Adventures of a butterfly...

Back to basics

2011-03-12T16:30:00.001Z

At the beginning of the year I promised myself I would try new things in 2011. New things, new places, new people. I started well: singing in a gospel workshop... singing! About God (I'm not a believer)! In front of an audience! And loving every minute of it, I might add. So that's several firsts right there in one endorphin-filled afternoon.

The last few weeks I've been laid up with sinusitis. Not quite what I had in mind, but a new one on me in any case. It led to another bout of labyrinthitis, sadly an all too familiar ailment. Top that off with probable anaemia, and that's ten days of sick-bed fatigue right there. And that's where my most surprising 'new thing' kicked in. I was lacking in energy and seriously craving protein, by which I mean meat - specifically chicken broth. Restorative chicken soup - good for the soul, right?

In 23 years of vegetarianism I've never craved meat. I started eating fish maybe 10 years ago because I needed protein, but eating it never sat comfortably with me. I wasn't the best pescetarian and could go days, weeks even, without protein. But here was my body craving meat. I felt rough, really poorly, and my body was screaming at me to listen to what it needed. Four days of rather reluctant bed rest later, I was still unwell and more fatigued than ever. I dragged myself to the local shop for supplies and found myself staring at a fridge full of ham.

So... I made chicken broth. I admit I squirmed a little while cutting it up, but I figured I had to handle the raw meat if I was going to eat it. And eat it I did.

A week into my new-found omnivore diet and I've only got as far as chicken and bacon. I don't know what else I will eat, or how long I will eat it for, but right now it feels right. I'm still not feeling 100% better or energised, but I'm getting there, and eating the food my body is craving may or may not be aiding my recovery. Who knows?

What I do know is that as a teenager I chose to stop eating meat. Now, aged 37, I am choosing to eat meat again (ethically farmed of course). I can honestly say I didn't see that coming.

So in this instance my new thing is actually a return to basics. A simplifying of my life, if you like. And in that respect, given the changes I've experienced these last few years, I guess it's not such a surprise after all.

New year, not-so-new blog

2011-01-06T21:37:00.000Z

It's been a while. Six and a bit months to be not-very-exact. Doesn't time fly when you're (butter)flying around? And there has been lots to flutter around for: a new job, a new voluntary role, college, job #2, and more personal awareness and learning than I had previously thought possible. It's fair to say life has been hectic. But there has been some chilling too, notably on my first beach holiday in more than five years. Nice.

I made new friends, reconnected with old, and sadly lost touch with a couple too. Turns out the pain of broken friendships doesn't get any easier as you get older. As for a broken heart, well let's just say I'm getting there.

So, a new year, a new beginning. Damn those cliches! Actually, 2011 is set to have more than it's fair share of endings as several of my current projects will draw to a close later this year. Come the autumn my life will probably look very different, but there's little I can do about that for a good while yet. So, until then, I'm doing my best to sit back and trust in the process.

Trust. The T word. Just where I left off six and a bit months ago. I guess some things take longer to work through.

The T Word

2010-06-21T09:31:00.000+01:00

I was 16 when I met my first proper boyfriend. If you love a good fairytale romance, look away now.

In the two and a half years we were together, I learnt a lot. How to hide bruises for one thing (no mean feat - I bruise easily). And it didn't stop there. He once held a knife to me at the front door to stop me leaving. I stayed. He smashed a glass in anger then dragged a shard across his wrist. I cleaned up the mess, bandaged his wound, told him I was sorry. Sometimes (often) it was easier to just say what he wanted; do what he wanted. In many ways it was the emotional abuse that was hardest.

I was young, and scared. First love, right? What did I know? And it hadn't always been like that; the first year was good, we were happy. With the cocky confidence of youth I remember thinking before that I'd never stay with a man who hit me. But it wasn't that easy. He loved me; he hurt me; he loved me; he hurt me. I loved him; I was scared. Scared of leaving him, not just because of what he might do (to me and to himself), but also scared of losing that love. My first love. However fucked up it might be.

I don't remember the break-up, but I do remember my fear afterwards at being alone in the house in case he came round. He turned up the night before I left for Uni - when I wouldn't let him in he delivered his farewell speech on the doorstep: 'You're fat and ugly and won't amount to anything'. I can still hear him saying those words.

Unsurprisingly I struggle with self-esteem, particularly body image. I blame myself for not being thin enough, or pretty enough. I'm kind to others but incredibly tough on myself. Angry people scare me. I don't like hands around my wrists, or near my neck. But arguably the deepest scar I bear is the inability to trust. I love, but I don't truly believe. I give, but not my all. I learnt at a vulnerable age that romantic love is complicated, painful. And not to be trusted.

Fast-forward eighteen years. There have been a few more heartaches along the way, and a hefty dose of betrayal, and that trust thing is huge. I'm only just realising quite *how* huge. But I'm working on it. It's not easy, far from it. But I'm beginning to realise that I'm worth it.

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Sitting with it

2010-06-06T18:52:00.000+01:00

I have no idea what the answer is. To be honest, I'm not entirely sure of the question anymore. But this weekend has helped me move a little bit closer to that uncertainty:

~ a lazy afternoon on the beach
~ an unexpected dance-off in an indie club (shoes sticking to the floor)
~ a long, recuperating sunshine lunch
~ pirates a-plenty (gotta love a little dress-up)

And, perhaps a strange (but familiar) bedfellow for such a social butterfly:

~ a touch of loneliness
~ with just a dash of longing

And therein lies the answers.

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Why I love the beautiful game

2010-05-13T07:56:00.002+01:00

I was born in the seventies; a time of powercuts, street parties and swingball. It was also a time when Dads went to work all day, came home to a cooked dinner, then worked in the shed / on the house all evening. Mine did anyway. I doubt my Dad ever changed a nappy, and I don't recall him helping me with my homework. Certainly it was Mum, not Dad, whose name I called when I was sick in the night. But I don't begrudge him that, a father's role has changed so much since then.

My Dad was a carpenter; a talented craftsman and a perfectionist to boot (no prizes for guessing where I get that from). The downside of this was that projects around the house took forever to finish because they had to be done just right. So my Dad spent a lot of time in the shed, at his 'workmate' bench, or tinkering around indoors with a screwdriver in his 'arse pocket' and a fat carpenter's pencil tucked behind his ear. He was also a drummer in a jazz band, so he would regularly head out to gigs on a Saturday night.

