Packing the Poop Chute

Since my last post I bid good riddance to 2013 and the year of the slippery snake, and welcomed 2014 and the year of the wood horse (let's hope it's not the Trojan variety).

My mind slipped into a vortex of possibilities and I became flooded with big picture questions such as - What to do next? Finish what I've started? Explore new avenues? Close doors on the past? Open new doors to the future? What shall I make for lunch?

My husband's mantra is, "Why choose? Have it all" - to which I often subscribe to.

However with so much swirling in my head I needed time to let things settle, become clear, and take steps to prioritise and organise my 'Jumps'. With that came a wave of anxiety. Some may say, "I packed my dacks" others, "I sh*t my pants" whereas I've created a new term for this uncomfortableness that precedes impending change, hard work and leaps into the unknown - "I packed my poop chute!"

... Actually, I'm still packing...

While poop is often used to indicate one's mishaps or nervousness, its most obvious definition is putrid waste. As for the chute, it's a device that slows the motion of an object through an atmosphere by creating drag.

So in a nutshell, I have been shoving a whole lot of useless crap into something that I believe will save me, but in reality is dragging me back and slowly delivering me to where I first started.

How have I not noticed this?

It's time for me to let go of my chute. Completely. Forever.

I am still preparing to jump, only instead of packing my poop chute - I am learning to strengthen my wings. It's time to start flying.

Until our next cuppa, look at how you seek protection and ask yourself, "Is this really a hinderance?"

- Grace xxoo

ps. A big congratulations to Donald Ridley who did his first water slide in Bali last year at age 44. You rock! (I too did my first ever water slide last year at age 42. So we have something else in common)

pps. A big thank you to Amber who stopped me in Adelaide last week and told me to keep writing.

ppps. An even BIGGER thank you to you if you've read this far. Just knowing you're here keeps me inspired xo

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Beyond Project Grace 2010

After much contemplation, I declare that Project Grace 2010, the blog, has come to its timely end.

It was not an easy decision and, at first, was hard to let go. However there were a number of factors that made the way clear.

January 1st, 2011 seemed like an obvious expiration date for a 2010 project and I realised that continuing with it would have diluted its significance and potentially morph it into something else.

I concluded that Project Grace 2010 needed to be honoured and shine in cyberspace as a stand alone star. Had I proceeded to use it as a daily blog, I risked overshadowing the project itself. I could not allow this. I owe so much to it.

You see, Project Grace 2010 saved my life. When I reflect on how lost I felt the day I started, I realised I have conquered a mountain - Mt. Fabulous At Forty in fact. I have gained so many insights and in many ways have learned more in its 9-month duration than I did in the 39-years leading up to it. It gave me perspective, resolution, confidence, self worth and an enormous sense of purpose. I am forever grateful.

In its wake, there was an empty space. A void I couldn't live with. So I started something new. Something that would give me as much purpose and passion as Project Grace 2010. I like to think of it as my project's offspring - which makes perfect sense seeing the gestation period was exactly 9 months.

So without further ado, I am delighted to introduce you to Trailing Grace.

Trailing Grace is my new blog sans expiry date. I invite to join me at my new cyber home and continue to share my journey as I travel through life's peaks and troughs. This evolving new space is destined to have many virtual rooms, though at this stage is a little stark and needs an interior decorator (aka me) to get to work on it pronto.

Until we meet again at my new abode, thank you, thank you, THANK YOU.

Grace xx

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The last hour

It is the last hour of 2010 and I am sitting in the passenger seat thumbing this post.

The last 24 hours have been an apt reflection of what this year has been like for me; full of ups and downs, reactions and insights, conflicts and resolutions.

I am happy to say that I am at peace.

Tonight we opted to escape the new year madness and, after driving around for 90 minutes, Patrick and I created our own magic.

We decided that having kebabs and Champagne by the quiet shores nearby Melbourne's shipping docks would be the perfect way to end a perfectly imperfect year. And indeed it was - though we did swap the bubbles for organic orange juice.

With the clock ticking, the new year is but a few minutes away. Can a project dated 2010 continue into 2011?

I have decided not to answer straight away. I am taking a few days off and let the new year settle into my bones. Whatever I decide, be rest assured that I will let you know.

As midnight draws nearer, all I feel now is enormous gratitude. Thank you for lending me your ears and giving me a voice. Know that you have been instrumental in putting Humpty Dumpty together again.

This greatest reveal of Project Grace 2010 has been that my mojo was never lost. It was simply buried under years of emotional garbage, which took 9 months of regular trips to the dumpster (aka blog) to eliminate.

I feel stronger, clearer, focused and committed. There is structure, strategy and security in my renewed optimism.

