My Life-Changing Lesson of 2017

Hot on the heels of the Year From Hell in 2016, I now look back on what was 2017 with one lesson to share.  

It is the single, biggest, most powerful and life changing lesson I could share with you.

This lesson came to me as, this year, I wrestled some more with depression and dark thoughts, cogitating more deeply upon the fall out of everything breast cancer.   (Did you know that, in any given year, according to BeyondBlue, around one million Australians have depression and around 2 million have anxiety?) 

Perhaps the outlines of it came as I canoed around Antarctica and trudged through Argentina and Uruguay, communing with nature as I dared to go where no lone, breast-less 53 year old has dared to tread before.  

It may have gained further structure as I toured through Botswana, Namibia and Cape Town in Africa, thus managing to strike off the seven continents on my bucket list.

Some of it may have been annealed as  I pursued my mission - through various forms of social media - to destigmatise the truly glorious state of being that is not simply daring to fly solo - but embracing it heart and soul.  (What fun!)

It may have densified as I dallied with bird photography, song writing and producing, hoop dancing, life drawing, and more forays into stand-up comedy (and, yes, I am actually funny).

It may have truly solidified as I dealt with feelings, such as loneliness, after officially 'empty nesting' - setting up my second son, Ben, in his own digs. 

As the year progressed it became more and more clear.

And here it is.

EVERYTHING THAT IS MEANT TO HAPPEN.... HAPPENS.

I don't mean this in the sense that 'things happen for a reason'.  No.  I simply put it to you that everything that happens to us, from the most mundane and trivial to the significant and life changing, is inevitable.  

As a (these days) deeply fatalistic person, I have come to  believe that for each of us, our stories are written in the stars the day we are conceived.

As that sperm hastens toward the egg, it trails behind it a narrative - our story - over which we have no control.  That narrative is comprised not just of DNA, but of the residue of our ancestors who pass on the leftovers of all the good and evil they have wrought in their combined lifetimes.  After all, do not the prophets across all religions claim that 'the sins of our fathers are visited upon their sons'?    

That's why I really believe that  at the glorious moment of fertilisation, there is the transfer not just of sperm to egg, but a fate comprised of the millions of thoughts, experiences, actions, interactions and so on that is our destiny.

And we are unerringly moved forward toward it... The egg, down the fallopian tube, into the womb, and after gestation, as babes out into the world.

We are wrenched thus from our mothers, the umbilical cord detached and then .... and then....

Cut loose, set forth upon uncertain tides, a rush of water, a pull and suck, pooling here, gushing there, a hurly burly of times, good and bad.

To fight appears fruitless.  You can only tread water, swim or float.

My preferred approach is to 'go with the flow' or, as Buddha might have put it, to practice the wonderful thing that is acceptance, trusting - that good, bad or ugly - all I experience is part of a plan - the plan that forces I will never understand created for me, perhaps aeons ago.

I am not going to lie to you and tell you that plan is necessarily a good one or even a vaguely pleasant one.  

Which is why acceptance is the key.

By accepting that any action, reaction and  interaction in your day - positive or negtaive - was simply meant to happen, what you end up with is a deep sense of meaning (being a derivative of the word 'meant').

This is what I now call the sweet mystery of life and, as part of this lesson, I ask you only to trust that your life is unfolding as it was written - everything that happens and what you do as a result is meant.

It all then comes down to the art of not just accepting but owning your story - every glorious, horrible, uplifting, depressing, shining, shattering, glorious, pathetic, brilliant, banal, incredible, forgettable, exciting and dull  minute of it.

And in the process of accepting that your story, however dire, is your story,  I believe, like me, you will gain strength and pride in realising that you are the hero or heroine of it.  Imagine that!  You are a star!

And best of all, none of us knows what the end of that story might involve - it's rivetting!

The sense of excitement as you turn the next page and the next discovery, I think, is really what keeps us moving forward (as fate intends all of us to).

Perhaps this really is the essence.... of Hope.

