A decade ago today…

Your whole world can change in a minute. A second, even. A single decision can shape your life. Or at least I used to think so. Now days before the ‘noughties’ comes to a close I’m not so sure.

A decade ago, today, I was faced with the biggest challenge of my life. No I am not talking about a regular rite of passage either. It was traumatic. I knew right then that my life had changed forever. But it took days, months and even years for the fallout to settle and for all of the consequences to manifest. I spent years putting my life back together. I was certain, absolutely certain, that some of the changes were irrevocable. I was sure, and told many times, that this one event would define and dominate my life forever. That a decision (made by someone else no less) had changed me.

We were wrong. The tragedy has been totally erased from my life. All that remains are faint physical scars. Yes I have been changed by the experience. I am stronger and wiser than I would have been otherwise. But the essence of who I am, and indeed, who I was always going to be never changed. The things that define me now, the corner stones of my life, are the things I was told as a result of the tragedy I would never achieve.

Like a bubbling stream we move around the boulders in our path, ever flowing towards the ocean. The path of least resistance, our natural desire, delivers us time and time again to where we were always going to go. No boulder can harm the stream or define it, and in time the water will wear it down until that boulder is indistinguishable from the rest of the pebbles.

A decade ago, today, I was faced with the biggest challenge of my life. Looking back it was no different to every other challenge – it just took longer to overcome.

My peace with discipline

I have always thought discipline was over rated. Perhaps because I have been surrounded by military men most of my life, I have always seen discipline as soul crushing and authoritarian. My mother taught me to question everything and to rebel if need be. (Funny story; I spoke to my Mum about that advice the other day and she laughed. Apparently she had never said that, but that was the meaning I took from her philosophy of not treading the trodden path. Anyhow…)

Growing up I hated the idea of being a sheep. The thought of just ‘swallowing’ what the authoritarians around me were serving up was horrifying. The irony is that I just ended up following alternative, self-appointed, authority figures instead. The discipline enforced by authority figures really is soul crushing. It makes no difference whether you choose the disciplinarian or not. Discipline enforced externally it is cheap.

Now that I am a parent, I have begun to understand the importance for discipline. No, I am certainly not one of those mothers who you see smacking her child (publically or privately), but my toddler needs a firm word every other minute or so. At 18 months he is already finding and pushing boundaries and I find that he is comfortable when he knows where the line in the sand is.

So, I think I have finally made my peace with discipline. Self discipline is an enriching quality that builds our confidence. It reminds us we are capable of good judgement and committment. It helps us remain strong in the face of uncertainty. Self discipline keeps us true to our inner compass. Genuine authentic external authority is similar. It helps us to develop the capacity for self-discipline and to decide where our own personal boundaries are. But authority and discipline for the sake of it simply crush the soul.

My goal for me is to cultivate my self-discipline by following my better judgement. My goal for my son is to always and only embody authentic discipline for him, and not to crush his burgeoning spirit with unnecessary rules.

My peace with discipline

I have always thought discipline was over rated. Perhaps because I have been surrounded by military men most of my life, I have always seen discipline as soul crushing and authoritarian. My mother taught me to question everything and to rebel if need be. (Funny story; I spoke to my Mum about that advice the other day and she laughed. Apparently she had never said that, but that was the meaning I took from her philosophy of not treading the trodden path. Anyhow…)

Growing up I hated the idea of being a sheep. The thought of just ‘swallowing’ what the authoritarians around me were serving up was horrifying. The irony is that I just ended up following alternative, self-appointed, authority figures instead. The discipline enforced by authority figures really is soul crushing. It makes no difference whether you choose the disciplinarian or not. Discipline is enforced externally it is cheap.

Now that I am a parent, I have begun to understand the importance for discipline. No, I am certainly not one of those mothers who you see smacking her child (publically or privately), but my toddler needs a firm word every other minute or so. At 18 months he is already finding and pushing boundaries and I find that he is comfortable when he knows where the line in the sand is.

So, I think I have finally made my peace with discipline. Self discipline is an enriching quality that builds our confidence. It reminds us we are capable of good judgement and committment. It helps us remain strong in the face of uncertainty. Self discipline keeps us true to our inner compass. Genuine authentic external authority is similar. It helps us to develop the capacity for self-discipline and to decide where our own personal boundaries are. But authority and discipline for the sake of it simply crush the soul.

My goal for me is to cultivate my self-discipline by following my better judgement. My goal for my son it to always and only embody authentic discipline for him, and not to crush his burgeoning spirit with unnecessary rules.

