The Mysterious Case of Google Gone Wild

One of my favourite things about blogging is checking in with my stats every now and then to go through the highly amusing search engine terms that people somewhere out there in the world are looking up on Google, and somehow ending up at my blog. Inspired by Wendy’s post, here are some favourites that rank, bizarrely, pretty highly on my all time Search Engine Term statistics:

1. “Tattoo epic fail.”  Okay, so my tattoo right now is a pretty epic fail, but there’s no need to rub it in. This is one of the highest hitting searches I’ve ever had, and 34 people have searched for this exact phrase, and landed at one of my posts about the mess my back tattoo is in right now. Thankfully, this weekend I went back for my final consultation with my new saving grace, and Operation: 40-Hour Cover Up the Cover Up is under way! Now if only I didn’t have to come up with a $1,000 deposit to get on the waiting list…

2. “Trevor Horn.”  It took me a really long time to figure out who this was, and for a while I was kind of worried about the number of people searching for this mysterious man and ending up here – but then it dawned on me: Trevor Horn, of Video Killed the Radio Star fame was mentioned in one post about two years ago, referring to an odd repeat customer I was having at work, who wore similar giant 80s glasses and smelled so bad I had to evacuate the premises and open every fire exit in the middle of winter. Fun times.

3. “Abominable snowsuit.“ Somehow, sixteen people have been hunting for this exact thing, though I’m not sure if it was my unfortunate snowsuit they were looking for.

4. “Marina Diamandis smoking.”  This, next to my own name, is the biggest search that’s led people to my blog, and some variation of it shows up almost every other day. I didn’t even know she did smoke, and certainly don’t remember referring to it in my little tribute!

5. “Weeping Angels.” …And then came the nerdy ones. I have more than a few handfuls of sci-fi references in my search engine terms, including “tardis blink,” “nerdgasm costumes” “night of the living trekkies,” “3 things aliens can do on earth” and, a personal favourite, “hit it my dear, i’ll go klingon on that ass,” but this one tops the lot with a grand total of 38 searches. Strangely, “wheeping angel tattoo” led four people here as well.

6. “Blue eyed university students” scores on the top ten, and is the only one that leaves me clueless as to where they ended up.

7. “The bad news is that time flies, the good news is that you’re the pilot.” I always like it when people search for this one, because it means they’ve just watched one of my favourite movies, Cashback.  If you haven’t seen it, I highly recommend it. A warning though: the promotional poster was the word pasted over a woman’s naked chest. This movie’s artsy, intelligent, somewhat fantasy, and has the lovely bloke who played Oliver Wood in Harry Potter in it, but in case you wanted to peek at the trailer, it’s kind of NSFW. Great film, though.

8. “Creepy phone guy” is pretty up there, with 14 poor people having experienced one of these in their lives.  This search probably led them either to this weirdo, or the time a couple of years ago someone had misdialled once and then proceeded to start calling me regularly, “wanting someone to talk to”.

9. “French big fat ladies.” This one baffles me. I know, I know, the English are supposed to hate the French, but I’m marrying (close to) a Frenchman, and though I may have referenced that fact on a couple of occasions, I don’t think big fat ladies have ever intentionally been a part of my blog content. Yet, amazingly, they rank on the list.

10. Lastly, possibly my favourite: “Pirate prayers“. AWESOME. I loved it the first time I saw it leading someone here, and though I did reference the two things once in the same post, they were intended to be in two separate sentences.  But now I really want to know what exactly a pirate prayer would encompass. No pun intended.*

I know a few of you have some pretty entertaining search engine results – anyone else care to share? 🙂

* I’m so sorry.

 



Like This!

Well played, Universe

If you’ve been reading my blog for any length of time, you’ll probably know there are a few things I’m rather passionate about. Music, great writing, history, education, science, compassion, travel… these all hold special places in my heart. Bigger things, challenges, growth, introspection, and the psychology behind so many things we experience along our paths also enthrall me. I’d love to be a fly on the wall of humanity, witnessing the ways in which we live, interact with each other, think of and define ourselves, react and relate to people and events, and why every one of us is so very different. To watch our minds’ internal hardwirings mesh with our hearts’ deepest emotions, combine with the global supporting cast, and see the endless dramatic possibilities play out on the stage that is our lifetime.

Gravitation is one of the fundamentals of nature (I did say ‘science’…), in which objects with mass attract one another. But I think the same philosophy can also be applied to our interpersonal relationships – applied to that global cast of characters that have starring roles at various stages in our life.  I like to think people come in and out of our lives being gravitationally pulled in and out of each other’s orbit, in an elaborate dance orchestrated by the Universe, only learning the steps as we go.  Sometimes we try and make it work – just because the person has arrived in our life, we automatically think we’re supposed to have some sort of relationship with them – but I think certain people are placed in our lives to teach us lessons, not just to befriend.

Interpersonal relationships and their subsequent timing, strengthening, weakening, death and resurrection absolutely fascinate me. I’m a firm believer that everything in life has its right time for happening, and a lot of personal frustration can stem from wanting to have control over when things happen in our life rather than having faith that they will, when they’re supposed to. This can happen with wanting the right job, the right house, the right friends, the right partner… we grow up with this notion that by a certain age, we should have certain things, and if they haven’t happened yet, we go into panic mode. We start believing there must be something wrong with ourselves, especially when surrounded by Things Happening for Everyone Else, and it’s natural to start comparing ourselves. We become frustrated and start delving into action plans, trying to take control over something the Universe will ultimately provide when the timing is right.  I believe there are lessons that need to be learned before certain things can happen. These lessons will only get more pronounced and more difficult if we don’t take the hint the first time around, and will ultimately end up being those Major Life Lessons we look back on sometimes as turning points – times when things started to turn around.I’ve had a couple of instances of this in my life, the biggest probably being the lesson of learning to have some sort of self-worth. Going through a string of awful boyfriends in my late teens/early twenties; people who lied, cheated, became emotionally and physically abusive, that I continued to stay with because I didn’t feel I was worth any better. I honestly thought I’d be better off taking what I could get, even it if put me at risk, because it’d be better than being alone. I want to take my younger self and give her a good shaking for allowing this to happen, but you know what? I had to go through it because it was a lesson I needed to learn. The Universe had hinted at it with the first Bad Boyfriend, hinted a little harder with the next, and slapped me in the face with it with the final one when I ended up questioned by the police about how I’d been treated, and spending a chunk of time in the hospital.  If that’s not a sign I needed to change things, I don’t know what is. But it was the wanting to have control that made it get to that point. Lesson learned, however, and once I’d learned that I had to start believing I was worth more, and set some standards for what’s acceptable, then I was delivered an incredible man who’s helped me grow, believe in myself, and I’ll be marrying in seven weeks’ time.

The other big lesson is one I still believe I’m learning. Do you ever have people in your life who keep showing up, when you wish you could close the door on them and never have to see or hear about them again? People from the past who’ve hurt you, old flames, former friends, people who define you by who you were when you knew them, refuse to see the person you’ve become, and just keep showing up? It’s frustrating. You see their face somewhere and you want to ask the Universe why – why are they still here when all I want to do is move on? The interwoven fabrics of our social networks, especially in the day and age of the Internet, can make this especially hard, and just because you’ve moved on from one relationship doesn’t mean everyone else in both parties’ networks feels the same way.  So what’s the lesson here? Lately, I’ve come to the realisation that the Universe is trying to teach me the lesson of acceptance. Allowing things to be, without reacting to them, without getting frustrated, defensive or annoyed. Accepting the situation that this person still exists and you may bump into them every once in a while, and that’s okay. Let go of frustration, because you know what?

Who cares. This was what a good friend told me a couple of weeks ago when I started fretting about something I couldn’t control. Who cares? Nobody. Nobody at all cares, and if you’ve moved on from a relationship with someone, it doesn’t matter if they still show their face every once in a while. Yes, it would be nice if once doors had been closed on bad relationships, you never had to be reminded of them again, but the reality proves otherwise. You have no control over it, so just accept that they’re here, without getting exasperated about it. Accept that you’ve become a better person since, and it doesn’t matter what the other party thinks, because they’re not in your life any more. There will always be people who’ll talk. People who’ll never move on from the chapter in which your lives intersected. People will be pulled in and out of your gravitational orbit for some reason or another, and you may not want them to. But that’s okay. As long as you make the choice to live the life you want, make the right choices, be the best person you can be, grow from experiences, let go of the past, and focus on making the present the best you can, that’s all you can control.  I think I’m learning this lesson as we speak – and I’m already feeling a whole lot better.

Hear that, Universe?

You can also find this post over at Aly’s blog, Breathe Gently, who I was lucky enough to meet in London this summer! If you don’t read her already, I’d highly recommend checking her blog out – she’s an absolute sweetheart, has an amazing story, and is currently travelling across the world 🙂

There I was thinking it was just a good idea, and it went and got its own whole day

It has come to my attention that today is National Face Your Fears Day! And I couldn’t think of a better reason to HAVE a day dedicated to it. This whole year has been one big Face-Your-Fears-Fest for me, and I love being able to look at my list and always be able to say I’m pushing myself to be more. Even if it is scary. Because the victory over fear is always so much more meaningful than the handful of panic attacks along the way. I don’t think anyone ever wants to look back and regret not trying. To admit that they allowed fear to control their life. I certainly don’t. So today, I thought it a good day to write about one of the tougher items on that list. Remember a couple of weeks ago, where I decided I wanted to stop being so terrified of singing in front of people, signed up for vocal coaching, psyched myself out so much I made myself sick and cancelled the appointment? Yeah. Fun times. Well, as I write this, I’m pretty excited – because this past week I tried again – and actually made it out the front door! 🙂

I’d emailed the coach apologising profusely for being such a scaredy-cat, tried to feebly explain how afraid I was of this, how desperately I wanted to sing and how sorry I was, promising to pay double next time – I felt SO BAD about inconveniencing her, as well as letting myself down. But she e-mailed me back an incredibly thoughtful, kind, understanding message which really reassured me that I wasn’t the only one, and that she wanted to make it as safe of an environment as possible.

Singing can make you feel exposed and vulnerable and a one-on-one setting can be pretty intense. But perfection is never even remotely the goal. Believe me. I won’t be perfect. I’ll demonstrate things and I’ll make mistakes, sound bad, make mistakes in the piano parts to your songs, and it’ll all be okay. It’s always my aim to make our little environment a safe-feeling place and for it to feel okay to screw up. And if we’re ever working and you’re feeling overwhelmed, please know in advance that it’s okay to say so and we can take a break or call it quits for the night, or whatever needs to happen, okay? 🙂 I think that every singer I know has cried in a lesson or a coaching at some point – or many points! I know I have! It’s just the way of it.

