Category Archives: life

Just a kiss.

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My last few blog-posts have been a little on the serious side, so today I’m ‘upping the fluff’ with talk of happiness and hearts, warm fuzzies, slow smiles and tingly anticipation. I’m talking about the power of a good kiss.

First, I must make an admission that goes to context. I love watching my dirty-little-secret show, ‘New Girl’. I say dirty-little-secret because, in general, I receive indulgent eyeball-rolls when I mention it. It’s a half hour ensemble comedy that people either love or hate, so I tend to keep my obsessive adoration of this show on the down-low.

‘New Girl’ recently featured one of the best on-screen kisses I’ve seen in a long time. The sort that makes you audibly sigh whilst watching it. Long-awaited, much-heralded and seriously hot. It was….very…..well, momentous. After witnessing both characters skirt around the emotional edge for an entire season, the guy finally grabbed the girl, pulled her close, wrapped her up in his masculinity and kissed the hell out of her. I can’t help it, I love it – and I’ve watched it more than a few times.

Yes, I know it’s a television show and not real. But I don’t care.

Since watching the kiss (and picking myself up off the floor each time) my over-analytical brain has moved into over-analytical mode: “how do those actors walk away from that scene without carrying the moment over into their day-to-day lives?”, “I wonder how weird it would feel filming take after take of that kiss in front of all the crew?”, “what do the actor’s partners think about their day jobs?” and more pertinently – “why do I love that kiss?”

I guess I love the romantic inevitability. The writers of this show have done a sterling job of building emotional and sexual tension over the first season, and it’s worked a treat. Yes, both the characters are kind of emotionally damaged and/or relationship-underdogs, so you want them to find each other. Yes, it reminds you of a time when all that lowest-of-the-low loneliness and angst is balanced by the highest of romantic, youthful, emotional highs. And yes, when they finally kissed I could barely control my squeal and felt my toes curl.

I decided to consult Dr. Google and see what the phrase ‘power of a good kiss’ revealed. Interesting. A couple of (laughable) how-to websites, a “health” site with a 20-something gorgeous “doctor” who’s apparently had 40 years experience in the Chinese philosophy of kissing (??) and an American University study that suggested ‘affectionate mothers raise resilient adults’. So, no help there. My other option was to pursue the practical, biological reasons as to why kissing is lovely, which I decided not to do because it just IS…and I think a scientific explanation would rather spoil this.

It’s worth pointing out here that I think a lot of people (ahem…men….OK, I can FEEL the frowns) underestimate the power of a good kiss. Romantic overtures? Great stuff. Wining and dining? Of course, important. Thoughtful attention? Yes please. Sexy, sexy sex? Always. But a well-timed, unexpected, sensual, take-control kiss beats all the rest, hands down.

There’s not much more to say, except to quote a favourite line from a Bob Dylan song: “I would hold you for a million years, to make you feel my love”. Why quote this line? Because even though I adore the song, and despite being warmly romantic and perfectly divine in its intention, a hold-me-dearly hug might well take a million years to convince me of love – because it’s not a kiss. And you should NEVER underestimate the power of a good kiss.

Thankful.

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This week the universe decided to remind me of what I have, and be bloody thankful for it. It was a week of surprising and sad developments, in large unpredictability. Here’s what I took away from life’s casualty room.

Death is a strange thing.
When a life ends, we grieve the loss ceremoniously. We gather with people who we might not ordinarily see, save for such ‘events’. We spend time talking with friends who we’ve not caught up with in a while. Death brings people and families together. Funny, then, that it also often creates the tensions that tear them apart. And there is something heart-breakingly sad about watching families deal with a loved one’s death.
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Relationships are strange things.
They are the source of our greatest joy and our worst heartache. And whilst love is built on trust, shared desires, hopes, beliefs and understandings between two people – the fact of the matter is that people change. It’s the nature of things. Relationships that last are the ones that embrace growth and change together. It is overwhelmingly sad when a relationship ends because that didn’t happen.
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Grief is a process.
It can be a death; it can be a relationship. Either way, the grief that follows is a process that can’t be avoided. It’s amazing to me that more time isn’t spent on arming people to deal with grief, as it’s inevitable that we all face it at sometime in our lives. Grief has recognisable stages, and learning this helped me greatly when I waded through its murk a few years ago. Sometimes long, sometime short, but always – hard.
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Three year olds make everything better.
After a few days of watching friends worlds turn upside down, witnessing their pain and feeling quite helpless…there’s this: my daughter, lying on her tummy on the floor, singing her own songs, writing a letter to Santa because she wants to “make sure he knows I love him”. Her voice is melodic and tuneful, her feet swaying in the air, her letter a zig-zag of lines. She’s so happy. Watching her makes me happy too. I catch my partner’s eye and we share the moment with small smiles. Like everything in this life, she will change and grow, and it is my fondest wish to see it all and be part of it – just as I am right at that moment.
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Suddenly I realise exactly what I have, how lucky I am to have it – and I am bloody thankful for it.

