grab my hair
like you grabbed my heart
forcefully, with both fists
slide your hands down
my back, my hips
soak me in
those lips, your fingertips
i want it
the tornado of your love
gripped to my curves
take me, flood me, break me
donāt love me tenderly
love me reckless
render me breathless
āDonāt deny your fire,ā he said. āJust be who you are and burn.ā
Whenever the sky is hazy and pink, I think of him. And what he said. In that beautiful moment in time.
āMarch on solider,ā he said, as he pulled me up from the ground by my left shoulder, while I wiped tears from my cheek. Whenever things get tough, I think of him. And what he said. In that beautiful moment in time.
āEverything else is just extra,ā he said, as he swigged the rest of his coffee and threw his jacket on. āItās all glitter and sparkles.ā And he was right. In that beautiful moment in time.
āItās okay to ricochet between certainties and doubts,ā he said. And it is. Whenever Iām in between, I think of him. And what he said. In that beautiful moment in time.
I felt a lump swell in the base of my throat yesterday.
I instantly knew what it was.
Iāve felt it a couple of times this year already; in the days leading up to my birthday, and Fatherās Day, and his birthday.
Itās unmistakable ā a sharp bulge, that intensifies the more I try to quash it.
Gulp.
Gulp.
Gulp.
But it remains.
I wonder if itāll be like this forever.
I suspect it might still be too early to know.
Thereās been a lot of āfirstsā this year.
First without this, and first without that.
People say it gets easier with the seconds and thirds.
Iām not convinced.
Time passes, time heals. Maybe. But it doesnāt erase.
And I wouldnāt want it to.
So many years of saturated memories; tinsel flooded floorboards, and sunburn, tables overflowing with food, and cherry stained fingertips. Music permeating the walls. Laughter, over the crunch of wrapping paper.
For the most part, this Christmas wonāt be all that different from any other.
Thereāll just be one person missing.
Itās disconcerting how life ticks along, as though the people who once loomed so large were never there at all.
But of course they were.
Iāve got little interest in popping crackers or faking festivity over small talk with people Iāve no partiality to.
I just want to be around the people I love, that get it.
The ones that you donāt have to explain anything to, because they know.
Itās funny, what, and who, youāre drawn to after loss. The comfort you find in the familiar, the warmth in revisiting old memories, and with it, old feelings.
I like being close to that.
And as far away as possible from the rest of it.
Itās hard to describe – the immense sense of loss, the extensive gaping hole – because it is entirely at odds with – sublime happiness, genuine excitement – and here I am, occupied by all of them, at once.
It is both melancholic, and marvellous. Delicate, and misinterpreted. Complex, and cathartic. Light, and dark.
The lump comes.
And goes.
Itās unmistakable.
But maybe instead of trying to quash it, Iāll just let it linger.
Itās a nice reminder, in some ways.
To stay near the people, and do the things, that feel like light.
Not just for a season.
Merry, forever.
Happy, always.
Life is a war of head vs. heart. Itās tiny little moments, like: watching the flickering lights of the city from a rooftop, while the soft breeze tangles your hair and kisses your cheek. Waking up early in the middle of winter to feel the chill cut through your coat as a chai latte runs down your throat. Itās that marone jumper you love, that still smells like him.
Life is messy. Itās making mistakes, like: one too many wines that numb your lips but not your tongue. Feeding feelings with memories, instead of drowning them in tears. Driving too fast. Itās being afraid of nothing, except saying exactly how you feel, because then itāll be real.
Life is glorious. Itās sublime moments, like: watching a radiant sunset, and feeling its glow warm your cheekbones. Goosebumps tingling across your body, as he runs his hand up your thigh. Midnight conversations with people that matter. Itās that spark, that begins when you lock eyes and ends with your souls dancing together.
Life is magic.
If you listen, it will tell you.
If you look, you will find it.
If you do, you will become.
My Dad passed away two weeks ago.
People keep asking me how Iām going, as though theyāre half expecting me to break in front of them.
Iām glad they ask.
Iāve realised itās much nicer than not being asked.
How am I going?
Iām not sure.
Mostly I say, āas good as can be expected.ā
I suppose that is true.
Iām not sure what the expectation is when you lose one of the most important, pivotal, beloved people in your life, but I feel like Iām doing as good as I can be ā Iām waking up, and showering, and eating, and caring for my son, and driving my car, and running errands, and seeing family and friends, and cooking, and cleaning, and checking emails, and making phone calls, and planning, and doing all the little things people do that fill their days.
Some people donāt know what to say, which I somewhat understand, but hereās something else Iāve realised; itās not that hard to say āIām thinking of youā or āIām sorry for your lossā or āI hope you are doing as good as can be expectedā.
I have been showered in support, and love, and thoughts, and I feel them, wrapped around me. I am so appreciative of every single one of them.
But my Dad has died.
Heās gone.
And my life is forever changed.
Everything is kind of the same, but paradoxically, absolutely nothing is the same.
