Today was a good day. I celebrated one year with my wonderful man. We drove home from our weekend away in Blairgowrie back to our beautiful unit in Brunswick. Shaun had a lovely play in the park. The sun was shining, and I made pasta for dinner.
But then it happened. Somebody asked me politely how I was.
'How are you?' is the most complicated sentence in the English language. The sentence itself, seems harmless, but if you misjudge the context you can cause much harm.
Example one: Walking the dog in the morning. Nod a polite 'How are you?' to the man with the staffy you pass at 6:20am every weekday morning. He answers, not with the expected 'How are you?' nod back, but rather answers the question and you have to stand awkwardly and listen to the reply.
Example two: (True story) Sales assistant asks customer: 'How are you?' Customer replies with 'Actually I have breast cancer.'
Example three: Friend asks friend 'How are you?'
This is where it gets tricky. Sometimes you know that friend has had an awful day. Sometimes you know they've had the worst 6 months of their life. You are feeling excellent. So you answer - fine.
Sometimes you've had a bad day. You stubbed your toe, your train was late, your boss was grumpy. But your friends mother just died. So you answer - fine.
I first realised two months ago I was happy. Actually - I didn't realise so much but my dad looked at me and said 'Could you be any happier? 'But with the knowledge of my happiness came its closest friend. Guilt
Guilt that my friends weren't so well off. Their relationships weren't going so well. Their job wasn't as fun at Christmas time. They were sick. They were unhappy.
And I didn't feel happy anymore.
Maybe happiness, like love, is only true when it's shared. You can only be truly happy in the presence of others who are truly happy.
Can you happiness make someone who is sad happy? Or will it only make them feel worse?
Can you ever answer a question honestly, without taking in all the factors? Because today I feel great. But I have a mosquito bite on my foot that is itchy, and if you asked me right now how I was I'd say pretty pissed off actually.
So there's the ying and yang. You can't appreciate the good without the bad blah blah. But wouldn't it be nice, if when you were happy, and you knew it, you really could just clap your hands?
Showing posts with label Life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Life. Show all posts
Sunday, December 9, 2012
Saturday, July 7, 2012
I could save the world - if I could be bothered
At some point in the last few years, I've become incredibly lazy. At first I thought I was nesting - building myself a nice home and all that. Then I figured I was 'growing up', I didn't get the same enjoyment out of late nights and loud pubs as I used to, and that was to be expected.
But at some point, I've turned into the person who would more than happily spend Saturday night at home watching old DVDs. And wake up Sunday and do exactly the same thing.
I know I crave boredom. I find it very hard to come by. I live a busy week, with full-time (and then some) work, daily walks with Shaun, visits to the gym, the supermarket, the pay-day dinner out. On the weekend, all I want is to feel bored. To wish for some entertainment. To want for something to do. I spend my weekends not making plans, avoiding all social functions, with the premise that avoiding them may make me bored enough to want to attend.
But then I catch myself, watching the same episode I watched the week before and ask, 'Would Marieke Hardy* be doing this?'
*Marieke is my litmus test. She's a vegan, living in Brunswick with a dog with a human name. She also has a cool blog, is a columnist for Frankie and writes a successful sitcom. And I'm pretty sure she's been on #qanda.
There's so much I want to do with my spare time. I wish I blogged more often. I wish I could finish the books I'm working on. I wish I would write another article and get myself published again. I wish I would get to work on my documentary idea. But I can't get all that done and be bored at the same time.
Sooner of later I figure this stage will pass, and I'll go back to being the passionate, driven, determined Lucy of my youth. In the meantime, I guess I'd better go fold my washing.
~
But at some point, I've turned into the person who would more than happily spend Saturday night at home watching old DVDs. And wake up Sunday and do exactly the same thing.
I know I crave boredom. I find it very hard to come by. I live a busy week, with full-time (and then some) work, daily walks with Shaun, visits to the gym, the supermarket, the pay-day dinner out. On the weekend, all I want is to feel bored. To wish for some entertainment. To want for something to do. I spend my weekends not making plans, avoiding all social functions, with the premise that avoiding them may make me bored enough to want to attend.
But then I catch myself, watching the same episode I watched the week before and ask, 'Would Marieke Hardy* be doing this?'
*Marieke is my litmus test. She's a vegan, living in Brunswick with a dog with a human name. She also has a cool blog, is a columnist for Frankie and writes a successful sitcom. And I'm pretty sure she's been on #qanda.
There's so much I want to do with my spare time. I wish I blogged more often. I wish I could finish the books I'm working on. I wish I would write another article and get myself published again. I wish I would get to work on my documentary idea. But I can't get all that done and be bored at the same time.
Sooner of later I figure this stage will pass, and I'll go back to being the passionate, driven, determined Lucy of my youth. In the meantime, I guess I'd better go fold my washing.
~
Saturday, June 9, 2012
The 3am Philosopher
The other night I was woken by a text from a friend. It was 3am, and I could only assume he had been drinking. I read the message and rolled over, ready to resume my sleep. But I couldn't stop thinking about his message. I knew exactly how he was feeling, exactly where he was at, and so I turned back over, grabbed my phone and replied.
My reply was concise, thoughtful and wise. I was really impressed by myself.
We went on to exchange several text messages, each more wonderful and philosophical than the last, until eventually the need to return to sleep overwhelmed me. When I woke in the morning, I was faced with an enormous question:
Was I really that super intelligent and insightful last night, or was that just 3am talking?
Is 3am 'just woken up' the same as 3am 'been up all night' when you really believe you could solve all the worlds problems - if you cared enough. Or, is it that your mind is so clear because there is nothing clouding it that you can see solutions to problems clearly, interpret the world accurately.
I remember sitting up one night in 2010 in a backpackers in New York City because I knew if I let myself sleep, I'd lose the thoughts in my mind forever, and they couldn't be forgotten, I had to write them down.
I'm ready to share some of those thoughts with you:
- it's impossible to act feminine when you sneeze and accidentally sneeze up snot.
- when all else fails, watch Alias season 5 again.
- if someone is drowning in quicksand, don't be polite about rescuing them, do it quickly and roughly and apologise later.
Now you know, these are pretty true thoughts - but so wonderful I had to write them down, at 3am, never to be lost?
You be the judge. I'm happy for the record of my NYC brain. Actually, that was the morning I sat up and decided I would start a blog. It would be called 'Lucy's Thought of the Week' and it would be about whatever was on my mind, and how I was working it out.
You know what? It IS impossible to act like a lady when you've got a face covered in your own mucus. Alias season 5 is a wonderful way to feel better about your life. And if you were to save someone from quicksand, they probably wouldn't give a shit how you manhandled them. They'd probably give you a drink. Or their first born.
Until next time.
~
My reply was concise, thoughtful and wise. I was really impressed by myself.
We went on to exchange several text messages, each more wonderful and philosophical than the last, until eventually the need to return to sleep overwhelmed me. When I woke in the morning, I was faced with an enormous question:
Was I really that super intelligent and insightful last night, or was that just 3am talking?
Is 3am 'just woken up' the same as 3am 'been up all night' when you really believe you could solve all the worlds problems - if you cared enough. Or, is it that your mind is so clear because there is nothing clouding it that you can see solutions to problems clearly, interpret the world accurately.
I remember sitting up one night in 2010 in a backpackers in New York City because I knew if I let myself sleep, I'd lose the thoughts in my mind forever, and they couldn't be forgotten, I had to write them down.
I'm ready to share some of those thoughts with you:
- it's impossible to act feminine when you sneeze and accidentally sneeze up snot.
- when all else fails, watch Alias season 5 again.
- if someone is drowning in quicksand, don't be polite about rescuing them, do it quickly and roughly and apologise later.