And on that note, here is my wish that your life next year is a page turner of the best kind - the one where in the end, perhaps good triumphs over evil, the hero achieves redemption or everyone really does live happily ever after!

Stressed is Not Best

What is the cause of breast cancer? 

It's one of those questions that I find most people ask. But the reality is, causality is very, very rarely linear when we talk about cancer.

Smoking, obesity, alcohol and lack of exercise are often paraded as causes. But they're just cookie cutter bad guys which have to be demonised for the general good.

A fat, lazy drunk sucking on a durry is doomed to die of every disease known to modern man.

Then there are genes. But did you know breast cancer is in fact way down the table when it comes to what's called 'heritability'? It's a lot less likely to be an inherited disease compared to, for example, psychiatric disorders and diabetes.  Check this out:

  

And of course, being humans, you have to also accept that however close a cause and effect, there are no guarantees either way. Plenty of smokers don't get cancer; non-drinkers can die of liver cancer too.

I do have one theory on the cause - or should that be a cause of breast cancer.

Keeping in mind that I am a charlatan behind a keyboard, my theory is that the root cause of most diseases is actually STRESS.

Where cancer is concerned, I believe there are some scientists who suggest that we all carry a few dodgy cells.  Come on -  with over 37 trillion of the suckers, you surely can't believe that every single one of them is a good guy?

I therefore personally believe - based on no medical evidence whatsoever - that stress is the trigger that sends cells amok, leading to the duplication that means cancer.

Alcohol is also considered a culprit right? Well, why do people drink? They've had a hard day at work; they were stuck in traffic for an hour; they're really wound up....Stress!

Obesity is a culprit? Why do people overeat? They feel judged; they feel unloved; their mum told them they were useless. ... Stress!

Women having babies later in life and women approaching menopause are supposed to be at higher risk, right? Well, what is the by-product of all the seismic hormonal changes impacting your body chemistry? Stress!

Add in the raft of modern day stresses imposed by the hectic, competitive, confused, challenging, conflicted world of modern women wanting to do and be it all and somewhere in there is some of the answer.

Remember, stress isn't just physical.  It can be psychological, emotional, financial, social or spiritual.  These days we might even add a new kind of stress:  Identity Stress.  We all seem to be struggling more and more to describe who we are and what we stand for.  Even political parties don't seem to know what they stand for.  Arthur is Martha.  Husbands are mothers, and mums wear the pants.  We all seem to be having a crisis of some kind:  a crisis of purpose; a crisis of direction; a crisis of epic what-the-fuck proportions.

So, it's actually the fat, lazy drunk sucking on a durry but who is in reality just STRESSED STRESSED STRESSED who is truly doomed.

Now the problem with my hypothesis is, of course, that of all the possible causes, stress is the hardest thing of all to identify.

Stress for all of us is, really, rarely intuited. It's like a fine dust that wafts in unseen and settles upon us in layers, compacting often very slowly until one day it combusts into a dust tsunami.

See that woman shouting abuse from her speeding car window? I call STRESS... and wonder what set her off. Is she running late for an appointment?  Did her teenager shout at her this morning.

See that couple who suddenly start bickering over something petty and banal? One is shouting and storms off? Things escalate and suddenly, he's packed his gear and moved out? STRESS!

Financial worries, work problems, family difficulties, screaming kids, self esteem issues, medication regimes, aches and pains, unresolved arguments, pressing concerns, minor grievances, a sleepless night, even unaddressed childhood traumas ... in they waft - silent, colourless and odourless - settling upon us, layer after layer after layer.

Until.... until....

Stress is all around us. But being woefully underequipped as humans we usually fail to take preventative steps, if at all, when it is just all too late.

The best we can do to mitigate it is to mindfully practice stress reduction knowing that even if we can't see the dust, as sure as eggs, it's there. (Why are eggs 'sure' BTW?)

