Average, everyday gorgeousness

Having started my 21.5.800 challenge this week you might be hearing from me a little more often. 800 words is quite  a lot. The execution is lovely, don’t get me wrong, but if I ‘save’ up all the blog posts I am writing they will be old, crusty and irrelevant by the time I post them.

Today was a perfectly ordinary day. I really mean that - perfectly ordinary.

There is such pressure today to be extraordinary, exceptional, a rock star, untemplated. We are obsessed with breaking molds, smashing records, shattering limitations, exceeding expectations. We honour the rare moments of triumph to the exclusion of all else. We gloss over the journey, dust over the ugly and the small that built our pinnacle. Despite our obsession with individual pursuits of raging success, we maintain that relationships, people and love are the sweetest, most important parts of life.

This seems like a disconnect to me. If our relationships are the part of life we treasure most then why aren’t we obsessedwith cultivating compassion and forgiveness? Why are we encouraging and feeding our egotism as opposed to our humility, mercy and kindness?

Has our obsession with ‘being exceptional’ impaired our ability to appreciate the ordinary? Have we forgotten that the journey is what is important? Have we lost the ability to really bear witness to the baby steps of others? Have we lost the ability to be happy in the moment?

Today was a perfectly ordinary day. I was present all day. I was present folding the laundry and cooking minestrone, in the moment giving cuddles and having heart to heart talks. Simple ordinary occurrences. The beauty in the everyday ins and outs of my life is heartbreaking. That beauty is only available in the moment, and my ego striving for something better takes me away from the moment.

I think I would like to be exceptionally ordinary. I want to appreciate the average, everyday gorgeousness of my life. I want the eyes to see that beauty; I need the heart willing to truly inhabit the moment.

Practice

When it flows it flows… but honestly, how often does it flow?

It is easy to be compassionate and forgiving to those we love, when those people are behaving beautifully. It is harder to remain kind when they are being unreasonable, and harder still when they are being unreasonable when we are in a bad mood. It is exponentially harder to be kind and compassionate to a stranger.

If we rely on our natural tendencies we would be grumpy and unkind most of the time. That would suck.

It takes study and practice to master any skill. If we relied solely on our impetus the world would be sadly devoid of all professions and crafts except for prodigies and geniuses. We would all meander through life without building on our skills, haphazardly picking up a guitar, a paintbrush and an economics book from day-to-day. Some of my friends would be expert cocktail drinkers, others (I probably fall into this category) would be expert readers, others would be fantastic adventurers. I know a few lawyers, I wonder if they felt compelled to read those dry dreary text books or if it was simply their begrudged, pragmatic study.

There is no such thing as a gifted person, sure there are plenty of people with exceptional potential and we all know what Dylan Moran has to say about potential. (You don’t? It is a worthwhile, valuable and piss yourself funny perspective, I highly recommend you check it out!) In essence potential alone is useless without practice.

To achieve anything worthwhile, even love, it takes dedication. Unrelenting practice. Returning time and time again to our skills; revisiting our failures, reviewing our weaknesses, putting our skills into practice every day. Even if we don’t want to, especially when we don’t want to.

*Hat tip Kelly Diels

Clarity is a double-edged sword

Free from confusion… but no excuse not to act.

Along the same lines as  the decluttering I did this week.

Clean, clear, purposed spaces… but no busy-work to procrastinate with.

What is your latest double-edged sword?

* Photo credit

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.

The great lie

“One misunderstanding is that if you do the right thing, then life’s storms will stop. If you do the right thing, the storms actually get bigger. This is because they know they can’t blow you down like they used to” David Deida

I remember a time when I didn’t know this fact. Maybe I didn’t have eyes to see it. Maybe I was still naive to much an idealist. Whatever. I was in my own little bubble and  I clearly remember thinking ‘if we just help people to sort out their shit [very technical term] then bad things will stop happening to them. Perfect!’ I am almost ashamed to admit the delight I felt at this ‘Aha!’ moment. Under this extremely foolish pretense I took out a loan and studied a number of natural and alternate therapies.

