Author: flexanoel

Project Bible

Woman Alive Magazine pages showing text and a woman in a yellow jumper holding a Bible
| flexanoel

An expanded version of this piece appears in print and online for the August 2022 edition of Woman Alive magazine.

Last year I embarked on a project. It was a project to read the whole Bible. I’ve always intended to make reading the Bible a regular practice – fully familiarising myself with it has felt like an important aspect of my Christian faith. I’ve been reading the Bible in parts as long as I’ve known of Jesus, which goes back to early childhood, but now with midlife approaching it definitely seemed like the right moment to read the whole thing. And until last year it remained firmly on the bucket list. I’m not sure what galvanised me to the point of commitment but everything seemed to align this time. I wanted to challenge myself and I wanted to read it for myself. So fed up with bitty soundbites, second-hand knowledge and holes in my understanding; I wanted to grasp the whole ‘gamut of scripture’, and not just take someone else’s word for it.

Aided immeasurably by a reading plan which was bite-sized enough not to intimidate me, and meaty enough to feel like a challenge, I set off. Worth mentioning too is how helpful it was that the plan was laid out in a grid, with daily readings from both the old and new Testament, providing a great balance. I could tick them off as I went which added to the sense of accomplishment. I’m definitely someone who likes to feel that they are ‘getting things done’ and ticking anything off has the psychological effect of feeling like progress.

I’m now only 6 weeks away from finishing the plan and have almost read the whole Bible. I can hardly believe it – it’s so exciting to be at this point. So how’s it been going? Well, I’ve managed to read almost every day. At times it’s felt like a breeze, but there have been plenty of occasions when I haven’t felt like it, and I’ve needed to catch up a few days at a time – no problem. Or when I couldn’t face reading at all I listened to an audio version instead. I’ve had moments of revelation – a sense of the lights going on in my understanding, and moments of emotion as I’ve felt simultaneously confronted and released from things that have been inexplicably nagging at me for a while. I’ve experienced a deep sense of connection with God, and then for days I’ve just read from a sense of discipline, not from inspiration or feeling. Even then I’ve felt reassured that if I show up regularly I’m ‘sowing seeds’ and with that principle in mind I would reap the benefit later. So everyday I have had in mind that I will simply sow a seed, and everything else is a bonus. It’s turned out to be a good strategy with just the right level of expectation for me.

So what has it done for me? Am I a different person, have I changed at all??

I have definitely noticed that I’m reaping some great benefits. Far from tiring of it, my hunger to understand the Bible has deepened, as has my respect for it. There are countless passages and chapters that I had never read before, and there are numerous areas of life and experience that I never imagined the Bible would touch on or have any relevance for. I’ve become much clearer about what the Bible says about certain topics, and how well integrated it is, especially when read together as a whole. I’ve got to know the cast of characters and people of faith so much better, and my understanding of God and how He relates to us has broadened immensely. I’ve been surprised by how clear it is and while I might struggle with what it says, and how to apply it to my life sometimes, it’s not half as confusing as people have suggested. When I get stuck, I pray and a couple of days later things ‘shake down’ and make better sense. I’ve discovered that its understanding doesn’t only belong to the theologians and church leaders, and that they don’t have any sort of monopoly on unlocking it’s wisdom, despite preaching it and studying it for a living. While their learning and insight can help me, there is no aspect of it that is off-limits as I read it for myself. Better still, perhaps I might contribute a thing or two to their understanding! And, far from feeling that my Bible project is over, it’s actually as if my adventure has only just begun.

© Alexandra Noel – All rights reserved. 20th April 2022.

The Smoker

A smoker's hand holding a cigarette
| flexanoel

A SHORT STORY INSPIRED BY A CIGARETTE BUTT ON THE STREET

A black and white photo of a hand holding a lit cigarette, with smoke rising from the end.

Peter was frustrated. He looked up towards the ceiling, leaning back in his chair; its cheap plastic lattice squeaked as it flexed and strained under his weight. Feeling the stretch, he sat quickly forward, plonking his elbows back on the table. He looked down at the packet of cigarettes in front of him. Smoking kills. Oh eventually it probably will. He looked closely at the gruesome photos of a tumoured tongue. Could do without that though. He sneaked open the packet and ruefully stroked the cigarettes. A few moments went by. He reached for his coffee, taking a strong gulp, and cast his mind back to sitting in a pub as a student, so young, what problems did he have then? He remembered the pleasure of smoking inside. Preferably over a nice cold pint, with friends. He shook his head quietly and set his cup down. “Just popping out” he called to the woman behind the counter. She nodded.