On the rare occasions my Dad sat down, it was to watch football or listen to jazz. No real surprise then that my abiding childhood memories of my Dad involve those activities. My brother and I used to sit on the sofa with our hands on our heads willing Dad's favoured team (usually the underdog) to score. Why with our hands on our heads? Because Dad had told us they'd score if we did that. Or if we lifted our legs off the floor. Or jumped up and swapped seats just before an important free kick. Great fun when you're seven! And oh the joy when something WE'D done resulted in a goal! (No wonder I grew up to be a control freak with OCD tendencies.)

I loved asking Dad questions; learning about the things he loved, involving myself in his world: football, jazz, how to bleed a radiator. Tomboy, moi? :-) If I was watching Dad work in the shed he'd give me a tin of nails to sort out, or teach me how to saw correctly using a hacksaw and a scrap of bolser wood. Then he'd pluck out a tune on the edge of his saw, or try to teach me (again) one of his quick-as-you-can riddles ('I said 'can you fight?', he said 'who?', I said 'you', he said 'me?', I said 'yes', he said 'no'.').

Sometimes when he got home from a gig Dad would wake me up for a glass of milk and the exotic treat of a packet of pork scratchings bought from the pub. Humphrey Littleton stayed at our house after a gig with the band, as did Digby Fairweather. Dad taught me to stomp (a jazz dance) in the front room. I learnt to play the clarinet because I loved Acker Bilk's Stranger on the Shore.

As I got older my love for football and jazz grew. When Dad became ill we did more of those things together. I was living in London at the time, so had the chance to take him to some of the best jazz venues in town: Ronnie Scott's, the 100 club, and the Vortex. Football too - he watched his beloved Derby County play at White Hart Lane (they lost). In 2002 we made the long drive North so Dad could watch Derby play at home (Pride Park, sadly the Baseball Ground had long gone). Physically frail by then, he refused the offer of a wheelchair on the stadium tour and walked the whole way round, albeit slowly and with a stick. Stubbornly proud as ever. It was the last game of the season; true to form Derby lost and were relegated.

On the day my Dad died, Derby were top of the league and all set to return to the Premiership. Sitting by his bedside I told him the good news then gently put his earphones on - a trad jazz compilation about saints I seem to recall (the spiritual figures, not the team). Dad had been ill for many years by then and had sadly lost his mental capacity as well as physical. At that point it was unlikely he could hear me, let alone comprehend, but I thought he'd like to know that his team were on the up. It seemed kind of fitting. A small gift of good news on a heartbreakingly sad day.

Of course, being a Derby fan is never easy, and predictably the path of promotion was not smooth. But they won the play off final a month later and returned to the top league for the first time in five years. I felt they'd done it for my Dad. But their stay there was short and not-so-sweet - the Rams made history, for all the wrong reasons:

Quickest relegation ever - 29 March
Lowest points ever - 11
Least goals scored ever - 20
Most goals conceded ever - 89
Worst ever goal difference - 69
Lowest goals per game average in English league history

Way to go Derby. If you're going to lose, do it in style.

The Rams won one game all season. Just one. A surprise 1-0 win against Newcastle. But here's the thing: that one three-point success was on 17 September. My Dad's birthday.

I liked that. Thank you Derby.

My love of football (and jazz) will alway be intertwined with my love for my Dad. One of the things I really miss is talking to him about footie. He taught me the off-side rule. We shared the nervous excitement of many a penalty shoot-out (put your hands in the air people). He taught me to admire the arrogance of Old Big 'Ead (good old Cloughie), but to dislike the same character trait in Fergie (sorry AT). He gave me a passion for the beautiful game... and left me with a really shit team. But I wouldn't have it any other way.

Thanks Dad xx

Thanks too to Gray (@diaryofaledger) for inspiring this post with his fab piece: 'Why I love Liverpool Football Club'. Read on, he's a Twitter legend don't you know.

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Lost

2010-04-27T06:53:00.000+01:00

D-day came and went. Only the much-anticipated rush was a surge of swirling sadness (the type you almost drown in), rather than the hopeful excitement it was conceived in.

I still haven't found what I'm looking for. I feel lost.

I've stopped looking.

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AFGO...

2010-04-23T09:08:00.000+01:00

It seems I can't just announce I'm ready for happiness then sit back and bask in the warm glow of love. Apparently life doesn't work that way. Who'da thought it? Instead I'm deep in that awareness thing again. Once again, it's all about the AFGO: Another Fucking Growth Opportunity.

So what have I learnt? Well, first and foremost, I'm impatient. Crazy impatient. I want my happy-ever-after and I want it now. *stamps foot*. Gah. Not very attractive. But I'm realising it goes far deeper than that: I don't relax very easily; I multitask constantly; it's nearly always 'do' with me rather than 'be'. I want (need?) to be doing something, achieving something, all the time.

I come from a family of doers. Sitting down doing 'nothing' is an alien concept. On the odd occasion when I do relax, I do so by 'doing': running, yoga, chilling out with that special someone by looking after them / making sure they're happy. Not a lot of still, or calm, in my relaxed state. (I can't even write about it without using 'do' every other word!)

But, times, they are a-changing. I'm working on the relaxed thing. (Yes, I know 'working' is active - give a girl a break!) A good friend suggested I learn to say 'so what?' in as many languages as possible (he knows me well, I struggle with that in English) and to take a 'good old slug of shrug-juice'. Oh, if only it were that easy.

But hey, I'm a doer, right? So maybe I can do this not-doing lark if I break it down into bite-size chunks. Small steps and that. So yesterday morning on the bus to college (a 2 hour journey, door to door), I didn't text, tweet, email, use Facebook, read, talk to anyone or even eat my breakfast (all of which I usually do). Instead I looked out the window (mainly at beautiful countryside, very cute lambs), sipping coffee. I thought about the events of the past week; I processed my thoughts and feelings. And? Well, by the time I got to college, I felt calmer than I have done for a while, more grounded. Aware of my recent failings but comfortable nonetheless. More accepting, I guess. Still wanting change, but realising it takes time; realising that allowing myself to take the time would be beneficial. Realising that I need to invest in that time, invest in me.