Nothing will be the way it used to be, ever again.
I am mostly fine, except for when I am not. I am mostly ok, except for when I am not.
Sometimes it slowly creeps up on me, like a looming dread in the pit of my stomach, and sometimes it hits me, bang out of nowhere, and I catch myself clutching my breath.
Iām as good as can be expected, but I am angry.
Iāve got a simmering rage inside me that Iām containing, but boy does it bubble. Iāve had to remind myself, every day, to ālet it goā, that āitās not worth itā, to ācalm downā.
Iām as good as can be expected, but I feel robbed.
Robbed that Dad didnāt get enough time, that I didnāt get enough time, that we all didnāt get enough time. Robbed for what heāll miss, for what Iāll miss, for what weāll all miss.
Itās true that we donāt know our own strength until we need to; people have commended me for mine, which is lovely, but also slightly odd.
Iām āstrongā because being anything less seems like a disservice to Dad; to his honour, and legacy. Iām āstrongā because I have a child to raise, and a family to love, and being anything less seems like a disservice to them.
People see strength as āgetting on with itā ā helping organise a funeral, and saying a eulogy without falling apart, and running yourself into the ground with errands, and doing as good as can be expected, and they say, āGood on her, look how strong she is,ā like youāre a show dog at a competition.
That is not strength.
That is autopilot, running on adrenalin.
Do you want to know what strength is?
Strength is not snapping someoneās neck in rage.
Strength is not losing your shit at someone elseās incompetence.
Strength is repeating the same story, over and over, to sympathising guests, when all you want to do is lie down in bed with the doona well above your head.
Strength is choosing not to be negative; choosing life, and beauty, and adventure, and wonder.
My Dad may have died, but that doesnāt give me the right to act like a dick.
So I am being as strong as I can, in the way I know how: by not being an arsehole. The world has enough of those.
Death evokes all sorts of feelings and reactions in people, and theyāre all ok. Thereās no right or wrong way to grieve, or empathise. For the most part, people use it as an opportunity to think about themselves. At the centre of their own universe, they think of how death affects them. Iāve discovered, in this fortnight that feels like a year, who is really there for me, and who is not, who my true friends are, and who are just people I know.
Thereās one small thing Iāve found exceptionally difficult: how quickly āisā and āareā become āwasā and āwereā.
The instant change in tense is jarring.
And, thereās another thing: how the world just keeps spinning.
My Dad may have died, but that doesnāt mean the world stops.
I get that.
That is the way it should be.
Itās just a little unnerving, how everything goes on, swiftly, at full tilt.
Itās all very surreal; that this has happened, that this is life now.
Iām not convinced that anyone can truly know what it feels like to lose a parent, until they have lost one. And the well-wishes are pleasant, and the thoughts are kindly, but the advice is inordinate and borders on offensive. You either know, or you donāt, and if you donāt, youāre fortunate.
Iāve unwillingly become part of a club I donāt really want to be in but the other people are lovely, and they get it, and the biscuits are nice.
Iāve discovered thereās no real preparation for losing a loved one; whether it strikes you out of nowhere or you have a long lead-time – thereās no difference whatsoever. Thereās only here or gone and until they are gone, they are here.
Predominantly, I understand thereās no right or wrong way to go about any of it. Being close to my family and friends has helped me, but some people might choose to shut off. I know that people mean well ā and itās better having people mean well than not having people at all. I recognise that, like with anything in life, thereās constant challenges and choices, and I get to choose my choices, and own them too. I acknowledge that grief is a bit like a wave, and I think Iāll be buoyed foreverā¦
but I also know that Iāll still laugh
and love
and soar
and that the thirty-two years I got were better than thirty, or twenty-five, or ten, or none at all
and that so much of who I am is because of him.
So much. Of who I am. Is because. Of him.
i used to write poetry
like i knew what i was doing
but
i never did
i still donāt
iāve worn lost like a badge of honour
like a wayward explorer
but
really
i just donāt want to be found
i have stood
and listened
to the telling
at the yelling
and then iāve silently sat
thinking āwell, what about that?ā
i have realised thereās lost
and then thereās lost
and they are not the same
one is a bit romantic
the other not so much
and maybe iāve made excuses
even though i always say
ānever make excusesā
but
really
i think everyone does
people say
āi wouldnāt do anything differentlyā
i used to say
āi wouldnāt change a thingā
but
i absolutely would
do every thing differently
and
i absolutely would
change some things
i donāt have regrets
not because
i donāt have them
but
instead
because i choose not to think about them
when you canāt change whatās been
whatās the point of thinking about
what
could
have
i have found two places
where my mind can wander
unencumbered;
doing the dishes
and
standing under running water
i think time is irreplaceable
and there is none to waste
but
really
every now
and again
i zone out
doing the dishes
or
standing under running water
and i know
now
that is one of the most precious ways
to savour it
i live
and will die
by two words
back yourself
i will whisper
back yourself
every time
all the time
until
i
whisper
no
more
Here’s some things I am:
– The kind of tired sleep doesnāt fix
– Hopeful
– Embracing growth, plunging into change, still breathing
– Bruised
– Listening with an intent to understand, not reply
– Thirsty
– Getting better at saying no
– Unapologetically doing my thing
Hereās some things I know:
– Almost is the saddest word there is
– You donāt fall on top of a mountain, you climb up one
– Existing is different from being alive
– Halfway is no good; go all in
– The things worth saying, most people donāt
– Fight change or flow with it; change goes on
– You canāt fake tenderness
– Risk is given a bad rap, usuallyĀ from people whoĀ never takeĀ any
This cafĆ© Iām in is bustling.
