All change

I use running logs, add notes to them as I see fit – as my clients speak with me and proffer situations that have arisen which need to be tended to.

Some are a simple change of physical location, or maybe a new hair colour. Others ….. well, they're not so easy.

I need to think on my feet. Helping these people is a lot like hard work only there's the satisfaction of assisting them in their desire to get up and out of the situations in which they find themselves, regardless of fate, future or finances.

I've made a few good friends from the clients I've helped, those clients who have successfully changed, and moved on.

My phone rings, it's Karesh. He's trying to escape from his obsession with technology. He wants to be rid of the idea that his life revolves around Android upgrades and bug fixes. This may sound counterproductive to many, since a life dedicated to knowledge and expertise in the world of hi-tech is just the ticket to a relatively cushy and trouble-free career, and by (possible) extension, life. He's in deep and he calls me often, which in and of itself kind of tells me that he hasn't broken through to the other side.

“Frank, it's me, Karesh, I-”

I butt in. “Hello Karesh” I say. If I don't do this I won't get a word in edge-wise. He talks at a prodigious rate; I think maybe he can do that breathing technique that trumpet players have mastered - in through the nose and out through the mouth.

“Yes, hello, Frank. It just occurred to me that I may never get rid of this current life if I'm able to at any time pick up my old habits, as it were.”

“I have to agree with you there Karesh. It's pretty hard not to be like a kid in candy store when pretty much the whole damn nation is wired to bleep and blip and an empty lonely fridge can get online and order you a whole boatload of groceries that you never knew you needed.”

“Lonely fridge, Frank?”

“Sorry Karesh, I got a little carried away with my spiel there.” Sometimes my own opinions bleed over into my work helping others, particularly fast talkers like Karesh. I think that we – humans - are hard-wired to respond like-for-like when it comes to personal interactions. I need to work on that when I get some time.

“You mentioned steps when we last met, Frank. The taking of steps to manage this.... transition. I need to ease myself out of or away from my obsession with technology.”

“That's the way to do it Karesh. Small steps. Baby steps.”

Karesh exhales deeply, as if his concentration, all of it, has been diverted to keeping the faith. It rumbles the microphone, then he starts talking. “Baby steps, I like that idea. It sounds like something even I could manage. So, as a first step, what do you recommend, Frank?”

“Try this on for size Karesh: You've got to learn to crawl before you can walk.”

“More baby talk, Frank?”

“I'm going to ask you to not look at your smartphone, for-”

“Oh, easy Frank. That's easy! Why don't you-”

“Let me finish please, Karesh. I'm going to ask you to not look at your smartphone for 48 hours.”

“Hours? 48 hours, Frank? Anything could happen in that 48 hours. What if-”

“I'll allow phone calls, you can make and receive them, but nothing else. Pretend that your smartphone is an old dialler – all it does is make and receive calls. Can you do that? Do you think that's possible Karesh?”

“I.... I guess. But I'm still worried that something might happen that I'll miss out on.”

I've heard about this word so I use it on him. “Nomophobia, Karesh: the fear of being away from your smartphone. You have it in spades and that's just the tip of the proverbial you-know-what, Karesh.”

Before he can respond I hang up and make some notes on our conversation. He mentioned that he originally came from a farming community, and I think that is where his heart still lies but he just hasn't realised that yet. Why else would he have come to me in the first place if he is happy with what he has now?

My goal is to get Karesh to start growing and selling organic produce, or making gourmet meals from organic produce.

Whatever it is, Karesh is a very long way from that goal at the moment. Who knows, he may at some stage break, cave in, and never get the IT bug out of his system. These things can be very persistent.

I almost forget to have lunch. That's how this work affects me – I get so tied up in the lives of others that I forget even the basics for myself. Noodles again. The MSG is only a problem if I don't completely exhaust myself by the end of the day, otherwise I have galloping nightmares. I almost burn myself with the steam coming out of the tub, I stir in the packet of ingredients and add some limp parsley that I find at the back of my non-internet fridge.

I look at my phone as I sit down with the noodles. I missed it ringing, I call the number straight back without listening to their message.

“Hello?” It's a tiny voice, I can't tell the gender of the caller.

“Hi, my name is Frank. You left a message. What is it that's troubling you?”

“My mum and dad won't buy me the bike I want.”

“Oh. And..... is this a special occasion? The buying, or not buying of the bike?”

“My birthday.” Their voice wobbling a bit with the emotion.

“I see. And you called me because-”

“I want a new life, different parents. Parents who buy me a bike for my birthday. Can you help?” The perceived grievance apparent in their voice

“I ….. don't think that I can. This is a little out of my ….. league. How old are you?”

“....Eleven.” That pause before answering is just a little too long; a child's first attempts at artful dodging. I hope they either get a lot better at it or decide to give it up altogether, preferably the latter.

“Really? Eleven?”

They fold easily, angry at their own failure. “Seven, ok? I'm seven!”

“I'm sorry. I can really only help people who are adults. Your mum and dad-”

“USELESS!” They yell. The phone cuts off and I'm listening to my own breathing on the line. I hang up and delete the message.

I take a fork full of noodles from the plastic tub and my phone rings again. Its Janet, the one who I started working with a few months back. She's a tough cookie this one. She has so far single handedly managed to let go of a thriving portfolio of mining stocks as a beginning to wanting to embrace Buddhism.

She told me that the two are mutually exclusive – you can't own a brace of shares in companies which plunder the earth for nothing more than the shallowest of material gains while at the same time wishing to seek eternal peace - and I tend to agree with her, though my morals are slightly more..... wavery... than hers.

I put the the fork and noodles aside and pick up on the fifth or sixth ring. There's silence for a very long time after I answer. I'm not too worried, believing that Janet is slowing her life down and included in this throttling back is her phone manner. After a while I realise that either there is something wrong with her or the call has somehow hit a snag in setting up properly. I hang up and call her back.

“What the hell just happened then?” She sounds like a company CEO demanding answers from her PA.

“Janet? You're talking to Frank. Is that what you were expecting, trying, to do? Call me?”

She sees the error of her ways, I imagine her blushing when she realises that she is meant to be all calmness and serenity. Or perhaps I'm just guessing.

“Oh Frank, sorry, yes, I was trying to call you, but lost my way for a moment there.”

“No problem.” I try to eat from the tub of noodles but they've coagulated. I can either try to fork in the whole humongous mass or forget about about it until I'm off the phone. I try a different approach, axing the fork about in the tub, trying to sever some of the noodles off the main clump, but they're too slippery and I nearly lose the lot as the tub suffers from the speed-wobbles from my repeated attempts.

“Can I call you back Frank? I've just realised that I'm late for one of my meditation classes. Terribly sorry.” Before I can answer the phone is tone-droning in my ear. So much for calmness and serenity. I wonder what her life was like before she thought about slowing down?

I throw the noodles out – all in one clump – and try for toast instead. Bread is the rice of the western world, I maintain. Each culture, according to my homespun and possibly totally refutable theory, has it's own “foundation food”. Rice, bread, noodles, pasta, couscous – that probably covers 90% of what the world is eating right now.

Perhaps I'm so stuck in my ways that I need a change. A way to escape my history and start afresh. In retrospect I'm probably too old, but I've certainly helped some people my age or older.

If I were to change, who would I go to if I needed help in taking the right steps, excising the rings of growth, leaving everything familiar behind?