I disagree with other people’s opinions. I do not like my sister-in-law (actually I can’t stand her, but that’s another story).

But I do not hate. I refuse to hate. My life is so much nicer without the H-word.

Caravan Parks – The Art of Reversing

(The love of my life and I are permanent travellers and this is my observation of caravan parks.)

Caravan Parks are terrific for watching people try to reverse their rigs.

Reversing a caravan is tricky business. The Caravanning Corps knows this. There is tremendous pressure on getting it right on the first attempt. Many can’t cope, and some don’t even bother. It’s a drive-through site or nothing, for the non-reversers.

4pm is the worst time of day to arrive. Happy Hour is well underway in caravan parks and campgrounds around the globe. Often entertainment is required, to go with the copious amounts of alcohol being consumed. An arrival of a newcomer is just the ticket.

Every right-minded caravanner is sitting on cheap fold-up chairs outside their vans, and are getting stuck into the cask wine and home-brand crackers. A caravan rolls in.

The meerkat heads go up. All eyes are on the newcomers. They find their allocated spot. Both get out of the vehicle to do a cursory check of the site. A discussion between the husband and wife occurs over the best way to reverse into the spot. A bit of friendly banter from other caravanners takes place. “Don’t stuff it up” they say. No pressure.

The husband walks back to the vehicle like a condemned man on death row. The wife waits on the caravan site, sweat pouring down her brow. Please don’t fuck this up, she thinks to herself. He starts backing. She is guiding him, yelling instructions. He hits the curb. Damn. Goes forward. Lines it up a bit better this time. Reverses into the spot like a pro. The wife is thanking the good lord above; he got the van in.

Out he gets, chest puffed out like he’s just won an Olympic medal. Struts his stuff and heads over to the nearest group of blokes to wax lyrical about reversing. He’s been forgiven for hitting the curb. You are allowed 2 hits of the curb before you lose your Caravanning Corps Ticket. He’s safe.

The meerkats go back to drinking. Until another van rolls in…..