I Like The Way You Move

“I like the way you move” ~ Bodyrockers

Or, as defined by my dictionary

Move (vb): to go from one place to another, to be in motion

 

I like the way I move. More specifically, I like the way I walk.

Being the sot of person who would almost rather vote UKIP than admit I like something about myself, saying that is rather a big deal. (I will never vote UKIP).

For the longest time how I walk is something I genuinely and unequivocally have liked about myself. And yes,  I am very aware of what a privilege it  is. Being raised in a Roman Catholic household I have assisted people less able-bodied than myself on more than one pilgrimage to Lourdes. My own mother is now so afflicted by Multiple Sclerosis that she is chair and bed-bound. My last memory of walking with her unaided is over 30 years old. For these reasons and others, I do not take the freedom my walk gives me lightly. It’s a blessing and, yes, a privilege.

Other people have liked my walk, some people have found it attractive, more than one has found it annoying. Be that as it may, my like for my walk has not wavered.

I don’t like my walk merely for the attention it garners me, though sometimes the attention is nice. I like that I can physically do it. I can hold my head high, I can power my limbs and I’m off. To wherever the road may take me.

I have walked down catwalks, I have walked out on to stages. I have walked in to difficult hospital appointments and I have walked out of bad situations.

Bad situations themselves helped shaped my walk. Growing up, I went to the wrong school for my village. I wore different clothes. I was weird. I was a geek. And, in a tale as old as time itself, I was bullied. The usual mocking comments at break, the insults shouted at me across the street. “Stick and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me.” Yeah, right. I developed a confident pose to look like those taunts didn’t bother me even as I was sobbing inside. Eighteen months ago I received some feedback in a training session that made me never want to move again. A year ago, I caught sight of someone I thought of as a friend mocking how I moved and others laughing. It hurt. It still hurts.

This walk of mine, this way I move, it’s one of the only things I’ve got. I refer you back to the start there; it’s one of the only things I’ve got that I like. Dislike it, dislike me, by all means, that’s your right. But just know that when you criticise or mock that particular part of me, you cut me right to my core.

What’s interesting is that for several months I lost that core. I had an operation on my foot last year and consequently I was not walking. My recovery has been slow for reasons unknown and even though I should now be fully recovered I’m not. My central defining part of me is missing and I want it back.

It’s eating away at me. I burn to walk, to throw myself into a journey, an adventure; to feel fully physically me once more. It’s my thinking time, my exercise, my announcement to the world that I’m here.

In the meantime, I will go slowly through the world. I’ll try to find other things to like about myself. And I’ll continue to not vote UKIP.

 

Princess

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People

“All the people. So many people.” ~ Blur

Or, as defined by my dictionary

People (n): persons collectively or in general

 

Everyone reading this will have made a mistake. Everyone reading this will have done something wrong. Chances are, pretty much everyone reading this will have broken the law. I do not cast aspersions but, up until February 2013 it was against the law for women in Paris to wear trousers. A later applied caveat stated it was allowed “if the woman is holding a bicycle handlebar or the reins of a horse”. So, you see, it is pretty easy to break the law without even knowing about it.

My point being that we are human. And born to make mistakes, as another lyric goes. And that we all do it.

Equally, everyone reading this will have made another person smile. Everyone reading this will have achieved something. Because, again, we are human and that is what we do. Every single day.

Why then, why, oh why, are we so incredibly awful to each other? Why do we say such vile things to and about each other? Today I limit myself to talk of words not actions, for current news-related reasons, but it’s likely that most reading this will also argue against “sticks and stones will break my bones but words will never hurt me”. Because words hurt. They hurt so much it’s untrue.

We aren’t ever going to agree on everything. And the world would be worst if we did. Having different views, opinions, wants, needs, aspirations; these are all things that enrich our society. So why do so many disagreements end up coached in terms of abuse and insults? If you have an opinion but you believe others disagree, is it right to talk about them openly in insulting terms rather than engaging with?

Some people do jobs that are unpopular within society. If a traffic warden tickets your car, if a police officer clocks you speeding; these things are their job. Is it right to berate and abuse them? Their job does not define them as a person. And a person they are, under that uniform, same as you and I.

I could go on. I could cite numerous examples. It would just create a longer blog post leading to the same conclusion. We are all people. If you wouldn’t want to hear it, if you wouldn’t want it said to or about your mother, if it would make you want to rip the throat out of anyone who said it about your friend; then is it ever ok to say it?

From the Bard: “If you prick us, do we not bleed?” Yes, we do. Every single one of us.

Think about it.

 

Princess