The disappearing act.

I’ve had an incredibly challenging few months. I don’t want to go into detail, because truth be told anyone who has lived through it with me knows I barely lived through all of it. Some people go through breakups well, as it turns out I do not.

If you didn’t know, I was engaged to be married. It didn’t work out. And it’s taken me until the last week to feel that I might just be able to move on with my life.

It’s interesting, when people make comments like “You deserved better” or “It’s a good thing”, because at the end of the day, no matter whether I deserved better, or if it is in fact a good thing we parted ways, the bottom line is that I am devastated. I was quite content to spend the rest of my life with that one person who captured my heart completely, so to change my life course from planning a wedding, to planning the rest of my life without that person, has been traumatic, to say the least.

It’s when you least expect it though, that little pieces of your heart and soul that were lost in the dark cloud of depression that follows a break up, start to re-emerge in gentle and beautiful ways.

I can only liken it to the feeling of waking up after the most horrendous storm, on the darkest of nights, to a day of glimmering sunshine, when everything smells clean and fresh.

This week was like waking up from my horrible, heavy slumber of heartache and I owe all of it to spending a week working at MBFF, with people who are creative, supportive, inspiring and admirable.

There aren’t enough good words in the dictionary, to express my gratitude for having experienced this past week. My reality was put on hold for a week of swirling and sparkling gowns, incredibly long days, and evenings spent with people who appreciated all the same things I did, over a glass or two of wine, after a long but rewarding day’s work.

A fellow volunteer asked me why I go back to MBFF every year (this being my 5th), and the answer is quite simple really- that one week every year makes me feel whole, and every gaping hole in my heart that I went into the week with, slowly filled thanks to the friendships formed, the patience shown, and the inspiration seen in everything and everyone around me.

My deepest thanks to the woman who welcomes me back every year, Liz Golding. You allowed me the chance to find my feet in the world again and I’m so grateful for every opportunity you continue to give me.

And to every wonderful friend who was a shining beacon of light in these past few months of darkness, I don’t have enough words of thanks. Thank you for saving me.

Hello again world, I’ve missed you.

 

Thanks… giving?

This year I celebrated my very first Thanksgiving. I have a lot to be thankful for, so naturally a day dedicated to thinking about it is really a nice concept. That said, it also fell on my Australian birthday so there was immense confusion as to when we should actually celebrate (to clarify, we didn’t because it was too confusing).

My darling other half and I were very blessed to be able to share Thanksgiving with Joel, and so of course the day was a real family affair. We got up at 5am (obviously not Joel) to start preparing the turkey, not to mention the hours of prep Keith did the day before, and spent the bulk of the day just enjoying being around family. The boys played football while I tried to catch the falling leaves, and Chloe (our beloved black lab) made a heroic attempt to visit every house on the block when she thought we weren’t looking.

It was news to me that lunch is sort of skipped, so is breakfast actually, and you eat ‘dinner’ at around 3 in the afternoon. It was also news to me, that for the following week after Thanksgiving it becomes a personal goal to try and find as many new ways to use leftover turkey before it goes bad.

However the biggest shock of all, was that the point of Thanksgiving is actually becoming increasingly more lost on people. If you haven’t heard of Black Friday before, here is the gist: from 12:01am on the Friday following Thanksgiving (which is always on a Thursday) stores slash their prices in a pre-Christmas special. The savings are enormous, and before we were blessed with technology it wasn’t uncommon for people to be trampled and for fights to ensue in stores over the desired deals.

Macy’s is one of the biggest to partake- an American version of David Jones, if you will- and this year thousands of people were lined up outside the store before the doors opened at midnight. A new tradition was born this year- bringing the start time of the sales forward. This means that hundreds of thousands of employees across the country were forced to leave family dinner early, to be at work by 8 or 9pm on Thanksgiving.

Personally, I was disgusted. One news article interviewed a woman who lined up at 11am on Thanksgiving day and ate a plate of food in line while she waited for the special deal on iPads. Thanksgiving has now also been dubbed Grey Thursday.

So, here begins my grievance, with Grey Thursday and Black Friday.

1. The point of Thanksgiving, is to GIVE THANKS FOR WHAT YOU HAVE, not to think about what you don’t have and how you are going to get it.
2. Thanksgiving is the most expensive time to travel in the US, so why on earth would you go cross country for the occasion, only to leave dinner early to line up for sales?

3. If you in fact really desperately needed the item you are lining up for, you would happily purchase it at full price, and would consider a sale price an added bonus, not a necessity.

4. There is this beautiful thing called online shopping. If you absolutely cannot live without said sale item, you could actually buy it from the comfort of your own home, surrounded by family, sneakily on your iPhone.

5. The irony of the entire holiday, is that it’s one of the most important holidays to be surrounded by those you love, and instead an increasing amount of Americans are lining up to be surrounded by the things they love instead. What a sad way the world is going.

Personally, I’m lusting after an iPad like you wouldn’t believe- my laptop recently died and I’m forced to use Keith’s instead, however I wouldn’t have traded Thanksgiving night with my loved ones for all the iPads in the world. Instead I was thankful that I have love, I have a wonderful family, I have a roof over my head, food on the table, and a cute as a button dog who can shake hands. And really, that’s more than enough to be thankful for.

Love, and The Art of War.

There is possibly no worse feeling, than fighting with the person you love the most. As a society we pride ourselves on our advancement, maturity, and overall competence at life, and yet when it comes to love, and the art of war, we are often childlike. Some days the list of my faults and not so pleasant traits seems endless, no more so than on the days when I fight with my loved one.