Here are seven things that are easy to do:

1. Review your current priorities and ditch anything that is just not important.  Declutter your personal agenda.  
2. Whatever you are doing, remember to take a break.  Even good stuff can be overdone.  You can in fact diet and exercise your way to an eating disorder.    And here in Australia we recently lost an Iron Man who died suddenly.  A cardiologist confirms that over-exercise can lead to scarring of the arteries.  Who knew?
3. Accept that the only true thing that we can control is our own reactions and attitudes. The desire to control every outcome in our lives is the biggest cause of stress in our lives.  Try a bit of que sera sera and just go with the flow from time to time.
4. Give yourself permission to rest. Who said life had to be a competition?  And who said you had to be first or the best all of the time?  It's actually not such a bad life coming third or even last.  Did you know the leader of the wolf pack is in fact the last animal in the pack?  My sister Nicky, for example, is often arguing that it's the fat lazy slobs who actually seem to live the longest.  I am thinking she might be onto something there.
5. Remove the word 'compare' from your vocabulary.  There is nothing more stressful than comparing yourself to someone else and, of course, social media doesn't help.  Just go with my mantra;  Nothing and No-one is as they might seem.  Alll you need to be is the best version of you... for today.  That's it!
6. Accept responsibility for and own your own life - no ifs or buts. Blame of any kind only exacerbates stress.  There is nothing more freeing than being able to say:  This may be an ordinary kind of fucked-up life but hey, I created it and it's all mine!

And most importantly:

      7 Breathe - deeply and often.

What could be easier than that, eh?

We Go On

Today is an exciting day.

In what is turning out to be a productive year,  I have managed to strike two things off my very short bucket list.

One was a trip to Antarctica - a never-to-be-repeated once in a lifetime experience that will stay with me until the day I die (which hopefully isn't any time soon).

The second is this.  I wrote a song.  It's my third one actually but...   not only did I write it but I took it all the way.  I have had it produced and as you will see from the nifty little download button to the right, I am hoping all my dear readers will see their way to parting with $2.50 to download it.   (You can also download it from Spotify, iTunes and other streaming services).

All proceeds go to Mental Health Research.

Now some people who heard my own pathetic attempts to caterwaul this song were less than complimentary.  In fact, the girl I work with was positively rude.  My eldest son, Harry, seemed to think the song was miserable.

Well it's not...

And the 50 ladies from the Redlands Branch of the Cancer Council would back me up there.

Because today, I unveiled the song at a presentation I made at the Redland Bay Golf Club.  (Do you know the Redlands chapter of the Council - all those wonderful ladies who man all those roadside stalls, who so generously bake and sew and crochet - last year alone raised $92,000 and took out the top fundraising prize for the organisation?).

The event was the Club's first ever Biggest Morning Tea (capably organised by the lovely young girl who runs their functions, the bubbly Chelsea Morris).

In a nutshell, what I explained to the ladies is that - after the complete utter shit fucking bastard arsehole time I've had, I have kept going.  Despite the whole saga of cancer and a double mastectomy, I have managed to still travel widely, undertake new hobbies and interests, and notch up some achievements such as my book and the commencement of my phD (most exciting!). I listed off all the major events that I marked over the past five years too:  turning 50, my dad turning 80, my sons turning 21 and 18 respectively, one finishing Uni the other finishing school.

Since 2012 as well, I kept going... literally... living at four different addresses.  (You do realise that moving house is up there with death in terms of stress levels, I suppose?)

In the meantime of course, you will all by now be well aware of all the other woeful stuff that has beset me:  more cancer, the death of my dog, my broken wrist, two savage defamation actions, and of course... the end of my marriage.

As I said today:  At any point, I could have given up, but I have kept going.  

17 minutes later, I had my audience literally in tears as I explained the important things that I have learned from all of this:  the indomitability of the human spirit; the relentlessness of life; and the way humans are in fact engineered not for failing but rising - not for suffering but celebration - and not for falling but flying,

I have to tell you it was good stuff... even if I do say so myself.

Many ladies told me I was "inspiring" and I also received a couple of hugs from ladies with wet lashes.  The local MP the lovely Matt McEachan (who I accidentallly called Mark) told me he was so inspired by my talk he felt like reciting a poem (which he did - not only is he a politician, I discovered, but a slam poetry afficionado!).

