waits for me
and the first thought
that comes to my mind.
waits for me
and the first thought
that comes to my mind.
When your happy place gets lost
It will always
my soul hangs off me
It makes me think of the bark
that peels from fat-trunked trees;
old layers tearing off in shards—
might be crying.
So that’s what a sad soul looks like?
When I walk in nature
I wonder if it’s true.
Maybe a tree wears its soul
on the inside…
and the outside.
And maybe trees
to be hugged.
Just like we do.
I thought I’d be pooped by now; fifteen k’s into a thirty k walk.
But though my feet are sore, and blisters are starting to gift my toes little pops of ‘ouch’ every now and then…
All I’m thinking is: yes.
We’ve got this.
All of us.
Dear me, how I love a fatigue induced epiphany.
I’m not really okay, today.
I wasn’t really okay then, either.
Yesterday, there were tears.
And yesterday I couldn’t see the sky, anymore.
Maybe it’s hormones.
Or the rain.
Or maybe it’s just my broken bits screeching
That I am only human.
Or something like it, anyway.
For a day. Or two. Or three
I’ll probably still be this.
A little bit lost.
A little bit bamboozled.
A little bit wondering…
‘When will this tenderness seep back into my bones?’
Yesterday I searched for a place to hide.
A place to feel safe.
But today, I’m just here
Feeling the ache and letting it…be.
Because what else is there to do?
This is life, after all.
And life is exactly what I’ve come here to do.
Let’s talk about magic. The type that swirls around us human folk without us even knowing, without us even trying. The kind of magic I’m talking about is the kind that arises from our natural human energies and the way those energies interact with those around us.
Many years ago— before I became someone’s wife and someone’s Mummy—my thing was acting. There were so many aspects to treading the boards that I loved. Embodying a character essentially gave me permission to do a whole bunch of fun things the real me would never get away with in real life. I mean. How’s that for awesome?
Those years were some of the most wonderful of my life, where I got to unleash my creative essence on the world and have a whole lot of fun along the way. Every show was different. Every character I played: different, each with their own unique personality trying to make its way into the world, through me.
One thing was always the same, though. The backstage buzz. The energy. Every night before the curtains parted, the cast and crew would stand in the wings with wide eyes and vibrating hair—visible signs of the excited, nervous energy that lived within and around us.
This energy was always there, and it was unmistakable. And though none of us could put our finger on how it was made, or where it came from within our bodies, there would not be an actor out there who could deny its magic. To this day I’m in awe of its power, and the potential it always poured into the performance to come.
But even though the energy of stage actors themselves is otherworldly and brilliant, perhaps the most baffling and awe-inspiring energy transfer is that between the audience and the actors. More specifically, how the energy of the audience, as a collective, influences the energy of the performance.
A ‘good’ or ‘bad’ audience can change a show entirely. A ‘good’ audience has the ability to lift a performance. A ‘bad’ audience has the ability to kill it. Human energy, cause and effect. Life transferred from one group to another, each affecting the other in ways the rational mind can’t even come close to understanding.
So. For those actors, musicians, live performers out there who might be wondering…you’re not alone if you’ve felt it. I’ve felt it, and many performers I know have felt it, too.
As for those of us who are, at one time or another, members of an audience—look around. Are people smiling as the show goes on? Or are they just a bit ho-hum about the whole shebang? Because If they’re a bit ho-hum…chances are the actors are backstage, wondering where all the laughs have gone and disappointed not to have the chance to feed off the positive energy of a ‘good’ audience.
My advice to any theatre, dance, or live music lovers out there would be this: if you’re unlucky enough to see a show on a ‘bad’ audience night…go see it again. I can guarantee you, it will be a different show next time around. A better one. And all thanks to that mysterious universal thing: human energy. Magic. Don’t you think?
When life gives you lemons, turn them into lemonade.
It’s a lovely saying, isn’t it? And it’s right up my alley in terms of the positivity it tosses in the face of life and it’s silly business.
I want to tell you a story. It’s a sad one, most would say. But to me, this story is one of my greatest sources of light in this world—and all because I’ve come to see the beauty of the lemons that were dealt to me.
I will say here, at this point, that this story involves the topic of pregnancy loss so, please—If you are going through a loss of your own and feel you are not ready to delve into the sadness of it all— know that you have my absolute blessing to skip the rest of this post. For the rest of you…let’s do this. Together.
In 2015, I experienced five miscarriages while trying to conceive my second child. There was varying degrees of trauma involved— emotional and physical— but the most devastating loss, perhaps, was the little muffin that lasted eleven weeks (as opposed to the six weeks which had been the average of the rest of the bunch.)
Anyway. Lemons. Probably the biggest, most bitter lemons of my entire life. This particular little muffin had me at the emergency department, and, given we already had a little one to look after at home…I’d be going this alone until the babysitter arrived. Ugh. Lemons.