It is so easy to forget in the heat of the moment to fight fairly, and not to stoop to the ultimate pettiness of further accusations, unfounded statements, name calling, storm outs, and door slamming, the latter of which is by far my worst habit. I am a hopeless romantic, and believe in all kinds of grand gestures of love. I despise nothing more than fighting and confrontation, and yet when I am caught in the midst of it, an ugly version of myself takes over, possibly the side of feeling a need to be heard, and to be right, and to feel that there is a purpose to the horrible sickening feeling of fighting, and unfortunately when it takes over there is little chance of coming back to normality until it’s too late- the nasty words can’t be unsaid, or unheard, and instead we are left to deal with the aftermath of our actions.

There are only so many times one can say or hear ‘I’m sorry’. Sometimes those two little words do no justice or repair to the ugliness that came before it. I am the worst fighter in the world, however I am also the first to wave the white flag when all is said and done and apologise. The self-loathing over a petty fight drives me to tears more often than not, yet another trait that is less than admirable. After a particular pearler of an argument, I sat in self-reflection for a long time.

I came to the following conclusions, about how when a situation unavoidably ends up in an argument, to at the very least, fight fairly. Ironically, many of the conclusions also outline my very worst mannerisms.

1. Only tend to the issue at hand. Arguments will always end up being bigger than they actually are because of a tendency to bring up other issues. Example: I began to unpack the dishwasher, and my other half offered to help. Given I was in a less than stellar mood to start with, I took it as an accusation that I was doing it wrong.

Admittedly I was, but that feeling stemmed into a minor outburst on my part, which then led to a follow up on his part about how I know better and deliberately don’t put the dishes in their correct spots, which led to a total feeling of incompetence on my part and a good half hour of somewhat sour grapes by yours truly.

2. Swearing and raising your voice will only make things worse. I am the absolute worse for demanding that I not be sworn at and then minutes later in the heat of a comeback slipping up myself.

3. Knowing when to wave the white flag is a feeling we all get, regardless of who we are disagreeing with or what it’s about, and yet to actually do it is next to impossible. Often the need to be right outweighs the need to end the argument, even when you can feel yourself digging a deeper grave as the fight goes on. Perhaps it stems from the adrenaline, but I am sure we are all guilty of secretly congratulating ourselves on our quick comebacks and equally harsh quips, instead of pausing and taking on board what the other person says.

I’m certain that if in every argument we listened more than talked, and understood what was being said rather than interpreting it in its worst form; they would be resolved in half the time without casualties.

4. Sometimes it’s too easy to walk out on an argument, slamming doors or making as much noise as humanely possible when doing the dishes, but it’s heartbreakingly painful to stand and cop the words on the chin. I get overwhelmed in arguments and generally will walk off, however given my inability to just shut up and listen sometimes, it results in more yelling between different rooms of the house and of course, everything just ends up worse.

5. I used to believe that old saying about never going to bed on an argument, but sometimes it makes more sense to wave the white flag, get in the same bed and just succumb to sleep; more often than not the argument seems trivial and pointless the next day. If it doesn’t, you can at least start fresh with a civil conversation rather than continuing on with the previous night’s drama.

6. You can’t tell me that people aren’t aware of their own faults. It is because of that self-awareness, the absolute last thing one needs to hear in an argument are all of them laid out on the table. Nobody needs a constant reminder of the things that are less than perfect about themselves, and yet it is a horrible societal trait that we all feel a need to point the finger at others so that we can draw the attention away from ourselves and the ugly monsters that we unavoidably become in the heat of the moment.

7. The past is just that, the past. There is no need to rehash old arguments; the old feelings of insecurity or concern or uncertainty. Ultimately that comes back to trust, and sometimes remembering it is okay to take things at face value and have total faith in what you are being told.

8. The oldest lesson in the book is that if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all. What that lesson doesn’t articulate, is that even if you think you are saying something nice, the way you are saying it can be completely misconstrued. It’s a common occurrence to think you are apologising nicely, when to the other person it comes off dripping in sarcasm.

9. At the other end of the spectrum there is such a thing, believe it or not, as too much kindness. While it’s sweet to want to spend every waking moment with your loved one, sometimes we forget that it’s equally as important to have time alone, and the chance to miss each other. This can be difficult when you live together, and even harder if your other half is also your best friend.

They say you should always treat people the way you want to be treated- so if you like having that half hour of alone time with a good book and a cup of tea, it should be obvious that your other half may want half an hour with a beer and his Xbox. It’s equally important to also cherish the differences you have, not just the similarities.

10. Only you are responsible for what you say, what you feel, and how you react. It’s all too easy to blame the other person for making you cry, or for retorting with something nasty, but it is ourselves that we should be pointing the finger at, because we alone are responsible for continuing to argue instead of waving the white flag, ending the war, kissing and making up.

I obviously have a long way to go with my self-development, however there is something about turning my thoughts and feelings into black words on a white screen that scream honesty; and if you have that and can admit to and acknowledge your own faults, maybe there is still hope for love, without war.

I come from a land down under.

I’ve been in the US for almost 5 months collectively in the last year, and I am guilty of anticipating my day to day life will be something similar to what I see in the movies. However in my defense, I don’t blurt these things out to every person I meet. Americans on the other hand, seem to take great delight in talking to me, which I of course don’t mind, except for when they talk pure and utter shit about Australia. I’m a firm believer that if you haven’t been there, don’t judge the country, especially if you aren’t basing your assumptions on actual fact. We don’t use kangaroos for transport or live in tents with Aboriginals.

All too often Americans try to impress me it seems with their knowledge of Australia. However the extent of this is to sing a line from that bloody Men at Work song, mention Nicole Kidman, or refer to Crocodile Dundee. Surely Australians are on the map for more then just this.

The following blog is more so for the benefit of the Australians who will read it, because some of the stuff that I get asked is just too funny not to share with the rest of the country.

