A Depressing Night At The Footy Show (a rant)

Last night I was in the audience for the AFL Footy Show.

Offered a ticker at about 5pm, and with no other plans I thought ‘hell, why not?’, so I went along with a few friends. Frankly, I don’t think the show’s been worth watching in over ten years and is just a bunch of immature, egomaniacs pretending to be comedians, using base-level, opportunistic and often degrading humour to get away with it. It’s really become a poor variety show using footy as the premise of its existence.

But it’s television, right?! Gotta take the tickets and see things behind the scenes, which was somewhat interesting. The only other time I’ve been in a television audience was for Thank God You’re Here a couple of years ago. That night we were treated to light beer, soft drink, nibbles and lollies and the delightful wit of Brian Nankervis as warm up entertainment before the show and during ad breaks (yeah, even shows filmed weeks in advance have timed ad-breaks!).

It’s easy to be sceptical about how raucously an audience can laugh at something that might just garner a chuckle at home, but let me tell you – guys like Nankervis can get you in the mood. It was a great night and I laughed hard and loud.

Last night I made an effort to put my snobbish judgements about the Footy Show aside and enjoy it. Initially I did, even getting into some warm-up mindless cheering.

Then came the pre-recorded Brendan Fevola interview, where he revealed his battle with depression and recent attempted suicide.

The mood of the audience shifted, appropriately, making some uncomfortable; they’d come for a night of fun, laughs and mindless cheering, not to be confronted with a serious issue like depression. I was engaged, it’s an issue with personal resonance.

The discussion that followed was deflating, frustrating, infuriating. These were not experts, but you shouldn’t need to be to discuss the issue sensitively, with some compassion. Craig Hutchison – who I generally regard as the journalistic equivalent of a noxious weed, doing more harm than good in his reporting, which sucks space from worthy stories – was understandably uncomfortable asking questions about a serious, real, non-footy issue like suicide, but to his credit showed genuine empathy in the panel discussion.

Others were somewhat sympathetic, while quite happy to speculate unhelpfully on various aspects of the case; while Sam Newman seemed to think the whole thing was pathetic and an opportunity to play devil’s advocate, reckless buffoon, entertainer to the lowest common denominator or whatever he thinks is his shtick.

As a subsequent interview from yesterday – after Fevola had been exposed, by Channel 9 no less, seemingly indulging his gambling addiction by playing poker at the casino – Newman sat at the desk smirking. Sitting in the third back row of the audience, about 35 metres away I looked at him with blood-boiling dismay.

During the ensuing discussion Campbell Brown spoke with reason and sensibility, suggesting Fev needed support and privacy, and there are more important things than football. A small applause broke out in the audience while others were complaining about the ‘downer’ of a show they’d found themselves at. You can’t get excited and yell boorish comments during a serious segment – come on, let’s move on!

I’ve grown increasingly tired of Newman’s style ‘entertainment’, but given the benefit of the doubt that he plays it up as his profitable persona. Last night, even when not on camera he showed a total lack of respect for this serious issue. But it doesn’t really matter either way whether it’s all or partly an act – he has a massive, impressionable audience of men in particular who thinks he tells it like it is and would be ready to be offered a reason not to feel sympathetic for a serial pest like Fevola.

Discussion of depression and suicide needs to be treated with caution and sensitivity. This discussion did not belong on a forum like the Footy Show, although if they were prepared to address it seriously they could probably reach out to a section of society that needs education about depression the most, men who adopt strong ‘blokey’ values where discussing your feelings like Fevola has little place.

Newman obviously disagrees – nothing is off-limits, no matter the consequences on real lives when you make a living from rejecting political correctness. As he started comparing Fevola’s supposedly relatively easy circumstances with soldiers in war – an absolutely nonsensical comparison that demonstrates his complete ignorance – I’d had enough and yelled out ‘You’re a heartless bastard Sam’, while a few audience members cautiously applauded him.