I'm not pretending I can change immediately, or discover the virtue of patience overnight (!), but I'm slowing it down a little, slowing me down a little. See where that takes me. And maybe if I stop 'doing' all the time, and start 'being' a little more, then I'll be happier just being me. And that surely is what that happiness thing is all about.

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The F word

2010-04-13T00:16:00.000+01:00

Just recently I've been thinking a lot about fear. Actually, it's less that I've been thinking about it, more that I've been feeling it. Full on scary-ass fear. With a capital F.

And the funny thing is, this last month or so, the thing I've been most scared of...? Happiness. Yep. The big happy ever after. Scared me witless. Not so much 'what if it doesn't work out', more 'what if it does?'. Gulp. Realising I was just as scared of life working out the way I wanted it to, as I was of it *not* working out was huge. Seriously HUGE.

But then last week my busy lifestyle caught up with me in the shape of a recurring viral infection that I'd hoped I'd seen the last of. Apparently not. Trust me, labyrinthitis is nowhere near as much fun as it sounds. It's been fifteenth months since my last bout, but running around like a nutter and getting increasingly run down has brought it back. All work and no play (well, not enough it seems) makes me a sick girl. Or nauseous in any case.

A little perspective is a funny thing. The wheel has turned full circle: I've stopped fretting about being happy. Because now I'm scared I'll get sick again, that I'll keep getting sick. Now *that* is scary; that would change everything. *That* I'm afraid of. So, bring on the happiness. I want to feel the fear and do it anyway. I want to take that risk and live with the hopefully happy consequences.

Out with the F word. In with the H. I'm counting down.

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Three

2010-04-06T20:47:00.001+01:00

Running; rushing; hoping; wishing.
Trusting it was time.
Holding. Loving.
Letting go.
Loving.
Remembering.
Loving; always.
Letting go.

Three.

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Holding my breath

2010-03-28T22:28:00.000+01:00

I've been wishing the next month away, hoping the days will go quickly. Holding my breath with a heady mix of fear and excitement. I've not exactly been living in the here and now.

But here I am. I don't know where this next adventure will take me, but I'm trying to let go, relax and enjoy the journey.

Starting now. No more clock-watching. No wishing for that time travelling machine. No more holding my breath. Just living in the moment and seeing where it takes me. Fighting the urge to run away. Sitting with it: the good times, the bad.

And, breathe.

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Sunshine and the simple life

2010-03-14T16:51:00.000Z

Things have been a bit hectic lately. By things I mean life; me. So, today I did something I haven't done in months: I took the day off. The whole day. No work, no studying, no chores.

I snoozed in bed. I read the paper. My flatmate & I went for a long walk along the seafront: a walk punctuated by ice cream, a secondhand bookstall, the beach, my favourite gallery, and a sunny beer garden. Lovely :-)

I know I need to simplify my life. But, like most big decisions it is easier said than done. I'm about to make sacrifices that are already tinged with sadness.

But today was all about enjoying the sunshine. A definite step in the right direction.

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Moving on

2010-02-28T11:26:00.000Z

Ever have those moments when a casual aside hits you like a sledgehammer? Yep, me too.

'There are some things you can't undo.'

Simple, huh?

But what if I don't want to undo it. What if I accept that's how it was, and how it is. And that whatever happens next is new.

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Today's sermon

2010-02-09T19:47:00.000Z

This morning I advised a friend to:

'Realise what makes you happy, release what doesn't, and go for it. Don't ever look back.'

I think it's time to practice what I preach.

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If found, please return to...

2010-02-04T20:33:00.000Z

This afternoon, in the space of 15 minutes, I went from talking about how hectic my life is at the moment, to realising that somewhere along the way I've lost a part of me.

I've gained one hell of a lot since the MFH. And I'll never forget how much I lost.

But I've only just realised what else is missing.

Maybe now I know, I can work on getting it back.

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Twitter: a Thank You

2010-01-31T14:25:00.001Z

Tomorrow I will mark my return to the working world with my first day at job#1. Gulp.

It's hard to believe it's been six whole months (to the day) since I was made redundant. It hardly feels like any time at all. Partly because I've been so busy: job hunting is a full-time job in itself, and retraining / studying is pretty time consuming. Throw in an ill-fated long-distance romance, a transatlantic jaunt, and a last-minute decision to move house and that's a pretty busy few months right there.

But there is one other thing that has kept me occupied: Twitter. More importantly, the lovely people who make up my own little Twitter community.

Without them these last six months would've been pretty different. I live alone, and with no job to go to every day I could have felt very lonely. Correction: I *would* have felt very lonely.

Don't get me wrong, my friends and family are fantastic, but they don't call me every morning just to say Hi. To be honest, I'd be worried if they did! But the Twitterati do just that. Waking up most mornings to a chorus of greetings has been truly wonderful. Chatting to my tweeps has brought the world closer and helped me stay connected during what could otherwise have been a difficult time.

I have 'met' some truly lovely people. And I've been fortunate enough to meet up with a few in the real world too.

So, a BIG thank you to my Twitter friends for keeping me sane these last six months. I don't know what I would've done without you.

And special thanks to Gray (@diaryofaledger) for inviting me to join the party.

*hugs*

xx

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'If nothing ever changed, there'd be no butterflies' - Anon

2010-01-19T19:45:00.010Z

So, here we go again. Or, should I say, here I go again.

Over the course of the next month I will start two new jobs. I will move house, and (for the first time in 18 months) begin sharing my living space again. I will experience much change. It will undoubtedly test my growing edge.

Change seems to be my middle name. Back in 2007, after the MFH, my life changed dramatically. This time round I am at least the driving force behind the changes. But I'm experiencing an eerily reminiscent state of flux, and having to remind myself that I'm choosing to do this.

Just three weeks ago I had an 'ideal world' scenario in mind. The first piece of the puzzle slotted into place surprisingly quickly. Last week I secured the second and third pieces too. I got what I wished for (to a certain extent), and promptly hit a big wall of fear.

'Why, hello anxiety, old foe.'

Change scares me. The unknown scares me. Yet I keep putting myself out there.

Without the MFH and the subsequent pain and upheaval, I wouldn't be me. I wouldn't have grown. I wouldn't have had the courage to spread my wings. And that courage brought me here. Now, I'm faced with a new challenge. It isn't quite the 'ideal world' scenario I had in mind, and there are sure to be some struggles ahead (not least financially), but it is here. It is me. And, fear aside for one minute, it does feel like the right thing to do.