From me and mine to you and yours:

Merry Christmas!

May your day, and all your days, be filled with celebration, family, joy and peace.

The paradox of delirium

It is 2:46am and I am just sitting down to blog. One of my favourite songs from high school is playing on the radio and my kitchen and bathroom, despite 11 hours of work on them in the past 2 days, looks the same as they did on Tuesday.

I feel like I could run a marathon… well I guess this is how it would feel if I was ever ready to run a marathon. Which is unlikely. I think I would sooner birth an alien life form than be capable of a marathon, but I digress. My point is I am not tired. Instead of weary I am feeling that particular kind of restlessness you feel eating breakfast before a big trip – eating faster won’t achieve anything other than indigestion, but none the less you are chomping at the bit to get things underway. I know I have worked because my feet are sore and my back is aching. My skin has a beautiful glow to it, that on closer inspection is just dust particles stuck to the film of perspiration (yes ladies perspire, they don’t sweat) on my skin. I am finding it difficult to focus, as the paragraph above demonstrates beautifully, but I am not tired.

This is delirium.

Delirium is terrible and wonderful state that I haven’t experienced for a while. I remember as a teenager reaching this state just before the hangover kicked in after a HUGE night where nobody slept until after the sun came up. I remember delirium overcoming me after crying until the tears ran dry and the pillow felt like a sponge. I remember this feeling creeping in after a weekend where the only times my partner and I ventured out of the bedroom was for water and to go to the bathroom. (Yes, love really can sustain you. For a few days at least.) This is how it felt the night my son was born.

Delirium allows you to function, but without focus.

Your conscious mind is sleeping on the job (it just puts the body on autopilot) and your whimsical, emotional, symbolic unconscious mind has control.

Perhaps that is why I found myself almost tearful looking at my tidy kitchen. Very little has changed, but every single object has been removed, cleaned, vetted and returned. Everything has a place and a purpose. My favourite little corner of the world (my kitchen) could not be more perfect.

Lesson: Inner peace is most often not achieved through meditation (unless you are a monk). The rest of us find peace in the ordinary.

The bugs pushing to a fresh start to 2010

I HATE bugs. You may have picked up on that, since they led to my downfall in the hornet incident. I understand that insects, in general, are the basis of all ecosystems and that life on earth would grind to a halt without them. I just don’t want them in my house!!!

I lose all sense of rationality and common sense in the presence of 6 legged foes. I have been known to vacuum up ants, concoct herbal pesticides for fleas, leave out vinegar for flies, rub window sills with tea tree oil and sprinkle doorways with cinnamon. All the while chanting, mentally or aloud, “Die, little demons, DIE!” I guess I understand why I have been called a ‘White Witch’.

In light of my passionate hate for creepy crawlies, living squarely in the heart of cockroach territory only one solitary block from the beach wasn’t the best decision I ever made. I love the lifestyle but HATE the neighbours, so this week this natural earth mother threw up her arms in surrender and called the fumigators. I simply cannot let the neighbours become housemates.

Fumigation to me has always seemed the expensive and easy route. You go out and let the professional take care of it. The most you need to do is sweep up the carnage in the days afterwards. Except the customer service professional told me I must empty all cupboards, expose all the skirting boards & clear all the benches. In short, I am packing up my living room, bathroom and kitchen into boxes. A daunting task. Especially 1 week out from Christmas when there is 2 batches of gingerbread dough in the fridge waiting to be baked. Doh!

If something comes between me and baking it must have a silver lining. So I am looking on this as a clean out of the old in preparation for the new. A delayed spring clean and hopefully a beginning to my minimalist lifestyle. Bring on 2010.

How I failed as a liberated woman (Google first and shoot second.)

I am a strong, independent woman of the 21st century. I am a card-carrying feminist. Don’t believe me? Ask anybody who ever jokingly told me to ‘get back in the kitchen’, or anybody who so much as mumbled a chauvinistic comment around me since I was 5.

Yes, you heard me 5. There is a story my parents enjoy telling of a christmas party that I attended when I was a child. My father was in the Navy and at the time he was working with Navy divers. Now, just to fill you in Navy Divers are crazier than cut snakes. Men only join the clearance diving team if they are over the top mucho wankers with waaaaay more brawn than brains. So back to the christmas party. This diver spilt a beer on me and my pretty party dress. When I asked him to apologise (as would be the civilised thing to do) he made a comment about not apologising to a ‘little girl’. Let’s just say that he didn’t live down the dressing down he received from a 5-year-old ‘little girl’, until he got his new posting.