My mission, therefore, was accomplished.  A good speech is one that arouses emotions and it seems this was achieved...

You see, I really believe it  We Go On.  Life goes on.    Often in our misery we tend to feel as if the world stops - as if life isn't worth living - yet life is inexorable.  It's everywhere.  That's my point.

So no matter how hard a time you may be having - even if you are at death's door - there is something truly enlivening and exciting about knowing that we are all part of it, this amazing and wonderful thing that is living and life.  We are all in it and part of it.

LIFE IS EVERYWHERE AND HOWEVER LONG YOU MIGHT HAVE TO EXPERIENCE IT, TO BE IN IT, TO SEIZE IT AND TO SAVOUR IT, BE ASSURED THAT EVERY SINGLE MOMENT OF IT IS INCREDIBLY POWERFUL AND SIMPLY BURSTING WITH PROMISE.  EVERY MOMENT IS RICH WITH OPPORTUNITY….I told the ladies in All Caps, because that's how I write my speech notes.

IT IS FULL OF EVERYTHING THAT IS AROUND YOU – THIS VAST HUMANITY – WITH ALL OF ITS HURT, ITS RAGE, ITS INCESSANT WANTS.. AND MOST IMPORTANTLY, ITS ENDLESS, FORGIVING LOVE.

We are all passing through it's true but in the process we all leave something behind, a piece of us that informs the whole - that whole thing that is this vast, endlessly pulsating thing that is LIFE. 

It is enough to know that our hearts have beaten -  for what big, brave hearts they are to have contributed to this huge and wondrously ever-expanding thing that is LIFE.

We. Go. On.

....

Now, if you'd like to hear the song before you choose to part with your $2.50, you can watch it here.  

With thanks to Harry's lovely friend, Trent who made my video for  me for a song (literally) :)  Also to the wonderful singer Sarah Calderwood who loaned me her fabulous tonsils (and flute-playing skills) and producer Michael Fix (who is quite famous I'll have you know).

A very special thanks too,  to my good friend and fellow breast cancer survivor Mary Holdsworth who encourages me to pursue these creative whims.   Mary is herself a wonderful country singer and has been there for me since day dot, providing her patient advice and counsel even as I sobbed my eyes out. 

Transience

Three times a week - sun or rain - I walk the three kilometres to and from the City  to attend a small but satisfying part-time job.   I am among that cohort of people who is fortunate enough to have always loved what I do for a living.

The walks back home are particularly useful for mulling over the minutiae of life, for sorting out the roil of thoughts that have pursued me as I've dealt with recent events.

On Monday this week, my walk home was particularly useful.  As I rounded the corner for the last 100 metres to my unit complex, dusk fell softly and the setting sun burnished the Brisbane River.  In the last moments of the dying day, from nowhere my thoughts suddenly settled on my father.

Now my Dad, Hals, is certainly one of the more interesting people you can meet - some would say eccentric.  And in many ways, I am very like my father.  I have has his same short temper, his same impatience with idiots, and share his interest in politics.  (Dad had two brothers who were the first foreigners to be accepted into the Komintern and who were thrown out of Ceylon - according to Dad - for subversive activities).

He is also a great storyteller (some would say, liar) and has been known to rip off someone else's yarns and pass them off as his own (the low point coming quite recently when, as Father Dear was holding forth I had to interject with mild outrage to tell him:  'No Dad, that happened to me.  That's my story'.

Like Dad, I am also prone to choosing random hobbies and past times on a whim, investing ridiculous amounts of money on equipment in a fit of enthusiasm then kind of sticking it in the garage and wondering what possessed me.

Like my Dad, too, I am prone to accidents and, certainly of late, it has been a bit of a competition as to who has had more near death experiences.  (My Dad wins: I mean, there is no way I can compete against stories of snake bites, motorcycle accidents, being run over by lorries and careening over canyons in wayward four wheel drives.)