Until next year, eliminate your emotional garbage regularly so that your mojo is within easy access.

Grace xx

PS. Have an amazing 2011. May it be full of love, happiness and exciting goals that will challenge and reward you. Don't be shy to embark on your own personal project and share it with the world... or at least me :-)

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Child's Play

Another busy day and another short blog post. Only this time I'm aware of the pitfalls that follow too many shallow posts.

I could have skipped a day, however I've come to value the importance this daily practice has on my general well being.

So here I am with full awareness. Knowing the worthiness of daily blogging and the dangers of prolonged superficial posts.

As I settle into being a quadragenarian, consistency and balance are two attributes I've come to value above all. They are not only the hallmarks of a truly superb wine or single malt Islay, they are also the ingredients for a livable life.

Which brings me to the title of this post.

This afternoon I popped into visit my 3 year old niece who was playing in her watery sandpit. I couldn't help but marvel at her joy whenever she mastered the skillful maneuver of pouring water from one vessel into another without spilling a drop. This seemingly simple act required a consistent and balanced action, which she improved with each attempt.

What I had observed in fact was a metaphor for life, and that mastery is nothing more than child's play.

So with that I'll leave you with today's sign off...

Until tomorrow, may your journey into mastery be as fun-filled as child play... and as delicious as an Islay.

Grace xx

MTS [Moving Target Syndrome]

Does anyone else out there suffer MTS [Moving Target Syndrome]?

I thought I'd just invented that term, but a Google search revealed otherwise. Nonetheless I will continue with my own definition.

I was once very good at setting goals and achieving them. However over recent years my goals have become moving targets, which has made reaching them all the more difficult... if not impossible.

How did I contract MTS? Does knowing the answer solve the problem?

Hmmmm...

Let's first look at a couple of big goals that I achieved and explore why I was unstoppable in achieving them, perhaps that'll reveal some insights:

• Winning $15,000 in a Body Transformation Challenge
  
  I wanted to win the money for our home loan deposit, which was down $15,000 after a car purchase. I was highly motivated and I would chant "home loan deposit, home loan deposit, home loan deposit" to get me through tough times (like running in the rain, riding into headwinds and getting up at 5.00am). The goal was never about loosing weight - it was about buying a home, which we did five months after I'd won the money.
  
  
• Publishing 'Nubsy McNoodle Wanted A Poodle'
  
  I made a promise to two children who'd helped write the manuscript, that I would publish our work and launch it by Christmas. I found the process terrifying yet I would remember my promise and push through the challenges. In nine months and four days, our story was edited, illustrated, printed, bound and launched by Bud Tingwell on November 28th that year. Publishing that book was about making good on a promise to young siblings who had been repeatedly let down by their biological father. I wanted to restore their faith in people, and promises. It was never about the book. I have since written another four manuscripts and have illustrations for two of them, however I've not been able to take further steps in having them realised - perhaps I need to make a new promise(?)
  

Now that I have written all this down, it is crystal clear. A bit like staring into those magic 3D patterns and the picture appears.

Worthy goals are solid. They do not have moving targets. They mean so much to those that set them that no obstacle can stand in the way. The goal is the priority. It ignites a fiery passion that is worth sacrificing and striving for, no matter how big the challenges are.

It's been years since I've had a goal that has stirred me that way.

In the absence of a worthy goal I've made a whole lot of superficial ones and, truly, they've been as inspiring as choosing what type of coffee I want to drink. It's no wonder the targets are constantly moving - so are my coffee preferences.

Does MTS lie in the types goals I am setting myself?

This begs the next question (or questions) - Am I setting uninspiring goals because I've become too afraid to set big worthy ones? Or is it because I have no idea what I really want to do and why I want to do it? If the truth be told, the first answer is the honest one. I do have big goals, only I have become too scared to declare them and action them.

That's enough for now, I'm off to return a DVD (in the rain and without a car). I'm going to use this time to do a bit more soul searching. I need to revive some passion into my life, and that'll start with defining that illusive juicy goal. Perhaps then my MTS will resolve.

Until tomorrow, see where you can ignite passion into your life and declare a worthy goal.

Grace xx

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My head, my prison

You might be wondering, "What's happened to Grace?" "Why don't we have regular blog posts anymore?" "What is she doing, where has she been?"

While my physical body has been frolicking about with friends, learning what it is to be a Thermomix consultant and hosting Patrick's grandmother for a week, my mental self has been in a dark, self-imposed prison.

Since writing 'The Blues Strike Back' over a month ago, I haven't managed to shake them off. There have been moments of glee, but mostly it's been very unpleasant living with the contents of my head.

