Talent and tragedy: On the death of Amy Winehouse

Amy Winehouse. Very sad, but a gnawing sense of inevitability about this. I hope we respect the memory of her talent, but we don’t enshrine her demise in romantic notions that such talent is necessarily doomed, because this is a dangerous illusion. There’s plenty of great talent out there that persists and survives, but I fear that in her passing she will become an icon for the wrong rather than the right reasons, and the walls of her house will become a mawkish and macabre shrine, like Jim Morrison’s grave in Cimetière Père-Lachaise.

I have to say, it makes me think about the many many more anonymous troubled people and their families who live with their loved ones’ addictions, or other troubles, and are desperate and often powerless to help them. This kind of tragedy happens all over the place, probably on a daily basis, and because they aren’t in the public eye, it goes ignored and untreated, if that's the right word. Plus, without Amy’s fame and the money that accompany it, these unfortunate people often don’t have the access to help and the resources to support their loved ones in the fight against their demons.

Harsh though it may sound, Amy had options as well as a family desperate to help, but over and again, she said “No, No, No.” Others don’t. This is just as tragic. Perhaps even more so.

Fuck the loss of a talent. It’s the loss of a human life that’s so dreadful . . . a daughter, a sister, a friend to some. Talent comes and goes. Others come in its place. Fact. What can’t be replaced is what this young woman, and everyone like her, brings to those who love and care for her, who are now also victims of her addictions and demons, albeit tangentially.

To Amy’s Mum, Janis, her Dad, Mitch, and the rest of her family, I hope the world remembers and respects your grief, and the fact that Amy will always be more to you than a great voice, some good entertainment, and a poster on a fan’s wall. I, and a world full of fans, wish you long life, and the fortitude to heal from, if not forget, this deeply sad end to an incandescent life.

In praise of stoicism

It's been a long day. Busy at work, but topped and tailed with something else tough but necessary, which once again centres on my dog Oliver. And once again, it's Oliver who inspires some thoughts.

Ollie has had an operation today, to fix a hernia. I guess this type of thing should be expected. After all, he’s not a young dog any more and little physical glitches are bound to begin to occur at his age. Still, it’s not easy to leave someone of whom you’re very fond in the hands of an almost total stranger, knowing that they will experience some pain afterwards, even if the net result is beneficial.

He looked a little bewildered as I handed him over to the vet this morning. He has deep big bulgy brown eyes, and there was a sense of uncertainty and fear in them as I said goodbye. That said, to be honest, I don’t know who felt worse. I didn’t want to leave him behind at all, but needs must. Sometimes you have to bite the bullet and do the tough thing for the greater good. There’s lesson one. To save my own feelings, I could have turned around with Ollie and walked away, avoiding the surgery, yes, but prolonging his discomfort. So, for the both of us, it was time to “man up” and deal with the situation.

It wasn’t easy to concentrate all day. In the back of my mind were concerns that there would be complications, or just that Ollie would be very distressed. The worst of it is that the situation is totally out of your hands. In fact, loathed as I am to admit it, work saved my (kosher) bacon today, because otherwise it would have been an interminable wait. Just dead time.

In April I experienced a similar feeling, though even worse. I flew back to London from Tel Aviv in an emergency, as Dad needed a procedure on his heart. It was supposed to be routine, but nonetheless, I wanted to be there for him and for Mum. On the day I landed, a Thursday I think, we took him to hospital, where it transpired that he needed a much bigger operation, a triple heart by-pass.

None of us were prepared for this news, and we dealt with it as best we could, but weirdly, the worst thing wasn’t the prospect of the operation itself, but the necessary wait for things to happen. The hospital couldn’t get a slot in the operating theatre for Dad until Monday, but they wanted him to stay in for observation until then.

So all the three of us could do was wait, and distract ourselves from our thoughts and our fears as best we could. Not so bad for Mum and I. We could try and busy ourselves with errands, taking phone calls from concerned friends and relatives, and returning calls to those we had missed. But poor Dad was just sat there in a hospital bed with the TV and his newspaper, waiting for hour upon hour to roll by until it was time for his operation.

Dad was bound to be scared. It’s a big operation, and as it drew nearer, his apprehension grew. He was entitled to this, and to focus on himself and his concerns. In this respect, Mum and I had the harder job. We are both emotional people. When we’re feeling happy, or silly, you know it. When we’re feeling loving, it’s unignorable. Some would say it’s overwhelming the way we pour it on. And when we scared and anxious, stressed, uncertain and angry, it’s nigh on impossible for us to dampen down the fires of doubt and fear and vexation. Normally, we try, but it seeps from every pore. We seethe.