But there are ways in which I fear I struggle to be like my Dad - especially in recent times - as I do believe he sets an example.  One is his ridiculous generosity.  My father would literally give you the shirt off his back.  He has never been particularly mercenary - although he is quite a good salesman and could sell fake sun tan to an African - and would give away all his possessions if allowed.  (My sister Nicky has taken after him in this regard).  It's really one of his lovely traits.

More importantly, I have been working in recent months to emulate my Dad in another of his traits or rather in his beliefs.

My father, you see, is a Buddhist (like many Sri Lankans) and, as he has got older, dad has really promoted his belief in disattachment.

Dad doesn't believe in holding onto anything, even life and quite frankly, his bags seem to have been packed in preparation for the Great Beyond for some time.  (Life is just a transit lounge y'all).

As a career Type 1 Diabetic, he's had a few close calls in recent years and I think we are all surprised that he's still here.  (He is down to the wire with his nine lives, I'm telling you).

But Dad's insouciance when it comes to long living is quite understandable.

My father comes from a family of short-livers (if not cirottic livers), his dad, mum, sister and two brothers all GTG (Gone to God) before their 65th birthdays.  The first to go was Aunty Mona died at 33, from memory.  Some of my cousins too, have not fared so well.  One lost her life when a land mine exploded, two years after losing her husband and two sons in the tsunami.  (Yes, this shit really does happen to real people).

It's no wonder my Dad is such a fan of Buddha.

Buddhism teaches the inevitability of suffering given the mutability of all things.   The transience of life is held as an ineluctable fact. And it is an absolute truth that the only way to deal with the inevitability of that slippage, is learning to let go (something op shop owners rely on).

In accepting that holding on is fruitless, we learn to appreciate the fragility of everything we know and have.

And from this comes a literally wonderful realisation.

Accepting the inevitability of loss teaches us that life is temporary and passing and in this we can reclaim our ability to  really appreciate this moment and all that it might.  Instead of looking ahead to what comes next ,we regain the ability to focus on what is happening right now (the state of mindfulness).

From this, most importantly we can reclaim our sense of wonder.  By appreciating what we have now, we can reposition losing and loss not as unpleasant or hurtful, but as reminders that something amazing and brilliant once existed.

Pain and suffering, while creating discomfort. also remind us of the inevitability of the transience of life and, in seizing that idea, we can look at what comes next - good or bad - with anticipation and wonder.

Certainly, in my often unpleasant trip so far, while I have been by turns enraged, perplexed, confused and disoriented, it has also been enlivening.

Because I look back and you see just how much I have overcome and how far I have travelled.  I look back ...with wonder.

And I look at what I do actually have with increased enchantment and appreciate everything that is good in my life.  I appreciate what I have right here and now... with wonder.

And I have come to understand that nothing we have can be held forever.

In ascendance, we come to realise that life really is a balance of knowing when to hold on and when to let go.

And even if you have to let go (by choice or force), you understand that what's happening is actually not loss or losing.

What is happening is the End of Suffering.

And it's wonderful.

Oh What a Feeling

Today I am pondering the importance of feelings, following a second session with my psychologist, Leona.

It seems that the process of separation and divorce has forced me to look inside and consider the whole abject business of understanding not just what I feel, or why I feel them, but why it is perfectly okay to feel as I do.

The truth is that we are all entitled to feel what we feel when and wherever we feel them.  Emotions I have learned cannot be prescribed and instead, must be allowed to present themselves and to run their course, as they must.

Who knew?

For most of us, of course, the control of feelings is all part of the arduous business of getting on in the  world.  Whether it be for the sake of social niceties or keeping the peace or managing appearances or behaving appropriately (or within the law), there are occasions throughout each and every day when we are required or choose to hide our feelings.

We go about our business with tight-faced masks, smiling when we feel like crying, pandering to whingers when we really feel like walking away from the drama, cooing niceties when what we feel like doing is screaming profanities (and you know where that fucking gets you!).

Nobody wants to know if you feel happy or sad, angry or calm, fearful or brave, comforted or uncomfortable,  supported or neglected, seen or invisible, worthy or worthless etc etc etc.