“Ohhh what part of Australia are you from?” Brisbane, in Queensland. “Oh that’s in Sydney right?” No, that’s a different state, like California and Nevada.

“Oh your accent is so cute! Do I have an accent?” Yes, if I sound different to you, it’s a certainty that you also have an accent.

“Your English is really good” Thank you. “What’s your first language?” English.

“Oh you have those people in Australia!” Silence. “You know the ones who start with an A?” Aboriginals? “Yeah! Do they live in tents?” I imagine for the most part they live in houses.

“Australia?! Wow! Do you go on safari there?” No. “Oh, why not?” Because it’s not Africa, and we don’t have safaris.

“Oh Australia, how cool. Like Crocodile Dundee!” No, not like that at all.

“Your accent is so cute. When did you move from England?” About a century ago… I’m from Australia…

“Oh Australian men are really sexy right?” Only in the movies. In reality, they wear footy shorts and thongs and singlets. Sorry.

“What kind of TV shows do you have in Australia?” Most of the same as what you do.

Me: “Can I please just get some butter as well?” I’m sorry miss what? “Can I get some butter?” Butter? “Yes, for my bread?” Starbucks man looks blank. American woman looks at him in disbelief “She’s asking you for butter (she rolls the R)” Oh you want butter (rolls the R). “Yes that’s what I just said”. American woman: “Oh we aren’t used to proper English over here”. It means the exact same thing in both countries.

“So you’re from South Africa?” That would be a no.

“Oh you have great white sharks in Australia don’t you?” Yeah we do. You have them in America too. “Oh yeah but they are really vicious over there right?” I can’t imagine them being particularly pleasant anywhere, although a surfer did get bitten in half a few months back in Perth. “Oh my god, I can’t believe that!” Well it’s no different to the guy who got eaten by a great white in San Diego a few years back.

“Ohhh can you say G’day Mate?” G’day Mate. “Hmm sounds different”. Probably cause I’m saying it with an Australian accent and you pronounced it Guh-Day-Mayyyyte.

“Well on a world scale, Australia hasn’t really contributed much”. No America, you managed to get into enough world disputes without any help from us.

“Ohhh it’s like a little island down under” It’s actually like a country.

“You must have kangaroos and koalas everywhere” That seems to be the prevailing opinion. It’s not like they are taking over though.

And of course, there are the different words for the exact same thing:

Spirits, are called liqour.
Tomato sauce, is ketchup.
Chips, are fries.
Choc chips, are chocolate chips.
A cardigan is a sweater.
A jumper is a sweater.
A singlet is a tank top.
A top is a blouse.
A biscuit, is a cookie.
An american biscuit, is a scone.
A scone is a scone, Americans just don’t think that their biscuits and scones are the same thing.
A sandwich, is a burger.
A burger, is a cheeseburger.
A sub, is a sandwich.
Skinny milk, is non fat. Which on some occasions may also be either 1%, 2% or Vitamin D milk.
A chemist, is a pharmacy. Although to Americans a chemist is someone making illicit drugs.

My doctor asked what I was allergic to, however Pseudoephedrine is apparently unheard of. My doctor offered to provide Sudafed instead, which I told him is the same thing and will result in the same allergic reaction. Awkward silence followed.

Getting a bus will go one of two ways- I either get to ride for free because of my accent, or the driver can’t understand where I’m asking to go, which has in one unfortunate event resulted in me getting told to get off a bus a mile earlier then I had to because this was most definitely my stop.

When finishing a sale at work and the customer thanks me, I’ve occasionally responded brightly with ‘That’s okay, enjoy the rest of your day’, at which point my boss patiently explained that Americans don’t understand why I’m telling them it’s okay, and that in fact they should be told ‘You’re welcome’.

On a related topic, Americans find it odd that Australians include the tax, and round up. I somehow managed to get a job in a supervisor role when I in fact can’t count American money to save my life. I not only have to add tax, I have to count back their change from the amount of the sale up to the inital amount they gave me. Simple in theory, except when you are dealing with nickels and dimes and stupid bloody pennies.

I told my boyfriend I needed to have a teapot and two teacups, because if anyone came over I wanted to be able to offer it and not just drink it myself. He told me there isn’t a single American he knows who will drink tea with me, but they will ask me for coffee, which consequently I don’t know how to make over here.

You NEVER ask where the toilet is. In someone’s home, you ask for the bathroom, in public you ask for the restroom, and above all else, you never never NEVER ask for the toilet. Apparently, it’s crude. Although these same Americans have no qualms about farting on public transport with the windows closed.

All of this said, I still love America. ❤

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

Show me love.

This afternoon I hit rock bottom. Nothing in particular brought it on- I wasn’t mugged and no one was mean to me at my new job, and yet I found that I walked out of work, circled the block, answered a phone call from my mum, and promptly sat in the gutter in a random carpark and sobbed. Hysterically.

I can only imagine what the people walking past me thought (one woman actually stopped right in front of me and just stared at me) and yet I could not get my shit together.

My mother will no doubt atest to the gasping for air and the choking on my own words that carried on for a good 40 minutes.

When you look at my life from the outside, it’s actually quite beautiful- I presently live in a beautiful house, moving to Capitola Village in two weeks, fabulous new job, an oh so divine boyfriend who happens to be a masterchef, and a gorgeous black labrador who goes by the name of Chloe and offers unconditional love.

On the inside though, I appear to be floundering. As it was eloquently put to me this evening- I don’t do well on my own. Which I have been, since last Friday. Admittedly I’ve worked the past two days, and the girls are an absolute delight, however when I stop being busy I succomb to my own mind, which in my case is incredibly dangerous.

