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?

After a While Wednesday

After a while…

…I will realise that everybody is struggling within themselves to be the best they can be

…I will forgive myself my mistakes

…I will get used to early mornings

…I will come to grips with the transformative power of honest emotions

…I will learn that licking the bowl invariably makes me feel sick

…I will return to my better self

…I will quieten the inner critic long enough to think clearly about the future

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

After a while…

The following poem was a life-saver to me when I was in a really black hole. There is a tremendous amount of power, wisdom and hope in its words. Power, wisdom and hope that became the light at the end of the tunnel when there seemed to be no other.

At the moment I, and some of my dearest girlfriends, are having a pretty crap time. Yes, we are doing what we choose. Yes we are walking in the general direction of our dreams. Yes there is forward motion. But it feels like we are walking slowly into the wind up a damned big hill. (The fact that is feels like we are walking hand in hand helps though.)

I have heard myself, and my besties, say ‘why did no-one tell us it would be like this?‘ too often in recent months. I guess nobody told us because we would have chickened out, run or laughed in their face. I am clinging to the sentiment that these dark periods are normal, natural and necessary. Thrashing around in a cocoon is necessary for a butterfly to be strong enough to fly when the time comes.

With that in mind, and permission from the author (she gave me permission years ago and I had not had the right occasion, till now) I give you After a while

After a while you learn the subtle difference

between holding a hand and chaining a soul

And you learn that love doesn’t mean leaning

and company doesn’t always mean security

And you begin to learn that kisses aren’t contracts

and presents aren’t promises

And you begin to accept your defeats

with your head up and your eyes ahead

with the grace of a woman, not the grief of a child

And you learn to build all your roads on today

because tomorrow’s ground is too uncertain for plans

and futures have a way of falling down in mid-flight.

After a while you learn that even sunshine burns

if you get too much.

So you plant your own garden and decorate your own soul

instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.

And you learn that you really can endure

that you really are strong

and you really do have worth

And you learn and you learn

with every goodbye you learn …

Copyright 1971 Veronica A. Shoffstall.

Image credit

When did we disown our tears?

“The energy that moves life is the force of the Feminine.

She is unstoppable . . .” David Deida

There is something very feminine about tears. We rarely admit it, but there is something very feminine about tantrums. It is equally feminine to stand chin out, defiant, protecting ourself or someone we love. It is feminine to want to sparkle and feminine to fold into ourselves and shy away from the world for a time.

The feminine wants to connect and she pines and yearns for that connection. When the connection is lacking she naturally goes within. She withdraws, ponders, searches. Or she lashes out; resentment, anger, fury, rage, payback. We disown all these reactions, constructive and destructive alike. We play nice, we eat, shop, drink, run… we do whatever we have to. (Another blog for another day the need to ‘do’ when ‘being’ would suffice.)

How much of ourselves do we lose, do you think, every time we resist our nature? How much energy do we waste trying to make the ebb and flow of our selves fit into a PC box?

At what point did we disown our tears? What is it that we have prioritised higher than honouring ourselves? What do we fear our tears, our vulnerability, our wildness will threaten? This is such a revealing question for me. I don’t risk losing love by surrendering to my nature – my friends borderline expect it from me and my husband rises to meet it, as opposed to shying away from it. Rationally I know this. Breathing it in and letting it permeate my cells… such a transformation is, well, fucking scary.

I think for me, my tears and wildness risk losing me the labels ‘nice’ and ‘together’. That my inner chicken shit prefers me to play at half throttle and remain in the box that says ‘strong women don’t cry’, ‘you are responsible for how others feel about you’ and ‘emotions are to be controlled or leveraged in the form of EI‘. I think I am afraid of constantly justifying my desires and explaining my moods. Terrified that my intuition is fearless. Anxious because I am sure my feminine nature is a hard task master that will lead me down unconventional paths. She has in the past.

At some point the fear of vilification mutes the bright colours that streak our world. I want to be living in full colour. Hell fire-engine red is my colour! My inner feminine is ready to be juicy, open, sassy, fearless, exuberant, vivacious, unapologetic, radiant, magnetic, wild and free.

I am claiming my tears, my funk, my tantrums, my seething rage, my desire, my lust, my vulnerability. Lets see what happens when I abandon myself to the flux of the feminine force – I’ll keep you posted

What I need to remember

You are not your roles.

I am not my roles.

I am not what I ‘do’.

I am not who I think I am.

I am not who I wish I was.

I am not the sum total of my deeds.

I am not the sum total of my mistakes.

I am not the net of my good minus my bad.

I am not a success. I am not a failure.

There is no label for me.

There is no combination or array of labels that will ever illustrate even a fraction of what I am.

Nothing in my life defines me.

Nothing in my life limits me.

There is nothing on earth with the capacity to behold me.

I may never truly understand what I am.

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

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