The interview itself I though was well presented. It may have been part of Fevola’s recovery to speak out about his problems, and good luck to him. I must admit, I’ve always viewed him as a brat, but found a great deal of respect for his ability to be able to speak about such difficult issues openly.

After the Fevola discussion the mood quickly returned to the normal, schoolboy humour and antics. I may have gotten caught up in it in different circumstances. But I was brooding.

The camera only panned across me once, as the show returned from the ad break following the Fevola discussion. As all those around me cheered and applauded I sat and shook my head. There was no way I could be involved in this. I barely managed a clap or chuckle for the following hour.

I don’t hold the Footy Show, or the people involved with it, in high regard anyway, but last night I was disappointed in the cynical, naïve, even ignorant treatment and reaction of various people in the audience, one of my friends included, to such a serious issue.

I guess we need more people with the courage of Fevola to step forward and speak up.

Unfortunately for him, we probably need people who are more widely respected. But he earned some respect from some of us last night, despite his actions yesterday. Few recoveries avoid some relapse.

Unfortunately for those out there suffering, and for a reason I cannot comprehend, Sam Newman has respect in a certain sector of the community, and his public attitude to this will do no help to efforts to get men in particular to confront mental illness.

Newman essentially questioned Fevola’s ability to take responsibility for his actions.

It seems to me that Fevola finally is, and is making an effort to be a happier, responsible and respectable man. Sam Newman on the other hand… well as long as he’s happy.

Me, I’ll be saving a few brain cells by not tuning into the Footy Show anytime soon.

Taming the Tan (how I learned to love running)

I’ve never been a ‘runner’ as such. I love playing sport, and am competitive as seagulls after a chip. Throw a ball out in front of me and I’ll chase it mindlessly like a dog, but put me on a running track and I’d just ask ‘Why?’

I tried a few times over the years, got up and ran around the block at Mum and Dad’s – maybe a kilometre at most – once or twice. Problem is, I get out there and my mind is immediately tracking way ahead of my feet. I’m prone to thinking too much, and running in itself didn’t distract me enough. I’d constantly just feel like stopping and walking – what was my reason to keep going? Yeah, fitness, but I mean short term. It was bullshit, boring exercise.

Yet playing sport, basketball or a casual kick of the footy in particular, and you couldn’t stop me. I’d wear myself out, and then instinctively tear away after the ball or an opponent in a 20 metre dash. My focus was purely on my target; with some thoughts maybe on trying to impress others with my ability, though often failing.

I moved to Richmond a few years ago and started heading to the Tan – the 3.8km running track around Melbourne’s Botanical Gardens. With the part jog, part walk to and from the Tan it’s 7km all up.

Starting the Tan run at the Anderson Street hill climb and heading around clockwise, my initial efforts left me panting and buggered about 300 metres into the run, where I’d stop for a drink at the Moonlight Cinema entrance.

My expectations were, from then, naturally low. I tried to run a little further each time, and eventually got to the point where I could run about a third, then walk a third, and run the final third. I can’t remember why I started doing this, maybe I’d stacked on a few kilos, but I was uncharacteristically committed to it, despite my intense dislike of running, and made it a new years resolution for 2010 to run a full lap.

Around the same time I was standing near the bar at Transport one night, watching the footy while I waited to meet some friends, and I got talking to a couple of girls. Again, I don’t really know how we got talking and it’s rather unusual for me to find myself in such conversations. We got onto running and I talked about my inability to run the Tan.

‘Sure you can,’ one of the girls said, ‘it’s all about your breathing.’

She didn’t give me any specific instructions on how I should be breathing but I thought about that the next time I went out onto the track, breathing slower and deeper.

Just a few weeks into 2010, with this in mind, I ran past my previous furthest point and kept going. See how far you can go, I thought. I made it through the section I usually walked and to where I would start running again. By that point I was thinking, well you’ve come this far, just keep pushing.