After an hour or so of feeling like a hollow egg in a waiting room, my husband joined me and, at last, there was some comfort to fill me—he’d been relieved by our beloved brother in law, and knowing our little man was sleeping soundly in his cot, I breathed a sigh of relief. If he was to wake, my baby was in kind and gentle hands.
I often wonder who I’d be If not for those lemons. I’ll never be the girl I was ever again, that’s for sure. But now I’m this girl; this perfectly imperfect girl, who loves and laughs harder. Who falls and cries louder.
This girl— the joyously broken version of me—considers the lemons of this life and thinks thank bloody goodness for them. Thank goodness for the gifts those lemons brought me (and there were many on my miscarriage journey, despite all the bitterness. Some of them because of all the bitterness.)
Perhaps the most profound gift for me involved that night in the emergency room: the night that, at the time, I figured to be the most awful of my life. Well. As it turned out…it was one of the greatest.
Because as I sat in the emergency room, sucking on that great big ugly lemon, my little boy—chubby cheeked and two years old—woke from his sleep and realised Mummy wasn’t there. Daddy wasn’t there, either.
But someone wonderful was: his super fun uncle.
So, in the dark of my little boy’s room, comforted by the gentle sway of the flower rocking chair, uncle and nephew snuggled, heart to heart. And there was peace and there was joy and there was love.
And, though I had no idea at the time, while I was in hospital cursing the bitter taste of my lemons…those same lemons were building something beautiful. At home. In the shape of two of my most wonderful people melting into the hearts of each other.
How’s about them lemons, hey?
And I love.
It’s just come to me.
Like a roar straight from the heart of the lion.
We’ve got this.
We’ve got it.
I’m not going to lie.
Sometimes, I think:
‘Ah, crikey. I haven’t really got this. Have I?’
Nopey. Nopey. Nope.
That’s when I remember.
Life is good, even when it’s bad.
Because bad wakes the lion in us.
Bad starts the fight.
For love. For dreams. For life.
That’s why I reckon it’s okay that I say it:
We’ve got this.
And, guys. For the times we don’t got this…
We’ve still got this.
Because we’ve got each other.
We’ve always, always got each other.
(If you think that maybe you really don’t got this…you are not alone. Please. Reach out for help. Reach for a friend. A neighbour. A professional. Reach anywhere. Someone will be there to take your hand, I promise, they will. So. Time to get googling for your local helpline. Because, actually…you really do got this. You do. And with a bit of help…you will remember how to roar again. )
Speak your truth. It’s really quite simple when you think about it, isn’t it? So why, then, do we—us human folk—have so many issues following through? I don’t want you, for a moment, to think that this wisdom I’m about to share is coming from a place of knowing because it’s not. Part of my truth is this: I know nothing for certain. All I know is my world; who I was then, who I am now, and who I want to be.
I know music moves me. I know I love sunshine and rainbows, pig-tails and overalls. I know I feel the overwhelming need to offer the tradesman in the lounge room the left-over fried rice because I so strongly believe in the magic of kindness. And, most importantly…I know I’m finally ready to speak my truth.
About all of it.
To anyone who cares enough to listen and hear.
We’re all different, aren’t we, us small children in adult bodies (and I really do think that’s what we are.) We’re all so gloriously odd, so delightfully unique—how could we ever have one truth? Love, I’m pretty sure, is the one truth that we all share. So why do we insist on judging each other for daring to be different?
One size fits all? It’s a mentality that’s wounded me. And it’s a mentality that’s wounded us, as a people, I’m going to be so bold as to say. How many of us go through life being just exactly who we are, without being influenced by others? None of us. Not-one-of-us. This is the world we’ve been born into. A world that, thus far, has been content with the game of following the leader: fashion trends, popular music—one size fits all (or at least, large groups of us).
I understand that I’m not saying anything new, here. But this is something that’s been on my mind, of late, so I felt it was important to share with you all. Because a society that thinks from a limited perspective is a buzz-kill that I’m just not sure I want to do anymore. Guys. Isn’t life far too short to suffer from any kind of bullshit, at all? (Omg. Truth.)
It has taken thirty-five years for me to find myself beneath the mud of other people’s louder noises. And the scary thing is that unless the world unclogs its drain pipes, clears away some of the icky sticky mess I’ve been wading in for far too long…I’ll probably get lost again. And again. And again.
I sense things are changing, though. As a collective, we seem to be thinking about things a little more, acting with our hearts a little more, too, maybe. That’s been nice to see, and it gives me so much faith that us humans really can turn all the muddy business around. If we’ve been able to unite in the name of fashion and pop-culture, then we will unite in the name of humanity, of course we bloody will. We’ve got this. Let’s do it.
Let’s do it so that our kids won’t have to look around and wonder if they’re allowed to be who they really are. Let’s show them that they are allowed to speak their truth. Simple. Surely there is nothing more wonderfully wonderful than that kind of freedom.