Fascinating

Capable of arousing and holding attention.

Capturing interest as if by a spell – bewitching.

I don’t know a woman who wouldn’t love to be considered a ‘fascinating woman’. The art of captivating others is more than a charming skill; it is a quality of spirit. There is no higher compliment, no greater task than to be so authentically you in all your intricacies that others feel compelled to watch, to be near you, to learn what it is that makes you tick.

The catch 22 is that if you are concerned with charming others, being the life of the party, being liked, being admired & being interesting then you are probably not being authentic. You may however come across as 2 dimensional, a try hard and particularly non-fascinating.

A truly fascinating woman is happy to follow her desires. She speaks her mind. She expresses her authentic emotions. She is high maintenance. She is unapologetically herself. She is not consistent. She doesn’t pander to popular opinion. She goes with the flow, but not necessarily the flow of the masses. She is unafraid of upsetting others, but she is not intentionally inflammatory.

The trick is that most of us modern women lack some of the foundational keystones to being a fascination woman; being self assured and the ability to flow with our feminine nature.

I know I am not the only one guilty of listening to a band, or reading a book (or even pretending we have) because it is so very chic’. So many women dutifully trawl the magazine pages to construct their wardrobes. Forgetting that, dressing to suit their personalities and shapes, the style icons didn’t follow trends – they started them. We adopt a seriousness designed for the workplace and allow it to permeate other areas of our lives and end up allowing that very seriousness to extinguish our playfulness. In the end we look like we stepped from a magazine spread, drinking cosmos in a tight little huddle as we compare, contrast and analyse the men in the bar as opposed to chatting to them.

A fascinating woman is mysterious, but not unattainable. She is open and warm. She radiates a vibe that draws others to her; it is possible effortless to talk to her. Fascinating women are interested in others and are great conversationalists because they don’t give everything away.

Fascinating is the reason I think we have the best night when it is not planned and that we tend to attract a man when we aren’t looking for one. When we are happy being ourselves with reckless abandon, when we aren’t worried about what others think of us & when we aren’t trying to change the situation we are fascinating.

Catalyst

The fog lifts. The tide turns. The sun breaks through the clouds. The penny drops. The silence breaks. Such is the power of a catalyst.

Girlfriends are the most reliable and treasured of catalysts. ‘Girl Time’ as one friend aptly calls it, is an absolutely necessary ingredient in a successful life.

My girlfriends are my lifeline. I have written about that before. I know I am blessed to have amazing women surrounding me. I hope you are too. But they are more than friends. They catalyse the very best in me. My girlfriends have been showing me the light for over 10 years now. They have helped pull me from the depths of the abyss,  rescued me from loser boyfriends & encouraged me to ditch toxic jobs. They remind me of my compassion, humour and value. They normalise my neurosis and take the stress from my experience.

For the most part friends impart their value without too much effort; their existence alone is enough. Similar to the way that some chemical reactions simply take place in the presence of oxygen. The depth and colour they add to my life cannot be overvalued. Suddenly laughter shatters the tension and soon our cheeks and bellies ache from laughter that makes us snort. A seemingly normal coffee with a gal-pal and I fiind my apathy is replaced with a bounce in my step. Sharing secrets about your inner life with a trusted friend is cathartic, realising they share similar experiences is priceless.

But its not all rainbows and lollipops. In my relationships with girlfriends past and present we have together survived; eating disorders, depression, cheating and being cheated on, pregnancy, abortion, child rearing, robbery, moving interstate, abuse, sexual assault, losing loved ones, heartbreak, car accidents, buying property, divorce, illness and more.

A blog I read posed a question yesterday “what is your greatest accomplishment?” I mulled over it overnight, not sure what it was for me. Motherhood? Surviving personal tragedy? A healthy relationship with my partner? It wasn’t until this afternoon that it dawned on me. The fog lifted; my greatest accomplishment is my family. The family I have created with my partner and with my friends. The family I would stand by in thick or thin, that is my top priority and the defining factor in my life.

*Image credit Gwennypics

Family

I don’t write about family. Not because there is nothing to write about, but out of respect. My largest lessons to date were borne out of familial situations. Now I find myself in, what I consider to be, a generic family quandary. So I think its passable to write about it.

