Shiny, Silky, Swollen…

i am not designed for this world of

radical individualism and

indulged selfishness,

i am not built for its people

so callous and cruel

are we so starved for attention

we post our flesh on screens

so palms can grip tighter

and thumbs can tap hearts

do we so badly need to be wanted

we abandon our brains

and pout our lips

so we can feel more

more validated

more beautiful,

we all want to feel beautiful,

but beauty doesn’t matter

because it’s ever-evolving

and swiftly lost

and only ours to borrow for a brief moment

and it doesn’t matter how much of it we have,

we will still be crushed

our kind eyes made to water

in the pursuit of

more beauty

fresh beauty

new beauty

as though aesthetics mean anything at all

we give our bodies away

and call it empowerment

but I’m yet to feel any type of power

any kind of real potency

from a man who trades body parts

before thoughts from the heart

we all hope we are beautiful

but maybe we should desire to

be beautiful of soul,

and mind

beautiful in gestures,

and generosity

beautiful because of how we make people feel

and maybe even how we make them think,

not because of

a smile

or some hair

real beauty is found in

selflessness,

and originality,

in empathy,

and fortitude

but those traits don’t deliver dopamine hits

and they don’t appear on the screen

shiny

silky

swollen

Back To Centre.

I once read some life advice in The New York Times from a widow mourning the passing of her husband. She’d been told to ‘sleep on his side of the bed’. She claimed doing so greatly lessened the ache of missing his physical presence. That filling the space where he once lay meant she yearned for him a little less.   

Months and months ago, when I was lying wide awake in the middle of the night, I remembered her advice. I’d read it a long time prior to my marriage falling apart but, there in the booming silence and the crushing darkness, it came to me. 

I have a habit of doing that; remembering things I’ve read. Not when I want to remember them, necessarily, like on command when quizzed, but when I need to. 

On that sleepless night, I recall rolling over to the right-hand side of the bed. It felt cold. The sheets were unwrinkled. They hadn’t had the weight of a body on top of them for a while. 

It felt slightly odd to be on the wrong side of the bed; by contrast it was mildly comforting. I don’t remember drifting off to sleep that night, only waking up. And when I did, it was morning. 

When I was holding onto my marriage, when I was trying to bend and twist and will it to work, when all I wanted was for him to stay, I was petrified

To the core. 

I was never scared of being alone; I am great alone. I enjoy alone. 

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Swings And Roundabouts.

Yesterday, I opened a letter from my bank and baulked. Rising interest rates have added $1500 a month to my mortgage repayments. ‘Effective 16 March 2023’ it shouted and danced on the paper in my hands.

‘Thanks, cunts,’ I muttered under my breath. Now, don’t confuse me, or my words – I am grateful to be paying off my own home. I am fortunate, beyond measure. Acutely aware that a home of one’s own is increasingly becoming a privilege. I am not complaining. But fuck.  

Perturbed by the news, I hit the garden and began furiously weeding a patch outside my kitchen window. And then my phone rang.

It was my nephew, M, calling to tell me he was coming over in a few weeks to paint my bathroom ceiling and fix my doors. ‘Start making me a list of all the jobs you need done,’ he said, ‘and I’ll tick them off one by one.’

‘How lovely of you,’ I said. ‘Swings and roundabouts,’ I thought. Swings and roundabouts.

Something that has become abundantly clear to me over the past six months is how two things can be true at the same time. I always kind of knew it. But now I get it.

I am thirty-eight years old and, for the first time in my adult life, single. I am no longer a wife. I do not have a husband. I am not married. I am a single mother. I am a sole breadwinner. I am alone.

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JOIN ME AS I DO IT FOR THE PLOT…

I am very excited to announce my subscription only weekly newsletter has launched, with the first instalment landing in inboxes on February 23, 2023. 

People have been telling me for years to release a podcast. Maybe I will, one day. But I genuinely believe the world needs less podcasts, not more. I’m a writer. Words slip out from the tips of my fingers with such ease, it’d shock you. I think the world needs more words. And more readers. Less sixty second TikToks and Reels, and more sentences. Less noise in microphones, and more silence while reading thoughts. So I’m sticking true — to myself, my craft, and the kind of art I want to keep putting out in the world. There’s what’s popular, and there’s what’s right for you.