I finished. A goal for the year ticked off just a few weeks in! Now I knew I could do it I had no reason to stop and walk.

I started listening to music and found it spurred me on a bit, took my mind away from the boredom of running, and even helped reduce my times a little.

Later in the year I discovered yoga. This revolutionised the way I thought, or at least dealt with those tiny, distracting anxieties that pop into your head and grow with a watering of attention. It also flowed into my running. Thinking too much when I run properly drains my energy and is painful. I too often get stuck dwelling on such thoughts, and previously they’d probably be enough to stop me in my tracks. But I was learning to give them all the attention they deserved – none; because it was too difficult while running.

So my runs became a form of meditation where I could clear my mind and narrow my focus. Afterwards I feel not only better physically, but mentally too. Sometimes, if you need to find energy, you have to exert a little first.

Recently I’ve been forced to run without music. The earphones I have won’t stay in my ears while running – heck they barely stay in while I sit at my desk. But that was kind of a relief. I’d been using the music as a distraction to keep my mind from slowing me down. I feel strong enough now that I not only don’t need that distraction – but I’m stronger without it.

My good times are around 18 minutes. In October a friend and I raced each other. It was a friendly affair, and a few others came to watch – and celebrate afterwards. While there would be no bitterness either way, we both wanted to win. He’d never run the Tan before so I had a mild advantage. He took the hill hard early, leaving me behind and a little nervous about gaining the ground back, but I just ran my own lap, making sure he didn’t get too far ahead. I gradually gained on him and we entered the final stretch neck and neck. I won by about two seconds, at a time of 16 minutes 4 seconds, about a minute and a half better for both of us than our previous bests over the same distance.

I did have music that day, but I barely remember what songs played. Most of the time I could hear it but I wasn’t listening. I was purely focused on the path directly in front of me, and the pair of shoes pounding it that I wanted to catch.

I used to hate running. Now I’d almost say I love it. I can certainly say I love what I get out of it, and that’s enough; and I can’t go two days without some form of exercise. Eighteen months ago I’d have struggled to motivate myself to go two days in a row with exercise.

Ten songs for running, or ‘Songs that get inside me and make me move about’ (no order)

‘Abel’ – The National

‘No Cars Go’ – Arcade Fire

‘Feel It’ – The Brian Jonestown Massacre

‘So Alive’ – Ryan Adams

‘Too Young To Love’ – The Big Pink

‘There She Goes, My Beautiful World’ – Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds

‘Tomorrow’ (live) – James

‘Superconnected’ – Broken Social Scene

‘Stale Thoughts’ – Ground Components

‘Gunslingers’ – You Am I (dedicated to my friend and rival)

Ten years since - a 'sliding doors' moment

A little over ten years ago, on a sunny January afternoon, I was bullied into a decision that shaped the decade that followed like no other moment.

Starting out at Monash University, I showed up at enrolment day having been warned by a friend, Brad, about the overly enthusiastic students running the Host Scheme orientation camp who would do everything they could to get me along.

I wasn’t keen. I don’t make friends easily and back then particularly, had a cosy comfort zone, that I was – regrettably – determined not to step out of. Brad had managed to slip through their clutches, but was happy to come along if I got pressured into signing up.

Pressure was right. They seemed to be there at every turn, waiting to ambush me as I navigated the unusually quiet, ghostly campus. But I was on my game, staying a step ahead and out-manoeuvring the hippy socialites and their guerrilla tactics, as I found my way to the appropriate buildings and enrolled and nominated my first semester subjects – chosen a few hours earlier upon the shock discovery that was the primary purpose of the day.

As I strode with relief and satisfaction towards the final enrolment checkpoint and the exit behind it I spotted them. I had no way of passing this bunch.