Outside it was damp and dark after the recent rain. He pulled up his collar against the autumn chill and fished around in his jacket pocket for his lighter. He lit a cigarette. The first deep breath is always the best, it tasted of sweet satisfaction, and relief. It’s all downhill after that. The self-loathing and feeling of disgust increased with each drag. He perched on the window ledge of the cafe, making sure to sit far enough under the awning to miss the drips of rain still falling down from its edge. He took one long last drag, feeling the burning heat closing in on his lip. Inhaling, he peered back through the window at his table – his coffee would be getting cold. He exhaled slowly. He was aware that his frustration had gone, and instead, a queasy peace had replaced it – he knew it was only down to the cigarette. He really needed to sort out his life. Better go. He flicked the remains of the cigarette away and went back inside.

© Alexandra Noel – All rights reserved. 25th March 2022

Graduate Musings

Silhouette of four students raising their graduation hats with a sunset behind them
| flexanoel

This is one of several articles/mini-essays I wrote when I was in my very early 20s. I recently found them, filed away in a folder of keepsakes. I was just out of university at the time and beginning to experience and process the complexities of being a grown-up. I was also dreaming of becoming a writer of some sort – maybe a food or travel writer. Anyway, these are like letters from my 20-year-old self and give some insight into one person’s thoughts in the year 2000. Instead of keeping them on file I thought it was time they finally saw the light of day – so here they are.

Silhouette of four students raising their graduation hats with a sunset behind them

Life as a graduate is an interesting mix of being glad to have shed the student skin, with all its connotations of loafing and drinking, and desperately wanting to return to something that you know and feel comfortable with. And of course navigating the shocking reality of having to get up at the same time each morning (early), with the disciplined regime of working nine-to-five.

It’s also difficult suddenly not being surrounded by people who are the same age as you, and who are all in the same time of life and dealing with the same set of challenges. There’s the possibility of being lonely; friendships become distant, people who you were friendly with at university now seem like mere acquaintances or even strangers. What drew you together in the first place – the fact that you were sharing a common experience – now seems to be one of the only reasons that you were ever friends.

It is an exciting time though, and also a daunting time. Exciting in that you finally get to do what you’ve been preparing for all these years. Education partially serves the purpose of turning out a work force that will be productive and good for the economy. Our whole lives have been geared towards reaching this point, this moment. But strangely, and somewhat tragically, many of us emerge from the other side of our education with little idea of what we want to do.

It may be a sign of the times, or a consequence of our consumerist culture. There are so many possibilities and almost every action we make is determined by a decision where multiple options have to be weighed up against each other. As humans in the face of such overwhelming choice it can seem preferable not to make any choice at all – what author Douglas Coupland aptly describes as ‘option paralysis’. We get stuck.

If we’re not alert to this, many of us will end up just drifting along, too overwhelmed to make the choices that matter for our lives, and instead existing in a haze where nothing is defined, nothing is certain, and life has happened ‘to’ us rather than us choosing it. However, the best path is there and can be chosen, and I hope that all other options will pale in comparison. Then it becomes not a just choice but a glorious inevitability.

© Alexandra Noel – All rights reserved. The Year 2000. 15th July 2021.

Is it Love or Friendship?

A man and woman stand under autumn trees in the park from film When Harry met Sally
| flexanoel

This is one of several articles/mini-essays I wrote when I was in my very early 20s. I recently found them, filed away in a folder of keepsakes. I was just out of university at the time and beginning to experience and process the complexities of being a grown-up. I was also dreaming of becoming a writer of some sort – maybe a food or travel writer. Anyway, these are like letters from my 20-year-old self and give some insight into one person’s thoughts in the year 2000. Instead of keeping them on file I thought it was time they finally saw the light of day – so here they are.

A man and woman stand under autumn trees in the park from film When Harry met Sally
Image from When Harry met Sally featuring Billy Crystal and Meg Ryan.