So it is time for the butterfly to set flight on the next stage of the adventures. To breathe. To believe. To trust my instincts. And to remember that 'the wings are wide'.

A productive snow day...

2010-01-07T13:04:00.000Z

What better to make during the great freeze than hot water bottle covers :-)

I felt quite the Edwardian housewife sewing while the snow fell. Lovely.

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It's a new dawn, it's a new day, it's a new life, for me... and I'm feeling good.

2010-01-01T16:35:00.000Z

I'm not one for new year's resolutions. Yes, I want to stop biting my nails/fingers, and I'd like to be a few pounds lighter, but experience tells me I'm a doer, not a quitter.

So I'm making just one promise to myself this January 1st. To live life fuller, stronger, lighter - and to enjoy all the risky, scary, fun-filled adventures that entails.

In the words of Henry David Thoreau, to: 'live deep and suck out all the marrow of life'.

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2009: that was the year that was.

2009-12-31T11:00:00.001Z

So, another year over. I'd hoped for adventure, but I didn't anticipate quite how much 2009 would bring.

Sure, there were tough times: I spent most of January laid up with bronchitis, not the best start. But it gave me time to think about what I really wanted. Looking back, that thinking set the tone. I've finished the year dealing with a health issue that's left me bruised (emotionally) but somehow better placed to achieve my dreams. Funny how life sometimes works in circles like that.

For me, 2009 was mainly about change. Yes, more change!

I made some big life decisions; others were made for me. I reduced my hours at work. I took April off to visit friends and family in Boston, New York and Vancouver. I became an Auntie. I found myself (yes, in the hippy sense) on a beautiful island called Galiano. Twice. I met new friends, at home and abroad, in real life and the virtual world (sometimes both). I laughed, I cried. I loved, I lost. But I found things too. I changed direction - a big scary kick-ass change of direction! I did some things I never thought I would do (some good, some less so). I stepped outside my comfort zone (big time). I overcame some of my fears. I was brave. I got hurt (I have the bruises to prove it). I left my job. I challenged some of my beliefs, and firmed up others. I discovered Twitter. I rediscovered my love of coaching. I started this blog. Amidst all this, because of all this, I became more accepting of who I really am.

Writing this, I realise just how much has changed. I certainly didn't imagine I would end the year where I am now.

The thing is, I crave stability. Ironically, more than anything I want to settle down. But I know 2010 will bring yet more change. I know I'm not there yet. For one thing, I've chosen to retrain in a profession that will take me (is already taking me) on one hell of a journey. I know there is more to come.

So, thanks 2009 for the memories. It's been emotional.

2010? Bring it on baby. I'm ready for my next adventure.

Peace, love, and happiness to all x

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Make-do and mend

2009-12-28T22:27:00.001Z

Today I made a hot water bottle cover from a pyjama top :-)

I don't know if it comes from watching my pennies during a recession, or perhaps just acting my age (!), but I'm loving the idea of recycling and refashioning; chopping something up and making something new.

Sure, I'm making it up as I go along, and my stitches are a little wonky. But that pretty much sums me up. And I wouldn't have it any other way.

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How the butterfly got her wings...

2009-12-26T23:37:00.003Z

A couple of years ago, in early 2007, I decided the time had come to get the tattoo I'd been thinking about for years.

Things were a bit messy, to say the least: my Dad was ill, my job was at risk, and my relationship of 11 years was failing. I knew 2007 was going to be tough. Little did I realise *how* tough. But I figured one way or another I would come out the other side stronger. And I knew the tattoo was going to symbolise that.

I hadn't yet finalised the design when my Dad died. He had been ill for eight years, could barely move any part of his body, and no longer recognised his loved ones. In many ways we had already lost him. But when the end came, it was still unexpected. I miss him dearly.

Just two weeks after Dad died, and following months of consultation, I was finally made redundant.

A mere two weeks later I found out my boyfriend was cheating on me. I kicked him out. It was, quite simply, the month from hell (MFH). My world had fallen apart.

So a month after losing my Dad, I said goodbye to my home, my beloved cats, the guy I'd loved / lived with for over a decade (who, rather unfortunately, was also my best friend) and the remains of my old life... and started anew. Six long, rather messy months later, the fog had cleared enough to mark the phoenix-me that was rising from the ashes. But what with? The design I'd had in mind before the MFH didn't seem quite right anymore.

My Dad was a drummer in a jazz band; his favourite tune was the beautiful ballad Poor Butterfly. The day after Dad died, I saw a television programme about an Egyptian butterfly broach. It said that in many cultures butterflies represent the spirit leaving the body, the soul moving on. More generally, butterflies symbolise change, transformation, and life continuing - no matter what.

Dad's band had learnt to play Poor Butterfly at his request several years before, so they played it at his funeral. It was a proper New Orleans-style jazz send-off, Dad would've loved it :-)

Before I knew exactly what it would be, I knew my tattoo would symbolise change and, more importantly, survival. Hand-tapped in bright colours, my butterfly tattoo really does symbolise life continuing no matter what: *my* life.

There is strange comfort in knowing that when the worst thing that could've happened did in fact happen, I survived. Better still, I'm happier as a result. Sometimes it's hard, but mostly I feel strong(er). Some days I feel lonely, but mostly I am brave(r). The new me can be messy, and sad, but also kick-ass and happy.

And that is the story of how this butterfly girl got her wings.

Postscript:
Yesterday, on Christmas morning, I entertained my 8-month old niece with a little jazz boogie. As we danced around Mum's lounge to Chet Baker I thought how much Dad would've loved it, how much he would've loved her. Something caught my eye so I glanced outside - just in time to see a white butterfly loop the hedge and fly away.

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Everybody cries, and everybody hurts sometimes.

2009-12-11T23:12:00.002Z

Do you remember the 'learning about myself' thing? Well, I've gone off it.

It seems the more I learn, the harder it gets. Yes, I understand myself better. But part of that is realising quite how complex I am (and not necessarily in a good way). Yes, I can identify patterns in the way I relate to people. But that doesn't make it any less painful when I hurt someone I love, or am hurt myself.

Perhaps there is some truth in the old adage that ignorance is bliss, but I still believe emotional intelligence is key.