So I rescheduled – and this time, showed up.  Let’s backtrack for a second. When I’m home alone, the first thing I do is close all the windows, crank up the stereo and sing my absolute heart out. But I also keep a close eye on the view outside the window, in case I see a neighbour close by, or Sweet arriving home, so I can be sure to turn everything down, and most importantly not be caught in song. I’ve always wished desperately to have a good voice and a good range, but I’m pretty sure I don’t. I can’t hit the high notes, I can’t do those diva-esque runs, I can’t belt it out or do any sort of imaginative take on a song, and I definitely can’t read music. It’s funny, last week I was talking about my issue with the “niche philosophy” – should you stick to what you’re good at, and focus on being great at it, or do you branch out into things you’re not, riding on the hope that one day you will? I’ve always identified more with the latter, but the former makes a lot of sense. But, as a good friend once told me, if you feel you need to be doing something, even if you’re not good at it right now, it’s because you’re meant to be.  So I’m going to keep going.

 

 

Last week, I learned the difference between “strong voice” (which I’d always thought was the sole indicator of your range) and the “natural voice”, and that it’s okay to switch into that falsetto sound when the notes get high. Awe-inspiring musical theatre-type singing, where they hit the notes with the “strong voice”, was a style created by theatre people, not singers, and classically, it’s about strengthening that upper range so you can project over crowds and choirs and instruments and still be heard.  I felt a little silly waving my arms around while I was singing, but I learned that different parts of the body work best when they’re in harmony with each other, so if I want to sing those high notes loudly, let my arms move in big circles and do with them what I want to do with my voice. I was shocked to hear I was actually a soprano – hitting only 2 notes lower than my coach and going down even lower than she did, but it doesn’t mean I did it well… I didn’t believe her when the words weren’t “you’re going to need some work.”I’ve never felt I could sing, simply because I’ve never allowed myself to practice.  Strengthen the muscles and therefore my voice. It all makes complete sense to me now, and I can’t wait until I really am able to carry a tune! I left with homework – a 17th century Italian song, scribed on five sheets of music in two languages I can’t understand. I don’t know how to read music or speak Italian, and I found myself getting lost as I was trying to follow along, but I was reassured that was okay. We’d learn together. Pronunciation doesn’t matter at this point, and with practice, reading music will become easier.  I’m not going to lie – some of these notes are pretty intimidating. But I’m going to try anyway. Tomorrow night, I’m back for lesson 2. And this time around, my heart’s beating with the excitement of learning instead of nerves.

What fear of yours are you allowing to hold you back?

So I don’t have a turkey on my head.

Today, here in Canada, is Thanksgiving. I wanted to write something meaningful, but I also wanted to make sure I wasn’t repeating myself, so I went back through the archives of Octobers past and found a rather alarming amount of… nothing. October 2009: Back pain. My bank account getting hacked. October 2008: A modelling gig. Daleks reading the weather.  October 2005, 2006 and 2007: No posts at all. It seems I’m long overdue for a post of gratitude, especially on a day like today.

In England, we didn’t have Thanksgiving. I remember watching those episodes of Friends and wondering what the significance was behind the holiday, and back then, wondering why English people didn’t have a special day for being thankful. I figured it was just because my experience of most English people involved English people from Stevenage, commonly known as one of the biggest chav towns, famous for Public Profanity, Vandalism, Disrespecting the Elderly, and Single Teen Mums. Not exactly gratitude central. When we first moved to Canada, I’d met a girl in high school whose parents soon became friends with mine, and had invited us over for what appeared to be a giant Christmas dinner come early, except with pumpkin pies instead of mince ones.  I finally learned about the significance of the holiday, in both the US and Canada, but also adored the chance to get together with friends and family every year for a big stodge up and just take a moment to truly count our blessings.

This year, we’re having three Thanksgiving celebrations. Two with my almost family-in-law, and, this past Friday night, one with our friends. I’d always wanted to have a Friends-style Thanksgiving, but until now, my friends had all either moved away, or didn’t know each other well enough to enjoy a whole evening celebrating together. This year however, I have a huge amount of things, opportunities, events, and most of all, people to be thankful for – the perfect year to throw our first one. This group of people came into my life after a series of events unfolded in the spring causing my whole social circle to change. It became apparent that, after a few periods of tension, misunderstanding, and subsequent distancing, a handful of people I’d known for most of the time I’d lived in Canada no longer belonged in my life. At the time, I was hurt, confused, and didn’t understand why it seemed I was being thrust out of a group I’d been a part of since first-year university. I was worried and scared of being alone – most of my good friends remained home in England, or had moved away. So I did what I do best: burst into floods of tears for a good two days.

But then came the lightbulb moment. The time spent saying “I wish” could just as easily be spent saying “I will”. So I made an action plan. Signed up for an evening class in the hopes I’d learn more about something I’m passionate about, and have the opportunity to meet new people.  Started reconnecting with people I’d lost touch with. Signed up for Meetup groups online and spent my birthday with a group of brilliant strangers who brought me cake. It was from that moment that my world began to change. I met some really fun, creative people, one of whom ended up sitting at my table for a good portion of the night, who just so happened to live a stone’s throw away from where we do. We stayed in touch, and soon after, introduced our other-halves to each other, and the four of us began seeing each other quite often. In the last few months, we became introduced to their group of friends, and have since recorded radio plays together, shared music, sunbathed at the beach, attended house parties, learned about Vikings, sung our hearts out at bonfires, planned Halloween costumes, and asked two of them to be in our wedding. These people came into my life at the perfect time – just as one door was closing, they opened another and allowed a flood of friendship to follow suit. I feel more blessed to have been accepted by this group than I think I ever have in my life, and celebrating Thanksgiving with them was beyond amazing, full of great food, laughs, “Antelope Canteloupes,” and fun.


This Thanksgiving I’m thankful for so many things. For being given a job where I can incorporate my passion for helping people, do things I’m good at and be given chances to work on the things I’m not, to be pushed out of my comfort zone, and see real lives being changed.  I’m thankful for my friends, new and old, some who’ve just come into my life and have already enriched it so much, and some who I got to see this summer who have been in it since childhood and still remained strong. I’m thankful for my family, my Dad and stepmum and all they are, and the new family I’m about to join, too, for all the times they’ve welcomed me into their home and their lives.  I’m thankful for Sweet, of course, of everything he’s helped me become over the last two and a half years, and for this amazing next chapter we’re about to embark on.  I’m thankful for little things, like access to great music that excites my soul, an education that I’m passionate about growing, cat cuddles on cold days, chair dancing at work, great books to read, and being able to keep up with the latest news, TV, radio and events back home in England. And I’m so very thankful for you. For any time you’ve ever taken to read something I’ve written, to offer your comments, thoughts, support, encouragement, or alternate viewpoints. For your continued readership and, more importantly, friendship. Through this blog I’ve met some people I’m honoured to be able to call friends, both over long distances and in real life, and for that I feel truly blessed. Thank you… and though it may not be Thanksgiving where you are right now, just know that today, somewhere out there in the world, there’s someone who appreciates you.

The Niche Philosophy

Lately, it seems in all walks of life I’m coming across the same message: in order to be successful at something, you have to find your niche. I’d started thinking about this after our work retreat on teamwork a few weeks ago – we’d gone through six “indisputable laws” of successful team building, and the one I’d had the most trouble with was Law 3: The Law of the Niche. It stated that all players have a place where they add the most value, and if you weren’t working in an area you are naturally gifted and passionate about, you’ll never be as successful as if you are. If you try something you’re not naturally talented at, you’ll only ever be a 5/10. But if you work in your niche, you’ll hit 10s every day. This initiated a gaping chasm of worry in the pit of my stomach – all I’ve been trying to do for the last year is dive into things that make me uncomfortable, riding on the hope that repeat exposure will eventually make them totally fine. The idea being presented, though it made complete sense, was entirely contrary to everything I’ve been trying to do. Said chasm was further widened when we were all asked to go around the room stating what our niche was, and were we working in it?  “No,” I thought to myself – “but how do I declare that to the boss who just gave me a new position, in front of all my colleagues?”

Initially, I thought my niche was a given – what I love doing at work is working in roles that allow me to be creative. Writing, designing, directing videos, creating advertising, doing radio – these were the sorts of things that were part of my job before the term ended. Now, the majority of my position involves things that aren’t quite such a natural fit: group facilitation, spreadsheets, and reports.  Not so within my comfort zone. As we were going around the room, before they got to me, one of my (teacher) coworkers spoke up. “I don’t think of it as teaching,” she said, “I think of it as encouraging people to want to learn.”  Now that really hit home. The thought of standing up in front of a class still makes me nauseous, but with practice it’s getting easier. Regardless, I don’t think it will ever be my “niche”.  Encouraging others to want to learn however… has my name all over it. I’d always wanted to be a teacher throughout my adolescent life, before I realised I was afraid of public speaking. I’d always adored learning, too – I remember reading Jane Eyre in the hallways one lunch time and being stopped by an impressed English teacher and feeling awfully proud, wishing my classmates could experience this great piece of literature but saddened they seemed more interested in whose party to go to that weekend.  I’ve always loved learning, so when I heard it framed like that, I thought maybe I am in my niche after all. I have the freedom to create curriculum, to design slideshows, to write cover letters and resumes and to encourage people to learn. And looking at it like that made me feel a whole lot better.

Finding my niche in the blogging world has been similarly difficult – mainly due to the fact that I refuse to have one! I see lots of blogs evolve from a collection of diverse thoughts into ones that limit themselves to one or two topics, and have their readership skyrocket through the roof. It continually baffles me – if you want to be a “successful” blogger, you have to be confined into a handful of areas if you want to keep the traffic coming back. But I’ve seen it work all the time. Lately, I think I’ve come to the realisation that it’s perfectly okay to write about what I want to write about regardless of whether or not people are going to be interested. If I’m going to lose readers because I write about Star Trek or obscure music one day, so be it. Why keep your passions hidden, and say what you think other people would rather you say? I feel like a bit of an outsider in the blogging world sometimes – everybody seems to know the ins and outs of each others’ lives, because a lot of people tweet and write about the goings-on of their hour-to-hour existence. Trips taken, friends visited, meals created or books read. There’s nothing wrong with this at all – this is how I keep in touch with many people I care about! I guess I just don’t know if my everyday life is really worth writing about. I don’t know if I could be proud to write about the cookies I baked last week, the invitations I printed on Sunday, or the toys I bought for my little cat. Because in reading about what I did, you’re not reading about me. Writing about my thoughts, however? That’s a different story.

This blog is more than a journal. More than a chronological account of what I did over the last few years. It’s an all-encompassing chronicle of my thoughts and opinions, hopes and dreams, loves, loathes, fears and passions on top of the things that filter into my day-to-day existence.  I sometimes wish we could all walk around with personal profiles attached to sandwich boards draped over our shoulders. Creative. Animal lover. Nerd. Bookworm. Longs for Home. Artistically Inclined, but Lover of the World of Science. Hopeless Romantic. Wants to Make a Difference. None of us can walk about the world and trust that the right people will just fall into it, but by writing what I do on this blog, I can put myself out there. People can look at my words and see my journey, my story, my thoughts, wonderings, hopes and dreams. Individually, they may be haphazard, random, irregular and about as cohesive as Paris Hilton’s recounting of The Canterbury Tales, but in total, they make up me. All of me. Not one part of me put on show for the sake of “that’s what’ll make me popular”.