There’s a couple of reasons this newsletter is for paid subscribers only. 

One, I’m a good writer. You can read a huge volume of my work online for free. I’ll still share and post a lot of work that anyone with an internet connection can access for free. But this newsletter will not be one of them. 

Two, access to me is a privilege. Access to my life, and adventures, mishaps, and emotions, thoughts, and escapades, is a privilege. I am going to give it to you all. Raw and real. 

And what a privilege it will be for me to do so.

Join me as I do it for the plot. Subscribe now at sandisieger.substack.com.

INS & OUTS FOR 2023.

Samantha Jones, Sex & The City, My 2023 Icon

In:

  • throwing out the rule book 
  • solo movie dates 
  • matching effort 
  • intimate dinner parties 
  • do not disturb 
  • spontaneity 
  • matinees
  • hard launching everything 
  • top shelf tequila 
  • being “too much”
  • walking 
  • kill lists
  • sparkly, shiny everything 
  • transformation 
  • becoming a regular at a jazz club/dive bar
  • glossy lips
  • making bag and not being shy about it 
  • sweating, schvitzing, steaming
  • boldness 
  • villain era 
  • consistency 

Out: 

  • owing anyone anything 
  • almond milk 
  • small, basic people with small, basic lives 
  • scrolling
  • expecting things from people 
  • uber eats
  • minimalism 
  • limits 
  • imposter syndrome 
  • long nails 
  • relationships 
  • doing things you don’t want to do 
  • self doubt 
  • matte anything 
  • following the rules 
  • one shower a day
  • perfection 
  • comfort pits and zones 
  • shame
  • beige 
  • faux outrage over swearing

22 THINGS I LEARNED IN 2022…

The hardest year of my life has taught me a few things — who is there, and who really cares. How being strong is both a blessing and a curse. How grateful I am for the past adversity in my life, because it’s wired me differently. And probably saved me. How I am only just beginning. How young I really am. How special and rare it is to meet and make so many new friends at an age when most people’s circles get smaller, and, let’s be honest, often more boring.

Thank you, #TWENTYTWENTYWOO. I am at peace, and yet somehow on fire. Here’s to my next chapter: #TWENTYTWENTYFREE — it’s going to be my most undaunted, audacious, completely savage, terribly striking, utterly magical, slightly unhinged, unreservedly formidable year yet. 

  1. Throw out the rule book — you can rewrite your story anytime.
  2. Match effort. Respond to energy. 
  3. Sometimes being alone is an upgrade. 
  4. Two things can be true at once.
  5. Your greatest loss might just be the biggest opportunity you ever have to become fully alive. 
  6. Success is often seen as one big breakthrough, one major milestone. But the reality is success comes from the small, slow, tedious work of showing up for yourself and your dreams over and over and over again. 
  7. Even in trauma, we can still find joy. 
  8. We are all alone. That is not to say we must be lonely. Keep company. But you better like yourself. Because it’s all you’ve got.
  9. We are all flawed, but we are still worthy. 
  10. Sometimes the fear doesn’t go away, so you have to do it afraid. 
  11. Life is full of sudden goodbyes. 
  12. The most courageous thing you can do is…what you want. This will make other people uncomfortable. They can get used to it or choke on it. Their call. 
  13. We are all going to suffer. You decide whether you cling to it, or whether you heal from it. 
  14. You know who’s going to give you everything? Yourself. 
  15. Children learn what they live. Your actions and attitude will determine if they live well — the rest of the stuff we worry about is just noise. 
  16. As you vibrate higher, as you level up, it may seem like your world is falling apart — but it’s falling into place. Don’t be surprised when those preventing progress are removed from your life.
  17. Spend the afternoon. You cannot take it with you. 
  18. Many people will be drawn to your light but will fold at their inability to handle it. Take nothing personal. 
  19. Romanticise your life. Even through the mess and uncertainty. Especially through the mess and uncertainty. 
  20. Perspective and gratitude is all you need to live in the now. Practice both daily. 
  21. It all works out in the end. 
  22. The woman who’s hustling cannot understand the woman who’s hating. We don’t speak the same language. This year, I’ve come to understand my hustle offends some. Good. I hope my hustle offends the shit of out you. I hope my stamina frightens you (it should, you could never). I hope my sparkle burns your eyes. I have so much more for you to be mad at. Just wait. 