At work, if you're doing a job, nobody asks you if you're happy about it, if it makes you feel good.  Who cares?  Just bloody get on with it.

At a restaurant the waiter doesn't care if his rude service makes you angry or disappointed.  Who cares?  Pay the bloody bill and get out of here will you.  Next!

At home, the hubby or children don't want to hear that you've been feeling unworthy and unloved.  Who the fuck cares? Serve the bloody dinner and put the kids to bed will ya.  Now what's on TV.

Whatever you do, don't show emotion on the bus or the train.  Even if you'd really love to plant a wet one on ya fella's mouth while catching the 8 am to Mount Gravatt, for god's sake, get a room you two.  PDAs.  Yuck.

Let's face it, good or bad, it can be considered rude or unnecessary or unnatural or unprofessional for you to tell people exactly how you feel.  All in all, it is ill-advised.  Most people don't like it.  Those damn feelings.

But hiding feelings may be inevitable, the natural result of one or a combination of a number forces such as:

• Cultural background where 'talking back' as a child is taboo. For instance, in many Asian cultures it is considered the height of rudeness for a child to stand up to an adult.  All adults however screwed up, demented or stupid, are 'aunties' or 'uncles' to whom we as children must bow and scrape.
• Institutionalisation where patience and subjection and peaceability  are considered normative.  For god's sake (literally), the amount of times I genuflected as a five-year-old.
• Family origin where one's position in the hierarchy might disallow more fractious displays (for instance, peacemakers must never, ever, ever be war makers.  Tsk).
• Influence of religions where it is all about self-sacrifice and splaying oneself upon the burning flames in the name of God or Allah or whoever the hell there is 'up there' (making us accountable or taking us to task or holding us to ransom).
• Working roles that mean one must hold one's tongue such as, er hem, public relations.  (I'm not kidding you, I once had to endure an entire evening on a tiny boat, listening to a drunken, racist man rant and rave while I bit my tongue and smiled sweetly as if he were the charming raconteur he believed himself to be.  What my feelings required was to provide a quick slap across the fellow's jowl but instead, my role required me to offer him another drink).

As it turns out, I am one of the poor unfortunate suckers to whom all of the above apply.

Today, therefore, I had an epiphany.  That in fact, all of this 'keeping mum', and self sacrifice and 'knowing my place', this pathetic passivity when it has come to truly explaining how I feel has not exactly served me well.

As it turns out, folks, temper tantrums aside - sudden outbursts resulting from frustration or exhaustion or stress - are not quite 'feelings'.  

It seems feelings are the kind of things that actually hang around - such as love or actual seething anger or an infinite number of emotional responses we can label as we deem appropriate.  

Feelings are not the occasional stanza of fortissimo prestissimo in a Prelude that might jar the listener before returning to a soothing moderato melody. 

Instead, they are that consistent ostinato, the repeated phrase that permeates the music and provides the 'feel' or the actual intent and direction of the piece.   (Think Pacehlbel's Canon).

Unfortunately, there is no absolute catalogue of feelings nor, indeed, a template by which we might determine what is appropriate.  It appears they are slippery things that we must listen so closely for that we sometimes miss them, so overwhelmed are we by the music blaring in our ears.  

But recognising our feelings in  the fray of an experience is highly valuable.  Knowing what you feel and why, I am told, is essential to the process of maturity, evolution, ascendance, transformation (call it what you will).

Of course, if you happen to be a two-dimensional cyborg ... or maybe a cat ...  feelings are neither here nor there.  Instead, one focuses on the physical world, that is, the things that can be actually seen and heard and touched.    This can translate to a kind of mindless, repetitive hedonism where feelings become subordinate to  the pursuit of physical pleasures.  Or a predisposition to the repetition of mindless chores, the seizing of tedious, domestic routines.  Or even substance abuse.

Those who shun feeling can actually lack the kind of insight that allows them to connect with others on anything but this physical plane. 

