December 31, 2017 § 6 Comments
I’m not usually one to celebrate a new year. For me, 1 January is just another day. I don’t set resolutions, and I’ve spent the last few New Year’s Eves alone – which suits me just fine. I take down the Christmas decorations, give the dogs Rescue Remedy, and go to bed around 9pm. After all, it’s midnight somewhere in the world, right?
This year, however, is different. I’m still having a quiet evening at home, although I’m in the company of my younger daughter and three of her friends. But I have a very real sense of being on a cusp; of facing the future in a completely different frame of mind.
The last three years or so have not been easy. I don’t expect the year ahead to be any easier. But I am different. For the first time in ages, I’ve got to the end of a year and felt tired, but not profoundly exhausted. (This is the first time in three years I’ve not had shingles, as a case in point.) I haven’t even taken a holiday, as I didn’t feel like I needed one yet, budgetary constraints notwithstanding.
Instead, I’ve stayed home and I’m working quietly on all of those things I don’t usually get to – really preparing for the working year ahead. The pace of work is slower, and I take frequent breaks for tea, a swim, to hang out the washing, or pull out some weeds. (Welcome to Glamour Central.) But my plan for 2018 is really to hit the ground running. To bring my A game. To stop using hackneyed phrases…
So I’m making resolutions this year – but not those kinds of resolutions. And I’m putting them here so I can find them easily and refer to . You really are not obliged to read them. And if you don’t want to read them, you should probably go and do something else right about now.
So here they are – in no particular order:
- To consume less – in all kinds of ways – and to live lightly upon the earth.
- To be more present, wherever I might be.
- To celebrate the small stuff – even if it’s just with an air punch or a 30-second dance party.
- To strive for excellence in everything – because that’s who I am. I just forgot for a while, but baby, I’m back. Watch this space.
- To work harder, faster, smarter.
- To finally see those ideas in my head come to fruition
- To remember when obstacles rear up on the path ahead that my mother raised a resourceful, creative daughter.
- To ask for help when I need it, and offer it when I am able to help others.
- To rest from time to time.
- To connect with people who energise me.
- To start a band. (Well, I’m thinking about it.)
- To find a way to travel more.
- To be kind and gentle to myself.
- To do whatever it takes to ensure my cup runneth over, and then give from the overflow. The stuff inside the cup is for me.
- To be firm with my boundaries.
- To not be so good at saying ‘no’ that I forget to say ‘yes’ from time to time.
- To do stuff that scares me – especially when fear of success is the problem.
- To persist. Giving up is not an option.
That’ll do for now.
If you’ve read this far, Happy New Year, everybody, and thank you to those who take the time to read these blogs. I appreciate you more than you know.
Now it’s time to stomp all over 2018 and make it our own.
September 27, 2017 § 1 Comment
In the school holidays one of my daughter’s friends lost her father to a motorcycle accident. Another friend had two friends die in as many days. Still another friend got news that a young relative had been found dead at the bottom of the stairs to her flat – she’d gone home early complaining she wasn’t feeling well.
And maybe it’s this rash of deaths; maybe it’s part of my own journey through middle age, but I have this increasing sense that we – that I – have to live life with a greater sense of urgency.
I am fairly cautious by nature; risk averse, as financial advisers like to put it. I think things through and I lay my plans: “When X, then Y…” partly because it gives me the illusion of control, I think. Only Y seldom comes, because I never seem to get past the planning stage.
I think we all do this to an extent. “When I retire, I will…” or “When I lose weight, I will…” or “When I find the perfect girl/guy, I will…” or even, “When she or he apologises to me, I will…”
And so, we’re all just stuck in the waiting room – waiting for some mythical future perfect circumstance that will allow us to live our dream, take that risk, mend that fence, launch ourselves off the precipice.
“But I need money,” I hear you protest. And it’s true – you can’t just set off for Madagascar or Mongolia without a plane ticket and all the other travel accoutrements that cost you your hard earned cash. Starting a new business takes money. As does studying. As do a myriad other dreams you may have – and you might not have that money now. I get that.
But dreaming and thinking and strategising don’t cost you anything. Research is the easiest thing in the world in the information age. And if you have money for a daily or even weekly cappuccino, you have more money than most, and you can start there – by making a small sacrifice and popping the money you would have spent in a piggy bank, under your mattress, in a savings account. And then you need to take action.