But for Dad, we couldn’t. We had to hold it together. We had to keep each other from melting down, from raising Dad’s concern about us, when he had enough to deal with. And I’m proud to say, we managed it. We sucked it up. We fought our fear and we said “No” to it. For once, we were stoic, because that was the only way to be.

And so it was today, too. Not just for me, but for Ollie as well. Hospital treatment for human or beast is never nice, and is tough as well for those who care about the patient, but we all know that it’s the right thing to do.  And now, as I write, Ollie is back home, snoozing on his cushion, with his rear flank roughly shaven and a nasty looking wound swollen, with fresh stitches looking raw and angry.  It’s alarming to look at, and he can’t be entirely comfortable right now, but he’s dealing with it, manfully. He’s quiet and stoic. It is literally awesome.

And therein lies the second lesson: that stoicism is admirable. It is a quiet, disciplined virtue. It does not demand attention. In fact it exists to avoid attention. It is not flashy, or beautiful or brash or loud. It can’t be enjoyed or perhaps even appreciated very well by others. It is a different kind of virtue. In a modern world that seems to value so much qualities that are most  obvious, visible and audible, those that are quiet, are patient, are modest and unassuming can be neglected, or worse, denigrated.  However here, now, in my little home, I watch my friend Ollie who has had a very difficult day, and I remember how I felt seeing my Dad, post-op, after the most terrifying day of his life, with tubes in him, still managing a cheeky slurred remark to the nurses, in spite of his pain and discomfort – a true stoic.

And Dad was rewarded. He is recovering well. He is back to the normal routine, albeit with increased exercise and improved eating habits ! So I have faith it will be the same with Ollie.

This ability to tough it out is in all of us. We are made of sterner stuff than we sometimes give ourselves credit for. This stuff hides away but makes itself known only at important times. It is real virtue, dear readers. It is truly admirable. So, stoicism, whether you like it or not, I am turning the spotlight on you briefly for the world to see and admire. Stoicism, I salute you.

Love and respect.

Soul Food

Hello everyone. Welcome.

So here goes. Something I vowed I wouldn’t get involved in, a blog, owing to the fact that I spend too much time hunched in front of a computer already.

However, something has sparked my imagination, and an urge to muse, so indulge me and hopefully you will enjoy what you read.

I have no idea right now whether this will continue, and what form any further entries will take. If it continues, it will be a journey with no map, and no fixed destination. I anticipate that it will meander through curious and perhaps random points that hold my attention, like unexpected rest-stops on a stately road trip, and perhaps, along the way, I will meet and interact with others, friends and strangers alike, leaving them with a little piece of my wisdom or nonsense depending on my mood, and in turn I’ll hope to be entertained and charmed by them. So feel free to hop on board this bus, and hopefully you’ll enjoy this journey with me.

Just this evening, I read something really quite light and amusing that nevertheless sent me on a train of thought that seemed worth following, and which ended in quite a profound place. I’d like to share it with you.

My friend Daniela posted a link to an article about the phenomenon of nonnutritive animal intoxication. In simple terms, a neuroscientist has recently published a book in which he claims that intoxication with psychoactive drugs is not an exclusively human proclivity. Animals in the wild will also voluntarily and repeatedly consume psychoactive plants and fungi.

“Extraordinary,” I thought, and I felt compelled to respond to her that when we look at animals we hold a mirror up to ourselves. Certainly, any sustained viewing of natural history programmes on National Geographic attests to this, because we learn that the animal kingdom is so wonderfully complex. Even rudimentary creatures perform more than just rudimentary tasks and actions. They have codes of behaviour, in some cases rituals, and in many cases hierarchies. So in some respects, to learn that some animals, like humans, don’t simply ingest materials for sustenance, should perhaps not be such a surprise.

Nevertheless, the fascinating thing about this theory for me is that it brings the animal and human experiences closer than we might otherwise choose to believe. Whilst, as Alfred Lord Tennyson wrote, nature is “red in tooth and claw,” some animals’ choices are not simply made in order to stay alive. The fact that Siberian reindeer consume the same hallucinogenic mushroom as their herders, with similar intoxicating effects, suggests that they do certain things, like us, for enjoyment, for something more, something higher than just basic functions.

If this is indeed the case, can we not therefore extrapolate that, like us, some animals have a need for something other than just food and shelter and security? If so, could we not surmise that these needs are not spurious, trivial or foolish, but are in fact important and perhaps necessary?

And so my thoughts turned to my dear old dog Oliver, curled up on his cushion, snoozing contentedly in front of the TV, having enjoyed his dinner, because I began to feel that Oliver’s story illustrates this in a different and more profound way. Furthermore, it provides a lesson to us humans, which in the hurly-burly of our daily lives, can sometimes be easy to overlook.

At this point I must digress and tell Ollie’s story.

