Tag Archives: stuff

liar

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9

I lied to my sister in law and best friend yesterday. Or actually maybe I lied to myself. If letting others yourself included believe you’ve got it sorted is a lie, that is. I lied that I was okay with not working.  I lied that being available to my girls made up for my loss of self, of self worth and independence. I lied by making it sound like when Jem told me how much it meant to her to have me just there, that was all I needed. I lied, because that isn’t all I need. I wish it was. I need more. But I need more to feed that place inside me that for some reason feels not quite good enough. Not for mental stimulation. I am stimulated, by my reading, my learnings, my friends, my lessons, by B and through B, by my daughters, by my teachers. It’s that damn need for acknowledgement. For validation. And is much more than just financial. I thought I was over the woman at the dinner party who writes you off on hearing you no longer work. Who turns to someone else, who she believes has more to offer.  Even though she has no idea of who you are, who you were and where you’ve been. I no longer introduce myself as I used to be yadda yadda. So, there is progress. I am ok with who I am. But, I can’t lie anymore. I can’t pretend it doesn’t still make my toes curl. The disdain that is.  I realised today thinking about my conversation with Lynn that I have been lying to myself.  I remembered how I felt  a couple of nights ago, when a well meaning working acquaintance, or at least I think she was well meaning, asked that question. That bloody question. So, what have you been doing with yourself? Fuck. I felt myself panic. Shit, what have I been doing. So much but nothing at all. Nothing that anyone values. (But actually the only ones that matter do) Fuck fuck fuck. Who am I, what am I, what is this all about, what was it all about, is this all that there is, is it all over for me. It all came back. Then, I breathed. Truly. And smiled and said. I’ve been existing. I did. She was happy with that answer. Lynn, soon I will be too. But I lied, I’m not there yet.

honest

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6

This was my card from B. The small print says…But I really love you all of the time. Happy Birthday. Me. X. I won’t pretend it didn’t piss me off at first. It did. But actually, it was the perfect card. We have both been pissing each other off the last couple of days, just normal couple crap. And it is normal. To have crap I mean. This is the world we live in. Not in the other world that many only share. The world that makes you look at your normal relationship filled with good and crap and wonder what’s wrong with you. Why can’t you be so in love and nauseatingly happy all the time too. Nothing is wrong with you. As long as you are honest. So, if any of you have felt envious of B and I because we have the most fabulous of relationships. Don’t. We don’t and I honestly don’t believe they exist. Not if you are truly honest with yourselves and the real world. But, if you want to envy our honesty. You can. Because of that I am proud. It is what it is. Life is what it is. I wish people would just stop pretending. So, I love my card. It is honest.  A schmaltzy we are so fabulous aren’t we and you are the best person on the planet card, would not have been.  I don’t like B some of the time either, but I do love him, yes, all of the time.

dammit

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1

Isn’t it annoying when we do things expecting a certain response and we get a different one. So many positive preachers (and I mean this not in the biblical sense, and with a slight touch of sarcasm as in, do what I say not as I do) out there, myself included, offer the advice of have no expectations. Noble.  But that’s what most of us do. We have expectations. And it bloody messes thing up. Things just don’t turn out the way we wanted. We expect people to think they way we do, to behave the way we do, to understand what we do, to share the same sense of humour, the same values, the same beliefs. Even though we say we don’t. In fact, I find it very offensive when people do assume I think like they do. So, why do I expect others to think like me? To share my views and values. To understand my motives. Every single interaction we have with anyone is affected by the stuff we and they carry around with us. As we intend it, is often not how it is heard.  Sometimes it pisses me off that I can’t make everyone think like me. I can’t make them respond the way I want them to. But, they don’t. And I can’t. And, I may not always like it, but I do respect it. And I learn from it every single day.

pathetic

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1

I thought I had forgotten what it feels like to be a teenage girl. Today Arienne and I realised we hadn’t. After setting the world to rights, as we do, as we walk amongst the most spectacular scenery in the world, acknowledging it without pausing from our non-stop chatter, we went to Cafe le Monde as we do, for our workers coffee, saving a whopping 50c because we are locals, but damn how I love that. Not the saving, but the belonging. And the word, workers. The only difference was today, as we both went up to the counter to order, we looked up into the most beautiful blue eyes on the most beautiful mans face, and both forgot what we were doing there. Never mind that we are no doubt older than even his mother and are both extremely sensible women, we were completely and utterly tongue tied. Completely and utterly dumbstruck. I think both our hands pathetically went involuntarily up to our hair, as teenage girls do to preen. We finally managed to splutter out our order and once on the pavement, burst into peals of laughter, yes very very snorty laughter, not becoming of two mature nearly 46 and 48 year olds. Bloody pathetic. But what fun to be a teenage girl for one involuntary moment again.

yeefuckinghaa

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4

I admire women. In particular the strength they often aren’t aware they have. I admire men too, but I am in awe of women. Right now so many of my friends are going through real life changing shitty times. Weird. So many and at the same time. I do feel sad for them that they are having to suffer. But I have learnt that often that is what is required to facilitate change. To open our eyes. I am so very sad for them and for their pain. For everyone’s pain. But I felt a little bubble of excitement deep down in my tummy.  I couldn’t understand why. And then I realised what it was. Excitement at the strength my friends are finding within themselves. Fuck, it is exciting. They are realising what they are worth and that they deserve better.  They deserve to be treated as the wonderful fabulous vital women they are. Respect. My new rallying cry. Trust and respect. Yeeehaaaa.