Now you know, these are pretty true thoughts - but so wonderful I had to write them down, at 3am, never to be lost?
You be the judge. I'm happy for the record of my NYC brain. Actually, that was the morning I sat up and decided I would start a blog. It would be called 'Lucy's Thought of the Week' and it would be about whatever was on my mind, and how I was working it out.
You know what? It IS impossible to act like a lady when you've got a face covered in your own mucus. Alias season 5 is a wonderful way to feel better about your life. And if you were to save someone from quicksand, they probably wouldn't give a shit how you manhandled them. They'd probably give you a drink. Or their first born.
Until next time.
~
Friday, May 11, 2012
Advice to my eighteen year old self
People don't always believe me when I tell them, but I'm a very shy person. I am incredibly nervous meeting new people and I suffer horrible anxiety going to new places.
Most people don't see this side of me, they see the Lucy who's 'been coming here for years', or the Lucy who you've 'known since high school'. I'm not at all shy once I'm comfortable. But the anxiety I experience in new places can be crippling.
I talk a lot about preferring to stay home on a Saturday night and that's not because I don't like to have fun with friends, or get dressed up, or watch live music. It's because I'm terrified at the thought of being somewhere I'm yet to establish myself as comfortable. So I say home, where I can be myself and I'm not at all worried about what anyone thinks of me.
Something has changed for me in the last six months quite dramatically. I'm not sure if it's an age thing, if it's a new group of friends, or just because I'm finally accepting I am who I am, but the anxiety that made me sneak out of pubs and wait in the car for two hours for my boyfriend, is going away.
I went to the Swinburne Aviation Society trivia bonanza last night, and I didn't hate it. I wasn't nervous. I went with two of my closest friends, and we had to join up with some pilots (so we didn't fail miserably) and I was okay with that - in fact, I quite liked it. I had to expose my 'I'm actually really awful at general knowledge, especially geography' shame to new people, and I wasn't afraid of being judged. You know what, I spent the whole night not even worrying about how people were feeling about my new haircut.
I couldn't help but wonder how different my Uni years would have been if I could have attended the Entrepreneurship society functions with the same level of confidence I felt last night. If I would have been able to approach the people I wanted to be in group assignments with, instead of forming that group with whoever was left.
I don't live life with regrets, but if I could have the chance to talk to my eighteen year old self, I'd tell her she's fabulous, just as she is, right now. Even with those few extra kilos she hates, with the pimples on her forehead, and with the chest that none of the boys are talking about. I'd tell her the best way to make friends, the best way to meet boys and the best way to get what you want is to be confident.
I think I finally figured out what confidence was last night. It's called - don't give a shit. Because if people don't like you exactly how you are, don't worry - somebody else will. And I promise, you'll like them better too.
I also speak from experience when I say I've had some pretty wonderful loves in my life, and not one of them has ever cared about the few extra kilos I hate, the pimples on my forehead, or been disappointed in the chest that none of the other boys are talking about.
Oh, and we won the trivia night.
~
Most people don't see this side of me, they see the Lucy who's 'been coming here for years', or the Lucy who you've 'known since high school'. I'm not at all shy once I'm comfortable. But the anxiety I experience in new places can be crippling.
I talk a lot about preferring to stay home on a Saturday night and that's not because I don't like to have fun with friends, or get dressed up, or watch live music. It's because I'm terrified at the thought of being somewhere I'm yet to establish myself as comfortable. So I say home, where I can be myself and I'm not at all worried about what anyone thinks of me.
Something has changed for me in the last six months quite dramatically. I'm not sure if it's an age thing, if it's a new group of friends, or just because I'm finally accepting I am who I am, but the anxiety that made me sneak out of pubs and wait in the car for two hours for my boyfriend, is going away.
I went to the Swinburne Aviation Society trivia bonanza last night, and I didn't hate it. I wasn't nervous. I went with two of my closest friends, and we had to join up with some pilots (so we didn't fail miserably) and I was okay with that - in fact, I quite liked it. I had to expose my 'I'm actually really awful at general knowledge, especially geography' shame to new people, and I wasn't afraid of being judged. You know what, I spent the whole night not even worrying about how people were feeling about my new haircut.
I couldn't help but wonder how different my Uni years would have been if I could have attended the Entrepreneurship society functions with the same level of confidence I felt last night. If I would have been able to approach the people I wanted to be in group assignments with, instead of forming that group with whoever was left.
I don't live life with regrets, but if I could have the chance to talk to my eighteen year old self, I'd tell her she's fabulous, just as she is, right now. Even with those few extra kilos she hates, with the pimples on her forehead, and with the chest that none of the boys are talking about. I'd tell her the best way to make friends, the best way to meet boys and the best way to get what you want is to be confident.
I think I finally figured out what confidence was last night. It's called - don't give a shit. Because if people don't like you exactly how you are, don't worry - somebody else will. And I promise, you'll like them better too.
I also speak from experience when I say I've had some pretty wonderful loves in my life, and not one of them has ever cared about the few extra kilos I hate, the pimples on my forehead, or been disappointed in the chest that none of the other boys are talking about.
Oh, and we won the trivia night.
~
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
$14.94
I got paid today. I paid my rent, put some petrol in the car, donated some money to my friends fundraiser and bought some groceries. Got home, checked the balance.
I've got $14.94 left.
I figured I had two choices. One, transfer some money from my hard earned, very small savings account. Or two, see how far I can make my $14.94 go. I chose two.
It's going to be tough. I can't even remove that amount from an ATM. But I'm up for the challenge.
Hell, my house is full of things I've previously spent money on. Food, clothes, entertainment. Tea bags, red lentils, tissues.
So I'm spending the next 7 nights making the most of my previous spendings. Anyone want to come watch DVD's with me this weekend? Or take the dog for a long walk?
Challenge set. Stay tuned.
PS I have the beginnings of a cold. I think the majority of the $14.94 will go on lozenges.
I've got $14.94 left.
I figured I had two choices. One, transfer some money from my hard earned, very small savings account. Or two, see how far I can make my $14.94 go. I chose two.
It's going to be tough. I can't even remove that amount from an ATM. But I'm up for the challenge.
Hell, my house is full of things I've previously spent money on. Food, clothes, entertainment. Tea bags, red lentils, tissues.
So I'm spending the next 7 nights making the most of my previous spendings. Anyone want to come watch DVD's with me this weekend? Or take the dog for a long walk?
Challenge set. Stay tuned.
PS I have the beginnings of a cold. I think the majority of the $14.94 will go on lozenges.
Sunday, April 1, 2012
nineteen eighty-five
*This blog is dedicated to my boy, Shaun, who turns two on Tuesday. You've taught me more about unconditional love than any person I've ever met. And I love you.*
On Saturday morning I had the fabulous opportunity to spend some quality time with some old, dear friends. You absolutely take old friends for granted until you move away from the place you grew up, and its simply marvelous when two people you have known for over 15 years marry and live in the same city you do now. I'm so grateful for my friends Robb and Phillipa, because they know me. I never have to justify myself, excuse myself. They know me, they know my intentions, and they trust me. And on Saturday, I carpooled with two very precious new friends to Yarraville, for brunch.
But I haven't even got to the truly wonderful bit yet. Phillipa's parents were visiting from Tasmania, and would be joining us for raspberry and white chocolate muffins, fruit salad, sourdough and mercy valley cheese.
I can't explain how special it was to eat, drink tea, and talk with this amazing collection of people. People that I feel safe around. People I feel connected to, loved by. And as I was giving Phillipa's mum a big kiss goodbye, I shared something with her that I'd only just realised to be true:
I am absolutely loving everything about getting older. Not for one minute do I wish I was fourteen again. Or eighteen again. Or 21 again. Especially not 23 again. I've discovered an age where you feel confident, loved, respected. Where you are challenged, needed, and important.