Some where in my last trip to the US I lost all self confidence and belief, and it’s becoming somewhat damaging this time around since I simply cannot pull myself together.

I’ve cried more in the last two weeks then the last 6 months, for no apparent reason that I can pinpoint. I don’t handle disappointment well, and my expectations in all the relationships in my life are far too high. This I know.

When you move half way around the world, in the opposite direction of your family and friends, it’s a given that you will have some loss of contact and moments of loneliness. What I was unprepared for, was the complete loss of contact from some of my nearest and dearest, and the crippling loneliness if I am on my own for extended periods of time. Please note that I cope just fine if my significant other pops down to 7-11, but when I have any more then 24 hours on my own, I panic.

It’s not a matter of boredom, or wanting to be entertained, or thinking it’s easier to just pack up and fly home (not at all my intention, to clarify) but an all consuming, shortening of the breath, knots in the stomach, panic.

I am suffocating under fear and anxiety of late, and I can’t establish the actual cause. It could be that I don’t feel settled, knowing that there is another total relocation in two weeks to a brand new town, just when I’ve gotten the hang of the old one. It could be that I have literally two American friends. One happens to be my boyfriend. It could be that it’s been two months since I last left Australia, and that this is longer then the last time I was here. It could be that I’m just a sook.

Regardless, I am desperately seeking familiarity and routine, because I’ve gone far too long without it and it is apparently affecting my ability to walk down a street without spontaneously bursting into tears.

I never used to be the kind of girl that allowed emotion to get in the way of anything, in fact some idiot boy in high school once referred to me as the ice queen. He wasn’t entirely wrong.

It’s only as I’ve gotten older and had to deal with things that I never anticipated that I started to succomb to my weaknesses. Nobody ever expects their parents to divorce, or to get fired or to fail a class at uni. I never expected to fall in love. Yet all of those things still managed to become a part of my story, and I have been ill-prepared to deal with them. That’s probably because for a number of years I chose not to deal with them- I had a ‘sweep it under the rug’ mentality that worked just fine until I had enough time and curiousity to peek under the rug and now everything keeps seeping out the bloody sides of it.

There is an incredible disappointment in many of my loved ones in Australia, because even though I understand that life is busy and spare time is hard to come by, how long does it really take to check in every so often? It amazes me that those who I made a priority in my life even when I worked 90 hours a week, can barely make me an option even though I’m a world away.

I’m blessed in many ways, to have someone wonderful in my life who continues to love me in my darkest hours, and a family who always knows exactly when to call.

I have every intention of staying and succeeding, but on the not so sparkly days, forgive me my weaknesses and instead show me love and compassion, and think of how you might feel, 7000 miles away from home.

I believe in desperate acts.

I admire those who have a steady faith. This isn’t limited to religion- it could be science or spirituality or yoga, but it must be such a lovely feeling to wake up each day having total faith in SOMETHING.

I believe in lots of different things, but lately myself isn’t one of them. I used to be very adament about what I wanted from my life, and it seems I’ve become something of a recluse of who that person was. I was on the fast track to a career preferably in fashion or journalism or both, with secret plans to perhaps one day buy a little beach villa to escape to on weekends, and a strong resolve every Monday morning that this would be the week I would make yoga my new best friend.

Somewhere along the way real life got in the way of those plans, and I found myself doubting my ability to ever be a published journalist, or to work in fashion, or to stand in Warrior 2 with my mind at ease and not thinking about all the other things I had to do that day.

At twenty something, I believe I may have had a quarter life crisis. The concept of which being that post graduation, women feel an immense pressure to have it all and wonder at what point we need to draw a line in the sand and jump from career to a husband, a mortgage and two kids.

I was fortunate that I was initially certain that all I wanted was a career, and that would be enough. This was before my budding career turned around and slapped me in the face and I ran off crying. I’ve been blessed in my life to have never really felt like I failed at anything up until that point- I had always transitioned (not necessarily easily) from one job or position to the next, always moving forward and never looking back.

This was also before I met someone who completely captured my heart and opened my eyes to a life outside of an office. Someone who made me believe in balance and appreciating when I have it all, and perservering if I don’t.

I’ve always believed life was black and white, or at least that mine could be. Career or family, blonde hair or brown hair, yoga or pilates, never embracing the gray area and combining the two. It’s a long process, but I’m slowly learning to let the hues be friends.

So in a bid to rid myself of a few demons that have been plaguing me this past 10 days, making me unbearable to be around, I decided to go back to basics and think about what it was I believed in. This came about with a little helpful advice from a clever friend, who knows exactly what he wants in his life (lucky bastard).

I believe in fresh flowers always being in my house, wherever that house may be.

I believe in yoga (finally).

I believe in desperate acts, the kind that make you look stupid.

I believe in having tattoos that remind me of fond memories.

I believe in balance.

I believe in being inspired at least once a day, however small that inspiration may be.

I believe in options, and being allowed to change my mind.

I believe that sometimes there is no cure for anything in life that rivals hugs from your mum or girl talk with your best friend.

I believe in my brother, endlessly and unwaveringly.

I believe in being in love.

For now, I think that’s enough to keep me going, and the rest I can figure out at a later date. It’s only recently dawned on me that there is no expiration on my degree, and that it doesn’t have to be my be all and end all- I may end up returning to study and finding a new passion to fill my days with. At this point, the possibilities are endless and all I really need is to be slapped and told to live in the moment a little and just take it as it comes. Yay, life!

Happy Voting Day Australia!

So today Austraila is gearing up to vote, and I’m 14000 miles away. To be honest, I’m not all that bothered by the fact that I haven’t voted and most likely won’t be voting, but I do feel that as a woman I should perhaps feel a little bit more obligated, for lack of a better word, to do so given it took so long for the fair sex to have the right to vote.