My history of fearlessness and standing on my own two feet started early, and it only got worse as I got older. In year 6 I was reprimanded for highlighting the plight of women in Saudi Arabia in my turn of show and tell. My show was the book Princess and I read aloud carefully selected excerpts, which the teacher deemed ‘inappropriate’. In year 7 I was sent from the room for asking my religion teacher the position of the Church on teenage prostitution in Australia. And by year 10 I was already a member of a political organisation, only responding to the title ‘comrad’ and espousing a lecture to anybody who greeted me with ‘you’re looking good’ because how fucking sexist is it that the first comment we make to women (not men) is that their physical appearance is pleasing!

Now let us fast forward to the failure my 5-year-old self would have kicked my arse for.  I have never been good with bugs. Or dirt for that matter. I have always been a bit of a girly girl ( no, the irony is not lost on me) and I freaked when there was a hornet, in my living room. In a nano-second I had nothing but adrenalin coursing through my veins. Because this hornet was HUGE! And also, my baby’s Daddy is allergic to wasps and bees. So there is every chance my baby could have an anaphylactic response to a sting AND since we are at home without a car, such a response could be fatal. Or at least this was the train of thought that was on constant loop in my mind. So you understand why my body chose flight over fight.

This could have been a perfectly respectable Mamma bear protecting baby bear situation, but it quickly degenerated into a farce. I grabbed the baby and my blackberry (the weapon of the 21st century) and ran into the hall trapping the hornet in the living room & kitchen. Then I was afraid it would make a nest for itself in the toys or the couch. Imagining scenes of me returning to the room for food and water, only to be exposed 360 degree to the wrath of the hornet, I opened the door a crack to spy on it. Then I made a few calls for advice. My mother, from whom I inherited my feminism, could do nothing but laugh and tell me to ‘squish it’. Thanks Mum, I hadn’t thought of that. My Nan advised me to hit it with a broom. When I advised her that I didn’t have a broom, she was too busy trying to figure out ‘what kind of woman doesn’t own a broom’? and forgot all about the hornet. My Aunt had no advice at all, but she did decide to buy me a fly swatter for christmas. Woot!

I rallied my courage, donned a long sleeve shirt (in case it tried to sting me as I squished it) and snuck back into the room armed with a shoe. I was sure I could do it. I mean I faced my fear of heights by abseiling, I faced my fear of snakes by petting a python and I managed to make it through labour in a meditative state. I can be both hunter and gatherer. I am woman hear me roar!

Minutes later I ran screaming from the room and called for my partner, in tears, to come home and kill it. Which he did. = Fail.

I learned multiple lessons from this failure:

1. Australia has Hornets (who knew?) Australian Hornets are non-agressive nectar eating creatures that only sting to paralyse caterpillars to feed their young.
2. Ignorance is the root of all major fuck-ups. The better you understand your enemy (read situation, person or stinging insect) the more likely you are to find a reasonable solution without degenerating to tantrums or violence. In short Google first, shoot second.

Schedule your inspiration

It is your day off. You have been looking forward to this time for weeks. You have a list as long as your arm of relaxing things that you will spend these precious hours doing. You realise half way through the day that it is not possible to get everything done and your day will be anything but relaxing. You rush from errand to appointment and back again ending at home utterly exhausted, wishing that you had just picked up take away on your way home from work, because that (or getting a root canal) would have been less stressful. Does this ever happen to you?

This phenomena is born of two things:

1. We grossly underestimate how long it takes to ‘do’ something
2. We focus too much on the exhalation (the execution of a task) and forget the inspiration (the space between tasks)

I often plan to do something before I go to bed, like have a cup of tea and some chocolate or give myself a mini facial or read or write a blog or whatever. Two nights a week, if I am absolutely on fire, I will do one of those things before I go to bed. Instead I usually pack up the baby’s toys, pack the dishwasher and clean the kitchen benches, organise lunches for tomorrow, write my other half a lovely note for him to wake up to, put a load of washing on, balance the budget or any of the millions of mundane necessary things that I never include in my schedule.

This isn’t simply a Mum thing either. I know I used to plan meetings back to back when I worked in finance, giving myself 5 minutes to go to the bathroom and re-fill the water jug, only to find that the clients were early, my staff needed to run some issues past me, the printer was stuffed and the documents hadn’t printed and that I had a million emails to address.

