How To Count Your Blessings...

It’s Monday, it’s 10.30am... it’s Ken Bruce’s PopMaster quiz!

I glance at the dirty breakfast bowls wallowing like hippos and say “F**k it!” Because for once, thanks to Ken, I’m going to enjoy this secret pleasure. I’m not going to worry about the untouched dishes and who cares if I have no idea who sang what and when?

Contestant number one cranks up a very impressive score of 30 and while I wait for contestant number two, I find myself humming along to Ronan Keating -

- who confirms my clichéd suspicions that my life really is a constant roller coaster:

Welcome aboard the ‘soul destroyer’ – A ride I repeatedly seem to find myself shackled too against my better judgement. A ride that always climbs with an effort to the highest point, clicking and whirring ominously alongside my own thoughts and worries.

I try not to think about the consequences when I reach the top. But suddenly I am full of self-doubt, fear and sick anticipation. Why do I let them convince me that this is a good idea? Like accepting that new job, like falling so deeply in love and daring to trust again?

But it is too late to turn back now. I'm dropped precipitously into an anxiety fuelled and hell-raising dive. There is nowhere to go but down.

My body and mind are at sixes and sevens. My breathing quickens, knuckles whiten and the butterflies intensify. In my panic induced state, I really do believe that my number is up. The 'Soul Destroyer' is a very long ride yet deep within me, I also know that I want and need to get off.

I look around to distract myself and for a moment I can see people who inspire me and a slick, translucent layer of factor 10 happiness.

Can I really reclaim the whole nine yards of my precious life's tracks?

Can I really find the courage and strength to spill the beans and hopefully with less tears next time be able to cope better with the surprise, shock, speed and intensity of the twists and turns that life seems to persist in flinging at me?

F**K IT. Yes I can. It's time to seize the day and share how I truly experienced counting my blessings in 1440 minutes.

Countdown 1440 minutes:

It's 7.15.am and time for my tween gruffalo to pounce. He is fully charged and always fizzing with an energy that never ceases to amaze me, whereas e? I'm more solar powered and it takes every last kilowatt of light and oomph to wake, shake and focus. We have hugs and kisses, teeth patrol, odd socks to track, bread to spread and even time for some hotshot spelling.

Deduct 75 minutes of blissful bedlam.

1365 minutes and counting:

“Make walking a 30 minute daily habit,” my said. “It’s the easiest way to release the ‘feel good’ chemicals in your brain whilst boosting your self esteem, confidence and fitness levels.” So now, me and my fully-groomed Gruffalo put our best feet forward and walk to and from school whatever the weather.

Did you know that it only takes 21 days of repetitive behaviour to form a habit? Three weeks later and we’re walking fast enough to raise our heartbeats without breaking a sweat into our incessant chatter.

10, 653 steps in 60 minutes and I’m feeling good.

1305 minutes and the kitchen timer is ticking:

I spend 40 minutes enthusiastically preparing yet another nutritious family meal. Who knew I had the makings of becoming such a gastronomic goddess? Unsurprisingly, the kitchen is in chaos and all manner of aquatic predators have now joined the ‘hippos’ in their swampy sink. I spend another less enthusiastic 50 minutes dedicated to the environment – cleaning, running errands and fighting for justice -

You know the sort of thing - all-in-a-super-'her-o's-90-minute window of work.

1215 minutes and time goes by... So. S.L.O.W.L.Y...

For me, concentration is an increasing problem. My thoughts and ideas constantly jostle for attention and successfully tumble like gymnasts but frustratingly, rather than executing the perfect landing, they tend to always sprawl in a jumble of confusion.

I consider a spot of ‘Qigong’ - something which author and teacher John C Parkin highly recommends as part of his "F**k It" therapy. It's an ancient form of Chinese exercise proven to increase concentration, energy and quality of sleep. I mean, how difficult can it be? And what have I got to lose?

For the next five minutes I shake like an unbalanced washing machine during its final, frenzied spin. My heart is pounding, my muscles are screaming and my face has gone numb - this is not exactly the pleasurable experience of tingling energy that I had been hoping for.

During the following five minutes I am supposed to be still, think about nothing and simply ‘feel’.

??!! Hmm… This Qigong is proving to be extremely difficult mentally and physically. My faith and admiration for Parkin and his words of wisdom are beginning to make their own rapid retreat.

I push my doubts aside and prepare for the next five minutes. This time slower arm moments are required. The urge to quietly chant “big fish, little fish cardboard box" is ridiculously very strong.

As my surreal, solitary, musical statue, raving experience comes to an end, I do have to confess that I feel more enlightened.

Fastrack 240 minutes and I am still buzzing with satisfaction and a sense of achievement. All is forgiven! I reward myself with a not so healthy celebratory chocolate stop.

975 minutes and Tempus Fugit (Time flies):

“Ding dong!” shout the kids – as instructed by the broken doorbell sign. Talking nineteen to the dozen, they barge on in. Their conversation is sprinkled with stories despite them telling me they have done ‘nothing’ all day. Bags are dumped, letters are thrust, shoes are flung and coats slump. They leave a destructive trail behind them as they frantically forage for food. Homework is a finely coordinated marathon of reading, mathletics and piano practice. Dinner is cooked, poked suspiciously and then eaten. I taxi my dancing diva to hip hop, then drive swiftly to the next destination with my ‘not-so-prepared’ girl guide.

Later, amongst the cuddles and bedtime tales, I’m become the voice of reason, chaser of monsters and chuckle maker.

Take away an exhausting 315 minutes of 'crazy' but I wouldn’t change it for the world.

660 minutes to go:

50 years of sleep science has proven that anything less than seven hours of sleep is one of the worst things you can do for your mood, health, brain and relationships. Me? Guilty as charged. Reality TV, social media and a gripping novel regularly lure me beyond the pumpkin hour.

So here lies my biggest challenge to date: to spend a revitalising 480 minutes (that’s a whopping eight hours!) zzz-ing under the duvet.

“Try to wind down at least 60 minutes beforehand so that you naturally drift off,” echo the words of wisdom from the National Sleep Institute. “And absolutely no tech!”

I calculate that I need to be asleep by 11.15pm and try not to stress about the smug expression on my clock's face that gestures with it's hands and taunts, "You only got 45 minutes."

525 minutes and not much time left to wind down:

With my journal open, I reflect upon the struggles and wins that have moulded my day and spill my thoughts onto a fresh page. The clutter in my mind slowly becomes clearer. I make a pact with myself to not cling too tightly to unrealistic goals and I will not let others knock me off my very own cloud nine. I count my lucky stars that I have been brave enough to say no, stand up for myself and try something new.

479 minutes - One more ride on 'The Soul Destroyer'?

😰 Misplaced my glasses. 🤯 Forgot to floss. Missed the last post. Avoided that phone call…

🤬 F**K IT 😘 Time to relax, sleep and try to enjoy the ride.

Alexa, wake me up in 480 minutes.