I love having a little guy in my life who truly needs me. Shaun and I are best friends, we are family. And if I don't come home he shits on the carpet. Because he needs me.
But also he wants me.
Family is an incredible institution, and I'm lucky to have some amazing relationships with people in my family. I also spend time heartbroken for the cousins that are growing up so fast and if I'm lucky, I get to play lego with once a year. But my family is unique. If we don't like you, there's a pretty good chance we probably just won't talk to you. We don't have an overwhelming bond of 'family' that forces us to love each other unconditionally. And while sometimes I wish for that - there is something to be said for the fact that every person who is in my life is there because they want to be.
And so, this sappy blog comes to you from one very loved up, very happy girl. Because this weekend I was able to spend time with special friends, old and new, celebrate my baby boy's second birthday, and see Tom Ballard live at the MICF.
I'm not sure when I realised I was living the life I had always hoped for, living the life I wanted for myself. I have it. And I'm not even afraid to jinx it.
Also, wisdom and experience tells me life isn't perfect. And it won't be. But I'm not scared of imperfection. Of heartbreak. Of pain. Because everything I have experienced so far in my life has brought me to this point.
Also I have an incredible safety net. The wonderful people, who after knowing me for 15 years, still want to know how my week was. And the people I've just met - who want to come to the beach for my dog's second birthday.
~
On Saturday morning I had the fabulous opportunity to spend some quality time with some old, dear friends. You absolutely take old friends for granted until you move away from the place you grew up, and its simply marvelous when two people you have known for over 15 years marry and live in the same city you do now. I'm so grateful for my friends Robb and Phillipa, because they know me. I never have to justify myself, excuse myself. They know me, they know my intentions, and they trust me. And on Saturday, I carpooled with two very precious new friends to Yarraville, for brunch.
But I haven't even got to the truly wonderful bit yet. Phillipa's parents were visiting from Tasmania, and would be joining us for raspberry and white chocolate muffins, fruit salad, sourdough and mercy valley cheese.
I can't explain how special it was to eat, drink tea, and talk with this amazing collection of people. People that I feel safe around. People I feel connected to, loved by. And as I was giving Phillipa's mum a big kiss goodbye, I shared something with her that I'd only just realised to be true:
I am absolutely loving everything about getting older. Not for one minute do I wish I was fourteen again. Or eighteen again. Or 21 again. Especially not 23 again. I've discovered an age where you feel confident, loved, respected. Where you are challenged, needed, and important.
I love having a little guy in my life who truly needs me. Shaun and I are best friends, we are family. And if I don't come home he shits on the carpet. Because he needs me.
But also he wants me.
Family is an incredible institution, and I'm lucky to have some amazing relationships with people in my family. I also spend time heartbroken for the cousins that are growing up so fast and if I'm lucky, I get to play lego with once a year. But my family is unique. If we don't like you, there's a pretty good chance we probably just won't talk to you. We don't have an overwhelming bond of 'family' that forces us to love each other unconditionally. And while sometimes I wish for that - there is something to be said for the fact that every person who is in my life is there because they want to be.
And so, this sappy blog comes to you from one very loved up, very happy girl. Because this weekend I was able to spend time with special friends, old and new, celebrate my baby boy's second birthday, and see Tom Ballard live at the MICF.
I'm not sure when I realised I was living the life I had always hoped for, living the life I wanted for myself. I have it. And I'm not even afraid to jinx it.
Also, wisdom and experience tells me life isn't perfect. And it won't be. But I'm not scared of imperfection. Of heartbreak. Of pain. Because everything I have experienced so far in my life has brought me to this point.
Also I have an incredible safety net. The wonderful people, who after knowing me for 15 years, still want to know how my week was. And the people I've just met - who want to come to the beach for my dog's second birthday.
~
Saturday, January 28, 2012
I'm sorry I wasn't good enough
I wonder if I wasn't there for you - if I wasn't actively involved in your life. I didn't appreciate your memories, your adventures, your witty one-liners. Your opinion on politics, on current affairs.
Maybe I was too quiet. I didn't say enough, didn't respond enough. I wasn't excited enough about your dinner plans, your new job, the movie you went and saw. Maybe I didn't listen when you complained about the traffic, didn't offer enough support in regards to your noisy neighbours. Maybe I forgot your birthday.
Facebook friend 689, I'll miss you. And I'm sorry.
I'm sorry that the events leading up to my deletion were so severe you didn't feel you could simply remove me from your feed - you had to remove me from your profile all together. I'm sorry you were no longer interested in the latest photos of my dog, my most recent holiday, my constant links to animal welfare organisations. I'm sorry if I didn't update my status enough - if I updated too often. I'm sorry if my check-ins made you want to smash your iPhone on the ground in a jealous rage because I was doing the locomotion with @Lainey Fitzpatrick and @Will Tremayne and you were home alone watching The Big Bang Theory.
Maybe it wasn't even about me. Maybe you're so hipster you simply have to keep your numbers down, you can't have too many friends. Maybe you deleted me because I am a Facebook junkie, and my decision to add @Akmar Ramasavarga from Turkey offended you. I'm sorry I thought my non-rejection of him, a man who has never done anything wrong by me that I am aware of, would be more offensive to you than my blatant disregard to the very definition of the term 'friend'.
Mostly I'm sorry I don't know who you are. But I'll miss you. Because now I'll likely never get to 700 friends.
Maybe I was too quiet. I didn't say enough, didn't respond enough. I wasn't excited enough about your dinner plans, your new job, the movie you went and saw. Maybe I didn't listen when you complained about the traffic, didn't offer enough support in regards to your noisy neighbours. Maybe I forgot your birthday.
Facebook friend 689, I'll miss you. And I'm sorry.
I'm sorry that the events leading up to my deletion were so severe you didn't feel you could simply remove me from your feed - you had to remove me from your profile all together. I'm sorry you were no longer interested in the latest photos of my dog, my most recent holiday, my constant links to animal welfare organisations. I'm sorry if I didn't update my status enough - if I updated too often. I'm sorry if my check-ins made you want to smash your iPhone on the ground in a jealous rage because I was doing the locomotion with @Lainey Fitzpatrick and @Will Tremayne and you were home alone watching The Big Bang Theory.
Maybe it wasn't even about me. Maybe you're so hipster you simply have to keep your numbers down, you can't have too many friends. Maybe you deleted me because I am a Facebook junkie, and my decision to add @Akmar Ramasavarga from Turkey offended you. I'm sorry I thought my non-rejection of him, a man who has never done anything wrong by me that I am aware of, would be more offensive to you than my blatant disregard to the very definition of the term 'friend'.
Mostly I'm sorry I don't know who you are. But I'll miss you. Because now I'll likely never get to 700 friends.
Sunday, October 30, 2011
When you're busy making plans
Last week I had the rug swept from under me. The plans that I'd been so happily making over the last few months were stolen in a moment.
It happens all the time, of course. 99% of our lives are outside of our control. We share this world with people, with mother nature, and we get very little that we can control.
They're the things I like to focus on, obviously. I can control my values, my behaviours. I choose what to eat, how to look after my body (albeit determined to some extent by the outside factors; finance, time...). I choose what type of person I want to be, what kind of employee, friend, partner, mother I want to be seen as.
That's great and all; but it's not enough to build a life for yourself - and so you let other people in. You plan holidays, you share houses, you form relationships that offer you the things you can't do by yourself. You trust. You hope. You cross your fingers and pray for the best.
And when the worst happens? You breathe. You scream. You curse. You shake it off. And you make new plans. Because that's what we do - and what we do best.
