Good Evening Manly,

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

Sometimes when I’m running, I think about all of the people around the world who are disabled or don’t have the strength to run. I think about the people who are sick or just too tired. Some people don’t even have the time or freedom to run. Some people have nowhere to run.

When I’m running and I remember the other people who can’t, I run faster and harder. I run for them because I know that if they could, they probably would run for me as well.

It’s easy to focus on what’s wrong. I realised today that although I consider myself to be a naturally positive person, I also have a tendency to complain a lot and share the apparent things that don’t seem to be working in my life.

I wonder why I do this?

I’m a fairly sensitive person. A day doesn’t go by where I take my life for granted. I know how lucky I am and I am very aware of the world’s suffering. I’m not hiding from it.

I feel disappointed in myself when I reflect on the conversations I chose to have with people this week. I could have focused on sharing the moments of peace and calm and connection. Instead, I chose to talk about the things that scare me and the possible cracks I might trip over next week.

Have I trained myself to rely on drama to feel interesting? Am I concerned that sharing only positive stories could make someone else feel uncomfortable? Why would that be? Why wouldn’t everyone else be happy hearing only happy stories?

Perhaps I feel like I’m connecting with someone else when we both share stories of life’s unease or am I merely fuelling a continuance of the worst sickness of all – negativity?

I am interested in my darkness. We all have darkness in some form, whether it’s that thought that scratches me and I don’t want to admit I listened to it, or it’s the self-sabotaging habits that I continue to feed, or it’s the words I tell myself about how I must not be good enough again today.

Where is the disconnect between soaking up the beauty of my life right now and my need to highlight what I don’t think is working? It’s totally bizarre.

I wonder how my life could change if I only talk about the good things?

I wouldn’t do this to ignore the bad ones, but sometimes the bad moments don’t even exist apart from the corners of my imagination.

I confidently stand by the belief that when something genuinely unfortunate is happening, then the sadness, pain and disappointment needs to be felt and shared and worked through so it can be released from my soul.

My interest relates to the other ‘bad things’ – the concepts in my head. The ones that haven’t happened yet or happened a long time ago and are jammed on repeat. What shall I do with them? They are making me tired.

I’d rather tell you how it felt to kiss him for the first time instead of how afraid I am that I could lose him.

I’d rather tell you how on Monday I caught twenty waves, instead of Thursday when I only caught two.

I’d rather tell you how wonderful my Great Aunt was and how important a role model she was in my life as opposed to my regret for not being able to see her again.

I’d rather tell you about the compliments my co-worker gave me as opposed to the times she reminded me that I didn’t succeed.

But I don’t share those first facts very often. What a shame.

I could tell you how tired my legs are but I’d rather run for those who can’t run and feel the pavement under my feet and the sweat dripping off my cheek.

I could complain about social media and the way others are portraying themselves or I could read a book instead.

I could meet you for a walk and spend an hour spreading my fears into your world or I could tell you how important you are to me and the million reasons why.

It’s all a ‘could’…A choice… A perception ignited into action. I could dream and lie in bed or I could dream and buy the ticket.

It’s always just a choice, another choice. Which one shall I make tomorrow?

…I think I’ll go for a run just for the joy of it. I think I’ll go for a run for you.

xx

You’d think, after my last few posts, that I’m referring to recovery from the heartbreak I experienced at the beginning of this year.

You’re wrong.

I’m referring to the re-ignition of my spirit. I’m referring to a process that has been happening for much longer than the past year of my life. It’s a process of unravelling and re-building that I’ve been working on for most of my adult existence and if you can believe it,  I think another layer just melted away!

Dear Mantown,

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

Today I am free.

About a week ago, I woke up in a bunk bed in a bright white bedroom, nestled in a luxurious beach house on the cliffs of the Central Coast. It wasn’t just any Sunday morning. It was the first Sunday morning in a very long time where I felt that everything is possible.

I walked onto the back deck and looked over the glass railings toward the peach silhouettes of numerous sand encrusted headlands, protecting some of New South Wales’ most desirable surfing spots. I took a deep breath of the icy winter morning air and smiled.

Sure, it’s true that the previous night I concluded the last official day working in my full-time role – the job I’d committed myself to for over four years, but there was a greater sense of space that hovered around me than just that realisation.

Something was lifting and I couldn’t quite define what it was?

We cooked breakfast in the large bright kitchen together, sharing avocados and steaming milk for our cappuccinos. We wandered down to the beach and jumped into the clean, playful waves. We laughed and waved our arms as we shared the rides. We had hot showers and naps and afternoon beers while sunbathing. We were serenaded by the soothing tone of the classical Spanish guitar. We talked about life and our dreams and what we had learnt in our past relationships. We laid in hammocks and brought each other chocolate and tea. We sang ‘Happy Birthday’, not once, but twice and shared foot massages. We cooked each other dinner and whispered our deepest secrets under the stars.

We were gathered in this house together, embarking on another chapter of our lives and here I finally realised I am a Permanent Resident of the country I most want to call my home. I have a generous community around me, supporting me, loving me. I have a very special man standing beside me who I am opening my heart to and I am healthy. My family is safe. 

I am free from the tethers of my job and I’m free from the fears I created about not being enough and I’m free from the delusional thought patterns that have been holding me back from sharing my skills with the world in the best possible way.

I’m free from thinking I don’t deserve to be madly in love with a gorgeous man who is also madly in love with me and I’m free from the concerns that I won’t have enough money and I’m free from my own excuses about why I should continue to sabotage myself. I’m free from the stories telling me that I can’t speak my truth and I’m free from the worries that I’ll be alone. I’m free, for some reason today and I couldn’t be more relieved.

Why today am I suddenly free?

I don’t know.

Maybe it just happens this way? One day, all of the work I have done solidifies and I glimpse a moment of the serenity of love. The grace of life and the acknowledgment of what already is washes over me and for a moment I am blissfully at peace.

Yes I know, it’s possible that tomorrow I may wake up and feel afraid again and the next morning I may wake up and feel heartbroken, but right now I am free and that’s all that matters. Right now is all I have and so I’m enjoying it and sharing it with you in the hope that maybe you can feel this freedom for even a moment too?

(I haven’t written poetry for about twenty years and suddenly these little phrases started moving through me. I thought maybe I shouldn’t share it because it might not be very good but in line with my attitude today, I am ‘enough’ and therefore here are some more words in case you fancy reading them…)

Finally Free.

And one day I woke up

And recalled who I had become

A stronger mirage

Of even the sum

Of my original vision

Of a woman so wise

That finally my wounds

Couldn’t be touched by their lies.

 

And one day I woke up

And looked in the mirror

And a few wrinkles smiled

From the laughter last year

 

I could never regret

The choices I made

They gave me the stories

The fuel

But they fade

Into the moon

Into the sea

The stories that told me

How brave I could be

 

And so one day I woke up

And finally knew

To honour my failure

They had failed too

 

Everyone had…

Him and her

The man next door

The elite women in fur

 

And I remembered that perfection is really quite grey

Dusty and creased

It’s not what we say

It’s who we are

And how we rise

After the storm

After the sighs

 

It’s the shattered and broken

That make it okay

To trip over edges

“Try again today!”

 

I couldn’t be here

Without my mistakes

And even the heartache

And despite the high stakes

I keep on smiling

And trying again

Because it’s the effort that counts

Not the measure of zen

 

I feel so lucky

To be able to see

The bruised and crumpled

Aspects of me

That have allowed me to stand

All alone in the sea

On a board in the sun

I am finally free.

xx