Category Archives: stuff

sad

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B came home at 4.30am last night. I am grateful that he and I met in advertising so our lives together are punctuated by both of us keeping ridiculous hours to meet ridiculous deadlines. I am grateful because I get it. I know many of my friends never did. I think they thought I was either the most trusting or the most stupid of partners. But mostly I am grateful because he came home. I was feeling a tad miffed to be honest and then I heard about a very dear friend’s brother. Who isn’t coming home. All my love and strength goes out to his wife and two very young children and my friend for what lies ahead. Sadly, but realistically, it takes such fundamentally sad events to make me realise once again how much I have to be thankful for. And to remind me how impermanent things are. That’s not frightening, it just is. So I am grateful B is here. For now. And will continue to celebrate every single moment we have together, even when I hate him, because it will end. And because right now I am the lucky one.

bad day

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It’s a funny thing. And Susie, you’ll laugh at this. It’s a funny thing but the checkout girls and guys at Woolies don’t ask me how my day is anymore. Or what I’ve been doing. Or what I’ll be doing for the rest of the day. I only realised that today. Just to backtrack a bit, I had a little not big picture stuff rant a while ago, and not at the employees, but the management, who make these often very young checkout kids ask me about my day, what I did and what I’m going to do. I know it’s their job, but they don’t really care. And why should they. It’s just a job with an auto prompt.  I do believe just a smile and a how are you would do it on both parties side, unless we choose to engage further. It’s not really necessary otherwise to initiate this false banter. I feel for them and I really feel for me. We could all do without the potentially awkward moment. Today I realised they hadn’t asked me for a while. I thought yay, management have realised what a crock of shit it is. But then I noticed the lady at the checkout counter behind me was being asked. So it was just me. It’s just been me a few times then. I do engage, and smile sweetly and kindly because I do know it’s not their fault but clearly they can see it in my eyes. Don’t ask me how my day has been because I just might tell you.

home

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At dinner last night a friend asked me where home was now. After nearly four years here. For all of us, here or there. I always hate those questions. I have since the day we arrived here. Are you happy. Do you miss home. The reason I hate them is because it is so hard to answer them. To be honest. To even know how you really feel, because there is so much stuff that clouds your honest assessment. How can I be happy here, even if I think I might be. Doesn’t that negate the relationships, the people I’ve left behind. How can I be happy here when they aren’t here. And if I say I’m not, what about the opportunity we’ve been given. How can we not put our best foot forward and embrace the adventure. What about all the fabulous friends who have rallied around us and supported us to find our feet here. And how can I not be happy providing a possibly firmer future for my kids. What am I teaching them if I’m always looking backwards. Where do the girls feel more at home? I answered that home for them, in fact for all of us, is where we are. And as I said it last night I realised I meant it. We are where we are meant to be. So, I guess that right now thats here. So, does that mean this is home now? Africa is in my blood and in my heart. It is the country of my birth. It is with me wherever I am. My family is in my heart and in my blood. They are with me wherever I am. I now know I don’t have be anywhere to be home. But I wondered if I had answered correctly for the girls. So I asked them. Jem said, well I was born in South Africa, but I don’t really have a home. Just as my heart cracked, she went on to say, home is where my family is. You, daddy and Kate. Kate didn’t want to answer, then said here. Here?, I said. Australia? She said, well, it’s where we live. So simple. Home truly is wherever we are. And I believe that can be anywhere now.

cleese

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I had such a fabulous day yesterday. Playing assistant to director B. If he had suggested that before, never mind how last minute, I would have snorted at the idea. Me. Do that. Are you fucking mad? As in, do you know who I am, how important I am. I don’t even attend my own shoots anymore. Now, you want me to carry the tripod, scout locations, drive you around, traipse into the strangest areas for the most fabulous of shots. You have got to be kidding. But I said yes. Not because I’m so noble but because B said we’d stay at Limes. And he’d pay me. The day started with a frission of excitement the minute I woke up. It clearly was not the prospect of what the day held. Nor the wonderful pay check. Said with a wry note of sarcasm. Not that I am not grateful of course. I think it was the promise of freedom.  It was like I was given a free pass to have a day with no responsibility other than to do whatever B told me to. What a fabulous day. We laughed and stumbled, well I stumbled and we worked. Way into the night. I remember at one point under the Storey Bridge as I wrestled with the tripod for the umpteenth time as B changed his lens for the umpteenth time to do the perfect tracking shot for the umpteenth time, I mentioned how amazing it was. Not his shot. But being there. I didn’t have anywhere to go, anywhere to be, but there. Never ever, not one single, very well paid minute in my previous career or life, had I felt that before. There I always felt like I should be somewhere else, doing something more, hurrying up so I wouldn’t be late, for a meeting, for a deadline, for my kids. I was so important. Whatever it was, yesterday under the Storey Bridge I felt content. I didn’t need more. I was with B, my girls were being beautifully cared for by my fabulous friends. I was content. And that I had decided a while ago, is my definition of happiness. To be content. I am so grateful that I am finally realising it doesn’t take much. And that I already have all it takes. But apparently not what it takes to be a good film crew member. B just sent me this shot with this comment  “So I’m loving the shot of the hotel until I wonder what that is in the centre of the shot……” In case you’re wondering, it’s my bag. Well, he didn’t pay me enough anyway.

