F is for Fortune

'We should manage our fortune as we do our health; enjoy it when good, be patient when it is bad, and never apply violent remedies except in an extreme necessity' (Francois de la Rochefoucauld, French classical author, 1613-1680)

Fortune as told by the Oxford Dictionary:
noun
1. A large amount of money or assets
2. Chance as an arbitrary force affecting human affairs
3. Luck, especially good luck
4. The success or failure of a person or enterprise over a period of time

With so many ways of defining the word, is it any wonder we seem to have lost the true value behind it? Fortune. In a world where the brave remain the brave, the fearful remain the fearful and the homeless most certainly remain the homeless, I can't help but wonder; where does fortune lie? Does it still have a place in our ever-demanding lives? Or are we happy to just leave our fortunes residing in a cookie at the local Chinese?

I recently asked several good friends what the idea of fortune meant to them. Their responses were, admittedly, somewhat predictable; the students answered money, the loved-up answered family, and the corporate straights answered success. What wasn't so predictable was one last response. 'Fortune? Well that's just fate, isn't it?'

This got me thinking; where does fortune stop and fate begin? And how is it that we can discern between the two? Fate, that somewhat disheartening idea that we hold absolutely no responsibility for the path our life takes; that it's all pre-destined, pre-determined, written in the stars. Surely this is where the boundaries between Fate and Fortune have no option but to merge and become one; having good fortune has to come hand-in-hand with good fate. Doesn't it?

To accept fortune as that inevitable factor of life that we can neither change nor increase is, undeniably, a challenge. Every day we see those around us reaching better things, becoming accustomed to a better way of life. And every day we are forced to face up to the fact that there will always be some one just that little bit more successful than you. But even if the act of challenging our fortune is just as impossible as that of changing our fate, should this stop us from reaching a stage that we can truly sit back and say 'Yes. I am happy. I am where I want to be'. Should we rely so much on fate, on fortune, on an idea, a whim? Or is it time that we took back control of our own lives, and accept that maybe, just maybe, where we are now, we are at our most fortunate?

E is for Elegance...

'Elegance is something more than ease - more than freedom from awkwardness and restraint. It implies a precision, a polish, and a sparkling which is spirited, yet delicate' (William Hazlitt, writer, 1778)

I have often wondered whether this isn't something every person should aspire to. Elegance. Just the word conjures up so many thoughts, so many preconceptions. That stagnant belief that elegance died with the likes of Elizabeth Bennet and Mr Darcy; that classic, vintage elegance, with their corsets and their crinolines. An entire world away. Or, is this way of thinking too...stereotypical? Is it instead that elegance died with the media-driven revolution we find ourselves drowning in?

But then again, what if this is not the case? Is it possible that those priorities we, as a culture, prided ourselves in for so long, still exist? An underlying current, weaving its way, uncared for and cast aside, through our lives. If elegance still certifies itself within modern day life, it has me wondering; is elegance a way of life, or just a facade? And even then, who is it that defines elegance? Is it a mere personal perception, or is it something more, something that only those far up in the higher echelons of society are permitted to define; your Vogues and your Tatlers, who, with their deadly influence, appear to rule the world.

There seems to be a general, if not slightly bizarre consensus that states the most successful in life are those with two defining qualities that, in the desired circles, cut far above all else: Money and Power. You see them all around, unleashed amongst us unknowing, unsuspecting and unprepared Joe's and Jane's. It seems to have become an undeniable fact of life that being a 'nice' person is, quite simply, no longer enough. The world in all its glory demands more; in order to be noticed nowadays, you need to have something more about you, some quirk or unique characteristic. Not beauty - that can only go so far in separating us. It's that elusiveness, that mirage. Elegance.

And yet...I can't help but be sceptical; these ideals, these artificial oddities that almost all seem to strive for - what, in reality, do they achieve? Aren't they just components of some pre-packed, ready-made form of society? If we're all trying so hard to be different, do we therefore end up the same? What if all you needed to gain that ever sought after mysteriousness is elegance? Would that change the way we view society and its hierarchies? Or is elegance, true elegance, too rare to attain? Perhaps it is a luxury that you can gain and build upon, rather like that of an expensive art collection. Undeniably, an interesting and rather hopeful thought...or, rather, it is merely circumstance that allows one to grow into the highly conceived role of the 'elegant woman'.

But then again, this is after all, life we're talking about. I can't help but come to one slightly disappointing conclusion; maybe, just maybe; elegance is one of those unfair traits that Mother Nature cunningly bestows upon a select few. And as for the rest of us? Well, what can we do but try, try and try again.