This morning I woke up and asked myself "Why am I like this again?" What happened on the 10th of October that has taken me from feeling happy for weeks on end, to feeling chronically anxious and despondent?

My first answer: I do not know.

Then I took time to reflect...

I noticed how my hectic schedule with two trips to Adelaide, a trip to Bali, a wedding, 3 significant birthdays and my upcoming 40th translated to blog posts becoming increasingly shallow. This has happened before, but I've been slow to recognise the pattern... and the impact.

The initial plan for Project Grace 2010 was that November 3rd (my 40th birthday) would mark the completion of the project. Yet it has been and gone and I feel completely incomplete. I've been hovering in shallow conversations and uncertainty for weeks, and it's only making matters worse.

Then last week, I had a meltdown. My anxiety levels had redlined and I rang a girlfriend in desperation. She called back when the household was asleep, so I tiptoed to the bathroom and spent over an hour atop of the toilet seat talking at low volume so Pat and Gran couldn't hear.

Releasing rancid thoughts had an instant calming effect. Though I'd been harbouring so many for so long that it took several conversations with a number of friends over a few days to liberate me (thank you Marsie, Special K, Tarls and mon Cherie).

This morning I felt lighter and more optimistic. As I roused from bed I had the biggest 'aha' moment...

Remember the post titled 'Virtual Shrink's Couch'? Well that's essentially what my blog is for me. Sure it's had a fair share of being a quiz corner, travel diary and fun house, but essentially it's a place where I can 'talk' about things as they occur, thus releasing it from the confines of my torturous head.

What an incredible insight.

I recall many moments of feeling instantly and permanently better after having written things that had plagued me for years, like:

• When 100% Equals FAIL
• Rising Star
• The 5 Stages of Grief

As soon as I had externalised what I was feeling, I was free. Amazing. I've learned that keeping poisonous thoughts in our heads is toxic and can cause self harm - which can be in the form of drinking to excess, eating illicit foods, taking mood altering substances and even go as far as self mutilation and suicide.

So in order to maintain my sanity, I am back.

When marvellous Mikey McCorry (who has been blogging for over 10 years) responded to 'I am Revolting' by saying "the only really important stakeholder is you", I now concur.

Having once thought it was self indulgent to dedicate time into making myself a happier 'me', I realise that other people benefit from my state of being. When I am happy and in a balanced state, I am a significantly better wife, daughter, sister, aunty, niece, friend and colleague. In order for me to be that way, I need to continually invest time into 'me'... and Project Grace 2010 is that investment.

Society is quick to slap the term 'self indulgent' on anyone bold enough to take time out for themselves. Yet the same society is bewildered over people abusing themselves and, or, taking their own lives. The fact of the matter is that we are humans and we need connection. Sharing ourselves - good and bad - is not only for our well being, but for others. When we share, we not only provide opportunities for insight, but we encourage and inspire others to do the same.

For me, my blog is my life saver. I make no apologies for being 'indulgent'. I am, at the end of each day, the most important stakeholder.

Until tomorrow, take stock of your life, be indulgent and set yourself free.

Grace xx

Bali Brief - Carrying Sand Bags

The headache cleared and in its absence came some perspective.

Scoffing at swan-fashioned towels and complaining about a not-so-white nightgown in a place where local women walk around carrying cement bags on their heads for not much more than $5 a day makes me feel like one of those indulgent pop stars that stipulate preposterous insistences like having all green M&Ms removed from the packet before serving. Ridiculous.

It's amazing how one's view is skewed when one is feeling unwell. Headaches have come and gone this trip. Possibly due to not replenishing the water I've been sweating out in this balmy heat.

I'm still on an emotional roller coaster about turning 40. I don't know what it is about this particular number that's playing havoc with my mind. It might have something to do with the fact that I planned my mother's surprise 40th at the tender age of 16... and here I am at the same milestone. It's bizarre.

Tour going well. Last day tomorrow

He loves me

After yesterday's open heart blog post, I arose this morning feeling post operative and rather sensitive. I was home alone for the most part of the day as Patrick had a 5am start. When he returned this afternoon I was eager to speed up the healing process and asked if he could help me get through this sticking point. He obliged.

I proceeded to explain that while I clearly knew I was having an overreaction to yesterday's bum burner incident, I was struggling to move on. After distilling my cocktail of emotions, I was able to identify the key feeling that started the domino effect. I felt 'forgotten', which in turn took me to the familiar story of being unloved.

While I cannot recall the initial incident that wrote the script, I can certainly remember the many occasions when this reaction played out like a theatrical drama. It would only take the the smallest trigger for me to translate it into 'they don't love me' and from then on it was lights, camera, action - the show was on.

