How to: Motivate Yourself

Persistence is…

Keeping your foot on the gas as you inch round the side of a mountain.

Crossing off each day as it comes without ripping up the calendar.

Seeing the chink of sunlight between two angry rain clouds.

Not slowing, or walking, or giving up until you reach that mile.

Writing a thousand blog posts before someone reads one.

Watching the sun set before you stop working.

Watching the sun rise before you go to bed.

Making a diary entry on a duvet day.

Repeating a monologue until you embody the character.

Finishing this poem.

That’s all well and good – but to be persistent requires a great deal of motivation. How can you convince yourself to keep going against all the odds? Here is how I do it.

  1. Imagine the end goal: each task, each chore, each exam you do has a purpose. Whatever you are doing, there is a reason for it. By trying to picture where you will be once you have achieved your goal, it is much easier to motivate yourself to get there.
  2. Give yourself treats: separate your one big task into several mini milestones and place a reward at the end of each one. Obviously, it makes sense to leave the largest reward to the end, but don’t forget to congratulate yourself along the way.
  3. Stay healthy: yes, I know. Healthy mind, healthy body = yawn. But there is a lot to be said for how energised a short burst of Zumba or jogging will make you feel. Doing some exercise is an accomplishment in itself, leaving you feeling more positive about your other goals.
  4. GET ON WITH IT: Lying in bed thinking about the impending task at hand will not help you to conquer it. Sometimes, you have to just bite the bullet and begin, however painful. An hour in to the task, you’ll wonder why on earth you were dreading it in the first place.
  5. Know when to stop: once you get into a rhythm of work, it can be hard to take a break. You might think that interrupting your flow will be detrimental to the end result, but you need time to relax, reflect and rewind. If you don’t, you’ll wear yourself out and have no energy left for the next time around. A break of about 10 minutes every hour should do it.

So go on, get motivated!

A new face in a small town

Picture the scene: I was chatting to an artist inside her workshop; the walls were covered in watercolour paintings of the Norman countryside, while stacks of prints and unique painted bookmarks bordered the room. There were paintings of cows, drawings of foliage and caricatures of ‘typical Norman people’, some of whom I thought I recognised from the high street. It was clear for all to see that this place deserved the monopoly in this small town when it came to art.

But business was slowing. Ever since the council restructured the roads so that it would be easier for drivers to pass through the town, that’s exactly what they did. With no through traffic coming through the high street and no curious tourists stopping in on a whim, it is no wonder that many of the once bustling shops are now boarded up and empty.

So when we spotted an unknown man, hopping from door to door, weighed down by a huge portfolio, the conversation stopped. We stared out of the huge shop windows at him, we watched him enter the butcher’s across the street.

‘If Caroline buys one of his shoddy prints, I’ll never buy another sausage from her,’ said the artist. She made it out to be humorous – she knew her friend would never buy from another artist – but there was no mistaking the serious undertone.

We stood and stared at the butcher and the door to door seller for what seemed like hours. I kept reassuring the artist that her friend was probably just being polite and that she would not buy anything, but I couldn’t be sure.

After a while, both the butcher and the door to door seller looked us in the eyes. They had caught us staring at them and were staring back. The butcher smiled and waved.

The door to door seller left the butcher’s. She hadn’t bought anything, so he moved on to his next potential conquest. We watched as he was thrown out of the café as soon as he walked in. Then he moved on towards the opticians, but our line of vision was obscured by a parked van.

‘I wonder if he’ll come here,’ the artist said.

‘What would you say to him, if he did?’ I asked, interested. I knew this artist to be a feisty woman. I knew that she would not take kindly to someone so brazenly trying to undermine her business.

‘I’d tell him to eff off,’ she said, seriously, ‘you get to use that word an awful lot more when you get to my age.’

When the door to door seller eventually did appear, I knew I was in for a scene.

‘Bonjour Mesdames,’ he said, upon entering the workshop.

‘Have you got a license number?’ the artist shot at him, straight away. Apparently he did and he had had one for twenty years, but he was unwilling to show it or his business card to us.

‘It’s so pretty!’ he beamed, overenthusiastically, upon approaching almost every painting in the workshop. He practically skipped around the place. Meanwhile, the artist and I stood planted to the spot, watching him still. It is now easy for me to see why my reception in this town was not a warm one; it appears they don’t take too kindly to strangers. I couldn’t believe that I was now part of that act.

I stood like the artist’s henchman as she questioned the door to door seller and eventually showed him the door, just throwing an obligatory ‘Bonne journée’ out behind him.

I wondered where he would go next. In which small town would he next try to sell his pastel drawings of African sunsets? Was he even aware of the massive impact a sale would make, not only to the local businesses, but to the friendships of the people who owned them?

I don’t know.

But I don’t think he will be trying his luck in this small town again.

How to Make Yourself Look Less Hung over

We all know that feeling. You have been rudely awaken by the harsh tones of an alarm clock after having next to no sleep and realise that in twenty minutes you have to be presentable. Whether you are going to work or a lecture, to see your tutor or a brunch date, it doesn’t change the fact that you look like death warmed up and dragged through a field. So what can you possibly do in a short amount of time to remedy the situation?