D is for Dawning

'We will open the book. Its pages are blank. We are going to put words on them ourselves. The book is called Opportunity and its first chapter is New Year's Day' (Edith Lovejoy Pierce, Poet, 1904)

New Year's Eve has been and gone. Christmas has passed, taking with it the hype and childlike excitement that brews for the 24 days previous, leaving behind that inevitable, idealistic sense that only New Year can provide. As is typical, there are the normal cliches surrounding such time of year; resolutions, commitments to improbable ideas of physical, spiritual, and emotional renewal, ideas that, any other time of year, would be rejected due to their impossible qualities, and the severe lack of confidence that seems to exude from us, as a society. 

As each year has passed, I can't help but notice a certain notion surrounding that night of the 31st of December; an almost fairytale-like enthusiasm that would give Cinderella herself a run for her money. A hope surmounts that bolsters the large majority into believing that they are not, in fact, your every-day plain Jane or steady Stella who, whether intentionally or not, embodies their characters for the remaining 364 days of the year. Oh no, come the 31st December, for one night only, a new 'you' arises. And, for one night only, you seemingly give the best performance of your life. Until next year at least. 

And now this night has been and gone, leaving that dull ache of January blues, I can't help but wonder; what is it about us as a race that makes us so willing, so eager to change ourselves? With the pretence and excuse of the oh-so-stereotypical 'New Year, new start, new you' encompassing us, what is it that makes us so uncomfortable with just...being? I myself am an undeniable culprit of such ideas; since my initial comprehension and enlightening of the traditions of New Year, I have, without fail, dedicated myself to various ineffable challenges that, to be frank, I know I am never going to uphold. Oh, I guarantee that on this given night I will have every faith in myself; a kind of indestructible confidence that one night will be enough to change me as a person, to become the 'ideal' woman, to be the best person I can possibly be, to eat less sugar, to drink more green tea, to not cave in to the offer of a glass of wine. But yet...as always, January 1st follows, bringing with it the dawning of comprehension of just what you've committed yourself too. Rather like a bad hangover that, although rough for a time, will, inevitably, fade and be forgotten. 

More to the point...who am I to say this is wrong? Who am I to deny a population of just one day to truly, ultimately, and unquestionably believe in themselves? The idea of self-destruction...well, surely that's just one of those undefinable ideas that we have no choice but to label, rather like complaints, weather, and queues, as just part of being us. The complete British trait. 

C is for Comfort

'Comfort: To soothe, reassure, calm and sympathise. To relieve, ease, placate and console. To be cosy, to achieve contentment, to encourage' Oxford Dictionary

Comfort is one of those few essential parts of life that every person will, at some point, strive for. The idea of comfort has invaded every domain. It has, with all good intentions, become one of those categorical imperatives to modern-day life. This surely poses the question; has comfort been hierarchically placed above all else? How does one achieve said comfort without relinquishing all those other vital components of a so-called 'successful life'? The thought of the slightest restriction, be it physical, moral, or emotional is one that we as a society can no longer bear, and many of the details which were considered to be a mark of elegance and success some years ago are today condemned for reasons of comfort.

As like the large majority of the female race, my comfort stems from a variety of somewhat predictable sources. I look to my wardrobe; practically the only die-hards to resist the invasion of comfort are shoes, whose forms are still absurdly and absolutely to the contrary of good sense and, as a result, comfort. A dear friend of mine once revealed to me a recent purchase of obscene and, quite frankly, ridiculous shoes, shoes that were never created to be worn. They were works of art, whose only role was that of beauty, to be admired, to give their owner that true sense of not only femininity, but accomplishment. In their creation comfort was, as they say, ousted. This factor speaks volumes; is it a new route that should be discovered? Perhaps the mission of the fashion designs of tomorrow should be to form an alliance between comfort and elegance.

And yet, the more I think about it, the more I see the extensions of comfort. At first glance, there is a purely superficial aspect to it; comfort in a physical sense; comfort of warmth, of good food, of a ludicrous amount of chocolate on yet another Saturday night spent in front of yet more repetitive and predictable reality TV. But when I truly look at it, truly focus on what I crave for comfort, I am forced to evaluate not only myself as a person, but also my morals, my wishes, my reality.

I have recently finished reading the autobiographical book 'Eat, Pray, Love' by one Elizabeth Gilbert. Although in a less extreme sense, I could not help but relate to her, on so many varying levels. Based on a horrendous reaction to a complicated divorce, the book focuses on one woman's strife as she searches for her identity. Throughout the book, she looks to various different stimuli, with one ultimate aim: to find herself. To really and truly be at ease with ones-self. For her, this ease eventually came through philosophical and religious reassurance, but not before travelling the word, intricately exploring food, culture, occupations and men, all in hope of finding a significant gap in society in which she could remain. There was, of course, a happy ending for Ms Gilbert. But should we all have to go to such extremes to enable us to linger in quiet contentment? Or is it possible to just...be. To just be us. Be you...be me? One last question remains; are we comfortable as ourselves, or do we envy those around? Can we learn to walk, not in others', but in our own shoes? Is that, in fact, the definition and confirmation of comfort?