As an adult I know that we all have moments when we say and do things that inadvertently hurt those we love, but that doesn't mean we no longer love them. This leads me to believe that our emotional scripts have been written by the hands of our younger selves LONG before we earned our pen licence. Something happened that we (with all the wisdom of a four year old) translated to mean that we're in some way unlovable, and from that moment on it become our truth.

Patrick was utterly brilliant this afternoon. Knowing that the genesis of my feelings occurred in 1970-something, he was able to create the space that enabled me to explore this freely.

Result? I was able to separate his actions from my recurring 'unlovable' saga and reach a point of peace. To top it all off, he put his arms around me in a reassuring embrace and said things that were for my ears only... and left me in the knowledge that he love me.

Until tomorrow, don't be afraid to ask those you love to help you through a sticking point.

Grace xx

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He loves me... he loves me not...

You may recognise the shoes in this photo from a previous post titled 'Happy Little Camper' however I can assure you that what I'm about to write is not of my shoe addiction. Instead, I'm going to explore my addiction to feeling unloved in response to mishaps.

Earlier today Patrick and I got caught up in our work and consequently skipped lunch. We were both starving as we were preparing to head out for an appointment, when Patrick raided the fridge in search for some 'fast' food (rare in our household).

He claimed one of my favourite smallgoods produced in the Barossa Valley that we affectionately call a 'bum burner'. This tasty savoury delight is made with natural wood smoke in the authentic German tradition and is in a word, delicious.

I'd be lucky to have had half a dozen bum burners in the last five years, so yesterday I decided to purchase two tasty treats - one for the road trip and one for when we returned home, which did just before midnight last night.

Before I had a chance to ask for a bite, Patrick had eaten the entire thing (it's only about five-bites worth). Thinking that he was playing a joke I said "Come on, I know you wouldn't do that - pass it over here," to which he replied, "I am not joking. I was so hungry I ate it all." Then after a small pause he said, "That was so selfish of me".

It was at that point that a javelin went straight into my heart and I became bombarded by the all too familiar "He doesn't love me" inner dialogue. I was so upset that I instantly felt like drowning myself in a bottle of wine, gorging myself on ten KFC hot wings followed by a cheeseburger, several chocolate bars and three ice creams (one of them would have been a Magnum) all while smoking an entire packet of cigarettes (I still have some from a carton I purchased duty free in Hong Kong in 2007 for such occasions).

As these feelings of rage, rejection and questioning whether being married to Patrick after such an act would be possible, I bit my tongue (metaphorically). I knew something was going on beneath the surface that was causing all these toxic emotions. Feeling like United States of Tara, I kept switching from observer to being in the midst of fury and dejection.

Even now as I type I feel myself switching through opposing emotions. One minute I am a calm, insightful wise woman and the next - a crazed axe murderer (lucky for Pat, we don't have an axe... I wonder if dental floss can do any damage?).

I may not have had such a strong reaction had it been the last apple Patrick took, as we can easily trot to the local shops and buy more... but we are talking about the last BUM BURNER, which we've not had in this particular household since moving here four years ago - nor is it so easy to replace (an 8-hour drive, or $100 return flight to get another one).

Had this not happened today, I may not have been alerted as to how strongly I react when my 'unloved' feelings are triggered. Since starting Project Grace 2010 200 posts ago (yessirree, you read correctly - yesterday marked my 200th post), I found that the number of these episodes have markedly reduced. So much so, that today really took me by surprise.

As soon as the trigger goes off I experience a sequence of feelings starting with sadness and loneliness, followed by rage and fury that rises in my belly. I then have an overwhelming urge to abuse myself with food, alcohol and cigarettes. The yearning is strong, the desire is magnetic.

Is this longing for intoxication born out of the need to numb the pain, say 'f#ck you' to the world or to slowly kill myself? At this stage I don't know, though my guess is that it is probably a combination of all three.

For many years I did not have the strength, will power or self love to resist. Today I did.

I still don't know why I translated Patrick's self-confessed act of selfishness to mean that he doesn't love me, therefore my addiction to feeling unloved in response to mishaps continues to remain a mystery. I will, however, keep a close eye on this addiction over coming months.

In the meantime I'm grateful for the insight I have gained- though there are moments when I'd like to be vengeful and get my hands on another bum burner, tie Patrick to a chair and make him watch me eat it one teeny bite at a time. Ah, the power of imagination - I feel better already.

Until tomorrow, be sure to dig deeper if your reactions are bigger than what you're reacting to.

Grace xx

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Encore what?

It appears that yesterday's post struck a chord with some of you, and for that I am delighted.

I received a number of encouraging responses, which did wonders for my mojo.

