The power of attitude and the ignorance of youth

I stumbled across a bunch of old photos when I was organising my house a few months ago. Out of all the hundreds (if not thousands) of photos spanning four decades, the ones that struck me the most were those taken in London - where I lived from 1992 to 1994. Such attitude.

I was 21 years young when I booked a one-way flight to the capital of our mother country, much to the distress of my parents. It was an impulsive decision made in attempt to escape my circumstances at the time (which I don't want to get into at this stage).

I had gone to a travel agent one morning to make an enquiry, and had the ticket booked and paid for by that afternoon.

When I returned home to inform my parents of my impending departure, their concerns for me were obvious. "What are you going to do when you get there? Where are you going to live? How will you find a job?" "Isn't this a little too sudden?" "Are you prepared?" were some of the many questions fired at me.

My answers were plain and simple. "I'll get there and make it up as I go. I'll find a place to live. I'll get myself a job. I'll work it out."

Within two weeks of that conversation, I was off.

I arrived in London after having spent a fortnight in Los Angeles with my gorgeous friend Gabriella, who was studying acting in Hollywood. We had an amazing time in sunny California, which was a stark contrast to what I faced in the UK - a place and population that was cold, miserable and overly grey.

I HATED being there and invested in many tearful ISD telephone conversations with Gabri, postulating ways I could return to LA without a green card or money for an airfare. I went so far as to drink a gazillion Diet Cokes per day in order to win a trip to La-La land, but to no avail. Gabri assured me that I would fall in love with London as she had done years before.

She was right. I did fall in love.

It all began on a sunny spring day when I found a room advertised in the 'Loot' for £50 a week (all inclusive - bargain!). I turned into Waller Road in London's South East, hopeful that this might be the place I'd be calling home. I was greeted by the funkiest music my Top 40 ears had ever heard and the cheerful face of DJ-in-the-making Alan, one of the six students that occupied the quintessential London terraced house.

After a brief tour, I became the seventh roommate and my world would completely transform. It was a turning point in my life, one that has carved me into the interesting albeit quirky person I am today. If it weren't for my 'I'll be alright' attitude that partnered my youthful ignorance, I'd have never had the courage to purchase that one-way ticket in the first instance.

Yes it was all a little too sudden, and no I wasn't all that well prepared... but I did find a place to live, I got myself a job and found lots to do. I made it up as I went along and I worked things out.

Nineteen years later I find myself reflecting on the person I was back then. I'd like to borrow some of that youthful ignorance and attitude to get me through a sticking point right now. Is that appropriate or is it like a mother borrowing her young daughter's jeans? I guess it depends on the jeans. Hmm.... perhaps that's another blog post.

Until tomorrow, let the power of attitude and ignorance work for you now as it did back you know when.

Grace xx

PS. I still love London and the amazing people I met there. It'll always remain as a sacred place in my heart for all the personal growth that occurred there. If I were a butterfly, London was my chrysalis.

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Monday Morning in Melrose

Melrose main street

Isn't amazing how a few days in a quaint country town can revive one's spirit and soothe a restless soul?

Since arriving here four days ago, I have gone from an uptight frustrated quasi iPhone user to a chilled out, happy-go-lucky bloggess.

Yes, I'm back... with gusto. Now I have this new technology under my wings, there's no stopping me - not even remote Australian country towns, or French hotels with crappy internet connections for that matter.

There's something empowering about persisting through difficult, upsetting and frustrating situations to reach a level of peace, tranquility and accomplishment. 

Despite wanting to give up on several occasions I kept pushing on, albeit reluctantly. Now I am glad that I did.

Interestingly, the same thing happened yesterday whilst out on a 12.2km (7.58mi) return hike to the summit of Mt. Remarkable. 

Striding alongside two gorgeous gazelles with legs up to their armpits and looking fitter than images of Bruce Lee, I felt completely out of my league. My heart just about leapt out of my mouth as we raced up the fist steep incline and I was ready to pull out. But I didn't. 

Result? 

I made it to the summit in one piece and returned to base within 3.5hours (2 less than the estimated time and in keeping pace with the gazelles). Though admittedly, I did not return in the same condition I left. I was distracted by a cute bunch of kids and tripped over a rock, landing flat on my boobs. Consequently I have some very sore body parts and bloody battle wounds. Ouch.