I do still believe. It's just that right now, I feel bruised.

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Time is but the stream I go a-fishing in. ~ Henry David Thoreau

2009-11-16T16:52:00.003Z

Blimey, it's been a while hasn't it? Doesn't time fly when you're having fun.

The truth is, I don't seem to have enough time to do everything, despite not having a job. I still have an ever growing to-do list, I'm still rushing around to meet deadlines, and I'm still running approximately ten minutes late for pretty much everything :-)

College is great (fascinating stuff) but tiring, and more time-consuming than I anticipated. And job hunting is practically a full-time job in itself. When you factor in general life admin, I seem to spend most of my time doing 'paperwork' of some sort despite the freedom from work itself.

But all (paper)work and no play would make for a pretty dull butterfly. I've met new people, made new friends, turned a year older (wiser?), taken a few more steps along the adventurous path, laughed, cried, and learnt a lot about myself in the process.

Life's pretty good right now :-)

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'Lions and tigers and bears! Oh my!'

2009-10-03T22:37:00.001+01:00

I've said in previous posts that a new adventure is beginning, but I've only just realised the journey has really begun. I guess sometimes you have to revisit the past to see how far you've come.

I'm sitting on the sun-drenched balcony of a log cabin on the beautiful island of Galiano, British Columbia, looking out over the idyllic Bodega Ridge ranch to the lush green forests of the Gulf Islands, with the beautiful blue ocean in between and mountains reaching upto the clouds. 'Toto, I've a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore.'

I'm fortunate enough to have visited Bodega Ranch before - just five months ago. On that trip I was running away from an unhappy situation, hoping for escape, looking for something else. Towards the end of a month of adventure, the Semperviva retreat was, as expected, a fun-filled weekend of yoga, hiking and meditation in breathtaking surroundings. But it was so much more than that. We shared stories, we bonded; great friendships were forged over Happy Baby pose and the odd glass of wine. I felt more 'me' than I had done in a long time - with a group of people who had been complete strangers just a few hours before. Nobody judged me or expected anything from me other than to be true to myself and open to the experience. They liked me, and accepted who I am. By the end of the weekend I realised I liked 'me' too.

But I liked the me I'd got to know on that trip. I was worried I'd revert to the old unhappy, unconfident me when I returned home to the unhappy situation. At heart, I'm a home-bird. Yet, for the first time ever, I really didn't want to go home. I wanted to keep running. I wanted to keep the Galiano / Semperviva feeling. I wanted to keep liking and being me.

Five months later, I'm visiting Vancouver again (it's a long story...) and on Galiano once more. Four of the April gang reconvened for a reunion of sorts, but this retreat was always going to be different: a new set of experiences, with new people. What I hadn't really thought about was how different I am this time round. S, chief Semperviva-ite at the retreat summed it up when he said to me: 'I don't know what you're doing differently, but keep doing it - you look fantastic'.

Clearly I can't stay unemployed forever (!), but leaving such an unhappy situation has done more than just clear my head and cut off my income stream. It has given me the opportunity to think about what is important to me, and gifted some much needed space in which to play. Whatever happens, I will always be thankful for that.

D, chief reunion organiser and all-round mischief maker (love her) says I'm more self-assured now, and look much happier in myself. I guess I am.

For me, the shift came yesterday evening in the first yoga session, a few hours after a beautiful hike to the top of the Ridge. Halfway through a wonderfully hippy Kundalini class the endorphins kicked in and I realised what had changed. I instinctively knew that this time when the time to leave comes, at the end of the retreat and again a few days later at the end of my holiday, I will be ready to go home. To whatever the next stage of this adventure brings. New job (hopefully!), new course, new people, new experiences, new learning... a new stage in my life. A whole world of change has passed, and a whole world of change is yet to come. But I feel stronger, safer, happier. I'm ready to stop running.

With the sun warming my skin, and such beauty all around me, I'm very much in the here and now enjoying every moment of this retreat. There is a rare beauty about the Semperviva experience on Galiano and I feel blessed (that's about as near to a religious experience as I'll ever get) to be enjoying it for a second time. I'm certainly not wishing this experience away. But life is what you make it, and sometimes there really is no place like home. Funny how you often have to travel halfway around the world to realise that.

Seeing how far I've come makes me realise I'm well and truly ready now to create the new life and home I deserve.

-- Posted from my iPhone

Come fly with me, let's fly, let's fly away...

2009-09-24T17:41:00.002+01:00

My first thought when I woke up this morning was that I was going on an adventure. Closely followed by: alone.

As I type, my trusty little iPhone and I are 38,000 feet above Lake Athabasca, en route to Vancouver* (don't you just love the journey tracker map thing?). I'm not anticipating a voyage of discovery this time round, rather a fun few weeks relaxing with my bro and his family, plus a yogic Galiano reunion. Good times.

Yet this morning my dominant emotion wasn't excitement or fear (thank goodness for hypnotherapy), but a deep-felt pang of loneliness. It wasn't that I didn't want to travel on my own (I've done it several times), more that I had a strong sense of wanting to share the adventure. This adventure. At this time.

I admit, when I hauled all four of my bags (yep, four) down the stairs to the waiting taxi, I thought how nice it would've been to have shared the load. And when for one brief moment I wondered whether the panic would return, I longed for a strong hand to give mine a secret reassuring squeeze. Then, watching couples and families mill around the fancy new terminal, I felt lonelier than I had for a long time.

Putting the logistical problems of travelling alone to one side (seriously, have you tried squeezing yourself and four bags into a toilet cubicle or onto an escalator?), more than anything I want to share the fun, the adventure, the memories. From the outset.

The painful pang took me a little by surprise this morning. I like living alone now. I like my own space now. I'm even starting to wonder whether I'm getting set in my independent single gal ways.

I like my life and the adventures I embark on. Gazing down on Greenland's blinding snow-scape a few hours ago took my breath away, and there are still the Rockies to look forward to :-)

I'm learning more about myself every day - some of it good, some not so. I'm a home-body with an adventurous streak. I'm complicated, but I like that.

One day, hopefully someone else will like it too.