While I’m very appreciative that I have the right to vote, I don’t necessarily think that I deserve to have a say in the political happenings of Australia. Truthfully, I have no idea about the different parties or their policies, nor do I really have any interest in it. I realise that I should make an effort to understand, but it’s overwhelming trying to take in all the information, and it seems that more often than not, the opposing parties just slag each other off instead of telling the nation what they are going to do to make positive changes.

I’ve only had to go and vote once before, and it was a less than enjoyable experience to say the least. Here’s the thing about voting, the lines are longer than the Ekka, however unlike the Ekka there is no satisfaction when you finally reach the front of the queue, because there are no thrilling rides or dagwood dogs- there’s just some sourpuss handing out voting forms and the occasional sticker.

So here’s a little something that should make you smile while you are waiting in the queue today.

1. People stand uncomfortably close to you when you wait to vote. It’s almost like they think if they stand right behind you the line will move faster. Here’s a thought- it won’t, so get out of my personal space.

2. Even though we all get 3029384367 letters in the mail prior to voting day, there are still people ready to pounce on you as soon as you reach the gates of the polling booths with more flyers.

3. What’s up with the people who sit under umbrellas waving at cars going past in the lead up to election day? I swear to God more often than not I want to throw something out the window at them, or pull over and ask what the f*ck they are doing, because it just baffles me.

4. I don’t read any of the letters that get mailed to me, so on voting day I am that girl that everyone stares at because I take a flyer from everyone handing them out as I walk in. Then when I leave I go back along the line and hand them all back. (Surpisingly this act is never met with gratitude- the flyer givers always seem genuinely irritated with me that I would have the audacity to invade their personal space and hand out reading material they have no interest in receiving. Imagine that.)

5. It’s always like a race when you are going to vote- you zip into a carpark and then try and walk with haste to overtake everyone in the near vicinity without actually looking like you are trying to overtake them. I fail at this everytime, and what’s worse is that you make a fool of yourself racing to get to the line- you get there,  you silently congratulate yourself on your outstanding race walking skills, contemplate a career change and foresee a potential Olympic gold medal in the sport, and then stand in the same spot for ages hating life and cursing everyone who outwalked you to their spot.

6. Waiting in line is not the place to make new friends. It’s like flying- respect personal space, avoid eye contact, and just wait patiently to get to the final destination, because bitching about it every 5 minutes is not gonna get you there any faster.

7. Speaking of waiting in lines for hours, why the hell are there lines? Get in, tick the box your voting for, and get the hell out. It’s so nice that the woman searching for your name on the electoral role is the wife of your next door neighbour’s cousin who went to school with your sister and you haven’t seen each other for years, but do us all a favour and look each other up on facebook at a later date and keep the line moving.

8. On that note, if you find that you have reached the front of the line and still don’t know who you are voting for, I have two things to say to you; 1) Get your shit together-you have had weeks of mailouts to decide, not to mention been pestered on your way into the polling booths by the different parties, and then stood in line with campaign flyers in your hands for hours, so you have no excuse for having no decision, and 2) When all else fails, either kick it like you did in high school and play a little Eenie Meenie Minie Moe, select box C, or do a null vote. At the end of the day, no one really cares who you voted for.

9. As for that Facebook train of thought, surely with all the technology in the world there is an easier way to vote rather than waiting in a bloody queue for 4 hours. Where’s your app for that, Apple?

10. If we have to wait in line for hours to vote, surely the different parties could provide a sausage sizzle? You wanna win votes, LNP, that’s the way to do it.

11. Why is there only one day to vote? Give us a damn weekend at least to fit it in, if it’s gonna take half the day.

12. Why are we even voting Australia? We all know that Julia Gillard will pull some shit cabinet vote whenever it suits anyway.

As previously stated, I know nothing about politics, but I do know that I would take a whole lot more of an interest if I was handed a dagwood dog en route to the polling booths. Happy voting day Australia, I’ll think of you while I have my glass of wine on the front porch with the California sun setting.

I still haven’t found what I’m looking for.

Before I moved to the US, so many people gave me wonderful pearls of wisdom, all of which I am so thankful for.

Predominantly, I was told that while a ship is safest in it’s harbour, that’s not what ships are intended for. I keep repeating this over and over in my mind when life gets tough, telling myself that I’m not the first person to throw caution to the wind or to leave all my loved ones waving me off at the airport, however I am the first person to admit that I haven’t coped well.

I’ve been back in Australia since January 26, which may surprise a lot of you that I didn’t make a grand announcement sooner, however when you reread the previous paragraph it’s evidently due to a sense of failure that I didn’t sing it from the rooftops sooner.

So here it is, the truth you’ve all been wondering about, in black and white for the world to see.

I wish I could say I was the kind of girl who could cope on my own, and up until I moved (or endeavoured to move) overseas I thought I was that girl. I kept thinking about how I was a ship sailing out to sea to seek adventure, and then while I was in the US I had this epiphany- the sea makes me panic, and although ships aren’t meant to sit in the harbour, maybe I’m not a ship and I’m instead a fabulous yacht or house boat that is meant to sit at the docks and host dinner parties as the sun sets.

I spent much of last year surrounded by friends in my gorgeous little townhouse, hosting spontaneous dinner parties for no apparent reason and fabulous champagne afternoon tea parties for special friends on their birthdays. These are the things I missed the most in the States- being surrounded by the unconditional love and the sheer joy that my friends bring into my life. I know that they say you can find friends anywhere in the world, but I firmly believe that my bunch are the most special kind of friends, the kind who make your life feel a little bit empty when they aren’t in it.