Despite all that, I am completely chuffed with myself for enduring and completing such an achievement. While my body may be aching, my soul is soaring.

Until tomorrow, persist through your challenges and rise to the top... even if you do fall over in the process.

Grace xx

Dog rescues dog on highway - or does he?

I came across an extraordinary video today where a superhero of the canine species, risked his life to save a fellow pooch... or so that's what I thought.

When I went to locate the video on YouTube, I came across two conflicting stories.

One documented that the rescued pooch was in fact already dead, whereas another stated that he survived the ordeal.

More than anything, I want to believe the happy ending. However after watching the video several thousand times, I think the lifelessness of the body says it all.

Then it made me wonder - does the ending make any difference to the heroic act of the super pooch? Are we so addicted to happy endings (courtesy of Hollywood blockbuster movies) that we will misconstrue tales, or blatantly lie, in order to make a story worth telling? Is this what we do when we recount stories to our children? And if so, is that okay?

So many questions.

Have a look at the two versions of the story below and let me know what you think on the comments section below. I'd love to hear your thoughts.

Video #1 - The first one I saw

Video #2 - The second one I came across on YouTube

Until tomorrow, share your thoughts freely and without the need to lie.

Grace xx

ps. I have no idea whether the dogs are male or female, but saying 'he' sounded so much better than 'it'. The next animal story will be a 'she' (like the cat's mother) to balance the scales.

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Passing the Torch

Some years ago - a decade actually - I was in charge of promoting the Sydney 2000 Olympic Torch Relay in the South Australian country town of Gawler.

It all came about after volunteering at the Gawler Visitor Centre under Brian Sambell, who is now the town's Mayor (oh yeah, I know people in high places - don't you worry about that).

The aim was to raise community awareness and get people involved in nominating local heros to be community torchbearers. It was a great project and I enthusiastically embraced it.

In order to start the ball rolling, I suggested to my then boyfriend (now husband) Patrick to nominate his grandmother Lil Ruffle for the first story. Lil (aka Gran) is such an inspiration and I intend to dedicate an entire post to her. In the meantime, let's just say that she is 86 years young and still cycles on the road for over 100km (62miles) per week.

Patrick was happy to be my 'guinea pig' and his nomination for Gran was my first media story, complete with giant publicity photo, to be published in The Bunyip newspaper. It was a personal victory for me, but what followed was more than I could have ever anticipated.

Gran was selected to be a community torchbearer at the age of 76. Her goal was to run the entire distance (500m / a third of a mile) while holding the 1kg (2.2pound) torch high above her head. After 6 months of focused training in all conditions, she did it with ease - and was consequently televised on every news channel.

This morning I was passing the torch en route to the kitchen when it caught my eye. Though it has been standing there tall and proud ever since, I'd stopped noticing it and its significance. This time, however, it stopped me in my tracks and I began to reflect.

To be honest, I'm always on the lookout for blog fodder and this torch shone like a beacon today... most probably because IT IS a beacon.

I thought about how the torch came to be in our lives, its symbolism and what it has manifested. For a start, it was a dream come true and a just reward for an unsung local hero. Gran's friends flew over from Canada to watch her carry it, the family of four generations came together to celebrate it and Gran, eventually, got to own it.

The torch represents how the spark of an idea carried through can change the course of one's life and the life of those connected to them. It is also a potent reminder of how each person carries a flame that when touched, can ignite the flame of another - and to me, that flame is inspiration.

Just like passing the torch in Gran's kitchen, we erroneously walk past those that harbour inspirational flames that could potentially light up our lives. These people are our spouses, children, parents, grandparents, neighbours, family, friends and colleagues.

Until tomorrow, take time to reignite your flame with the flame of those around you.

Grace xx

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Brake Down

So here we are in a Lambourghini tractor workshop located in rural Victoria (I didn't even know Lambourghini made tractors), with our car jacked up.

We (as in Patrick and the tractor mechanic) are trying to find out what is causing an unhealthy grating noise when we apply our newly installed brakes.

I am sitting on my suitcase listening to the rain fall as I type on my laptop. Literally on my lap top.

In short, "Houston we have a problem."