I didn't ever imagine being a single 26 year old girl with a puppy and a lease and a car I can't afford on my own. But I'm here. And I'm making plans again.
I'm making new plans; the kind of fun, spontaneous plans only a single girl can make. Plans for travel, for adventure. And if some dashing, ruggard and athletic man comes and pulls the rug from under those plans - well then I'll just have to make new ones again.
I rarely look back to my church days fondly, but there is one scripture I remember and think of often. It's in the book of Jeremiah (chapter 29, for anyone that would like to look it up). God told Jeremiah to build homes, and plan to stay. To plant trees and eat the fruit they produce. To marry and have children. The great thing about this story, is that Babylon, where Jeremiah was living at the time, was later destroyed. And assuming God would have known this in advance (that's the theory remember) he still told Jeremiah to knuckle down and make plans.
I think of this often - a gal that's moved as many times as I have still has to find a way to feel at home. So I always plan to stay. Even when I know I likely won't. I plant things in the garden, I make the effort to 'finish' decorating the house. I make sure that wherever I am, is home. Whoever I am with, is family.
The other thing I'm thinking about at the moment, is the plans that got lost before you made these last lot of plans. What did you have to sacrifice in order to make room for your new plans? What can you put back on your list of 'things to do'?
John Lennon says 'Life is what happens when your busy making plans.' But I disagree. I think life is what happens when your plans turn to shit, and you look around, see where you are, and realise there's still plenty of places you can go.
And that's my thought for this week.
It happens all the time, of course. 99% of our lives are outside of our control. We share this world with people, with mother nature, and we get very little that we can control.
They're the things I like to focus on, obviously. I can control my values, my behaviours. I choose what to eat, how to look after my body (albeit determined to some extent by the outside factors; finance, time...). I choose what type of person I want to be, what kind of employee, friend, partner, mother I want to be seen as.
That's great and all; but it's not enough to build a life for yourself - and so you let other people in. You plan holidays, you share houses, you form relationships that offer you the things you can't do by yourself. You trust. You hope. You cross your fingers and pray for the best.
And when the worst happens? You breathe. You scream. You curse. You shake it off. And you make new plans. Because that's what we do - and what we do best.
I didn't ever imagine being a single 26 year old girl with a puppy and a lease and a car I can't afford on my own. But I'm here. And I'm making plans again.
I'm making new plans; the kind of fun, spontaneous plans only a single girl can make. Plans for travel, for adventure. And if some dashing, ruggard and athletic man comes and pulls the rug from under those plans - well then I'll just have to make new ones again.
I rarely look back to my church days fondly, but there is one scripture I remember and think of often. It's in the book of Jeremiah (chapter 29, for anyone that would like to look it up). God told Jeremiah to build homes, and plan to stay. To plant trees and eat the fruit they produce. To marry and have children. The great thing about this story, is that Babylon, where Jeremiah was living at the time, was later destroyed. And assuming God would have known this in advance (that's the theory remember) he still told Jeremiah to knuckle down and make plans.
I think of this often - a gal that's moved as many times as I have still has to find a way to feel at home. So I always plan to stay. Even when I know I likely won't. I plant things in the garden, I make the effort to 'finish' decorating the house. I make sure that wherever I am, is home. Whoever I am with, is family.
The other thing I'm thinking about at the moment, is the plans that got lost before you made these last lot of plans. What did you have to sacrifice in order to make room for your new plans? What can you put back on your list of 'things to do'?
John Lennon says 'Life is what happens when your busy making plans.' But I disagree. I think life is what happens when your plans turn to shit, and you look around, see where you are, and realise there's still plenty of places you can go.
And that's my thought for this week.
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Farmers Market
This morning I attended my second ever farmers market. Since becoming a girl-of-the-burbs, there's one just around the corner every month. YAY!
Or so I thought. Here's a summary of my experience:
- Buying from the farmers market is insanely expensive. How so? Aren't we 'cutting out the middle man' so to speak?
- For some reason, it's not until you've gotten home and looked at what your fifty bucks got you that you even pay attention to the $7.50 loaf of olive bread or $6.00 roasted garlic dip
- People are much more courteous/forgiving of prams (Charlotte, month one) than beagles (Shaun, month two)
- A super excited, happy dog is great at the beach or fully enclosed dog park. Not at the petting zoo, or orange juice stand
- Shaun fucking loves rabbits
Honestly, I blame James for making me go alone. That extra pair of hands would have meant I didn't have to hand my wallet to the farmer to get my money himself because I was busy holding down a squealing puppy.
But here's my thought. Is the 'farmers market' just another one of those things that seems so much better in theory than it is in practise?
Like house-parties where you drink cheap alcohol on an empty stomach, get stuck talking to a loud, drunk acquaintance and miss the last train home. Or wedding ceremonies that photograph beautifully, make great memories, but really are boring and awkward the entire time. Or family christmas?
As I get older (that's old-er, not old) I'm becoming more and more attached to the things I enjoy, not the things I'm supposed to enjoy. Quiet Saturday nights at home watching The West Wing. Lunch dates in the park eating noodles out of a box. Drinking one glass of really nice wine (instead to numerous plastic cups of the cask variety).
It's been a contentious issue in our home of late. But I've decided I'm happy to be 'boring' because I'm never bored when I've got Alison Janney for company, and if I'm out of bed at 11pm at night, something has gone horribly wrong.
Olive bread for lunch anyone? It had better be delicious.
Or so I thought. Here's a summary of my experience:
- Buying from the farmers market is insanely expensive. How so? Aren't we 'cutting out the middle man' so to speak?
- For some reason, it's not until you've gotten home and looked at what your fifty bucks got you that you even pay attention to the $7.50 loaf of olive bread or $6.00 roasted garlic dip
- People are much more courteous/forgiving of prams (Charlotte, month one) than beagles (Shaun, month two)
- A super excited, happy dog is great at the beach or fully enclosed dog park. Not at the petting zoo, or orange juice stand
- Shaun fucking loves rabbits
Honestly, I blame James for making me go alone. That extra pair of hands would have meant I didn't have to hand my wallet to the farmer to get my money himself because I was busy holding down a squealing puppy.
But here's my thought. Is the 'farmers market' just another one of those things that seems so much better in theory than it is in practise?
Like house-parties where you drink cheap alcohol on an empty stomach, get stuck talking to a loud, drunk acquaintance and miss the last train home. Or wedding ceremonies that photograph beautifully, make great memories, but really are boring and awkward the entire time. Or family christmas?
As I get older (that's old-er, not old) I'm becoming more and more attached to the things I enjoy, not the things I'm supposed to enjoy. Quiet Saturday nights at home watching The West Wing. Lunch dates in the park eating noodles out of a box. Drinking one glass of really nice wine (instead to numerous plastic cups of the cask variety).
It's been a contentious issue in our home of late. But I've decided I'm happy to be 'boring' because I'm never bored when I've got Alison Janney for company, and if I'm out of bed at 11pm at night, something has gone horribly wrong.
Olive bread for lunch anyone? It had better be delicious.
Saturday, July 30, 2011
Giraffes are the new Paris - A life shared in status updates
Five weeks ago I set myself the challenge to go one whole month without Facebook, twitter or Blogspot. I wanted to measure just how much of an important element it had become in my life, so as well as July without social media, I gave up three big loves: dairy, caffeine and alcohol.
Today I report on my findings.
My initial hypothesis was that as a good vegetarian girl, my biggest sense of loss would come from cheese. I was so wrong. Not to be misunderstood, dairy was the hardest vice to give up in that it was all around me. Day 1 I accidentally ate the little chocolate that came with my decaf-tea. Week 3 I brought spinach and ricotta tortellini for a quick dinner. One morning in week 2 I was running late and grabbed James' up'n'go from the fridge. But it wasn't the vice I craved the most.
