How does one find the path from barely surviving to thriving?
Make yourself a cup of tea and gently enter a world where the paths of childhood friends, work colleagues and exercise buddies intertwine their stories.
Their stories will look to comfort. To help just one feel a little less alone in the world, hearing someone elseās story. Injury strips Tegan of the life that she knows. Physical pain gnaws on her psychological wellbeing, introducing her to loneliness and isolation.
Their stories will look to provide hope. To help just one see that there is a possibility of finding a path forward, as the world feels unfamiliar and uncomfortable. The urges of gambling get the better of Jonathan, as he silently suffers paying a price much greater than the money lost.
Their stories will look to heal. To help just one be able to begin making sense of the world. The volatility and pace of professional life sucks time and space from Lawrence. Overwhelmed and shattered, he is lost in a world where his qualities are a blessing and a curse.
Each find themselves barely surviving, though where they go from there will inspire an inner strength within us all.
How does one find the path from barely surviving to thriving?
Make yourself a cup of tea and gently enter a world where the paths of childhood friends, work colleagues and exercise buddies intertwine their stories.
Their stories will look to comfort. To help just one feel a little less alone in the world, hearing someone elseās story. Injury strips Tegan of the life that she knows. Physical pain gnaws on her psychological wellbeing, introducing her to loneliness and isolation.
Their stories will look to provide hope. To help just one see that there is a possibility of finding a path forward, as the world feels unfamiliar and uncomfortable. The urges of gambling get the better of Jonathan, as he silently suffers paying a price much greater than the money lost.
Their stories will look to heal. To help just one be able to begin making sense of the world. The volatility and pace of professional life sucks time and space from Lawrence. Overwhelmed and shattered, he is lost in a world where his qualities are a blessing and a curse.
Each find themselves barely surviving, though where they go from there will inspire an inner strength within us all.
Have you ever realised that what feels like a little thing in the scheme of things has a more significant impact on the world? Itās only with the benefit of hindsight that you can see how much it mattered: the memory of a single pebble once thrown, creating ripples well beyond that moment, each ripple larger than the one before.
It becomes a story worthy of being told, one that comes from a place that is very personal. And in telling that story, the action of throwing that pebble releases a weight that no longer needs to be carried.
Weāre in an open area called the Playground. Situated in the middle of the office main floor, this is a common area where people gather for lunch, and itās large enough to hold internal company events. The gathering today is for a panel discussion on mental health.
I have planted myself on the couch in preparation for what is about to unfold. From where Iām sitting, I have full view of the people who have already claimed their seats and those coming in to take theirs. The couch gives way to the figure of my body. Its softness immediately gives me a relaxing feeling, as if Iām at home. To the left of me is a single arm chair for the host. Itās a chair you could easily curl up into with a good book if you wanted to. The stage is set for a conversation that doesnāt normally occur in a forum like this.
A month ago, I received an email asking if I knew anyone who would be in a position to volunteer to be on the panel. The initial brief was broad, though the goal was specific, to start an open conversation around mental health.
Rather than suggesting a name, I volunteered myself. I cannot tell you what gave me the courage to volunteer. Whether it was the time and space to be able to craft a meaningful message. Whether it was the relationship I had with the person asking and the knowledge that I was in safe hands. Whether in the moment of reading the brief I felt strong enough to step outside of my comfort zone. Instinctively, it was something that I had to do. The importance of this conversation is too great.
I wonder how different the path Iām on would be if one little moment changed in the past. Maybe the story I have to tell would focus on different themes. Maybe I donāt yet have the strength to share. Maybe Iām not even in the room. The combination of fate, intention, and perception create the circumstances that led me to sitting on this very couch. This very moment.
I bite the inside of my cheek. My eagerness to acclimatise on stage provides an opening for apprehension to slowly mix in amongst that courage. Iām not quite sure what to expect. From all the public speaking Iāve done in my life, I identify with the drummer keeping the beat from the back rather than the lead singer charming the crowd, front and centre. A natural speaker, I am not.
No matter how prepared I was, it was inevitable that I would hear the quiver in my voice that would compound into my hands shaking, gently pulsating my notes. The longer I looked into a crowd, any confidence I had started with would slowly dissipate. I would push through doing my best to accept how the presentation was unfolding. My inner voice would be shouting that I was OK, however physically my body was determined to rebel against it.