I could have said ‘no’, but if the only thing that would put me out of my comfort zone in that moment more than the idea of spending a weekend with strangers – many of them undoubtedly far cooler than I – it was engaging in the conversation that would follow my negative response. So I took the courageous decision to attend one of the camps and ‘put myself out there’ – it would be good for me and a great way to make new friends after all. Of course, I put Brad in it as well.

Oh, if I’d known then how much of the next ten years could be traced back to that moment. Sure, I could trace back further to my decision to actually attend Monash or something before that, but I like to choose this event because I resisted it and I think that makes it even more significant. You never know where opportunities will come from or where they will lead you.

I’d be somewhere else now, quite literally, if I had strolled out of that building smiling with relief at not having to spend a weekend forcing myself out of my shell, engaging in small talk and social hell.

Incidentally, at 18 and having never had a girlfriend, I had made ‘getting one’ a goal for that summer of 2000/01 – as if they were fish and I just had to play the sport right. There was a girl I worked with at McDonald’s – commonly known to me and my friends as ‘Hotcakes’, no need to explain – that I was trying to build up the courage to ask out. The camp was held just before Valentines Day, when I was scheduled to work with her and, I told myself at least, was going to ask her out.

On 9 February 2001, at Uni camp, I met Helen; a talkative and lively, yet somewhat shy – her nerves just pushed words out of her mouth, while mine kept them in – blonde girl. She took a liking to me, and I took a liking to female attention from a reasonably attractive, fun girl. Brad told me I should make a move. On 10 February, after a few drinks, we kissed. My first real kiss. One of the student organisers slipped a condom into my pocket. ‘Not tonight,’ said Helen. Well, part of me was a little relieved I guess – I’d only just gotten the hang of kissing.

I slept for about a day when I got home, woken by dad eventually to take a phone call from Helen. ‘Who’s Helen?’ he asked. No one he needed to know about, I figured. As much as I’d loved having her sit close next to me, falling asleep on my shoulder, on the bus on the way home from camp, I wasn’t sure I had strong enough feelings for her. A few days later she met my friends, one of whom I told that the relationship wouldn’t last the week.

It did though. It lasted six years.

And 18-24 were six of the most formative years of my life. I learnt a great deal from her, she influenced my outlook on life, perspective on politics and appreciation of arts. She had strained relations with many of my friends at times, especially Brad, but I never withdrew from the group at all as a result.

Yet, the relationship itself was not the only significant imprint left on my life’s journey; the ripple affect can still be seen in my daily life in many ways.

With both of us keen for me to move on from working at McDonald’s while I was at uni, Helen found an ad for work at Dan Murphy’s. It was still retail, it would be a pay cut, but it was a change. There I made some fantastic friends, had lots of fun and developed socially.

Five years after quitting Dans, I continue to see friends from I made there. Through one of them, Jack, I scored a room a couple of years ago in a great house in Richmond living with his then-girlfriend, Lee – the best housemate I’ve ever had. At the time I was living in hellish share-house in Brunswick and desperate to get out.

Through both Jack and Lee in particular, I’ve made a bunch of good friends, and through the Dan Murphy’s group I fatefully met a girl last year called Emily. We struck up a quick, intense, turbulent and unfortunately short-lived friendship. She herself has left in indelible mark on my life. No one else has ever exposed me too so much culturally and philosophically in such a short timeframe, and she inspired me at a time when I felt like my life was stalling. But that’s a different post entirely.

Helen also supported me through the toughest period of my life, when anxiety issues I’d carried for over ten years deteriorated to a critical point. I couldn’t face it by myself; I couldn’t even tell her outright, dropping hints and comments for a few weeks until she twigged. There was no one else I could have opened up to then.

Despite my uncertainty, I did grow fond of Helen, though I’m still not sure I ever fell in love with her in the way I needed to. It ended amicably and I hoped to remain friends, but it didn’t work out that way. I’ll always love her in a way and appreciate the influence she had on my life.