Since embarking on this road trip two days ago, we seem to be encountering quite a few such problems. It's almost like the universe is deliberately halting our attempts to reach Adelaide this weekend.

Our first stall occurred in Apollo Bay when Patrick ran into bike trouble. He was putting together our friend's new Malvern Star MTB when he was challenged by the new 2011 model gear shifters. Long story short, a 10 minute job turned into a half-day affair.

We hit the road about five hours behind schedule only to be hindered a few hours down the road. We saw the aftermath of a head-on collision between an Italian stallion and a 4WD (SUV) full of Spaniards. Luckily there were no deaths or (obvious) serious injuries, however there was serious memory lapse in one of the victims who asked for his watch every two minutes. We did what all good samaritans do. Stopped, called emergency aid, warned oncoming traffic with flashing hazard lights and kept everybody calm until help arrived.

After standing in the wind and rain for over two hours, we did a handover to a policeman who took over the show and we were free to go.

We were both shaken up and decided to call it a night at Hotel Warrnambool - a very cool pub with sleeping quarters that have been funk-fully decorated. Our room was above the live band and despite being tired, we could not sleep with our bed vibrating to the jazz music. So we logged onto our computers to discover that our gorgeous friend Jo had a baby boy 10-weeks before he was due (we were actually going to Adelaide to surprise her for the baby shower on Sunday - but looks like she trumped us in the surprise stakes).

The band stopped after midnight and we finally went to sleep in what must have been the most comfortable bed in the world. Reluctantly, I arose this morning to start a new day, which has ultimately led to me tapping away to A Flock of Seagulls singing "I ran, I ran so far away" followed by John Farnham's "Give me a reason" - what do you think the universe is trying to tell us?

Until tomorrow, learn to slow down, pause and see the lighthearted moments in the moment - despite having reasons to run away.

Grace xx

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The upside down smile (© me 2003)

Yesterday we started our reconnaissance trip along the Great Ocean Road.

It rained all day, making the journey seem so much longer.

We spent the night at a friend's house and awoke to their spectacular view of the ocean. As I stepped outside to breathe in the fresh sea air, I was greeted by a rainbow (pictured above).

I just LOVE rainbows, don't you?

I've always thought them to be magic. They make the rain seem worthwhile, filling me with happiness and a sense of hope.

Seven and a half years ago, I had a wonderful 'aha' moment involving a rainbow. It was our wedding day and the heavens decided to open up the night before. The conditions had frightened off several other bridal parties who had also planned to marry at Launceston's Cataract Gorge. As a result, we ended up having the entire place to ourselves.

By the time I arrived by chair lift to our wedding tree, the rain petered out to a light sprinkle. It was the perfect opportunity for a rainbow to appear and soon after saying 'I do', one did. As we walked towards it, I declared my love for the colourful arch and asked my guests, "Do you know what a rainbow is?" Before they could respond I answered, "It's the upside down smile of all the people in heaven."

With that, I smiled back and said "thank you".

Until tomorrow, remember to smile back at your next sighting of the upside down smile.

Grace xx

PS. I had planned to write a children's book by this title (hence the © me 2003)... so you can say you heard it here first.

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Don't forget your toothpaste!

I spent most of yesterday working on several jobs.

One for a photographer, one for a magazine and one for the little boy who lives down the lane (AKA my husband).

I just love having a portable office. All I need is internet access and occasional power to recharge the batteries. Somehow working in Paris is so much more inspiring than when I'm in Tullamarine. I wonder why?

Tullamarine is home to Melbourne's international airport. It's a working class suburb that doesn't raise too much interest - unless of course you're a fan of Hollywood superstar Eric Bana, who grew up there (hopefully there's something in the water and yours truly might be the next big thing).

As a result of spending most of my day working, I really don't have much to tell. Unless of course strolling to one's local organic grocery store to purchase lunch ingredients is deemed worthy blog fodder.

It is?

Okay.

I ditched the Birkenstocks and Puma runners (AKA trainers) for a pair of black Colorado Mary-Jane heels for the excursion (comfortable and stylish). As I walked down the cobbled street (pictured in yesterday's post) I noticed the local market was packing up for the day "Bummer!" I thought, "I didn't know that it was on today".

