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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Peek-a-boo

Sometimes I get so involved with what I'm doing that I barely come up for air, much less breakfast lunch or tea.

My skin becomes pale, the shadows under my eyes grow darker and I couldn't tell you what the weather is like outside.

I have no concept of time and can operate on as little as two hours sleep, night after night.

I become completely absorbed in the task at hand and nothing, or no one, can distract me. I am in a word, a hermit.

While I know this is not exactly healthy, I simply cannot tear myself away. This is where I am at right now and have been like this since Mission Defrostible, which took place three weeks ago.

Tomorrow this will change. I am leaving the confines of my four walls and heading to Adelaide for a week (Patrick is running MTB skills camps in Melrose, in the southern Flinders Ranges).

I have mixed feelings about this. While I'm looking forward to the fresh country air and reconnecting with loved ones, there's a part of me that just wants to continue with my mission to transform my living environment.

I am interested to see how this time away will impact my enthusiasm. Will it arrest the momentum or create a greater desire to finish off the job?

We will see.

Until tomorrow, be wary of spending too much time on your tasks at hand and be sure to come out of your confines to say peek-a-boo.

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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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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Practice makes perfect... or does it?

We were invited to dinner tonight to witness a spectacular firework practice for the upcoming Singapore National day, which takes place on Monday 9th August.

I found this to be a novel idea - a firework practice. It's a bit like a theatrical dress rehearsal only it's not limited to the 'in' crowd, for everybody and anybody can see it.

Today's practice was the fourth in preparation for Singapore's day of national pride. Yes, you read correctly, the FOURTH practice. I couldn't help wondering... how much practice does one need to prepare for a big event... and whether or not four is overkill.

Is it?

I ponder...

Have I become overly tainted by the all too Australian happy-go-lucky attitude? Have I adopted the 'she'll be right mate' mentality to a fault?

As much as I was truly grateful to witness this explosive display of colour and sparkly bling ten days prior the 'real' event, I couldn't help thinking that the element of surprise would be somewhat diminished by such a profuse act of practicing.

At that point of realisation, I simply had to ask the question - does practice make perfect? Which soon followed by - is perfection what we really want?

Unable to answer myself satisfactorily, I am handing over the question to you. Call it this Saturday's quiz if you will. All answers, thoughts and, or insights welcome.

Until tomorrow, remember that perfection is not necessarily perfect.

Grace xx

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Well, well...

Has your well ever run dry?

One day you wake up and find yourself...

1. without any energy, enthusiasm or drive
   
   
2. feeling compassionless when hearing someone spilling out their wounded heart (and all you want to do is book that waxing appointment you've been meaning to do since you started resembling a wooly mammoth)
   
   
3. without an ounce of patience, not even to wait for a child (or your partner) to finish their sentences
   
   
4. unable to withdraw cash out of an ATM, or pay for your shopping with the credit card (ouch!)
   
   
5. staring at the contents of you fridge and cannot think of a single meal to put together
   
   
6. spending two hours to come up for a idea for a blog and then another two hours to write it (no, I'm not exaggerating)
   
   
7. doing one, some or all of the above

Q. What do we do when our well has run dry?

A. We fill it up (hard answer, wasn't it? - not)

Q. How do we do that?

A. .....................................................................................................
(okay, now it's your turn. Aha, not so easy hey? Please write your answer in the comments section and we'll see where it leads)

Until tomorrow, find ways to help bloggers fill their wells.

Grace xx

Gandhi and Me

If I could meet anyone in the world, alive or dead, it would be Gandhi.

I would ask him what was he like as a child, and what did he imagine he would be when he grew up.

Did he have any idea he would lead India's independence? Would he have ever imagined his image would feature on the Indian Rupee?

And what about his philosophy, strength and will power - was it something he had since he was a little boy or did he develop it with age?

I wonder if he had moments of soul searching throughout his life or did he always know his path, his destiny if you will.

I also think of his parents - did they know from when he was a baby or a young child that he'd be an influential political and spiritual figure that changed the course of history?

I am so fascinated in how people become who they are - especially those who have made such a profound impact on our world. When I look at children I can't help wonder where their path will take them.