All by myself.

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I have a confession to make.

I really, really love time alone. Time with my thoughts. Time with a great book. Time with just me.

I had some of that precious time late last Saturday afternoon. I really needed it – my gorgeous three-year-old daughter had filed down my psyche with hours of incessant ‘why?’, thoughts of work were intruding, urging me to click on the computer and get it done, and I was tired, bone tired.

So I was given a leave pass. I threw on some comfy clothes, grabbed my headphones and music and drove to a nearby favoured beach-walking destination. I felt very free and excited about the prospect of a good, long walk with just my thoughts for company. I marvelled at the ‘want’ for this – as someone who sees exercise as a necessity rather than an enjoyable past-time, I was pretty amazed by my desire to pound the pavement. I walked hard for about an hour, took the occasional photograph on the walk back, and generally left feeling refreshed and ready to tackle the madness of kids and home again.
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But now – today – it’s a different story. It’s early morning and I’m sitting in the kitchen listening to my daughter sing. She’s singing about made-up things, fairy wings and Barbie dolls, pink happiness. It is so honest and beautiful it’s making me weep. How could I have wished time away from this little angel and wanted more for myself? How could I ever intentionally miss these special and innocent moments, the same ones I often wish I could save, bottle and trickle out over time like drops of expensive perfume – tantalising and so wonderfully connected to memory. It will all be gone too soon; I feel ashamed for ever wanting to actually ‘get away’ – this makes me weep more.

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There are a few relevant points to this story. They’re nothing new, but worth reiteration.

Point 1: Everyone needs time to recharge their batteries. People in a ‘happy place’ are usually more tolerant, patient and able to cope with life’s little challenges. And if you’re a Mum – by looking after yourself you become more equipped and better at looking after others. Note: this last point is supported by medical advice. Yes, it’s true – my doctor told me to take a little time out for myself, everyday, to (and I quote) “ensure you don’t officially lose-it”. Point taken.

Point 2: Wanting to be on your own, with your own thoughts, doesn’t make you a bad or selfish person – it makes you human.

Point 3: Motherhood is simultaneously the best and the scariest roller-coaster ride you’ll ever be on. Here’s why this analogy works – you just hang on and try and enjoy the ride; it’s impossible to ensure the safety of all your passengers but you can try; you’ll always worry about whether the wheels are on the track; there are highs, there are lows, either way, it’s a memorable ride; it’s dangerous, thrilling and unpredictable – need I go on?

What have I learned? I try not to feel guilty for wanting time alone. Instead, I remind myself to be thankful for all the time I’m not.

…hear me roar.

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Yesterday I attended the Newcastle Writers Festival, a session entitled “How women are changing social media”. Carol Duncan of ABC Radio Newcastle shepherded Jane Caro, Kerri Sackville, Rebecca Olive and Marina Go through a discussion of how these strong women each utilise and influence social media in their work, their careers and their lives. And strong women they are – in thought, in the pursuit of their chosen field, in their passion and in solidarity; even when panelists expressed an apparent difference of opinion, the general discussion moved towards encouraging one speaker not to undervalue her voice, rather than pursue a right/wrong scenario.

I loved this session. And whilst I don’t think these women stayed directly on-topic, I didn’t care. They were successful women talking about a brave new social media world which is all-inclusive, easily accessible and tremendously exciting. They outlined concepts I understood and mentioned platforms I use. They shared anecdotes, made us laugh, nod our heads in understanding and shake them in sympathy. I walked out inspired and more determined than ever to keep exploring and contributing to this new electronic realm. It was bloody great.