I’m so incredibly proud of my wonderful friends who can move overseas and cope just fine, but I’m not that girl. I’m the girl who laid on the bathroom floor and sobbed because I missed my mum. I’m the girl who ended up physically ill when I got overwhelmed, and I’m the girl who always runs away from her feelings because I’m too scared of the enormity of them sometimes. None of these are admirable traits, but they say to be a good writer you have to share yourself with the world, both the good parts and the bad.

I still haven’t found what I’m looking for, because I don’t yet know what that is. I go through stages, when I talk myself out of one plan and into the other. I half commit to everything, because I’m always scared of making the wrong decision, and I constantly look forward to the next stage of my life before enjoying the one I am in.

This inability to live in the moment could well be because I hate to ever feel like I’ve disappointed anyone, which is why I seem to always be striving for the next achievement, success, or challenge. This is in my mother’s opinion one of my absolute worst traits, because instead of taking each day as it comes, I work myself into a state about the future. I’m 21, going on 45.

Some days I have an incredibly strong sense of self, and I can be horribly head strong. Other days my self confidence stays in my dreams when I wake up and while I never intend it to become obvious to the rest of the world, I become insecure and seek reassurance from those I love.

My parents divorced just after I turned 18, and I convinced myself the easiest way to cope was to pretend that my life hadn’t changed, so instead of dealing with my own emotions, I locked them away and endeavoured to be strong for everyone else. This worked wonderfully until I started a new relationship (my first proper relationship) and had to open my whole heart to someone else. There’s no guide book on how to cope with your parents divorcing, and while it’s a common occurence in today’s society, it makes it no easier to deal with. People say it’s easier when your older, which as far as I’m concerned is the biggest joke going. While I was blessed to grow up in a family environment, I had to watch my parent’s suffer through a divorce while I was old enough to realise what was happening, while my brother and I were both going through our awkward teenage years trying to find our own place in the world.

I spend much of my life trying to be there for everyone else, because as long as I’m busy doing that I don’t have to evaluate my own life.

When I was 13 I first began my battle with food. It certainly didn’t start intentionally, nor was it a drastic beginning. Going into high school I became conscious of my weight and made an effort to eat better and exercise more. Harmless enough, until all of a sudden I was so busy that I was forgetting to eat or running out of time in my breaks at school to actually have lunch. I have never been a morning person so breakfast was always ruled out, and before I knew it my day had flown past and I was having one meal a day.

My parents intervened when I was 16, and I slowly got back on track. I asked my dad years later at what point I realised what I was doing, and he told me it was when I realised I was 15 years old and killing myself. Of course though never one to take a back seat I threw myself into my final year of school with a determination to excel. I was College Captain and constantly pulled out of classes to attend events, spending lunch breaks desperately running from one meeting to the next and trying to catch up on the work I missed in class. Old habits die hard, so combine this with a looming school formal and a fabulously fitted red dress, and I was hitting the gym so hard I was throwing up from exhaustion. This was largely due to not eating enough throughout the day then apparently trying to break world records in the gym, when I started to realise I had to eat more.

By this point though food was well and truly the enemy, and more often then not I would find myself crying at the thought of having to eat. Before long though my body would betray me and I would be almost ill with hunger. So I would eat, and promptly feel sick and decide I must have eaten something bad, and up the food would come.

I so badly want to think that as I’ve gotten older and wiser, my habits have changed somewhat. While food is no longer my enemy, stress is, and by default I find the only way I cope is by making myself physically sick. It’s a terrible habit which I know I have to break, but admitting the problem seems to be the first step to resolving it, so consider this my admission.

Apparently in order to really love someone else, you have to love yourself first. Some days I’m all good with this concept, and others I struggle. Probably why more often then not I choke on the three little words that you really need to be able to say in a relationship- ‘I love you’. This is probably a good opportunity to put it out there that if at any point I’m struggling with the words, it doesn’t mean the feelings aren’t there, it more often then not is a fear of that love disappearing suddenly and a reservation to say them out loud in case the words fall on deaf ears.

I’ve never struggled with words in my life, except in my relationships. I think it’s because to be truly honest in a relationship you have to be honest with yourself, which is something I am still very much struggling with (not that one would know that by the in-depth nature of this blog).

It’s no secret that when my life becomes overwhelming I tend to run away and seek solace elsewhere, convincing myself the grass is greener on the other side. I cope best by pretending the problem isn’t there, and if I can’t do that I remove myself from the situation instead.

If you’re still with me, and curious about where these little admissions are coming from, they are coming from the little closet that I locked them in when I got back to Australia. These are the reasons I left the States, because as hard as I tried to cope, sometimes a girl just needs her mama and her girlfriends.

I left a lot behind in the States, a lot that I want to go back to, but I have constant fears and doubts. None of these are because of anyone other than myself, and the sudden disappearance of my self confidence and self belief that I can do anything I set my mind to. I am determined to find these traits in myself again, which is why I have a return flight booked for 10 days time. I just have to find the inner strength and faith to get on it.

Above all else, I feel like this blog will gather very mixed responses, so I need to make sure the following statement is very well understood.

Despite how I may come across sometimes, I really am doing the best I can to figure out my life. Sometimes I am blunt and abrupt, and I shut people out more often then I should. I fight the urge to run away a lot, not literally but metaphorically, because my coping mechanism is just utter crap really. I don’t really know what I want so I keep my options open which always results in someone being disappointed, however it’s never my intention to disappoint anyone. I expect too much from the people in my life, but I give plenty back in return. I like simplicity and genuinity, and I strive to have this in my life but I’m overanalytical which leads to insecurity, and I can’t apologise for this because I’m certain it’s some sort of manufacturer’s default with women all women. I am however incredibly grateful for the life I have, because I couldn’t ask for more supportive friends and family who allow me my dark days and love me unconditionally.