If I’d not gone on that camp … Would I have asked Hotcakes out? Would I have found a girlfriend during those six years? Would I have dealt with my depression differently? Where would I be living now? Who would my friends be? I’ll never know the answers to any of those questions, and some I don’t want to know.

I would have been exposed to many different people and experiences, and I could be a somewhat different person.

Of course, it’s not all circumstantial. I made my own decisions along the way; Today, ten years later, I’m remembering her and the positive things she brought to my life; I’d like to think she had a passing reflection of that time and appreciates the memory, but it’s okay if she didn’t. I chose to engage in all these developments – applying for and accepting the Dan Murphy’s job, making friends with various people, moving in with Lee. But a single, seemingly innocuous moment opened up all those opportunities – putting my name on a sheet to attend one of five Monash University Host Scheme Orientation Camps.

You never know what’s around the corner, or how the small choices you make now open up opportunities for the future.

As Paul Kelly sang, ‘from little things, big things grow’.

Being free is being me

So many of us spend so much time trying to project an image of ourselves that isn’t a true reflection, just to impress or even repel people we shouldn’t be concerned with in the first place.

I had a friend who once referred to herself as ‘non-conformist’. Ok, at the time I was fairly smitten with this girl. She’s a headstrong woman and I tried to draw on that myself. At the time I was receptive to the idea, even seeing it as an attractive quality.

But it’s not; rather it’s a negative way to seek to label yourself I think. In her rebellious intent think she had idealised non-conformity when what she probably wanted was to express her individuality and self discovery. But when you have an intense desire to set yourself apart, for whatever reason, you can be lead astray.

I should really use the term ‘non-conformism’, so I can quote John Lennon/Ferris Bueller – “I don’t believe in ‘isms’, I just believe in me.’

I mean, really, non-conformity is a silly notion; the “refusal or failure to conform to accepted standards, conventions, rules or laws”. I’d go as far as to say it borders on childish narcissism, and it surely takes a truly dedicated, lonely person to pull it off properly.

American writer, Eric Hoffer put it neatly:

“Nonconformists travel as a rule in bunches. You rarely find a nonconformist who goes it alone. And woe to him inside a nonconformist clique who does not conform with nonconformity.”

We should question, or even reject if one so wishes, particular social norms. But to flatly reject some or all of them is different to questioning.

People demonstrate their non-conformity in various ways – clothing, make-up, music, art. Ironically it often creates sub-cultural communities with their own norms and identifying features, with brooding members who deride those who accept don’t share their contempt for the masses. Ok, I’m generalising a bit – but only because it’s generally true, right?

I came across the website, The Art of Non-Conformity, which promotes ‘unconventional strategies for life, work and travel. The secondary concept I take no issue with – we should explore and celebrate unconventional ways of thinking. And sometimes there is a case for being different just for the sake of it – proving that there are alternative ways of living that deserve consideration and acceptance. But there’s nothing ‘artistic’ about non-conformity. Again, maybe just a misuse of the phrase.

Non-conformity can even show up in small instances of taste. I’m a long-time fan of R.E.M. Big in their day, but pioneers of the indie rock scene, and now so uncool they are cool. Since the release of the album Reveal, I’ve shunned the song Imitation of Life, dismissing it as simplistic pop. For someone who likes to think of their music taste as mature and outside the mindless mainstream, it was a bit too catchy and glam. Recently I found myself enjoying it. I realised it wasn’t the song itself that made me uneasy, but the fact I could like something so simple and childish. Music doesn’t have to be serious to be enjoyable. And I don’t say childish in a derogatory way. When you go on about how crap pop and chart music is, it can be tough to admit – to yourself let alone others – that you like something everyone else likes. You want to assert your individuality.

Not that everyone liked Imitation of Life! But I do.

Whether other people tap into something you like, be it before or after you do, shouldn’t directly affect your experience. If it does you just limit your own opportunity for enjoyment, or even deeper experience.