Because the one thing we all have in common is that we can start. Not when we’ve lost the weight or received the apology, or retired, or found that perfect someone. Today. Right now. Just break down the goal into small steps and take the first one.
Sure, it’s risky. We might get hurt or damaged – or even broken – along the way. We might not even know how we’re going to take the second step. But is that any reason to put off living? Because sometimes you need to take the first step to weigh up your options from a new vantage point. Perhaps there’s a road further ahead that you couldn’t see until you took that step.
And while you go, remember to tell those you love, that you love them. It doesn’t matter if they’re a friend, family, or significant other. Tell them often. Tell them till they’re tired of hearing it. Tell them so often that when you’re gone, they can’t be in any doubt that you loved them. Fiercely.
Forgive, and move on, remembering that forgiveness is for your peace of mind – it’s not about letting the other person off the hook.
Stop waiting for that perfect circumstance. It doesn’t exist. All you have is this moment, right now.
Because life is short, and it can change in an instant. And if we never get out of the waiting room, then all we are left with is regret, which is really the poorest of substitutes for a life.
June 7, 2017 § 2 Comments
I remember how I cringed the first time I overheard my one of my teenage daughters and her boyfriend saying “I love you” to each other.
I cringed because I grew up in an era where you didn’t tell a significant other that you loved them until you were sure. Very sure. You had to know that this person was The One before you used the L word. And you could be almost guaranteed that the expression of love would be followed by a proposal.
This idea was so well entrenched that I remember whole story arcs in books and movies where characters agonised about whether or not this was the right time to say, “I love you.” Those three little words weren’t just sprinkled around indiscriminately. The right to say them had to be earned.
In the last year or two, however, I have revised my opinion. Because I don’t know where this idea of holding back came from. Perhaps it’s the fear that the person wouldn’t say it back – or that they would, but only because they felt they should.
And actually, that’s all balderdash. Because the person’s feelings about you are none of your business. How they feel about you shouldn’t change whether or not you love the person – that’s expedience, not love.
Love is a one way street. “I love you” is a straight line of love from my heart to yours. No detours, no hairpin bends, no potholes or speed bumps. Just love, flowing from me to you.
So I think we need to tell people more often that we love them, not less. And I’m not just referring to romantic love – we should be telling everybody! Our family, our friends, the cat, the dog, the hamster – if you love someone, just tell them already, dammit.
And stop feeling uncomfortable about saying it, or having it said to you – what is that about?! I think all of us could do with hearing more often that we are loved; the world in its current state of crisis could certainly do with a whole lot more love.
Because here’s the beautiful thing about love – it’s not depleted by being shared. Give it away, and it grows and overflows.
And why wouldn’t you want a little more of that in your life?
PS. I love you guys.
July 27, 2016 § 1 Comment
The first present I opened on my birthday this year was a pair of purple socks, now known as the Socks of Awesomeness. Soft, thick and super-fleecy on the inside, they have become treasured possessions. “You’re always complaining that your feet are cold,” smiled the giver. “So I thought these might help.”
Every night as I slip my feet into those wearable foot hugs, I smile, because I remember the person who gave them to me, and their thoughtfulness. And I feel lucky and grateful and rich in ways that have nothing to do with money.
We’ve been sold a dream, you see, and it’s a lie. There are teams of people out there intent on manipulating us into buying more stuff, more things, more bling. If we only own this house, drive that car, wear these clothes or look exactly like that, they tell us, we’ll be happy.
But the older I get, the more I realise: that’s not where happiness lives. Happiness lives in the ordinary, everyday things so many of us take for granted.
Happiness lives in puddle-splashing and rain on the roof, in spectacular thunderstorms that threaten to tear the night sky in two. Happiness lives in hot tea on a cold day, in the laughter of children and the soft skin on my dog’s belly. Happiness lives in the smell of cinnamon, and the sound of the ocean, in hugs and whispered endearments, in the perfect lyric of your favourite song. It lives in late night messages from someone who just happened to be thinking about you, in the perfect sun puddle on a winter’s day, in the sound of the birds in the early dawn. It’s in the comfort of your own bed, the feel of grass beneath your bare feet, in sand between your toes. It lives in a blinking dew drop on a perfect rose.
So you can chase after all of those things; the things they say you must have. You can toil with one eye on the future, concentrating on how happy you’ll be when you finally get there. But to do so is to miss the here and now, the moment-by-moment instances of pure joy that are calling for your attention, and which don’t require you to earn any more or work any harder or be any better.