useless

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Is how I felt in the face of someone’s pain. How to be, what to say, how to show I care. We have no idea what our friends are carrying with them. So, I did the next best thing. I poured. A lot. It could all be so easy if we just stopped. Stopped the lies. Stopped the interpretation. Stopped the need for interpretation. Stopped the expectation. Stopped the conditions. Stopped the fear. Imagine how it could be. Honesty. It might hurt but truth always prevails. And then will hurt even more. So lets be brave enough to be truthful. Be brave enough to stop the crap. We are so much more. We are spiritual beings having a human experience. Why can it not be one guided by grace and dignity? Why can we not try to be better. Respect. Is that too much to ask for? We are all the same. Lets honour the goodness that truly is within us all. Is within you. My friend deserves so much more. So do we all. Ok, Sunday sermon over. Where is that damn bottle?

rot

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1

I think the rot might have set in. This morning was the second morning this week that I dashed across the road to the bakery. I must add I am extremely grateful to be living directly across the road from a bakery. Urban bliss. Well, Noosa urban bliss. The point is not the dash to the bakery, but the fact that I did it without having applied my dermalogica treatment foundation, followed by a light sprinkling of clinique translucent powder, followed by a generous application of max factor, I kid you not, mascara, followed by a gentle swirl of mac lipstick. And in my lorna jane gear wearing my havaiana thongs (slip slops for my SA friends, not my g-string, but that was on too, luckily hidden from sight) not my nike trainers and with my slept in hair hanging loose, not artfully scraped back to look like no effort went into it. I never ever do this. Even if I am meeting a friend for a 5am walk along the river, I will get up at 4am to ensure I am ready to meet the world.  So, even when you look at my makeup free face, just know it took me some effort to look this unmade up.  I am loving the fact that some little thing has clicked. I will always make a little effort but I won’t care so much if I don’t.

gentle

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2

This should probably have been filed under the grateful posts 365 category, post entitled eight. If only you read these posts in order and as I intended them. It starts at ahemmm and then follows by category, by day, some under stuff, a few under why and grateful posts daily under grateful posts 365. And no I am not a control freak. And maybe I do take myself a little too seriously. And yes I am learning to let go.  Or perhaps I am being let go.  On the way to school today for the start of year 10 for her, Kate said today is the first ever start of a new school year that she has not felt in the slightest bit anxious.  Not one butterfly.  This might not seem remarkable but to those who know us well, Kate has the distinguishing characteristic of having cried every single day on being left at school from the start of Grade 000 until midway through Grade 2. (That’s like two years of kindy, one year of prep, year 1 and year 2) Since then every change has resulted in significant anxiety usually heralded by sleepless nights and sore tummies and a very supportive mother yelling at her to pull herself together. That would be me, but in my defense, I lost my patience in the fifth year. So, I am not sure if it is simply age, or a combination of factors. One of them definitely being a harsh exposure to change (change her mother unwittingly had protected her from) and finding herself flourishing in a new world with new rules. A gentle caring less competitive self affirming world. Or maybe it’s just cos her mother has become less of a stressed out, I have to get to work, what am I wearing, hurry up I’m going to be late, fuck the traffic is a nightmare, lock all the doors, don’t answer my phone it could be Assie (my very senior client who has become a very dear friend) I’m trying to do everything and show everyone how fabulous I am, person. It has all become a little gentler, which is helping me to let go. A little.

weird

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3

Being with heaps of South Africans last night made me think. Everyone knows I never wanted to come here and only did so because I was too scared not too.  Scared of being the one not brave enough to embrace the adventure. And because I had no fight left in me. And because B believed so much in it.  And only on the proviso that I could and believe you me, would, be going home in two years time. On the 15 may 2012 we will have been here for 4 years. Well, the girls and I, B will have been here for 4 years and 9 months but that’s another story. I am not sure when being here became easier than not being here.  I think it was the realisation after many trips home that even though my heart will always be in Africa life there is moving on without us. And our life is moving on here. There truly is no going back, and I don’t mean geographically.  So now I feel a bit like I don’t really belong anywhere.  But then as Ilona and I realised last night, I actually belong in both places. And even better I’ve realised I simply belong. Less attachment. My world has expanded. How cool is that.  Not sure how significant this is, but on 15 January 2012, 42 months since we left South Africa, I put my mac to oz time.

lasagne

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3

B’s got this thing he wants me to do, which will be cool, but is a bit challenging. I’ll need to put myself out there a little, at least for him to judge. So, I did, what I do, I made lasagne. Just like when I need to pay bills, sort out our finances, do the filing. I make lasagne. If I need to pack for a trip, tidy a cupboard, write a reference I make lasagne.  Obviously lasagne is a euphemism for doing anything but what I am supposed to be doing.  Which often is, make lasagne. And if the thing is a little bit confronting, I’ll probably make enough lasagne for the school canteen.  If we had one. I sort of knew I did this, but I didn’t know anyone else knew, except Mel, cos I told her.  But I realised B is onto me when I proudly told him I’d made lasagne for dinner.  His response, if he ever feels like lasagne, he’ll just ask me to put myself out there.