Itās humming with conversation and a coffee machine that hasnāt stopped once in forty-five minutes. Thereās tapping coming from another laptop, but itās nowhere near as vigorous as the sound coming from mine. āTheyāre happy taps,ā I think, and I know itās true. People donāt bash away at a keyboard when theyāre light of heart. They just donāt.
I order another coffee. āStrong, please,ā I say.
Thereās a group of girls to my left. I havenāt quite nailed what they got up to last night, but Iāve pieced bits of it together, mainly from their steady stream of analysis on the nightās antics over the past half an hour. Theyāre laughing. Really laughing. āGood on them,ā I mutter. And I mean it.
The wind is flapping away at the sails outside, and a dog tied to a chair leg starts to bark. Four kids whizz past on scooters and a car alarm goes off somewhere in the distance.
Itās just another Saturday, in another week.
Except itās not for me.
Itās the fourth Saturday, in the longest month of my life.
Itās the fourth Saturday since my world started to change.
And my brain wonāt let up. Not from all the crowded thoughts.
Like whether this is how I will measure things now; because before seems different to this.
I think about how many days I spent writing emails, in the name of distraction and avoidance, instead of something straight from my heart and onto a page, and I count twenty-four.
Twenty-four days.
I have never gone that long.
Maybe itās because I still donāt know what to say. Maybe itās because I donāt want to say it.
The constant stream of people popping in for a takeaway coffee hasnāt let up. They roll in, and then out, hopping into their car or onto their bike, before they tick off their next Saturday errand, or go to the next place they need to be.
Soon enough Iāll close the lid on this laptop, then pay my bill, and walk out onto the street, and back home, before I hop in my car and go to the next place I need to be.
Saturday will turn into Sunday, and then Monday, and my to-do list will fill again, along with my inbox, and my phone will ring, and clothes will need to be washed, and dogs walked, and floors swept, and dinners cooked.
Everything keeps going.
Even though Iām a little bit broken.
Even though my world is splintered.
Everything keeps going.
And then Saturday will be here again.
I donāt have a favourite season, I have favourite feelings.
Itās driving windows down, hair moist from the ocean, grains of sand between the sole of my foot and the accelerator. Itās red wine with raindrops outside my window. Itās the blazed orange sky, right before the sunsets. Itās my hair, sticky and humid, being brushed aside, as the nape of my neck is kissed. Itās the dust that kicks up off a windy track to somewhere new, that gets caught in my throat and makes me cough. Itās the chilli that dances in my mouth, long after Iāve chewed through the last pork dumpling, and keeps the tip of my tongue warm. It is hands so cold they struggle to clap at the footy. It is leaves crunching underneath my shoes. It is walking to the train station without needing to carry a jacket. Itās the sound of crickets outside my window. When the concrete is so hot it burns your bare feet unless you run. When the wind off the water chaps your lips. When the cool change comes, and the curtains dance in the breeze. When you wrap your hand around someone elseās, and brush over some goosebumps. When you hear the neighbourhood, in your living room, and smell what number thirty-five is having for dinner. When the side of your foot slips out of your thong, onto the dewy morning grass. When your fingertips go wrinkly from swaddling a hot cup. When you gaze up into the dark blueĀ and see something glimmering.
I donāt have a favourite season, I have favourite feelings.
O,
Itās getting to the tail end of 2015 and today I was thinking about all the things Iāve done so far this year, and all the things Iāve learned. Itās been a big, tremendous year. I was thinking about you, too, and how quickly you are growing. There are so many things I want you to know, and so many things I hope for you.
You are cheeky and sharp and bright. Donāt ever lose your spirit. Donāt ever let life ā or, worse, other people ā dampen and sap your energy. You have so much energy. You have a zest for life. I know you do. I know it because you are like me. Donāt stop singing to yourself, and hopping when you get excited, and screaming āyeahā out loud when youāre happy; the world beats that kind of stuff out of people, as they grow, but I donāt want that to happen to you.
I hope I can instill in you the highest possible level of confidence ā not arrogance, confidence. They are two very different things, though sometimes people get them confused. And if, at times, you canāt be confident, then I hope you can pretend to be. As you grow, you will realise that no one really has it all figured out, and the ones that say they do you likely need to run from.