The analyst in me wants to quickly estimate how many people are in the audience. Maybe ten tables. Some seat four. Some seat eight. So average of six people around a table. Thatās about sixty people. That number feels low when I look at the number of people looking back at me on stage. There are a few more people standing on the edges of the room and sitting in the rows of chairs in front of the stage. A number is still a number. Its accuracy is questionable, but either way, I have my number.
The last time I held a microphone with a group of this size, I was warming up the audience using a magic card trick to capture their hearts. My time allocation was a little longer than the length of a song to set up the theme of ādoing magic for our customersā before handing over the spotlight to the main speaker to capture their minds.
The trick was a well-rehearsed sequence of steps, the sequence of words and actions deliberately constructed with the intent to create something meaningful and thought provoking. What may appear irrelevant at the time has the purpose of putting in motion something much later in the trick and very much has a significance in the direction of the performance.
On cue with a card pack in hand, my voice started to quiver. Dealing out the cards so that they were neatly placed on top of each other became a much harder task. All I could do was push through and do my best. My inner voice made its rounds and told me I was OK.
I had felt as familiar with that audience then as I do now. There were people that already had a glimpse of my personality, and it would be no surprise to them what I was going to do. They had brought along warm smiles and held words of encouragement at the ready.
There were people with whom I could match their name to their face however couldnāt tell you anything further about them. This was an opportunity to deepen my relationship with them, and in exchange for a piece of me, maybe Iād get a piece of them.
There were people with whom I was yet to cross paths with. It would be an introduction of sorts, and at a minimum they would match my name to my face. Iād be that guy who did that magic trick, and it would strike up a conversation around the corridors.
Using this experience as a guide, I accept that my physical self may rebel again. The pressure I will put on myself to find the right words without being socially awkward may not be something I can block out, though itās conceivable that not everyone will be paying as close attention to what a card trick draws. Everyone has their lunch with them and are mostly sitting in their social circles around the tables. The hum of background noise currently lingers from multiple conversations filling the room. A thought crosses my mind that I could be faced with the same hum received by a supporting act at a concert. It is lunch time after all.
I know that analysing the audience minutes before weāre about to begin isnāt entirely helpful, but itās a distraction, an itch that needs to be scratched. Itās one I intentionally remove by entertaining it and swiftly letting it go to move on.
All four of us speakers are present on stage, so my attention shifts from looking yonder to final preparations. We had met yesterday to confirm that weāre good to proceed. There was just enough time for each of us to disclose the headlines of our experiences, and it was clear the host would lead the conversation. It was a good introduction.
I had returned from taking some time off so had the luxury of time and space. Along with my journal notebook and an array of pens, I had taken the opportunity to reflect and structure an outline of my talking points. I had a good idea on the gist of what I wanted to say. Letās face it, my subconscious had been thinking about my talking points from the minute after I had volunteered to speak.
It was visible during that meeting that others were still framing their thoughts. Everyone was so busy, consumed by the day to day: information, decisions, and people looking to seize focus and attention. With each thought shared there was a hesitation. It gave time to look for reassurance that itās appropriate and to work through the details they wanted to contribute to the session.
This newly formed group around such a personal topic needed space to breathe. I let the conversation take its natural flow as it drifted without any awkward silences. Deep down I was hoping for us to form a plan for the panel discussion, a plan comprising of an outline and timings knowing that no matter how comprehensive it is, itās subject to change. Itās only as good as its adaptability to changing circumstances.
I didnāt want to push for a preciseness that might have made me more comfortable and others less. I take comfort in structure and patterns. A song sheet to set the rhythm and an order of predictability. By the end of the meeting, like everyone else, I had walked away with a reassurance that what Iām going to say is appropriate, and thatās enough to get me by.
The host is testing their microphone. I take a deep breath in. The other microphone is casually resting on top of my notebook in my lap. Everyone is in place on stage. My hands are free as I look out into the audience, taking one final look to see who is there.
