Courage And Cause.

“I was waiting for something extraordinary to happen, but as the years wasted on nothing ever did unless I caused it.” —  Charles Bukowski 

I think about that quote, one of my favourites, a lot. In many ways, it’s one of the defining manners by which I live my life. Not the waiting bit, I’m no good at that. But the bit about causing things to happen. I get that.

I sometimes wonder, like I was just now, walking around in the glorious autumn sunshine, ‘how did I get so lucky?’ ‘Why am I so blessed?’ ‘Why me?’ and then I realised it’s not by chance, not by coincidence, not by fate, and certainly not by luck. It’s because I caused it. 

Because I’ve been ferociously protective of where I invest my energy. Because I’ve gotten uncomfortable. Because I’ve done the work. Because I’ve shown up. Because I keep showing up — even, and especially — when it’s hard and inconvenient and tricky and messy. 

It’s because I’ve gone deep. Because I’ve taken responsibility. Because I’ve owned my choices. Because I’ve lived in accordance with my values. Because I’ve believed in myself —  backed myself. Because I’ve operated from a space of no judgement — no judgement on others, on myself. Because I’ve chosen, and continue to choose, my attitude. Every single day. 

It’s because of these things that I find myself here — mid global pandemic, in the throes of social isolation, with an empty schedule and a strange new normal — filled with gratitude. Occupied with excitement. Loaded with love. Exploding with ideas. Executing plans. 

You don’t accidentally wind up living a life that makes you burst out of bed each morning, one that fulfils you, one that enriches others, one that makes you proud. 

It takes guts, and courage, and gumption, and nerve, and an abundance of never-ending work. And all of that is reliant on you taking action. On making things happen. On causing it.

I’m reminded of the old Latin proverb; ‘fortune favours the brave.’

Turns out, it’s true. 

Favourite Feelings…

Elwood Beach

I don’t have a favourite season, I have favourite feelings.

It’s driving windows down, hair moist from the ocean, grains of sand between the sole of my foot and the accelerator. It’s red wine with raindrops outside my window. It’s the blazed orange sky, right before the sunsets. It’s my hair, sticky and humid, being brushed aside, as the nape of my neck is kissed. It’s the dust that kicks up off a windy track to somewhere new, that gets caught in my throat and makes me cough. It’s the chilli that dances in my mouth, long after I’ve 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. It’s 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 else’s, 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 blue and see something glimmering.

I don’t have a favourite season, I have favourite feelings.