Regardless, in the end, somehow, somewhere, feelings lie at the centre of how we all deal with the events in life.  And getting in touch with them can be helpful to all of us, perhaps stopping us from more drastic actions (such as packing up, in a huff, and moving to Canada's Dark North ... very tempting) ...or worse...

You just have to have the insight and self-realisation to want to do it: the point at which you achieve the plane of true Emotional Intelligence.

That's why, the exercise I have been given by two psychologists now is to sit with my feelings.

It can be quite uncomfortable to do but apparently this is the first stage of acknowledging that you have feelings,  you're entitled to them and by god, you are going to feel them.

As a result, Leona has given me another letter to add to my mnemonic of PACED being the letter F - as in Feeling PACED.    Each day, it seems, we must all seek to take a moment to acknowledge how we feel and perhaps express what we are feeling to a significant other.

In the absence of such an other, I have been encouraged to journalise how I feel. 

Right now, I'm feeling pretty good.  I gained some insights today and feel like I have taken a closer step to that far off glow that is a kind of enlightenment in really understanding myself and what has transpired thus far in my tiny little life.

What about you?   How do you feel today?  If you know how you feel, then that is fantastic (I have learned).

Your feelings don't have to be pleasant.  They don't have to be laudable.  Your feelings are brought to you free of judgement.  They are yours to have, hold and/or express as you wish. 

Frankly, I find this quite a discovery.

And if I have made you focus a bit more closely on your feelings today, I hope you will make your own discovery as well.

Onward and upward.

The Greener Grass

As the days of my separation extend and I ride the rollercoaster of my emotions, I have continued to ponder the great conundrum as to why once strong relationships flounder and fail.

I think as a society, we appear to have all become somewhat complacent about the whole idea of divorce and separation.

Was it started by Henry VIII?

According to the Australian Bureau of Statistics, since 1995, there have been between 46,000 to 50,000 divorces each and every year with around 1.8 children per divorce and the median length of marriage around 12 years.

The global view is even more depressing.  The divorce rate (2014)in the US is 53%.  In Spain, Portugal, Luxembourg, Czech Republic and Hungary the rates are around 60% while poor old Belgium has the highest rate of divorce in the world at 70%!  (Conversely, the Chileans it seems make good marriage material with the official rate at 3%).

Why do so many marriages fail?

The list of reasons for divorce are diverse and as infinite as the imagination allows.  Let's face it: the human species has one remarkable talent and that is the ability to rationalise just about anything.

The fact is, if you want to find a reason to justify just about any behaviour - positive or negative - you can.   Obviously, in the marriages that survive, it's the positives that are emphasised whereas, the rest.... Well, if they want a reason to call it a day, the ball of string is long.

For instance, consider the woman who divorced her husband because he wasn't into the movie 'Frozen'.  Or the couple who divorced because they disagreed about the proper way to eat peas.  Or the Taiwanese lady who wanted 'out' the day after her wedding night as she discovered her bloke was a little short changed in the bait and tackle?

In a 1997 survey the  Australian Institute of Family Studies reported that 71% of Aussies blamed 'affective issues' on marital breakdown including (in order):

• communication problems
• loss of connection
• infidelity/trust issues
• physical or emotional abuse
• alcohol and drug abuse
• financial problems
• physical health or mental health issues
• work/time pressures and finally
• family interference.

This is the only study of its kind that exists and, while the stats are growing a few whiskers, I'm sure they still hold water today.

Yep. There are plenty of reasons why two people-in-a-gazillion randomly get together, feel some lusty thought arising in their groins, tie the knot and blah-de-blah-de-blah.

Be that as it may,  from my lenghty ponderings I am going to offer up what I believe to be the most common reason why so many marriage break up.  And it is this and this only: the lack of effort.

We simply take our significant other for granted, and eventually there comes a day when one or both begin to imagine a different world where the grass is thicker, juicier and so blindingly verdant it is seductive.

We are too ready to throwaway relationships and why not?