I spent most of 2010 under the influence of alcohol. Back to full-time study with a part-time job in a pub and no car... You do the math. But since shacking up with the boy we hardly drink at all. James only drinks when he parties, and I don't really do that. = Easy.
Now caffeine is a vice for two reasons, sure the obvious one is coffee, but rest assured a soy hot chocolate is a pretty fine substitute. But Diet Coke has been my crutch for forever. I tried caffiene free Diet-Coke week 1 (don't) and it nearly made me ill. After that I settled for sparkling apple and soda water with lime. Not too hard.
From day 1, my biggest challenge was the overwhelming need to 'check' something. I'd get to work in the morning, put the kettle on, open my inbox and it was there, haunting me. The question that never left my head, the entire 31 days: What's happening? I learned I could quiet this desire with The Australian, The Age and abc.net.au, followed later in the month by Steve's suggestion, Time.com. Before I knew it, I'd developed a second addiction; current affairs. I figure, hey, better to know what's going on in the world than what my old high school chums are having for dinner.
So i survived it. But isn't the biggest lesson I learned.
At some point in the last two years, I have stopped thinking like a normal person, and started thinking about events in my life as status updates. Constantly, I'd hear something, or have some good news, or something stupid would happen and I'd think of a witty one-liner in which to relay such information to my extended network.
And when I didn't get to post a status update, I felt ripped off. Not only for myself, but for everyone else who missed out on my pure genius.
Where to from here?
I'm not going to reinstall the Facebook app on my iPhone. I have access to the internet at home and at work. That'll do. But I did realise that Facebook wasn't the reason I can't walk down the street without playing with my phone. My phone is. So I'm trying to leave it behind more often.
I've accepted Facebook does have a place in my life. I freaked out when James and I had 2 weeks to sell our Splendor tickets and 600+ potential buyers I was ignoring for 2.5 more weeks. WHOOPS! Luckily James knows my password. Thanks baby.
I'm happy not eating as much cheese, or drinking as much alcohol or coffee, and I've given up Diet Coke.
Next challenge; a month without bread and sugar. Because a detox hardly feels like a detox at all when it includes olive sourdough bread with hummus and raspberry licorice. But that can be a month down the track. I owe Anna and Harry a belated Xmas in July.
I can't encourage you all enough to do the same; if not for a month, then a week, and if not for a week, try a day. Remember what life was like before it all got so instant.
PS Hi Matt.
Today I report on my findings.
My initial hypothesis was that as a good vegetarian girl, my biggest sense of loss would come from cheese. I was so wrong. Not to be misunderstood, dairy was the hardest vice to give up in that it was all around me. Day 1 I accidentally ate the little chocolate that came with my decaf-tea. Week 3 I brought spinach and ricotta tortellini for a quick dinner. One morning in week 2 I was running late and grabbed James' up'n'go from the fridge. But it wasn't the vice I craved the most.
I spent most of 2010 under the influence of alcohol. Back to full-time study with a part-time job in a pub and no car... You do the math. But since shacking up with the boy we hardly drink at all. James only drinks when he parties, and I don't really do that. = Easy.
Now caffeine is a vice for two reasons, sure the obvious one is coffee, but rest assured a soy hot chocolate is a pretty fine substitute. But Diet Coke has been my crutch for forever. I tried caffiene free Diet-Coke week 1 (don't) and it nearly made me ill. After that I settled for sparkling apple and soda water with lime. Not too hard.
From day 1, my biggest challenge was the overwhelming need to 'check' something. I'd get to work in the morning, put the kettle on, open my inbox and it was there, haunting me. The question that never left my head, the entire 31 days: What's happening? I learned I could quiet this desire with The Australian, The Age and abc.net.au, followed later in the month by Steve's suggestion, Time.com. Before I knew it, I'd developed a second addiction; current affairs. I figure, hey, better to know what's going on in the world than what my old high school chums are having for dinner.
So i survived it. But isn't the biggest lesson I learned.
At some point in the last two years, I have stopped thinking like a normal person, and started thinking about events in my life as status updates. Constantly, I'd hear something, or have some good news, or something stupid would happen and I'd think of a witty one-liner in which to relay such information to my extended network.
And when I didn't get to post a status update, I felt ripped off. Not only for myself, but for everyone else who missed out on my pure genius.
Where to from here?
I'm not going to reinstall the Facebook app on my iPhone. I have access to the internet at home and at work. That'll do. But I did realise that Facebook wasn't the reason I can't walk down the street without playing with my phone. My phone is. So I'm trying to leave it behind more often.
I've accepted Facebook does have a place in my life. I freaked out when James and I had 2 weeks to sell our Splendor tickets and 600+ potential buyers I was ignoring for 2.5 more weeks. WHOOPS! Luckily James knows my password. Thanks baby.
I'm happy not eating as much cheese, or drinking as much alcohol or coffee, and I've given up Diet Coke.
Next challenge; a month without bread and sugar. Because a detox hardly feels like a detox at all when it includes olive sourdough bread with hummus and raspberry licorice. But that can be a month down the track. I owe Anna and Harry a belated Xmas in July.
I can't encourage you all enough to do the same; if not for a month, then a week, and if not for a week, try a day. Remember what life was like before it all got so instant.
PS Hi Matt.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Mind, Body & Soul Detox - July Challenge
On Monday I was walking down Glen Huntly Rd running a work errand. And it happened again. The all-consuming, uncontrollable desire to reach into my handbag, pull out my iPhone and check for Facebook notifications, followed by the equally demanding, equally strong need to refresh my twitter and see if @joshthomas87 had tweeted anything new and hilarious.
I have to admit it now; I'm addicted to social media. No, I don't spend hours a day checking out pages, 'liking' silly anecdotes or chatting to friends. But I do have a need to constantly refresh, and make sure I'm not seconds behind the 8 ball.
Last week I was terribly upset when I thought a best-friend of mine was going through a hard time. Instead of calling him immediately, I spent days worrying before I finally called and found out it was just bad humour on the part of a mutual friend. I hated the thought that if something did happen to my friend, I would find it out on Facebook, and not because he picked up the phone to talk to me about it.
It is for these reasons, and many more, that I am declaring the month of July my Mind, Body & Soul Detox month.
I will not be checking my Facebook page or updating my status, refreshing my twitter feed or posting a blog for the entire 31 days.
To make this more interesting; I'm also going to be giving up Dairy, Alcohol and Caffeine. Why? Mostly because I'm turning into a slob with no self control, but also to see which of these four vices I struggle the most without.
My hypothesis is cheese.
If anyone has any suggestions of other challenges to add, feel free to hit me up. Or anything good I can substitute with (I'm thinking frozen raspberries and hummus and avocado. OOh and sparkling apple juice - YUM).
I'm excited. But then I haven't started yet. Wish me luck!
I have to admit it now; I'm addicted to social media. No, I don't spend hours a day checking out pages, 'liking' silly anecdotes or chatting to friends. But I do have a need to constantly refresh, and make sure I'm not seconds behind the 8 ball.
Last week I was terribly upset when I thought a best-friend of mine was going through a hard time. Instead of calling him immediately, I spent days worrying before I finally called and found out it was just bad humour on the part of a mutual friend. I hated the thought that if something did happen to my friend, I would find it out on Facebook, and not because he picked up the phone to talk to me about it.
It is for these reasons, and many more, that I am declaring the month of July my Mind, Body & Soul Detox month.
I will not be checking my Facebook page or updating my status, refreshing my twitter feed or posting a blog for the entire 31 days.