I went on my merry way, acing exams and a few short years later setting up a little practice only to discover;

1) David Deida is right. The better you get at life, the harder it gets.

2) Life, heck the whole damned the universe, is cyclic. It will move from blissful, to average, to meh, to shit and back again over and over. This is the nature of life.

After this realisation hit me (and it did hit me, for a 6 actually), I remember sobbing hard, devastated tears. Almost bittersweet tears. I finally understood that I would never be ‘sorted’, that I would never maintain the natural high that comes from the good times in life. Now I know that every win, realisation, triumph, success, signifies to life that I am now capable of handling bigger, deeper, more painful and more difficult crap.

Life isn’t peachy for the truly great. Life is difficult, trying and character building, for those who rise to meet it. The notion that life is hard because you suck at it, is the great lie.

So if you are at home with a cup of tea musing over the fact that you used to be better at life than this, that things used to be easier, that life suddenly sucks and that [rudely] no body warned you about this shit then rest assured that you rock! Yes, you, baby. The shit in your life right now is a living breathing testament to your life skills. Here’s to you.

8 Lessons I wish I had learned already

This post was originally called ‘Shit I wish I could stop doing’ but I thought better of it. This is a list of mistakes I seem to keep making. Again and again and again. Sometimes despite being aware that it is an issue!

1. Self awareness isn’t instinct. Not everybody analyses their thoughts and behaviors. For me to assume everybody knows why they are doing what they are doing is a recipe for trouble.
2. Test, prepare, have a run through. Don’t use a new recipe for an important occasion. If you must use a new recipe then test it first or have enough ingredients for a second run if the first needs serious tweaking (if icing can’t hide the atrocity).
3. I should not have to apologise for who I am. No explanation necessary, lets just say that again. I should not have to apologise for who I am.
4. Make an end date. Whatever the arrangement, build in an end date or at least a review date. We get comfortable with discomfort rather quickly, an opportunity, and impetus, to re-assess is important.
5. If it needs to be said, say it. Holding back for fear of hurting someone else, will probably hurt you. Say it with love and not anger, but say it. The compassionate thing to yourself (and the other in the long run) is to speak up.
6. Guilt serves no-one. Least of all you. Guilt arises in 2 situations; 1) you have done something you don’t agree with. This is simple to rectify – apologise and make amends. 2) you are taking responsibility for somebody’s feelings (hurt, anger). The answer here is get over it! You are never responsible for how another feels. That is their shit, let them deal with it.
7. Downtime isn’t optional. Balance reigns supreme. Not necessarily on a daily basis, but in the long run you either rest as hard as you work, or you will be forced to stop by something beyond yourself.

What do you wish you had learned already?

Ugly

Ugly is awful. When things ‘get ugly’, people get hurt. Fat ugly tears get spilled. Ugly words are spoken. The ugly faces of jealousy, insecurity, spite, fear, pain and judgement shine. Ugly can’t be taken back.

Ugly is progress. Ugly is releasing the pressure valve. Ugly is [more] honest. Ugly is make or break time. Ugly is purging the toxic. Ugly is exorcising the Demons. Ugly can’t be taken back.

Sometimes ugly is necessary. If I have never seen your ugly side, I have never really seen you. If you can’t handle my ugly side, you can’t handle me. If you don’t embrace my ugliness, you don’t deserve me.

Sometimes it has to get worse before it gets better. Sometimes ugly is the only way forward. Sometimes ugly is the birth of something … beautiful.

The most beautiful lotus flowers grow through the mud and emerge beautiful and clean.

Farewell to the worst week ever.

*Photo credit

Square peg

Sometimes you just don’t fit. No matter how intelligent you are, how beautiful you are, how accomplished you are, how cool you are, sometimes you are the square peg in the round hole. Life also has a wicked sense of humour when it comes to showing you your misshapen nature.