Individuality, on the other hand is exploring, discovering and being yourself without desires to fit in OR be different. For all of us, that’s tough.

Non-conformity is a negative ideal; being against things. Belief in non-conformity isn’t a belief in anything. It informs what you reject, who you are not. But what do you want? Who are you? In essence non-conformity is refusing accepted standards, so by being non-conformist you’re still being defined by those very standards.

Conforming to some extent, or maybe social negotiation, is necessary to belong to a community, be it group of friends or the wider community.

We all need to belong, but there should be room for difference, and individuality within our communities, our family, our friends for unconventional thinking and behaviour – within reason of course – and celebration of our individuality.

My ‘non-conformist’ friend asked me, one of the first times we met, what my drug of choice was. When I responded that I didn’t use drugs and never had she was shocked. I didn’t fit her expectations of the kind of person she generally hung out with. I wasn’t conforming.

Maybe the non-conformists have unresolved tensions with elements of society that drives them to rebel. But there is no peace or real happiness in non-conformity.

I guess my point is this: seeking to be non-conformist is just as harmful to finding yourself as following the trends of wider society. Be yourself and find people who share your passions. Experience things, learn about, and express yourself.

Find the life you truly believe in and live it, regardless of how many others – genuine or phony – are living the same way. Focus on who you are, not who you are not. Then you’ll find happiness.

“Happiness is when what you think, what you say and what you do are in harmony” – Mahatma Ghandi

Avoiding Tweet-arrhea

After a recent bout of ‘Tweet-arrhea’ I decided to draw up some guidelines for my use of Twitter; guidelines that will no doubt be regularly broken, but provide a point of reference nonetheless. And most of it applies to Facebook as well, really.

They reflect how I personally want to use the Twitter. If you’re famous/interesting enough to tell the world when you’re going to bed, then so be it. I still don’t think anyone cares … well they shouldn’t.

These are my Twitter guidelines:

1. Don’t tweet emotionally
   Just because it’s easy to vent anger, frustration or sadness, doesn’t mean you should, and social media can be the easiest, most immediate outlet. But you’re better off taking a breath and being self-reflective rather than self-indulgent. Have a real conversation if you need to vent, and you’ll avoid wanting to delete dramatic, emotional posts later on.

2. Don’t use Twitter to communicate a message to a particular person indirectly
   I’ve done it and had it done to me, generally driven by short-term emotional bursts. Yeah, sometimes you just wanna let someone know they’re pissing you off without saying it directly to them and making a big deal of it. Twitter and Facebook allow for the vaguely veiled, passive aggressive message, with the get-out of ‘don’t assume it was about you’ if it’s taken badly. Not only is it unhealthy communication and unfair on the person your talking towards, but the rest of your followers really don’t care and will just think you’re being dramatic – because you probably are. You’ll just keep brooding, and all the while they might not have even read it. Worse still is if it’s a positive message because I’d want to hear it directly rather than wonder if it’s about me, so do the same for others.

3. Resist the urge to continually tweet to get someone’s attention, or a response
   You’ll end up posting crap and look like a loser with too much time on your hands.

4. Don’t write a series of tweets that make up an essay
   Blog it and link to it! Then you can even measure if anyone cared ... in this case, i'll leave the link...

5. Don’t tweet just because you’re bored and/or lonely
   Personal time and reflection is healthy, a need for constant connection is not.

6. Don’t tweet thoughts that seems interesting in the moment
   Even if it is something you might share with someone in your company, consider its relevance. Make it meaningful, give it broader context and appeal. Or just leave it in your head; it’s ok to keep thoughts to yourself.

7. Don’t confuse negative emotion with passion or come across as antagonistic
   People generally react better to positive comments. There’s always a positive way of saying things, even criticism.