I was a bit of a rebel growing up. I quite enjoyed rocking the boat and had an opinion about everything. Like every teenager in the history of the universe I felt that I could never live up to the picture of me my family held in their minds. It was far too narrow a box to contain my exuberant spirit. Or so I thought.

In reality the box was not narrow at all. I was simply the family member least aware of how my actions affected my kin and the family dynamic. My oblivious state made their (reasonable) expectations seem soul crushing.

Now the shoe is on the other foot. I am painfully aware of how every-body’s actions (or inaction) affects the other family members, individually and collectively. Including my own.

My Challenge: To have compassion for the spirited individual whilst championing and serving the collective.

Jack’s Back

John Farnham just announced another tour. Now I know that there have been varying reactions to this; his biggest fans are elated that his ‘Last Time’ tour wasn’t the last time at all and a former fan is making claims of misrepresentation. It’s all a result of his very short set at sound relief. Which, come to think of it, made me cry.

I’ll set the scene:

Chicken (my baby) is in his highchair eating lunch. Sweet potato spread from his eyebrows to his nappy. Sound relief on the radio. Coldplay and Farnsy performing ‘You’re the voice’.

I flash back to dancing around the living room with my Mum and sister as a kid to the Whispering Jack album.

Chicken raises his little hands into the air asking to be picked up. Moments later we are dancing around the living room together. He starts singing, remarkably in tune for a little tyke.

A tear rolls down my cheek as I realize it has come full circle. (Or perhaps as I realize that I’m turning into my mother.) I know deep in my bones that I’ll do everything I can to prevent my son every looking at anyone ‘down the barrel of a gun’.

Girlfriends

I had a client a few years back who was in her 70′s. Although her husband had long since past and her children, and grandchildren, lived interstate she enjoyed the richest of family lives. A book club that started some 40 years earlier was still meeting every Tuesday. The women of that club had seen each other through thick and thin. They advised on children’s illnesses, helped out with housework in emergencies, helped pick out mother of the bride outfits and organise coming of age celebrations. These were the women who held her hand at her husband’s funeral.

In our adolescent years our girlfriends keep us going. They are our rock, our companions, fellow explorers of the world and our partners in crime.

As we get older our girlfriends become something different. They are our sounding boards, inspirations (if you are lucky enough to have friends like mine), bringers of chocolate and wine when necessary, ass-kickers when needed, voices of reason, guardian angels, proof readers & loving guides. If you are really lucky your children will call them ‘Auntie so-&-so’.

Life gets busy and we all take different roads. I know I never imagined myself where I am now, and in many ways its is a long, long way from my girlfriends. The blessing is that I have true friends who meet me where I am, forgive me my transgressions and support the best in me.

So a big, no HUGE, shout out to all of Coopers ‘Aunties’ who enrichmy life and now my sons. I am proud to say that I, like my client, enjoy a rich family life.

Feeling Fragile

Strength is desireable. We all want to be considered a strong woman. Strength means we can rise to meet life. Strength means we could ‘make it’ with or without a partner. Strength means we can weather the storms and face the critism. Strength means we see obstacles as trampolines. Strength means that at our very core we have what it takes.

Strength doesn’t mean we wont be brought to our knees. I have witnessed the strongest women I know sobb. I have seen the strength it takes to really feel the overwhelming grief, anguish and swirling confusion. I know the courage  it takes to let your knees hit the ground.

Tears

Strength doesn’t make you a robot, immune to powerful emotions. Strength doesn’t ignore reality. Strength isn’t characterised by numbness, agression or denial.

A strong woman understands the power of surrender. Surrender to emotions, to reality. A strong woman knows not to resist the fire; that she will rise from the ashes like a beautiful phoenix. A strong woman knows that to be truly strong she must also be soft. A strong woman is gentle with herself when she feels fragile.

Not just soft

The feminine is not just soft. She is graceful and open, receptive and welcoming, nurturing and loving. But she is also cyclic.

Cyclic nature is a graceful dance of balance and change. The simplest principles are often the hardest to understand. Such is the case here; cycles are grossly misunderstood.

The element of change is easy to see in a cycle; Autumn turns to Winter. Day turns to night. This type of change is so evident that the way the change occurs is overlooked. Cyclic change is predictable, measured & balanced in the truest sense of the word.