  • Drink a litre of water. Let’s rewind. It’s the night before you became the monster of the morning after and you haven’t gone to bed yet. Not only will drinking water make the next morning a little easier to take headache-wise, it will drastically improve the look of your skin. Dehydration leaves the skin looking dry and flaky and if alcohol is involved, chances are it will be a whole lot worse.
  • Take off your makeup. Preferably do this the night before, but even if you forget, make sure to do this before you leave the house. Smears of mascara under the eyes are a massive giveaway to the reality of your fragile state, so get rid of them.
  • Don’t reapply your makeup. It may seem like a good idea to cover your entire face with products in the hope that you will mask how you are really feeling, but this is not a good idea. Instead, ditch the concealer and give your face some time to breathe and recover. If you really can’t bare the idea of going makeup free, apply a thin layer of tinted moisturizer like this one http://www.international.boots.com/en/No7-Triple-Protection-Tinted-Moisturiser_1259576/ from No7. Its lightweight formula means that it won’t clog up your pores but it will cover those dark circles under your eyes.
  • Wear layers. Being extremely tired often goes hand in hand with feeling cold. Being extremely hung over often goes hand in hand with sweating. So, in an effort to combat both problems with a limited amount of time, wear layers that you can take off and replace as often as necessary. This could take the form of a shirt, tank top and cardigan; just remember to keep each layer light.
  • Sort out your hair, love. Nothing says hung over like frizzy, knotty hair that may or may not be stuck to your face. If you haven’t any time to wash the beast, arm yourself with some dry shampoo like this one http://www.batistehair.co.uk/fragrance/blush from Batiste, and throw your hair up into a messy bun. Then thank the lord that this is a genuine trend, which you legitimately could have copied on purpose.

Disclaimer: this is not my usual sort of post; however I thought it was worth sharing as I spent a considerable part of this morning writing it for another site, only to realise that the task had already been snapped up. Sugar!

Some advice: Post-Christmas Blues

Getting the blues is almost inevitable after the decorations have come down and the lights have been turned off. January is probably the worst month of the year in that respect: Christmas is over, there is no excuse to eat your entire body weight in chocolate, it’s back to work and back to school and a bunch of extremely annoying people are telling you to start a health-kick.

To top that all off, I had to return to a cold, rainy, grey and sunless Northern France for the worst month of the year.

So, to make this month slightly more bearable for you (and for me!), I have a few important tips:

  • Don’t force yourself to stick to a punishing diet: a raw, gluten-free, vegan, carb-free salad diet might help you shed some pounds quickly in the height of summer, but it is a bad idea to do this in the middle of winter. For one thing, you might need that extra padding for warmth (student housing, I’m looking at you). For another, cooking warm, hearty meals can make any rainy January day feel so much better. The diet can wait until the sun appears.
  • Stock up on reading materials: classic novels, cheap beach-reads, trashy magazines – who cares? Gather all your old favourites and one or two new reads and indulge yourself – preferably in front of a fire, with a steaming mug of hot chocolate and marshmallows. Perfect.
  • Get a colouring book! I know, not the most original idea. But they are best-sellers for a reason. I have found that colouring in Johanna Basford’s beautiful Secret Garden is both relaxing and satisfying. You don’t have to think about what you’re doing and generally will produce something pretty, whichever colours you choose.
  • Stick the radio on: listening to the radio is such a great way to feel better, whether it’s music or chatting, because the presenters put in all the effort that you seem to lack this month. Also, you can listen to the radio wherever you are in the world, so it’s also a good way to make you feel connected with those at home.
  • Get on the phone: or Skype, FaceTime or whatever you use! I know some people say that when you’re abroad or away from home at university you should avoid relying too much on people at home, but I think that’s rubbish. Sometimes the one thing that can make you feel better is a call to your loved ones, so just do it. Plus, they will want to hear from you too.

Day 73-76 dans la maison de grand frère.

For anyone who isn’t bored of my constant weather reports, I measured a positively balmy 3 degrees in my bedroom on Thursday afternoon. Members of staff here were ‘hoping’ that the part to mend the boiler would arrive on Friday but if it doesn’t, it is likely that it won’t arrive until Monday at the earliest. If that is the case, consider this my appeal for accommodation to anyone in the Manche region.

Also that evening, I was able to sample the best of French vegetarian cuisine. I must say, it was an excellent dish for a bitterly cold December night. What was the delight? I hear you cry. That delight was some cold couscous to start and a plate of air for the main course – délicieux! Some helpful stranger told me not to worry, the salmon quiche is vegetarian. I think something might have escaped him there…

Not to brag, but I timed my Friday morning to perfection. I managed to escape the school early enough to avoid the confinement safety exercise, but late enough that I still had a respectable lie-in. I pottered around the town for a while, before going to a café/bar that I have frequented on many occasions for a little hot chocolate. Seeing as I been to this bar numerous times, I was confused when my simple question ‘How are you?’ to the barman was met with an apparent shock and discomfort. Had I asked him on a date? I certainly hope not, but it’s hard to tell what is appropriate with these traditional country folks.