Planning and scheduling is important. I think it is impossible minimise stress without knowing, for the most part, what needs to be done and allocating time for it. But so many of us don’t schedule to our priorities and only schedule a fraction of our tasks, but allocate them the majority of our time.

Lesson: To live with a sense of tranquility schedule the inspiration as well as the exhalation. And as any good yoga teacher will tell you; if you want to relax the inspiration should be as long as the exhalation.

Are you supportable? Ten steps to support in 2010.

I am fiercely independent and stubborn to a fault, but I have been supportable in the past. Currently though, I would say I am definitely difficult (near on impossible) to support.

I have willing and prepared family and friends, who would probably never say ‘No’ if I asked for help – so many of us do – but I rarely articulate what exactly they could do to help. When asked how I am doing my default response is ‘I’m fine’ which roughly translates to “I actually need support, but am too stubborn to ask for it”.

How to know if you are unsupportable like me:

• You lie about how you are doing i.e. “Yeah I’m ok. Everything is fine”
• You think that t is easier to just ‘stick it out’ than to ask for help
• You expect the help you get to be absolutely perfect and are disappointed when, lets say, the towels aren’t folded like you would fold them
• You keep telling yourself all you need is someone to talk to, not actual help
• You are hesitant to break the routine to try things a different, more supportive, way
• You keep telling yourself than in a few weeks when (insert dilemma here) is over, everything will be better

One of my goals for 2010 is to feel totally supported. So I will be changing a few things, from priorities to how I run my household and how I manage relationships to achieve that. (Friends and family that read this blog are broadly smiling or cringing in anticipation, depending on who they are as they read this, I am sure.)

Here is my game plan to a more supported life:

1. Recognise that the world would turn without me. So it is o.k for me to take time out for me – the sky won’t fall in.
2. Let go of the feelings of failure and guilt that arise when I ask for help. Needing help and time out is NORMAL.
3. Set up the family schedule so that time for me is already built-in. This will stop me apologising for doing what I need, like have an uninterrupted shower for example.
4. Take friends up on offers of babysitting etc.
5. Explain in advance what I need and how I am working to achieve it, so no-one accidentally works against me in attempt to help.
6. Preempt difficult times and take action to get support before I am desperate, rundown & exhausted.
7. Proritise yoga, meditation and writing just as high as getting the shopping done, catching up with friends and doing the chores.
8. Learn not to apologise for number 7 above.
9. Accept that things like having smooth legs and tidy nails, moisturised skin and getting hair cuts really do make me feel better, because they demonstrate I am worth taking care of, and make time for them regularly.
10. Cultivate a focused and relaxed mind that deals with what I am working on at the time and lets go of the millions of other things and thoughts that are going on simultaneously.

How are you focusing more on yourself in 2010?

7 reasons why gentler isn’t always easier

I like to do things the gentle way. I try diplomacy first. I move to reasoning second. I attempt healthy debate next. I am honest and upfront, slow to anger and always give the other the benefit of the doubt. By no means am I afraid of confrontation, standing up for myself or making a point (or making a scene) but only if it is absolutely necessary.

I haven’t always been this way. I used to yell first, insult second and always make a scene. I was clearly understood always, everybody knew where they stood with me and how I was feeling.

Having lived both sides of the coin I have arrived at a lesser known truth: Abrupt and abrasive is easier.

It is much easier to be closed minded. It is effortless to say what you think, when you think it. It is simple to assume your opinion is the only one that matters. It is easy to manage your relationships when you are looking out for number one; You are either hated for your rudeness or loved for your refreshing honesty. And for the most part you are respected for being frank and making your needs known.

Maintaining the same sense of honesty whilst being respectful, compassionate and gentle is much MUCH harder. Let me show you why:

1. To live the gentle way requires more strength of conviction, because you are aren’t yelling.
2. Managing your relationships with compassion is harder because you consider everybody’s needs.
3. Getting respect in a world that respects flashy and noisy is a longer road when you are humble and tread softly.
4. You require a bigger heart to live this way to extend the benefit of the doubt, time and time again without becoming jaded.
5. The balance between compassionate and doormat is an easy line to cross, so the gentle way needs much more self awareness.
6. To tread softly you must be willing to let go of others opinions, because you will inevitably be misunderstood by the abrupt and abrasive.
7. The gentle way teaches a profound sense of perspective; your immediate needs may not be as important as you had thought.