Friendship is a difficult thing, especially between a boy and girl. The eternal question is; can two people of opposite sexes be friends without love (or sex) interfering? Wasn’t that the whole premise of ‘When Harry met Sally’? I do have some friendships that are totally platonic but these aren’t the friendships that mean the most to me. I can take them or leave them. I don’t miss the other person when I haven’t seen them for ages; it’s nice to hear from them after a while but these are not the friendships that I pursue. There’s somehow not enough passion to fuel my pursuit at any cost of that individual. Even if it’s quite clear that nothing will ever happen between us, either by mutual admission, mutual knowledge or painful experience. Perhaps it’s up to me to work out why I have such a passion about someone, is there still the faint hope that one day this all might lead somewhere? If I demonstrate my stoic friendship now, proving to my friend what a steadfast and consistent individual I am then maybe, somewhere down the line (sooner rather than later would be preferable) he will realise how much he values me, and loves me and we’ll fall desperately in love and live happily ever after. And the girlfriend will disappear into the distance never to be seen or heard from again. And all our friends will agree that he chose the right girl in the end and be overwhelmingly happy for us.

But sadly this romantic notion of love-finally-requited is just that, a romantic notion. And romance whilst representing some high ideal is not the stuff of life. I can vainly hold onto the hope that my friend will one day come to love me but it doesn’t enable me to face reality. The fact is that I am not the girl for him, nor is he the boy for me. But I will not accept that. I won’t let him go. I’ve cried enough over him, talked enough about him, thought enough about him and convinced myself on an intellectual level that it would never work. But for reasons that are inexplicable, I love him. I can acknowledge that his girlfriend is much better for him than I ever would be. I concede that, grudgingly. I know that there is none of the spark necessary for a relationship to develop; I can’t laugh with him, our chats always take on a very serious tone, there doesn’t seem to be an easiness and calm between us. It’s all a bit of an effort really. But still in the pit of my heart there is the hope that all this could change and we could suddenly fall for each other. However, if we did, I would have to become a totally different person and probably so would he and that’s not going to happen. And I certainly haven’t come this far in becoming more myself to throw it all away and become someone else.

But this brings up the question of how much do I really value my friendships? Why do I place such a high value on a relationship with that person, believing that I’ve only got second best as a friend? Platonic love is love nonetheless and only one person will ultimately fulfil the role of girlfriend, wife, lover. So why do I think that I’ve lost out? I still crave that special place and even as a friend I want to be the best-loved friend. But if I was that I’d soon become the girlfriend and that’s not going to happen. So friends it must be, in whatever shape or form it comes. Not craving more, being satisfied with what I’ve got and realising that that is the best.

© Alexandra Noel – All rights reserved. The Year 2000. (15th July 2021)

Hearts, Mothers, Grief

Woman sitting in a grey long sleeved shirt holding mother's hand in blue long sleeved shirt
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Grief confronts us in many ways; whether it’s a close friend who is reeling from unexpectedly losing a parent, a relationship that seems irrevocably lost, or the illness of a loved one; loss and grief almost always take us by surprise, even if we’ve been anticipating it.

Woman sitting in a grey long sleeved shirt holding mother's hand in blue long sleeved shirt

I’m not sure it’s possible to properly identify with someone who’s grieving a loved one, unless you’ve actually been there yourself. It requires more than empathy. When a close friend’s mother suddenly became ill and died a few years back, I found myself at a loss for words, despite a heartfelt desire to support, encourage and embrace her. I haven’t lost a parent. All too aware of this I didn’t want to say something that would come across as trite and insincere. But neither did I want my genuine sadness and compassion to get lost in my awkwardness. So I fumbled.

When my own mum was in hospital having an operation, I was taken aback to see her looking so vulnerable when I visited her – I simply wasn’t expecting it. It was troubling to see someone I love looking so battered and I was suddenly aware of her mortality. But it made me realise that my response to my mother’s situation was like a drop in the ocean compared to what my friend was going through… I can only imagine what that must have been like.

Years ago, a daughter from a family I knew, was knocked down and killed on a zebra crossing, aged just 14 – her young life inexplicably taken away. Her mum, who I later got to know, shared how she’d felt in response to the different expressions of grief and the condolences she’d received. The well-meaning words of many church friends missed the mark by saying the ‘appropriate’ things. Despite best intentions, these words failed to truly empathise with her grief and horrific sadness. More real (and raw), she told me, were the angry and passionate demonstrations of grief from her daughter’s school friends at the outdoor memorial service – yelling, crying, stomping and shouting – unfiltered by adult decorum. 