Your confidence is going to grow in proportion to how often youāre prepared to step out of your comfort zone. So donāt become stagnant. Keep fresh.
I am going to tell you to ābe carefulā a lot. I have already started. And I mean it. But, really, I want you to take a lot of risks. Hopefully not too many of those risks are reckless ā like driving dangerously or jumping off large moving objects on a regular basis ā but take risks. Climb to the top of the highest trees you find, swim at the base of waterfalls, be driven down a highway while you stand through a sunroof and your hair thrashes in the wind.
Hopefully you donāt want to become a UFC fighter, and maybe you can get through life without a motorbike, and out of all the animals you might like to adopt over the years, I truly hope none are of the reptile variety.
But if they are, thatās ok. And if you want to ride a motorbike, or become a UFC fighter, then Iāll help you in any way I can.
There are some things in life you should do; even when other people tell you that maybe itās not such a good idea.
You should ride a motorbike, at least a few times in your life. And one of those times should be sitting on the back of one, holding onto someoneās waist, preferably along a stunning coastline somewhere in the world, because there will be a point where you turn your head and see the ocean, and youāll feel the wind slice through you, and then something churn deep inside you and this I know, O: thatās what it means to be alive.
And you should hold a snake, or swim with a croc, or do whatever it is that you want to do, but thatās the key; do things that you want to do, not things you think you should, or just because other people are.
People will bang on about things in life coming at a ācostā. Spoiler alert: every single thing you will ever do will come at a cost. Donāt think about that. Focus instead on what adds value to your life. If it adds value to you, include it. If it doesnāt, subtract it. But donāt dwell on cost ā monetary or otherwise. Because hereās the other spoiler alert: itās always worth it.
While itās definitely too early for you to be thinking about women, if thatās what youāre into later in life, please know this: be a gentleman, be kind, be thoughtful, be loving, but never compromise who you are for somebody else. Donāt give up on the things you love for a woman. Donāt change who you are for a woman. A good one will never expect you to. A great one will encourage you to be more of who you are, not less.
You will meet some amazing people in this world. Always be open to them. And if youāre drawn to somebody, for whatever reason, explore it.
I hope you find dazzling people and talk with them until the early hours of the morning; on a rooftop, or a verandah. Some of those people you will never see again, but I guarantee you will carry a piece of them with you for your whole life, and every once in a while someone will say something, or youāll see something, and youāll be reminded of them. And in your head text will appear like a leading title on the news: āSoldier, 1999, on the train to Veniceā and youāll smile thinking of them.
Try and stay away from the kind of people that place value on material things, and instead find people that are interested; in life, in history, in books, in music, in people, in conversation, in living.
I hope you spend most of your time with good people, people that understand and embrace you, but you need to know this: sometimes people can know you for a long time, but not really know you.
Just last week someone Iāve known for half of my life said some awful things to me, and they did some horrible things, and it ripped a little piece out of me. Sometimes people will hurt you and sometimes theyāll break a part of you but hereās the other thing you need to know: you can always put yourself back together.
I hope you continue to be happy, and in doing so realise that you cannot ever compromise on your happiness. It should be the one thing in life you fail to bargain on. Find happiness in small things, as well as big things, and find it on your own. Donāt tie all of your happiness in a place, or a person. Anchor it to yourself.
Be the kind of person that spreads good stuff wherever they go; happiness, energy, love. Learn from your mistakes, but donāt be afraid to make them. I hope you make a ton of them, because that means youāll never stop learning. There are secret opportunities hidden inside failures, and only the courageous get to unearth them.
Donāt let mediocrity get a grip of you; donāt tolerate it in other people.
Listen to your instincts, every single time. Always listen to your instincts. Sometimes you will need to ignore logic, or change your plans, and when those moments come, do exactly what you yearn for, and always remind yourself that death might be frightening, but not living should be feared far more.
I hope you tell a lot of people that you love them, and I hope a lot of people say it to you, too; some of them will whisper it, some of them will shout it, and some of them will only reveal it with their eyes, but every time take it for what it is; an absolute privilege, not something you are entitled to.
Donāt hold back from revealing yourself to other people; the only time you will ever need to be guarded is when youāre in a defensive stance in basketball, beyond that, let fall and slip, let fall and slip ā even when itās risky, even when you wind up hurt, even when itās costly because, remember, itās always worth it.
Live your life your way, and donāt ever allow anyone to make you feel guilty for that ā the only opinion you need to worry about is the one you have of yourself. Use that as your compass; someone elseās might be broken, or going the wrong way. You can direct yourself, that I will always be sure of.
O, the thing about this year is that youāre not the only one thatās grown; I have too.
I know I havenāt been there to put you to bed every single night of every single week this year. I know you donāt need me to be. Your life is blessed and filled with people; people that love being around you, and can be when Iām not there. But just know this; every single time I walk in the door, no matter how late at night, or early in the morning, the first thing I do is walk into your room and run my hand through your hair.