Then, unexpectedly, my confidence took a dive after having a head on collision with the following words, "I enjoy all of your posts ... however this is by far the best one yet."

One would think such a comment would set my self esteem soaring, and it did for a while. However the high was short lived. Just as one's body comes crashing down after the sugary rush of a chocolate bar, so too did my confidence after the sugary sweet words of that compliment.

What followed was an evening devoted to creating a follow up post that equalled or bettered the one before. This led to disturbing obsessive behaviours that had me frantically searching for ideas, inspiration, something (anything) that would make an apt encore. I looked everywhere except under my bed (which is full of shoes, so that might have been a good move).

After six hours of such nonsense, I had nothing. It is past midnight and I STILL don't know what to write. Then I remembered the Aero chocolate bar advertisement ,"It's the bubbles of nothing that make it really something." So perhaps that's it. This post is about nothing.

So why did I come up with nothing today, when I really had something yesterday? Why did those words "best one yet" turn me into a fruit loop? Do musicians with No.1 hits go through the same madness?

Talking about No.1 hits, did you know that I wrote a song over two years ago and was told by a music professional that it had all the hallmarks of a No.1 hit? Did you also know that I haven't taken any steps into producing it? That's right - I've done nothing. Perhaps there is a pattern here - hmmmm...

Until tomorrow, I'd be grateful to you if you had any insights for me.

Grace xx

PS. It's just gone 1am here and Skippy the Bush Kangaroo is just starting. I can't believe it's still aired on TV - how fantastically retro is that? Oooooh the sexy helicopter pilot just crossed the screen, I once had a crush on him. Yay for Skippy!

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My Dad, my hero

Yesterday we celebrated Father's Day.

I realise how lucky I am that my relationship with my father has prospered over the years, though it was not always that way.

My father and I both share a strong will, which at times had us locking horns - especially during my adolescence.

Distance made our hearts grow fonder when, at the age of 21, I moved to London. During the second year of my stay, Dad came to visit me (pictured above) and we had a great time being tourists together. I found it wonderful to connect with him in a way that was foreign to me and made me feel 'grown up'.

At the end of my two-year sojourn, I left London to live in the South Australian country town of Gawler (between Adelaide and the Barossa Valley) for a further six years before returning to Melbourne aged 29. Being on the cusp of the big 3-0, I thought I was well and truly grown up (haha, how wrong I was). So you could imagine how utterly perplexed I was to find myself behaving like I was 15 again.

WHAT THE?

I distinctly remember looking into the mirror and asking myself "What are you doing? Why are you being like this?". Somehow I had regressed. What happened between London and returning home?

I figured that being in new surroundings was like a clean slate. There's no history, no triggers and you can create something new - a bit like building a new home. Find a patch of land and start from scratch.

However I had come home to a place that was steeped in history, old patters, triggers and reactions. My teenage behaviour was as shocking to me as walking into a house with original mission brown cupboards and lime green Formica bench tops - it was SO OUTDATED. I needed to renovate and refurbish my relationship with father.

From that moment I got to work. I started peeling off the wallpaper - the facade of what I saw my father to be, and revealed the human being beneath. I saw a little boy who grew up to be a man. I sensed someone who had dreams and disappointments, elation and sadness, courage and fear, loneliness and joy, mistakes and triumphs. Someone not at all too different to me.

We expect so much from our parents and I don't think many of us stop and realise they are just human beings. We are particularly unforgiving of their shortcomings, especially in relation to us, our family and upbringing. We expect them to be faultless, and yet we begrudge anyone else having such unrealistic expectations of us.

So today, post Father's Day, I'd like to make a special tribute to my dad.

Dad, thank you for not being so hard on me as I have been on you. Thank you for forgiving me, loving me and accepting me, despite my many erroneous ways. Thank you for giving me a second, third, fourth and fifth chance (and any more I may have missed). Thank you for enabling our relationship to grow. I am so proud of you, for all your inventions, your creative solutions and all that you have achieved. You are a genius, you are my hero, and I love you.

Until tomorrow, remember that your parents are human beings and we didn't come with an instruction manual.

Grace xx

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Bending over backwards & the art of flexibility

If there's one thing that I've learned this last decade is that it pays to be flexible.

Bending over backwards can be rewarding - it can win you a cocktail in a Fijian limbo competition (pictured right, and yes that is me circa 1998), not to mention give you opportunities in life that you could never have imagined.

Having flexibility means you can alter your course to navigate through life's opportunities, detours and roadblocks - however there's an art to it.

Excessive flexibility could translate into not having enough structure. It could pose as many problems as being too rigid. Questioning the degree of my flexibility, is where I'm at right now.