Heres how it went for me:

I was sitting in the car on a glorious Sunday afternoon in a Suburb of Sydney I don’t know well. I was supposed to have a morning to myself working but my other half and I got into a D&M and instead of dropping me off we kept driving so we could finish the conversation. Thankfully my work only needs a pen and paper, so failing to find a nearby park in the street directory and having already experienced the atrocious service at the local cafe I turned on the car radio and dug out my notepad and pen.

I was busy wiping bird crap off the inside of the car door (some clever bird aimed its arse at the perfect angle such that it’s excrement flew in through the open window) when I was the lucky caller to win concert tickets for the following night. Fantastic! The only painful bit was that I had to pick the tickets up between noon and 6pm, from the radio station, the night of the concert.

The station happens to be situated in a beautiful skyscraper with water views. I used to belong in buildings like this, but haven’t had the need to be in one for, quite literally, years. I arrive in my typical ‘mum uniform’ jeans, a top, cute flats, basic makeup and hair up in a pony. Surrounded by business men and glamazons in skirt suits, stiletto heels and cufflinked blouses, I felt like the world’s frumpiest housewife.

My only concern was to get to the station’s office, get the tickets and get out of there as soon as possible, whilst avoiding the self-esteem shattering looks of the people who looked like they belonged in the sleek setting. I make it to the desk and collect the tickets.  I jump back into the car (my lovely partner has been circling the block) and drop my handbag onto my lap. I notice two things at once 1) my lap is now wet & 2) there is a strong smell of apple blackcurrant in the car.

A string of four letter words run through my head as I put my hand into my bag and bring out an exploded popper (juice box). As if looking like I got lost on my way home to Kansas wasn’t humiliating enough. I call the radio station reception to let them know that a popper exploded in my handbag and that the carpet in front of the reception desk probably resembles a purple puddle.

Like I said, square peg, round hole and damn the universe for making it abundantly clear.

The other emotions

Anger I can do. Frustration and I are friends. ‘Meh’ isn’t an emotion, it is more a mode. But you know exactly what I mean when I say that is how I am feeling.

The world is ok with the good emotions (for the most part). We can handle the fiery emotions. But we cannot even name the other negative emotions that plague us. You remember these?

Loneliness, Anxiety, Rejection, Jealousy,

Mourning, Resentment, Regret, Helplessness

We have a collective delusion that these emotions are ‘icky’, that they are shameful, that we have no right to feel them. We subscribe to the notion that someone in a happy relationship should never feel lonely. That a confident person never feels anxious. That it is only acceptable to mourn when a loved one passes. Even then many don’t allow themselves to ‘indulge’ that emotion. Socially regret is frowned upon – if you have regrets then you are obviously not living life to the fullest.

It’s crap. Total bullshit! A life fully lived spans the full gamut of human emotions. Disowning some of our emotions results in us suppressing them, ignoring them, bottling them up, looking for a fix. We never settle into them, accept them, honour them.

Recently I have felt lonely, anxious, rejected, mourning, resentment and helplessness. I am not a sad sack. I enjoy my life. But I am fully human. And I am a more balanced adult when I own all my emotions.

What emotions have you owned or disowned recently?

Mellow

Have you never been mellow?
Have you never tried to find a comfort from inside you?
Have you never been happy just to hear your song?
Have you never let someone else be strong?

-Olivia Newton John: Have you never been mellow

Yes I know I just lost every ounce of credibility when I posted ONJ lyrics from 1975, but I have already confessed to enjoying old daggy music, so bear with me.

Have you ever noticed that the people with the most (personal) power, respect and confidence are the most ‘mellow’? They speak in a level tone, they have no need to yell. Even if they were whispering people would strain to listen.

These people seem to bypass the socially awkward moments associated with meeting new people; they welcome all effortlessly with seemingly no concern of what the other may think of them. They know what others think of them is none of their business.

Those with personal power tend to have a close posse. Not because they require them as a crutch, but because they understand the value of letting people in. They respect the poignancy of silence too, so mindless chatter is kept to a minimum.