And then there are other forms of grief: perhaps it’s a friendship that seems lost forever, or the struggle to make a deeper connection with someone wonderful. That agonising tension of whether this person could be the ultimate safe place you’ve been longing for. Perhaps it’s the grief for someone who is a true friend but has their attentions elsewhere at the moment, or where the hope for a potential relationship has been awakened but will never be reciprocated. These are things we all move through at some point in our lives.

The bitter-sweetness in all of this is that experiencing these things proves that we’re alive – it’s in both the joy and the pain that we find meaning; nothing is wasted in the complexity of human experience. And along the way comfort arrives in the most extraordinary of forms. On my way out of the hospital from that unsettling visit to my mum that day, a local ‘Big Band’ of amateur musicians was playing Bossa Nova show tunes in the hospital reception area in aid of a charity. My overwhelming sadness and grief was somehow warmed and sweetened by the sound of well-practised and earnest musicians breathing life into saxophones, trumpets and trombones. The music washed through me – feeding and soothing my soul – as I gulped back the tears. I never imagined that ‘The Girl from Ipanema’ could have such power. In the midst of such pain, suffering and death there was still hope, joy and life made all the more poignant by the extraordinary contrast of that moment.

© Alexandra Noel – All rights reserved. 8th April 2021.

Where Should I Go?

A drawing of the Cheshire Cat in a tree from Alice in Wonderland
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That’s the question Alice asked the Cheshire Cat in Wonderland. And it’s the same question I’ve been asking myself over the last few months. Where should I go? The Cat’s reply to Alice was, “It depends on where you want to end up”. And it’s the same answer I’m getting – which has in fact become my true question; Where do I want to end up?.

A drawing of the Cheshire Cat in a tree from Alice in Wonderland

I’ve always dreamed of doing work I love full time. By work I love I mean something that makes the best use of my favourite skills, that feels valuable, that I lose myself in, and that has meaning and purpose. Don’t we all? I’ve had jobs that have allowed me to do some of the things I love, and I’ve worked on projects that I’ve really enjoyed. But mostly, my day to day work has felt increasingly like drudgery, an endless list of tasks that need to be carried out as quickly and as efficiently as possible, a type of work that ultimately drains me and is mismatched with the core of who I am. It wasn’t that I was bad at it, in fact I was good enough, but it became clear that I would never be brilliant at it.

This is not the first time I’ve been here. Quite a few years ago I took the step of applying to do an art foundation. I’d already done a degree, but I longed to discover more about my creative side. It was a decision based on the logic that if I didn’t do it now, I’d still be wanting to do it in ten years’ time. I walked in off the street, got an interview at the college the following week and was offered a place on the spot with no portfolio to speak of. I absolutely loved it and finished with a distinction, but at times I experienced an almost crippling fear – fear of failing but also fear of being brilliant. What would happen to my world if I could actually shine at something?

Do any of us actually ‘get there’ and find that life? I think many people can and do. I certainly want to. To that end I’ve embarked on a quest to change my career and find work I love. It’s been a journey in itself even to begin, to regain a sense of value and empowerment. This blog is part of that beginning. In fact it’s one of my action points from the first of four career change workshops I’m attending at the Escape School (run by the brilliant Escape the City). There are so many people who grow up with expectations put on them that amount to jumping through a series of hoops – school, university, corporate job etc etc… a treadmill. So many of us live with unrealised dreams, and potential that we have progressively denied and squashed. As Seth Godin wrote in Tribes: We need you to lead us, ““Life’s too short” is repeated often enough to be a cliché, but this time it’s true. You don’t have enough time to be both unhappy and mediocre. It’s not just pointless, it’s painful. Instead of wondering when your next vacation is, maybe you ought to set up a life you don’t need to escape from.” 

There comes a point when you can no longer deny who you are, and you owe it to yourself to at least try to realise that person, and to allow yourself the full expression of your unique set of gifts and abilities. Anaïs Nin puts it so aptly, ‘And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom’. Here’s to blossoming.

© Alexandra Noel – All rights reserved. 8th October 2014.