Have I been too flexible? Is my voyage through life's milestones taking much longer than it should? I will be turning 40 in exactly two months time and I am nowhere near where I thought I'd be at this age. No children, no career that I'm passionate about (though lots of little jobs that I am) and no place that feels like home.

Yet on the flip side, I have had so many amazing life experiences that I would not trade for the world. I have little possessions of value, yet my memory bank is rich with priceless treasures and so too are my photo albums. I am also surrounded by those I love and who love me - hence my heart is equally abundant.

I remember having an epiphany when I saw my grandfather in his aged care facility just a few months before he passed. He had nothing left. No possessions other than his clothes and a few photos, no occupation that he was passionate about and no place that felt like home. He did however, have his family, memories and stories. In the end, experiences and the people in his life accounted for more than things.

While I have no intention of departing this earth anytime soon, I am at a crossroads in terms of where I want to go and what I want to do.

On one hand I am completely intoxicated over the thought of being in Europe every summer to host cycling tours and visiting Asia on the way home. Yet on the other, I am wondering that if I don't have any children (my next option would be to pursue adoption), what will become of my maternal love and who will I tell my stories to? Perhaps you reading this blog will do.

Until tomorrow, be sure to find the balance between over-flexibility and rigidity... then tell me about it.

Grace xx

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Cat out of the bag

Tonight I watched Catwoman for the first time.

Sure it's been 6 years since it was released, so you'd be forgiven for thinking that I'm a bit behind the eight ball in the movie watching department.

Truth be told, I may have never seen it had it not been in a stack of DVD's loaned to us from a gorgeous friend whose birthday it happens to be tomorrow (you know who you are, happy birthday me-2).

True to the superhero genre there's a moral to the story, which you may have known but forgotten because it was so long ago since you saw, heard or read about the film. So I'll bring it upon myself to remind you.

Catwoman is revived from death by the breath of an Egyptian temple cat (I don't think it's a true story) and is given a second chance at life (my bet is that she has seven more chances if she blows it), along with a few superpowers like moving at lightening speed and climbing up walls (I'll try and stop interrupting now). She frees herself from a metaphorical cage that bound her in her former life so she's free in her new life.

In some way, Catwoman reflects us all. We have desires to free ourselves from what binds us and death prompts us to take action (usually fear of death, near-death or death of someone near us - not actual death then revival by cat's breath - the latter is somewhat unusual).

In 2004, after two close family deaths, Patrick and I resigned from our jobs and embarked on a 355-day trip around the world. No cat's breath, but death did change the course our lives.

Back to Catwoman.

The movie highlighted something we can all relate to. We have many facets, which fall into two distinct sides - the good and bad (some say there are three, the ugly - but that's ANOTHER story, ahem, movie). According to Catwoman, the key is to accept all of who we are for only then can we be free - and with freedom, comes power.

This reminded me of a post I did some time ago called The Gemini Within - do you remember? (feel free to read again and refresh your memory). Since writing that piece, I have been more accepting of myself and as a result have been feeling more free. I guess now I just have to observe when the 'power' kicks in.

Until tomorrow, remember there are life lessons all around us - even in
6 year old films. Now set yourself free and find your power! Meow. Purrrrrrrrr.

Grace xx

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Mission Defrostible

A few years ago, we inherited a 1970-something bar fridge complete with lovely faux woodgrain exterior.

Bordering between funky and f'ugly, we were delighted to welcome this vintage addition into our bohemian abode.

Over the last few years, our inheritance grew a rather spectacular iceberg.

What started out as a 'frosty bit' soon took over the entire top left corner until we could no longer close the door.

The funny thing about all of this, is that it all seemed to have happened overnight. One day we could close the door and the next day we couldn't.

We set to work on defrosting our little brown box by leaving the door open for 24-hours. However our chilly weather, combined with our crappy heating, meant there was very little defrosting to be had.

So this morning, it was time to bring out the big guns. My Turbo 1500 hairdryer. Yeah baby.

As I watched the monster iceberg melt away I couldn't help thinking that what I was witnessing was a metaphor for what many of us do to ourselves as we navigate our way through life. Sadly, some of us develop so many layers over time that we just get lost (just as I did prior to Project Grace 2010 - and my ice-cube tray prior to the Turbo 1500).

Whether we wrap our bodies in fat or our hearts in ice, the layering process is slow and barely noticeable. Bit by bit, one day at a time, we have the capacity to create a monolithic barrier that impedes our ability to do up the top button of our trousers or shed a tear when we hurt someone we love. Ultimately, it costs us our happiness, freedom of self expression and our sense of self.

