Good Morning Mantown!

Just another blond girl here, reporting on the ups and downs of living in paradise…

A few days ago I passed a pride of little girls playing as I walked barefoot along the beachfront. My surfboard was nestled under my right arm and I was enjoying the feeling of the damp winter grass between my naked toes.

I watched and thought, little girls don’t need anything to play with in the grass other than themselves and possibly a pile of dirt?

They were gathered on one side of the small mountain of exposed earth, cheering each other on…like the way we should cheer each other on as adults, but most of the time we don’t, do we? Maybe we stop the cheering for some reason because of an unrelated fear? Or maybe we make the mountain a competition and we bet on each others’ losses?

The girls took turns leaping over the dirt, trying to clear the other side without brushing their tiny feet on a granule of soil. They were laughing, clapping and innocently mimicking each other’s style.

One of the smallest girls attempted her leap and barely cleared the mountain, but she did. Her pigtails jumped for joy and everyone hailed her success.

As my rushed footsteps passed the game, I almost missed them all together. I was caught in thoughts about my first impending surf since Bali, and the gorgeous new man waiting to surf with me, but I didn’t miss them.

Something caught my attention and dragged me out of my story. I heard one of the older girls say, “Oh! But wait! Your shoes…look at your shoes!”. The smallest girl paused and looked down at her obviously brand new white lace up sneakers. “They are white…and the dirt. You can’t jump anymore. You shouldn’t be playing here with your white shoes”.

I sensed that the older girl had no intention but concern for the pending trouble the smallest girl would earn coming home with grass and dirt stained shoes. She didn’t seem to want to take the fun away from her smaller friend. She was only concerned for the penalty of having too much fun.

The little girl looked at the pile of dirt and then looked at her shoes again. She seemed confused.

It struck me as the beginning of the end of this little girls’ carefree childhood. The protection process had begun. The stigma around ‘clean is better’ was rising to the surface. Keep your things safe. Playing in the dirt is bad…and so it begins…

Are we all afraid of getting our new white shoes dirty?

Have we stopped jumping over the mountains of dirt?

I have worked hard to create a clean sparkly life. I’ve survived tribulations, like we all have, sometimes barely scraping by some of the messiest challenges. Today I feel proud that I am wearing a fresh white stainless shirt. It hasn’t been easy!

The pristine purity symbolizes my defeat against despair and that dark sticky murky stuff called confrontation, yet I know I will most likely have to get dirty again?

So I notice how firmly I want to hold onto my white shirt, the white shoes, the brand new car smell and freshly waxed exterior.

I am afraid of the dirt because that is where life’s passions, joy and connection live – these virtues aren’t white, they are a rainbow of twisted, explosive hues, quite often clashing and seemingly mismatched. Where there are sterile white surfaces there is a false sense of living. Where there are cracks and smudges and stains there are endless nights of sweaty dance moves way past my bedtime, leaps of faith out of airplanes and radical decisions made from the heart.

Life isn’t happening on my ironing board. Life is happening as I stand knee deep in a soaking wet puddle, zealously kissing someone, being splashed by passing traffic while not even noticing.

My shirt has been crisply pressed and white for a while now. I think it’s time to eat some spaghetti and not worry about a few haphazard dashes of red spoiling the canvas.

It’s time to paint the painting.

Madness exists when I long for excitement and transformation and continue to do everything within my power to keep my life exactly as it is right now.

I must take a leap of faith to experience my life to its fullest…I’ve always made decisions based on adventure and love.

In order to open my heart to a new relationship, a new job, a possible move to the other side of the world, the beginning of a business or anything that terrifies me I know what I have to do.

…I must stop, take a massive breath, start running as fast as I can and jump as high and hard as I can knowing whether I make it to the other side or not I will get very dirty.

Of one thing I am certain, everything exhilarating I desire and ask for will at some point soften and become a part of the ocean again, cleansed and cleared in the waves. Unfortunately and fortunately, the ocean does not welcome these back until every exquisitely beautiful, throbbing and messy part has been revealed and experienced.

So little by little, breath-by-breath, I’m watching my shoelaces untie and I’m leaving them here. It’s scary to walk around without shoelaces but it’s the only way to take these white shoes off isn’t it?

To grass stains and piles of dirt, may we all go outside and leap over the earth…

After all, those who don’t leap never get a chance to fly.

xx

Good Afternoon Manly,

Just another blond girl here, reporting on the ups and downs of living in paradise…

Well, I made it home. A week ago AirAsia escorted me from the delicious warmth of Balinese soil to the crispy clear air of Sydney.

There’s nothing like morning light in Manly. The vivid colours of ‘beach’ pop towards me every time I come home – rose gold sand, aquamarine water accented by pine trees and the tops of little beach homes assembled together to comfortably house all of us blond girls. Manly is gorgeous and not for a second do I intend to diminish its beauty by being an ungrateful blond girl, but damn it felt cold to step outside!

The initial shock of shivering was a prelude to the tropical fever that has settled into my bones without any foreseeable desire to leave. The past seven days have left me locked in my bedroom, salivating over my little heater, chatting in boredom to my hanging plant.

Dengue Fever was the diagnosis. He is a strong one – this virus has highlighted every meagre ache I’ve had in my body to date. Sitting in physical pain for days has exhausted me to the point where I have burned through excess ‘disease’ in my head as well.

The first few days I became depressed. Every fear, insecurity and expired worry bubbled to the surface with the pain. I was overcome with night terrors, repeatedly woken by a scream coming from my own mouth.

Today the stomach messiness finally cleared and I’m feeling content but the pain, she remains!

Sometimes I observe masochistic qualities in myself. There’s something I like about this pain. It’s showing me those dark corners of my mind and body that I haven’t wanted to look at and I’m helpless so I have to lie here and watch the stories unfold. They are helpful, the revelations, they expose what I am ready to change and show me behaviours I loathe.