As for me, I always thought I was destined to be a part of something big - though till this day, I still don't know what that is. There's long been a restlessness in me, searching for my life's purpose. Sometimes I wonder whether I'm delusional, but then I'll read a numerology report or a personality appraisal that supports my intuitive feelings (of purpose, not delusion).

Back to Gandhi.

After our meeting, I would like to go for a walk with my new friend and tell him a few things about me, starting with the intriguing fact that I was born 1 century, 1 year, 1 month and 1 day after him.

Until tomorrow, may you find your life's purpose before talking to ghosts.

Grace xx

ps. Photo was taken at London's Madame Tussauds wax museum in 1992.

I am revolting!

HOLD ON!!! Before you rush off to send me soap, scrubs, perfumes and deodorants, I am actually referring to:

revolt |rɪˈvəʊlt|

verb

1. [intrans.] rise in rebellion

as opposed to:

2. [trans.] cause to feel disgust

Though I cannot guarantee this will avoid the onset of definition No.2, I'll do my best to prevent it.

So with reference to definition No.1, why am I revolting? Because, quite frankly, I have to save myself from the jaws of insanity.

You see... I'm beginning to feel like I am talking to myself, which I've heard is one of the first signs of going poco loco. When I go two days in a row without receiving a comment, I start loosing my mind!

Thoughts like, "That's it, it's all over... nobody likes it (me) anymore... I'm boring... I suck... what a waste of time (mine and everybody else's)... why am I doing this ridiculous blog anyway..." and it goes on and on and on. I'm millimetres away from rocking backwards and forwards, mumbling random abusive comments in very Tourette's-like impulses.

Seriously.

Why am I so desperate to have feedback? Is it because I lack belief in myself? What about the old adage, no news is good news. Should I assume that just because I haven't heard anything, that everything is a-okay? For me the opposite is true. When I don't hear anything, I assume the worst.

Is that wrong? Am I wrong? (happy to be wrong at this juncture)

According to new age literature, what we seek must come from within - which at first, I agreed with. But over time, I began to question that rationale - does that mean performers should not seek applause, dogs need not vie for treats, primary (junior) students forget about the gold star (or scratch and smell sticker, my all time favourite) and, here it comes... bloggers not want for comments?

One of the objectives of Project Grace 2010, is to be able to ask for what I want powerfully. Now this isn't easy for me, so it's going to take practice, practice, practice... and more practice.

So here it is, in writing (as I screw my face up and cringe as I type)...

I would like to receive at least one comment at the bottom of each blog. That means if you're the first, I am asking you to scare yourself and leave a comment (go on, you can do it, I know you can). Facebookers have an extra challenge of leaving a comment outside of our grey-blue friend - yep, we are upping the ante folks (Gaz, you're excused for the time being as you have enough frequent commenter points to fly you to Mexico).

Phew, done. Uncomfortable? Yes. As I said - practice, practice, practice.

Until tomorrow, practice asking for what you want, avoid insanity and bypass the revolting route.

Grace xx

Does every cloud have a silver lining? In memory of James Williamson

I'd planned to write a light-hearted upbeat piece after yesterday's pensive post.

I was looking at my current state of affairs, trying to find the funny side of having a parking ticket, overdue bill notice and a sink full of dishes.

No sooner did I come up with the title 'Dark side of the spoon' (which I thought was a stroke of genius) when I noticed Patrick staring at his phone, his face depleted of joy.

"James Williamson died at the Cape Epic" he said in a stunned, monotone.

"James? The same James we met at the Greek restaurant?"

"Yes, same James"

"WHAT????????"

Both in complete shock, our hearts sank. We were, and are, in disbelief.

Patrick and I met the wonderful, friendly, down-to-earth, sweet James one week before he was to fly to South Africa to compete in the Cape Epic. We were moved by James' gentle and joyful nature, vowing to catch up with him when he returned (you know when you meet someone special and say "I'd like to be friends with that person" and then imagine how you would form such a friendship? Well, that was our experience with James).

James (it's so hard to say) was 26 years of age and editor of Enduro magazine. He'd been a World Champion mountain biker, which I only found out today after Googling the cause (which is still unknown - he was unable to be roused by his team mate in the morning). James was so unassuming I had no idea he was a champion, and yet I'm not surprised that he was.