Which way to you live, rough and ready or compassionate and gentle? Have you found a balance between the two?

What would your tatoo say?

This is one of my personal pet peeves at the moment. Yes, I do need to get over it. Yes, I know I do it too. But being on the receiving end of it really just sucks. Yes I am talking about judging a book by its cover.

We have all been judged on the way we look since birth. Babies are assumed to be ‘good’ if they are chubby and  ‘unhealthy’ if they are not. If you put a little baby girl in boys overalls and take her to the park onlookers are happy to let the toddler fall, dust itself off and keep playing. Even if this child cries from the fall, you will most likely hear “Oh you’re alright. Up you get.” Change the same child into a dress and if she falls she will be immediately scooped up for cuddles and comfort.

There is no need to discuss the way we were all judged on appearance in High School either. We were all there. Like it or lump it our worth was dictated by our image. Furthermore we were all judged daily on everything from our hair to our shoes, and some bits in between.

I found a reprieve from the judgement, for the most part, in the workforce. Wearing a suit in the city to work and cute outfits out in clubs and bars my friends and I found a niche of sorts. The judgement changed from soul crushing to categorising. We were seen as young professionals, 20-somethings. Full stop.

Then I fell pregnant. It was like going back to school. Instantly I was viewed differently; less capable, less stable, public property. Suddenly people felt they had a say in where I sat, what I did, what I ate and how I dressed. Things they would never have said to me a few short months earlier.

I thought things would go back to the happy medium I discovered in the workforce when the baby had arrived and things began to settled down. It got worse. I now fit into 3 categories. However do I keep up?

1. When I am in casual dress I attract the label ‘Mum’. It is grossly assumed the only interesting thing in my life is my son. It is assumed that I have all the time in the world and no schedule to keep and that my time is not worth much.
2. When I am in a suit, with or without my son, I fit the category of ‘Professional’ or ‘Working Mum’. Instantly my time is considered precious and I am almost revered for my ability to ‘do it all’.
3. When I am out with friends without the baby I revert to my previous niche of ‘young professional’ or ’20-something’. Strangers in a bar for example see me as their kin and my cleavage is ogle worthy. Interestingly when a guy asks me what I am doing later and I reply ‘going home to feed the baby’ the cleavage is instantly non-ogleable.

I know it is way too much to ask. I know it is a fantasy that will never happen. None the less I dream of a day where regardless of which mode we are in, which uniform we are wearing, what setting we are in, people judge us only by our actions and words. But hell will probably freeze over first. Instead I think we could try harder to resemble books. Yup you heard me. Look like the books we treat each other like. I propose we all tatoo our personal mottos on our foreheads (like a blurb) so we can be quickly judged for who we really are.

What would your tatoo say?

Overwhelm… how I hate thee

If you are female aged between 21 and 50 I would bet my last TimTam (Amazing Australian biscuit) that you know the feeling well. Overwhelm, yuck!

It usually goes something like this – Work is hectic or the baby is teething, or both. AND you are stressed about one or more of the following; buying a house, planning a wedding, coping with a pregnancy, studying, planning an event, paying the bills, cleaning the house, making it to the gym, navigating family issues, launching your company, keeping in touch with friends and getting more than 5 hours sleep a night.

The more you do the more rest you need and the less time you have to get it. Usual rest periods like the commute or having a coffee we are ‘plugged in’ with the iphone making us contactable and on 24/7.

With the festive season just around the corner, the craziness will only get worse. Much worse. To the usual overwhelm we can add; double the social engagements, hangovers, present shopping, credit card debt, the mad rush at work to get everything done, being short-staffed as people take holidays, the final 4 weeks to achieve our goals for 2009.

Try these this silly season, to reduce stress, keep calm and enjoy your friends and family:

• Make a list of priorities. Use it to guide which events you attend, who you catch up with and how you spend your time.
• Instigate a ‘day of rest’ each week. On that evening do only things you really love, that fill you with energy like, bubble baths, movies, a meal in, a slow walk outside etc.
• Make a christmas list and keep it with you. It will make present shopping easier.
• Create a christmas budget and stick to it.
• Have a maintenance weekend in the first weekend of December. Clean the house, get a manicure/pedicure, facial, waxing, haircut etc to prepare you for parties and guests for the rest of the month.
• Aim for balance on a weekly basis. It may not be possible to go to the gym, work and a function, run errands and spend time with family all in a day. Spread it out.

What do you do to beat overwhelm?