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| Harpers & Queen November
2004
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| It's
All About You |
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| Higher-plane drifter |
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[Lady] Liza Campbell's life-coaching team brings her out in multiple
personalities |
My son is in a state of excitement, because my children's roles have been
reversed. Oscar has just concluded his first tour of duty as guardian to a
new boy. Meanwhile, his sister has just moved to senior school and has a
guardian of her own. It was Ava I felt envious of: wouldn't it might nice to be
shepherded around the dropped chewing gum on life's pavement?
Then I got an e-mail inviting me to Holistic Connections, a forum for
the professionally spiritual. I met astrologers, colour counsellors and
aromatherapists - and life coaches. I took away three business cards, with
a view to taking each of them on a metaphorical test drive.
The next day, I eliminated one because, on closer inspection, his business card was decorated with pale pink rabbits and a winking elf. The
second bit the dust when, during a phone call, she told me she was
'completely skint at the moment'. I wouldn't jump into the back of a taxi
with a driver who had just told me they have no sense of direction; so why
would I put my trust in a life coach who was advertising her own life as
being as shambolic as mine?
In the end, I went for a woman called Carole-Ann Rice, who had children and a similar writing background to me. My 'goal' in our meetings
was to try to bring some order to my finances, since I have a stubborn
streak of Mr Micawber in me. She persuaded me that I had the capacity to
be grown-up about my business affairs and, what's more, I believed her. It
was all about giving myself positive messages and putting one foot in front
of the next, instead of putting my head in the sand. The thing that really hit
home was her saying how cool it was to embrace adulthood.
I left our meeting with a spring in my stride, convinced not only that
there existed within me a Scottish-accountant sub-personality, but that he
would actually activate if only I thought about her. It didn't last. Maybe she
was holidaying in Aberdeen.
In despair, I booked in to a see a hypnotherapist called David. I wanted him to help me unleash my inner old maid. He Talked. Very
Slooowly. And Precisely. And Was. Rather Incredddible. The talking sent
me off into a receptive daze into which plopped blurrily perceived nuggets
of encouragement about not being a flake (put tactfully). When it was over,
he gave me a CD that I listened to in the car. The first track starts off: 'Do
Not. Listen To This. When You Are. Driiiving.' |
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| Thanks to David and Carole-Ann, Miss McOrder has been awoken,
and there's no stopping her. I've even started opening typed envelopes.
Next trick, Carole-Ann says, is to clear my mind by dumping the clutter
from my cupboards. First, I'll have to go to David to rouse my inner Shaker.
What with Mr Micawber (now heavily sedated), the Shaker and Miss
McOrder, I really need a minibus to get around. If only it were as simple as
pointing out when geography homework needs to be handed in. |
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