And I know that sometimes Iām at the computer when youāre building a tower out of Lego, or making a train track, and five minutes can become twenty-five.
But there are some final things I need you to know:
Iāve never used you as an excuse, and I never will. Some people I know with children tend to use them as an excuse for all the things they canāt do, but I donāt feel that way with you. I know I can do anything. You donāt prevent me from doing anything and I think in the future that might be one of the best things you learn from me.
You are like a sponge; you soak everything in. And thatās why Iām so determined to live the best possible life I can, and be true to myself along the way, because I need to, for you. Itās not enough for me to hope and wish for who I want you to become ā I need to be those things.
In many years to come, when youāre a man, and Iām an old woman, you wonāt remember the things I tried to teach you, or the things I told you to do ā youāll remember who and what I am. And the things I did. Youāll remember how I lived.
I need you to know that life is resplendent ā that every year you will learn, and bloom, and lament, and hurt, and you will go on adventures, and life will blow you away.
You have roots, and a core, and a heart, and you will sprout and develop, and I will always be there, to nourish you and love you, and it will never, ever feel like an obligation. It is a privilege, my son. You are an absolute privilege.
Love,
Mama
I wrote this post on Facebook over the weekend:
“Sometimes I get a little obsessive with songs, or poems, and I listen to them or read them, over and over, until I’ve got everything I can out of them, or they’ve at least sunk in.
Over the past couple of days, I’ve been reading ‘The Invitation’ by Oriah, Mountain Dreamer, Indian Elder, and I love it, all of it, and I’ve got this verse playing on loop in my head, and in particular this line: “I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself.”
Can you?
Because I’ve realised I can.
Because being genuine – not betraying who I truly am, or my soul – might not make me the best person in the world, by some standards or rules, but it makes me the only one I’m happy to live with. Being fake – especially to myself – is just not an option. I’ve always been ok with that, but I’ve doubted it a little recently.
Earlier this year, I wrote a thing, and one of the lines in it was this: “People will tell you to ‘be yourself’ but in order to do so, you’ve got to get really comfortable with who you genuinely are.”
Are you?
Because I’ve realised I am.
Even if that means disappointing another to be true to myself.
I really, really am.”
I do that kind of thing, sometimes ā post a thought, or an opinion, occasionally a rant.
Thereās no real rhyme or reason to what I post, other than feeling a certain way in a certain moment. Itās a free pour, out of my brain, to my little community of people, partly in the hope that some of the words might mean something to them ā that they might help them, or inspire them, or at least make them think.
Sometimes other stuff happens instead.
Sometimes people donāt like what I write, or say.
Maybe it hits a nerve for them, or maybe it confronts (or more likely affronts) them.
Iām not sure.
This morning my phone rang and it was someone telling me theyād read my post, and that I was wrong. They told me all the reasons I was wrong. And then the reasons why I was selfish.
I chuckled, a bit. Mostly because I know Iām one of the least selfish people in the world, but paradoxically, and this was kind of the point of my post, I can also be terribly selfish, and Iām ok with that. Iām more than ok with that.
I know youāre not supposed to say that.
I know youāre supposed to say that you spend your entire life in service of others; of people, the greater good, of tasks and checklists. That you put everyone, and everything, first, and lag behind, hoping to catch a break or take a breath. And even if you know who or how you really are, I know youāre meantĀ to deny it, and pretend. Pretend like you are that person youāre āsupposedā to be.
But I canāt do that.
Iāve never been wired to do that.
And if thereās anything I know, itās that youāve got to love yourself first.
For me, that means being true to who I am. Even if that means disappointing someone else. Even if that makes me selfish.
I am no good to anyone, or anything, any other way.
Today someone shared this Jane Caro article on Facebook, and I read it and nodded. It is much more important to be brave, than nice. And people are very afraid of offending others. And saying what they think. And none of that fazes me at all.
I definitely donāt ever intend to offend anyone, but if someone is a little disgruntled after reading something Iāve written, thereās not a single part of me that is concerned about that.
Itās not that I donāt care. Itās that I canāt, and wonāt, suppress my thoughts because they donāt align with someone elses.
Part of what I do, as a writer, means putting a fair bit of myself out there. And while there is a great deal that I havenāt yet written about (my childhood, my challenges, my pretty traumatic labour experience, to name a few), there is a lot that I have. And I know that if I want to be the best writer I can be ā and, more importantly, be true to who I am ā then I canāt filter my thoughts.
If I factored in every opinion, and expectation, Iād likely never write a thing.
And letās be honest; writing is one of the most selfish, indulgent things you can do. Especially when itās about yourself, or your life.
That people even read what I write still blows me away. With all the words in all the world, the fact that a small percentage of people read mine with what precious time they have is kind of incredible.