8. Use Hashtags as a guide
   With enough followers – which I currently don’t really have – you don’t necessarily need them, but being unable to apply a relevant hashtage for meaningful catagorisation, it might be a sign that the tweet doesn’t have won’t be topical or of interest to many people. I felt like tweeting the fact that I bought a Callipo today – just because I know I’d mention it to a particular person. It’s of no interest to anyone else and there’s no Hashtag I could use that would be of any use.

9. No self-pity
   No one wants to read it. Deal with that stuff productively.

In essence, it’s about quality over quantity, tweet because you have something to say, not just because you want to, or worse, feel the need to. Don’t just post something because it seems good in the moment. Each crap tweet devalues the good ones. You don’t need to tweet every day. In fact, purposely having a tweet-free day each week is probably a good practice to keep out of bad tweeting habits.

In short, tweet thoughts that offer some kind of insight, and have the potential to make people think, smile, laugh or learn.

If it’s not fun, walk away!

Yes me, I'm talking to you!

Christmas time is here again...

Christmas is again only days away and as always I’ve left the shopping to the last minute. Unlike previous efforts, I’ve put some planning into this year’s gifts and, frankly, think I’ve got some good ideas.

Still, I haven’t actually shopped yet. That’ll probably leave me continuing the ritual of recent years where I enjoy a few drinks at my suburban workplace’s Christmas Eve lunch, then stumble a short distance down the road to the local mega-mall and sober up by finding last minute presents. Who said it’s the thought that counts.

I do kinda resent the commercialisation of Christmas, and not just because I can’t afford it. I don’t resent forking out money for my loved ones – well I do a little – I don’t have to buy many, but having to find presents for multiple people at once can be damned stressful. I’d happily receive nothing, and have asked for as much from my family in years past, but they insist on getting something and, really, if I’m spending I may as well receive what I’m otherwise not buying, right?

My brother loves it all – the unnecessary presents, the energy-guzzling lights, the wasteful decorations – and probably thinks I’m somewhat of a Grinch. Sure I bemoan the commercialisation and I still have vivid memories of my days in retail, seeing the madness of these last few days bring out some of the worst in people, fighting over who was first in line to make a purchase of a product that will be presented to a loved one as a symbol of appreciation and selflessness.

But really, I do love this time of year. I’m catching up with most of my friends, some of whom I haven’t seen in some time; and I’ve been in touch with others across the world.

In that sense, it’s a wonderful and unique time to celebrate friendship and community. It’s just a shame about Christmas Day itself – a drawn out, exhausting effort to make small talk with relatives I see less than a handful of times a year.

But let’s be honest, it’s moved far from a religious celebration. I was raised as a good Catholic boy, but even growing up in a fairly religious family it felt more about Santa than Jesus.

Despite that, and that I’m generally not a religious person anymore at all, I don’t agree with the so-called politically correct path of removing references to Christmas in the festive season. It’s long been hijacked, and I doubt there’s any turning back from the secularisation. But that might just be a positive thing, celebrating all-inclusively, while those that choose can still celebrate the birth of Jesus. We just don’t need it to be so damn commercial.

Seeing the decorations up around shopping centres in October just makes me ill. Really, we need a quarter of the year leading into Christmas? No. Maybe we can throw Jesus a surprise birthday party one year. Just get together on the day without the fatigue of the lead-up and really enjoy ourselves like we didn’t know it was coming!

But, shopping aside – which I hope will only take an hour or two… - I will thoroughly enjoy the next few days. I will spend time with my closest friends, I will catch up with a couple I haven’t seen in over a year, I will enjoy the excitement of my young niece and nephew, I will talk to my brother in America, and I will send and receive many text messages on Christmas Day while having a hearty lunch with those loved ones I didn’t choose but love anyway.

And I am actually enjoying putting together a couple of these gifts – because this year I have put a little thought into it.

I think Jesus would be happy with that.

If a tree falls in the woods, but doesn't update it's Facebook status...