I’ll never be a niche blogger, or a subscriber to the rules of “successful” blogging. At any moment of any day, the best friend I haven’t met yet may come across my blog – do I really want my first impression to be one-dimensional? No. I want to be known as someone with real thoughts and feelings, whose heart, interests and passions aren’t caged into a cookie-cutter mould to please the masses. I want to write when I’m passionate about something, which may be three times a week, or may be twice a fortnight. I’d much rather have something substantial than post just for the sake of having something new.  I want my blog to be genuine and real, because I want my relationships to be the same.  I’m not going to limit myself to the things that’ll increase traffic. I don’t want it if it’s drawn by something that isn’t the real deal. I’ve always been a hearts-on-sleeves kind of girl, and if that means not fitting in, I’ll take it. As the Bard once wisely said, “this above all: to thine own self be true, and it must follow, as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man.” In twenty years, these blog posts will be in the archives of history, the commenters will have moved on, and all that remains of this chapter of your life may be the words you wrote. Wouldn’t you rather know, from the bottom of your heart, that they reflected you?

Shelving the Past

Recently, I had the pleasure of going for dinner with one of the most insightful people I know. We only see each other once every few months – he’s often travelling, touring, or teaching yoga day and night – but every time we get together I leave feeling incredibly uplifted and inspired.  We got onto an interesting topic last time we got together – the past – and how we have the tendency to hold onto it.

People always say the past helped them become the person they are today. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that – the past can be full of hardships and mistakes, as well as growth, deepening of relationships, and happy memories. Of course the past helps us become who we are today. But there’s a difference between allowing it to shape who you are, and allowing it to define who you are. We all have the choice between looking back on past experiences and archiving them in the vault of memory, or pinning them to our proverbial jackets for all to see in every walk of life.

We talked about the things from the past we’re guilty of dragging around with us into our present. Traced negative self-talk back to events in childhood, adolescence, or early adulthood to find its origin. As you know, two of my bigger struggles are speaking in front of people, and dealing with how I look. The self-destructive things we allowed to be planted in our youth and grow into poisonous weeds that tangle around our every thought, holding us back from reaching our true potential.  I was in the middle of trying to explain how it feels to have a continual loop of self-detriment running through your head, worrying that the nerves and thoughts about yourself on the inside are going to spill out somehow and everyone will see exactly the same things you do – when my friend interrupted me with a smile.  “But they’re just stories“, he laughed.  “They’re all just stories we choose to keep telling ourselves; they’re not real.”

I’ve always been an advocate for the power of choice. Not blaming things or other people when things are crappy. Not waiting for tomorrow to roll around before deciding it can be a good day after all. Choosing hard work and determination over fear of failure. Questioning rumours rather than contributing to their continuation. Swallowing pride over perpetuating a grudge. But I’ve always had trouble with choosing not to beat myself up over things out of my control. I listen to the voice that tells me I’m not fun or attractive. That I’m too quiet, too awkward, too ugly. I let it hold me back in social situations and I allow it consume my thoughts. But after this conversation with my friend, I felt I really could let go. Close the door on the past experiences that lead to these unhealthy thinking patterns, acknowledge them for what they are – “just stories” – and choose to let go of them.

All sorts of things can happen to us throughout life, and unfortunately, as often as there will be people to lift you up and enrich your life, there will be people who hurt you. They may be deliberate, or they may be completely unintentional – but they can fester in the mind and take over a lifetime if you choose to let them. But there’s something incredibly powerful when you come to the realisation that you are choosing to perpetuate those stories you tell yourself, and you can choose to close the door. When you realise that you’ve had the choice all along to either be defined by the past, or keep it where it belongs. The past definitely shapes who we become, but it doesn’t need to accompany us day in, day out, telling us who we “are”. The danger comes when we start to believe we are the sum of our past mistakes and hardships. Labelling ourselves “awkward,” “ugly,” or “a sufferer” of this or that. If we keep telling ourselves the same stories, we start to believe it.  And in doing so, how we limit what we can become.

When you realise you alone have the power over those stories, it can be as simple as closing the book. Storing it on a shelf somewhere, always there, but up high and out of immediate sight – instead of carrying it everywhere, a heavy weight dragging down on the soul.  Choose how much credit you give those stories, and ask yourself if they’re really worth perpetuating. Choose to learn from the past, and then to let it remain there.  Choose whether you want to limit yourself by others’ definitions, or to let go of them and set yourself free. None of us need be a slave to stories.

Is there a book you’re dragging around with you that would be better off shelved?

That time I got BANNED…

Earlier this week, I visited an online community I’d been a member of ever since I got engaged, but had rarely checked or used. I’d just finished making our uber-nerdy table cards for the wedding, and after getting great reactions from a couple of friends, I was totally excited to share them with other brides-to-be!  I posted two pictures and a little blurb on all the geeky details we were going to be having in the wedding, which were going down quite well, and I was loving reading about everyone else’s sci-fi touches (bride and groom lightsaber duel? Yes please!), when I got a message.

Put your second image behind a cut.

Now I’m about as competent in HTML as I am in Cantonese, and in the two minutes before leaving for work that morning after I got the message, I tried pressing the “LJ-cut” button on the picture… and it didn’t work.  I figured the moderator would either do it for me, or I’d have another go when I got home at the end of the day. Either way, I didn’t have time to figure it out then and there.  About an hour after I got to work, I received a series of INSANE messages from the community moderator. Number one:

I’m deleting your post now, since you’ve obviously seen my comment, and have yet to put your second picture behind a cut. Shame, since there are lots of great comments in here.

To which I responded that it seemed a little harsh and rather unwelcoming, that I hadn’t had time to figure out how to do that, and asked if she could put it back and show me how, or simply do it for me.  Cue immediate response (and I quote):

Unwelcoming?! Instead of being an adult, you decided to throw a temper tantrum because I made you follow the rules. You are NOT above the rules. They apply to you just like they apply to everyone else. I don’t think you should take your frustrations out on me – you were the one at fault here. And no, I can’t put your post back up. Deleted means gone. Forever. I almost wanted to leave it up so you could get your ass handed to you by everyone else (seriously, they don’t have any patience for rule-breakers, either), but decided the drama wasn’t worth it so I deleted it. We enforce the rules for everyone, and don’t make exceptions for special snowflakes. Seriously, so much fail.  Also, you’re banned.

At which point I burst out laughing in total and utter disbelief. Note to self:

Out on the wily, windy moors

Over the last few days, I was incredibly fortunate to experience an absolute tonne of amazing, spine-tingling, soul-stirring music. It started on Thursday night when, brilliantly, the mighty Arcade Fire came into town! I’d been a bit gutted in the summer when I saw they were playing Canadian spots while I was in the UK, and British spots after I was back in Canada, but a few weeks ago I saw they’d added a stop in Winnipeg. The day tickets went on sale, I put my “do not disturb” sign on my office door, waited for the clock to strike ten, Ctrl+V’d my Visa number into the box… and absolutely rejoiced when we got possibly the best seats in the house! (These turned out to be a bit of a nightmare when we got there and found we were seated behind a selfish cow of a girl who decided she was going to stand up, smoke a joint, and dance by herself for the first three songs, completely blocking everybody’s view, and refused to sit down “because they were her favourite band”. Call me an old lady, but isn’t that why they offer tickets for the floor?)  It ended up being all good, as within about 20 minutes the entire stadium were up on their feet, watching the nine-piece ensemble rock two drum sets, fierce violins, xylophones, accordions and mandolins, backed by a giant screen of images reminiscent of the Smashing Pumpkins circa Tonight, Tonight. It was indie, it was beautiful, it was clever, and it was epic. And seeing the gorgeous, 6’4″, half-head-shaved mastermind frontman Win Butler for two hours didn’t hurt either. 🙂

On Friday night, Sweet and I teamed up with a couple of good friends, got all dressed up and headed for opening night at the Symphony. Our friend is a music teacher and a composer, and it was awesome to see SUCH enthusiasm for the intricacies of the music – it was kind of like watching a kid in a very posh candy shop 🙂  The first half was a new composer, whose piece was kind of a bluesy, southern-style symphony complete with duelling violins, which was thoroughly entertaining. Then came Mahler 1, which, through highs, lows, haunting funeral marches and explosions of sound was nothing short of breathtaking. Highlight: the opening of the first movement sounding just like the Star Trek: TNG theme and whispering “Space: The Final Frontier” to ourselves in the seats 🙂  It was amazing to be able to see such incredible talent (and appreciation for it) right in the heart of the city – I’m hoping over the winter we can all go more often.

We had a few errands to run over the weekend too, which resulted in a lot of time in the car. Now, the one thing that makes me want to get that driving licence isn’t the thought of no longer having to wait 40 minutes in the dead of winter in a blizzard for a bus to not show up – it’s the thought of being enclosed in my own little bubble where I could blast whatever music I wanted and sing to my heart’s content with nobody to worry about impressing. Sweet’s really great about letting me take my music in the car, and this weekend I decided on a bit of a blast from the past: Kate Bush. Not my past, obviously – for those unfamiliar with Kate Bush, she was signed up by EMI at the age of sixteen, and topped the charts in 1978 for a month straight with her debut, the stunning Wuthering Heights. She was the first woman ever to have a number one single with a self-written song, and the first female artist EVER to enter the album chart at number one. She even knocked Madonna off the top spot in the eighties. She only ever toured once, in 1979, but has won Grammy awards, BRIT awards, and an Ivor Novello Award for Outstanding Contribution to Music. She is an absolute LEGEND – lyrically amazing, musically genius, dramatic, controversial, and surreal – and her eerie, eclectic voice sends chills down your spine. Sweet let me crank up a Greatest Hits while driving around this weekend, and after hitting repeat on this one about seven times, declared this has to be one of “the best songs ever written”. Late seventies art rock power ballad, literary intellect, ghost stories and haunting vocals – what’s not to love? Crank this one up and dance around in your nightie – Kate didn’t need a meat dress to get the world’s attention. 🙂

The (Personal) Board of Directors

As you might have gathered from a certain post last week, part of the culture where I work is to have fun.  So much so that it’s number three on the list of our Principles of Operation. I’ve worked there less than two years, but in that time I’ve seen costume competitions, Spirit Weeks, bridal showers, gangsta rap progress reports, bake-offs, company-wide April Fools pranks, and, once per year, an annual company retreat. Each retreat has a different theme – and last year’s (my first), “making your dream a reality” was nothing short of life changing. It may actually be one of the single most influential things in shaping the course of this last year, and truly inspired me to go after my biggest dream, proving that with the right combination of factors, it really can come true.