But I donāt really write for them. I write for me. And, I suspect, thatās part of the reason people keep coming back; because Iām not trying to be perfect – something I most definitely am not. Iām only trying, every day, to be the best me I can be. And I think sharing parts of who I am can maybe help other people be brave, or at least be themselves, unashamedly.
Something Iām conscious of is that not every story is my story ā even the ones that do have a lot of me in them. And while Iāll always be true to myself, Iām aware that not everyone I cross paths with has signed up to have their life chronicled, or their thoughts aired, and I respect that, with every ounce of consideration I have.
But itās ok for me to be raw, out there. To say, or write, the things I donāt think enough people do. I can handle the negative feedback and comments (and even the phone calls).
But I donāt think I can stomach the judgement.
I think people that say things that are truthful ā even if those things arenāt necessarily pretty ā shouldnāt be torn down, but maybe instead given a high-five, or at least a thumbs up.
Not because of any other reason than it is brave.
It requires, no matter how often youāve done it before, an unflinching exploration of boldness.
And not enough people are bold. Or brave.
And the more we tear down people when they try to be, the less likely they are to lay anything bare.
And we need to lay bare; to unlatch and throw wide open the window on who we are, so we can make it easier for other people to be who they are.
Iām never going to stop doing that; even when itās not pretty. Even when itās brash.
Being who you genuinely are, and being ok with that, is brave and it is bold.
And thatās all I need, and want, to be.
I was chatting to my friend Steve the other night and we got talking about the idea of being ācomfortableā.
I told him, without a momentās hesitation, that I donāt do comfortable.
He nodded and said, āComfortable makes me nervous.ā
Me too, matey, me too.
Iāve been trying to pinpoint over the past couple of days exactly what it is that frightens me about the familiar; the routine, the security, the safety.
I havenāt quite got there, so Iām doing that thing I do when I try to figure something out; I free pour out of my brain onto a blank page and then post it online for the internet to read.
I get why comfortable is enticing; itās relaxing, and comfy, and easy. And thereās absolutely nothing wrong with wanting to, or needing to, be comfortable.
But I find myself sitting back, listening to people bang on about being comfortable, with my head slightly tilted to the right, thinking, āYeah, not for me.ā
I talk to a lot of people. And I see too many of them stifled by fear. And insecurity. And I think it sometimes stems from aĀ desire to clutch onto whatās comfortable; the things they know, the people they know, the world they orbit.
Itās all very nice. It all makes perfect sense.
I just donāt think itās enough for me.
I just donāt think I can even pretend itās within me to be like that.
The other day, I went to a festival with my friends. We were waiting for our bus to depart the city that morning, and there was this guy, holding us up, because he was waiting for his friends to turn up and board the bus. For whatever reason, they were a no show.
I was looking at him out the window willing him to get on the damn bus. Partly because the sun was shining and I just wanted to be in the Yarra Valley already, but also because here was this fully grown adult, with the potential to have an amazing day right in front of him ā literally a few steps in front of him ā and he was going to miss out on that because his friends weren’t there.
‘Get on the bus, mate.’
He turned around and walked off.
One of my friends asked, āWould you get on the bus?ā
Me and Teagan, my sister from another mister, replied, without a momentās hesitation.
āAbsolutely.ā
There is no doubt about it. With the upmost love and respect for my friends, if they left me standing in front of a bus, on my own, I would hop on it. I would hop on it, every single time, without question.
Maybe Iād have a dead boring day. Or maybe Iād find some people and talk. Maybe Iād learn something new. Maybe Iād make a new friend. Maybe Iād dance with them. Maybe the direction of my life would change in some remarkable way. Or maybe Iād just sit back and listen to some music in the sun and think, āIsnāt this lovely.ā
I know that our natural inclination is to run to whatās warm and comfortable, but youāve got to feel the cold sometimes. Every now and again, youāve got to do things that completely terrify you. Well, you donāt have to, of course. But I know I do.
I purposely make myself do things Iām terrified of. Mostly because I know if I donāt, I risk becoming everything I know I donāt want to be. And because the other option ā that comfortable one ā is far more terrifying to me than anything else I could ever be afraid of.
Not allowing myself to fall into a trap of being comfortable has resulted in some pretty marvellous things. Like every now and again, I make myself walk into a room without the comfort of knowing a single person. Doing that is no big deal. But youād be surprised at how many people wonāt. Iāve made some great new friends this year. And they stem from that one, single action. From that one, single choice.
Iām still not exactly sure why comfort irks me. Iāll keep thinking and get back to you.
For now, what I think is that maybe life is just a series of choices we make. Maybe itās as simple as choosing between getting on the bus, or staying well off it.
Whatever choice you make is fine, and itās yours.
I just donāt think Iāll let the bus drive off without me. Even when I donāt really feel like hopping on. Even when the ride is sure to be bumpy. Even when the passengers donāt seem all that friendly. Iām going to keep gettingĀ on the bus. I want to see where the ride takes me.
Today at a networking lunch, with the absolute legends from A Positive Move, I was asked to share the most āpositive moveā Iāve made, and I had the pleasure of hearing responses from other members at the table.
