Forgive me…

Forgive me for my late (almost non-existent) post today. I have a cold. I know, *sniff, sniff*, poor me. Normally a cold is but a blip on the radar. Especially when your role doesn’t come with colleagues to cover for you, sick leave or clients who can wait till tomorrow. But this one threw me for a six. Probably because the full extent of medication I can take is Panadol; pretty much everything else is dangerous for Bubs in the first trimester. And Panadol exacerbates my morning sickness (which according to all conventional wisdom should end in a week *scoff*).

Anyhow, I have unplugged for the most part of the past 48 hours and slept as much as possible. Hence the lack of blogging prowess. I promise to have something reasonable for you for the weekend.

xxx

200 posts and changes to come

I started this blog 200 posts ago as a way to stop me from losing my mind. I am not sure how successful I have been in that endeavor. I guess I will let you decide.

Over the course of the past 18 months or so my life has taken on a new trajectory. Some of those around me saw it coming. I sure as hell didn’t. It is cliche, and oh-so-fashionable to say, but Motherhood changed me. And soon it is going to change my blog.

Motherhood isn’t going away. It isn’t getting any easier. It isn’t taking up any less of my time, energy or focus. Motherhood is making me a better person, it is changing my perspective and changing what I have to offer. Days from hell aside I am a peaceful, calm, compassionate a relatively centered Mum. I am not the best housekeeper, I am not the most organised, but I’m going with my strengths here.

My emerging strengths are;

• Being mindful
• Honesty
• Finding the meaning in the mundane
• Walking the Spiritual Path of Motherhood
• Everyday Meditation (not to be confused with meditating every day. I wish!)
• Research. I am a research and synthesis energiser bunny (As my lovely father pointed out to me today)

So over the coming weeks you will see some changes to my blog. Hopefully you will like the changes as much as I do. I will me making the delineations clearer for those who don’t relate to the motherhood stuff, getting a little more organised (this will include a new posting schedule) and making things easier to navigate (and hopefully prettier).

I’d love to hear your thoughts and suggestions. What should I quit doing? What should I do more of? xxx

*photo credit

Writing mojo

I am finding it really difficult to write at the moment. Interesting that my writing mojo seems to evaporate directly after 21 days of the Bindu Wiles 21.5.800 challenge.

Part of my difficulty writing is because recently I have been afraid to write. Terrified of noting down that was knocking around inside, words are power you know. Part of it is that it’s not appropriate to share what is in my mind and heart at the moment. Part of it is that my creative energies are being funneled off in a different direction. I already know what happens when my creativity finds a muse.

It happened a few years ago. I thought there was something very wrong with me. I was young, in a blissfully happy partnership, loving my work. My creative juices were flowing in my work. I had just begin teaching meditation and leading a spiritual development group. Spiritually and vocationally I was alive; on fire. Sexually, I was dry as a bone.

I couldn’t work it out. I knew this happened sometimes to women. But older women, right? Not me. Not at 23 for fucks sake! Yeah I have some crappy sexual history, but it wasn’t the cause. Though my body betraying my mind and refusing to become juicy, that sure and hell bought it up. To this day I find it ironic that being unable to be sexual bought up sexual shame. (But that is another post for another day; how women seem to take responsibility for, and find shame in, our sexuality regardless of whether we are over or under sexual.)

I was lucky at the time to have a sage on my team. A wonderful woman who has decades of learning (and teaching) on me and is all too generous in sharing her wisdom. I had her to go to. She taught me to heal my sexual shame, with my partner, by tapping into our collective shame embodying it completely. A truly harrowing and healing experience. She also explained to me the nature of my creative feminine power.

I learned then that my creativity can do more than one thing at a time, but it [I] can’t serve two masters at once. Instead I do one well and feel stifled in the other. Then it was grow into my new role and vocation I did well and sex that was stifled. Now, my creativity is busy and writing has become the other.

The challenge

I was going to write about my search for a guide, but in my procrastination I happened across this. Yes I would love for you to click and go take a look. In fact I am still browsing the site, however I’ll give you the cliff notes here.

It is a challenge, a 3 week challenge. It’s called the 21.5.800 challenge. A challenge for Yogis and Writers. Specifically Writers who want, or should or used to, be yogis. Or Writers who like to lay down a lot. Anyhow.  It goes like this:

for 21 days

5 yoga sessions a week

writing 800 words a day

No it is not the guide I am looking for, but it is movement. Agitation in the good sense of the word. Something positive to focus on while my guide and focus find me. Perhaps in the 16,800 words I will be writing I will uncover my next project/direction.