I still haven’t found what I’m looking for, but I think I’m getting closer.

Valentine’s Day

I don’t often sit on the fence about holidays, I either love them or I don’t. There are always bits and pieces that I love, like the fairy lights at Christmas and the parades on Anzac Day, but there is always more pressure to perform on holidays. There’s the gift giving and the parties and the family drama that so often rears it’s ugly head, and the really important things about the holiday seem to slowly fall by the wayside.

However, all of this being said, I am on the fence about Valentine’s Day. I love the idea behind it-the grand gestures of love and the romance and the flower giving. What I don’t love, is the idea of needing one specific day a year dedicated to the notion. I am a firm believer in romance and kind acts every day, not just on the one day of year that society has selected for us.

I woke up today knowing that my Facebook newsfeed would be filled with Valentine’s comments and stories. Today there were two that struck me the most, which motivated me to actually finish the blog I started three days ago.

The first was a gorgeous update from Emma Loveday:

Happy Valentine’s Day everyone. Today isn’t a day to become a mega bitch to your partner because their idea of romance doesn’t match yours. It’s not a day to brag to your girlfriends about who got the best presents and it most definitely isn’t a day to feel as though not having a relationship is the same as not having self worth because that just isn’t true. Today is all about celebrating love in all it’s different forms. It may be the love for your partner, family, friends or even your pets. It’s all love and it’s all worth celebrating. Tell someone special in your life that you love them today.

The second, was a post that really makes your heart swell. My friend Cara Smith Bucholtz uploaded this picture of the note that her six year old son had written for his sister, which says so much about the love in this family and the wonderful way these kids are being raised.

As most people know, I’m not a store bought gift kinda girl. I love gifts that are sentimental and I’m usually more excited by the cards then I am the gifts. This is quite possibly why I don’t like the pressure of Valentine’s Day. I have a boyfriend, who is gorgeous and lovely and romantic all the time, and I absolutely adore him. We weren’t together on Valentine’s Day this year (seriously worst luck in the world), but every day with him feels like Valentine’s Day, and call me deluded but isn’t that the point of a relationship?

We didn’t do the actual gift thing; he sent me a card and a love letter, and I sent him something similar (which I can’t say because he hasn’t opened yet), but all of which came to a minimal cost yet was full of love and sentiment.

I’m thrilled for all of my lovely friends who received roses and breakfast in bed, but it’s not my thing. I don’t like cliches (on occasions like these), I love the idea of fresh lillies or home made cupcakes, things that don’t scream ‘VALENTINE’S DAY’, but more so say ‘I love you’, however this thought could stem from my original belief that you don’t need it to be Valentine’s Day to do kind things for those you love.

If you have found yourself hating life today, as I know my brother certainly is based on his update this morning of ‘Fuck valentines day who needs that shit’, then I have decided to share with you my personal Valentine’s Day survival guide that has been my best friend for many single years (this one included since my boyfriend is a world away).

1. Have no expectations. Despite what society says, you in fact do not need to be in a relationship on Valentine’s Day (or ever if you don’t want to be).

2. Don’t feel compelled to go overboard on the gifts. Sometimes even nicer then the chocolates, roses, jewellery, and fancy dinners, are the hugs, kisses, cards and simple I love you’s over take away Chinese food eaten straight from the box.

3. Ladies, wear matching underwear, a pretty dress, and your favourite perfume. Don’t do it because you have a date or are hoping to find one, do it for yourself, because there is nothing wrong with feeling fabulous just for you.

4. Tell your friends how much you love them! My girlfriends and I always wish each other happy Valentine’s Day, and tell each other how lucky we are to have each other. They are the best kind of relationships.

5. Feel liberated at being on your own. There are great perks to being single, like being able to pick the TV channel you want to watch and having what you feel like for dinner, so discover these perks and embrace them(today and every day after).

6. Think about all the dodgy dates you’ve been on, and remember how lucky you are not to be in a continuing relationship with those dodgy characters (like the guy who picks food from his teeth in front of you and the girl who kept talking about how drunk she was on the weekend).

7. Gentlemen- wear a nice cologne, shave, and dress to impress. The way you present yourself is the kind of girl you will attract, so if you are like my party boy brother who wonders why he hasn’t found a nice girl to settle down with, let’s take a brief look at what vibe you are putting out to the dating world. (By the way if you are a nice single girl and are interested in dating my brother, he is now taking applications. Please do not apply if you have a noticeably fake tan, wear high waisted cheek shorts, or are uninteresting).

8. Remember that today is not the day that you should evaluate your whole life. While you may feel like everything sucks because you are alone and it feels like everyone around you is sickeningly happy, think about the fact that behind closed doors all those sickeningly happy couples have dramas of their own. While today you may hate your job because the girl next to you got roses, or your apartment building because a loved up couple got in the elevator with you, or your favourite restaurant because you had to wait so long for your take away because they were packed with couples, be grateful for having a job, a house to sleep in, and food to put on the table.

9. To many people, love doesn’t exist unless they can flaunt it in front of everyone. There are couples who have invited all of Facebook to be an audience to their relationship, and then there are the couples who are quietly content with being together. While I love the idea of grand gestures of love, I admire the couples who do them for each other, and not just so the world can see. If you are single, and witnessing these gestures and are opposed to them, remember it’s only one day and tomorrow they will go back to having the same relationship problems they did on February 13, they just put them on hold for a day to present themselves to the world as the perfect happy couple.

10. Remember that as hard as it is, the most important relationship in your life is the one you have with yourself. So be honest to yourself, take care of yourself, and treat yourself often- you deserve it!