* Don't worry, my iPhone was safely on Airplane Mode until landing. And flying over the Rockies was amazing. Greetings from Vancouver :-)

-- Posted from my iPhone

What I am is what I am are you what you are or what

2009-09-02T22:33:00.001+01:00

I've been tagged by Diary of a Surprise Mum with a sevens meme, inviting me to list seven (count 'em!) character traits. So, I'm going to play with whichever traits pop into my mind, good and (ahem) not-so good. Here goes:

1. Brave
Some days I kick ass. Pure and simple. Being brave means stepping outside my comfort zone and facing the very things that scare me. And believe me, more things scare me than I should probably admit in public (or in private, to be fair). Which brings me nicely on to character trait number 2...

2. Scared / nervous
Although I'm nowhere near as anxious as I used to be (pre-MFH), I still get scared and nervous sometimes. Mainly because I'm claustrophobic. It's amazing how often the fear of being 'trapped' arises in everyday situations. Take the last few weeks:
- A trip to the Roman Baths - guess what? Most of the museum is underground. And it's a Bank Holiday weekend so there are LOTS of visitors. In a small(ish) space. Underground. Great.
- A ridiculously busy bar with people literally queueing to push past each other. An elbows-in-the-ribs affair. Barely room to breathe out. Free live jazz though, so... deep breaths.
- A job interview in an office block. Why do they always make you take the lift even if the interview is only on the second floor?
- No end of small-cubicled public toilets with dodgy, sticky locks. Nice.
And that's just the claustrophobia stuff... don't get me started on my other fears about my future (and the world we live in, and life in general*).

3. Honest
I'm brutally honest when it comes to me - to my story. Scarily so. See 2 above. I rest my case.

4. Integrous
I'm a big fan of integrity: of being true to myself, of living according to my values and beliefs. I'm a firm believer that life is too short for deception - of myself or others.

Hmm... the first four came easily. Now I'm having to think a little...

5. Loyal
I love my family and friends, and would do anything within my capabilities to support them. I do hope they know that.

6. Insecure
I believe in myself, I really do. But I can also doubt myself, big-time. Despite my integrity and honesty I can be incredibly contrary! I can also get lonely, low and downright blue on a bad day. In an ideal world I would be full of confidence, but we all know life doesn't work like that. So I accept that my insecurities are part of who I am - right now at least. I'm learning from them, and about them, and I'm working on getting rid of that part of me altogether.

7. Mischievous
I'm way too serious most of the time, but I like to think I'm also fun to be around. Thankfully I have a mischievous streak that balances my over-thinking sensibilities by injecting some much-needed playfulness! An ex-boyfriend used to say that a mischievous dinosaur lived in my big toe, occasionally coming out to play. I like that.

So... brave, scared/nervous, honest, integrous, loyal, insecure and mischievous. I'm not even going to attempt to analyse that! Let's just say I'm glad that little dinosaur ventures out every once in a while :-)

Thanks Surprised Mum for the tag.

* one house point for identifying the random song lyric...

Don't underestimate the value of Doing Nothing, of just going along, listening to all the things you can't hear - Winnie the Pooh

2009-08-28T17:19:00.005+01:00

I never thought I'd enjoy not working.... but I do. I am. Crikey. As my good friend Mr Ledger would say, if this was Twitter I'd be tagging #thereivesaidit right now. Gulp.

The thing is, it is nearly a month since I left work and I don't think the reality has sunk in yet. In many ways I still think I'm on holiday, not unemployed. I've been catching up with family and old friends; meeting new friends (as I type I'm visiting SB in the beautiful city of Bath); enjoying my new course; and generally kicking back a little. OK, a lot.

But it doesn't feel wasted. I haven't been watching daytime TV or sleeping in late. I'm not dossing around the flat doing nothing. I've been busy... but, doing what exactly? My 'to do' list is almost as long now as it was four weeks ago - in fact, it's probably longer as I keep thinking of more and more things I could (or should) be doing while I've got the chance! And that's the irony - the very thing that is keeping me busy is my new-found freedom. Free for coffee? Why, yes I am, that would be lovely. Lunch / walk / swim / run / day out? Yes, please. Help with a charity fundraiser outside Tesco? Go on then. Fancy a house-guest / trip to Bath? Why the devil not.

Having the time to relax and be uncharacteristically spontaneous is wonderful. I know the chores won't do themselves, but I also know to cherish this freedom while it lasts. My (far-too) sensible head will kick back in soon enough. My Protestant work ethic will emerge from it's hibernation craving the stimulation of work and the challenge of a new workplace. When that happens the uncertainty and fear about not having a job will overide any spontaneity, and this moment - the opportunity to just 'be', to live a little, to step outside myself - will have passed.

So for now I'm enjoying the ride, not knowing where it is taking me but grateful for the chance to come along.

"The time has come" the Walrus said, "To talk of many things..."

2009-08-10T11:05:00.016+01:00

Has it really only been two weeks since my last post? So much has changed.

I finished up at work at the end of July, all rather surreal given I had less than ten working days to sort everything out before leaving. It still doesn't feel real that I'm not going back. My first week of unemployment was busy, busy, busy: two job interviews followed by two great pieces of feedback and near identical 'you were a close second' conversations. I'm a firm believer that if you don't get a particular job it wasn't meant to be, so all good. And I learnt a lot from both experiences - especially the second which was for a role that would've taken me out of my comfort zone - so even better. I trust the right job will come along.

Next up was a visit from my old friend GC. We spent a summer or two hanging out back home when we were 19 or 20, and over the last few years have enjoyed catching up all-too-briefly at festivals. Thanks to the wonders of modern technology we've been chatting more recently on FB and Twitter (GC is to blame for my new-found addiction to the latter) and decided to have a proper real-life-in-person catch-up. How very old-skool. And delightfully old-skool it was too: we played air hockey and Dolphin Derby on the pier (along with MS who joined the fun after seeing our messages on Twitter - very nice to meet you Mr Barrister, sir), had a dance-off on the dance mats, and shot some zombies. A tour of the graffiti of Brighton followed, plus a giggling fit in a back alley (me not GC, and not as dodgy as it sounds!), a paddle in the sea, some mutual appreciation of the beautiful West Pier (thanks GC for the lovely pics), then a trip down memory lane at an indie club night for my mate L's birthday. So old-skool we even got asked for ID. It was a lot of fun. I laughed a lot and could feel the stress of the last few weeks melting away. Much needed, thanks GC.