All they require is for you to be present and observant. To pause for just a moment and notice what’s going on around you. To see that there’s a beauty in the ordinary; there’s magic to be found. It may not be where you thought you’d find it, but it’s magic nevertheless.
June 29, 2016 § 10 Comments
There’s a woman under here, you know. A real, living, breathing, honest-to-God woman.
I know what the outside looks like. Middle-aged spread has changed the shape of me, although heaven knows I’m working on it. Again; still. My hair is peppered with grey. My skin has lost that youthful spring.
But still. There’s a woman under here.
I have so many labels now, I scarcely know how to carry them all. Daughter, mother, sister, friend, aunt, divorcee, writer, author, songwriter, coach, teacher, editor, employer, homeowner… A million times a day I change my mental clothes to be one or more of those.
And still. There’s a woman under here.
She’s mostly invisible. You have to look past the labels and the gently worn body, but she’s there. She still has dreams and desires, and she has a trick or two she could share. But she needs to be coaxed out. Because she’s been around the block a few times, and her heart is a little bruised and battered by life.
She may look strong, and capable and bold. She may smile, and her laugh is ready, but she’s easily hurt. She cries sometimes – in the car, in the bath, in the dark.
There’s a woman under here. A real, living, breathing, honest-to-God woman with fire in her soul.
And all she really wants is to be seen.
March 30, 2016 § 7 Comments
I was halfway through my teens when I switched into self-sufficiency. I don’t think it was conscious, but if I look back now, I can see where it all began. I can point out the day when I had to start being more independent, more self-reliant, learn to do things for myself.
Self-sufficiency isn’t a bad thing, of course. But like everything, it has its shadow side.
Self-sufficiency is like a backpack you carry around with you. It starts off being manageable, and it’s full of useful stuff. As you go through life, you add more useful stuff to it. Incrementally the weight of that backpack increases, so you don’t really notice how heavy it’s become.
So you keep on filling it up, and you begin to notice that your knees are starting to hurt a little, and your back isn’t happy.But there are mountains to be conquered, so you keep walking, and you keep adding more stuff to your backpack. You squeeze things into the corners. Maybe you even find a way to stack them so that they don’t fall out.
And then the day comes when you can’t lift the backpack anymore. You can’t even get it onto your shoulders while you sit on the bed. Because while you’ve been looking after yourself, you really haven’t been looking after yourself.
Self-sufficiency is not the same as self-care.
Self-sufficiency makes the bed every day, and only allows you to crawl under the covers when you’re falling asleep on your feet. Self-care tucks you into bed when you’re tired with a cup of tea. It draws a hand softly across your forehead, knowing that if you rest, you’ll work smarter, not harder, tomorrow.
Self-sufficiency says ‘yes’ when it should say ‘no’. Self-care knows that ‘no’ is a full sentence. And that if you can’t say ‘no’ without guilt, then your ‘yes’ doesn’t really mean much after all.
Self-sufficiency is proud. Self-care is kind. It knows where the boundaries are, and lovingly enforces them.
Self-care isn’t a backpack at all. It’s not something you carry. Self-care is something you keep in your heart.
It’s small and it’s light, and it’s easily lost, but without it that backpack is impossible to carry.
May 21, 2015 Comments Off on Lessons from my dogs
I share my home with two insane dogs, a Golden Retriever and a (mostly) Staffie. And since I work from home, I have ample chance to observe them.
Dogs have much to teach us, I think. They live in the moment and need so little to satisfy them – enough food, decent shelter and plenty of love will usually do the trick, although permission to sleep on the bed is always welcomed.
Here then, are 10 lessons I’ve learned from my dogs.
- Defend your territory and the people you love at all times. Loudly and vociferously.
- Show your loved ones that you’re pleased to see them – even if you’ve only been apart for five minutes.
- When you’re cold, one of the best ways to warm up is a nap on a sunny part of the lawn.
- Rules are made to be broken. Seize the day, seize the dirty washing, seize the half-carved chicken off the kitchen counter. Obeying all the rules will seldom get you what you want.
- Sometimes you have to get dirty to have fun. In fact, getting dirty is always fun.
- If you need to lose weight, simply eating 10% less of the things you love will usually do the trick.
- Walks are just adventures in your neighbourhood. They should be taken daily for maximum happiness.
- Naps are everything.
- If you love someone, kisses are to be lavishly distributed, at any time of day, for any reason at all.
- There’s nothing quite as delicious as a loving pair of hands on your body. Revel in it.