I’m not going to revisit the detail of the discussion here, but I will share what I took away:

1. A reaffirmation that social media is here to stay.
This one’s important because I’ve had a minor crisis of late, mainly due to my circle of friends and family not being as enamoured with, or excited by social media as I am. I’ve felt like a bit of an island, so at the very least – the Writers Festival session has propelled me back into the archipelago.

2. An enduring admiration for the panelists.
Already a fan of Jane Caro, and with some memories of Marina Go as a teenage-magazine editor, I was unprepared for the ‘smartness’ of all 5 women at the front of the room. The quickly articulate Kerri; the powerful pocket-rocket Jane; the quietly confident and elegant Marina; the earnest and humble Rebecca; the eloquent and dulcet-toned Carol… what a powerhouse of female intelligence. If I didn’t follow or subscribe to them on twitter, WordPress, BlogSpot or the web before – I certainly do now.

3. A sunny-side-up feeling about life in general.
I’m not saying I’m the smartest person I know, not even close. Nor am I the most philanthropic or even very sympathetic person. I’ve definitely got my faults. But I think I generally recognise them; I am a work in progress. In the meantime I do try to live an ethical, empathetic and mindful life. So with this in mind – lately I’ve been reading, hearing and seeing a God-awful lot of stories about horrible, stupid, rotten and/or just mightily dumb people and things. Selfish acts by thoughtless humans. Harmful, hurtful and generally clueless things. My opinion of current, broader societal values and behaviours has been at an all-time low. My thoughts about the world my daughter will grow into have been particularly bleak. So it was truly wonderful to spend an hour or so being simply inspired, sitting with like-minded peeps and exploring…..possibilities. Thinking about and feeling empowered, acknowledging the ‘good stuff’ that can be and is being achieved by women in social media. Talking about taking people to task, accountability, exposing bullies. Listening to stories of success and shared wisdom. It. Was. Awesome. I left Newcastle City Hall with a spring in my step and a headful of smiley thoughts.

4. A compelling feeling.
I like writing, but haven’t committed to it in a long time. I did write a diary for my daughter during her first 2 years of life about her achievements, cute moments and baby-milestones, for her to read when she’s older (perhaps as a teenager when she’s not liking me so much) – but that’s it. So earlier this year I started this blog: my sanity-saver, my challenge and my biggest leap into the unknown in a long time. I’ve set myself a goal of writing once a week. It doesn’t sound like a huge commitment but as someone who works, has a partner, a 3-year-old, a household and two 15-year-old dogs, well, it is. So to walk away from an experience and actually want to write and write and write…whoa! Be still my fingers! Hold the phone on the thesaurus! Charge that lap-top! Perhaps this point should be entitled ‘Inspired’ or ‘Excited’ or ‘Caffeinated’? It doesn’t matter. The ‘gift of the urge’ is precious.

My final thoughts?
If you’re reading this blog it means you’re somewhat web savvy, so go mull over the social media stylings of the women mentioned above. You won’t regret it.

Thank you ladies.

Feeling alive.

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I was driving home from work the other day – I have a 40-odd minute each-way commute – and I had one of those moments where I just felt ….alive. It was a beautiful Autumnal afternoon, almost dusk, cooling breeze gently buffeting in the car window. One of those amazing atmospheric songs came on the radio (God I love triple j – but that’s another story). I felt happy, relaxed, peaceful and alive. Everything was working in my favour. I loved it.

It got me thinking – what makes me feel really ‘alive’? What in the past has made me feel the way I do now, in this very moment? Happily, gloriously alive. It took me a while to construct a list, and it’s by no means definitive – so I’m calling it my Top 4.

1. Living in the moment.
Harder than it sounds. And by ‘living in the moment’ I mean actually enjoying the moment without thinking about 10 seconds, 10 minutes or 10 hours ahead. Not contemplating where you’re off to next, what should be on your shopping list, the next deadline for work. Not thinking about something other than what is happening “right now”. Unless you’ve mastered the art of meditation or successfully subscribe to Buddhist ‘mindfulness’, you’ll likely find this incredibly hard. Since I don’t meet either of those criteria – I feel lucky to have achieved it at all. But I have. When I spend time with my 3 year-old daughter on our day off together, I can honestly say that I have been completely ‘in the moment’ with her – no thought of anything other than what we are doing, nowhere to be except where we are, nothing to do other than what we are doing. And the wondrous thing about children is that they usually inhabit this space, this ‘moment’, more than anywhere else. I wonder how we/they lose that sense of present-play. I suspect it’s all on us – we teach kids to think, plan and move ahead. But that feeling of freedom and blinding happiness, so consciously alive in the moment…I’ll be eternally grateful to my daughter for sharing her experience of it.