Just five short hours after the indie club fun I was up and about getting ready for the next stage of my counselling course. Learning the theory turned out to be incredibly powerful stuff as it resonated strongly with so many events in my life. Yesterday I proved once again how brave/foolish a butterfly girl can be, when I stepped *way* out of my comfort zone to volunteer to be counselled by the tutor in front of the rest of the group. I have a phobia of public speaking / standing (!) and really dislike being the centre of attention, and yet I put myself right in the situation I dread most. And then upped the fear by making it personal and therefore more risky! And not for the first time... I don't enjoy being on my own, and yet right now I live alone, I'm single, and with my new unemployed status I have no enforced interaction with others. I seem to have created a potentially lonely situation just when I fear that the most. Feel the fear and do it anyway? I'm pretty good at that - particularly since the MFH. I often say I'm brave but foolish because I do put myself into the situations that scare me. Ultimately I guess I'm more scared of staying scared and stagnating, than of taking a leap right into the belly of the fear.

Freeing myself from a situation I was very unhappy in when I had no job to go to was risky, but the right thing to do. I've changed a lot and learnt a lot since the MFH, but something tells me huge change in the air again, and exciting new adventures are just beginning. A wise man once said: 'It's an awful risky thing to live'. The brave butterfly inside of me says 'bring it on'.

And the time came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.
- Anais Nin

And the beat goes on...

2009-07-27T20:21:00.005+01:00

In my last post I finished up saying I was getting used to spending more time with me. Well, be careful what you wish for! It looks like I'm going to have a lot more time to spend with me over the coming weeks and months, as this time next week I will be... unemployed. Gulp.

As one door closes so another door opens, and this weekend I started the course that will (hopefully) take me in a new direction (Plan D). So the timing is right, as far as redundancy ever can be. Not in terms of the economic climate, clearly, but in terms of what I want to do, where I want to be. So, despite a few sleepless nights, I trust this is the right decision for me.

Funny thing is, my chief concern right now is not that I might not find another job (don't get me wrong, that is still a BIG concern) but rather what I'm going to do all day... for the next few weeks and months. I'm single and I live alone, both fairly new states that have thrown up interesting feelings this past year - mainly feelings of loneliness. It's not easy to admit it, but here goes: I get lonely. Phew, that wasn't so bad was it? But when it really kicks in, it does feel bad. I'm scared that kicking around on my own for the next few months is going to be tough. As with the job hunt, all I can do is trust it will be OK. Yes, it might be hard, and yes I might get lonely, but I'm sure I will come out the other side stronger than before and happier in my own company.

The next stage of the butterfly adventures starts here... :-)

Me, myself and I

2009-07-12T13:09:00.006+01:00

A few years ago I knew who I was: a girlfriend, daughter, sister, friend, employee and coach. I knew what my roles in life were, and I worked hard to live up to everyone's expectations - harder still not to let anyone down. Post MFH, I'm not always sure I know who I am.

I'm still a daughter, sister, friend, some-time coach and employee (at the time of writing at least!) - and now an unofficial godmother, and an auntie too (to the most beautiful girl in the world no less). But I sometimes wonder who I really am. What is it that defines me? What drives me? What keeps me going in the long dark hours of the night? I don't really know. But I do know that after years of defining myself by my relationships with others, I'm trying out just being me. Pure and simple. Sometimes it scares me (a lot!), sometimes (OK, often) I feel lonely, and more than a little lost. But occasionally I catch a glimpse of the bare truth inside of me and - dare I say it - I'm happy. And happy because of me.

Now I bet every self-help book out there says you need to take responsibility for your own happiness. I've read it several times, I've said it several times - but, as with all important life lessons, it is easier said (and read) than done. But I think I'm getting there. It's scary. And exciting. But the great thing is that taking responsibility doesn't mean going it alone, it just means taking a step back from the day-to-day roles that all too easily define us, and a step closer to the things that really drive us. Our passions, our values. The good stuff, and the darker side of life too.

A good friend once told me: 'Only when there are cracks in your life does the light get in. Step outside yourself for a while'. I took his advice, stepped onto a plane (or four) and had one of the best months of my life. Now I'm back in the real world and the cracks are visible again. But then, so is the light.

And that's the answer. The cracks worry me but ultimately they make me who I am. Crazy-hard as it was, the MFH shaped who I am. My dark side is part of who I am. And it all adds up to the me that I'm getting used to being around.

Panic on the streets of London... I wonder to myself, could life ever be sane again?

2009-07-05T20:37:00.014+01:00

I'm writing this after a lovely weekend drinking Pimms in the sun with J&J by the river (thanks again guys!). Enjoying the regatta with their circle of friends (none of whom I'd met before) I was aware I was a newcomer to the group, but they were all lovely. I tend to go quiet in a large gathering of people I don't know, but actually it was a welcome change to be in unfamiliar surroundings with unfamiliar people (J&J aside!). I'd even go so far as it say it was relaxing - not a state I achieve very often!

The thing is, back in the days - and years - before the MFH, I struggled with anxiety. A short but sharp insight into the dark world of panic attacks, and life as I knew it was pretty much over. I'm not sure I could ever have been described as carefree, but certainly life pre-panic attacks was easier, lighter. After a seemingly out-of-the-blue attack on the Tube, and another on a plane (about to fly home, alone, from a business trip to the US), my view on life shifted as fear kicked in. The cycle of fear is one of the worst things about panic attacks - more often than not sufferers are left with a (potentially crippling) fear of the fear - anxiety that an attack might happen again, at any time. Thankfully I didn't have any more attacks but I was left with newly escalated levels of claustrophobia, a fear of flying, and a phobia of Tube travel. Not good when you live in London and have to fly three or four times a year for work.

I spent a lot of time and money trying to overcome my anxiety: books, hypnosis, acupuncture, coaching, counselling. I worked hard at it; I read up on anxiety and panic, I carried Rescue Remedy, I made exit strategies. I stopped drinking caffeine, and alcohol, I didn't enjoy going out anymore, I avoided unfamiliar situations. It was tiring. For me, and my then boyfriend. I left the job I loved, and London, the city I could no longer live in. It got easier, my coping mechanisms got better, the fear faded - but it didn't disappear.