This year’s theme was teamwork – not just in the workplace, but more importantly, in life. NOT your average (excruciatingly lame) corporate teambuilding exercise in the slightest. Each and every person we choose to surround ourselves with becomes a member of our “team” – and the seminar, based around John Maxwell’s book The 17 Indisputable Laws of Teamwork, was full of lessons that can apply just as much to daily life, friendships and relationships as it can to the workplace. Last year, before the retreat, our boss asked us all to complete an assignment: write out, in one page, our biggest dream. “Dream really big,” he’d said, “bigger than you think you can even achieve yourselves.”  After two days of study, reflection, exercises and sharing (on top of rock climbing, hiking, and Scene It sessions late into the night), I left feeling inspired. This year, the session was just as personal. Not uncomfortably so, but I think more so than you’d expect from a workplace.  And (on top of the geocaching activity – do I look like a hip-waders type of girl? :)), I think that’s the reason it had so much impact.

We all have “teams” in our lives.  Knowing how to build the right ones can be the difference between achieving your goals and remaining stuck, or stagnant. It made me think of something I’d been pondering recently – of the hundreds of  people on Facebook to whom we grant access to our lives, how many can actually be counted on on a deeper, more meaningful level than a poke or a status comment? Even in social circles, is every person you have on your team going to be reliable? I think sometimes we keep people in our lives, on our ‘teams’, as it were, because they’ve been there for a long time – when in reality, people grow apart, they form opinions and other people enter their lives, loyalties waiver and the closeness that may have initially been there can weaken through the years. Yet we don’t let go. We keep them around because there’s nothing to say they really shouldn’t be – but in the end, they’re not really on our team any more at all.

My boss had an interesting thought: in organizations, there’s usually a Board of Directors who meet once a month or so to ask how things were going, offer advice, solutions to problems, and generally listen to how the company was doing and ask what they could do to make it better. But what if we had a personal Board of Directors? For our life? A group of people who wanted to be in your life for the very same reason: to make you a better person.  It often takes a crisis or some life-shaking event to realise who your friends truly are. The ones who are genuinely on your team will show themselves when things get tough. It’s a very reactive process. What if, instead, we took a proactive approach – instead of “you’re dying, what can I do to help,” asking “what are your goals, and what can I do to help you get there?” I don’t think the Board would have to be very big. They just have to be people whose values align with yours, and who see who you really are, help you get to where you want to be, and generally make you a better person just by being around. My boss said his was comprised of three people: one guy who’d let him vent and get everything out of his system when things were hard; a genuine rock of support. Another, the “tell it like it is” guy. Straight-talking, no-nonsense, no-sugar-coating – someone who truly has your best interests at heart, and isn’t afraid to show you the reality to make sure you’re on the right path. And the third – the wise sage sort of team member. A bit older, wiser, more experienced – a calming force who’ll always keep you grounded.

I’ve never been one to have a big social circle. People have come into and exited my life at various stages, but, I realised at this retreat, there are a very small handful of people I’m blessed to have on my team. People who’ll let me rant and rage when I’m stressed over something and always be the cheerleader in my court. People who’ll check in to see if things are going okay, just because they care, and be at my doorstep with a bottle of wine and a Doctor Who DVD if they’re not.  People who’ll give me food for thought, engage in intellectual debate, and show me all sides to every scenario – even if they might not be the ones I’ve chosen. People who’ll give honest feedback with never an ill-intention – knowing that it’s for the best. People who know my heart and soul inside and out… and remain steadfast and loyal friends. People who’ll help me become a better person just by being who they are. They may be few in number and scattered across the world, but I think life is so much better with a handful of genuine, good-for-you friends, than ten or twenty whose loyalties are never quite 100%. And for my little team? I am truly blessed, and eternally, eternally thankful.

This Personal Board of Directors idea could really be onto something. Proactive relationships rather than reactive ones. Ask yourself today. Do you have a solid team in your life, or is it time for evaluation?

Vocal Adrenaline

For as long as I remember, I’ve had a problem with my voice. I remember the day it began vividly – it was one of my first classes in Canada. American History. Our teacher was a skinny little man, probably in his late fifties. His skin was a phoney shade of copper brown, his nose bespectacled, and his head adorned by a mop of floppy, greasy hair through which he insisted on running his fingers at every opportunity. His wardrobe must have consisted of an entire closet of tight-fitting grey suits, and a few dozen pairs of squeaky black loafers. One eyebrow was continually raised, and it seemed a smug sort of Sean Penn-esque smirk had visited his face one day, and liked it so much it decided to set up camp. Needless to say, I wasn’t a fan.

One of his favourite things to do was to assign presentations. Get the students to stand up there all class so he didn’t really have to do anything. My first time up was during my first term in a north American high school, and I was nervous. Nervous they’d make fun of my accent, or that I’d be too quiet for them to hear. I got up there, glued my eyes to the page my hands were struggling to keep still, and started to read. I’d barely got to my second sentence before Mr. Milan stopped me, and started laughing. “Slow it down, and speak up! Nobody can understand a word you’re saying!”  My face flushed. Everything I’d worried would happen had happened, and in front of the thirty other students, too. I took a breath, and continued shakily. Every presentation from that point on was prefaced by Mr. Milan’s jibes, reminding me of my initial humiliation. That moment had forever traumatised my feelings toward public speaking.

“I wonder sometimes how any of us survive when we are all so fragile as children that makes it impossible to reach adulthood unscathed. I find myself wondering if these things don’t happen to force us to grow, but so often we don’t know how to heal and remain stuck.”

Jenny, local blogger and kindred spirit, said it so well in one of her recent posts. Sometimes, I don’t think people realise the lasting impact their words can have – and the damage it can potentially do in shaping someone’s future.

I was telling a good friend of mine this story last weekend, after we’d finished recording a chapter in his audio drama (!). At the beginning of summer, he’d asked me if I’d be interested in a role in a radio play he’d written. I was shocked – I had zero acting experience, and my voiceover work was pretty limited – stuff that required nothing in the way of character or emotion. Still, he convinced me to give it a shot. A couple of weeks ago, we did our first take. And for some reason, he was thrilled with my performance. Outside, I’d been reading the lines, but all the while the inner monologue had been on loop, telling me I wasn’t believable… my accent was too different… why the heck would he want someone with no acting experience anyway… but somehow, he thought I was good.  I told him about the incident in high school,  why I was so afraid of using my voice, and how I didn’t understand how all these opportunities to do so kept popping up lately.

Narrating the company video at work. Recording the voiceover on our radio ad.  Being given a job where speaking in front people is now my primary function. Being asked to host radio shows three times in the last two months. Why did they want my voice? My friend asked me what the logical conclusion would be. If I was no good, why did people want me? “Well… maybe it’s not that bad?” I said. “People don’t want ‘not bad’,” he laughed. “People want excellent.”  I didn’t know what to say. Compliments are so hard to take when you’ve believed the opposite thing for the longest time. But I was grateful for the encouragement… and slightly intrigued.

See, I’ve wanted to use my voice in another way for a while now. Every time I hear a good song, watch X Factor or crank up the Glee soundtrack, I have a near irrepressible urge to burst into song – but my thoughts limit me to doing so solely when there’s nobody home, and all the windows are closed. I never used to have this problem – there was a time I thrived on performing – taking stage school, putting on shows for the neighbours, and once upon a time, fronting a punk rock band. I love to sing. If I had three wishes, I’m pretty sure one of them would be to have a voice like Lea Michele. I had this conversation with an old friend this summer while I was in England, who, since I’ve moved away, has become an accomplished actor and musical performer. He had an interesting thought on the subject: “If you have the urge to do something, and you feel like you have to break into song, it means that’s what you should be doing.” He went on to convince me that though some people may naturally be better singers than others, it doesn’t mean anybody can’t become a great singer with the right training.  “It’s just muscles,” after all – and, like couch potatoes can become athletes with enough hard work, training, and dedication, non-singers can gain strong musical voices the same way.

Filled with hope, I decided to do something about it. I hired a vocal coach. I was supposed to have my first lesson last Thursday, but – and I hate to admit it – I got hit by what happens when you rush into things before you’re ready. I ran the thought of singing in front of someone else over and over in my head until I was so nervous I was nauseous, and ended up making myself sick. I could’ve kicked myself – I’m not a patient person, and when I want something, I want it right away. Taking the long road is hard in the best of times, but when something ridiculous like nerves is your barricade, it’s the most frustrating thing in the world.

I still want to take that lesson. Study, train, and practice. Sing in the house regardless of if the windows are open or closed. Learn to let go and dive into something I love… with the hope that one day, I’ll have the guts to perform. Maybe it’ll be at the work Christmas talent show. Maybe it’ll be around a campfire. Maybe I’ll even do karaoke – I only have another nine months after all, and it’s so frustrating that something I want to do so badly is going to be one of the harder ones to cross off the list. The coach was understanding, and sent me some extremely kind words of encouragement and reassurance. I’m going to give it another shot next week. I just have to pluck up the courage, and keep some more of Jenny’s words of wisdom in the back of my mind:

“If I’m lucky enough to be able to take lessons, I am not going to waste it by being afraid! I finally get that it is not only about giving myself permission to make mistakes. It is also about believing that I am worthy, and have the right to shine.”

Foiled!

So, I’m usually a Monday and Wednesday morning blogger. This morning, there was a significant lack of new stuff. But not without a very good reason. See, for the last few days, when I usually write? I’ve been doing this.

The boss of our entire company very conveniently went on holiday for the week of his fiftieth birthday – and birthdays are a big deal around here. I’ve seen offices toilet papered, supplies and phones tacked down to desks, chairs and tables kidnapped only to be replaced with furniture made entirely of cardboard boxes... But the Big 5-0 called for something a little more extreme.

Behold! My boss’s executive, newly space-age office! Every office supply and single Post-It note wrapped… shiny, metallic chairs, tables, bookcases and wall hangings, complete with glittering aluminium welcome mat. Because nothing says “Happy Birthday” quite like 400 feet of tin foil. Good job he’s such a good sport. 🙂

And what kind of blogger would I be if I didn’t give you all a quick tour?

These Photographs

If you’re anything like me, you’ll have cupboards, boxes and bookshelves full of photo albums, forever immortalising the journey from youth to adulthood in a haphazard mishmash of a life chronicled. The first few will be full of the initial endeavours of a young photographer; snapshots of dandelions, paving stones, clouds and windows, captured on a chunky, green plastic camera that began as rolls of film, sent away in an envelope to arrive weeks later on the mat inside the front door. Grainy shots of this and that, the world through the eyes of a child makes way for those of a teenager. Shots of friends, sights, and streets once played upon start to fill boxes to be looked upon a decade later in a quest for evidence: the validity of memories so vivid inside a mind can come into question when an old haunt is visited again. The reality of what is remembered from childhood can be harsh.