To make this more interesting; I'm also going to be giving up Dairy, Alcohol and Caffeine. Why? Mostly because I'm turning into a slob with no self control, but also to see which of these four vices I struggle the most without.
My hypothesis is cheese.
If anyone has any suggestions of other challenges to add, feel free to hit me up. Or anything good I can substitute with (I'm thinking frozen raspberries and hummus and avocado. OOh and sparkling apple juice - YUM).
I'm excited. But then I haven't started yet. Wish me luck!
Friday, April 15, 2011
Social Anarchy #2
A lot has happened since I last blogged. I started a new job, which I quickly realised was the start of a new career (because I don't ever want to leave). I got the loan and insurance approved for my very new car, coming in a few glorious weeks. James and I made the very exciting decision to shack up together when our leases run out next month. Shaun celebrated his first birthday. The Age emailed me with the news they want to publish my article. AND I stumbled upon this sticker in the movie theatre toilet:
'When stub roll finished, push leaver to left for large roll supply'
There is so much I have to say about this.
1 - It's shocking grammar. Really? 'when stub roll finished...' Who talks like that?
2 - Does the leaver push to the right?
3 - How do I know when the stub roll is finished? I mean, what are the signs? I think I need more information.
4 - I'm not sure how the smaller roll feels about being called 'stub' while the larger roll gets called 'large'. Seems very sizest.
5 - It's parading as a sentence, capital letter at the beginning, nouns and verbs and all, but they didn't bother with the full stop. Who does? They're totally overrated
My loyal followers will remember an early blog I posted about instructions on toilet roll holders, and the premise that being told to do something, sometimes makes you want to go and do the opposite. Previously, my toilet roll had instructed me to 'use this roll first', so in an act of total rebellion, I used the other roll.
However, if I'm to rebell against this new instruction in my life, there are too many options to chose from.
For example:
a - I don't wait for the stub roll to finish, I push the lever to the left anyway.
b - When the stub roll is finished, I don't push the lever at all. I leave it for the next person to do - because that's the kind of inconsiderate girl I am.
c - I complete option 'a' and use the large roll supply.
d - I grab a whole handful, run it under the tap, scrunch it and throw it on the ceiling.
I have a confession to make. I was a suck up at school. In fact, I'd probably dob on you.
I never, ever in my life have wet toilet paper, scrunched it up and thrown it at the ceiling. But I promise, if my movie wasn't about to start, reading that damn bossy sign on a toilet roll holder, would have changed who I am.
Don't tell my new bosses. I really love my job.
'When stub roll finished, push leaver to left for large roll supply'
There is so much I have to say about this.
1 - It's shocking grammar. Really? 'when stub roll finished...' Who talks like that?
2 - Does the leaver push to the right?
3 - How do I know when the stub roll is finished? I mean, what are the signs? I think I need more information.
4 - I'm not sure how the smaller roll feels about being called 'stub' while the larger roll gets called 'large'. Seems very sizest.
5 - It's parading as a sentence, capital letter at the beginning, nouns and verbs and all, but they didn't bother with the full stop. Who does? They're totally overrated
My loyal followers will remember an early blog I posted about instructions on toilet roll holders, and the premise that being told to do something, sometimes makes you want to go and do the opposite. Previously, my toilet roll had instructed me to 'use this roll first', so in an act of total rebellion, I used the other roll.
However, if I'm to rebell against this new instruction in my life, there are too many options to chose from.
For example:
a - I don't wait for the stub roll to finish, I push the lever to the left anyway.
b - When the stub roll is finished, I don't push the lever at all. I leave it for the next person to do - because that's the kind of inconsiderate girl I am.
c - I complete option 'a' and use the large roll supply.
d - I grab a whole handful, run it under the tap, scrunch it and throw it on the ceiling.
I have a confession to make. I was a suck up at school. In fact, I'd probably dob on you.
I never, ever in my life have wet toilet paper, scrunched it up and thrown it at the ceiling. But I promise, if my movie wasn't about to start, reading that damn bossy sign on a toilet roll holder, would have changed who I am.
Don't tell my new bosses. I really love my job.
Friday, March 11, 2011
on the hunt
This week I very suddenly lost my job. I was hard at work 10pm Sunday night, 10am Monday morning it was all over. No more pub. No more Ted. No more Sunday penalty rates. No more knock-off drinks. The official story (if you can call it that) is some kind of landlord/tenant/insurance company botch up but we all know that when a pub like The Grand View Hotel shuts its doors its very unlikely they will re-open at all.
Which is sad. Because that makes this the end of an era.
When I started at the GV, I felt I was finally in the job I was born for. I loved the people I worked with, I loved the regulars. I loved the way I could make someones day better so quickly and easily; by pulling them a beer, or asking how their day was and waiting for their response. The money was good, I pretty much set my own hours and I got to have a chef prepared vegetarian delight 4 nights a week.
Like all dreams, I had to wake from it. My fabulous manager, and BFF Steve, left me, and was never replaced. And a bar without a manager is madness. My friends moved out from upstairs, the chef moved on, the beer stopped flowing and eventually most of my regulars stopped coming in.
And (as I learned the hard way) a job with zero security isn't worth all the perks in the world.
So now I'm on the hunt, for the next job I was born for. If any of you would like to make this all a lot easier for me, and offer to publish my book, or convert my blog into a weekly column, I'd be forever grateful. But reality says I must work, at least for a little longer. And working is so boring.
I think that crisis I didn't have when I turned 26 is happening now. I have absolutely no idea what I'm going to do. All I know is it has to be fabulous. So no pressure.
So my darling followers, this week I offer you no advice. No life lessons. This week I'm confused and overwhelmed and a little stressed. And really glad I have a savings account. And really glad I didn't buy a new car last week (I was this close)
Anyone with a fabulous idea hit me up. I'm all ears.
Your friend. (With a lot more time on her hands)
Which is sad. Because that makes this the end of an era.
When I started at the GV, I felt I was finally in the job I was born for. I loved the people I worked with, I loved the regulars. I loved the way I could make someones day better so quickly and easily; by pulling them a beer, or asking how their day was and waiting for their response. The money was good, I pretty much set my own hours and I got to have a chef prepared vegetarian delight 4 nights a week.
Like all dreams, I had to wake from it. My fabulous manager, and BFF Steve, left me, and was never replaced. And a bar without a manager is madness. My friends moved out from upstairs, the chef moved on, the beer stopped flowing and eventually most of my regulars stopped coming in.
And (as I learned the hard way) a job with zero security isn't worth all the perks in the world.
So now I'm on the hunt, for the next job I was born for. If any of you would like to make this all a lot easier for me, and offer to publish my book, or convert my blog into a weekly column, I'd be forever grateful. But reality says I must work, at least for a little longer. And working is so boring.
I think that crisis I didn't have when I turned 26 is happening now. I have absolutely no idea what I'm going to do. All I know is it has to be fabulous. So no pressure.
So my darling followers, this week I offer you no advice. No life lessons. This week I'm confused and overwhelmed and a little stressed. And really glad I have a savings account. And really glad I didn't buy a new car last week (I was this close)
Anyone with a fabulous idea hit me up. I'm all ears.
Your friend. (With a lot more time on her hands)
Monday, February 21, 2011
all of me
This weekend I witnessed the pain of failing love; the moment in my friends eyes when they realised that love isn't enough. The moment they realised you can't love enough, can't love the way you want to, because it isn't there.
I write about love a lot. I'm a hopeless romantic for love. I believe in love. I want to see love overcome all. But sometimes it doesn't.
I believe the reason love fails is because its all consuming, or its nothing. To love something you need to love all of something. You can't love nachos if you don't love cheese. You can't love Melbourne if you don't love the rain. You can't love the beach if you don't love sand.