James was so, so, so lovely... and so, so, so young.

What I want to know is, does every cloud have a silver lining?

As much as I've searched, I just can't seem to find it today.

James was excited about his trip to South Africa, it was something he'd looked forward to for a long time. While we're expected to 'look at the bright side' of the situation and be thankful that he was happy and got to live out his dream, I can't help feel that this is all too premature. Someone so lovely is surely needed on Earth a little bit longer (if not a lot longer).

All I feel is sadness. Sadness and loss. Remarkable considering I'd only spent a few hours sitting across the table from him; such was the impression he'd left on me (I feel indulgent expressing my upset and cannot fathom what his girlfriend, family and friends are feeling right now).

Do we always have to see the bright side of everything? Can't we just be sad because some things are just plain sad. I totally appreciate how we don't want to get bogged by sorrow. I know we're encouraged to move on. I can see how being 'stuck' can play havoc with our lives. But surely it's okay to be sad when something like this happens, isn't it?

Sometimes I feel that constant optimism can be tiring and, to be honest, a little fake if we can't honour the times when things upset us.

While many new age dialogues are worthy of consideration, I question the subject of death. We're told that sadness comes from our attitude and the stories we tell ourselves. That by changing our meaning of death, we'd somehow change our emotional response to it. We're told there are cultures where death is celebrated - where are they? I've never seen them and wonder if it's all a myth.

What I have seen, are dogs lamenting over the loss of a loved one. I have heard their weeping wails, I have seen their long faces and I have felt their distress. I ask my self - is that because they have a negative attitude? Are they just responding to the stories they tell themselves? Do they need to change their meaning of death? My answer is - I think not.

I've concluded that it's okay to be upset by death. Dare I say, it's normal.

Sometimes, I think it's okay to not feel you have to be strong. I think it's okay to cry. I think it's okay to be sad. I think it's okay not to have explanations or answers. I think it's okay if things don't make sense. The secret is, not to get 'stuck' in the weakness, the tears, the sorrow, the unexplained un-knowingness and the senselessness.

There is a time for grief, a time for mourning, and a time for moving on.

To all the family, friends and colleagues of James Williamson, and to Niki, I feel for your loss. I hope your path to healing and resolve is swift. To James, may your spirit ride on forever.

Until tomorrow, a place in time where we assume we'll be...

Grace xx

What am I?...???

After breaking my butt yesterday (okay, it's not broken - it just feels that way) I went to see a sports masseur to see if the pain could be massaged away (as it turns out, it can't).

I was required to fill in a form for first-time patients. When I got to the question that asked for occupation (I immediately thought of my friend the 'professional opera singer' and had a chuckle to myself) I paused for a long while and wondered...

What am I?...???

I am rather tired of our society's necessity to label people - it's so constrictive.

Whether it be filling in forms or responding to the standard "so what do you do for a crust?" (it's one of the first questions you learn in a new language) I discovered that people are generally not interested in details, they just want a one word answer - a label, if you will.

Lately, I'd been using the label 'author' in the mild hope that it may spark an enthusiastic enquiry into what I'd authored (about a 10% strike rate in written forms - not that impressive - and about a 99% success rate in face to face conversation - better).

But truly, I'm MORE than that!

I'm also a digital creator, marketing director, production manager, event organiser, PR officer, performer, public speaker, graphic designer, copywriter, creative director, strategist, life artist, photographer and not to mention blogger extraordinaire! I am all these things and more.

As my pen hovered above the form, I thought about Project Grace 2010. If I am to create the me I want to be, then I'll start by 'labelling' myself accordingly. So with that, I penned the words: Self Expressionist.

Yes that's right, I am a Self Expressionist!

I occupy my time with all the things that make me ME.

So what is it that makes you YOU?

Are you over the labels that people place on you?

Do you want to create yourself to be what you want to be, rather than continue with what you're expected to be?

Would love to hear from you.

Until tomorrow, express yourself truthfully.

Grace xx

ps. In case you wanted to know more about today's picture (and even if you don't) - it's one of my book characters Nubsy McNoodle - she wanted to know what a Spoodle was, hence all the question marks.