I found it easy to be mellow while I was pregnant. But I feel I was cheating somewhat – it is easy to be mellow when you don’t have the energy to be gregarious and where people walk on eggshells around you vying for the opportunity to fulfill your next craving.

My challenge. Now that I am ‘back’; able to show some skin (and wear an underwire bra), imbibe a cocktail (or 4) and hit the dance floor with the girls, to still flavor my life with mellow, understated grace.

How do you balance the mellow and ostentatious sides of your life?

What is dying to be born?

At first look this question is lightweight. It isn’t the transformative powerhouse that, has effectively had me floundering, meditating, pondering and writing for over a week. Danielle LaPorte is sheer dynamite. At a time where I am floundering to figure out who I am, again, she was the perfect find online; a default, distant, online mentor of sorts. Bless her. (Her answer to this question was so much clearer than mine, for now)

A few weeks ago she addressed the following question on her blog: What is dying to be born? Wow! Fuck! Ummm…. There are so many questions and assumptions inherent in those 6 words.

It suggests that there is something dormant that simply must become manifest. It suggests urgency – that unless it is born this potential will wither and die. It assumes every act of creation is also an act of destruction. It assumes chaos and balance. It suggests we are all vessels carrying something, all midwives to something unique.

In my experience birthing is natural and blissful with support and a just right environment. What needs to die to create that environment are my fears, my feelings of inadequacy, my playing small. What in me is dying to be  born? ‘My potential’, ‘my inner goddess’ and my ‘higher self’ are all true but too cliché to be meaningful. What is dying to be born of me is my true voice; in my actions, lifestyle, my writing. A voice I wont apologise for.

In the broader sense, what is dying to be born? Reverence for femininity to rival our worship of masculinity. Understanding of the power of sexuality. Respect for the art and science of conception, birthing and nurturing our children, our selves and our dreams. These are dying to born of us collectively and I hope to play midwife in my own small way.

What is dying to be born?

The darkest hour

5If you tell me you haven’t had your fair few dark hours, then you are one of two things; 1) a liar, 2) someone who has never lived. This post is for the rest of us.

We know that the darkest hour is just before the dawn. Crazy but true. If you are anything like me, you underestimate how dark it can get. You are craving the light like a fashion junky craves new Jimmy Choo’s because you are certain that it can’t possibly get any darker than this moment. You are wrong. Invariably we are wrong. We underestimate how much darkness we can withstand. We cannot quantify how much darkness we can swallow whole. You know it really is the darkest hour when you stop expecting the light.

It really does not get any darker than pitch black. So black that you are sure a blackness this profound must go on, and on, and on. That is the darkest hour. That is also the switch that calls in the light. When we are immersed in darkness and instead of denying it, hating on it, rejecting it or feeling guilty for it we do something radical; We accept the darkness. Something magical happens in that moment.

The darkness doesn’t devour you are you feared it would. You devour the darkness.

Women, especially, were designed for this role. We are the life-death-life mother embodied. We take light and make it dark, only to make it light again. We are great transmuters. We inherited that gift from our mother, THE great transmuter – Mother Earth. She takes crap, I mean real crap, and uses it to nourish herself. Nature takes dung, rotten leaves and plants, carcasses and breaks them down into fertiliser. She uses fire to cleanse her skin and baby shoots and saplings sprout in the ashes.

Don’t underestimate your capacity for darkness and certainly don’t disown it. Shunned darkness turns into wickedness. Shunned darkness becomes dangerous. Darkness owned is transforming. It wasn’t until I realised that “I could never hurt my baby” was a lie, that my full capacity for mothering was born. It wasn’t until I hurt my husband in the worst possible way, that our relationship could be born. It isn’t until we swallow whole the suffering of the world that our compassion is born. (There are many examples of meditations to assist with this. This is an example that I *LOVE*)

Something I know for sure: Your lightest hour will only be as intense as your darkest. Embrace the dark.

*image credit