B is for Beauty

'Love of beauty is taste. The creation of beauty is Art' (Ralph Waldo Emerson, American Poet - 1803-1882)

There is a certain unclassifiable beauty surrounding every day life. Every where you look you are faced with examples; be it natural, individual, or purely an idea so abstract, there is little choice but to accept is as beautiful.

Trying to get my head around the idea that beauty can come in so many different shapes and sizes is a fact that has always left me somewhat perplexed. How is it that beauty can be seen in a completely different light by each individual person? And then, if we think in those terms, surely as a direct result of their view, each individual person is then affected by beauty in completely different ways. Whether I'm alone in this confusion or not, I will have to leave for you to decide, but how is it that each and every one of us can see one single thing from entirely different angles? It poses the question; is there a certain characteristic that an entity must have to enable it to fall into the 'beautiful' category? Is it merely an aura? Or is it something more, something engrained into the mind, into the soul, that emanates from within?

I recently took a trip to the top-most class Piccadilly store, Fortnum & Masons. Regarded by the large majority of it the influential class as an exclusive British icon, along with its exclusive price tags, this store is perhaps the metaphor of all that is beautiful. Immediately I can't help but wonder, is beauty and value intrinsically linked? Can you truly have one without the other? An interesting thought...yet admittedly, a somewhat disheartening one.

I look back to the store. The window display alone creates such a sense of elusiveness, that one can't help but be mesmerised. Standing outside, I see tourists and Londoners alike joined in what can only be described as utter awe. Is this then the second trait of beauty? An ability to become a integral join, an underlying connection, even for the shortest length of time, for those who otherwise continue as separate entities. What a wonderful thought that is...if one person can be joined with another, what better way than through beauty?

Yet what is it about this store that creates such a sense of beauty? I reflect on the sense of wonderment; is it the fact that for the briefest moment, one can imagine themselves living a different life, a life that for the general masses is just that little stretch out of reach? Is it the unashamed, unabashed pompousness, the idea of high class, of elegance, emanating with such pride that ignorance becomes an impossibility? The way in which everything is so perfectly exquisite that it seems to glow with a halo of radiance?

Whatever the answer is, if there even is one, I cannot help but come to the conclusion that whether you agree with beauty, whether you aspire to beauty or whether your mission in life is to ignore it completely, it has a way of affecting each and every one of us. A way of seeping into our lives, a way of motivating, propelling, altering each and every view point. It poses one last question; surely something so powerful, so worldly, must be acknowledged. Beauty is a part of our lives whether we welcome it or not. It is just a question of how it is dealt with.

A is for Adjusting

'The best thing we can do is make where we're lost look as much like home as we can' (Christopher Fry, Playwright)

I have often wondered what it is that inspires people to up sticks and go, to one day, just pack up their lives and move on. Granted, some people are made to be wanderers; never able to settle in any particular place for any particular period of time. But what is it about us as a human race that encourages so much change within our lives.

Once upon a time, not so long ago, I found myself becoming one of those wanderers, squeezing my life into the boot of a car, leaving all that was real and known to me. I was London bound, caving in to the desires of city life. Having always been a country girl, I couldn't ever imagine how I was going to survive such an adjustment. All I knew was that the time had come to swap the calmness of the ever-green, ever-silent countryside for the tumult of the fast-paced, highly-strung urban jungle. Yes there was fear. Of course there was uncertainty. But God, was there excitement. 

Adjusting is one of those nothing terms, one of those ideas that is incapable of helping anyone. You hear it all the time; 'Oh just give yourself some time to adjust', as if you're magically going to wake up one day and find that all those traits, habits, ways of life that previously marked you as an outside, a newcomer, have suddenly...disappeared. So if this isn't the case, if this is just one of those cliches, then where is it we can turn for help?

I found out soon enough. The only feasible way of fitting into such an image-conscious, media-obsessed, self-indulgent climate, is to change yourself. Of course I could spend my time spouting on about how I'm not vain, taking the moral high ground about never allowing anyone or anything to change me. But that's like being thrown in the deep end, without ever learning to swim, and not even trying to save yourself. 9/10 of you would fight, would let their instinct overwhelm them in order to protect their lives, their bubble. Fight or Flight, that animalistic preconception. And so the same applies here - London was the deep end of my new life. I was the one being thrown in. My only option? Adjust.