I remember each December, as a child, the thrill of getting the boxes of decorations down from the loft; the past eleven months seeming an eternity since I’d last seen them. My parents used to literally deck the halls, stringing up garlands of greenery around the ceilings, covered in red bows and golden bells. The tree would always be huge – always artificial, so nothing had to be cut down, but bushy, big, and covered in lights and ribbon. The memory of everything was so vibrant that, finding those boxes of decorations years later, and seeing them through the eyes of an adult, was disappointing: those same decorations were, in reality, so small and sparse that I had to wonder how they ever seemed so vibrant and rich so many years ago.

The same thing happened to me recently, when I visited home. The streets I grew up on had in childhood seemed so big and full of adventure; we’d gather up all the kids on the street and use the green as our stage, putting on singing, dancing, gymnastics and talent shows for all the neighbours. One side of the street was on a hill, the houses on a slight incline which, years ago, seemed the most exciting thing in the world – we’d gather up all the kids and take our bikes and rollerskates to the top, climbing on the grass, only to hurl ourselves down the pavement as fast as we possibly could. There were cuts and scrapes and bruises, but they proved no match for the exhilaration of the ride untumbled. Walking those same streets only a few weeks ago, I wondered how I ever thought it was so vast, exciting, or dangerous. The hill wasn’t steep, or long, and the walks from my old house to the town centre which had been an entire day out were over within ten minutes. How did the world ever seem so big?

I look to my photos in their books and boxes, and see the evidence en masse. My mind has been playing tricks on me while I wasn’t looking, taking the reality of memories and enhancing them, like a fine wine, making them better, more full of life and character over time than they ever were in the beginning. But I swear it was all real. It was always that way. But these photographs prove otherwise. Do we see the world differently, as a child? Before the world takes a hold of us, shapes us and gives us rules by which to abide, thrusts responsibilities and life lessons upon us along with bills and a work schedule which leaves little room for exploring and imagination? Or was it always that way… and something happens to the memories the further we get away from them. Fact gets mixed up with nostalgia, history with homesickness, reality with reflection, and memories get manufactured into something far brighter and more wonderful than the reality perhaps ever really was. Or perhaps as children, our minds take note of what was considered important at the time. Not the rubbish lining the streets, the jagged paving stones or the neighbours your parents didn’t get along with, but places begging to be filled with adventure. The way the wind felt in your hair as you pedalled as hard as you possibly could.  Finding what now would look like two ordinary hills a few minutes from home, which at the time were huge forts just that little bit further, and thus hidden from the world, a secret playground you could run to when you didn’t want to be found.

I’m still not quite sure if the streets, the parks, and the boxes of decorations changed over time, or if the memories did. But I know I can’t be the only one who remembers things in a slightly rosier hue than perhaps was real. And though these photographs attempt to prove otherwise, there’s something quite magical about memories kept from childhood. Have you revisited somewhere, or something, that you’d remembered differently, and been surprised by the reality?

You can also find this post at Becky’s blog, Love Everyday Life, where she ever so kindly asked me to step in today. 🙂

From Avatars to Allies

Whirlwinds of activity and excitement seem to be becoming somewhat of a theme this year, and this long weekend was another fantastic ride through foreign streets accompanied by friends from afar. I left the city late Friday afternoon (on what was possibly the most claustrophobic, teensy little plane I’ve ever been on – we had to move three passengers plus luggage to the back of the jet so the weight was spread evenly enough for takeoff!) and watched an orange sun illuminate the sky as we rode, sandwiched between two layers of cloud, through a glowing dreamscape down towards the coastline of Chicago. There’s something to be said about solitary travel – it’s a great time, with no distractions, for seeing the world from a new perspective, and for inner reflection. I arrived in O’Hare airport where I was soon met by two ladies I’ve known only in the realms of cyberspace for the last year or so, who greeted me with a gigantic squeeze and my first ever welcome sign, made with the help of our fabulous hotel concierge, Ian.

We took the L train (JUST like in Time Traveller’s Wife!) downtown, noshed up, and soaked up the experience of finally meeting each other in the flesh for the first time. In the last year, I’ve exchanged (sometimes daily) emails, text messages, phone calls and Skype dates with these girls more often than I have most people I know in real life. Seeing a relationship built through technology come to life in the real world was a surreal and wonderful experience, and we spent the next three days taking on the Windy City in style.* We walked for miles, taking in landmarks, amazing food, my first sangria, and truly breathtaking architecture. My heart was literally swooning as we trekked through downtown, surrounded by culture, life, and gorgeous towers soaring toward the sky. Every American I met was an absolute sweetheart, especially our fantastic doorman at the hotel, “Showtime”, whose enthusiasm and genuine love for life spilled out at the seams. He sent us off every night with a hug, a laugh, and a coupon for something wonderful.

We explored fancy shops and dreamed of being able to clean out places full of beautiful clothes and ornate houseware. We found original Glee costumes, had movie pyjama parties (complete with an unfortunate case of The Titanics, in which I bawled my eyes out for a good twenty minutes and proceeded to get VERY much laughed at :)), soared 103 storeys into the sky and braved the glass bottomed boxes looking down on the city below. We adorned ourselves with silk roses and crystal penguins, and I realised that five inch heels can simultaneously be a girl’s best friend and mortal enemy. We got lost in countless book shops, both modern and vintage, where I found myself wishing luggage would come in TARDIS form. We found the most amazing little sci-fi coffee house, plastered with oversized eighties film posters, with stuffed models of ET and ninja turtles perched atop every surface. I met even more bloggers, old friends and new ones, toured the local brewery, and witnessed the fastest and most inopportune blackout I’ve ever seen. The three days went by in a flash, but there was something quite magical about this trip.

If it weren’t for blogging, I would never have met five of the people in this photograph. I’ve always written, but I’ve only been properly blogging for about a year now, and some of the relationships I’ve been blessed enough to develop have become some of the most treasured in my life. Friends who are on speed dial, ready to cheer you on, or to defend against runaway snotrockets (new readers: yes, it happened, yes, it was in the face). Friends who’ve given me opportunities to help make the world a better place. Friends who send surprise cards, letters, and handmade gifts in the post, and friends who’ll happily exchange nerdy Doctor Who stories for hours on end. The world can seem an awfully vast place, but thanks to this online community, can seem rather comfortable… and not quite so big after all. Seeing the voices you’ve known so long through words and photographs on screens come to life was an amazing experience, and I only wish I’d had more time to fully spend with each and every one of these fantastic people. Chicago was an absolutely stunning city, and I have no doubt I’ll be heading back before too long. I arrived home after a plane ride accompanied by snapshots and science magazines, in one happy, exhausted, and exhilarated piece. Thank you Chicago, for capturing my heart, and thank you to everyone I was lucky enough to meet this weekend… who proved once again just how brilliant this online community really is.  Until next time… 🙂

Sometimes, when we fall, we fly

It’s been almost a quarter of a year (blimey!) since I posted the list of things I wanted to do before I turn 26. This means I’ve used up 25% of my timeline! Unmonitored resolutions can end up being lost in the universe, never having had the chance to have an impact on a life. I think it’s a good thing, when you make goals for yourself, to check in every once in a while, and make sure you’re still on track. Especially when the whole reason for doing it is a big one. I look back at old posts, sometimes, and see that scared, frail girl, and it propels me to keep trying – every tiny victory, no matter how small, is another slap in the face of fear. I know anxiety and worry are things that plague so many people, and I know how helpess they can make you feel. I want to do everything on this list, everything that ever terrified me, and hopefully one day, be free of it all – it’s been my biggest dream for a number of years now. I feel like I’m in a way better place – I still can’t get over the fact that my job title is now Facilitator – but it doesn’t mean I’m what I’d consider confident yet. I still wonder why I was picked. But it’s an ongoing process of choosing fight over flight, and I’m hoping, with enough practice, one day, it’ll feel natural.

So, that list? Here’s the lowdown on the progress so far:

1. Get in crazy good shape.
2. Become a hot yoga person.
These were the “physical” sort of things on my list – as we established last week, fitness isn’t something that’s been a big part of my life, and I’ve always used back pain, being too busy, or not being able to afford memberships as an excuse. Over the last three months I’ve told myself to stop being such a princess and suck it up: I’ve been doing exercises for my back several times a week. I’ve also begun sticking to my goal of running more than once a week, and took an introductory month of hot yoga (while it was cheap). I even got Sweet started too – he totally fell in love with it and ended up going more often than I was! Unfortunately the price has gone up – so right now, I’m exploring other options in the city, and hopefully finding somewhere less riduculously priced. I loved hot yoga – it was incredibly calming – the first session was done by candlelight with a live acoustic musician! – and I can’t deny it helped my back significantly while I was doing it.

5. Get my driver’s licence.
I renewed my learners, and the card came in last week! Which means I’m legally now able to be behind the wheel. I’m going to start taking lessons with my Dad ASAP – I only have another 8 weeks before the snow hits!

7. Meet new people.
Since I made the list, I started going to local Meetup groups and sought out some new local penpals (despite the potential to look a total weirdo in the process!). In the last few months, I’ve been blessed to have met some incredible people – people who bring joy, inspiration, encouragement, and real friendship to my life. One of them had to move away – which was pretty tough, but the texts and long distance phone calls make it that much easier. Another couple of them, I soon found out, live a few blocks from us, and have become friends with Sweet, too, and the last few months have been filled with many a night of great conversation, laughs, song, life stories, and dreams, and I’m so incredibly excited they said yes to being part of our wedding party in December!

9. Plan meals, be healthier, and cook better.
Adjusting to planning meals a week ahead of time has been a challenge, but luckily Sweet is a whiz in the kitchen and has been whipping up all sorts of healthy, delicious stuff! (Note to self: share recipes!) I’ve also been good nutritionally, and have been starting every morning off with a Green Monster full of spinach, fruit, vitamins and nutrients. Blended fruit and veg is so much more convenient than eating it. And, thanks to your AMAZING outpour of advice, I’m learning to snack healthily throughout the day too, and not starve myself.

15. Teach a class full of people without being scared.
I’d taught small groups before, but last month, I had my first full on class. THIRTY. ADULT. LEARNERS put up with me for a couple of hours, teaching them about customer service and good habits of successful employees, and actually enjoyed it. The feeling I got after finishing was indescribable – I actually felt like I’d made a difference, and I couldn’t wait to start developing the rest of the materials. Self awareness, communication skills, interview techniques… are all modules I’m going to be responsible for in the coming few weeks. I’ve been given a position where I can pass on information that could change people’s lives for the better – and I have to remind myself that’s so much higher a priority than my own fear ever will be.