love

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I’m still doing it. I’m still trying to turn B into me. I fell in love with B for him. His quirks, his laid-backness, his dimpled smile, his forearms (not a fetish but they have always done it for me), his irreverence, his perverseness, his independence, his B’ness. His different to me ness. But I have spent the last seventeen years or so trying to turn him into me. Even though I know he will never behave the way I do, because he is not me. He will never respond the way I do, because he is not me. He will never phone home the way I do or when I want him too, because he is not me. He will never drive around the block ridiculously every time he has to be somewhere because he is always 5mins or more early the way I do, because he is not me. He will never do stuff when I want him too just because I want it done then, because he is not me. He will never be irrationally jealous the way I am, actually he will, and I do love that about him. So, I don’t know why I’m still doing it. I don’t even want B to be like me. I am starting to like me a little more, but fuck I’d hate to be married to me. So, I know he will never say sorry the way I do or think I do, because he is not me. I do know. But it still pisses me off. And I know that’s why he does it. And I love him all the more for it.

guilt

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I forgot Kate today. For the first time ever. And in the worst thunderstorm I’ve ever experienced here. She had to text me. For some of you I’m sure it’s no big deal. For control freak, always 5mins early me, it was a huge deal. For the kid whose controlling mother was always there 5mins early it was a huge deal. The guilt. And not only at forgetting her, but at having spent the morning on the beach. And then forgetting her. The guilt at B’s raised eyebrow at my packed briefcase this morning. Aka, my beach bag. B’s word, not mine. But especially because I had felt slightly superior this morning when Jem told B mom always does things right. This was because she didn’t want B to drop them off at school. The last time he drove up the bus only lane. And stayed there and said leisurely goodbyes to the girls as they died a thousand deaths. I’m sure, knowing B, he might even have yelled I love you to them as they scuttled away. It didn’t help that one of the better looking boys in Kate’s grade was watching. And laughing. So, I was feeling understandably superior. Because I always do it right. Yeah right. Not only was Kate affronted when I finally turned up, she was also soaked. What a fabulous lesson for us both. She now knows I don’t always get it right.  And I now know it doesn’t matter. If she knows that is.

promise

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I feel a little sad today. And I know that’s okay. I also know why I’m sad. Because my friend is. And I don’t know how to help her. And because I know only she can help herself. And I feel a little guilty. Because the very thing thing I take the most for granted is the very thing my friend does not have. And so badly wants. I know this because she told me.The stability of us. Of B and I. It seems so cruel to give advice on how lucky she is to have what she has, and to be so grateful for what she has been blessed with, from the comfort of my solid unit of two. I am grateful to her for reminding me of the beauty of what we have. But I know, as I know she does, only too well, nothing lasts forever. So my promise to her, and to myself, is never ever to take us for granted again. To see the beauty we are. To see the beauty we have. But I only promise this, if she promises too. If she promises never ever again to give up on herself. To see the beauty she has. To see the beauty she is.

a plea

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Life is not a fairy tale. The good guy doesn’t always win. Prince Charming doesn’t really exist. No-one lives forever. I know now that I can’t rely on other’s for my happiness. Life and love is not conditional. It’s not up to B to make me happy, it’s up to me. This is part of my why. My 365 grateful posts. To force myself to acknowledge and truly acknowledge how much I have. And not only material things. I wish you would too. There is so much beauty around us and in us if we only care to look. And stop believing the fairy tales. And our old stories. Our old baggage. Life is not  picture book perfect. Life is not what could have been. Life is not what should be. Life is as it should be. If only we could accept, acknowledge, let go and move forward. And never look back. Living in the past messes up the now. Just look at what you have right now. Just look. Right this very moment, give thanks for it, be grateful for it, knowing it too will pass. Knowing it won’t last forever.  And then it will be too late. Don’t waste what you have wishing for something you never had. See what you have. Please. And let that be enough. You are so blessed. You really are. You are so loved. You have so much more than many. So much more. You just need to open your eyes. And be grateful.

friends

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I like my friends. A lot. In fact, I love them. And often for very different reasons. But I don’t always like everything about them. Just like I know they don’t like everything about me.   Some get me more than others, some judge me more than others, some are amused by me more than others. And vice versa. Some are very very different to me, and I love that because we teach each other so much. Some are very like me and that’s often more challenging, but delightfully affirming too.  Some have very different values, attitudes and spiritual beliefs to me.  But that doesn’t mean we can’t be friends or get each other. I get this. Completely. I wish everyone did.

addict

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Approval Addiction is the title of a book my friend gave me to read. She wasn’t trying to tell me something. It’s something we recognise in each other. Seems like such a harsh word, addiction. Am I an addict? I like approval. We all do, if we’re honest. But am I that dependent. That needy. The more I read the more I recognised myself. And I never got past the first two chapters. Because I stopped. Because I’m not. I am not that dependent. Not anymore. I talk a lot about respect and honesty but my other big thing is fear. Fear is the thing. It strangles us. It makes us make the wrong choices or none at all. Books like this exist because of our fear. The world is as it is because of fear. It is what feeds my need for approval. The fear of not being liked, the fear of not being taken seriously, the fear of offending, the fear of being anonymous, the fear of failure, the fear of being ignored, the fear of being alone, the fear of illness, the fear of being destitute. The fear of death. Of late I’ve pissed a lot of people off because I don’t care so much anymore. I can’t pretend anymore so you’ll like me. I like me. And I’m truly not afraid. Maybe the book is not so relevant to me anymore. So, I will not be ending this post with my name is Lianne Cawood and I am an approval addict. Not anymore.