The project need not be for creative writers. The words can be study notes, essays, journals, creative writing. Pretty much anything. So I encourage you to jump over to binduwiles and join in.

My husband and I have joined, (guess this is one of the times when it rocks to be married to a yoga teacher) so I will keep you updates as to how it goes.

A challenge – ask a friend

This is The Highwire’s 150th post. Woot! I often get very invested in the ‘doing’ (Leo Babauta @ Zen habits would be very proud of me) that I forget to take my own advice and celebrate the little things. In this case – letting it all hang out for the world to see 150 times!!! And perhaps the ways that is has changed me for the better.

In the spirit of living at full throttle, of putting ourselves out there and celebrating ourselves for the simple things we do every day I have a challenge for you. Yup! You heard me right. I challenge you my wonderful, articulate, strong and liberated readers (see I too can employ the subtle art of buttering you up) to take the ask a friend survey. (After the jump)

Have in introduced you to Danielle LaPorte yet? No? Go. Find. Her. Like, seriously, I have read a million self-help & spirituality books, done the courses, (even taught them), been to the circles, led the circles, done the practice and after a while it all begins to sound the same. Until I stumbled upon the White Hot Truth. Her questions (like those she posed in this challenge) pierce through to the heart of the matter.

But I digress. On to the challenge! I challenge you to copy the bullet points below into an email and do what I am about to do – send it to my very best girlfriends. I guarantee those girlfriends are staring daggers at the screen at this moment because, despite being amazing, super intimidatingly intelligent and accomplished, they both hate confrontation and are diplomatic almost to a fault. Pick your best girlfriends because they are people whose opinions you respect and because they make you feel like you can drop the masks and [be loved for being] you. You want feedback – not a roasting.

• What do you think is my greatest strength?
• How would you describe my style?
• What do you think I should let go of?
• When do you feel that I am at my best?
• What do you wish I were less of, for my sake?
• When have you seen me looking my most fabulous?
• What do you think I could give myself more credit for or celebrate more?

The thing about putting your self, your words, your perspective out into the world is that you can’t take it back. Creating anything is a process of breathing life an idea and then releasing it to a journey all of its own. A little piece of you running around outside your body. We often are scared of getting feedback on our creations; our projects, our lives. Ironically, feedback is invariably far less caustic than we imagine. Case in point the post I was most afraid to publish got nothing but personal emails of thanks. People who live balls-out (tits-out?) embrace feedback.

The aim of this challenge is to see yourself as others see you. To balance the inner critic with healthy feedback. To take a moment to celebrate the pretty-fucking-awesome parts of you, that you probably overlook on any given day.

Happy 150th post to me and a pat on the back to us all for having the balls to ask for, and hear, the truth.

I’d love to hear how the survey went for you in the comments – I might just post the responses I get, depending on what they are

*Image credit

What I’m not

Some of my favorite bloggers posted recently what they are not. They both happen to be interesting authentic women who are in the ‘must read’ section of my reader for a reason. Go check them out.

I am not the tidiest person. My house will be presentable when people arrive (unless I consider you family, in which case I am liable to throw the tea towel at you to wipe while I wash) but my kitchen bench is my achillies heel. Well that and the kitchen sink (I tried to have it shined every night before bed last year… didn’t work for me) and the laundry. Oh, and the baby toys. AND our shoes tossed in a messy heap by the door. You get the picture.

I am not a trend whore. You will see classic cuts, plenty of jeans (I own about 6 pairs and wear 3 pretty much every week), jackets, t-shirts and blouses, dresses, almost everything A-line and empire wasted in my closet. A million scarves, too. I love scarves. You won’t find any hoodies, ‘fierce’ shoes, neon, shoulder pads, miniskirts/dresses.

I am not afraid of speaking up. Sometimes, more so these days than before, I bite my tongue. Not because I am afraid of confrontation. Few people do confrontation as well as I do. I know I will be fine. I just hate the fall-out, the moodiness, the cold shoulder, the bullshit.

I am not a fan of antipasto or beer. Olives and capers and beer. YUCK! The thought of these, let alone the smell is enough to turn my stomach. Needless to say these are 3 of my husband’s favourite things.

I am not at peace with the idea of being married. I know, I know. I am crazy. An idealist and a feminist to a fault. I get it. But still my inner suffragette and my inner rebel still hate the idea. I’ll let you know when they quieten. I’m not holding my breath though.