18. Go on a blogger meetup.
I was thrilled to meet Stephen and Aly in London a few weeks ago, and this Friday, I leave for 4 days in Chicago! I will be sharing pyjama parties, sightseeing, brewery tours, secret bars, skydecks and fancy dinners with some of my favourite people in the world – words cannot express how excited I am to meet Ashley, Brittany, Nate, Jen and Phampants – two more days until they get the BIGGEST HUGS EVER.

19. See more of the world and soak up every last drop.
England and Spain were amazing, Chicago next week will be so much fun, and Mexico will be jaw-dropping. As will, perhaps, my bank account balance at the end of this year, but you only live once.

20. Do more home decor.
We rent our house, which, though wonderfully homey, has rather bare cream walls. Last month I splurged and bought some of my favourite pieces of art, framed them, and hung them around the house, replacing some old TV and band posters (sniff). I also printed some pages from medieval manuscripts and had them blown up and framed, so all along wall beside the stairs is now historical artwork that indulges my nerdy side – and looks just lovely.

21. Finish my tattoo.
After the disastrous results of attempts one, two, and three, I finally found someone who’s going to finish the thing – make it completely different, completely beautiful, and completely new. T-35 days until the appointment!

The verdict: I think I’m doing okay! I’m far from being close to the finish line, and I’m not going to deny, some of the hardest ones are still to come. Some are going to be fun, some scary, and some still seem near impossible – but I’m determined to try. Doing this experiment has been a rollercoaster of emotions, so far, but I think it’s worth it. I just feel I need to prove I can be the person I want to be – and not the person I was. Yes, the past helps us become who we are today, but it also has no control over how the future unfolds unless you let it. A blog friend of mine said it well last week:

Too many of us live behind walls of our own design. We hide our true selves because we feel weird, or that we won’t be accepted. We feel that we need this acceptance to live; we need to feel normal, related-to, and understood. Many of us, however, don’t feel understood. We might feel loved, appreciated, welcomed, and accepted, but rarely do we feel understood.

So many of us let this fear of nonacceptance rule our lives. We keep our hopes and dreams and true selves locked away, worried about what other people might think if they were ever to see the light. And it’s a shame. It’s a waste. And it leads to an unfulfilling, unmeaningful, hollow existence.  I think we can all choose whether or not we allow those walls to stay up, or if we want to break them down and put ourselves out there. If you’re met with adversity from putting yourself out there, you have the choice as to how to take it. Is it going to dictate the way you live your life, or are you going to take control of your own? At the end of my last day of being 25, I don’t know if I’ll have achieved everything I set out to do. I might try and fail miserably. I might get hurt. I might get laughed at, and I might get gossiped about. But at the end of the day, I’ll have tried. And if, somehow, I manage to do it? I want anyone who’s ever lived by the reigns of fear to believe they can break free too. For now, I’ll keep trying. Fight over flight. In the eternal hope that, as a favourite blogger shared, “first, you jump off the cliff, and you build wings on the way down.”

Did you set goals for yourself this year? New Year’s Resolutions, or Four Simple Goals perhaps? How are you keeping yourself on track?

The Emotional Spectrum

“Don’t you think it’s better to be extremely happy for a short while,
even if you lose it, than to be just okay for your whole life?”
– Audrey Niffenegger, The Time Traveller’s Wife

I am an emotional creature. Many a tear has been shed in my lifetime, that psychological water that flows in streams down cheeks, physical echoes of the yearnings of the heart inside. They accompany movies, books (tell me I wasn’t the only one who bawled for an hour after reading The Time Traveller’s Wife?), songs, weddings, goodbyes, stress, love and pain, and sometimes, the act of crying can be cathartic. A good sob, we’re told, can allow pent-up feelings of sadness, loss or frustration to be set free, leaving more room inside for more positive, forward-moving feelings. But sometimes, being more emotionally sensitive than The Norm can make you look like a total sap.

The same goes for the other end of the spectrum: joy. During my first Skype conversation, after hearing some good news, I was asked: “…Was that a happy clap?”  Yes, was the answer – when I hear something awesome, or have something to look forward to, I will run shamelessly up and down my stairs, start applauding, or otherwise have one of those Laura Linney moments in Love, Actually where the compulsion to run around the corner, stamping your feet and squealing like a schoolgirl proves impossible to ignore.

The yawning gulf of my emotional spectrum has been the subject of many a debate with friends and loved ones. “If you didn’t get so excited in the first place,” I’d be told, “then you wouldn’t be so disappointed now!”  “Don’t rush into things.” “If you stayed closer to the middle, not too high or too low, you’d be much better off.”  I had to wonder. If I tempered myself a little – refrained from showing too much excitement, would things be less disappointing if they didn’t work out? If I didn’t give my whole heart out so openly, would I have saved it such ache in the past? If I didn’t become too emotionally invested in people so quickly, would it be less painful when they moved away? And if I didn’t allow myself to cry so often, at the mundane and the painful, would life be that much easier?

Perhaps. But a bigger part of me says that these are the things that allow you to experience life to the fullest – drinking in every drop; allowing yourself to feel the heights of pure joy even if that means risking the lowest of the low.  I’ve heard of many people who’ve worked on themselves, making sure what would be their instinctive, automatic reaction is moderated; socially acceptable, not so extreme, guaranteed to save them from disappointment or funny looks. But is being too emotional such a bad thing? Surely, if naturally, you wanted to shut yourself in your bedroom, hide under a blanket, pound your pillow and wail from the bottom of your lungs, allows all that sadness to escape? We’ve all seen what happens when things get pent-up inside; the feelings of sadness give rise to feelings of anger; as they grow stronger and get further pushed inside, they can only be repressed so much until something snaps. And that’s never pretty. On the flipside, why would anyone deprive themselves from living with their heart caged in by self-constructed walls? Because we’ve been hurt before. Because there’s a risk of everything falling apart. Because people might think we’re strange. I get it. But what we devise to protect ourselves can sometimes deprive us of the heights of happiness. The true depths and heights of human emotion can be amplified when exposed to the outside world, but moderating them takes away the potential for greatness. Why not show the world your true colours, even if that does include jumping up and down and shouting from the rooftops every now and again? When we look back on our lives, do we want to say we lived a sheltered life, never too excitable nor too down, or do we want to be able to say we gave it our all, and lived?

After all, as the old saying goes, it’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.

Are you, too, an emotional creature? Or do you tend to be more even-keeled? I’m interested to hear your thoughts. 🙂

The X-Effect

This week on Twitter, I read something about well-done sidebars on blogs being a big part of accessibility, and subsequently, probably, more readers. I took a look at mine, and, well, I have no idea whether or not it’s well done. It does its job, but I’ve never been one of those people who play by the Rules of Successful Blogging anyway – I don’t have a niche (hello, Star Trek rants one day, theatre festivals the next!), I don’t have ads, and I don’t worry too much if I don’t post three times a week… it’s my little corner of the Internet and I’ll write about kittens and robots if I want to! *Stomps* 🙂 I did notice one interesting thing in my sidebar, however – my Tag Cloud. Moreso that the biggest (and subsequently ‘most talked about’) topic is MUSIC.

I’m having difficulting believing this. If this were a tag cloud of my life, then perhaps I’d be more inclined to see the truth in its prominence, but on my blog? I don’t know. I tried a weekly music feature earlier in the year where I tried to share songs and music videos that were beautifully written, incredibly compelling, visually stunning, or just plain rocking my world, and every time? Turned out to be Tumbleweed City. Maybe it comes from the fact that I don’t listen to a lot of mainstream stuff  – stuff that might be more easily relatable across the blogosphere? Music is something I’m passionate about, and I’ll happily spend three hours on a Friday night scouring the Internet, reading reviews, and digging out hidden gems from across the globe, memorising the words, highlighting the brilliant ones and adding them to a mental collection of lyrical masterpieces to indulge in at full volume when nobody’s home. I’m passionate about music in the same way some people are passionate about cooking, or fashion, or exercise – but with those things, though they may not be big parts of my life, I can always appreciate someone’s enthusiasm for something they love wholeheartedly. Posting about music, however, has been discouraging – so it’s something I tend to stick to enjoying outside of the blog. Which is why it’s so surprising it makes up my biggest tag on the cloud.

But I digress. Today, I had to write about something music-related, because something music-related began another reign of supremity across the planet this weekend. On Saturday, 12 million people tuned in live to watch the first episode of the new season of The X Factor (stay with me!) -the show that brought the world Leona Lewis, divided the globe last Christmas with the war on Simon Cowell taking an old Rage Against the Machine track to the top in one of chart history’s most controversial moments, and has kept me, proud anti-mainstream indie kid that I am, firmly glued to my seat for the past six years.

I know I should be on the side of everyone who’s blaming things like X Factor and Glee for “ruining pop music”. I despise most modern pop music – pre-pubescent boys being voted sexiest “men” of 2010 (…), girls singing lines that are just plain embarrassing (really; don’t even get me started on Katy Perry), and songs about drunken promiscuity (as great as they are for nerdy video parodies) – am I the only one who’s feeling old here? But there’s been a tidal wave of backlash approaching for the last little while – and it seems to have come crashing down along with the commencement of the new series of X Factor. I doubt the return of Glee next month will escape unscathed: people en masse are revolting against the state of the charts, blaming shows like this for stealing the spotlight (and the public’s pocketbook) away from “real artists”, and actively destroying the music industry. But – as much as I should – I’m not sure where I stand.

In the UK, the X Factor has had significant effect on mass music purchasing, having had a total of 42 singles released by former contestants, sixteen of which have been number one hits. Worldwide, the music industry has undoubtedly been hit by the Glee effect: over seven million copies of cast single releases have been purchased digitally, and last year alone, the Glee cast had twenty-five singles chart on the Billboard Top 100 – the most by any artist since The Beatles almost half a decade ago. Manufactured television definitely has a stranglehold, but is that such a bad thing?

I adore hardworking, raw, real talent. I was perhaps more thrilled than the band themselves when Mumford and Sons became well-known globally, after having heard a demo single years ago and being unable to find a thing on them. I remember seeing them live and loving the genuine sense of gratitude bursting from the lead singer, who was shocked they’d sold out a venue before their album had even been released stateside. I love it when the little guys make it to the top. But I also love watching the little guys start on X Factor. Seeing them go from a small town, or a mundane nine to five job, and being given the platform to share an incredible talent with the world is fantastic. I watched last year as the boy who got bullied won the heart of a nation with an amazing natural voice. So they may have thousands in production, and pre-written songs built into their contracts when they win. It still showcases raw talent from the beginning, and gives them the opportunity to shine.

Like this eighteen-year old girl last Saturday night, doing something so original and different with perhaps one of my most loathed songs in the world that it sent shivers down my spine.