We throw just about everything else away.  Everything has a use-by date, doesn't it?  White goods that once lasted decades are lucky to make it past a few years.  Cellphones are updated annually with people queueing for hours to ensure they are first to get the newest releases.  Even camcorders are disposable.  It's always about the latest and most modern.   (I know one of my expanding universe of divorced friends somewhat callously described his new squeeze as 'an upgrade'.)

As soon as a product smells of yesterday, out it goes, our insatiable desire to be trendy and current fuelled by the unstoppable monster of consumerism.   No wonder op shops are full of unwanted possessions, many still in their wrapping.   There is such an overflow of second-hand crap in fact that some charities can now afford to be choosy.

The culture of throwing away rather than fixing and reusing is therefore increasingly entrenched.

So when relationships start struggling, I believe, many couples just decide to chuck it in, encouraged perhaps by the catalogues of potential replacements just a click away and at their finger tips thanks to 1000s of meet-up and dating sites and applications.  And not to mention poverty-stricken Asian women on the hunt for a sugar daddy.    You can shop for a new partner on the go - it's bloody convenient.  One touch and Mr Swipe Right can be manifested on a magic carpet, straight to your bedroom door.

It's a shame, but based on my observations and experiences to date, I am simply not convinced that modern man is engineered to 'mate for life'.  S/he is losing or has already lost the concept of "forever" and vows of commitment it seems, come with the caveat:  'I do... until I don't'.

We have lost the ability to stick at things, ruined by the world of instant gratification in which we live where anything that takes time, work and patience is discarded.

It doesn't help that Hollywood feeds us on a diet on impossible romances where, for instance, corporate lawyers (Tea Leone) return home after a full day in the court to shag their husbands (Nicholas Cage) on the kitchen bench.  

We crave ideals and perfection.  We are set up to fail.

But you can turn this model on its head and there are many marriages that do.  I am fortunate to know many childhood sweethearts who dote on each other so lovingly I feel like puking.  (No actually, it's very sweet.)

Here are seven lessons we might learn from them:

1. Set your marriage up for success from the get-go.  Do regular maintenance so you extend its use-by date.  Check the oil.  Inflate the tyres.  
2. Do routine spot-checks (as per my previous blog and the excellent suggestion of my friend, Cath).  A five year check-in may work wonders, helping couples to identify issues and to take corrective action.
3. Instead of pining for the greener grass, think about how you might improve the grass you have. Has it gone to seed?  Then fertilise it.  Give it some water.  
4. Make your marriage a priority.  Trust me, you don't want to go through divorce.  It's harder than going through chemo - and that is saying something.
5. Don't be smug.  You think your husband or wife said something about their feelings years ago but all of us change. Shit happens.  We forget.  Nurture, nurture, nurture.
6. Do a cost-benefit analysis.  Think of the costs of losing your marriage versus the benefits of keeping it.  As I've tried to point out in a previous blog, the costs can be extremely high, such as the loss of access to children.  Whatever slight or wrong or personality defect you perceive, just how vexatious is it to tolerate or adapt to when compared to the destruction you might leave in the wake of a divorce?
7. Communicate.  I know couples who go on regular 'date nights' but even these are useless without communication.  Put away your smartphones and iPads.  Gaze into each others eyes and speak meaningfully.

Finally, accept that we are all imperfect and therefore most relationships are, inevitably, doomed to also be imperfect.

Life is not a Hollywood movie, people.  Marriage is a lot of drudgery. It can be at times exhausting, unsatisfying, boring, repetitive, predictable, unhappy, unpleasant, frustrating, challenging, difficult, destructive, distressing, disheartening and far from domestically blissful. 

But with some TLC and the right attitude, you'll learn to focus on the times that were anything but - when you really felt buoyed by the simple fact of being an 'us', when you knew how to make plans together and shared a journey propelling you toward a mutual dream. When days were truly diamond, not coal. Remember how that felt?

I beg you.  Don't make yours a throwaway relationship.

You, too, can be among those lucky enough to grow old together (barring sudden death of course).

Forget the statistics.  Who cares about the median?

Make the effort.  

Whatever the outcome, at least you know you tried. 

And I'd give you marks for that.  

Remember...