I am not scared of ugliness. Not scared of mine. Not scared of yours. I’m not afraid of people discovering the black muck that lurks in the corners of my psyche. It is one of the best ice breakers and the quickest way to a deep and meaningful discussion – my favourite kind.

Despite living spitting distance from the beach, I am not a beach goddess. I never had the body for it and I hate the sand getting everywhere it doesn’t belong. Namely inside my swimming costume. I hate it when the sand is so hot it burns and yet i can’t stand it when it gets chilly or a wind blows sand on my towel. On the other hand give me the mountains any day. Mountain air fills my lungs and unlocks my soul.

I am not the jealous type. Never have been. If who I am and how I make him feel isn’t enough to keep him, then he is free to leave. If he finds a woman better at supporting his dreams and his schedule, similarly, I will be throwing rice at the wedding. I point out beautiful women I know he will appreciate. I am not insecure about him talking to other women in a bar. I don’t envy other women. I know from seeing clients that the most successful, beautiful, driven women have demons big enough to balance out the bliss in their lives.

I am not against cooking every day. I actually aspire to cook something, anything, every single day. I feel connected to the people I love and the circle of life when I am lovingly preparing a meal for them from fresh ingredients. I don’t use packet mixes, boxed cake mix or  sauces in a jar. They have their place, but I have the time and inclination to make my own. I could never, ever go back to chocolate topping from a bottle.

As I am typing my husband and son and throwing their 2 cents worth at me, so this could clearly become an essay or a series lol. But I think this is enough.

What at you not?

Highwire turns one!

Oopse! Last weekend was a big weekend. I got married. It was the 5 year anniversary of my relationship with my new husband. My baby turned 21 months. And my blog turned 1! Unfortunately I was very much the ill hostess last Sunday and wasn’t thinking beyond getting my sorry ass back into bed.

So today The Highwire is one year and one week!

Thank you for reading, your comments, messages and emails. If for no other reason The Highwire will continue for another year because you normalise my neuroses and remind me that we are indeed more alike than we are different.

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.

Life

It’s not always fair. In fact it rarely is. It favours the brave, the ambitious, the unencumbered, the blinkered and the tunnel visioned. So if you have loved ones, hobbies, are compassionate, have children, see the bigger picture beyond your wants – you have some tough decisions to make.

The ghastly thing about tough decisions (a.k.a big scary adult decisions) is that the pay off for bravely facing the hard truth and making a considered decision is… well, not much. These are the decisions you make behind closed doors, alone or with your partner. They aren’t broadcast on Twitter, they don’t become blog fodder and its not something you chit-chat about over drinks. Nobody pats you on the back for putting your family first, you don’t get a medal for walking away from a dodgy offer, no one gives you kudos for considering the consequences, being compassionate and doing the right thing.

The pay of we get for smiling through the tears, working our fingers to the bone, fitting yet more into an already overstretched work week or family budget, for passing up an opportunity in order to spend time with your kids, for taking a career break to work for Legal Aid, for supporting your partner in their dreams, for overseeing the care of ailing loved ones, for working 2 part time jobs to afford medical school? Your sense of self.

For those whose life will not be dedicated to setting the world on fire, founding charities or fortune 500 companies, for whom the sweetness of life will not be accolades, positive press, awards and making history, the pay off is something almost spiritual. To know your heart was big enough to love despite the sacrifices, to know you were humble enough to celebrate the small successes, graceful enough to smile through the tears and wise enough to see the meaning in it all.

Inspiration

It eludes us. It strikes. It illuminates us. It flows through us. It leaves us.

Like charisma, inspiration has always seemed to me to have an ‘other-worldly’ air. Inspiration is not arbitrarily bestowed upon individuals by the heavens. Inspiration is an art.

Have you ever noticed that some people seem to be inspired more often than others? Have you ever noticed that those inspired individuals would experience a bout of ‘writers block’ where no inspiration would come? Have you ever noticed the pattern that when someone has lost something they seem to be almost instantly flooded with inspiration?

Inspiration has substance. It requires your attention and it takes up space. If you want inspiration then you need to make room for it. If you want inspiration you need to be prepared to work with it when it comes -  even especially if it doesn’t look like you thought it would. If you want inspiration then you have inadvertently accepted responsibility for making that inspiration manifest in the world.

Sound big and scary? I think the alternative is scarier – an uninspired life.

Unconditional Love

I have really been struggling to post recently and there are 2 reasons for this. I momentarily considered only offering one of the reasons but my internal ‘integrity-o-meter’ went off. So as opposed to telling you the truth, I’ll spill the whole truth.