And you can't love a person if you don't love everything about them.
Passion will sustain love for so long, so will excitement, companionship, joy, adventure. But love will leave if you don't accept the person for who they are completely. Accept, and cherish. Accept, and celebrate.
It takes a long time to find all of someone. To discover the small things, the things that make you smile, the things that make you cringe. I've had James in my life for three years now, and I'm still finding all of him, and he's still finding all of me.
When you find something new, love changes. It increases, or it goes away. But it can't stay the same, because in love's eyes, you've changed. There is something more to know, and you can't un-know it.
Once you've heard somebody say something, you can't un-hear it. Once you've seen someone do something, you can't un-see it. But once you've felt something, you can un-feel it.
Love will leave, and when it does, it's because it wasn't there for all of you. And a love that doesn't love all of you, isn't the love you want.
Because that love will come, and it will stay. Because it can't leave. It's yours.
I write about love a lot. I'm a hopeless romantic for love. I believe in love. I want to see love overcome all. But sometimes it doesn't.
I believe the reason love fails is because its all consuming, or its nothing. To love something you need to love all of something. You can't love nachos if you don't love cheese. You can't love Melbourne if you don't love the rain. You can't love the beach if you don't love sand.
And you can't love a person if you don't love everything about them.
Passion will sustain love for so long, so will excitement, companionship, joy, adventure. But love will leave if you don't accept the person for who they are completely. Accept, and cherish. Accept, and celebrate.
It takes a long time to find all of someone. To discover the small things, the things that make you smile, the things that make you cringe. I've had James in my life for three years now, and I'm still finding all of him, and he's still finding all of me.
When you find something new, love changes. It increases, or it goes away. But it can't stay the same, because in love's eyes, you've changed. There is something more to know, and you can't un-know it.
Once you've heard somebody say something, you can't un-hear it. Once you've seen someone do something, you can't un-see it. But once you've felt something, you can un-feel it.
Love will leave, and when it does, it's because it wasn't there for all of you. And a love that doesn't love all of you, isn't the love you want.
Because that love will come, and it will stay. Because it can't leave. It's yours.
Monday, January 31, 2011
life
I’m finding myself at an age where all my peers are convinced this is as good as it gets. We’re twenty-somethings; and it’s all down hill from here. In fact – it's so down hill you might as well top yourself when you get to sixty.
This is a thought I’m struggling to fathom. Last week I went and visited my ninety year-old Grandfather who has recently been moved into a ‘facility’. My darling Grandpa, or GP as I call him, is in picture perfect health. He looks exactly the same as he did when he was seventy (except for a minor upper-middle-age spread) and he’s still as charming as pie. The problem is that his dementia has advanced to a stage where my family are no longer able to care for him. GP doesn’t understand this, as ‘he’s been looking after himself for the last one hundred years’, but he hasn’t. He’s been under the full-time supervision of my aunt for the last ten, and the part-time supervision of my father and I the five years before that. He doesn’t understand why he is in care, especially in a facility with such ‘nutters’.
This is what's fabulous: my GP is so unaware of his condition, he’s ‘looking after’ the ladies he’s living with. He’s making the most of everyday, and what he forgets... doesn’t hurt him.
I understand why some of my peers may see this as a lack of quality of life – but I think they are wrong.
How truly amazing, to be looked after everyday, and still live a life whereby you feel useful. Besides, isn’t that what we all want? To feel needed?
I work at a local pub, and have the privilege a few times a week of seating a gentleman named ‘Ted’ down for dinner. Ted has been coming to the pub for ‘over forty years’. He always tries something new on the menu.
I assumed Ted was in his sixties, maybe seventies, but I was wrong. One quiet night I had the honour of sitting with Ted as he waited for his meal. Ted is ninety-four years old and lives alone, since his wife passed. He eats out most nights of the week, and has recently taken up photography. He has entered his photos in numerous competitions, and travels the country as a competition winner. When I asked him how enjoyed living alone he told me he was thinking of moving somewhere else, because ‘sometimes, he’s sick of making his own breakfast’.
I believe life is a gift. I believe every day is as precious as the last. And if someday, for some reason we find ourselves unable to make our own breakfast, instead of feeling that it’s all over, perhaps we could celebrate the fact that someone is prepared to make it for us.
Sure, being a twenty-something is great. We have the world at our feet, decisions to make, children (or puppies) to parent. But is this really as good as it gets?
Maybe a slower, more peaceful, more reflective life is one to be yearned for, aspired to, instead of feared. Maybe this isn’t as good as it gets. Maybe, it just keeps getting better. And then you die.
This is a thought I’m struggling to fathom. Last week I went and visited my ninety year-old Grandfather who has recently been moved into a ‘facility’. My darling Grandpa, or GP as I call him, is in picture perfect health. He looks exactly the same as he did when he was seventy (except for a minor upper-middle-age spread) and he’s still as charming as pie. The problem is that his dementia has advanced to a stage where my family are no longer able to care for him. GP doesn’t understand this, as ‘he’s been looking after himself for the last one hundred years’, but he hasn’t. He’s been under the full-time supervision of my aunt for the last ten, and the part-time supervision of my father and I the five years before that. He doesn’t understand why he is in care, especially in a facility with such ‘nutters’.
This is what's fabulous: my GP is so unaware of his condition, he’s ‘looking after’ the ladies he’s living with. He’s making the most of everyday, and what he forgets... doesn’t hurt him.
I understand why some of my peers may see this as a lack of quality of life – but I think they are wrong.
How truly amazing, to be looked after everyday, and still live a life whereby you feel useful. Besides, isn’t that what we all want? To feel needed?
I work at a local pub, and have the privilege a few times a week of seating a gentleman named ‘Ted’ down for dinner. Ted has been coming to the pub for ‘over forty years’. He always tries something new on the menu.
I assumed Ted was in his sixties, maybe seventies, but I was wrong. One quiet night I had the honour of sitting with Ted as he waited for his meal. Ted is ninety-four years old and lives alone, since his wife passed. He eats out most nights of the week, and has recently taken up photography. He has entered his photos in numerous competitions, and travels the country as a competition winner. When I asked him how enjoyed living alone he told me he was thinking of moving somewhere else, because ‘sometimes, he’s sick of making his own breakfast’.
I believe life is a gift. I believe every day is as precious as the last. And if someday, for some reason we find ourselves unable to make our own breakfast, instead of feeling that it’s all over, perhaps we could celebrate the fact that someone is prepared to make it for us.
Sure, being a twenty-something is great. We have the world at our feet, decisions to make, children (or puppies) to parent. But is this really as good as it gets?
Maybe a slower, more peaceful, more reflective life is one to be yearned for, aspired to, instead of feared. Maybe this isn’t as good as it gets. Maybe, it just keeps getting better. And then you die.
Saturday, January 8, 2011
How to turn 26 with grace.
For the first year of my adult life I'm not approaching my birthday with the cliche 'I'm so old' groan.
22... that's SO old.
23... that's SOO old.
24... that's SOOO old.
I think 26 is going to be great. I'm old enough to know that "what am I doing with my life?" really means shit.
do you know what my goals were for my 25th year were when I was 18?
- ride a motorbike
- have made my first million
and my goals for my 18th when I was 15?
- get married
- have kids
- save the world
my goals for this year are simple:
- be happy
- spread happiness
I cringe at the things I thought were important. Money, status, celebrity.
My 25th year was sensational. It humbled me, inspired me, and challenged me.
I wouldn't be where I am today if I hadn't failed every one of my previous goals. And there's nowhere else I want to be than right here, right now.