One table stands out like it has a spotlight shining on it, drawing focus above all others. A gentle smile forms on my face as the clarity of why I was up on the stage floats to the top of my thoughts. I can see my team. My people. The five people to whom I want to show that the environment is safe to openly talk about their mental health. As a leader I couldnāt ask them to dip their toe in the water if I wasnāt prepared to dip my own toe in.
Without thinking I run my thumb on the ring that is on my middle finger. I can feel the slight concave that shelters the engraving of āHonor Ante Gloria.ā The touch of this personal talisman alleviates the feeling of doubt in why I am doing what I am doing. The ring is designed to remind me of how I would like to live my life, placing a nobler esteem on integrity before the accolades of magnificence.
It all comes back to purpose. Weāre starting an open conversation for all, though my priority is them. I have a select few in mind that Iām speaking to. This is for them. And it goes both ways. They are there for me.
A warmth infuses inside my body as my inner voice steadies to match my outer exterior. No one would suspect the richness in the conversation that Iām having with my inner voice.
I know plenty of people both in the workplace and in my personal life who have suffered in the shadows. Coping mechanisms and stories of recovery are exchanged. War stories and battle scars are displayed. The shadows provide cover to avoid judgement and the consequences of the stigma attached. Only those that understood know where to look for people searching for refuge. Historically itās tended to be a hidden community in search for care and support. Safer to be inside oneās shell than to expose oneās head and whatās in it.
I already have the privilege of knowing the stories of Lawrence, Jonathan, and Tegan, hearing how they had reached a point of barely surviving.
The silent suffering without detectable signs.
The qualities that can be both a blessing and a curse.
The drain of physical pain gnawing on psychological wellbeing.
Their stories are as unique as their ownersā fingerprints, made up of events and feelings common to others, though in combination would leave a mark on the world that only they could. There would be times that required them to summon an inner strength to forge a path forward and release a weight that didnāt serve them.
Hopefully they leave an impression of fortitude or simply an understanding of a world where it is possible to have the unwanted feeling of being in a place that is unfamiliar and uncomfortable. Realistically, I aspire that the following words will help just one.
I take some comfort from a comment I had overheard when I walked to the couch. Someone had said to their table, āThis should be good.ā Without hearing a word, they were excited for what is to come.
Holding on to the positivity, I sit up a little straighter. I sneak a peek down at my notebook to make sure itās on the right page. My left hand straightens my pen so that it snuggles into the spine of the book between the pages.
I feel I am good to go. Letās begin.
Ā³Ā³Ā³
To Help Just One is the debut release from Australian author Thusitha L. Perera, who turned to storytelling while recovering from the long term effects of Covid-19. The book follows the intersecting stories of Lawrence, Jonathan and Tegan, three childhood friends who have grown up to become work colleagues and exercise buddies. Going through their various challenges in life, we get to see how each character navigates mental health issues, including themes around gambling addiction and workplace bullying. On occasion the tone might be triggering for those sensitive to these topics, however overall this is a story of personal resilience and triumph and the importance of supportive networks. If this book could be described in one mantra it would be "it's always okay to not be okay".
Despite some of the thorny issues presented in the book, To Help Just One has a nice feel about it, it flows well and each character has a coherent story arc that reaches a satisfactory conclusion. It is very prose heavy, dialogue is deployed on a minimalistic level compared to what would normally be seen in this type of fiction. Personally, I was a bit on the fence with whether I liked the approach, as at points it did encourage me to skip segments knowing that what would follow would be a page of internal reflection with little action.
The biggest hold-back to the writing comes from not heeding the age old writing wisdom of "show don't tell". Perera states things a bit too often that it tends to give the feeling of being spoon-fed a story. "Tegan is excited", "Tegan marvels at the range of skills", "[Tegan] considers what adding another string to her bow would look like", "Tegan likes the idea of coaching" (and this is just on page seventy). While it is not a crime to shed a light on areas readers cannot see, when lots of successive paragraphs open the same way the format can become repetitive. What is lacking is the subtle depth that allows readers to flesh out details for themselves, without being directed by the author.
This is a book I am glad to have read, not least for its courage to speak up about some of the hot topics many authors shy away from. To Help Just One has strong foundations as a author debut and I look forward to seeing where Perera takes his writing career next.
AEB Reviews