2. The throes of passion.
There is nothing like being so overwhelmingly impassioned that you can barely control yourself. Yes, I’m talking lust. That deep longing for human physical contact, when desire seems to ooze from the pores of your skin and you feel so overripe you’re about to fall off the vine. Mmmmmm…OK….you get my drift. Anyway – I don’t think anyone would argue that you don’t feel alive when you’re embroiled in a passionate tryst with the object of your romantic desire. Your mind has turned off, your body is on disconnect from your brain and sensation is…well, sensational. Anthropologists might argue that despite years of evolution, passion (whether love or lust) simply arises from a deeply-rooted need to procreate. Whatever. What matters is that irrespective of whether it’s primal, biological, spiritual or soulful – it certainly makes you feel alive.

3. Music
Whatever your taste, if you listen to music at all you will understand the heights that it can elevate you to when it’s good – really good. The estimation of ‘good’ is (in the main) subjective – sidenote: my apologies to those who study music theory who have just baulked at this statement – but I think we’ve all heard a piece of music that prompted an emotional response, triggered memory, or swept us away on a magical, tuneful carpet ride. For me, it usually happens when I’m listening to music on my own: at home, in the car or even wired-for-sound at the gym. And it’s not always the same song, it’s often a song in the context of where I am or what I’m doing. Surely one of the following rings a bell for you: the long highway drive with a pumping, kick-arse beat matching the tarmac treads; the melancholic songs, where every sad note abides in the air like misty rain mixing with your tears; the sweet-moment music, where happiness sparkles like sunlight through glass, your heart swells and makes you feel glad to be alive. Yep, music makes all that happen. I love, love, love music for making all that possible.

4. Beauty
This last point is clearly connected to points 1 through 3. How could it not be? Anything that makes you feel truly ‘alive’ is by its very nature stunningly, maddeningly, sweetly beautiful. But this also refers to those moments outside of you; when you see or hear something so wondrously perfect and simple that you can’t help but step back and admire it. Like the ocean on one of those days when the seawater is blue-green-clear and the sand is grainy whitewash. Like the embrace between reunited loved ones at an airport. Like the joy on the face of a child on Christmas morning.

Ans there’s another type of beauty. I’m not sure how to elaborate on this point except to say something that, even to my mind, sounds so “wanky” that I’m not sure it’s worth typing. But this IS a blog, so here goes. Sometimes the beauty of everything in a moment crystallises into one absolute sense of…completeness. It’s like a flash of insight, a feeling of being part of everything, a perfectly architected instant. Some think it’s connecting with nature or the universe, for others it’s just like ‘waking up’ to what’s going on around you. Like passion, it really doesn’t matter how you define it, as long as you get to experience it. Because it’s a beautiful thing. And it makes you feel alive.

I’m going to wrap up this post with a poetic reference that may just cement the “wanky”-ness of today’s mental meanderings. My favourite poems hold something true about being alive; they speak of beauty, truth, days, living and even acknowledge our human-need to explain all these aspects of being alive which, to my mind, often don’t really require explanation at all – I’m just happy I get to experience them. Having said that, I had to study “Ode on a Grecian Urn” by John Keats in high school; it’s certainly not poetry I would have discovered on my own. The last 2 lines are the kicker and it’s those I’ve quoted because, well, they are simple and true.

“Beauty is truth, truth beauty,” – that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.

Older.

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It’s not Sunday, but I feel compelled to blog. Here ’tis folk – (sits a little straighter) – I’m an “older” Mum.

What does that mean? That means I’m around 10 years older than all the other Mums sitting patiently around the edges of the scout hall watching their tiny-tutu’d daughters prance about after demonstrating ‘first position’. It means I’ve been asked if I’m my daughter’s grandmother (I mean, really? Get a clue people!). It means that whilst other Mums are talking about planning for and/or managing their second, third or even fourth babies, I’m planning for and/or managing my second, third or fourth hot flush for the day, usually by choosing seats near windows or air-conditioners.