The time to watch nothing also reveals the things that are most important to me, like my loving flat mate delivering tea and endless hugs. The time in stillness, though painful, has allowed me to reflect on my holiday and so, for this, I am grateful…

After departing the charming island where I was provoked with irresistible happiness I find it interesting that my nature returns to lack the moment I return home.

Bali had me, once again, questioning my beliefs about success and money and needs (as she should).

I love when perspectives are upset. On my second last night we shared dinner with a local guy from Nusa Lembongan. To no surprise, like all previous experiences connecting with local friends from ‘seemingly less fortunate circumstances’; I humbly listened to his wisdom.

Our relaxed friend was proud to state that he had lived his entire life on the island (he isn’t naive – he has travelled to Australia many times). He is a thriving surf instructor and an even more successful surfer (apparently quite renowned for his skills throughout the area) and yet when asked about surfing he smiled and with a sparkle in his eye said, “I’m still learning”.

Somehow, the conversation steered towards money as one of my friends asked him if he ever gets a massage? After all, massages seem to be such a popular part of the culture (at least for us visitors). He quickly replied, “Nah. Even though they seem cheap for you, for us, with our rupiahs’ value, they are still expensive and this isn’t what we choose to spend our money on”.

I liked how very clear he was to use the word ‘choose’.

He said that he likes to make money so that he can share it with his family, with his friends, with his mother and with his neighbours. He proudly explained how his Balinese community preserves sacred ceremonies, honouring their faith and customs like that of the ‘Full Moon’ passed just a few days prior. He said, “We all work hard and stay busy so we can share with each other”.

He talked about helping his friends when there was a funeral, or a wedding by bringing food to the special ceremony. All of these important aspects of life cost money, which he openly believed, is the best way to spend it. He confirmed that his perception of what is important in life is different than ours.

He then went on to share his perspective of people, like us, living in Australia. Without a hint of judgment he said, “We watch you stress about your money and your jobs, always focused on the next job and the next house and you arrive here so very tired that you need a massage in order to rest before you go home and continue to stress about your money and your house and your job. We don’t have that same kind of stress here. We don’t worry about the same things you do. We don’t need the massages like you do.”

Simple and to the point – I loved it.

He captured a truth about the world I live in and it felt strangely relieving to hear from his perspective what so many of us cautiously hesitate to whisper beneath the sheets.

Who are we to sit back and claim that we are in some way better off than these beautiful souls on Nusa Lembongan because of the things we own? Some of us don’t even speak to members of our immediate family because of one insignificant moment from the past?

The conversation went on and we couldn’t help but agree with our new friend. He was one hundred percent right about all of it. So many people, even in Australia and Canada are fixated with aspects of life that aren’t really important when we find out someone we love is sick?

I love visiting areas of the world like this – the areas where I can easily feel sorry for others based on my own ignorant perceptions of what happiness and success is. I always, every single time, return home with the feeling that they have somehow got it figured out a little bit more than I do.

I hate when I am stuck in the belief that money can solve my problems. I told my friend one morning at the end of our trip that I was feeling very confused as I had been drawn to give a man in a very modest house some money because he looked sad and I assumed he was worse off than I.

Could I somehow make a positive difference even to ONE person? I would be grateful if someone gave me a gift for no reason, wouldn’t I? Or would I be insulted with the assumption that I needed help?

I don’t know. The question I ponder with service is the difference between a GIFT or a HAND-OUT and whether there is an actual HUMAN NEED or an ASSUMED SHORTAGE?

This circumstance felt like a gift but was I really sure? I couldn’t give it regardless as I didn’t have any money (did he take Visa?) but the question ate away at me for the rest of the trip…

Ignorance is sneaky. I can’t presume that the man living in that house is happy or starving? He might be happier than I am? My natural instincts to assess value based on materialism are engrained in me from the world I live in and I resent it. Of course maybe he is struggling and would have appreciated the money? I don’t know? I know I can’t save the world. Maybe I’m the one who needs saving?

When should we give and when does giving disempower another?

Maybe I could have talked to him and found out?

I didn’t. I walked away, left in this conundrum of questioning.

My intentions may be wholesome. I genuinely want to support others and can potentially and unconsciously insult them by mistake. Some of my choices and daily complaints disappoint me and yet I am ready to look them in the eye and start a conversation.

So I am cold and have a flu. So what? It will pass. Sure, I don’t have as much money saved as I thought I should by this age. Sure, I could own a home and a nicer car. So what? But what does that have to do with happiness and success? So I am reminded – very, very little.

What can I learn from my Balinese friend?

…How many amazing people I have right here ready to come to my rescue!

My friends are what is important, my people – the idiots (myself included) I surrounded myself with for the past few weeks who kept me laughing every single day.

My sister and Nephew dropping by with a special remedy and hugs are important to me. Chatting to my Mom and Dad in Canada is important to me. I am humbled by the fact that a devoted community surrounds me and yet the focus too often remains in what ‘I do not have’ or the ‘space’ that I need. Even service can unconsciously become about me. Instead of modestly reacting to an actual shortage on some level I act from – what can I get out of the giving?

A reality check is to ask myself, “Is this desire to give, on any level, for a personal gain or am I honestly acknowledging a need that I can graciously fill because I want to?”

At least I see it. At least the harsh pain in my lower back reminds me that a successful and humble life is not measured by the number of dollars I can give away but by my ability to provide genuine time for my people and express how much I love every single one of you and then share with you based on understanding.

So that’s it! Let’s cuddle together under a blanket for warmth. I’ll share my blanket with you – Come on in…

Connection might just be the most powerful currency…the rest, after all, is an illusion.

xx