First, there has been a lot going on in my life. I have had house guests, visiting relatives, my sons first birthday and a few crises going on in my friends’ lives. I don’t write about my loved ones for obvious reasons, so the lessons to be learned there aren’t blog-appropriate. Secondly, I am coaching myself through a personal lesson at the moment and am identifying more with the issue than I am with the solution. As a coach I have the urge to always be on top of things. Its ironic because my clients value my humanity and the way I deal with adversity far more than they do a one dimensional person who seems perpetually perfect.

The issue is that I am taking others actions personally. As a coach I know for sure that those around me act based on their own beliefs and agendas, and for the most part they mean no harm. I know that no-body does anything that they think is a bad option at the time and I know others decisions are about them and not me. The human in me is seeing things differently.

Emotionally I am feeling let down, betrayed, not valued, hurt, abandoned, judged and angry. I am feeling the full gamut of so-called ‘negative’ emotions. I want to tantrum and cry. I long to be heard and for the others to just see the light and change. The others are oblivious. They are doing the best that they know how with the resources and information available to them. If I were to confront the issue head on (as I have in the past) it would result in unnecessary angst, tension and perhaps a grudge.

So the graceful path forward is for me to do the personal growth work necessary to be truely ‘ok’ with the situation. Its a little known secret that you can revolutionise a situation purely by working on your internal judgements, reactions and beliefs about it. This is my task. This is my issue, not theirs. My emotions are telling me that the way I am participating in this situation isn’t healthy, helpful or graceful. Having ruled out taking external action, to avoid the more toxic situation of becoming bitter, my only option  is to learn to let go of whatever is stopping me from loving the situation and the people in it. Yep, you guessed it – working towards unconditional love.

Unconditional love isn’t something that Princes give to Princesses that they rescue from towers. Unconditional love isn’t something that a mother is gifted upon the birth of her child. A wedding ring may represent unconditional love but no object is powerful enough to contain it. Unconditional love is hard work. It is a process. It is about seeing things as they are, not as you would like to paint them. Its about choosing in each and every moment that nothing is more important than love.

Its a far more romantic in thought than practice. Nothing is more important than love. (Indeed nothing other than love exists, but thats a post for another day). It means that pride, being right, being praised, getting your way, personal gain, the upper hand, being heard & winning are all trumped by you loving yourself and the other regardless of the situation you find yourself in. Unconditional love doesn’t mean you become a door mat, but it means that you choose the loving option. You give the benefit of the doubt. You speak loving words, even if those words are ‘No’. You take loving action, even if that means you don’t get your way. You do what you need to do to fully embrace the situation as an opportunity to let go of obstacles to love.

The lesson for me in the ‘mess’ I have created for myself: Everything is an opportunity to love more. We are measured by the things we have learnt to love, not by arguments won. It is not important what emotion or story or hurt another person has bought me – what is important is that I chose to love whatever it is.

Facebook’s saving grace

It took me forever to embrace Facebook. Now I use it daily, but initially I had no intention of using it. I saw no point in publicly messaging friends I would much rather call or have coffee with. The lure of seeing what old school classmates were doing and voyeuristically peering at their personal photos seemed creepy to me.

But alas, a friend posted the photos of her newborn on Facebook and I had to become a ‘Friend’ to view them. So I manically created a profile planning on deleting it as soon as I had seen her beautiful baby. It didn’t quite pan out that way – I spelt my own name wrong, and couldn’t figure out how to delete the damn profile before my friends found me.

Since that fateful day I have witnessed Facebook bring out the worst in people the way a 50% sale does in shopaholics. We passively view each other lives, post and make comments on the drunken photos, judge people by the size of their friends list and post photos of our engagement rings as profile pictures. Although Facebook can be used for good the lure of the dark side is just so powerful. There are apps that force you to inflict random, often unflattering, polls on your friends in order to view the results of a poll about you.

Despite the darkness interwoven in Facebook we have an uneasy truce. An old photo was posted of me on Facebook. Initially I was mortified. Not just in the ‘OMG I don’t believe I wore that’ way either. This photo was taken from a time when I used to sing country music and line dance every Tuesday night. (I don’t believe I admitted that in a blog)  Worse still was the fact that the other girls in the picture were all more beautiful, skinnier and more talented than me.

Then I actually looked at the picture. I looked at the figures on the screen and not the images as tainted by memory. I glowed with genuine joy, I looked innocent, beautiful and nothing like the chubby girl in my mind. I was flabbergasted. I had never seen myself that way before. Facebook’s saving grace – it reflects you. Good, bad or ugly.