Sarah and I had planned to spend Saturday in a (relatively) nearby town called Avranches. I caught the bus early in the morning and, since I was the only customer, ended up having a chat with the driver. He has a daughter called Sarah, so remembered us well on the way back.

In Avranches, we did quite a bit of Christmas shopping, visited the morning market, and had some lovely food (tomato and mozzarella tartines to be precise). It was a great day out, but I stupidly forgot to take any pictures, so I’ve got nothing to show you!

Now it’s Sunday, and I’ve got my hibernation techniques down to a tee: Pringles + Guacamole + Cosmo = recipe for success.

5 days to go!

Rude emails, excessive kissing and freezing fingers

Dear readers, welcome to the latest installment of my thrilling French adventure. I am thinking of renaming my blog ‘Heating, and other problems with France’ but that is still subject to revision.

On Monday I went straight into work at 8am from my weekend in Rennes because I needed to sort out an incident involving a rather impolite email from a colleague and to find out what I was going to deliver in my classes of the day. As it turned out, the situation was resolved, and I was required to conduct debates on the UK’s intervention in Syria, which proved to be quite interesting. Many of the students were pro-air strikes, which I found surprising considering my own cohort’s reaction to the news. Perhaps considering the recent success of the FN in France, this is just a small example of right-wing politics among the younger generation. The afternoon found me wandering round the school looking for my students because no one had informed me of the room change for that class. Eventually, one of them found me in the corridor and led me to the others, whereupon I discussed with individuals their opinions on war films and propaganda. A day full of light and airy topics. I bailed on badminton in the evening because I have actually picked up an injury from going on the bumper cars on Sunday. This one girl had it in for me, I’m telling you. At one of her ‘bumps’ I actually cried out ‘BLIMEY!’ Very French.

Tuesday: I continued marking year 11 oral presentations, led a semi-successful activity for the year 8s, and did equally fascinating things with the year 13 and over-18s, which you can read about in my extended edition of ‘How to lose the will to live in 12 hours a week’. Besides that, I thought I’d better try doing some studying because I’m missing out on all the jokes in the staffroom. Half because I can’t understand, but I suspect half because I’m basically a lost child hanging around with my parents’ friends there. Two interesting things I noted today: 1) The excessive amount of kissing that goes on among the students before each lesson goes some way to explaining the stereotype of French lateness. 2) I’m not saying the French are unhealthy, but half of my students were rolling fags BEFORE leaving the classroom.

I began Wednesday by momentarily forgetting everything and ending a sentence with ‘I can’t even French.’ So that went well. I helped out in a couple of year 8 classes, then caught the bus to St Hilaire, where I met up with Sarah. We had pizza, cider and tarte tatin in a nice little restaurant, then chilled (literally) for the rest of the evening at my place. As I write this, I am covered in clothes, a dressing gown and a duvet and still cannot feel my fingers. If anyone would like to come and have a go at the people responsible for heating in this place, they would be very welcome indeed.

A plus (provided I still have the ability to type)

Churros, 007, and a funfair: My weekend in Rennes

It’s the 7th of December already and I can hear those sleigh bells jingling! I get to come home at the end of next week, and it could not come sooner.

Having said that, I have had a rather nice few days since I last wrote.

On Wednesday, Sarah and I sampled the delights of a cute little patisserie in Mortain, then returned to my place to watch Love Actually and make Christmas decorations. My bedroom window is now covered in glittery snowflakes, a Christmas tree, Santa and one of his elves.

Thursday proved fairly unproductive because my lessons had once again been cancelled, so I managed to catch up on some highly important aspects of Anglophone culture that I had missed: Forrest Gump, Black Swan and Aladdin. Day well spent. In the evening, I ate with some colleagues at the canteen, and was slightly taken aback when we all received condoms alongside our meals. Thankfully, it was as part of an AIDS prevention campaign, and not just a casual Thursday night.

Anyway…on Friday afternoon, Sarah and I set off for our weekend away in Rennes. The journey involved a bus, a car-share, the metro and getting lost in the city centre but we eventually made it to our hotel. After settling in, we began wandering around the city, only to stumble upon a Christmas market, complete with warm cider, beignets (doughnuts), churros and a merry go round! That was a lovely surprise indeed, as was the Irish pub in which we finished off the evening.

We had every intention of doing something to explore the culture of Rennes but, alas, shopping took its hold of us. Rennes has some very stylish little boutiques that were more suited to browsing than buying, but the market was more affordable and equally mesmerising. In fact, I may have bought a little something from the market, but I’ll have to keep quiet because I don’t know who is reading this…

Now, I won’t lie, I thought that Sunday would be awful. So far, France has shown me that Sunday is a day to lock yourself inside, watch TV, and try not to starve.  However, mercifully, in the city, there were a few things to keep us occupied. We managed to watch Spectre and the new Hunger Games film (in French), then find a restaurant that served, wait for it, VEGGIE BURGERS AND CHIPS, and go on the bumper cars at a fun fair. Best French Sunday so far.

After all of that excitement, we got a lift back to Vire late on Sunday night, stayed overnight in my flat and caught the 6.53 bus this morning to work. I think I need a coffee…

A plus tard