I love hearing people share their stories; little snippets and tidbits of their life that have shaped who they are and what they do. The choices theyāve made, the serendipitous moments of happenstance that have peppered, or changed the entire course, of their lives. Itās the reason Iāll always choose reading a biography or memoir over a work of fiction; people ā with all their realness and rawness ā are the very thing that inspire me most.
My little tidbit was less focused on a singular moment or event, but rather the attitude I live my life by, which will come as no big surprise to regular readers or those who know me: to not let fear define my life or dictate my choices and to make my own opportunities, as well as take all the ones that come my way.
I shared a few examples of how Iāve applied it to my career so far ā like when I was twenty-three and in the throes of my freelance writing career and I was offered a role as Editor of a magazine in Sydney. I was petrified. I had no idea what I was doing. So I naturally said yes. That was the catalyst for what came next, and what came after that, and where I am now.
Right now, in life, thereās a lot of good things happening. Really good things. Itās chaotic and hectic and, as my dear friend Steph has coined it, āoff chopsā, but itās also wonderful and bold and at least twice a week Iām consumed by the feeling of a million butterflies clogging my stomach. Iām ridiculously content and awfully inspired and overly eager. And with that comes its own level of complexities.
If you ever want to know how good a true friend is, start killing it in life. Then kill it even more. Then soar higher than you ever have. Then get back to me.
Iām only just realising how difficult it is to navigate through the overlapping links of a friendship when youāre on Level 5 and the other person hasnāt even pressed the button to hop in the lift.
Iām only just discovering how crushing it is to watch someone completely veer away from any semblance of a good life and accept the very worst of a false one. Itās like watching a literal train wreck.
Itās harder when you care. Itās harder when your tolerance for bullshit is exceptionally low. Itās harder when you call them out. When you question their pathetic reasoning and falsities. Maybe itās not the right thing to do. But I cannot do it any other way.
How do you ease the disconnect? How do you get the tracks to overlap and crisscross again?
A few days ago, I realised something, perhaps rather selfishly: itās not up to me to sort out someone elseās life. And I definitely shouldnāt have to apologise for mine.
Last week, over a long lunch with a friend, I uttered something along the lines of āyeah, but weāve designed our livesā¦ā
And have I.
I recognise the ability to even do that in the first place comes from a position of privilege; privilege of being born in the best country in the world, privilege of being educated, and having opportunities, but hereās the thing: privilege only gets you so far. It doesnāt get you out of bed at 5am. It doesnāt make your choices, or your sacrifices. It doesnāt drive you, or motivate you. Privilege, if anything, cocoons you, it entitles you, it keeps you safe.
Should you ever have to apologise for being brave enough to trudge through your own muddy path?
I think not.
And maybe itās the dry prosecco swirling about, or the gin, or the fact Iām typing this in the back of an Uber, but Iām not going to apologise for who I am, or what Iāve done, or the fact that everything is maddeningly, wonderfully, fabulously magic.
I donāt know how the tracks are going to crisscross over each other again. I donāt know how to make someone see that their misery is theirs to own, in the same way my happiness is mine. All I know is that itās not really my problem – not for want of trying, not for lack of effort – and thereās something delightfully liberating about that.
Iām done.
Iām throwing my hands up in the air and calling it a week.
Itās been a day, Iāll tell ya. And this all but tipped me over the edge:
I opened this email and without a word of a lie it took all my strength to not throw my laptop across the cafƩ, over the heads of some unsuspecting people eating lunch, and launch it straight into the feature brick wall.
You may think Iām overreacting. And, yes, perhaps today my ranty pants are pulled up a little higher than usual.Ā And, yes, I’m about to unload a tirade of first-world problems, but I DON’T GIVE A PHUCK.
Iām over it.
I donāt care how nice someoneās manners are – Iām over people I donāt know emailing me out of nowhere asking for shit, like it’s expected I’ll trip over my own feet racing to the keyboard to makeĀ their job substantially easier.
You know what else Iām over?
Everyone talking about this cold snap thatās hitting us this weekend as though ITāS THE END OF THE FUCKING EARTH.
Guys, WE CAN HANDLE TEN DEGREES. Sure, it’ll be fresh, but it’s nothing an extra layer or two can’t solve.
While I’m at it, can we all stop talking about winter, in general? I don’t know about where you grew up, but where I did, every year, for about three or so months, give or take, it gets cold. There’s nothing particularly earth-shattering about it. A usual year goes something like this:
TOO FUCKING HOT.
STILL TOO FUCKING HOT.
AH, LOVELY.
WHAT A DAY.
NICE.
MILD.
LOTS OF LEAVES EVERYWHERE.
CRISP MORNINGS, SMASHING DAYS, COOL NIGHTS.
COLD.
COLD.
COLDER.
EVEN COLDER.
MILD.
NICE.
WHAT A DAY.
AH, LOVELY.