I’m at the beach in Sorrento, immersed in glorious sunshine and refreshing bay water. It’s a serene, soulful, personal moment. Commitments, responsibilities, worries and all connections have been left on the shore. And then it hits – I should share this moment on Facebook.

It’s pure self-indulgence. Sure, some people may find it interesting enough to communicate their jealously – heck that’s the reason I’d post it, right – but, really, who cares? What value would it add to anyone’s day? More to the point, what focusing on other people’s reactions to this personal moment take away from my own experience of the moment.

It’s become so easy to share these little moments, that everyday occurrences that you’d usually (or should I say ‘previously’) only comment on to someone you were with at the time, or maybe saw later that day, are now broadcast to the Facebook world as if they are big news. Facebook has done to daily communication what the tabloid press did to the news – denigrated it to be about meaningless, but indulgent, lowest common denominator bites of information.

Smart phones put instant connection to this world at our fingertips 24/7. Great, but it makes for more restless shallow experiences, where the story is more important than the experience – like the camera has led many tourists to see a foreign city through a framed digital screen so they remember every element of a place they never really experienced. It almost leaves you lonely in the real world when you lose reception or just think enough’s enough. At that point, the benefit and beauty of personal reflection is lost.

Not everyone is on Facebook, and I admire those friends of mine who have resisted, though sometimes wish they could see my latest witty status update. And I do use it a fair bit, far more than I’d like. But I like to think my updates include – in their brief state – some meaning, wit or even food for thought. I’m generally not announcing my location, current activity or mood. I try to save that for conversation and if it doesn’t make it to conversation, it probably wasn’t that important.

My thinking is, if something I post isn’t ‘liked’ or commented on by any of my ‘friends’, then I shouldn’t have posted it. I like to engage with people and I want people to actually find my updates interesting, as someone who likes writing, being creative and making people laugh, think or just reflect. But when you get to the point of continually checking for comments, that’s also a sign it’s time to re-engage with the real world.

For some people it seems now that an experience isn’t real or tangible until Facebook knows about it.  If a tree falls in the woods and doesn’t update its Facebook status, did it really fall?

I also have a theory that people update less when they’re in a relationship. I haven’t really had the chance to test that myself, though I did recently have a very close friendship with a great girl who I could talk to in a way I haven’t really with anyone since my last girlfriend a few years ago. Until things went a little haywire I felt lowered urges to talk to Facebook. I had someone real to talk to. And since then I’ve wound back any vague or emotional status’. You know the ones that are just seeking questions for more information, as if the poster didn’t want to seem like they were revealing everything, but hey, since you asked… Things like ‘Karen is so angry at you’. Who Karen? Come on, we’re all wondering now and you damn well know it! But hell, I won’t give you the satisfaction of asking.

I did think once about posting that I was going to practice more self-containment from now on with my updates; until I quickly realised the irony. Telling people you are or will be a certain way is so less effective than doing it without saying anything – explicitly at least. So I’m trying.

That said, I have recently discovered Twitter, and have tried to take much of my self-indulgent rambling there; where people who don’t care about even my weird and wonderful ponderings don’t have to read them but I can still blurt them out. While I do find it a little ‘lonely’ at times, because only one of my friends follows me (the girl mentioned earlier stopped following me, I hope only temporarily as she got me on there and I liked writing things with her reading them in mind). Not that I want all my friends reading my tweets, I like to be able to just write anything that seems interesting or expresses thoughts I feel strongly about that I may not want to put on Facebook. I find Twitter a more adult forum – an information hub, a place to engage in mature discussion on just about any topic, a place for mindless banter and a sub-cultural feeding ground. If you want it to be, and use it that way anyway.

In the end, I need to continue to pull myself away from Facebook and engage in real things. Reading, writing, socialising, seeing things near and far, taking part in a range of activities, and meeting people (in person!). All the things life is about.

If I want to tell people about them, well it should make good conversation over a beer; and in the meantime I can focus on enjoying the moment.