I think The X Factor can be a great platform for ordinary people to share amazing gifts with the rest of the world. It may have more money and more influence than the little guys, but then aren’t those little guys’ victories that much better when they beat the odds? How often in life are we given platforms upon which to share our gifts? I think the answer is a lot more often than you’d probably think. They may not be in front of thousands of people, on television, or across from a judging panel of celebrities, but platforms of opportunity come our way all the time. They may be in the form of a classroom, a customer service desk, or a white blank page, but I think we’re all given opportunities to shine. It’s whether or not we choose to take the risk and put it all out there that determines our success. I have a lot of respect for the people that have the guts to get up there and audition in front of millions, knowing full well how quick the masses can be to judge. But every once in a while, the decision to get out there and do it anyway can create something magical.

Maybe things like Glee and X Factor are destroying the music industry. Maybe they’re just giving regular artists more incentive to work harder. Whatever side you end up taking, you can’t argue with the power they have to cause controversy – as well as to unite (and divide) millions across the nation. And the fact that they make brilliantly compelling TV – even if only, perhaps, for all the wrong reasons. 🙂

Skin and Bones

One thing I love about bloggers is their sheer determination to not only get out there and achieve their goals, but also encourage each other along the way to do the same.  Not going to lie: health and fitness don’t play a major part in my life. I’m not saying I’m queen of the couch potatoes, and I do tend to eat healthily and for the most part, and avoid junk food, but I wouldn’t consider myself fit in the slightest. Being part of the blogging community however has inspired me – seeing people run marathons, doing Couch to 30K challenges, shreds and daily yoga has really motivated me to take more of an active role in my own wellbeing. (If you don’t like something, change it, right?)

On top of the good I’m told it will do for my back, being in good shape was also something I wanted to tackle before the wedding (which is only three and a half months away (!!)). In the spring, I bought a used treadmill off the Internet, which, in an effort to prove I was going to suck at exercise, promptly broke within the first few months. In came the pedometer. Which still remains in its packaging. But like a fairy godmother telling me I shall go to the health and fitness ball, I received a magical text a couple of days before I left for England.

I’m moving. You want a free $2,500 treadmill?

Why yes, as a matter of fact, I did! My friend showed up with entourage of Big Strong Men, and delivered a state-of-the-art, gym-quality treadmill to my house complete with spare parts and instruction manual. I gave them $100 out of guilt and gratitude, and we said our goodbyes. Now I had no reason not to start running. Fast-forward to getting back from the trip, when my nose decided it was going to run longer and faster than I ever would, and I ended up being laid up with a fever, chills, dizziness, headache, and a cough worse than a chain smoker’s. Not great for my plans to be the next Kenenisa Bekele. I had, however, been doing a fair bit in terms of being healthier: going to hot yoga for a month (before the Intro Rate turned into the Regular Insanely Expensive Rate), making Green Monsters every morning for breakfast, taking multivitamins, picking up a copy of the 30 Day Shred on DVD, and buying a weighing scale so I could make sure I stayed at a healthy weight.

Which led to my discovery: I wasn’t at a healthy weight. At all. I recently learned that I was medically underweight. A BMI of 20 or lower, I was told, equalled underweight, and a BMI of under 18.5 was considered extremely underweight and possibly malnourished, with several risks including osteoporosis, respiratory/digestive diseases, increased risk of falls or fractures, depression, lethargy, and, at the very top of the list: compromised immune function. My BMI? 18.3.

I didn’t know what to do when I got sick again last week. When I’d got my new position, my boss had told me I had half a sick day left for the rest of the year. Had I really been ill that often? I did some research, and it clicked – maybe my immune system IS compromised by my weight. I couldn’t go in, but I felt terrible – I didn’t have any more sick time, and I was needed with the startup of this new project. Meaning I’d used up all my sick time for the entire year. They were kind enough to keep me on and give me this position, and I felt like I was screwing them over by being off for another two days. I told my boss I’d take it unpaid, or work late for a few weeks, whatever was necessary, but I can’t shake the feeling that I might be seen as one of those people who call in all the time just to get time off, when in reality I was stuck at home feeling worse than I had in years. I’m worried I may lose my job over this.

Sweet got the same bug I did, but it barely affected him at all. A little sniffly and a bit of a cough, and his work and social obligations (on top of his role as Best Caregiver Ever) remained unaffected. I got hit hard, couldn’t swallow even water, alternated between sweating hot and shivering cold, and could barely drag myself out of bed. I can’t afford to keep getting sick, but on the flipside, I don’t want to gain any weight. I’ve always been complimented on being slim, and when you don’t like the way you look physically, it’s something that does make a bit of a difference in feeling better about yourself. Being a smaller framed girl, the slightest bit of weight gain is instantly noticeable, straight to my stomach after a couple of days’ eating bigger meals, and you’d swear I was 4 months pregnant. I don’t want to get bigger, but I do want to get healthier. I can’t afford to keep getting ill and I know these risks are the sorts of thing that only get worse with time. Who knows, maybe it’s contributing to the back pain, too – if I am malnourished, surely it must be more difficult for the muscles to work and regenerate properly?

I don’t know. I’m not sure what to do. So this is where I appeal to all those healthy people out there I read and am inspired by so often: what can I do to get back on track to being a healthy weight without bloating up? Your suggestions would be so very appreciated ❤

History and Hauntings (Part Two of Two)

Continued from Tuesday’s post…

So after a stunning (yet exhausting!) whirlwind trip to Madrid, I arrived back in Stevenage, a bit later than expected, since some genius managed to get his luggage on the plane and then couldn’t actually find the plane. Which resulted in missing the last bus back! But I eventually made it, and spent a bit more time with Nan, who distressingly, had had a pretty bad accident right before we’d walked in, and had injured herself severely, causing her to be laid up in bed the rest of the trip. In all her stubbornness she refused for us to call a doctor, but consented by Friday, when both a nurse and doctor visited and thankfully declared that though bruised and in a lot of pain, she hadn’t broken anything. It’s things like this that make it so incredibly difficult to be so far away, but my Dad is heading over within a few weeks, which will mean the world to her, and hopefully something can be done to help make sure she is as safe and comfortable as possible.

The next day, I visited some beautifully kept gardens at Hatfield House (where Elizabethan history began!), with another good friend, Shareen, and her boyfriend, who was great! We had afternoon tea and scones, Victoria Sponge (well worth the three pounds I put on in the last week), and talked travel, memories, and Extreme Ironing – a venture yet to come! That night, another one of my oldest friends, James, took us out to an historic little town just outside Stevenage, where we spent hours talking about everything and anything, learning about life in the military, reminiscing, laughing, and sharing hopes of the future. It still blows me away that someone I sat with in school over a decade ago, who I’ve only seen once or twice since, can still be so close and so comfortable to be around. Nights like that truly make me count my blessings.

The next day, we made way to Leeds, where I learned that booking train tickets in advance is crucial. Clearly I hadn’t; and discovered it was consequently going to cost about $200 to travel there and back! C’est la vie, I suppose – didn’t let it spoil the time I had with one of my oldest friends, who I’ve literally known since I was about nine or ten years old, and her fiancé, who was incredibly hospitable and such a laugh. After a night of dinner, exploring the city, cat cuddling and zombie fighting, he drove us into our final destination: York.  London may have a piece of my heart but I have to say York has a little part of my soul, too. It’s the most haunted city in the UK, and the sense of history that consumes you the second you cross the city’s walls is just awe-inspiring.  Surrounded on all sides, York’s streets are made of cobblestones that date back hundreds and hundreds of years. Lining them is an assortment of speciality shops, boutiques, and small pubs, one of which is built without foundations, giving rise to an inside full of warped nooks and twisted crannies with no regard to symmetry or balance at all. The walls were lined with newspaper clippings and framed ghost stories – the perfect place for a good English beer and a bite to eat on Friday the thirteenth! I squeezed the day dry, exploring the Dungeons, learning about Highwaymen, conspirators, plague and witchcraft, not to mention being scared witless as a group of us made our way through the dark. I walked a recreation of 10th century York and learned all sorts of Viking history, as well as the Shambles, an ancient street of mismatched buildings recorded as early as 1086, leading to Europe’s largest Gothic cathedral. I was led on an award-winning ghost tour where I laughed, cried, and was left wondering if I’d capture a glimpse of the plague girl abandoned by her parents, or the medieval army of ghosts. It was perfect.

I made my way back to Stevenage for a last goodbye with my Nan, a night with family friends in London, and onto the flight back – bags packed with sweets, souvenirs, and photographs, eyes heavy and jetlagged from a whirlwind of excitement, and hearts full of memories and contentment that would soon be making space for nostalgia and wanderlust.  Times like these may be few and far between, but the lifelong memories and friendships make them more than worth waiting for. This week, it’s back to work, back to reality, back to ROSE KITTEN, and back to catching up with all of you who I missed terribly! I took a look at my Reader, which is pretty close to 300 unread. Not going to lie – that’s a pretty scary number. So tell me all what you’ve been up to for the last two weeks – and I promise, I’ll get round to catching up on everything ASAP. 🙂  And as an ad said quite aptly on the plane:

Onto planning the next trip! I don’t think I’ll ever get the travel bug out of my system, not ever. Prague, Italy, more of Ireland, Australia, New Zealand, and India are all very much still on my list, and I have every intention of exploring every one inside out. One day…

Oh England, my Lionheart (Part One of Two)

Oh England, my Lionheart,
I’m in your garden, fading fast in your arms
Flapping umbrellas fill the lanes
My London Bridge in rain again
Oh England, my Lionheart
Peter Pan steals the kids in Kensington Park
You read me Shakespeare on the rolling Thames
That old river poet that never, ever ends
Our thumping hearts hold the ravens in,
And keep the tower from tumbling
Oh England, my Lionheart,
I don’t want to go
– Kate Bush

WARNING: This WAS going to be my longest post ever, and there was going to be a serious high five waiting for you if you made it all the way through – I did SO MUCH on this trip, I couldn’t leave anything out! However I think breaking it into more manageable pieces is probably for the best, so this is just part one. 🙂

It seems I’ve arrived back in one piece, and I cannot begin to describe how quickly the last two weeks seemed to pass. Or how mortified I was to have had to go back to work on extreme jet lag and a throat which may as well have been full of razorblades the morning after landing!  The trip was nothing short of breathtaking – visits with friends I’ve known over half my life; the feeling of pure belonging while roaming the streets of London by night, high on post-West End Musical awe and excitement while simultaneously thrilled at the feeling of sharing the grandeur of thousand year old monuments. Getting lost in a country not speaking the language and exploring another culture; seeing family and loved ones and moving on again in a whirlwind journey to the country’s most haunted city, full of gothic architecture, cobblestones, and ghosts. It was perfect, though all over far, far too fast.

The trip started in one of my favourite places in the world: London. I don’t know if you’ve ever been away from home before (though I suppose London is a train ride away from the place I should truly call home), but every time I see a reference to the city on Doctor Who, have BBC radio playing on a Friday morning at work, or hear another English accent, my ears perk up along with my heartbeat and I feel an enormous sense of longing to be back there again. Sweet and I arrived at our hotel, which was a stone’s throw from Big Ben, the London Eye, and all things iconic and dreadfully, wonderfully touristy. Which, after a brief nap, I threw myself into headfirst.