Years later, in the aftermath of the MFH, I realised I'd made it through everything with no panic, no anxiety. Shock, sadness, grief, heartache, a headfirst dive into the darkness - oh yes. But no panic attacks. The truth was, I had always been worried about the bad things that could happen - about the worst that could happen. But when it did - and in a way that was far worse than I had ever imagined! - and I survived, the anxiety had no purpose.

I'm still claustrophobic and still don't like Tubes. But I did go on the Subway in New York, and I recently overcame my fear of flying thanks to a magical dose of hypnosis and kinesiology (thanks Steve G). I drink coffee again, and alcohol, and I like going out! Woo-hoo!

So actually relaxing this weekend with unfamiliar people in an unfamiliar place - and one involving crowds and alcohol - was a result. A(nother) sign that things have changed for the better since the MFH. Another sign that I've changed.

Hanging out with old friends and meeting new people always reminds me that I'm not alone. Everyone has a story - some happy, some sad. And I've realised that, more often that not, a lot of people are working their way through butterfly adventures of their own.

Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans

2009-06-24T20:35:00.007+01:00

A few months ago I decided to put my work life balance in order. To rebalance the imbalance if you like. Admittedly I don't spend anywhere near as long in the office now as I did a few years ago, but I realised that with work life balance (as with many things in life) quality is more important than quantity. So I took a month off work and spent April visiting friends and family in Boston, New York and Vancouver. I had the best time. Quality time spent with loved ones, old friends, new friends and... me. Yep, it was one of those age-old life defining journeys. A journey within a journey (or two). Be thankful I wasn't writing a blog then! :-)

On my return, my shorter working week commenced - cunningly arranged before my trip. Now I work just four days a week - four longer days, but four nonetheless. My day off jumps around according to work and personal commitments, but usually it is a Wednesday. An odd choice perhaps but it breaks my working week into two, injecting some much needed space - and balance.

With so much change on the horizon, I've spent most of the last few weeks tackling an overflowing in-tray of life admin. Last weekend was a blur of decision making and paperwork. So today I stepped outside of my sensible self and declared a play-day Wednesday. OK, I started the day by submitting a job application and going to the dentist... but then I played. A wander round the shops for birthday gifts, followed by girly lunch with two lovely friends and their beautiful girls. The sun was shining and the sea was calling - a quick phone call to another friend and the first swim in the sea this year was in sight. And boy, was it cold! The pebbles hurt my bare feet (I've lived here five years but haven't yet mastered the art) and the sea was cold, but it felt good! 'Doesn't it make you feel alive?' I asked my friend - 'No' he said 'It's bloody cold!' :-)

Lunch, friends, a swim in the sea. Pretty simple stuff, but that's what I was hoping for. For me, work life balance is about opening up the space for the simple things in life. The things I used to push to one side and assume I'd find time for later. Now I'm all about the balance. And the space. And the wonderful things that fill that space.

Of course, some days space can be a 'bad' thing, and the emotions not so good. But that's another story, another day.

Today has been a welcome reprieve from the life admin and paperwork. Just as I'd hoped it would be.

What will survive of us is love...

2009-06-21T14:14:00.010+01:00

Today is Father's Day: across the UK thousands of Dads enjoyed breakfast in bed or a leisurely lunch while opening bottles of aftershave and home-made cards.

But, for many, Father's Day is a reminder of how much has been lost.

I don't need a calendar event to remind me of my Dad. My memories are found every day in the mundane and the unexpected: football, jazz, the smell of Evo-stik, ginger, noticing shoddy workmanship, the blue plastic bowl I've just washed up, the expression on my niece's beautiful face when she frowns. Whatever the trigger, I'm thankful for the memories and the times we had.

Alongside the cards and the gifts, Father's Day offers a space in our busy lives to acknowledge love. Whether you've wished your Dad a happy one, or taken a moment to reflect on times gone by, be thankful that you've had the opportunity to experience and celebrate love.

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes (turn and face the strain)

2009-06-18T17:51:00.011+01:00

You'd think after the last few years I'd be used to change, but it is always unsettling. Right now I'm dealing with several uncertainties, and have no idea what my life will look like in a few months.

Prior to the events of 2007 (I really should think of a funky acronym for this period, maybe 'before the MFH' (month from hell) or 'before EFU' (everything f***ed up)... suggestions welcome!), I worried about everything. Now I still get a little (ahem) panicky sometimes, but often asking 'what's the worst that could happen?' helps put things in perspective. You see, back then the worst did happen... and I survived.

Change is scary - that's a no-brainer for most of us - especially when it feels like the situation is out of our control. I'm not really a go-with-the-flow kind of girl. Since the MFH (I'm trying it out...) I've adopted a two-step approach: 1) panic, 2) plan. Preferably with more emphasis on step two. Having no or limited options is scary (hence the panic), so I create more options by asking myself difficult questions (kick-starting the plan): if I could do anything right now, what would it be? If I could be anything right now, what would it be? And the toughest question of them all: what's stopping me?

The panic/plan approach seems to be serving me well. Currently I have not just a Plan B, but also Plans C and D! I'm not so much at a crossroads in my life as stranded slap-bang in the middle of spaghetti junction, with no idea which road to take or, indeed, whether some of the roads are actually open to me. But having several roads, and several plans, means I have an element of choice. Which means I have an element of control. Which makes the whole thing a bit less scary. It's still change, but at least some of the change will be of my making.

Control freak? Moi? :-)

If you're feeling brave, ask yourself a few difficult questions. What do you really want to do? What do you really want to be? And (deep breath...) what's stopping you?

Begin at the beginning and go on till you come to the end: then stop - Alice's Adventures in Wonderland

2009-06-17T11:29:00.009+01:00

My life as I knew it fell apart in 2007 when a whole world of loss crash-landed in just a few short weeks. Here I am two years later... bruised and scarred, yes, but undeniably wiser, braver and ultimately (gulp) happier.

It's been an emotional rollercoaster, and often still is. Sometimes I kick ass and I'm more confident than ever - a living embodiment of Nietzsche's oft-quoted saying: 'what doesn't kill us makes us stronger'. Other days I just want someone (anyone!) to make it 'better' as the darkness draws in.

Like Alice, lost in Wonderland, I don't know where my story ends - but I have to trust I'll know when I get there. And one thing is for certain: changes are afoot - there's an adventure just around the corner. So this is the next stage in my journey, the good times and the bad.

Buckle up - it may be a bumpy ride :-)