If we're lucky, we'll recognise this as a 'malfunction'. At that point, we can get to work on melting away our barricades. It doesn't matter whether we opt for the patient 'slowly-but-surely' method or take the express 'it-has-to-happen-NOW' approach, so long as we alter the conditions and do what we need to do to restore ourselves - just like your's truly... and my little brown fridge.

Until tomorrow, be sure to melt away whatever's obstructing your life.

Grace xx

PS. Just for the record, I've taken the patient 'slowly-but-surely' approach for longer lasting results [ting] (That was supposed to be a sound effect. Now imagine that with a white sparkle reflecting off my smile and you've got me summed me up).

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The first sign of insanity

Have you ever heard people saying that talking to yourself is the first sign of insanity? Then a wise guy might add "It isn't the talking to yourself you have to worry about, it is the answering yourself back."

Well tonight I learned that talking to yourself is not as poco loco as 'they' would have you think.

We attended a rather fascinating sports psychology seminar this evening and discovered the importance of self talking. It can either be good for you (positive self talking) or bad (negative self talking).

I had a huge lightbulb moment when I realised how often I berate myself for not being perfect (remember how I grew up thinking that 99% equals fail?)

I habitually make negative (bordering abusive) comments towards myself when I fall short of the mark. Apparently this kind of carry on is not useful for achieving goals (or happiness). Nor is not uncommon for overachievers.

So with this new insight into my psyche, along with skills to counteract the ill effects of such self-abusive comments, I am ready willing and able to take action. It's time to switch the inner dialogue from auto pilot to manual, and take over the helm. With Captain Grace Champion at the wheel, I'll be turning that damaging negative chatter to a positive reinforcing weapon of mass construction. You just watch this space.

I am quite excited by the thought of what potential this new way of being could unleash... but then again my current state of excitement could also be attributed to the sound of the rain falling (see yesterday's post if the latter comment makes absolutely no sense to you).

Until tomorrow, be rest assured that talking to yourself is not a sign of insanity so long as you keep it positive - and agreeable.

Grace xx

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One brick at a time

This photo is rather symbolic of my journey.

Brick by brick, I built a wall around me till I could no longer function. Thankfully, I woke up one day and decided I needed to take action before my 40th birthday (3rd November) and Project Grace 2010 was born.

I reached in and over five months of conscious effort and daily blogging (minus the media blackout in France), I've managed to pull myself out.

It's not over yet, I still have 11-weeks to go.

Here I stand on the outside and am covered in metaphorical dust. I still have some cleaning up to do, but for the most part - I am out.

The big question is, why did I build the wall in the first instance?

In short, it was to protect myself. What I didn't realise was that in the process, I had imprisoned myself.

Project Grace 2010 has been a process of realisation, liberation and transformation. Brick by brick I have removed the confines of my self-imprisonment and for the first time in a long time, I am feeling free. Free to be me and create a life that I want to live.

Tomorrow we set off once again, only this time we'll remain within Australia. We are heading off to Adelaide via the Great Ocean Road to do yet another reconnaissance. Only this time it is for a tour de south east Australia, which is scheduled for Easter 2011.

I know things have changed from the inside when I return from an overseas trip and I am happy to be home. Despite having returned from sunny Europe and Malaysia to a cold raining Melbourne, I am still smiling. My bags are unpacked, the washing is up to date and plans are in action. Instead of falling into a familiar depressed slump, I am excited about future projects. I cannot sit still.

Until tomorrow, remember that deconstructing a brick wall is done in the same way as constructing it - one brick at a time.

Grace xx

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Smoke and Mirrors

I think I speak on behalf of most human beings when I say "When we are young, we are most impressionable".

We are, aren't we?

We're eager to light up so we can be as cool and sophisticated as those older than us, despite our initial response being cough, cough, splatter, "yuck!"

We spend hours in front of the mirror with ten different hair products aiming to replicate that impossibly stylish look that is sported by our teen screen idols -not to mention applying layers of make up to hide our blemishes and mask who we really are.

We turn to methods of pulling hairs out by their roots in order to have smooth silky skin for longer, despite the excruciating pain we endure to achieve such carnal beauty. To top it all off we mask our natural youthful aromas by spraying an assortment of scents, everything from cheap all over body deodorants to expensive French perfumes.

If you're lucky, there'll come a time when you meet someone who changes your way of thinking - forever. Such a time occurred in 1992 when I shared a house with six fresh-faced Londoners in the south east borough of Lewisham.

I met a young lad named Alan (pictured) who turned my attention to natural beauty. I was astounded to learn that he did not care for the overwhelming pungency of perfume no matter how expensive it was. He was not repulsed by female bodily hair and he preferred women without make up and overdone hairstyles. Wow.