Initially, I went on my first international blogger meetup with the lovely Stephen Ko, where I overindulged in proper sausages, mash, and copious amounts of gravy. We then headed off to explore the city’s museums, which Stephen was kind enough to lead us to, though I must admit an hour’s sleep in over 24 hours didn’t make me the most brilliant of company! That night though, I must have got a second wind, and set off for what was certain to be a highlight: Wicked! I’d seen the show once a few years ago, and it was the best thing I’d ever seen, and once again, it was nothing short of gobsmacking. Dazzling costumes and special effects combined with incredible songwriting and world-class singers, and by the end of it, I was so thrilled with the evening ($12 for a drink aside – forgivable, since it was Pimm’s!) I decided to walk back through the streets of London by night. Illuminated monuments and landmarks were at every turn, and I arrived back, perhaps a hundred photographs later, and collapsed in a happy heap. Roaming London after dark should very well have been dangerous, so I hear, but I felt no sense of fear, only an incredible feeling of belonging. I must say a good part of my heart will forever lie in that city.

With the next day came my NEXT blogger meetup – brunch with Aly, who was absolutely lovely (she even left me with a little koala bear!). She took me to a favourite place of hers, where we talked for hours, feasted on pancakes, fruit and clotted cream, and discovered an amazing secret: our little table was in fact an old desk, and was the only one, it appeared, with a drawer. Aly opened it and found a secret stash of notes – on receipts, napkins, notepaper – little notes of love, hopes, appreciation and dreams, to which we of course added our own. It was quite remarkable, and made for quite the magical morning.

After moving on to Stevenage, my home town (as well as teen pregnancy and chav capital of England), I was shocked at its deterioration. The walk from the train station to my Nan’s should have been filled with little shops, friendly faces, a picturesque duck pond and flower gardens at every step. I’m not sure if it was a trick of the memory of youth, severe degradation, or a combination of both, but the streets I grew up on were no longer as I remembered. The pond was caged off; a rank quagmire of mud, shopping trolleys, and birds no longer able to swim. The shops had all closed down, and the streets were covered in rubbish and trodden-in gum. But I was going to see Nan. The last time I’d visited was two years ago, when she was still very much herself; in a sling, yes, but in good spirits and perfectly able to come out with us, to cook, and to hug. When I walked into her living room, I almost didn’t recognise her. She’d lost a lot of weight, as well as her glasses, and her hair had grown out, shining and white, making her look small, frail. She’d broken both shoulders, and was unable to extend her arms, and seemed consumed by the armchair which I’m certain hadn’t moved in years. But then she opened her mouth to speak, and then she was Nan again. Fiesty and opinionated as ever, and beyond thrilled to see me. Everything was okay once she spoke, and the next day we went out with her wheelchair, her first exposure to the outside world in two months. It meant so much to be able to do something for her.

That night we met up with Kier, one of my oldest friends in the world, for some drinks, pub food, and hours of talking and reminiscing. It felt wonderful to be able to share in his company again and I only wish the time didn’t have to be so fleeting, or the distance quite so far. We met again for a brief brunch later on in the trip, where he surprised me with a gift – a Star Trek bottle opener and a star ready for naming up there in the beautiful night sky. The thoughtfulness was incredible, and I must admit I shed a few tears on the way home that such good friends must be so far away.

I didn’t spend much time in one place – I only had nine days left of holiday time from work, and two of them were spent on the journey there and back, so I REALLY crammed everything in. Next day I headed off to Madrid, Spain – a city I’ve never seen. After a plane ride where I was sat in front of two of my least favourite things in the world (a seat-kicking, screaming baby), I arrived in the middle of siesta time, when everything shuts down for a few hours and people retire for a brief nap to energise for the night ahead. I hadn’t realised my hotel was in The Dodgy End, either, so the initial impression of deserted, streets covered in graffiti was slightly disappointing – until I asked reception what there was for evening entertainment, and was pointed to the Metro station, similar to London’s Underground, which took me to the heart of the nation’s capital.

Elegant, ornate building fronts combined with enormous billboards to envelop us in a city of culture. Nobody seemed to speak a word of English, but I’d been told of a hidden little Michelin Star restaurant, considered one of the “top 1,000 things to do before you die”, where I’d find fantastic food and see some of the world’s best flamenco dancers, which was supposedly a 10 minute walk from the train station. 10 minutes ended up being well over an hour, which had been filled with getting lost and exploring streets full of cathedrals, cityscapes and architecture (not to mention rather sore feet), but eventually, we found the Corral de la Morería, found my seat, and experienced a night of breathtaking entertainment. The next morning, I got up bright and early to visit the grand cathedral and the Palacio Real, where I was heartbroken to find I wasn’t allowed to take photos. A REAL PALACE, from the outside in, where I saw such elaborate decor – gold embellished walls, ceiling frescos, a dining hall which very well could’ve been a mile long, and the thrones upon which King and Queen sat only a few hundred years ago. It was remarkable, and I left thoroughly satiated in beauty, history and culture, before arriving back to a shocking and distressing surprise…

Going to stop here, as this marks about halfway – the rest to come on Thursday, along with stories of the most incredible, most haunted, most beautiful and one of the oldest cities in the world. Thanks for your patience 🙂

Acceptance: A small step towards ‘A New Earth’

I’ve mentioned this book for a little while now, and lately, I’ve been making an extra effort to really live out the teachings.  Well maybe not “teachings”; ideas? Concepts? I must admit I was a bit of a new kid on the Eckhart Tolle block, having heard of his huge association with Oprah (is there something wrong with me if I’ve never seen an episode?), and shrugging it off as “another self-help author”, but A New Earth: Awakening to Your Life’s Purpose was introduced to me early in the summer, and with the path I feel I’m being called to be on lately, it was rather aptly timed indeed.

I cracked open the book one night in the bath. I don’t often take baths because I get terribly bored, and I don’t often read in the bath because everything gets terribly soggy, so this was slightly out of the ordinary. However the experience remains ingrained in memory – I’d put some on pretty music, lit some candles, and had the window half open so a breeze seeped in, refreshing against the steam coming off the bubbles. I’d grabbed a bath pillow and began to read. At first, I was a little hesitant. The first chapter was about the first flower ever to appear on planet Earth hundreds of millions of years ago, opening up to receive sunlight, marking an evolutionary transformation in plantlife. A bit New Age, if you ask me, but I kept reading the analogy, in which he refers to human consciousness – a similar transformation, which has already begun, which, if every human being decided to focus on purpose and awareness, be free of the Ego, and of all the self-imposed limitations and negativity perpetual thinking gives rise to, could bring about a “New Earth”.

Once I passed the first chapter, however, I was hooked. I carried it everywhere and found myself sitting in coffee shops nodding along as I highlighted something on pretty much every other page, wishing there was a way I could steal the words away from the page and install them into my brain where I’d forever be guided and reminded. It’s not a religious book, but the author makes reference to a variety of different religions and spiritual practices, not to add to the reader’s beliefs, but to create food for thought, and hopefully, a shift in consciousness.

One of the main notions of the book is that we, as humans, are trapped in our own minds. Our Ego wants to have an identity, whether good or bad, and we are also conditioned to thinking that if we have more, then we will be happy. Along with thinking and wanting more, comes focusing on lack – lack of money, of friends, of attractiveness, of happiness…  “If the thought of lack – whether it be money, recognition, or love – has become part of who you think you are, you will always experience lack. Rather than acknowledge the good that is already in your life, all you see is lack. No matter what you have or get, you won’t be happy. You will always be looking for something else that promises greater fulfillment, that promises to make your incomplete sense of self complete and fill that sense of lack you feel within.”

The author explains, in a way different from other books I’ve read, that it’s not the Ego itself that is bad, but our identification with it that causes the most suffering. If we identify ourselves by our jobs, our possessions, even on the flipside, by our suffering or hardship – as long as we perpetuate that identification, we are not simply living in the present and accepting things as they are.  The goal is to raise personal awareness of our behaviour, allowing ourselves to simply be in the present moment, rather than getting caught up in in thinking about and reacting to it, or living by the roles we give to ourselves. And aren’t we all guilty of that?

The way we go about the world is shaped, in large part, by our past experiences, by our inner critic, by our fears and by worrying about what other people think of us. We act differently, though maybe only very slightly, around different groups of people. We may act one way around our partner, another around his or her family, another around our boss, and yet another around our closest friends. We ever so subtly fall into different roles shaped by how we want society to see us, or by past hurts or anxieties. Some may have a heightened sense of Ego, going about the world in fancy suits and filling homes with expensive decor, fuelled by the notion that more is better. Some may have latched onto the other end of the spectrum, carrying the weight of their past hardships or present sufferings with a frown on their face and a cloud over their head. The book teaches it doesn’t matter what identification we have with the Ego, as long as it has an identity. And the only way to truly be at peace is to recognise that, detach from those thought patterns, detach from the material things that are ultimately ephemeral, and detach from worry about things over which we have no control.

I took a LOT away from this book, but most of all, I took away the power of awareness and acceptance.  The moment you notice a pattern of behaviour that is no longer working for you, recognise it, change it, and you are on your way to becoming more enlightened and living a more purposeful existence. Instead of allowing reactive emotions to take over in response to unfavourable life events, accept them as they are. Instead of feeling wronged or holding on to grudges, just let them go. And, though painful sometimes, accepting the path a loved one has chosen even though you may believe it’ll end badly. People ultimately only learn from their own mistakes.  There was a great section about peace vs. drama which is something I think we can all identify with, explaining that though we all want peace, there’s something in all of us that also wants drama and conflict. We’re not acknowledged, we have an argument, we feel wronged somehow, and the mind races to defend itself, attack, or blame someone else.

“Can you feel that there is something in you that is at war, something that feels threatened and wants to survive at all cost, that needs the drama in order to assert its identity as the victorious character within that theatrical production? Can you feel there is something in you that would rather be right than at peace?”

The Ego would rather be right than at peace, and the only way to lessen its grip is to become aware of it – the voice in our head that “comments, speculates, judges, compares, dislikes… etc.”  You can catch yourself in these situations, and choose to accept and be happy, rather than insisting at any cost you be right. Since I finished the book I’ve caught myself out slipping into old thought patterns that are ultimately Ego-driven – reacting in arguments, becoming upset over situations I can’t control, worrying about things, and beating myself up. None of this does anyone any good and is never going to pave the way to being at peace, and I think this book should be mandatory reading for everyone who’s concerned at all about finding happiness, and living a good life of intent, peace and purpose. If everyone lived by the teachings of this book, the world would be a very different place indeed. But as with all big movements, they start with a small step. And if I can introduce someone to this reading material and it impacts them the way it did after it was introduced to me… then I’d like to think this was mine.