However if all of this fails you, go out, get drunk, and have a big glass of water before you go to bed, otherwise tomorrow will feel worse then today.

Before you resort to that though, I want to share my current favourite love story, and the new yardstick for my relationships.

There is this lovely couple who came into my life in America, and it’s a joy to watch them together. They have family nights, go to church together, share the household duties, and are incredibly kind, welcoming people.

When they first got together, he told her one night that he didn’t believe that a relationship was 50-50, that it should be 100-100, but if she wasn’t sure that she could put in 100% just yet, she could just put in 50% and he would put in the other 150% until she was ready.

As time went on she gradually increased her number, and as hers rose he lessened his, to help keep the relationship balanced.

When she finally reached 100%, she agreed to marry him. Twenty years later they are still together, which she says is because he is  her Ross, and she is his Rachel.

Happy Valentine’s Day!

XXXXXXXX

 

 

 

 

Rose Coloured Glasses

It seems that whenever I stop travelling around and return to ‘home base’ in the States, I find myself daydreaming of my life back home, those I love, what they are doing, what I’d be doing if I was there, and in the words of my fairy godmother, perhaps viewing my old life with rose coloured glasses.

One of my darling friends said to me not long after I arrived in the States, that while I will continue to miss home, it will become a different kind of missing. My first few weeks were absolutely horrific. I lost count of the times I laid on the bathroom floor sobbing, so homesick that I was physically ill, certain that my heart was actually ripping in half. Christmas Day was my low point, when Mama phoned and I cried and cried and told her I wanted to come home. She called Dad, who called me, and told me he would put me on the next flight if that’s what I wanted. I’d be home for new years and would go to Mooloolaba for a few weeks with the ones I love the most. It was a tempting thought.

I told them I would sleep on it (tearfully might I add), and then the next day I realised something. I had made it to my first ‘check point’. Before I left I told myself that this was just a holiday, that I may only last a month and if I did then that was okay because I tried. My first checkpoint was Christmas, the second was New Years. Miraculously I have made it through both. They certainly aren’t getting any awards for best holiday season, but I did it.

So I pulled myself together and planned my first little trip, a few days in Fresno. I packed enough clean undies to last me two weeks, and from Fresno spontaneously went on to San Francisco. There are things you realise travelling alone, about your life, yourself, and the ones you love.

In the words of Rick Price, ‘Not a day goes by when I don’t think of you’, loved ones, but I think of you all now fondly and not in the gutwrenching ‘how will I cope without you’ way that I did before.

Travelling alone is both liberating and vexing. Liberating to feel free and aloof and to fly by the seat of your pants, but if your like me and used to routine and having a plan, it’s a little bit struggle street when you start off. Vexing, because all the costs are completely your own to bear. Which is a bitch. Particularly when you pay, and then have to tip.

You also realise who your best friends are. There are the friends who say they will skype and write, then there are the ones who do.

There are the friends who like your status updates, and then the ones who post on your wall with random thoughts and memories and positive vibes.

It’s almost a little sad when you realise the ones you considered so dear fall by the wayside, but then it fills your heart when you look around and see the ones still with you. Those of you know who you are, and how much I adore you.

My dad once told me to write things down when there are too many thoughts in my head. So I decided to write down what I miss about home, since tomorrow will mark my one month anniversary in the US.

1. I miss my mama. She is my person. The person I call and tell all my news to, the person I ring crying when it all feels too hard, the person who throws me a life vest when I’m drowning, the person who shares my triumps and stands on the sideline of my life pom poms in hand cheering me on, and the person who I can always depend on.

2. I miss the sunshine. I detest the fucking freezing cold in the US.

3. I miss familiarity and routine, and knowing where everything was.

4. I miss having my own car and not being so far away from civilisation.

5. I miss my house. The highs and lows of 2011 were in my gorgeous townhouse, and I miss that feeling of being at home.

6. I miss Coles. We all know how I love grocery shopping, and I don’t understand it in the US. Everything is supersized and superfat. I miss the deli.

7. I miss Mansoor’s laugh.

8. I miss coffee dates with Juliette where we would muse over our careers and love lives and dreams.

9. I miss dancing around my room with Liz.

10. I miss Mooloolaba. Oh how I miss it, especially since as I write this all the ones I love are presently sitting in a caravan park on the beach with wine and cheese and each other. Thank you for the enormous skype session we just had though ❤

11. I miss Ikea. Like, ridiculously. Considering I went twice it’s actually quite pathetic.

12. I miss my bookshelf and I know it’s in good hands with Ben Wilkinson but regardless, it was so beautiful with all my fashion books on it.

13. I miss all my furniture actually. Except my bedframe and couches. Those I don’t miss.

14. I miss teaching, which I never ever ever thought I would, but there’s something about classes with my dad and knowing that I’m making a difference in those kids lives that is so fulfilling.

15. I miss my brother. He seems to be doing remarkably well without me, but he gives me all that strength that I just don’t have in me.

16. I miss my job! I finally had found a job that I was good at and loved going to, and had opportunities rolling in and instead elected to come to the US where there are almost no jobs, and the jobs that they are offering are for $8 an hour and at least an hours drive away.

17. I miss the markets and buying fresh flowers wrapped in paper.

18. I miss Montezuma’s.

19. I miss Harper, the world’s most gorgeous cat.

20. I miss the things I took for granted, like midnight picnics with friends on the top of Mt Coot-tha and buying a new book for my bookshelf. Like being hugged, and being called Tahn or Tahnaree because Tahnee was just too formal for loved ones.

These are all the things that matter in my life, and it took coming to the other side of the world to realise it. Turns out there were plenty of things I needed to realise, and that right now I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be in order to do that.

Breathe in, breathe out, wait patiently, learn, survive. Repeat mantra.