WARM.
HOT.
HOT.
HOTTER.
EVEN HOTTER.
Feel free to copy and paste that shit somewhere so you can refer to it in future. Print it out and stick it on your fridge, or pin board, if you’re so inclined. Give or take some slight variations, that’s about the extent of it.
Now that’s sorted, how about this?
I went into three shoe stores today, looking for a new pair of leather ankle boots.
Tell me this: when I say, “Hi, can I please try these in a size 10?” what does that mean to you?
Does it mean come out with multiple pairs of size 9 shoes?
NO.
Does it mean bring out a pair of knee-high boots in an 8?
NO.
Does it mean try and up-sell me some god-awful zebra print hogwash?
NO.
Ok, moving on.
Have you ever tried to have a (semi-important) conversation with someone who is juggling about forty-seven things on the other end of the line?
I absolutely love trying to lock shit down when the person I’m speaking to is ordering lunch, grocery shopping, spinning plates and training a monkey whilst on speaker phone.
Yo, people with phones, this might seem completely absurd, but IF YOU’RE IN THE MIDDLE OF SOMETHING, it’s perfectly ok, entirely reasonable, hell even somewhat expected to NOT ANSWER YOUR PHONE.
Just let it ring. Let it ring right out to the very end of R.Kelly’s IgnitionĀ and go to voicemail. Call them back when you CAN TALK.
It’s not that I don’t love being toldĀ ‘hold on’, ‘just a minute’, ‘one sec’, ‘hold two’, ‘hang on’ every third syllable it’s more that I FUCKING HATE IT.
You know what else?
Last night I went to see a play with oneĀ of my good friends. To the left of me sat this mountain of a man who TOOK HIS LEFT BOOTĀ OFF FOURĀ TIMES during the play. We were in the front row. Insanely talented people were acting their hearts out. And this guy kept leaning forward, leaning back, leaning forward, leaning back, left shoe on, left shoe off, left shoe on, left shoe off. To the right of my friend was a woman, and it’s fair to say she had a lot going on, the least of which was coughing up a phlegm ball in middle of the production. Just casually chugging back some meds, clearing her throat and half of dinner. All of this after we had to edge our way into the theatre through a cluster of people STANDING IN THE DOORWAY.
Yeah, that’s right, STANDING IN THE DOORWAY.
No worries, guys. That’s cool. Just grab your tickets and BLOCK THE WHOLE FUCKING ENTRANCE. It’s not like there’s a heap of people behind you trying to make their way in. Maybe while you’re holding everyone up you can talk loudly about shit no one cares about,Ā just forĀ kicks.
Speaking of kicks, I bought (another) sweet pair last night. There is absolutely nothing infuriating about them. And when I look atĀ them I think of people that say ‘money can’t buy happiness’ and I laugh. For the most part, money doesn’t buy a single iota of happiness, but there’s the small part where it does. Like when I’m caressing, I mean using, my 27 inch iMac, I know what real love is.
It’s about 27 inches wide and it’s amazing.
But I digress.
My left eye started twitching earlier. I’m not sure if it’s from the emails or the people talking incessantly aboutĀ the weather or the sales assistants or the phone-calls or the people at the theatre, but I tell ya what, here’s a diagram I think you’ll find handy. Feel free to save it or print it out. You can stick it next to my yearly weather chart on your fridge or pin board. It’s a really solid and entirely accurate pyramid of what to expect in life. AĀ gentle reminder.
Spend as much of your time as possible in and with people in the top triangle. You will have to, on occasion, whether you like it or not, veer out of it from time to time, and when you do, please call me (but not on speaker phone while you are juggling forty-seven things) so we can find a mutual place to twitch together and possibly throwĀ some shit.
Over (it) and out.
I like being around people who make me hungry for life.
I like doing things without knowing how theyāll turn out.
I like tiny interesting choices, because I know they make all the difference.
I like dinner for breakfast.
I like talking to strangers.
I like celebrating every little victory, because I know thatās what makes a win.
I like dancing.
I like it when my blood races.
I like it when people randomly remember completely insignificant things about my life, because I can then put them in the ākeeperā file.
I like long dinners, with wine.
I like words, and how putting different ones next to each other creates a rhythm, without there being any need for music.
I like listening to people, and their stories, because itās the best way I learn.
I like how once youāve experienced something new, you can never go back.
I like honesty.
I like the seconds, between moments, where the unsaid lingers, because anything could happen.
I like optimism.
I like people who have the courage to be themselves, without any apologies or excuses.
I like being afraid, not all the time, but quite a bit of the time, because then I know Iām doing it right.
I like it when you want catch a wave, and thereās that brief moment where you can either get sucked under or ride it, and all you can taste is salt, and all you can hear is your heart pounding, ba ba bum, over and over in your ears, and then all of a sudden you soar, and it feels like youāre free, and everything slows down, and you look up to see the bright yellow sun, and itās kind of blinding.
I really like that.