I ended up consoling myself with a selection of delicious biodynamic produce that included pickled sardines (OMG delicious), the sweetest cherry tomatoes and the most amazing to-die-for Chèvre (goat's cheese). Being in France, I was obligated to wash it all down with a glass of vin rouge. Bliss.

So what's with the toothpaste? I virtually hear you ask. Well this is the funny bit. When I went to brush my teeth after lunch, I had to be sure I grabbed the toothpaste.

What do you mean? I know you're thinking.

Well the first time I went to brush my teeth in Paris, I had the most bizarre experience. I put the paste on the bristles and proceeded to brush my teeth only to have the most disgusting taste permeate throughout my entire mouth.

Baffled by this, I grabbed the tube to investigate further. Turned out I was brushing my teeth with Ayurvedic mosquito repellent - GROSS! My mind raced back to the moment I was packing my toiletries bag. I remember swapping my large tube for this smaller one thinking it would save me weight. Now, after purchasing real toothpaste at an insane $7.87 per tube, I have two tubes, a hole in my budget and no weight saved. Thankfully the mosquito repellent was all natural and non-toxic, but 100% horrible!

Until tomorrow, make sure your substitutions are suitable substitutes.

Grace xx

PS. As for the Mary-Jane heels, it must have been enough to pass as a local. The lady in the store spoke to me in fast and furious French. When I looked puzzled she spoke more slowly asking if I have just moved to Paris (in French). When I shook my head 'no', she continued in English. This local experience is exactly what I was after. Victory!

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Pop!

Okay, here it is... the moment we've all been waiting for...

In the early months of 2008 I called for a meeting with the national distributor of my first (and to this day, my only) children's book, 'Nubsy McNoodle Wanted A Poodle'.

My plan was to learn more about an industry I had just entered. I felt like a new girl at school and wanted to get the low down on how things worked. I was talking to an 'expert', someone who'd been in the industry for over 30-years. I was in good hands, or so I thought.

By now, I'm sure you know me well enough to envisage how bubbly I become when inspired. I have as much eagerness and enthusiasm as a child whose anticipating a visit by the Tooth Fairy. Despite being toothless and looking a little goofy - I AM EXCITED!

I walked into the office of a partner that I hadn't met before. We introduced ourselves before I proceeded to explain my plans for that year. I wanted to know cut off dates so I could plan the production of the next three titles, which I already had manuscripts for. My goal was to have them completed in time to be featured in catalogues, and in stores by Christmas.

He seemed bemused by my wide-eyed fervour and was quick to interject, asking "How many did you print?" to which I answered with smiley, "10,000 copies" (coming from a print packaging background, this was considered a small run in my realm). "Well that's 8,000 too many," he replied in a monotone voice.

That was it.

Pop!

That was when my happiness balloon burst (again).

It is only now with hindsight that I realise this was just another rendition of '99% Equals FAIL', and the feelings that accompanied the experience were identical to the primary instance. I was shattered. What's most interesting is that just as my maths went from bad to worse, until I chronically failed and eventually dumped the subject, my book sales seem to be taking the exact same path - down the gurgler.

Instead of dismissing what he said as merely one person's less than optimistic opinion, I made it mean something about me. I felt stupid and childish. I thought myself an idiot for believing that my work could be good enough to succeed in the publishing world. Though I tried to continue on believing in myself, it was forced. My conviction eroded to a point where I felt as gullible as the days I believed in the Tooth Fairy - who on Earth did I think I was?

Consequently, this has been a thorn in my side. This is where I'm stuck. I have 8,000 books (funny that...?) remaining and I have no energy, passion or spirit to do anything more about it. Just as I became known as the 'math's dummy' (which I now know is crazy considering at one point I got 99%), will I also become known as the author who printed 8,000 too many?

Right now, I still cannot face those 8,000 copies. I don't know what will happen to them (or the other three titles that have been in production for the last two and a half years). I'm hoping that just by letting it out, externalising it, will help the healing process. Perhaps one day it'll go 'click' and the path will become clear, for I have already started to realise I'm not bad at maths... so perhaps those 8,000 copies will turn out to be not too many after all.

Until tomorrow, may you only listen to those that serve you and dismiss those that don't.

Grace xx