ALL WE HAVE IS MOMENTS…

Every now and again I turn to my camera roll and flick through moments captured in time, and every time I find something new. It’s often raw and unpolished and of nothing terribly, seemingly significant, except maybe to me. And in that one little reflective moment, it all comes back. The hum of the city. The footsteps beside me. The heat. The orange sunset ricocheting off the 9th Avenue buildings. If those streets could talk. The stories they would tell. If we only understood that all we have is moments, strung together, that we bundle up and call a life. Maybe we’d make the most of our moments. Maybe we’d live more, in every moment. Maybe we’d never take a single one for granted, ever again.

WHAT IT MEANS TO BE ITALIAN.

“There’s a well-known Roman saying: mangia bene, ridi spesso, ama molto. I’m not sure there’s another expression that surmises the Italian way of life so succinctly, so accurately, as it. 

Eat well, laugh often, love much.

Good advice for living. And if there’s one thing Italians excel at, it’s living.”

Read my full article for Italy Segreta here.

ON GOAL DIGGIN’ & PLANNIN’…

There’s going to be a lot of people happy to see the back of 2020. I won’t necessarily be. I don’t buy into the idea of ‘good’ or ‘bad’ years. Time is a gift — even, and especially, the hard times — and what drives me, every day, is the desire to live like I mean it.

Seneca once wrote, “It’s not that we have a short time to live. Just that we waste a lot of it.” Seems he was onto something over 2,000 years ago. What I know is things don’t accidentally happen in life. You don’t magically wind up where you want to be.

It’s a controversial statement for 2020, but I’ve had a pretty marvellous year. I credit a lot of it to my daily MiGoals practice — every morning I review my goals, brain dump tasks and to-dos, hopes and wishes, I list what I’m grateful for and what habits I want to form. At night, I reflect on how I could have made my day better and celebrate my wins.

What I know is small steps in every day moments result in big changes. Don’t ask me where I want to be in five or ten years — I’m not that type of goal digger. Ask me what I want to achieve today. Who I want to be tomorrow. What I want to contribute to the world this year. What I want to savour right now.

I spent almost eight months in lockdown this year. A lot was missed and lost, but a lot was also gained. I got fitter. I rebranded @campawakenings, then launched an online store. I wrote. I redesigned this blog. I got stronger. I relaunched @MelbWritersClub@OnyaMag had its biggest year in business. Ever.

I’ve got some big, soul-filling goals for 2021. Maybe you do, too. My suggestion would be to start now. Don’t spend another moment, let alone year, doing the same shit. Every tiny little habit you tick off each day is a vote for who you want to become. Not enough people dare to dream big, let alone have the courage to map out their dreams and then chase them.

Do the work. Show up for yourself. Sit with yourself. Be honest to yourself. Be brave in your choices. Then get at it. No one is coming to save you, to help you, to fix you. What you want isn’t going to land in your lap or fall from the sky. Dream, plan, work. Hold yourself accountable. And repeat. 

Growing Up Italian.

My first piece for Italy Segreta is live and it’s a personal one on displacement, belonging and family.

“I was born and raised in Melbourne, Australia, but people always ask me where I come from. My parents were born in Italia; my Mum in Abruzzo and my Dad in Friuli. They migrated to Australia separately, with their respective families, and met in Melbourne when they were in their twenties. 

Growing up, I wasn’t sure where I was placed. I was Australian, but not completely. I was Italian, but not fully. At home, in Australia, they call me The Italian. In Italy, when I visit, they refer to me as L’Australiana.”

Read the full article here.