- for the record, right here is my gorgeous home in Brunswick I share with 2 of the best friends I have ever had and 2 delicious puppies who wake me up every day with a smile. I'm waiting for my incredible man, James to get ready so we can go to a party with our fabulous friends and typing on my shiny new macbook pro I was able to afford when I started my own business, 6 weeks ago - doesn't sound too shabby, right?
So to all of you out there dreading your next birthday and regret not achieving your so called goals... ask yourself this: Am I happy? If the answer is yes, have a happy birthday. If the answer is not yet, be happy you've got another year to get it right.
and besides, I still get asked for ID.
22... that's SO old.
23... that's SOO old.
24... that's SOOO old.
I think 26 is going to be great. I'm old enough to know that "what am I doing with my life?" really means shit.
do you know what my goals were for my 25th year were when I was 18?
- ride a motorbike
- have made my first million
and my goals for my 18th when I was 15?
- get married
- have kids
- save the world
my goals for this year are simple:
- be happy
- spread happiness
I cringe at the things I thought were important. Money, status, celebrity.
My 25th year was sensational. It humbled me, inspired me, and challenged me.
I wouldn't be where I am today if I hadn't failed every one of my previous goals. And there's nowhere else I want to be than right here, right now.
- for the record, right here is my gorgeous home in Brunswick I share with 2 of the best friends I have ever had and 2 delicious puppies who wake me up every day with a smile. I'm waiting for my incredible man, James to get ready so we can go to a party with our fabulous friends and typing on my shiny new macbook pro I was able to afford when I started my own business, 6 weeks ago - doesn't sound too shabby, right?
So to all of you out there dreading your next birthday and regret not achieving your so called goals... ask yourself this: Am I happy? If the answer is yes, have a happy birthday. If the answer is not yet, be happy you've got another year to get it right.
and besides, I still get asked for ID.
Saturday, January 1, 2011
Raising Shaun
Things I've learned in 2010, courtesy of one young Beagleier
(...and a few others)
1 - Life is better shared with someone you love.
2 - A good diet and lots of exercise makes you happy, healthy and better company.
3 - Sometimes you know what's better for someone than they do (eg. onions).
4 - Sometimes they don't care (eg. cake).
5 - When you love someone, you never give up on them. You never judge them. You're never ashamed of them them. You just want to hug them.
6 - Unconditional love takes you away from work, away from your own problems, and makes you be a better person.
7 - Family is precious and should never be taken for granted, or abused.
8 - It takes quality time to build a special relationship. Time, and a lot of patience.
9 - A new puppy might move in next door and steal your heart for a minute, but true love always finds its way back home.
10 - Life is better shared with someone you love.
Best thing I've learned in 2010? Love. Find the right person (or puppy) and love them with everything you can. Choose love every day. It makes you a better person, and makes the world a better place.
So my New Years Day message is simple: Fall in love in 2011. Fall in love for the first time, or fall in love all over again.
And to the boy who truly changed my life, James, thanks for loving me. You make me better.
(...and a few others)
1 - Life is better shared with someone you love.
2 - A good diet and lots of exercise makes you happy, healthy and better company.
3 - Sometimes you know what's better for someone than they do (eg. onions).
4 - Sometimes they don't care (eg. cake).
5 - When you love someone, you never give up on them. You never judge them. You're never ashamed of them them. You just want to hug them.
6 - Unconditional love takes you away from work, away from your own problems, and makes you be a better person.
7 - Family is precious and should never be taken for granted, or abused.
8 - It takes quality time to build a special relationship. Time, and a lot of patience.
9 - A new puppy might move in next door and steal your heart for a minute, but true love always finds its way back home.
10 - Life is better shared with someone you love.
Best thing I've learned in 2010? Love. Find the right person (or puppy) and love them with everything you can. Choose love every day. It makes you a better person, and makes the world a better place.
So my New Years Day message is simple: Fall in love in 2011. Fall in love for the first time, or fall in love all over again.
And to the boy who truly changed my life, James, thanks for loving me. You make me better.
Friday, December 10, 2010
Waiting on my world to change
This morning I realised; not only is 2011 completely out of my control, my fate entirely in the hands of others; but I have absolutely no contingency plans.
Well thats not entirely true;
if my book doesn't get picked up, I guess I'll go back to school
if my business proposal doesn't get accepted, I guess I'll go back to school.
But God, the other options seem so much more exciting.
I know I've done everything I can already. I wrote the book. I sent a killer letter to the publishers. I wrote the business plan. I attended the meetings. I'm pretty happy with everything I've done. But if they don't like it? Then it was all for nothing. And I'm at my all too familiar 'square one'.
Every now and again (usually around Dec/Jan every year... funny that) I have a huge anxiety attack about what I'm doing - or not doing. This year is no different. I have limited funds - thanks to an international holiday I still haven't paid myself back for. I have a job with NO stability, and I have a million different ideas, none I can settle on, or make happen myself.
And every year I remind myself - hey, this year turned out alright. So take one foot, place it in front of the other, and repeat, until you end up somewhere.
That's the beauty of life. It's the things you don't expect, you don't plan for, that take you somewhere amazing.
Bring it on fate/universe/spirit-guide/karma. I trust you.
And besides, I love school.
Well thats not entirely true;
if my book doesn't get picked up, I guess I'll go back to school
if my business proposal doesn't get accepted, I guess I'll go back to school.
But God, the other options seem so much more exciting.
I know I've done everything I can already. I wrote the book. I sent a killer letter to the publishers. I wrote the business plan. I attended the meetings. I'm pretty happy with everything I've done. But if they don't like it? Then it was all for nothing. And I'm at my all too familiar 'square one'.
Every now and again (usually around Dec/Jan every year... funny that) I have a huge anxiety attack about what I'm doing - or not doing. This year is no different. I have limited funds - thanks to an international holiday I still haven't paid myself back for. I have a job with NO stability, and I have a million different ideas, none I can settle on, or make happen myself.
And every year I remind myself - hey, this year turned out alright. So take one foot, place it in front of the other, and repeat, until you end up somewhere.
That's the beauty of life. It's the things you don't expect, you don't plan for, that take you somewhere amazing.
Bring it on fate/universe/spirit-guide/karma. I trust you.
And besides, I love school.
Monday, November 1, 2010
I'm kind of a nerd.
I am an education junkie. I danced out of my year 12 exams swearing "I'd never do that again". Then 6 months later I enrolled in TAFE. Then I got bored and went to Uni. Then I finished my degree, tried working for a bit, but got bored and went back to TAFE for something new.
I'm trying to appropriately set the scene for what I'm about to say.
I LOVE school. I LOVE learning. I love the feeling you get when you master something, or solve something, or finish something. I wrote a 62000 word novel in 6 months. I bloody love working hard and 'bettering myself'.
But there is something that I hate, more than anything. More than full-time work, and that's saying something.
Homework for the sake of homework.
Today, I have spent 4 hours searching for 'errors' in bad publications. I am required to submit a scrapbook of 40 spelling or grammar errors for 10% of my grade for the year.
Things I hate about this:
1 - It's tedious
2 - It's a waste of time
3 - I'm not learning a thing
4 - I'm having to read MX and the Leader and Twilight
After 4 hours, I have found 6 errors.
During my holiday in Queensland, I had a write a Newsletter for a pretend company. I had to write a book review for a pretend newspaper. My favourite waste of time assignment this year was a 5 minute presentation on a topic of my choice to an audience of my choice.
To prove my point to the teacher of just how dumb an exercise it was, I showed the class pictures of Shaun, my puppy. She didn't get the point. She gave me a distinction.
It's for this reason, and many more, I won't be spending next year in full-time education. I will continue to study, but only the classes that don't waste my time.
But I will miss the delights of AUSTUDY. Newstart is a bitch.