Cyclic nature by definition must have opposite extremes and move through these extremes on a regular basis. Like the waves of the ocean; the peak of the wave is only as high as the troughs are deep.

So how does this cyclic force manifest in the feminine nature? Diversely. Yes the feminine is graceful, open, receptive, welcoming, nurturing, and loving. The feminine is also awkward, unavailable, unfriendly, inhospitable, destructive and harsh.

I know many women but I don’t know any who would be happy to be called awkward or harsh. We aspire to the ‘softer’ side of our femininity and spurn the counterbalance. We disown half of our nature and thus forfeit half of our power.

We are led to believe that only the gentler side of our femininity is acceptable and apologise for our moods, our sarcasm, our withdrawal, our scorn and our wildness. We overuse our whisper and gag our screams. If we only use the softer half of our repertoire we belie our depth.

When you next need to scream, don’t bite your tongue. When you want to cry, don’t hide your tears. When you know you have to leave, go. When you need to crash, create for yourself a soft place to fall.

A woman’s strengths is derived from her cycles. All of her cycles. The feminine is not just soft.

Change

The only constant is change. Perhaps that’s why we don’t notice it. Until the change reaches tipping point that is. Then everything is different.

We don’t notice our faces age every day; The millimeters children grow every day; The changes in the length of the day. We do notice laugh lines before 30; that the baby can reach objects on the table; thatall of a sudden it seems to be dark before we leave work.

Our blind spots extend beyond the simple observations of things we take for granted. We don’t notice changes in our lives, our habits, our opinions, our feelings, our behaviors. We are often oblivious to the way our environment changes us, but it does. Have you ever been changed by something you witnessed? Something you experienced? The loss of a loved one that makes you more aware of your blessings? The end of a relationship that changes your outlook on love? The loss of a job that makes you re-arrange your priority list?

I have had a few experiences changed me instantaneously; a car accident and the birth of my son. The irony here is that the changes those experiences precipitated were a long time coming.

• I had 9 months to prepare for motherhood. I changed every single day of my pregnancy. I became less and less selfish, more and more aware of the needs of my baby. I became more and more focused on the present, because the future was too uncertain to imagine. I relied more and more on loved ones as I became less and less physically (and at times mentally- who leaves their wallet in the fridge?) capable.

• After the accident I deferred Uni and took some time to re-assess my life direction. If I am honest with myself, the decision to scrutinize my life had its roots 18 months earlier in the first few weeks of Uni. I realized shortly after the novelty of drinking between lectures had worn off, that Uni wasn’t the fertile ground I was looking for. It wasn’t until the accident that I could see the subtle ways my life direction had changed.

Change is incremental more often than it is monumental. You change every moment of every day. You change to become more like the people you spend time with. You change to become more like the thoughts you most think and the emotions you most feel.

The only constant is change. Perhaps that’s why we don’t notice it.

Big Yellow Taxi

After a (minor) melt down Saturday morning (There is only so much of a teething baby one I can take without a break) my loving and supportive partner took the darling little bundle on some errands while I went for a coffee.

I chose a quiet corner of Gloria Jeans and let up my laptop, note pad and coffee. Not 5 minutes later 4 girls arrived and sat across from me. All of a sudden the corner was not so quiet. For the most part I ignored them and got on with my work. An hour and a half later, when my concentration was waning and they were loudly singing to “Big Yellow Taxi”, I surrendered and began to observe them.

They piqued my attention because I sang that song, the original version which I am sure they don’t know exists, when I was around their age. Looking at them they are strikingly similar to my teenage friendship group; loud, obnoxious, all front, terribly insecure and they feel totally adult.

Surprisingly I find these girls very comforting; they are living reminders of how far I’ve come in the past decade. On the other hand the scene saddens me a little.

Their outfits were carefully constructed to appear casual, their make-up applied to look natural,  their laughter was forced & fake, the bravado false, they never really made eye contact, even with each other, & the body language was defensive and fidgety even amognst the obviously familiar company. Is this just indicative of the experience of a teenager or are our young girls trying to embody what they are inherently not ready for? Womanhood.