And my daughter? She doesn’t know any differently. I’m just Mum. And that, my friends, is what often saves this little black duck from feeling very low. In the words of Maurice Chevalier (albeit a little creepy in this day and age) – thank heaven for little girls.

And no – I wasn’t born when that song was written. Just saying.

Let’s begin.

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I’ve never tried tackling a blog before. I’m wondering if my mental meanderings should really be shared or not. OK – here’s the jump.

I was an avid diary-writer in my angst-ridden teenage years, but the business of life has taken over. I even tried maintaining a diary for my daughter, starting after she was born. There’s great entries in the early months; while she slept I filled the hours with e-shopping, house-tidying and diarising. They lessen a little in Year 1 thru’ 2, when life became more hectic (Cue movie title: ‘She walks’). I still add to her diary every now and again, but mostly the new entries are written in my head and never make it to the page. Ho hum, bad Mum.

Today however, I’ve been inspired. Perhaps it was a recent social media course (wordpress? really? how cool is this?). Maybe even the little glimpses of creativity, something exciting niggling at the corners of my intellect, not quite realised….quickly followed by wishing I was an artist, rather than someone who simply has a deep appreciation for same. Maybe even the emerging photographer in me (seem to be doing OK, well, I like my shots). Whatever. I’ve had what I would term ‘a moment’.

Sunday is a day where, come about 4pm, that ‘Sunday feeling’ kicks in. Relaxed, laid back, deeply appreciative of having had two days off work – followed by the lacklustre realisation that it’s also “the end” of said days off. Acknowledgement that Monday brings work commitments, routine and…..well…life in all its glorious extremes, chaos and predictability.

So I got to thinking – surely I’m not the only one who feels that bittersweet Sunday thing? Surely it happens all over the world?

The other notion that’s been capping my thought-full head is about connectedness. Probably another hangover of the social media course, but still – it’s exciting to consider how easily we can connect across our little planet. Facebook offers me stories and updates from family and friends. We share photos, stories of nights out, great new cafes to visit. Twitter is bigger. It’s knowing the instant thoughts of people everywhere, whoever you choose to listen to. I had to pursue both these avenues for work, and so started my own experience first. I was already converted to facebook, but not to twitter. I opened an account and was immediately stumped. Who do I ‘follow’? Friends? Already do. I’m happy with facebook. Politicians? not so interested. Aah, I’ll go the celebrity route. I started with a show I was watching at the time (for those interested – New Girl) and subscribed to some of its actors and the show’s twitter account itself. I found it quite bizarre to hear the immediate thoughts of people on another continent! Weird, even. A lot of it was show-promo, but every now and again I’d get a glimpse of what another human being was doing in their everyday life (dogs, gardening, art, jokes, music). Eventually I figured out the whole process and now I’m hooked.

This seems like a good time to reveal something else about me. I don’t consider myself a great socialiser. I like books more often than people, but that’s probably more to do with my own perceived inadequacies than other human beings. However, I am extremely interested IN other people. What they do, how they think, how they act. I find it very inspiring. But here’s my dilemma. I’m in Newcastle, NSW, Australia. I work, as does my partner, the lovely Martin. We have a big mortgage – we ain’t goin’ nowhere, not anytime soon. We have a 3 year old fairy princess, Belle, and Martin has a 10 year old son, Ewan. Life is currently driven by our glorious family, who I adore and love to bits. But I also feel this need to be inspired by people beyond what I know, by other walks of life, other day-to-day routines, to document, to share and “create content”. That, I believe, is at the heart of my brain-niggle.

So, back to the Sunday musings. How to connect? The platform is there, but what’s the thing we all have in common? I wondered if there was someone just like me thinking the same thing somewhere else in the world, on their Sunday afternoon. And then it hit me – all those other people, around the world, experiencing something, at 4pm on their Sundays. A day, a time, shared. What is everyone….doing? And what if I could use social media in a way to create content and connectedness by getting everyone, anyone, anywhere, to share what they’re doing at 4pm on their Sunday?

I’m going to let this idea mull around for the next week. Stew, ferment and hopefully – develop. This is something I want to do.

Me? I was in my kitchen listening to music, chopping tomatoes, spanish onion and home-grown basil for dinner. And I was creating content.