Having shared the same abode with Alan for some time, I began to relax in my body and feel confident to walk out the door sans make up and avec a few strands of rogue hair. I was no longer ashamed of being natural.

In case you're wondering, Alan and I shared a purely platonic friendship despite the fact that I thought he was rather dishy at the time.

So for those of you who are inspired by the fact that I'm comfortable in my own skin, you now know how I reached that point. And for that, I thank Mr. Alan.

Until tomorrow, give thanks to those who have changed your life for the better.

Grace xx

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In the land of merlions and monsoon

So here I am in Singapore, the land of merlions, monsoon and the best ever black pepper crab.

Though it's technically not monsoon season, it appears someone forgot to tell the rain gods about that today as it has not stopped pouring since I touched down (Singapouring for that matter - ooooooh, bad joke - I'm delirious!).

My visions of lazing poolside with my new book "Petite Anglaise" did not come into fruition today. Instead I collapsed into bed near noon local time and roused six hours later when Pat got in from his flight.

Yes we're like royalty flying separately. I've made several jokes about having the eleven secret herbs and spices to a happy life but didn't get so much as a chuckle. It appears that failing to pursue a career in stand up comedy was wise.

Our hosts and dear friends Marc and Louise, who also own the Swiss chalet we stayed in a month ago, have got the bubbles on ice and we are about to celebrate life. I just love that. There's nothing more precious or more worthy of a Champagne celebration than now.

As I reflect on my last six weeks, I realise that there have been a number of nows worth celebrating... and if I didn't know it then, I know it now. I will raise a glass and nostalgically toast to what I have deemed to be an amazing experience - operating a tour during Le Tour de France.

I am pleased to announce that I've been invited back again next year and cannot be more delighted with that outcome. The next few days for me are about settling and setting sights on my future.

Until tomorrow, be sure to celebrate now with bubbles - be it Champagne or the bath kind.

Grace xx

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Emotional First Aid

Do you remember the post I did in April titled When 99% Equals Fail? Well it all came back to me today as I sat a theory test for my St. John's First Aid course.

I was a little nervous when the exam booklet was placed in front of me. The initial uneasiness grew to a nagging anxious feeling that bothered me.

Perhaps haunted or harassed are more apt descriptors.

Would I get 99% AGAIN?

I wondered whether I could ever shake it off. The fear of failing by 1%. I started thinking of how today's story would end. Would it be a tale of triumph or woes of disappointment.

As I progressed through the questions, I began to feel more and more confident that I was indeed doing well. But the more confident I felt, the more doubtful I became. It was an emotional paradox. I was edging close to attaining a perfect score (I could feel it in my waters) and yet one simple or silly mistake could shatter my joy.

Then a miracle happened.

I remembered that I'm in the midst of a metamorphosis. My transformation yet to be complete, but near enough to know that my new attitude is about focusing on the 1%ers as gains as opposed to 99% equals fail. The moment I had this realisation, my shoulders relaxed, my breathing calmed and I continued to the end without further anxiety.

I was the second person to hand in their paper. I proceeded to the lavatory and upon returning, was called over to the examiner's desk. Unsure what to expect, I approached to find out that my paper had been marked during my brief exit. He was all too eager to announce that I had scored 100%.

I was thrilled.

The perfect result was more to do with me conducting emotional first aid on myself than my score on the first aid exam. I recognised the signs and symptoms of an old pattern playing out and was able to stop the infection before it consumed and disabled me. This is progress. Major progress. Thankfully, 'tis also a tale of triumph.

Until tomorrow, administer first aid at the first sign of infection.

Grace xx

PS. Happy 40th Birthday to my cousin Michael... I'm not far behind you!

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Celebrating those at Stage IIII/ - Acceptance

This is the stage that we resist from day one.

WE DO NO WANT TO ACCEPT whatever has caused our grief, be it death, illness, disease, tragedy, loss or change.

We want it undone.

We fight it, resist, do anything to avoid it. We bury our head in the sand (denial), fight it tooth and nail for it is so unfair (anger), plead and beg for it to be reversed and go away (bargaining), until we become completely depleted and despondent (depression).

Then one day, we succumb (acceptance).

Does that mean we've given up?

At first, I thought it did - and that's why I fought against it so much. I have since invented a new meaning for acceptance.

Acceptance is giving up the struggle, but not the hope. It doesn't mean you have to like what has caused you grief, but you can live with it. It's about choosing to be okay. It's about moving on. It's about discovering new meanings to life that did not exist before.

Until tomorrow, may we have compassion for all those who are at various stages of grieving. Wishing you a speedy journey to stage five.

Grace xx