I discussed the experience with a close girlfriend of mine (we will call her Elle) on the weekend and she had a similar reaction. We both acutely remember the insecurity, inadequacy, the feeling of not quite fitting in with even your best friends & thinking that you are the only one who feels that way. Both Elle and I remember not having any clear role-models and the scarcity of information to help us navigate our own inner landscape.

So is the mix of comfort and sadness I feel just a product of my inner dichotomies or is it a reflection of something deeper? I’m not sure. Part of me (my dichotomies again) thinks that if we have outstanding role models for young girls and a medium for girls to access them, then the teenage journey may be less daunting. On the other hand perhaps the awkwardness of our youth has made us the women we are today.

Maybe I am only remembering the less than fun parts of my teenage years and forgetting all the fun I had.

Don’t it always seem to go that you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone.” – Big Yellow Taxi
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A step in the right direction

I am beginning to believe that we no longer know what a woman’s body looks like. It sounds like I am about to begin a soap-box tirade about the beauty myth and the beauty industry and honestly- I’m not. That argument has gotten old. We all know that the current idea of ‘beauty’ is unrealistic. If that is news to you let me know what rock you have been hiding under – it is the best hiding spot on the planet.

The practices of digitally re-creating already beautiful women has been the subject of many an expose. As Jennifer Romolini of Shine put it recently:

We know you attach your cover models’ heads to skinnier bodies. We know you slim down their thighs and their noses and you lighten their skin. We know you smooth out all of the facial “imperfections” that make them look human. We’re tired of fembots. We can handle the truth.

I couldn’t agree more. I would postulate that many of us don’t know what a real woman’s body looks like anymore. We all (most women I know) believe our bodies are freakishly abnormal in some way; lamenting the ways we don’t live up to the impossible ideal. Understandably so, when the only comparisons we have are to catwalk models, photo-shopped magazine shoots or surgically enhanced porn stars.

While I can appreciate the beauty of the images we are presented I challenge that they represent any reality that can be maintained without cosmetic surgery, specialist make-up artists, stylists, lighting designers, control underwear, dietitians, chefs, personal trainers and often retouching professionals. Even the images touted as ‘natural’ often need a handful of professionals to create.

In a culture that could almost do away with real women in favour of infinitely more perfect digitally created ones, I take my hat off to French Elle and the amazing women who chose to pose as their real selves. April’s issue of Elle celebrates women in their true beauty; no makeup and no retouching. Granted the (brave and inspiring) women are lit beautifully by talented lighting designers and the photographer is worth his/her weight in gold and they are wearing loose clothes that hide the so-called ‘imperfections’ of a real woman’s body, but heck they look like a woman should!

I am looking forward to Australian and American publications following this example and wistfully dreaming of the day when it is accepted that real women have bellies & stretchmarks*, asymmetrical breasts**, blemishes and beautiful intricacies.

* & **Please note that these links contain images of partial, tasteful & non-sexual, nudity that may not be appropriate for viewing at work or by sensative readers.

A woman is made

“Woman is made, not born” – Simone deBeauvoir

My most recent experience of being, amongst other things, a new mother I have begun to question my definition of womanhood. More accurately; beyond the scientific definition of ‘adult female human’ what is a woman? (as opposed to a girl, not as opposed to a man)

It struck me when I realised it had been over 18 months since I had had a period (not that I’m complaining) that my old definition of woman was connected to menstruation. Now in the same moment I realised the folly of my idea because menopausal women, pregnant women and some female athletes have very little use for tampons.

So I started thinking ‘what makes a woman’. I didn’t get very far so I surveyed my network. Most had a feeling of ‘womanhood’ but difficulty explaining it; some had no idea at all. Those whose responses were clearest spoke of deeply felt womanly experiences and were strikingly different. So I let it ferment for a few weeks.

Today, dancing around the living room singing Pink at the top of my lungs I think I decided what ‘womanhood’ means to me. A woman embodies the feminine principle of grace. It is not about what she does, but the quality with which she does it. Womanhood is earned; it is the result of walking through the fire and coming out stronger in resolve and softer in temperament. We own our womanhood more with every tear, every wrinkle and every stretch-mark. We enact our womanhood with every compliment accepted, every hearty laugh and every time we make love. I am not saying all women are the same, but that more often than not we are alike.

What does womanhood mean to you?