Whilst walking her dog Ruby in our neighbouring park, Daniela found Ollie abandoned, with no identification and in a bad way. He was skinny, filthy and shivering, with an open sore on his back just above his tail, and a haunted, needy look in his eyes, born of neglect.

Daniela has a very compassionate heart, and when it comes to animals, her compassion knows no bounds. It can even sometimes be difficult to watch her concern for a dog or cat who has lost its owner, knowing that there is little she can do in some cases. So, in meeting Daniela, Ollie got lucky. She saved his life. She took him home with Ruby, cleaned him, fed him and nursed him back to health and happiness, and after just over a year, when she felt it was time to find him a permanent new home, I had grown to love the old boy (he’s ten), and agreed that he should come and live with me.

Consequently, after a hard day’s work, when I need some quiet time, I often find myself watching Ollie intently as he snoozes or nudges me for some strokes and attention, and I can’t help but conclude that this sweet, affectionate mutt isn’t so far removed from me in terms of his hierarchy of needs. That’s where the parallel kicks in with the article I read.

Ollie is a proper bloke. He likes his home comforts, he likes his routine and he loves his food (I’ve never seen anyone, human or beast, gobble up tasty morsels as fast as he does, and I’m a quick eater). He likes to laze around and chill out, and he’s as happy as a sandboy, whatever a sandboy is, that he has a friend to spend his time with and somewhere cozy to rest his head.

Most of these are the elemental functions I mentioned earlier: food, shelter and security. No surprises there. However, the more I look at him and the more I interact with him, the more I understand that, just like those reindeer, and just like us, he has other, more intangible needs that must be satisfied.

No longer does he have the haunted look. His previously cloudy eyes are now bright. He is happy and friendly and his tail wags at a rate that’s almost alarming. Is his happiness just down to the fact that he’s now fed, watered, physically healthy and comfortable, I ask myself.

My conclusion is “No”. Oliver’s happiness is deeper and more extensive than this. He is happy because having lived with Daniela and Ruby and now with me, he has companionship. More than that, he is loved and cared for, and I am sure that he knows it. His happiness has blossomed and his confidence has grown since we have each looked after him. Why? Because he needs it. Because the companionship, care, affection and love that each of us lavish upon him is not just a nice “extra” to the elementals, but is equally as important to him. He is reassured and nourished by them. When he was found, he was almost starving, not just literally, but, as a victim of neglect, in these terms as well.

And here’s the profound bit. So it is with us too. I look at Ollie and reflect that both of us can subsist with the basics, but our lives are so much richer, fuller, more colourful, and simply better, with companionship, affection and love. Neither of us is unique in that way. In fact I’d say we’re pretty typical of each of our species, because these things elevate our lives to something more than mere subsistence. They nourish us, help us grow and improve. They give our lives meaning and make our lives worth living. Surely then this is just a significant and important a need, not only for us humans but for our animal friends as well?

So in closing, I just want to remind you not to forget this. It’s too easy to do. We lead busy lives. We have pressures upon us. Daily obstacles and challenges can anger, disappoint and even hurt us. We rush and push past strangers almost as if they aren’t there and sometimes we take our friends for granted.

Here is the lesson: take a beat. Look around you. Think of those you care about. Nourish them with your consideration, your companionship, your empathy, your respect and your love and they will reciprocate, because these things are food for the soul. There are many exceptional individuals who see this in a “big-picture” way, campaigning for the disenfranchised and neglected of this world on a grand scale. I must confess, I don’t think that big. My charity begins at home, with my friends and my family. Is it any less valuable on this smaller scale? I don’t think so. I have moved from London to Tel Aviv, leaving all my old support structures behind.  The friends that I have made here get me through, and I passionately value and cherish them. I want to help them, support them, listen to them, entertain them and be entertained by them. I want to celebrate and commiserate with them. I want them to know that I can feed their souls with compassion, understanding, love and respect. And yes, in return I want and need the same from them, to feed my soul too.

So here’s a thought. During your busy days, stop and think about the people you care about. Give them a call every so often, even if it’s about nothing in particular, or throw your arms round their shoulders and give them a hug. I appreciate I’m in danger of sounding hippy-dippy. That’s not my intention. I’m realistic enough to know that we can’t do this for everyone, but for we can for those we really value. Sometimes the most affecting, beautiful things are the simplest. So go ahead, simply reach out and let them know you’re there, that you care. In the words of E.M.Forster, "Only connect." If you subscribe to what the neuroscientist said, or if you consider Ollie, we can’t say this is what separates us from the animals, but what we can say is that it enriches us and makes our lives even more wonderful.

There. I warned you I would meander, but I hope I’ve given you a morsel of food for thought, and food for the soul.

Love and respect.